Raf had been told his whole life the dragon in his head was a part of him, not a separate beast, but sometimes he highly doubted the validity of that statement.
Lara sighed and silence descended on the office, not awkward, but not quite comfortable either. He adjusted his collar.
Lara folded her arms over her chest. The fingers of one hand tapped her forearm.
“What else?” Her rich voice broke the quiet.
That's my girl. Raf smiled. “What do you mean?”
“The poker game was a week ago.”
He waited. Definitely something hot about watching the gears in her head turn.
“What happened between then and now for you to seek a last resort line of defense?”
“Hilary escaped.”
Her fingers stopped tapping. “Escaped?”
He nodded.
“From Victor Prison?”
He nodded again.
“A maximum security penitentiary with magical wards designed to imprison the most powerful of supernatural beings?”
“The one and only.”
“And Louis is missing.”
“Connecting the dots, Miss Stone?”
She slumped in her chair. “Well, I'm sure you already have. These events, along with the attacks, have to be connected.”
“And?”
Her piercing gaze met his from across the desk, so potent with emotions he couldn't interpret, it physically pushed him back in his chair.
“You're screwed,” she said.
Sadly, he couldn't agree more.
Chapter Four
Sweat dripped down Lara's face and soaked through her clothes. Her fist slammed into the worn leather of the gym’s punching bag.
Misha, who held the bag, grunted and stepped back. “Geez, what's got you riled up?”
Lara’s dragon snickered as Lara laid out a combo.
Misha’s gaze twinkled under the bright, unforgiving lights. “Or maybe I should say who?”
Lara faltered, and Misha’s knowing grin grew.
“I don't know what your problem is.” Misha stepped away from the bag. “Any other woman, myself included, would give her left tit to work for that stud.”
Treadmills and ellipticals whirred in the background, punctuated by the occasional clank of weights and grunts of nearby gym members.
“He's pompous. And arrogant.”
“And hot. And powerful. And loaded.”
“Those three traits mean nothing to me.”
Misha started to speak and hesitated. She cocked her head and frowned. Sweat still trickled down her skin. Fans pumped warm air, damp with sweat, and the speaker system thumped with the latest dance mix.
“I don’t believe you,” Misha said. “I remember you saying something along the lines of ‘You don't have to like them to have an orgasm.’”
Lara grunted. Damn it. She had said that—last year when Misha commented on Lara’s tendency to date assholes.
She’s right, her dragon pointed out.
Of course Misha was right. Easier to leave them if Lara despised them. She wiped her face with the hem of her tank top. She wore one of her favorites today. Not only did the writing on her shirt match her hot-pink sports bra underneath but it read, “I run for cupcakes.” She pounded a few more combos into the bag, making sure to pull them to appear more human, less shifter. Heat pressed against her skin and sweat ran down her face.
Lara couldn’t afford to fall in love. The intense emotion made the smartest people make the dumbest choices. Her secret needed to remain a secret. How could she hide something that important about herself in a committed relationship? She felt bad enough keeping the truth from Misha.
Lara dated jerks as a means to an end. She didn’t want commitment, but brief companionship shaved away the hollow loneliness sometimes plaguing her at night. Besides, as a dragon shifter, she had to satiate the beast. No one needed, or wanted, her lusty dragon to break loose because she’d deprived Clarice of physical satisfaction.
“You know what I think?” Misha retrieved her water bottle.
Lara mirrored her actions. The cold water slid down her throat. “What?”
“I think you like the guy.”
Lara sputtered. Water went down the wrong tube and she coughed.
Misha laughed. “Nailed it.”
“Did not.”
“Did, too.”
She totally nailed it, her dragon piped in.
Lara put her water bottle down and grabbed a towel to mop up the steady stream of sweat glistening on her skin.
“I think he likes you, too. He dove past everyone else in that room to protect you during the attack.” Misha shoved her stuff into her gym bag and knelt on a nearby spongy mat to start her series of cool-down stretches.
