by Anna Lowe
When Marco pulled into the circle at the end of the palm-lined driveway, a valet opened the car door. Laura was still gaping when Marco came around her side of the car and offered his elbow. She hooked her arm around his and took a deep breath. This would be her first time formally facing dragon shifters — other than Marco and Finn, of course. But those two were friends. The dragons of Madeira were strangers.
Adriano pulled up next, and Laura caught Marco sending his grounds keeper a sharp nod. Adriano was on high alert, that was for sure. Finn also looked all business as he took up position on Laura’s right side.
No one messes with her, their indomitable stances said.
A heavyset man with silver hair and a thick, groomed beard appeared at the top of the stairs. The kind of man who didn’t need an introduction.
“Dom Marco.” The man’s voice was a deep, dark whisper, yet loud enough to carry into the mountains.
“Dom Quintus.” Marco nodded coolly.
Laura bit her lip as she, Marco, and Finn ascended the stairs. Quintus was intimidating as hell, but she had two big, tough soldiers at her side.
A quiet murmur went through the half-dozen people who stood a respectful step behind Quintus. Some were staid older folks who looked Marco up and down as if to say, The prodigal son returns. Others were young men who bristled like gorillas. Some of them let their gazes sweep suggestively over the curves of Laura’s silk gown. She clenched her jaw and moved even closer to Marco’s side.
There were a handful of young women too, all fluttering their eyelashes at Marco and Finn. Not that Laura could blame them, not with the two former soldiers looking as breathtakingly good as they did. Marco appeared right at home in his midnight blue tux. And Finn, in his fit-for-a-Westminster-wedding gray suit and navy tie, looked like a champion athlete dressed for an exclusive charity gala.
But when the women noticed Laura, their eyes shot daggers.
She stood tall. Did those women even know what she’d been through or how hard she’d worked to earn the respect of Marco and Finn?
Still, it was hard not to feel like Cinderella at the prince’s ball. When she’d left Marco’s place, Laura had felt ridiculously overdressed in the raspberry-colored silk gown Inés had talked her into. But that was nothing compared to the flouncy gowns and sweeping hairdos the young women wore.
Marco placed his left hand on Laura’s arm, and she could practically hear him growl, Back off, ladies. And as for you men, don’t you dare. This woman is mine.
The ruby around her neck warmed, and she wrestled back her confidence. She was a dragon shifter now. Somehow, she had to find her place in that scary new world.
“So kind of you to invite us,” Marco said, stiffly shaking Quintus’s hand.
The older man clamped his free hand around Marco’s bicep, and the gleam in his dark eyes told Laura he was squeezing hard.
Marco didn’t so much as wince, however. Soon, Quintus’s cheek started twitching as their silent confrontation stretched on. Was Marco squeezing Quintus’s hand?
For goodness’ sake, Laura nearly muttered, sticking out her own hand. The men broke off their standoff and stared.
“Good evening,” she said in her best Portuguese.
The old dragon’s eyes flashed, first in offense, then in interest. Interest Laura wasn’t sure she wanted to attract.
“Ah, the lovely Miss Sampao,” Quintus rumbled. “A pleasure to meet you at last.”
If it hadn’t been for Marco at her side, she might have run. How did Quintus know her name? What else did he know about her?
Still, she took her cue from Marco. If he could keep as cool and aloof as James Bond, so could she.
“A pleasure to meet you too. I’ve heard so much about you.”
Quintus laughed, and she couldn’t tell if he was covering up his surprise or mocking her. Everyone has heard a lot about me, a man like that would easily boom.
Then Quintus made a sweeping gesture, making everyone behind him jump. “Come in, come in. Eat. Drink. Share in the fine company.”
“After you, Dom Quintus.” Marco bowed. A tiny one, unlike the deep, groveling bends of the crowd that parted before the island’s leader.
Quintus marched in, not entirely pleased. Laura, Marco, and Finn followed closely. The crowd pressed in behind them, and the doors closed with a thump.
