Relic Hunters: BBW Dragon Shifter Paranormal Romance (The Complete Trilogy)

by Bianca James

  Often, he would spend hours in his man-cave, lovingly polishing his beauties as he called them and admiring their fine lines and graceful curves. Sometimes he’d start one up just to enjoy the roar of its exhaust note. A hint of a smile curved the corner of his mouth as he thought of Saira’s reaction if he were to bring her to the manor and show her his priceless car collection. She’d probably want to see the bills of sale and he’d be able to surprise her by showing them to her.

  Well, most of them, anyway. He was a dragon. Dragons were treasure hoarders. That was the truth of it and the way it had been for centuries and nothing was going to change that.

  With kitty settled in a makeshift enclosure Bryce had rigged up to keep the cat secure and to prevent him climbing all over the beauties, he made his way through a connecting door to the fully equipped restaurant quality kitchen in the main house. There, he left a note for the staff instructing them to add cat food, bowls and a litter tray to their daily shopping list. With that important detail taken care of, he proceeded through the entry hall and up the main staircase to his study. It was only as he climbed the grandiose staircase that he realized just how fatigued he was from his recent adventures. Getting shot at, blown up, racing through underground tunnels, performing emergency surgery and a high speed car chase would challenge most men. But Bryce wasn’t most men.

  He shook off the feelings of lethargy and bounded up the curved stairs two at a time until he reached the landing. There he paused for a few beats, looking at the paintings of his ancestors that lined the walls. The haunting images all seemed to stare back at him, grounding him. Reminding him of his sworn duty to protect the coin at all costs. The coin couldn’t be risked in an attempt to save the girl. It was certain that Saira would be killed whether The Circle had the coin or not. Any attempt at an exchange would end in certain death and the killing wouldn’t stop with Saira.

  Bryce flipped open his laptop and pressed his index finger on the fingerprint reader. While he waited for it to boot up, he took the letter from his pocket. The last time he saw it, it had been placed prominently on Saira’s pillow after she had been abducted. He’d known what the message would contain, so he hadn’t bothered with it until now. But he couldn’t avoid it any longer. Once he opened the envelope with the ominous mark of The Circle on it — the black cross enclosed in a circle — there would be no turning back. He would be drawn into their gruesome game.

  It took all of his willpower to prevent his hands from trembling, but he did so as he withdrew the note from the detestable envelope. His lips moved wordlessly as he read the message.

  Chapter 5

  A flash of light woke her from her drug induced slumber and she heard the familiar sound of a camera flash capacitor recharging. The effects of the chloroform had nearly worn off, but her mouth still tasted like something disgusting had crawled in there and died. She would have spat had she had any spit to do so. She hadn’t eaten or had water in . . . she had no idea. A long time was all she knew.

  The light didn’t flash again and the high pitched sound stopped abruptly. She began to think she might have imagined it. Cocking her head, she listening for any sound that might give her a clue as to what fate awaited her.

  Total silence. The faint hum of the fluorescent lights sounded like it had dropped to almost nothing as well.

  Even Billy Ray Cyrus had abandoned her in her hour of need.

  “That’s great. Typical guy,” she whispered through cracked lips. She didn’t need Billy Ray or any other man for that matter. She was the only person she could count on right now.

  Come on Saira, you’re a scientist. This is just another problem you need to investigate and find a solution to. Think damnit!

  She looked around once more and didn’t see much she could work with. Blank, uninspired walls. Concrete floor. Solid wooden chair with stains on it. She didn’t even want to think about what the dark stains were on the arms of the chair. Eeew. Fluorescent lights enclosed in wire cages and secured to what looked like a solid concrete ceiling. She was deep below ground. That much seemed clear given the spread of a mixture of rusty efflorescence on the ceiling and walls. None of that helped her, though. In fact, she began to feel even more claustrophobic thanks to that revelation.

