Contents
Author’s Note
About this Book
Prologue
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
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Meet Genevieve Jack
More From Genevieve Jack!
Acknowledgments
Highland Dragon: The Treasure of Paragon, Book 6
Copyright © Genevieve Jack 2020
Published by Carpe Luna Ltd, Bloomington, IL 61704
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.
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First Edition: December 2020
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eISBN: 978-1-940675-57-2
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Paperback: 978-1-940675-58-9
v 2.0
Author’s Note
Dear Reader,
Love is the truest magic and the most fulfilling fantasy. Thank you for coming along on this journey as I share the tale of the Treasure of Paragon, nine exiled royal dragon shifters destined to find love and their way home.
There are three things you can expect from a Genevieve Jack novel: magic will play a key role, unexpected twists are the norm, and love will conquer all.
The Treasure of Paragon Reading Order
The Dragon of New Orleans, Book 1
Windy City Dragon, Book 2,
Manhattan Dragon, Book 3
The Dragon of Sedona, Book 4
The Dragon of Cecil Court, Book 5
Highland Dragon, Book 6
Hidden Dragon, Book 7
The Dragons of Paragon, Book 8
The Last Dragon, Book 9
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Now, let’s spread our wings (or at least our pages) and escape together!
Genevieve Jack
About this Book
Sometimes the things that keep us safe hold us captive.
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She longs for a better future.
Avery Tanglewood has had enough of rearranging her life for the sake of others. After years of prioritizing her family over herself, she’s ready to strike out on her own, even if she’s not sure what she wants to do with her life. If only she was brave enough to face the backlash the truth will bring.
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He’s a prisoner of the past.
For hundreds of years, Xavier has used his dragon magic to protect his Highland clan inside a pocket of space called the builgean. Thanks to his unique magical abilities, generations have enjoyed peace and prosperity while cut off from the modern world. But when a fairy trickster captures him and claims his throne, his refuge becomes his prison.
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Can they free each other from the chains that bind?
Avery agrees to journey into the builgean to persuade Xavier to help with the crisis in Paragon, but she finds a mysterious stranger in his place—a problematic complication, considering she can’t leave the pocket without Xavier’s assistance. Worse, although she frees the captured dragon, he refuses to comply without winning back his land and his clan first. And the longer Avery spends in Xavier’s world, the harder it is to remember why she should return to her own.
Prologue
Paragon
In a dark, lonely, and unmarked grave beyond the boundaries of the Obsidian Palace, Aborella waited like a seed planted in the dirt. She’d lost track of how long she’d been trapped beneath the earth. Unconsciousness had relieved her suffering periodically, but without a source of light, she had no idea how many days had passed since the empress had sentenced her to this fate. All she had left was the hope that Eleanor would change her mind and come to collect her.
Her chest ached thinking about the woman she once considered a friend. The betrayal Aborella had experienced at her hands caused her more pain than the crushing weight of being buried alive. The fairy sorceress had drained herself to the point of death trying to protect the Empress, but things had gone horribly wrong. Aborella was fatally wounded in battle, and although the empress had saved her life by feeding her a dragon’s tooth, she’d taken out her anger and frustration on Aborella, abandoning her to fester in a shallow grave. Eleanor, it seemed, did not tolerate failure, even from her.
Her spirits lifted when the sound of a female voice grew near, until she realized it was a soothing timbre, not Eleanor’s shrill, nasal tone.
“Sylas? Sylas!” the voice called in a loud whisper.
Aborella became more alert in her earthy tomb. Whoever this was must be in league with Sylas, Eleanor’s eighthborn son and rumored leader of the rebellion.
“Oh Goddess of the Mountain! Sylas?” The female voice was closer now, just above Aborella. The sound of digging, not by shovel but by hand, met her ears. The owner of the voice must have noticed the grave and thought she was Sylas. Aborella waited, hoping, praying to the goddess the woman would succeed in reaching her. If she could enjoy a single breath of fresh air and see the stars above her, it would be the sweetest mercy.
Already the weight over her was lighter. And then dirt brushed her cheek and was lifted away. Aborella stared up at a dark shadow within a deep red hood. Gloved hands, filthy with dirt, hovered over her face, two full moons acting as dual spotlights behind the woman’s head.
“Thank the goddess,” the woman murmured as she determined Aborella wasn’t the dragon in question. “Sylas, I’m going to kill you.”
She reached toward the pile of dirt beside the grave, and Aborella’s heart raced. Was she going to bury her again?