Laura gulped, looking back.
“Make yourselves at home,” Quintus called, peeling off to the left.
To Laura’s relief, Marco steered her to a quiet corner where she could slowly find her bearings.
“Is everyone here a dragon?” she whispered.
Marco shook his head. “All shifters, but not all are dragons.”
Finn sniffed, then nodded toward each of the guests subtly. “Let me guess. Wolf. Wolf. Dragon. Bear. Dragon, dragon, dragon. Wolf…”
Laura gulped. On the surface, it was like any high-end cocktail party, not that she’d been to many. Guests mingled and chatted while staff roved silently, offering drinks and hors d’oeuvres. A bartender popped corks from dusty wine bottles brought up from the cellar, and a pianist stroked the keys of a baby grand set in one corner of the massive ballroom. One wall opened to the sheer mountains with their bands of timeworn stone, while the other side of the ballroom overlooked an infinity pool and the narrowing V of the valley as it plunged toward the sea. Marco’s place was stunning, but Quintus’s was practically a palace.
Not as homey, though, her dragon sniffed.
A pang of sorrow hit Laura. Marco’s place was homey, but it wasn’t her home, and it never would be.
Finn waved over a caterer and passed her and Marco each a glass of wine.
“Cheers.” He clinked each of their glasses in turn.
“What are we drinking to?” Laura asked.
Finn laughed. “You name it.”
Getting out of this alive was her first thought, and To the life I used to live was the second. But this was her reality now, so she’d better find her way.
“To new friends and new directions,” she finally whispered, touching her glass to each of theirs. Where would she be without these two men?
Finn chuckled cheerily, but Marco was earnest as he looked deep into her eyes.
“To new friends.” It was barely a whisper, but his chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “And new directions.”
Laura’s heart thumped, and her arm tingled where Marco had touched her. The clink of their glasses echoed faintly in her ears, and the sounds of the party fell away until it was just her and him.
Friends. New directions. Laura took a deep breath. What if her new direction was him?
They might have stood there forever, gazing into each other’s eyes, if it hadn’t been for Finn motioning, making them snap out of it.
“And I thought Ireland was green.” He pointed to the mountains.
Laura dragged her gaze away from Marco. “Incredible. The perfect place for a dragon to roost.”
Finn grinned. “Perfect place for a dragon to stash treasure.”
Laura stared. That wasn’t a myth? Did dragons really collect treasure?
Finn smacked Marco on the shoulder. “How much of your treasure do you have stashed here?”
Laura’s eyes bulged. Marco collected treasure?
For the briefest of moments, Marco’s eyes wandered to the east, and Laura’s jaw nearly dropped. He did, didn’t he? But a split second later, Marco fixed his gaze on his drink and sipped without answering.
“How much do you think Quintus has stashed out there?” Finn mused.
Marco waved his glass nonchalantly. “You know what they say. If you have to ask…”
Finn laughed. “Right. No contest.” He looked around, appraising the crowd. “So, phase one of the plan, accomplished. We’re here. What’s phase two?”
Marco’s lips barely moved as he spoke, and he kept his gaze carefully neutral.
“Quintus is the ruling dragon on Madeira, and custom dictates that al
l visitors and returning residents present themselves to him.”
“Which are you — visitor or resident?” Laura asked.
Marco’s lips curled into a tight smile. “Good question.”
Finn tapped his foot impatiently. “So — phase two?”
“We’re here to see and be seen,” Marco said. “Quintus is sizing us up, and we’re doing the same.”
“But he knows you, right?” Laura asked.
“He knew my parents, and he knew the boy who once left. Right now, he’s trying to get a handle on me. And on you.”
She nearly spat out the sip of wine she’d taken. “Me? Why?”
“Female dragons are few and far between. And one carrying a spelled gem is even rarer.”
She slapped a hand over the spot where the ruby hung, covered by her dress. “But I’ve kept it covered.”
