Protected by the Dragon (Banished Dragons)
Page 14
And when he had seen the girl…
Purity and sweetness. She didn’t need any of the fancy clothes and expensive jewelry city women piled upon themselves. Her beauty came from within. The sweep of her silken hair, the way it spilled around her shoulders. The warmth that lit her brown eyes when she smiled. The swell of her breasts under the plain clothes she wore, hinting that a woman’s full lusciousness lay beneath that innocent gaze.
His first thought had been, here is someone worthy. Someone he could devote his life to protecting. It would be his honor, his joy to repay whatever debt was owed her.
Of course, that all turned out to be a lie. Again. Three times now, con artists had tried to fool him with stolen Blood Gold. Each scam breathed life into his dying dream, the prayer that, someday, he would find a person worthy of service. Someone he could live for – and die for, if necessary.
Well, not today. He could not fall for this trick again! Brandon gritted his teeth as another flare of anger surged up from his Dragon. A passing dog walker couldn’t sense that. But the three pugs she led flinched away from him, yelping. Animals had much keener senses than their human masters.
Brandon struggled to calm his Dragon; the dogs didn’t deserve even a brush with a Dragon’s wrath. It retreated, still brooding over the shock of finding that this Hannah wasn’t as pure as she seemed.
Disappointing. He sighed. But the world was full of disappointments. Some days it seemed like that was all that was left now that the Wellsprings had run dry.
One last block brought him home to his brownstone. As he stepped through the front door onto the silver marble foyer, he sensed a disturbance. Someone was here. Someone… strangely familiar.
Amarie, the elderly Witch-Hare who minded his home, stepped out of the kitchen carrying a tea tray. “You have a guest, Master,” she said, confirming his suspicion.
He frowned. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
The housekeeper swept past him. “She is expected, though.”
His frown deepened. “By whom?”
Amarie paused in the sitting room doorway and glanced at him with her odd, mismatched eyes. One blue, one green. “How should I know? I’m just a ‘crazy Witch-Hare.’ But she is expected.” Then she breezed past, as if her words made sense.
As mad as Hares often seemed, the years had taught him that an eerie prescience often lurked beneath his housekeeper’s “nonsense.” He drifted after her, curious what the waters of Fate had washed to his shore.
He stepped into the parlor and, at once, his gaze was drawn to the bay window. There, amidst velvet cushions, sat a vision.
The girl.
In the late afternoon light, her hair burned as bright as honey in the sun. Gold and warm, a gentle mirror of the blazing scales of his own soul. She was taller than he imagined, with the willowy grace of a gazelle. Her shyness might seem weak to some. But as she saw him, a quiet strength firmed her features. A hint, perhaps, that true steel lay somewhere beneath her mild demeanor. He wondered if life had ever forced her to find her own power.
Suddenly, that question meant the world to him. He wanted to sit beside her, arm brushing against her sweet curves, and ask…
NO!
His Dragon’s anger shattered that pleasant image. This was not some innocent maiden, his Shifter soul warned. She was a thief.
Once again, he felt the bitter sting of disappointment. But his Dragon was right. He had to stay on his guard.
“Ms. Stiles.” He strode over to the table and took a cup of tea from Amarie. “I told you to mail the coin to me.” His Dragon still seethed, and he allowed the faintest touch of its displeasure to warm his tone. He was the Alpha of his Flight, and not accustomed to being disobeyed.
She flinched, as if she could feel his Dragon’s hot annoyance. Yet, she rose to her feet, tall and proud, and faced him. “I chose not to. You gave me no reason to trust you.”
She dared hint that he was untrustworthy? A few short, angry steps brought him to his writing desk. He turned his back on her beautiful, impudent face and found his checkbook. “As you will. The price we agreed upon was $72,000, yes?”
“No. $72,300.”
Again, the exactness of that amount puzzled him. “$73,000 then.”
“No.” Her denial was soft, but implacable. “$72,300.”
“You don’t want an extra $700?” What kind of thief would turn down more?
She shook her head, sending a ripple of sunlight shimmering across her long hair. “I only need $72,300.”
“But why refuse the extra money?” he pressed.
“Because I don’t want to owe you. I wouldn’t take any of your money if I wasn’t desperate.”
Shock froze his tongue. Even his Dragon subsided, confused. For the first time, Brandon wondered if he had made a terrible mistake. If he had misjudged her… offered insult to an innocent person…
He opened his mouth to say that, but the words caught in his throat. He was an Alpha. A Dragon. Lord of his Flight. Admitting mistakes did not come naturally to him. And yet…
And yet, Truth was more valuable than Pride. Any honorable Shifter – any honorable man – knew this. If he had made a mistake, he would correct it.
He coughed to cover his disquiet. Amarie finished unloading her tea tray and scurried off, leaving the two of them alone. Awkward silence fell in her wake.
Something had to be said. “Why are you desperate?” he asked at last. A hint of a growl frosted the words. Immediately, her eyes narrowed, and he hurried to cut off her outburst. “I understand that I have no right to ask this.” To his relief, her anger dimmed. She had a forgiving soul, he thought, if it took so little to placate her. “But I am curious why anyone would sell a family heirloom.”
“Because family is more important than any antique,” she replied, “and if I have to choose between the two, my family comes first.”
As it should. That was a noble answer.
Not at all the answer of a thief. It seemed ever more likely that he had erred. In response, his Dragon went completely silent. Apparently, apologies were his business, not the Dragon’s.
“Would you tell me why your family needs precisely $72,300? Please,” he added, as she hesitated.
“My brother was hit by a car four months ago, just before he graduated from high school. They never caught the driver. My parents own a small farm, north of Albany. We had insurance,” she sighed, “but…”
“It failed to cover expenses? By $72,300?”
She nodded. The last traces of her anger faded, swept away by a tired grief. “I don’t want to sell this coin. My grandpa loved it, and it’s been in my family for centuries…”
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