Heart of the Dragon

by Gena Showalter

  "What is the name of the man your search team found? The one who had last seen Alex? He was gone when I woke up on the boat, so I didn't get a chance to talk to him." And now she knew why.

  Mitch gulped. "I, uh, can't recall."

  "You can't recall an employee's name?" She gave her jeans another hard twist. "Didn't Argonauts fund Alex's trip? Shouldn't you have records with the names of the men you hire?"

  "We didn't fund the trip," he offered quickly. Too quickly. "Perhaps Jason can tell you the man's name when he returns."

  "In the jungle, I wanted to stay and look for Alex, but was told he'd already bought a ticket home. Do you know which airline he used?"

  He chuckled, the sound strained. "I'll be honest with you, Grace. I'm not sure where he is. I wish I could help you, but..." He shrugged. "He could be anywhere."

  At least he didn't try to feed her the "he is dead" line. "So tell me, while you were in the jungle, did you happen to run into any...creatures? Hidden lands?"

  "I--I--I don't know what you're talking about."

  Liar! She wanted to scream. Grace glanced at Darius. His expression was blanketed, stoic, yet she had the distinct feeling he yearned to stalk across the room and beat Mitch into the carpet. Obviously Mitch received the same impression; he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  With Mitch's complete attention centered on him, Darius strode casually about the office, lifting vases and figurines as if they were no more important than dust mites. His fingers pinched at them, dismissed them, then replaced them on their perches with complete disregard. Mitch tensed, gulped. However, not a single protest oozed from his mouth.

  "I do not like you," Darius told him, weighing a jewel-studded goblet in his palms. He offered the words with a kind of still repose, a natural assurance only the most confident of people possessed. "You remind me of a bloodsucking vampire."

  Mitch pulled at his plain blue tie. "There, uh, are no such thing as vampires."

  "Nor dragons, I'm sure," Darius answered.

  All color drained from the man's face, showcasing the thin hollows of his cheeks. His gaze widened, and he transferred his attention between Darius and the goblet. "That's right," he said brokenly, reaching out instinctively for the artifact.

  Darius tsked under his tongue. He tossed the cup in the air, caught it, then tossed it again. When he caught it for a second time, he said casually, "Since you are an unbeliever, you'll never have to worry about being eaten alive by a dragon." He arched a brow. "Will you?"

  On a strangled gasp, Mitch shoved to his feet, his chair rolling behind him as he anchored his palms on his desk surface. "Set that down before I call security. All I've done is try to help, and this is how you treat me. You may show yourselves out."

  "I have seen these objects before," Darius remarked, staying right where he was and giving the goblet a few more tosses.

  "In Archeologist Digest, I'm sure." Mitch cast a desperate, fleeting glance to Grace.

  She struggled not to glare at him.

  "Now, please," he added. "I have work to do, and I'm sure you don't want to take up any more of my time."

  After replacing the goblet, Darius palmed a vase boasting a colorful array of dragons etched around the edges. "Where did you find this?"

  A pause. A cough. "Madrid. I really need to get back to work."

  "I would swear on my life it belonged to a friend of mine. Perhaps you have heard of him. His name is--or was--Javar ta 'Arda. He gifted his wife, Teira, with a vase identical to this one on the eve of their mating."

  "Perhaps you should put that down." Mitch nervously licked his lips. "I meant it when I said I'd call security. I don't want to, but I will."

  Darius returned the vase to its perch, letting it wobble ominously at the edge. "As I was saying a moment ago, I do not like you. But Grace has asked me to use violence as a last resort. Still," he added after a loaded pause, "I can say with certainty that you and I will have a reckoning."

  With that, he strode from the office. That's my man, Grace thought proudly.

  "Have a nice day, Mitch," she said, flicking him one last glance. His features were so pallid he resembled a ghost--or vampire. He was reaching out, racing around his desk in his haste to save the vase from annihilation.

  As she chased after Darius, she heard the shatter of porcelain, the howl of a man. Both buoyed her spirits, and she bit back a smile.