“Its presence has grown stronger,” Marco said, still managing to appear as though he were discussing the weather, at least to someone observing them from the other side of the ballroom.
Finn gave her an encouraging tap on the shoulder. “I thought you wanted an audience with some powerful dragons.”
Laura wasn’t so sure any more. She’d learned so much from Marco already. Enough to return home and get by on her own, perhaps?
Her elbow brushed Marco’s, and her dragon cried out. Why on our own?
She cleared her throat quickly. “So, the women here aren’t dragons?”
“Only a handful. Most you see are wolves or other species.”
Two older men stepped toward Marco, and Finn moved away. “I’ll leave them to you while I mingle. Who knows what I might find out?”
Laura wanted to grab Finn’s sleeve and pull him back, but it was too late. Besides, he was right. She’d wanted an audience with powerful dragons, so she’d better get to it.
The problem was, the men spoke with a heavy accent — a cross between the deep local accent and a nobleman’s long, slow vowels that made it hard to follow along, no matter how good her Portuguese was. Laura nodded dumbly, doing her best to catch what she could. After a few pleasantries, the two men — dragon lords — veered off into a woeful lament of everything that had changed since the old days. Then they started on Marco.
“The French Foreign Legion. Good god, boy. Why on earth did you enlist in a foreign army? Your grandfather would roll over in his grave if he could see what has become of you.”
Marco’s shoulders stiffened. “I am the honorable son of an honorable family, and I would never, ever let them down.”
“But, Marco. The Foreign Legion? Are our own Comandos not good enough for you?”
Laura bristled. The Comandos were the Special Forces branch of the Portuguese army. But what did it matter? Marco had every right to choose his own path.
“Enlisting in the Foreign Legion wasn’t about rejecting my country. It was about accomplishing something without my family name smoothing the way.”
“But what did you accomplish? For whom?” the two men went on, unrelenting.
Up to that point, Marco had remained cool and collected, but his face started to flush with anger, and his eyes sparked dangerously. Meanwhile, Laura’s ruby heated against her skin as if equally angry.
“And which army did you serve in?” she asked the two men.
They hemmed and hawed, and she nearly snorted, None, obviously. What right do you have to judge this man?
Instead, she took Marco by the hand and led him away. The pianist had been joined by several other musicians, and they had just started on a new tune.
“Oh, my favorite song. Care to dance?”
He frowned. “Dance? Now?”
“Now,” she ordered. “Before you lose your cool.”
“I never lose my cool. And I never dance.”
“You are now.”
He dug in his heels. “What are you up to?”
She jabbed a finger at his chest, pretending not to notice when it bounced back off all that muscle. “You rescued me from dragons. Now it’s my turn to rescue you.”
“You think I need rescuing?”
Inconceivable, his furrowed brow said.
Laura tilted her head this way and that. “A little, yes.”
Marco looked back at the two old-timers, then at her, and finally, at the dance floor. “Do you even know this dance?”
“No.”
He laughed, and the angry sparks in his eyes softened to a different kind of glow.
She tugged on his hand. “Let’s try this again. Care to dance?”
He opened his mouth as if to protest, then closed it, thinking. Finally, he nodded. “I’d love to.”
Up to that moment, she’d been the one gripping his hand, but now, he was the one holding hers. His first few steps were angry stomps, but by the time they reached the dance floor, he’d leveled out again.
“Your favorite song?” He leaned in, whispering in her ear.
“My new favorite.” She grinned. “Whatever it is.”
A tiny smile played over his lips. “Well, then. Let’s dance.”
Laura had no idea what that jaunty tune was or how the steps went. But Marco, for all that he’d hesitated at first, put one arm around her waist, grabbed her hand, and swept her away. When the man set his mind to something, he was all in.
“Like this,” he called over the sound of the band.
A few more couples pressed in, and before Laura knew it, she was hop-stepping across the floor in quick, diagonal steps. Three in one direction, three in another, around and around the dance floor.
“You’ve got it.” Marco grinned.
