Tempt the Dragon--An Afrofuturist Paranormal Romance

by A. C. Arthur

  “I choose me, Aiken.” Shaking her head and daring the tears to fall in front of him. “I’m always going to choose me.”

  When she walked away, Aiken didn’t follow or even call after her. Pain and an unfamiliar white-hot heat seared through her chest, burning any and everything there, leaving nothing but a blistering cold in its wake.

  Chapter One

  Burgess

  January

  He wasn’t alone.

  The temperature in the room had kicked up at least two hundred degrees and Aiken’s chest tightened, the beast within on high alert. There was no fear or distress, only a building anticipation that pressed against his human skin with unnatural force. Evil filled this space, its putrid stench lingering in every corner, clogging the air until another, less seasoned preternatural, might succumb to its command. Aiken wasn’t that one.

  In his peripheral, Aiken glimpsed the vamp approaching, a tall one with gangly arms and lethal fangs bared. The metallic gold glow of the creature’s eyes zeroed in on him just before it snarled in a way that announced it was about to pounce. It ran at its full speed, which translated to in the blink of the human eye. Luckily for Aiken, he was seeing through his Drakon eyes and when he settled them on the spear another vamp had thrown at him just moments before, an effortless use of his telekinetic power sent it flying through the air. It landed in the chest of the oncoming vamp with a sickening thud. The vamp was stopped in its tracks, dropping to the floor in a pile of dusky gray ash.

  Normally there would’ve been a feeling of triumph here. He wasn’t the cold-blooded killer of the Legion dragons—that was Mag. Aiken’s focus was normally on getting the job done in as quick and clean a way possible so he could return to more enjoyable tasks such as online shopping or playing pool. Tonight, however, his mood had shifted, yet the man tried valiantly to keep a firm grip on the goal of this mission.

  Floorboards squeaked as he moved, the electricity in the townhouse flickering on and off. He didn’t know if that was because the vamps hadn’t paid their electricity bill or if there was something even more sinister at play. He’d bet money on the latter.

  Aiken’s shoulders tensed as an eerie tugging started in his gut. The beast was stirring in a slow and methodical way, as if it were sensing something that the human had missed. The two worked well together, especially on assignments like this, where their stealth, wit and combined power were required. There’d only been one time the man plus beast duo had failed, but he wasn’t going back to that time. Not ever again. Except, wait, the tugging in his stomach grew stronger, urging him to move in the opposite direction. It had come upon him so quick and intense that for a few seconds he couldn’t move or think past the sensation. Unfortunately, now was neither the time, nor was this the place to stand still and contemplate what might just be a case of tonight’s dinner disagreeing with him.

  Focusing and compartmentalizing were old friends but, in this moment, it took more effort than usual to bring them to the forefront. He needed to move fast to get this job done. His beast’s protest came instantly, with scratching at his insides like nails on sandpaper. It wanted something different. What exactly, he didn’t know. Addressing the distraction with his beast wasn’t an option, as two more vamps were moving fast down a set of stairs, coming up quickly behind him. This time Aiken chose to go hand-to-hand, landing a punch to the first one’s jaw, following it with more hits to its gut before his beast begrudgingly joined the party by adding its force to the punch that sent the vamp flying into a wall. By that time, the next vamp was landing a blow to his lower back. He barely bristled at the contact but spun around, slapping his fingers against the vamp’s neck. With a tight hold on the creature’s throat, Aiken lifted it off its feet and walked it back to a different wall, which cracked upon the forceful contact.

  “You can die tonight, or you can talk.” He adjusted his tone from the easygoing one he usually used. Fanged murderers weren’t inclined to be persuaded by his more charming side. “It’s your choice, asshole.”

  Golden eyes stared back at him and incisors that looked pretty damn sharp were bared and ready to sink into his skin at first opportunity, but fear clogged its lungs and kept it from telling Aiken what he wanted to know.

