In human form – although we Dragons have tremendous healing powers – I can still be killed. And a bullet to the head will do that quite nicely. In Dragon form, her bullet won't even tickle me. But I need her help and the last thing I'm going to do is scare her by shifting – especially since we have an unwritten rule about shifting in view of the humans.
Holding my hands out to my sides, palms up, I show her that I'm not a threat. “Let's just take it easy,” I say.
“Who in the hell are you guys?” she snaps.
“I'm not with the two guys who were in your studio earlier,” I say.
“If you're not with them, how do you know about them?”
“I was watching you,” I admit. “I saw them go in.”
The look on her face is one of pure rage mixed with genuine terror. “Then who are they?” she spits. “And why in the hell are you watching me?”
“Look,” I say, “why don't you put the gun away? We can go grab a cup of coffee and talk about this.”
“I'm not going anywhere with you,” she says. “Why are you following me?”
I sigh. “I can explain everything to you, but you're not going to understand it all.”
“Try me,” she hisses. “I'm not a moron.”
“I never said you were,” I reply. “But you are dealing with forces that are –”
“I know what you're after,” she cuts me off. “I know you want what I found.”
“It's more dangerous than you can possibly know,” I say calmly. “Do you even know what it is that you found?”
She looks at me and her gaze falters. She has no idea.
“I didn't think so,” I say. “The object you possess has the ability to destroy the entire world as you know it.”
She scoffs at my words and shakes her head. “Scare tactics don't work on me anymore than the intimidation tactics your buddies tried on me earlier.”
“This is not a scare tactic, Ms. Tatum,” I say. “The object you're holding is called the Heart of Ethagor. It contains the essence of one of the most evil, destructive beings you can imagine. If you let it fall into the hands of those two men who visited you earlier, they will release Ethagor. His essence will find a new host and the world as you know it, will cease to be. Humanity will be destroyed. Those who survive the initial purge will be enslaved. This is not a scare tactic, Ms. Tatum. This is simply the reality of the situation.”
“And what, you expect me to just hand it over to you?”
“Yes,” I reply. “You're in danger so long as it's in your possession.”
“From those two men?”
I nod. “And others like them, yes,” I say. “They're – dangerous. To say the least. And once they know where you've hidden the Heart, they'll have no further use for you and kill you.”
I see a visible shudder pass through her. She's scared. Which is good. She needs to be. This situation is as serious as it gets. But as we stand there, I see a veil come down across her face. Her jaw sets and her eyes tighten. I recognize stubbornness when I see it and I can see Monica Tatum begin to dig her feet in.
“Maybe I'll just take it and run,” she says. “I found it. It's mine.”
“There is nowhere you can run they can't find you,” I say. “Please, believe me. These – men – will not stop pursuing you until you're dead and they have the Heart.”
“And you?” she asks. “What are you going to do with the – Heart?”
“Lock it away,” I say. “Keep it from falling into the hands of the Shadowlords and keep it safe.”
She shakes her head and despite the fact that she still has a gun pointed at my face, I remain calm. Getting worked up is only going to scare her more – which could have terrible consequences.
“If it helps,” I say. “We are prepared to make you a very wealthy woman.”
She looks at me a long moment. “How wealthy?”
“Wealthier than you can even possibly imagine.”
She gives me a slight grin. “I can imagine a lot.”
He shrugs. “Money is of little consequence to us,” I say. “We have – plenty. What we are more concerned with is protecting this world. Keeping people like you safe. And to do that, we really need to take pieces like the Heart of Ethagor off the board. Permanently.”
She looks at me for a long moment. “You keep saying we,” she says. “Who is this we?”
“It's irrelevant –”
“Not to me,” she says.
I sigh and look around, half-afraid the Shadowlords returning to find us in the alley.
“Look, Ms. Tatum,” I say. “We're a little exposed out here. Let's go somewhere and talk this out. I can answer your questions.”
She shakes her head. “Uh, uh,” she says. “I told you. I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm walking away now. If you follow me, I'm going to shoot you in the face.”
Monica backs away, keeping her weapon trained on me. She turns quickly and runs, melting into the crowd at the far end of the alley. The odds are that the Shadowlords are going to find out where she lives – which, not knowing what she was actually dealing with, is probably where she'd stashed the Heart.
Which means that I need to get there first.
Chapter Six
Monica
I sit at the kitchen table staring at the egg again. The Heart of Ethagor, is what that guy called it. He said that it contained the essence – which I take to mean the spirit or soul – of a horribly evil creature. Which might explain the dark, oppressive energy that radiates from it.
But do I believe him?
He is a very attractive man. Tall – easily six-foot-three – with dusky colored skin, black hair that fell to his shoulders and has a blue sheen to it, and eyes that are the blue-green color of the Caribbean Sea. He's lean, but seems to be toned and fit, his jawline looking like it had been carved from marble. He's a beautiful man, no question. But that doesn't mean he's a good guy.
Although, if I'm being honest, he seems different than the first two who came into my studio. He didn't threaten or try to intimidate me. Didn't try to overpower me. He laid out the facts as he believes them to be. But that doesn't mean he isn't one of those other guys either. He could just be trying another tactic with me. Although, my gut tells me that he isn't one of them. That he's different.
