Enchanted By Fire (Dragons Of The Darkblood Secret Society Book 3)

by Meg Ripley

  "Mr. Simmons is waiting for you in the parlor," the woman said in a soft monotone, her eyes not moving from a doorway across the massive grey marble foyer.

  Jason looked in the direction of her gaze and then back at her.

  "Thank you," he said.

  The woman nodded and moved around Jason to close the door. He turned to walk toward the parlor and noticed a statue of a dragon sitting at the base of the tremendous staircase that led up out of the foyer. He stared at it for a moment and then continued toward the parlor, wondering what he might discover when he entered the new room.

  As soon as he stepped in, he noticed two more dragon statues flanking the inside of the door. These were slightly different from the one in the foyer, made of red marble rather than the dark material of the first. He was staring down at them when he heard a voice from further inside the room.

  "Mr. Cross, I presume?"

  Jason looked up and saw a man slightly younger than Mr. Kelsey standing near a cold, empty fireplace. He leaned on the mantle with one hand, the other tucked into the black lapel of a red smoking jacket embroidered with the willowy, curvy shapes of serpentine dragons.

  "Um," Jason said, unsure of how he was supposed to respond to this man. "Yes. You can call me Jason."

  The man who Jason assumed was Mr. Simmons turned to him slowly and brought the cigarette grasped between his fingers to his lips. Jason braced himself for some sort of dramatic billowing smoke display, but instead, Mr. Simmons took a bite out of the cigarette, chewed it for a moment, and then gave Jason a smile.

  "Bubblegum," he said happily, starting toward him.

  Jason couldn’t help but smile. Vincent had warned him that Mr. Simmons was eccentric, but he was proving to be even more unusual than Jason could have prepared for.

  "I really appreciate you letting me come to your home to meet with you," Jason said, extending his hand as Mr. Simmons approached.

  "Absolutely. Call me Neil. Let's sit."

  Jason followed Neil's gesture to sit at one of the overstuffed chairs that rested on either side of a glass coffee table.

  "Alright. Neil, I know that we spoke briefly on the phone, but I wanted to give you more information about this investment opportunity."

  Jason placed his briefcase at his feet and released the latch on the top, reaching in to pull out the folder that contained his presentation about the park.

  "Absolutely. Let's walk."

  Neil bounded back up out of his chair and started toward the doors, removing the smoking jacket as he went so that he could hang it on a hook on the wall that Jason noticed was also shaped like a dragon. He was picking up on a theme in the house and it was making him distinctly uncomfortable.

  They walked back through the foyer and Neil led Jason up the massive staircase to a hallway at the top. He turned into the first doorway and Jason followed him, trying to give the pitch that he had prepared, but found it harder to deliver effectively without the benefit of the pictures, news clippings, and charts that he had carefully tailored to demonstrate that this could be a potentially lucrative investment choice.

  Jason felt like he was having to stretch a little bit further; be a bit more dramatic with how he spoke about the park and all of the opportunities that he saw for it, even if he wasn't entirely sure that he believed what he was saying himself. He wanted to believe it, though. He wanted to believe that he could help Mr. Kelsey take all of the enthusiasm, nostalgia, and faith that he had inside himself and somehow use it to transform his beloved park.

  "This is my favorite spot in the house," Neil said.

  Jason had been so busy talking that he hadn't really paid attention to his surroundings, but when he glanced up he realized they were walking through not a single room, but a long gallery that looked as though it had been crafted out of several rooms by removing dividing walls. Paintings covered the walls and Jason noticed that nearly all of them featured dragons. In the center of the wall to his left was a massive mural of a maze that looked remarkably like the one outside of the Club.

  A twinge of discomfort twisted in his stomach and Jason tried his best to get a glimpse of the inside of Neil's wrist. Now that he had removed his smoking jacket, Neil was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, which would have allowed Jason to see whether or not Neil had a specific tattoo on his wrist, indicating that he was one of them. The older man shifted and Jason saw both wrists. Neither had the mark, which meant that he wasn't a dragon himself. That meant that he knew far too much about Jason's world, and that put him, and Jason, in danger.

  "Is that alright with you, Jason?"

  Jason jumped slightly at the sound of Neil's question, realizing that he had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't heard what the older man had been saying to him.

  "I'm sorry. What were you saying?" Jason asked.

  "I was saying that you have me fairly well convinced of the whole thing, but I am no longer the only one who makes decisions about my investments. It seems that I have made one or two hasty decisions that my progeny did not appreciate, and now I've promised that I won't make any more investments without approval. You will have to impress Shayne and get approval before I can go ahead."

  "And Shayne is?" Jason asked.

  Neil gave a sigh and looked up at the huge painting with a spark of longing in his eyes that pushed Jason even further into his nervousness.

  "Not nearly as easy to please as I am."

  If you enjoyed this preview of Playing With Fire: Dragons Of The Darkblood Secret Society, Book 1, you may download the entire story HERE. Available with Kindle Unlimited.

