by Tessa Dawn
Humans were not that flawless.
Their features were not that symmetrical.
And even when they had deep-set eyes, they weren’t mesmerizing in their intensity.
It was as if all the years of his very long life were reflected in those sapphire flames.
She stared down at her fingers.
“Is that a yes?” he murmured, and she almost jolted.
“Excuse me?”
“Rossi. The human. The nature of your relationship.”
Amber’s nostrils flared, and she bit down in annoyance. “It’s none of your business,” she said in a whisper.
He chuckled then, a deep, gravelly sound, and swept his fingers through his hair. It fell right back into that perfect, haphazard shape. “Oh, Amber girl, I don’t mean to frighten you, but everything about you is my business.”
Her eyes shot back to his. “Why?” She couldn’t believe she had the courage to question him—not now, not here, not while she was completely at his mercy—but what she didn’t know could definitely hurt her, and Amber would rather have all the facts.
He sighed, and then he slowly nodded. “Every dragyri male has a fated dragyra, a human female who is meant to be his mate. And once he finds her, he has ten days to claim her, to present her to the lords in the temple. That morning in the bank, when I passed by your station, my amulet heated up—it burned me.” He absently thumbed a gemstone necklace hanging loosely around his throat. “And just for an instant, your eyes turned deep, dark blue…sapphire…matching the color of my ruling lair. For me, for my kind, it was a sign from the Seven—from the dragon lords that rule the Pantheon. It meant that you, Amber Carpenter, are my fated. The woman I have waited centuries to find.”
Amber’s jaw dropped open as she tried to make sense of his words.
To at least put them in context, even if she couldn’t comprehend them.
To draft a roadmap and devise a plan. If she couldn’t break through his psychosis, she could at least play along with it—humor the guy until she figured a way out of wherever she truly was.
But this was way too much.
She closed her mouth and pursed her lips, yet her muscles twitched, her nerve endings grew sensitive, and her heart began to beat like a drum in her chest.
Fight or flight in full effect.
To hell with it.
She rose slowly from the sofa, turned her head to measure the space between the living room and the nearest exit, and then leaped onto the cushions, hurdled the backrest, and sprinted like a gazelle trying to outrun a cheetah as she dashed toward the door to the suite.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Axe cursed beneath his breath.
Well, that had gone over well.
Shit…
He didn’t possess a communication style beyond blunt and way too candid.
He rose from the ottoman and stroked his chin: He could stop her with his voice, take command over her body, chase her down like a wild animal, or try to call her back.
As if…
He focused his full attention on the large wooden twelve-panel door to the suite instead: dropping the latch, holding it steady, and waiting as she pried…and pried…and twisted at the handle.
“Amber girl…”
“Stay away from me!” she shouted.
“Amber.” He took several long, steady strides in the female’s direction. “Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She spun around, and her eyes were wild; her throat was actually convulsing. “Let me go!” She pressed her back against the heavy door and began to tremble from head to toe.
Axe tried to gentle his voice—he really did. “Amber, just breathe.” He placed both palms against the wooden panel, laterally, behind her—one to the left of her shoulders, the other to the right—and he leaned in closer. She looked like she was going to faint. “Relax.” He repeated the sentiment, only this time, he laced his voice with power, adding a dash of mind-control to the suggestion.
She swayed to the side, and he caught her by the arm, gently setting her upright. “Even if you could get this door open, there’s nowhere for you to go. Come back; sit down. Better yet, try to get some sleep—we can speak some more in the morning, hash it all out in the daylight.”
Her frantic gaze shot across the suite, fixing unerringly on the raised king-size bed in the corner, and she rapidly shook her head. “No way.”
