Chained: Reckless Desires (Dragon's Heart Book 1)

by Jacqueline Sweet

  “It’s incredible. This is gorgeous. Thank you for showing it to me.”

  Dorian smiled at her sadly. “If I’m going to lose this place, I wanted a chance to share the most beautiful part of it with someone.”

  The field of flowers dipped out of view at the edges, it was so large. How would it look from the sea? Or from the air?

  “What was this spot before my father transformed it?” Bella stood near the four-wheeler, vaguely afraid to walk the path to the table. How long had it been since the deck had been used? Pages from her product liability textbook in law school flitted through her head. How many of those tragedies began with the words, “Well, we thought it was safe”?

  “I don’t know. Not really. It was a giant burn mark that came close to circling the entire mountain. Like a very odd forest fire or arson maybe.” He shrugged. “My father was pathologically unable to answer direct questions, so I never knew. I’ve always suspected he was responsible, but he denied it.”

  Dorian untied the picnic basket and led the way out to the table. He walked with sure steps on the slick stones, but Bella knew that if she took one wrong step she’d tip into the sea. No matter that there were stones and walls and a thousand flowering plants to break her fall. She could feel herself circling oblivion.

  “How does she do it?” Dorian asked. “She knows my appetites better than I do.” He unpacked a bottle of white wine—a Zinfandel from a Napa winery—a cloth basket of fresh strawberries, a ceramic jar of freshly whipped cream, a loaf of bread dotted with chunks of chocolate and cherry, and a wheel of cheese lashed to its own private cutting board with a shining knife wrapped in paper stuffed between the cheese and the board.

  Dorian sat facing the sea, and Bella across from him. But he saw on her face how disturbed she was by the abyss behind her, so they switched.

  Bella broke off a hunk of the bread—still warm from the oven—and bit into it. The cherries were tart and the chocolate was sweet and it was heavenly in her mouth. “This is incredible,” she said. “You can’t have any.”

  Dorian laughed loudly. “You’d deny your lord his just desserts?” he said with a spark in his golden eyes.

  “I’d deny him nothing,” Bella said, meaning it lightly, but the words hung in the air between them, full of portent.

  “The buyer is coming tomorrow,” Dorian said. “If his offer is satisfying and he demands it, we might need to leave by tomorrow night.”

  “What?” Bella said around the strawberry sticking out of her mouth. She pulled it out and pointed it at Dorian. “Of course, it’s common with these sorts of contracts. I hadn’t been thinking about it from this side of the table. There’s a fear that given a month’s time the owner would spirit away anything of value in the house.”

  “I wouldn’t take everything of value, but some of it I wouldn’t be able to resist.” He sighed and glanced over to regard the massive field of red flowers. “This could be our last night together.”

  “Hence, the picnic?”

  “Just so.” Dorian smiled at her kindly. “I’ve been meaning to do this ever since you started working for me, but the timing has never been right. There’s always been too much to do. Another hopeless stab at a cure to try. I owe you an explanation. You’ve seen me at my worst and you deserve to know why, but telling you would bring on—” a tremor shook his body, “—the curse.”

  “I’d love to say no, no, don’t tell me if it hurts you so, but honestly I’m dying to know. Just promise me you won’t hulk out and leave me stranded here,” Bella said. “Or hurl me into the sea.”

  “I promise,” Dorian smiled sadly.

  “There are parts I know and parts I’ve guessed,” Bella said. “But I want to hear it from you.”

  The gold in his eyes was dimming. “I’m cursed. I’m sure you’ve heard that. I am forbidden from discussing the particulars. Or offering any information at all, but if you were to question me . . .”

  Bella nodded. Deposition. She knew this game. The wind was still and the air was hot. The scent of the flowers was subtle and heady and made her limbs feel liquid. But for a moment she could pretend she was back in her office in San Francisco, deposing someone on tape.

  “State your name,” she said.

  “Lord Dorian Valdemar Winterborn, Baron of Letheshire.”

