She hadn’t been born yet.
“It is more than that.” Female One intruded into Blayze’s shock.
“What do you mean?” Female Two asked.
“Did you not notice the number of Council members who have arrived?”
“Well, a pureblood daughter is a rare event,” Female Two pointed out.
There was the sound of a swish swish swish as the females’ silk skirts brushed against the tiled floor of the corridor. They were nearly level with the room where Blayze and Char were hidden.
“I heard a rumor,” Female One coyly teased her companion.
“Really?” Female Two’s voice was breathless. It reminded Blayze of her mother’s warning that a dragon’s lair was a maze of dangerous politics. Power bases were not only created by sheer strength, but by the treaties between clans. And, of course, the ability to appear utterly invincible. “Tell me.”
“My mate believes that Synge might be attempting to challenge one of the Council members for their position.”
Blayze frowned. She’d never heard her mother mention that Synge had ambitions to become a Council member.
“He does possess an obscene hoard,” Female Two murmured.
“And a vast number of warriors,” Female One added.
There was more swishing as the dragons passed the storage room, headed toward the throne room.
“But if he intends to challenge for a seat on the Council, then why would he invite the members to his lair?” Female Two finally asked an intelligent question.
“Intimidation,” the first female said. “And…” She allowed her words to trail away.
“What?” her companion prompted.
“My mate has heard that Synge intends to announce the betrothal of his daughter tonight,” Female One revealed in dramatic tones.
Blayze sensed Char stiffening, but she kept her attention on the voices that were starting to fade as the females continued down the corridor.
“A betrothal before she is even born?” the second one asked.
“Yes.”
Char made a sound, but Blayze strained to hear what the first female had to say.
“If he has managed to capture the heir to a powerful clan that would all but ensure that Synge could simply demand a seat. Who would be foolish enough to stand against him?”
“I should have chosen a better gift,” Female Two muttered, then their voices vanished into the flood of chatter spilling out of the throne room.
Blayze was trying to sift through what she’d heard when she felt her arms being grasped in a firm grip so Char could turn her to meet his furious glare.
You have a mate?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Char knew he was being ridiculous.
There were a thousand things wrong with this scenario.
He was standing in Synge’s lair centuries before he was ever born. Surrounded by dragons who would happily destroy them if they decided they were intruders. And they had no way to return to the proper time.
Which meant they were stuck.
But was he thinking or planning on how he could survive the next hour? Or day?
Nope. His brain was utterly consumed by the revelation that Blayze was formally betrothed to another male.
Scowling in frustration, he watched as she gave a small shake of her head.
“My mother mentioned a betrothal, but I assumed that I was cursed before it could be formally announced.”
“Who is the lucky male?”
“What does it matter?” she demanded in genuine confusion.
“I’m curious.”
She paused as she searched her memory. Then she gave a faint shrug. “I believe his name was Bolt.”
“Bolt,” Char repeated, the name teasing at the edge of his mind.
“Do you know him?”
“The name is familiar.” For some reason he felt a heaviness in his chest. As if the name was conjuring a dark memory. Then he had an abrupt vision of an ancient dragon with bent shoulders and an expression that was locked with sorrow. “Oh.” He grimaced. “The son of Ash.”
She studied him as if sensing the guilt that crawled through him, making him feel small and petty for his irrational jealousy.
“Is he a friend of yours?”
“Not Bolt,” he said. “But I do remember Ash visiting my father’s lair. It was always a somber event.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m sorry, Blayze,” he said, and he truly meant it. “Bolt was killed centuries ago.”
She jerked, as if the words had hit her like a blow. “He’s dead?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Char gave a slow shake of his head. He could remember hearing whispers of a sudden death. And that the details had been swept beneath the carpet. At the time, he’d been too young to really care what might have happened.
“No one spoke about it,” he told Blayze.
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But you were right. It doesn’t matter now.”
And it didn’t matter. Despite the fact that Bolt had mysteriously died, there would be another mate chosen for her. Well, assuming they didn’t die before they could return to their time, there would be another mate chosen.
He sharply cut off the thought. What was wrong with him? He was never Mr. Doom and Gloom.
Dammit. They weren’t going to die. Even if they couldn’t leave this time. He was going to make sure of that. But first he needed to understand what had gone wrong.
He eased his grip on Blayze’s arm and studied her upturned face. In the darkness her skin glowed with that soft luminance emphasizing her delicate beauty.
“I thought you said you followed the curse to bring us here?”
“I did.”
He arched a brow. She had to have heard the conversation between the two female dragons who had just sashayed their way down the corridor.
“According to your father’s guests, you haven’t even been born yet,” he pointed out. “Unless Synge has another daughter?”
She shook her head. “I was the only female.”
“Then how did we get here?”
She wrinkled her slender nose. “My first thought was that I must have changed history by coming back through time.”
