Heart of the Dragon a-1

by Gena Showalter

  Forcing a smile, Grace handed one of the men her Empire State Building-she was not jabbing anyone today-and reached into her wallet. She withdrew several bills. At the sight of cash, the alley men lost all interest in Darius.

  "For you," she said, paying them to go away and keep this "their little secret." I'm aiding and abetting a criminal , she thought, an unexpected wave of excitement crashing inside her.

  Excitement? No, surely not. skiing in Aspen hadn't excited her. Paragliding in Mexico hadn't excited her. Most likely what she felt so intently was fear. Any second she expected the police to show up and haul her and Darius away.

  "I'll scream."

  The threat came as the man pushed to his feet.

  Both of Darius's brows winged up. A sheen of sweat glistened on his neck and face, but his expression did not portray a hint of weakness. "Are you a woman, then?" he said. "First you hide in the shadows, and when you are caught, you scream?"

  "You lay a single hand on me, the cops will be all over you."

  Darius grabbed him by the shoulders, angling his wrists in a crisscross and pressing his knives subtly into the man's carotid artery. Not enough to break the skin, but enough to sting.

  That's when Grace received her first good look at the man. Shock held her frozen for a long while. "Patrick?" she said when she finally found her voice. This man worked with her brother; he'd even escorted her to the boat, and had engaged her in several conversations about her family afterward. "What's going on? Why were you following me?"

  Silence.

  "Answer her questions," Darius demanded. When Patrick still refused to speak, Darius increased the pressure of the blades, making small pricks and drawing blood.

  "You won't kill me," he said smugly.

  "You're right. I won't kill you. Not with blades, at least." Darius dropped his weapons and wrapped his hands around the man's neck.

  "I-I wasn't following her. I swear," Patrick sputtered, his face slowly fading from pink, to white, to blue. He kicked and clawed, losing his smugness with his need for air.

  Eyes wide, she glanced from Darius to Patrick, from Patrick to Darius. Intimidation was a good tactic for getting what they wanted, but she knew Darius wasn't trying to intimidate. He really would kill Patrick without a single qualm.

  "You are lying, and I do not like liars," Darius said, his voice so bored he could have been commenting on the mating habits of flies. But then his eyes slitted and his voice deepened, no longer dripping with boredom, but with rage. "I recognize you. You are the one who touched Grace while she was sleeping."

  Patrick's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "No, no," he gasped, struggling to loosen Darius's grip. "I didn't."

  "I watched you do it," he said, his teeth bared.

  Were those fangs? She shivered as she stared at the long, sharp incisors. Then their words sank into her brain. "He touched me?" she gasped, hands anchoring on her hips. To Patrick, she ground out, "Which part of me?"

  "Your cheek," Darius told her.

  Her jaw gnashed in fury.

  "You couldn't have watched me," Patrick said to Darius. "You weren't on the boat."

  No, he hadn't been on the boat, but then, Darius hadn't needed to be. He'd used his medallion on her like he'd done to Alex, she realized, not liking that he'd seen her and she hadn't known.

  Patrick made a gargled sound, and his battle for freedom intensified. His legs flailed, and his hands slashed.

  "Were we in my home," Darius said, "I would have your hands removed for such an offense."

  "I didn't hurt her," Patrick squeaked. "You know I didn't hurt her."

  "Wrong again," Darius said. A flash of green scales pulsed over his skin. "You touched my woman. Mine. For that alone I want to kill you."

  Grace's heart stopped. Literally stopped, suspended in her chest. Which should she react to first? The scales or the "she is my woman" statement? Neither, she decided. Only Alex mattered right now. Not her shock at the fact that there were actually dragon scales under Darius's skin, and certainly not her unwanted joy at his words.

  Tamping down her emotions, she forced her attention to Patrick. His lips were moving, but no sound emerged. "I think he's trying to say something, Darius," she said.

  Several seconds passed before Darius loosened his hold. "Have you something to say?"

  "I-" Patrick sucked in a deep breath. "Just need-" deep breath "-a moment."

