The Dragon Prince's Baby Bargain: Howls Romance

by Zoe Chant

  “This is your captain speaking,” crackled the intercom.

  Chloe cupped her hands in front of her mouth to distort her voice. “There may be some minor turbulence.”

  “The next flight out of Rodica will not be until tomorrow night,” the captain went on.

  Alarmed, Debbie scrabbled in her purse for the sweepstakes letter. She didn’t want to miss and entire day of the vacation of a lifetime—especially since it only lasted for one weekend.

  To her relief, she found a line at the bottom that said, Your sweepstakes vacation begins once you arrive in Paris. If your plane is delayed, you will still get the full time.

  The captain said, “You will all be given money for a hotel and food. Please enjoy the beauty of Rodica, which its people call the land of the dragon!”

  “Oooh,” Chloe squealed. “Rodica has dragons! I wanna see one!”

  Debbie tried not to laugh. “I don’t think he meant real dragons. It must be a local legend.”

  “I bet he meant real dragons,” Chloe said stubbornly. She peered out the window. It was a bright sunny day, showing an airport, green hills beyond that, and, farthest in the distance and rising beyond the hills, some delicate spires like a fairytale castle.

  A flight attendant—not the one who had yelled at Debbie—came to walk the little girl off the plane.

  “We’re going to get you on the phone with your grandparents,” the flight attendant said kindly. “Maybe you have a relative here you can stay with.”

  As they disembarked, Debbie asked the nice flight attendant, “Is it OK if I stay with her for a bit? Just to make sure she’s all right?”

  “I want Debbie!” Chloe chimed in.

  “Sure,” said the flight attendant. “I saw you taking care of her. Are you a mom?”

  “Not yet,” Debbie said.

  The flight attendant smiled. “Are you trying?”

  “No. I...” Debbie blushed, and hurriedly finished, “...I’m not married.”

  She could hardly say, “I’m a virgin” in front of a child, even if she was willing to inflict that level of embarrassing TMI on the flight attendant. Which she wasn’t.

  “Some day,” the flight attendant said cheerfully, and made the call.

  Chloe’s grandparents picked up the phone. The flight attendant spoke to them in French, apparently explaining what had happened, then passed the phone to Chloe, who also broke into fluent French.

  After she hung up, Chloe said, “Debbie, I have an aunt in Rodica! I’ll stay with her until the next flight.” Then, looking sad, she said, “But she said she has a really small apartment. There won’t be any room for you.”

  “Oh, I don’t need to stay with your aunt,” Debbie assured the little girl. “I get a free hotel room, remember? But it was sweet of you to ask.”

  Debbie collected her hotel and restaurant cash, then waited with Chloe until her aunt, a plump woman in a flowered dress, arrived to pick her up.

  “Bye, Debbie!” Chloe said. “I’ll see you on the plane to Paris!”

  “See you, Chloe,” Debbie said.

  As Chloe walked off with her aunt, she said, “The captain said there’s dragons here!”

  “That’s right,” her aunt replied. “If you’re lucky, you might even see one!”

  Smiling, Debbie went outside to hail a taxi into the town.

  The driver stared at her, then said, “I hadn’t known you’d left Rodica.”

  Baffled, she said, “I’ve never been here before. I was on my way to Paris, but my plane had to make an emergency landing.”

  The driver stared harder, then gave a sudden laugh. “Are you American?”

  “Yes. Do you have a hotel you’d recommend?”

  He laughed again.

  What was so funny? Spinach stuck in her teeth? Her shirt on backward? Americans were totally hilarious?

  The cab driver must have noticed her embarrassment, because he quickly wiped the grin from his face. “Yes. I’ll drive you there.”

  She sat back in the taxi as it wove its way along narrow roads through the forested hills. Debbie hoped the flight into Paris would be less eventful. But she couldn’t complain. She’d thought she’d get an all-expenses-paid weekend in Paris, and instead she’d gotten not only that, but an all-expenses-paid day in Rodica!

  Wherever Rodica was.

  She explained to the taxi driver how she’d unexpectedly ended up in his country, and admitted that she’d never heard of it. He didn’t seem surprised.

