Dark and Damaged: Eight Tortured Heroes of Paranormal Romance: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set

by Colleen Gleason

  “I’m told he’s fighting his dragon,” a female voice said. Emerson.

  Thane turned to seek her out. Across the hallway and into a spacious, open room he found her sitting neatly in a chair, staring at her mobile device. Matthew had tried many times to press one upon him, but Thane had always refused.

  “Sounds an awful lot like a euphemism,” she added, not looking up. Her tone was strange, as if both indifferent and angry. Her scent was that bothersome mix of woman and artificial fragrance.

  “It means his dragon is emergent,” Thane told her. Gerard was older than he by a short span. It made sense that the Night Song filled his mind, as well. Gerard wouldn’t be going to Havyn, however. “He will die here, today.”

  “Tragic, I’m sure.”

  Her blithe dismissal made him pause. “You don’t want to stop me? Ransom is depending upon you to protect him.”

  The boy had just entered the room, his younger brother behind him. They were both fully grown, but they hadn’t crossed their first century yet.

  “I’m not here to protect anyone.” Her thumb scrolled her mobile’s screen, but he couldn’t tell what she was looking at.

  “Then why are you here?” Thane wanted to take her by the shoulders and make her look at him, but the temptation to bury his face at her neck, take a deeper draw of her scent, was too great.

  “Gerard Heolstor requested I update him in person.”

  “And is there an update?”

  “No. Nevertheless, here I am.”

  Something had happened. If he knew women—and he liked to think he did—then this one was ready to draw blood herself, in spite of her seeming apathy to Gerard’s imminent demise.

  Thane looked first to Ransom and then to Locke. Both of Gerard’s sons were frowning, tension in their postures.

  “Ms. Clark is here under duress,” Ransom said. “Yesterday, someone sent a messenger to her place of work. After delivering the message, he committed suicide in front of her.”

  Thane shifted his gaze to her. “What was the message?”

  Emerson finally looked up, eyes sparking with anger. “That’s the first thing you ask?”

  “It’s what is important,” Thane said, oddly satisfied that she was snapping back at him.

  “A man is dead, his child orphaned.”

  “It happens. His message, Ms. Clark?”

  Pure loathing radiated from her. “He told me to get off this mediation.”

  “Upon threat to her life,” Ransom added. “Thane. Did you send him?”

  “I handle my business personally. I don’t need messengers or assassins to do it for me,” he said. “Besides, she is lying. No one threatened her life.”

  “Oh, my life was threatened.” Her tone seemed to accuse him of doing the threatening.

  “It makes no sense. Who would threaten you?” Thane shot back. “My quarrel is with Gerard Heolstor. I’ll kill him shortly, and likely his sons, but I have no reason to kill you.”

  “And I may have cause to rip Thane Ealdian’s head from his shoulders,” Ransom said wryly. “But your head looks lovely where it is.”

  Her gaze flicked to Ransom and back to Thane. “Comforting, thank you.”

  Thane laughed. She was the most dangerous creature in the room—no fear, perfect control, and burning from within. Yes, if ever there were a Bloodkin woman to tempt him, Emerson was it.

  “Life is brutal, my lady.”

  “I know how brutal life can be. And I’m not your lady.”

  He remembered the information Lena had provided about Emerson Clark’s background. “I believe you do know something of life’s brutalities.” Orphaned and alone. Worst of all, penniless.

  “Oh, save it,” she said. “If you’re not going to kill me, then by all means, have at each other. I just want to get on with my life.” She turned to Ransom. “Is your father ready for me or what?”

  “Damn, her fire is up,” Locke mumbled.

  “Quiet,” Ransom told him. He sighed. “Emerson, my father isn’t doing well. This close to his shift, some days are worse than others. Will you stay with us until he is a little better?”

  “I’m not going to wait,” Thane said. And he didn’t like the idea of Emerson staying with the Heolstors, either. She had too much heat inside for someone like Ransom.

  Ransom held up a hand as if to keep Thane in place. “We don’t have the results yet from the university. If you fight my father now, the Assembly will condemn you and the Ealdian line.”

