by Anya Nowlan
“I hear you’ve found a bride,” Remington said, turning to face the red sunset dancing behind the mountains.
“Who told you?” Anger threatened to consume Devon. How did the bastard Redblade know already? It didn’t take a leap of imagination to figure out that this could mean nothing good. His worry for Gemma tripled, and he wished he had her by his side now. At least then he could protect her.
“Oh, a little golden birdy,” Remington said, a distinctive slither to his words that made Devon’s skin crawl.
“That still doesn’t tell me what you want. What could be so urgent that it couldn’t wait until the gold moon?” Devon asked. The red glow of the sunset that settled around Remington made the wiry, strong man look even more menacing than he usually did. Devon didn’t trust him any further than he could throw him.
“I thought you would offer to introduce me to your bride, Bluewing. Isn’t it custom to show one’s friends his betrothed after she has been marked?” Remington asked, but the glance he gave Devon told him that there was no doubt that Remington already knew that Gemma wasn’t marked yet.
The marking of a dragon’s bride was a sacred, intensely personal thing and one that was not to be taken lightly. Not only was Remington toying with Devon’s patience, he was also getting dangerously close to insulting Gemma.
“You are not my friend, Redblade. And my bride is not for you to approve or disapprove,” Devon said, his words just a cover for the threat that rumbled in his tone. It was impossible to mistake for anything but a very clear sign for the red dragon to go quickly before his patience truly ran thin.
Remington smiled, shrugging with casual ease, as if nothing in the world was wrong at all.
“Careful, Bluewing. You never know when you might just need old enemies as new friends. But I can take a hint. I think it would be best if you go spend some time with your woman then. Who knows how long that newfound bliss lasts, hmm?”
Devon cocked a brow at his words, barely keeping the rage inside of him at bay. He hadn’t been noticing, but he was blocking the only door that led down into the mansion with his body, as if willing the other man to keep away from Gemma with pure physical presence alone. He didn’t like the way he spoke, though, and an icy fear gripped his heart.
What is he plotting? The fuck could he be up to? If he harms one hair on Gemma’s head…
With most of the dramatics spared, Remington shifted back with elegant ease. His body elongated and burst with red scales, covering him from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. His transformation was effortless and fast, and before Devon could get very far with his dark thoughts, the man had turned and swooped off of the roof, his gigantic wings carrying him towards the mountains in the distance with just a few motions.
As soon as Remington had cleared the roof, Devon spun around on his heel and ran back into the mansion.
“Gemma!” he called out as his feet hit the stairs, flying down the steps. He yelled her name as he ran through the corridors, fear pumping the cold through his veins, replacing the blazing heat that was usually there. He knew something was wrong. It had to be. “Gemma!” he growled, coming to the corridor that led to their bedrooms and almost colliding with the wall as he took a sharp left towards her door.
From a distance, he could see that her door was open and warm light spilled out into the corridor.
Fuck, no! Let her be okay! He thought frantically, his hands balled into fists and his dragon fighting to be released.
When he came to her doorway, he stopped, gripping the doorframe with both hands. Her room looked like she had just been there – heavy leather bound tomes were scattered on the bed sheets and the pillow still had a dent where her head had rested. And right there, in the middle of the room on the plush Persian rug sat the gold, emerald and sapphire bangle she had worn when he had made love to her. Bile wanted to rise up in his throat.
“Gem…” he murmured, the full realization of what had happened to her descending down upon his shoulders, threatening to bring him to his knees. But he didn’t crumble. Through the numbness, his dragon roared, and with that, the ice in his veins was replaced with fire once more. Someone had taken his princess. And they weren’t going to fucking get away with it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Gemma
All Gemma could see was red. Her mouth tasted of copper, and when she opened her eyes enough to peek out from under her long lashes, the world had seemed to take on a distinct red hue. A small moan tumbled over her lips, and just hearing the noise made her head throb with pain. She closed her eyes again. Experimentally, she tried moving her limbs a little, only to find that her wrists were bound together behind her back. For some reason, that didn’t surprise her.
Where the hell am I… Devon!
Gemma hurt all over and a steady, sullen ache took her whole body and blanketed her with its icy grasp. Faintly, she could tell that the room she was in was warm, and whatever she was lying on felt soft and downy. Not exactly the situation one expected to wake up in with tied wrists and a headache unlike any other.
Gemma blinked again, trying to get her bearings. The room smelled and felt different from her bedroom in Devon’s mansion, so she knew she wasn’t there. Though the throbbing in her head left little room for any conscious thought, she tried her best to remember what had happened. Through a haze of pain, she could remember reading another book of dragon lore and their ancient traditions, when Jolly had burst in through her door, wearing a sneer both terrifying and disgusting at the same time.
She’d scrambled away from him across the bed, immediately sensing that he had bad intentions, but the vile little man had grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her down to the floor.
She remembered struggling, but he was so much stronger even with his portly stature. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was him reaching for the heavy tome of a book and smacking her over the head with it. That’s where her memory stopped.
The pulsing bump on the side of her head must have been where he hit her. It radiated stinging spider webs of cold through her, and it was only through desperate determination that she managed to open her eyes again, blinking them a few times when they filled up with tears.
