Amber (Amber trilogy Book 1)

by Hati Bell

  “Well, you’re still an orphan who wormed himself in the Dome through charity,” Henry said as he angrily pricked a potato.

  “Don’t be mistaken, Henry. Drake is as much an orphan as you are,” Kincaid unexpectedly defended him.

  Henry looked as if he got punched in the stomach.

  “His father might have managed to end up under a truck, but Drake’s mother is still very much alive,” Kincaid continued. “The fact that she ran off with her tail between her legs after he was born doesn’t make him an orphan.”

  “But it does make him a reject,” Henry said immediately.

  Kincaid lifted a hand in a way a Roman consul would be jealous of, and he gestured to the room around them. Drake looked at the ornate dining room through his glass-green eyes. The silverware, the damask table cloth, the wine carafe of crystal and the Egyptian cotton napkins. Alec Kincaid didn’t accept anything less than the best old money could buy, which was practically everything. Everything except his long-lost grandson, who had recently moved in to carry out the conditions of his grandmother’s will and refused to carry his last name.

  “Your father left all of this behind for a woman,” Kincaid said to Drake. “A woman who left you as soon as she heard I would never recognize her as a Kincaid, the day after you were born. How does it feel, to be rejected by the one creature who should have loved you unconditionally?”

  Drake played around with some of the green beans on his plate. When one of the beans got squished under his fork, a smile appeared on his lips. “Probably the same way it felt when you discovered that that same woman had more influence on your only son than you did.” Drake cursed internally when Kincaid’s smile replicated his own. It was the smile of a knight who had lured the dragon out of its lair.

  “Ah,” Kincaid sighed while he stroked his goatee. “Your mother was what Helen was to Paris and Guinevere to Lancelot, which was their doom. And all in the name of love, the most destructive emotion in the world. The stories rarely tell how Lancelot ended up as a pathetic hermit. They also don’t mention that Paris’ brother marries Helen after his death, who in turn gets killed by her first husband. It’s a sad given that our current society has misshaped myths and legends into sappy stories. It creates the illusion that life is a fairy tale that always ends well. They think that witches and sorcerers, powerful men and women, get defeated, which is wrong. Power will always be power, no matter the shape, form, or century.”

  The air between Drake and his grandfather once again transformed into a chess board. A game in which the older man was so much more experienced than he was, and was willing to sacrifice every last pawn to reach his goal.

  One day, I will beat him.

  Henry clearly felt that he was no longer part of the conversation and cleared his throat. “Drake has a dryad girlfriend,” he exclaimed.

  The silence could be cut with a knife. Kincaid put his fork on his plate like a judge lowers the gavel. “That’s an interesting accusation.”

  “It’s not just an accusation,” Henry said with the grin of a shark who smelled blood. “I have witnesses who were there when we were messing around with a tree-hugger and Drake came to her aid.”

  “I don’t owe anybody an explanation,” he said, hoping that Henry wouldn’t mention any names.

  “Spoken like a true conqueror,” Kincaid said. “Almost worthy of taking over the keys to the Dome.”

  An outsider would be fooled by his candid demeanor, but Drake knew that Kincaid was counting the days until he could checkmate him. The hallways in the Dome had as many pitfalls and traps as a forest set up for a bear hunt.

  Kincaid’s eyes once again were fixated on Drake. “Were it not that bigger conquerors than you have fallen for a pretty face. The Macedonians, the Huns, the Ottoman Empire, and even Napoleon’s empire essentially all fell because of a woman.”

  “It’s disgusting to have to watch a dragon choose the side of a tree-hugger,” Henry chimed in.

  “Unlike you, I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, dear cousin,” Drake growled. “I actually had to work to eat.”

  “Cage fighting,” Henry spat.