  “No, boy,” Thane said. “You broke the law first when you sent an assassin to kill me. I don’t have to wait for anything.” Godric Tredan of the Triad would absolutely side with him.

  “I didn’t send an assassin.” Ransom looked over at Emerson, and Thane moved to stand in his way. Ransom could not have her. “Or that messenger.”

  “Gerard did, then,” Thane said.

  “I swear on the Heolstor line that he did not. He’s too far gone. He doesn’t care about people anymore.”

  “Can you also swear that he didn’t kill my wife and child?”

  Ransom finally went silent.

  “Then you won’t mind if I ask him myself.”

  ***

  Emerson rose from her seat as Thane strode past Ransom and Locke into the tall, wide passage that centered the home.

  Locke’s mouth contracted into a snarl, but Ransom put a hand on his chest to hold him back. “Don’t.”

  Well, Emerson sure as hell was going to follow. She wasn’t going to miss her opportunity to inform Gerard Heolstor of where the mediation stood. Then she could get out of here.

  Thane paused at the stairs to…sniff the air.

  Because that’s normal.

  She couldn’t smell anything, and apparently, neither could he because he continued down the hallway to stand before a set of massive double doors with ornate handles in the shape of arching, winged serpents, a plume of iron fire spitting from their parted lips. Thane grabbed both handles and pulled, but the doors wouldn’t budge.

  He stepped back, his indigo gaze swinging toward her. “Unlock it.”

  “Um…?” Emerson turned to look behind her.

  Ransom had followed them. “It’s no good. The dragon is in control. He’ll rip you apart, and nothing will be solved.”

  Thane shook his head. “I guarantee Gerard is still dominant. Not even these doors could hold a dragon.”

  Emerson crossed her arms. Her stomach twisted, her decision to follow suddenly swinging the other way.

  She didn’t like these people, and she didn’t want a firsthand look at Gerard Heolstor’s state. The smartest way to stay out of Bloodkin business was to stay away from Bloodkin, not go deeper into their houses, looking for trouble. Gerard could come to meet her in that very comfortable sitting room.

  “If you won’t consider your own safety,” Ransom said to Thane, “consider Emerson’s.”

  The man sent a cruel smile her way. “I have a feeling Emerson needs to see Gerard just as much as I do.”

  “Actually, I’m good.” She tried to keep the quaver out of her voice. The Bloodkin had already committed one gruesome crime; she didn’t need to see any more, no matter how angry she was over what had happened to the man in her office. “Don’t disturb him on my account.”

  “Unlock the doors, Ransom,” Thane said.

  She looked at Ransom, surprised to find Locke now standing behind his brother. He was leaning against the wall, his head bowed as if defeated. No, more like he was grieving. Maybe he knew something about Gerard was messed up. Maybe he knew the Bloodkin, in general, were messed up and he was just as stuck as she was.

  Emerson turned back toward the big doors just as Ransom laid his hand on a hidden panel, and then a series of metallic snicks could be heard from the seal between the two doors.

  “Stay behind me,” Thane ordered her. “And do everything I say.”

  She gulped. It was obviously smarter to run away—there was probably a serial killer in ther
e—but a perverse curiosity tugged at her.

  He drew open the two huge doors, and a strong smell hit Emerson—bitter and smoky, but with an underlying woodsy scent that she couldn’t place. The combination sent a strange, bright, crackling sensation through her body, like the terrified euphoria of a free fall.

  Thane shot Ransom a stern look before proceeding down the large, flat steps. “Gerard, I’ve come to kill you.”

  Always to the point, wasn’t he?

  “What took you so long?” a low croak of a voice answered. “And you brought me a snack.”

  “That is Emerson Clark, of the Emmerich Reds, and you will not harm her.”

  Emerson didn’t know what a Red was, and she didn’t need to. She turned to flee, fresh terror overcoming her curiosity, but Thane reached out and grabbed her wrist. Heat and longing spread from the point of contact. “You’re not a coward.”

  She didn’t see why not. Cowards often survived encounters with dangerous people, though she acknowledged that they survived because they let someone else take the brunt of whatever nastiness was in store. And Thane seemed game for nastiness.

