Dragon's Thief: A Reverse Harem Serial (Blood Prophecy Book 1)

by Lili Zander

  “The shifter hospital near Columbus Circle?”

  “Yes.”

  “I donate an obscene amount of money to it every year,” he says dryly.

  “Enough to bend a few privacy laws?”

  “I’ll get Tracy to make a call to the hospital manager right away,” he says. “Her name is Victoria Schwartz.” His tone turns curious. “What’s going on?”

  Mateo stiffens at my side, and I feel a surge of magic wash over me. I follow his gaze to the side entrance, where a beautiful blond woman is wheeling a grey-haired wolf shifter out. “I can walk, Aria,” he grumbles.

  “Suck it up, Silas.” Her words sound harsh, but there’s a wealth of love in her tone. “This is what you get for scaring the crap out of me.”

  “That’s her,” Mateo says at my side. “Aria.”

  “I’ll call you back, Bastian.” I hang up and survey the Norm woman that Mateo’s so fascinated with. I don’t see the attraction. “She can’t see us?”

  “No. I put a gaes on them. They’ll see us, but forget immediately.”

  As if she can hear us, she turns her head in our direction. She’s got large dark, tired-looking eyes, and blond hair that she wears in a braid down her back. She’s bundled up in a red coat, and her cheeks are pink in the cold. “Are you sure?” I ask Mateo under my breath. “She’s looking right at us, and I’m pretty sure she’s recognized you.”

  He looks up, startled, just as she breaks out into a smile. “Mateo?” she calls out. Her cheeks go red, and she tucks a stray strand of hair behind her neck. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

  He’s following the guy who threatened you last night.

  Valentini is a terrible liar. I jump in before he says something stupid. “We’re here to visit an old friend.”

  Too late. In the space it’s taken us to close the distance between us, she’s gone from surprised to suspicious. Her brows draw together. “A shifter friend?”

  “Not all Norms avoid shifters,” Mateo replies, flashing her a charming grin. He’s good. Almost as good as the Welshman. I watch her smile automatically in response to his charm, and for some reason, it just makes me irritated. “This is my friend Erik, by the way.”

  She gives me a smile of greeting. “I’m Aria, and this is Silas.”

  I shake her hand. She’s tiny. Her hands are dwarfed by mine. “Good to meet you,” I lie. Sure, she’s beautiful, but beautiful women are a dime a dozen. There’s nothing interesting about being pretty.

  Mateo’s gaes didn’t work on her. That’s interesting.

  Maybe the mage’s spells don’t work when he’s thinking with his dick.

  Then again, Mateo’s gaes appears to be working on the older wolf-shifter with Aria, because he gives us a vacant smile. “Hello.”

  A cold gust of wind hits our faces, and the wolf shifter shivers. Aria notices the movement, and her expression turns instantly concerned. “I have to get Silas home,” she says.

  “I’ll hail you a cab,” Mateo says gallantly, stepping into the street and raising his hand. A yellow taxi screeches up almost immediately.

  The wolf-shifter struggles to get up from his wheelchair, and the worry lines around Aria’s eyes deepen. “Hang on, Silas,” she scolds. “You heard what the doctor told you. You’re supposed to take it easy for the next week or two.”

  What’s she going to do, lift him? She looks like a good gust of wind could blow her away. Gritting my teeth, I lift the older man gently. Mateo opens the taxi door, and I set him inside, tucking the blanket around him.

  I can feel Aria’s gaze on me. “Thank you,” she says, sliding in next to Silas. For an instant, gratitude outweighs suspicion. But only for an instant. “Who did you say you were visiting?”

  “Mina Strauss.” Bastian’s hyper-capable assistant is going to have to falsify some medical records. I wonder if anyone’s ever asked Tracy to hack into a hospital. “She’s a panther-shifter. Got into a bar fight last night, and she got scratched up rather badly.”

  She shudders. “Ouch.”

  We mutter some pleasantries, and the cab takes off. Mateo stares at the street, itching his right wrist absently. “My gaes didn’t work on her,” he says.

  “Has that ever happened before?”

  He draws himself up to his full height. “Of course not. A gaes is pretty elementary magic. I’ve cast thousands of them, and this has never happened.”

