by Anya Nowlan
At least that was the plan. Her heart was pounding a mile a minute as she came to a bend in the stone path, a work of wonder on its own, considering that it wasn’t held up by anything but interconnecting shafts of rock that had once been pure, solid mountain. She knew that past the bend, she could see the stairs just a few steps away.
A fevered smile broke over her lips as she caught sight of the stairs, and when she took the first of them, her heart practically leapt in her rib cage. That was as far as she got before two strong, muscular arms clamped around her and picked her up off the steps like she was a toddler on a tantrum.
“Let go of me!” she screamed. “You can’t do this! Let me go!”
“Shh,” he whispered in her ear, the same slithering, deep, masculine voice that had played in her ears like a damn cello before, so soothing and dark. “We had a deal, Sabrina. You broke it.”
Sabrina’s breath hitched, and despite the fact that adrenaline was fueling her body for a great escape, she seemed to go still for a moment. When she’d come face to face with the humongous dragon the first time, she’d thought that she’d seen certain death and that there was no way out. But now hearing him say those words… A threat uttered by the man was well and truly far scarier.
Why did I ever have to face my goddamn fears!
“Please don’t kill me!” she squealed, trying desperately to wriggle out of his grasp and finding it completely futile.
His rock-hard body was as immovable as the cave around them, a masterpiece of engineering.
“I wasn’t threatening you,” he said, and there were the makings of a smile in his voice. “I’m just cautioning you towards reason instead of insanity. You’ve broken into my home, you’ve seen my hoard, and now, you’ve tried to escape from me after we made a deal. You can’t expect me to trust you quite so easily anymore, Sabrina.”
“I’ll be good,” she promised, as the dragon-turned-man spun them around and stepped down the stairs and back on the platform. “I promise.”
“Where have I heard that before,” he snorted, and she could hear the snarl of the dragon so perfectly beneath his tone.
It sent a shiver down her spine, but one that wasn’t entirely out of fear. At the very least, it was mixed with anticipation and curiosity. While the rational part of her was cajoling her into caution and telling her to try and get out of there as quickly as she could – the man was a dragon, for God’s sake! – the far more emotional side of her was sort of enamored by how cool the whole thing was.
Being captured by a dashing dragon beneath a stone castle? Now that’s a good news story!
“Okay, okay. I get your point, I’m not trustworthy,” she recounted, the mental image of being treated like a child only strengthened by the fact that he was currently carrying her down another flight of stairs she had not even noticed, still holding her from below her ribs with her feet dangling. “So how about I tell you something about myself so I’m not the only one knowing things. How about that?”
“Oh, so you moonlight as a dragon as well?” he questioned, his velvety voice soothing her ears and making her whole body relax against better judgment.
“No, I wouldn’t say that,” Sabrina said with a snort, resisting the urge to twist in his arms to see who it was that she was dealing with, as the position was slowly becoming a bit ridiculous. “I’m not a shifter. I’m a journalist. I’m sorry about breaking into your home, I didn’t know anyone lived here. You should really call your decorator. The cellar and the upstairs style choices really clash.”
That earned an honest to goodness guffaw out of him, and it sounded a little bit dusty, like he hadn’t laughed in a while. She didn’t mind the sound.
Fueled by her success, she rambled on, at the same time trying to remember the twists and turns they took and failing miserably.
“I came here on a dare. I was going to spend the night in the ‘creepy haunted mansion’ and then write an article about it. But I kept hearing odd sounds so I investigated a little. The door coming down from the kitchen basically flung itself open for me, you know. You should get that fixed.”
“Odd,” he mumbled lightly, and she could practically hear him frowning, even though she had no idea what he looked like.
Nor what his name was.
“Alright. Sabrina, I’m going to put you down now. You will not run, because I am faster than you. You will not fight, because I am stronger than you. And you will not scream because we can both do better than that, yes? Understood?”
Sabrina rolled her eyes.
“Yes, sir,” she said, mockery in her tone.
She wanted to smack her forehead. Who taunts a dragon?
Someone with an overactive death wish, obviously.
“Good,” he finished.
Hearing him say it instead of think it at her made her want to run again for the hell of it. Maybe the thought of him chasing her down wasn’t that unpleasant. Still, when he set her down lightly in front of a heavy wooden door, and she could finally turn around and take a look at him, all her desire to run seemed to be swept right out of her.
“Wow,” she muttered, staring up at the tall, striking form of her dragon captor.
He quirked a brow, touching one hand to the door that seemed to spring to life. It creaked ominously, but then sprung inward and opened, revealing a warm, cozy-looking if overly posh living area.
That was all well and good, but getting her eyes off of him was something that didn’t come so easily. He was, in a word, mesmerizing.
A solid 6’5’’ at least, he towered over Sabrina. His hair was the same silky, matte black as his scales had been, with thin streaks of silver snaking through it, only noticeable at certain angles. His eyes were the clearest green amethyst she’d ever seen, with tiny flecks of gold alike the ones she’d noticed in Ares’s gaze before.
