“I’ll be right back.” He got out and stood beside Wilfred.
Cousin Wilfred smiled a little uncertainly. “There is only one way to get Señora Estevan and her son Swedish passports tonight. You’re going to have to marry her. The Eldest’s orders.”
Lars’ heart lurched. “Doesn’t that open up its own set of problems?” he asked in disbelief. But his spirit soared.
“All sorted,” Wilfred said smugly. “Judge Strauss has expedited a certificate of marriage and is prepared to perform a civil ceremony right now. I have Swedish passports prepared. We just need photographs of the woman and the child.”
Jesus H. Despite his fantasies, Lars wasn’t ready for this step. And yet if he didn’t get Nikki and her son into hiding, the Russians would make mincemeat of them both. Besides, if the Eldest commanded it, he had no choice. Surely an annulment would be possible? Or if not, a divorce? Or he could put his seal on that small, curvy beauty and keep her and her fireling forever.
* * *
“No, I won’t do it.” Nicole dug in her heels as best she could when she was at such a disadvantage.
Matilda Lindorm was tall, blonde and, even in the hour before dawn, immaculately groomed. She smiled benignly down at Nicole. “You can trust Lars,” she said quietly. “He is a good man. He will take care of you and your little one.”
Nicole could tell that Matilda Lindorm was also a dragoness, just as all the men she had met tonight had been dragons. Fru Lindorm was the wife of the Swedish cultural adjunct to Argentina. Wilfred Lindorm was Lars’ cousin. Together Matilda and Wilfred overwhelmed her with their height, sophistication and powerful auras. She shivered in her T-shirt and jeans, feeling small and insignificant as she had ever since Lars had introduced them and they had driven to the Swedish Consulate
“We must get you out of Argentina ahead of the Russians,” Matilda continued persuasively. Her face was wreathed in smiles as if they were not all in deadly peril. And as if she was not proposing an outrageous solution.
What was with these dragons that they sounded so reasonable, no matter how outlandish their suggestions? “I don’t understand any of this,” Nicole objected weakly. “How will marriage help?”
“As soon as Lars is your husband, your son will be eligible for a Swedish passport. Surely Matteo’s safety is worth a little inconvenience?”
Nicole felt the elegant bedroom closing in on her. “Marriage seems a bit extreme.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t want to marry anyone.”
“Without a passport for your son, you can’t leave Argentina.” Matilda’s voice was as unruffled as her upswept hair. “Where would you hide in this country, that the Russians wouldn’t find you? Don’t worry. Once the danger has passed, it should be fairly simple to arrange an annulment.”
“Matteo is an American citizen,” Nicole said for what felt like the twelfth time. “I’m an American citizen. He is my son. Why don’t we get him a US passport?”
“You must know that there is no time,” Matilda shook her head. Not a single hair disturbed the sleekness of her coiffure. “I’m afraid that unless you go somewhere where the Russians cannot find you, that you and Matteo will be killed – or abducted. And which would be worse, my dear? We’re all afraid for you. Lars will take care of you and your son. You can trust him.”
Nicole gave in with a resentful sigh. Matilda hustled Nicole into a new cream-colored shift and stockings. Her black flats did not really go with the dress she had been given, but Matilda’s were far too large. The other woman’s clever fingers transformed Nicole’s bun into a chic French twist.
“There,” Matilda said with satisfaction. “You look more bridal. May I?” Her fingers stroked Nicole’s dark brows. As if by magic the black bar transformed into two tidy arches that framed Nicole’s eyes.
“How did you do that?” Nicole demanded.
“Do what?” Matilda was surprised. “Oh.” She chuckled. “It’s part of being a dragoness. Much better than having to use tweezers. You’re a little pale, let’s try some blush and some lipstick.” A brush dusted powder on Nicole’s cheeks.
She meekly accepted the tube of lipstick Matilda handed her. Bright red lipstick made her mouth stand out.
“You look beautiful. Shall we rejoin the men?” Matilda drew her into the corridor.
