Dance of the Dragon

by Kira Nyte

  He’d been decent and she’d left. Left with questions unanswered and more confusion than she’d felt in a long time.

  Janice gave her a shove between the shoulder blades, pushing her all the way to the small bedroom at the back of the trailer. Gabby looked over her shoulder to see Jack following them. Her mother noticed him and jabbed a finger toward the front of the trailer.

  “I said no! Get back before I put you back myself,” Janice shouted. Jack groused something unintelligible as Janice slammed the door of the small room shut and spun on Gabby. Her eyes flared with frustration and anger. “You are not homeless, girl. You don’t sleep in cars. And where the hell were you last night? I was up past midnight and you still hadn’t showed up.”

  Gabby shrugged. “I stayed late at the club. You know”—she met her mother’s gaze—“to make a good impression.”

  Janice waved away her excuse and grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the nightstand. “How much did you make?”

  “Nothing. I’m training. I don’t make tips yet,” she lied.

  “Should be laws against that type of slavery.” Janice lit the end of her cigarette with a snap of a slender lighter, sucked in a deep breath and blew smoke in Gabby’s face. Gabby coughed and waved away the disgusting poison. “Oh, stop that, girl. You’ve been around it all your life.” Janice held out the pack. “Have one.”

  “I don’t smoke, Mom. You know that.”

  “Wuss.” Janice rolled her eyes and tossed the pack on the unmade bed. “Was he at the club?”

  Gabby raised her brows, doing her best to hold her breath against the rancid odor of smoke and sex. She hated that her mother could hide her thoughts from her whenever she wanted to.

  “Was who at the club?”

  This time, Gabby was fast enough to duck the swat.

  “Look at you. Growing a set of balls. Finally.” Janice chuckled. “You know damn well who I’m talking about. Him. Taryn.”

  “Don’t know. I was busy learning my new job.” Maybe it was time she grew a set, as her mother so dearly put it. Starting with saving up enough money to get out of this place. No more paying her mother for nonsense. But where would she go? How would she survive? She barely had a high school education, if that. Her work history was less than impressive, they’d moved around so much. “I need to get ready for the day. I have to be back at the club when it opens.”

  Janice tilted her head and looked at her daughter appraisingly. “Think your skirts need to be a little shorter. He’ll want to see the goods he’s getting.”

  Gabby winced.

  Janice snatched at the remaining pink-and-purple-streaked hairpiece and ripped it free of the pins that secured it to the side of Gabby’s head, careless of any pain she caused her daughter in the process. “And don’t wear these again. They look ridiculous.”

  Gabby refrained from pointing out that the brightly colored buns had been Janice’s idea. Her mother nodded to herself and left the bedroom.

  Gabby toed the door closed, ignoring Jack’s insulting motion with his fist next to his mouth and his tongue probing the inside of his cheek, and sank onto the edge of the bed. She dropped her head into her hands, unsure of whether she wanted to scream or cry, or both. She felt exhausted down to her soul, her mind spent. Her confidence was non-existent.

  God, this was her life. A horrible, disgusting nightmare. It had always been so. Degrading, despairing, humiliating.

  Her throat tightened. The invisible band around her chest cinched. She fought to catch her breath. Fear and panic, caused by what lay beyond the door and what crouched inside her head, worked in tandem to beat her down.

  She fumbled with her purse and pulled out two prescription bottles. Her hand shook as she worked the caps off, poured pills into her hand and swallowed them without water. Anything to stop the onset of another panic attack. Anything to numb the self-loathing and shame.

  Anything to stop the hurt.

  Maybe she would be better off living on the streets. Maybe she could survive on meager wages and minimal sustenance. She was thirty years old, for God’s sake.

  It would be far better than the torture of what she came home to. A body that was not her own, a mind that was constantly invaded by others.

  She had no idea when the tears started to fall, but by the time she sniffled and swiped them away, a familiar numbness had taken over. The lack of feeling. The lack of caring.

  Another day. She’d survive another day.

  She had for almost thirty-one years.

  You’re such a pathetic waste of life.