Char grimaced. The fact that he had Dalia blood running through his veins meant that he was hauled kicking and screaming into every philosophical debate over the moral and magical conundrum of time travel.
It didn’t matter that he could only slow time. And that he had no impact on the past or future. They always assumed he had some deep insight into the debate.
“You said that was your first thought,” he said. “What about now?”
“Now I believe that I wasn’t following the curse when I pulled on the strand of magic, but the original spell.”
Char sighed. He thought her time travel theory was going to be confusing. Reversing magic was even worse.
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” she murmured in soft tones. “Not yet.”
“Blayze—” Char cut off his words as the sound of footsteps once again filled the air.
This time, however, it wasn’t guests who were too preoccupied with their gossip to notice there was someone hidden in the storage closet.
Nope, it was a half-breed dragon who roughly jerked open the door to glare at them with blatant suspicion.
Char instinctively moved to stand in front of Blayze, protecting her from view. At the same time, he took a quick inventory of the male in front of him.
He was larger than Char and attired in the familiar uniform that marked him as one of Synge’s guard. But Char was one of the few half-breeds who could actually shift into a dragon. Which meant he could destroy the male if necessary.
Of course, destroying fellow half-breeds was usually at the bottom of his to-do list. Unlike some of his more bloodthirsty friends, he preferred to charm his way out of a situation
.
“What are you doing in here?” the male demanded.
Char flashed a smile even as his hand slipped behind his back. He never left home without his favorite dagger tucked into the sheath hidden at his lower back. It had been crafted deep in the bowels of the earth by orcs, and had a rare diamond blade. It was the only weapon that could slice through the thick scales of a dragon.
“Easy,” Char murmured. “I can explain.”
The guard scowled, but Char didn’t miss the nervous way he clenched and unclenched his hands. He was young and obviously new to his position. The realization didn’t ease Char’s fears. There was nothing more dangerous than a twitchy servant hoping to impress his master.
As if to prove his point, the male pulled free his sword strapped to his side.
“You can explain it in the dungeons,” he growled.
Char continued to smile, taking a step forward. His dagger was shorter than the sword. He needed any fight to be up close and personal. “No need for violence.”
The male bristled, his eyes smoldering with fire. “I will decide what is needed.”
Without warning, Char felt a stir of air as Blayze stepped to stand at his side. He turned his head to send her a warning glare, only to feel a stab of shock.
She looked different as she tilted her chin and smoothed her hands down the beaded gown that shimmered in the faint light. Her hair tumbled down her back in a river of ebony and her skin glowed liked the finest pearl.
She was more than beautiful. She was regal.
Majestic.
She was every inch a pureblooded dragon.
“Actually, I will be the one who decides,” she announced in tones that defied argument.
The guard blinked, clearly dazzled by the glorious sight of Blayze. “Who are you?”
“I am a guest of Ravel.”
The guard’s lips parted, as if he was about to grill her for more details. Then he caught sight of her pale eyes that were sprinkled with pinpricks of color and his breath caught.
“You are from her clan,” he said, the words more a statement than a question.
Obviously the eyes were a trait unique to Ravel’s bloodline.
“I am,” Blayze murmured.
Hastily shoving his sword back in its sheath, the guard performed a deep bow.
“Forgive me.” He straightened, his gaze flicking to the cramped space behind them. “I did not expect to discover a guest in the storage closet.”
Blayze sniffed. “I wished to have a word in private with my servant.”
The guard frowned before he leaped to the most obvious conclusion. That Blayze had hidden in the closet so she could enjoy a quickie with her servant.
“I see,” the male said.
Blayze gave another sniff and Char repressed a sudden urge to smile. She was remarkably good in her role as the arrogant, disdainful dragon.
“Doubtful.”
The guard cleared his throat. It was unlikely his training included shooing guests and their servants out of the closets.
“Can I escort you to the throne room?” he at last offered.
Expecting her to demand that the guard leave them in peace, Char went rigid as she stepped forward.
“If you wish.”
The guard backed away from the doorway and held out his arm. Blayze laid her fingers on the top of his wrist, allowing the male to escort her down the corridor.
Char swallowed his curse, hurrying forward. “Lady Blayze, perhaps we should finish our conversation,” he growled in low tones.
She didn’t even bother to glance in his direction. “Nonsense. We can speak later.”
She swept forward, her spine straight and her shoulders squared.
Char forced himself to walk behind her, playing the role of the perfect servant. So much for his fierce determination to keep them alive.
They’d be lucky to survive the next hour.
CHAPTER SIX
Levet breathed out a tiny sigh of relief as the terrible tremors that were shaking The Viper Pit came to a halt.
He was hoping the sudden stillness was a sign that the magic that surrounded the building had entrapped the furious dragon. It was that or Synge was preparing to melt them with his dragon-fire.
Non. He would not consider the notion that he was about to be liquefied into a pile of goo. He’d discovered over the years that sticking his head in the sand was always a legitimate way to deal with a threat.
