Seph decided to try Don next. Of the five boys, Donnie had turned out to be the only introvert. He kept a low profile, working from his home as a web developer. He took comfort in the anonymity of the Internet, and never had to deal with anyone face to face. Growing up, he had been the quiet one, spending most of his time in the family library while Seph, Mal, Vann and Drew would be out socializing. “Hey, Donnie,” Seph said, when his brother answered the phone. “How are you doing, buddy?”
“Fine,” Don replied, ever the one to keep things brief. “Are you calling about Father’s email?”
“You know, it still unnerves me how you do that,” Seph said. “You always know what people are going to say before they say it… Are you sure you’re not psychic?”
A heavy sigh. “We all got the same email from Father,” Don said. “It stands to reason that would be why you would call me. You’re also probably wondering if I know what it’s about. That’s not extrasensory perception – it’s common sense. Also? Drew called just before you did.”
“Of course, he did,” Seph muttered under his breath, looking at the ceiling and shaking his head. “Have you heard from Vann? Because I can’t get in touch with him.”
“I think I can say with complete confidence that I would be the last person Vann called, about anything,” Don said, and Seph could hear an edge of bitterness in his brother’s voice. Don and Vann were direct opposites on the personality spectrum. As boys, Vann would pick on Don almost mercilessly; he still gave him grief as an adult. That could explain why they hardly ever got together anymore, unless it was under their father’s orders. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told Drew: I have no idea why Father would be calling us all home like this. But I do tend to agree with Drew, that it might pertain to a legal matter.”
Seph could almost see Donnie, now, speaking through his wireless headset while staring at a computer monitor; his acute dragon hearing picked up on the sounds of clanging metal and thundering footsteps. Seph had to smirk. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your game – what is that, anyway? Battle Swords of Valor?”
Don’s response was dry, but with a sharp edge. “It’s called Valiant Victories. I’m reviewing it for the Booster Relief gaming site.”
“Right.” Seph managed to refrain from teasing his brother about his nerdy lifestyle. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Okay,” Don said, and without further ado, he disconnected the call.
All right, so that’s strike two for any kind of insight into this matter. Seph grimaced. He doubted Mal would know anything, but he still felt obligated to reach out to him. Seph located the number and called it.
After the seventh ring, someone picked up. “Hang on!” a husky male voice said.
Seph had to hold the phone away from his ear, wincing at the loud rustling sounds close to the speaker. Somewhere in the distance, he heard his brother’s distinct baritone-tenor. A moment later, he heard Mal cough and clear his throat before speaking. “Yeah, what’s up?”
“Hey, Mal. It’s Seph.” He frowned. “Where are you?”
“At the radio station, getting ready to do an interview to promote the kick-off for my tour,” Mal said. “I’m going on at the top of the hour, so I gotta make this fast, man.”
“I understand,” Seph said. “I just wanted to know if you saw the email that Father sent out. He wants all of us – you, me, Vann, Drew, and Don – to come to Tamerlane tonight.”
“Aw, no, man – I’ve been real busy today and haven’t checked my messages,” Mal said. “What’s going on?”
“That’s why I called,” Seph said. “I was hoping you might know.” He picked up a pen from his desk and twirled it across the backs of his fingers. “We’re all in the dark on this one.”
Mal laughed. “Just relax, bro. No use getting all worked up over it. Your problem is you’re always trying to figure out what’s going on in everyone’s heads so you can fix things. That may work at the office, but when it comes to this family? You’re just gonna make yourself crazy. Take it easy. We’ll find out what the Old Man has planned for us when we get there.”
“I suppose,” Seph conceded. Part of him envied Mal. Nothing ever fazed him, as he chose an existence he referred to as ‘The Chill Life.’ Playing music to sold-out crowds, getting high, and being a free spirit worked for him. He made his own rules. “Well, good luck on your interview. I’ll see you tonight.”
