The Dragon Villain's Prey

by Wylder, Jasmine

  Of course. That’s what this was about. She pressed her palms harder into Indulf’s desk as she shook her head, making her hair fly into her face. “But he’s not!”

  Indulf blinked. “Not what?”

  “An American citizen. He told me. He’s from Byrelmore. He came from the past, just like the rest of you. He’s a dragon, and he said he had no intention of going back to when there was no electricity.” The words came tumbling out like a flow of lava. “That means that he’s from the past!”

  Indulf’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t mean exactly—”

  “I know.” Normally Dominique didn’t like to interrupt and would never have dreamed about talking so boldly to a king of all people, but this was a unique case. “I know, but I can’t remember exactly what he said. But I know it meant he was from the past.”

  Antonio spoke from behind her. “But if that’s true, how did he manage to get so high in the FBI command?”

  She hadn’t even realized that he had followed her in, but there he was with Audiv beside him. Actually, it was probably because of Audiv that she was allowed to interrupt the king’s meeting and go flying off the handle like this. Dominique straightened, turning toward him. That was the question, wasn’t it? She hesitated, uncertain of how to respond.

  “I don’t know,” she said at last. “I don’t know what Ivan Dickerson’s story is. But if I’m right and he’s from the past, that’s not his real name. So there has to be something to explain it all in his record, right? I mean, it could be a fake identity… right?” Now that she was having to defend what she knew, doubts began to trickle into her mind. What if she had just assumed? She couldn’t remember exactly what he said. She bit her lip as she glanced at Indulf again. “But he also said that he wasn’t against dragons or Byrelmore, he was against you personally… Or rather, it wasn’t even personal. You were just in his way or something like that. I don’t… I don’t really know. But he said he didn’t plan to kill you…”

  Indulf’s expression didn’t change. He thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. “It’s worth looking into at least. Antonio, I want you to investigate. If he is from Byrelmore, then I want to know. I would like to deal with him on my own terms.”

  There was an edge to Indulf’s voice that made Dominique’s heart sink. He clearly had a less than favorable attitude toward Ivan, too. Had she made his situation better or worse.

  Seeing her expression, Indulf sighed and sat down behind his desk. “Your input would be heavily weighed, but you’re not the only one he has hurt,” he told her gently. “Everyone who has been hurt by his actions will have their voices heard. But know this. Byrelmore does not have the death penalty. I did away with it long, long ago.”

  She let out a sigh of relief. That was a huge weight off her. Even though she knew, logically, that he wouldn’t be killed just for kidnapping her, it was something that she didn’t even want to think about happening. Indulf gestured for her to sit and she did so. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw that Antonio had left, but Audiv was still there.

  “Did he tell you anything else?” Indulf pressed, lacing his fingers together on his desk. “Anything that might help us identify him.”

  Dominique thought about what he’d said about his mother, and the life he had been forced to live. Hesitantly, she told Indulf. She knew that it was necessary and that there was no confidentiality between kidnapper and kidnap victim. It still felt strange to reveal someone else’s secrets like this, though.

  When she was done sharing what she knew, Indulf was frowning thoughtfully. Dominique watched him carefully. If he didn’t believe what Ivan had told her, what would that mean? “He didn’t have any reason to lie to me. And he was angry. Really angry, and I don’t think he was lying. I know that’s not going to hold up in court or anything but—”

  She fell silent as Indulf held up his hand. He gave her a kind smile and shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about that, Dominique. It is rather vague information, but it does help. There should be a record of his mother’s murder in our records. And if there isn’t, then we can safely estimate where he might have been living. And he may have further useful information…”

  Dominique immediately envisioned Ivan being tortured for that information and gripped the arms of her chair tightly. She opened her mouth to demand to know if that was what he was planning, then swallowed it back down. Indulf gave her a searching glance, then stood.

  “Thank you, Dominique.” He gestured to the door. “You may go now.”

