by Bianca James
Her heart ached at the thought of being so foolish as to think someone like him would want her in that way. Men were only interested in her when it suited them, apparently and this thief was no different to the last one. A tear, one of the many she tried to hold back, escaped the corner of her eye and traced a glistening path down her cheek.
But Bryce didn’t notice. Nor was he aware that her body language had altered, tending at his touch. His full attention had shifted to one of the many movie, gallery and theatre posters lining the steep escalators to the street. To celebrate the launch of Spectre, the latest James Bond blockbuster, the Odeon theatre in nearby Leicester Square was displaying an Aston Martin DB10, one of only ten custom built for the production of the movie. Bryce’s pulse raced at the thought of the snarling 4.7 liter V8 beast rocketing from zero to 62 mph in under 4 seconds. Dragon shifters might not be big fans of guns, but dangle a fast, rare exotic sports car at them and the temptation is irresistible.
“Honey,” he whispered softly, “I think it’s time I acted like a real gentleman and took you to dinner and a movie.”
The Circle had been hot on their heels since the full on assault at the museum and Bryce had the overwhelming feeling that they were closing in. But maybe, just maybe, they had a chance to outrun them and stay alive long enough to figure out some kind of plan.
As a plan started to form in his mind, he looked sideways at the beautiful girl who had been dragged into this deadly escapade through no fault of her own. For a dragon shifter who had always flown solo, he was warming to the idea of partnering up with Saira, but only to ensure he could keep her safe from The Circle. Nothing more than that. There wasn’t room in his complicated and highly volatile life for a mate, despite the incessant yearnings of his dragon.
At least that’s what he tried to tell himself.
To be continued in Desired by the Dragon . . .
Desired by the Dragon
(Relic Hunters Book 2)
Chapter 1
“And this is the classy way you treat all your women to dinner before a movie?” Saira stared hard at the kebabs that sat wrapped in greasy paper on the tray. “Wow! You must have to beat them off with a stick.”
“I don’t —” Bryce started to defend himself but decided now wasn’t the time to get into an argument with the girl whose life he was trying to save. Never mind the fact that he’d never even take a girl out to dinner before a movie. In fact, he’d never taken a girl to a movie.
Instead he simply shrugged his broad shoulders and took a hearty bite of his kebab and proceeded to chew as he surveilled the front entrance to the Odeon theatre. The less he looked into those warm brown eyes that reminded him of rich, smooth caramel, the better. Each time their eyes met his dragon would stir restlessly and his own heart would skip a beat. Now wasn’t the time for that.
The red carpet out front was lined with chrome bollards and rope in an effort to keep the crowds queuing to see the one of a kind Aston Martin DB10 in the flesh. Technically, it was one of ten made especially for the production SPECTRE and it was being displayed at an opportune time and in a very underwhelming security environment, which suited Bryce to a tee.
“We need to get away from here and put as much distance between us and these painfully tenacious Circle brethren as quickly as possible. So, unless you have a blisteringly fast sports car handy that can get us out of this mess, I suggest you eat your kebab and let me assess the security over there.” He waved in the direction of the theatre with his dripping kebab.
“One of the directors at the museum has one of those German things . . . you know, an AMG or whatever they’re called. He offered me a lift home one night and told me it could slam my eyeballs to the back of my skull, it accelerated so fast.”
A derisive snort escaped Bryce’s kebab filled mouth. After he swallowed he said, “AMG’s are for pussies. They put gigantic AMG badges all over them so people will buy them for status. All show and not so much go. Look over there through the glass. That Aston Martin sits low, like a predatory cat waiting to pounce. Look at the grille. It’s snarling discretely and quietly to itself. The master of understatement while oozing class. It doesn’t need the show. It’s got enough go to leave any AMG looking at nothing but its growling tailpipes.”
“Geez. Better not stand up for a while, then.”
He looked at Saira with a blank face.
