Dragon's Rogue

by Anastasia Wilde

  It took all Blaze’s control not to let surprise show on her face. That Rebel woman wasn’t innocent. She was a retrieval specialist after all. And clearly she’d branched out into acquiring magical artifacts. Recently, too, or Jean-Claude would have known about it.

  Damn. She should have stuck around and made Rebel tell what she knew.

  “And her partner?” Blaze tried to sound casual.

  He shrugged. “As far as I know, she works alone. If you’re looking for someone to acquire difficult-to-find magical items, she’s not the one.”

  Blaze smiled, though her mind was buzzing. Could Rebel have hooked up with her partner only recently? Was that why she’d branched out?

  She gave a careless laugh. “It seems it was just a rumor after all. Ah well. I guess there’s no need for a ‘friends and family’ deal this time around.”

  Jean-Claude sighed. “Is it my fault you don’t want to know anything valuable?” he said. “And I hope that we are friends, regardless of any bargaining we might do.”

  Blaze recognized the threat there. “Of course, Jean-Claude,” she said. “But I’ve taken up enough of your time for now. The vultures are circling.” There were people hovering nearby, all eager for a few words with Jean-Claude.

  “They always are.” He sighed, but she could see the satisfaction in his face. He loved having everyone deferring to him, currying favor.

  He was still smiling, but that dark, oily sensation was growing stronger. And as Blaze turned to look at him, she could have sworn she saw a black hole burning through his shirt in the center of his chest, where his heart should be.

  Blaze stared, her heart pounding, breath stealing from her lungs. Surely someone else must be seeing this. How was he still standing, making conversation, drinking champagne, with that black fire consuming his heart?

  He gazed at her in concern. “Blaze? Are you all right?”

  She sucked her breath in with a gasp. The image faded. “Yes,” she said. “Of course. It’s just—a bit stuffy in here. I think I’ll find the ladies room and—”

  “Of course.” He smiled at her, but his teeth suddenly looked sharp and predatory.

  Blaze gave him a mechanical smile and turned away.

  She skipped the bathroom and headed toward the shallow steps leading to the foyer. The butler had just let in three men. Tall, drop-dead gorgeous, and obviously ripped, even though their tuxes covered all the best parts. Too bad she wasn’t in the market at the moment.

  Blaze stopped behind one of the oversized indoor shrubs, waiting for them to get out of the way so she could ask the butler to find her wrap and get the hell out of here before Jean-Claude’s ‘friend who wanted to meet her’ arrived.

  She was getting a very, very bad feeling about this.

  One of the men turned toward the living room, giving her a glimpse of his face. For a moment all she could see was blond hair and striking blue eyes.

  Then recognition slammed into her. It was the man in her vision. The Knight of Flames.

  Chapter 15

  Blaze ducked back behind the plant before the Knight of Flames could see her. Dammit, if he was here at Jean-Claude’s, he must be a major player in Portland’s magical community. Who the hell was he? Why hadn’t she ever seen him before?

  Could he possibly be the ‘friend’ who’d wanted to meet her?

  Ever so carefully, she stretched out her magical senses, trying to get a feel for who these men were without alerting them to her presence.

  Were they sorcerers? Tainted by dark magic, like Jean-Claude? Or Silas?

  Her aura touched theirs, and she felt magic. But it wasn’t the dark, oily feel she’d gotten from Jean-Claude, or the idol. And it wasn’t the fresh bright magic of her coven when she was a little girl.

  This magic was… old. Powerful. Made of contrasts: black velvet nights and the hard bright glitter of gold. Deep still caves, damp with moisture, and the free wild sky.

  A nature coven?

  She peeked through the long leaves of the potted plant, trying to get another look at the man from her spell vision. She’d seen his face so briefly before the card burst into flames. It must have been completely destroyed—she hadn’t been able to find it the next morning.