Just breathe, Gemma… Focus, she told herself, willing herself to be bigger than the pain. Deep breaths gave way to some relief, and soon, she could open her eyes in earnest, as fuzzy as her sight currently was. Her suspicions were confirmed – she was in an unfamiliar bedroom, tied up on a bed that was as wide as it was tall, and the red she had seen came from the maroon red and gold wallpaper she had been staring at. Whoever had decorated that place had a real preference for the blood shades – everything from the walls to the bed sheets was crimson.
Just as she was turning around, trying to figure out where the hell she was and why she was brought there, the door leading into the room creaked open. Hurried footsteps trundled in, and before Gemma could try to turn around, the sneering face of Jolly appeared in her vision. He was carrying a small washbasin, and the glee in his eyes made him worthy of his name for the first time ever. He truly was glad to see her in her weak, powerless state – there was no doubt about that.
“Jolly… What… what’s going on?” she asked, her voice alien to her.
The man chuckled merrily, setting the basin down next to the bed and soaking a washcloth in it. He dabbed it to the bump on her head, and her vision blurred again, threatening to drag her back into the darkness of unconsciousness once more. She screamed in pain, but he just hushed her and did it again.
“Shut up, princess,” he said, the last word coming out like an insult, and Gemma was sure he meant it just as it sounded.
The white washcloth came away from her head dappled with blood. It went gruesomely well with the general décor of the room. Gemma felt sick to her stomach. She tried to lean away from him when he moved in to touch the side of her face again, but he snorted with derision and yanked her head back by her hair, cleaning the blood off of her fac
e.
“Stop it. You need to look presentable for Master. He already doesn’t understand why Devon Bluewing would deal with trash like you, and honestly, I share his disbelief.”
“What the hell are you talking about? What Master? Where am I?” Gemma asked, her words running into one another.
More out of instinct than conscious thought, she tried to undo her hands from the ties that bound them, but they were too tight. They felt like leather, and her fingertips could barely reach a metal buckle that must have fastened them together. She was still wearing the V-neck tee and dark jeans she’d been clad in when she was reading in the bedroom.
“You’re with better men now, much better than any Bluewing ever could be. Those flying rodents never knew what true greatness looked like. Not like the Redblades,” he said, wiping the blood from her hair and skin until he seemed to be pleased with the outcome. He pushed back her honey-gold hair, giving her a disgusted look.
“Well, I guess you are pretty enough for a Bluewing. They always had awkward tastes, but you, you’re just the last drop in the proverbial bucket. I can’t believe that my ancestors stomached working for the Bluewings as long as they did… What revolting creatures. Stealing my ancestors from their true masters and making us stoop and bow for them as if we were no better than the dirt under their shoe.
Never again. With you as my offering, Master Redblade has seen how devoted I am, and finally, things will be put right again. There will be no more of this nonsense with the Bluewings as the Head of Council. No. Remington Redblade would never allow it.”
The little shifter grinned his toothy grin, looking more like a lizard than she’d ever seen him. The specs of gold in his eyes seemed to shimmer with glee, and his whole being oozed satisfaction.
“Why would you do this to me? And what has Devon ever done to you?” Gemma asked, disbelief ringing in her words.
This couldn’t be happening, right? Just a few weeks ago, she’d come back home, looking forward to a calm, happy kind of life. And instead, she’d somehow got dragged into some kind of dragon turf war, complete with betrayal and violence. What was even more surprising than the fact that something like that could still happen in the 21st century, was that she was as outraged by Jolly’s betrayal of Devon as she was at being knocked over the head with a book that weighed at least four pounds and being abducted.
Her gut twisted with anger and resentment for the short, stubby betrayer, and if she hadn’t been quite so thoroughly incapacitated, she would have lunged at him and shown him what a princess she really was. Damnable little imp.
And why do I care? But I do, don’t I…
The realization was staggering, and Gemma made a mental note to file it away for later. Could it be that she was developing real feelings for Devon? Hell, or not even just developing, had them already? Another absolutely superb thing to figure out and worry about when you were being held by a crazy madman and his dragon overlord.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Jolly scoffed, throwing the now blood-soaked rag back into the bowl. “Dayton Bluewing had his flaws, but at least he knew how to follow tradition. When he had to choose a bride, he did it the right way – having Gold Valley offer all of their virgins for him to choose from and picking the fairest of them. Devon, he is barely worthy of the Bluewing name to begin with, even if it is a weak name in comparison to the Reblade’s.
Between the rest of the brothers drinking and making fools of themselves across the world and Devon’s choices, I couldn’t stand it any longer. And you… You mean nothing in this. You’re just a pawn, although the pawn that set forth the destruction of the little Bluewing kingdom.” Jolly smiled toothily, an almost predatory grin that she hadn’t thought was in him.
“Devon isn’t worth my worship or the time my ancestors gave him. And you certainly aren’t. You’re no princess.” With those words, he stood up, taking the basin so roughly that the bloody water sloshed over the sides and onto the plush black and crimson carpet in front of the bed.
