Daughter of the Dragon
True Mates Generations Book 6
Alicia Montgomery
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 Alicia Montgomery
Edited by LaVerne Clark
Cover by Jacqueline Sweet
All rights reserved.
Also by Alicia Montgomery
The True Mates Series
Fated Mates
Blood Moon
Romancing the Alpha
Witch’s Mate
Taming the Beast
Tempted by the Wolf
The Lone Wolf Defenders Series
Killian’s Secret
Loving Quinn
All for Connor
The True Mates Standalone Novels
Holly Jolly Lycan Christmas
A Mate for Jackson: Bad Alpha Dads
True Mates Generations
A Twist of Fate
Claiming the Alpha
Alpha Ascending
A Witch in Time
Highland Wolf
Daughter of the Dragon
The Blackstone Mountain Series
The Blackstone Dragon Heir
The Blackstone Bad Dragon
The Blackstone Bear
The Blackstone Wolf
The Blackstone Lion
The Blackstone She-Wolf
The Blackstone She-Bear
The Blackstone She-Dragon
To Mary M.,
Thanks for not killing me after reading the epilogue of Highland Wolf
And all the hard work you put into making my books extra special
(Yes, I can hear you screaming from here).
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Special Bonus Scene
Please Review My Books
Chapter One
Desiree Desmond Creed, Deedee to her friends, placed her hands on her hips. I never thought I’d be in a mess like this, but here I am.
And how did she end up here? Well, as it did with most stories, this one started with a boy.
Er, man, really.
But she had known Cross Alexander Jonasson since they were children. Indeed, their mothers were best friends, and they were born months apart. They grew up together. Playmates. Neighbors. Best friends, along with his sister, Astrid. Heck, they even experienced their first shift into their Lycan forms the same summer.
And when she was of that age when girls started to notice boys, she noticed Cross.
How handsome he was.
How tall he was—which was rare especially after her unfortunate six-inch growth spurt at fourteen.
And how nice he was to her. He knew everything about her, and she knew everything about him.
At least, she thought she did.
So, after years of unrequited pining, she had hoped to make it … well, requited.
But as it turned out, it wasn’t.
In a fit of passion—or perhaps, the thought of the end of the world coming—she confessed her feelings to him. Which turned out to be unequivocally unrequited.
“I’m sorry, Dee. I love you, but only as a friend.”
And so, with her heart trampled, she did the only logical thing: run away halfway across the world.
Which is how she ended up lost in the desert, somewhere in between the border of Afghanistan and Pakistan, in the midst of an impending sandstorm.
Her inner she-wolf huffed. Nope, it definitely did not like sand. It had taken great exception to being stuck out in the desert for nearly six months. Her wolf hated the dry, hot weather, instead, it longed for fertile brown earth and lush greenery.
Her inner animal didn’t understand anything about its human counterpart. Didn’t know what it was like to rise up in a field dominated by men. It didn’t care that Deedee was a highly sought-after archeologist. And most of all, it didn’t comprehend why one male could cause her so much distress that when the offer came to lead her own team on a year-long dig across the Middle East, West and South Asia, she grabbed the chance if only to put some distance between herself and the man who broke her heart.
However, she had to admit Cross wasn’t the reason she ended up in this exact predicament. No, that honor went to Charles Hanford—Dr. Charles Hanford, PhD—professor emeritus from Cambridge University and all-around creep. White-haired, distinguished, and a superstar in the archeology world, one would have thought a man with two doctorates would have better things to do than chasing after a woman half his age. Before he retired, she’d met Dr. Hanford at several industry conferences. Female colleagues had warned her about him—Handsy Hanford, he’d been nicknamed.
She thought it couldn’t be true. But a year ago, during the second night of the European Archeological Institute’s yearly conference in Rome, Dr. Hanford had cornered her during the after party at one of the suites, trying to get her alone. When she feigned jet lag and said she wanted to go to bed, he had insisted on walking her back to her room. And when he tried to get, well, handsy, she could barely control her inner she-wolf from coming out and ripping him to ribbons. She somehow managed to break free of his grasp and close the door behind her, locking the deadbolt just in time.
That was the last she’d seen of him. Or so she thought. When the dean of the archeology department of New York University—where she’d worked as a professor and been given the generous grant to study the migration patterns on the people of Mesopotamia—came to visit, he brought an “old friend” along—Dr. Charles Hanford, PhD.
Her she-wolf growled. It hated Dr. Hanford as much as it hated the desert. Hated the offending, cloying cologne he wore, the way he licked his lips, and how his eyes never went above Deedee’s chin. And of course, it hated that he had dared touch Deedee without invitation. Her inner animal was a protective thing, after all.
