Grayson lifted her body as he stood. “Fuck. Harlow. What have you done?”
A flash of light caught his attention seconds before glass tumbled out of Harlow’s fingers to clank against the hardwood.
Zane plucked it up and sniffed the contents when his gaze landed on the huge book in the center of the table with remnants of herbs and a few small bags tossed aside. With his thumb, he scraped the porous bottom of the grinding bowl. A tang of copper hit him first and overshadowed all other ingredients.
“You know what this means, right?” Zane had a knack for putting a voice to his own thoughts.
Before he could answer though, thunder rolled over the cabin and the vibrations reached into his body and brought his attention around to the front of the cabin. Floorboards quaked and various items rattled along the fire mantel and tables Harlow positioned all over the damn place. Grayson’s head reared up and his eyes flashed with ire as heavy footfalls grew closer. Silence filled the room seconds before two silhouettes broke from the shadows.
His lips peeled back in warning.
Fucking dragons.
“We have guests.” Grayson bit out the obvious between clenched teeth. “And that explains the blood we scented.” He gave a nod toward the bowl and tucked Harlow between them, his fingers brushing against her neck.
Fear struck dead center but no way in hell these two would touch their mate.
The one sign letting them know Harlow still lived went still. “Zane! Fuck! She’s not breathing.”
Grayson fell to his knees and spread Harlow flat on her back in the middle of the room, the dragons all but forgotten.
One rip and he had her thick sweater split open and smooth skin exposed. Hands poised over her heart, Grayson leaned over and called on his wolf. Energy so white it almost appeared invisible flowed from his hands and fed into Harlow.
“It won’t be enough, Grayson, We’re not mated.” As Zane spoke, he joined their forces. Whatever power they could offer Harlow had to help
“We have to try. Check her pulse.”
“Faint.”
She couldn’t die. They couldn’t fail her. “C’mon, that’s it, breathe, Harlow, breathe, baby girl.” Grayson stole glances toward the door. Night clung to the strangers’ faces, standing watch from the dark, hiding their identity well. He didn’t need to see them to recognize the stench of dragon shifters. Charred cinder mixed with pine of the forest surrounding them, he guessed, and if fresh air could be labeled as a scent, it clung to them too. It filled his nostrils.
Two men stood just outside the door their energy clogging the air.
Bone cracked and the white fur flashed by as Zane bounded in front of him to protect Harlow.
The second dragon shifter, broader than the first with long black hair, pushed forward, dodging Zane’s elongated teeth in a warning snap as he drew too close to Harlow. Lizard boy halted, swiftly crossing his right arm over his chest before bowing his head and taking a left knee.
Not a right knee that signaled surrender during battle. Either was a potentially lethal move with an alpha in protective mode and a sign he hadn’t seen in decades.
“Calm yerself wolf, we mean nae harm to yer mate or ye, but we must move quickly.” Amethyst-rimmed eyes flashed his way with a warning but darted to Harlow and bounced between the mortar bowl and the remnants of whatever potion she concocted.
Zane’s deep growl shifted into a moan. “Can’t say you have good timing, dragon. Why do you require our assistance?”
Both Grayson and Zane recognized the plea for help from a fellow otherworldly. Not many understood the ancient signs and that made him uneasy. Only pack Elders knew of the antiquated practices and it was normally only passed down to warriors like himself and Zane within pack life. For the dragons, it would be within the Draegon Order. That meant...
In an eerily calm voice, the first of the dragons who stood closest spoke up. “It is yer mate we seek. Where is the vial of blood? Show us how much blood she drank so we c’n help.” Violent waves of energy raked through Harlow at that moment, and Grayson pushed thoughts of ancient warriors to the side.
On some level, relief filled him for any kind of reaction from Harlow. It meant she still lived, which meant they had a chance.
“Move aside, wolf.”
Grayson Growled in warning as the dragon moved to approach.
“Please. I c’n help.”