  “Baron?” she arched an eyebrow at him.

  “Letheshire is basically a muddy field in Scotland these days, but it’s been in the family for a thousand years. All of three people live there now and technically I am their baron.”

  “What is your occupation?” she asked.

  “Formerly, I was executive of a nonprofit fund that directed contributions towards a variety of worthy goals, focusing especially on animal rescue, homelessness, and food scarcity. That became impossible with the curse, so currently I am the penniless administrator of the Winter’s Breath estate, located on Winter’s Mountain.”

  “Why is it called Winter? We’re in California. There’s no winter here.”

  Dorian shrugged. “It was my father’s nickname, they said. He was a cold man, a serious man. He had a bite to him, and teeth that sank into your bones. The nickname makes sense to me. Also, winter sucks, and so did he.”

  Bella took a deep breath and prepared for the real questions. If the monster inside Dorian came out, she’d have nowhere to run or hide. But neither would he. One good kick and he’d tumble into the sea.

  “Was it your father who cursed you?”

  “Yes,” Dorian said, scratching his wrist.

  “Did he curse you recently?”

  “Just before he died. A month before?”

  Did she believe this? Were curses real? If Chloe could talk to spirits, maybe fathers could curse their sons.

  “Was he a witch?”

  “No,” Dorian said quickly. “Next question. Please hurry.”

  Bella had an idea. “What do you think of your brothers?”

  Dorian blinked and sat straighter. “I hate them all. They’re cruel and wicked men, like my father. Complete bastards.”

  Perhaps if she alternated between questions about the curse and questions about other things, she could hold off his curse longer.

  “How did he curse you? Does it have something to do with that rusted chain?”

  “Next question,” he replied, but he nodded first. The curse was in the chain.

  “Why do you hate your brothers?”

  “They did terrible things and lied about them to my father, on a near daily basis. They are selfish and awful men, but he couldn’t see that. He stood behind them blindly, no matter what. And when I was honest with him, I was punished for it. He thought that I didn’t love him because I told the truth, whereas I know my brothers didn’t love him, because they lied.” Dorian grabbed the picnic table in his hands. The wood groaned as he squeezed it.

  “You love him, even though he was a monster?”

  “Monster or not, he was my dad.” Dorian closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

  “What are you really looking for in the house?”

  “I’ve hired witches, many witches, to examine the curse. They had no answers for me until recently. They said that my father’s forgiveness was supposed to free me, but he died before he could give it. And now they all say the same thing, the key to freeing me is in the house. But I’ve found nothing. I don’t even know what it would look like.”

  “Is it killing you?” she asked, her voice choking.

  Dorian looked at her, his eyes swimming with gold and black. He nodded. “I don’t have a lot of time left. Though no one is sure how long. This sort of thing isn’t supposed to happen. The last expert who examined me said I should already have succumbed, but that something is keeping me alive and holding the curse back.”

  Bella’s heart ached. “What is it?”

  “You, Bella. It’s you. I know you feel it, too. Being near you I feel more like myself than I have in months.” There it was. He’d said it. Confirmed it. It wasn’t
her imagination, he felt it too.

  “Have you ever been in love?” Bella asked. Why did she ask that? She wanted to change the topic abruptly, but the question leapt out of her mouth before she could stop it.

  “Perhaps.”

  “Perhaps? What do you mean, perhaps?”

  “It means I’m still trying to figure it out, this thing I feel. Do you forgive me? Can you forgive me? I’ve been such a monster and said so many horrible things. I basically enslaved you and the thought of it torments me at night. The idea that you could hate me—could justly hate me for the things I’ve done—is poison in my veins worse even than the madness the curse brings. Please tell me you can forgive me.”

  “If you aren’t vampires, what are you? Angels? Mutants? Aliens?”

  “You’ve been here weeks, isn’t it obvious. My father was not a subtle man,” Dorian said with great strain.

