by Lauren Smith
Rather than read the rest of the journal entry, she turned the next several pages and paused when she came across a full page sketch. The drawing of a sleek, serpentine beast perched on a rock outcropping overlooking the sea made her breath catch as much as Grigori’s portrait had. The beast sat back on its haunches and its large wings were flared wide, the clawed tips arching outward as though it was ready to fly. A barb-tipped tail curled around its legs. It was both a beautiful beast and a creature of nightmares, with gleaming teeth ready to snap. Reptilian slitted eyes stared straight ahead at her. The beast in her dreams came rushing back, the hiss of smoke escaping the nostrils, the puffs of breath as he prepared to spew fire, the lashing tail . . .
Beneath the sketch was one word. “Grigori.”
But the sketch was of a man, not a dragon . . . Was this one of the men with supposed powers?
Whatever this journal was, it was clearly the workings of a man prone to flights of fancy and not a real naturalist. Disappointment made her heart drop to her feet and her shoulders slump. She’d been so hopeful to find a book that could show an anthropological connection to the dinosaurs or explain the worldwide dragon mythology. But this journal was not the answer.
Even though she wanted to keep reading, it wasn’t a good idea. Many a good scholar who lost their way down a strange research rabbit hole had to find their way back to good solid research. She refused to let this one odd little book stump her. Better to put it back and move on. Still . . . she wanted just a few more photographs of the book; it couldn’t hurt to read it over as long as she didn’t use it for her research.
She surreptitiously took pictures of the next twenty pages before she hid her cellphone back in her backpack. Closing the book, she started at the leather surface, wishing she didn’t have to give it back. Indecision flitted through her, but there was no real choice. It wasn’t hers, and she couldn’t keep it. With a sigh, she rose from her research table and walked back over to the security station and held the book out the guard.
“Finished?” he asked, his eyes fixing on the book rather than her as though he was anxious to snatch it out of her hands.
“Yes, it wasn’t what I was looking for.” She almost didn’t let go when he tried to pull the book away from her. Finally the leather journal slipped through her fingers.
“Thank you,” she said to the guard. With a heavy heart, she returned to her study station and collected her notebooks and papers before removing her gloves and tucking them back in her bag. Each step away from Barrow’s mysterious journal left her feeling cold and distanced in a way that made little sense. A soft feminine voice, like the hum of a murmur from a dream teased her mind.
He has the answers but you’re too afraid to see . . .
Madelyn shook off the thought. The notes in Barrow’s journal were impossible to believe. He clearly didn’t know what he was talking about. He was rambling on about men with powerful abilities and drawing beasts more suited to a role-playing fantasy computer game than he was about creatures that tied to real mythology.
She would have to start back at the catalog again, but she had no energy to hunch over the little metal filing cabinets squinting at poorly scribbled titles and book descriptions the rest of the day.
Maybe I could take a day off. Wander around the library a bit and explore.
The architecture was beautiful and she hadn’t really had a chance to examine it before. As she exited the antiquarian room she glanced back one last time. The security guard was holding the journal, and he was speaking into his cell phone. He was also staring right at her.
That sense of being watched and being talked about was too strong this time to ignore. The guard said something into the phone and rather than put the book back on its shelf, he set it down and put a hand on his gun holster at his hip.
“Miss, please come back,” he said, taking a meaningful step in her direction. “My superior wishes to speak to you. You cannot leave.”
“He does? Why?” she asked, her muscles tensing and her hands tightening on her bag.
“The book you chose, he has questions . . .” The guard said, his gaze darting around her as though expecting someone to come and help him. “Sit down, now.” His tone was more forceful than before.
Madelyn knew she should stay put, talk to him . . . but her instincts suddenly roared to life and the only thought that flashed through her head was run . . . run fast. Body shaking, she stumbled on trembling legs to flee.
She shoved open the door and sprinted down the hall, hitting the top of the long set of stairs at a brisk run. Everything around her seemed to blur, and her heart was pounding hard enough to explode from her chest. Covering the steps in seconds, she forced herself to slow when she realized people were staring at her. That was the last thing she needed, people seeing a panicked woman fleeing a Russian library like a crazy person. It was a conspiracy theory in the making.
Her breath was labored and her body was shaking with a surge of adrenaline as she tried to walk calmly out of the library. The crowded streets were a blessing as she melted into the flow of people. She only looked back once and caught a glimpse of the security guard from the collections room. He stood at the top of the Russian State Library steps, his gaze scanning the crowd. He was still on his cell phone, talking rapidly.
Lowering herself by hunching over, Madelyn slipped down a side street to catch her breath. What the hell just happened? Sure, she’d snuck a few pictures of a text, but why would he chase her? She hadn’t seen any rules about no photography in that section of the library. Why had the guard chased her?
What about James Barrow’s book was so dangerous that men would look for her?
Grigori’s face and the body of the fierce dragon like beast flashed across her mind. What have I stumbled onto?
Chapter 2
“Peace, Kent! Come not between the dragon and his wrath.”
