Dragon Storm (Dawn of the Dragon Queen Book 2)

by Tara West

  “I beg your pardon, ladies, but we need to cut to the chase,” O’Leary interrupted. “Has Dr. Straw called today?”

  Mrs. Jenkens’s rosy cheeks paled. “No, not today. Why?”

  “He’s committed murder,” O’Leary said, “and we fear he may come after the healer next.”

  Abby and Mrs. Jenkens gasped.

  “Oh, great goddess.” Fiona clasped a hand to her throat and she shot Duncan a wide-eyed look. Odd, for Duncan would have never expected a dragoness to show fear over a cowardly man. This was not the same woman who’d accosted five drunken knights in a smoky tavern five centuries ago. Duncan wondered if it was time or motherhood that had changed her.

  O’Leary nodded toward the narrow staircase that led to the upper floor. “He could be here even now. Mrs. Jenkens, do you mind if we search your home?”

  Mrs. Jenkens swept an arm with a wide flourish. “By all means, gentlemen, please do.”

  Duncan took the downstairs while O’Leary searched the upper floor. He found nothing amiss in the kitchen. Moses packed plates into a crate, and he warned the man to keep an eye out for the doctor. After securing a lamp, he searched the outer perimeter of the house as well as the space beneath the porch, a small hen coop, and the carriage house. The breeze was picking up, a few of the gusts rattling the slate shingles on the roof of the carriage house. Duncan had noticed that many of the buildings in Galveston had slate shingles, and he feared the plates would be launched into the air like cannon blasts once the hurricane hit.

  He joined Fiona and the other ladies in the parlor, giving them reassurances that Straw was nowhere in sight.

  “All clear,” O’Leary said as he walked down the stairs.

  “Nothing downstairs or outside,” Duncan answered.

  “Where do you think he is?” Fiona asked.

  O’Leary’s bushy, greying brows drew together. “No telling, but he has a few more haunts I need to check. Miss Fiona, there is a very good chance he will come here. You need to be on your guard at all times.”

  Instinctively, Duncan moved toward Fiona, fighting the urge to pull her into his embrace. “I’ll stay with her.”

  Fiona crossed her arms, putting on a show of bravery. “I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself, as you well know.” She gave Duncan a knowing look.

  Aye, he well knew what she was capable of, but if she had to resort to her dragon form, the consequences would be devastating. The brigades would march on Galveston with guns and cannons; his dragoness wouldn’t be able to defend herself against an industrial army.

  He crossed his arms, bracing himself for a verbal battle. “I’m not leaving you, lass.”

  “If he comes here—” O’Leary cut in.

  “He’s as good as dead,” Duncan answered flatly, ignoring the swooning sounds of Mrs. Jenkens and Abby.

  O’Leary gripped Duncan’s shoulder, leveling him with a stern expression. “Be careful, man. He’s a tricky cuss.”

  “Aye, that he is,” Duncan grumbled as he instinctively rubbed his gut. “Watch his cane. He has a blade hidden in the bottom.”

  “Don’t I know it?” O’Leary laughed, pulling back his sleeve to reveal a fresh, angry scar that ran from his wrist to his elbow. He rolled his sleeve back down before tipping his hat to the lasses. “Goodnight, ladies.”

  Fiona nodded curtly, while Mrs. Jenkens and Abby looked at him as if he was an apparition.

  As soon as he was out the door, Fiona turned to the other women with a huff. “Mrs. Jenkens, may I have a private word with my husband?”

  Duncan winced at the way she’d said the word “husband,” as if it left a foul taste in her mouth. He supposed it did. After all, the lass had devised a spell to be rid of him, a spell that ended up forcing them together. And he was determined to win her back.

  “Of course, dear.” Mrs. Jenkens smiled sweetly at Fiona before shooting eye daggers at Duncan. She set a vase down in a crate and waddled out of the room, taking Abby with her.

  Fiona looked up at him with eyes as hard as steel. “What if he goes after Safina?”

  Duncan’s veins solidified at the thought of Dr. Straw harming Safina, but that notion was quickly dispelled when he recalled Josef’s brawny grandsons, who’d helped them carry Safina and Gabriel inside. Dr. Straw struck Duncan as a coward, one who’d rather prey on defenseless prostitutes than go up against a house full of dockworkers.

