Soul of the Dragon (9 page)

“Since she died,” he said softly, as if that was all he meant. But Alexa’s instincts were telling her there was more.
 

“Do you remember her death?” she asked.
 

He turned his head away, as if avoiding her gaze. “I was not there.”
 

He hadn’t answered her question.
 

“I was.”
 

He didn’t respond. Alexa knew when to back off, and how to eventually get answers.
There was something important about her mother’s death. Something that made her scalp prickle. Suddenly, she didn’t want to know what that something was.
 

“Tell me about your cloaking,” she urged. “I don’t really know the extent of your powers.”
 

They talked for the next two hours about Cyrgyn’s abilities and how he’d developed them. The cloaking he’d figured out early, hiding in the woods from hunters and other potential adversaries. He’d simply hidden with his mind, and they didn’t see him.
 

“You can’t do it during the day?” Alexa asked.
 

“The sun becomes too strong and penetrates the veil,” he explained. “In the woods, in the fog, in the rain, I have more invisibility. Full sunlight reveals all, however.”
 

“What else? Obviously, you can fly. Your wings seem too flimsy to hold your massive body, though.”
 

“Dragon flight is more magic than physics. I cannot explain the mechanism, only that it is there and it wasn’t hard to learn.”
 

“Fire.”
 

“What about it?”
 

“How do you create it?”
 

“Alexa, I am not a zoologist. I have heat. When I focus and blow, it becomes fire.”
 

She figured she’d have to accept some things that just were. “What else? Can you move things? Change things? Turn someone’s hair white?”
 

Cyrgyn shifted and studied the ceiling. “No, not really. I am aware of your location, approximately. Your life force.”
 

“You mean how much of it I have?”
 

“Yes.”
 

That was intriguing. “Like a video game.” She laughed, but Cyrgyn didn’t look amused. “What about Tarsuinn?”
 

“I used to know. I sensed his existence, but once he attained a certain age, I could sense him no longer. I am regaining that, I believe. I feel the pull of his life force.”
 

“Can he sense us?”
 

Cyrgyn rested his head on his paws. “He is a mage,” he said, as if that explained everything.
 

“No, he was a mage. Now he’s a man.”
 

“Alexa.” He lifted his head and glared balefully at her. “You
do
underestimate him. Tarsuinn has never lost his magic. As a boy he levitated objects. He controlled fire. He cloaked himself from my observation. He has retained his awareness. There is no doubt he retained his magic as well.”
 

Alexa knew Cyrgyn had more experience than she. He had a better knowledge of Tarsuinn the Mage. He’d witnessed incidents that defied explanation. Hell,
he
defied explanation. Yet she felt more like Rock Davis than she ever had. Skeptical to the point of suspicion.
 

Until she remembered the conference room door jerking out of her hand yesterday morning.
 

Before she could say anything, the phone she thought of as the “Jolie Smith” line rang. She snatched the phone from the clip on her belt.
 

“Anell Breathwater.”
 

“You can save the accent, Ms. Ranger.” Tars’ voice was smooth, controlled. Confident. “I
trust you’ve considered my proposal?”
 

“I have.”
 

“And?”
 

She eyed Cyrgyn. “I want to meet you. To discuss it.”
 

The dragon gave a disgusted huff.
 

Tars sounded pleased. “Of course. How about this evening, over dinner? I can pick you up.”
 

Alexa’s turn to snort. “Yeah, right. I’ll meet you at Dominic’s on Tenth. Seven o’clock.” She snapped the phone shut.
 

Cyrgyn’s sigh fluttered her hair. “And so it begins.”
 

Cyrgyn watched Alexa and knew he could wait no longer. Alexa needed backup—as opposed to protection, which was what he really wanted to provide. She was letting her knowledge and skill blind her to the unexpected—what Cyrgyn believed she would call “a rookie mistake.” He couldn’t convince her that her path was the wrong one. And he could not walk it with her. That left only one other option.
 

He ground his teeth together. It was the last thing he’d wanted to do. The man represented everything Cyrgyn longed for, everything he’d lost. He hated him with as much passion as he hated the mage. But Alexa was more important than his feelings for his associate.
 

He looked at the windows. It wasn’t dark enough to cloak, but he’d have to chance it. He turned back and saw Alexa watching him warily.
 

“Are you going to yell at me some more?” she asked.
 

“No. It does no good.” She looked relieved, and he stood to make his way outside. “Do what you wish. You will not be alone.”
 

Alexa watched him leave and wondered what the hell he meant. Was he planning to watch her from the sky? Or was he being mystical, speaking of the connection between their souls?
 

She shrugged and shut the hangar door. Whatever. She wasn’t into mystical. That made her laugh, for what was a cursed dragon if not mystical?
 

She went upstairs to prepare for her “date,” mentally cataloging her limited wardrobe. She wanted to be appealing without being provocative. And she needed ease of movement. All of her clothing, actually, fit the last requirement. Some of it fit the first. But what would Tarsuinn want her to wear?
 

That was the key. She had to think like her enemy. What would hit the right note? Not the fire-engine red, skin-tight silk number. That was bar material. Not the classically cut pinstripe suit, despite the slit in the long skirt and the deep V of the neckline.
 

She finally settled on a three-piece outfit in ice blue. The color reminded her of Tars’ eyes. That was a play to his ego so subtle he wouldn’t recognize it. The pants hugged her hips and flared from knee to ankle, hiding the gun she holstered above the short matching boots. It was the only weapon she dared wear, because with luck she’d be close enough to Tars for him to detect anything else. The sleeveless sweater she wore under the calf-length coat hugged her too well to conceal a gun or Taser, anyway. She left her hair down. Guys seemed to like that. Contemporary guys did, anyway. She didn’t know why Tars would be any different.
 