  It wasn’t a request, she knew that. Suddenly, Dominique was exhausted. She nodded and stood. Audiv walked beside her as they left the office, and her friend put an arm around her in silent support. It was only when they were back at her apartment that Dominique thought she should have asked Indulf directly to let her see Dickerson…

  Chapter Eight

  Ivarsson

  The dungeon cell wasn’t what he had been expecting. Not dark and dripping with water, not a torture to be in. No, it was… almost nice. Nicer than the hovels and barns he’d been forced to take refuge in as a child. The bed was plain but more comfortable than the floor, which was concrete but clean. The room was spacious enough that claustrophobia wasn’t a problem, either. Ivarsson wondered who had built these and if they were new. Indulf could have had them renovated for PR reasons.

  Ivarsson sighed as he laid back on the narrow cot. Whatever the reasons, it was a decent cell. Though his fires burned at having been caught, all he had to do was wait this out. Once he was handed over to the US government and their weak prisons, he had plenty of contacts that would help him escape once more. He’d planned this carefully, after all. All he had to do was make sure he didn’t slip up.

  There was a jangle of keys outside his door, and a gruff guard’s voice told him he had visitors. Ivarsson sat, frowning as the door swung open. His question was soon answered—in came Indulf himself. Flanking him were two of his children, Warmund and Katrina. Apparently, young Erik wasn’t going to be joining them. The three of them stepped into the cell and then stared at him. He stared back, letting his gaze drift lazily from one to another.

  Did Indulf know? Ivarsson considered for a moment. There was no other reason to bring his children with him, and the way Indulf was searching his face… Yes. Yes, he knew. But how…?

  Ah. Dominique. Ivarsson could have cursed himself. He had told her too much. She knew he was from the past, and the life he’d built here wouldn’t withstand the scrutiny of someone looking for something out of place. Dominique must have told him, and in looking into his background, he’d figured it all out. Warmund glowered and Katrina looked halfway between pitying and curious. The more he looked at them, the more he knew in the pit of his stomach that they knew everything.

  Well, there was no point in pretending, then. Ivarsson smiled at him, keeping every emotion carefully hidden away.

  “Hello, little brother.”

  Indulf didn’t flinch. He showed no surprise. That cinched it. He’d known from before he stepped into this room.

  “What were you hoping to accomplish?” the king’s voice was soft and almost pained.

  “That depends on what you’re referring to.”

  Indulf was silent. Not that Ivarsson really cared if he spoke at the moment. He found himself searching his younger half-brother’s face, looking for similarities to his own face. Similarities to the face he vaguely remembered; his father’s. Their father’s. And Ivarsson found them soon enough. Their eyes were the same shade, the shape of their mouths, the way their ears stuck out slightly, even their hairlines were similar.

  Ivarsson had never seen Indulf until they arrived on Earth. Then he saw him in magazines and on newscasts. He always seemed to look tall, regal, like a king full of his own right to rule. There was something about him now, though, something vulnerable. Something that made Ivarsson scoff as well as hope that maybe his death wasn’t going to be the first thing Indulf ordered.

  But the k
ing’s eyes hardened all too soon. “You know what I’m referring to. What did you hope to accomplish in all your plans? Working with men who have tried to overthrow Byrelmore, who were going to perform experiments on an innocent woman. What was it all for? Dominique says you told her you didn’t intend to kill me. I don’t believe that.”

  You shouldn’t, Ivarsson wanted to say, but he kept quiet instead. Truthfully, he wasn’t certain what his plans for Indulf were anymore. He had thought he’d only kill his little brother if he gave him no other choice… but didn’t he in his deepest heart think that he’d never stop being a threat?

  “You know who I am, really?”

  Indulf nodded.

  “Then you know that I am our father’s true heir. I was his first son born to him of his legitimate wife. Just because he banished me and my mother doesn’t change that. You are nothing more than a bastard, like all our other brothers that you banished—”

  “I never banished my brothers,” Indulf interrupted with a snap. “Not unless they attempted to overthrow me.”

