Drakon's Knight

by N. J. Walters

  “Get Enoch,” he told Sadiq. One problem with living for such a long time was that you accumulated so much knowledge it was sometimes difficult to access a specific fact you needed. Sure, he’d remember, given enough time, but Jericho preferred to know sooner rather than later.

  Sadiq left without word, and seconds later Enoch was there. “What’s up?”

  He pointed to the damaged tattoo on her back. “What do you make of this?”

  Enoch crouched beside Karina, shifting closer. It wasn’t easy to see the details because of the huge slash right through the center of it.

  Jericho’s gut was screaming that this was more than a mere tattoo. He glanced at his own right arm, which was covered in runes and markings designed to ward off enchantment. Most humans believed the supernatural to be nothing more than fantasy or myth. Drakons knew better. Sorcerers and mages had been using spells and charmed objects since the beginning of time to weaken and capture them.

  “Fuck,” Enoch muttered.

  “It’s some kind of magic, isn’t it?”

  “I think so,” his friend answered.

  “Any idea what it is?” It was hard to imagine her trusting anyone enough to allow them to mark her. Whatever the tattoo was for, it was likely important, even though most humans would discount it as nothing more than pretty ink.

  Enoch shook his head. “I’m not sure. The labyrinth usually represents an inner journey. It’s a powerful but positive symbol associated with certain religions. But this is dark magic. The black and red of the design stand for darkness and blood.”

  “Do you think it’s still working?” The damage done by the metal shard was extreme, slicing the inked labyrinth in half.

  “Doubtful. Not with that kind of damage. And the stitches have changed the design.”

  “Good.” The last thing he’d wanted was to have to cut the damn thing from her skin. “Find out exactly what it does or did.”

  “I’ll tap into the database. See what I can uncover.” Enoch took out his phone and snapped a few shots before settling into a nearby chair with his laptop.

  Khalil placed an adhesive over the area to protect it. She had a few more cuts and bruises, all minor. Khalil cleaned and bandaged them quickly, sitting back on his heels when he was done.

  “That’s all I can do for her.”

  Jericho nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Fuck thank you. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

  He gave Khalil a rueful grin. “You mean stupider than I’ve already done.”

  Laughing, his friend clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ve got your back.”

  And they did. They always watched out for one another. That would never change, no matter what.

  After cleaning up the mess, Khalil went to wash up while Jericho made himself comfortable on the floor beside Karina. His own hands were covered in her blood, but he didn’t want to leave her. She was beautiful, but it was more than her looks that drew him. There was an aura of intelligence and a barely-contained energy surrounding her, even when she was hurt.

  Once he was certain she wasn’t going to wake anytime soon, he pushed up off the floor and made a quick trip to the bathroom. When he was clean, he stared at his face in the mirror.

  He’d never win any beauty contests, but that had never mattered to him before. In times past—hell, even today—women were drawn to the power they innately sensed inside him.

  Women liked bad boys with tattoos, and he had more than his fair share of them. Half his body from his neck to his feet was covered in his birthmark, his drakon tattoo. The stylized red swirls outlined in black were also a sign of his true identity to anyone who understood them. To a Knight, he might as well wear a neon sign that flashed “drakon.”

  Karina’s tattoo was in his colors. What had Enoch said? Darkness and blood. God knew he was good at killing. Blood and darkness had followed him his entire life.

  The other tattoos were on his body by choice. There was the one on his right shoulder—Firedrakes. It was a tribute to his friends and the name of their business.

  The rest were protection against the magic the Knights often used to control his kind. Their work as assassins had taken them all over the world and to every culture that had existed for the past four thousand years. They’d sought out those who understood such things and had knowledge they were willing to share. The old ways were dying off among humans, even with the Knights, as technology moved forward, but Jericho knew magic was real and powerful. It was always best to be prepared for anything.

  And as head of the Knights, Karina might plausibly have access to arcane knowledge other Knights might be unaware of.

  After drying his hands on a towel, he hurried back to Karina’s side. Being away from her for even these few minutes had been difficult. How much harder would it be after he’d spent more time with her?

  He should kill her now. That was the smart thing, the intelligent thing to do.

  His dragon roared in raging displeasure.

  As if she sensed his attention, her eyelids fluttered. She moaned and shifted position, giving a soft cry when she turned her head.

  “Stay on your stomach.” He crouched beside her, barely resisting the urge to stroke her silky hair. “We had to remove a piece of metal from your shoulder. You also have a wound on your temple, but we only had to bandage that.”

  She licked her lips, and every muscle in his body tensed. They were lush and full and a deep rosy color. He wanted to taste them. Hell, he wouldn’t mind them being wrapped around his cock once she was well.

  He ignored his erection and hoped she didn’t notice it. He didn’t think she’d appreciate it in her condition.

  She blinked again, her gaze sharpening. “Where am I?” Her gaze flicked to Khalil who was seated across from her. “Who are you?” She winced and touched the bandage at her temple. “And who am I?”

  Chapter Four

  Don’t panic. It wasn’t easy. Not with a very large man crouched beside her and another one seated across from her. They looked like bikers with their tattoos, jeans, and boots.

