Slade held out his elbow, and I took it with my hand. It was nice to get this time alone with him. We hadn’t had much of an opportunity to get to know each other yet, and I really wanted to know him. I wanted to know everything. Did being this big run in his family? What was his family like, beyond the fact that he was raised by a single mother? What was his favorite food? Was he as big everywhere as he seemed to be?
“Ms. West!” Pelletier’s shrill voice cut through the pleasant song of robins, through the soft rustle of maple leaves, and through my sense of calm.
He stomped across the drive like a puffed-up rooster ready to draw blood.
“Good morning, Mr. Pelletier,” I said.
“Saturday night was a literal disaster,” he said. His jaw clenched tight and his face reddened more and more with every word.
Slade remained very still, and took in everything.
“You let them take the Lotus War Damascus dagger—the one with the dragon crest. You let them ruin my perfect evening!”
“The Damascus dagger,” I repeated. That was what the swirling silver and black metal was called—I’d forgotten it. There was only one Damascus dagger that I could recall from the war. It was possible there had been others. But not with the same bronze details on the sheath. Not with a dragon crest.
“That’s what I said. What are you, dense? Let me rephrase that,” Pelletier said.
I was only half-listening. I envisioned Nevaeh, her crimson wings spread wide, her long black hair framing her furious face, while her burgundy highlights shimmered in the moonlight. She pulled the Damascus blade from the sheath on her belt. She bared her teeth, a feral beast pushed to the brink of uncontrollable rage.
I hadn’t wanted to fight her. I hadn’t had a choice.
Pelletier continued to flap his jaw, but I cut in.
“Did anyone inquire about that particular piece before the night of the auction?” I asked.
“Sure,” he replied, looking at me as if I’d lost my mind. “We’re talking about the Lotus War. Everyone wanted to know about all the pieces. It was meant to be the grandest of events.” Pelletier dabbed his dry eye with a handkerchief as if he was capable of real tears.
“I’m only interested in those who asked about the dagger,” I said.
“The Nilburns asked the history of the blade. They planned to purchase every blade and asked about each one. Then there was Mrs. Franques, who wished to collect every ornamental piece originating from the Darkland clan,” Pelletier said. “And there was one I didn’t know.”
“Tell me about that person,” I said.
“Oh, he stopped by a week or so before I hired you for the job, the job in which you utterly failed, I might add,” Pelletier said. “Pleasant fellow, went by the name of Guthery or Goodwin, maybe Evans. It was an unremarkable name. But I couldn’t forget his scent. It was much like yours.” He looked between me and Slade, then shivered and wrinkled his face. “Reptile.”
I didn’t much care for Pelletier’s scent, either.
“What did he look like?” I asked.
“More than six-feet tall, with a long scar down his right cheek. It’s partially covered by his yellow beard, but not fully. I can’t think of anything else interesting about him. He was polite. Tall, though not as broad as your friend here.”
His description reminded me of a man I once knew, a man who had died long ago. Thoughts of Nevaeh were clouding my judgment. The resemblance was clearly a coincidence.
“He wanted to buy the Damascus blade before the auction.”
“And what did you tell him?” I asked.
“What do you think I told him?” he asked. “I told him to fuck off and place his bids with everyone else. That’s even if he was willing to offer enough of a donation to buy himself a ticket.”
“Sounds like a lead,” Slade said.
“Sounds like a waste of time,” Pelletier said. “He wasn’t here. Didn’t pay me a dime. The one you should be talking to is Maeve. The thief was her date.”
“Do you happen to know Maeve’s last name or where we could reach her?” I asked.
“What do I look like, a dictionary?” Pelletier shook his head in disbelief. “No, I do not keep record of every detail of everyone else’s lives. I thought that would be clear to you by now.”
“Thanks for your time, Mr. Pelletier,” I said, and turned for the Cayenne.
“You don’t think you can just—” Pelletier reached out a hand to grab me.