  “We don’t get very many tourists,” he explained. “People visit from the neighboring countries—Doru, Loredana, Brandusa, and Viorel. But only a few from other areas, and hardly any from America. We are a small country—small, but beautiful.”

  “It really is beautiful,” Debbie agreed.

  They had reached the city by then, but it didn’t look like any city she’d ever been in before. She was used to buildings made of concrete and glass, crowded parking lots and dingy sidewalks, tacky billboards and neon signs. The buildings in Rodica were made of stone or brick, the signs were painted on wood, and the roads were made of cobblestone. It looked like an illustration in some much-loved book from her childhood, forgotten until now.

  “The pilot said you call it the land of the dragon,” Debbie said. “Why is that?”

  “Because the royal family can become dragons.” He spoke with complete seriousness. Debbie stared at him, waiting for him to laugh, but he didn’t. She couldn’t tell if he was pranking the tourist, or if it was a legend that locals actually believed.

  The cab pulled up outside of a homey-looking hotel. “Your inn, madam.”

  The wooden sign read Welcome Inn. She laughed. Hotels with cute punning names apparently were universal.

  She walked into the lobby. The man at the front desk was drinking a mug of coffee and yawning. Without looking up, he mumbled, “Welcome to Welcome Inn.”

  Then he looked up. His eyes nearly popped out of his head, and he dropped the coffee mug. The innkeeper fumbled to mop the coffee and bow at the same time, exclaiming, “You honor us with your presence!”

  Debbie hadn’t ever stayed in a hotel before, but she was pretty sure even the people at the fancy ones in the US didn’t talk to customers like that.

  When in Rome, do as the Romans do, she thought, and decided to roll with it.

  “The honor is mine,” she said. “Um, can I have a room for one?”

  “Of course. Of course!” The innkeeper snatched up her bag, then indicated a guest book. “Please, will you sign your name? Otherwise my wife won’t believe it!”

  “Believe what?”

  “That you were really here, of course!”

  Debbie had no idea why it would be so weird for a hotel to have guests, but she obediently signed the book. The innkeeper, who had been peering over her shoulder, made a strange spluttering noise.

  She turned around, and caught him with an equally strange look on his face. Then he smoothed it out and smiled at her. “Welcome to Welcome Inn... Debbie. I hope you enjoy your stay.”

  He showed her to a cozy room with a patchwork quilt on a comfy bed. Debbie flopped down on it and yawned. She did want to explore Rodica. But she was tired, too...

  The last thing she noticed before her eyes closed was that the patches on the quilt were shaped like dragons.

  Debbie awoke to warm golden light. She yawned and blinked, briefly disoriented. Where was she? Then her vision came into focus.

  A fire-breathing dragon loomed above her!

  She recoiled with a gasp, her arms flailing. The dragon was going to eat her!

  The dragon wasn’t moving. It hung suspended over her bed, its flame caught in mid-billow, its emerald wings outstretched and motionless.

  Also, it was flat.

  Debbie giggled as she realized that the dragon was just a mural painted on to the ceiling over the bed. A strange choice of decoration, certain to alarm unsuspecting sleepers. It seemed like a practical joke. Or maybe it was like t
he taxi driver had mentioned, and the inn usually only got tourists from the surrounding countries, who were presumably just as fond of dragons as the Rodicans apparently were.

  It was a little weird, but charming once you got used to it. Debbie had enjoyed fairytales when she was a little girl. She’d always loved the dragons and had been sorry the knights slew them instead of befriending them, even if they did eat virgins.

  At least when a dragon’s around, virgins are in demand, she thought glumly. It’s not like anyone else wants them.

  She still didn’t see what was so outrageous about not throwing herself at the first guy who’d tried to seduce her. Or the next guy. Or the next. She wasn’t committed to saving herself for marriage. She just wanted something better than a fumble in the back seat of a car or a night in a sleazy motel, and someone better than a guy who didn’t even pretend to want more than a one-night stand.

  But all those “not this time” and “not this one” added up to being that dreaded thing, a virgin. And once she confessed to that, even nice guys got nervous and backed off.