  Plus, hello, they’d brought her here on a motorcycle. That much she did remember.

  “Where am I?” She tried to sit up, but the man beside her gently held her down. Just as well, as a bolt of pain slammed into her skull and her stomach threatened to revolt.

  “You need rest. You’re safe,” he promised her. “I’m Jericho.” He watched her intently for a reaction. Was she supposed to know him?

  I’d remember him.

  But the way her brain was currently scrambled, maybe not.

  “Do we know each other?” It wasn’t easy to find the words she wanted, but she managed through sheer willpower.

  “No.” He reached out and stroked his hand over her cheek. The warmth from his fingers soaked into her chilled skin, and she shivered. “You’re cold.” It came out almost as an accusation.

  “Yes.”

  The man seated across from them got up and came back moments later with a blanket. Jericho took it from him and placed it over her, making sure it was tucked in against her sides.

  “Thank you.” Her voice was weak but filled with appreciation as the heat from the blanket worked its magic.

  “You should try to sleep.” His eyes were dark and deep. It would be easy to get lost in them, to do exactly as he told her.

  Rest might be what she needed, but she had too many unanswered questions whirling around. “What happened?” If she kept asking, they’d eventually have to give her some answers. At least, she hoped they would.

  A vision flashed in her mind—the screech of metal, a cry of pain, the sensation of slamming against something hard, pain in her shoulder. She flinched.

  “What is it?” Jericho demanded.

  “Accident.” She raised her hand and touched the bandage at her temple.

  “Yes. You were in a car crash.”

  It was natural that her memories were jumbled, but she liked it when things made sense. “Ar
e we going to the hospital?” Maybe they were airlifting her. That was the logical assumption.

  “No.” Again, Jericho watched her. She got the sense he was looking for a particular reaction, but damned if she knew what it was.

  “No?” Why wouldn’t they take her to a hospital? Unless… “Kidnapping?” She had no idea why that was the first thing to pop into her brain or why they’d want to take her in particular.

  While she seemed to have retained general knowledge and basic information, anything related to her, specifically, was a blank slate. Her past was a complete mystery, and that scared the hell out of her.

  “That remains to be seen. Right now, consider yourself in protective custody.” When he stood, she tilted her chin up, ignoring the pain and forcing herself not to look away. She might be vulnerable, but she was used to being in charge.

  How do I know that? And what am I in charge of? The harder she tried to think, the worse the pain got.

  “You know me.” Of that she was certain.

  “I know your name,” he corrected.

  It was as good a place to start as any. “And what is it?” She needed that information. It was amazing how much of a person’s identity was linked to something as simple as a name. Without it, she was rudderless, adrift on an unknown sea.

  “Karina. Your name is Karina.” The vibration from his deep voice was like a physical caress.

  “Karina,” she repeated the name, letting it roll off her tongue. She didn’t feel like a Karina. But what would that feel like? It was odd to know her name but not identify with it.

  Her lungs were squeezed in a vise of panic.

  “It’s okay.” Jericho crouched back down beside her. “Slow your breathing,” he ordered.

  Keeping her eyes locked on his, she drew strength from his presence. That didn’t make any sense, since he’d all but admitted to kidnapping her. She wasn’t buying the whole protective custody thing. But right now, he was her only link to sanity, the only thing grounding her.

  Lungs burning, she forced herself to draw air in more slowly, holding it briefly before releasing it. The more she studied him, the more it seemed as though his eyes were indeed black and not dark brown. Was such a thing even possible?

  “That’s it,” he told her. “Breathe. You’re doing great.” His praise, his concern, helped drive back the fear of the unknown.

  “I’m fine.” She wasn’t sure if she was reassuring him or herself. Instinct told her she disliked being vulnerable, which meant she needed to do everything in her power to heal.

  If that included rest, so be it. If Jericho or his men were going to hurt her, they’d have already done so. For now, she was safe.

  Besides, she was too exhausted to talk or think any longer. She’d pushed herself past her limits and was paying for it. Her entire body ached, but it was her head that hurt the worst.

  Since she’d lost a fair amount of blood, she should probably drink some water or juice, maybe. It was maddening to know something like that but not the most basic things about herself.

  “Purse?” Maybe there was something in there that would jolt her, help her remember.

  “It’s gone.”

  Not a big surprise, but it was still unsettling. With no money or identification, she truly was at their mercy. She shut her eyes and tugged the blanket closer to her chin. She wanted to put it over her head and hide but sensed that would be out of character.

  Karina. She silently said the name. Who exactly was she? And why would anyone want to kidnap her?

  …

  “She’s asleep again.” Jericho forced himself to move away from her side. Not like she was going anywhere. Not when they were high in the sky.

  “Her body had a shock along with the loss of blood. Sleep is what she needs. You think she’s telling the truth?” Khalil asked.

  He couldn’t trust himself to be objective. “What do you think?”

  Khalil leaned forward. “Yeah, it’s possible. Her head took one hell of a whack. Plus, if the tattoo on her shoulder is magic—and we have every reason to believe it is—we have no idea what the impact from the crash might do to it or her.”