The man was built strong but lean, with wide shoulders and narrow hips, and while he was dressed impeccably in black slacks and a black button-up that hugged his body perfectly, Sabrina couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like underneath it all. Considering by the shape he cut, the man shrouded by the expensive clothes was worth a far longer look than the obviously designer threads he was wearing.
He wore a watch on his wrist, a silver Rolex. She could catch glimpses of something around his neck, yet she couldn’t get a good look at the chain, or chains, or if there was anything hanging from it tucked away beneath his shirt.
While Sabrina had always thought herself a fairly sensible woman with no need to go all gaga over hot men, this particular dragon had her swallowing drily and feeling her palms get sweaty as if she were a girl at a high school dance, hoping for the hot jock to ask her for a dance. It was ridiculous, and she couldn’t help but imagine that if they had met in high school, she would probably have had the biggest crush on him.
“Are you going to say anything else or is ‘wow’ going to suffice?” he asked, his thin but completely inviting lips curving into a knowing smirk that was both sort of smug and oh so irresistible at the same time.
“You don’t look like a dragon,” she said finally, stepping in through the door he was holding open for her.
“I wasn’t aware you’ve come across so many of us that you’ve managed to categorize us into types. Tell me, what am I missing from the common dragon guise that sets me so apart, hmm?”
He closed the door behind them, and it was only then that Sabrina realized she’d allowed him to lead her deeper into the belly of his lair and put another locked door between her and freedom. Then again, where could she have possibly run? The drive from Shifter Grove had taken a good half an hour and she was on foot.
Even if she did her best Usain Bolt impression, she wouldn’t be able to outrun a dragon.
A dragon no one warned me about!
“Considering the last one I met, you should be driving a truck and leaving women in the clutches of another dragon without warning,” Sabrina huffed, being ushered in through the quarters. “Are y
ou going to tell me your name or am I your prisoner and expected to call you by some lordly dragon title I’m not aware of? Apologies, my dragon lore sort of starts and ends with gossip columns and the odd old movie here and there. Your castle’s really missing the high, lonely tower, you know.”
“You’re a smartmouth, aren’t you,” the dragon said with a chuckle, opening another door for her and showing her to some plush dark leather chairs, obviously vintage.
They were surprisingly soft.
In fact, while the upstairs of the manor, barren as it had been, had spoken of understated, classic tastes, the dragon’s lair seemed to be driven by much the same but with a notably softer touch. There was more color in the rooms, both in the foyer they had passed through and now in the sitting slash living room as well. Sabrina could spy a few more doors and she assumed them to be hiding a kitchen, a bedroom and, presumably, a bathroom.
The scary-hot dragon didn’t need the Snarling Dragon Manor at all – he’d built a whole other castle beneath it. One that was as opulent as the house itself could have been, if not more, given a loving hand and plenty of attention.
“I may be, but you’re avoiding my questions,” Sabrina countered, narrowing her eyes slightly.
She tracked him with her gaze as he moved to a bar, all crystal bottles and expensive-looking tumblers, and poured them both a glass of what seemed to be whiskey. He strolled back, his expression smooth but a crease of contemplation on his forehead. For a dragon, he seemed entirely too good at containing his emotions.
Aren’t dragons supposed to be all roar and thunder, fire and lightning?
Ares had certainly seemed like he could be.
“I am Donovan Silvertip. And seeing as you are my ‘prisoner’, one would ascertain that I am not required to answer any questions that come to your mind, Sabrina. But I’ll indulge you a little. You are the first person to break into the lairs in what must be three hundred years, so I guess I owe you that much while I figure out what to do with you.”
He had handed her the glass and sunken into a chair across from her, casually taking a sip of his whiskey as if it were the most ordinary thing. Sabrina stared at him, her heart doing that annoying thrumming thing again where it wasn’t certain whether she was turned on or worried for her life.
Probably both.
“What do you mean ‘what to do with me’?” she finally questioned, taking a swig of her whiskey after she’d uttered the words.
It went down like butter. It was the best damn whiskey she’d ever had. Her brows shot up, and she stole a glance at the glass, forgetting for a moment that she was in the middle of discussing her life or possible demise with her dragon captor, Donovan.
What a great name… Stop it!
There it was, the realization flooding right back to her. She looked up and met his green eyes, almost swirling in a way, fixing her in place with their intensity.
“Well, Sabrina, you cannot expect a dragon to allow anyone to stumble upon his hoard and leave without there being some consequences, can you?”
This Halloween dare is turning really sour, really fast, Sabrina thought, swallowing dryly.
Just her luck that she’d managed to stumble on the one haunted house that came with a built-in dragon.
Donovan
Keeping his nerves intact was becoming a battle he seemed to be quickly losing. The sips he took of his drink were longer and stiffer than usual, and the thoughts roiling about in his head were unruly and positively unwieldy in their… forwardness.
Donovan Silvertip, a dragon who had spent his life finding pride in his perfect composure, was unraveling at the seams in the company of a mere human. And not any human but a woman who had simply walked in on his hoard as if she was out on a Sunday stroll.
The whole notion was ridiculous, improbable and… well, ridiculous. Brooding quietly, Donovan drank from his glass once more, only to find that he had drained it completely although he had only sat down a minute or two ago.