Aborella couldn’t let that happen. She had to show this hooded creature she was alive. Using all the energy she had, she tried to raise her hand but only managed to twitch a finger, which the stranger didn’t see as it was still buried. The woman scooped another mound of dirt. Aborella opened her mouth to scream and instead drew in a full, cleansing breath of night air.
“By the Mountain!” The stranger tossed the dirt aside. A short, high-pitched gasp came from inside the hood. “How are you alive?”
Aborella tried to answer, but all that came out was a gurgle. When had she lost her ability to speak? She knew that half her face was smashed, courtesy of Nathaniel, who had also taken three of her limbs, but when she’d first escaped to the palace, she had spoken to Eleanor. And she had just proved she was able to breathe. Which meant perhaps her lack of voice was due to fear or the fact she’d had no food
or water for however long she’d been buried. Without making a sound, she forced her lips to mouth, help me.
Quickly, the hooded figure unburied the rest of her. It was a blessing Aborella couldn’t see the stranger’s expression inside the deep hood. Her injuries were extensive—one leg completely gone, the other severed above the knee, one arm torn off unevenly, facial disfigurement—and it would only depress her to see the stranger’s disgust manifest at the sight. She needn’t have worried; the hood hid any reaction as the woman hooked her hands under Aborella’s armpits, braced her heels in the dirt, and dragged her from the grave.
“Oh, my dear goddess. You’re a fairy!”
The woman must have seen her wings. Aborella held absolutely still, which wasn’t difficult considering how weak she’d become. She was suddenly relieved her voice hadn’t worked. If the stranger was looking for Sylas, she was undoubtedly a rebel and would kill Aborella where she lay if she recognized her. Fortunately, her regularly dark purple skin was bright white now, a symptom of her drained magic, and her face must be unrecognizable thanks to her injuries. With any luck, the hooded one would assume she was some wayward fairy set upon by thieves and would leave her to die.
“Is it you?” A low, deep voice came from a thicket of trees to the left.
“Sylas?” The stranger turned, and Sylas stepped into view, dropping his invisibility as if it were a blanket wrapped around his being. “Stars and lightning! Thank the goddess!”
He rushed forward and swept her into his arms, kissing the face under the hood. “I’m sorry it took me so long. I had to wait for that young fuckup at the gate to fall asleep.”
“I felt the tug on our bond and followed it here, but Hades if I knew exactly what it meant! How did you escape?”
“It’s too long of a story to tell you here. I’ve been hiding in the gardens for days. We need to go.” He took her hand and began to lead her away.
Aborella swallowed, fresh agony washing over her as a slight breeze irritated her wounds. She forced herself to remain silent. If Sylas recognized her, he’d cut off her head and feed her to the forest animals.
She was partially hidden behind the skirt of the stranger’s cape, but as the woman turned, the light of the moon drenched her pale skin.
Sylas pulled up short, his gaze locking on Aborella. “What in Hades is that, Dianthe?”
Dianthe. That was the stranger’s name. A fairy name. Interesting.
“I thought she was you!” Dianthe pointed a gloved hand toward the grave. “I thought that wicked mother of yours had tortured and buried you here as some sort of warning to us. Instead, I found her.”
“Who is she?”
“Definitely a fairy. Probably raped and tortured by Obsidian Guard scum and left here to die. They didn’t even make sure she was dead before they buried her. It’s… sick!”
Sylas was shaking his head. “We have to leave her. There’s nothing we can do.”
“Why?” The hood turned toward him, the gloved hands squeezing into fists. “I can heal her, Sylas. You know I can. If she’s survived this long, I can bring her through this. Fairies have unbelievable regenerative properties. If we can get her back to Everfield—”
“And how exactly do you suppose we do that?” He rubbed his eyes, his words tinged with exhaustion. “I’m lucky to be alive, woman! We’re risking everything by lingering here.”
Dianthe placed her gloved hands on her hips. Now Aborella wished she could speak. If she could make a sound, she’d protest going to Everfield. She’d been born there and was universally hated by its people. Even if the three of them could successfully avoid detection by the Obsidian Guard and make it to Everfield in one piece, the people there would surely execute her the second anyone recognized her.
“Fine,” Sylas whispered, pacing nervously. “But this is on you. She’s your responsibility.”
“When have I ever shirked my responsibility to you or anyone else?” Dianthe’s soft voice held a note of anger for the first time that night.
“Give me your cloak. It will make her easier to carry.”