  Aria is trouble. “She’s Norm,” I say out loud. “She shouldn’t be able to fight your magic.”

  “That’s what I thought too.” He frowns thoughtfully. “Let’s go talk to Casius. If anyone’s ever heard of a gaes failing, it’ll be him.”

  12

  Aria

  My insides feel… fluttery. That’s the only way to describe it. My knees are weak, and my nipples are hard.

  Because of the cold, I tell myself firmly. That’s the only reason.

  Both Mateo and Rhys were tall, but Erik is massive. He looks like a mountain. An angry, hot, scowling, sexy mountain of a man.

  The cab heads down 10th Avenue. I half-expect Silas to ask me about the men. He’s not one of those father-figures that bristle when their daughter brings home a guy, but he does like to know who I’m dating. In anyone else, I’d find the concern annoying and intrusive, but this is Silas.

  However, to my surprise, he doesn’t appear curious. He tips his head back and closes his eyes. “The nurse told me you were at my side all night,” he says, a mild rebuke in his voice. “Did you get a chance to catch up on sleep this morning?”

  Guilt sloshes through my stomach at the memory of my morning activities. “Yeah, I went back to the apartment and took a nap,” I lie.

  “That’s good.”

  “I should have been home last night.” The words burst out of my throat. “Instead of dancing at the Cellar. Silas, I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, little cub.” He smiles affectionately. “You can’t waste your life fussing over me. I’ve lived my life fully and well.”

  “You’re going to be fine.”

  He lifts his shoulder in a weak shrug. “On balance, I prefer to live,” he says frankly. “But this is the order of things, and if now is the time, I’m not afraid.”

  But I am. I’m terrified. I’m not ready for Silas to be gone.

  Back home, I help Silas to his bed and put his cell phone within reach. “Brooke called,” I lie again. “I have to work. There’s some lasagna in the freezer.”

  “Get out of here.” He makes a shooing gesture in my direction. “There’s college football on TV, and if I need something, I’ll give Pete a call.”

  Pete’s the guy who used to own the Cellar. If he’s going to drop by, then I know the two men are going to spend the entire afternoon drinking beer and shouting at the TV. “Did the doctor say you could drink?”

  He rolls his eyes at me. “Yes, Aria. She did. Now go.”

  I take a shower, hoping that it’ll wake me up, but the hot water just makes me sleepy. It doesn’t matter. Time is of the essence. Once I dry my hair and apply my eyeliner and mascara, I head out again.

  This time, my destination is Pieter’s tattoo parlor in Park Slope.

  The F-train is miraculously empty. I take a seat and close my eyes. It’s a forty-five minute ride to Brooklyn, and I’m desperate for a nap.

  But I can’t fall asleep. The moment I close my eyes, I feel someone’s gaze on me. The weight of the scrutiny is almost a physical touch. I take a deep breath and let my senses expand like I did this morning at Central Park.

  It’s the wolf-shifter from last night. My new client doesn’t trust me very much. His hired muscle is following me around.

  Strangely, the moment I identify who it is, my nerves recede. I’m too far gone to be worried about my known enemies. It’s the unknown ones I’m concerned about.

  Like the five Dragon Princes whose treasure I’m going to steal.

  “Well, well, well.” Pieter’s eyebrows lift. “Aren’t you
supposed to be retired?”

  I managed to give my tail the slip on my way to Pieter’s 7th Avenue storefront. I even feel somewhat rested. “Can’t a girl visit her friends anymore?”

  “You can,” he retorts snarkily. “But you don’t. So, what’s the job, and does dear old Silas know?”

  I’m about to answer when my attention is caught by a poster on his back wall. It’s my mystery client, and underneath, in bright red lettering is one simple word that sends a chill running down my back. ‘Wanted.’

  I walk around Pieter’s desk and read the small print underneath, but I don’t learn a lot, just that my client’s name is Drakkar Raedwulf, and he’s wanted by Lord Bastian Jaeger for questioning.

  “Friend of yours?” Pieter inquires from behind me, a rare note of concern in his voice.

  “Not exactly. Why?”

  “Because Raedwulf has a terrible reputation,” he frowns. “He was a member of the roughest pack in the country, the Red Growlers. Then they kicked him out.”

  “Why?”

