Heart of the Dragon a-1

by Gena Showalter

  His breath snagged as he studied the ornament more intently. Surely that was not… could not be…

  But it was.

  A frown cemented his features, and his fingers fisted so tightly his bones almost snapped. How had this woman come to possess such a sacred talisman? The gods awarded every dragon warrior a Ra-Dracus, a Dragon's Fire, upon reaching manhood, and a warrior never removed his gift, not for any reason save death. The markings etched at the base of this one were familiar to him, but he could not recall exactly to whom it belonged.

  Not this woman, that much he knew. She was not a dragon, nor was she a child of Atlantis.

  His frown deepened. Ironically the very oath that commanded him to harm her also compelled him to keep her alive until she explained how and why she had the medallion. Reaching out, he attempted to remove it from her neck. She slapped his palm and scampered backward.

  "Wh-what are you doing?" she demanded.

  "Give me the medallion."

  She didn't cower at his hard tone as most would have done. Nor did she jump to obey. No, she returned his gaze with unflinching courage. Or stupidity. She remained firmly in place, hands at her side.

  "Don't come any closer," she told him.

  "You wear the mark of a dragon," he continued. "And you, woman, are no dragon. Give me the medallion."

  "The only thing I'll give you is an ass-kicking, you rotten thief. Stay back."

  He leveled her with a resolute gaze. She was defensive and fearful. Not a good combination when trying to obtain answers. He almost sighed. "I am called Darius," he said. "Does that ease your fears?"

  "No, no it doesn't" Contrary to her words, her muscles relaxed slightly. "My brother gave me this necklace. It's my only link to him right now, and I'm not giving it up."

  Darius worried a hand down his face. "What is your name?"

  "Why do you want to know?"

  "What is your name?" he repeated. "Do not forget who holds the sword."

  "Grace Carlyle," she reluctantly supplied.

  "Where is your brother now, Grace Carlyle?" Her name floated easily from his tongue. Too easily. "I wish to speak with him."

  "I don't know where he is."

  And she did not like that she did not know, he realized, studying the worry in her eyes. "No matter," he said. "The medallion does not belong to him, either. It belongs to a dragon, and I will have it back."

  She studied him for a long, silent moment, then offered him a sunny if brittle smile. "You're right. You can have it. I just need a moment to take it off." She raised her arms as if she meant to do as she'd claimed-take it off. But in the next instant, she darted forward until she stood poised at the mist's entrance. His arm snaked out and jerked her back into the hard circle of his body. She gasped on impact.

  Had his reflexes not been so quick, he would have lost her.

  "You dare defy me?" he said, perplexed. As leader of this palace, he was used to having his every command obeyed. That this woman opposed him was shocking, yet somehow added to her appeal.

  "Let me go!"

  He held steady. "Struggling is pointless and merely delays what must be done."

  "What must be done?" Instead of calming, she beat her pointy little elbows into his stomach. "What the hell must be done?"

  He whirled her around and used one of his hands as a shackle, locking her against him, chest to chest, hardness to softness.

  "Be still!" he shouted. Then blinked. Shouted? Yes, he'd actually raised his voice.

  Amazingly enough, she stilled. Her breath came shallow and fast. Amid the growing quiet, he began to hear the beat of her heart, a staccato rhythm that reverberated in his ears. Their gazes narrowed on each other and looking away proved impossible. Minutes ticked by unnoticed.

  "Please," she at last whispered, and he wasn't sure if she was asking him to release her or hold her more tightly.

  He used his free hand to smooth up the velvety soft expanse of her neck, then gently flick her hair out of the way. The heat of her beckoned him to linger, and he fought the urge to glide his hands across her every feminine peak and hollow, from the plumpness of her breasts, to the slight roundness of her stomach. From the exotic slope of her legs, to the hot wetness of her center.

  Was she the kind of woman who could accept and return the barbarity of his passion? Or would she find him more than she could handle?

  The thought jarred him, and he gave a brutal shake of his head to dislodge it. Whether she could handle him or not didn't matter. He wasn't going to bed this woman.

