Hoarding Secrets (A Dragon Spirit Novel Book 3)

by C. I. Black

  Ivy grabbed at her purse, but Jet wrenched it from her grip and leapt back. She tore the zipper open and tossed Ivy’s passport and credit card on the ground.

  “Where is it?” she growled and pulled out the gun — the only other thing in Ivy’s purse.

  “We didn’t find it,” Ivy said.

  “Yeah, that’s why you’re sneaking out the back.” Jet rolled her eyes and pointed the gun at Grey. “Hand it over.”

  The security door behind her flew open, revealing Bolo in the doorway, and Jet’s attention jumped to him. Grey leapt at Jet, batting the gun out of her hand, and driving his knife toward her gut.

  She twisted out of the way. The knife sliced her jacket and came away red with blood. She rammed her elbow toward his head, flipped grips on her saber, and stabbed at him as he wrenched to the side.

  Bolo growled and rushed toward Grey, but Ivy rammed her shoulder into him, knocking him off balance.

  “Bitch.” He grabbed for her arm to catch his balance but caught the shoulder of her dress, his fingers curling into the fabric.

  She wrenched back and the strap tore. Metal reflected light, and Ivy’s chain broke, caught in Bolo’s grip. Her locket flew free and her eyes flashed wide.

  Time slowed, everything caught in too-crisp detail thanks to Ivy’s presence. Grey’s heart pounded, a hard thud, as every muscle bunched. She couldn’t lose the locket. She needed it for when she woke tomorrow morning.

  He shoved Jet aside. Her saber dipped and nicked his thigh, but he didn’t feel it. All he could feel was hot fury and frozen fear. He lunged for the locket. It shot past his hand and bounced across the asphalt toward a sewer grate. He slammed into the ground, stretching to grab it, but it brushed his fingertips and dropped through the grate.

  The pressure in his chest snapped and stole his breath.

  It was gone.

  Her locket was gone.

  No. No, he could fix this. He’d go into the sewer and get it back. He’d—

  Ivy screamed and wrenched his attention back to her. Bolo had drawn his katana and wakizashi and was sneering at her.

  Shit. Deal with this mess then get the locket.

  With a growl, Bolo lunged at Ivy, who scrambled back. Her foot hit a patch of slippery asphalt and she toppled backward.

  Panic clenched Grey’s chest as Bolo slashed at her. She dove to the side. Another slash. Another dive.

  Grey scrambled to his feet, grabbed Bolo’s arm, and yanked him around. The young orange drake stabbed at his gut with the wakizashi. Grey blocked the strike with his knife, but searing pain bit his back and chest.

  “Gotchya,” Jet hissed, so close her breath dampened the back of his neck. She leapt back, more agony screaming through him as she withdrew her saber from his torso, and drove it toward his back again.

  He heaved to the side. The blade sliced his ribs and pierced Bolo’s chest. The orange drake howled and slashed at Grey with his wakizashi.

  Grey shoved his shoulder into Bolo’s chest and wrenched the katana from his grip. The sword skittered across the driveway. The orange drake plunged his wakizashi into Grey’s shoulder. Another bite of pain, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was protecting his inamorata.

  He slammed his knife into Bolo’s chest and used that as his grip to toss him across the driveway. The orange drake couldn’t catch his balance and skidded away.

  Ivy scrambled to her knees and her eyes flashed wide. She screamed, but a roaring bang cut her off and agony exploded in Grey’s head.

  CHAPTER 31

  Everything within Ivy howled. Blood misted out the side of Grey’s head, his eyes rolled back, and he dropped to the ground. No twitch, no gasp, not even a hint that he was breathing. Blood rushed around his skull in a sickening dark halo, soaking his blond hair and oozing across the asphalt.

  He was dead. Mother of All, he was dead—

  But he couldn’t be dead. The only way to kill a dragon was to take his head. He’d breathe again. He’d wake up.

  He had to wake up.

  Jet knelt beside him. Ivy growled and jerked forward, but Jet shot her in the chest. Pain screamed through Ivy’s body and all thought flew from her mind. She fell backward onto her butt and for an agonizingly long heartbeat, she couldn’t think, couldn’t move. All she could feel was excruciating pain.