Ice wrapped around his heart and for a split second and all he could think about was their last kiss. Her sweet taste on his lips, the way she curled into their bodies as they worshipped her luscious curves. How her feminine scent consumed his senses. Living without her beautiful brown eyes and sweet smile would kill them both.
“Hurry.” Grayson gave a curt nod. They were out of time. Either they let them help or Harlow would die. His heightened hearing noted her faint heartbeat that grew weaker with every pump. He locked gazes with Zane. They pulled back a step in unison, then two, but both stayed close enough just in case.
The dragon shifter pushed forward and knelt beside Harlow. Lizard boy slung off his leather trench coat and shoved up his sleeve to reveal another sleeve of inked runes that wrapped around his forearm and disappeared beneath his shirt. With one hand poised above her chest in the same location as they’d had theirs, blue fire traveled the length of his shoulder, down the crook of his elbow and fed directly into Harlow’s heart. Each rune fired up as they inked out ancient magic to save their mate’s life.
Words fell from the dragon’s lips in a long-forgotten tongue older than Grayson could date.
In a more forceful voice he added, “My name is Xierrah of the Draegon Warriors.” He meant ancient dragon from a twice as ancient order known as the Draegons. The tats, the sword on his waist and epic level of juju younger generations didn’t possess explained a lot. As did the accent—Scottish from the brogue that clung to his words. What none of that explained was their presence in Sleepy Briar. Nor why their witch pinged on an antiquated order’s radar?
Zane visibly tensed beside him. “You’re rumored to be extinct. Among other things.”
“Aye, among other things.” A small smile lifted the right side of his mouth a second before all signs of their exchange erased from his face. All his attention focused on Harlow.
“C’mon. Hold her down.” Man of little words.
Grayson stepped closer with Zane taking his place beside Harlow’s feet. Zane tightened his grip on Harlow’s ankles as Grayson locked her shoulders against the hardwood as wave after wave of raw energy fed into her from Xierrah, causing her body to buck. Instinct raged inside him to throw the dragon shifter off his mate, but he held steady. Barely—and only for her.
“What are you doing?” Before the dragon could explain, a fire started in the center of Harlow’s chest and grew from there. But there were no live flames, only energy. Gold fused with sapphire until every cell of her body lit with an ethereal blanket of light.
Xierrah yanked his hand back, breaking the connection. “Och. Not sure if that will be enough.” A puzzled look crossed his face. “I thought wolves claimed their mates? You didn’t tell me she is unmarked.” He made a sound deep in his throat that sounded like tearing papers, but was distinctly Scottish.
Call him old-fashioned, but he didn’t see the need to explain their decision to not mark their mate to complete strangers. Instead of saying that out loud, he pegged the dragon man with a look that conveyed his message.
“Aye. If that’s how ye’ve been playin’.” Shaking his head with obvious confusion, Xierrah rocked back on his shit-kickers until he was eye level with him and Zane. “Because ye havenae I don’t know if she’ll survive drinking our blood. Simple as that.”
So that was what she’d done.
He asked as much, needing to hear it from someone who knew what the hell was going on. “What usually happens when your blood is used in magic?”
“All depends on the spell. From the power I sense and the age of that spell, I’m
goin’ to say yer witch lost something and wanted it back bad enough to perform some shady magic. Not black, but nah white either.” Xierrah gave a curt nod toward the book on the table. “That spellbook holds more than a few cures if ye know what I mean.”
He did, to an extent.
That wasn’t the whole story, but the person he needed to ask needed him to focus on stabilizing her before he could interrogate her. Harlow’s skin burned blazing hot beneath his touch. Grayson and Zane jerked their hands back. “How is she still breathing?” No way she’d survive much longer. He didn’t see how she still lived now.