Beside him, the Anasso cocked his head to the side, no doubt trying to determine the threat level, while Viper was moving through the crowd below, trying to soothe the terrified demons.
“Shouldn’t you go speak with Synge?” Levet prompted.
The oversized vampire turned his head to glare down at Levet.
“I have a better idea,” he growled. “You go speak with him.”
Levet took a hasty step backward, his tail twitching between his legs. He was not scared. But he was not the king. He was not even a prince. This was the sort of thing demons with big swords were supposed to take care of.
“Why should I go?” he demanded.
A frigid anger crackled through the air. “You’re the one who told the dragons that vampires were responsible for his daughter’s curse.”
Levet clicked his tongue. Really, why was the male obsessed with that tiny, insignificant point?
“I told you. I simply shared what I discovered,” he said.
There was the sound of footsteps before a large vampire dressed in black leather appeared on the balcony. One of the Ravens, Styx’s personal bodyguards.
Styx moved to speak with the male, their voices too low for Levet to pick up the words. A few minutes later the vampire turned to leave and Levet moved to study Styx with a stab of impatience.
Every second that passed was another second that Synge might turn them all to toast.
“Well?” Levet prompted.
Styx’s expression was grim. “Our protection spells are currently holding Synge in stasis, but it will only last a few hours.”
Levet hid his expression of relief. No reason to reveal that he was going to use those few hours to get as far away from Chicago as possible. “What about Baine?”
Styx managed to look even more grim. An astonishing achievement.
“He’s asking for an audience.”
“Ah.” Levet took another step back. “It appears you have the situation in hand—”
A squawk was wrenched from Levet’s throat as Styx grasped the massive sword that was sheathed across his back and pulled it free. With one smooth motion he had the tip of the lethal weapon pressed against Levet’s neck.
“This is your mess,” the vampire informed Levet. “Now you’re going to fix it.”
Levet’s tail twitched, but he didn’t move. The sword was sharp enough to chop off his head. The one certain way to kill a gargoyle.
“Moi?” He pretended he didn’t notice the massive weapon jabbing into his thick hide. “It was a bloodsucker who was responsible. As the Anasso it is your responsibility to ensure they do not go about cursing dragons.”
Ice crystals formed in the air as Styx leaned down, his power beating against Levet.
“Listen carefully, gargoyle.”
Levet grimaced. “I do not like those words.”
Styx ignored his grumbled complaint. “You are going to find the missing dragon.”
Levet was momentarily confused. Then, he frowned as he realized who Styx meant.
“Blayze? How can I find her?”
“You claim to be a hero. Doesn’t that include rescuing damsels in distress?” Styx demanded.
“Oui, but would it not make more sense to track down the vampire responsible for the curse?”
“What do you think is going to soothe a pissed-off dragon? The vampire who cursed his daughter? Or having that daughter back in his lair where he can protect her?”
Levet wrinkled his snout. It was true that if he managed to locate the vampire and hand hi
m over to Synge, the dragon would torch him and remain pissed at the entire vampire race.
If he could find Blayze, the male might be distracted enough to return to his lair.
“Good point.”
Styx straightened, lowering his sword. “You have eight hours.”
“Or?”
Styx flashed his fangs. “Dragons will be the least of your concern.”
Mon dieu.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Blayze was surprised how easy it was to assume the role of an arrogant, pureblooded dragon. Almost as if she was born to the role. And she supposed she was, despite the fact she’d been isolated her entire life.
She could only hope her brittle façade could last long enough for her to do a search of the lair.
Acutely aware of the heavy press of power that crackled and sizzled in the air as they reached the throne room, as well as Char’s seething disapproval, she halted and removed her hand from the guard’s arm.
“I can find my way now.”
“My lady.” The male offered a small bow before he was disappearing among the guests.
She dismissed him from her mind as she allowed her gaze to wander over the large room. It was remarkably plain, with woven rugs on the stone floor and torches stuck into the walls. At the far end was a high dais with two thrones. At the moment both of them were empty.
Her attention turned to the guests who were gathered in small clumps. Most of them were pureblooded dragons, although she could sense several fey creatures, as well as a few vampires.
Could one of them be responsible for her curse?
Taking a step forward, she abruptly felt her arm being grabbed in a tight grip as Char tugged her into a shadowed corner.
“What are you doing?” he hissed in frustration.
She reluctantly transferred her attention to the angry dragon standing in front of her. It wasn’t just that she was in a hurry to search the room, but she’d discovered that it was almost impossible to concentrate on anything but Char when he was near.
How was a poor female supposed to think clearly when she was gazing at those pale, perfect features and the gray eyes that could appear as soft as smoke or harden to platinum? And how was she supposed to resist the urge to run her hands over his lean body so she could fully appreciate the steely strength of his muscles?
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