Outside the cottage there was more gunfire. Feet ran over the rocks and the sound of scuffling and shouting mingled with the sound of an engine starting loudly. Kayla was trapped in Aidan’s room by her bulk. She was too big to turn around, and too modest to change back to human form before Rongo and Aidan. But Rongo was not looking at her. He was beating out the assailant’s flaming trousers and making a tourniquet out of Aidan’s sheets to stanch his wound.
Aidan stopped crying abruptly. He scampered over to his mother and put out a wondering hand to touch her scaly, iridescent neck. He smiled happily. “Mama,” he said patting her fearsome snout gently. “My mama.”
Now how in blazes did Aidan know that she was his mother? He had never seen her turn. This was just one more thing to blame on that bastard Roland Voros.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Roland Voros, Lord of Tarakona and Dreki, looked up as the huge, black oak door slowly swung open. He was sitting bolt upright on the massive carved and gilded stool that was the only furnishing of the stone walled chamber he had occupied in solitary grandeur for the last three days. He rose powerfully to his feet as Lord Lindorm entered dressed in his full regalia. Behind Lindorm two equally formally dressed dragon lords carried the gold mace and sword of the High Marshal. Roland bowed to Lord Lindorm, and again to Lindorm’s companions.
Lindorm was a mighty dragon. Even in human form he was magnificent. His white hair was the only indication of his great age. His shoulders were still broad and his chest deep and heavy with muscle. His purple robe could not conceal his virile strength. And the heavy chain he wore around his neck and hanging down to his breastbone was both a symbol of his great wealth and a sign of his vigor. It flashed brilliantly as the old dragon moved into the council anteroom.
“We have decided,” declared Lord Lindorm with appropriate solemnity. He waved a dignified hand at the tall men behind him. “Lord Voros, you are summoned to the Council Chamber.”
“May I know the Council’s decision, my lord?” Roland asked in return.
Lindorm winked at him. “The decision of the Council will be given you when you appear,” he said obscurely, sticking to his script. “We will accompany you.”
Roland adjusted his thick velvet robes so they fell in elegant silver folds. The big star on his breast glinted green and gold in the light from the lamps on the wall. His blond hair was uncovered and his green eyes sparkled like the gems on his chest. He moved to stand between Lindorm’s two attendants. One was Lindorm’s son and heir, Sven of Lind, and the other his old friend and ally, Hugo, Lord Sarkany. Both men looked grave but pleased.
Roland concealed his sense of triumph behind an impassive countenance as became a High Marshal. Together the four men strode through the wide stone corridors of the ancient stronghold of the Grand Council of the Guild of Dragons. Their footsteps rang on the stone floors, but when Lord Sven and Lord Sarkany pushed the carved doors of the Council Chamber open, the dressed stone of the medieval castle gave way to dark paneled walls hung with tapestries and an enormous multicolored carpet cushioned the flagstones.
The Council Chamber was an amphitheater with seats arranged in tiers. Many of its ancient seats were empty, but lesser nobility nevertheless sat at the back, while the ruling Dragon Lords sat at the front. The High Marshal’s vacant chair occupied the central position on the floor. This chair was a great, high backed monstrosity, carved and gilded. Even with a thick gold colored cushion, it did not seem a comfortable object.
Flanking it on either side were slightly smaller chairs, marginally less opulent. Only one of these chairs was occupied. The huge dragon lord who sat to the left of the empty High Marshal’s throne rose as the doors opened. He banged his staff of office three times on the dais and the hum of conversation ceased instantly.
“Rise,” Lord Drake declared in thunderous tones. “Behold your High Marshal.”
The assembly began to cheer. The oak ceiling reverberated with the joy of fifty dragon throats in full cry. Roland strode to the platform and bowed to his Deputy.
Lord Drake returned his bow and nodded briskly to Lord Sarkany who stepped forward with the sword he was carrying. Drake took it from him and presented it to Voros with both hands.
“Do you accept the defense of the Guild of Dragons, Lord Voros?” he asked.
