Dragon Chains

by Becca Brayden

  Impatient to hunt for a mate.

  Now it was too late.

  His dragon hissed at the thought, breathing fire at the voice that dared disturb him.

  “Ryker? My brother?” That voice again.

  Ryker bellowed, his roar shaking the foundation as he struggled in vain to regain control, to shift, his dragon more and more resistant to the change. He was nearly immortal, yet without a mate his dragon would slip over the edge into madness. There would be no last-minute salvation. His time was at an end. He was in pain.

  He was ready. Better to die an honorable death than become a merciless killer.

  His giant claws scraped the floor, the sound echoing eerily in the empty room.

  “Arrangements have been made. Brother, listen to me. She is coming.”

  Brother? What arrangements? Who is coming? He fought to understand the human words. To remember.

  “Ryker,” said the voice grimly. “I’m coming in. Don’t eat me.”

  Ryker lowered his massive head toward the small, human-sized door, his dragon’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as the thick, Elven metal panel swung open without a sound. The voice seemed familiar, but was the owner of that deep baritone dragon or man?

  Memory fragments of a large crimson dragon flashed through Ryker’s mind.

  Dragon.

  Ryker drew back one massive forearm, ready to strike. One of his kind dared challenge the king?

  Snarling in fury, Ryker let out a fiery, thunderous warning, his mind full of chaos and confusion.

  The door snapped shut just in time to keep Ryker’s burst of angry flame from reaching its target, only to open again just as quickly. Before Ryker could inhale again, ready to char the other dragon to cinders, a man stepped through the door.

  Ryker reared back. Hesitated. Another memory, this one of childhood, flashed to the fore.

  Vector.

  Brother.

  Grasping for control over his dragon, Ryker held fast to the childhood memory as he stared into the emerald-green eyes of the man before him. Human thoughts emerged. Human memories of them speed shifting. Accidentally setting his younger brother’s hair on fire. Ryker had laughed for hours while Vector fumed and plotted revenge.

  Slowly the dragon faded, allowing his human side to finally seize control once more. Before shifting he directed one last stream of flame over his brother’s head, this time purposely aiming high. A fraction lower and he would fry Vector’s hair off again. Ryker laughed, the sound a cross between a snarl and a snort.

  Vector stayed where he was, his eyes glowing dangerously. “Still not funny,” he growled, his hand combing through short silver curls. “Took a year to grow it back, asshole, and now look at it. I should have red hair. Red. Not this silver crap.”

  Ryker recognized the mournful tone of his younger brother, a brother not so far away from suffering a fate similar to his own. Madness. Fury. Dragon chains holding him bound to the earth until the executioner arrived.

  Sobering at the thought, Ryker finally shifted into human form, using dragon magic to dress himself in leather shoes, pressed black pants, and a white shirt. The massive chains shifted form with him, the Elven magic designed to hide them as nothing more than casual gold chains around the neck of an average man. He looked every bit the billionaire business executive he was in the human world. “You continue to risk your life coming in here. While I am grateful, as your king, I am ordering you to stop. I fear next time I will be too far gone to recognize you.”

  This time it was Vector who snorted, his suit one Ryker recognized, made by the finest tailors in Rome. “You may have won your place as king, but you are still my brother. I will hold on as long as you do.”

  “That is what I am afraid of. When my human mind goes, the dragon will have no mercy on whoever walks through that door. I do not want to kill you. You earned your place as second in line. Our people will need you to lead them through the war.”

  Vector scowled. “No. You will hold on as long as we need you to. A few more days. I will not give you to the executioner’s blade, not yet. All the arrangements have been made.”

  “Ah yes. The arrangements,” mused Ryker, ignoring the tingle at the back of his head. His dragon was already pulling at him, trying to take over again. “Has the woman arrived?” The female who would carry his child. Continue his line. The female who had agreed to be mother to his legacy, for a price his clan was desperate enough to pay.