  And yet…

  He easily imagined Grace naked and in his bed, her body splayed for his view. Her arms open and waiting for him. She would smile slowly, seductively, and he would climb just as slowly atop her, dance his tongue over every delectable inch of her, enjoy her languidly-or let her enjoy him-until they both collapsed.

  The fantasy caused his desire to intermingle with tenderness, each sensation sparking off the other as they raced through him.

  Desire he could tolerate. Tenderness he could not.

  For years he'd tried to suppress his physical needs, but he'd learned that was impossible. So he'd begun to allow himself the occasional woman, taking and pleasing them hard and fast, then leaving them quickly afterward. He didn't kiss, didn't savor. Just took them with a total absorption that often left his chosen bedmate exhausted and reeling.

  He needed that same absorption now, only channeled differently. He needed to distance himself from Grace's appeal. With that firmly rooted in his mind, he hurriedly unhooked the chain's clasp from around her neck, though he was careful not to bruise her.

  "Give that back," she demanded, pulling against his hold. "It's mine."

  "No. It is mine."

  Her expression turned venomous.

  Without removing his gaze from her, Darius secured the medallion around his own neck, causing it to clang against the other Ra-Dracus. "I have many questions for you, and I expect you to answer every one," he told her. "If you utter a single untruth, you will regret it. Is that clear?"

  A strangled breath slipped past her lips.

  "Do you understand?" he reiterated.

  Wide-eyed, she nodded slowly.

  "Then we will begin. You told me you want to give the medallion back to your brother. Why? What does he plan to do with it?"

  "I-I don't know."

  Did she lie? The angelic cast of her features suggested no untruth had ever passed from her lips. Thinking of her lips brought his gaze to them. They were plump lips. Lips made for a man's pleasure. He ran his hand down his face, unsure what to believe, but knowing he should not imagine those lips slipping up and down his shaft, her red hair spilling over his thighs.

  "Where did he acquire it?" Darius ground out.

  "I don't know," she said hollowly.

  "From who did he acquire it?"

  "His boss."

  His boss… Darius's jaw ticked. That meant there were more surface dwellers involved. "How long has the chain been in your possession?"

  She closed her eyes for a moment, silently counting the days. "A little over a week."

  "Do you know what it is? Or what it does?"

  "It does nothing," she said, her brow furrowed. "It's just a necklace. A piece of jewelry."

  He regarded her intently, studying, gauging. "How, then, did you find the mist?"

  She pushed out a breath. "I don't know, okay. I was walking around that damn jungle. I was hot and tired and hungry. I discovered an underground spring, stumbled upon the cave and crawled inside."

  "Did anyone enter the cave with you?"

  "No."

  "Are you certain?"

  She glared up at him, daring him to do what he would. "Yes, damn it. I'm certain. I was alone out there."

  "If you have lied… " He allowed his threat to hang in the air unsaid.

  "I told you the truth," she snapped.

  Had she? He honestly didn't know. He only knew that he wanted to believe every word she uttere
d. He was too captivated by her beauty. Too entranced by her scent. He should kill her here and now, but he couldn't bring himself to hurt her. Not yet. Not until he'd had time and distance to put her in proper perspective.

  I'm a fool , he thought. Darius grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder. She began kicking immediately, and her nails raked down his back.

  "Put me down, you Neanderthalic bastard!" Her shrieks echoed in his ears. "I answered your questions. You have to let me go."

  "Perhaps a little time in my chamber will make those answers of yours improve. Surely you can do better than 'I don't know.'"

  "Improve? Improve! If I'd given you different answers, I would have been lying."

  "We shall see."

  He strode up the cave stairs and into the palace above. She continued to squirm and kick, and he continued to hold her firmly with his arms. He was careful to avoid his men as he carried her to his chamber. Once there, he tossed her atop the velvet covered mattress and tied her flailing arms and legs to the posts. Seeing her splayed on his bed made him sweat and ache. Made him rock-hard. Gods, he couldn't deal with her now, not when she looked so… eatable. Without another glance in her direction, he turned and strode into the hall. The door closed behind him of its own accord.

