Heart of the Dragon (6 page)

Fight, man. Fight against her enchantment. Where is your legendary discipline?

With an almost brutal slash, he jerked a shirt from one of the wall hooks. He pulled the black material over his head, covering both of the medallions he wore. The etchings at the bottom of the one Grace had worn flashed before his mind, and in a sudden burst of clarity he placed the stolen medallion with its owner. Javar, his former tutor.

Darius frowned. How had Javar lost such a precious treasure? Did Grace’s brother wield some strange power that allowed him to slip through the mist, fight Javar and win the sacred chain? Surely not, for Javar would have come to Darius for aid—if he still lived, his mind added.

Darius had spoken to his former tutor by messenger only a month ago. All had seemed well. But he knew better than anyone that a life could change in the space of a single heartbeat.

“You have to do something, Darius,” Brand growled, flying into the room. The long length of his opalescent wings stretched to fill the doorway. Without a pause in their glide, his clawed feet smoothly touched the ground. He began striding closer. His sharp, lethal fangs were bared in an ominous scowl, a beacon of white against his scales.

Darius gave his friend a hard stare, careful to withdraw all emotion from his features. By word or deed, he refused to let any of his men know just how
precariously he clung to his control. They would ask questions, questions he did not want to answer. Questions he honestly had no answers for.

“I will not speak with you until you calm down,” he said. He crossed his arms over the width of his chest and waited.

Brand drew in a deep breath, then another, and very slowly his dragon form receded, revealing a bronzed chest and human features. His fangs retracted. The cut on his cheek had already healed, a courtesy of his regenerative blood. Darius fingered the scar on his own cheek. He’d acquired the injury from the nymph king years ago during battle and he’d never understood why he’d been left with such a mark.

“You have to do something,” Brand repeated more calmly. He claimed the only clothes left on the hooks and tugged them on. “We’re ready to kill each other.”

Darius had met Brand not long after he’d moved into the palace. They’d both been young, barely more than hatchlings, and both their families had been slain during the human raid. From the beginning, he and Brand had shared a bond. Brand had always laughed and talked with him, made sure he was invited to participate in every dragon activity. While Darius had declined—even then he had kept himself a strict mental distance from others—he’d found companionship with Brand, found someone to listen to and trust.

“Blame your silly game,” Darius said with a slight growl, reminded of the previous antics, “not me.”

The corners of Brand’s lips suddenly stretched to full capacity. “Emotions from you already? I’ll take that to mean you want my head on a platter.”

“Your head will do…to start.” Forcing himself to appear relaxed, he clasped a chair and eased down backward. He rested his forearms against the velvet-trimmed back. “What caused you to transform this time?”

“Boredom and monotony,” came his friend’s dry tone. “We tried to begin the first round of a tournament, but couldn’t stop fighting long enough. We’re on the verge of complete madness.”

“You deserve to be driven mad after the chaos you caused earlier.”

Brand’s smile renewed. “
Tsk, tsk, tsk,
Darius. You should be thanking me, not threatening me.”

He scowled.

Brows arched, Brand said, “Don’t tell me I’m about to win the wager. Not when there is no one here to witness my victory.”

His scowl intensified. “Other than the game, what can I do to help ease this boredom?”

“Will you reconsider bringing us women?”

“No,” he quickly answered. Grace’s lovely face glimmered in his mind, and his lower abdomen contracted tightly. There would be no more women in his palace. Not when such a tiny one as Grace caused this type of reaction in him.

Brand did not seem to notice his disconcertment. “Then let us play our game. Let us try to make you laugh.”

“Or rage?”

“Yes, even that. It is long past time someone broke through your barriers.”

He shook his head. Someone already had, and he
hated
it. “I’m sorry, but my answer remains the same.”

“Every year I watch you grow a little more distant. A little more cold. The game is more for your benefit than it is for ours.”

With the fluidity inherent to all dragons, Darius shifted to his feet, causing the chair to glide forward. He did not need this now, not when he struggled so fiercely for control. One grin and he might crumble. One tear and he might fall. One scream and his deepest agonies might be unleashed. Oh, yes. He knew if ever the day came that he lost total control, he would be destroyed in a maelstrom of emotion.

“I am this way for a reason, Brand. Were I to open a door to my emotions, I would not be able to do my duty. Is that something you truly desire?”

Brand tangled a hand roughly through his braids. “You are my friend. While I understand the importance of what you do, I also wish you to find contentment. And to do so, something needs to change in your life.”

“No,” he said firmly. When Grace had stepped through that portal, his life had changed irrevocably—and not for the better. No, he needed no more change. “I happen to embrace monotony.”

Realizing that argument held no sway, Brand changed his tactics. “The men are different from
you, then.
I
am different. We need something to occupy our minds.”

“My answer is still no.”