  Sneak Peek of Marked By Fire: Dragons Of The Darkblood Secret Society, Book 2

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lance Rockland set down the final moving box and sighed. It wasn’t a bad apartment, considering how little time he’d had to look for a place. The raise he had been guaranteed with his new position at Carlton and Corbin, the global investment banking firm he’d been transferred to, guaranteed that he would never have trouble affording the rent.

  Not that he did, anyway. Lance had always been careful, protective even, of his money, and he had more than enough to keep himself comfortable.

  Crossing the large expanse of wooden floor in the living room, Lance braced himself against the window and looked out over the city. The street below was crowded in the evening, with numerous people bustling back and forth, trying to get to their destinations as quickly as possible. The high-rises and skyscrapers that surrounded him were full of even more people. That was the problem with New York City: it was so full of humans, and the air was thick with their stench. There was no getting away from it here.

  “I was an idiot to ever leave Illinois,” he muttered as he pushed off the window trim and went to the kitchen to find the pint of whiskey he had picked up earlier. He popped the top, poured two fingers in a shot glass, and stared at the amber liquid. With its industrial appliances, expansive cabinets, and recessed lighting, it was a kitchen worthy of a gourmet chef. It should have thrilled him to know that he could cook up a rare steak easily, but there wasn’t much that could please him at the moment.

  No, while New York was the type of place that would have made most people happy, it was only going to make him miserable. His new job, his new apartment, and the numerous forms of entertainment available didn’t mean anything to him.

  There was only one place in the city that might make him feel he belonged.

  Leaving the whiskey on the counter, Lance descended to the ground floor and stepped outside to hail a cab. The funk of human had permeated the upholstery, and he held a handkerchief over his nose until the sedan swung to the curb.

  The Club wasn’t much from the outside. Little more than a set of dark double doors set in the side of a large building, it could have been any night club. Of course, the lack of a handle or knob was a sure indication that they didn’t welcome just anyone off the street. But the small black dragon on the sign told him he was in the right place.

&nbs
p; This was where the others like him were.

  This was one place where he would be able to be himself.

  Lance had heard stories about the Darkblood Secret Society, and he could only hope they were true.

  As he reached out with his fist to knock on the door, his mind flashed back to the days of his youth. Life had been different then, living out on the farm with his uncle. He could fly freely in his true form over the corn fields and into the neighboring woods, with no worries about who might see him. Uncle Bill had hundreds of acres that had been passed down through the family. At night, the two of them often went out to the massive hay barn to talk.

  “We’re lucky you know,” Uncle Bill said as he whipped his tail against the nearest bale of hay, sending little bits of dried grass into the air. “There have been so many of us over the years who have tried to live by themselves, and they were always persecuted. We were routed from England centuries ago, but a few were lucky enough to come to America. At that time, there were hardly any humans here. It seemed like paradise. But more humans came, unable to resist the fertile land and the expansive skies. Our kind were scattered once again, and now there aren’t very many of us left. But you and I have each other. That’s a lot more than many of the other shifters can say.” He shook out a wing appreciatively.

  “Maybe,” Lance agreed with a shrug. He had still been so young, and home life to a youngster of any species was never good enough. “I heard there are more of us, though; entire flights of dragons who live together. Just think what it must be like to be with so many others at once.”

  Uncle Bill sighed. “Yes, that sounds nice, in theory. But having too many of us in one place can make for quite a target, Lance. Someone would be bound to notice.” His head drooped a little, the scales around his eyes showing his age. “I often wonder if that’s why the hunters were able to find your parents so easily. Our family was determined to stay together, but it might have cost us.”

  Lance had spent plenty of time wondering about his parents and if there was ever any chance of tracking down their killers, but this wasn’t the time for it. He was at The Club. He had his chance. He just had to get inside.

  He knocked firmly, and as the door cracked open, a heavily-built man with a scar on his chin and a crooked nose peered out. “Members only,” he barked.

  “Wait,” Lance said, holding out his hand and taking a step closer as the door shut. “I know your secret.”

  The bouncer coughed out a laugh. “Oh yeah? You know my Aunt Margaret used to be my Uncle Mitch? Good for you.”

  “I know what the members of this place really are,” Lance insisted, glancing to the side to make sure nobody was coming.

  “I don’t have time for this shit,” the bouncer started pulling the door shut again.

  Lance wrapped his hand around the door, risking getting it slammed. “I know what the members are, because I’m one of them, too.” His voice was an angry growl. It had been drilled into his head for as long as he could remember that he wasn’t to tell anyone about his true form. Such a thing was too dangerous, but it was necessary now. “I’m a dragon.”

  He opened the door a little wider, but it was only so he could show Lance his ear-to-ear grin. He could also see the man’s nametag, which had ‘Bruno’ printed on it. “Sure, buddy. Prove it.”

  There was no way to know if it was safe or not, but Lance was out of chances. Pulling back the sleeve of his jacket, he showed the bouncer his bare wrist. Bruno looked at it expectantly, but frowned when he saw it was blank. For Lance, that only confirmed for him that this was the right place. Members of the Darkblood Secret Society had a specific tattoo in that spot, and the bouncer had been looking for it. Still, Lance had something else to show him.

  Summoning his inner power from deep inside, Lance closed his eyes and concentrated. He shuddered as a chill welled up from his gut and rippled through his veins. A full shift was much easier, instinctive and pleasing, but controlling his body in such detail made his stomach turn.

