Deception
Dragon Protectors Series
Laxmi Hariharan
13 Suns
Contents
Part I
Preface
1. Pandora
2. Rage
3. Pandora
4. Rage
5. Pandora
6. Rage
7. Pandora
8. Rage
9. Pandora
10. Rage
11. Pandora
12. Rage
13. Pandora
Part II
14. Rage
15. Rage
16. Pandora
17. Rage
18. Pandora
19. Rage
20. Pandora
21. Rage
22. Pandora
23. Rage
24. Pandora
25. Rage
Part III
26. Pandora
27. Rage
28. Rage
29. Pandora
30. Rage
31. Pandora
32. Rage
33. Dora
34. Rage
35. Dora
36. Rage
37. Dora
About the Author
Part I
Preface
Inscription in the Grand Dragon Hall of Mauritania
Anger is the best weapon in response to a threat
1
Pandora
Her legs trembled as she tried to sit up. Her right shoulder screamed from where the Elysian bounty hunter had tackled her and brought her down. She and her brother had been captured trying to escape. She was locked up in a room inside the Elysian rebel faction’s headquarters on Seychelles.
Her throat felt raw even though she hadn’t spoken a word since she’d been captured.
At least Bran was still alive. She was going to make sure he stayed safe. Even if it meant she sacrificed herself.
The door opened, and the metallic scent of sulfur pervaded the air. Darkness bled into her senses on the psychic plane, and she almost gagged. Tibor stepped into the room.
His features were frozen, his dark eyes like pools of black gold. His white shirt looked tailor-made to fit the breadth of his shoulders.
At the same time, she reached inside herself and, pulling on the last of her energy reserves, she slammed down a shield on the psychic plane.
The dark poison of Tibor’s psyche retreated.
Her shoulders sagged with relief. Air rushed into her lungs. She forced herself to meet his gaze.
“Where’s my brother?” She was proud her voice sounded strong. Her heart hammered, threatening to break through her rib cage.
“He’s safe…for now.” The rebel leader’s jaw hardened.
Frustration welled up, and she bit her lip. “What do you want?”
“For an empath, you do always surprise by coming straight to the point.” His voice was hollow, his stare relentless. It was as if his soul had been sucked away to be replaced by an oozing nothingness that was worse than death.
Fear coiled inside her chest. Her hands grew clammy. “I sense feelings and help balance the collective consciousness of our race by flooding the Sian Web with emotions.” She raised her chin. “Doesn’t mean I am weak.”
His eyes widened; the darkness in them seemed to lighten to a pale gray.
“You confirm that I made the right choice,” a female voice rang out. Vesta slithered into the room, dark hair falling over to hide the side of her face that had been burned in the last encounter with the dragons.
The scent of aluminum poured over Pandora.
Vesta’s presence was a slimy, greasy cloud that pressed down on her chest.
Bile rushed up Pandora’s throat. Her stomach heaved, but there was nothing to bring up. Her last meal had been two—no, three—days ago, when she and Bran had eaten before setting off for the border.
Bran. It reminded her she needed to keep her composure, fight her way through whatever was to come.
Her fingers shook as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Well?”
“So polite.” Vesta’s lips twisted in the semblance of a smile. “Let’s see how you fare when you mate with a dragon shifter.”
The energy drained out of Pandora. “Mate?” Her breath stuttered in her chest.
There were only a few empaths born each generation among the Elysians. Their psychic sensitivity meant most were unable to bear the impact of a mating bond. For generations they’d conceived through artificial means.
“You need to make him trust you, then form a mating bond with him. By doing so you weaken him.” Vesta tapped her feet on the floor. “It gives us a chance to get through his psychic defenses and capture him.”
She tightened her fists. “What will you do with him?”
Vesta angled her head. Her dark eyes glittered. “Control his mind and use him to fight the dragons and the Ascendants, of course.” Vesta threaded her arm through Tibor’s and snuggled into his side. “There are fringe benefits, too.”
Pandora gripped her fingers together to stop her hands from trembling. “You’ll plug the dragon into the Sian Web and use his emotions to power the network?”
“Not bad, you catch on fast.” Tibor brushed his fingers over Vesta’s arm. “Can you imagine how powerful it will be to have a dragon plugged into the Web? It will multiply our emotional intelligence manifold.”
The anticipation in Tibor’s voice made Pandora’s skin crawl. “You’ll kill him.” Pandora pushed her feet into the floor in an attempt to stay steady. “No shifter, not even a dragon, is strong enough to last sustained abuse like that.”
Vesta yawned. Her fingers fluttered over her lips. “All this talk is boring me.” She slid her palm up and over the nape of Tibor’s neck.
