Dragon Protector (Dragon Dreams)

by Tabitha St. George

  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.”

  The conversation had circled round to the question that still bothered him. How was that possible? She could be Kindred, a descendent of some ancient Shifter. But how could she hold Blood Gold in her hand and know nothing about the Marakeen, the Dragons who made such things? Had knowledge of the Other Side truly faded so much in the years since the Wellsprings died?

  Wait. North of Albany? Brandon owned old diaries, written in the days when New York was still New Amsterdam, which claimed that a Wellspring lay in “Beverwyck.” That was the general term the Dutch used to describe much of their northern colony. Could that lie somewhere on Hannah’s farm?

  But her name… “New York was originally a Dutch colony. Surely ‘Stiles’ isn’t a Dutch name?”

  Now he’d annoyed her again. She folded her arms across her chest. “We used to be Vanstiles.”

  He paused, letting that sink in. She was Kindred, then. One of her ancestors truly had saved a Dragon’s life.

  And he had offered her insult for it, rather than repaying the debt with joy and honor, as he should have done. An acid curl of shame twisted his guts.

  Hannah watched him, wary and defensive.

  He’d done that. She’d come to him with innocent hope and he had thrown disdain back in her face.

  There was only one thing to do then. “I believe you,” he assured her. Again, she relaxed quickly, and he thanked the stars for her kind nature. “I also owe you an apology. I should not have called you a thief. I jumped to conclusions. I…” He swallowed and waited to see if his Dragon would object, but the Great Serpent was completely silent. “I am sorry for that.”

  “Okay.” Maybe it wasn’t an enthusiastic acceptance, yet her arms dropped to her sides. “But why? Why did you think I had to be a thief?”

  What could he say to that? Shifter law demanded that the affairs of the Changing Kind remain hidden from mortals. Technically, she was – probably – Kindred. That made her exempt from the rule. But if her family remembered nothing of their Shifter heritage, weren’t they essentially humans? Could he reveal the secrets of his Flight to someone who knew nothing of Shifters?

  Would she even believe him?

  No, of course not. The moment he spoke of Dragons and Blood Debts, she’d decide he was crazy. He couldn’t bear that. Better to have her think him a jerk than a madman.

  “It’s… a long story. And foolish.” She waited. He shook his head. “Something I would rather not discuss, if it is all the same to you.”

  Hannah’s nose wrinkled, a subtle sign that no, that was not enough to completely satisfy her. But it would have to do.

  “I think I can offer you something much more satisfying than words, however. Here.” Quickly, he wrote a check for the money she needed. He held it out to her, but when she took it, he kept his grip on the paper. Binding the two of them together for one brief moment.

  “Hannah Stiles, Daughter of Kindred not known to me, I stand before you.”

  She blinked at the odd, formal lilt of his words. Brandon didn’t care. Few things held more honor than the repayment of a Blood Debt. Neither he nor his Dragon could rob this moment of the ceremony it deserved. Even if the woman he repaid had no clue what that debt, or his words, meant.

  “I, Brandon, Lord of the First Flight, thank you for the gift your family gave my Kind. I will assume the debt and repay it, though it cost me my life’s blood.”

  At that, she bit her lip. He longed to dispel her nervousness with a soft kiss. But he didn’t dare touch her, lest he frighten her. Instead, he pressed on.

  “You have asked me for money. $72,300. That, I give you freely. Know, however, that I do not believe this money satisfies the debt owed to you.

  “I swear, on my soul and my honor, that I will protect your family from this tragedy. I give you this money now.” He released the check. He half expected her to flinch away from him and his strange speech. Instead, she stood still, frozen, watching him with a curious mixture of puzzlement, relief…

  And hope. That warmed him, to the bottom of his soul.

  “If any other expenses arise, speak to me and I will pay them, whatever they may be.” A soft gasp of happiness escaped her lips and the urge to pull her close grew stronger. “If you need anything – money, help, support – you need only tell me. I will take care of it. And of you.”

  For a moment, Hannah stood silently, unsteady from the shock of his offer. Brandon took her shoulder in his hand, steadying her with a gentle but unshakeable strength. She leaned toward him, as if drawn, and her full, sensuous lips part. He bowed his head toward her and…

  The parlor door thumped open. “Right!” Amarie barked.

  Hannah and Brandon jumped apart like a pair of startled cats, then stared at the old woman.

  The housekeeper seemed oblivious to the moment she’d ruined. “I’ve taken the lady’s bag, such as it was, smallish thing!”

  “What?” The girl stared at her, baffled. “Why would you take my things?”