  LOST IN THE INTENSITY of his thunderous emotions, Darius stared straight ahead as he and Grace strode toward her home. "Do you think Alex is okay?" she asked, her voice so low he had to strain to hear.

  "For now. He has something they want. Otherwise, they would have killed him long ago."

  That kept her quiet for a long while. "Where do you think he's being kept?"

  "Atlantis."

  She paused midstep, before jumping back into stride. "But you checked. You said he wasn't there."

  "He wasn't. Then. The vision of Alex confirmed that, for he was here on the surface. However, after meeting the cowardly Mitch I suspect he has already been moved."

  "How do we find out where he's being kept in Atlantis? Interrogate Mitch? Break into Argonauts?"

  "No," he answered. "We are more likely to find what we need in Jason Graves's place of residence." But more than that, breaking into Jason's home would supply him with a better understanding of the man he would soon fight.

  Oh, yes. Fight Jason he would. His anticipation grew with every second that passed.

  "You're right." Grace brightened and curled her lush, rosy mouth with anticipation. Her features were so lovely his chest hurt when he looked at her. "Since he's out of town," she sneered the word, "today is the perfect day to let ourselves into his apartment."

  "We will go tonight, when the shadows can hide us."

  "After that are you," she faltered, "are you going home?"

  "I must obtain the vests first."

  They neared Grace's door, and she withdrew a key. "I want to go with you when you return."

  "No. Absolutely not."

  Her eyes narrowed.

  "Get inside. Now." He gave her a gentle shove past the entrance. "There is something I must do before I join you." A dark storm churned inside him. He needed some type of release, needed to plan his next move. But more than that, he needed some sort of distance from Grace and his growing feelings for her.

  He did not give her time to ask him any more questions. He simply closed the door in her stunned, beautiful face. "I will be right here if you need me," he said through the wood.

  Perhaps it was his imagination, or perhaps he was seeing more clearly than ever before, but in his mind's eye he watched her fingertips caress the slat of wood, watched her press her lips together, and her gaze sadden. She didn't know what was happening within him and that worried her. This was not the first time she'd worried for him, and each time it touched him deeply, softened him somehow.

  He waited until he heard the lock click in place before he stepped away and began pacing back and forth through the hallway. He would have liked to explore this New York, but the binding spell prevented any great distance between him and Grace. Occasionally humans strode past him and gave him a curious stare, but no one stopped and questioned him.

  I want to go with you, Grace had said.

  He blanched at the thought of taking her back to his home, even as joy flooded him. How he would have loved to splay Grace upon his bed, her naked body open and eager for him. He craved the reality of that.

  The thought of being without her left him cold.

  And the acknowledgment of that coldness left him reeling.

  Tomorrow he would have to leave. He had moments of utter strength, and moments of utter weakness. No matter what he learned or didn't learn, no matter what he acquired or didn't acquire, he would have to return home in the morning, or he didn't think he'd have the strength to transport himself to the mist. Yet he still had so much to do.

  He still had to kill Grace.

  Co
uld he, though? Could he harm her?

  Darius didn't have to think about it. No. He couldn't.

  The answer sliced through him as sharply as a blade. He could not hurt sweet, innocent Grace in any way.

  She captivated him on so many different levels. He was coming to depend on her in a way he'd once considered impossible, craving the emotions she made him feel with the same ferocity he'd once hated them. Without her, he was not fully alive.

  He'd watched her stand up to that man, Mitch, and he'd felt pride. She hadn't backed down. She'd questioned him without revealing her hurt, without crumbling under the need to administer justice. She was a woman of strength and honor, a woman of love and trust.

  His woman.

  Silently his boots pounded into the carpet. He drew in the rich scent of food that seemed to encompass this entire building, this city, and steered his mind on to his own home. Javar and all of the dragons of that unit were dead. Dark sorrow wove through his blood as he at last admitted the truth. He'd known it beyond a doubt the moment he spied the treasures of Javar's home displayed so mockingly inside Argonauts.