  Sooner or later, the woman would have to die… by his own hand.

  CHAPTER 4

  Alone in the room, Grace tugged and squirmed until she freed her wrists. She untied the knots at her ankles and jerked upright. Alex had tied her up many times when they'd been children, so escaping seemed like child's play. Besides that, her captor had not tied the knots that tight. She dragged in a shaky breath as her gaze darted throughout the spacious interior, taking in every detail. Other than the gloriously soft bed she sprawled upon, a tiered ivory chest was the only other furnishing. Colors… so many colors glistened from the jagged walls like rainbow shards trapped in onyx. There was a cream and marble hearth, unlit and pristine. The only exit was a door with no handle.

  Where the hell am I ? she wondered, panic rising.

  Fear and adrenaline pounded furiously through her blood. A man who could afford this type of luxury could afford an impregnable security system. She fisted her hands on the sapphire velvet coverlet as another thought invaded her mind. A man who could afford this type of luxury could afford to kidnap and torture an innocent woman with no consequences.

  Shooting to her feet, she tried to fight past her fear. I'll be okay. I'll be okay . She just needed to find a way out of here. Before he returned. She raced to the door, clawing at the tiny seam. When that didn't work, she pushed, trying to force the doors to split down the middle. The thick ivory remained firmly in place, refusing to budge even a little. She expelled a frustrated screech. She should have expected no different. Like he'd make escape that easy.

  What was she going to do?

  There were no windows to crawl through. And the ceiling… she glanced upward and gasped. The ceiling was comprised of layered crystal prisms, the source of the room's light. A thin crack stretched across the middle from one end to the other, giving way to a spectacular view of swirling, turquoise liquid. Yet the liquid didn't drip through. Fish and other sea creatures-those were not mermaids, she assured herself-swam playfully through the water.

  I'm underwater. Underwater ! She banged her fists against the door. "Let me out of here, damn you!"

  No response was forthcoming.

  "This is illegal. If you don't let me out, you'll be arrested. I swear you will. You'll go to prison and be forced to have intimate relations with a man named Butch. Let. Me. Out."

  Again, no response. Her punches slowed, then stopped altogether. She rested her cheek against the coolness of the door. Where the hell am I ? she wondered once more.

  Something tugged at her memory… something she had read. A book or a magazine, or… Alex's journal! she realized. The bottom dropped from her stomach, and she squeezed her eyes shut as the full implication hit her. Her brother had written about a doorway from earth to Atlantis, a portal surrounded by mist. Her mouth formed an "O" as a section of his text invaded her mind, clicking in place like the piece of a puzzle. Atlantis was not the home of an extraordinary race of people, but of horrible creatures found only in nightmares, a place the gods had hidden their greatest mistakes.

  Her knees weakened and her stomach clenched. Turning, placing her back to the door, she sank to the cold, hard ground. It was true. She had traveled through the mist. She was in Atlantis. With horrible creatures even the gods feared.

  Let this be a dream, a dream I'll awaken from any moment. I promise I won't complain about anything ever again. I'll be content.

  If the gods heard her, they ignored her.

  Wait, she thought, shaking her head. She didn't believe in ancient Greek gods.

  I have to get out of here . She'd wanted danger and fulfillment, yes, but not this. Never this. En route to Brazil, she'd imagined how intrepid she would feel helping Alex, how accomplished she would feel proving or disproving such a well-loved myth.

  Well, she'd just proved it-and she felt anything but accomplished.

  "Atlantis," she whispered brokenly, staring over at the bed. The comforter appeared quilted from glass, yet she knew exactly how soft it was. She was in Atlantis, home of minotaurs, Formorians, werewolves and vampires. And so many more creatures her brother hadn't been able to name them all. Her stomach gave another painful clench.

  Just what type of creature was her captor?

  She searched her memory. Minotaurs were half bull and half human. While he may have acted like a bull, he had not possessed the physical characteristics of one. Formorians were one-armed and one-legged creatures. Again, he didn't qualify. Could he be a werewolf or a vampire? Yet neither of those seemed right, either.