  Dehydration was impairing her ability to reason. She desperately needed water. She tried to call out but the words became ensnared in her parched throat as her fate became clear. They didn’t really need her. She was of little practical value to them other than as bait to lure Bryce, And for that, they didn’t really need her alive.

  They were going to let her die of starvation. The slowest and most inhumane death she could imagine. She’d seen photographs of ancient tombs in which slaves had been buried alive to preserve the secrets of the tombs construction and entry points. Finger nails embedded in rock where desperate fingers had sought to dig their way out before they succumbed to the lack of food and water.

  At least she had air. Suffocating to death in an underground tomb would be an even worse nightmare.

  And with that dark thought weighing on her mind the room fell silent. She hadn’t even realized that the flow of air was making any sound at all. Until it ceased.

  Chapter 6

  The fact that they were offering to exchange Saira for the coin was not a surprise to Bryce. He’d known that the minute he saw the note with its unique insignia. What did surprise him though was the URL included in the text, inviting him to open his browser and enter the address. A lump formed in his throat as he swallowed. He knew he wasn’t going to like what he saw.

  But worry and fear were not going to serve him now, so he pushed them aside and entered the address into his browser. Icy fingers clutched at his heart when the image of Saira appeared on the screen. It was a still photograph, but he could tell she was alive. At least she had been when the photograph was taken. Behind her in the windowless room was a door. Ominously, though, foam insulation had been used to seal the edges of the door and a piece of duct tape had been placed over the keyhole.

  Da-ding. The innocent tone of the alert seemed highly inappropriate given what he was seeing.

  A pop-up chat window appeared.

  HANDOVER THE COIN. THE GIRL WILL BE RELEASED WHEN YOU COMPLY.

  A series of numbers appeared next which Bryce recognized as GPS coordinates. He committed them to memory.

  22:00 HOURS TONIGHT OR THE GIRL WILL SUFFOCATE.

  Bryce checked the dial of his Omega Seamaster. He had less than 2 hours. That wouldn’t be enough time. Not if he was to locate and liberate Saira without losing the coin to The Circle.

  No plan. No backup. Perfect. But what other choice did he have?

  He did have one trick up his sleeve, though, that might give him an edge. As he slid the Bluetooth headset over his ear, he hoped he still had some credit in the favor bank as he selected a number from his contacts list. If he didn’t . . .

  “Bryce old chap!” a cultured voice greeted him. At least his number was still in the caller ID list. That was a start.

  “Simon,” Bryce responded. “I —”

  “Let me guess,” Simon broke in, “you need a favor.”

  “How did you —”

  “Because the only times you’ve called me in the past three years is when you’ve needed something and if I recall, that last something was so big that you promised you’d never ask anything of me again.”

  “But this is —”

  “Different?” Simon finished.

  Simon had once been Bryce’s controller when Bryce had found himself caught up in an art theft sting operation that saw him facing serious jail time. Either that or exposing himself as a dragon shifter, bringing an even more terrifying punishment down on him. His exploits and ability to access even the most sophisticated and elaborate security systems had caught the attention of British Intelligence — MI6, officially known as the Secret Intelligence Service.

  Word of the exploits of a highly skilled, tech savvy thief had reached the ea
rs of the right people in MI6 and it was decided that they would work with local law enforcement and Interpol to set a trap for the infamous ‘Spiderman’, as the media had dubbed him. What Interpol and Scotland Yard didn’t know at the time was that MI6 had no intention of allowing Spiderman to stand trial. Instead, they planned to entrap him and forcibly recruit him as an agent. After all, who better to steal secrets from foreign agencies and terrorist organizations? Plausible deniability was a nice bonus for them, too. Who would believe the word of a master thief should he have been unfortunate enough to be captured?

  As much as they thought they had Bryce by the short hairs, MI6 underestimated the strong, rebellious streak that ran below the otherwise cool and clinical exterior. And while they thought that they had him totally under their control, he was free to use his cover as an MI6 operative to find treasures hidden in places he wouldn’t have been able to breach without the backup and the resources of a high level intelligence agency.

