Drakon's Plunder (Blood of the Drakon)

by N. J. Walters

  But one thing remained constant. He’d protect his brothers with his life. And nothing and no one would be allowed to harm Sam, not as long as there was breath in his body.

  He bundled Sam’s coat and sneakers into the tarp to make them easier to transport. Then he took one last look around to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. There was no GPS on the boat, for which Ezra was grateful. The Knights were paranoid about such things and rarely used them.

  When he was positive there was nothing to point the Knights in his direction, he dove over the side of the boat. It was full dark now. Sam was home alone, probably worrying about him.

  It was strange to have to consider someone else’s feelings, but it was nice, too. He and his brothers loved one another, but that was different. They all lived their own lives, came and went as they chose. But it was different with Sam. He was aware of her every emotion.

  He could picture her in the kitchen. She’d promised to cook something for him. He growled in pleasure at the thought. He had no idea if she was a good cook and didn’t care. Whatever she made, he’d eat.

  The darkness didn’t hinder him as he dove into the water and shifted into his dragon form. His big body cut through the water like a stealth missile. He had to retrieve the dinghy Sam had used to escape the Integrity.

  It took him a lot less time to reach his destination than it had using the boat. He could move so much faster. He rose to the surface and made a complete three-sixty sweep to make sure he was alone. Then he took a deep breath and dove.

  The water pressed around him. It would crush most humans at this depth, but to Ezra it was like a warm, comforting blanket wrapping around him.

  The dingy was jammed in a crevice in the rocks, just where he’d left it. He pulled the boat out, being careful not to gouge it with his claws, which was no easy task. He shoved the small craft toward the surface and followed it up.

  The dingy wasn’t in great shape, but it would do what he needed it to. Ezra shifted back to his human form long enough to unroll the tarp and put Sam’s coat and her sneakers on board. He’d toss one of the sneakers over the side once he was closer to shore. He knew the perfect place to dump the dinghy. There was an area that was notorious for its jagged rocks. He’d run the boat aground there. It would account for any gouges.

  He shifted back to his dragon form and swam toward shore, dragging the dinghy behind him. He had way too much time to think while he was swimming. Usually, nothing could distract him from his enjoyment of the water, but he was worried about Sam.

  She loved him, he reminded himself. That meant she had to stay. It also meant she’d no longer be able to do the job she loved. Not that she’d be able to do it with the Knights after her, and they’d been on to her before she’d met him.

  Still, he was worried. What if she wasn’t happy on his island? What if she wanted to move…inland? His blood ran cold, and a shiver ran down his spine. He needed to be near the ocean.

  He needed Sam more.

  Everything inside him settled. He was a drakon, had lived for thousands of years. He’d do whatever it took to make Sam happy.

  He could hear the gulls and other seabirds squawking from where they nested along the shoreline. The waves pounded against the rocks, the spray shooting twenty feet in the air before plummeting back down again.

  He retrieved a lone sneaker and shoved the dinghy toward the rocks. It slammed into them again and again, each hit damaging it more. He turned his back on the rocks and swam closer to shore. This late at night, there was no one around. He tossed the sneaker onto the shore. Someone would eventually find it. Whether they identified it with Sam or not was another thing. The Knights were more likely to keep her disappearance to themselves, especially since they hadn’t reported her missing.

  He didn’t want to take the tarp home, but he couldn’t dump it in the ocean. He’d only do that in extreme cases. He swam back over by the rocky outcrop where no one could see him. Even though he was alone, he figured it was best to be safe.

  He tossed the tarp onto a rock, opened his mouth, and breathed fire. It was easy in his dragon form. Fire bellowed from his mouth, lighting up the night. The tarp caught fire and disintegrated almost instantly. Nothing burned hotter than drakon fire. Maybe the sun, but that was about it. A fire drakon could produce flames hotter than molten lava.

  Feeling lighter than he had in days, Ezra turned his back on the remains of the boat and headed toward home. He dipped and dived, but made a straight line to home, to Sam.