  I definitely need a hot Frenchman, she thought. Or maybe a hot Rodican. A hot Rod!

  Stifling another giggle, she splashed some water on her face, brushed her hair, and went out.

  The innkeeper again did a weird double-take at the sight of her, then wiped it off his face and provided her with a map of the city. He indicated a tiny castle, and said, “The royal palace. It’s walking distance if you have comfortable shoes. Just follow the main road toward the spires.”

  Debbie had been hoping to buy a pair of pretty shoes in Paris, but the unglamorous sneakers she wore were definitely comfy. “Thanks. I’ll go check it out.”

  It was afternoon, and the lowering sun lit the city with a lovely glow. She happily wandered around, admiring the sights and following the main road. The delicate spires of the palace rose high in the distance. She couldn’t wait to see the palace. It had to be amazing.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to see a palace,” Debbie murmured to herself. “Me, a 7-11 clerk from Tennessee!”

  She’d be back to serving up slushies next week. But right now, she was in Rodica, with a wad of Rodican money in her pocket that the airline had given her. And she was going to enjoy the hell out of it.

  The delicious smell of baking bread and roasting meat wafted out of a narrow side road. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the night before—the plane had made its emergency landing before breakfast, and she’d slept through lunch. She followed the smell, hoping it came from a restaurant. She had no idea what people ate in Rodica, but whatever it was, she wanted some.

  A man stepped out from the shadows and stood directly in her path. Startled, she looked up at him.

  He was tall and strikingly handsome, with chiseled, masculine features—strong jaw, high cheekbones, bold eyebrows. His hair was glossy and black, and his eyes were a gorgeous light amber. Debbie had never seen eyes that color before.

  She couldn’t stop staring at him, taking in all the details. He was dressed in beautifully tailored clothes in what had to be some sort of traditional Rodican style— black linen pants, high black boots, a white shirt, and a long black coat that swirled around his ankles and was embroidered around the cuffs and hem with tiny golden dragons breathing puffs of crimson flame. He wore several gold rings, but none, she couldn’t help noticing, were on his ring finger.

  And he was staring at her too. Those stunning amber eyes were fixed on her as if she was the most amazing and wonderful thing he’d seen in his entire life.

  “My God,” he muttered. “I thought you were Princess Eugenia.”

  His voice was deep and dark and dusky. Incredibly sexy. She could have kept listening to it forever. It was only belatedly that she realized what he’d said.

  “No,” Debbie replied. Had he really mistaken her for a princess? Or was that just someone’s first name, like Princess Smith or Princess Jones? “I’m Debbie Jameson, from Tennessee.”

  He shook his head, but the gesture seemed more one of amazement than of denial. “Incredible. You look so much like her.”

  “Oh!” Debbie exclaimed, suddenly realizing why everyone had given her such funny looks. “The taxi driver and the innkeeper probably thought I was Princess... What was her name?”

  “Princess Eugenia,” the man said. “I have no doubt that they did. The resemblance is astonishing.”

  “Who is she?” Hesitantly, not wanting the hot guy to laugh at her, she said, “Is she really a princess, princess? Or is that just her name?”

  He didn’t laugh, but he did smile. It wasn’t a mocking smile, but one which invited her to smile along with him. The expression transformed his face, making him not merely handsome, but likable. “She really is a princess princess. She’s the princess of Doru, and she’s visiting Rodica... Well, she was visiting Rodica. I’m not sure if she’s still here.”

  “Wow. A real princess.” Debbie loved the idea that she resembled one, incredible as it seemed. “I never thought a princess could look like me.”

  “What did you expect a princess to look like?” the man inquired.

  “Blonde hair, down to her ankles. Big blue eyes. Even skinnier than me, but with giant boobs—” She broke off, blushing, and hurried on to get past the awkwardness of having blurted out the word “boobs” to this hot and clearly also very classy guy. Especially since her own were sadly tiny. “Uh, I mean extremely slim but also extremely curvy. In some places. Places on top.”

  The hot, classy guy’s mouth had been quivering for her entire recital, as if he was trying not to crack up. At that, he did laugh. “Only those imported American dolls are rail thin but with an enormous bosom. I mean the—what do you call them? Bobbies?”