Roland grasped the sword by the hilt and held it high in the air for all to see. “I do,” he cried. “I pledge to defend the Guild of Dragons with my life.” He revolved in a complete circle still holding the sword aloft, before placing it in the empty scabbard at his hip.
Lord Sven held out the huge mace he was carrying to Drake, who took it with both hands and held it like a torch. The heavy object was made of iron but was gilded and encrusted with gems of every color and sparkled magnificently in the candlelight. When Voros held out his hand for it his massive fingers circled the grip with ease. One-handed he took it from Lord Drake and held the heavy weapon aloft while Lord Lindorm led him through the long and ancient oath of office.
* * *
“That was almost too easy,” remarked Lord Lindorm as he and his guests enjoyed a pre-dinner drink in the reception room of his chateau overlooking the Loire.
“It seemed to take long enough,” his son, Sven, said mildly.
“When you have seen as many sessions of the Grand Council as I have,” Lord Lindorm said, “You will know when deliberations are protracted. I was surprised both by the speed with which we got rid of Vadim, and again when we elected ourselves a new High Marshal this week.”
The six large men taking their ease in Lindorm’s eighteenth century drawing room were of a type. Long limbed, broad shouldered and very elegant. All six were dragon shifters of great power and ancient lineage. Lindorm’s castle was not his principal residence, but it was close enough to the pile of stone that the Grand Council had used as their headquarters for a thousand years, to make it the obvious place for his allies to gather and discuss Roland Voros’ election as High Marshal.
The dragons had all exchanged their formal robes for the relative comfort of modern business suits. But no expensive tailoring could disguise the dragons’ power or strength. Individually they were all formidable. Collectively, they were terrifying.
Hugo, Lord Sarkany nodded gravely at Lindorm’s words. “Vadim’s exile was rendered easy because he did not appear. When has a High Marshal failed to appear to hear charges of treason laid against him?” Hugo’s golden eyes glowed as he asked the question on all their minds.
“It has never happened before” declared Lord Sven. Like his father, Lord Lindorm, Sven was gray eyed and calm. “Never in the history of the Council. What word have we from Montenegro?” he asked the assembled dragons.
“His compound is abandoned. Vadim has gone into hiding,” said Roland Voros. His voice was deep and menacing and all eyes turned to the newly elected High Marshal.
Roland’s cousin, Gunther, Lord Dreki of Iceland, leaned forward, big hands on his huge thighs. “Do you think he plans a counterattack, Roland?” he asked his eyes narrowed and intent.
Voros shrugged and his shoulder muscles moved under his perfectly cut suit. His green eyes were alight with the prospect of battle. “He is not the dragon to submit tamely to being exiled. Maximilian of Landor’s body was never recovered. If Landor survived, I suspect they are together plotting mischief. But the Guild of Dragons has withstood treason before. We will triumph over these rogues.”
Hugo Sarkany, looked fiercely around at the others. In the flickering candlelight his face was granite-planed and terrible. “Vadim has been exiled. He deserved death. He condoned the abduction of my mate. You all know that is punishable by execution. Exile is more than he deserves.”
Lord Drake smiled a grim smile. “I am in your debt,” he said. “I and Balaur. You have avenged the insult done to our houses four years ago.”
Lord Balaur nodded at Drake’s words, but he did not speak. His wrathful face said everything he felt.
Lindorm stoo
d. “Patience, friends,” he said serenely. “Patience. The Guild of Dragons no longer executes its criminals. Vadim is expelled from our ranks, and a bounty is out on his confederate Landor. And we have this day elected Roland Voros as our leader. The Grand Council is in good hands.” He raised his glass. “I give you the High Marshal.”
All the dragons stood and toasted Roland Voros. In the pocket of his suit, Voros’ mobile buzzed like an angry insect.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“We have three of them in custody, sir,” Tane Te Mahuta told his boss the moment Lord Voros alighted from his helicopter, and the rotors had slowed to a stop. “Both Russians. They’re not talking. The one who tried to snatch the boy is not actually a dragon. He smells like a bear to me. He has second degree burns to his calves and feet and a gunshot wound in his upper thigh.”