  Just looking at him made her swallow hard. He was so… beautiful was the only word for it. Temptingly, terrifyingly compelling. They all were, but he seemed to glow like the sun shone from within him

  His hair was not just blond, but golden—on the long side, with a tousled I-styled-this-like hell-but-I-want-you-to-think-I-just-rolled-out-of-bed kind of look. His eyes were clear blue, like a summer sky. Chiseled jaw, faint laugh lines around his eyes, a quirk of humor on his firm lips.

  Looking at those lips sent an unexpected rush of heat flooding through her, and a jumble of dreamlike visions that felt like memories.

  Just like the other night, when the thief had kissed her.

  Oh no. Hell, no…

  He smiled, and she knew the impossible was true. The man from the Tarot card vision and her thief were one and the same.

  The moment she recognized him, his head went up a fraction and he looked around the empty foyer, eyes narrowing slightly. As if he’d heard—or sensed—something.

  Blaze withdrew her magical senses and pulled farther back behind the plant, plastering herself against the wall and holding her breath. The man’s attention returned to the butler, Blaylock, a small puzzled frown still creasing his forehead. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  He was speaking to Blaylock in a low voice, and she couldn’t hear what he was saying over the ambient noise of the party, though she strained her ears. All she heard was the butler’s reply.

  “Very good, Mr. Greystone.”

  Blaze bit back a gasp. The man who had stolen her idol was Thorne Greystone? The reclusive dealer in magical artifacts who never went anywhere, never met with anyone?

  The man who had been hounding for weeks, trying to get her to meet with him to talk about an ‘acquisition’? Had he been after the idol all along? Was that why he’d appeared in her Tarot card reading?

  And where the hell did he get off breaking into her house?

  Who was he working for? Or working with? Could he possibly be in the Silver Raven coven? No. The feel of his magic wasn’t remotely the same. And Greystone was well-known by reputation, even though he was a recluse. No one had ever said he was a sorcerer.

  On the other hand, he’d jumped out of a freaking four-story window, and here he was tonight, un-splatted and without a scratch on him.

  Anger tore through her. Who did this asshole think he was? He didn’t get to break into her house and steal the idol just because she wouldn’t return his calls. Did he even know how dangerous that thing was?

  But if he’d taken it, why was he still looking for her? To gloat?

  Or to capture her. Take her back to the coven, so they could revenge themselves on her.

  Well, they could try. She wasn’t the innocent little sixteen-year-old who had stolen the idol. Whose only choice had been to run.

  She had to find out what Thorne Greystone wanted. She hadn’t destroyed her life, left everything she loved behind, and hidden the idol all these years just to let someone like him snatch it away and set it loose in the world. If he was working with Silas and the Silver Ravens, she’d make him regret it. And if he wasn’t, then…

  Then damn it all, she was getting the idol back. There was no way she was leaving it in the hands of an egotistical collector who didn’t know what he had. The coven would annihilate him, and then they’d take the idol and unleash its evil.

  Not going to happen.

  She watched the three men as they exited the foyer and walked down the shallow steps into the main living room, pressing herself further into the niche behind the potted plant. A reaction rippled through the room—Blaze could practically see the drool and hear the panties dropping as they passed. Other men puffed themselves up, radiating aggression.

  No wonder
Greystone didn’t go out in public much. He and his minions were a riot waiting to happen. She’d never seen men who had that kind of effect on everyone around them.

  Except her, she told herself. Greystone could be as hot as he wanted, but if he had her idol, she was taking him down. She tossed back her hair, straightened her shoulders, and walked out from behind the plant and up into the foyer to talk to Blaylock.

  “Ms. McKenna,” the butler said politely, as if she hadn’t just been hiding in the greenery. “A Mr. Greystone arrived, and he was asking after you. I informed him that you had been here, but you might have gone home.”

  There was a subtle inflection in his voice—not quite a question. In Blaylock-speak, that meant he would tell Thorne Greystone whatever she wanted him to hear. For hefty tip, of course.

  Blaze slipped a hundred-dollar bill out of her clutch purse and tucked it into his palm. “Thank you, Blaylock,” she said. “Please inform Mr. Greystone that I haven’t gone home. In fact, if he’s interested, you can tell him I’ll meet him on the terrace off the study in, say… fifteen minutes?”