  “Which paid the bills,” Drake countered. “And also almost had me land in jail and miss a bunch of exams the dryad helped me with,” he lied, giving a plausible reason for defending Amber. “If you think that I’ll allow you to scare off my little helper, think again. I don’t care what you do after finals. Until then, you’d better keep your claws to yourself, unless you want me to break them.”

  “Was that a threat?” Henry asked haughtily.

  “No, it’s a bloody promise,” Drake growled. “But if you’re eager to find out what exactly it is I’m promising you, I’m willing to show you right here and now.”

  “A fight, here in the Dome?” Henry snorted. “Very tempting, but also incredibly vulgar. Not that I expected anything else from someone who grew up around peasants.”

  “Is that a no?”

  Henry was saved when the door opened and the next course was served. Drake grabbed the wine bottle in front of him.

  His cousin once again cleared his throat. “It’s rather inappropriate to get wine before the head of the table has been served.”

  Drake filled his glass extra-slowly. “I care even less about your opinion than I care about this tablecloth.”

  Henry curled up his lip. “Considering your background, I’m not surprised by your lack of table manners. After all, your step-mom is known to be a…”

  Drake placed his hands on the table and leaned forward threateningly. “Think carefully before you finish that sentence. Your life might depend on it. I’m not one of those defenseless little creatures you like to hunt.”

  “What’s that I’m hearing?” Henry sneered. “Is the tough cage fighter afraid to get blood on his hands? Does he faint at the sight of a dead fox?” he mocked.

  Drake leaned back and didn’t dignify that with an answer. Henry didn’t know the first thing about what it was like to have blood on your hands. The metallic smell that came with it, the adrenaline that rushed through your body when you beat your opponent. The darkness that triumphantly cheered inside of him, because it had managed to seduce him to give in to violence once again. It wasn’t even a day ago that he had ripped out the intestines of a goblin. He frowned when he thought about the reason for the attack. He wanted to rush over to his forbidden obsession to see if she was safe, when he realized that that would be suspicious. Logan was keeping watch and would make sure nothing happened to her.

  Henry read his contemplative silence as defeat and snickered. He was still glowing pompously when the door opened and Kincaid’s dog–the only creature he cared about, according to some–entered the room. The animal, which looked like a dusty old carpet, was followed by Gregor, Kincaid’s right hand. Gregor was a tall man with the only hair on his face being his silver eyebrows. He leaned forward and whispered something in his master’s ear.

  Kincaid dabbed the corners of his mouth and put down the napkin. “Bring him in,” he ordered.

  Gregor looked up, surprised. “The boys?”

  “It’s time the boys turn into men and learn that talking is for politicians.”

  At that Gregor opened the door. Two hulking men walked in, dragging a human with paint splashes all over his ripped jeans. It was hard to determine his age, because his face was filthy, as if he’d been dragged through the mud.

  One of Kincaid’s bodyguards dragged the battered man forward and pushed his head onto the table, next to a plate.

  Kincaid’s dog growled. After his master had given him a piece of meat he disappeared underneath the table.

  “I didn’t know,” the human wailed. “Mr. Kincaid, you have to believe me.”

  Henry looked slightly concerned, like he was part of a movie he wasn’t yet sure he wanted to star in. Drake continued his meal. Showing weakness in front of Kincaid would be a mistake.

  “Gregor, this human seems to think that I have to do somet
hing,” Kincaid said in a bored tone of voice.

  Drake squeezed his fork when he heard Kincaid call the man a human. The shadows that lurked on the edge of his conscience hungrily jumped forward at the first sign of the promise of blood.

  “He was waiting for Miss Chloe at the entrance of the gym,” Gregor said. “He tried to drag her with him when she told him they were over. Your men arrived just in time.”

  Drake had met Kincaid’s mistress, a stunningly beautiful thirty-something with the body of a goddess.

  “So he touched her?” It wasn’t a question. “Why would he do that when he knows she’s mine?”

