Drakon's Knight (Blood of the Drakon)

by N. J. Walters

  “We need to talk to you,” one of the cops told him.

  “I don’t know anything. Everything was fine until it wasn’t.” It was actually the truth. “But I want to know whatever you find out.” The doors closed and the ambulance pulled away from the scene.

  Who had taken Karina? A fellow Knight? His stomach lurched. They’d torture her rather than ransom her. All those bastards wanted to know her secrets, have her power. What none of them had ever suspected was that there was someone far more dangerous lurking in the shadows.

  Svetlana Azarov was the most ruthless bitch he’d ever known. She saw no reason to risk her own neck when there were other, more expendable people to take the heat. That they were her own flesh and blood didn’t matter in the least.

  She’d pissed off too many of her fellow Knights with her schemes and ambition. One too many assassination attempts had led her to fake her death and go underground. She’d done what she did best—protect herself.

  She had plans, and he and her unsuspecting granddaughter would help her achieve them. Svetlana would have a drakon of her own, one she could tap for his blood to make her young and strong again or heal her if she was injured.

  With a drakon, she’d be all but invincible.

  And if they all had to die for her to get it, she wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.

  He closed his eyes and prayed Karina was safe.

  Chapter Three

  Karina briefly opened her eyes, but the world was passing by in such a blur it made her stomach queasy. The light, even though it was fading to dusk, hurt. She kept them closed after that. Her head and shoulder hurt, too, so much that she couldn’t think, couldn’t wrap her mind around what was happening.

  It was like she was floating. Yet, she was very aware of the hard body she was leaning against, the vibration of the motorcycle beneath her. They were moving fast but, strangely, she didn’t care.

  She was content to let the stranger—whoever he was—take care of her. Something stirred inside her, some knowledge that this was not the way she’d normally handle things. But this wasn’t an ordinary situation, was it?

  There’d been an accident of some kind. What was going on? Was the stranger taking her to a hospital?

  She mentally shrugged and simply let someone else make the decisions. A growing unease rose inside her, but she ignored it.

  Her stomach churned, and she feared she might throw up. It took every ounce of strength she possessed to keep that from happening. Her rescuer wouldn’t appreciate it if she hurled on him.

  The longer they drove, the more aware she became. The loud growl of powerful engines reverberated in the air, which meant they weren’t alone.

  She didn’t think she’d ever been on a motorcycle before.

  Her entire body ached, and she slumped a little. Something pulled her back before she drifted too far forward. She glanced down to find a rope wrapped around her. That was odd. Wasn’t it? Probably to keep her from falling off the bike. That made a strange kind of sense.

  Why hadn’t they waited for an ambulance?

  The man in front of her was so warm he was almost hot. And she was so very cold, even with his big body blocking most of the wind. She couldn’t resist snuggling closer. When she tried to move her hands, she couldn’t. There was something binding them together.

  Everything was muddled, but in spite of her seemingly precarious position, she felt totally secure.

  She mentally tested the emotion and found it foreign.

  “How you holding up?” he asked. He had to practically shout for her to hear him over the growl of the engine and the whoosh of the wind.

  His voice was a bass rumble that settled somewhere deep inside her. She started to speak but had to stop and swallow first. “Fine.”

  His low laughter was unexpected. “I figured you’d say that.”

  Did he know her? She frowned, trying to picture him in her mind, but found she couldn’t. Those moments after the accident were strangely jumbled. Mostly they were images, snapshots in time.

  The pungent smell of blood. The sharp tang of gasoline. A deep groan.

  “Anyone else?” Talking took a lot out of her.

  “Don’t you worry about anything.”

  Not an answer, which meant there had been someone with her. Surely a driver. She hadn’t been at the wheel. She didn’t feel particularly sad. What did that say about her as a person?

  She concentrated her efforts on simply breathing. Her head felt as though it might explode any second. The noise, the man holding her, everything around her seemed to fade, narrowing her world down to the distress trying to swallow her whole.

  A sharp pain blasted through her skull, and she gasped.

  “Fuck, you’re not fine, are you?”

  She was mildly surprised by his use of profanity, as though she wasn’t used to hearing such words. For some unknown reason, it made her smile. “I am.”

  It was a lie, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  “We’re almost there.” His deep voice was comforting, and she pressed forward, ignoring the rope cutting into her torso, wanting to be closer. In a world where everything was upside down, he was the one sure thing.

  “Where?” Surely, she should know where they were going.

  “Somewhere I can keep you safe.”

  His turn of phrase made her frown, but she didn’t question him. As much as she liked being near him, getting off the bike and sitting somewhere that wasn’t moving was a priority.

  When they slowed, she risked cracking her eyelids just a little. They were on a narrow road. Up ahead were a fence and a building. She closed her eyes again, letting the darkness soothe her.

  Another motorcycle passed them, making the wind brush against her cheek. Jericho paused the bike, but not for long. Then they were moving once again.

  Curiosity got the better of her, and she forced her eyes open. The natural light had faded, but there were artificial ones in the distance. They hadn’t brought her to a hospital or a house. Why was there a plane?