Sometimes when she couldn’t sleep at night, she’d take a walk outside their camp in an attempt to tire herself out. Tonight, after everyone had retired, Deedee found herself tossing and turning, and it was nearly midnight when she decided to get dressed and go for a late stroll.
However, she’d only walked for about ten minutes when she heard that voice that made her cringe.
“Deedee?” came Hanford’s voice. “Where are you?”
Son of a seabiscuit! She had been pretty sure no one saw her leave the camp. Picking up her steps, she marched ahead into the desert, guided only by moonlight, not caring where she was heading.
All of a sudden, her inner wolf alerted her to danger. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and even in the darkness of night she could see it up ahead—a sandstorm, swirling around like a living wall.
“Deedee! Oh, Deedee. I thought that was you I saw walking out of the camp.”
Fudge nuggets, the man was persistent. But seeing as she had a choice of facing the sandstorm or Hanford, she decided he was the lesser evil.
“Dr. Hanford.”
She spun around. “What are you doing out here so late?”
With her enhanced vision, she could see the look of glee on his face. “Deedee. There you are.”
Oh, how she hated the sound of her nickname on his lips. Despite the many times she’d subtly insisted he call her Professor Creed, he ignored her.
“Yes, here I am.”
His tongue darted out, and as usual, his eyes went straight to her generous bustline. Her immediate instinct was to cover them with her arms, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Unfortunately, along with her growth spurt came a growth of another kind, and needless to say, the cruel nickname of “Double Dees” followed her all throughout middle school.
Hanford took two long strides to come up to her until they were nearly nose to nose. “Deedee, my dear, I wanted to have a word with you. Seeing as you were up and about I thought I’d take this opportunity to speak with you in private.”
“It’s rather late, couldn’t it wait until morning?”
He shook his head.
“Is it about my research?” she feigned. “Dean Thayers has all my notes if you’d like—”
“No, no, my dear.” Ugh, his breath still smelled like the baked beans they had for dinner. “It’s about … Madrid.”
“Oh?” Her heartbeat quickened, and her wolf was chomping at the bit at the reminder of that night. She reined it in, since despite her personal feelings on the matter, there was just so much to lose. Her job, her grant, her standing in the archeological community. After all, who would everyone believe—a distinguished professor with decades of experience, or a nobody and a woman to boot. It just wasn’t worth it. Besides, she didn’t report him or say anything to anyone, so hopefully, he wasn’t going to press his luck. “What about Madrid?”
Something in his expression changed, and his mouth drew up into a grin. “I’m guessing you must have been really tired that night.” His fingers traced up her arm. “But maybe you’re not too tired tonight.”
She really was tired. Tired of his stares, and innuendos, and of him. Maybe she’d let her she-wolf out tonight. “Yes, I was. And it’s been a long day.” She wrapped her hand around his wrist and pulled it away. “So, Dr. Hanford, I’d really appreciate it if you would leave me so I can unwind.”
There was a brief moment of shock on his face, but it was quickly replaced by a smile. “Unwind? Why didn’t you say so? We can unwind together.”
Pure shock made her freeze as his arms came around her, pulling her body against his. “Oh, Deedee, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he breathed against her mouth.
Before he could mash his lips to hers, she turned away, his slimy lips and tongue landing on her cheek. “Dr. Hanford! No!” Her she-wolf growled, fangs bared, but she kept a tight rein on it. Pushing him away with all her might, she sent him to the ground. However, the force made her stagger back. Her heel tripped over something on the ground, and she found herself landing on her back.
“Deedee,” Hanford sneered. “No one says no to me. Not if they still want a career in the academe.”
He leapt on top of her, his arm raised. In a split second, she saw something large in his hand—a rock maybe—and then pain shot through her head.
There was a loud sound in her ear—like howling, but with the pain rocketing in her brain, she wasn’t sure if that was real or not.
She looked up and saw a faint, winged shadow in the distance, up in the sky.
Was that—?
A shadow blocked her vision. It was Hanford leaning over her, a manic grin on his face. “See what happens when sluts like you say no to me?”
He must have hit her hard, because she could still feel the wound on her head bleeding. Though her Lycan healing abilities helped her recover quicker than humans, it wasn’t lightning fast. And while she didn’t feel like passing out, those beans she had for dinner were threatening to make a second appearance. With a deep breath, she attempted to get to her feet.
