Sword of the King (6 page)

Leo grunted and retreated, but only a couple of steps. Rafael felt sick, but pressed on. He had to stay close to Cam. He shuddered to think what would happen if he didn't—to Cam, to Leo, to everyone. Dragons were tricky enough to control as it was; there was no telling what would happen with an unknown type dragon that couldn't effectively be drugged.

"I really am sorry," Rafael said, keeping his eyes downcast. "He's different, powerful; I just want to help. I can teach him to shift without the drugs, and maybe find someone to master him."

"You don't need to do anything but babysit him until more suitable assistance arrives," Leo said, finally sitting down again. "I've called in a favor with the Rust Syndicate; they owe me. They're sending their best pit fighter to work with this one and get him trained. They say the bastard doesn't need drugs to control or change his dragon, and they've gone undefeated for the past three years."

Rafael wiped away more blood. "You're talking about Blaze and Eros." Leo grunted an affirmative. "Is that a good idea, letting–" Rafael realized too late what he'd said, and didn't brace himself in time.

Leo slammed a fist into his stomach, sending him stumbling to his knees. Rafael bit back a cry, but couldn't hold back a groan. He heard Conway growl softly, and pleaded, "Please don't."

Conway reluctantly subsided, but Rafael knew that if he were in his true form Conway's tail would be furiously lashing back and forth.

"I'm sorry, Leo," Rafael gasped out. "I wasn't questioning you, I was just worried. You know I worry about the dragons."

Leo grabbed his hair and forced his head up. "You'd be a lot happier, Raf, if you did less worrying and just learned to obey. Rust's fighter is coming here; he's going to take care of the dragon. You just watch it until they get here. See if you can't get it to change. Don't do anything else unless you've cleared it with me. Understand?"

"Y-yes, Leo," Rafael said.

"Good boy," Leo said, and squeezed his shoulder hard enough to bruise. Turning away, he snapped his fingers. "Conway, come."

Rafael grabbed the edge of the bed and used it as leverage to pull himself to his feet. "No, Leo, please. I need him. If you want me to take care of an unknown dragon and get him to shift, I'm going to need another dragon to help him. Conway is used to me, trusts me, so he'll listen to me better than another dragon would. He's also fathered kits before so he's used to new and young dragons. Please, Leo?" He kept his voice soft and submissive, and kept his eyes the ground.

Leo smacked his cheek again and ruffled his hair. "See? Is that so hard? You say please so prettily, little brother. Fine, keep him. It's not like he's of much use outside of the pits, anyway. Check in twice a day, keep me informed. I'll drive up with Rust's fighter when he arrives."

"Yes, Leo."

He waited until Leo and his goons finally departed, then sank back down to his knees, hating himself for being so weak; but hating Leo more for putting him in such a position in the first place.

All he wanted was to kill the bastard, but he couldn't do shit without hurting the dragons. Rafael relaxed as familiar, gentle fingers combed through his hair, pulled him close against a broad chest. He rested his head in the hollow of Conway's neck, breathing in the dragon's scent.

"Okay?" Conway asked, rumbling softly, soothingly.

"I'm okay," Rafael whispered.

"Bad boss, hurt Raf." He growled low, threatening.

Rafael pulled away and shook his head, looking at Conway in earnest. "Don't do anything, Conway. I can handle whatever he does, as long as it means you and the other dragons are safe. He's not worth killing, not yet."

"Raf hurt. Bad dragon."

"No," Rafael said firmly, and dared to place a soft, chaste kiss on Conway's mouth. "Good dragon. You're always good, Conway."

Conway growled, pleasure at the praise warring with his anger at Leo.

"We have to take Cam home," Rafael whispered, caressing the side of Conway's face before he finally made himself pull away and stand up. He turned to look at Cam. "You are remarkably stoic."

Cam shrugged. "I get that a lot. I can try to freak out if it'll make you feel better."

Rafael laughed. "No, stoic is good. It makes for a nice change. Conway, go find him some clothes." As Conway left, Rafael turned back to Cam and said, "We'll take you to my home, and then I'll explain everything to you."

"So Conway is a dragon, huh? Like those black goons that jumped me."

Laughing again, amused and charmed, Rafael said, "Conway is a frost dragon. His body temperature is lower than the average, and when he shifts things can get pretty chilly."