  “Fuck you.” It was hard for that to come with the force it probably intended with Aiken’s hand crushing the vamp’s windpipe.

  The wicked grin spread quick and felt just as natural as the enhanced strength flowing through his veins. “Wrong answer.” He squeezed harder until he heard the unmistakable crack of bone. Dropping his hand, he backed up seconds before the inevitable spray of ash filled the air.

  Footsteps sounded above him. More vamps, of course, but Aiken was sure the Lord who’d been leading this meeting was long gone by now. That was the vampire they’d needed to capture and get answers from. He was the only one who could stop the vicious killings now plaguing the city and the ominous fate looming over the realms. Aiken gritted his teeth when his gaze was drawn toward a window at the farthest end of the hallway in front of him, his ire at the missed opportunity reaching a boiling point. Vampire Lords were the only ones of their kind who could turn into bats and fly out the window. Of course, Drakon could fly too, but a hundred-foot-tall, two-hundred-eighty-ton dragon would demolish this townhouse and a good portion of the block in the financial district where it was located. His current boss had a rule about them shifting, causing damage and freaking out the humans when it wasn’t absolutely necessary. That meant he couldn’t shift, but he could threaten each vamp left in this place with sudden death if they didn’t tell him what he wanted to know.

  Noting he hadn’t seen his partner since they’d entered the house, he contemplated what his next move would be. He and Ziva had decided to split up. She was covering the basement and first floors and he had the second and third floors. Their intel from investigating the vampires for the past weeks hadn’t been as fruitful as expected. No leads until earlier this evening, when Ziva had come banging on the door to his suite demanding he meet her in the truck pronto. He’d done as she requested because stopping the vamps was a primary objective to the Legion, and because the rendezvous he’d planned for later tonight had canceled. This house was supposed to be packed tonight, with vamps meeting to discuss a big move they’d be taking in Burgess. Enes, the vampire who was helping the Drakon for reasons that still weren’t clear to Aiken, had told Ziva about the meeting.

  Tingling fingertips reminded him that something else besides the current altercation with the vamps was at play here and Aiken looked down to see his claws extended a few inches from his nailbed. With a flick of his hands he pulled them back, frowning at his beast’s insistence that there was something more here, something he was apparently missing while busying himself with the mission. It didn’t matter that he’d tried to ignore every sensation that had felt off tonight, the beast could be as belligerent and insubordinate as Aiken when provoked and the immediate scratch and stretch that made Aiken feel as if his insides were being shredded had him cursing. Despite movement he could hear coming from the floor above, Aiken let the beast lead, moving in the opposite direction of the stairs that would take him up to the third floor. Instead he walked back the way he’d just come, his boots crunching over the ash of the vamp he’d just killed. The sickly sulfuric stench their remnants left behind circled in the air. Energy gathered between his shoulder blades and he continued down the long hallway of the hundred-year-old townhouse. The walls were covered with thick velvet-like paper in a shade that resembled the color of blood. Cherry oak wainscoting lined the lower half of the walls, and his booted steps echoed over natural hardwood floors.

  The beast stopped pushing the moment he stepped up to a window at the farthest end of the hall. Aiken was entertaining this for a moment or two, nothing more. His beast could kiss his ass after that. It was somewhere around one or one thirty in the morning and he should be upstairs killing whatever vamps were
up there to make their point clear. If none of them were going to talk, then they were all going to die. There was no room for negotiation.

  The beast was rising now, filling every crevice of the human body with its thoughts and emotions. It was the latter that concerned Aiken the most. His beast didn’t have emotions, or at least it hadn’t in a very long time. It had been almost eighty years since he’d felt the fire that seemed to melt his human bones, settling in a pool of churning heat that bubbled throughout his body. The human struggled to keep his thoughts separate from the beast’s because to align with it, this time, wasn’t something Aiken thought he wanted. It wasn’t something he thought he could do, not again.

