by Leela Ash
For a moment, those luscious, mesmerizing eyes scanned her, drinking in every detail of her face, her clothes, her hair. Perhaps it was crazy, but he seemed… eager? Anxious? No, nothing that weak. But clearly, whatever this coin was, it held great importance to him.
“Ms. Stiles?”
Even his voice thrilled her, a deep, rich bass that transformed her plain, boring name into something enchanting.
He cleared his throat. “Ms. Stiles?”
Oh heavens! He expected an answer? Blood rushed to Hannah’s cheeks as she realized she’d been sitting there staring at him. “Yes? Uh, yes! I’m, uh, Hannah. Hannah Stiles.”
“Good. Please hold the coin up to your computer’s camera.”
No small talk? No ‘Hi, how are you, nice to see you?’ For the first time, she felt a twinge of uneasiness, but she ignored it. Of course, he was all business. A wealthy, elegant man like him would never care about a plain farm girl like her. Still blushing, she raised the coin, so he could see it.
Immediately, he gasped. Some bright emotion lit his azure eyes. Hope? Joy? She couldn’t tell. For one moment, a dazzled smile brightened his face and he began to speak in a deep, musical language.
What it was, she had no idea. Certainly nothing like her high school Spanish. He fell silent, awaiting an answer. Hannah winced. “I’m sorry. I don’t know that language.”
At once, clouds of suspicion darkened his handsome face. He repeated the last sentence, his smile fading.
“Sorry, I really don’t have any idea what you’re saying.”
“Marakeen?” Those brilliant eyes bored into her now, seeking traps and deceit. “This word means nothing to you?”
Hannah shook her head. “Is that the name of the coin?”
His eyes closed, freeing her. Every muscle in his lithe body tensed, as if some fierce battle raged inside him. When he opened his eyes again, they were as cold as glacial ice. Chin raised, he stared through the computer at her with chilly disdain. “So, tell me, where did you steal the coin from?”
Steal?!? Now her eyes flashed. “Excuse me? How dare you accuse me of theft?”
“How dare I?” he sneered. “You have no idea what you hold in your hand. Clearly, you are a thief.”
“This coin has been in my family for hundreds of years!”
“And yet, you know nothing of the Marakeen?” She glared back at him, unwilling to answer, and he gave a short bark of laughter. “Then let me correct myself. You are not a thief – you are the descendent of thieves.”
“I think this conversation is over,” Hannah hissed. Gorgeous or not, he didn’t get to sit there and insult her family like that.
As she reached for the mouse, his lip curled in mockery. “Don’t you want your money, thief’s child?”
Hannah froze, and now it was her turn to fight back anger.
Money. That was why she was here. She couldn’t forget that. Couldn’t let her anger… her disappointment, cloud her mind. Yes, her ‘Greek god’ seemed to be more of a devil. Yes, he was arrogant, and dismissive, and…
She swallowed and scrubbed her eyes, quickly wiping away any trace of the shamed tears his taunts had summoned. None of that mattered. What mattered was that, judging from the luxurious furniture she saw behind him, he was rich. And he wanted her coin.
“Well?”
His scornful gaze burned through her, hitting her soul like a hammer’s blow. Yet she forced herself to meet it. To lift her chin and defy his unjust accusations. “Yes. $72,300. That’s what this coin will cost you.”
He didn’t even blink at that crazy price tag. “An oddly specific price.”
She held her tongue. He didn’t deserve an explanation.
“Very well.” Clearly, his interest in the subject had died. “$72,300 it is. I will mail you my address. Send the coin to me and I will give you what you want.”
“I want the money first!” Her lips pinched. “I don’t trust you.”
“Well, I don’t trust thieves,” he countered, “and I have the money. You will not be paid until the coin is in my possession.”
As she opened her mouth to argue, he waved dismissively. “We’re done here,” he said, as the video conference ended.
For a moment, Hannah sat there, shaking with shame and rage. How could someone so heavenly, so gorgeous, be so cruel? What had she done to deserve that kind of treatment?