  They drove straight up a ramp that had been lowered in the back. The bump jostled her, and she cried out, the world around her receding. She clung to awareness with everything she had left.

  Blackness stirred at the edge of her vision. Stay awake! Her nerves jangled. Something was off about this entire situation.

  The bikes went silent, but there was still another loud, rumbling sound. The plane?

  Someone touched her. She cracked her eyelids and glanced down, confused to see some kind of binding being removed from her ankles. The stranger tugged at her wrists. As soon as he released them, they fell to her sides and pain shot through her arms.

  She jammed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth, barely stifling a moan, swallowing it back.

  The stranger dismounted and unwound the rope from her waist, and then lifted her from the seat as though she weighed nothing. She kept her eyes closed, not sure she wanted to see what was happening.

  Coward.

  She opened her eyes a slit just as they walked through a door. It slammed behind them. There were others with them, but they didn’t speak.

  “Dismiss the pilots,” one of the strangers said. That didn’t sound good. Didn’t they need a pilot?

  A big man passed by. He wore jeans and boots as well as a leather jacket.

  A sense of unease filled her.

  “Let’s get you settled.” The man holding her bent and placed her on a soft leather chair. She forced her eyes to stay open and stared.

  Her rescuer was not only tall but heavily muscled. She could attest to that after leaning against his back for what seemed like hours. He, too, wore jeans and boots. She remembered him now, from the crash, the first glimpse of him at the wreckage superimposing itself over this moment.

  How could she have forgotten him? Even with a head injury, this man was memorable. And not just because of his size. He shrugged out of a well-worn leather jacket and tossed it aside, leaving his powerful arms on
display and his muscular chest wrapped in a plain black T-shirt that stretched at the seams. Vibrant tattoos ran up and down his arms.

  He’d removed his helmet at some point and watched her intently with eyes so dark they appeared black. His hair was pure midnight and pulled back in a leather tie. He wasn’t handsome, but compelling, rather. Strong. His skin was olive in tone, as though the sun had kissed it. His jaw was hard, and his nose straight.

  His eyelashes were ridiculously long but somehow that suited him.

  He was still studying her as though waiting for her to speak.

  She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

  “What?” The frown on his face deepened, making him appear even more dangerous.

  Her lips were dry from the wind and cold, and she licked them. His gaze lowered to her mouth. Heat crept over her entire body, warming her. “Thank you. For rescuing me.” It was exhausting to speak and getting more difficult to focus. “What happened?”

  “You don’t remember?” She caught something in his voice but couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Confusion? Suspicion?

  “No.” She started to shake her head but stopped when it sent a fresh rush of pain from her skull down to her shoulders.

  He paused and tilted his head to one side. “What do you remember?”

  “I was going somewhere?” She winced and put her hand to her temple. “Where?” she muttered under her breath. Why couldn’t she remember?

  “Look at me,” he commanded.

  There was no way she could deny him, and she fixed her gaze on him. It would be easy to lose herself in the depths of his dark eyes.

  “Can you tell me your name?”

  Of course she could tell him her name. “It’s—” She broke off as fresh pain seared her skull. Sweat broke out on her entire body. “It’s—”

  Panic roared to life inside her, but she ruthlessly beat it back. She would figure this out. Heart galloping, lungs aching, she took a deep breath to settle herself and tried again. “I’m—”

  She swallowed hard and looked up at him towering over her with his big body and dark eyes. “I don’t know.” Fear encompassed her like a blanket. Closing her eyes, she let the darkness take her.

  …

  Jericho caught her as she slid sideways. He shoved the arm up on the other chair and lowered her to lie across the two seats.

  “Do you believe she’s telling the truth?” Sadiq asked.

  He studied her pale skin, the sweat beading on her forehead, and the blood staining her temple. He’d seen the absolute bewilderment and panic on her face. “It’s possible. Might be a temporary thing. Her head took quite a whack.”

  And it needed to be seen to.

  “Getting ready for takeoff,” Enoch announced over the intercom. They all had their pilot’s licenses, but Enoch was undoubtedly the most skilled of the four of them.

  Jericho knelt beside Karina to make sure she stayed safe as they left the ground and gained altitude. By the time they’d levelled out, Khalil was beside him with the first aid kit. It was basic, as it wasn’t something they needed but had to be on board the plane to meet human safety standards.

  It probably hadn’t been smart to move her, especially not on the back of his bike, but he’d had no choice. Since she’d been moving her arms and legs freely, he’d assumed she didn’t have any neck or spinal injuries.

  Khalil had the first aid kit open and was ripping open small packages of gauze. “Let me see her head injury.”

  Jericho slipped his arm under her shoulders and raised her to a seated position. She didn’t flinch or react in any way. “She’s out. Best to take care of it before she comes around.”

  Sadiq crouched beside him. “I don’t like this.”

  Jericho’s dragon roared to life inside him. Claws ripped from the tips of his fingers as he struggled to keep from shifting. “I don’t care.” It took him several long seconds to get his body back under his control. It wasn’t easy, as his dragon side wanted to take over, to protect the woman lying unconscious beside him.

  The two men stared at each other for what seemed like forever.

  “Fuck.” Sadiq dragged his hand over his short-cropped hair and released a huff of breath. “You really think she’s the one, don’t you?”