  Ivarsson rolled his eyes. “Oh, that’s right. You gave your half-brothers land, titles, kept them in comfort and the opportunities to overthrow you.” He stood slowly. Warmund tensed, and Katrina shifted a little closer to him, her eyes flashing a warning. Ivarsson ignored them both, his gaze locked on their father. What did the prince and princess matter when he was facing a king? “I would never have been so merciful. I have to wonder how much our father actually raised you, for you to be so weak toward your enemies.”

  “They aren’t our enemies,” Warmund spat out. “Not everybody is like you, willing to burn down the world around them for power.”

  “You were his enemy,” Ivarsson was quick to reply. “Everybody knows that you rose in rebellion against him, and yet, here you stand at his side. Ready to put a knife in his back.”

  Warmund snarled and lunged at that. Indulf caught him around the chest and yanked him back, murmuring words of caution while Ivarsson chuckled. It was humorless, almost aching, and Ivarsson was surprised to hear the sound come out of himself. He didn’t care about these people, so why did his stomach feel so hollow?

  “Indulf isn’t responsible for his father’s actions,” Katrina was quick to say, stepping up beside her father.

  “Still don’t call him dad? I don’t blame you. He let you get stolen away—”

  Warmund jerked against Indulf again. Katrina’s hands clenched. She opened her mouth, then paused and shook her head.

  “He’s just trying to get us wound up,” she said to the two men. “I don’t think there’s any use in this. He’s obviously a bitter, lonely man too far up his own ass to think about others.”

  Ivarsson had to laugh at that. “I think you just described my father.”

  “Which my father isn’t responsible for,” Warmund snarled. “He wasn’t even born when you were banished.”

  “I never blamed your father, boy, for my exile. That doesn’t change the fact that he’s a false king.”

  Indulf murmured something to Warmund. The prince looked incredulous for a moment, then scowled and nodded. He touched Katrina’s arm, and the two of them slipped out of the cell, leaving the brothers alone. What would Indulf do now? Beat him? Tell him that they intended to hand him over to the US like he was still an American citizen? Arrange an ‘accident’ for him?

  Banishment was no longer an option, not with the technology and interconnectedness of the world these days.

  When Indulf spoke again, his voice was low. “I am sorry for the life you had. I truly am. No child deserved to live in the Exiled Lands. Our father was not a good man, I know that, and I have done what I can to try to undo the pain he caused all my brothers. If you had simply come forward with this information, then there may have been something I could have done for you.”

  “I share more than our father’s name. Ivarsson. I was his firstborn, and until your mother became pregnant with you, he focused all his energy on making sure I was exactly like him. And he succeeded.”

  Indulf stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “So, you were planning on killing me after all?”

  Something in Ivarsson’s stomach twisted. He had thought about what meeting his younger half-brother would be like for years. The anger and desire to beat him into nothing had dissolved long ago, giving way to the desire to merely take back what he deserved. He never imagined that Indulf wouldn’t hate him. Never imagined that he would look at him with… pity. With disappointment.

  “I was,” Ivarsson said, if only to stop that soft, sad look. “Otherwise, how else was I supposed to keep my throne? You’ve gotten too used to warming it, you’d never have stopped fighting me for it.”

  Indulf’s eyes hardened again. “Then I suppose it’s fortunate for you that I am neither you nor our father.”

  ***

  Ivarsson wasn’t expecting another visitor after Indulf left. He certainly wasn’t expecting Dominique. The guards chained his hands and feet before taking him to another room, and there secured him to the table, which was bolted to the floor. Shortly after, she came in. Her face was pale, and her expression spoke to her doubting her own sanity, but she none the less lifted her chin and stared at him when she came in.

  His stomach curled in on itself. He wanted to shrivel up at the look in her eyes. He tried to scoff at himself—after all, there was no reason for him to feel like this, he was only doing as he had planned—but even that didn’t help. He found himself unable to maintain eye contact, another ridiculous thing.