“You got it,” Mal said cheerfully. “Love ya, man!”
Seph set his phone on his desk and rubbed the space between his brows. Mal’s right, he thought. I do need to stop analyzing this situation and just wait to see how it all unfolds, tonight. Checking his watch again, he saw it was time to greet his next clients. Pasting on a smile, he opened the door and called to the couple sitting in the waiting room. “Karen and Josh? Please, come in.”
Chapter One
Seph finished out his day and headed back to his downtown apartment to shower and change clothes. He settled on a casual pair of charcoal-colored linen slacks and a burgundy cashmere pullover sweater. He could count on Mal to show up in leather pants and chains to fit his rock star status. Father is going to love that, Seph thought, remembering the first time his brother wore a concert T-shirt and a pair of jeans riddled with holes to a family dinner. Father had ordered his rebellious son to go up to his room and not come back down until he found a decent pair of pants and a clean shirt. Seph had to chuckle to himself. And then Mal came back, still in his punk duds, with one of Drew’s suits on a hanger that he draped on his chair like it was sitting down to eat with us, proclaiming that he’d “found” the suit, just like Father told him.
A limousine waited for Seph at the curb when he stepped out of his building. His father’s personal driver stood beside it. Seph broke into a grin. “Fritz! I didn’t realize Father was sending you to pick me up.”
The older man tipped his chauffer’s hat and smiled. “I have orders to retrieve all the boys,” he said. He opened the door and Seph peered inside, seeing his four clutch mates already occupying the bench seats. Drew and Vann each had glasses of single malt scotch from the bar, while Mal – unsurprisingly – drank from the bottle. Don seemed more preoccupied with his smart phone, the screen’s glow reflecting off the lenses of his wire-rimmed glasses.
“Hey, there he is!” Drew said.
“Get in here,” Vann said, moving over and slapping the spot beside him. He whistled at Mal. “Yo, Metal Head! How about a drink for our brother? Preferably from a bottle you haven’t put your mouth on.”
Mal took another swig of scotch while giving Vann a middle-finger salute.
“It’s okay, I’ll get my own,” Seph said, climbing into the car. As Fritz closed the door behind him, Seph helped himself to a splash of vodka. The limo began to move and Seph settled back for the ride. He glanced around at his siblings. Drew and Don had opted for the same conservative attire favored by Seph, trousers with button-down shirts and casual jackets, short hair well-groomed. Father will approve, he thought. He looked at Vann, who had twisted his light brown locks into a man-bun to go with the hipster scarf around his neck; a green plaid shirt stretched tight across his broad chest and bulging biceps, and his straight-leg jeans had been turned up at the ankle. Seph pursed his lips. He might pass inspection – barely.
His attention shifted to Mal. As predicted, Mal had chosen tight black jeans, motorcycle boots, and a leather vest to show off the tattoo sleeves running the length of his lean but muscular arms. His sandy blond hair had been dyed black and framed his lean face like a lion’s mane. He had as much metal in his ears as he did on his fingers. Father’s going to love that, Seph thought, hiding his smile behind his glass as he took a sip.
Conversation remained light and work-related, for the most part. Soon, the city lights began to disappear. They rode along dark, winding roads leading upstate toward the rolling hills of country estates built with old money by the nation’s industrial pioneers. Vovin Steel had been one such business. T
heir great-grandfather had come over from Europe and opened a forge which produced some of the materials used to establish railroads, and construction materials for buildings still standing in parts of the city. The family fortune continued to thrive under their father. Seph knew Father had always hoped at least one of his sons would have followed in his footsteps and assumed management duties; instead, he allowed them all to find their own paths. But he had also warned them all that a day might come when he would hand over complete control of the Vovin empire to one of them. Maybe that’s what this is about, Seph thought, as the car glided through the opened gates and made its way toward the manor house. He’s going to choose one of us, tonight. His eyes cut to Drew. More than likely it will be him. He’s a D.A., his experience with the law will come in handy.