But how did they know I had it in the first place? How could they possibly know?
A million different thoughts and feelings are swirling in my mind. Part of me thinks I should just take the money he offered and give it over to the guy in the alley. Let him deal with it. But the other part of me thinks that this is my biggest win so far. It's a huge win for the crypto community in that it validates so much of our work. If I turn it over, it is going to disappear and we go back to being thought of as nothing more than crazy Bigfoot hunters.
With this thing, this Heart of Ethagor, the crypto community can give a huge, collective middle finger to all of the skeptics who mock us.
As I sit there pondering all of my options, a knock sounds on the door. It sets my heart racing and sends a jolt of adrenaline surging through me – because I'm not expecting anybody.
Getting up slowly, I retrieve the gun from my bag and chamber a round. Walking as quietly as I can to the door, I stand to the side of it and listen for another moment. The knock sounds again, more insistent this time.
“Who's there?” I call.
“Ms. Tatum,” comes the familiar voice. “My name is Juran. We spoke in the alley by your studio this afternoon.”
A small, inexplicable ripple of relief washes through me. I don't know this guy and for all I really know, he could be connected to the other two. But my instinct says he's not and I've always trusted my instinct. Still, given the really odd things that have happened since I found the damn egg, I'm not taking any chances.
“What do you want?” I call.
“Please,” he says. “I need to speak with you. It's a matter of some urgency.”
I look at the locks
on the door for a moment, considering. “I'm armed,” I say. “I've got a gun. The same gun you saw earlier.”
“Fine,” he replies. “If it makes you feel better, keep it pointed at me. But I swear on my honor that I'm not here to hurt you.”
Yeah great. His honor and five bucks will get me a coffee drink down at Starbucks. I slowly reach out and unlock the door. Opening it a crack, I take a step back and raise my gun. The man – Juran – steps through the doorway with his hands open and raised chest-high. He's unarmed – as far as I can see, anyway.
“Please, I know this sounds crazy,” he says, “but come with me if you want to live.”
I stare at him slack-jawed, suppressing the laugh that's bubbling up in my throat. “Did you seriously just quote The Terminator to me?”
He cocks his head, a puzzled expression on his face. “I don't understand.”
“Terminator? The movie?” I say. “That's a line from the movie.”
“I – I don't see movies,” he replies. “But we are out of time. They're coming, Ms. Tatum. They're coming for you and the Heart. We must get you out of here if you're going to survive this.”
“What are you talking –”
He steps in and closes the door behind him. “I'm sorry to be so abrupt, but we don't have time,” he says. “Pack a small bag, pack up the Heart, and I need to get you out of here.”
“I'm not going anywhere with you.”
He looks at me, frustration crossing his chiseled features. “If you do not, you will die,” he says. “And the Shadowlords will take the Heart and end this world.”
Heavy footsteps sound in the hallway and I see Juran's face fall. A moment later, there is a loud pounding on the door.
“It's too late,” he says. “They're here. Go. Pack up the Heart and I'll hold them off.”
I stand rooted to my spot, fear rampaging through me. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. The pounding on the door sounds again and Juran turns to me.
“Pack up the Heart,” he snaps. “Go. Do it now!”
His voice finally shakes me out of my paralysis and I run to the kitchen. Throwing the Heart back into the strongbox, I look out to the living room in time to see the door blow inward, a hail of wood shards and splinters spraying across the room. The two men from earlier – Stabler and Blanda – step in through the debris and stop when they see Juran standing there, with a long, curved dagger in each of his hands.
“Get the girl,” Blanda says, unsheathing his own blades. “I'll deal with this one.”
Stabler heads for me in the kitchen, but Juran moves faster than I've ever seen somebody move in my life. He slashes Stabler across the chest, drawing a pained grunt from the man. Juran follows that with a kick to the gut that sends the man stumbling backward, dropping him on his ass.
“Look out!” I call.
Blanda closed the distance between them, his blades whirling in a frenzied arc. Juran parried every thrust and cut, a small smile playing upon his lips. It's as if he's toying with the other man. The sound of steel ringing on steel echoes around my apartment and I stand there like an idiot, not sure what to do.
And then I see something that I can't believe I'm seeing. Something I know will change my world forever.
Stabler gets up off his ass and – changes. He sprouts a segmented tail, black and tipped with an evil looking stinger that reminds me of a scorpion. Stabler advances on Juran, who has his back to him, his face a mask of rage.
I watch in horror as Juran slashes the throat of the man before him, cutting deep and sending a spray of black blood into the air. Blanda drops to his knees, eyes wide, clutching the wound in his throat, his breathing coming in wet, strangled gasps.
“Juran!” I scream. “Behind you!”
But it's too late. Stabler's tail lances out, the stinger burying itself into the flesh of Juran's shoulder. He spins around, slashing with his daggers. Stabler screams out in pain as the end of his tail falls to the floor, spilling a dark, black blood. Juran stumbles but with Stabler advancing on him again, blades in hand, his eyes flash red. He opens his mouth and spits a thick column of fire – heat so intense I can feel it from where I am.