  Jet rifled through Grey’s pockets and pulled out the coin piece.

  “He’s my kill.” Bolo staggered to his feet and tightened his grip on his long dagger. “They both are.”

  “I thought there was a moratorium on killing dragons,” Jet growled. “No soul lost and all that crap.”

  “My prince wants the silver drake’s head and that’s what I intend to bring him.” A dark excitement flared in Bolo’s gaze and for a second he didn’t look sane. He was a beast trapped in a human vessel and he was going to kill Grey.

  “Well, I shouldn’t get in the way of the prince’s business.” Jet flashed her teeth at Ivy and glanced at Ivy’s gun, lying beside Jet’s feet. “I’d also hate for you not to feel challenged.”

  “What?” Bolo glanced at the gun then back to Jet.

  “Who do you think will get to the gun first?” She shrugged and marched down the driveway. “Too bad I can’t stick around to watch.”

  Bolo’s eyes widened and his attention jumped back to the gun.

  Ivy’s heart skipped a beat. She had to slow him down long enough for Grey to wake up.

  She dove for the gun.

  So did Bolo.

  He tossed Grey’s knife at her. She jerked to the side, lost her balance, and crashed to the ground. He rushed past her, but she grabbed his ankle and yanked. She couldn’t let him get the gun. Jet’s first gunshot still screamed through her body. If Ivy was shot again, she wouldn’t be able to protect Grey, and everything within her said she had to protect him.

  Bolo kicked at her. She shoved his foot to the side, toppled him over, and heaved him toward her. He twisted and jabbed his long dagger at her. The blade sliced her shoulder, and she wrenched him even closer.

  “You can’t win,” he hissed. “I’m the stronger drake.”

  “Strength has nothing to do with it.” She seized the front of his jacket and, with a force she hadn’t realized she possessed, tossed him behind her. She scrambled for the gun. Her fingers brushed the grip as Bolo grabbed her foot and wrenched her back.

  She kicked him in the head and dove for the weapon.

  His grip on her ankle tightened. She seized the gun, jerked around, and fired two shots. The first shot skimmed his cheek and the second slammed into his shoulder.

  He howled and yanked her close.

  She fired again. Dead center in the chest. His eyes widened, a wild light burning there. He tore the gun from her hands and tossed it to the far end of the driveway, then smashed a fist into her face.

  Pain exploded across her cheek, and flecks of light swarmed her sight.

  Another crack of pain, and another, as his fist connected again and again. He seized the front of her dress, wrenched her up, and slammed her back into the ground. The back of her head cracked against the asphalt and the light specks grew brighter.

  “I’m the prince’s assassin,” he growled. “That’s for shooting me.”

  Another punch. White lightning roared through her cheek, and she had no doubt he’d broken bone. She fought to stay conscious and clear her sight.

  He towered above her and sneered. “I’m taking the silver drake’s head and when I’m done, I’m taking yours, too.”

  Behind Bolo, Grey still lay unmoving. Not even a hint of his chest rising or falling. Ice filled her gut and swarmed into her chest. Her throat tightened. He was not dead. He couldn’t be dead.

  Bolo’s sneer deepened. He strode to his sword, picked it up, and stalked over to Grey. “Not so fucking tough now, are you?”

  Fire roared through her ice. No way in hell was this drake taking her inamorato’s head.

  Bolo raised his sword, and sh
e seized Grey’s knife and rushed at him. He jerked toward her, his blade swiping at her. She leapt to the side. His sword sliced her shoulder, drawing more screaming pain, and she wrenched the knife up the inside of his sword arm, cutting deep into muscle and tendon. His weapon dropped from limp fingers and she slammed Grey’s knife into his eye.

  Bolo screamed and dropped to one knee, but didn’t collapse. He ripped the knife from his face, blood gushed down his cheek, and he roared.

  The fire in Ivy’s chest flared in response. He wasn’t going to stop. She had no way to incapacitate him.

  It was her and Grey or him, and she would do anything to protect Grey.

  Bolo lunged at her. She dropped to her knees, ducking inside his swipe with the knife, and seized his sword. He swung at her again and she slashed the blade across his chest.