Seph did not share his speculations with his brothers, deciding to let this play out as he often did with his clients during therapy. Observe, consider, and then give your opinion. His initial thought was that he would not contest their father’s decision unless for some reason he picked Vann or Mal. I would have to give my professional assessment that he’s out of his mind for choosing one of them.
They were greeted at the door by one of the servants. Like Fritz, Paul had been with the family for a long time and had been trained as a proper British butler. Seph smiled at him. “Good evening, Paul. How have you been?”
“Good evening, sir, and I am quite well, thank you for asking.” He made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “If you will all please follow me; I have orders to escort you directly to your father’s study.”
“Whoa,” Mal said, chuckling. “Father’s not wasting any time – usually we get The Talk after we’ve had dinner.” He arched an eyebrow at Paul. “There…will…be dinner, right?”
Paul responded with a thin smile. “Of course, sir,” he said. “Normally, the evening meal is served promptly at six, but tonight your father has asked that it be pushed back to seven.”
As they passed the open doors to the dining room, Seph peered in and saw only one place setting prepared. In the past, he knew the china would already be put out, and all the polished silver arranged accordingly. He jerked his head. “Are we not invited to join our father for supper?”
Paul walked ahead of them to the study. “Again, as part of your father’s instructions for this evening, the number of place settings would increase dependent upon ‘who chooses to stay after hearing what he has to say,’ to use his exact words.”
“Do you know what this is all about?” Vann asked the butler. “Because we’re all in the dark.”
“I am not at liberty to say,” Paul replied, and it was true – anything Father confided in him, he had always been sworn to keep secret. They stopped at the closed double doors, wood carved with elaborate images of wyverns circling over a forest. Paul looked at the brothers with a wry smile that creased the skin at the corners of his eyes. “But if you do choose to leave, Mrs. Carson has already insisted upon preparing boxed meals for you to take with you. I believe she even made some of her popular snickerdoodles to include in the package.”
“Good old Mrs. Carson,” Mal said, echoing the sentiment they all shared for the house’s cook. She had always taken good care of them, referring to the clutch mates as ‘my boys’ and shooing them out of her kitchen whenever they would try to sneak in and steal her delicious cookies fresh out of the oven.
Paul slid the pocket doors apart and stepped aside to allow the five siblings to make their way into the room. Father’s study had always been a source of mystery; his private space where he conducted business and held private meetings pertaining to matters of both Vovin Steel and Tamerlane. Seph recalled many times throughout his childhood, watching his father sequester himself in this room with great men of power, including world leaders. He would often be tempted to listen in on their conversations, but Father had always ordered the staff to keep the kids well out of dragon hearing range. Maybe if he had let us get a glimpse of what he did, we would have shown interest in joining him in running the forge.
Cyril Vovin, patriarch of the family, stood in front of the huge marble fireplace with his back to them. He always dressed impeccably; tonight, he wore a dark suit and leather shoes polished to reflect the light of the flames dancing in the hearth. The fire’s glow filtered through his thick, salt and pepper curls, giving him the appearance of a religious icon. “My sons,” he said, and his voice had the same rich, smoky timbre that could strike fear into the hearts of any who dared to cross him, but which could also offer comfort to those in need of reassurance. Once a tall, foreboding figure, he now looked thinner, the years beginning to show, but he still carried himself with regal bearing. He pivoted and smiled, the lines in his chiseled face looked deeper than Seph remembered from his last visit. Cyril’s dark green eyes shimmered with affection as he regarded his brood. “Welcome home.”
“Well, Father, the suspense is killing us,” Vann said, cutting right to the chase. “Why did you call us back to Tamerlane?”