  …

  Sam stirred the thick soup. The fragrance of rosemary and thyme mixed with onion and other vegetables. The chicken soup she’d made smelled delicious. The dryer buzzed. She glanced at the clock. Ezra had been gone almost four hours.

  “Patience.” She went to the utility room and removed the latest load of clothes from the dryer. The sheets were done and back on the bed. So were the blankets and comforter. The towels were back in the bathroom and linen closet. She’d done the linens before she’d tackled the clothing. Ezra had clothes he could wear, and she could borrow another sweater or sweatshirt or something.

  She pulled the warm clothing from the dryer before putting a mound of wet jeans and sweatpants into the machine. She folded each garment carefully and placed it in the basket. Ezra was a big man and all his clothing was oversized. She hugged one of his sweaters before tossing it on top of the rest.

  She’d showered in between loads of laundry and making soup. She’d even cleaned the bathroom when she was finished. Now she’d run out of things to do.

  Coffee, she’d have another cup of coffee. It didn’t matter she was running on caffeine and nerves as it was. She rubbed her hand over the flannel shirt she wore. She was down to underwear and a pair of tattered jeans. The rest of her clothing had either been sacrificed to make her disappearance believable, or been ruined.

  She left the utility room and closed the door behind her. The kitchen looked and felt homey with the soup on the stove and the table set. She’d decided to make it a little more formal than sitting at the counter like they usually did.

  She wandered over to the window and looked out. Not that she could see much of anything. The moon spilled over the water, but the waves were still impenetrable. Ezra was out there somewhere. She turned away and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stave off the worry mounting with each passing minute.

  The handle of the front door jangled. Fear and hope warred inside her. The wooden panel pushed open, and Ezra strode inside. His hair was damp and tousled. A single bead of water flowed down the center of his chest, right along the edge of his tattoo. He looked more handsome than ever with his broad shoulders, rippling biceps, and massive chest.

  She scanned him from head to toe, searching for any injury. It was still jolting to see the almost iridescent tattoo bisect his body completely from neck to ankle. “Thank God,” she breathed. He was safe and unharmed. Sam ran toward him. Ezra opened his arms wide and lifted her right off her feet.

  “I’m home,” he murmured. He ran his big hand down her spine.

  She grabbed his face and kissed him, pouring all her anxiety into it. He groaned and kissed her back. He took two steps to the left and spun around. Her back hit the wall. She wrapped her legs around his bare flanks, needing his touch, his heat, to drive away the lingering fear.

  He growled and pushed his hips inward, rubbing his erection against her core. With only a thin layer of fabric separating them, the sensation was exquisite. She kissed his neck and face before diving back toward his lips.

  If she was hungry for him, he was ravenous for her. He devoured her, stealing the air from her lungs, running his hands over her thighs and up her sides. She gasped when he shoved his hands beneath the neckline of the shirt and cupped one of her breasts.

  “We should talk,” she managed to get out between kisses.

  Ezra pulled back and stared at her like she’d lost her mind. “Later.” He dove back in and stole her next thought. She trace
d the bulging muscles of his biceps, the broad line of his shoulders, and down the furrow of his spine. He was big and warm and all hers. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to touching him.

  He was special. It was more than him being big and handsome, even more than him being a mythical creature. It was his intellect, his dry sense of humor, the way he looked at her as though she’d hung the moon. Then there was the unexplainable spark of passion that kindled each time they were together.

  He was naked, and she was only wearing one of his shirts. He shoved the garment up and rubbed his shaft against her sex. She was wet and more than ready. And she didn’t want to wait. She’d already been waiting for hours.

  “Now.” She gripped his shoulders and tried to maneuver herself into position. Ezra held her with one hand and positioned himself with the other. His turquoise gaze met hers, and he drove himself home.

  She sucked in a breath as he filled her. Each time was like the first. They’d only known one another for such a short time. The kind of connection she felt with him should be impossible. But it wasn’t. There were times she felt as though they’d known one another forever.