  “We’ll be back, baby girl,” Janice cooed from the main part of the trailer, her tone shockingly sweet. Gabby never knew whether she was going to get beaten or coddled. “Want anything for breakfast?”

  “No,” Gabby muttered. She picked up one of her bottles, listening for the telltale sign of solitude, and stared blankly at the label. Oh, it would be so easy to fall asleep…

  Taryn’s image rose in her head like a beacon. Raw heat suffused her body, wiping out the medicine’s numbing chill. It made her heart thump hard and her breaths shorten. A tantalizing memory of his scent, like bonfire smoke blended with exotic spices, touched her nose. She glanced around the bedroom, half expecting to find him standing in this embarrassing mess. The disappointment that filled her when she found herself alone was both heavy and unwarranted.

  What would he ever want with a woman like her? Filled with demons and shadows and secrets.

  Broken.

  Splintered beyond repair.

  Lifemate or not, she was worthless.

  “Who believes in lifemates anyhow? What a load of shit.”

  Tossing the bottle into her purse, she stood up and rolled out her shoulders. No use daring to believe her mother’s fantasies about an inheritance and any kind of a different life.

  “Time to snap out of this, girl.”

  And she would. Thirty-one years was long enough. Either she would finally break free of her mother’s poisonous hold, or she would die doing so.

  Whatever the day held, she was at least glad to be alone for a shower.

  Small blessings were her lifelines.

  * * *

  There was no way in hell Gabby intended to be home when Janice returned with Jack. She couldn’t stand another second around that despicable piece of garbage boyfriend and his putrid thoughts. She dressed in a pair of worn blue jeans, sneakers, a plain sweater and her knit jacket, rolled up a set of clothes and her shoes for work, and hurried out of the trailer. The extra bag on her shoulder was more of a nuisance than anything, but if it freed her from this black hole that was her life for the day, so be it.

  The air had a brutal chill for Louisiana, the wind merciless as it whipped her damp hair across her face. She dug into her purse for an elastic and pulled her hair up into a messy bun. Her first stop: coffee. With twenty bucks to spare, she’d give in to the small indulgence. It definitely beat the sludge her mother bought.

  She found a quiet coffee shop before the craze of the French Quarter. She stepped into the cozy shop and inhaled deeply. The smell of fresh roasted coffee and warm confections made her sigh with pleasure.

  “Welcome! What can I get started for you?” the barista asked from behind a narrow counter lined with dishes of dome-covered pastries. Gabby’s mouth watered and her jaw tightened.

  “Wow. Everything looks fantastic.” What she’d give to be able to add one of those Danishes to her order. “Just a medium coffee, please.”

  “One medium coffee for the young lady,” the man said with a bright smile. She couldn’t help but smile back as she dug her wallet from her purse. A momentary worry snagged her glee when she realized she was so focused on her pills she had never checked to make sure the thieves hadn’t taken her wallet. Or that Taryn hadn’t taken her money.

  You took a stranger at his word, you foolish girl.

  She fumbled with her wallet as she unsnapped the flap and opened up the fold.

  She blinked.


  “Coffee, ma’am. There’s cream, milk and sugars at the station over there.”

  Gabby jerked her head up, confusion flooding her mind. The barista’s smile faltered.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Gabby cleared her throat, her brows furrowing. “I, uh…uh, yeah. Yeah. Everything’s fine. Here.” She pulled out a twenty from the thick wad of bills that filled her wallet. “Actually, may I have one of those strawberry Danishes, too?”

  “Of course! For here or to go?” he asked, pulling the glass dome from one plate.

  “For here.”

  “Very good.”

  Gabby brushed the tip of her finger over the bills, catching glimpses of hundreds and fifties. It certainly looked like her wallet. She checked to make sure the license in the viewing panel was her own. She knew the medications were in her purse. It was her purse. This was her wallet.

  This was not her money.

  Where on earth did this come from?

  She paid for her items and moved to a small table in the back corner of the shop. There were only a few patrons at other tables enjoying their coffees or pastries. She rubbed the back of her neck as she sat, keeping her purse on her lap as she tried to figure out how her wallet filled up with money overnight.