Slade stepped between us and twisted Pelletier’s wrist until he cried. This time they were real tears.
Pelletier fell to the ground. “Let me go, you monster!”
“Don’t touch her.” Slade let him go.
With that, Slade and I headed back to the Cayenne. He opened my door for me, and smiled as I climbed in. He stood there a moment, like he wanted to say something, like he wasn’t coming with me.
“I should stay,” he said.
“That pompous bag of dicks doesn’t deserve to have you around,” I said.
“Every other piece from the auction is still here,” Slade said. “One of us should stick around in case the thief comes back.”
It made sense. It was the smart move. But I hated to subject Slade to another moment with that horrible man. And I remembered the terror I’d felt while Slade was halfway between walls.
“Partners do this kind of thing,” Slade said. His smile was sweet.
“Okay,” I said. “But promise you won’t jump into any walls, even if that guy shows up again.”
“I promise.”
“And don’t take any shit from Pelletier,” I said. “But try not to punch him.”
“I promise.”
His brown eyes sparkled, and I wasn’t ready to shut the door. I wasn’t ready to leave him behind.
I jumped out of the SUV, wrapped my arms around his neck, and stole the kiss I’d been craving since he’d walked through my office door.
His chest was hard against mine, and his huge arms encased me like I was born to fit just like this against him. His tongue was warm, his lips gentle, and I didn’t want to let go. His kiss went deep and his scent filled my lungs. I wanted to invite him back to my penthouse, I wanted him to take me here, in the woods. But he let go. As soon as I climbed back in the car, he shut my door like the gentleman he was, and he stayed behind while I returned to the Arrow. Alone.
Chapter Fifteen
Ariana
Droplets of icy water rolled off my wings as fresh rain fell from the dark sky. The storm had lasted four days and four nights, rinsing freshly spilled blood from sandy soil.
I flew high above deep sapphire lakes. The surface of each was speckled with green lily pads, with blooms of satin white and bubblegum pink. The shores were shimmering obsidian, a border of smooth black stones. Beyond lay evergreen forests of dark pines and darker shadows.
The boundaries of the territory had been disputed over and over again throughout the centuries due to the differing versions of a shared history.
We were there for the Darkland clan. We’d been recruited by dragon shifter Gabriel Christianson and his mate, Nevaeh. We’d listened to Gabriel’s story, to the plight of the Darklanders, the smaller of the two clans. They, like many families during the war, had lost everything—their home, their loved ones. We wanted to help—we had to help. We wanted to clear the Stonefang pack and their mercenaries from the Darkland forest. We wanted to be a part of a peaceful resolution.
We were young. We were idealists.
We were wrong.
Marc’s scaled wings stretched out beside me as we broke through the fog of thick clouds. He tilted his snout down and his body followed, a graceful curve of his majestic form. I watched from above as glints of sunshine glistened on his wet, blue scales. The clouds parted just enough to offer hope in the endless rain, only to come back together once again.
I dove down and let my talons graze across the water’s surface. The lake rippled, creating small waves that li
fted the lotus blooms like a rollercoaster of ups and downs. Smoky heat tickled the back of my neck, and I glanced up to find Marc just above me, mirroring every flap of my wings and shielding me from the falling rain.
It was everything we’d wanted. We were helping people, doing the right thing, and we had each other. I knew we were young, but I’d never been so sure of anything as I was about Marc. He was my mate, my husband. He was my world.
A scream carried across the open air.
Without hesitation, Marc chased the sound.
I chased after, both in admiration of his selfless bravery, and because I wanted to help, too.
What we found wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t what I’d hoped for when we’d signed up for this. What we found was a massacre.
My eyes shot open. My heart raced and sweat beaded on my forehead. All of that had taken place twenty-five years ago, I reminded myself. The Lotus War was over.
I threw off the covers and took comfort in the steam of a hot shower. The water ran down my face, and I closed my eyes. It was almost like rain.
