Dangerous Decisions (Obsidian Flame Book 3)

by J. C. McKenzie

  Her eyebrows shot up. “That’s a new one.”

  “I know you’re lying.”

  She pulled her shoulders back and forced herself to maintain eye contact. “You make a habit of dating liars, then? You really are an odd duck.”

  “I’m a dragon, not a duck and weird is a side effect of awesome.”

  She snorted and turned toward the exit.

  “I know you’re lying,” he spoke behind her. “What I want to know is if you’re lying to protect yourself or hurt Lara?”

  She stilled. Why did he assume she was either selfish or hurtful? He was right, but that wasn’t the point.

  “And,” Hank continued speaking to her back. “I want to know why my dragon doesn’t care what your reasons are.”

  She turned toward him and met his fiery gaze.

  “He just wants you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Many generations ago…

  Ilana flung the door closed behind her and skipped into her bedroom. Falling belly first onto her high-canopy four-poster bed she let the excitement of yesterday’s events flow over her. Not one but two dragon shifting princes paid her parents’ court a visit. So gallant and fierce and full of pride with their shiny armor and regalia. And oh my. The younger brother, Edgar Dragoi, could melt the shift off a nun. With midnight hair and blue eyes the same shade as the Aegean Sea on a clear summer’s day, an aquiline nose and chiseled cheekbones, she wasn’t the only woman in the hall staring at him. Warmth spread through her body. No, she wasn’t the only one looking at him, but he only appeared to have eyes for her. Her heart fluttered.

  Mother’s nagging voice trickled into her consciousness. Don’t let a boy’s pretty words and prettier face distract you, my dear.

  Ilana sighed and rolled over to stare at the canopy. She’d heard rumors of Edgar’s many dalliances. He was known to be a lady’s man, but the way his gaze sizzled when he focused on her couldn’t be an act. Could it?

  She rolled off the bed and danced with the music in her memory across the room to where the scrying pool basked in the moonlight by the open window. She couldn’t scry for her own future, nor that of her ispolini brethren, but she’d never attempted peering into the prospects of dragons. What would the water show her? What truths would the Mother tell?

  A familiar crow landed on the windowsill and cooed at her, a rather grating sound, though Peach probably meant it in a loving way.

  “Hey, Peach.”

  The bird tilted her head at Ilana.

  “Will you join me?”

  The bird launched from her perch and with a flap of her wings and a flutter of feathers, landed on Ilana’s shoulder. Peach clicked in her ear.

  Ilana reached up and scratched Peach’s neck before focusing on her task. She gripped the edges of the water basin and smiled into the silent water. Peach’s beady gaze reflected in the still water. Fusing her power with Peach’s, she let the energy vibrate along her skin. The magic flowed from her fingers and pooled into the waiting depths. The water grew murky and the Mother Goddess stirred within her awareness.

  “Mother, I beseech you. Show me the mate of the dragon shifter known as Edgar Dragoi.” Her voice, normally a tinkling of fairies—or so one of the courtiers had told her last year—echoed in her room against the stone walls with a deeper, sub-human tone. She focused on her memory of Edgar’s handsome face and held it in her mind—the jovial expression surrounded by the dark hair begging to be teased under the moon during a midnight dalliance.

  “Daughter of mine,” an ethereal voice whispered and wrapped around Ilana. “I shall show you that which you search for…”

  The water rippled and Edgar’s face appeared in the water as if he had been submerged in the basin. Beside him, another face slowly materialized. Ilana would recognize the chestnut hair, brown eyes and high cheekbones anywhere, for they were her own. Her heart lifted and her limbs grew weightless. Edgar Dragoi, the handsome, dragon shifting, second son of the Astarot was her true mate.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Someone knocked on her bedroom door.

  Peach cawed and launched from her shoulder to disappear out the open window and into the dark night.