  “Sam.” He sprinkled kisses on her forehead and cheeks before following the line of her jaw. “My Sam.” There was a wealth of possessiveness in his words, and they amped up her already bottomless need for this man.

  “My Ezra,” she shot back.

  He growled and began to move, driving his shaft deep before almost withdrawing. She tightened her thighs around him, not wanting to let him go. He slammed home once again.

  She gasped and writhed, not able to get enough of him. He leaned one forearm against the wall and pumped his hips faster. Pressure built between her thighs. She was so close. She tried to move, tried to help, but Ezra was out of control. All she could do was hang on and enjoy the ride.

  He angled his hips and his pelvis stroked her clit, driving her over the edge and into oblivion. She cried out, digging her fingers into him. Heat flashed through her, over her. Every breath she took was filled with the scent of the sea and Ezra—fresh, wild, and masculine. It was mingled with the deeper notes of their arousal. He growled and worked his hips faster. Harder.

  He threw back his head and roared his release. Every window in the house shook. Something shattered in the kitchen. She buried her face against his shoulder and clung to him. Emotion too deep to name enveloped her. It was more than just love. It was an unbreakable connection.

  His tattoos began to shimmer, almost as if they were alive. Fascinated, she reached out and stroked his bicep. The ink seemed to almost rise toward her fingers. Shocked, she pulled her hand back.

  “What is it?” He was still hard and pulsing inside her, but he never seemed to lose his awareness of her. If anything, their lovemaking seemed to sharpen it.

  “Nothing.” It had to be her imagination.

  Ezra took her face between his hands. “What is it?” he repeated.

  “It’s crazy, but I thought your tattoo tried to move onto my skin.”

  He frowned. “Really?”

  “Yeah. That’s not normal?”

  He shook his head and looked mildly concerned. “No, it’s not. At least it’s never happened with me before.”

  She shrugged. “I probably imagined it.” She didn’t want to dwell on it, to spoil their lovemaking. She draped her arms over his shoulders. “Hi. Welcome home.”

  A slow grin spread across his face. “If that’s the welcome I’m going to get each time I leave home, I’ll be going away more often.”

  She laughed and rubbed her nose against his. He cupped her butt and squeezed.

  She wanted to ask him what had happened, but they needed their time together first. She patted his arm. “I have soup waiting on the stove. Why don’t you put on some clothes, and I’ll dish us up some.”

  He studied her face, looking concerned. “You’re sure?”

  “I am. Everything else can wait until you’ve cleaned up and eaten.” He lifted her away from the wall but kept her in his arms. He was still hard inside her. She moaned and tightened her grip on his hips.

  “We could go upstairs,” he murmured in her ear.

  She wanted to, she really did, but they did need to talk about what had happened. “After,” she promised.

  He sighed and disengaged their bodies before releasing her. She hated the separation. “Go on,” she told him. “I’ll get everything ready.”

  He gave her one last smoldering look before heading up the stairs. She watched his tight buttocks and the heavy muscles in his back and thighs as he took the steps three at a time. When he disappeared into the bedroom, she released a pent-up sigh. She was still decently clothed, with only two of the tops buttons undone. They barely touched one another, their need to great to allow for anything but the most basic joining.

  She took one last glance up the stairs before heading to the downstairs bathroom to get cleaned up. Once she was done, she went to the kitchen and turned up the heat on the soup. She’d found some frozen rolls in the freezer earlier and thawed them. Now she popped them into the microwave.

  By the time she had the rolls and butter on the table and the hot soup dished up, Ezra was back. He’d taken a quick shower and donned only a pair of jeans, which were zipped but not buttoned. How was she supposed to form coherent sentences with him looking so hot and sexy?

  “Smells delicious.” He kissed the top of her head and held her chair for her. She was unused to such gestures, but she liked his old-fashioned manners. He cleared his throat as he sat. “The table looks nice, too.”