“Refill?” he asked, the air thick with anticipation as there had been silence since his last little declaration.
Sabrina shook her head, and the way her auburn curls tumbled about her neck and cheeks made Donovan long to reach out and touch them. He had held her aloft the whole way down the stairs, and she had been so close that he could smell her scent with each breath he took. It still seemed to swirl within him, maddeningly sweet and just a tad spicy, vanilla and ginger and a hint of orange blossom.
Perfection in scent.
He shook his head, trying to clear those overly mushy thoughts and failing at it as he had repeatedly before. Busying himself with the drink, he tried to focus on the immediate problems at hand.
What am I going to do with her?
He could count several things he wanted to do with her, but he couldn’t exactly act on his instincts short of becoming one of those dragons she made derisive comments about. Though there had been a Silvertip in the family line who had imprisoned a damsel in a castle until she came to her senses and accepted him as her mate.
The good old times. When imprisonment out of love was something to write stories about, not persecute.
You’re being insane, he told himself, rolling his eyes as he took a long gulp of the whiskey and filled it immediately before turning around to face his ‘guest’.
She looked like a bunny trapped in a cage with a big bad wolf. With the slight difference that the wolf was a dragon and the cage was a lavish and gilded underground complex, the analogy was close enough, in Donovan’s opinion.
“Can’t we just forget this whole thing happened? I mean, I can keep my mouth shut and I promise I won’t spill your secret,” Sabrina said, fashioning her most earnest expression on her face.
Donovan couldn’t help but smile a little.
Right.
“So you’re telling me that a journalist such as yourself would find it completely within reason to hide a scoop like that from your adoring readers? That during a stormy night, cast alone in perilous mountains, you came upon a fantastic cavern filled with gold, and a dragon perched on top of it, guarding it? Yeah, I don’t think so,” he finished with a snort, strolling back to his seat and sinking down into its welcoming confines.
“You don’t have a lot of faith in people, do you?” she asked, glowering at him over the rim of her glass.
He watched her take a sip, and for one inexplicably silly moment, he wished he were the tumbler her lips were touching. Those absolutely kissable, pink lips…
Donovan shook his head, trying to both get that mental image out of his thoughts as well as regain some semblance of reason. Something that usually came to him very easily, but for some reason, Sabrina seemed to have run off with his senses. It was… worrisome, to say the least.
“I am a dragon hidden in a mountain, protecting a hoard no one knows of. What do you think?” he asked, a note of sarcasm entering his tone.
He didn’t do much to correct it.
“Fine, fine, if you want to be all reasonable about it,” Sabrina said, slouching back into her seat and waving her hand at him dismissively. “But I have to say, for a secretive hermit, you have a nice setup here. How do you… you know, avoid starvation and all that? With a community like Shifter Grove nearby and people actually interested in this mountain, I would have thought that if there was a rather… large dragon holed up in it, someone would know.”
Donovan grinned.
“Well, there’s a couple of key elements to that,” he began with a flourish, but he dropped the theatrics when he caught the quirk of Sabrina’s brow and the somewhat unimpressed look that followed. Clearing his voice, he continued. “The Silvertips have been in Snarling Dragon Mountain for centuries, far before anyone else came here. Before the bears, before the wolves… we’ve always been here. Once, people knew there were dragons here, that’s where the mountain got its name from.”
“Snarling Dragon? Were your ancestors known for… snarling?” Sabrina asked cheekily.
> The way the corner of Donovan’s mouth twitched higher in a slight resemblance to what it may look like when a dragon snarled seemed to answer her question.
“Anyway,” he said. “As with all dragons in the modern world, there isn’t much of a place for us. We scattered until there was only one line of Silvertips here on Snarling Dragon Mountain. Now, I am the last of that line. Even if I wanted to, I could not leave,” he explained, looking away wistfully.
He could never get more than a couple dozen miles from the hoard, knowing that it was unprotected. He was chained to his gold, if not physically then at least mentally.
“Why not?” Sabrina asked, in that sweet, clueless way humans sometimes asked obvious questions.
Donovan smiled again, something that didn’t come quite as naturally to him as it perhaps should have.
“The hoard. Someone needs to protect it,” he explained.
“But who would come and take it? There are rules and laws against stuff like that these days… I mean, I obviously don’t know a lot of dragons, but you’d think that not all of them sit at home, basking on their mountains of gold. Aren’t there banks for that sort of stuff?”
“Why would I trust anyone else with the fortune my kin has gathered over countless centuries?” Donovan asked with a snort, his stomach roiling at the thought of leaving the gold and the riches unattended for even a moment. “It is my job and my calling.”
“But if you never leave, what happens when you… you know, die?” Sabrina continued, obviously taken with the topic.
Donovan could feel his mood suddenly plummet. It was a question he had asked himself a few times. He was the only child of his parents, and they had died when he was no more than a teenager. There were servants that were loyal to the family, who made sure that he had everything he needed from intellectual stimulation to food, but other than that, Donovan Silvertip was very aware that he might just have been the loneliest dragon in the world.