  Ilana slipped away from the scrying mirror and padded across the room to her bedroom door. Though her feet hit the floor, the lightness in her limbs made her feel as though she floated. She’d found her mate. And now she had to do such a mundane thing as open the door. Who could this be? She placed her hand on the cold wrought iron handle, took a deep breath and pulled the door open.

  A squire stood in front of her, dressed in court clothes like herself. Large bags drooped under his eyes and his hair was mussed.

  “Gregory,” she greeted her younger cousin.

  “Your father and mother request your presence in the study,” he said.

  “For what?”

  He shrugged and walked away. Cousins.

  Fine. She’d find out what her parents wanted and then she’d go to sleep in her soft bed, surrounded by cushions and blankets, and dream of her dragon prince. She closed the door and made her way to the study. Mother and Father had been cloistered away all day in there, engrossed in “private meetings,” leaving her to dream and dance through the halls unsupervised. Maybe they summoned her to announce another visit from the dragons.

  She reached the door to the study, smoothed down her skirts and pulled her shoulders back just like Mother taught her. She reached up and knocked on the door.

  “Enter,” Father’s voice commanded.

  She pushed open the door and ignored the high pitched squeal of the hinges. The heat of the roaring fireplace hit her face and cast the entire room in a warm, orange-red glow. Father sat on one of the embroidered armchairs near the table. Parchment had been laid out and weighed down with decorative stones. Mother stood behind him, resting both hands on one of his giant shoulders.

  A man stood in front of the fireplace. Tall and regal, his armored back faced hers. The logs cracked and groaned in the heat of the fire and the wind outside picked up and rustled the closed shutters.

  Edgar? He must’ve sensed the true mate connection as well. He’d come to collect her. Ilana’s heart swelled and a different heat spread through her body.

  The man turned around. Black hair framing an angular face—his hair less full and shiny, and his features not as stunning as his younger brother. Lord Romano Dragoi. He bowed to her.

  “Ilana, you remember Romano?” her mother asked.

  Of course, she did, but she’d barely exchanged a few words with him on his last visit. She’d focused all her attention on Edgar. Did she remember him? Barely. She nodded, not trusting her voice. What did this mean? Why was he here so late? Where was Edgar? A sense of unease twisted low in her belly.

  Her father gave her the look that said he expected complete compliance. The look she knew she couldn’t defy without dire consequences. She poked and prodded boundaries constantly but learned at a young age never to test the look. With a solemn tone, his words bounced off the brick walls and set a weight sinking in her stomach. “He’s to be your husband.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Present Day…

  Hank followed Misha out of the diner. The annoying bell above the door jingled again. He briefly considered ripping it from the dainty chain and crushing it in his fist.

  His dragon snorted. That will surely win her over.

  Shut it, beast. He stalked down the steps in the wake of Misha’s perfume and inhaled the soft floral scent deeply. She smelled great—like freshly bloomed peonies after an early summer rain.

  Misha whirled around and jabbed her forefinger into his chest. “Are you following me?”

  He cocked his head.

  Her brown eyes flashed with anger.

  “Of course,” he said. “Isn’t that proper etiquette when the conversation isn’t finished? I assumed you wished to continue the discussion outside.”

  A lovely blush crept up her neck and cheeks. She curled her l
ong fingers into fists. “There’s nothing more to discuss.”

  Her phone vibrated in her pocket again, and she glanced up and down the street.

  “Raf and Lara are long gone,” he said. “They took the security detail with them.”

  She glared at him and walked down the sidewalk.

  He jogged to catch up. “I know you feel something, too. I’ll leave you alone, but I want to know why.”

  “Why?” She glanced at him. Her brown hair brushing against her flushed cheeks.

  “Yes.” They rounded the corner to enter a quiet side street bordering the block. “Why you aren’t curious to find out what this is or why you’ve given zero consideration to the idea before rejecting me? And with such little regard to my feelings. What did I do?”

  She turned to glare at him again. “Your feelings?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Why did she make that sound so insulting? “I have them, you know.”