By all rights, she ought to be dancing with joy. She’d done it! She’d found the money her family needed to save their land! But all she could think about was his eyes, and the way the hope and joy they held had died. She hadn’t done a thing wrong, and yet here she sat, feeling vaguely guilty. Sure that, somehow, she’d disappointed this stranger.
Rude stranger, she reminded herself. He was in the wrong, not her.
A ping announced the arrival of his address. New York City – not so far from her upstate home.
She stared at it until her mother’s voice called her to dinner. And when she rose, she had a plan.
Mr. Brandon Lorde of New York City would get his coin alright.
But not the way he expected.
Chapter 2
A day later, Brandon Lorde was still stewing about that treacherous thief as he jogged through Central Park.
Normally, he drew attention on his runs. His dark charisma, as well as his relentless pace, caught the eyes of everyone he passed. By the time sweat plastered his shirt to the hard lines of his muscled body, he would turn the head of any woman in the park.
Not today. Today, a fierce anger burned inside him. Nothing was worse than a thief, a person who stole what another had claimed. Humans and animals both despised anything that took what was not theirs.
Their displeasure was a pale shadow of his own fury. For, while he looked like a perfectly sculpted human man, he was much, much more. He was a Dragon Shifter, a Marakeen in the Old Tongue. An ancient guardian who resided half in this world, half in the Other Side. To mortal eyes, he was nothing more than a strikingly handsome man. Only those with Shifter blood could see the majestic Dragon of his soul.
Once his breed had been guardians, protectors of the Wellsprings that brought magic and life from the Other Side to this world. But Earth had turned from magic. The Wellsprings dried up, tearing a hole in the souls of all Dragonkind. They were Guardians of Nothing. Protectors of the Past. No matter how much wealth they gathered and hoarded, no pleasure ever filled that gaping rift.
Yesterday, for one exhilarating, terrible moment, he had dared to dream of finding his purpose at long last. Hannah Stiles’ ‘coin’ was a piece of Blood Gold, the token that a Dragon gave to someone who saved his life. He, and all Dragons, owed its owner a debt of honor. A debt that honor demanded be repaid, even at the cost of the Dragon’s life.
And when he had seen the girl…
Purity and sweetness. She didn’t need any of the fancy clothes and expensive jewelry city women piled upon themselves. Her beauty came from within. The sweep of her silken hair, the way it spilled around her shoulders. The warmth that lit her brown eyes when she smiled. The swell of her breasts under the plain clothes she wore, hinting that a woman’s full lusciousness lay beneath that innocent gaze.
His first thought had been, here is someone worthy. Someone he could devote his life to protecting. It would be his honor, his joy to repay whatever debt was owed her.
Of course, that all turned out to be a lie. Again. Three times now, con artists had tried to fool him with stolen Blood Gold. Each scam breathed life into his dying dream, the prayer that, someday, he would find a person worthy of service. Someone he could live for – and die for, if necessary.
Well, not today. He could not fall for this trick again! Brandon gritted his teeth as another flare of anger surged up from his Dragon. A passing dog walker couldn’t sense that. But the three pugs she led flinched away from him, yelping. Animals had much keener senses than their human masters.
Brandon struggled to calm his Dragon; the dogs didn’t deserve even a brush with a Dr
agon’s wrath. It retreated, still brooding over the shock of finding that this Hannah wasn’t as pure as she seemed.
Disappointing. He sighed. But the world was full of disappointments. Some days it seemed like that was all that was left now that the Wellsprings had run dry.
One last block brought him home to his brownstone. As he stepped through the front door onto the silver marble foyer, he sensed a disturbance. Someone was here. Someone… strangely familiar.
Amarie, the elderly Witch-Hare who minded his home, stepped out of the kitchen carrying a tea tray. “You have a guest, Master,” she said, confirming his suspicion.
He frowned. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
The housekeeper swept past him. “She is expected, though.”
His frown deepened. “By whom?”
Amarie paused in the sitting room doorway and glanced at him with her odd, mismatched eyes. One blue, one green. “How should I know? I’m just a ‘crazy Witch-Hare.’ But she is expected.” Then she breezed past, as if her words made sense.
