Dragon's Lair (Silhouette Nocturne (Numbered))

by Denise Lynn

She couldn’t help but wonder who would be more upset by her arrival—Braeden or his aunt Danielle. With any luck, his aunt had stayed behind in Boston and she wouldn’t be around.

  To keep boredom at bay and the family coffers filled, so to speak, Braeden and his brothers designed and built resort hotels around the world. Alexia knew from news articles and recent television interviews that the current work in progress was a secluded resort in the mountains just outside Gatlinburg, Tennessee. While she could envision Braeden and his brothers there, she couldn’t imagine Danielle Drake leaving her high-society life in Boston for the mountains.

  On the other hand, since Braeden was cursed, it was a safe bet his aunt wouldn’t let him get too far away from her. Why the woman thought she still needed to protect her boys was beyond Alexia’s comprehension. Danielle may have raised them after their parents died, but they weren’t boys any longer.

  Braeden had evoked the curse himself. As had been done in previous generations, he’d made the mistake of marrying an uninitiated mortal. In an attempt to keep their line of wizards pure, a curse had been placed on the eldest son. Supposedly any mortal the son married would be able to drain him of his powers.

  While Alexia had never seen any indication that was true, Danielle Drake took the curse seriously. The woman had taken every opportunity she could to drive Alexia away.

  Hopefully, Danielle thought Braeden would be safe without her help this time and had stayed behind in the comforts of Boston. It was something Alexia knew she’d discover soon enough.

  Since she didn’t have directions to the Drakes’ resort, the clerk at the convenience store on the edge of town said it’d be impossible to miss Dragon’s Lair as long as she stayed on this road.

  The rain had finally stopped, but now the typical Appalachian fog coated her car like a layer of frost. As the wipers fought the thick dew, a country ballad crackled from the radio. Something about lost love and pain. If she weren’t so afraid of lessening her death grip on the wheel, she’d turn the radio off. Music that had once soothed her jangled her last nerve.

  The closer she got to Braeden the more nervous she became. Between the rockslide, rain and fog, it seemed as if even nature itself was against this trip. Not a good omen, but she had to ignore it.

  What she couldn’t ignore was the feeling of approaching disaster that clung to her skin like perspiration on a muggy summer day. Except it wasn’t summer, nor was it hot. This sensation was frigid, making her shiver in spite of the air blasting from the car heater.

  She hadn’t seen another car in more than an hour, yet her senses warned of someone—or something—following her. Constant checking in the rearview mirror revealed nothing but an empty road.

  Not seeing anything could be meaningless. Alexia knew from past experience that otherworldly creatures existed. One such creature had forced her car off the road, causing the accident where she’d lost her unborn baby.

  Her heart flinched at the reminder. And her arms ached with emptiness. Sometimes, like now, Alexia wondered if she’d ever get past that horrible moment.

  The accident and loss had led to the breakdown of her marriage. Her disbelief upon learning that she’d married a wizard had been hard to overcome, but she had. She’d loved him with all her heart and had accepted who and what he was. Yet Braeden hadn’t returned the same level of trust. He hadn’t believed her explanation of the accident.

  At first his adamant disbelief angered her. Then the realization that he didn’t trust her broke her heart. She could have lived with his anger, but not his lack of faith. So she’d left and never expected to return.

  Especially not under these circumstances.

  Alexia steered around another curve and slammed on her brakes. Could that be Dragon’s Lair? She leaned sideways and tipped her head to better see the monstrosity.

  A medieval castle rose out of the Appalachian mists, totally out of place in this environment. Its towers were starkly outlined by the glare of spotlights mounted at the base of the walls.

  It was as if Mirabilus Keep, the Drakes’ ancestral home, had been transplanted stone by stone from its island in the Irish Sea to East Tennessee.

  Resort, castle or medieval keep, Dragon’s Lair was aptly named. With the dark sky and steadily thickening fog, the hulking structure loomed over anyone approaching its gates.