  In fact, it was the fiasco that resulted from one of Bryce’s ‘off mission’ escapades that resulted in MI6 dropping him like a hot potato. He’d colored outside the lines once too often and that last time he’d totally gone off the reservation risking not only his officially sanctioned mission but exposure as an MI6 operative. It could have been a complete disaster had it not been for some quick thinking and fast footwork from Bryce, with a little help from his controller — Simon.

  “Look, the fact that I’m even asking should tell you how important this is,” Bryce continued.

  “The real question is — important to whom?” Simon responded.

  “Important to someone who could very well end up dead if you don’t help me. She’s not one of us. She’s a civilian.” He paused for a moment, reflecting. “And she’s a good person,” he added.

  There was silence for a beat.

  “Oh my! Cold, calculating Bryce has a heart, after all. Who knew?” Again there was a moment of awkward silence. “Okay, what do you need?”

  Bryce let out a sigh of relief and realized he’d been holding his breath in anticipation of a refusal from Simon.

  “I need you to remotely access my laptop and backtrace the incoming message from a few minutes ago. I need to know where it originated. You still have the IP address of my laptop?”

  “Of course. Not that we’d be unofficially monitoring you or anything like that. You’re not one of us any longer, so we’d have no legal right to be snooping around your tech.”

  “No, of course not.” Bryce’s voice was laced with sarcasm. But now wasn’t the time to be dwelling on invasions of privacy, not when the fruits of such invasions might work to his advantage by saving Simon time accessing his computer.

  “Okay, I’m in. Initiating the trace now, it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes to complete.” The sound of Simon’s fingers working their magic on his keyboard was a comforting sound for Bryce. He’d heard that rhythmic tapping through his earpiece during many dangerous missions and always found it somewhat soothing. Simon knew his stuff and Bryce had every confidence he’d come through for him.

  “Thanks Simon. There’s one more thing you can help me with while that trace is running . . .”

  Chapter 7

  Dressed in yet another high tech body suit, this one complete with body armor, Bryce checked that his earpiece was secure and adjusted his night vision goggles as he watched the oscillation pattern of the security cameras. Whoever had designed the system had done a good job. Just not quite good enough.

  Waiting for the timing to be perfect, Bryce dashed from the shadows and raced toward his next point of cover — a large concrete tank that had once been used to store water when the factory had been in operation. Now, the entire complex sat abandoned and in disrepair. Or so it had been made to appear. Nobody installed a high tech security system to monitor a crumbling ruin.

  Indeed, at first glance Bryce suspected that Simon had made a mistake or that the messenger had outsmarted them both when he first arrived and saw the deserted buildings. There had plainly been nothing going on at the facility for many years. Then he saw the cameras and noted that they were all sweeping the otherwise forsaken compound in such a way as to secure a perimeter around only one building. That building was his target and they’d hidden it in plain sight.

  With flared nostrils, Bryce took a deep breath. The scent of his mate, Saira, hung faintly in the air. She had been here, that much was clear, but he couldn’t be certain this is where she was being held, slowly suffocating in the underground bunker. He took another deep breath to reassure and center himself before making his way closer. That’s when he noticed the biometric lock on the main door of the building.

  “Drop your weapon. Raise your hands,” a voice barked sharply behind him. Damn. His dragon was so caught up scenting its mate that he dropped his guard for a few moments. Apparently, that was long enough when dealing with hardened professionals.

  Bryce raised his hands and began to turn around. Slowly. He didn’t want to give his captor a reason to shoot. Being dead wouldn’t help Saira one bit.

  “Did I say turn around, asshole?”

  Bryce shook his head and remained otherwise motionless. It seemed someone had their cranky pants on and there was no percentage in antagonizing him further.

  “Which part of drop your weapon do you need me to explain, dipshit? Drop it now.”

  “I’m unarmed,” Bryce responded in an even tone.

  “If I want shit from you, I’ll squeeze your head, now drop your gun or I’ll put one in the back of your head just because I haven’t killed anyone today.”