I remembered the look in Marc’s hazel eyes as he rushed off when he’d heard that scream, and I saw that same gentle spirit and selflessness in Slade.
I wondered how he had fared at the Brightwater since I’d left. If there had been anything to share, he would have told me. The best thing to do was to focus on the other leads. Quentin was supposed to be hunting down information about the device. That was as good a place to start as any.
In my bedroom, I dried and dressed in a button-down cream dress and paired it with my favorite red pumps and plum lipstick. When I left my penthouse, I took my private elevator straight to the forty-eighth floor to visit my partners’ suite.
My red pumps were a stark contrast to the shiny, cream floor. I forced my gaze up, though. If I looked confident and in control of my emotions, maybe I would feel that way, too.
Outside their door, I could hear voices, though I couldn’t make out what they were saying. One’s pattern of speech was smooth and natural, the other long yet clipped—Taylor and Quentin. The smoky scent of dragon couldn’t be contained by the steel door, and just a fraction of it excited me.
I raised my hand, but the door opened before I made contact.
I lowered my fist so as not to knock Taylor in the chest. His beautifully bare chest. Each muscle was carved to perfection, each ab and pec toned. I was tempted to run my fingers over his bare skin, feel the hills and valleys, let loose the drawstring on his pants.
“Good morning,” he said. His smile was wide, and his brown hair was still wet from the shower. His scent was different. His natural hazelnut was mixed with something sharp yet almost sweet, like citrus fruit.
“New soap?” I asked.
“Thanks for noticing,” he said. “I just got back from a run. Better to catch me after the shower.”
I imagined those same muscles dripping in sweat instead of water. I wouldn’t have minded. “Anyway, come on in.”
Their place was the standard, thick gray carpets in a shared common area. A small kitchen and a large window, and a hall with three doorways for private quarters. They kept it clean, save for a few beer bottles left next to the ugliest sofas I’d ever seen. I recognized them from when I’d first bought the Arrow. They’d been sitting in the penthouse twenty years ago, the only thing the previous owners had left behind—big surprise on that one. I’d thought they’d been thrown out long ago.
“Nice sofas,” I said.
“Thanks,” Taylor said. “Slade found them. They’re an acquired taste, but comfortable.”
I recalled the first time I’d run into Slade. He’d been holding one of these things in the elevator. With everything else that had happened, I’d nearly forgotten.
“Where’s—” I caught a glimpse of Quentin in the hall, shutting one of the bedroom doors behind him. It was almost as if he was avoiding me.
“Hey, Quentin,” I said.
Taylor ran his hand through his wet brown hair, flexing those gorgeous chest muscles. His lips parted just a bit, and I needed a taste.
“I’ll just go get dressed,” he said. “Back in a minute.”
The two men crossed paths in the hall without saying a word to each other, and I began to wonder if they were purposefully trading places, as if only one of them could be in the room with me at a time.
Confidence emanated from him. Just like every time I saw him, Quentin was dressed in a perfectly-tailored suit. His strides were long and sure, and he looked just as ready for a gala as a board meeting. Did he ever let his hair loose? Did he own a pair of jeans? I hoped to one day find out.
“A pleasant surprise, Ariana,” Quentin said. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
As he stepped closer, I remembered the feel of his hand on my ass, the stolen kiss in the dark corner. All of the excitement I’d felt for Taylor easily transferred to Quentin. As I realized I’d allowed myself to have feelings for all three of them, I felt a twinge of guilt.
Quentin ran his fingers up my bare arm, and I closed my eyes. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted this to move forward, for another stolen kiss, for more.
“I came by to ask about the device,” I said. “Have you learned anything?”
“Not yet,” he said, and he took a step closer. Crisp mint and cool aether filled my lungs. The combination called to my inner dragon, stirred a part of me I held tightly restrained. His lips brushed my ear, and I grabbed hold of the pocket of his pants. It took all of my self-restraint not to tear into his fly and throw him down on that ugly-ass sofa. What the hell was wrong with me?