  Alexia straightened, fighting the sudden urge to turn the car around, floor the gas pedal and head as far away from Braeden’s home as possible.

  Instead, she took a deep breath and inched the car forward. He wouldn’t be happy to see her, not after the things she’d done to him. She had the sinking feeling he would still be angry.

  She didn’t blame him, but she had no options.

  She wasn’t running to him because she wanted to—she did so only because she had to. The pages belonged to his family. Maybe returning them would in some way make up for breaking her vow of silence about the book.

  Even though the choice of writing the paper on the manual had been taken from her, guilt for doing so still plagued her.

  Perhaps the book would be safe at Dragon’s Lair. Perhaps, somehow, even she’d be safe—if not from her husband’s anger, then at least from those after the book.

  Braeden Drake shoved away from his desk, rose, then crossed the office to once again stare out the tall, narrow window. Fog blanketed the mountains, giving life to the murkiness of his mood.

  She was out there. And he could feel her getting closer. That one thought—Alexia’s returning—had jolted him awake just before midnight.

  Since then he’d waited, his anger growing with each passing hour. He hadn’t felt this level of rage in years. The mere fact that he was still this angry with her irritated him to his marrow.

  There were legitimate reasons to despise his wife. She’d lied about the accident that had killed their unborn child. She’d left him. Then, to make matters worse, she’d used confidential information about his family’s secrets to further her career.

  Her speculations about the grimoire, the Dragonierre’s Manual, had resurrected debates about its existence. Not only debates, but also the increasing number of those seeking to gain fame, fortune and power from discovering the truth about the grimoire.

  Somehow she was involved in the recent events at Mirabilus Keep. It was obvious by the timing that her paper on the manual had triggered an avalanche of disasters.

  In the months since her work had been published, there’d been four break-ins. During the attempts, four of his employees and an intruder had been killed, a hired carpenter was still in the hospital and another intruder had been seriously injured.

  As the ruler of Mirabilus Isle, he was responsible for his employees’ families. He didn’t care about either criminal. However, no clues were found at the scene and the intruder’s prolonged coma made it impossible to get the information he needed.

  He’d tried using every ounce of power he possessed to get inside the intruder’s mind. But the attempts had proved useless. He’d received only distorted images of the man’s childhood.

  Dragon’s Lair was almost ready to open. He didn’t have the time or the energy required to make the repeated trips to Mirabilus, open the resort and keep both his family and the people under his protection safe against those seeking to harm them.

  He slammed his fist against the wall. He didn’t want Alexia here. Didn’t want to deal with the anger and lack of concentration her presence would create.

  The sight of headlights stopping just outside the gates warned him that whether he wanted to deal with her or not, she was here.

  Far from a hotel, Dragon’s Lair looked more like a movie set for an old horror flick. A gloomy castle complete with towers, parapet and arrow slits for windows, it’d probably even have a dungeon outfitted with a torture device—in her size.

  Braeden would never go that far. Would he? Alexia shook her head and answered her own question. No, he wouldn’t.

  Even with people he didn’t like, he
was always formal, polite and able to keep things impersonal. He wouldn’t be any less formal or impersonal with her.

  Impersonal. Great idea, but could she keep it that way? The years hadn’t dimmed her memories. She still remembered everything. The whirlwind courtship that brought them breathless to the altar. The deep timbre of his voice, his caressing touch, the heat of his kisses. The memories twisted in the pit of her stomach, consuming her with despair.

  To keep this dire visit impersonal, she needed to remember what had driven her away in the first place. Even though she’d been forced, it had been her unhealed anger and pain that had made it slightly easier to write the paper on the Dragonierre’s Manual. Her conscience still niggled regretfully. But there was little she could do about it now other than return the missing section to its rightful owner.

  She pulled through the open wrought-iron gates and around the circular drive to the front of the castle. She grabbed the envelope off the seat, then stepped out of her car. The hair on the back of her neck rose. Someone was watching her from one of the many narrow windows.

