Vampire Dragon

by Annette Blair

  One never knows with Killian, Darkwyn said telepathically. Let’s get the Hades out of here.

  After a satisfactory flight back to Salem, Darkwyn exited the woods near the fairgrounds dressed in his very last set of black jeans and T-shirt, and ruffled Zachary’s hair. “Suppose Sanguedolce had taken that jean jacket, too?” he asked.

  “Nothing of my sister Brianna’s meant anything to Sanguedolce, except Zachary. The cop promised that when the jacket’s no longer evidence he’ll send it to us.”

  “That house will be released from evidence, eventually, too,” Zachary said. “Our friend the RCMP said that Castello Sanguedolce is mine, so I’m gonna sell it and give the money to kids without mothers, or mothers who want kids. Whatever will please old Zachary.”

  Darkwyn shook his head. “I mean, what if Sanguedolce had found the chip and destroyed it with the book?”

  Zachary flipped a thumb drive in his palm. “I have insurance, right here. And there’s a world of dumbwaiters and getaway tunnels inside those walls. I left backup copies all over the house before I made my big entrance. I heard them take you from the attic, by the way.”

  “You could have let us know,” Bronte said. “We were worried sick about you.”

  “You only had to wait a half hour more. Besides, if I’d shown myself, I would have been caught with you. Then I couldn’t ply my tricks.” Zachary rubbed his hands together. “I enjoyed that, except for the blood. No, it was best I stayed hidden. Anyway, I’m holding on to the pictures of the book, in case any of Sanguedolce’s highly placed friends makes sure the one the authorities have gets lost.”

  “Smart boy,” Darkwyn said. “I disliked that place. I’m sorry you two had to grow up there. Zachary, what did you say to Sanguedolce in Italian that scared him so badly?”

  “I’m going to send you to hell.” Zachary released a heavy sigh. “Sanguedolce used to say that in Italian, word for word, before he killed someone—until he delegated the bloody dirty work to someone else. I got it from my soul memories. I don’t think anybody alive could have known. That’s what scared him. The words were like ghosts from his past.”

  “For a minute there,” Darkwyn said, “I thought you were Zachary Tucker the first.”

  “For a minute, I think he took over. He was that mad.”

  “I looked into your eyes,” Darkwyn said, “and that wasn’t you.”

  “It won’t happen again. The old soul is going into retirement.”

  That surprised Darkwyn. “Did old Zachary tell you that?”

  “No, we don’t communicate, as such, but I sense these things.”

  Darkwyn and Zachary laughed at that.

  Bronte looked appalled. “Don’t joke about your reincarnated soul. It already scares me. On a lighter note, it was nice of the cop to look away, more or less, while we flew off.”

  “He was probably watching on the security monitors, but he did more than let us go,” Darkwyn said. “He turned a blind eye to meeting a dragon, up close and personal. He saw me transform, half challenged me, and never said another word.”

  “There’s more to him than meets the eye,” Zachary said. “He’s the grandson of old Zachary’s RCMP contact, the one you talked to, Bronte. He arranged to get us out of Canada, though he didn’t do it personally. I’m betting he joined the mob as a plant after we were safe.”

  Darkwyn gave the boy a double take. “Are you sure?”

  “Kind of. He not only looked familiar to my old soul, his name is the same as old Zachary’s contact.”

  “Do you think he’s reincarnated, too?” Bronte asked. “I mean, talk about your weird reunions.”

  “No, simply on the trail of vengeance. Wanna bet our step-killer killed the cop’s ancestor?”

  “What will he say,” Darkwyn wondered aloud, “if somebody asks about Sanguedolce’s dragon?”

  “Sanguedolce won’t make the same mistake twice. He won’t mention a dragon nobody else admitted seeing.” Zachary chuckled. “He’s too proud for that, right, Bronte?”

  “So true.”

  Zachary stopped when he saw the Phoenix. “I’m so glad you survived the fire, both of you.”

  “We can say the same.” Bronte blinked her glistening eyes. “Darkwyn saved everybody. When we couldn’t find you, we figured the mob got you, so we went looking.”

  Zachary waved a hand. “This is too emotional. I’m gonna see how the place looks.”