  His friends were dead, he repeated in his mind. They'd died by guns, most likely. Guns...and vampires. Perhaps the Book of Ra-Dracus had even helped. No matter what had happened, no matter what had been done, he would have vengeance.

  This was what came of allowing humans to know of Atlantis; this was what Javar warned him of.

  While Javar had not been an easy man to know, he had been like a father to Darius. They had understood each other. When Teira entered Javar's life, the man had softened and the bond between tutor and student had deepened, even as it widened. What a senseless death. A needless death. He'd lost no one close to him since the murder of his family. And now trickles of pain, both past and present, rose within him like a tide of water, seeping insidiously past his defenses and eroding the very fabric of his detachment. A sharp ache stabbed him, and he gripped his chest.

  Deny your tears and keep the hurt inside you, boy. Use it against those who mean us harm. Kill them with it.

  Javar had said one variation after another of those words. He wouldn't want Darius to mourn him, but mourn him Darius did. He would not have survived those first years without Javar, without the purpose his tutor had given him.

  He should have killed the human man, Mitch, Darius thought dispassionately. He should have killed both human men. Mitch and Patrick. They each had knowledge of the mist, had most likely entered and had played a part in Javar's death. Had he destroyed them, however, he felt certain Grace's brother would have been killed in retaliation. So he'd knocked Patrick out--punishment for what he'd wanted to do to Grace--and walked away from Mitch. What was wrong with him?

  He knew the answer. Part of it anyway. He hadn't wanted Grace to view him as a killer. Protector, yes. Lover, most definitely. But ruthless slayer? No longer.

  He could only guess at how she would react if she fully beheld the beast inside him. Tremble with fear and disgust? Run from him as if he were a monster? He didn't want her scared of him; he wanted her pliant. Welcoming. He just wanted her, all of her. Now...and perhaps always.

  He'd come so close to losing control with the one called Patrick, and it had required a conscious effort to calm himself. Coming face-to-face with the man who had run his fingertips over Grace's sleeping body had infuriated him. Only he was allowed to touch her. Only he, Darius, was allowed to gaze at her luscious curves and imagine her stripped and open, ready and eager.

  She belonged to him.

  He wished to give her the world, not take it from her. He wished to fill her days with excitement and her nights with passion. He wished to protect her, honor her and devote himself to her needs. He could not let her go, he realized now. Not ever. He needed her for she was his heart. His emotions had never been mild where she was concerned but as unstoppable as a turbulent storm.

  I'll never be able to harm her. The admission solidified inside him. His deepest male instincts had known since the beginning. The woman was a part of him, the best part, and hurting her would destroy him.

  There was a way to have it all, he decided. A way to keep her from harm, a way to keep her for himself and still honor his oath.

  He had only to figure out what that was.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  WITH THE STOLEN MEDALLION in his pocket, Alex clasped Teira's hand in his, grateful for her warmth, her softness and her strength.

  A tremor racked him. Not from the cold or blood loss, but from the forced drug-induced hunger. He craved, oh, how he craved more of that damning substance. His mouth was dry. His head pounded, creating a dull ache he knew would soon become a raging inferno of pain. He needed those damn drugs and was appalled that a part of him wanted to stay here and await another dose.

  The other part of him, the saner part, flashed pictures of his sister and his mother through his mind. Next came an image of Teira being dragged away, being hurt in the worst possible ways. This picture lingered, fueling a spark of anger. And that anger overrode the hunger.

  He was leaving this place tonight.

  Saving Teira was necessary for his peace of mind. He owed her. They were in this together; they had only each other.

  "Are you ready?" he asked. They'd waited for the palace above to quiet, and now silence held them in its grip.

  "Ready," she answered.

  "I'll keep you safe," he promised her, praying he spoke true.

  "And I will keep you safe," she replied, her tone more assured than his own.

  How could he ever have doubted her? Alex wondered. He gave her hand a squeeze. "Let's do this."