Nicole let herself be led into the Consular reception hall which was crammed with broad-chested dragons. Somewhere Lars had found a dark suit and bright tie and restored his gleaming hair and beard to aristocratic perfection. He was with the other dragons who hemmed in the thin man from the runway.
Within moments, the thin man was being introduced as Judge Strauss. He asked Nicole a few questions, and conducted a brief ceremony. He pronounced Lars and Nicole husband and wife. He had them sign his register, and had the Adjunct and his wife witness it. Strauss signed their certificate of marriage himself and beamed around at the company.
Matilda Lindorm put out both her hands and took both of Nicole’s in a comforting clasp. She stooped and kissed Matt’s cheek. She kissed Lars on both cheeks. Her husband shook hands with Nicole and kissed her. He shook hands heartily with Lars and clapped him on the back. He moved away to the table where his assistant handed him two passports with a bow. Wilfred stamped them with an impressively large official seal, and signed his name across it.
“Welcome to the House of Lindorm,” Wilfred said with elaborate courtesy as he handed Nicole the passports. He shook hands again with Lars. “The others are here now,” he said. “It’s time you were on your way.”
George and Winston and a larger, shaggier version of Lars were waiting for them in an anteroom. Nicole assumed the third man was the cousin Lars had spoken of.
“How did you get here so quickly?” Lars asked.
“We flew,” The shaggy blond said as if it were obvious. He beat Lars on the shoulder with a hand like a ham. “Rongo and Waimarie thought it best. Congratulations, you lucky dog.” He mimed a playful jab at Lars’ midsection. The room rang with masculine laughter. Matteo ran from man to man excitedly telling them about the events of the evening.
As if he had just remembered her, Lars turned and pulled her and Matt forward. “Theo, this is my wife Nicole,” he said. “And my son Matteo.” There was something odd about his voice as if those words stuck in his throat. But none of this had been her idea.
“This is my cousin Theo,” Lars told Nicole and Matteo. “The four of us will make sure nothing happens to either of you.”
“Our plane is ready,” Theo Lindorm said. “We should be on San Michaela in twelve hours.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
He came awake, bathed in sweat, reaching for Annalise. Lars sat up in bed. The room was very quiet, moonlight poured in through the open window, and the breeze carried the scent of the sea and of the frangipani that bloomed outside the bungalow. Annalise, of course, was not beside him. And she never would be again. As always, his grief was crushing. He got up and paced around the room while his fog cleared.
At home, he would have gone for a run and sweated off the adrenaline and sorrow. But here on the island of San Michaela, his first duty was to Nicole and the boy. To his wife and his son. He shouldn’t leave the bungalow without checking on them. At this particular moment, he felt incapable of fulfilling his responsibilities.
Surely Annalise would not have objected to him lending his name in order to protect a vulnerable woman and her child. But his temporary marriage made his heart ache – as though he had repudiated his love for his dear wife. Everyone said he should be getting over her death. But the loss remained as fresh as if she had been ripped from his arms and buried in the cold ground only minutes before. He dreamed of her. Not just of lying in bed enjoying her lithe and beautiful body. But of walking arm in arm along the beach, laughing, talking, and sharing their hearts.
It was always difficult to wake after Annalise had been teasing him, her eyes merry above a cup of coffee. Or blowing him a kiss as she closed the door on her way to work.
His dreams were so vivid that it always took a few gasping breaths before he could quite believe he was a widower. Could accept that his wife and his infant were buried in the same grave. How could he feel bonded to Nicole while he was still haunted by Annalise?
Lars didn’t know how he could have such tender feelings for Nicole – not when his grief for Annalise was still a bleeding knife wound in his heart. But he did. These placid emotions didn’t feel anything like his love for Annalise. It was some entirely new blend of affection and lust. But maybe it could be enough? Because he felt as though some weight had been lifted from his spirit. He suddenly had some of his old zest for life back.
Perhaps it had been flying with Nicole over the pampas that had done this to him? There was something so elemental about flying with a dragoness. It had been one of the enormous pleasures of his marriage to Annalise. Together they had tracked each other through the clear, crisp, salt-laden air of the North Atlantic. Being mated meant being able to move in perfect synchrony – as if one brain guided both bodies. He had felt something of that with Nicole, even though flying with her had felt unlike any experience he had ever had with his first wife.