  “Well, I haven’t taken-them, taken-them,” Amarie insisted. “If you
know what I mean. I’ve just taken them up to your room.”

  Hannah’s confusion deepened. “My room? But I’m not staying the night.”

  “Do you have a hotel?” Brandon asked. “I can call a cab for you if you wish.”

  That surprised a breathy laugh from her. “No, I couldn’t afford a New York hotel. I’m going to drive straight home.”

  He frowned. “But it’s almost dark already. Better to drive in the morning, when you’re rested.”

  “Oh, if I get tired, I’ll just pull over and sleep in the car.”

  Now his Dragon roused itself again, having vanished for the apology. It grumbled, deeply dissatisfied with the idea of this young lady sleeping alone, unprotected, in a car on the side of the road.

  Brandon didn’t need any prompting. “Nonsense. My guest bedroom is far safer – and far more comfortable. Stay the night. You can leave in the morning.”

  When she hesitated, he added, “Please?”

  Once again, that word worked miracles. A shy smile lit her face and she nodded. “Well, okay, I guess… yes, that would be nice.”

  “Wonderful. Allow me to offer you a proper dinner. It’s the least I can do to apologize for calling you a thief. Amarie, would you…”

  “Already have,” the Witch-Hare chirped, as she primly marched off to the kitchen.

  Chapter 3

  That night, sleep came slowly to Hannah. Despite the sultry sleekness of the bed’s Egyptian cotton sheets, she tossed and turned. Exhausted, drained, her mind still raced over the day’s events and the wild swings of Fate.

  How could a man change so much in a blink of an eye? Yesterday, he branded her a thief. Today – for no reason she could see – he took that word back and pledged to protect her family. What happened? What had she done?

  Round and round her mind twisted, finding no answers. None added up. Not Brandon’s unexpected kindness. Not the splendid seven-course meal his housekeeper somehow whipped together. Not his pledge of unconditional support.

  The worst thing? She wasn’t sure she cared that it didn’t make sense.

  Who needed “sense” when a millionaire promised to banish all her problems? Was “sense” more important than his rapt, vibrant eyes studying her over a glass of champagne? Than the fact that he seemed to find her more intoxicating than the finest wines? Her! Hannah Stiles, a farmer’s daughter. A woman who didn’t know the difference between a “shiraz” and a… a… whatever that other wine was.

  She’d been so embarrassed to admit that she knew nothing about wine. Surely, he’d find that crude, unsophisticated. Instead, he simply smiled and said, “Then I have so many wonderful things to introduce to you.”

  No. Sense was worthless next to that. She didn’t know why, but the Greek god she’d dreamed of was back.

  And about to vanish.

  That was the worm hidden in the apple. None of this could last.

  Tomorrow, she would wake up. She’d shower, have breakfast. Probably a lovely one, knowing how Amarie cooked. And then? Nothing. A polite goodbye. A handshake. Then she would go home to her family. He would stay here, in his New York mansion. They would never see each other again. The magic of this fairy-tale evening would vanish like a soap bubble.

  Facing that, how could she sleep? Basking in the glow of his laughter, his smiles… and knowing she’d never possess them again.

  Rest seemed impossible. The body, however, can’t be denied forever. Somewhere past midnight, her fatigue finally silenced her feverish mind and dragged her down into sleep.

  In the dream, she stood in a small clearing. Young birch trees surrounded it, whispering softly in the night breeze. A full moon rode high overhead, bathing everything in its gentle, silver glow. At the heart of the glade, a pool glittered. Its waters sent wisps of light, like tiny bubbles, sailing up to the night sky.

  Hannah barely noticed it, because he was there. Brandon.

  He stood before her, barefoot on the mossy ground. Only a thin silken robe hid his lean, powerful form from her hungry eyes. It left his chest bare and heat flared deep inside her as her gaze traveled slowly down his taut muscles. Strong, fully masculine, his body held not an ounce of softness – and her own body came alive in its presence. A light sash pulled the robe closed around his hips, teasing her. Taunting her to imagine what hard, male delight waited below.

  Her own clothes reflected Brandon’s, green silk to his gold. A gentle breeze swirled around her, sending silken folds whispering across her skin like a lover’s kiss. Hannah’s breath grew ragged. She wanted him. She needed him. And why shouldn’t she offer herself to him? It was just a dream, after all.

  A cold dart of fear struck her heart at that thought. She’s ruined it! Dreams vanished as soon as you recognized what they were. Hannah flinched, sure she would wake in her bed drenched in sweat. Aching at the loss. To see him, nearly naked, in all his male glory… and to have that vision ripped from her before she could taste his wonders…

  But the dream remained. Joy filled her, twining with her desire and delight as she realized that no, this time, Fate wouldn’t rob her. For one night, in one dream, he was hers.