  Dominique sat across from him and twisted her hands together.

  She was silent for so long that the quiet began to grate on him, and he turned his face away. “You’re not the sort of executioner I expected. I suppose there is some justice in it, though. Fitting.”

  Dominique shuddered. “I’m not an executioner. I asked them not to kill you. I told Indulf what you told me because I thought that if you were handed over to the US government, they’d kill you.”

  “What does it matter to you if I die? I wouldn’t think twice about it if I’d gotten you killed.”

  “I’m not you,” Dominique spat, the wildcat emerging from the mouse. “I don’t think of life so carelessly. I wouldn’t want to live with the guilt of being part of your death… even if I was only involved from bad luck.”

  “Then why are you here?” He leaned forward with a mocking smile on his lips. “Come to try to save my soul?”

  “No.” She held his gaze steadily. “I’ve come to offer you a deal.”

  Chapter Nine

  Dominique

  Even though she felt rather pale and clammy, Dominique wasn’t afraid. She knew she ought to be, knew that facing down her kidnapper like this was enough to make any woman tremble in her shoes. But for how frightened she had been while in his grasp—and looking back, she thought it was more like peaks of terror and valleys of not being terribly frightened—she was surprised she wasn’t leaving the moment she saw his face.

  That face, she realized, was very handsome even if tired. Well, she had noticed that he was handsome before. It was just that, before now, she’d had more on her mind.

  Dickerson—or Ivarsson, as his real name was, apparently—let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair. “You don’t have to be so afraid, Miss Dominique. I’m heavily chained. You’re quite safe from me.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “Then why are you so pale?”

  Was she? Dominique touched her cheek. Maybe she was, but she didn’t feel the normal symptoms of fear. No pounding heart, no dry mouth, no twisted stomach. She was a little queasy, though. Maybe she was coming down with something. Or maybe she was in denial of her feelings… or something else entirely. She didn’t know. And right now, she didn’t care.

  “I’m not here to talk about me,” she said, tracing a pattern on the table with her forefinger.

  Ivarsson leaned back and stared at her. “That’s right. You’re telling me about some de
al that I’m being offered… Odd that they’d send you for that, but I suppose…”

  He trailed off. Dominique studied him, not letting herself flinch back, even when he met her eye. The queasiness in her stomach faded away, and she realized she had been afraid after all. The tension in her shoulders released, and she found herself propping herself on the table as she leaned forward. She didn’t want to admit it, afraid that it would be too much like Stockholm Syndrome, but she wanted to tell him that it was going to be okay. She wanted to comfort him, wanted to tell him that his past, while tragic, didn’t mean that he couldn’t be happy… that he deserved to be happy… but that he was looking for happiness in the wrong places.

  Audiv had related to her everything they’d found out about him. Indulf’s older brother, the true heir to the throne. It had been only happenstance that she had been able to trace the records to him and his mother’s banishment. The former king, Ivar, had erased all official records of both of them.

  It didn’t excuse what he had done. But she at least understood what he was trying to avoid. If she had gone through what he had been through… Well, maybe she would be just as hardened as he was.

  “Well?” Ivarsson arched a brow at her. “What sort of deal are you here to offer me?”

  “We’ll get to that.”

  He looked startled for a moment but smiled all the same. “Well, well, well… isn’t that interesting. You’re part mouse, part wildcat and now, part mule. There is more to you than meets the eye.”

  He winked, making her blush. Dominique broke his eye contact and squirmed in her seat. Now she sort of wished that she had just relayed the offer and left again. But… she still had questions. Maybe now, when he had nothing to lose by telling her, he would answer. Not the personal questions. No, she knew far too well that he wouldn’t have anything to do with that. Indulf was too close, and as a prisoner, he was already too vulnerable.

  She took a deep breath and looked back at him. He was still grinning at her, as though he was enjoying making her blush. It wasn’t mocking, though. Teasing, sure, but it didn’t look cruel to her. She dropped her hands to her knees and leveled her chin.