  It would do her no good to put her fear and worry on display. She kept a firm grip on her package, squared her shoulders and opened one of the oversize entrance doors.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  Antique iron wall sconces had been outfitted with flame-shaped lightbulbs. Suits of armor flanked all three of the arched doorways. Tapestries covered some walls, while murals of medieval hunting and jousting scenes graced the rest. It would take just a dusting of dried herbs on the rough, planked floor to complete the transformation to the Middle Ages.

  Alexia shivered. The enormous lobby was empty and as cold as it looked. If the Drakes had been looking for the dank, dark atmosphere of a medieval keep, they’d succeeded.

  Only the registration desk and lobby bar anchored the hotel in the present day.

  She crossed to the desk. When no one came out to greet her, Alexia peered over the counter and picked up a map of the hotel from behind the counter. Management offices were down the hall to the left.

  Certain she’d find Braeden’s office there, she headed down the long, dark hall stopping at the first set of huge, metal-studded double doors. If the Lord of the Castle had an office, this had to be it. A quick glance at the brass wall plate confirmed her guess.

  Should she march right in, knock or turn around and leave? Her stomach somersaulted. Her heart raced. She couldn’t decide.

  Why? After all this time, why? She’d successfully squashed her feelings for him—her anger and near hatred had made it easy enough. So why now had her legs turned to jelly?

  She sensed him just beyond the door. The spicy scent of his aftershave swirled beneath her nose, awakening more intimate memories. The gentleness of his large hands brushing against her cheek. She shivered, remembering the feeling of his warm breath against her neck.

  Those tangible memories could easily be pushed back. It was the others, the more recent ones, that threatened to bring her to her knees.

  Her chest tightened as she remembered. When he’d lifted her from the car wreck, his voice had been husky and deep with concern. But when she’d lost the baby they’d both longed for, he’d blamed her.

  And when she’d tried to explain, he’d insisted that her mind was playing tricks on her.

  Alexia lifted her hand to the throbbing in her chest. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t face him. Not even after all this time. She’d have to find some other place of safety—because Dragon’s Lair wasn’t safe, after all.

  Quickly, before she was discovered, she turned and headed back down the hall toward the lobby.

  The door behind her groaned. She clutched the package in her arms to her chest, hoping the pressure would slow her pounding heart.

  “Leaving already?” Braeden’s deep voice rippled over her, stopping her escape.

  “I don’t know.”

  The carpet beneath his feet silenced his footsteps, but she sensed his approach. And to her horror her body warmed in welcome.

  Obviously perceiving her body’s response, he rested a hand on her shoulder. Then quickly withdrew his touch as if he’d been burned.

  The brief contact had been enticing, yet at the same time it had proved baffling. The sudden urge to run from desires and longings she thought safely put to rest collided with the need to lean into the chest so close behind her. It would be, oh, so easy to relax against his broad chest, tuck her head beneath his chin and let his strong arms enclose her in still-familiar warmth and safety.

  “Made up your mind yet? Staying or leaving?”

  Far from inviting, the coldness of his tone suggested her best choice would be to leave. She stepped away and faced him. Without the heat of his body against her back, she could almost breathe again.

  She looked up at him, then swallowed a gasp. Instead of impersonal, the hard, chiseled planes of his face spoke volumes of his anger. But it was the animalistic glitter in his narrowed eyes that threatened to steal the last remaining thread of bravery she clung to so desperately.

  There was no doubt in her mind that safety at Dragon’s Lair would come at a high price. How much would she have to forfeit to the Master of the Lair for protection against the evil seeking her? Would facing the unknown evil be less dangerous than facing the heartbreaking rage of the Dragon standing before her now?

  Alexia wasn’t at all certain she was up to the challenge of either choice.

  Braeden stared down at her. “Why are you here?” Before she could answer, he stepped aside and motioned toward his office. “I’m not going to stand out here in the hallway. Make yourself comfortable, then we’ll talk.”