  "You're supposed to be looking for my brother," Grace told him. "Why aren't you in Brazil?"

  "He's dead. Alex's dead. We found evidence right after you left. I'm sorry."

  Had Darius not shown Grace proof that Alex lived, she would have sank to her knees and sobbed. Of all the things to say, of all the things to feign remorse about, that was the crudest.

  Her eyes narrowed. "You may kill him, Darius."

  Darius flicked her a startled glance, staring at her lips as if he couldn't quite believe what they'd proclaimed. He grinned slowly, then turned that grin to Patrick.

  "What the woman wants," he said, "I give her."

  Both of Patrick's palms pushed at Darius's chest, but the action had no effect. "I can't tell you anything. I'll lose everything, damn it. Everything!"

  "So you would rather lose your life?"

  Darius increased the pressure. Patrick gurgled, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to suck in air. Grace snapped out of her murderous inclinations. Thinking about a death and actually witnessing it were two totally different things.

  Not knowing what else to do, she laid her hand on Darius's arm. "Perhaps I spoke too hastily," she said. "Let's give him one more chance."

  Darius glanced at her hand, then brought his gaze to her face, never releasing Patrick. The blue in Darius's eyes had faded substantially, making them appear almost completely white.

  "Let him go. Please." Her hand inched upward, and she stroked her fingers over his cheek. "For me."

  She didn't know why she'd added those last words and didn't expect them to work. Yet color began to return to Darius's eyes, not ice-blue but gorgeous golden-brown. The color she was coming to love.

  "Please," she said again.

  He released Patrick in the next instant. The gasping man collapsed on the dirty concrete, wheezing as he tried to fill his lungs. Red handprints encircled his neck, changing to a blue-black as she watched. She and Darius waited side by side, silent, as Patrick breathed life back into his body.

  "Why were you following Grace?" Darius demanded. "I will not give you another chance to answer, so consider your words carefully."

  Patrick closed his eyes and leaned his shoulders into the wall. His fingers massaged at his throat. "The medallion," he said, his voice hoarse, broken. "I followed her for the medallion."

  "Why?" Every muscle Darius possessed stiffened. "What did you hope to do with it?"

  "My boss… he wants your jewels," Patrick choked out. "That's all."

  "How do you know what I am?"

  "You're like the others. The ones we… " His words trailed off. "I was only to keep track of Grace's whereabouts, to record where she went and who she talked to. I wasn't to harm her in any way. I swear."

  "Give us a name?" she said sharply, though she was beginning to suspect the answer.

  His shoulders slumped, and he laughed, a humorless, I-can't-believe-this-is-happening rasp. "I'll tell you, but you know what? You'd better be prepared to wade nose-deep in shit because that's what he's going to throw at you. He's the greediest son of a bitch I've ever met, and he'll do anything, anything to get what he wants."

  "His name," she insisted.

  "Jason Graves." He paused, adding gruffly, "Alex's boss. The owner of Argonauts."

  A cold shiver of dread attacked Grace. Argonauts. Jason. Bits of information began to piece together in her mind. Trembling inside, Grace bent down until she and Patrick were eye-to-eye. She cupped his chin with shaky hands and forced him to face her, to stare her directly in the eyes. "Is Jason Graves holding Alex captive?"<
br />
  Patrick nodded reluctantly.

  "Where?" The word lashed from her. "Here in the States? Brazil?"

  "Different places. Never the same place for long."

  "Was he in Brazil while I was there? Is that why you guys were so eager to send me home?" Why hadn't they hurt her? Why hadn't they threatened Alex with her life? There had to be a reason.

  "We wanted you out of there so you wouldn't hinder our search for the medallion. Other than that, I'm as clueless as you as to where he is," he added. "I'm told on a need to know basis, and I don't need to know that."

  "How long has he been a prisoner?"

  "A few weeks." Patrick wheezed, then coughed. "You were supposed to find the e-mail we sent you and stop searching. Why the hell didn't you stop searching?"