  She hadn’t found a tablecloth but had dug up a few placemats. They made the table look a little less bare. “I hope you like it.” And could their conversation be anymore stilted? They sounded like two people on a first date.

  She lifted her spoon and tasted the soup. It was hot and delicious, but she really wasn’t hungry. She set her spoon back down and leaned her elbows on the table. “What happened?”

  Ezra had only had two mouthfuls of soup. He looked longingly at the bowl but lowered his spoon.

  “I’m sorry. Eat first.” She could wait a few minutes longer.

  “I should call Tarrant and the others. That way I only have to explain things once. They need to know that Dexter found you.”

  In other words, his friends needed to know he’d killed for her and disposed of the body. Not exactly the best way to endear herself to them. “Eat first.” The longer she could put it off, the better.

  He nodded and went back to eating. When he emptied his bowl, she moved hers in front of him. He raised his eyebrow in question, but she just shook her head and motioned for him to keep eating. He devoured the dozen rolls and the entire pot of soup. She’d have to learn to adjust quantities when she cooked. What would be a meal with leftovers for most people was a snack for Ezra.

  He placed his spoon in the empty bowl. “Thank you. That’s the most delicious meal I’ve ever had.”

  “I doubt that, but you’re welcome.” It was only chicken soup. He’d probably eaten all over the world and tasted dishes by some of the world’s best chefs.

  “No.” He reached out and took her hand in his. Her hands were rough from work and strong, but they looked delicate next to his. “It’s the best meal I’ve ever eaten because you made it for me.”

  Her heart turned over in her chest. The things he said to her made her feel special, and loved, damn it. He might not have said the words, but she knew he loved her. Or if he didn’t, he was close. That was more than enough for her. His actions spoke louder than any words ever could.

  “Then you’re welcome. There’s more where that came from,” she assured him.

  He winked and gave her a roguish smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  She laughed and withdrew her hand from his. “Make your call.” Then she glanced at the clock on the stove. “It’s not too late, is it?” It was well after midnight.

  He shook his head. “Not for this bunch. Besides,
if I wake them, they can always go back to sleep later.”

  While she ferried the dirty dishes to the kitchen, Ezra retrieved his phone from the charger and placed the call.

  …

  Birch was waiting for Karina when she stepped inside her New York home. She’d spent the evening at the opera and then had drinks with some associates afterward. She hated the opera but attended regularly. She was, after all, considered a patron of the arts, a rich dilettante who played at business while her management team handled everything.

  If they only knew the truth.

  But they never would, and she was more than content to leave it that way. She’d given Birch the night off, had insisted on it. He’d never take any downtime otherwise. He’d sent four men with her. A little excessive for the opera, but she didn’t object. When it came to her security, she trusted no one like she did Birch.

  “What is it?” She handed her fur coat off to the maid who took it and scurried away.

  Birch walked over to her office door and held it open. This was serious. She walked across the marble floor, her heels tapping against the expensive stone flooring.

  She wanted a drink and then about six hours of uninterrupted sleep. She had a headache coming on. Things had been more difficult than usual lately.

  Birch waited until she was inside and then closed the door. “No one has seen Dexter since he took off in a speedboat from the salvage ship this morning.”

  Karina frowned and walked over to the decanter. She definitely needed that drink. “He was supposed to supervise the salvage operations.” Or at least the crew.

  Birch stood in front of her desk, strong and solid as his namesake. “Dexter left Calloway in charge and took the boat he arrived in. According to Calloway, Dexter was keen to search for Doctor Bellamy.”

  “I can’t fault him for that.” She poured the amber whiskey into the crystal glass. “Unless of course, he’s hoping to find her and keep the artifact for himself.”

  “That’s the concern.”

  She sipped the whiskey, letting the mellow liquid slide down her throat and warm her stomach. Why couldn’t the Knights focus on what was important—finding and capturing dragons? Instead, they spent much of their time infighting. It was a waste of time and manpower.