“She wonnae be fer long. I... This has never happened. Nae that I’ve seen. If she goes any longer without yer mark even if ye cannae fully claim her… She needs help shoulderin’ the power.” Xierrah rolled his shoulders in a shrug and cocked a brow at them as if they should know this shit already. Truth be told, it fucking ate him alive that he didn’t. “It’s the only way to balance the forces that war inside her. For now. Even that isn’t a promise, but I do know she needs our healer. She’s versed in the ancient magic and fer yer mate’s sake, luck would have it she has two of ye to draw on to help her survive the time it takes to get to the healer.” The second dragon who had stayed quiet up until now stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of a blade similar to Xierrah’s that hung to mid-thigh tucked beneath a long coat. His wolf scented the ancient power that mirrored Xierrah’s. Brothers?
“Aye. Mark her and tame some of the energy warrin’ in her. We need to pony up and get the fuck outta here. Trust us or let her die. Choice is yer own.”
Please didn’t seem to be a favorable word in their vocabulary, but Grayson appreciated the direct approach more anyway. Something in him believed the dragon meant well. Otherwise, both of them would already be staining Harlow’s wood floors with blood. They wouldn’t go down without a fight, but it would be a close call. Alpha blood made him and Zane strong. However, dragons carried a strength no one could best for centuries. He didn’t see that changing.
Grayson moved quickly. With Harlow’s limp body pinned between them for support, he took one side as Zane took the other. The world shifted to the monotone shades of gray, and together they sank their fangs as gently as possible into the soft flesh between her neck and shoulder. Mashed-up images bombarded him. Some of Harlow, others of Zane. Then there was so much pain. He could hardly draw a breath from the wall of compounded magic pressing into him.
Thousands of razors slit across his flesh. Warm blood spilled over skin, rushed behind his eyes, as an iron fist squeezed the life from his heart.
“Her pulse, Grayson. Her pulse—it’s gone.” Zane shoved at his shoulder, drawing him back to the surface.
His eyes shot to Harlow as chimes rang in the background. On the last stroke of midnight, Harlow’s heart stopped and she lay dead in their arms.
They had failed her.
Chapter Two
Two hours earlier.
Harlow Winters glanced at her watch. At ten o’clock on a Friday night, she’d officially become a full-fledged criminal. “For real, I need a brain scan.” She muttered more to herself than the crazy man chasing her through the darkened hallways of the Silver Circle. Warlock or shifter she couldn’t tell.
“Come ou’ ya lit’le bitch, I c’n smell ya and I c’n smell ’em, too.”
Smell who, too? Only thing she smelled was wet dog and the rotting stench of black magic.
A gargled, scratchy voice ping-ponged off the high walls and echoed over the entire open-style library deep in the bowels of the Circle’s headquarters.
She switched her phone into silent mode and shoved it into her back pocket.
Who the hell talked like that? Every warlock she knew walked around with a golden horseshoe shoved up their asses and had the pedigree to back it up. Hell, the entire Circle suffered from a plight of wealth and prestige. It came with the territory of blackmail and deception. And war, she mentally added. War always brought wealth for the winning side and the last one to occur left the Silver Circle with a fat horde every otherworldly Royal house turned green over. Except for werewolf and dragon shifters.
She hugged the wall for any kind of protection between her. She strained her ears for approaching footfalls to pinpoint his location but found only silence. Maybe she’d managed to ditch him? Peering around the corner, a bright burst of light caught her shoulder, and she ducked around the corner.
Ok. Definitely warlock.
Whew. Harlow blew out a couple of breaths.
“That almost took my damn eyelashes!”
A few milliseconds slower and it would have probably taken more than just hair.
Another ball of flaming magic barreled toward her and slammed into the tall pine bookshelf, which knocked her backward into another shelf with large tomes and countless smaller parchments. Book after book crashed to the floor with a loud thud.
Shit, she was so screwed. Did anyone know how to write in shorthand? These big ass books were going to be the death of her.
On one hand, the spell thrown at her provided enough light to see where her next move would lead her. The only problem was the little ball of light happened to be a very displeased orb of magic, juiced with enough to light up a small town. Unfortunately, it also had a very ticked-off warlock behind the wheel with a bone to pick.