  “Be careful,” Bronte called after him.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Zachary waved but kept walking.

  Darkwyn took his wife’s arm. “Relax, there’s no more mob chasing him.”

  She sighed, watching the boy. “Remember how we felt when we thought we lost him? I’ll always worry. There are other evils in this world.”

  “Just like a mother.”

  “A mother? Who’s a mother?”

  FIFTY

  “Brace yourself,” Darkwyn said. “Our boy introduced me to the RCMP commissioner as his dad, and he said his mom—that’s you—was being detained there in the house.”

  “Zachary did?” Bronte’s eyes filled. “I’ll never let him forget my sister, but, oh Darkwyn, he’s been mine since he took his first breath. I’m beyond words.”

  “I can’t pretend to understand the mother/son bond, but I know that he humbled the heck out of me when he called me his dad.” Darkwyn took Bronte by her shoulders and turned her to face him. “Bronte Dragonelli, with you and Zachary, I am whole.”

  “About that. I have a confession to make. I married you under false pretences. You don’t have a green card.”

  “So?”

  “So you thought I married you for your green card, but I learned from Vivica before the wedding that you don’t have one. You think you helped me get legal, Darkwyn, but I’m not. You’re not. We’re not.”

  “So we’ll be illegal together or Vivica will help us get legal. Bronte, I’m glad you married me. I wouldn’t want to live without you for any reason.”

  “I don’t think I’m very good for you. That was your blood on the floor, wasn’t it?”

  “Spilled dragon blood. No biggie. Look at me. All healed. Bronte, you’re making excuses to deny yourself something you want. Me.”

  “Hah, you have some ego.”

  “Don’t start an argument. You don’t have the mob anymore to use as an excuse so you’re choosing some other reason to deny yourself.”

  “I’m admitting that I lied to you by omission. Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “I entrusted you with my heart, with everything I am, man and dragon, forever. All I want is to walk this life beside you.”

  “Don’t you see, I’ve given you further reason not to trust me.”

  “Trust is your issue, not mine. I trust you with my life.”

  “I envy you that,” she said.

  “Hey,” Zachary shouted. “Come see. Home looks especially good, today.” The boy ran over and grabbed Bronte’s hand—Bronte the only mother he knew—and he tugged her through the fairgrounds.

  He’d found home, a monumental event for a man dragon, never mind for a boy Zachary’s age, especially considering where he was raised. Giving up a man to a death sentence, even Sanguedolce, couldn’t be easy, for a boy or an old soul, no matter how cool the kid played it.

  “Home,” Bronte said, and laughed, stopping to embrace the boy. “We never had one before, did we?”

  Zachary shook his head and turned away, probably so they couldn’t see how much that mattered to him.

  Finally, they walked together, Darkwyn grasping Bronte’s waist, wanting her to sense his love without scaring her with the L word, especially with her saying she’d married him under false pretenses.

  He wondered if this was too much change all at once for her, so much positive in their lives when they were used to expecting the worst. He’d have to keep her upbringing in mind and tread carefully. You could get hard and scared, living without love. He knew.

  In the end, when he finally
bested Killian—a goal that seemed so close, he might already have accomplished it—his win would be empty without Bronte by his side.

  Unless . . . Bronte wanted to set him free. Could that mean she wasn’t his heart mate, that his goal had short-circuited? If she left him, would he need to start over again, find a new heart mate?

  No. He wanted only Bronte. Being with her was more than wanting to save Andra’s magick and his brothers, though it was that, too.

  “Does the Phoenix seem different?” Bronte asked as they cleared the fairgrounds and got closer. “I mean, besides people scurrying around the yard like worker bees.”

  “There’s your answer,” Darkwyn said. “Somebody on a ladder painting the back of the building. Can you paint brick?”

  “Not well,” Bronte said, “but people do paint windows.”

  “Darkwyn, pay attention,” Zachary said. “Real vamps are working beside role players, beside regular Salem citizens. That never happens.”

  “How can you tell which is which? They all look the same to me.”