  Bella could see him slipping. The honesty was taking its toll on him. She reached out and took his hand in hers. He was burning hot. “If you could do one thing tonight—if the world crumbles in the morning, what would you wish you had done?”

  “Danced with you,” Dorian said without pause.

  And then he pushed aside the picnic food and stepped onto the table and held his hand out for hers.

  She couldn’t.

  She’d trip and fall into the sea.

  He’d turn and seize her roughly and dash her on the rocks.

  Dorian would kiss her and die and leave her and shatter her heart into a thousand pieces.

  So many things could go wrong.

  But Bella took his hand, stepped up to his level, and threw her arms around his neck for one last dance before their world changed forever.

  CHAPTER 7

  She should have kissed him, Bella thought as she dressed for the day. The opportunity had been perfect. Wine, chocolate, a slow dance near the sea. But she’d been so worried about his darkness overtaking him that she’d played it safe, worried that any added stress would bring out the beast. But it hadn’t appeared. There’d been the signs she’d learned to recognize—the tremors, facial tics, the darkening of his eyes—but he’d kept it together for the entire drive back up the mountain.

  The words he’d said to her had stayed with her all night. Upon parting he’d stroked her cheek with a finger and said, “It’s easier to be myself when I’m with you.”

  She could still feel the feather-light touch of his feverishly hot hand, like he’d marked her forever.

  Today was the big day. The prospective buyer was arriving and Bella took extra care to make herself appear professional. She missed her old closet of bespoke suits, but she made the best out of the eighties rainbow that had been left for her. At least the eighties were back in.

  The client was due at ten sharp, so Bella went down to the kitchens to cadge some food from Chloe, but when she walked in, she could see that nothing was right. The air smelled of burned food and Chloe looked seriously pissed off.

  “Hey girl, what’s wrong?” Bella asked, taking a seat at the large kitchen island in the middle of the room.

  “The spirits are being dicks today. Something has them all spooked and they’re just like making a mess of everything.”

  Across the room, a jar of cinnamon lifted itself into the air.

  Bella saw it and froze. “Chloe?” she said. “There’s a jar. A flying jar.”

  The jar hurtled through the air, right towards Chloe’s head. Bella saw it happening in slow motion and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She was too far away and not dressed for kitchen sprinting. But at the very last second Chloe put her hand up and caught it. “Cinnamon?” she said. “We do not put cinnamon in scrambled eggs, dude.” She sighed and closed her eyes. Bella had a sense of the light growing dimmer, and of Chloe growing brighter, as if she was sucking the light in the room into herself.

  She opened her eyes and in a loud clear voice said, “You all are on time out.” And whatever it was that she did, it worked. The bad feelings left. The room grew warmer and felt at peace again.

  “Why are they freaked out?” Bella asked, surprised to find that while she wasn’t paying attention she had come to believe completely in Chloe’s stories. Spirits were real. Ghosts were real. Magic was real.

  “I don’t know, Bells. I’ve been too busy trying to cook with them all screaming at me. It’s been one of those too many cooks situations all up in here.”

  “Can you cook without their help?” Bella asked. Because I’m starving, she added silently.

  Chloe made a pffft noise. “My sister is the best cook in Northern California. I’ve learned a bit from her, and paid attention to what the spookums have been telling me. It’s been kind of awesome, really. I’ve been blowing my boyfriend’s mind. More than usual, I mean.” Chloe grinned widely and tossed all of the burnt food into the trash. Then she quickly whipped up lemon-infused waffles that were the lightest, fluffiest things Bella had ever eaten, complete with a delicate maple mascarpone topping that was so delicious Bella wished she could marry it.

  “This recipe is one hundred percent Alison Meadows, aka my sister. She uses freshly grated ginger, too, but that stuff tickles my nose.”

  The two women sat and ate together quickly in comfortable silence. Occasionally the door would rattle or creak and Chloe would spin in her seat and shoot a threatening look in its direction and the noise would stop in an instant.