“Do you know why it’s called ‘Tamerlane?’” The elder Vovin walked over to his favorite antique armchair with the gilded claw feet, sat down, and picked up a cigar from the ashtray on the table beside it. “It’s from a poem by Edgar Allan Poe, about a Turkic conqueror who lost the love of his life.” He looked around at the walls and high ceilings with their beautiful tapestries and woodwork shaped by the finest craftsmen. His gaze settled on the large portrait of a gorgeous woman with serene blue eyes, a kind smile, and blonde hair falling over one pale shoulder. “I gave it that name in honor of your late mother, Mara, one of the loveliest human women to ever win the heart of one very stubborn Dragon.”
Seph glanced over at Drew. Father rarely talked about their mother since her death many years ago. The boys had just celebrated their tenth birthday when she collapsed in the garden. The cancer had spread quickly and within months she was gone. With all his power, Father could not save her. Seph remembered how she and Father would often argue, and once she had announced in front of a houseful of party guests that she had regretted giving up her career as an architect for marriage. The doctors had said it could have been the brain tumor making her say things she didn’t mean. Father would have forgiven her, anyway, because he had loved her so much.
As with most dragons who lose their mates, after Mother’s passing, Father had become withdrawn. He had refused to eat or to come out of the bedroom they had shared. Finally, after a lot of coaxing from his own clutch mates – particularly his three sisters – Cyril had rallied. He still had many good years ahead of him and while he could have fathered another clutch, he had never sought another partner. To him, Mother had been all he had ever wanted.
It was his father’s devotion to his late wife that had inspired Seph to go into counseling Dragon and Human couples. Maybe the doctors had been right about the tumor, but Seph remembered how sad Mother would get long before she had been diagnosed. Sometimes, he would hear her talking to Mrs. Carson about missing Father when he would go away on long business trips. I don’t want others to go through what they did, he thought. He smiled up at his mother’s portrait and felt a pang of sorrow. For two people who loved one another, their relationship lacked a key ingredient: happiness.
Now, Cyril blew on the end of the cigar, and the heat of his breath caused it to smolder and then transform into a glowing ember. “I will not hold you in suspense a moment longer,” he announced. Taking a long draw from the cigar, he reached for a brandy snifter on the side table and exhaled the smoke into the glass, where it settled in a coil above the liquid. “After much consideration, I have decided to relinquish my position at Vovin Steel and seek retirement – and in doing so, I will be passing on control of the company to one of you.”
Called it, Seph thought with a smirk. He cleared his throat. “So, which one of us did you have in mind for the job?”
“That depends on you.” Cyril swirled the brandy before taking a sip. He swallowed and licked his lips before setti
ng the glass aside again. Crossing his legs at the knee, he rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and regarded Seph. “And by ‘you,’ I mean ‘collectively.’”
The young men all gathered closer to their father, standing before him in a semi-circle. “What do you want us to do, Father?” Drew asked.
Cyril puffed on his cigar. “It has come to my attention that not one of you has produced an heir,” he said. “By your age, I was already married and beginning a family, as is common for our kind. Dragons are all male, as you know. While some Human women are genetically compatible with our race and can bear our eggs, we alone have the power of transformation. If we do not breed, we die out as a race. So, we must – as they say – ‘be fruitful and multiply.’”
Vann responded with a nervous laugh. “Wait. Are you saying we need to make some kids?”
“That is the long and the short of it, yes,” Father replied. “But more than that, you must find compatible mates, marry, and begin your families properly.”
“All of us?” Mal asked, motioning to his clutch mates.
“All of you,” Cyril confirmed soundly, and tapped his ash off into the tray on the side table with an elegant flick of his thumb. “And just in case you require a bit of incentive, consider this.” He leaned forward, eyes narrowed, and pointed at each of them in turn. “Anyone who does not follow orders will be removed from the family.”
The five brothers responded with a combination of shock and disbelief, expressed through gasps and looks of surprise. “Disowned?” Drew managed to choke out.
The Dragon King's Prisoner: A Paranormal Romance (Separated by Time Book 1) Page 11