  The painter’s Adam’s apple throbbed against the tabletop. “I didn’t know she’s yours, Mr. Kincaid. If I had known…”

  “Enough lies,” Kincaid said calmly. “If you lie again, I will have your tongue ripped out.”

  The painter turned ashen. “I had me something to drink. Oh, God, forgive me. I thought she would take me back if she knew that I found a new, better job.”

  Kincaid laughed. “Let me tell you something about the weaker sex,” he started in a deceivingly friendly tone. “A far more accomplished man than you’ll ever be once said that all the money in the world would be useless if it weren’t for women. Women don’t take men back because they make a little more money. They only take them back if they are richer and more powerful than the man they are currently screwing. Something you’re not, and never will be.” He waved his fork at Gregor. “You owe me, Van Gogh. The hand that dared to touch her should be sufficient.”

  The painter was speechless for a second, then a gurgling sound rose from his throat. “Please, forgive me! Just let me go and you’ll never hear from me again.”

  “This isn’t a church. You’ll find no forgiveness here,” Kincaid said and he resumed his meal.

  Henry had lowered his fork and was trying to hide his horror. His cousin might be a snob who hated him, but he wasn’t a coldblooded monster like Kincaid.

  The painter looked around the table in despair. Drake braced himself when the man skipped over Henry’s chalk cheeks and looked at him.

  “Help me,” he yelled desperately.

  Drake took another sip from his glass but this time the wine tasted bitter. The human didn’t stand a chance and would lose a lot more than just his hand. He knew that Kincaid wouldn’t let him live. Punishing the human was Kincaid’s way of making a point with the next generation. “I can’t help you,” he said flatly.

  Gregor gave a signal and the painter was dragged away. The man desperately tried to hold on to the table leg. Gregor took a knife from the table. The human’s cries were muffled when a piece of table cloth was shoved into his mouth. The silence that fell when Gregor’s hand whizzed down was deafening. The snow-white damask turned red, as if someone had spilled tomato sauce on it.

  The semi-unconscious painter was dragged away, after Gregor had picked up the loot. The oversize mud stain on four legs that was supposedly a dog followed him.

  Drake relaxed his tensed muscles and leaned back.

  Kincaid raised his glass, as if he were offering a toast. “Never let someone else perform a task that you don’t have the stomach to witness. I hope that this minor interruption didn’t ruin your appetite.”

  Henry was looking green. He mumbled something that resembled an excuse and hobbled out of the dining room.

  Drake lifted his glass as well. “Why would it ruin my appetite?” he said as he took another sip. The wine burned in his throat.

  Kincaid showed a sparse smile. “Good. I would really hate to have to tell the cook that her excellent meal wasn’t appreciated. She cooks like a goddess, after all. Something your mother never could do. The only thing she excelled at was spreading her legs.”

  Drake let the jibe slide off of him with a simple shrug. The insult about a woman whom he had never known didn’t bother him anymore. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen her legs since I was pushed out from between them. As opposed to your son, who was willing to give up everything for them,” he countered.

  Kincaid was silent for a moment and then burst out laughing.

  Drake emptied his plate and got up. He walled the rage, hatred, and frustration in the deepest dungeons of his soul. There was no way he would be chased away from the Dome. His oath to one day own the place was too important for that.

  He left to the back yard, which was so big it should get its own zip code. It stretched out like the Versailles gardens and undoubtedly contained far more marble statues, fountains, and exotic flowers.

  He hated every inch of it.

  He didn’t take his phone out of his pocket until he was sure he was alone.

  Logan immediately picked up. “Your girlfriend is fine,” he said.

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” Drake growled. “You know why we need her.”

  “Aha, had another lovely family dinner from Hell?” Logan guessed.

  “Kincaid is not my family.” Logan didn’t object. They both knew that blood ties didn’t make someone family.

  “The little lotus has spent an hour in all kinds of different yoga positions,” Logan continued. “She’s amazingly flexible, in every position you could possibly imagine. Too bad for you that she’s a dryad.”