Cam tilted his head thoughtfully, molten gold eyes like nothing Rafael had ever seen, not even in another dragon. "So you don't know what I am?"

"Even if you weren't unusual, I wouldn't necessarily know. It's hard to peg what kind of dragon a person is before they've shifted. But, as I said, I'll explain everything to you when we're home. I bet you're very hungry and still very tired."

"Yes," Cam said, and as though on cue, yawned. "Starving. I haven't eaten since, what, yesterday? Something like that."

Rafael nodded, smiling because he really did love new dragons. He hated the way they were forced into it, hated that they had to stop being human and lost their old lives. But, sometimes, he thought that if the pit fights, the syndicates, were all stripped away, that the dragons would actually be happy. As he'd told Cam earlier, Cam was not the first person to say that he'd felt like something was missing until his dragon genes were activated. "Your eyes have gone gold, which means the dragon genes have activated. Your body chemistry is changing, which means you're going to require a lot of food. For dragons, that means attempting to eat thrice your weight in dead cow."

"Strawberries?" Cam asked wistfully, and Rafael laughed at the plaintive, and utterly dragon, tone.

The door opened, drawing their attention. Rafael smiled warmly at Conway, who smiled back, amber eyes bright with affection. "Found clothes, Raf."

"Good." Rafael retrieved the file he'd dropped and went to wait by the door as Cam quickly dressed. "I'm sure Leo already has my car waiting, so let's move quickly. At least if we're out at the cabin, we'll be largely left alone until Rust's man arrives."

Rafael grimaced, thinking about having to endure a devoted pit fighter for who knew how many days. Shunting the thoughts aside, he led the way out of the warehouse. The golf cart was waiting for them, and they all piled in, Cam and Conway clinging to the back.

When they reached the front gate, Rafael saw he had been correct: Leo had already called for his car. The black Bentley Continental gleamed in the morning sun, one of Leo's many expensive gifts for 'good behavior'. Rafael climbed into the back, taking Cam with him, leaving the passenger seat for Conway.

"Take us to my cabin, Mike," he told the driver, then settled back and closed his eyes to catch a nap while he had the chance.

An hour later they pulled up in front of his house just outside the city, a beautiful cabin that his brother had given him as a birthday present only days after Leo had murdered Marianne. Rafael hated it, but he did not dare refuse it. "Thank you, Ben," he told the driver. "You can go. I'll call you should I need to leave the house today."

"Yes, sir," Ben said, and bowed before returning to the car and driving off.

Rafael unlocked the front door and led the way inside. "Put him in the room across from mine," he told Conway, who obediently carried Cam through the house to the bedrooms in the back. Leaving him to settle Cam, Rafael went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. While it brewed, he pulled out bottles of pain killers and muscle relaxants from the medicine cabinet in the laundry room. Ignoring the muscle relaxants for the moment, he popped four ibuprofen and chased them with water. Taking the bottles back into the kitchen, he left them on the counter where he could easily grab them later.

He headed upstairs to change out of his suit. He had just stripped off his clothes and was reaching for his dresser when he heard a long, low growl behind him. "No," he told Conway firmly, ignoring the way his own cock twitched.

If his brother ever found out he'd fucked Conway, Rafael knew exactly what Leo would do:  have Rafael pinned in place while he slowly and painfully killed Conway in front of him. Bile rose in Rafael's throat just thinking about it. Yanking open a dresser drawer, he pulled out a pair of black lounge pants and a green t-shirt.

Dressed again, he turned back to Conway and asked, "How is Cam?"

"Sleeping again," Conway replied. "Strange dragon."

"Strange how, is what I need to figure out."

Rafael said, leading the way back downstairs to the kitchen. Motioning for Conway to sit at the bar, he grabbed steaks from the fridge, and then turned on the grill. While it warmed up, he poured a cup of coffee and pulled the makings for oatmeal out of the pantry.

Half an hour later, he was enjoying oatmeal drowned in brown sugar and cream while Conway devoured two barely-cooked steaks. "So tell me how he's strange," Rafael said.

"Master dragon," Conway rumbled, licking the juice from the steaks off his fingers in satisfaction.

Rafael watched him, unable to tear his eyes away, wanting nothing more than to drag Conway to the floor and taste every inch of him before fucking him so hard they were both senseless.

