The Witch Thief (Harlequin Nocturne) (6 page)

He grabbed hold of the end and wrapped it around his fist, letting her know with his body language that he still had control.

She narrowed her eyes. “I saved you.”

“Really?” He gripped the chain tighter. “Convenient how the dwarf’s ax hit this chain and not you.”

“Would you prefer it had hit me?” she asked, her eyes wide and innocent.

Joarr growled. He didn’t and she knew it. Why he didn’t, he wasn’t sure. He shouldn’t care. She was a thief, and though she said she had saved him, she had actually freed herself.

He didn’t trust her. Didn’t trust that she wasn’t behind the dwarves’ attack in the first place. The whole thing was too convenient for her.

Her jaw jutted to the side. “The chain is severed. Am I sad? No. But am I free? No.” She shook her head. “I should have let him do whatever he was doing.” She gestured to the flask.

Curious now, Joarr walked toward the object, tugging her along as he did.

The flask lay on the ground. Its stopper was out and a half inch of what Joarr recognized as blood lay congealing on the bottom. He picked up the flask and held it to the light. He tipped it side to side. The liquid inside moved but slowly, confirming his guess that the blood came from his own body. Dragon blood was much thicker than any other beings’, smelled and tasted of metals. He raised the flask to his nose and inhaled.

“Mine, or some other dragon’s, but considering the circumstances I’ll go with mine.” He held the open flask to Amma.

She took a whiff, her expression turning analytical. “Any legends regarding dragon blood?” she asked.

Joarr tapped the glass against his palm. “Not that I can think of.”

Amma reached for the flask.

Joarr pulled it back. “How about you? Know any legends regarding dragon blood?” he asked. “Or potions perhaps?”

She lowered her brows. “No.”

“And you’d tell me if you did?”

She shrugged. “Not if I’d sent the crazed dwarf ninja contingent.”

He smiled and handed her the flask.

She ran her fingers over the metal decorating the glass. “Strange a dwarf would carry a glass bottle. They’re all about metal.”

She was right. The flask hadn’t been created by a dwarf. Given a choice, a dwarf would make everything out of metal—could make almost anything out of metal. So, there had to be a reason this flask wasn’t. Like maybe it was created with a specific purpose in mind—to collect dragon blood perhaps, to keep the minerals from a metal container from mingling with the already metallic blood?

He took the flask back and, after some consideration, tucked it into his pocket. It might become useful. It might help him discover why the three dwarves had attacked.

“What about this?” Amma pulled on the chain he still held fisted in his hand.

Yes. What about it? Joarr frowned. It would mean finding an elf to have it repaired properly, and he didn’t think Rike or the other Ormar would appreciate the detour.

“If you run, I’ll find you,” he said.

Amma angled her head. “And if I don’t?”

He stepped closer and ran the back of his finger down her cheek. “Ah, you think I should trust you?”

She raised one brow. “What choice do you have?”

He stared at the metal links in his hand. The magic was broken; there was no way for him to repair that, but there was also no reason for Amma to realize that. He grabbed the last link and slipped it back through the loop still attached to the manacle on his wrist, then shoved them back together.

“There,” he said. “All better.”

“Impressive.” Her tone was dry and her expression less than thrilled.

He wove his fingers through hers and pulled her hand up to his mouth. After placing a kiss on her knuckles, he gestured toward the bar. “Show me I can trust you and maybe I’ll change my mind.”

“Change your mind and maybe next time I won’t let the dwarf bleed you dry,” she replied.

“Ah, sweet Amma, how could I risk the loss of your company?” With a laugh, he opened the bar door and tugged her inside with him.

Chapter 6

T
he bar was like every other portal bar Amma had been through—dirty and crowded with customers lacking the most basic of personal hygiene. And not one of them looked up when she and Joarr walked in. If anything they took an extreme interest in whatever drink sat before them.

Joarr was tall, broad-shouldered and, by his size alone, intimidating. Impossible to miss. There was no way the other occupants hadn’t noticed his entrance.

Joarr, she guessed, knew this, too. He glanced around with the brazen confidence she’d come to expect from him. Then gestured toward a booth already occupied by two elves. As she and Joarr approached, they both grabbed their beers and scuttled to the back.

“Friends of yours?” she asked, her tone dry.