Axe’s head fell forward until their foreheads were touching, and his dirty-blond hair mingled with her rich golden bangs. He knew it was too intimate, both brazen and intrusive, but he also understood something she didn’t—the strength of their inherent bond. He had the power to comfort this woman with his touch, to steady her with his nearness, and the way he saw it, hands were out. If he cupped her jaw or stroked her cheek, she might actually try to bite him. As it stood, he was pinning her in, but he saw it more as a shelter than a cage. “Listen, Amber girl, and not just to my voice—listen to what you’re feeling inside. You’re tired, you’re overwhelmed, and you’re not going to process any of this unless and until you get some sleep. I’m not going to harm you, and you know that deep inside. Listen to what your intuition is telling you.”
She peered up at him through thick golden lashes, the long tips wetted by teardrops. “I think you’re crazy,” she whispered. “That’s what my intuition is telling me.”
He pulled back a couple of inches and locked his gaze with hers, still leaning into her slender body. “No, you don’t,” he argued. “If anything, you’re terrified that I just might be sane.”
She blinked three times, and a tear escaped, rolling softly along her delicate cheek. “I want to go home, back to my roommates. Back to my life…where I’m safe.”
Shit…shit…and double-shit.
To hell with it—she was breaking his heart.
He placed his hand on her jaw and brushed away the tear, gently, with the pad of his thumb. “Back to your roommates?” he rasped, though he was genuinely trying to soften his tone. “Back to Zeik and Grunge, the demons, and Tony? The guys who invited a host of shadow-walkers into your living room? The guys who stood there and did nothing as Trader took your eyesight…cursed you with blindness…the roommates who stood back and watched you panic…and suffer? The ones who just let you scream? Or the ones who gave you a sedative and put you to bed, leaving you to suffer in darkness and terror?”
Amber bristled. “You took me from my home.”
Axe nodded and dropped his hand. “I took you to the temple, to Lord Saphyrius.”
She raised her chin and held his stare. “You handed me over to some, some dangerous creature who could’ve killed me.”
“And yet, he restored your eyesight.” Axe bit down on his lower lip and sighed. “You might not get this, you might not understand it…yet, but I heard you scream in that living room—and I understood full well what was happening. I did what I had to, to remove the threat and to get you away from Trader and those pagans. And I took you someplace where you would finally be safe, and while you might not trust me, at least you can see me with your own two eyes. And unlike Tony, Zeik, and Grunge, I’m exactly who the hell I say I am. The way I see it, Amber girl, I’m the only person in your world right now that you can trust.”
She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Trust? You’re kidding, right? Trust?” In an act of courage that was honestly impressive, she planted both hands squarely on his chest and shoved.
He didn’t budge an inch…
And not because he was being defiant, but because it felt more like the tickle of a butterfly’s wing than a serious attempt to move him.
He took a step back out of courtesy, and she placed both hands on her hips, the fear in her eyes betraying the insincerity of the confrontational posture. “I don’t trust you, Axe, and I don’t want to be here. And even if everything you’re saying is true, you don’t know me…you don’t know my life…and you don’t know my story.” Her jaw tensed in anger, and she nearly ground her teeth
. “And you have no idea just how much you have in common with Tony, the man that I love.” Her eyes shifted up and to the right as she spat those last words with venom, and Axe knew she was trying to goad him—she was smart enough to pick up on his inherent jealousy, his innately possessive nature, and bold enough to try to strike where it would hurt.
Amber Carpenter was a fighter, through and through.
Whatever her life’s story, it had taught her to be brave, to be defiant, to go down fighting, rather than retreat. And as for those beautiful, dark, amber-colored eyes, the pupils glazed over with anger, fear, and moisture; they had shifted at the exact same moment her blood pressure, pulse, and respiration had spiked—they had mirrored her electrodermal response, an automatic increase in her sweat gland activity, and Axe had read it all like a book…
Amber wasn’t just stretching the truth, she was out-and-out lying.
So, she hated Tony Rossi…
What gives?
“What did he do to you?” Axe grunted, trying to keep his own physiological reactions in check.
Amber blanched. “What? Who?”
“The man that you love,” Axe echoed, with equal sarcasm. “What do I have in common with Tony?”