  Then something moved. A ripple in the wallpaper caught his attention but he didn’t turn to stare at it openly. Instead he slid his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, clenching his fingers into tight fists. Sucking in air, letting his nostrils flare so that every scent in this place filled his lungs, he let the breath out in measured puffs, his eyes blinking slowly.

  It couldn’t be.

  He knew that scent. Nobody smelled that way. Not in all the places he’d been, on any of the realms. This scent belonged to one person. It encompassed and draped, covered and ensconced. He took another breath, just to be sure. The beast didn’t need a second take and was already edging the human body in the direction it wanted to go.

  There was movement to his right, the wallpaper again. Silver flecks were embedded in the floral imprint on the crimson velvet. It glistened with the next wave in the otherwise flat surface. Aiken let his head drop, watching the portion of the lower panel pucker until a long cylinder bump inched in the opposite direction from where he stood.

  Instinct alone had him reaching out to the wall. There was a gasp and then a curse before she lashed out, swinging first and deciding where her punches would land last. One contacted with his jaw, another landed on his shoulder before he let his hands slide up her torso to grab her wrists, still wrapped in camouflage. Until it melted away, like water disappearing from a glass. Starting at the top of her head, the wine color of the wallpaper drained away until shoulder-length auburn hair styled in springy curls was visible. Her face was turned away from him as the form she’d taken totally dissipated and only the woman was standing in front of him. The chameleon.

  “Mel.” Her name tumbled from his lips with a mix of shock and relief seconds before she yanked her wrists from his grasp, his beast bristling at the lost connection. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Minding my business.” Her tone was the same—irritated, snappish, layered with a pain she’d never admit. He knew he couldn’t forget it, had never even tried.

  “Are you on a job?” She’d already pushed past him and was running down the hall, her long legs covering the distance, plump ass swaying in the tight-fitting jeans she wore. He swallowed and went after her. Something he hadn’t bothered to do eighty years ago.

  This had to be a job and she was undoubtedly still part of the Collectors, the group of bounty hunters hired to retrieve preternatural beings for a price. That’s the only reason she would be here. Pride would never have allowed her to come in search of him.

  Aiken caught up with her just as she hit the top of the stairs and a group of seven vamps came at them. Locking gazes momentarily the years they hadn’t worked as partners seemed to slip away as they mentally set a plan of attack before going in separate directions. Aiken punched one, turned and hit another. He kicked back at one, grabbed another by the collar and tossed it down the stairs. A quick glimpse down the hall and he could see Mel handling herself with the same vicious efficiency. One blow she landed sent a vamp flying straight through a window. Another one was right behind her and for a split second Aiken thought about running to help her, but he didn’t. Memory served him correctly and he grinned when she ducked down, pulled a knife from the side of her boot and turned in just enough time to sink it into the vamp’s stomach.

  Without turning his body completely Aiken swung an arm around, grabbing the vamp that had been running toward him by its neck, and slammed it to the floor. Applying just enough force so its glowing eyes began to bulge he asked, “You wanna tell me what tonight’s meeting was about?”

  The vamp grabbed at Aiken’s arm, using all its strength to try and push it away, but Aiken was ten times stronger and expended little effort to keep the creature down. “One more chance. Who called this meeting and for what?”

  “Suck my di—” He never finished that statement. Aiken partially opened his mouth and shot one lethal line of fire straight into the vamp’s face.

  The stink was sickening as the fire burned off its flesh before making its way through the rest of the body. By then, Aiken had stood and stepped away from the lost cause. Mel’s intense gaze pinned him where he stood and for endless seconds they only stared at each other.

  “Oh great, you struck out too.” Ziva’s voice penetrated the silence. “Nobody wants to talk tonight. Who’s she?”

  Aiken could feel Ziva’s heat signature. She was a volatile Drakon, so she was always on a low simmer. Whereas Mel’s signature barely registered.