Curvy little Nikki was hot. Her hourglass figure, soft and supple flesh, and sparky personality, were the epitome of desirableness. And now that she had two eyebrows she was even more beautiful. But she behaved like she thought she was some sort of asexual drudge. He wanted to get into her bed with a passion that was as refreshing as it was alarming. It had been a long time since he had felt dragged around by his cock. He was far too old for such nonsense, and yet.
His feelings for Matteo were less complicated. Nicole’s fireling was charming. He was curious, clever, and as spirited as his mother. It would be the greatest of pleasures to be the boy’s father, not just for a few weeks or months, but forever. And it would be even more of a pleasure to have firelings of his own. Nicole, whether she knew it or not, was rippling with hormones driving her to mate and reproduce. She needed a mate. Why shouldn’t it be him?
Perhaps it wouldn’t be the most romantic of marriages. But perhaps they could heal each other, and give Matteo a home in which to spread his wings and grow up to be a brave, talented dragon lord. She was a wonderful mother, and it would give him great pleasure to give Matteo brothers and sisters. And the Lindorms could supply more cousins than any boy had ever dreamed of.
He had to think of some way to woo Nicole. Some way to transform this temporary marriage into something permanent. This island was a paradise. But it was also a refuge. How could he court her, without making it seem as though he was trying to exchange his protection for possession? And how could he relax and enjoy Nicole and Matteo’s company, while the deadly threat of Vladimir and his mobsters hung over them all?
He had to win Nicole’s trust. He thought he had already made some progress. She seemed to appreciate the time he spent with the boy. Not that hanging out with Matteo was any sort of chore. His thoughts of a pleasant, companionable marriage with Nicole, drifted into schemes to teach the boy about his heritage. He was planning out a conversation when the door of his bedroom slowly opened and the boy poked his head in. His black hair stood up in clumps. His eyes were owl-like in a strained face.
“You heard them too?” he whispered when he saw Lars was awake.
“I didn’t hear anything.” Lars listened. He suspected the boy had had a nightmare somewhat different from his own, but just as understandable. And just as emotionally draining. Before he sent the boy back to bed, he should make sure that there really were no intruders. San Michaela was well defended, but he should investigate.
He glanced down at himself and reached for his pants. “We’ll have to be very quiet,” he said.
Lars waved the boy over to the desk and booted up his laptop. The CCTV footage came up in a bewildering array of small tiles. He had monitored so many video feeds, that it was second nature to him to sort them out. But the boy gave a stifled gasp. Of course Matteo had not been aware that there was video surveillance everywhere. There were cameras in the house, on the grounds, and down by the beaches.
The moonlight showed a series of black and white vignettes, color faded to grays by the lack of light, but undisturbed by humans or shifters. The waves came in gently and foamed on the gently sloping sand. Tiny crabs scuttled about searching for food in the debris cast up on the shore. An owl swooped overhead, and the crabs hastily retreated into their burrows.
The perimeter of the house revealed only shrubs, flowers, and trees in the lush profusion of the surrounding grounds. It was easy to let your guard down, when everything seemed to be so peaceful. But Lars kept scanning the tiles until he had come to the last one. He saw no sign of any intruders. No marks of boats on the beaches. Nothing tied at the pier that should not have been. The footage of the interior of the house was similarly blank.
“I think you must’ve dreamed the noise, Matteo,” he told the boy.
Matteo shook his head as if he preferred to believe his ears. “Why are they looking for us?” he asked.
“They think you will lead them to treasure,” Lars said.
“Treasure?” Matt’s voice was pitched high in his surprise. “Mom and me don’t have any treasure. Do they think she has treasures because she is a dragon?”
Lars put an arm around the boy’s shaking shoulders. “I don’t know. But for the moment, we’ve outfoxed them, lad, they don’t know where we are now. But just in case, we will keep watch.”