  He pulled her down with him, and she followed. His vise grip on her arm made sure of it.

  The descent wasn’t too steep, but the temperature rose markedly with every step. She’d always preferred the cold; heat made her restless and reckless, like late-night summer-break insanity, living fast and flirty. Perspiration dripped down her back and stuck her blouse to her skin. She could feel her face misting, too. And Thane’s hold on her arm was positively burning. She was burning.

  When they finally reached the bottom, a massive room opened up before them. She couldn’t see anyone in the murk, but nevertheless, she somehow knew that Gerard Heolstor was in the dark corner across the space and far off to her right. Something about the darkness…seethed.

  Thane swore. “Why didn’t you arrange transport for him before this?”

  Ransom answered from behind her. “He was all set to take a ship to Havyn, but after he heard about the discovery of the remains, he refused to leave. He said you’d be coming. I think he tried to hold on for you.”

  Thane shook his head. “No, boy. I’m no motivation for him to fight the Night Song. It’s very clear he’s been holding on for his sons. To help his sons survive me.”

  Something in his voice—something sad and lonesome—made her think that maybe he’d just changed his mind about killing Gerard.

  “Heolstor did not kill Carreen and Rinc,” Gerard said in that low, inhuman growl, “just as I know you didn’t kill them either, no matter what the rumors say. But If I had wanted to hurt you, I’d have attacked you directly and burned your stronghold to the ground.”

  Thane dragged Emerson forward. “Did you hear that?”

  A near admission in the middle of some more of their trademark crazy? Yeah. She took a deep breath. Time to do her job. “Are you saying that the remains are not from the Heolstor line?”

  “Everyone knows who they are,” Gerard said.

  “Then why the claim?” she asked.

  “To buy time. To force Thane to stop and think for once. He has always been too quick to fire, the beast on too loose a rein. The fact that Carreen was holding my sigil means nothing.”

  “Nothing? It is the only clue I have. Who did it, then?” Thane demanded.

  A figure strode out from the shadows, taller and broader than any man she’d ever seen in person. Under an oddly protruding brow, his eyes were a bright, shining blue, lizard-like in their set and vertical pupils. His bare shoulders were rolled forward, something weird going on with his spine. With a crack like breaking stone, he grew even larger and more hunched, webbing along his upper arms. All power.

  Because dragon. Duh.

  Gerard pointed a black-clawed finger in her direction. “Ask her.”

  ***

  Thane glanced at Emerson, who was vehemently shaking her head, the word no formed on her lips but not uttered.

  “What do you mean?” he demanded, looking back at Gerard.

  A lick of fire danced in Gerard’s eyes. Inside, he had to be experiencing the conflagration of change within his bones, muscles, and blood. He collapsed to all fours, keening with the pain of it. Soon, his mind would blacken with the Night Song.

  Thane raised his voice. “What has she to do with it?”

  “My sons.” The dragon spoke, but it was Gerard who’d chosen the words. A plea.

  Gerard was indeed too far gone. Later, Thane would shake the answers from Emerson himself. She had to know something.

  Thane didn’t take his eyes off Gerard—the fire would overcome him at any moment—so he inclined his chin slightly toward Ransom. “Get Locke. He should be here.”

  Both sons should be with their father when he died. And after, they would have to consign his body to fire again and again until nothing was left. It was the Bloodkin way.

  Thane heard Ransom’s footsteps as he dashed back up the stairs, but Emerson seemed frozen in place, her arms clutched around herself.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She met his gaze, and he found her irises had a green shimmer behind the brown, her dragon peeking out to see one of its own kind. “He’s—”

  “Going to die, yes,” Thane said. But not because of Carreen and Rinc. Because his final shift was upon him, and no Bloodkin, even family, could allow a final shift anywhere near humankind. The final shift was mindless, the man utterly subsumed by the beast.

  Ransom and Locke came down the stairs, their treads slow and heavy. The older boy took off his suit jacket and laid it on the stairs, and Locke’s breath hitched when he saw his father.