“We need excitement and challenge,” Brand persisted. “We yearn to discover what the vampires are up to, and yet we are forced to stay here and train.”

“No.”

“No, no,
no.
How I weary of the word.”

“Yet you must make peace with it, for it is the only one I can offer you.”

Brand stepped to the table, casually running his finger over the surface. “I hate to threaten you, and you know I would not do so if I felt there were any other way,” he added quickly. “But if you do not allow us
something,
Darius, chaos will reign supreme in your home. We will continue to fight at the least provocation. We will continue to disrupt the meals. We will continue—”

“You have made your point.” Darius saw the truth to his friend’s words and sighed. If he did not relent in some way, he would know no peace. “Tell the men I will allow them to finish their wager, if they swear a blood oath to stay away from my chambers.” His eyes narrowed and locked on to Brand. “But mark my words. If one—just one man—approaches my private rooms without my express permission, he will spend the next month chained to the bastion.”

Brand’s chin tilted to the side, and his golden gaze became piercing. Silence thickened around them as curiosity tightened his features. Darius had never barred anyone from his chambers before. His men
had always been welcome to come to him with their troubles. That he withdrew that welcome now must seem odd.

He offered no explanation.

Wisely Brand asked no questions. He nodded. “Agreed,” he said, giving Darius a friendly slap on the shoulder. “I believe you will see a remarkable change in everyone.”

Yes, but would the change be for the better? “Before you reenter the training arena,” Darius said, “send a messenger to Javar’s holding. I desire a meeting.”

“Consider it done.” With a happy swagger to his step, Brand strode from the room as quickly as he had entered.

Alone once more, Darius allowed his gaze to focus on the staircase and climb upward toward his rooms. An insidious need to touch Grace’s silky skin wove a tangled web through his body, just as potent as if she were sitting in his lap.

Brand had spoken of the men going mad, but it was Darius himself who was in danger of madness. He pushed a hand through his hair. Leaving Grace had not helped him in any way; the image of her atop his bed refused to leave his mind. He realized he was as calm as he would ever be where that woman was concerned. Which meant not calm at all. Best to deal with her now, before his craving for her increased.

Stroking the two medallions he wore, he followed the path his gaze had taken until he stood poised at
the doorway. She would give him the answers he wanted, he thought determinedly, and he would act as a Guardian. Not a man, not a beast. But a Guardian.

Resolved, he released the medallions and the doors opened.

N
O HINGES SQUEAKED
.
In fact, not a single sound emerged. Yet one moment the bedroom doors were closed and the next, the two panels were sliding open.

Grace stood to the left, unseen and hidden by the shadows cast by the thick ivory. When Darius stepped past her, his feet tangled in the sheet—aka trip cord.

He propelled forward with a grunt.

The moment he hit the ground, Grace jumped onto his back, using it as a springboard, and raced into the hall. Her head whipped from side to side as she searched for the right direction. Neither appeared better than the other, so she ran. She didn’t get far before strong male hands latched on to her forearms and jerked her to a halt. Suddenly she was heaved onto Darius’s shoulder, too shocked to protest as she was carried back to his room. Once there, he slid her down his body. She stilled, feeling the buttery softness of his shirt and the heat of his skin past her clothes. Their bodies were so close she even felt the ripple of his muscles.

Without releasing her, he somehow caused the doors to slam together, blocking her only exit. She watched, her gaze widening. Breath froze in her lungs as failure loomed around her. No.
No!
In a mere two seconds, he’d snatched away her best chance for freedom.

“You will not be leaving this place,” he said without a hint of anger, only determination. And regret? “Why are you not in my bed, woman?”

Overwhelmed by her failure, she whispered, “What do you plan to do with me?”

Silence.

“What do you plan to do with me?” she cried.

“I know what I
should
do,” he said, his voice now a low growl that vibrated with anger, “but I do not yet know what I
will
do.”

“I have friends,” she said. “Family. They’ll never rest until they find me. Hurting me will only earn you their wrath.”

There was a concentrated hesitation, then, “And what if I do not hurt you?” he asked so softly she barely heard him. “What if I only offer you pleasure?”

Had the callused surface of his palms not brushed her forearms, she might have been frightened by his words. Now she was oddly enthralled. Every fantasy she’d ever created rushed through her mind. Naked, writhing bodies—on the floor, against a wall, inside an airplane. Her cheeks fused with heat.
What if I only offer you pleasure?
She didn’t answer him. Couldn’t.

He answered for her. “No matter what I offer you, there is nothing you or anyone else can do about it.” His voice hardened, losing its sensual edge. “You are in my home, in my personal chambers, and I will do whatever I want. No matter what you say.”