—William Shakespeare, The Tragedy of King Lear
Grigori Barinov stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in his executive office, staring out over the city of Moscow. Body alert, every muscle rigid, the expensive gray wool suit he wore felt tight as he shifted. Below him, people were passing on the streets. A flash of silver caught his attention. It was the wink of a diamond earring dangling from a well-dressed woman’s ear. With eyes that were ten times as powerful as a mortal’s, he scanned the streets, absorbing every detail.
Searching . . .
For the last few days, his senses had picked up on something in his city. A creature he didn’t recognize. It made him restless. Moscow was filled with supernatural beings—werewolves, vampires, shifters of all kinds, and magically gifted humans were all present—but none of them fired up his instincts. No, he’d never felt this before in his life, but he knew in his gut what it was. An enemy was in his city, a creature that posed a threat to him. As a dragonshifter, few creatures in this world could give him pause and put him on his guard. He only wished he knew what sort of beast it was so he could hunt it down and remove the threat.
The sapphire dragon tattoo on his forearm itched, but he didn’t scratch it. He knew the dragon inside of him was trying to warn him to stay on his guard. The phone on his desk buzzed and his personal assistant, Alexis spoke.
“Mr. Barinov, you have a call from the Russian State Library.”
Every muscle in his body tensed. There was only one reason anyone from the Russian State Library would be calling him. That damn book by James Barrow. He’d been too softhearted and Barrow had been so earnest. He’d gone against his better judgment and allowed the Englishman to spend a year studying him and his brothers. And he’d been paying for it for the last 200 years. He’d been lucky Barrow’s heirs had sent him the journal. Thankfully, it had never been sent to a publisher; Barrow had kept his word about his writings remaining a secret.
I should’ve burned it. But he hadn’t been able to. Barrow had become a friend and Grigori hadn’t wanted to destroy the memory. There was also something
fascinating about reading an insightful human’s observations about him and his brothers.
He couldn’t leave it at his office or his home in the country. His enemies had frequently broken into both places more than once, searching for anything they could use against him. He’d thought he’d be clever and tuck it away in a library amid other obscure texts that no one ever looked at in a guarded collection. It had been safe all these years, hiding in plain sight. Until now.
“Mr. Barinov?” Alexis queried again.
“Put the call through.” He turned away from the window and walked over to his mahogany desk just as the phone rang.
He answered. “Yes?”
“Mr. Barinov, my name is Yuri. I’m a guard for antiquarian book room at the Russian State Library.” A man spoke, his voice hushed and anxious.
“Yes.” Grigori waited, his patience on a razor’s edge.
“When I first took over security for this room I was given strict and confidential instructions to call you if anyone ever came asking about a certain title in the collection. Someone checked out the Barrow book, Mr. Barinov.”
Grigori closed his eyes, holding his breath for a moment. “And?”
“I followed protocol. She did not leave the library with the book. But . . .” The guard hesitated. “She was taking pictures. I have no instructions regarding pictures.” The phone cracked as Grigori’s temper flared.
“Pictures?”
“Yes. She was using her phone.” The guard’s voice wavered as though he sensed Grigori’s building rage.
Pictures. Fuck, if any evidence of his existence was discovered and exposed in the world of mortals it would put a target on his back and that of his two brothers. The magical world knew of his family, the last three brothers in ancient bloodline of Russian Imperial Dragon shifters, but the rest of the world didn’t know . . . Couldn’t know.
“Can you detain her until I arrive?” he asked the guard.
“But she’s leaving now—”
“Stop her!” Grigori barked. The other end of the phone was full of panting, the flapping of rubber soled shoes on marble, a muffled shout for someone to stop. Grigori tried to picture the library in his mind, wondering why the guard couldn’t catch up with this woman. Finally the footsteps stopped, and Grigori heard the sounds of streets of the city muted beneath the guard’s gasping for breath.
“She ran—I couldn’t catch her before she left the library. She’s gone. But I have the book.”
Grigori sighed. “I will come to collect it. When I do, I want every detail you have about this woman. Her name, where she’s from, everything.”
“Yes, Mr. Barinov,” the guard replied, still breathless.
Grigori slammed the phone down and cursed. His hand was white-hot from his temper and he’d left burn marks on his expensive new phone. With a growl, he pressed the intercom button
“Alexis, please have someone replace my phone in the office. This one met with an unfortunate accident.”
A second later his receptionist opened the door, leaning against it to look at him in concern. His dragon perked up beneath his skin at the sight of the woman’s killer legs. She was staring at him, the perpetually hungry look in her eyes always an open invitation to share her bed, but he’d never once been tempted. Sure, he’d noticed, and his instincts, so close to the surface, never let him ignore a beautiful woman. But things had changed over the last hundred years. His skin didn’t prickle with awareness and excitement. His dragon didn’t growl with arousal the way it had in his youth.