  Drake ignored Logan’s insinuation of his interest in the dryad girl. There was no use in denying it. His kind loved everything shiny and sparkly, and the girl was like a beautiful jewel. He wanted her, but he wanted his inheritance even more. He would destroy everything Kincaid stood for and enjoy seeing Kincaid suffer. But until that day arrived, he’d have to be patient. He couldn’t allow Kincaid to get access to this asset that he could and would use against him. “I’m on my way,” he said. Logan had to be back at camp before midnight, before someone noticed he was gone.

  “Are you sure that’s necessary? Because I think she’s already getting the protection she needs.” It didn’t sound sincere.

  “By whom?”

  “Some guy. They’re watching a movie on the couch.”

  Drake was surprised to find out that she had a boyfriend, but then realized that he should’ve known. Maybe he had misunderstood her in her delirious state. And why did he even care? “Is it a human?”

  “A pixie. Big headphones, a lot of hair.”

  “Hofland,” Drake guessed. “I’ll be there in ten.”

  “Good, ’cause I have a gorgeous brunette waiting in my tent. She reminds me of the left half of those twins from Devon. It’s a shame to keep her waiting.”

  Drake was smiling when he hung up. There was always a pretty girl waiting for Logan. Sometimes even more than one. Or two.

  When he turned around, he stood face-to-face with Gregor.

  The silver fox walked down the terrace until they were right in front of each other. “I take it your grandfather doesn’t know about your interest in the dryad girl,” he said.

  Drake swallowed a curse. “He probably will now.” He didn’t have the illusion that Gregor would keep anything from his liege.

  A thin smile appeared on Gregor’s lips. “I haven’t told Kincaid about your unhealthy interest yet, because I assume that it’s just a whim. A rebellious act to get back at him.”

  Drake kept a straight face. “What else could it be? She is a dryad, after all.”

  Gregor nodded approvingly. “Your grandmother asked me to watch over you,” he said out of the blue.

  Drake vividly remembered the first and only time he had met Ariana Kincaid. That had been seven years ago. It had also been the first time he had felt the darkness in his soul. The urge to trash everything upon sight had manifested itself in a glamorous yet short career in the world of illegal fights. “I’m surprised she dared ask you something without Kincaid’s approval,” he said scornfully.

  Apparently he had stepped on Gregor’s tail, because Gregor’s nostrils started trembling. “Ariana Kincaid was your grandmother and the queen of Seven Hill. You will not insult her.”

  The words sounded like
the crack of a whip, but Drake didn’t care. He wasn’t here to make friends. “Queens don’t look like they’d rather disappear behind the wallpaper out of fear of their husbands. They get up and embrace their grandchildren.” His own mother hadn’t wanted him so he shouldn’t have been surprised when his grandmother didn’t fight for him either. He had been so angry with himself for giving Ariana Kincaid the power to hurt him.

  “Your memory about Ariana is marked by one single, unfortunate meeting. She was elegant, generous, and gentle. Kincaid adored her and put the world at her feet. The only thing he didn’t give in about was the destructive path your father chose. If she’d have been alive, she would’ve taken you in.”

  “I don’t need a sitter.”

  “No, you need a lot more than that. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you are any match for Kincaid,” Gregor warned. “Your father…”

  “My father was weak.”

  Gregor bowed his head in agreement. “I assume you won’t repeat his weakness.”

  “I sure won’t,” Drake snapped.

  “Do you know what the biggest difference is between us and humans? We grow up faster,” Gregory answered his own question. “A dragon your age is years ahead of his human peers in terms of development. I don’t just mean your speed and physical strength. Just remember that Alec Kincaid is always three steps ahead of his fellow dragons. Imagine how sharp and well-developed his mind must be. You have a long way to go if you want to beat him.”

  Drake didn’t feel the need to deny it would be his greatest pleasure to see Kincaid fall. Everyone inside the Dome knew there was no love lost between them.