Dangerous Liaisons (Obsidian Flame Book 2)

by J. C. McKenzie

  Something hot and uncomfortable bloomed in her chest. Her throat tightened. She knew Rafael got around. Why would the idea of him doing it now upset her so much?

  You’re so delusional, her dragon said.

  Am not.

  Are too.

  She mentally shook her head. “Maybe he decided to search for his mate or produce a last minute heir and didn’t want an audience.”

  Hank checked his phone and stuffed it back in his pocket with a scowl. “Until Raf, the Astarots have all married young and produced heirs. Raf’s never been interested in following their footsteps. There’s debate on whether the curse was laid on Astarots, or on the Dragoi family line. They’ve been one and the same for centuries.”

  Lara groaned. “No one’s going to fight for the mantle when there’s a potential curse looming.”

  “Exactly. That’s why, deep down, I know Raf believes in the curse.”

  Lara’s eyebrows bunched together. “So Raf is man-whoring instead of settling…”

  “…because he hopes to either destroy the curse or end it by leaving no future targets.”

  At least he planned to fight. He might’ve given up on finding his mate and starting a family, but he hadn’t given up his determination to scrap to the bitter end. His choices of vapid debutantes made more sense now. Even his decision to leave Hilary before she turned into a psychotic bunny-boiler.

  Hilary.

  “Wait a minute.” Her brain’s wheels continued to turn, spinning like a tire stuck in mud.

  “What?” Hank checked his phone again.

  “The Astarots all had children young.” The wheels clanked around and the hinges groaned.

  Hank nodded. “Usually around the age of twenty. Raf’s dad was a little older at twenty-four.”

  Dread sank in her stomach. She mentally crunched the numbers. If Rafael’s dad had his son at twenty-four and died at thirty-five, the Astarot mantle passed to Rafael at the tender age of eleven. She dreaded the answer, but Lara forced the words out of her mouth. “Eleven is a little young to rule all the dragon clans. Who has control until the Astarot comes of age?”

  “The mother.”

  Lara squeezed her eyes shut. “Guess we know what Hilary’s incentive was for trying to seduce Raf.”

  Hank didn’t reply.

  She opened her eyes to find him studying her.

  “That’s the second time you’ve called him Raf instead of Rafael.”

  “So?” What was this guy’s problem? They had more serious things to focus on than what she called their boss. “I have a bunch of other names for him, too. Would you like to hear those?”

  Hank shook his head and chuckled. “I’m good.”

  Guilt flooded her veins. She could end this curse. Right now. And live a life of opulent luxury with someone who stayed because he had to, not wanted to.

  Her dragon groaned. You’re so dense.

  Hank shook his head again. “I don’t like this. Something is wrong.”

  “He’s never wanted to get away from it all before?” The words turned sour on her tongue.

  “Occasionally, but he’d never take off when he’s under threat like this.” Hank’s gaze raked her body. “Nor when something has piqued his interest.”

  Oooooo! He means us. Her dragon may as well have jumped up and down and clapped her hands.

  Shush, Clarice.

  “Can we track his phone?” Lara suggested, ignoring her panting dragon.

  “Not legally.”

  “Has that ever stopped you?”

  Hank pulled out his phone again and punched in some numbers. A muffled voice picked up on the second ring. Hank turned away as he gave terse instructions to some poor lackey on the other end.

  “And do we have the other results yet?” he growled into the phone.

  Lara straightened. What results? Did they unearth more information about the attacks? Why hadn’t they told her? Or… Her chest tightened. Or had Hank requested more information on her?

  “Get it done.” Hank shoved the phone back into his pocket and refocused on Lara. “It will take a few minutes to track Raf’s phone. I told Raf to install an app for this very reason, but he refused.”

  “Too big brother for him?”

  “Precisely.”

  Silence fell over them. Quick and awkward.

  A coffee would be nice right now. Waiting had never been Lara’s strength. Waiting without caffeine was cruel and unusual punishment. From the look on Hank’s face, he could use a cup of Joe, too. Or something harder.