Conway growled as he picked up on Rafael's emotions, amber eyes flashing. Rafael looked away, swearing softly, and stood. "Don't," he said tightly when Conway caught his wrist.

Still growling, Conway reluctantly let him go. He slunk out of the kitchen, and Rafael let out a frustrated sigh as he cleaned the kitchen. Refilling his coffee, he pulled out his phone to check for messages as he headed into the living room.

There was nothing but a text from his head manager informing him that all was well. Rafael texted her back to say he would be out indefinitely, then set his phone on the coffee table with a sigh. He sat on the sofa couch and glanced over at Conway, who had shifted to dragon form and was sulking in front of the fireplace.

"Come here," Rafael said quietly, but firmly.

Conway growled, but obeyed, moving with a predator's grace across the room. He was breathtaking in his true form:  long, sinuous, reaching a little higher than Rafael's hips in height, and nearly ten feet from the end of his snout to the tip of his tail. His dark scales had a faint blue sheen, and glinted like ice struck by sunlight. At the moment he was warm to the touch, but when riled he would begin to leech cold. Rafael had seen him take a room that was previously eighty degrees all the way down to below freezing. It had only happened once, and afterward Conway had slept for almost an entire day.

Conway butted against Rafael's thighs, rumbling in pleasure when Rafael stroked his head. When Rafael beckoned, he climbed up neatly onto the sofa and sprawled with his head in Rafael's lap. Bending down, Rafael kissed his brow and stroked his scales. "You know I love you, Conway," he said softly. He smiled at the 'obviously' tone in Conway's rumble.

Rafael closed his eyes, hand still stroking Conway. "So what are we going to do with this strange dragon that's fallen in our lap, Conway?"

Conway growled, a low, threatening sound that would have scared anyone else in the room. Rafael didn't move, just said softly, "Yes, I agree. I think we'll see if the Rust goon can tell us anything useful, and then we're going to run like hell."

He stayed put and endured his brother for the safety of the dragons. Without him, there would be no one to curb Leo's ambition or cruelty. But if Cam was even half as powerful as Rafael feared, then they couldn't stay. He shuddered to think what Leo would do with a new dragon that had that kind of power. No, the minute they had a better handle on Cam, it was time to run.

Blaze pulled up in front of the warehouse and killed the engine. He pulled off his helmet and frowned as he watched Rust's right hand, Gates, walk toward him. "Gates."

"Blaze," Gate greeted. "Boss needs you to do something special for him. He's in the back office. Go through the alley. They're expecting you."

Concerned, because Rust never wanted him to do anything but fight on the big prize nights—and it definitely sounded like he wasn't going to be fighting—Blaze motioned for Erie to get off the bike, then climbed off himself and threw the keys to Gates.

Did Rust want him to throw a fight? That wasn't likely; if Rust wanted Blaze to throw a fight, he would have just sent someone to tell him and it had been a long time since Blaze had thrown fights. He slipped down the alleyway between the warehouse and the closed furniture store, and rapped on the door.

It opened a moment later, and Blaze slipped inside with Erie at his heels. Erie growled as they went down the dark hallway, warding off the men who watched them with loud snarls.

What was going on? Had Rust found out about him and Erie? But no, that couldn't be. If that were the case, Rust would make a spectacle of him—an example.

Blaze saw Rust's primary bodyguard, Trace, at the end of the hall. They nodded to each other and Trace quirked a brow in silent query. "Just my Beretta," Blaze said, and handed it over. Trace nodded again, trusting him as he trusted few others, and opened the door to let Blaze inside.

Rust sat behind a large, dark-stained oak desk that was far classier than the building it occupied. Blaze could hear the muffled sounds of dragons and their masters practicing in other parts of the warehouse. "What did you need, boss?"

"Sit," Rust ordered, and Blaze obediently sat down in the creaky, green fake-leather chair in front of Rust's desk. Erie curled up at his feet, warm and reassuring, rumbling as he waited impatiently for the meeting to end. Rust took a last drag from the cigarette he was smoking, and then put it out in a glass ashtray near his elbow. "Have you ever heard of steel dragons?"

Blaze burst out laughing. "Yeah, who hasn't? Most popular fairytale in the pits. Why, someone else claiming to have found one?" He started laughing all over again, but stopped at the expression on Rust's face. "You can't be serious, boss. Steels don't exist—they're just wishful thinking."