“I heard them,” Matt insisted. “They were trying to open the windows in my room.”
Lars scrolled back to the cameras aimed at that side of the house. Together they watched the earlier feed. Two large black creatures flew directly at the window screens and scooped up the moths splayed against it. The fliers barely brushed the screens before darting off with dinner.
“Those are bats,” Matt said awed. “They’re so big. And the moths are really huge. It sounded louder than that, but I guess that’s what it was.” His voice trailed off.
“Let’s take a look.” Lars got up and led the boy back down the hall to his room.
Nikki was asleep on the other bed. She had cast aside the thin sheet and the narrow straps of her nightgown revealed smooth shoulders. Even in the moonlight her skin looked silky. Here in a room that had been closed up all night, her fragrance was potent. Lars pretended that he had not smelled it. He peered at the screens. A fresh collection of moths had spread their wings on the nylon mesh.
The breeze brought the scent of frangipani and the sea. There was no smell of any shifters or humans. “Do you think you can go back to sleep now, lad?”
“Could I have some milk first, please?”
Lars wanted to laugh at how easy it was to reassure a seven-year-old. But he didn’t want Matt to think he was mocking him. A child’s self-esteem could be fragile. More importantly, he did not want to wake Nicole. It would be dangerous if she sat up in whatever bit of nonsense she was wearing.
“Sure.”
The sprat ate half a box of crackers and half a carton of cream cheese with his milk. Now that he wasn’t afraid, he was curious.
“Do you live here, Señor?” he asked.
“No. My home is in Sweden.”
“That’s a long way from here,” Matt said.
“It is. Which is why we thought this island would be a good hiding spot.”
“It’s nice here.” A sideways glance accompanied the sprat’s remark. “Whose house is it?”
“My uncle owns it.” Lars did not want to discuss the holdings of the richest House in Dragonry.
“Where is he?”
“He doesn’t live here either. No one lives here. It’s,” Lars thought of a half-truth, “A holiday home.”
“If it was mine, I would live here all the time.”
“Would you?”
“Yeah.” Matt crammed his cracker into his mouth. “But I would put bars on the windows to keep the bad guys out.”
* * *
S
unlight striped her bed when Nicole woke up. The gentle swoosh of the sea drifted through the half-open window. Something about the quality of light made her realize it was the middle of the day. The events of the previous day came back to her with a rush of awareness. She had married Lars.
Nicole sat up and frantically looked around for Matteo. The other bed had been slept in. The covers were half on the floor and the sheets were rumpled. The pajamas that Matilda Lindorm had provided for Matteo lay pooled on the bare hardwood floor.
The bedroom door was shut and except for the noise of the sea and the singing of birds it was quiet. The overhead fan made no noise as it circled. Her eyes felt gritty as if she had not slept long enough. She found some shorts and a T-shirt in the bag that she had been given before she got on the plane last night. They fit reasonably well, although the flip-flops she found were too large.
Her hair was curling rapturously in this humid environment. She tried to tame the mop with the comb she found wrapped in plastic in the bathroom, but she didn’t have much success. She washed her face and brushed her teeth and went to look for her son.
The house was modern, the dark wooden ceilings were very high, and the rooms spacious. A very slight breeze passed through the corridor and the open plan rooms. She didn’t see another person. Surely Lars had not taken Matteo away? She cursed herself for sleeping late. Panicky now, she began to run through the rooms calling.
She ran straight into a hard, warm body. Big hands grasped her shoulders and steadied her. “Whoa,” Lars said softly. “Matt and I were watching the hummingbirds.” He indicated the shady veranda that ran around three sides of the house. Nicole realized there were multiple French doors open to it that she had overlooked in her agitation.
Matteo was right behind Lars. “Hi, Mom, this place is super great!”
She opened her arms and her boy rushed right into them. It was unbelievably comforting to hold his squirming, sturdy body in her arms. Her pulse settled down. “Did you eat breakfast?”
“Hours ago. I wanted to go swimming, but Señor Lars said I had to wait and ask your permission. He wouldn’t let me wake you up, even though I told him you always get up early.”
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