Dragon Claimed: A Powyrworld Urban Fantasy Shifter Romance (The Lost Dragon Princes Book 2)

by Cecilia Lane

  Fooking hell. Mariko. She ran the DC arm of the Shadow Yakuza. He should have known by the killing blow. Woman was fond of her katana.

  There had been skirmishes between his men and hers off and on all year. She was testing his borders and reactions, looking for weak spots to make her move. She hadn’t dared to make a kill, not until now.

  He’d give just about anything to wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze the life out of her. Territory readjustment? He wouldn’t give her a damn inch of what belonged to him.

  She was behind Annika’s disappearance. He just couldn’t prove it. He searched the entire fooking city and found no trace of his mate. It was too perfect to be anything but nefarious. Kidnapped or killed, Mariko’s stink was all over it. Her… acquisition of his wytch was all the excuse he needed to put the bitch down.

  As much as he longed to track Mariko down and rip her open then and there, the eyes trying not to study him brought his fury from white-hot boil to a mere simmer. They needed him to be smart about his next steps. Anger would lead to mistakes and death. The family had already lost one; they didn’t need to lose any others.

  Eoghan addressed his underboss. The man was tough as nails and loyal to a fault. He followed Eoghan as Don when he was still but a human. “Set a meet with Mariko, Gio.”

  He turned to the capos and soldiers. No associates tonight, only those bound to the family. White skin, brown skin, blue eyes and black. Even a woman or two, though he preferred they stay safe in the clubs and out of the line of fire. They were a crowd of mixed colors and talents and they all looked to him to lead. He wouldn’t dishonor them by allowing one of their own to go unavenged.

  He needed to give them encouragement but he didn’t want to reveal his plan. It was a fine line to walk when he aimed to do some murder without Mariko knowing what storm she brought down on herself.

  With his fury reigned in, the full weight of his burr entered his voice. “We cannae let this shite go unpunished. Sharpen yer knives, polish yer guns, have a last shag. War’s coming, boys and girls, and I don’t aim tae let the fooking Yakuza take what’s mine.”

  It would be glorious to pull answers from Mariko one fingernail at a time. He’d force her to tell him the fate of his mate before he put her to her final rest.

  2

  Great sweeps of her wings pushed her higher and higher into the sky. She wanted to see the stars but the clouds were too heavy with the storm that threatened to break at any moment.

  There was movement from the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t alone. It should have frightened her but didn’t. The other presence was a comfort. She wheeled around and tried to catch sight of the one who followed her but the clouds were too thick for her to see and the wind too strong to let her scent the air.

  She snapped her wings to her body and dove straight down. The clouds rushed by, their moisture coating her scales and making them shine in the moonlight that filtered through breaks in the clouds. She arrowed straight toward the water and cut through it with a big splash.

  When she buoyed to the surface, she tossed the fish she’d caught into the air. One quick burst of flame roasted the thing and she swallowed it whole.

  Something was missing. Someone was missing.

  She searched the sky and thought she spotted a shape in the dark clouds above.

  The first spatters of rain landed on her face. She let go of the Wyrd and her body shrank. Muscles popped and retracted, her limbs drew in on themselves. Clawed digits became fingers and toes, sharp fangs became normal teeth.

  She floated on the choppy bay and watched the storm roll in.

  A splash landed near her, startling her out of her contentment. Then, suddenly, something grabbed her legs and dragged her underwater.

  Annika jerked awake just as the train slid to a stop.

  “Shit,” she muttered and peered through the window. She hurriedly gathered her bag and darted through the closing doors.

  Missing one appointment put her on the shelter’s shit list. She didn’t want to imagine what they’d do to her if she made a habit of being late. Probably force her back into the main building for observation. She’d worked too hard for the little bit of autonomy she possessed to be sent back to the shelter where she’d be monitored every second of every day.