Two hands pushed her down. “How are you still moving?” Hanford’s legs locked around her knees, his body pinning her under the soft sand. “Let’s see you say no now.”
She struggled against him, and the second blow to the side of her head came much faster this time, and another round of pain made her vision spin and stomach violently churn.
“You—what the hell?”
It was hard to keep her eyes open, but maybe that was a good thing. Wind whipped around them, a cloud of sand swirled around.
“Where did this …? Who the hell are you—ow!”
She saw his body lifting away from her and heard the roar of the sandstorm as it engulfed her. But somehow, she felt her body lift off the ground. A pair of arms were under her knees and back, and her legs flailed. Fatigue and the pain from injury pressed down on her like a heavy rock, and she allowed the darkness she’d been fighting to claim her.
Chapter Two
The humungous beast’s wings spread wide as it flew, shadowing most of the city below. Such a sight would have brought fear into the hearts of anyone, but in Zhobghadi, The Great One’s form overhead brought comfort to its citizens, knowing their guardian was watching over them.
The long, spiked head stretched and opened its great maw to let out a deafening roar. Leathery wings snapped in the wind as it swooped low, turning gracefully before heading back in the direction of the capital city, toward the largest structure in the entire country—a massive palace made of dark brown brick and decorated with gold. Near the topmost tower was a colossal balcony, big enough for the great beast to land on. However, it was not scaly, talon-tipped feet the size of elephants that landed on the tile, but completely human ones.
“How was your flight, Your Highness?”
Prince Karim Idris Salamuddin took the offered robe and wrapped it around his naked, heated body. “Tiring,” he grunted, then shook his head. A prince of Zhobghadi would never say that. He could almost hear his father’s voice chastising him. A prince should always act confident, commanding, and never show any sign of weakness.
However, he was talking to Arvin, his older cousin and most trusted Vizier, and possibly the closest thing he had to a friend growing up, so perhaps some informality between them was permitted.
“I don’t know how your father did it, at seventy-five years of age.” Arvin shook his head. “He was doing it up until—”
When his cousin stopped, Karim continued. “Until last year.” Before his untimely death. “I don’t know either, but you know the old man was stubborn as a camel.”
It is important work, his father had said. It is my duty as their king and the bearer of The Great One to reassure them that our enemies will never defeat or capture us.
It had been a millennium since any threat had come close to taking over Zhobghadi. Still, tradition was tradition. Since the first time the sandstorms came, every year the king calls upon the beast residing in his body to protect the city, flying overhead from midnight until dawn to scout for enemies. It was the will of the gods, of course. For they were the ones that sent the Easifat—the sandstorms—to form a magical protection over the city as well as blessing the royal family line with The Great One.
Karim guffawed. Blessed. Right.
Of course, no enemies had ever come back since that first time, a thousand years ago. And as civilizations rose and fell, no other nation enslaved Zhobghadi, so perhaps it was only right to keep up tradition as thanks to the gods.
But it was a bloody exhausting tradition. And today was only the first day of many. How he wished he was back in Scotland with his friend. Duncan MacDougal had welcomed him, despite the unexpected visit and his own troubles. Karim had to chuckle to himself thinking of Julianna Anderson and what a merry chase she’d be leading his erstwhile playboy friend. He wished them both well, as he had a feeling that Julianna was definitely Duncan’s match.
“You did well,” Arvin noted as he gestured for them to head inside. They passed through the large, arched doorway leading into t
he living area of Karim’s suite of rooms. “Your father would be proud.”
Karim snorted as he walked over to the side table and poured himself a glass of water from a brass pitcher. “I’m sure he would have some criticisms. Perhaps my flight path was not efficient. Or I hadn’t changed fast enough. Or I took too long.” He took a long swig of the cool liquid. Of course, no one was harder on Karim than himself, even though it had been less than a year since his beast was unlocked and he assumed The Great One’s full form. Despite the fact that he had shared his body with an animal his entire life, the transformation could only be completed once the previous bearer passed away. It was an unwieldy body, and he sometimes still struggled to control it.
“And is that why you haven’t taken the throne? Because you think he would have criticisms?”
The glass was still on his lips, but he stopped swallowing and slowly put the glass down. “Only you would say such things to me.”
Arvin grinned at him. “Of course. I’ve known you since you were in diapers.” He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his dark eyes on Karim. “Well? You didn’t answer my question.”
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s not.” He gestured toward the door. “The throne lies empty, and you are the crown prince. Therefore, it’s only logical that you take your rightful place as king. It’s not right, during this holiest time of the year that you are the bearer of The Great One and—”
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