  Comfortable? She doubted if she’d ever be comfortable in his presence again. Still, she accepted his suggestion and stepped into his office.

  Her feet sank into the thick midnight-blue carpet. She tried to ignore her innate urge to investigate the dragon statue and swords adorning the room. How many of the swords were real and how many were excellent replicas?

  Without being too obvious, she slowed her pace as she walked by a dragon statue perched on a pedestal. The column was marble—that much she was certain of. What about the dragon? Glass or gemstone? Sapphire? Blue topaz? Imitation? Real?

  Braeden walked behind the dragon on the way to his desk. “Sapphire. Twelfth century. The amethyst one in Cam’s office is identical, even down to the scratch on the beast’s belly.”

  Heat rushed to her face. “That obvious?”

  He said nothing. But his quick glance at her sent goose bumps racing down her arms. They instinctively tightened, crushing the package. Feeling like a fool, she relaxed her hold and sank into one of the leather armchairs facing the desk.

  While Braeden stared out at the fog, she studied the man she’d once called her husband. He was still everything she’d fallen for the moment she’d first laid eyes on him. He was tall enough that she had to tip her head up to look him in the eye. But it wasn’t his chiseled face or full lips that had first captured her attention.

  With his hands in his pockets, his suit jacket hiked up, he gave her a view that made her cheeks flush with warmth. Even now, the sight of his long, muscular legs and tight ass still set her heart fluttering in her chest.

  The well-tailored jacket clung smoothly to his back. She knew full well that there wasn’t any padding in those shoulders.

  Three years wasn’t a long time, but where his muscles had filled out to near perfection, hers had become more rounded and soft.

  It simply wasn’t fair.

  Finally Braeden turned and sat down. He leaned back in his seat, giving her the impression of the Lord of the Castle seated on his throne.

  “What do you want, Alexia?”

  She cringed before making the mistake of looking more closely at his face. A frown marred his forehead. Dark amethyst eyes stared unwavering back at her. If his tone in the hallway hadn’t warned her that he wasn’t thrilled about seeing her, the coldness of his eyes and the
hardness of his square jaw clued her in.

  When had he stopped wearing tinted contacts to hide the color of his eyes? He silently waited for her to tell him why she’d come. Uncertain where to begin, she asked the first thing that came to her mind, “You didn’t tear down Mirabilus, did you?”

  “No. But that’s not why you’re here.”

  “I, um…” She fumbled with the package, hating how spineless she suddenly felt. Despite her vivid imagination of him as a dragon and what he could do to her, she had no reason to physically fear the man across the desk. Lifting her chin, she forced her shoulders back. “Don’t glare at me.”

  “What?”

  “If you’re trying to intimidate me, it’s working.”

  “We’ve shared a bed and a life together and suddenly you feel intimidated?” He shook his head. “I would think guilt would be a more suitable emotion.”

  “Guilt? For what? For losing our baby?” A knife ripped through her chest. She swallowed down the searing pain. “It wasn’t as if I’d planned it. I had help, whether you believe me or not. Or do you mean guilt about leaving your home? I wasn’t welcome there any longer.”

  He leaned forward and opened his mouth. But before he could speak, she barreled ahead. “Why didn’t you come after me? Braeden, you could have contacted me at your will, anytime, anywhere, and you never even called or wrote or—”

  “Enough.” He cut her off, then asked, “Are you finished?”

  No, she wasn’t finished. She wanted to lunge across the desk and throttle him until he gave her the answers she needed.

  Braeden laced his fingers together until his knuckles turned white. Apparently he was as angry as she was. Good. It served him right.

  “In the first place, did we or did we not agree that I would never use an ability you did not possess?”

  Alexia looked down at her hands for a moment. Yes, that was true. He’d vowed not to force his thoughts into her mind and not to use any form of magic to locate her. But there were other methods of communicating. She lifted her gaze. “You could have picked up a phone, or a pen, or sent an e-mail.”