Dragon's Rogue (Wild Dragons Book 1)

by Anastasia Wilde

  Bucephalus licked her face, purring.

  “All right already. I’m up. Evil cat.” She opened her eyes.

  She was not at home, and she was not in her own bed. Above her was a blue velvet canopy. Vague memories and sensations flooded back to her, like a dream.

  Men’s voices. Hot, excruciating pain, pain that made her scream until her throat was raw. Zane’s hands: tucking her into bed and giving her cool water; holding her up and spooning soup into her mouth; stroking her hair and soothing the nightmares away. Zane’s voice, murmuring words of comfort, and the faint song of gold.

  She put her hand to her chest, and Bucephalus batted at it with his paw. She was wearing Zane’s necklace. She thought she remembered being angry and taking it off, but now she felt relieved knowing it was still there.

  It meant she was safe. Cared for.

  It meant she was Zane’s.

  She wanted to be Zane’s, she realized with a certainty that flowed through her whole body. Somehow, while she was asleep, her mind had figured out what her body already knew.

  They belonged together.

  But where was he? The fact that he wasn’t here made her anxious. Something was wrong.

  She sat up, shoving her tangled hair out of her eyes, looking for her mate. She was still in his room, but instead of Zane she saw Thorne sitting on Zane’s leather couch, booted feet propped on the coffee table, working on a laptop. He had headphones on.

  He must have seen her move out of the corner of his eye, because he took off the headphones and glanced over at her.

  “You’re awake,” he said. The treasure fever seemed to be gone; he looked and sounded normal—calmer than he usually did, to be truthful. And Zane wouldn’t leave him there with her if it wasn’t safe.

  But his being there made her more worried about Zane. She’d been sick—she could feel it—and Zane would never have left her alone while she was sick. “Where’s Zane?” she asked.

  “He asked me to sit with you,” Thorne said, not answering her question. “How are you feeling?”

  “My head hurts, I’m hungry, and I have to pee,” she said. “What happened?”

  Thorne almost smiled, she could swear it. Luckily he stopped himself just in time, so his face didn’t crack. “It’s kind of a long story,” he said. “You’ll probably want to pee first.”

  Rude. But he was right. Blaze got out of bed, happy to learn she was wearing comfortable pajama bottoms and a camisole. Perfectly adequate to wear in front of Thorne. She went into the bathroom and peed in the golden toilet, which was something she never thought she’d say, even in her head.

  When she came back out, she grabbed a water from the mini-fridge next to the TV and sat down in the comfortable easy chair that sat catty-corner to the couch. There was a plate of sandwiches on the table near Thorne, which he shoved in her direction. She grabbed a roast beef and brie on ciabatta and took a bite.

  “How long was I out?” she asked him, mumbling a bit through wolfing down the sandwich. Like all the other food she’d had here, it was amazing.

  “Two days.”

  She swallowed, just barely keeping from choking.

  “Two days? What the hell?”

  Thorne put his laptop aside. “What do you remember?” he asked.

  Blaze thought back. “We came back from St. Johns. I felt like roadkill. I took a shower, and… Zane and I got into a fight.” She put her hand to her chest. She had taken off his necklace. She remembered now. Why had she been so angry? She shook her head. “It’s all jumbled in my mind.”

  Thorne nodded. “You were under the influence of the idol. Both of you were. It seems that it connected with you during the battle at your house.”

  What. The. Fuck. Then Blaze remembered those shadows coming out of her and Zane and connecting to the idol, even as they’d tried to fight it off. The way it had pulled at all the darkness in her soul, trying to draw her in. Apparently, it had almost succeeded. She shivered.

  “Zane’s okay, isn’t he?” she said. “I remember him taking care of me.”

  “He’s fine. Tyr and I were able to cleanse him.”

  His eyes darted away from her, though. There was something he didn’t want to tell her.

  She asked slowly, “Am I okay? That evil-ass sorcerer isn’t inside me now, is he?”

  Thorne still didn’t answer directly. “You’re being protected by the Seal.”