  “No. That’s what I came to tell you. Ms. Toure has delayed her flight again. She should be arriving late tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow.” So long when every moment was an eternity. “Very well. Once she signs the documents, you will do what must be done. Notify the executioner. Prepare the Draquonir to mourn their king. Sing the songs of our ancient royal line and prepare for war.”

  Vector was second in line, but the other clans would not recognize his right to rule without a display of dominance. Power. Vector would have to fight to preserve their clan’s territory once Ryker was dead. Their territory. Their dragons. The wealth and lands handed down for generations.

  “I am sorry, Brother. I did not wish this for you.”

  Vector sighed, his emerald eyes solemn. “The dragon cannot be bargained with. We all know this truth.” He took a deep breath. “Are you sure she’s not your mate?”

  Ryker grit his teeth. Emily Toure. Long, curly black hair. Sultry brown eyes. There had been a brief moment when he’d thought she was his mate. Even his keen dragon senses had been fooled. One whiff of paradise and then…nothing. His dragon, already unstable, went crazy, spinning wildly out of control with pain and heartache after their initial meeting. He’d finally lost control; the momentary joy, taken from him just as quickly, was catapulting him into an early grave.

  “I am certain. Did she say why she needed to postpone this time?”

  Vector shook his head. “No, but when I told her if she was not here tomorrow, you would void her initial payment, she promised she would be here.” He paused, his eyes straying sadly to what remained of Ryker’s desk. ”I hope your plan works. If it doesn’t…”

  Ryker nodded. “I know, Brother. I know. It’s too late for me, but if this plan works, you and the others might be able to do the same before it’s too late to save what’s left of us.”

  3

  Friday afternoon:

  * * *

  Katy walked across the gangway with a sigh of relief, the wash of early summer heat a welcome, soothing embrace after her mad dash home to grab Emily’s things, followed by a very long flight. Glancing between the weary travelers walking off the airplane with sloped shoulders and puffy eyes to the small crowd of people waiting just on the other side of the gangway, fresh and eager to board, drove home just how exhausted she really was.

  Someone was supposed to meet her here. Or rather, meet Emily. Not knowing what to expect, Katy had taken the time to freshen up before landing with a quick swipe of clear lip gloss and a careful sweep of the mascara she always kept tucked in her small purse. Thankfully that was all the primping she needed, her skin naturally smooth and clear. Her long hair was another matter altogether. She could already feel stray curls escaping from the artfully sloppy bun she’d arranged on top of her head. Her thick, heavy hair had a mind of its own on good days and a bad attitude on all the others.

  With little time to spare trying not to miss her flight, Katy had chosen not to exchange the long navy-blue skirt and cream-colored blouse she’d worn to work. She assumed whomever she was meeting would take her more seriously in her work clothing than in a pair of comfy yoga pants and a T-shirt. Emily had warned her these were serious people. Old money. Castles. Millions, maybe even billions of dollars tucked away in trust funds and investment accounts.

  Old-fashioned, she’d said. And that kind of family would not appreciate athletic wear and sandals for a business meeting. Even if she had just gotten off an airplane.

  Again a nagging worry crept into her thoughts. Exactly what had
Em packed for this trip? They may be physically identical but their idea of fashion didn’t always mesh. Emily, when not wearing scrubs, was the epitome of flamboyant styles and bright colors, whereas Katy’s closet was a study in sensible, professional blues, beiges and coordinated business suits. The few fun items she did own seemed to always end up in Emily’s wardrobe. Katy whispered a plea to no one in particular that at least a few of her things had ended up accompanying her on this adventure.

  Surely one of those four gigantic bags I checked in at the airport will be full of shoes? That was the one thing they both agreed on. Shoes make the world a better place and whomever has the most wins.

  Glancing down as she smoothed a hand over the wrinkles in her skirt, she nearly collided with a very large man. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Pardon me. Er… Mi scusi?”

  Where had they come from? How did she not notice them before?

  “Buonasera, Signorina Toure. We welcome you back to Italy.”

  Shit. They’re here for me? ALL of them?