“I’ll tell you everything as soon as I have something to share.”
His scent intoxicated me. I nodded, unable to come up with coherent words.
He kissed my cheek, smiled, then walked back to the hall. He knocked once on Taylor’s door before retreating into his own room.
He said one word before shutting his door. “Tag.”
Taylor came out, dressed in black pants and a green collared shirt that brought out the vibrant emerald of his eyes.
My breath caught as I looked him over. My desire for him was as strong as that I felt for Quentin. It was almost as if it had been Taylor whose lips had brushed my ear, as if his fingers had caressed my arm. I could still feel the sensation, and it was damned hard to shake.
He had to sense my arousal, hell, Slade probably could sense it from the Brightwater, but Taylor acted as if nothing was off, as if it didn’t bother him how Quentin made me feel.
Then I remembered the schedule they had joked about before. I had to ask.
“So, are you my partner for today?”
“If you’ll have me,” he replied.
I wanted to say yes, right here on the counter, right there on the sofa, just right the hell now.
“You don’t happen to know anything about that plant Quentin mentioned the other night, do you?” I asked.
“I’ve got some friends in Florida we could call and ask. They might even know if the same guy pulled a job there before he came here.”
“That’d be great,” I said. “Let’s go to my office.”
Moving my legs was good. Not touching was better. How I was supposed to solve this while I was so distracted was beyond me. Maybe Maisie was right, maybe I just needed to pick one of them, beg him to fuck my brains out, and I could get my shit together and feel like myself again. The problem was the same as it had been when I was trying to choose which of them should be my partner—I wanted them all.
We went down one level to my office. The elevator ride was so short, I barely had time to look at Taylor and wonder what would happen if we had even just two more minutes. Forced proximity was doing crazy things to my hormones.
I bit my lip, and Taylor’s breath hitched. Before either of us could do anything about it, the doors chimed and opened.
Taylor gave me an apologetic look as he waved for me to walk out in front of him.
When we reached Maisie’s d
esk, she stood and looked knowingly from me to Taylor and back again. She handed me a fresh cup of vanilla chai and turned to Taylor.
“Can I get anything for you, Taylor?”
“I’m good, thanks,” he replied.
We stepped into my office, and I was surprised when Maisie followed.
“Mr. Pelletier has called fifteen times already this morning,” she said.
“Not surprised,” Taylor said. “That guy’s a piece of work.”
Maisie smirked. “The only bit of conversation worth repeating is that he’s found a number for a woman named Maeve. Apparently, she was the suspect’s date.”
“I’m assuming you’ve already tried to reach her,” I said.
“Of course,” Maisie replied. “Her phone goes straight to voicemail. But that’s the good part.”
“How so?” Taylor asked.
“Her voicemail says exactly where she’s going to be this Thursday,” Maisie said.
She picked up my phone, dialed a number, and put it on speaker.
“You’ve reached my voicemail, but I’m not answering. Catch me at the Longbottom Gala this Thursday. Not invited? Don’t bother leaving a message.”
The tone beeped.
“Classy,” Taylor said.
“I know where that is,” I said. “Wimbleton Longbottom called just after I’d accepted the job at the Brightwater. I passed on running security for his gala, and the Curtis Corporation took it on.”
“Curtis Corporation, as in Quentin’s Curtis Corporation?” Taylor asked.
“The very same,” I replied.
I wondered how the Curtis Corporation had taken him interviewing and accepting a job with Whitesong. Not well, to be sure.
“It’s not going to be easy to snag an invite with the competition running point,” Maisie said. “But I’ll see what I can do. One last thing, I’ve tracked her down on MessageFace.”
Maisie set a tablet down on the desk and turned for the door.
Dragon Shattered_A Reverse Harem Dragon Fantasy Romance Page 11