  His question was rhetorical, so she didn't bother with a response. "What does Jason plan to do with him? Kill him? Release him later?"

  "Who knows?" he said, but the truth was there in his eyes. Alex would never be released. Not alive. "Last I heard, he was fine."

  Shoving to her feet, Grace looked up at Darius. "We have to go to the police," she said. "We have to tell them what's going on."

  "What are police?"

  When she explained, he said sharply, "No." He shook his head, causing black locks of hair to brush his temples. "We will involve no one else."

  "They'll help us. They'll-"

  "They will only hinder our search. I would be unable to use my… special skills. I will find your brother on my own."

  He was asking her to trust him absolutely, to place her brother's life in his hands. Could she? Dare she? Her gaze fell to her hands.

  "What will you do with these police of yours?" Darius demanded. "Will you tell them the myth of Atlantis is true and your brother hoped to prove it? Will you tell them you have traveled there? Will you bring more of your people and heartache to my land?"

  Her eyes closed for a brief moment. She mentally sighed. Did she dare trust him? she asked herself again. Yes. She dared. No man was more competent. And no other man possessed the magical gifts that Darius did. He could do things the law couldn't; he could take her places the law couldn't. "I trust you," she said. "I won't go to them."

  He nodded as if her answer had meant little to him, but she saw the flood of relief in his eyes. He whipped his attention to Patrick. "If you come near Grace again," he said, his tone harsh, lethal, "you'll find no more mercy from me. Do you understand?"

  Slowly Patrick nodded. The action caused him to wince.

  Eyes glowing ice-blue, Darius bent down and retrieved his blades. He wavered suddenly, but righted himself. Grace gripped his arm to help steady him. His skin was pale again as he secured his weapons inside his pockets. He wound his arm around her waist and curled his fingers possessively on her rib cage.

  "Let us pay this Jason Graves a visit."

  CHAPTER 16

  Argonauts was housed in a towering building of glass and chrome, and as Grace rode the elevator up to the forty-third floor, she brooded, thinking the company should have been housed in a hut of shame and greed.

  Did Jason Graves actually think he could lock her brother away and go unpunished? Her hands fisted at her sides. Underneath her anger, however, were tendrils of fear that refused to leave. She remembered how cold and sick Alex had looked.

  "I'm scared, Darius," she whispered.

  He remained curiously silent. Solemn, actually.

  Grace turned toward him and blinked. Though some color had returned to his cheeks, the lines around his lips were taut, and there was a new hollowness to his cheeks. She didn't like to see this hard, strong, extraordinarily capable man weakened in any way. Not because it made him less able to help her, but because she cared about him. Darius. About all the things that made up who he was. Seeing him distressed was worse than experiencing it herself.

  The realization rocked her because it meant… Oh, God. She didn't just care about him. She loved him. Grace groaned, and Darius cast her a sharp glance. She offered him a forced half smile. Of all the silly things to do. To fall in love with this mighty warrior like a jumper from a plane. No parachute. No landing mat. Just… splat.

  When she'd told Darius she wasn't ready for him, she'd meant it. He was too intense. Too stubborn. Too much everything. So how could this have happened?

  Don't worry about that right now. Just feed him. Get his strength up . Her hands shook as she dug in her purse and pulled out a tin of mints. Keeping her focus away from his face-she did not want him to know what she was thinking-she reached down and grasped his hand. His palm was warm and dry, thick and rough.

  He jerked away from her touch.

  Before she had time to react, he was reaching out and stiffly relinking their fingers. "Don't do me any favors," she snapped and tried to tug her hand away. She'd just realized she loved him, and he didn't want her to touch him. "Just so you know, I didn't want to hold your hand. I wanted to give you a mint."

  "Be still," he said, at last deigning to speak with her.

  "Let go of-"

  "Close your mouth, or I will close it for you. With my own."

  Eyes narrowed, she lifted her free hand and stuffed several mints in his mouth, effectively shutting him up. Close her mouth, would he? His nose wrinkled as he chewed, but his grip on her hand strengthened.