  She jogged up the stairs and turned toward the shelter once she hit the street. She might have her own apartment, job, and college courses, but she still had to see her counselor and refill her prescriptions. Those were the conditions of her grant. She’d receive assistance but only if she continued treatment.

  The dream made her uneasy but that was no shock. Everything made her uneasy if it didn’t give her an outright panic attack.

  It wasn’t the first dream she’d had. They were happening with increasing frequency. Each felt more focused than the last but they were all united by her shifter nature. Sometimes she transformed in the dream, sometimes she was already in her dragon body. She had her first only a few months after waking in the shelter with no idea who she was. Now, she had them at least once a week.

  They felt… right. Which was wrong. She was sick. She had no memory of being a shifter. She had no memory at all. She may as well have sprung fully formed from someone’s mind and landed in the shelter.

  A year. It’d been a solid year of everyone—from counselors to other shelter rats—looking at her like she was crazy or someone to be pitied. The other girls whispered behind her back and tried to figure out her story. She was a prostitute, she’d hurt people or been hurt and was in witness protection, her mind broke and she wandered the streets before being shuttled into the shelter… She wished she could tell them what really happened but she didn’t know.

  She toyed with the bracelet she kept on her at all times. It was a talisman of sorts. Proof that she had a life prior to the last year. Her name was spelled out in simple white beads. Someone had cared enough to name her and someone had cared enough to string beads on wire. Maybe not even the same person.

  She figured she had two options. She suffered from a severe mental unbalance and her dreams were a way of coming to terms with her former and current life, in her counselor’s opinion, or she had her memories stolen. Annika knew which seemed more likely.

  But knowing and believing were two different things.

  Annika slumped in a chair as soon as she reached the shelter’s medical office. The waiting room was blissfully empty which meant she didn’t need to put on a show of normalcy for anyone. She was so tired. No matter how much or how little sleep she got, she was still exhausted. She just wanted the truth and it kept eluding her.

  Maybe everyone was right. Maybe she had driven people away in her former life. No one had come looking for her or told her she belonged with them. Whoever had made the bracelet probably thought she was dead. Were they glad of that?

  “How are you today, Annika?”

  The pharmacist’s too cheerful voice brought her out of her thoughts. Annika pasted a smile on her face and made a noncommittal sound as she followed the woman further into the offices and exam rooms.

  “Your counselor is running a little behind today and asked that I fill your prescriptions first.” She gestured for Annika to take a seat and tucked herself behind the counter. She opened a folder and scanned down the page with her finger. “Looks like we’re going to start you on a new pill that should help with your anxiety.”

  Annika nodded. She couldn’t fight what they prescribed. Fighting only got her stronger meds that left her sleeping and staring for days. She just wished something would work. Every new pill, each adjusted dose, left her feeling more lost.

  “How’s that memory of yours?”

  “Still nothing before I woke up here.” She kept the latest dream to herself. She didn’t trust the overly cheerful woman wouldn’t put her on a psych hold. Annika tried not to grimace. The woman’s pudgy body hid a surprising amount of strength and could restrain a struggling patient with ease.

  “Sounds like
you need a visit to a wytch,” she muttered and made a notation on the record in front of her.

  Annika perked up. Wytches and the Wyrd and powyr, that was all tied into her dreams. Dreams her counselor said were coping mechanisms.

  But what if they weren’t?

  “What was that?” she asked, trying to appear politely uninterested.

  The pharmacist flicked her eyes up and then back down to her paperwork. A faint blush spread across her cheeks. “Oh, nothing. Just something that pops up around now and again, especially around the holidays. Some say there are wytches that can read your mind and your heart, for a price. I heard there’s one up in Baltimore right now. Won’t be long before someone runs her out of town or she goes back to a coven overseas.”

  “Does it work?” A wytch would be able to tell her true nature. A wytch would know if her dreams were true and if she had been a shifter at some point in her miserable life.

  The other woman smiled but there was pity in her eyes. “Is it those dreams again? You know you’ve been tested. You know we’d tell you because of the one-drop rule. We thoroughly screen all of our residents to provide the best care. You’re as human as can be, honey. Forget the dreams and focus on getting better in the here and now.”