  “Nobody knows,” he says somberly. “But Aria, if that band of honorless wolves threw him out…” His voice trails off. “Now Lord Jaeger wants him for questioning. Raedwulf’s time is running out.”

  I debate telling Pieter that the wolf shifter is my new client, and decide against it. Given how dangerous this job is shaping up to be, the tattoo artist might take it upon himself to tell Silas what I’m doing, and I definitely can’t have that.

  “So, what’s the job?”

  I think quickly and settle for a variant of the truth. “I’m crashing the Valhalla Gala on Saturday,” I reply. “There should be some easy pickings among the guests.”

  He winces. “That’s a terrible idea. The guests are under the protection of the dragon princes. By stealing from them, you are stealing from the dragons themselves.”

  Oh, you have no idea, my friend. “No lectures, please. I’ve already heard an earful from Mariana.”

  “No doubt.” He grins. “How is that old bear?”

  “I think her arthritis is acting up.” I watch as Pieter locks his front door and flips the sign to ‘Closed.’ Then he opens a locked turquoise wooden cabinet in the back of his store and pulls a vial of a blue, shimmering liquid from one of the shelves.

  Potion. Good. We’re getting to business.

  “The Valhalla Ball is a shifter party,” he says, echoing Mariana’s words. “You’ll need to be disguised. This will do the trick.”

  “I’ll pass as shifter? What kind?”

  “Fox.”

  I roll my sleeves up and stick my right hand out, scratching my wrist. My skin is red and inflamed. Pieter surveys it, his brows furrowed. “Something bite you?”

  “Dunno. It’s been irritating me all day.” He fills his tattoo gun with the shimmering blue liquid. “How much?” I ask before he can get to work.

  “For you? A grand. I’ll add a delay to it so the magic won’t start working until Saturday. The rune will work for eight hours, and it’ll fool everyone except the dragons.”

  “Wait, the dragons will recognize me as Norm?” I sit up. “How’s that going to help me?”

  “The only dragons in attendance will be the five Dragon Princes,” he replies. “I strongly recommend that you avoid them.” He taps at the table in front of him, and I place my arm on it. “The guards are shifters. This will work on them.”

  “Okay.” A thousand dollars is a lot, but Pieter is the best in the business, and this tattoo will be worth every penny. I grit my teeth as he inks a rune on my forearm. “Just in case I do run into a dragon, do you have anything that might help?”

  He gives me a stern look. “Aria,” he warns, “dragons are dangerous.”

  “I’m not planning on getting caught,” I reply. “I’m just being prepared.”

  “I have been working on something with the dragon blood you stole last year,” he admits as he swabs my skin with ointment. “It’s a Do-Not-Notice rune. It’s experimental, and for obvious reasons, untested.”

  Obviously. Only someone with a death wish would risk antagonizing someone who can burn you to a crisp.

  “I’ll be happy to test it for you.”

  He chuckles. “Angling for a discount? I like you, Aria, but dragon blood is almost impossible to come by. Ten grand is the best I can do.”

  Ten grand will leave me no money to buy a dress. I’m not sure it’ll leave me enough to pay the hospital bill.

  Then again, a do-not-notice spell, if it works, will be far more useful than a pretty ball gown. “I’ll take it.”

  His lips thin disapprovingly, but he doesn’t try to dissuade me. He pulls another vial from his cupboard.

  The liquid inside is a warm orange-gold. It flickers like fire, and I can’t tear my gaze from it. A bone-deep recognition fills me, the same kind of recognition I felt a year ago when I homed in on the three bags of dragon blood in a roomful of samples.

  Touch me, it whispers. It is your destiny.

  My wrist prickles again. “Aria?” Pieter’s voice seems very far away. “Are you okay?”

  I shake my head, dispelling the fog that surrounds me. Not enough sleep, not enough coffee, and I’m losing my mind. “I’m fine. Do it.”

  He dips the needle in a glass of water, rinsing off the blue ink before replacing it with the golden liquid. My heart starts to race as the tattoo gun draws closer. I’m standing on the cliffs edge of a precipice.

  Stop being dramatic, Aria.