  “I’m all too aware of your fragile feelings and the expectation that I consider them above my own.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. That’s not—”

  “Men like you—” She cut him off.

  “Men like me?” Surely, she didn’t compare him to other men. He was above and beyond what she’d met in the past.

  “Yes, like you.”

  Hank growled.

  His dragon snarled. No one is like us. We’re one hundred percent original.

  “Men like you have made sure society revolves around you and your feelings. But guess what? I don’t need to explain myself. I don’t have to be nice. I don’t have to be considerate. I owe you nothing.”

  “Are you done?”

  Misha stopped beside a sleek black sedan. Too sleek. How could she afford this with the same job as Lara when his sister had to drive that piece of crap to make ends meet?

  “Yes, I’m done.” She lifted her chin. “Are you?”

  “Not in the slightest.” He understood what “no” meant, and she had a point. Women too often suffered out of consideration for men’s feelings. If she simply rejected him, this would be over, and he would walk away. He didn’t stalk women and he certainly didn’t need to harass them for affection. But this was different. In addition to the tingling sensation he got all over whenever she looked his way, alarm bells rang in his head.

  This was more than his wants and desires. Her blank sheet for a background check popped into his head. This was about dragon safety.

  Misha raised an eyebrow.

  Keep telling yourself that, his dragon said.

  Hank leaned in, her floral scent danced around him. He wanted to grip her shoulders, pull her toward him and taste her sweet lips. Concerns about safety fled and suddenly Hank wanted to live life on the edge. He’d hang precariously toward certain death on the jagged rocks below surrounded by the crashing waves of a deep ocean and as long as he drowned in the heat of her body, he’d welcome his own demise.

  Easy, big guy, his dragon warned.

  I know. I know. Misha set solid boundaries. He’d have to prove to her why she should tear them down. “I’m going to make you wish you never said no.”

  Wait…that didn’t come out right.

  Misha stiffened. “Is that a threat?”

  Idiot, his dragon said.

  “No, it’s a promise.” Hank cursed.

  Misha’s face contorted with confusion.

  “We’re going to work closely together and you’re going to realize your mistake.” He straightened and took a step back. “When that day arrives, you’ll beg me for a date.”

  Misha’s eyes widened. Her heartrate picked up, so loud he heard the thudding from where he stood. She licked her lips and desire swirled in her scent.

  Not interested, his ass. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. He needed to find out what or who held her back and remove the obstacle.

  “This.” She waved her hand back and forth between them. “Is never going to happen.”

  “And why is that?” he asked.

  “Because you’re coming with us.” A deep male voice spoke behind him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hank whirled around to face two men in business suits. In his peripheral vision, two more approached from each side of the street. With Misha and her car behind him, he was boxed in. He squared his shoulders and considered the vaguely familiar face in front of him. Where’d he seen this smug prick before?

  The older man smiled, a flash of teeth.

  Recognition hit Hank. A dark room. Cigarette smoke. Cards and poker chips. Lara and Misha standing behind an arrogant businessman with a cruel smile.

  Hank narrowed his eyes at the Eastern European, the one who’d treated his sister and Misha like disposable chattel. “Louis Granger.”

  The man’s smile widened, reminding Hank of a wolf somehow. “I’m glad I made a lasting impression.”

  The men moved closer.

  “We’ve been looking for you, Louis.” Hank straightened and reached for his dragon.

  “Wait a min—” Misha growled somewhere behind him.

  Hank broke his connection with his dragon and pushed Misha behind him. Something sharp pricked his neck. They hit him with a tranquilizer. Fuck.

  “Get in the car,” he barked.

  “Hank.”

  “Get in…the car…and drive…fast.” The words wavered. He staggered to the side. His dragon roared. He reached for his dragon, but the connection slipped. Again and again. The men moved closer. He snarled and blocked their path to Misha.

  The man on his left glanced at where Misha stood behind him and raised his eyebrows.