  She wheeled her chair to the shelves behind her, pulled a bottle down, and passed it to Annika. “Here you go. Good for one week, then we see if an adjustment is needed. Why don’t you go back to the waiting room until your counselor calls you in?”

  Annika pocketed the bottle and rose to her feet. She hoped the wait wouldn’t be long. She had a class to get to, then a shift at the grocery store immediately after. She was usually dead tired by the end of her day but she knew she wouldn’t be heading straight home to her lonely studio apartment.

  She needed to board the train to Baltimore and find the wytch. She needed to find her memories.

  Annika was too keyed up on espresso to let the train lull her into sleep. She watched the skyline of DC fade away into nothing as the train darted up toward Baltimore.

  The city was dangerous, everyone said. She didn’t care. She grasped at anything that might help. Medicine and talking didn’t do shit. It was time to explore the more mysterious options.

  She had no business with the shifters and other powyrful folk and they had no business with her. She was sure one or two had passed through her checkout lane at the grocery store but they didn’t advertise themselves.

  Now, she sought them out.

  It was crazy. She was crazy. She should listen to her counselor and confront her mental blocks. She should listen to her pharmacists and put her faith in modern medicine.

  She should not be seeking out a wytch to ask if she was secretly a shifter.

  She pulled the scrap of paper from her back pocket and hustled toward the Inner Harbor. She’d asked the other girls that filtered into the waiting room while she waited for her counselor. They’d heard of the wytch, sure. One even had a cousin who went to the bar she supposedly operated out of. She made love potions and cast bones, they said. A couple of them chortled and told how they planned to slip one to their love interests.

  The neon sign above the door named the place The Can-Can and flashed a dancer kicking her legs into the air and swishing her skirts to either side. People floated in and out of the bar.

  Annika checked the address against her paper. It was the same one but there was no sign to indicate a wytch worked inside. It looked like any other bar on the street.

  She chewed on her lower lip and weighed her options. There was a crowd inside. And loud music. She could fight against the panic rising hot in her throat or she could leave. She paced back and forth before stopping at a glance and whisper from a couple passing by. She didn’t want to be seen as crazy and shooed away before she had a chance to speak with the wytch.

  She already spent the few dollars she had saved up on the ticket that brought her to the city. She wouldn’t be defeated so easily.

  She pulled open the door and nearly let it fall closed as the music assaulted her ears. Annika took several deep breaths and tried again.

  She pushed her way through the crowd and tried to ignore the press of bodies against her. She wanted to close her eyes but then she wouldn’t be able to search for her answers.

  There was a nook in the back, through an archway. Private. She couldn’t see anyone in the room beyond. As quiet as could be in a place like that. She made her way toward it but was stopped by an arm suddenly blocking her path through the archway.

  “What do you want, doll?” The man leaned down to be heard over the music.

  Annika fought the urge to run. “Looking for someone. A wytch.”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked over his shoulder. She peered around him and saw another man tucked away in the room. “Are you, now? What business do you have with the wytch?”

  “I was told she might be able to help me.” Wytch implied female, didn’t it? That tickled something in her brain but the thought disappeared before she could examine it.

  “Help, huh? That’s an incredible word. You see, we’re also looking for the wytch or some of her new friends. Why don’t you join us?”

  He reached for her and Annika stepped back and raised her hands. Her heart thudded in her chest. “Please don’t touch me.”

  The seated man snorted and turned to acknowledge the little scene. “Let her go, Baldwin. We have work to do.”

  Baldwin glanced back but didn’t respond. He focused again on Annika. “What do you want with a wytch?”

  She hesitated. Baldwin seemed entirely unwilling to help her and she didn’t know if the other man inside the room had anything to do with the wytch she sought. But she needed answers.

  She inhaled and tried to stiffen her spine. She wanted to sound commanding but only a small, jerky voice came out. “I need help finding out if I’m a shifter.”