One of the men lifting free weights paused to check out Misha in her thick sports bra and spandex shorts. Misha ignored the weightlifter’s appreciative stare and kept her focus on Lara. “I don’t see the problem.”
I like her, her dragon said.
The problem was personal. Lara couldn’t confide her true reasons for avoiding Rafael, without revealing her dragon shifter nature. And that wasn’t an option.
A shudder ran through her body at the thought of what such a future would hold.
Male dragons were rare enough, and they had the unfortunate belief they not only needed to protect the few female shifters in existence, but the females couldn’t possibly be content without their bull-headed presence in their lives. They told women what to do and think. This overprotective, controlling nature intensified when they found their true mates.
A mate?
No, thank you.
The fear of a brute alpha male trying to control every aspect of her life wasn’t the only reason Lara kept her mouth shut. Something else lurked in the dark recesses of Victor. Lethal, dangerous, and blood thirsty, the natural enemy of dragons lay in wait for vulnerable shifters. Shifters without a clan for protection. Shifters like Lara.
Their name whispered through her mind and another shudder riffled through her bones.
What was the problem with liking Rafael? Everything. She peered over at her friend still waiting for an answer. “It’s not happening, okay?”
Her dragon huffed, blowing steam across her brain.
“Okay.” Misha held her hands up in mock surrender. “Let’s go get a beer. You can pick one of those assholes you like to dislike so much, and I can watch you break his frail heart.”
I really like her, her dragon repeated. We should hang out with her more often.
I know, but we can’t risk it. She might figure out the truth, or worse, I might cave to the crushing guilt and blurt out our secret, Lara replied
Her parents raised her with the quote by English writer, Samuel Johnson, as their family motto. “To keep your secret is wisdom; but to expect others to keep it is folly.” Why couldn’t they live by the words “Everything is better with bacon” instead?
Clarice rolled her eyes.
Lara’s phone pinged with a message. She threw the sweaty towel on the bench next to her bag and dug out the beeping device. Tapping the smooth screen, a message from Rafael popped up with a time and location. She glanced at her watch. Less than an hour to shower, change and get to the absurdly over-priced restaurant for a late lunch.
“I’ll have to take a rain check,” she said, waving her phone. “I’ve been summoned by his lordship.”
Misha snorted. “Do yourself a favor.”
Lara narrowed her eyes.
Misha’s wicked grin widened. “And do him.”
Chapter Five
Misha's sage “advice” rebounded through Lara's head the entire drive to the restaurant. Now she stood in front of the lavish trattoria in the cool spring air and smoothed down her dress. She knew the place. How could she not? The trendy restaurant housed the big names and elite of Victor. The refined interior splashed across entertainment blogs and papers with beaming celebrities side-hugging in the
foreground. Lara had never been inside.
Now on the precipice of danger, she stood at the entrance with little information of what to expect once she entered.
No money.
No gun.
No sword.
At least she had her magic. As a fire dragon, she could control fire and heat. She pushed out the hot energy, invisible to the non-magical, and quickly surveyed the area. Detecting magical wards but no threats, at least no active ones, she took a deep breath and entered the restaurant.
Soft lighting, warm air and quiet music greeted her along with the smell of exotic sauces, garlic and spices.
Rafael sat at a large table dressed in business attire. Three other men sat with him. Regardless of who they were, their designer suits and proximity to the Astarot gave away their financial significance.
Friendly lunch or business meeting? The rest of the trattoria sat empty, which was unheard of. Someone, probably Rafael, threw down a lot of money to ensure privacy.
Lara plastered on a smile and moved forward to find out.
Hank nodded at her as she approached. If he was here, why did Rafael need her to come so urgently? And why couldn’t he have a meeting at his office like regular office workers? Talk stats and discuss quarterly reports while huddled over reusable plastic containers and covertly picking lettuce from their teeth?
Rafael looked up.
Lara clamped her lips shut to prevent the drool from sliding down her chin.