  He gasped, blood rushing across the front of his shirt, and his good eye widened. Screaming, she swung again at his neck. He swept the knife up to block the strike but wasn’t fast enough. The sword bit into his neck and caught on his spine.

  Blood sprayed her in the face and chest and she jerked as hard as she could and severed his neck. His head and body crumpled to the ground with a wet thunk. She stared at him, her breath heaving, spiking pain from the gunshot wound and the gashes in her body and white agony screamed through her face.

  He was dead. It was over. His soul was lost to the universal ether and there was one less dragon in the world.

  Trembling shook her, making the sword in her bloody hand quiver.

  She’d killed him.

  Killed. Him.

  And protected her inamorato.

  She dropped the blade and rushed to Grey’s side. He still wasn’t breathing. She grabbed the front of his suit jacket and shook him, but he didn’t start breathing. Mother, he had to start breathing. He still had his head. He couldn’t die. Not when she’d just found him.

  The trembling increased. Her teeth were chattering and that made her broken cheek hurt even more.

  Someone had to help her. She could drag him away from the museum, out of range of the gatelock, but she couldn’t free gate and there was no way she could carry him back to the hotel.

  Mother, help.

  Her throat tightened and the trembling turned into full shakes. She couldn’t lose him. Not like this.

  A growl rumbled within her.

  God damn it, she wasn’t going to lose him. She was a drake and drakes were powerful predators.

  The shaking didn’t ease, and she forced herself to look away from him and find his phone. It lay face down on the ground by the museum’s back door. She staggered to it and swiped a finger across the black screen.

  It lit up. Thank the Mother. She dialed the only number in the contact section and scrambled back to Grey.

  Wake up. Please, just wake up.

  “What?” an angry voice said over the phone.

  “He won’t wake up,” she said, blurting out the only thing running through her head.

  “Who won’t—? Ivy?”

  Her throat tightened and tears blurred her vision. “He won’t wake, and he’s not breathing.” She pressed her hand to his chest, praying she’d be able to feel his pulse, a breath, anything to tell her he was still alive. Blood covered her hands and had splashed up her forearms. Her pulse sped up. “And I killed him. Oh, Mother, I—”

  “Ivy, where are you?”

  “Outside the museum. At the back.” Her shaking grew stronger. “He won’t wake and I— I—”

  A black gate whooshed into existence against the closest loading bay doors.

  “I’m coming,” Diablo said.

  “I can see you.” She pressed harder on Grey’s chest. Still no movement.

  A figure materialized in the black vortex, edged with a hint of aura distinguishing his shadowy form from the darkness of the gate.

  “Right here. Help.” She jerked to her feet.

  A man about her height, with short dark hair and swarthy skin, leapt out of the gate. His aura crackled against her, dark and powerful, indicating he was an ancient black drake, and wild blue memory fire blazed from something around his neck and over his arms with centuries worth of powerful memories. Definitely not Diablo.

  The black drake’s gaze jumped from Bolo’s decapitated body to Grey then up to her, and he tightened his grip on a sword as long and as wide as his bulky forearms.

  “Looks like Jet has already been here,” he said.

  He knew who Jet was and that she would be there. This had to be her employer. “She has the coin piece so you can leave.” Please. All she cared about was Grey.

  “But I hear you’re awfully useful, too.”

  Her pulse stuttered. No. She wrenched her gaze down, searching for the closest weapon. Bolo’s sword lay a few feet away. She lunged for it, but the man seized her arm. He yanked her toward him, driving the sword through her back and out her gut. Agony screamed through her.

  He wrapped his free hand over her throat, jerked her tight to his body — the sword still spearing her — and squeezed.

  At the far end of the driveway, someone rushed into sight.

  The ancient black drake hissed something, and a vortex whooshed to life behind him. “You belong to me now.”

  The figure bolted toward her but was still too far away to recognize as her assailant jerked her back and the darkness of his gate swept around her and wrenched her away from Grey.