  Duncan took a chance and grasped Fiona’s shoulders, trying his best to keep his composure with his pretty lass so near. “Fiona, she is staying in a house with five strapping young men. He would be a fool to try it.” He softened his tone when her mouth fell open. “But we can go there to put your mind at ease.”

  In truth, he did not wish to leave Mrs. Jenkens’s cozy little parlor. He wanted to lay Fiona down on the brocade sofa and kiss her senseless.

  Fiona’s brow furrowed and she chewed on her lower lip. “No. I doubt he knows she’s returned.” She rolled her eyes, jerking her head in the direction of the swinging doors, where Mrs. Jenkens had disappeared through moments earlier. “Mrs. Jenkens has already told most of Galveston she’s run off with Gabriel.”

  Duncan should have been relieved, but his annoyance surprised even himself. Had that woman truly offered his mate and child a room in order to be at the heart of town gossip?

  “Then it would be best if we didn’t tell Mrs. Jenkens of Safina’s return,” he said with a wry grin.

  Fiona laughed. “She’s most likely got an ear to the door already.”

  Duncan swore beneath his breath when he saw the kitchen door move just a tick. “Is there somewhere else we can talk?”

  Fiona froze, looking like an animal caught in a snare before relaxing, brushing a strand of hair out of her face with a deliberate hand. “Aye.”

  That one word punctured the air, leaving something unspoken between them, something Duncan knew was momentous. And then she wordlessly brushed past him, reaching behind her. Duncan stuck his hand out, surprised when she entwined her fingers through his. His heart hammered as he followed her upstairs, down the hall, and into a small bedroom.

  Duncan stood in the doorway, his legs rooted to the spot when Fiona released his hand and turned to him.

  She studied him for a long moment, her pressing gaze making the cramped bedroom feel even smaller.

  “You’ve lost much of your Scottish accent,” she said in a dismissive tone.

  “Aye.” He loosened his collar as the flush of unease made him sweat. “It’s what happens after living in the States for so long.”

  She shrugged, tracing the side of the bedpost with a finger. “I never imagined you’d change.”

  Duncan swallowed hard, his spine stiffening. “Much about me has changed, except for my heart. It will never stop pining for you.”

  She gasped, clutching a hand to her throat. Then a look of understanding crossed her features. She had a molten look in her eyes as she removed the pins from her hair. Wild locks cascaded around her shoulders in crimson waves, nearly taking Duncan’s breath away.

  How many nights had he dreamed of running his fingers through that thick mane? Of wrapping it around his hand and pulling her to him, trailing kisses down her neck and across her collarbone while he held her at his mercy.

  When Fiona licked her plump lips, he moved to her as if he were in a trance, answering the siren’s call. Could it be true? Had Fiona forgiven him? Was she ready to make up and restore their bond?

  When she began unlacing the bodice of her gown, he froze, his limbs encrusted in ice as he helplessly watched her free her soft breasts.

  Duncan’s throat had gone dry. “Fiona, what are you doing?”

  She let her skirts fall to the floor. “I am doing what must be done.” She held her chin high as she kicked her clothes aside.

  Doing what must be done? This is not how I want her.

  Duncan stepped back, needing to put distance between her nude body and his pulsating flesh. “Put on your clothes, lass.
”

  “We must restore the bond.” Her voice cracked and splintered with emotion. “Our daughter’s immortality depends on it.”

  Much to his chagrin, she followed him, placing a hand on his chest. When her fingers grazed the exposed skin on his neck, he jumped as if he’d been shocked.

  He pushed her hand down, nearly knocking over a vanity as he backed into a wall. “Fiona, for five hundred years I have dreamed of making love to you again, but I will not take you like this.”

  She refused to back down, leaning into him, pressing her breasts against his chest. “Duncan, I cannot risk Safina’s life. She has no way of defending herself if she can’t shift.”

  When she pulled his hand to her mouth, kissing the tips of his fingers, he thought he’d come undone. His groin was tight and heavy with need, and it took all of his willpower not to throw her on the bed and sink into her heat.