She looked down to his lap. “Sounds to me like you’ve got a hard on for that car. Maybe I should leave you two alone for a while?”
“It’s not a car. It’s an Aston Martin,” he retorted.
“And you plan to steal it? Right from under the noses of those security guys at the door? This I really have to see.” Saira folded her arms, her body language clearly displaying all the ‘I’m not getting involved in this’ signs she could muster.
“And you will, but first, we need to find a shop where we can get a cat carrier and we’re going to need some more clothes, too, while we’re at it. We can’t walk around looking like we’ve just crawled out of an underground tube line. Even the kebab vendor gave us a second look and that’s really saying something.”
“Are you sure we can’t just go and rent a car, you know, like normal people do?” Saira whispered.
Bryce had coaxed her onto the roof of a building adjacent to the Odeon theatre. Leicester Square was more or less deserted given sunrise was only a couple of hours away, so there really wasn’t any need to whisper. Swaddled in her down filled jacket with her hood up to keep her ears warm, Saira felt every bit the burglar herself, even though it was Bryce who had broken into the outdoor adventure shop and stolen them all the clothing they would need to get them through a cold night scoping out a target.
Just watching him scale the walls of the outdoor store and then swing from window to window with all the grace of a . . . well, a cat burglar, not only had her in awe of his physical prowess but feeling somehow part of his team. The more she thought about the guys in the black Kevlar vests shooting at her and the sudden interest everyone seemed to suddenly have in the ancient Roman silver coin, the more she realized that for the moment, at least, she probably did need Bryce if she were to stay alive long enough to get to the authorities. The way The Circle operatives had recklessly blown up half the British Museum and tried to blow her and Bryce up, when they weren’t shooting to kill, put her in no doubt that they’d put a bullet in her head as soon as they got their hands on the coin simply because she was a loose end. So, yes, she felt the need to speak to Bryce with a clandestine whisper.
“Do you have any cash?”
Saira shook her head. “My purse is back at the lab, probably a smoldering mess by now.”
“Right. Neither do I. I barely had enough to cover the cost of a couple of kebabs. Who even uses cash these days? Anyway, we can’t hire a car because they’re monitoring financial transactions so if either one of us uses our names, flashes ID or uses a credit card, we’re done for. We have to steal a car. No other option.” He spoke with finality, closing the subject.
“But why this particular car?” She pleaded hoping to convince him to target something more pedestrian.
“Just because. Besides, I always get what I want.”
She looked at him with narrowed eyes. “What are you? Like 7 years old or something?”
No, I’m a dragon shifter and we always get what we want, he thought. Best she thinks I’m a spoilt child for the moment, learning the truth right now really wouldn’t help the situation.
“Are they really that well connected? You make them sound like some kind of covert spy organization. Are they that good?
“They’ve had two thousand years to grow, adapt, spread and infiltrate every government and private organization in the world. They’re extremely well funded and highly motivated. Trust me, their motivational techniques aren’t going to win them any employer of the year awards. To answer your question, they are that well connected. They really are that good.”
“Wha
t about you? Are you as good?”
“I sure hope so sweetheart. I really do,” he responded, returning his attention to the neighboring Odeon theatre. “You wait here, I’m going down for a closer look at their security.”
Bryce had stuffed his down jacket into his pack, leaving the black thermal suit as his only apparel. Saira couldn’t help but notice how it clung to the form beneath the high tech fabric. Up close, she could see how broad and well-developed his shoulders were. Every muscle striation was highlighted by the moonlight as it fell upon his athletic form. No wonder he could perform such aerial gymnastics with apparent ease and poise. Not to mention style. She wanted nothing more than to embrace those powerful shoulders just to see what they felt like. It looked to Saira as if every muscle in his toned, fit body undulated beneath the black fabric as he hoisted himself over the railing and dropped out of sight.
Wait — did he just call me ‘sweetheart’? Whatever. He’s still a thief and when this is all over . . .