  CHAPTER 32

  Diablo skidded to a halt halfway down the driveway, his mind whirling, trying to figure out what the hell he’d just seen. Ivy, her eyes wide with panic and pain, covered in blood, one shoulder of her dress ripped, a sword tip protruding from her chest, and Servius clamping a hand around her throat, had just jumped through a gate.

  An impossible gate. With the power of the gatelock embedded in the Chang’an statue, it had taken all Diablo’s concentration to make a gate at the end of the block. He had no idea how the hell Servius had made a gate right there. He didn’t know much about the black drake, but surely gossip would have spread about him if he was powerful enough to gate through a gatelock. Diablo didn’t know of anyone who could gate through a lock, and he’d made it his mission to learn which drakes had stronger gating magic than him.

  Mother, this was a mess. Not to mention the only reason Servius would be here was that he was somehow connected to the coin. And from the two bodies lying on the asphalt, it was a big mess.

  A few feet away lay the first body and its decapitated head. It looked like Bolo, the young upstart trying to be the prince’s new assassin. On the other side of the driveway lay Grey, his blond hair dark with blood.

  “Ah, fuck.” He leapt over Bolo’s body and dropped at Grey’s side. No wonder Ivy had sounded desperate on the phone. Blood oozed from a wound at the side of Grey’s head that looked a lot like a bullet wound, and he wasn’t breathing. Which didn’t mean he was dead, but it didn’t mean he was alive, either.

  Diablo felt for a pulse, but couldn’t detect one. The beast within him growled. This wasn’t good. Hunter would go on a rampage if he learned Grey was dead. Diablo didn’t doubt Anaea would, too. And Ivy—

  Mother, he didn’t want to see what would happen to Ivy. He’d only heard stories about how drakes reacted when their inamorato was killed and it was never pretty. Payne, the only drake he’d met who’d been inamorated — before he’d met Hunter and Capri, of course — had gone insane when he’d heard his inamorata had been killed, and the Handmaiden had rebirthed him. Diablo couldn’t imagine what would happen with Ivy actually seeing Grey go down. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

  Something trembled against his fingers, still pressed to Grey’s neck.

  The beast froze, but Diablo couldn’t tell if it was Grey’s pulse or just his imagination.

  “Come on, asshole. Don’t you dare force me to clean up your mess.” It had been hard enough taking care of Andy’s estate, and now he was stuck with the most frustrating, adorable kitten that reminded him o
f his dead friend every time it meowed. He was not going to do that again. Never fucking again.

  Off in the distance, a siren chirped, jerking his attention from Grey to his surroundings. He was at the back of a museum packed with people. He had no idea if Grey and Ivy had gotten the coin piece or still had control of the museum’s security cameras, and he had — for all intents and purposes — a corpse on either side of him. He couldn’t stay there.

  He heaved Grey onto his shoulders — thank the Mother for enhanced strength or he’d have had to drag the silver drake — hauled him out of the gatelock’s radius, and summoned a gate. It dropped them into the middle of the hotel room, where he laid Grey on the floor. In the light of the single lamp that had been left on, Grey didn’t look any better. Blood still oozed from his head onto the beige carpet and his complexion was clearly ashen.

  Shit. God damned fucking shit.

  He had no idea how to fix this. He didn’t know if this could be fixed.

  He growled and resisted the urge to kick Grey’s body.

  He didn’t know enough about anything in this situation to make any kind of a decision.

  What he needed was information. He pulled out his phone and dialed Anaea.

  “Hello?” she asked, her voice soft and unsteady. A hint of fear and desperate determination seeped around Diablo’s beast. Even just calling her on the phone made his empathy connect with her. It amazed him she hadn’t collapsed into a catatonic ball by now, what with new powers explosively developing on a daily basis and her inamorato refusing to see her while he searched for the Handmaiden. It was enough to make any drake go mad, let alone a human.

  Seeing Grey like this might throw her over the edge, but Diablo didn’t have a choice. She was the only one with any kind of magic that might help him.

  “I need you at the hotel. Bring the medallion.” Worst case, they shoved Grey’s soul into a new, less damaged body—

  No, the worst case was Grey’s soul had already left and disintegrated into the universal ether. A thought he wasn’t going to think about. No way in hell was an ancient drake like Grey being taken out with a bullet to the head.