She examined herself in the mirror on the back of the door, jerked her collar and straightened her cuffs. She looked tough. Like Angelina Jolie in half her movies.
 

Shit. That wasn’t the image she wanted at all.
 

Her watch beeped. She didn’t have time to change. If she was lucky, Tars liked a challenge. She grabbed an itty-bitty purse—a place for her phone and keys and an accessory the GenCom fashion consultant had insisted on when he put together this outfit—and headed for the Saturn. On the drive to the restaurant, she tried to nail her plan down in her head. She couldn’t.
Nothing in her experience fit the situation.
 

After discarding ten different opening gambits in half as many miles, she decided to just play it by ear. She cursed as she parked. She hated flying by the seat of her pants.
 

She slid from the car and scanned the immediate area. No signs of Tars or any of his goons. Not that she’d recognize his goons, but she knew he had to have them. She began to cross the street, half-expecting to be grabbed and yanked into a van that would suddenly appear in front of her. But that wasn’t the avenue he chose.
 

Alexa’s ear caught the hum of an engine before she’d reached the center line. She looked to her right, and a stretch limo glided toward her. It paused in front of her, and the door opened.
 

“Come, Alexa.” Tars himself motioned her to enter the vehicle. “Though the restaurant is…nice, I have a much more intimate plan for our dinner.”
 

Alexa smiled and stepped into the car, settling on the leather seat across from Tars. No one else shared the compartment, and the divider between them and the driver was up. “Where are we going?” she asked.
 

Tarsuinn studied her. She’d dressed fashionably, yet did not hide nor flaunt her femininity. He was pleased by the gleam of her hair. If she’d sat next to him, he would have been able to rub the satiny texture against his fingers, smell her, feel her warmth. But he would wait for her to come to him. He could see in her smile that she would come. In time.
 

“I have had our four-star chef prepare a feast for us on…in a very special place,” he corrected himself. His spy could be wired, and he didn’t want to give away his secrets.
 

“I can’t wait.” Alexa gazed out the window at the city rolling by, and Tars watched her. She sat relaxed, her hands at her sides, and he noted her lack of fear. That was good. She would come to him more readily if she was not frightened of him.
 

He examined her, looking for the familiar and the new. It had been so very long since he’d last seen her beauty, and though she looked different in this incarnation, she also looked just the same.
 

Her essence was in her lips—ruby red, unpainted yet glossy, full. He imagined their softness under his mouth, their taste under his tongue. He dropped his gaze to her chest, where he could see her heartbeat barely moving her sweater. She lifted a hand to brush her hair off her shoulder, and her coat shifted sideways, exposing her breast. It strained the fabric covering it. His fingers curled, itching to mold the curve.
 

He shifted, enjoying the excitement that built inside him. Enjoying the outward manifestation of that excitement. Oh, yes, she would enjoy it, too. But not tonight. Not until they were married. Tonight, there would be just a taste.
 

“Do you like shellfish, Alexa?”
 

She turned to him, smiling. “Don’t you already know that?”
 

He laughed. “What do you mean?”
 

“Well, Dragonsoul Enterprises owns Pluto, Inc., which owns FutureSafe, which owns GenCom. Which, until recently, employed me. I imagine you know more about me than I know about myself.”
 

Tars felt a spurt of anger. He hadn’t been aware that she had resigned from GenCom. No doubt she’d done it to pursue this worthless quest. He squashed the flame with a deep breath. No reason to be angered about this. She was with him now. He’d deal later with Mark and whatever his rationalization for neglecting to pass on this information.
 

“I imagine you are right about that,” he admitted, reaching for a bottle of champagne in the ice bucket to his left. “But there will always be more to learn. I look forward to the discovery.” He pulled the cork out with a practiced twist and poured a glass. When he reached to hand it to Alexa, she simply looked at it.
 

“Don’t trust me, do you? All right.” He lifted the bottle to his lips and swallowed twice. Alexa raised her eyebrows as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
 

“I never thought you would be so uncouth,” she said, accepting the glass. “I guess the wine isn’t drugged.” She peered into the flute. “What about the glass?”
 

Tarsuinn forced away the hurt her mistrust caused. “Alexa, I’ve never tried to coerce you. When you wouldn’t abandon your dragon for my tower, I did nothing. When your father died, leaving you alone, I watched while you trained to come after me. I didn’t attempt to convince you of my cause. I’ve waited patiently.” He set his glass down with a snap, ignoring the last time, the time she had betrayed him. “Too patiently. Forgive me if I become passionate about wanting you in my life, but after so many years of chivalrous tolerance I cannot help but try harder. I will seduce you to my side, not force you.”
 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured against the glass. Her eyelids lowered as she drank. Tarsuinn tried to slow his breathing, realizing he had almost lost control. He would not lose control. That was always how she got away.
 

The limo pulled into the circle in front of Dragonsoul Enterprises and stopped. The attendant opened the door, and Tarsuinn gestured for Alexa to precede him.
 

He nodded at the driver and attendant and ushered Alexa toward the black, blank wall to the left of the lobby. She looked up at him with apparent confusion. “We’re not going inside?”
 

He smiled. He couldn’t wait to show her his surprise. “Not really.” He reached into his pocket and pressed the correct key on his remote control. A panel slid to the side, revealing a hidden doorway.
 

“How clever,” Alexa commented, but he could hear her mind turning.
 

“Don’t get any ideas,” he said, pressing his thumb to the sensor next to the door and waiting for it to open. “The frequency is scrambled, the pad accepts only my print, and the elevator goes only to the roof, which does not allow entry to the building in any manner.”
 

“Okay,” she said mildly, stepping into the little box and gazing around with what she probably thought looked like interest. He knew her, though, knew she was examining everything, filing away details in that cold little brain of hers.