“I never claimed to be a princess!” Gemma railed weakly, her eyes prickling with tears. She wasn’t sure why she was crying. She didn’t feel weak or powerless. Incapacitated and stripped of her capabilities – yes, but not without any means to fight. It was just that the way Jolly had said those things, as if she were the reason why Devon’s dazzling life was crumbling into bits, somehow struck the wrong nerve in her.
Gemma Teeley had never wanted to be a princess, and now here she was, bringing down kingdoms and cutting down kings where they stood just with her presence. It was all a bit overwhelming. And, most of all, she wished she could be with Devon right now. He would know what to do.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Gemma
Gemma stood awkwardly in the middle of a big study, lavished with gold and silver trim wherever she looked. Everything oozed money and wealth, from the hardwood floors to the high ceilings and the ostentatious decorations. Where the Bluewing mansion was overbearing (and it could have been much worse, knowing what the Bluewings were hiding under the house in those big vaults), the Redblade was that, times three.
There was no coyness of self-control here. Anyone visiting the building had to be immediately aware of everything they had. The gold, gems and impossible riches were glaringly obvious. Even the legs on the chairs were dotted with expensive gems – mostly rubies and pearls.
Gemma felt uncomfortable amidst all of it, though the fact that Jolly was standing behind her, looking like he’d be more than happy to whack her over the head with something hard again, certainly didn’t make her any more at ease. And Remington Redblade staring at her like she was there to bring his personal salvation didn’t help either.
The man gave her the creeps. He was handsome as hell – as all dragons seemed to be – but the way his cold gray eyes roamed her body, as if wondering exactly what Devon had done to her, made her tremble with disgust. She didn’t like the way he eyed her, to say nothing about what she thought about him having her brought there to begin with.
He was sitting in a high-backed leather chair, and Gemma had been brought straight to him after Jolly had cleaned her up enough to look ‘presentable’. She peeked out of the tall floor to ceiling window (just like the ones Devon preferred) overlooking a stretch of thick forest and unfamiliar mountains looming in the distance. She certainly wasn’t in Gold Valley anymore. And Treasure Lane was a big place to be lost in…
“Thank you, Jolly. You’re excused. Wait behind the door while I have a chat with Miss Teeley, will you.”
Remington’s voice was buttery smooth, and his saccharine smile made Gemma crinkle her nose. Devon might have that holier-than-thou air about him, but at least he never pretended to be anyone he wasn’t. This man was just a snake, she could tell on first impressions alone.
“Now, Miss Teeley, or Gemma, I think it is. I think we’ve found ourselves in quite the predicament, wouldn’t you say?” He smiled again, and Gemma could imagine with vivid clarity how she would punch his long, elegant nose in if her hands weren’t tied. He was seated just a few feet away from her, but he made no effort to offer her a seat or untie her hands.
“I would,” she agreed noncommittally, her lips thinning into a line.
“I can see what Devon sees in you. Though I imagine Jolly wouldn’t. The lizards never did have great taste in women, I’m afraid. But I’m surprised, really. I thought Devon would try and pass one of his model conquests as a dragon bride. Wouldn’t that be utter nonsense? I always figured he had to be using them more for show than for function,” Remington said, obviously talking more to himself than her.
Gemma had to agree with his commentary though – Devon choosing one of the leggy things he showed up with on tabloids would certainly have made a lot more sense. But she’d been reading enough lately to get a very distinct feelings that dragons loved some curves on a woman, and every illustration she’d ever seen of a dragon bride looked peculiarly like her. They certainly had a type. She had to appreciate men who knew what
they liked, especially if it included men like Devon Bluewing.
“Now, tell me, why do you think you’re here, my sweet?”
Gemma shrugged, wincing a little as the motion sent another burst of pain running through her spine.
“I don’t know. I’m guessing it has something to do with your issues with the Bluewings. Though I’m pretty sure your family has deserved everything it’s got from them,” Gemma remarked, quirking a brow.
Remington’s sweet smile twisted and contorted a little, hiding the face of a handsome man behind a mask of predatory rage. Oh, she’d hit a nerve alright.
“What would you know about the Redblades and the Bluewings! And a human bitch like you could never really comprehend what the dragon hierarchies mean or why they are as they are…”
“Oh, I think I understand, alright. You’re still sore because your forefathers got their leathery asses kicked by dragons stronger and better than them, and you think kidnapping the fiancée of a Bluewing dragon is going to somehow break him… Hey, news for you, Redblade, I’m not afraid of you, and Devon’s going to take down your ass and plonk it right back into the Stone Age where you belong.”
Her tone got increasingly louder and her expression was tinted with anger. Okay, so she might have been taking this pretty seriously. A girl was allowed to get stark raving mad when an asshole dragon kidnapped her, right? And not even the dragon she liked! This whole dragon bride thing was getting a bit… difficult, to say the least.
Remington seemed to press down his fury somewhere deep within him, and the smile perched back on his lips. He got out of the chair – limber and elegant compared to Devon’s strong and fast movements – and crossed the distance between them. He stood in front of her, looming over her at least a foot taller, his wide shoulders strung with strength and his scent filling her nostrils with a certain twang of mahogany and bitter chocolate.