Even at a distance, Rafael was striking—his hair perfectly gelled, his business suit cut to perfection, and the deep green of his tie playing with the emerald of his eyes. He probably had no idea how to zap leftovers in a microwave.
Lara sighed and kept her legs moving.
Rafael raked her body with a smoldering gaze, and stood.
The other men shot him a quick glance, then turned to Lara, probably wondering what caught the great and mighty dragon leader’s attention.
She refused to hesitate, stagger or falter under the attention of powerful men. She continued her slow saunter toward her “boyfriend.” When Rafael said there wasn’t an elaborate ruse this time, she’d hoped he meant she’d drop the girlfriend ruse. Pretending to be his plus one didn’t give her the space she needed from the heat and promises pouring off this man. Rafael’s text, though, made it clear the act was still in play. Ugh. And these heels pinched her toes.
“You're late.” Rafael pulled out the empty chair beside him.
Irritation skated along her nerves. “I got your text late.”
She leaned in to deliver a chaste kiss on his porcelain-smooth cheek. He turned at the last minute and captured her mouth. Heat lanced through her body all the way to her toes. Though brief, Rafael managed to turn her bones into liquid from the scorching temptation he promised before withdrawing.
He’d stolen a kiss—for himself or to maintain their story?
He smiled warmly, the anger and frustration from their earlier meeting gone. Or at least hidden. Her cheeks warmed, but instead of breaking her cover, she winked. The skirt of her dress slid along the smooth leather surface of the padded seat as she sat down.
Rafael adjusted his tie and leaned toward her, as if pulled in by her presence. Could he read her thoughts? Did he see the scandalous images of them together in her mind?
Someone cleared their throat and Rafael straightened. His piercing gaze held nothing but promises before he turned away.
Her traitorous heart raced.
The little minx sat beside Raf and radiated warmth. He wanted nothing more than to banish these men and everyone else in the room, rip Lara’s dress off, and melt into the heat of her body as he splayed her over the table.
His dragon grunted his agreement. He shifted in his seat as more illicit thoughts of Lara sent blood rushing through his body.
Why had he pressed so hard to get her back? Working with her would prove torturous.
Her floral perfume wove around him like an invisible embrace.
Or a tightening noose. He pulled at his collar to loosen it a little. It had been Hank’s idea to bring her to this meeting. Dangle the tasty carrot and see if any of the other leaders approached her. Raf didn’t like the idea. He hadn’t meant to keep Lara in the pretend girlfriend role when he brought her back onboard.
Hank had snorted and reminded him how she was perfectly capable of deflecting unwanted advances. She’d denied Raf, hadn’t she?
“Astarot.” A man's rich baritone broke the silence. Sergei Bodrov, the leader of the Emerald Dragon Clan, narrowed his eyes.
“Yes?”
“Do you wish to continue discussing...business?” Sergei’s gaze flicked to Lara. His rich, slightly-accented voice rumbled across the table.
The other men around the table shifted in their seats.
“Of course.”
Sergei grunted.
“I don't feel there's much to discuss. These attacks on dragon shifters aren't new.” Vincent Li grumbled. As the leader of the Sapphire Dragon Clan, and the recent survivor of a brutal attack, he spoke from experience. The thinner, older man of Asian descent sat back in his chair and folded his arms.
Alex O’Reilly shook his head. The soft lighting reflected off his auburn hair, making it appear on fire, as if his head were a smoldering ember. Not far off. Alex had a hair-trigger temper.
Raf’s dragon groaned.
What? You make lame jokes all the time, lizard.
“Maybe it's not the ispolini,” Alex said, naming the group whose sole purpose in life seemed to revolve around eradicating dragon shifters.
Raf’s eyebrows rose.
Alex glanced at Lara before leaning forward. He lowered his gravelly voice. “Maybe it's the curse.”