She didn’t look up from his feet. “Shh. I’m concentrating.”
“You’re a natural. Like flying.”
“Shh!” She gripped his arms, tilting her head toward the nearest couples.
He laughed. “No secrets here. Well, not about shifting, at least.” He swept her around another corner, then pulled her closer. “Ready to turn?”
Typical Marco — she’d barely gotten the hang of one thing, and he was already pushing her to the next level. Either he was delusional, or he believed in her more than she did.
And, zoom — he guided her through a tight turn, then pulled her back, nice and close to his side. Closer than they’d started out, in fact. A good thing, too, since the turn left her a little dizzy.
Slowly, Laura pried her eyes from Marco’s feet to his deep blue eyes. A view she could soak in for as long as she could take in the view from his beautiful seaside home. His body was nice and warm, and they fit together perfectly.
People were watching, she realized. Like Finn, who wore an amused but wistful smile, along with older couples wearing sentimental expressions and a few bitter-looking young women who, if anything, had sharpened the daggers in their eyes. But soon, all that became a blur, and all Laura really registered was Marco.
Marco, who’d saved her life. Marco, who didn’t hate her.
Marco, who seemed to like her as much as she liked him.
The ruby warmed against her skin, much like her hands in his — a cozy, comfortable warmth she wished would never end.
Somewhere along the line, a middle-aged man tapped Marco on the shoulder. “May I cut in?”
Marco murmured a curt Não and turned her away so smoothly, she barely registered the interruption.
Two more men tried to cut in, but Marco turned his back on each of them, his eyes flashing in warning. No one dances with this woman but me.
That stopped the rest of the men from trying to get Laura. But the women struck next, intent on stealing Marco away. First, a young woman karate-chopped her arm between them, flashing a fake, nasty smile.
“May I cut in?”
You’ve monopolized this prize long enough, bitch, the young woman’s eyes added.
Which made it Laura’s turn to bark Não and power her man away.
No one dances with this man but me. Her eyes flashed, and the painted beauty shrank away.
; The ruby seemed to flash too, and she felt more confident with every step. Another pushy woman approached next, but Laura’s withering look made her back away. Marco gripped her hands tighter.
“Where would I be without you?”
“Maybe dancing with that beauty in the red dress?” Laura pointed with her elbow.
The woman was gorgeous, with silky black hair and a full figure most men would drool over. But Marco shook his head, unimpressed. “The only beauty here is you.”
She blushed. Was this really the same man she’d met in Lisbon?
No, she decided — not any more than she was the same woman. The question was, what did fate have in store for them?
When the dance came to an end, Laura kept hold of Marco’s hands, ready for more. But a sweet old lady came over just then and tapped on Marco’s arm.
“Marco, my dear boy. Remember me?”
He studied her for a moment, then beamed. “Dona Leonor?”
Laura looked between them. Clearly, Marco’s memories of Madeira came with a lot of baggage, but the way he lit up at seeing the old woman said there were some nice ones, too.
Dona Leonor nodded. “I can’t dance as beautifully as your partner, but if you’d permit an old woman one dance…”
Laura smiled, surrendered her man, and walked over to Finn, grabbing a glass of wine on the way.
“So cute,” she breathed, watching Marco carefully guide the older woman through a slow turn.
“Very,” a young woman added, coming up beside Laura.
Laura tensed, wondering if the woman was about to take a nasty jab at her or Dona Leonor. But all she did was smile brightly. “I’m Paloma. Nice to meet you.”
Not only did she sound like she meant it, she’d even switched to lightly accented English as if to make Laura feel especially welcome.
“Nice to meet you,” Laura echoed, delighted to find someone on Madeira who didn’t seem to have some kind of agenda.
Finn smiled at the dancers. “I bet she burned up the dance floor in her day.”
Paloma laughed. “My great-aunt — Dona Leonor — had quite the reputation in her day. She and my great-uncle used to throw huge parties and dance the night away.”