  His body pulsed, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He throbbed, balancing on the thin cusp of dragon and human. His shoulder blades itched and burned, threatening to fling his wings out for all the world to see.

  Finally, the skin on the inside of his wrist broke into segments the size of a quarter. They stood on end, hesitating in the air for a moment before they flipped over and revealed the iridescent green underneath. The scales undulated until they were flat.

  The door flung against the side of the building as Bruno stepped over the threshold and grabbed Lance, throwing him inside and slamming the door shut behind him. Lance felt attacked, but he couldn’t fight back; not if he wanted a chance at becoming a member of the Society. He stood patiently as Bruno removed his own tie with a snap and twisted it around Lance’s head. It pulled his hair and snapped his head back, but Lance understood. They had to take precautions.

  Bruno yanked back on the makeshift blindfold to growl over Lance’s shoulder. “I don’t know what kind of magic trick you’re trying to pull, but we don’t appreciate that sort of stuff around here. I’m taking you straight to the boss to see what he wants to do with you.”

  Lance pursed his lips to keep from smiling. “Fair enough.”

  The air around him shifted as Bruno marched him through a series of rooms. He could hear the faint din of a crowd in a bar, the tinkling of their glasses and their murmuring voices, and subtle music in the background. The hot, salty scent of meat drifted to his nostrils and made his mouth water. No doubt there was a restaurant somewhere in The Club, and it catered to people like him. The air changed again, growing quieter and somewhat warmer.

  “We’re going upstairs,” Bruno barked.

  Lance reached out his foot to find the first stair. The steps underneath were rough, probably made of stone, and the cool air that emanated from the wall of the stairwell confirmed it. Their ascent seemed to last far too long. “How many stories are in this building, anyway?” he asked, wishing he could shift completely and simply fly up. It would have been a lot faster.

  “You ask too many questions.” The bouncer gave him an extra shove as they reached the top of the stairs, and he stumbled forward onto smooth flooring.

  Eventually, after walking a while further and making several turns, they came to a stop.

  “Go ahead and take off the blindfold.” The man who spoke sounded tired and bored. “Let’s see what lunatic we have today.”

  “He showed up at the door, Mr. Cross,” Bruno explained as he removed his tie from Lance’s face. “He claimed to know who we are and said he’s a dragon. I was going to kick him to the gutter, where he belongs, but he showed me.”

  Lance blinked, his eyes slowly adjusting to the light. They were standing in a large, lavish office with thick green carpet and a massive desk. It was made of a fine, dark wood, as were the built-in shelves and cabinets that covered almost all the walls. These were laden with leather-bound books, jade eggs, and countless dragon statues.

  The man behind the desk was heavyset, his dark hair receding. He had his elbows on the wooden surface, his fingers casually interlaced as he studied Lance but spoke to Bruno. “Are you telling me he turned into a dragon right on the street? That’s something. Is he with that magic show that just arrived in town?”

  Bruno poked Lance on the shoulder. “Show him. Show him like you showed me.”

  Mr. Cross pushed his wireframe glasses up on his nose and watched with a disinterested look.

  Lance leaned forward and set his hand on the desk. Pulling in a deep breath, he let it out slowly as he pushed his energy toward his fingertips. His nails lengthened and formed into cones, growing darker and thicker as his fingers curled to accommodate their new shape. When he was done, he lifted his hand slightly and tapped his sharp claws on the desktop, one by one.

  One dark eyebrow went up as Mr. Cross frowned. “Interesting. But having a few claws does not make one a dragon, you know.”

  “I can do more.” Lance looke
d around at the room; there were too many delicate items. “Just not here.” He took his hand off the desk, and it was human again by the time it reached his lap. His fingertips ached from the quick transition.

  “What makes you think I care?” Mr. Cross lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “There are all sorts of weirdos in the city, you know.”

  Lance had always been in control. He’d never had to beg for a job. His education, good looks and ruthless personality had made every major company—and scores of women—scrambling over each other to get to him. Even at restaurants, his food always came out hot, fresh, and perfectly done. Humans were able to sense something in him that made them want to serve him.

  Mr. Cross was definitely different, though.

  “I realize that you have quite a secret to keep, Mr. Cross,” Lance began. “I’ve been keeping the same secret for the last twenty-five years. It’s not easy, and I’m sure it’s even harder when there are so many of you. But I’ve been out there alone for almost six years now. Rumors of the Darkblood Secret Society have reached shifters in all parts of the country, and I came to see if they were true.”

  Standing up, Mr. Cross paced to a window. It was set high in the wall and had a grid of thick bars, but it still offered a brilliant view of the night sky. “I don’t know what this Darkblood Secret Society you’re talking about is, but I’m curious what you’re looking for here. What exactly do you think we can do for you?”

  “I’ve wondered that myself,” Lance replied honestly. “I don’t really know, since I’ve only ever lived with one other dragon. But I know that this city is riddled with humans, and there’s a severe lack of safe places for those like us. It would be nice to know I’m not alone. If nothing else, perhaps this is a refuge from the horrific stench of humans.”