  “Oh, how sweet,” Louis crooned.

  “Go!” Hank snarled again at Misha. Why wasn’t she running? Why wasn’t she jumping in her car? Or at least fumbling with her keys. Why was the world around him moving so slowly when his thoughts raced?

  Hank’s vision tilted. The view of the man with the confused expression slipped. Now, Hank stared at the blue sky.

  Had he fallen? He didn’t feel the impact. He should’ve. His limbs grew numb. Distorted voices murmured around him. The men surrounded the area where he lay, waiting. Waiting for what? For him to black out.

  None of that concerned him—not the impending doom he faced at the hands of these men, not the weightlessness or numb limbs, not even the silence of his dragon.

  What plagued his last thoughts before the darkness claimed his vision and mind was a simple question: Why didn’t Misha run?

  Chapter Twenty

  Raf sat back in the leather seat of the town car as it pulled away from the curb and frowned. Though his restless dragon settled once Lara was safe and secure, unease still teased his spine. “You left.”

  Lara stiffened beside him. “I took Misha with me to a diner.”

  “That wasn’t the agreed upon deal and you know it.” Raf gripped the seat’s armrest and squeezed. Leather and that new car scent floated up to him. “Are you not happy?”

  “What?” Lara spun to face him. She slid a warm hand over his thigh and the other gripped his shoulder. The contact was almost enough to ease the stabbing pain in his heart. Almost.

  “Of course I’m happy,” Lara said.

  He clenched his teeth and forced air into his lungs. He had to ask. He had to press on. If he didn’t, he might never get the courage again and he needed to know for sure. Above all else, Lara’s happiness took priority, even if it spelled his doom and misery.

  She’s our mate, his dragon said. Of course she’s happy.

  Ahh the dragon mind—very straight-forward and singular in its thinking—but Raf knew from experience people were more complex. And what if she’s not?

  His dragon gaped, opening and closing his snout. You’d let her go?

  I’d try. Raf squeezed his eyes shut for a second, took another deep breath and turned to face his mate. “Your actions suggest otherwise.”

  Lara released her hold and flailed back into the seat beside him. “I’m happy
with you, Raf. It’s just…” She waved her hands erratically in the space in front of her. “All this.”

  “I’m the Astarot.”

  “It’s stifling. I wish it could be just us, you know?”

  He heard the words before she said them. He’d heard them before from other women, lesser women. Women he’d cared for, but only in a fleeting way. He’d hoped his mate would love him for not only he was, but what he was.

  “I wish sometimes you weren’t the Astarot,” she whispered.

  He clenched his teeth. “I wish I wasn’t either.”

  Lara winced.

  “But I am.” Raf pushed down the ice threatening to explode inside. “It’s not ego talking when I say no one else can bring the dragon clans together. I’d trade my leadership in a heartbeat, if I could. If it would make you happy. I know you dislike the protective measures we’ve put in place, but whether you like it or not, you’re a target now. Even with all your skills, the enemy can still catch you unaware. I can’t and won’t allow harm to come to you. Don’t ask me for the impossible.”

  Raf faced forward again, staring at the back of Rowen’s head. “I can’t step down. The dragon clans won’t unite under anyone else and we’re too vulnerable apart. The other leaders heavily cautioned against such a move. Our numbers are dangerously low, and separated, the ispolini will pick us apart.”

  Her hand slid back on his thigh, warm and reassuring. “You asked if you could step down?”

  He nodded.

  “For me?”

  He nodded again, not trusting his voice.

  She squeezed his thigh and cleared her throat. “Raf…”

  A strange vibration rumbled through his body. Dread, unease, confusion…but not his. Raf sat up. Sweat broke out across his forehead.

  “What is it?” Lara asked.

  Hank’s distress yanked on the bond forged in blood between them long ago. His scalp prickled as if someone yanked his hair.

  “Turn around,” Raf barked at the driver.

  “Sir?” Rowen glanced at him through the rear-view mirror.