  He jerked his hand away, gripping the side of the vanity so hard, the wood crackled. “She is safe now.”

  Fiona pouted, looking up at him from beneath thick lashes. Though she still had dark circles under her eyes from obvious lack of sleep, she was still a beauty, her skin so smooth and creamy white, it nearly glowed. “She will never be safe as long as she is mortal.”

  Duncan held back a curse as he gripped her shoulders, his heart pulsing wildly as he stared deeply into her heavy-lidded gaze. “Look me in the eye and tell me you want to make love to me. Tell me you want to bond with the dragonslayer who killed your mother.”

  She wilted beneath his touch like a flower baking beneath a dry summer sun. “Duncan, don’t do this.”

  He released her, thrusting her away. He clenched his fists until nails broke skin. Still, the pain wasn’t enough to abate the waves of desire that washed through him. And all this time he’d thought there’d been no greater travesty than being forced to live life without Fiona. Now he realized loving her was far more treacherous.

  “I will find a way to earn your forgiveness,” he spoke through a clenched jaw, every muscle in his body coiled so tight, he was surprised he could speak at all. “But until I do, I will not be making love to you, lass.” He grabbed a pillow and blanket off the bed, throwing them on the floor. He knelt and straightened the blanket. “You look as tired as I feel. Get some sleep.”

  It was no lie that she looked exhausted, but the flush in her cheeks, like the rosy hue of her nipples, made her even more alluring.

  He turned from her, exhaling a pent-up breath of relief at the sound of springs creaking when she climbed onto the mattress. Though he wanted very badly to make love to Fiona— almost as badly as he wanted to restore their bond—he knew there’d be an even greater price in taking her when her heart wasn’t willing. He was a fool to think he’d ever earn her forgiveness, but he sure as hell was going to try.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Safina woke to shouting. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and was tossed from the bed. She landed on the floor with a thud. Rubbing her sore bottom, she looked up at her mate. He was thrashing about, kicking the blankets and screaming for help.

  She came to her knees, shaking his shoulders. “Gabriel, wake up! You’re dreaming.”

  Gabriel shot up, arms flailing. Safina ducked and his fist swung past her ear.

  “Gabriel!” she shouted. “It’s okay. We are safe.”

  His arms stilled as he slumped against the headboard, staring vacantly at the wall in front of him. It took several more moments for him to blink. Finally, he looked at Safina with a slackened jaw. “Mi amor, I had a nightmare we were drowning in the ocean.”

  She sat beside him, patting his arm. “We were until my mother plucked us from the sea.”

  His eyes widened. “How did she find us?”

  “My father showed her the way. I don’t know how, but he and I are still connected.”

  Gabriel jerked upright, kicking the blankets off his feet. “But your father is a dragonslayer.”

  “He is no more,” Safina said. “He says he’s sorry and he loves me.”

  Gabriel gaped at her a long moment before breaking into a wide smile. “How could he not?” His voice broke, and he ran his tongue over cracked lips.

  Safina answered with a sigh of relief and leaned back on her heels. “Can I get you some water, Gabriel?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She poured him a tall drink from a nearby pitcher, then sat beside him, waiting for him to finish.

  He handed her the empty cup. “I’m sorry my powers weren’t strong enough, mi amor.”

  Her heart clenched at the hopeless look in his eyes. “Don’t be sorry, Gabriel. You kept us alive long enough.”

  He shook his head. “Barely.” He jumped when a gust rattled the small window above them. “The wind is getting angrier.” He tossed his feet over the bed and slowly stood, rubbing his temples as he leaned against the wall. “Ugh. The room is still spinning.”

  Safina grabbed his elbow. “Get back in bed, Gabriel.”

  He tried to push himself off the wall but fell right back against it. “No. I need to find Papi.”

  Safina channeled her mother’s tone as she wagged a finger in his face. “Not until you eat something.”

  He paled as he clutched his gut. “I don’t know if I can stomach food.”

  Safina’s jaw hardened with grim determination. “You can and you will.”