  With his dragon tattoos, he seemed more like, well, a dragon. Could that be right? Didn't dragons have scales, a tail and wings? Perhaps he was the only human here. Or perhaps he was a male nymph, a creature so sexual, so potent and virile, he could not be released into human society. That certainly explained her hopelessly powerful reaction to him.

  "Darius," she said, rolling his name across her tongue.

  She shivered twice, once in fear and once in something she didn't want to name, as his image filled her mind. He was a man of contradictions. With his swirling, ice-blue eyes, harsh, demanding tone and rock-solid muscles, he personified everything cold and callous, everything incapable of offering warmth. And yet, when he touched her, she'd felt molten lava run through her veins.

  The man reeked of danger, resembling a warrior who lived with no laws but his own. Like the deliciously tantalizing warriors she read about in romance novels. This was no novel, however. This man was real. Raw and primal. Purely masculine. When he spoke, his voice resonated a dark, barely leashed power reminiscent of midnight tempests and exotic, foreign lands. Despite everything, she had been drawn to him in the cave.

  Despite everything, she was still drawn to him.

  Never, in all of her twenty-four years, had a man stirred such sensuous awareness inside her. That this man did, a man who had threatened her-several times-blew her mind. He'd even tried to slice her in half with that monstrous sword of his. But he didn't hurt you , her mind whispered. Not once . His touch had been so gentle… almost reverent. At times, she'd thought his gaze was pleading with her to touch him in return.

  " You need your head examined, young lady, if you actually find that man attractive ." Her mother's stern voice reverberated in her mind. " Tattoos, swords. Not to mention the beastly way he carried you over his shoulder. Why, I was horrified."

  Then her aunt Sophie piped in, " Now, Gracie baby, don't listen to your mother. She hasn't had a man in years. Does Darius have a single, older brother ?"

  "I truly do need my head examined," she muttered. Her relatives were taking residence inside her mind, dispensing bits of advice whenever they wanted.

  A wave of homesickness hit her in a way she hadn
't experienced since her first week of summer camp all those years ago. Her mother might be reserved and exacting from years of caring for Grace's sickly father, but she loved and missed her.

  She drew her arms around her stomach, trying to mask the hollowness. Where had Darius gone? How long before he returned?

  What did he plan to do with her?

  Nothing good, that much she suspected.

  The air here was warmer than in the cave, but the cold refused to leave her, and she trembled. Her gaze flicked up the jagged walls, to the ceiling. Climbing up might earn her scratched and bloody palms, injuries she'd willingly endure if the crystal ceiling opened wide enough for her to slip through and swim to safety.

  She eased to her feet, her legs shaky. First she needed sustenance or she'd collapse-and then she'd never escape.

  On top of the dresser was what looked to be a bowl of fruit and a flagon of wine. Drawing in a deep breath of sea-kissed air, she approached. Her mouth watered as she reached out and palmed an apple. Without giving herself time to contemplate the likelihood of poison, she quickly ate-more like inhaled, she thought-the delicious fruit. Then another. And another. Between bites, she sipped the sweet red wine straight from the flagon.

  By the time she stepped to the edge of the wall, she felt stronger, more in control. She gripped two small ledges and hoisted herself up, balancing her feet on the sharp ebony. Up, up she scaled. She'd once climbed the Devil's Thumb in Alaska-not her favorite memory since she'd frozen her butt off-but at least she knew how to climb properly. She dared a peek down, gulped, and thought lovingly of the harness she had used on Devil's Thumb.

  She reached the top, and her palms were indeed bruised and raw, throbbing. Using all of her might, she pushed and clawed at the crystal. "Come on," she said. "Open for me. Please open for me." Hope curdled in her stomach as the damn thing remained firmly closed. Near tears, she maneuvered her way down to the lowest outcropping and hopped to the floor.

  She shoved her hair out of her face and took stock of her options. There weren't many since she was stuck in this room. She could passively accept whatever Darius had planned for her, or she could fight him.