  Say what? She stared at him. “I am? You found it?”

  He grimaced. “In a manner of speaking. It’s your tattoo.”

  “My…” Her hand went reflexively to her back. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Thorne shook his head. “I wish I were,” he said. “It reacted to the idol’s influence, or we probably still wouldn’t have realized what it was.”

  “I had it the whole time,” she murmured. She rubbed the tattoo, feeling its slightly raised surface. “But… how do we get it from me to the tomb?”

  Thorne sighed. “We were hoping you would have some ideas. The tomb integrity is holding steady for the moment, but…”

  But that could change at any time. God. Finding the Seal should have been a happy thing, but it seemed like it was just one problem after another.

  Bucephalus jumped up onto the couch and stomped across Thorne’s lap, kneading and purring.

  Of course. Catlike, he always picked the grumpiest cat-haters to pretend to befriend, reveling in their discomfort.

  To her surprise, Thorne stroked him, scratching the cat’s chin absently. “I already gave you half the roast beef out of my sandwich,” he said to Bucephalus. “What more do you want?”

  Bucephalus put his front paws on Thorne’s shoulder and thrust his head under Thorne’s chin, still purring. Thorne gave a little huff and rolled his eyes, but he snuggled the cat into the curve of his arm and petted him with the other hand, scratching him behind the ears and making crooning noises.

  Blaze realized her mouth was hanging open, and closed it.

  Thorne was a cat person. The obsessive, perpetually pissed-off head dragon was showing affection for another living creature. Who’d’ve thunk it.

  Wait a minute.

  “How did Bucephalus even get here?” she said.

  “Zane brought him.” Thorne rubbed the top of Bucephalus’ head, making him purr louder. “Once he was sure you would be okay, when he wasn’t spoon-feeding you or wallowing in guilt, he spent his time fixing your balcony doors and straightening up your workroom and flying half your belongings over here. Clothes, books, music boxes, cats—anything he could think of that you might want.”

  He jerked his head over towards the far side of the room. There was a stack of boxes piled in the corner. A very, very large stack. A sudden burst of warmth hit her in the chest and she felt a sting at the back of her eyes at the thought of Zane flying back and forth from her house, carrying her things.

  “He didn’t need to do that.”

  Thorne sighed. “Did you not hear the part about wallowing in guilt?”

  “But why? Because we had a fight?”

  “Because he didn’t protect you,” Thorne said. “And, I gather, because the idol’s influence made him try to hurt you?”

  Blaze put a hand to her mouth. She vaguely remembered a hard, painful kiss. “I bit him,” she said.

  Thorne’s mouth quirked. “Good for you.”

  Nice that somebody was happy about it. “But I tried to cast a spell at him, too. And I said awful things.” It was coming back to her now, the hurtful things she’d said to Zane, who’d tried so hard to be good to her. It made her feel sick. “It was both our faults. And the idol’s.”

  “He doesn’t see it that way. Apparently, when a Wild Dragon mistreats his mate—no matter what the reason—the guilt is… painful.”

  Thorne’s eyes grew distant, and his mouth tightened. He feels guilty for what he did to Rebel when he had treasure fever, she realized. Even though she wasn’t really hurt. The way Zane feels guilty for what
he did to me.

  Thorne went on, “And with Zane’s history, he feels that more than most.”

  Blaze realized how little she really knew about Zane’s past. Two-hundred and eighty-seven years of past. “What do you mean? What history?”

  Thorne looked uncomfortable. “You’ll have to ask him that,” he said. “Once he knew you were near waking up, it seems he felt unable to face you. Right now he’s in his lair, brooding. He’ll come out when he’s ready.”

  Blaze stared at him. “So we just let him brood and be miserable? I don’t think so.” This was her mate they were talking about. “Where’s his lair? In those caverns by the Batcave?”

  She got to her feet and looked at Thorne expectantly.

  Thorne raised his eyebrows. “One does not simply burst into a dragon’s lair unannounced. It usually results in fiery death. One has to be invited.”