  * * *

  Dr. Charles Straw considered his stroke of good luck. One of his widowed patients had been foolish enough to tell him she’d be visiting relatives in Philadelphia for three weeks, leaving the maintenance of the house to a caretaker older than dirt. After he had paid the caretaker a visit, and after the caretaker had conveniently fallen down a flight of stairs and broken his neck, Dr. Straw now had the house to himself.

  The widow had a surprisingly large cache of silver and a stunning jewelry collection. Surprising, because the old bat had always been stingy when it came to paying for his services, never offering him any tips, even when he’d stooped so low as to rub ointment on her bunions.

  He considered her ruby and diamond earrings, and topaz necklace and matching bracelet a tip long overdue. He could hock the jewelry for the five hundred he owed, but after he’d been seen leaving the murdered whore’s room, he knew he couldn’t stay in Galveston.

  Nobody knew where to find him. All he had to do was stay long enough to sell the jewelry and book passage to somewhere far away. Perhaps he’d travel to New Orleans. There were plenty of gaming halls and whorehouses there to occupy his time. And when he tired of that city, he could go west. Many people ventured to California in hopes of a better life. Dreamers, to be sure, but dreamers made such easy targets.

  He contemplated the best place to hock the jewelry. The police would be looking for him at his usual haunts. He knew his best option for a fair trade would be the docks, where he could barter for passage to New Orleans. Dr. Straw hated to leave Galveston. The city had some of the finest whorehouses and the wealthiest, sickest fools he’d ever encountered. How he’d miss taking advantage of their desperation.

  Dr. Straw had been in some scrapes in his time, but never had he come this close to the hangman’s noose. If the stupid trollop hadn’t robbed his apartment. If the charlatan hadn’t moved to town and healed his patients. As he slipped into a borrowed coat and a pair of gloves, he contemplated finding another way to get the redheaded bitch to divulge her secret. He could make a fortune in New Orleans if he only he had the elixir in hand.

  * * *

  Safina helped Gabriel dress, pleasantly surprised to find someone had left her a new dress and boots. She brought him to the kitchen and piled his plate with food, pouring him a large glass of juice. After she was satisfied he had eaten a sufficient amount, and after she helped herself to a generous serving of cheesy eggs, potatoes, and pico de gallo, she tried to help him stand.

  He waved her away. “I can walk by myself, mi amor.”

  His legs appeared shaky, but he made it thr
ough the parlor and out to the porch without using the walls for support. Though the dawn was just breaking, Josef was outside smoking his pipe and drinking coffee, staring thoughtfully at the horizon.

  Because Safina no longer had dragon-touched senses, she could not see the shoreline from such a distance, but she heard voices from afar. The wind blew her hair across her face.

  Gabriel grasped his papi’s shoulder, his expression turning to stone. “The hurricane is almost upon us.”

  Señor Cortez didn’t even blink. “I know, mijo. My family will not perish. I will make sure of it.”

  “And what about the rest of Galveston?” Gabriel pleaded.

  Señor Cortez merely shook his head.

  “Papi?” Gabriel tenderly cupped the old man’s hand.

  He shrugged and looked away. “You may warn them if you wish.”

  Gabriel stood, resolution set in his jaw as he marched toward the stairs.

  Safina followed. “Gabriel, where are you going?”

  Shadows fell across his tired eyes as he ran a palm down his face. “I’ll start with people close to the beach, and then I’ll work my way up to the docks.”

  She let out a frustrated groan. “Gabriel, how will you explain yourself when people see you walking?”

  He clenched his hands. “I don’t care anymore.”

  Before he could descend the stairs, Safina was beside him, clutching his arm. “I’m coming with you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Safina and Gabriel tried to warn as many citizens as possible, banging on their doors and begging them to evacuate to higher ground. For the most part, though, they were met with disbelief and people shooing them off their porches and slamming doors in their faces.

  They were exhausted and weather-worn from the blustery winds by the time they turned the corner to Mrs. Jenkens’s house. Gabriel’s brothers were loading crates and furniture into Señor Cortez’s wagon while Mrs. Jenkens fussed around them like a squawking chicken. The sun had risen, revealing an endless sea of billowing, brick-red clouds in the distance. The tide had come into the yard, and breakers hit the beach with such ferocity, they splashed the tops of telephone poles.