Stabler is engulfed in flame immediately, thrashing around and screaming as the flames consume him. Juran looks to me.
“We have to go,” he says. “Now.”
Without thought or hesitation, I grab the strongbox and follow him out the door. We get to a black SUV and he throws me the keys.
“You must drive,” he says, his breathing a little ragged and labored.
Watching the building that houses my apartment erupt into flames, I can't help but feel a touch of sadness. And anger. And a million other things.
“Monica,” he gasps. “We must go. There are more coming.”
Throwing the strongbox in the backseat, I climb in behind the wheel as Juran slides into the passenger seat. He programs something into the vehicle's GPS unit and looks over at me.
“Follow these directions,” he says. “Get us there as quickly as possible. Do not stop. No matter what happens. Just keep driving.”
I nod, feeling numb, and quickly pull away from the curb, driving into the darkness of the night. Juran looks over at me, his eyes growing glassy.
“I'm sorry,” he says. “I did not want this for you.”
Fear slices through me when I look over and see that his eyes are closed. In that moment, I don't know if he's dead or just passed out. I look closer and let out a sigh of relief, seeing his chest rising and falling with his breath.
Not knowing what else to do, I simply keep driving. Tears roll down my cheeks as I realize that my life will never be the same again.
Chapter Seven
Juran
The next few weeks are spotty at best. There are times I recall with perfect clarity. And other times, all I can remember is my vision being blurred and pain so bad, I felt like I was being torn apart from the inside out.
The Shadowlord had tagged me with his poison-tipped stinger. He'd tagged me good, injecting me with a healthy dose of his venom. Thankfully, I'm strong, healthy, and relatively young, which means that my body is able to fight off the poison. If somebody Thysel’s age had been hit with that type and amount of poison, they'd likely be dead right now.
Once Monica got us to the safehouse, I quickly used my own magic to ward it – protecting us from being tracked by magical means. I needed time to recover. Get my strength back. And the only way I could do that was with rest.
I was in and out of consciousness for the next few weeks. Monica did what she could – which honestly, wasn't much. But she sat with me and I could tell she was genuinely worried about me. She often held my hand or wiped my brow with a wet, cool cloth.
During periods of lucidity, we spent time talking. Getting to know one another. And I learned a lot about her – almost everything, I think. Not that I am complaining – she's a fascinating woman. And she somehow got me to share more of my own story than I'd ever shared with anybody before.
I have to admit, it felt nice. I'm not the kind of man who opens up to people, but something about Monica makes it – easy to do. And the more I learn about her, the more I want to share about myself.
It's strange and unlike anything I've ever experienced before. But, there's something – special – about Monica. Something that puts me at ease with her. Makes it feel normal – even natural – to open up to her.
Over the weeks I've been healing, it feels like some sort of bond or connection has developed between us. I think she feels it too, but it's sort of like the proverbial elephant in the room – it's there and it's large, but neither of us will address it.
“I never did say thank you,” she says.
We're sitting side by side on the back deck of the safe house, sipping wine, and watching the sun slip below the horizon as large waves crash against the shore. I inhale deeply, savoring the salty scent of the ocean air. The ocean never fails to rejuvenate me.
“F
or what?” I ask.
“You saved my life,” she replies as if it's the most obvious answer in the world.
I smile. “And you saved mine,” I say. “So, I suppose that makes us even. Thank you for caring for me while I healed.”
A small smile touches her lips and her cheeks flare with color. The fading sunlight makes her skin glow, making her even more beautiful and I find that I can't take my eyes off of her. She looks over at me and her smile grows wider and I feel my heart skip a beat.
“This has undoubtedly been the strangest few weeks of my life,” she says.
“This hasn't exactly been normal for me either,” I reply. “Do your friends know you are safe?”
She nods. “They do,” I reply. “I told them all I just needed to blow town to clear my head for a little while.”
“I'm sorry you got pulled into this,” I say. “I never wanted this for you.”
“I know,” she says. “It's not your fault. You tried to warn me.”
We share a moment of silence, just staring into one another's eyes. Then, without giving myself time to think, I lean forward and kiss her. Monica tenses up at first, seeming to be taken aback by my boldness. But then, she leans into the kiss. I feel her hand in my hair, her fingers sliding through it, pulling on it gently as our kiss deepens and intensifies.
I feel a fire ignite within me – something I haven't felt in a very long time. I dedicate and devote myself to my job as a Guardian all day, every day. I have no personal life – no love life. It's been so long since I've felt the touch of a woman, that feeling Monica's lips pressed to mine, her tongue dancing with mine – it sends wave after wave of sensation crashing through me.
I run my hands through her hair, feeling my fingers tangle in her curls. Planting a row of soft kisses down her neck – all the way down to her collarbone – I feel her breath catch in her throat. Our eyes meet as I reach behind her and pull the string of her bikini top. It comes undone and Monica slides it off, tossing it to the side of the deck. Leaning forward, I cup and knead her breast in my hand, teasing her pert nipple with the tip of my tongue.
Married to a Dragon (No Such Thing as Dragons Book 4) Page 68