“Dragons, I’m afraid, have few friends.” Joarr motioned for her to enter first, then slid onto the seat beside her. “It takes a special confidence to be friends with a dragon.” He fingered the hand-crocheted lace that decorated her blouse. “Are you confident, Amma?”

Joarr seemed to dominate the booth. Amma resisted the urge to put space between them. There was really nowhere for her to go. Instead, her eyes wide, she replied, “Are you asking me to be your friend, Joarr? How…sweet.”

He tilted his lips in a smile that made her wiggle in her seat and her heart race. “Friends? No, that’s not how I see us.”

The bartender’s approach saved her from having to form a coherent answer.

Not surprisingly, the bartender was a garm, a wolf-shape-shifter. Garm ran all of the portals Amma had been through. This one stood beside the table, silent, a white bar cloth tossed over his shoulder. When Joarr didn’t look at him immediately, he turned to go back to the bar.

“Have any dwarves through today?” Joarr called.

The garm turned back. “I’m not in the information business. You want a drink or to buy passage somewhere, let me know.” His hand touched the towel on his shoulder, a simple gesture, but the tension in his body was clear.

“Drinks would be good.” Joarr glanced at Amma. “Don’t you think?”

Not knowing what game he was playing, she didn’t reply. In fact she wasn’t even sure why they were at the portal. She had expected Joarr to ask her where she had gone to sell the chalice, but he hadn’t. Perhaps he’d intended to, but the dwarves’ attack had changed that plan.

The chain rested heavy on her leg. With her free hand she reached down and touched it. Joarr had bent it back into place, but she was no fool. She knew more about magic than any dragon could. Whatever power had been embedded into the metal couldn’t be repaired so easily. Her guess was the thing was nothing more than a simple shackle at the moment. Meaning if she could regain her power, she could escape the binds.

But that didn’t mean she could escape the dragon—not without killing him, and she didn’t think she could do that, not alone. And not with the low amount of power she had at the moment.

Joarr glanced at her, suspicion clear in his gaze.

She smiled. “An itch.”

He cocked a brow then looked back at the garm. “Two waters.”

His face impassive, the garm walked back to the bar.

“So, what’s so important about this chalice, anyway?” Amma had heard the conversation between Joarr and the other dragon, but it had left a lot of questions in her mind. Number one being if she had made a huge mistake by selling the thing in the first place. The information she’d got for it certainly hadn’t led to anything good, and as important as it seemed to be to the dragons…

A waitress appeared at the table with waters. She slid them in front of them and left.

Joarr took a sip, his gaze wandering over the bar’s occupants. “It isn’t.”

Amma twirled her glass in a slow circle. “There were a lot of threats coming from your friend back at your house for something that isn’t important.”

“Just because someone believes in something doesn’t make it real.”

“Are you saying the chalice isn’t real?”

He took a drink and set the glass down with a thump. “Exactly.”

The table was damp where Amma’s glass had sat. She ran her finger through the moisture, drawing a cup, then wings. “So, since it isn’t important, you wouldn’t mind telling what it’s supposed to do.”

Joarr stared at her, his eyes so blue and intense she shivered. Then he smiled. “Why not? You should know what you held in your hands, what you flittered away. At least I suppose you flittered it away. You don’t seem to have anything to show for it.” There was a question in his gaze; Amma ignored it. She had no desire to reveal anything about herself and the folly that had led her to where she was.

“The chalice—” Joarr’s tone changed and became “official,” as if he was presiding over some ancient ceremony “—is the heart of the dragons’ power, the key to our vitality. With it under our control, in our stronghold, we stay strong, maintain our rightful position as the most powerful of all the nine worlds’ beings. Without it, we will fade. Others will prey on us, our species will fail and we will fall into oblivion.”

He held her gaze for a second, then took another sip of water. “Or not.”

“You don’t believe it.” It was a statement. It was obvious Joarr didn’t believe what he had said, no matter how official his words had sounded.

“It didn’t protect my father,” he replied. “And he was the Keeper.”

“He was killed?” she asked.

“By a hero.” Joarr placed his palm flat over the top of his glass.

“So, why do the other dragons believe in it?” Amma twisted her lips to the side, her mind racing. What would happen if word got out dragons could be defeated? How many opportunists would descend on them looking for trophies? Her stomach constricted. Would dragons be like hellhounds, hunted and caged to serve others? Her sister owned hellhounds; she had got them young, stolen them from their mothers. Why would dragons be any different? They wouldn’t—except they’d be rarer, even more desired. They would be stolen, too; it only made sense.