Chapter 2
Sharp, medical grade steel makes a distinctive sound — like a resonating musical instrument. But in this case, Professor Blane had the distinct feeling that what he was hearing was nothing to do with anything orchestral so much as a symphony of pain and torment that was about to be unleashed. On him. There was a most ominous note reverberating through the air after the surgical saw was struck by another surgical instrument of unknown but equally heinous purpose.
That was the way of The Circle. Retribution and deterrent had, over the centuries, become the hallmark of the secret organization which ruled with an iron fist and a sharp blade in total secrecy as they sought to accumulate, for the first time in over two thousand years, the thirty pieces of cursed silver paid to Judas Iscariot.
Blane’s anxiety was at its peak and wavered between wanting them to remove the hood so that he could see and wishing they’d leave it on so that he couldn’t, keeping him in tormented ignorance until it started. And start, it would. Very soon judging by the deliberate and systematic activity he heard going on around him. Sweat oozed from every pore of his skin and his breathing became increasingly erratic.
Without warning, the hood was ripped from his head and his eyes assaulted by an array of bright work lights atop robust and functional tripods. Immediately he knew he wasn’t in what the other members called The Chamber. Was that a good thing? He feared not. As his eyes slowly adjusted to the light, he could see a cobblestone floor beneath his feet, the stones and mortar in between stained here and there, a grotesque reminder of what had befallen previous occupants of the heavy wooden chair to which he was firmly bound.
His eyes were reluctantly drawn to the stainless steel trolley upon which a well-worn chef’s knife roll had been unfurled to reveal its macabre contents. Most prominently displayed was a deep toothed saw blade. His father had been a keen hunter and he knew from experience that a standard hacksaw blade couldn’t cut through bone. Its fine teeth would rapidly clog with bone dust making the task extremely difficult. No, to cut through flesh and bone without splintering, a deep, wide toothed saw blade was required, just like the one he was looking at right now.
A surge of bile stung the back of his throat as he processed the array of saws and knives that had been unrolled before him. Knives for Frenching a rack of lamb, or a human finger. Knives for separating sinew from bone to make it easier to break down a body into manageable chunks. Knives for cleaving through fat and flesh with practiced ease. They were all there, just like his father’s kit that he’d cleaned and polished after every hunt as a young boy. His father even had him clean and polish the barbaric butcher’s hook that swung from the beams inside the barn that also served as their slaughterhouse.
At least he could be grateful that they were saving him from that horror as his scrutiny continued upward toward the ceiling above him.
What he saw hanging there made him want to scream and he would have done so, too, had his scream not been drowned by the gush of bile that rose from his stomach and filled his mouth.
Chapter 3
It was a breathtaking and magnificent beast. Despite the glow of the moonlight or perhaps because of it, the unmistakable lines of the Aston Martin looked as if they might come alive at any moment. The unique satin grey paint gave the poised predator a look of understated elegance while its wide hips, strong shoulder lines and restrained hood perforations hinted at it being something far more daring and purposeful.
“It’s beautiful,” Saira remarked. Her own sentiments surprised her as she’d never had the least interest in cars. She didn’t even drive, like most Londoners, even though she held a current license.
“She is. An engineering masterpiece of style and function. Bold yet modest and those wide hips remind me of how a beautiful woman should look . . .”
Bryce tried to catch himself, but not soon enough. His glance fell across Saira’s hips and he quickly returned his focus to the car.
Saira’s cheeks flushed crimson at his attention. She’d always been self-conscious of her curvy hips but Bryce didn’t seem to mind. If anything, she thought she caught a hint of admiration in his eyes as he glanced at her. He could see why he liked the car so much. It was the automotive version of him. Both were suave, had killer looks and were capable of delivering a knockout punch, only in different ways.
“So how do we get out of here before the police arrive?” she asked in an attempt to redirect the subject away from her hips.
“Easy, we drive it like we stole it.”
“But aren’t we actually stealing it?” She tilted her head slightly to one side.