  That made a hell of a lot of sense.

  “I wonder what it’s like,” Khalil asked.

  “What?”

  “Not knowing who you are. Waking with no sense of self. Not knowing your place in the world.”

  Jericho’s stomach lurched. It had to be scary as hell, but she’d only given in briefly to the panic, quickly settling herself and asking questions. Hell, she’d demanded answers. He bet she was hell on wheels in a boardroom or chairing a meeting.

  His mood soured at the image of her leading a gathering of the Knights. Yeah, Karina Azarov was one formidable foe.

  He checked with his dragon side to see if it was still attracted to her. The urge to shift and curl his body around her was almost overpowering.

  She was the woman who spoke to his soul.

  He was fucked.

  He headed toward the front of the plane where Enoch was working. “Anything yet?”

  “No. I’ll need more time to delve into the archives. I’m looking, but we’ve accumulated a hell of a lot of information over the centuries.”

  “Keep at it.”

  “Will do,” Enoch assured him.

  He probably shouldn’t have told Karina he’d kidnapped her, but he didn’t want to lie to her. He might not want her to be his mate, but biology had decided otherwise. And there was no way he could tell her something that wasn’t true.

  He’d have to start practicing evasion or just keep his mouth shut.

  He’d mostly done it to see how she’d react. There’d been honest bafflement in her gaze, as though she had no idea why anyone would take her. That went a long way to making him believe she’d truly lost her memory.

  No one was that good a liar.

  “I need a computer.” He didn’t have one of his own but knew Enoch would have several. God forbid he be without his technology for even a second. The world might come to an end.

  “In my bag.” Enoch pointed to his satchel on the seat across from him.

  Jericho dug out a laptop, sat down, and researched head and brain injuries, especially amnesia. Every now and then, he glanced back at Karina, then, satisfied she was still sleeping, he went back to reading.

  A kernel of hope flickered to life deep inside him. If she didn’t get her memory back, they might have a chance of actually becoming mates.

  Loneliness of a kind he’d never experienced speared through him. If she left him, he’d never recover. Nothing would ever ease the devastating loss. Not the men he’d called his friends for the past four thousand years, the family he’d created. And certainly not his blood brothers, men he’d never met.

  As humbling as it was to admit, there would be no living without her. There would only be existence. This went beyond pure biology and tapped into something far deeper. Call it some primal instinct or divine fate. It didn’t really matter. He knew down to the very marrow of his bones—she was the woman meant to be his.

  If they parted, he’d hold on until her lifespan was over before finding a quiet place to fall into the Deep Sleep. It was a condition that sometimes happened to drakons when they lost the will to survive. They didn’t die easily, but would simply curl up somewhere, fall asleep, and eventually turn to stone, becoming a part of their environment.

  There had never been any reports of a drakon waking from the Deep Sleep.

  It was a future he’d never anticipated for himself. He had his friends, his work, and the open road. Then there was the goal of making some kind of connection to his blood brothers.

  Tarrant Cooper, one of his brothers and the owner of a huge communications corporation, had recently contacted many drakons by email, reaching out to share information about the Knights. When Enoch had intercepted the message, the time had felt right. But he’d wanted to approach them from a position of strength, of power, and had concocted his plan. It was
supposed to be a straightforward job.

  And then he’d met Karina.

  He cursed the day he’d ever heard her name. He’d wanted to show his blood brothers he was better than them. Smarter. Stronger. Childish, absolutely, but he didn’t care.

  By setting these events in motion, he’d basically condemned himself to hell.

  He was no quitter. As long as there was blood in his body, fire in his belly, and resolve in his soul, he’d fight.

  Problem was he was no longer sure what he was fighting for.

  …

  Karina woke with a jolt. Jericho was beside her, just as he’d been when she’d fallen asleep. “The plane is landing,” he told her.

  There was something wrong. It wasn’t anything he said or did, but something had changed. It was in the way he looked at her. Before there had been a touch of warmth, a hint of fire. Now his black eyes were pure ice, as if all emotion had been cut off.

  She hadn’t understood how much she’d depended on that tiny display of kindness until it was gone. Now she was truly alone.

  “Where are we?” Not that she really expected him to tell her.

  “You don’t need to know.” His voice was flat and low. It still resonated deep within her, in spite of the indifference tingeing it.

  Fine. She’d figure it out on her own. Wouldn’t be the first time.

  Frustration made her want to scream and hit something. How could she know that, but not have a clue about her life? Not even the most fundamental things. Did she have family? Was someone worrying about her?

  Closing her eyes, she tried to conjure a memory but couldn’t bring a picture of anyone to mind. She simply felt alone.

  “I need to use the bathroom.” As much as she hated to ask, there was no denying basic human biology.

  The plane was already slowing, the wheels on the tarmac. She didn’t bother trying to see out of the window. There was time enough for that later.

  The blanket pooled in her lap, revealing just how disgusting her sweater was—what was left of it. It was ripped and dirty and bloody. “Do you have something I can wear?” She hated to ask her captor for anything, but she’d make an exception for this.