  He lifted a hand warning Ziva to stay back. “I’ve got this. Just head to the truck.”

  “Bullshit! If she’s a vamp and you’re gonna get answers, then I want to hear them too.” It was never easy giving Ziva directives. No matter who it was in their clan, her natural instinct was to always push back.

  “I said I got this, Ziva. Now, get to the truck.” He was in command of this mission, no matter what Ziva thought or even if she just didn’t give a damn, which was usually the case. Still, he knew his words were biting, just one more indication that this night wasn’t going as planned.

  For a few muted seconds Ziva appeared surprised at his stinging tone, then her anger showed via the string of lively curse words she tossed at him, before her beast made a rumbling sound and she turned away. “Keep your communicator on to record it. We all know your memory’s not worth crap.”

  He ignored her, focusing his attention on Mel once more. She looked phenomenal in those jeans, black combat boots, what appeared to be a sports bra and a denim jacket. This was the woman he thought he’d never see again, the one who’d broken his heart and walked away eighty years ago. She was the one who’d gotten away and the one whose memory still haunted him in the darkness of night. And she was the only woman he’d ever loved, the one his beast had selected.

  * * *

  “It’s been a long time, Melody.” He was giving her that look. The one that used to have her tearing her clothes off in seconds.

  “Don’t call me that and don’t look at me that way.” She took a step closer to him only because she needed to get control of this situation. It was imperative that she prove she could handle being in this space with him at this moment. “You made me lose him. You, of all people, know that time is money.”

  “What’s the bounty?” His calm demeanor still infuriated her. They’d just killed seven vampires and who knows how many more downstairs and he was standing there talking like they’d just met up by chance on the street.

  She had no idea why he was here, nor did she care. He obviously had his job and she had hers. More importantly, at this moment, she had to get a grip, to still that incessant churning in the pit of her stomach that hadn’t stopped since the last time she’d seen him. “I knew my target was here and then you barged in and I lost him.”

  “How much, Mel? What’s the price for you to bring him in?” He wasn’t asking for a name or what the vampire had done that caused someone to put a bounty on his head. Why did his persistence come off in such a cooler, more focused way than hers? That had always been a question that plagued and irritated her to no end.

  From the day she’d started with the Collectors and later had been paired with Aiken as her trainer, she’d noticed their differences. No matter how many times he’d tried
to tell her they were the same because of the type of beast that loomed inside of them.

  “One million.” Stalling was pointless and would only prolong how much time she’d need to spend in his company. And lying to him had never been an option.

  Mel saw the moment realization hit the russet brown tone of his eyes. The orange that formed a striped pattern when his beast was on full alert had slipped away after the other Drakon left. He’d wanted to look at her with his human eyes, the way he often did. She couldn’t allow herself to be affected by any of this because none of it mattered anymore.

  “Look, I’ve got to get out there and track him again. This client wants a fast turnaround.” It took a moment before she could convince her feet and legs it was time for them to move.

  He stepped in her path as soon as she did. Like a part of her knew he would.

  “How fast?”

  She sighed. “Three days.”

  “You have to find a vampire in three days to claim a million-dollar bounty. It has to be a Lord and since you’re here tonight, I’m guessing it’s the same one we’re looking for.”

  “If you get out of my way, I’ll find him again.” And maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to convince her human self that what the beast inside her wanted was still inconsequential. She didn’t have to give in, she couldn’t give in. Losing herself was not an option.

  “I know you’ll find him, but the next time we’ll be with you. Come on, we’re going to the Office.” He turned away from her, walking in that confident and sexy as hell way he always did. It never occurred to him that she wouldn’t follow or wouldn’t go along with whatever he was planning. That’s because he didn’t know how much she’d changed in eighty years.

  A gust of cold air slapped her in the face the moment she stepped outside. January in Burgess definitely packed an arctic blast. She pulled the lapels of her jacket close around her at the same time Aiken looked over his shoulder.