So maybe, hijacking a couple of books from the Silver Circle’s vault was a big no-no after all. By now, she supposed an apology and a smile wouldn’t help her cause any. Hitting her pursuer’s teammate over the head with a brass divider didn’t exactly say hello in the right tone, either.
She dived to the side, barely missing the massive thousand-page tome that landed with a thud on the marble flooring in the spot she’d vacated only a second before. It took her twice as long to realize it missed and she hadn’t turned into a ghost.
Black and ivory tentacle-looking fumes of magic burst three feet from the center of the book before taking a nosedive, effectively slamming the pages closed.
Eyes wide, she could only stare at the book. “That’s new.”
She’d seen magic do a lot of things, but whipping out of a book all by itself was up there the unexplainable. She edged closer for a peek at the title.
“You gotta be kidding.” She cracked a smile and shook her head. Grayson and Zane would get a kick out of that. Irony, the tricky bitch, had a sense of humor and she never failed. Staring back at her in a flourish of fourteenth-century gold and scarlet calligraphy read: “How to Protect Against Wards and Black Magic.”
Pressed flat against a bookshelf, Harlow peeled her back off the wood far enough to steal a peek around the corner, her new location half masked by the cart of library books she’d abandoned before clocking out of work earlier that evening. Score one for the librarian.
A deep hum filled the room as yet another ward sprang to life. A massive army of tiny golden balls zoomed beneath the arched entryway and fanned out across the massive chamber like a swarm of large fireflies.
“Shit!”
She could have used that book on ward protection about fifteen minutes ago when she’d tripped the one placed on the Silver Circle’s secret vault that had warned the warlock currently trying to kill her there was an intruder.
She’d somehow missed that ward which was a puzzle in itself. She never missed a ward. They were her thing along with healing potions.
Rookie move, sweet pea! Her father’s words played in her head.
Wards served as alarms for the magic folk. Pre-made spellwork, when done right, hid things from the humans, such as the actual gigantic size of the Silver Circle’s palace to the smaller things such as hidden sections within the castle-like fortress that held books the Silver Circle would rather keep hidden.
But they’d left her with no choice.
If she wanted her magic back, this was the only way even if it all stood a good chance of blowing up in her face.
Her nails bit into the wood as one of the warded orbs drifted do
wn the opposite aisle within inches of her position. She clung to the rapidly reducing amount of shadows to hide in. Ignoring the fact her lungs cried for a deep gulp of air, she froze. If luck had any say in tonight’s events, the nasty ball of death would confuse her for one of the many statues scattered throughout the library.
The magic may seem pretty on the outside, all sparkles and glitter, but the truth of the matter was those things went off at the slightest twitch of movement and would send you on a nice, long trip with the reaper.
That cloaked bastard didn’t know the meaning of second chances.
Despite her less than noble actions tonight, kicking the cauldron didn’t have a slot on her agenda of sticking it to the Circle. Harlow squished her panic into the tiny black box it had come from in the corner of her heart and let her eyes slip closed.
Inhale. Exhale. Goddesses she wished she’d waited for her guys to help her on this recon mission. Three were better than one.
Chocolate cherries, strawberry tarts, raspberry squares...
Her heart slowed and her breathing plateaued.
One by one, she rattled off her favorite childhood treats as she followed the shadow of the guard out of the corner of her eye.
Her mom had taught her as a girl to think of something that made her happy when an ugly situation knotted up her insides. She liked sweets, and chocolate always made her happy. It was that or tick off every place she’d gone down on her men or them on her. That list was shorter, even if more interesting.
With her eyes closed, Harlow listened as Zane had shown her, which heightened her senses. Only silence came back.
Not a good sign.
She twitched her fingers wishing for the millionth time she could pull her powers around her like a shield. But there was nothing more than a hollow ache.
Every Sunday her father would spend a few hours with her practicing spellwork. If she’d done well, afterward he’d let her have a go at counter-spelling his wards. She loved every minute of their time together and loved to push her skills at conjuring protection spells. It made the deep ache in her soul weep all the more for her stripped powers.
Twice Mated Page 2