  “The real vamps are wearing sunglasses and probably Daylight Allure. It’s a potion we sell in the gift shop. Makes it easier for them to come out during the day.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Besides, I know of one big difference. Real vamps and role players bicker, with each other and the general public,” Darkwyn said. “It’s what they do best, except that everyone here is getting along.”

  “Getting along and working together for a common cause,” Zachary said. “Drak’s.”

  Darkwyn ran a hand down Bronte’s back, because touching her reassured him. “Now that we’re home, I’ll take care of you both,” he said. “Oh, I know, Bronte McBride Dragonelli, Miss Independent, you can take care of yourself. You can do anything, yourself, except maybe fly without me.”

  “Flying is important,” she said. “All kinds of flying.”

  That sounded promising. “I know you can take care of yourself, but let me help. Please?”

  “I’m impossible to live with. Bossy is my middle name.”

  “She’s right,” Zachary said.

  “I know you’re rough on men, Bronte, but I’m your husband, and I can take it.”

  The boy pulled Bronte down to his level to whisper in her ear, loud enough for Darkwyn to hear. “Bronte, I think this one’s a keeper.”

  “You are rather smart for your age.”

  FIFTY-ONE

  Darkwyn and Bronte crossed the yard. “I recognize most of the construction workers. Look, Rory MacKenmost of the construction workers. Look, Rory MacKenzie, a world-class carousel carver, is building our window frames.”

  “That’s the difference,” Darkwyn said, realizing it for the first time. “Every window frame is a different color. You said ‘our.’ So you do want to keep me?”

  “I always wanted to do that, paint the windows different colors, I mean. Vivica and I talked about it. Hey, she must have started this. I’ll bet she rounded everyone up and put herself in charge. Look, there’s Jaydun and Bastian pushing wheelbarrows mounded with bricks, showing off their superior strength.”

  Bronte squeezed his hand. “You have great brothers. There, Melody, Kira, Vickie, and Bastian’s McKenna are serving steaming mugs to the workers.”

  Darkwyn raised his head. “Hot cider. I can smell it in the air.”

  “I forgot about your acute dragon senses. Of course, hot cider on a crisp October day.” Bronte leaned against his arm. “I feel blessed. They set mums and pumpkins on the porch and balconies. This is home,” she said, her voice cracking.

  From around the building came Scorch and Lila, both galloping toward them, and when they got close enough, the cats catapulted into their arms.

  Zachary tilted his head. “They do have wings. Oh, gosh, that reminds me.” He removed his backpack, and when he opened it, they heard a faint whistle from inside. “Whew, he’s okay. Jagidy is still resting from his ordeal. Listen, he’s snoring.”

  “What ordeal?” Darkwyn asked.

  Bronte turned Zachary’s chin her way. “Young man, what happened to you the night of the fire? How did the mob find you?”

  “I got pushed out of the way and hit my head. That’s all I knew for a while. Jagidy shape-shifted into a full grown dragon and flew me to safety. He’s a really shiny soft green, like the sea on some sunny days.”

  Darkwyn glanced into the backpack. “Jagidy broke through the second-floor wall?”

  “Yes, and he took me back to Mount Washington, where he healed me.”

  “I didn’t think Jagidy had it in him. How did he manage in the blizzard?”

  “Easy flying. No blizzard.”

  “Of course not, because Killian was focused on me. How is Jagidy after all those heroic deeds?”

  “I’ve been nursing him back to health,” Zachary said. “He’s really weak, and he compromised his recovery by flying me to Montreal, after we couldn’t find you two, and then by smoke testing those thugs.”

  Darkwyn squeezed Zachary’s shoulder. “He must really love you.” Darkwyn wouldn’t mention that Jagidy had also probably shortened his life, but hey, maybe on earth, he’d outlive them all.

  Vivica left a group of window painters to come and meet them. “Oh, thank the Goddess you’re okay,” the owner of Works Like Magick said as she tested each of their arms for breaks before hugging them.

  Bronte hugged her, hard. “Do we have you to beat, I mean thank, for the newscast that announced Zachary and I had died?”

  Vivica stepped back. “You sound a bit sarcastic.”

  “We saw the news after Zachary went missing. Scared the heck out of us, except that I wasn’t dead, so there was some hope.”