  “You never know what blessings might cross your path. You’re a lifetime overdue for kindness.”

  Amelia’s soft-spoken words fluttered through her head. Over and over, she heard the woman’s voice repeat those same two lines, followed by flashes of Taryn.

  “Girl, the guy’s loaded. More money than you can imagine. That’s our future, and we’re going to get it. You’re going to earn it because that security belongs to us.”

  “No way,” she whispered. She wasn’t about to believe that Taryn had slipped money into her purse. Not after the way he treated her at the club. She dug out the amulet from the inside pocket of her purse and twisted it over in her hand. The metal felt warm and the red stone flickered with the same strange light it had last night.

  “It’s close. I sense the magic from that witch.”

  “Think he’s with her?”

  Gabby’s head jerked up as she heard the thoughts. No. They weren’t thoughts. This was different. It was a conversation she heard in her head. A conversation between two people.

  She thumbed the stone before shoving the amulet back into her purse.

  “Damn it. I lost it. Gone. But it’s somewhere on this street. Check the shops. We’ll find her. Those wards will come down.”

  A shudder left a line of goose bumps over her skin despite the layers of clothes and the pleasantly warm shop. Wards. Magic. Witches. These new threads of conversations. Were they speaking telepathically? Or was she suddenly able to listen in on conversations happening over a distance?

  Why?

  One more leg to this crazy you suffer, Gabby.

  Her gut instinct nudged her to leave. A whisper of warning in the very back of her mind. The longer she sat here, tense and fearful, the stronger that warning became. Strong to the point her stomach refused to allow her to enjoy the Danish or the coffee.

  With a quiet sigh, she gathered her bags, her coffee and pastry, and returned to the counter.

  “Is it not to your liking?” the man asked, clearly concerned.

  Gabby mustered a smile. “Actually, I just remembered I have an appointment. Do you have a box or a bag for the pastry?”

  “Of course.” The man hurried toward the far end of the counter as the bell over the door jingled to announce the arrival of another customer.

  Ice trickled down her spine. She resisted the urge to look as every damn cell in her body screamed for her to run.

  “Welcome! I’ll be right with you, gentlemen.” The barista returned with a small plastic box. “Here, ma’am. I’ll put it right in there for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Her nerves jangled as the atmosphere at her back thickened. An odd, ozone-like scent seemed to filter through the delightful aromas of coffee and sweets, like energy building before a lightning strike. She tasted it at the back of her throat.

  “Here you go.”

  Gabby held herself in check so as not to snatch the box and run. She smiled, hoping to hide her discomfort behind the fake gesture. “Thanks so much.”

  As she turned to the door with her head down, she stole a glance at the two men who had entered the shop. They watched her with intense, silver-flecked eyes. Black hair, black clothes, and strange tattoos on the sides of their faces added to the eerie, dangerous vibe that almost oozed from them.

  No wonder her internal warning sirens were going berserk.

  As she reached the door, one of them spoke.

  “Smells like a Keeper.”

  She didn’t stop, just pushed the door open. She had no idea what a Keeper was, though the term sounded familiar. Hadn’t Taryn mentioned it last night? She wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

  “Definitely not,” the other said.

  “Wanna bet? Where’s Malla?”

  Outside, Gabby refrained from glancing back. It was safer not to acknowledge their strange conversation. Obviously, they had her mixed up with someone else. Maybe that Malla chick?

  The jingle of the door’s bell sent her heart racing.

  She dared a glance over her shoulder.

  The men, brooding beasts with their strange eyes fixed on her, followed her at a lazy gait. She tried to hear their thoughts again. The silence that met her attempt was anything but comforting.

  She was beginning to think her mother’s plan to come to New Orleans was part of some scheme to get rid of Gabby in the vilest manner. Was this one of her mother’s twisted “preparation courses” for her existence as a lifemate?

  Panic seized her as she listened to the heavy footsteps behind her get closer. Her vision began to darken when her lungs refused to stretch with each breath.