“Where is he?” Roland asked his sword bearer.
“Auckland Hospital, sir. We called the police. They took the bear. We held on to the other two. They are both dragons. The others got away. Motorboat. In the confusion, we didn’t follow as quickly as we needed to.” Tane stopped, chagrined by his admission of failure.
“Your first priority was your mistress,” Roland reassured his sword bearer. “And she and the boy are safe. Have you interrogated the ones you caught?”
“They’re not talking. They act as though they don’t speak English.” Tane shrugged. “I suppose it might be true.”
“Where are they?” demanded Voros as they headed away from the helipad in Tane’s beach buggy.
“The lab storeroom, sir. We have guards watching the door.”
“I will speak with them myself once I have seen Dr. Cooper and the boy. I am sure those dragons will talk to me.” Roland’s hard, flat voice made the hair on Tane’s neck stand up.
Roland didn’t doubt that the Russians would talk. Even so, those Russian dragons had attacked his mate and he was not feeling merciful.
“Dr. Cooper wanted to take the boy to Auckland, sir, but we told her the helicopter wasn’t available until tomorrow. We used it to transport the other researchers to the mainland. The police came in a launch, but they don’t take civilians unless they are injured or under arrest, and they wouldn’t take Dr. Cooper.”
Roland nodded, his face grim. “Your mistress is right to worry about her safety here. But the mainland would be no less dangerous.”
* * *
Kayla was sitting outside her cottage on the thin strip of decking that ran along the frontage. Aidan and Amiria were off playing with Rongo acting as bodyguard — as she supposed he had been all along. She watched with narrowed eyes as Tane Te Mahuta walked up the beach towards her with the man of her nightmares. Roland Voros was just as tall and handsome as he had been four years ago when he had seduced her. He smelled the same too. Masculine. Dominant. Sexuality personified. Damn his black heart.
When the two men got to the foot of her little veranda they both bowed to her. Bowed low. Roland too. That made a change. The last time she had seen him on Whangaparoa Island he had been trying to browbeat her. Almost succeeding too. “Good morning,” Roland said to her. “Tane, check the rear.”
Tane bowed to Roland. “Sir.” He touched his right arm to his khaki covered chest and went. So he was another spy.
Kayla was too angry to speak. She sat and glared at her lover.
“Shall we speak out here?” he asked sardonically. “Where all may hear us?”
She glowered at him but stood up and opened the screen door. Roland followed her indoors and latched the screen and the interior door as well. He looked at the locks with stupid, male satisfaction. Not that they had done her any good last night. But then she hadn’t known she had reason to lock her doors here on tranquil, crime-free Ngaire Island.
She followed him into her small sitting area, glaring at his handsome self. The arrogant bastard had not changed one iota in four years. He was still overwhelmingly tall and broad. Still a huge, blond Norse God. He still made her heart pound and her pussy quiver. But thankfully she was a tougher, stronger proposition nowadays — as the bastard would find out before he was much older.
* * *
Kayla looked even more beautiful than she had done when he first met her. Her lush hips and breasts were even more tempting now she had borne his child. His mate was a queenly woman. Tall and luscious. Motherhood and dragon blood became her mightily. Her hazel eyes were angry and passionate. Her plump and regular features were stiff with outrage — and worry. But to him she was still the most beautiful female he had ever seen.
“The boy is well?” he asked her.
“No thanks to you,” she snapped.
“Tane and Rongo and their brothers defended you as best they could,” he responded in indignant protest.
“Then it wasn’t you who sent those men to steal my son?”
“Of course not.” Roland drew himself up. “You are my mate. The Beloved of Voros. Aidan is my heir — my only son. I would never send assassins after you.”
Kayla folded her arms across her magnificent bosom and scowled at him. “So who else wants my son?” she demanded crossly.
“I have enemies,” Roland admitted sheepishly. “But I set my sword bearers to watch you and Aidan. If you had locked your door, any intruder could have been stopped before he entered. But the kidnapper didn’t have to do anything but pull the screen door open.”