  “It shouldn’t have been this way,” Ransom said, rolling up his sleeves.

  No, it should not. Gerard should be a shadow high in the sky, eating atmosphere over Havyn. Instead, he’d had to stay behind to make sure his sons didn’t take the blame for a crime they’d been framed for.

  “Whoever killed Carreen and Rinc and planted our sigil in her hand robbed him worse than if they’d stolen his hoard,” Locke said.

  Ransom put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “They’ll pay.”

  “They’ll pay in blood,” Locke added.

  Ransom starting forward. “Let’s do this, then.”

  Thane held up a hand. “You’re not strong enough. Either of you.” He stripped off his shirt so it wouldn’t catch fire. “My dragon is high. I’ll do it.”

  “No, that’s our father,” Locke said.

  “I was a father once, too, for a little while,” Thane said. “Give him the peace that he didn’t harm you, that his legacy is intact.”

  Thane could see the desperation in Ransom’s eyes, and glancing at Locke, the abject misery in his. They had no other choice. Time, usually a friend to Bloodkin, was no friend today.

  Such was the life cycle of a Bloodkin. They were a people with lives as long as the human could remain in control. Yet, with each passing year, the dragon within grew stronger until it overcame the man entirely. Man to beast, beast to fire, and then nothing but ash.

  He turned to Emerson. Tears dripped down her face as she clutched herself, scared and solitary. As an orphan, it was unlikely she’d ever witnessed the end change. She was learning all the worst about being Bloodkin first and none of the beauty. And there was great beauty.

  Thane approached the semi-formed dragon shuddering on the floor. Gerard was feral in his throes, fire licking all over his skin to char and shed it for the silvery scales that glinted beneath. Already, the knobs of his spine were growing. The hulk of his body quivered, pops and cracks provoking angry growls. His claws scraped the stone floor. Would soon scrape through flesh if he wasn’t put down immediately.

  When Thane drew near, Gerard snapped at him with vicious, elongated teeth. His wings fluttered, as if fanning fire.

  Thane dodged and lunged at the same time, his arms going around Gerard’s head. It was too large to grasp with hands on either side, so h
e had to muscle down and dig his fingers into Gerard’s jaw as flame singed his skin. Already, Gerard’s hair had been filling in with armored plates, and they cut into Thane’s arms, blood slicking his grip.

  The dragon thrashed to dislodge him.

  “Father!” Ransom called.

  The dragon went still for a moment at the sound of his son’s voice. And Thane bore down with all his strength and broke Gerard’s neck.

  CHAPTER 6

  Emerson was sitting back in the Heolstor’s drawing room, this time with her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees.

  Dragon shifters meant…dragon shifters.

  And blood and pain and death. But right now dragon shifters were enough to think about.

  It meant that one day, that gruesome shift might—would probably?—happen to her. She was going to turn into a really big, fiery monster. Which just seemed insane. There was no way she was one of them. Bloodkin. There had to be a mistake. A test she could take to prove it. She could try to cure someone with her blood. Oh, God. She was going to have a nervous breakdown.

  “I’m taking her with me.” Thane sounded threatening.

  He, Ransom, and Locke were still standing in that super-sized foyer. Because people who turned into dragons would, naturally, need super-dragon-sized foyers.

  Thane had been bleeding badly when he’d nudged her back up the stairs, but most of his wounds had crusted over by the time they’d reached the top. Handy having healing powers like that. A world of non-dragon people would want powers like that. Fathers might just trade their lives to get some for their children. Even shoot themselves in the head.

  She was going to be sick.

  “Someone implicated my father,” Locke yelled, “and, because of that, they robbed him of going to Havyn to die proudly as a dragon. I had to watch you break his neck. We’ve just as much right to revenge as you.”

  Thane scoffed. “Hardly.”

  If she weren’t so shaken up, she’d suggest that Locke not argue with the man who’d just wrestled a dragon and won. Granted, Thane had gone a little dragon himself—skin weirdly black, eyes shining, shoulder and arm muscles bulging impressively. Locke was no match. The Heolstor brothers together weren’t a match for Thane Ealdian.