  No, no, no. Not here. Not now.

  She picked up her pace, trying to stave off a full-blown anxiety attack. The footsteps kept on her heels.

  What would they do when they caught her? Beat her, for sure. How badly? A chill speared her. She tried to swallow the growing lump of fear in her throat.

  When she turned the corner toward the busier section of the Quarter, she shot a glance over her shoulder.

  Two sets of strange eyes glinted with malice.

  Oh, God, she would die at their hands. She just knew it.

  With a strangled cry, Gabby took off at a run. If she could make it to Bourbon—

  Steel wrapped around her arm. A strong hand clamped over her mouth as her body was jerked into a deep-set doorway.

  A familiar scent encased her as the view in front of her became hazy.

  She watched, wide-eyed, as the two men ran right by the doorway without a glance. She couldn’t breathe. She didn’t bother fighting the hold on her. She couldn’t as her mind and her body gave in to uncontrolled panic.

  “Relax. You’re safe.”

  Sweet, sweet heaven. The warmth that filled her with that telepathic voice and the flood of reassurance allowed her lungs to suck in air as his hand lifted from her mouth.

  The scent of fire and spice weakened her knees. Faintness followed on the heels of oxygen. The hard body behind her was a perfect support, as was the solid arm around her waist as her legs gave out.

  “We can’t stay here,” a female voice whispered. “My magic will only hold so long before her projection fails. They’ll retrace their steps when they realize they’ve been chasing a mirage.”

  The support behind her shifted and she grappled for his arm before she fell on her ass.

  Those strong arms encased her again, this time in a firm embrace with her front flush against the solid muscle of his chest.

  Her eyes narrowed on the two people crowded against the door with her.

  Taryn.

  And Amelia?

  Taryn’s expression was anything but the kind, gentle expression from the riverbank.
He resembled a predator about to fiercely defend his territory. Amelia’s face wore the same serenity it had last night, albeit with a shadow of urgency.

  In the muddled mess of her head, Gabby couldn’t make sense of the two. “What are you doing here?”

  Amelia pressed a finger to her lips in a gesture to be quiet.

  Taryn met her gaze. “It seems I’m saving you.”

  He spoke to her. Directly to her. A conversation in her head. Textbook telepathy.

  Her mouth fell open. “How—”

  Taryn pursed his lips and shushed her. “Keep quiet. Amelia’s magic can hide us, but they’ll hear us if they come back.”

  Amelia peered around the doorway to scan the street. She waved her hand at Taryn and Gabby to follow and stepped onto the sidewalk.

  Taryn’s gaze lingered on Gabby. “Will you be okay to walk? Fast?”

  She nodded, although she wasn’t sure how her legs would hold up. His eyes probed her, leaving burning trails over her face that most certainly flushed her cheeks despite the chill in the air.

  “Let’s go.”

  Taryn’s arms fell away from her and his hand clasped hers. He led her down the sidewalk at a clipped pace, the witch a few steps ahead as they walked away from the bustling center of the Quarter.

  “Where are you taking me?” she demanded quietly. There was no ignoring the zaps of sensation that skittered up her arm from their clasped hands. The touch didn’t unleash the strong connection that erupted when their hands touched the night before, but then again, she was basking in a vat of heat, compliments of the furnace that was Taryn.

  “Somewhere safe,” he said without looking at her.

  She had a fleeting thought of digging her heels into the ground and resisting, but the urgency in their steps and the strange men who had chased her left Gabby with two choices—go with the people who hadn’t threatened her or wait for a known threat to return. Figuring she’d suffered enough threats in her life, Gabby would rather take a chance on Amelia and Taryn.

  Maybe all of her mother’s mumbo jumbo about Taryn being her lifemate was nonsense. Seemed he was paired up with Amelia. She didn’t blame him. As eccentric as the witch was, she was also beautiful and seemingly kind.

  Gabby was about to demand more information when Amelia hung a sharp right through a gate that opened without her touching it. They followed the witch down a narrow walkway to a door. Amelia unlocked it and herded them inside.