  Blaze rolled her eyes. “And how often does that happen? I’m guessing never.” She waited some more. Thorne didn’t move.

  “Fine,” she said. “You sure you want me wandering around down there by myself? Because I might end up in your lair by mistake. Rummaging through your gold. Borrowing pretty bits and pieces. Got anything with dragonflies on it? I love dragonflies.”

  Thorne’s eyes narrowed. “Fiery death,” he repeated.

  “My boyfriend will protect me. Apparently, it’s what he lives for.” She started walking towards the door. “Leaving now. I’ll say hello to your hoard for you.”

  Thorne sighed. “Fine. I’ll take you.” He put down Bucephalus, who stalked away, sulking. “Don’t even pretend you care,” Thorne said to the cat as he got up. “You know perfectly well you’ll be eating the meat out of the rest of the sandwiches as soon as I turn my back.” Bucephalus flicked his tail and showed Thorne his butt.

  Thorne made an irritated dragon noise. “No gratitude,” he muttered. Blaze wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or the cat.

  Chapter 37

  Blaze found some shoes, and she and Thorne walked down the hallway to the elevator. Thorne stared straight ahead, not speaking.

  He wanted to say something, though. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his hands clenching and unclenching, and a couple of times he opened his mouth and took a breath, only to close it again.

  Finally, after they’d gotten in the elevator and he pushed the button for the lowest level, Blaze lost her patience.

  “What?” she asked.

  Thorne frowned mightily, and then he blurted out, “Do you have feelings for him?”

  “For Zane?”

  He huffed in annoyance. “Who else would I be talking about?”

  She wondered why he cared. Because he wanted Zane to be happy? Or because he was hoping that if Blaze had feelings for Zane, Rebel might develop feelings for him?

  Either way, Thorne had watched over her and taken care of her. She owed him the truth.

  She touched the necklace around her neck. “Yes,” she said honestly. “It seems so strange—we’ve known each other such a short time. But as soon as I met him, I felt a connection. Being around him made me feel happy. Like the sun had come out, in here.” She put her hand on her chest. “I wanted to…”

  This was so embarrassing, but she made herself go on. “I wanted to curl up next to him, like he was a blazing fire on a cold night, and never leave again. When he touches me, I feel safe. When he’s happy, I’m happy. And…” she ran her fingers over the necklace, and felt it hum softly. “His gold sings to me.”

  “If his hoard sings to you, then he loves you,” Thorne said. “I hope you know what that’s worth. He doesn’t let himself love people. Not since—”

  “Not since what?”

  Thorne shook his head. “You should ask him,” he said, just as he had in her room.

  Blaze had had enough of that. She slammed the palm of her hand on the ‘stop’ button, and the elevator shuddered to a halt. “I’m asking you,” she said.

  She leaned against the control board so that Thorne couldn’t start the elevator again without physically moving her out of the way.

  For a moment she thought he was going to do exactly that, but finally he sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking extremely uncomfortable.

  “Zane’s father was a Wild Dragon, and his mother was a bear shifter. She raised him with her clan out in the Tualatin Valley, along with her cubs from her shifter mate. Of course, this was long before the first settlers came to Portland. The clan was his family until he was old enough to go off on his own, the way Wild Dragons tend to do.

  “Through the years Zane stayed in touch with them, though of course they grew old while he remained young. When his youngest sister was elderly and near death, their village was targeted by a rogue warrior clan.” He paused. “The eighteenth-century version of a criminal biker gang, I guess you’d say. Zane wanted to move her sons and their children and grandchildren to safety, but they wouldn’t leave while the rest of their clan was still in danger. So he gave his sister a token—a piece of gold from his hoard that he’d fashioned himself—and told her to call on him if her or her children needed help, and he would come to them and fight for them.”

  “But he didn’t?” she asked in a whisper, already knowing the answer. Somehow, the message had gone astray, and Zane had failed to save his family.

  “He returned to find the clan destroyed,” Thorne said. “Only one cub survived—a great-grandchild of his sister’s.”