  Together they stepped toward the doors, and the thick ivory barriers slid open smoothly, as if they'd never offered any hindrance. How simple, he thought. Carry a medallion and come and go as you please. Drawing in a steadying breath, Alex hurried Teira from the cell. He kept his footsteps light, but all the while his heart thudded in his chest.

  The deeper he roamed from the cell, the more frigid the air became, chapping his skin. Fog billowed about like a frenzied snowstorm, so thick he could only see what was directly in front of his face. Dry ice, he realized, recalling how Jason had bragged about sending bags of it through the portal. The shards crunched beneath his boots.

  He was grateful for the fog. It embraced him in its chilly depths and kept him hidden from view. Using his free hand, he trailed his fingertips over the wall, letting the rough texture be his guide.

  Beside him, Teira's body shuddered. He released her hand and wrapped his arm around her slim waist, pulling her into the warmth of his side, rubbing his hand over her ice-cold arm. Her delicate scent wafted to his nose, heating his blood. He wished he could see her face, wished he could see the glistening fog create a halo around her because he knew beyond a doubt that it would be the most erotic sight he'd ever seen.

  "I'm here," he soothed.

  "The cold...it makes me weak," she said, stumbling.

  His own weakness had him stumbling, as well, but he used his weight to hold them both steady. "I'll get you warm," he said. As they trekked deeper through the palace, Alex expected alarms to erupt. He expected men with guns to surround them. Instead, silence.

  The wall ended all too quickly, and he was left with only air and fog to guide him. Where did he go from here? The ghostly whiteness was too thick. Protective, yes, but also slowing.

  A lone figure suddenly parted the fog and rounded a corner.

  Unseen, Alex forced Teira quietly behind him, waiting until the man closed the distance. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled with tension as each new second passed. When the guard stepped close enough, Alex didn't allow himself to think. He simply slammed his fist into the man's exposed trachea, cutting off his air. Gurgling, he went down hard and fast. Alex didn't know if he'd killed him, and he didn't care.

  Motions shaky, he removed the man's coat and fastened it around Teira's shoulders. The thick brown material swallowed her slight frame. He looked for a gu
n, but didn't see one. When he spotted a fallen fire extinguisher, he hefted it up and looped the straps around his shoulders. Not a great weapon, but it would have to do.

  "Which way is the portal?" he whispered to Teira.

  "You cannot use the portal here. I tried to escape before, when they took me from you. Too many guards. Too many weapons."

  He uttered a frustrated sigh and pushed a hand through his hair. He hadn't come this far to be stopped now. "We'll have to take them by surprise." Though how the two of them were going to pull that off, he didn't know.

  "There's another way," she said. "A second portal on other side of the island. Darius en Kragin is Guardian there and we will con-convince--is that right word?--him to allow you to pass. He will destroy these men."

  A grin of relief lifted the corners of his lips. He placed his face so close to hers their noses touched, and he gazed into her golden eyes. "You lead the way, baby. I'll follow you anywhere."

  She returned his grin, though an air of sadness clung to the edges of hers. "I do not want to lose you," she said. "I do not want you to go."

  "Then come with me." When she opened her mouth to protest, he interjected, "Don't give me your answer now." He didn't want to lose her, either, he realized, and would actually fight to keep her with him. After clinging to his freedom all these many years, he was finally willing to surrender it in favor of permanency with a woman. This woman. "Just think about it, okay. Right now we need to get out of here."

  He curled his fingers through hers again, and Teira weakly led him up a winding staircase. The room they entered next was even more frigid, but not as thickly fogged. Alex surveyed these new surroundings. There was no furniture, yet there was more wealth than he'd ever seen. Ebony at his feet, jewels at his side, and crystal above. He halted midstep and could only gape.

  This is why Jason desires the mist. Hell, I want it, too.

  A sense of greed momentarily choked his throat. There had to be a way to take some of this home. Conceal a few jewels under his shirt. Fill his pockets. He'd be able to keep his family in luxury for the rest of their lives.

  The thought of his family drowned him in a desperate need to see them. Jason claimed they were unhurt, but Alex couldn't believe a single word out of that murderer's deceitful mouth.