  Debbie laughed too. “Barbies. So Princess Eugenia really looks like me?”

  “She really does. I would not have known you were not her, but for...” He trailed off, and she was certain that he substituted something else for what he had originally intended to say. “...your clothes.”

  Then he swept into a magnificent bow. “I am sorry, I have forgotten my manners. I am Prince Victor of Rodica. And I am in desperate need of a favor which only you can provide.”

  Debbie’s jaw dropped at the word “prince.” But she didn’t doubt him for a second. Those expensive clothes, the elegant manners, and most of all, his unmistakable air of command: those were the signs of a man who was born to rule.

  Then she recalled his second sentence. “A favor? You need a favor from me? I’m a 7-11 clerk. What in the world could I do for a prince?”

  Prince Victor held her gaze in his. Those incredible amber eyes of his looked completely serious as he said, “You could marry me.”

  THREE

  Victor

  The instant Victor spoke, he mentally cursed himself. Too soon, too soon. He knew it from the shock in Debbie’s beautiful brown eyes. And yet he had no other choice. He had to move quickly, or he’d lose his mate before he’d ever had a chance to claim her.

  His mate.

  Even in the midst of his desperation and shock, he was unable to resist stopping to savor the moment. He’d known the instant he’d looked into her honey-brown eyes that she was the one. The only one. His own.

  See? His dragon remarked smugly. Sparks flew.

  They sure did, Victor admitted.

  In the silence born of Debbie’s astonishment, he knew he should be thinking of a way to smooth over the awkward moment. But instead, he simply gazed at her, drinking her in.

  It was strange how two women could look as identical as a pair of peas in a pod, and yet be so completely different. Princess Eugenia was pretty, certainly. But she didn’t set his loins on fire. Debbie did. Princess Eugenia’s voice was pleasant, but it didn’t make him want to sit forever and just listen to its melodic tones. Debbie’s voice, on the other hand—

  “YOU WANT ME TO MARRY YOU?!” Debbie shrieked.

  —was more enchanting than t
he most exquisite music.

  Pull yourself together, his dragon hissed. Yes, of course, she is our mate, everything about her is perfect. But she does not yet know that she is our mate. Talk to her!

  Hurriedly, Victor said, “Let me explain. Ah, may I do so in a more pleasant environment? The palace, perhaps?”

  Debbie’s eyebrows rose. She stared at him, her lovely features eloquently expressing shock, incredulity, and the suspicion that he was an escaped lunatic.

  “I really am the prince,” Victor said. In desperation, he thrust his hand out to her. “See, there’s my signet ring.”

  She glanced down at it, then back up at him. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to look like. For all I know you bought it at a pawn shop.”

  His horror and disbelief at the idea that he might have purchased the signet ring of the royal house of Rodica in a common pawn shop must have showed on his face, because Debbie laughed.

  “Okay, I believe that you’re the prince. You do seem... princely.” Then her amusement shifted to anger. “But what I don’t understand is why you said I should marry you. What the hell was that? Some kind of joke? Because it wasn’t funny!”

  “Umm.” Victor frantically fished for an explanation that would soothe her without being a lie. He had never felt less suave in his life. “No, it wasn’t a joke.”

  Ominously, his mate folded her arms. “Then what was it?”

  “It was a very stupid thing to blurt out,” Victor admitted. “A stupid, regrettable thing. Which I’m regretting very much.”

  “Yes,” Debbie said dryly. “Yes, that would be the definition of regrettable.”

  “Can I start over?” Before she could object, he went on, “Hello. My name is Victor. It is my great pleasure and honor to meet you. May I invite you to...” She hadn’t appreciated the invitation to the palace. Probably she’d prefer something more casual. “...coffee? Pastries? Lunch?”

  For a long, excruciating moment, Debbie was silent and Victor died a thousand deaths. Then she gave a cautious nod. “Okay.”

  “Okay coffee? Okay pastries? Okay lunch?”

  To his immense relief, that won him a smile. “Okay any or all of the above. What’s good around here?”