As mad as Hares often seemed, the years had taught him that an eerie prescience often lurked beneath his housekeeper’s “nonsense.” He drifted after her, curious what the waters of Fate had washed to his shore.
He stepped into the parlor and, at once, his gaze was drawn to the bay window. There, amidst velvet cushions, sat a vision.
The girl.
In the late afternoon light, her hair burned as bright as honey in the sun. Gold and warm, a gentle mirror of the blazing scales of his own soul. She was taller than he imagined, with the willowy grace of a gazelle. Her shyness might seem weak to some. But as she saw him, a quiet strength firmed her features. A hint, perhaps, that true steel lay somewhere beneath her mild demeanor. He wondered if life had ever forced her to find her own power.
Suddenly, that question meant the world to him. He wanted to sit beside her, arm brushing against her sweet curves, and ask…
NO!
His Dragon’s anger shattered that pleasant image. This was not some innocent maiden, his Shifter soul warned. She was a thief.
Once again, he felt the bitter sting of disappointment. But his Dragon was right. He had to stay on his guard.
“Ms. Stiles.” He strode over to the table and took a cup of tea from Amarie. “I told you to mail the coin to me.” His Dragon still seethed, and he allowed the faintest touch of its displeasure to warm his tone. He was the Alpha of his Flight, and not accustomed to being disobeyed.
She flinched, as if she could feel his Dragon’s hot annoyance. Yet, she rose to her feet, tall and proud, and faced him. “I chose not to. You gave me no reason to trust you.”
She dared hint that he was untrustworthy? A few short, angry steps brought him to his writing desk. He turned his back on her beautiful, impudent face and found his checkbook. “As you will. The price we agreed upon was $72,000, yes?”
“No. $72,300.”
Again, the exactness of that amount puzzled him. “$73,000 then.”
“No.” Her denial was soft, but implacable. “$72,300.”
“You don’t want an extra $700?” What kind of thief would turn down more?
She shook her head, sending a ripple of sunlight shimmering across her long hair. “I only need $72,300.”
“But why refuse the extra money?” he pressed.
“Because I don’t want to owe you. I wouldn’t take any of your money if I wasn’t desperate.”
Shock froze his tongue. Even his Dragon subsided, confused. For the first time, Brandon wondered if he had made a terrible mistake. If he had misjudged her… offered insult to an innocent person…
He opened his mouth to say that, but the words caught in his throat. He was an Alpha. A Dragon. Lord of his Flight. Admitting mistakes did not come naturally to him. And yet…
And yet, Truth was more valuable than Pride. Any honorable Shifter – any honorable man – knew this. If he had made a mistake, he would correct it.
He coughed to cover his disquiet. Amarie finished unloading her tea tray and scurried off, leaving the two of them alone. Awkward silence fell in her wake.
Something had to be said. “Why are you desperate?” he asked at last. A hint of a growl frosted the words. Immediately, her eyes narrowed, and he hurried to cut off her outburst. “I understand that I have no right to ask this.” To his relief, her anger dimmed. She had a forgiving soul, he thought, if it took so little to placate her. “But I am curious why anyone would sell a family heirloom.”
“Because family is more important than any antique,” she replied, “and if I have to choose between the two, my family comes first.”
As it should. That was a noble answer.
Not at all the answer of a thief. It seemed ever more likely that he had erred. In response, his Dragon went completely silent. Apparently, apologies were his business, not the Dragon’s.
“Would you tell me why your family needs precisely $72,300? Please,” he added, as she hesitated.
“My brother was hit by a car four months ago, just before he graduated from high school. They never caught the driver. My parents own a small farm, north of Albany. We had insurance,” she sighed, “but…”
“It failed to cover expenses? By $72,300?”
She nodded. The last traces of her anger faded, swept away by a tired grief. “I don’t want to sell this coin. My grandpa loved it, and it’s been in my family for centuries.”
The conversation had circled round to the question that still bothered him. How was that possible? She could be Kindred, a descendent of some ancient Shifter. But how could she hold Blood Gold in her hand and know nothing about the Marakeen, the Dragons who made such things? Had knowledge of the Other Side truly faded so much in the years since the Wellsprings died?