  Katy took a moment to look the group over. Four men, each the size of a tank. Even in expensive suits they looked like spies or military with bulging muscles, short hair, and dark sunglasses. All of them. The two women were nearly as tall and drop-dead gorgeous.

  Genetics were so unfair. She’s always wanted to be a Mediterranean beauty. And the men…the men were stunning. Powerful. And the one who had spoken to her had shocking silver hair. Through his dark lenses she could see that his eyes were a brilliant shade of emerald. They didn’t look real. Was he wearing contacts?

  “Is there a problem, Signorina Toure? Are you unwell?”

  Crap. She was staring. Problem? There was a problem. But she didn’t dare say they were the problem; they were scary big, brooding, and gorgeous.

  She shivered with sudden apprehension.

  Not mafia. Please, Emily, not mafia.

  Katy took a deep, slow breath and pasted on her best fake smile. Calm down. Don’t overreact. You can do this.

  All she had to do was remember the rules for successful twin swapping. If someone makes a comment or asks a question Emily would understand but Katy did not, she would throw out a fact or two about herself instead. Always speak the truth so she wouldn’t have to remember any lies that might trip her up later. Last resort? Distraction.

  “Buonasera, signor. I am well. Thank you. I mean grazie.” Katy forced herself to relax, releasing much of the tension between her shoulders. Emily had said these people were legit, so Katy needed to give them the benefit of the doubt. “I’m afraid my Italian is terrible. Thank you for meeting me at the gate. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble getting past security?”

  The silver-haired man tucked a placard with Emily’s name on it into the inner pocket of his suit, gave a half smile and the tiniest of nods. “Airport security is never a problem. We have an arrangement. I am best known by the name Vector, and these”—he pointed to his companions from left to right—“are the triplets Mist, Frost, and Fury. Blade and Ash are cousins. If you would give your carry-ons and baggage claim ticket to Fury, he and Frost will collect your luggage while the rest of us escort you to the car.”

  Ash? Fury? Blade? No one has names like that. Obviously not real. Maybe military call signs? Well, maybe Ash and Mist are real names. Ash might be short for Ashley. And Mist, well, that’s a pretty name. Frost could be short for Jack Frost. That guy is seriously lacking in the melanin department. But Fury? Blade? No way. They look like they could chew nails for breakfast. Good looks and expensive clothes can’t hide that kind of tough. Katy shifted from one foot to the other to relieve the pain in her aching feet.

  “Baggage claim. Right.” Katy rummaged in her purse for the ticket, handing it over to Fury with an Emily-style grin full of good humor and mischief. “I hate that part of traveling, don’t you? If you don’t mind, I’ll hold on to the one bag. It has all my documents in it.” She patted her smallest carry-on containing Emily’s passport, tickets, and a few essentials.

  Fury scowled, completely unmoved. “Our only priority is your safety. Any luggage kept with you could become a liability in an emergency, putting all of us in danger. Better to give it to me than lose it.”

  Katy clutched her bag closer to her chest. An emergency? What kind of emergency, exactly? And why did Emily need so many escorts? Surely one driver with a car should have been enough?

  Confidence rattled, her smile faltered. They all looked dangerous, but Fury looked like the type of man holding back his rage by the thinnest thread.

  “Don’t mind my brother, Signorina Toure,” said Mist with a smile as she stepped in front of Fury, jabbing him in the stomach. “He’s always like that. I think he’s still bitter about being the youngest. Of course you may keep whatever you wish. We are your guardians, not your wardens.”

  Guardians? What the hell did Emily get herself into? Breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Her heartbeat slowed a fraction as she straightened her shoulders. She was quiet, perhaps, but not a pushover. “My guardians? I assure you, I am in no need of babysitters. I can take care…”

  Fury snarled through gritted teeth, “We’re not babysitters. We’re Guardians. The most lethal…”

  “Enough,” snapped Vector. “Collect Signorina Toure’s luggage and bring the car to the back. We’ll meet you there once she is processed through customs.”

  Fury nodded stiffly, turned, and stalked away, followed by a silent Frost.

