by Anya Nowlan
BILLIONAIRE DRAGON’S BRIDE
TREASURE LANE DRAGONS
BOOK 1
BY
ANYA NOWLAN
A TASTE OF WHAT’S TO COME…
He spoke with the certainty of a man, who had never been wrong. The sheer gall of him knocked the wind out of her sails. Gemma’s mouth fell slightly agape, and she stared at him in abject horror. She knew from ample personal experience that he was a cocky bastard, but she hadn’t quite grasped how bad he could be. Standing there in the darkness of a rainstorm, holding onto her while she had just been in the midst of an escape, he was still as cool and calm as ever in the knowledge that he could never be wrong.
Gemma saw red, easily ignoring the bit in her that relished being a princess to be pushed and pulled by his whims, and smacked him hard across the face.
“I’m not your princess!” she hissed, shaking with anger as he caught her wrist in his hand before she could try again.
His eyes flashed back to her, now blue and clear as day, and he smirked like she’d just given him the greatest treat she could have. Without missing a beat, he forced her hand down, and ignoring her surprised gasp, kissed her hard on the lips. Gemma’s eyes went wide with surprise, but as soon as his tongue dipped into her mouth, everything seemed to drift into the background. Suddenly, there was just Devon and his lips on hers and his arms around her.
Against better judgment, her body molded against his, and her lips met his eagerly, tasting him with the kind of passion she’d thought reserved for sappy romance tales. His hand was pressed flat against her lower back, and he released her wrist, bringing his other hand to snake through her hair, pulling her closer to him. The kiss made a roaring burst of heat uncoil within her, reaching to the very bottoms of her feet and the tips of her fingers before concentrating back together in a tight, hungry ball of desire at the pit of her stomach.
Copyright © 2015 Anya Nowlan
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Billionaire Dragon’s Bride
Treasure Lane Dragons
Book 1
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be used, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use. This book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Anya Nowlan. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.
Cover © Jack of Covers
You can find all of my books here:
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
A TASTE OF WHAT’S TO COME…
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
BILLIONAIRE DRAGON’S MATE EXCERPT
WANT MORE?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
Devon
Devon suppressed a groan, standing and staring at Remington with all the barely hidden irritation he could muster. As usual, these council meetings could lead to nothing good.
“You can growl all you want, Devon, it doesn’t make what I’m saying any less true,” Remington said, showing off that simpering smile of his that always reminded Devon of a snake that needed to have his head chopped off. And really, what more was he than a slithering nuisance – a dragon from the south, where the mountains were barely hills and the gold ran scarce?
Grimly, Devon mused once more about why he put up with this bullshit when he could have been doing something more agreeable, like plotting how to grow his wealth or making a woman gasp with the things his tongue could do.
The traditions come first, Devon heard his father’s voice echoing in his ears, always there like a bad migraine whenever he tried to stray too far from what was expected. He sighed, his golden eyes switching from Remington to the other two.
“What say you?” he asked, turning to Cillian, whose emerald green eyes were brimming with mirth. He hoped for reason, but he knew that he would get none from Cillian Greenmeadow when it meant lessening a Bluewing’s irritation.
Easy for him to think this funny. No one’s making him bow to rules so old that the only beings we could reign over when they were devised were lizards and the occasional mammoth, Devon thought darkly, trying to keep his hands from balling into fists.
“I think the southerner has a point,” Cillian said casually, quirking a brow and tossing a look at Remington. “Our fathers ran the council based on the old rules. If we want to toss those out the window now, we better have a damn good reason for it. And I don’t think we currently do,” he offered, shrugging his shoulders. The blonde man, who completed their circle, Alexander Goldplains, nodded as well, scarce of words as he usually was.
Whenever Devon saw the golden dragon without his twin brother Apollo, the livelier of the two, he had to wonder if perhaps Apollo had laid claim to all the words allocated to the pair, and he simply sent Alexander off to grunt and grumble in response. He’d have to ask Apollo that the next time he saw the man at a poker table in Vegas.
If there is another time, he thought bitterly.
Devon could feel his dragon roar and thrash at the idea that the rest of the council presented, the animal coiling into a tight ball and then lashing out within him, pressing against the very edges of his consciousness with its demands to be let free and sort this matter with strength, not rules. He’d always preferred a good fight over hours and hours of arguments, but it seemed that his fellow council members were more civilized than he had hoped.
If some blood was spilled, things would be so much easier – that much he and his dragon could agree upon. But more than anything, he wished to be somewhere far from here and if that place had champagne, hot women and plenty of gold, it would just be an additional boon. He could have been hoping for the ability to turn water into gold for how likely that was to happen.