She faltered, but only for a moment, her hands falling from her hips, her shoulders curling inward, and her fingers gripping the sides of the mystical sapphire robe she was still wearing. She looked off into the distance, beyond Axe’s shoulders, and her smooth, arched brows curved down into a frown. This time, she was accessing a memory, and despite Axe’s best intentions—damnit, he had already invaded her privacy far too much and too often—he couldn’t help but glimpse the scattering of images, the random, crisscrossed projections hurling through her mind:
A hot August afternoon, walking into a convenience store, and then earlier this night, staring up at Trader…right before he had kissed her.
A green-and-blue blanket, a baby stroller, and an uneven stack of potato chips, empty boxes, and doughnuts—all contrasted against the sounds, smells, and feel of Amber’s living room, watching Zeik and Grunge walk in with a battered Tony Rossi.
“Don’t move! Don’t speak! Don’t even breathe!” Zeik barking orders at a handsome cashier.
Then, “Penalty kiss, courtesy of Lord Drakkar,” Trader snarling.
The images were moving in and out, fast and furious now: Grunge shimmying behind a security camera, Tony perusing an aisle like a stalker, all three males concealed in hoodies—then the inky, terrifying silhouettes of the shadow-walkers as they entered the foyer on Syracuse Lane.
Amber experiencing the same fear and dread.
“Looks like we may have just found a teller for King’s Castle Credit Union,” Grunge snorted; she was back in the cramped convenience store…
“Did you really think Lord Drakkar was going to be A-okay with the shit that went down at the bank?” Trader snarled…back in the terrifying living room.
“Shit,” Axe mumbled as the remainder played out, Amber’s memories bouncing back and forth between the past and the present—she had only been fifteen fucking years old when Tony had abducted her. She was twenty-five now, and the way she saw it—it was all happening again.
He stepped toward her, placed his pointer and middle finger against the hollow in her temple, and sent a small pulse of energy into her medial temporal lobe to stop the flow of images, to halt the horrific, incessant memories in their tracks—enough was enough.
She jolted and stumbled back.
He caught her, placing one hand at the small of her waist and tunneling the other in the back of her hair. “With the gods as my witness”—he bent to whisper in her ear—“I swear to you, Amber girl, this isn’t the same. Rossi wanted to own you, to use you, to keep you like some pet. I want nothing more than to honor you and make your life worth living…celebrating. You had no choices, no power, no free agency. You were only protected as long as you did Tony’s bidding. In time, you will come to know power and choice beyond your imagining here in the Pantheon, and I am the one who will live to do your bidding. Tony and I have nothing in common. I will never, ever hurt you, Amber. You are not my pet; you are my greatest treasure. And I will cherish you, if you will let me.”
Stunned by his words and overwhelmed with emotion, Amber squirmed out of his arms and took several paces to the side, her eyes darting around the room in panic. And then she pressed both hands to her ears as if trying to shut it all out.
She was exhausted.
Overloaded.
And her mind was reeling.
“You can read my mind?” she muttered, weakly.
Fuck.
“Yes, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to invade your—”
“That shit Trader said,” she interrupted. “Penalty kiss, courtesy of Lord Drakkar…that, and the girl’s eyesight. Then it’s true, isn’t it? Trader was…he is…a demon?”
“Yes,” Axe murmured.
“And you; you really are a…a dragon?”
“A dragyri,” Axe said.
She shook her head. “And Warren’s tattoo…King’s Castle Credit Union…”
“It’s a shell company, an arm of the Pagan Underworld, heavily staffed by members of the Cult of Hades.”
She doubled over and gagged, and he leaped forward to steady her, placing the palm of his hand on her stomach to keep her from retching. “Breathe, Amber girl; just breathe.” He used another electrical impulse to quiet her stomach muscles before he scooped her up in his arms and headed toward the back of the apartment.
Her exhaustion must have been all-consuming because she laid her head on his shoulder and wept. “Everything,” she murmured, as he pulled back the covers on his oversized bed and placed her gently beneath the sateen sheets, “everyone…and everything…has been a lie. My entire life has been nothing but a lie.”