  Someone behind them chuckled, reminding her that two men carting briefcases and files were in the elevator, as well. She darted a gaze to them and gave each one a quick, forced smile.

  Not about to heed Darius's warning, she whispered to him, "When we get there, let me do the talking. I don't want anyone to know that we know what's going on."

  He frowned. "I will allow you to do the talking, since these are your people," he said loudly, uncaring about their audience. "If they do not answer to my satisfaction, however, I will be forced to act."

  "You can't threaten everyone who refuses to answer your questions," she told him, still maintaining her sense of quiet. "Or you'll end up in jail-or a dungeon-or whatever you call it."

  "Sometimes, sweet Grace, your innocence amuses me. As if I could be held in a prison." His frown deepened. "Will this contraption go no faster? We have wasted enough time already." With his free hand, he jabbed his finger into the wall of buttons.

  The elevator stopped on the next floor. As well as the next… and the next.

  "The stairs would have been faster," one of the businessmen muttered, his voice laced with irritation.

  Grace flashed him another smile, this one apologetic.

  The man glared at her, as if it were all her fault. As if she could control a six foot five hulk of a warrior who-Oh, my God! Darius was displaying his fangs again, this time at the poor, innocent businessmen. When the elevator stopped yet again, the two scurried out with fearful gasps-but at least they were alive.

  "Did you see that?" one of them said. "He had saber-teeth."

  When the doors closed, leaving her and Darius alone, silence gripped them in a tight fist. Over and over the elevator halted. When someone tried to enter, Darius gave them the same scowl he'd given the businessmen and every one of them retreated and waved them on before the doors closed.

  After the fourth jostling stop, Grace's stomach threatened to rebel, and she tugged Darius from the elevator and onto the floor. Twenty-nine, she realized with dread.

  "Excuse me," she said to the first person she saw, an older woman who carried a tray of vanilla scented cappuccinos. "Where are the stairs?"

  "Down the hall. Last door on your right."

  "Thank you." Only when they were inside the empty stairwell did Grace speak again. "Perhaps now is a good time to tell me about your dragon peculiarities," she said, chewing her lip nervously. Her voice echoed from the drab walls. "I need to be prepared… just in case."

  As they climbed, she retained a firm hold on his hand.

  He didn't ask her to release him, and she allowed herself to think it was because he needed the contact as much as she did,
that they were connected in some intangible way and the physical contact strengthened that bond.

  "Dragons can fly," he said on a sigh.

  "With wings?"

  "Is there any other way?"

  "There's no reason to be snide. There's no bulge in the back of your shirt to indicate the presence of wings or any other type of… " She searched her mind for the right words, ending with, "Flying apparatus."

  "They are hidden in long slits of skin. When the wings emerge, the skin is retracted. Perhaps I will show you. Later. When we are alone."

  There was a promise of something in his voice, something hot and wild and erotically wicked, and she pictured him without his shirt, pictured her fingertips tracing down the muscles and ridges of his back. She shivered. His scent chose that moment to surround, envelop, and submerge her, awakening her to a deeper level of need.

  She had to change the subject before she did something foolish, like ignore the outside world and her responsibilities and drag him home. "Are there humans in Atlantis?" she asked.

  "Some. Years ago the gods brought humans to our land to remind us of our humanity. Not long after their appearance, the vampires ate most of them."

  "Gross." She spied a peek at him through the shield of her lashes, then quickly refocused on the stairs before she tripped. "Have you, well, have you ever dated a human woman before? Not that you're dating one now," she rushed on. "I just meant-" She compressed her lips together.

  He jumped right to the heart of the matter. "By dated do you mean bedded?"

  "If the question doesn't offend you, then yes."

  "Are you sure you wish to hear the answer?"

  Yes. No. She sighed. She really wanted to know. "Yes."

  "There's only one human I would willingly bed, Grace, and I have plans to do so." One of his fingers heatedly caressed her palm.