  When they were done and both were dipping their fingers into the maple sauce and licking them clean, Chloe said, “If you need a place to stay tonight, or tomorrow, or anytime really, you can crash with me. We have an extra bedroom that my mom stays in when she visits. It wouldn’t be a permanent thing, but if you needed a week or two to sort your shit out, I can do that for you.”

  Bella almost started crying. “Chloe, that’s amazing. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Girl, keep it together. It’s gonna be a tough day.” Chloe sniffed, also almost crying. “Most people call me Spooky Chloe, y’know? They avoid me or make fun of me because of what I do. But you never have. Even when you didn’t believe me, you didn’t belittle me. And I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that. If we were in San Francisco right now, I would hella get drunk with you and we could get matching ink somewhere private. But up here in Dragon’s Breath, we’ll have to make do with these rad waffles.”

  Bella fought to keep it together. She couldn’t cry. She’d be a raccoon-eyed mess when the buyer showed up. “Dragon’s Breath? I thought it was Winter’s Breath?”

  “What’s the difference?” Chloe asked.

  Agatha ran into the room, her eyes wide with alarm. “There you are! They’ve been looking all over for you. The buyer is here—he arrived early. Very early. Go! Go! Upstairs with you!”

  Bella jumped up from the table and hurried as best as she could in her borrowed eighties heels. They were half a size too big and sure to give her blisters by the time the day was through, but she couldn’t exactly show up to the meeting in Keds, could she?

  She found Dorian in the foyer. His voice, calm and deep, echoed through the halls as he told the buyer about the home’s history. The buyer’s voice was sharper, with a touch of the south to it. Something about it sounded familiar. Was it someone famous?

  Bella entered the foyer, coming through the nearly hidden door that led to the servants’ wing. Dorian was there, tall and handsome. Just seeing him made her body relax and go all melty at the joints. And talking to him was a man with slightly too long blond hair and a stubbled jaw. He wore a black suit, unfashionable for the season, with a blood red tie that hung loose around his neck. Bella stopped when she saw him.

  It was him. Charles Edward Heath. The liar who’d burned down her life. He turned to regard her and then did a double take before smiling a toothy, hungry smile at her.

  “Isabella Hart!” he gushed. “I’ve been looking for you.” He glided over to her and took her shoulders in his hands and then kissed her once on each cheek. Be
lla’s skin crawled. Her mind went nearly blank with the urge to run.

  “You know each other?” Dorian said, agitation in his voice. He was a perceptive man. Surely he’d see how uncomfortable she was.

  “We’re old friends,” Heath said, taking her arm in his. “And no offense to you, Mr. Winterborn, but I would prefer a tour from the lady.”

  Bella gave Dorian a please help me look, but did he register it? His face was a mask of calm. “Very well,” Dorian said. “Let’s all tour together. Forgive me, please, if I add to her comments. She’s been here only a season.”

  “So this is where you ended up,” Heath whispered. “You’ve done such a good job at hiding so far. But I’ve found you now.”

  Bella ignored his comments and led the man through the house, doing her best to explain the architectural features, the priceless antiquities, the long and storied history, but it wasn’t her forté. Dorian stepped in to help at every turn, but Heath never looked at him as he spoke. His eyes were always on Bella.

  She wished he’d look anywhere else.

  When the tour moved outside, they saw her father kneeling on the side of the driveway. He was pruning rose bushes and studiously ignored them. “Your gardener does excellent work,” Heath said.

  “He has a true talent,” Dorian said, loud enough for Franklin Hart to hear.

  “If I purchase the estate, would the servants stay on? I expect it would provide a greater sense of continuity if they did. I might need that added to the contract. Not forever of course,” he laughed. “They aren’t slaves! But maybe for five years? Five years should do it. I’ve been involved in many business deals where we bought the assets of a company but didn’t retain the workers, and everything just fell apart. Brain drain, they call it. I’ve learned that to have a successful acquisition,” he said, eyeing Bella up and down nakedly, “you must keep the staff as well.”