  Lara folded her arms. If he asked her to make drinks or something equally chauvinistic, she’d wet her blade with his blood.

  “Guess we wait,” she muttered. Without coffee.

  “Guess again.”

  Lara pursed her lips.

  “Time for you to start explaining what the fuck is going on…Penelope.”

  Sure he used her cover name, but his glare flashing in the soft lighting of Rafael’s main foyer said much, much more. He knew. Cold slithered across her skin. She expected him to dig deeper. Why did his statement shock her? He’d eventually discover her true identity.

  “Think I preferred it when you called me Gingernut,” she said.

  “Not Pop Tart?”

  “Never Pop Tart.”

  Hank shrugged. “I’m not sure what to call you anymore. Penelope probably isn’t your real name either.”

  The truth sank into her gut, expanding outward and ready to pour out of her mouth. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

  “I disagree. We employ you, and you’re obviously hiding something or hiding from someone. Maybe Rafael’s disappearance has something to do with your past, not his.”

  “Doubtful. Besides, you should’ve inquired about my past prior to signing the contract. My personal business is exactly that—personal.”

  “Does it have anything to do with why Raf can still sense you even though your fake claim was never consummated and should’ve worn off by now?” Hank’s hard gaze remained trained on her.

  She froze.

  His eyes narrowed.

  Dammit. She swallowed and forced her body to relax and not give away any more ammunition to the ever perceptive Secundo of the Astarot. Dread shuttled up her spine and left her speechless. Rafael had said as much earlier and demanded answers. She should’ve expected him to share information with his blood brother. Idiot.

  So I’ve been saying, her dragon huffed.

  Hank’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He dug it out and answered. After listening to the other person, he replied, “What do you mean you can’t find the signal?”

  More garbled voices.

  “Keep searching.” Hank hung up and looked at Lara. Irritation flashed across his expression and he pressed his lips together in a firm line. “You know what? It doesn’t matter who you are right now, or what you did to Raf. What I need to know is if this connection he feels with you works in reverse.”

  “Uh…” Lara shuffled her feet.

  “Can you sense him or not?”

  Show time! Her dragon flexed and stretched, unfurling from the depths of her psyche.

  We’re not chasing Rafael around town like a dragon in heat. Calm down.

  Her other half huffed and settled. A little.

  “Well?” Hank’s firm tone snapped her back to attention.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Stop wasting time and try.”

  Relax, her dragon crooned. I could find that stud in a box of nails.

  That doesn’t even make sense.

  Her dragon shushed her. Lara bit back her words and forced the tension from her mind. Her dragon’s essence expanded and with it came an awareness, opening like a flower blooming in fast motion. A tickling sensation tugged at her mind, pulling her, and urging her to move.

  “North,” she whispered.

  Hank narrowed his eyes and straightened. “What?”

  “North,” she repeated.

  Hank straightened
and pulled his shoulders back. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The floodlights illuminated the ominous compound in the dark valley. A few guards patrolled the outer and inner perimeter, but the scarcity of manpower didn’t put Lara at ease.

  “There has to be more inside,” Hank muttered. He lay beside her as they observed their target from the nearby hillside. He appeared more comfortable in the black fatigues than the tailored business suits she often saw him wear.

  “More difficult for a dragon to pick off,” Lara agreed. Her body pressed against the cold, hard ground. She wore a similar outfit as Hank, but it didn’t prevent the dampness from soaking through the thick material. A rock dug into her ribs and the smell of dirt and new grass burned her nose. “You can’t risk destroying the building Rafael is in, and there’s no way any of you will fit through those doors in dragon form.”

  Hank grunted.

  The compound’s security indicated the masterminds behind Rafael’s abduction anticipated a dragon assault.

  Dammit, they were right.

  Lara and Hank had to go in human form.

  “You’re sure he’s in there?” Hank glared at the warehouse-sized rectangular building as if the power of his stare alone could break his Astarot free.

  “Yes, but we should wait for backup.”