Dianthe removed the red hood and began unfastening the buttons. Aborella had never seen a fairy like her. Her skin was the color of roasted cinnamon and shone like silk in the moonlight. Most fairies were born the color of flower petals—the darker the color, the more powerful the fairy. Dianthe’s deeply pigmented skin was highly unusual, and when she glanced in Aborella’s direction, another difference revealed itself. Most fairies had green eyes. Dianthe’s were the color of warm honey. She was beautiful but markedly strange, different from any fairy Aborella remembered from home.
The lights went out as Sylas tossed the cloak over Aborella’s body and face, wrapped her up, and scooped her into his arms. Nothing more was said. Aborella had neither strength nor voice to change her fate. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to it.
Chapter One
A world away from Paragon, in a place between places, Xavier, son of Eleanor and heir to the kingdom of Paragon, also woke to perpetual darkness. The scent of stale air, moldy stone, and the metallic tang of new blood assaulted his senses. Moans of pain echoed against unyielding stone walls. Someone was being tortured. Someone was always being tortured here.
His chest grew heavy with despair as the understanding of his predicament invaded his consciousness again. To be sure, there was nothing new about his reality. Rather, Xavier’s renewed anguish was caused by the intense and realistic dream he’d had moments before. He’d been flying in the sun, the sweet smell of a tribiscal vineyard filling his lungs, his wings carrying him on a soft, warm breeze. He’d dreamed of freedom, of Paragon, of flying. He’d dreamed of the mountain.
It felt like an eternity since he’d spread his wings. He almost wished he hadn’t experienced the dream. The ultimate despair of his predicament only cut deeper in comparison.
Another scream reached his ears from somewhere deep inside the dungeon, and Xavier came fully into his reality. The wail of agony echoed against the stone and then pinched off as if whatever wretched soul had uttered it had run out of breath. He stretched a talon to the stone and etched a line next to the others. Hundreds of others. If he’d calculated correctly, he’d been trapped in this cage for nearly two years.
Footsteps approached—a guard with his nightly meal. The sandy-haired young man was dressed in clan colors but was oddly a stranger.
“Ye must be new,” Xavier said. “I donna recognize yer face.”
Without speaking or making eye contact, the guard slid the tray he was carrying along the stone floor, through the slot in the door, and into the cage. Venison, bread, greens, and water. It was a decent enough meal, although Xavier would kill for a whisky.
“Ye might be new, but it seems ye ken the rules well enough. Why does that arse ye slave after bother feeding me if he plans to leave me to rot in this hole?”
The guard didn’t answer him, but then he was already halfway down the hall before Xavier asked the question. None of them ever lingered. Feed the dragon and then leave quickly, Lachlan must have told them. Wouldn’t want to risk Xavier breaking the mind control Lachlan kept them all under and perhaps convincing one of them to let him go.
Anyway, Xavier knew exactly why Lachlan continued to feed him. He had to. The very existence of the builgean depended on Xavier’s magic. If he died, their world would collapse. If he became weak, the crops might wilt and the animals would stop producing young. His magic was keeping the clan alive. His clan.
Without the builgean and his clan, there’d be only one place for Lachlan to go, and the evil fairy would do anything to keep from returning to his kind.
Xavier closed his eyes against the rage that burned in his blood and turned his vision red. He must get free, must save his people from the scourge that even now sat on his throne and ruled his clan.
He stared at the food. His stomach rumbled with hunger but somehow still managed to roil at the thought of his predicament. He was helpless here. Trapp
ed. There was no way out. He’d exhausted every option. Unless one of those guards had a change of heart or his oread, Glenna, found a way to break the spell containing him. He wouldn’t be holding his breath for either. In two years of trying, they’d never managed to budge the gate.
All the while he contemplated his fate, his mind kept taking him back to his dream. The sun. The mountain. The beauty of Paragon. Why was his head going back there now? It had been a long time since he’d thought of the place as home. Happy memories of his childhood were few and far between after almost three centuries. Still, he was a child of the Mountain, he supposed. You could take a dragon out of Paragon, but you’d never get Paragon out of the dragon.
A child of the Mountain. His mind flashed through images of his youth, the myths and legends of his people. Xavier had never been a religious dragon, but every citizen of Paragon understood that the mountain was the physical manifestation of the goddess. The scribes who had taught him in school always said the goddess of the mountain was his creator and his protector. Funny, in all the days he’d spent in this cell, he’d never once thought to ask her for help.
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