He had no words as he reached for a pillow and slid it softly beneath her head.
“I know that people call it Stockholm syndrome,” she rambled listlessly, “feelings of trust or affection from a victim toward a captor, but I really thought that, at least over time, Zeik and Grunge had my back.” She barked a hollow laugh, and it was as cynical as it was empty and heart-wrenching. “And I thought, at least in the only way a sociopath could, that somewhere in his broken soul, Tony actually loved me. That it wasn’t all just possession.”
Axe closed his eyes, willing the irises to remain sapphire, praying his pupils would remain deep black—because all he could see was deep, blood-red rage, and his fangs were pressing against his gums, threatening to extend against his will. His dragon’s fire was blazing like a torch, and he wasn’t sure if he could contain it much longer. “I think he lost his soul to the darkness, long before he met you.” He paused and grit his teeth. “But if he could have…loved…if there was any remnant of a sentient soul left in him, I’m sure he would have…must have…loved you. Maybe that part of him did.” She would never know what those words had cost him. Axe wasn’t a male to bleed empathy and kindness, but Amber was hanging on by a thread. “Sleep, Amber girl.” He used another compulsion, but hell’s bells, what else could he do? Axeviathon was wrung out, himself, and his beast was practically clawing to get out.
As her eyes drifted shut and she sank into the pillow, he bit into the flesh of his hand.
Tony Rossi wasn’t just lost to the darkness.
He was marked.
He was chattel.
He was a dead man walking…
If he wasn’t already deceased, then Axe was going to end his miserable existence. If the flight through the glass doors hadn’t already claimed him, Axe would feed on his fear before he strung him up by his own intestines and scattered what remained of his ashes to the wind.
Axe might not be able to get to Zeik and Grunge, not without starting an all-out war between the Dragyr and the Pagans, but Tony was human—or at least he had been—and that meant he was either six feet under or he was still earthbound.
It was just a matter of
following up.
And then it was just a matter of time…and opportunity.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE NEXT DAY – PAGAN UNDERWORLD
Beneath the thick, murky haze of the underworld’s sky, Trader Vice paced atop the gothic castle battlements until he came to a naturally concealed dark gray parapet and perched on the edge of the stone. Requiem Pyre, Lord Drakkar’s chief sorcerer and most esteemed member of congress, seemed to appear out of nowhere as he emerged from the fog, linked both hands behind his back, and narrowed his steely deep-blue eyes on Trader. “Soooo,” he hissed, his long, dark hair flapping in the wind, causing the numerous plaits of bones and ancient fox shells to clamor against one another, “your little escapade on Earth cost us the lives of how many shades, again?”
Trader bit his bottom lip.
It was a rhetorical question.
It had to be.
Besides, he only had one hand left, and Requiem was renowned for setting traps. Trader wasn’t walking into this one.
“And with the exception of two shadow-walkers, Zeik, Grunge, and yourself, of course, are the only pagans who survived, demons, all the latter.” He cracked his knuckles behind his back.
Trader didn’t bite.
“Ah, yes, and two worthless humans: Antonio Rossi, who now knows of our kind, and Amber Carpenter, the human’s female pet.” He unlinked his hands and held two fingers up as if he were testing the wind. “Ah, but then she is no longer Antonio’s female pet; she is now a ward of the Pantheon. Am I leaving anything out?”
Trader cleared his throat.
“From what you surmise—from what we all surmise—Axeviathon Saphyrius delivered the box of chocolates to the bank, which means he most likely came into contact with Amber the same day. And it was the Sapphire Lair, after all, accompanied by their emerald brethren, who slaughtered our shadowed kinsman. So, either the seven lords desired this utterly random human female as a servant in the temple, or Axe and his lair mates had another, more intimate purpose for taking her through the portal. And while Lord Drakkar is terribly vexed at the loss of his loyal patrons, you feel all is not lost entirely? Have I summed this up correctly?”