  Brandon stepped toward her, ready to claim her, to explore the wonders of her own soft, feminine form.

  With a flicker, however, the dream shifted. She now held a cup in her hands. A silver chalice filled with the glittering waters of the glade’s pool. In his right hand, a golden dagger appeared, curved like the fang of some great serpent. Both of them hesitated. As they did, distant thunder growled across the sky. Words were hidden in its rumbles.

  “No Claim without Truth,” the thunder said. “Show her.”

  “Very well.” Brandon’s deep voice echoed that thunder.

  His left hand removed his sash with one quick tug, sending his robe sliding to the ground. Hannah moaned softly as she finally saw his hard, stiff manhood, yearning for her with a fierce lust that matched her own desire.

  His gaze locked with hers and he threw his arms wide. “Look upon my soul,” he told her.

  Light exploded out from him, threaded through with ribbons of purest midnight. They curled around his sleek, muscled body, rising, coiling, merging… and suddenly, a glorious black Dragon loomed above him, the molten pools of its eyes locked upon her face. With a roar that shook her, it spread its wings wide. Dominating, claiming the clearing.

  And her.

  “This is my soul.” Brandon’s voice grew softer, rough with desire and longing. “Can you bear its power?”

  Could she? Hannah tilted her head back, staring at the Dragon above her. Power and desire radiated from its every curve – and now, having looked upon it, she could see those same demanding, hungry emotions reflected in Brandon’s own face. His love was no weak, fickle thing. It demanded. Her body. Her heart. Everything. Now and forever. In return, he would hold nothing back. She knew this in her heart; the Dragon promised it. He would love her as no other man ever could. He would shield her, strengthen her, even lay down his life for her.

  If she could surrender herself. Could give herself to him completely.

  Hannah turned away from the Dragon, her heart singing. Because, truly, the choice wasn’t hard. She had dreamed of a love like this. A man like this.

  “I welcome you,” she told him. “All of you. Your strength. Your fierceness. Even your rage. I want you.”

  The Dragon roared its approval as Brandon’s sensuous lips curved into a smile. “Then claim each other!” it shouted. “Take what is yours.”

  Two steps and he stood before her, so close she could feel the heat radiating off him like a Dragon’s breath. He raised the dagger and bowed his head. “Hannah Stiles, I, Brandon Lord of the First Flight, claim you as my Mate. Through the ages, let our souls and lives be bound.” With that, he plunged the fang-like knife into the cup of water she held.

  Both dagger and chalice vanished. Hannah blinked, unsure what to do.

  No such doubt troubled Brandon. He brushed the robe from her shoulders, l
eaving her naked, vulnerable. Then his strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight against his hot, male body. She felt his manhood, his need, pressing against her as he raised her chin and kissed her. And she knew, in her soul, that he was all she would ever need. Her love. Her Mate. Her protector.

  They sank to the ground, cushions of moss beneath them. Brandon leaned over her, his lips first brushing hers gently. Lingering on the fullness of her mouth. Hannah gasped with pleasure, and as her lips parted, his kisses grew stronger, more demanding.

  His hands caressed the curves of her body. Exploring her, claiming her. Tracing her feminine softness, so different from the hard, taut power of his own male form. One hand stroked her thigh, her buttocks, and then glided to the swell of her breasts. A finger circled her firm nipple. Teasing, promising. She moaned with delight, her back arching, pressing against him.

  Desire flooded him, answering her pleasure. His kisses grew harder, hungrier, demanding. He pulled her close, his embrace growing tight, almost painful, as his need blossomed.

  But she trusted him. He was an Alpha, a master – of himself as well as others. As fierce as his desire burned, he did not lose himself. Though his kisses were still rough with longing, they grew gentler. Traveling down her neck, across her shoulders, then her breasts. Her soft moans grew louder, more desperate as his hand slid between her thighs, stroking her, sensing the aching need of her womanhood.

  His hot, muscled body rolled above her. Their eyes met as he asked a silent question.

  Her answer was to pull him down into a passion-filled kiss. Her legs wrapped around him. Surrendering herself to him.

  At once, he drove into her. Hannah gasped as his hardness entered her, filled her. The pleasure of it scattered all thought and her fingers dug into his shoulders as irresistible need flooded through her.

  He took her. Each hard, fierce stroke of his cock sent waves of pleasure screaming through her. She could feel his raging hunger, barely controlled, as he claimed her. Her pleasure swelled with each stroke, drawing helpless gasps. His harsh pants melded with them as his own arousal grew.