There was a jittery feeling in the pit of Pandora’s stomach. “Nothing justifies taking a life.”
Grasping Tibor’s nape, Vesta brought his head down. “I’d do anything just to feel true passion, to feel how it is to lose yourself in another.” She brushed her lips across his. “Don’t you want to know how it is to be with a man?”
Tibor’s arm tightened around Vesta. He hauled her closer, and his features softened.
Despite the psychic shield, Pandora felt the tang of their shared longing. It…intrigued her.
She’d always been curious about how it would feel to have a man’s lips against hers, to feel his skin slide over hers. She’d never thought it would be possible to bond with a mate on the psychic plane. To feel the desire that she’d only read about in Elysian mythology.
They were offering her just that chance. The impact of the mating would likely overpower her psychic self.
If she didn’t agree, they’d kill her anyway. Either way, she was going to die. Best she go along with their plans. This was the only way to at least save her brother.
She nodded, a quick shake of her head.
Vesta’s gaze sharpened, and her hand fell to her side. In a few quick steps, she’d walked up to where Pandora was seated in a corner of the room. She gripped Pandora’s chin. “So there’s a spirit of adventure lurking below your fragile exterior after all.”
She trailed a fingernail down Pandora’s throat to where her plain black T-shirt skimmed her neck. Hooking her finger in the collar, Vesta ripped the cloth down the center.
Pandora gasped. Cool air hit the skin of her stomach where the edges of the T-shirt gaped.
She balled her hands at her sides. No doubt this was a test Vesta was putting her up to. She couldn’t fail. Not if she wanted to save Bran.
> She raised her head. “You don’t scare me.” She stiffened her spine. “Leave now, so I can find something a little more appropriate to wear.” Getting to her feet, she let the torn pieces of her T-shirt flap against her skin. “Or do you prefer that I practice my charms on him first?”
Her gaze fell on Tibor’s face before she moved it back to Vesta. The boldness of her move made her pulse skitter. Her heart beat so fast, she felt dizzy.
Vesta folded her arms over her chest. Her lips thinned. Her eyes glinted. “You have ten minutes to find more suitable clothes.” She jerked her head toward the wardrobe at the far end.
Turning, she stalked out. Tibor followed her. The door shut with a snick.
Pandora’s knees gave way, and she sank to the floor, her stomach churning with relief.
Crawling to the wall on hands and knees that were still shaky, she used it for leverage and clambered to her feet.
She pushed back the sickness that threatened to rise up again and focused on simply maintaining her balance.
She may be headed to her death, but she was going to make sure she fought every step of the way.
2
Rage
“I am going to break you.” The Elysian woman dropped to her haunches and peered into his eyes through the glass barrier that enclosed him in his cell.
Through the matted hair that hung over his face, he could make out the puckered skin that scarred her left cheek. The metallic stink of aluminum grazed his nostrils. The hackles on the nape of his neck hardened.
He’d been hurt worse in the fighting pits of New London where he’d been a gladiator. He’d fought to survive since he’d woken up with no memory of his past in that city.
But this woman who’d brought him there, to Seychelles, was more dangerous.
Rage pushed himself to a sitting position against the stone wall that formed the far end of the cell. Sweat dripped down his back.
“I was told you are latent, dragon shifter.” The Elysian woman’s black eyes glittered in the gloom. “Yet your psychic shields are resilient, more fluid than any I’ve encountered. How much more punishment can you take?”
Was there a thread of admiration in her voice? The creature trapped inside him was a shapeless ball of fire that twisted his gut. “The question of my life.” A chuckle tore through the roughness in his throat. “When I figure it out I’ll make sure to tell you…right before I kill you.” He bared his teeth.
He was goading her and doubtless would pay the price for it.
That sick, twisted animal inside him reveled in the anger that leaped off her.
She raised her hand.
An oily darkness brushed against his senses.
On the psychic plane, claws tore at his shields, shattering the barrier, blowing his hair away from his face in a psychic breeze, forcing him to close his eyes.
The grimy black of her psychic attack changed shape, forming into a massive black gavel. It swung toward his mind to come up against his primary psychic shield barrier.
The impact sent flashes of red and white through his head.
Inside, his monster reared up. He wanted to let out the beast and be rid of it but he was latent and unable to shift.
Instead, channeling his anger, Rage rode the emotion and sprang to his feet.
He charged headfirst, elbows tucked into his sides, his legs stretched back. His muscles strained as he threw himself across the distance of the cell that separated him from his captor.
He landed on his feet.
His boots clanged against the stone floor. Sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging them.