With such a dire warning ringing in her ears, she snapped from whatever spell he’d woven and called upon her terrorist training from flight school. SING, she inwardly chanted. Solar plexus, instep, nose, groin. Spinning, she elbowed him in the solar plexus, then slammed her foot into his instep. She swung back around and shoved her fist into his cold, unemotional face. Her knuckles collided with his cheek instead of his nose, and she cried out in pain.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even bother to grab her wrist to prevent her from doing it again.

So she did.

She drew back her other arm and let it fly. On impact, she experienced a repeat of the first punch. Throbbing pain for her, smug amusement for him. No, not amusement, she realized. The blue of his eyes was too cold and hollow to hold any type of emotion.

He arched a brow. “Fighting me will only cause
you
hurt.”

Her gaze slitted, incredulous, clashing with his. After everything she’d endured these past two days, Grace’s temper and frustration erupted full force. “What about you?” She jerked her knee up, hard and fast, gaining a direct hit between his legs. Groin: the last section of her training.

A slight breath whooshed from his lips as he hunched over and squeezed his eyes shut.

She raced to the door and began clawing at the seam. “Open, damn you,” she railed at the exit. “Please. Just open.”

“You do not look capable of such a deed,” Darius said, his voice strained. “But I will not underestimate you again.”

She never heard him move, but suddenly he was there, his arms braced next to her temples, his hot breath on her neck. She didn’t try to fight him this time. What good would that do? He’d already proved he did not react (much) to physical pain.

“Please,” she said. “Just let me go.” Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. From fear, she assured herself, not from the sensual strength of his body so close to her own.

“I cannot.”

“Yes, you can.” She twisted, facing him, and shoved him backward. The impact, though slight, caused him to trip once more on the sheet. He took her down with him and when he hit, he rolled them over and pinned her.

Automatically she reached up to push him away from her. But her fingers caught in his shirt, causing the neckline to gape. Both of the medallions he wore sprang free and one of them plopped against her nose. She gasped. Which one belonged to Alex? The one with the glowing eyes?

What did it matter? she thought then. She’d come here with a medallion, and she was leaving with one.

Determination thudded like a drum inside her chest. To distract him, she screamed with all the power her lungs allowed. She flailed her legs and wrapped her sore hands around his neck, as if she meant to choke him. She hurriedly worked one of the clasps, and when she felt it unlatch, she jerked her hands down and shoved the chain into her pocket. She gave another ear-piercing scream to cover her satisfaction.

“Calm down,” he said, his features pinched.

“Bite me.” She screamed again.

When she quieted, he said, “I would be most upset if you damaged my ears.”

Upset? He would be most upset. Not infuriated, not lost in a rage. Simply mildly upset. Somehow, with this man, that seemed all the more frightening than out-of-control fury. With a deep, shuddering breath, she relaxed into the floor. After all, she had what she wanted, and fighting him did nothing more than press their bodies together, as he was fond of reminding her.

His brows winged up, and he blinked, broadcasting his shock at her easy compliance.

“That easily?” he asked, suspicious.

“I know when I’m beaten.”

Darius used her stillness to his advantage and allowed more of his muscled weight to settle atop her. He braced her wrists above her head—something he obviously liked to do, since it was the third time he’d done it to her—causing her back to arch and her breasts to lift for his view.

“You wish for me to bite you?” he asked, dead serious.

Briefly she experienced confusion. Then she realized what he meant. Oh, my God. She
had
told him to bite her. Something dark and hot twisted in her stomach, something she had no business feeling for this man. An image of his straight white teeth sinking into her body and taking a little nibble filled her line of vision. Erotic and sexual; except…

If he were a vampire, she’d just given him an open invitation to make her his next meal.

“I didn’t mean it literally,” she managed to squeak out. “It’s just a figure of speech.” With barely a pause, she added, “Please. Get off me.” He smelled so good, so masculine, like the sun, the earth and the sea, and she was sucking in great gulps of that scent as if it were the key to her survival. He was beyond dangerous. “Please,” she said again.

“Too much do I like where I am.”

Those words echoed in her mind with such clarity her body offered a reply:
I like where you are, too.
She ran her teeth over her bottom lip. How did he do this? How did he make her feel strangely captivated and oddly entranced, yet fearful at the same time? He was quite possibly a bloodsucking vampire. He was also so sexy he made her mouth water. Made her ache in places she’d thought dead from disuse. Made her crave and fantasize and hunger.

Get a hold of yourself, Grace. Only an idiot would lust after a man of questionable origins and even more questionable motives.

What did he want from her? She studied his face, but found no hint of his intentions. His features were
completely blank. Her gaze probed deeper, taking in the scar that slashed down his cheek, raised and puckered, interrupting the flow of his dark eyebrows. This close, she noticed the slant to his nose, as if it had been broken one too many times.

He was darkly seductive. Dangerous, her mind repeated.

That’s it,
she realized reproachfully.
That’s why I’m so attracted to him. I’m a danger junkie.