  “Oh no. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think anyone would care, except the mob, and I figured they’d leave you alone once you were dead. You said to do what I had to.”

  “I did, didn’t I? Okay, so pretending we were dead was pretty smart. But where did you think Zachary and I were?”

  “Safe, hiding with Darkwyn.”

  Darkwyn put an arm around Bronte. “Thank you, Vivica, for believing in me, for trying to protect Bronte and Zachary, and for starting the repairs to the Phoenix. Bronte and Zachary’s big threat is going to fry.”

  “A certain pissed-off dragon helped,” Zachary added.

  “A friendly dragon.” Bronte kissed Darkwyn’s cheek.

  “Ah, um, ’scuse me,” Zachary said, “but I’m gonna go paint with the vamps out back. I don’t like the way you two are looking at each other. I mean I like it, but I don’t wanna see it. Heck, you don’t care what I’m saying, you’re too busy looking at each other like you’re both food and neither of you has eaten today.”

  “Zachary,” Vivica said. “Take me with you. I want to introduce you to my niece, Gina.”

  Bronte squealed and followed them with her gaze.

  Darkwyn smiled. “Let Zachary’s fate take its course, and let me look at you any way I want, because I’ll never let you go.”

  They kissed, hungry for each other, because they’d nearly lost everything. Darkwyn thought Bronte surely kissed like she wanted to keep him.

  He lifted her in his arms and leapt up to the balcony, to a round of cheers and applause from their audience. “Scumduggers. Caught, stealing my own wife.”

  When he set her down, Bronte turned and welcomed him with a warm kissable mouth.

  He pulled her against him, his heart in his throat. “You’re mine,” he said, raising her off her feet and twirling her in circles, her laugh a mix of all the good magick he’d ever known rolled into a sparkling crystal bubble of elation.

  He slid her down his body, and grasped her face in his hands.

  She sighed. “You deserve better than me.”

  “There is no better. I don’t deserve you,” Darkwyn said. “But I think I’ve figured out your ambivalent need to set me free. In the mob, they don’t set anybody free, ever, right? And you need to prove you’re different from the people who raised
you?”

  Bronte hesitated and then gave him a wide-eyed half nod.

  “Well, see, here’s the difference. In the mob, people beg on their knees to be set free. Me, I’m on my knees begging you to keep me. Do the right thing, Bronte. Prove you’re not like them.”

  She bit her lip. “In that case, I’d like to keep you, please. I always wanted to.”

  “You are so stuck with me.” He pulled her close. “I was never so scared in my life as when you said you should let me go.”

  She pulled a bit away. “Sure you were. You met Sanguedolce.”

  “That was nothing. Losing you would be worse.” He ravaged her mouth and skimmed his hands over her body to make sure she was okay. But he found a bold new scar behind her ear. “You’ve been hurt? Are you all right?”

  “No. Yes. That thug who brought me down to lock me up at Castello Sanguedolce, he tried to defend himself against me. Imagine!”

  “How dare he. But you knew I would save you?”

  “I did know. I . . . trusted you.”

  “Whoa, Bronte, you said the T word.”

  “I won’t say I’m not scared.”

  “I can’t promise never to let you down, but I do promise always to do my best by you and Zachary.”

  She tilted her head, her half smile an arrow to his heart. “Darkwyn Dragonelli, it’s like you’re proposing all over again, but better this time.”

  “Can we have another honeymoon?”

  “We haven’t had the first one yet, dragon man.”

  “Right,” he said. “Besides, I want more. I want a lifetime where we adopt Zachary and give him brothers and sisters.”

  “That calls for a lot of trust,” she admitted.

  “You’ve got it. I know you have. You just have to practice by letting me have my wicked way with you.”

  The kiss they shared, sweet and tender, a rising of bound souls, became their ultimate release from darkness into light. She fulfilled him, healed his heart, took him from the brink of chaos to a splendid peace in her arms.

  He would spend the rest of his life doing the same for her.

  Lila, their white kitten, landed on the balcony, meowed, and morphed, in a sprinkle of light, into Andra, the Goddess of Hope, a beautiful sorceress dressed in stars. “My Darkwyn,” she said, “you have done well.”