  Baldwin eyed her up and down and then laughed heartily. “I’ll eat my shoe if you’re a shifter, darlin’!” He leaned down and put his lips right to her ear again. “I’ll put some shifter inside you, if that’s what you want.”

  “Don’t touch me.” She tried to back away. She didn’t fight the panic welling up inside her. His laughing eyes, his friend’s utter indifference, the loud music, all of it made her head swim. She needed to get out of the bar and back into fresh air.

  “Don’t be rude. I’ll just buy you a drink and we’ll see where the night takes us.” Baldwin wrapped a hand around her arm and tried to lead her into the quiet nook.

  “I said don’t touch me,” she hissed and socked Baldwin in the stomach.

  His eyes widened with disbelief before darkening with anger. “You’ll pay for that,” he growled.

  Annika shook but whatever brief moment of bravery that zinged through her before faded and left behind shaking fear. She batted weakly at Baldwin and tried to duck his grasp but it was no use. Her breath caught in her throat as soon as his hands wrapped around her wrists. His lips rose in a leering smile that made her blood run cold.

  But before he could do more than snag her wrists in his hand and crowd her against the wall, a third man appeared. His eyes passed over them then darted right back. “Baldwin! Do you know who that is?” he demanded.

  Baldwin looked at the newcomer and then to Annika. He ran a finger down her face and over the curve of her breasts. “Someone who is begging for a lesson in respect.”

  “You little shit,” the man said, and pulled at Baldwin’s arm. Baldwin shrugged him off. “You’re not worth the trouble you cause.”

  Baldwin smirked and licked Annika’s cheek. “C’mon, Gio. It’s just a little fun. I think she likes it rough. You want a first go?”

  “You fucking idiot. That’s Eoghan’s girl.”

  Baldwin immediately put several feet between them. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Annika ignored him. Her ears rang and she shook. Someone recognized her. She was more than poor, damaged Annika to the man. She had
a past of such substance that it made people apologize to her.

  She straightened her tank top and opened her mouth to attempt another demand for answers but was interrupted before she began.

  “You’re coming with us,” Gio announced.

  3

  Eoghan wiped the blood from his hands and stared at the video feed. Even inside his office, he could hear the gathered soldiers dragging Baldwin’s body away to be sunk into the Patapsco.

  He hadn’t believed the first message from Gio. Then he hadn’t believed the dark, smudgy picture his underboss had texted as proof. Even now, peeping at her from a camera installed in the room, he still didn’t believe his Annika had returned.

  She sat frozen after her initial glance around the room. Her hands rested flat on the table and she kept her eyes down. Every line of her body screamed terror.

  “What did she say?”

  Gio stepped up to the screen. Close enough to watch the video feed but far enough to duck if Eoghan lashed out. Smart man.

  “She clammed up as soon as I pulled Baldwin off her.”

  “Pawing at a woman like that? Have a talk with the rest of them and remind them of the rules. They can find someone unattached and willing or they can pay at a brothel. Otherwise, they’ll follow Baldwin’s trip tae the river.”

  Baldwin broke two rules. There was to be no harm done in the Inner Harbor. The cops wouldn’t turn a blind eye to the family’s activities if the tourists made reports.

  The second demanded his death. No adultery. No messing with the mates and lovers of family members. Annika’s sudden reappearance didn’t change that rule. The moment Eoghan scented her on the other man was the moment Baldwin’s death was ordained.

  Pity he had to die. Now he’d need to find someone else to take Johnny Boy’s place as capo. One more concern to be brushed to the side because of her return.

  It was a punch to the gut and a slammed beer bottle over his head to see her again. A full fooking year apart and Gio said she didn’t recognize any of them. He didn’t know if he should feel anger or relief and settled on suspicion. She hadn’t been killed, that much was obvious. But she’d disappeared nonetheless and abandoned their mate bond. On her own or with the aid of someone else?