  But the moment the needle touches my skin, something happens. My body is ablaze. Heat fills me, a wild, sexual heat that is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. My wrist feels like someone’s holding a red-hot poker to it, and my head throbs. Then, a gong sounds in my mind, deep and resonant, and I hear a voice say one word.

  Mine.

  Then I faint.

  13

  Casius

  I’m hacking into the Preston Memorial system to plant fake records for Mina Strauss, the panther-shifter that Erik and Mateo were supposedly visiting, when a searing pain fills my mind, followed by a rush of heat.

  Every cell in my body comes alive. Flames dance over my skin, an involuntary reaction that hasn’t happened to me since puberty. I feel my bones break and reform, and I have to yank at the threads inside me to control my urge to shift.

  I’ve read about this in the Lif Boc Drakonis.

  When pain and pleasure fill you,

  When your body bursts into flames,

  Like the fire your mate will light in your soul,

  When your heart feels young again.

  Mate.

  But where? Who? There’s no one in the suite. Bastian is at work. Erik, always restless in the city, shifted and went for a long flight. Rhys went along with him. Mateo is in his laboratory, trying to figure out why his gaes failed.

  The skin on my right wrist is an angry red. I itch at it and squint closer. There’s some kind of faint mark there. I rub at the welt, and when I touch the mark, I’m jerked somewhere else.

  Magic. More powerful than Mateo’s spells. More powerful even than Gideon’s dark arts. This is a force that is as deep and vast as life itself.

  I’m as ethereal as a ghost. An invisible thread tugs at me, emitting a golden glow. When I touch it, it feels warm and alive.

  I follow the thread to a small tattoo parlor, but in my spirit form, I can’t step through the door. I’m blocked.

  I don’t understand what’s happening, but the key to these mysterious goings-on lies behind that closed door. I’m sure of it.

  14

  Aria

  Someone’s pressing a hot poker into my wrist. I sit up, ready to tell them off—how the hell am I going to be able to steal anything if my hand is bandaged up?—and I realize where I am.

  Pieter is peering down at me, his face white. When my eyes open, he exhales in relief and sinks to the ground next to me. “Are you alright?” he demands. “I was terrified that my rune had killed you.”


  I wriggle my fingers and toes experimentally. “I’m fine,” I reassure him. “It’s probably nothing.” Except I’d never ever felt such intense sexual heat. “I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I add in explanation. “It’s probably just that.”

  He looks dubious. “Do you feel different?”

  I don’t know. “I’m fine,” I say again, grabbing a nearby table leg for support and getting to my feet. I open my backpack and count out Pieter’s money, all eleven thousand dollars of it, and I hand it to him.

  He takes it from me with a nod of thanks. “How’s Silas?” he asks. “I heard he’s sick.”

  “He’s getting better.” I cross my fingers behind my back. With any luck, by this time next week, I’d have robbed the dragons, and collected my million-dollar fee. Then Silas will really get better, and it’ll all have been worth it.

  At lunch on Monday, I lied to Bea and told her that Mateo and Rhys had invited me to a fancy ball on Saturday. Bea, being the awesome best friend that she is, immediately offered to accompany me home and help me figure out what to wear.

  We’re sitting in my bedroom Tuesday evening, eating cake in our PJs, giggling and gossiping about guys. Me about Mateo and Rhys and Bea about Jesse, who, to her frustration, still hasn’t closed the deal.

  It’s a very low-key birthday celebration, which, after the hectic events of the last three days, is just the way I want it.

  Silas isn’t at home. The plasma exchange has done its magic, and he’s feeling a lot better. For now, anyway. He gave me my birthday present, an intricately carved dagger from his collection that I’ve been admiring for years, and then he’d announced his intention of going down to the pub. Knowing Silas, he’ll be there until closing time.

  I pull the only dress I own from my closet and hold it up. Bea’s mouth falls open. “Aria, you can’t wear that to a ball.”

  I almost laugh at how horrified my bestie sounds. Almost but not quite. She’s right. My little black dress has been washed so many times that it’s closer to grey, but it’s my best option. I’ve been through every stitch of clothing I own, and nothing else even comes close to appropriate.

  “Maybe I could borrow that green dress you wore to your cousin Theresa’s wedding,” I say optimistically. Madam Buttface is fast asleep on my pillow, and I pet her furry little head absently.