He pulled a hand through his short, dark hair, which was slicked back and formed long, needle-like scales on his scalp. He was almost smothered in the obnoxiousness of the utter glee he could feel wafting from Remington. Of course Remington liked the idea he was proposing. After all, he was the only one who matched the criteria. Devon’s muscles tensed at the very thought of letting Remington Redblade become the Head of Council.
His family had been nothing more than worthless for centuries – his father had been a letch and there wasn’t a Redblade yet, who could be counted on in battle. The last thing the dragons of Treasure Lane needed right now was a dragon like Remington leading them. Devon could see the destruction and failure that was likely to come if a man with Remington’s lack of character was given the title and the power that came with being Head of Council.
H
is hands rolled into fists in earnest now, and he had to focus hard on keeping his dragon at bay. Wouldn’t do him any good to outright kill one of the last surviving members of the four dragon families of Treasure Lane. No matter how much he wanted to.
“So allow me to reiterate,” Devon said, casting his eyes upward and seeing the sky turning steadily from pleasant blue to murky red and cloudy, rainclouds forming all around them. He knew very well that it was all his doing, but he didn’t have the energy to hide his frustration right now. They’d just have to deal with it.
“What we are saying is that the four dragon houses of Treasure Lane have decided that for the Bluewings to remain as the Head of Council, I must follow the old rules to the letter. Meaning, a bounty of fifteen million in gold paid to the council’s coffers, as I have already done,” he said, ignoring the wind that blew past them as they stood on the roof of his family’s home, overlooking Gold Valley and everything his kin had spent generations building.
If he had to keep talking for long, that breeze wouldn’t just be wind anymore, it would be a hurricane.
“I must put forth a new set of guidelines to be followed by each house for the remainder of my reign, ensuring that our gold supply stays consistent and our enemies behave, including rules of combat in case of war with any other areas,” he continued, each word coming out more strained than the previous. “And I must marry before the next gold moon, meaning within three weeks at the latest.”
Remington’s eyes blazed at the last bit, his smirk growing wider.
“It is the only way, yes,” Remington said.
Oh, Devon could see his dragon so clearly behind those light, menacing eyes of his. Out of the four men present, Remington was the only one who had taken a wife (much to the chagrin of said wife, Devon mused), and his house was the next in line for the council. For the umpteenth time, Devon wished his forefathers had had the good sense of just killing the Redblade kin altogether, instead of welcoming them into the council – a bit of a Bluewing tradition, wishing death on Redblades. A rare ancient rite of passage Devon wasn’t keen on breaking.
“Sounds about right,” Cillian confirmed, smiling like a man with tickets to the best show in town.
All around the same age, the four dragons of Treasure Lane had all been extensively groomed and prepared for the day their fathers would pass and it would be their turn to stand in the name of continuing the dragonkin traditions. Aside from Remington, Devon got the feeling that his co-council members were not entirely ready for all that came with the responsibilities.
At least, he knew that he wasn’t. And while Remington was chomping at the bit to take over, Devon needed no convincing to know that allowing that to happen would spell doom for all of them.
“It is settled then,” Devon said, receiving a nod from the ever-serious Alexander, whose wheaten hair glinted like gold in the last remaining rays of the sun before it was blacked out completely by Devon’s foul mood and the clouds above. “We will meet again during the gold moon, and if I am not wed then, we will have a new Head of Council.”
Just speaking the words made Devon want to break something. Something fragile and priceless, preferably. Or a particular red-scaled dragon, if he had his choice.
Remington sneered, puffing up a bit with anticipation. Clearly, the man did not expect Devon to follow through. In all honesty, Devon couldn’t blame him – he wasn’t entirely convinced he would do it either. He watched as one by one, the dragons of Treasure Lane changed from their human forms to their dragon bodies, making the mountains shudder with their roars as the beasts were finally freed from their human confines, and the trees shake from the wind as they spread their wings, their massive bodies distinctively graceful as they took to the skies.
“Make sure she’s pretty. Eternity with an ugly hag is not something one should look forward to. And save a bridesmaid for me,” Cillian said with a smirk before the shift took him, getting only a glum glare from Devon in return.
Leave it to the American Irish dragons to make light of things as thoroughly depressing as the situation Devon had been thrown into.
Now, where the hell do I find a bride in three weeks?
***
Devon stood by a window in his study, overlooking the valley. The village was like a little speck of pure gold down there, all the buildings kept in pristine order and the sandy-gold roofs his forefathers had demanded all the buildings have gleaming even in the scantest sunlight. The clouds had begun to disperse slowly as his immediate anger waned and Devon retreated into the quiet calm of the Bluewing mansion.