“What did you do to your hands, woman?” he suddenly demanded. His features were no longer blank, but projected a fierceness that was beyond intimidating.

“If I tell you,” she said, faltering in the face of that severity, “will you let me go?”

His eyes narrowed, and he brought one of her palms to his mouth. Heated lips seared her flesh before the tip of his tongue flicked out, licking and laving the wounds. Electric currents raced through her arm, and she almost experienced an orgasm right then and there.

“Why are you doing that?” she asked on a breathless moan. Whatever the reason, his actions were utterly suggestive, endearingly sweet, and she gasped at the deliciousness of it. “Stop.” But even as she spoke, she prayed he didn’t heed her command. Her skin was growing increasingly warm, her nerve-endings increasingly sensitive. A drugging languor floated through her, and God help her, she wanted that tongue to delve further, to explore deeper territory.

“My saliva will heal you,” he said, his voice still fierce. But it was a different kind of fierce. More strained, more heated, less angry. “What did you do to your hands?” he asked again.

“I climbed the walls.”

He paused. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“I was trying to escape.”

“Foolish,” he muttered. One of his knees wedged between the juncture of her thighs. The ache in her belly intensified as their legs intertwined.

He exchanged one hand for the other, swirling his tongue along the peaks and hollows, making her aware of all sorts of erotic things. The way his eyes flickered from ice-blue to golden-brown. The way his soft, silky hair fell over his shoulders and tickled her skin.

If he planned to hurt or kill her, surely he wouldn’t concern himself with her comfort like this. Surely he would not—

He sucked one of her fingers into his mouth. She moaned and gasped his name. He whorled his tongue around the base. This time, she moaned incoherently and arched up, meshing her nipples into his chest and creating a delicious friction.

“That is better,” he said roughly.

Her eyelids fluttered open. His expression taut, he held her hands up for her view. Not a single blemish appeared on the healthy, pink skin.

“But—but—” Confusion overshadowed her pleasure. How was that possible? How was any of this possible? “I don’t know what to say.”

“Then say nothing.”

He could have left her sore and bruised, a punishment for trying to escape, but he hadn’t. She didn’t understand this man. “Thank you,” she said softly.

He nodded, the action stiff. “You are welcome.”

“Will you let me up now?” she asked, dreading—anticipating?—his response.

“No.” He placed her left palm at her side, but held firm to the right. His fingers continued to caress and trace every line, as if he couldn’t stand to break contact. “What did your brother plan to do with the medallion?”

Briefly she considered lying, anything to stop the flood of conflicting desires running rampant. Then, just as briefly, she considered not answering him at all. She knew instinctively, however, that he would not tolerate either from her and that would merely prolong their contact. So she found herself saying, “We’ve been over this before, and I still don’t know. Maybe he wanted to sell it on eBay. Maybe he wanted to keep it for himself, for his private collection.”

Darius’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. Explain to me this eBay.”

As she expounded on the concept of the online auction, he glowered furiously.

“Why would he do such a thing?” Darius asked, genuinely perplexed. “Selling such an item to a stranger is the epitome of foolishness.”

“Where I’m from, people need money to survive. And one way to make money is to sell our possessions.”

“We need money here, too, yet we would never barter our most prized possessions. Is your brother too lazy to work for his dinner?”

“I’ll have you know he works very hard. And I didn’t say he
was
going to sell it. Only that he might. He’s an auction addict.”

Darius expelled a sigh and finally released her hand, bracing his palms on either side of her head. “If you mean to confuse me, you are doing a fine job. Why would your brother give you the medallion if he had any desire to sell it?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Why do you care?”

In stalwart silence, he watched her, looked past her, then watched her again, his dark thoughts churning behind his eyes. Instead of answering her, he said, “You claim to know nothing, Grace, yet you found the mist. You traveled through. You must know something more, something you haven’t told me.”

“I know I didn’t mean to enter your domain.” The faintness of her voice drifted between them. “I know I don’t want to be hurt. And I know I want to go home. I just want to go home.”

When his features hardened dangerously, she replayed her words through her mind. What could she have possibly said to have such an ominous effect on him?

“Why?” he demanded, the single word lashing from him.

She crinkled her forehead and gazed up at him. “Now
you
are confusing
me.
”

“Is there a man waiting for you?”

“No.” What did that have to do with anything? Unless…surely he wasn’t jealous. The prospect amazed her. She was not the kind of woman to inspire any kind of strong emotion in a man. Not lightning-hot lust and certainly not jealousy. “I miss my mom and my aunt, Darius. I miss my brother and my apartment. My furniture. My dad made all of it before he died.”

Darius relaxed. “You asked me why I care about the medallion. I do so for
my
home,” he said. “I will do anything to protect it, just as you will do anything to return to yours.”