Wait. North of Albany? Brandon owned old diaries, written in the days when New York was still New Amsterdam, which claimed that a Wellspring lay in “Beverwyck.” That was the general term the Dutch used to describe much of their northern colony. Could that lie somewhere on Hannah’s farm?
But her name… “New York was originally a Dutch colony. Surely ‘Stiles’ isn’t a Dutch name?”
Now he’d annoyed her again. She folded her arms across her chest. “We used to be Vanstiles.”
He paused, letting that sink in. She was Kindred, then. One of her ancestors truly had saved a Dragon’s life.
And he had offered her insult for it, rather than repaying the debt with joy and honor, as he should have done. An acid curl of shame twisted his guts.
Hannah watched him, wary and defensive.
He’d done that. She’d come to him with innocent hope and he had thrown disdain back in her face.
There was only one thing to do then. “I believe you,” he assured her. Again, she relaxed quickly, and he thanked the stars for her kind nature. “I also owe you an apology. I should not have called you a thief. I jumped to conclusions. I…” He swallowed and waited to see if his Dragon would object, but the Great Serpent was completely silent. “I am sorry for that.”
“Okay.” Maybe it wasn’t an enthusiastic acceptance, yet her arms dropped to her sides. “But why? Why did you think I had to be a thief?”
What could he say to that? Shifter law demanded that the affairs of the Changing Kind remain hidden from mortals. Technically, she was – probably – Kindred. That made her exempt from the rule. But if her family remembered nothing of their Shifter heritage, weren’t they essentially humans? Could he reveal the secrets of his Flight to someone who knew nothing of Shifters?
Would she even believe him?
No, of course not. The moment he spoke of Dragons and Blood Debts, she’d decide he was crazy. He couldn’t bear that. Better to have her think him a jerk than a madman.
“It’s… a long story. And foolish.” She waited. He shook his head. “Something I would rather not discuss, if it is all the same to you.”
Hannah’s nose wrinkled, a subtle sign that no, that was not enough to completely sati
sfy her. But it would have to do.
“I think I can offer you something much more satisfying than words, however. Here.” Quickly, he wrote a check for the money she needed. He held it out to her, but when she took it, he kept his grip on the paper. Binding the two of them together for one brief moment.
“Hannah Stiles, Daughter of Kindred not known to me, I stand before you.”
She blinked at the odd, formal lilt of his words. Brandon didn’t care. Few things held more honor than the repayment of a Blood Debt. Neither he nor his Dragon could rob this moment of the ceremony it deserved. Even if the woman he repaid had no clue what that debt, or his words, meant.
“I, Brandon, Lord of the First Flight, thank you for the gift your family gave my Kind. I will assume the debt and repay it, though it cost me my life’s blood.”
At that, she bit her lip. He longed to dispel her nervousness with a soft kiss. But he didn’t dare touch her, lest he frighten her. Instead, he pressed on.
“You have asked me for money. $72,300. That, I give you freely. Know, however, that I do not believe this money satisfies the debt owed to you.
“I swear, on my soul and my honor, that I will protect your family from this tragedy. I give you this money now.” He released the check. He half expected her to flinch away from him and his strange speech. Instead, she stood still, frozen, watching him with a curious mixture of puzzlement, relief…
And hope. That warmed him, to the bottom of his soul.
“If any other expenses arise, speak to me and I will pay them, whatever they may be.” A soft gasp of happiness escaped her lips and the urge to pull her close grew stronger. “If you need anything – money, help, support – you need only tell me. I will take care of it. And of you.”
For a moment, Hannah stood silently, unsteady from the shock of his offer. Brandon took her shoulder in his hand, steadying her with a gentle but unshakeable strength. She leaned toward him, as if drawn, and her full, sensuous lips part. He bowed his head toward her and…
The parlor door thumped open. “Right!” Amarie barked.
Hannah and Brandon jumped apart like a pair of startled cats, then stared at the old woman.