  “Signorina, we are running short on time. Please follow me.” Vector didn’t wait for her response, simply turned on his heel and began walking toward a set of doors she hadn’t even noticed before.

  Katy had no choice but to follow. Whatever was going on, she had a role to play. Emily wanted her to sign papers, so that’s what she was going to do.

  Her heels tapped on the tile floor as she made an effort to keep up with Vector’s much longer legs and purposeful strides.

  Mist easily kept pace on her left, while Blade took up a position on her right. The other female of the group, Ash, followed silently behind. Katy was surrounded on all four sides. She would bet even the queen of England had never felt so well protected.

  The VIP treatment didn’t stop with bodyguards and luggage retrieval. Whisked through the door on the side, they walked a short distance to an elevator, down to a private suite complete with a very comfortable looking couch and refreshments.

  “Signorina Toure,” Vector said with a satisfied grin, “a customs agent will arrive shortly to stamp your passport. In the meantime, please make yourself comfortable. This is a private suite. No one will disturb you here.”

  “Terrific. Thank you.” Katy helped herself to a chilled bottle of water, then sat and pulled out her phone. She quickly switched off the airplane mode to send Emily a message. Her fingers flew across the keys as she typed:

  * * *

  Katy: Just landed. What’s with bodyguards? Sure about this deal? Not mafia, right? Did you pack my one-piece?

  * * *

  Katy sipped at her water as she waited for a reply. She longed to take off her stiletto heels and rub her aching feet before curling up on the overstuffed couch but resisted the temptation. She was hoping she wouldn’t be here that long. A quick buzz in her hand drew her eyes to the phone.

  * * *

  Emily: Hey. Lots of guards at the estate, too. Don’t worry. Pretty sure not mafia. Real estate $$$. No one piece. Sorry. Bikinis all the way. Also did a little shopping.

  * * *

  Katy frowned in confusion as a winky face emoji popped up on her screen. Before she could text a reply, a uniformed customs agent rushed through the door, his face tense. He stamped her passport without more than a glance her way, then left again.

  From the suite they sped through the airport on an electric cart, Katy again in the center. Her four ‘Guardians’ surrounded her, facing outward with Vector driving at a determined, almost dangerous pace.

  She was more than a little surprised when he dr
ove the cart out of the terminal. He stopped alongside a super stretch Mercedes limousine; half of her sister’s luggage stacked on the luggage cart as Fury loaded the second bag. Wrapped haphazardly around each large bag was black and yellow security tape. If it weren’t for the luggage tags, it would be nearly impossible to identify the bags at all. They’d been nearly destroyed. She could see slash marks all up and down the bags exposing clothes, toiletries, and one of her favorite heels.

  Damn it, she knew her sister was still ‘borrowing' all her best shoes.

  “What the hell happened to my bags?” Shocked and horrified, she turned and looked to the right, then left. No one seemed fazed by the dilapidated condition of her bags, least of all Vector.

  “Do not worry, Signorina Toure. We will protect you,” Vector said offhandedly as he stepped out of the cart to address Fury. “Any other problems? I expected you to be here long before us.”

  Fury scowled. “They inspected every bag by hand. Twice. Slashed through the top rather than break the locks. They all passed inspection, though, so whatever they were looking for wasn’t in there. He will need to hear about this.”

  “Agreed.” Vector scanned the area, well aware the ‘he’ Fury referenced was none other than their king. “Anything else I need to know about?”

  “The usual.” Fury’s lips tightened. “Frost is handling it.”

  Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, Katy held her breath and listened with growing concern. Vector had said they would protect her. Protect her from whom? Was she actually in danger? Who were they talking about? An icy finger of fear crept up from her stomach to wrap around her chest. Was Emily in trouble? Was she in danger here? What the hell was she, no, what were THEY, now involved in?

  Vector nodded grimly. “Very well. Finish loading the bags and let’s get out of here.”

  Katy stepped from the electric cart and walked toward the limousine door Vector opened for her. About to step into the cooling comfort of the air-conditioned vehicle, a loud scraping noise made her pause with one foot inside, her hand balanced on the door.