  Blaze’s heart ached for Zane. Their situations were different, but she knew how it felt to lose everyone and everything that had given you your foundation in life. You were cut adrift, never able to truly trust life to give you happiness and love without taking it away.

  “That’s awful,” she said. “What happened to her? The cub?”

  “She was adopted into another clan, out near what’s now Hillsboro. Her descendants are still there.”

  Blaze was stunned. “Zane has family in the Valley?”

  “A few,” Thorne said. “They don’t know about him, but he still watches over them.” He turned his deep blue gaze on her. “It’s been over two hundred years, and he has never forgiven himself for failing the others. If anything happens to you, it will destroy him.”

  He turned abruptly and faced the back of the elevator, where there was a second set of doors.

  Slowly, Blaze hit the button and the elevator began moving again. Zane loved her. And he was afraid of failing her the way he’d failed his family.

  “Is that how you feel about Rebel?” she asked Thorne, going to stand next to him.

  Thorne glanced at her, startled. “That’s completely different,” he said. “I’m half-Draken. For us, mating is about duty, not love. And we don’t get emotionally involved with humans.”

  Blaze hadn’t seen much of Thorne, and most of the time he’d been angry. But he had a softer side. He’d showed it in his affection for Bucephalus—and the way he cared about Zane. Plus, his dragon obviously had a thing for Rebel.

  “Uh huh,” she said. “If Draken don’t fall in love with humans, how do you explain all those Wild Dragons running around?”

  There was a short silence. “We are attractive to humans, I suppose,” Thorne said stiffly. “Like that Tempest woman, with her fantasies and fairy tales.”

  Blaze bit back a smile. “Or like Rebel?”

  “Certainly not. You heard her yesterday. She doesn’t love me. She’ll never love me.”

  Blaze shook her head. “You believed all that protesting too much? You really don’t know anything about humans.”

  Thorne snorted.

  The elevator arrived at the lower level, and the doors opened to a large domed cavern with several dragon-sized tunnels branching off it. To her left, Blaze saw the huge carved doors that led into the Batcave. Apparently, the elevator opened on either side.

  “Down there,” Thorne said, pointing toward the corridor just past the Batcave. “The end of the hall—just look for the door with the stars
and moons on it.”

  “Thanks,” Blaze said.

  He nodded and turned away, and she touched him on the arm. “Thorne?”

  He turned back, eyebrows raised.

  “Thanks for telling me about Zane. And for taking care of me and Bucephalus. I’m thinking maybe you won’t make somebody such a bad mate, after all.”

  He shook his head, but as he turned away to head toward the Batcave, she thought maybe he looked a little bit pleased.

  Blaze walked alone down the hallway. She felt tiny in the huge, echoing space, meant for creatures who were so different from her.

  Creatures that understood duty, but not love. Zane understood love, but it was his failed duty and broken promises that were crushing him.

  As she got closer to the end of the hall, she caught the faint sound of music in the air. Not the joyous singing of the gold in Zane’s room when they made love, or the soothing lullaby her necklace sang when she had nightmares.

  This song was a lament, a song of loss and longing and despair so poignant that she paused with her hand on the door, transfixed by its beauty and sadness. It pulled at her heartstrings, weaving a tapestry of all the emotions she’d thrust aside and buried for so long.

  Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer. She pushed open the door and walked inside.

  Chapter 38

  Blaze stopped inside the door, stunned. It was like walking into a fairy tale—Aladdin’s cave or Midas’s hoard.

  Enough treasure to ransom a dozen kings spread before her, glittering in the light of magical torches. Mounds of gold bars and coins, sprinkled in with some silver and copper. Goblets and statuettes and jewelry were arranged artfully on shelves and tables and display stands, or piled on the floor. A crown set with diamonds and rubies sat rakishly on the golden head of an Egyptian goddess.

  On one side she glimpsed a human-sized living area with a fireplace and polished wood furniture, but the room was dominated by the huge dragon curled up in the center of it, his giant head resting on a smaller mound of treasure set a little ways away from the rest.