It was more of a castle, really, all solid rock and polished hardwood floors. Having stood there for centuries, overlooking the valley from a hilltop, it was a testament of the Bluewing fortune. Of course, no one but the dragons themselves really knew how big that fortune truly was, but the piles of gold and riches hidden under the mansion in elaborate tunnels and dark passages were more than enough to warrant bitter feelings when they were put at jeopardy.
Nothing mattered more to a dragon than his possessions, and for Devon, those possessions began and ended with his hoard.
Devon took a sip of whiskey, feeling the alcohol trickle down his throat. It didn’t burn. Few things struck a note with a man, who could breathe fire when he felt like it. Still, the conversation he had had with his fellow council members had left him feeling a bit scorched. Reluctantly, he had to admit that he had known the day would come.
The last council session, held more than a decade ago, had been between the elders of all four houses, and then, the men that had shared the rooftop with him now had been but the eldest sons, one day to wear the heavy crowns of their fathers but not really ready to take over yet.
It felt uncomfortably foreboding that all of the elders had died in quick succession, as they were ought to. The generations tended to wane quickly when their time came, even with the longevity of dragons and their mates. It was always a sign of sad times to come when a dragon died of old age, or a broken heart as several of the old council members had after losing their mates.
The thought brought grim memories to Devon, snapshots of his parents and how their love had made the halls echo with laughter, and how everything had grown cold and dark when Gabriella, his mother, had died.
The chilliness was still in the hallways, even after his father’s passing. It seemed that bringing light to his home was not something Devon alone could do. Then again, he wasn’t exactly in the mood to bring joy into the house at the very moment. Having it stark and dreary worked just fine for him.
The musty air of the mansion tickled his nose, and his expression remained stony. The eldest of the Bluewing brothers, it had become his job as head of the family to take on any and all responsibilities his father had had. While his brothers partied in Monaco and guarded their vast family fortunes in Costa Rica, here he was, looking out at an unassuming little village in Colorado, tasked with having to find a wife.
How the mighty have fallen, he mused grimly, swishing the liquid around in the glass.
He heard a small crackling noise, and looking down, he cursed under his breath. He’d squeezed the glass so hard that it had cracked. Downsides of countless eons of dragon magic – it was hard to control, no matter the form it took. That, and he was just damn aggravated. Devon set the glass down, raising his hand to his neck and letting his fingertips trace the slim, tasteful gold chains around it.
Like any dragon, he liked keeping a part of his hoard close to him. Unlike the dragons in Asia and Africa, though, he wasn’t completely ostentatious about it. Little good could come from letting everyone know of his wealth in the land of cutthroats and thieves – though most of them were kept out by the dragon magic that protected Treasure Lane. Still, as the dragons grew fewer in the lands, so did the magic grow weaker, and Devon had the grim feeling that one day, his magic wouldn’t be enough to protect what was his.
Just days before his father’s passing, he had been partying in LA, drinking unt
il he couldn’t see straight, buying any business, property and woman he fancied and generally living the dream. And now, here he was, without anything to amuse him and no chance of leaving for longer than a few days. One had to protect the hoard, that he couldn’t deny – even if he wanted to stray further, his dragon would bring him back. There was no rest when his gold was not near or under the scrutiny of someone he trusted.
And these days, he wasn’t even sure if he could trust his younger brothers, Donovan and Demetrius. If one of them had been tasked with the burden now set on Devon, he wasn’t so sure if they’d answer the call. While he was a partying letch, the twins were in a class all of their own. It was best to keep them in Monaco and Costa Rica, where the worst foes they would have to battle were a sunburn and a hangover. At least until they grew up, anyway.
So, what is a dragon to do when faced with boredom in a place with little to do?
He had already done all he could think of. The remodeling of the mansion was well under way and the hoard had been carefully counted and cataloged as soon as the dragon royals had left after the funeral. The passing of a dragon was never a sad time – it signified that they had been given a chance to move on as elders and allowed to guard the Great Hoard. Knowing his father, Devon was sure the old grouch was glad to be back with his mother.
When the ceremonies had been taken care of, Devon had become painfully aware of how little there was to do at his family home. In a fit of desperation, he’d surveyed the bounty that Gold Valley paid the Bluewings each year, and upped it by more than a third after seeing that his father had neglected to do so for a decade. It was only just, he thought, seeing as those people only had jobs and incomes because of the Bluewings.