  How could he make his friend understand? “I feel her.” He placed one hand on his heart, using the other to support her. “Here.” He turned back to Khalil. “How is she?”

  “I’m not sure. There’s a lot of blood.” He tossed aside some of the used gauze and reached into his pocket, pulling out the small plastic bottle he’d taken from her purse. “I need to know what kind of medication she’s on.” He tossed it to Sadiq.

  It went without saying they could heal her with their blood, but she was the head of the Knights of the Dragon, a group that had enslaved and destroyed their kind for a very long time, bleeding them and using their blood to live longer. None of the men on the plane were eager to donate to the cause.

  No, best she recovered the old-fashioned way.

  Sadiq pulled a laptop from his bag and did a quick search. “According to the label, it’s a powerful pain medication, mostly used for migraines and severe headaches.” He shut the lid. “Not surprising she has headaches, all things considered.”

  Jericho ignored the bite to his friend’s voice.

  Khalil continued to wipe away the blood. “The gash isn’t as bad as I first thought. Doesn’t need stitches.” He grabbed a couple of small adhesives and taped the cut shut. When he was done, he leaned forward and frowned. “Do you smell that?”

  “What?” Jericho leaned forward and inhaled deeply. He scented blood, sweat, and the lingering floral soap. But beneath that, there was something else. “Metal.”

  “Yeah.” Khalil inhaled again. “Tilt her forward.”

  “Do you think she got hit with some flying debris?” That hadn’t occurred to him and it should have. He’d taken her and was now responsible for her.

  Karina’s hair fell over his forearm as he supported her. The soft brush of her silky locks against his skin gave him an instant hard-on, something he hadn’t had in centuries. He had much better control of his body than that, but he seemed to have none around her.

  Putting aside his acute discomfort, he concentrated on Khalil’s discovery.

  “Well?” he prompted.

  “You need to put her on her stomach. It’s coming from her shoulder area. I need a better look to see what’s in there.”

  Sadiq swore and dropped into a nearby seat. “About the medication… It doesn’t quite look the way it should.”

  “What do you mean,” Jericho asked as he carefully picked up Karina and placed her on one of the plane’s inward facing leather sofas. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best he could do.

  “I mean, the label says one thing, but the medication inside doesn’t quite look like the pictures online. It’s close enough to fool a human, but it’s a slightly larger pill.”

  He brushed her hair aside before Khalil could do it, not wanting his friend to touch it. It was a totally irrational reaction, but he couldn’t help himself. “We’ll look into it,” he assured Sadiq. If his friend said there was something off about it, then there was.

  She looked fragile and small lying there. Not a bit like he imagined she would. Karina Azarov was the high-ranking bitch who ruthlessly ran the Knights of the Dragon, using a substantial portion of her power and money to target his kind and trap them in order to exploit their blood and wealth.

  But this woman, the one he’d held in his arms, seemed softer, gentler.

  If he kept telling himself those lies, he could easily find himself caged in a prison owned by the Knights before he could blink.

  No matter how his body reacted to her, how his dragon half responded to her presence, it didn’t alter the facts. Karina was a dangerous woman, his greatest enemy.

  Khalil had assembled the few sterilized tools from the kit. It wasn’t much—tweezers, scissors, and a
small scalpel. “Hold her if she starts to move,” he cautioned.

  Jericho put his hand on the small of her back, attuned to her every breath, every twitch of her body. His breathing got deeper and heavier as he resisted the urge to shove his friend aside. He didn’t want anyone else touching her.

  She was his.

  Khalil hesitated. “You okay?”

  “Just do it.” Delaying wasn’t making it any easier.

  His friend gripped the back of Karina’s blood-soaked sweater and ripped it almost down to her waist. A small piece of metal protruded from her left shoulder. “She must have really hit hard when the car flipped.” Khalil wiped away some of the excess blood seeping from the wound.

  Jericho growled, his fingers curling into fists at the image of her being tossed around the interior of the car with no way to protect herself.

  Using the edge of the scalpel and the tweezers, Khalil opened the wound wider. Blood seeped, flowing down her side and onto her clothing. Not that it really mattered. The garment was shredded.

  It was understandable he hadn’t scented the fragment while on the bike with all that metal and the wind whipping around them. Beneath the metallic odor was a layer of something medicinal. He turned to Sadiq. “Let me smell those pills.”

  Sadiq obliged, opening the bottle and bringing it close enough for Jericho to sniff. “I can smell the medication as well. But it’s weak.” As though she hadn’t taken it in a while, but there was still a trace in her bloodstream.

  Khalil cursed several times. “Blot some of the blood away.”

  Jericho grabbed some of the gauze and tried to clean the area as best as he could. This wasn’t easy for either of them, since their hands were so big.

  “Got it.” Khalil held up the small piece of metal that had broken off. He cleaned the area and set several stitches, using the suture pack from the first aid kit. Jericho winced when the needle pierced her flesh.

  Now that the worst of the blood was gone, he took a closer look at the damaged area. “She has a tattoo.” As he studied it, something about the design tugged at his memory. “Sadiq, have a look at this.”