  Hank shook his head. “Too risky. I doubt they plan to negotiate a release. I’m surprised they haven’t killed him yet. Probably waiting to work some ispolini death magic.”

  Lara’s heart convulsed and she forced the lump in her throat down. “About that curse…”

  “More questions? This is hardly the time.”

  “Does the Astarot have to claim his true mate, or just find her to break the curse?”

  Hank glanced at her sideways, like her head had sprouted a grotesque growth and he tried to figure out whether he should pop it or lance it off.

  “What?”

  “Why on earth would an Astarot not claim his true mate?”

  “Um, hello? Recall how this curse stuff started? The legend?” Lara picked a blade of grass off her tongue.

  “That was exceptional circumstances.”

  “You said yourself the true mate bond isn’t something that takes away a dragon’s free will.”

  “Yes, but Raf isn’t in the same situation.” Hank narrowed his eyes.

  “He once told me he wanted nothing to do with finding his true mate.”

  The memory sprang into action.

  “I want nothing to do with a mate bond or claiming.” Rafael’s hands had clamped around a coffee mug, turning white with pressure while he spoke. “I don’t believe in fate choosing a random stranger for me. Nor do I wish to trap a woman in a relationship because our horny dragons say we must be together.”

  The memory burned in her mind. His words replayed in a bunch of her dreams and nightmares. Her stomach sunk.

  “He lied,” Hank said, flatly.

  “Seemed pretty convincing to me.” Even his own dragon had kept her secret from Rafael.

  “Then he’s lying to himself.”

  They turned toward the compound.

  Hank growled. “A large team of dragons in human form will most likely result in them killing Raf before we have a chance to break through their defenses.”

  Lara shuffled away from the edge and crouched. She stretched her neck side to side. “Then we go in now.”

  “If they’re ispolini, your magic won’t help you. Your guns either. They’ll be shielded.”

  Lara patted her sword sheath. “Lucky for me, you allowed a five minute detour for a wardrobe change.” Ispolini might easily defend against magic, but last time Lara checked, a sharp edge still cut through skin.

  Even thick ispolini hide, her dragon spat.

  Lara swallowed the fear bubbling up her throat. She couldn’t allow her natural fear of ispolini to consume her. Not when Rafael’s life counted on her.

  “Let’s go,” Hank whispered. Dressed in black fatigues and armed with more blades and artillery than herself, she didn’t doubt his brutal efficiency as she followed his stealthy movement down the bank toward the compound.

  She only doubted her ability to keep up.

  The large body slid off Lara’s blade and hit the floor with a thud. With a contorted, disfigured face, the man had tried to shift, but hadn’t completed the change before Lara ran her sword through his heart. She stared down at his larger-than-normal head with bulging eyes, exaggerated cheekbones and swollen lips, and shivered.

  Hank spun around, arms raised, blades lifted with blood dripping down the slender shafts to run along his exposed forearms. His gaze swept the room, pausing briefly to note the assailants Lara took down.

  His eyes widened. “Bloody hell, woman.”

  Lara shrugged. Victor wasn’t a peaceful city, and her job made her ineligible for life insurance for a reason. As a seasoned bodyguard and a dragon shifter in hiding, Lara had held her own with the Astarot’s second—one of the most powerful and influential dragon shifters in existence.

  Warmth bloomed in her chest. She held no disillusions of Hank’s lethal abilities compared to her own, but still. She’d kept up, and she’d surprised him.

  Her dragon snorted. Of course, you did. We’re badass.

  Feet stomped down the off-smelling hall. The overhead fluorescent lights flickered with each thud. Heavy footsteps.

  Ispolini footsteps.

  Unease clawed along her spine and rolled around her gut. She squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the handle of her katana sword.

  Grow some lady balls, her dragon snarled. We got this.

  Lara put in hours at the range and in the dojo. She spent her free time honing her craft and practicing. They did have this. She would cut down whatever monster charged around the corner.