“So it’s my fault that you have enemies?” she cried angrily. One bare foot tapped the floor.
Roland’s mouth dried as his eyes went from her shorts down the long, round length of her tanned legs to her sparkling tangerine toenails. He remembered those supple thighs clasped around his hips. The press of those dimpled knees at his waist. It had been four years, but he would always remember making love with this woman for the first time.
“It is your fault that my enemies could reach my woman and my son,” he spat out despite his best intentions. This woman was the only being who could make him lose his iron self-control.
“My fault! And Aidan is not your son!”
“Liar,” he replied. He smiled fondly at his mate. “You lied to me. He extracted a paper from his hip pocket. I have DNA results that say differently, Dr. Cooper. You are my mate. And the fireling is mine.”
Kayla snatched the paper from Roland’s hand and scanned it. A was the father of B. C was the mother of B. There was nothing to identify who A, B, or C was. But that was quibbling. Roland had called her bluff.
“It doesn’t make any difference, Voros,” she said defiantly. “I told you four years ago what I thought of your deceitfulness.” She leaned forward and hissed, “I didn’t want to be turned into a whacking great reptile then, and it still makes me mad to think I’m going to be a dragon for the rest of my life.”
“And yet my men tell me you took dragon to defend the boy,” Roland interjected admiringly. “Before they could respond. And Aidan recognized you, although I suspect he had never seen you in dragon form before.”
Smoke puffed from her nostrils and she clapped frightened hands over her face and glared at him.
“You lack control,” Roland informed her condescendingly. “That is what you get for denying your true nature.”
Kayla drew in a deep breath. Her face turned scarlet. “My true nature?” She poked Roland hard in the chest with her forefinger. And her face grew even more infuriated. “My nature?” Her voice became a bellow.
Roland backed up a pace, discomposed by her attack. His Kayla was no longer a sweet and timid girl. Who was this bold virago? Kayla stood on tiptoe and stared him in the face. She was taller than she had been, but she was still his little mate, he thought affectionately.
“My true nature isn’t to be a dammed lizard,” she said furiously. “I was a perfectly fine woman — maybe a little bit heavy — but fine otherwise before I met you.”
Roland could not bear to have her speak so of herself. He grabbed her by her waist and hoisted her so his green eyes could look straight into her h
azel ones. “You were perfect when I met you,” he growled fiercely, denying the truth of her words with every fiber of his being. “Perfect in every way. A walking, talking fantasy. And you are perfect, now that you are both a dragoness and mother.” He brought her closer and kissed her passionately. All control gone now he finally had his hands on her.
Kayla responded immediately to his passionate kiss. Her tongue slid eagerly along the length of his and she pulled it into her own hot mouth and sucked hard. Her hands clung to his biceps and her soft and pillowy bosom pressed into his chest. After four years of drought, he finally had his passionate woman back in his arms. He took his time, savoring this deep soul kiss. He only released her when she wriggled in his arms, demanding to be released.
Roland let her slide down his rock hard body. His every muscle was tense. His aching, long-unsatisfied dragon maker was as stiff and hard as a spear against her softness. Kayla staggered when he released her. She stood a little way from him panting. He was pleased to see that her anger was momentarily tamed by passion.
He held out one big hand palm upwards. “Kayla. Beloved,” he said urgently. “We are mated. We have a son. We should not have been apart, and now we cannot be. Our fireling needs to be taught the ways of our race. And you are in deadly peril every hour we remain unwed.”
She rolled her eyes contemptuously. “How I love it when you are all pompous, Lord-Voros-knows-best,” she said sarcastically. “I fail to see why marriage would protect me from kidnappers.”
“In this I do know best,” he assured her solemnly, one hand on his heart. “On my honor, Kayla, I swear that you have been discovered and are known to be a dragoness. If you will not accept my name and my protection, some other dragon will seize you and make you his — whether you will or no. And Aidan will be killed before your eyes.”
Dragon's Successor (BBW/Dragon Shifter Romance) (Lords of the Dragon Islands Book 2) Page 13