The Elysian female raised her hand. Her eyes bored through the barrier and into him. The jumpsuit she wore stretched across her shoulders. Her oily psychic force crashed into his head, heaving him off his feet.
He slammed to the floor on his back. The skin of his forearm tore open from the impact. His shoulder throbbed. Red-white agony lanced through his side.
A scream boiled up. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from letting the sound escape. He’d die but he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing him grovel.
It wasn’t his body she was trying to break. It was his soul.
It was the only barrier on the psychic plane that kept the twisted monster inside him in check so far. If he let out the beast, it would consume him, make him the very animal he’d tried to control.
The glass wall in front dissolved with a swoosh.
A woman was shoved into the space. Her feet were bare, toes painted a dark black that stood out against the contrast of her skin. She wore an orange-colored sarong-like dress that wrapped around her waist, coming to mid-thigh. It was crisscrossed over her breasts and knotted around her neck. Her thick blonde hair fell over her face so he couldn’t see her profile.
She stumbled and fell to the floor.
Anger churned; his chest felt like it was going to explode. The twisted monster inside him surged against his skin, wanting to reach out to the woman, to gather her close and take care of her.
His beast had never reacted like this…like it was alive, like it was feeling some emotion other than anger, something simpler, more basic?
The woman hadn’t moved from where she’d fallen. Her dark blonde hair rippled out over her back. One arm was flung out and bent at the elbow, the other trapped under her.
She was so still. Was she even breathing?
Panic swept his chest. His throat closed.
The sharp scent of jasmine cut through the psychic noise. The twisted, shapeless beast inside him leaped toward it. His breath caught in his throat.
“Fight them. Don’t give in.”
A voice echoed in his head. He knew it was the woman. She had reached out to him on the psychic plane. There was a strength about her that grounded him.
He fixed on it, using it to pull himself out of the haze of red and white pain that swirled inside him.
Chest heaving, sweat pouring down his forehead, he tried to get to his feet. His knees buckled, and he fell back.
Rage had taken on and defeated those more powerful than him. But how did he fight a force he couldn’t see?
“Look inside yourself.”
Her voice was so calm, he was compelled to obey. He dropped into himself, into the whirlpool of fire that had been a part of him for so long he’d learned to ignore it. Channeling the energy of his beast, he threw up a wall of flames on the psychic plane.
The fire tore through the psychic darkness of the Elysian female, then closed in to form a barrier around his mind. It held back the ball of anger that writhed inside. His beast was still alive and contained.
If he let go, he had no doubt his monster would rise and consume him.
He didn’t want to give in to it then.
There was a reason to fight. To live. For the first time, he cared. There was something…someone who was looking out for him. Someone he did not want to see hurt.
He opened his eyes.
“You’re not what I expected.” The Elysian female tilted her head, studying him. Her dark hair flowed over the burned side of her face. “It’s only a matter of time until I find your weakness.” Her dark eyes narrowed.
“Leave him, Vesta.” An Elysian man glided over to stand next to her. “You don’t want to kill him.”
“As always, you’re right. The ever-practical Tibor.” Vesta chuckled.
The sound had the hackles on Rage’s neck rising.
“He’s much more use alive.” Turning, Vesta stalked away and out of the door on the far end of the cell, followed by her partner.
Rage’s breath rushed out in relief. His arm throbbed from where it had been cut. The scent of copper filled the air. He was bleeding out.
He crawled to the far corner of the cell and flung himself down. Shock set in, the adrenaline fading away to be replaced by a trembling that shook his shoulders.
Leaning his head against the wall, he pressed his palm into the stony floor. The chill sank into hi
s skin but it did nothing to soothe the fire raging inside.
The woman on the ground moved.
He froze.
3
Pandora
“Are you all right?” As soon as the words were out, Pandora cursed herself. Why was she so concerned about this man?
Her legs ached from the miles she’d run before being caught by the bounty hunters.
“It was you who spoke in my mind?”
She caught an English accent, and below that, the musical sound of faraway islands.
Physically, her cell mate was big. Even hunched over, his shoulders were wide. His chest was bare.
The hard planes shifted below his golden-brown skin as he moved his back, making himself more comfortable against the wall. The concave dip of his stomach enraptured her. His torn pants clung to his thighs, outlining powerful muscles.
He was gorgeous, in a dangerous, predatory way that simply made her breath catch. Desire bloomed in her lower belly. She couldn’t take her gaze off him.
A tattoo snaked down the left side of his chest. It swept down toward his waist like a phoenix plunging to its death.
She’d never seen anyone with so much charisma as this man. No Elysian male she’d met could match the vitality that clung to this shifter.
The overhead light reflected off the wounds on his chest.
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