  A sharp metallic click pierced the dark silence that hung in the air as the safety was flipped of the weapon that had drawn a bead on Bryce.

  “I don’t like guns. Frisk me if you want. I’m not carrying.” Bryce raised his arms higher, inviting Grumpy Pants to pat him down.

  The gunman edged closer, nervous at being in such close proximity to his captive but as a former soldier in the elite British Special Air Service, cradling his deadly Heckler and Koch MP5 submachine gun gave him the confidence to approach. Perhaps a little too much confidence. He was too much the highly trained professional to get cocky, but all Bryce needed was something to shift the odds in his favor.

  Every fiber of his dragon bristled in anticipation as his quarry approached, the gap between them closing at a rate Bryce couldn’t see but his dragon could feel. The man was dangerous and Bryce could sense it. His manner, demeanor and his commanding voice all suggested a well-trained and lethal individual had him in his sights. The man had to be taken down and taken down hard if they were to get through this and save Saira.

  His dragon was eager to shift into his full dragon form and burn the annoying little mercenary to a crisp, but Bryce had other plans. He needed him in one piece. Not necessarily alive, or unbroken, but in one piece and definitely not burned to a cinder. That wouldn’t do at all. He forced his dragon into submission, knowing that if it got too carried away, he’d shift regardless and things would quickly escalate out of control. The dragon was close to gaining the upper hand in the struggle for dominance.

  Luckily the gunman stepped into range just in time. Bryce had used his time at gunpoint to surreptitiously position his feet in the perfect position, his balance favoring one foot as he tensed his finely tuned muscles transforming his entire body, for all intents and purposes into a violently destructive coiled spring, waiting to be unleashed. At last, his moment to unleash had arrived and not a moment too soon.

  Before the blindingly fast movement could even begin to register as threatening, the gunman found his weapon twisted and wrenched from his grip before it was hurled, clattering across the concrete path and into the weeds and detritus surrounding the building.

  But the mercenary was nothing if not highly trained and extremely capable. He didn’t miss a beat. Even before his weapon hit the ground he was adopting a menacingly low hand-to-hand combat stance and rushing at Bryce, his mouth set in a
predatory grimace. The man was good. Very good.

  But he wasn’t quite good enough. Bryce stepped slightly to one side, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, moving his body mass from the trajectory of his assailant by a few inches. That was all he needed. As the gunman tried to correct his course, Bryce raised his foot then brought it down hard and fast, cracking him with a merciless stomping kick to the side of the knee, hyperextending it in the opposite direction to its normal range of motion. A direction in which evolution had never intended it to bend.

  With a convincing yet stomach-turning crack of bone, ligament and cartilage, the man collapsed in a heap on the ground, his shattered ruin of a knee no longer able to bear his weight. He rolled in the dirt trying to cradle his traumatized limb in a vain attempt to ease the excruciating pain. It didn’t work.

  The heel of Bryce’s boot was the last thing he saw as it crashed down on his unprotected face, plunging his world into blackness. If he’d known what was to come, he’d have welcomed the crushing blow to the face.

  Bryce sized up the crumpled ex-SAS soldier and nodded to himself when he realized that his build and height suited perfectly. He bent down to pick up the black cap that had fallen off the man’s head as he writhed in agony, dusted it off and placed it on his own head. It fitted him perfectly.

  From his waistband, hidden in the small of his back, Bryce withdrew a large, curved and unmistakably menacing blade of a Kukri knife. The most ancient of blade designs, the formidable and razor sharp Kukri knife is believed to have been fashioned after the 2,500 year old Greek Kopis sword, types of which were carried to India by the armies of Alexander the Great.

  Bryce might not have been a big fan of firearms, but when it came to hand-to-hand combat and edged weapons, he was a true master. But in this particular moment, it was the brutal functionality of the heavy blade that mattered most as he raised the fearsome weapon above his head with one hand while holding the gunman’s arm carefully in position with the other.