  The terrace off the study was where all the clandestine meetings took place at Jean-Claude’s parties. Back-room deals, black-market items changing hands, illegal drugs and elixirs being sold. Blaylock always knew who was meeting who, and at what time.

  “If I may suggest, madam, twenty minutes would be a more salubrious timeframe. The terrace is occupied at present, but it should be free in about ten minutes. That would leave you time for any… preparations you might need to make for your meeting.”

  Blaze smiled at him. A slow, predatory smile. His expression barely changed, but she saw him swallow hard.

  Yeah. She might not be as pretty as Greystone and his friends, but she was as scary as anyone in this room.

  “How thoughtful of you, Blaylock,” she said, handing him another fifty. “Now that I think of it, I will need time for preparations. Twenty minutes would be excellent.”

  Blaylock gave a small bow. “Very good. I will inform you when the study is unoccupied.” He walked away, presumably in search of the thieving, conniving, hot-as-fuck Mr. Greystone.

  In the meantime, Blaze would make her ‘preparations.’ Thorne Greystone had brushed off her spells like cobwebs last night. Never let it be said she didn’t learn from her mistakes.

  This time, he wouldn’t see her coming.

  Chapter 16

  Zane stared at Jean-Claude’s butler, his glass of champagne halfway to his mouth. “Ms. McKenna requested a meeting?” he repeated stupidly. “With me?”

  He barely stopped himself from asking why, and looking like a bigger idiot than he already did. This was what they wanted, wasn’t it? It was why they’d come. And yet, it seemed too easy. Did she suspect that they had the idol? Or did she know?

  He was still staring at Blaylock. Luckily for him, the butler was extremely well-trained and didn’t smack him on the head and ask if he was deaf, the way Tyr would have.

  “Indeed, sir. On terrace off the study. If you would come this way, please?”

  Zane looked around the party. Tyr was across the room, dancing with a pretty blond woman in a green dress cut way down in the back, his hand resting on her bare skin. Her hips were plastered to his, and she was gazing up at him like he was the best piece of chocolate lava cake ever—and she was about to eat every bite.

  And Thorne had disappeared—ironically, to hunt for Blaze. He almost called out to one of them mentally, but at the last second he didn’t.

  He wanted to see her alone. He had to see her alone. He couldn’t meet the woman of his dreams for the first time with his brothers hovering over them.

  “Mr. Greystone? Ms. McKenna is waiting.”

  Zane started, realizing he was still standing like an idiot, staring into space.

  Blaylock had one eyebrow slightly raised. That, and the tiny disapproving edge to his tone, told Zane he’d been head-slapped after all, butler-style.

  He followed the butler’s stick-up-the-ass attitude down a plush carpeted hallway and into a dim, hushed room lined with bookshelves, containing a scattering of deep leather couches and a gleaming mahogany desk complete with a cut-glass decanter and glasses on a tray.

  The whole room looked like it had been decorated by someone who’d seen too many movies starring wealthy asshole businessmen. Clichés everywhere, down to the mounted deer head on the wall. Unusual for green liberal hippie Portland. Of course, D’Amboise was a law until himself. And Zane had a feeling killing animals for sport was the least of Jean-Claude’s sins.

  The terrace was even dimmer than the study, but through the open French doors Zane could see a glint of Blaze’s hair in the moonlight outside. His heart quickened. He was about to talk to her—his dream woman. Hear her voice in person for the first time.

  The idol felt suddenly heavy in his pocket. Was that a faint murmur he heard? Or just the distant sound of the party? He closed his hand briefly over his pocket. A chill radiated out from the velvet pouch.

  Blaylock gestured to the terrace doors, and then stepped discreetly back through the double doors that opened from the hallway, closing them behind him. Zane heard the sound of a key in the lock. It raised his hackles until he realized the latch was on this side—the locked door was apparently for their privacy, not to keep them in.

  Not that Zane had to worry about that. He could always use his wings to get out, if necessary.