Her fingernails scraped over her skirt.

“Heroes are considered the exception—they are born heroes, marked at birth by the Norn. They are beyond the chalice’s magic, but they are also very rare.” He drained the last of his water, set his glass down, then looked around as if expecting someone.

He seemed done with their conversation; Amma, however, wasn’t. “You said ‘under our control.’ What does that mean?”

Joarr sighed. “When the chalice is in the Keeper’s possession in the stronghold, all the dragons in the stronghold share its protection.”

“What about dragons not in the stronghold?” Her fingers twitched, brushing over her stomach.

Joarr shrugged. “There aren’t any—no males, anyway. I’m not sure how the legend affects females. I assume they have some talisman of their own.” He waved his hand in the air, as if brushing the possibilities aside.

“But what if there was? Would he be protected, too?”

Joarr studied her. “Why do you care?”

She dropped her gaze to the drawing she’d made with the water. “I don’t. I’m just trying to make sense of it, that’s all.”

“There is no sense.” He picked up his empty glass and sat it back down. “Actually, the Ormar use the story of the chalice to keep the young ones from roaming for too long.” He paused, his gaze resting on the glass. “Another reason they want the chalice back I’d guess. Without it, there is no threat, no way to keep dragons from dispersing and the Ormar losing all of their control. That—” he shook his head “—would kill them.”

While Joarr seemed to mull over this new thought, Amma stopped listening. Her child was half dragon. She hadn’t thought of what that might mean before this except knowing she didn’t want Joarr to learn of his existence. But now she realized she needed to. If the Ormar were right, if the chalice truly had the powers they claimed, raising her child away from it would make him a target for beings like her sister who got joy in owning others, especially others with rare power they could use for their own gain.

Which meant he would either have to be raised in the stronghold with the chalice or perhaps… A new thought forming in her head, she said, “You mentioned a Keeper. Your father was one? What does that mean?”

Joarr’s expression was strained. “The Keeper is in charge of the chalice. He’s the only dragon allowed to handle the chalice.”

“Why?”

The dragon shrugged. “Who knows? There might be a reason, but my guess is it’s just tradition.”

“But when your father died, the chalice kept working.”

At Joarr’s skeptical expression, she added, “If you believe in it.”

He tilted his head in acquiescence. “True, but the job is hereditary. So, when my father died, there still was a Keeper—me.”

“Oh.” Amma sat back against the cushion. And when Joarr died, her son would take the role. So, he could possess the chalice and keep himself safe simply by owning it.

* * *

Joarr turned his gaze to the bar. He wasn’t sure why Amma had developed such an interest in the chalice. He had assumed she’d known what she was stealing, would have researched the thing before she stole it, or at least before she sold it. Perhaps after the attack outside she was feeling regret… He shook his head, silently laughing at himself. If Amma felt regret, it was most likely for not asking enough for the item.

A couple paid the garm and made their way through the portal. Dark elves. Joarr watched, half expecting a troop of dwarves to flow through the portal before the garm stepped away, but no one appeared.

With the portal closed and the garm back behind the bar, he let his thoughts wander back to the chalice and Amma. The cup’s true value only existed for another male dragon, and as he’d already told the witch, no males of his species existed outside the stronghold. Which meant she must have sold the thing based on its outward appearance alone, unless…?

He glanced at her. “This dwarf you sold the chalice to, what did he want with it?”

She jumped, as if she’d been lost in her thoughts.

He repeated the question.

She released a breath. “I told you, he collects things.”

“He didn’t mention dragons?”

“No. He didn’t mention anything. He had something I wanted or I thought I wanted, and I asked what it would take to get it. I’d been in your cavern and seen your treasure. I thought I could buy him off with some gold, but he wanted something special. After I described the chalice, he asked for it.” She shrugged. “Simple as that.”

“Simple as that,” Joarr repeated. And now two dragons had died and one was missing. And after receiving a note to come to the portal, he’d been attacked outside by three dwarves. Somehow it all had to fit together.

Amma tapped a finger against her glass. “Why are we here?”

“Good question.” Joarr stood, then held out his hand to Amma. They had been sitting for half an hour. If the note’s writer was here, he should have approached them by now.