No one had truly tempted him enough in a long time to let his bestial urges run free. Had he been in a better mood a smile would have curved his lips. As a younger dragon, he would have bedded several succulent mortals in a day, breaking bed frames as he gripped the wood to keep from harming the females while he fucked them into oblivion. Now his bed was empty of companions, but he wouldn’t sleep with just any woman. Not anymore.
“Another accident Mr. Barinov?” Alexis purred as she approached his desk.
“Yes, please order me a replacement.”
“Of course.” She held out a hand and he handed over the destroyed phone.
Her expensive perfume rolled off her in thick waves. The decayed floral aromas made his nose twitch even as she walked out of his office and closed the door behind her. He never liked perfumes. A woman’s natural scent was a heady thing and shouldn’t be ruined with perfumes.
He could almost hear his younger brother, Rurik, teasing him. “As if you know anything about women anymore. You haven’t had a woman in over a decade, brother . . .”
It was true. He found women less and less appealing these last few centuries. His urge to mate, to find the one female in the world that was truly his, had started to drive him mad with frustration. When a dragon reached a certain age, they stopped running wild and craved the closeness of a long-term companion. Most dragons never found their true mates and settled to simply breed with other dragons for the sake of children and to cure loneliness.
His gaze dropped to a framed photo on his desk. It was one of the few of his parents in existence, from thirty years ago, just a few years before they died.
If I could be as lucky as them and find a true mate . . .
No mere woman would suit him. It had to be the right one, one chosen for him by destiny. He would know her by her addictive scent that would send his pulse racing and his blood pounding. If he kissed her, he would catch glimpses of her memories and she would see his. A bond would form the longer they spent together, making them inseparable.
I want that more than anything . . .
He was not going to be tempted by Alexis or any other woman. They would only pale in comparison to a woman who would truly belong to him. He wanted a woman of his own, one to share his heart and soul with. Despite being alive for almost three thousand years, he still hadn’t found the one woman that was meant to be his.
The sad fact was he couldn’t wait any longer. His once great family, the Barinovs, had included almost a thousand dragons.
Now we are only three. We are a dying breed.
The loneliness he was facing was slowly killing him, an immortal creature. The idea was almost laughable but it was true. A longing for a true mate had haunted him to the point that he was dreaming about her and waking up in the dark, his arms aching for a woman who was never there. He might never find the woman destiny had made for him. It was time to settle, and find a dragoness who could bare him children and continue the line, even if it meant he’d never know true love and completion.
“Mr. Barinov, is there anything else I can do for you?” Alexis asked, her suggestive tone telling him in no uncertain terms that she was offering herself to him if he was interested, which again, he wasn’t. She wasn’t his type. He liked his women with soft curves, a little petite with sunny smiles and warm hearts. He hadn’t met a woman like that in Russian in over a hundred years . . . He was tired of Alexis throwing herself at him when he continually turned her down.
“No.” He almost growled the word. Frustration slithered beneath his skin making him irritable enough to snap at her.
Alexis blinked, her face pale as a sheet as she backed out of the room. Smart woman. Dragons tempers were nasty things and it was best to stay clear when a dragon was fuming.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed one of the few numbers he called with any frequency.
“Grigori? What’s up?” His younger brother answered, his voice half-laughing as though he’d been chuckling when he’d answered the phone. The thought made Grigori’s temper deflate somewhat as affection for Rurik swelled in his chest.
“Rurik, we have a situation.”
“What is it? The Drakor family again?” His brother’s tone turned gruff and serious.
Grigori stroked his chin as he replied. “No. They are abiding by our current treaty and staying to the eastern half of Russia.” It was true enough. The Drakors were notorious for their egos, and if they had been causing
trouble in his territory, he would have heard about it.
Rurik blew out disappointed breath. “I miss the battles. What I wouldn’t give for the Drakors to put one foot on our soil . . .”
“You battle dragons,” Grigori was torn between groaning and laughing. “Always wanting to start a fight.” He loved his little brother, but he was the first to jump without looking—which often put their family in tense situations when it came to matters of diplomacy with other dragons.
Rurik was the family warrior, the one best suited for battle and to wage single combat against other dragons when territorial disputes arose. The Drakors were the other Russian Imperial breed of shifters that vied for dominance of Russia against his family. The Barinovs and Drakors had been enemies for centuries.
“So if it’s not the Drakors, what’s the matter?”
“Remember James Barrow?” Grigori turned back to his window once again, searching in vain for the creature he sensed but could not see.
“Of course. The Englishman who visited us in the Fire Hills. He was always drawing and scribbling away in that leather journal.”
“Yes. A woman was taking pictures of his journal today at the Russian State Library.”
“Fuck. That can’t be good . . .”
“My thoughts exactly,” Grigori affirmed. The journal was almost a handbook on dragons—their powers, their weaknesses—and it had dozens of pictures of the three of them specifically. They might as well have put a neon sign above his building saying “Real Dragons Inside!”
“Do you think she believes what he wrote down about us is true?”
“I have no idea, but no reason she has could be a good one. I’m going to the Library to collect the book now and learn everything I can about the woman who took the pictures. I want you to help me track her down.”