  Lara opened her eyes in time to watch a fully shifted Bulgarian giant round the corner and barrel straight toward them. His bulging, blood-shot eyes focused on them as he pumped his oversized, muscular arms in time with his powerful thighs. The tattered remains of his clothing clung to his off-white sickly-looking skin. His mouth curled up in a nasty snarl, showing off pointed teeth and spraying saliva on his pale lips and face.

  Without a word, Lara and Hank split to each side of the wide hallway, which seemed suddenly small and narrow. The ispolin now had two targets.

  He roared, splattering more saliva and altered his course for Hank. Naturally, he went for the deadlier target. A large hulk-like fist flew through the air at Hank’s head, deceptively fast for something so large.

  Hank stepped to the side and slashed at the bulk of the giant’s body. Lara sucked in a deep breath and joined the fight. Her blade streaked through thick flesh. She spun away from a flailing arm and countered with her dagger. She buried it deep within his ribs.

  The giant roared. He reared back and flung his elbow out.

  Lara ducked in time, narrowly avoiding contact. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. The air rushed along her head as his arm flew above her. She pulled her dagger. It stuck. Her heart pounded. She braced her legs against the thick ispolini hide and pulled harder. She flew backward and hit the ground with a thump. Her dagger remained imbedded between the giant’s ribs.

  Sweat dripped from her face. She collected herself from the blood spattered tile floor and raced forward again, the sword handle slick in her clammy hands.

  Hank danced around the giant’s attacks, darting in to deliver devastating counters. He appeared fresh as a fucking daisy.

  She ducked and weaved around the thrashing giant in unison with Hank. The sounds of grunting, slashing swords and heavy footsteps filled the hallway. With a final groan, the giant sank to the floor. His gaze lost its focus and he slumped against the tile.

  Lara bent over and rested her arms on her knees. She sucked back large drags of air to feed her burning lungs. As she regained her breath, and her heart stabilized to a healthier beat, she stared at the giant sprawled in front of her. A large pool of
blood spread from his body.

  She’d never seen or fought a fully shifted ispolin before. She wouldn’t have lived if Hank hadn’t fought with her and took most of the giant’s attention.

  She shivered.

  Ispolini were faster than their size hinted. Legends said they were sluggish and easily conquered with blackberry bushes. She always thought they were big, dumb and slow. The stories were full of crap, and she was wrong.

  “Come on.” Hank pulled her arm.

  She shook herself, and drew inward to seek her bond with Rafael. His essence tugged her down the hall from the direction the ispolin had come from. “This way.”

  They ran until they reached a door. On the silent count of three, Hank flung open the door and raced inside, bracing for an attack. Lara followed.

  Kneeling with his arms, neck and ankles, chained to the concrete, a lone figure waited for them in the dark room. Rafael lifted his head. Sweat dripped from his ink black hair and plastered to his now pale face. One side of his face was swollen and colored angry red.

  “No!” he gasped. “It’s a tr—”

  Rafael didn’t finish speaking before a sharp sting bit into Lara’s neck. Hank went down like a fallen tree beside her. His head smacked the concrete. Her vision faded and gravity sent her to the unforgiving ground with the anger flashing through Rafael’s gaze etched into her mind.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Well, this is swell.” Hank’s sarcastic tone cut through the darkness fogging Lara’s brain.

  “You were supposed to keep her safe,” Rafael growled.

  “She—”

  Lara shifted her weight to roll onto her side. Her muscles screamed in protest. She groaned.

  Hank stopped talking.

  She blinked quickly to clear her fuzzy vision. Her head pounded and remained unrelenting as she peeled her body off the cold floor. Deep ragged breaths brought in stale air. She straightened into a sitting position and waited for everything to stop moving and her stomach to settle before taking in their current situation.

  Not good.

  Hank sat on the floor chained next to Rafael, appearing disheveled and almost naked without his weapons. Disgust and anger rolled off him, and his lip curled as if he tasted something fowl. The side of his face that smacked the concrete had bloomed into a marvelous shade of blue, his healing process accelerated by his dragon nature.