Bryce was drawn to the nape of her neck, the smooth line that flowed down to her shoulder. Deep inside his dragon stirred at the thought of Bryce’s lips dancing across her skin, working their way down to her shoulder and then onto —
“I said, aren’t we stealing it?” she repeated.
“It’s just an expression. Are you always this pedantic and academic? Besides, I have the keys.” He nonchalantly threw the sophisticated and stylish Aston Martin key fob into the air. The finely crafted, sleek black fob looked more like a small mobile phone than a car key but the winged logo on it was unmistakable, even to Saira. You couldn’t grow up in London, where you couldn’t throw a brick without hitting an Aston, without recognizing the prestigious logo.
To the chirp of the disarming alarm, Bryce smiled and opened the passenger door. “Shall we? Before the police get here.”
“How . . . how did you get the key?”
“I ran into one of the security guards when I came to scope the place out. The insurance company requires them to leave a set with security in case there’s a fire and they need to move the car.”
“And he just handed it over?”
“Well, I can be very persuasive, you know.”
“You didn’t —?” Her face finished the sentence for her.
“Relax, I didn’t lay a finger on him. He’s fine. I asked him to fetch the key and then told him to get back to the football game he’d been watching on the sports channel.” If only she knew just how true that was.
“Just like that, he gave you the key? You can’t seriously expect me to believe that?” Saira lowered the cat carrier to the floor and crossed her arms as she chewed on her bottom lip. She didn’t like to be treated like a fool. He might be a smooth operator with the ladies but Saira wasn’t one of his floozies and she wasn’t going to stand for his crap.
Bryce knew he had to come up with something or she wasn’t getting in the car. If she didn’t get in the car, their goose was well and truly cooked and he couldn’t afford for that to happen. But he couldn’t tell her he psyched him into handing over the keys to a million dollar car.
“I’ll explain on the way. Can you just get in and buckle up so we can get out of here?”
Saira didn’t move.
“Please?” he pleaded.
“How are we getting through the main doors? They’re locked. I don’t suppose you thought to get
those keys, too, while he was in such a generous mood?”
Bryce wanted to smack himself. How could he have been so stupid? For the first time, his air of confidence and self-assurance sagged, as did his broad shoulders. He shook his head sheepishly.
Saira turned on her heels and stomped toward the main doors of the cinema.
“Don’t go. They’ll kill you. I’m the best chance you’ve got of getting out of this mess alive,” Bryce shouted after her. “And what about the bloody cat? You can’t leave me with that for God’s sake.” He pointed to the cat carrier but his eyes never left Saira’s retreating form.
Before she reached the door, she changed direction and went around a large pillar to one side of the doorway. Tucked away from view was a large green button with an engraved metal plate below it — After Hours and Emergency Door Release. She pressed it and nothing happened. Then, after a delay that seemed like minutes rather than the few seconds it really was, the magnetic lock audibly disengaged and the doors sucked open with a whoosh. With one hand on her hip, she leaned casually against the pillar and examined her nails.
If Bryce felt foolish before, he felt doubly so now.
Little Miss smarty pants … archaeology PhD or whatever she was Grrrr! Bryce was pretty sure that she was trying her best to be annoying. Okay, you get a distinction for Annoying 101.
“So, can we go now?” she asked when she’d finished checking the chips in her nail lacquer.
Bryce started to retort but couldn’t find a comeback. Even more annoying, though, he knew he’d come up with the perfect witty line long after the moment had passed. This girl was driving him crazy in more ways than one.
With kitty securely stowed in the rear Bryce hit the Aston’s starter button. The engine caught without hesitation and a snarling exhaust note reverberated throughout the cinema foyer. He paused for a moment to familiarize himself with the instrument layout and the various controls, all the while enjoying the opulent smell of new leather and the way the sumptuous yet firm seats hugged his body as if in anticipation of the G forces the high performance GT Coupe would soon deliver.