  He took a deep breath, and then walked between the fluttering sheer curtains out onto the terrace. He caught a glimpse of an expanse of starry sky before he turned to meet the woman of his dreams.

  “Hello,” he said, extending his hand. “Thank you for meeting me. I—”

  That was as far as he got. Two silken ropes twined around his wrists and yanked, as if held by invisible hands. Before he could react, he was suspended a few inches off the ground, his arms spread over his head in a Y-shape.

  Zane fought, trying to escape the spell, but this was different from last night. The spell itself wasn’t touching him—it was only animating the ropes that held him. He couldn’t brush away the magic so easily this time.

  She’d outsmarted him. He was trapped.

  Before he could say a word, Blaze made a swift movement with her hands. His shirt ripped open down the front and spread wide, exposing his heart.

  Oh, hell, Zane thought. This can’t be good. She must have recognized him from last night.

  And she was clearly holding a grudge.

  Blaze walked right up to him, ignoring his struggles, and ran her hands over his chest. The heat from her fingers seemed to strike all the way down into his bones.

  His exclamation turned into a murmured exhale. “What the hell are you doing to me?”

  “Where’s your tattoo?” she demanded.

  “My what?”

  He had no idea what she was talking about. Thorne? he said in his head. Little help here? I’m on the terrace outside the study. He projected a picture of its location. Come from outside. Cloak yourself. We’re having an issue with the lovely Ms. McKenna.

  Saw you leave. Already on my way.

  “Your coven tattoo.” Blaze jerked her hand back, walked around behind him, and magically ripped the back of his shirt and jacket as well. He shivered at the sudden touch of the night air on his bare skin.

  Or maybe it was her making him shiver.

  He felt her fingers on his left shoulder blade, and sucked in his breath involuntarily. Just that small contact sent electricity shooting through his body.

  She thought he was a sorcerer. An evil one, if the way he was hanging from his wrists like laundry on a clothesline was anything to go by.

  “I’m not in a coven,” he told her. “I came here in good faith to—”

  She came around to face him again. “Stop lying. You must be. You’re too powerful to be solo, and I felt power in the others, too.”

  There was a sudden gust of wind, and Zane felt Thorne’s dragon presence just above the t
errace. Then his brother shifted mid-air, uncloaked and landed on the terrace behind Blaze, in human form.

  Watch out, bro. She has a spell—

  Too late.

  The minute Thorne’s feet hit the balcony, more silken ropes sprang to life and he was strung up the same way Zane was. Blaze whipped around and tore Thorne’s shirt open with her magic.

  Damn. Beautiful witch: 2, Dragons: 0

  Not the heroic first impression he’d intended to make.

  Blaze backed up, looking from one to the other. “All right,” she said. “No tattoos, no coven. So spill it. Who are you people, why are you after my idol, and how much pain do I have to put you through to get it back?”

  Thorne said, “We’re not after the idol.”

  Blaze snapped, “Don’t give me that crap.” She looked accusingly at Zane. “You’ve been hounding me for weeks, and when I wouldn’t meet with you, you came to my house and stole it.”

  “I was the one who asked to meet you,” Thorne said—fairly politely, considering the circumstances and Thorne’s temperament. “I’m Thorne Greystone. This is my brother Zane.”

  Blaze seemed momentarily taken aback when she realized she’d targeted the wrong brother, but she continued her attack. “Big deal, you’re not the one that broke in,” she said to Thorne. “All that means is you send minions to do your dirty work.”

  Minions? That stung. “Hey,” Zane protested. “I’m hanging right here. No need to be calling names.”

  He could hardly concentrate, she looked so gorgeous, furiously angry and crackling with power. A worthy mate, his dragon rumbled.

  Mate? The word speared through him like lightning. He’d hoped, but… she wasn’t a dragon. How could she be one of the Three Mates of Destiny?

  Unless she wasn’t. What if she was just… his?

  There was a shadow at the French doors, and Tyr appeared. Of course. The locked study doors wouldn’t have been a problem for him.