Chapter Six
Curse? What curse? As if being a lone female dragon shifter with ispolini ready to pounce wasn’t bad enough, now she had to contend with a curse?
Lara’s skin rippled and her dragon paced in her head, huffing with each laden step.
Silence settled over the group.
Rafael's whole body had stiffened at the man's proclamation. He leaned back and shrugged his shoulders. He turned his piercing gaze to Lara. “Penelope, my sweet. Let me introduce you to the group.”
By using her fake name and a term of endearment, he silently confirmed he wanted her to maintain the girlfriend cover. She figured as much when the instructions following his text with the location and time told her to “dress fancy.” Her chest warmed. She’d ask about the curse later. Right now, Raf’s greeting played with her mind. If she closed her eyes, she’d feel his lips on hers and his tongue tasting her mouth.
Mmmm, her dragon sighed.
Lara shook herself and nodded to each man as Rafael went around the table and introduced them. Although he trusted these men to discuss the attacks, he didn't trust them enough to reveal all the details of his precautionary measures, including her.
Lara ignored the tension building in her shoulders. Realization dawned on her with each introduction. She sat at a table in an expensive restaurant with soft lighting, soothing music and the leaders of all the dragon clans. Her own dragon stiffened as her attention turned to the last man at the table, knowing, and dreading, his identity.
“And this is Alex O’Reilly.” Rafael nodded to the somber man with dark red hair. He looked familiar, but they all did. She’d seen plenty of pictures. Her gaze snagged on Alex O’Reilly again. The leader of the Topaz Dragon Clan. Her biological parents’ clan. Her clan. Or the one she'd belong to if she outed herself.
Her dragon huffed.
If the most powerful shifters in existence struggled to stay safe from these unknown attacks, they sure as shit wouldn't, or couldn't, protect insignificant her.
She took a deep breath. And she couldn’t protect Raf.
Ispolini were beyond her pay grade. She’d spent her entire life hiding from them for a reason. Why had Raf hired her? Surely, he knew her limitations.
Unease tingled up her back
as more questions plagued her. Why had Raf invited her here? He never took his lady friends to business meetings. He obviously wanted her to meet these leaders. Why? She already knew who they were from pictures. Did he suspect one of these men as the mastermind behind the attacks? Was she here as bait?
Her last thought clicked in place. They exchanged pleasantries and mood-setting music faded to the background. Yes. Bait. She sat here, unarmed with only her magic and questionable wits as defense in an outfit not conducive for hand-to-hand combat—a nice tasty morsel for Rafael to dangle in front of the other leaders. Here boys. Here’s the Astarot’s latest flavor of the week. Who wants to take the bait?
Lara sat straighter in her chair and tried not to scowl. All the pertinent information, huh? Ugh. Rafael hadn’t changed. He still charged forward bullheaded, without any thought to inform or consult with an insignificant underling first. Apparently, her expertise didn’t matter. Rafael didn’t trust her. Why did that make her heart convulse? She was paid to follow orders and Rafael wasn’t the first client to undervalue her skills.
Yet, this felt different.
“And of course, you know Hank.” Rafael nodded at his second-in-command. Another ginger.
Standing behind Rafael as a silent sentry, Hank flashed her an easy grin. His unhindered face struck another chord of familiarity, but the moment flittered away, too fleeting to capture.
Hell, with red hair, he probably belonged to Alex’s clan before he tied himself to Rafael. They might be related. They might all be related.
Lara plastered a smile on her face as her thoughts raced and turned back to the men at the table. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said docilely. She ran her sweaty palms down the soft skirt of the dress. What would a vapid accessory say in this situation? “I’ll be honest, though. I’m not used to being surrounded by such powerful people.”
Sergei’s chest puffed out a bit, and Vincent nodded.
“If you’re dating the Astarot.” Alex sneered. “You better get used to it.”
Asshole. She bit back her reaction and ignored the warmth flooding to her face. “So I see.”
Dangerous Liaisons (Obsidian Flame Book 2) Page 3
