Heart of the Dragon

by Gena Showalter

  "Answer me first. Where's my brother?"

  The two men exchanged a glance, and Mitch shifted uncomfortably on his feet. When she returned her attention to Jason, he arched one of his brows. He appeared calm and casual, but there was a speculative gleam in his eyes.

  "Do you have any identification?" he asked.

  She blinked at him and spread her arms wide. "Do I look like I have identification?"

  His gaze roamed over her, lingering on her breasts and thighs, barely visible under the camouflage slicker. "No," he said. "You don't."

  Unease stole through her. She was a lone woman, days away from civilization, in the company of men she didn't know. They're Argonauts, she reminded herself. They work with Alex. You're fine. Hands shaky, she pushed wet hair back from her face. "Where's my brother?"

  Mitch sighed and wiped a trickle of rain from his brow. "To be honest, we don't know. That's why we're here. We want to find him."

  "Have you seen him?" Jason asked.

  Disappointed, worried, Grace rubbed her eyes. Clouds were beginning to fill her vision. "No. I haven't," she said. "I haven't heard from him in a while."

  "Is that why you're here? Looking for him?"

  She nodded, then pressed her fingertips to her temple. The simple action had caused a sharp, unabating ache. What was wrong with her? Even as she wondered, the pain in her temples knifed to her abdomen. She moaned. The next thing she knew, she was hunched over vomiting, every fiber of her being clenched in rebellion.

  Jason and Mitch leapt away from her as if she were nuclear waste. When she at last finished, she wiped her mouth with her palm and closed her eyes. Mitch skirted around and handed her another canteen of water. He remained a safe distance away.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  Stomach still churning, she sipped. "No. Yes," she answered. "I don't know." Where the hell was her brother? "Were you part of Alex's team?"

  "No, but we do work with him. Unfortunately, like you, we haven't heard from him in a while. He simply stopped checking in." Jason paused. "What's your name?"

  "Grace. Did you just arrive in Brazil?"

  "A couple of days ago."

  She hated her next question, but she had to ask. "Do you suspect foul play?"

  "Not yet," Mitch answered. He cleared his throat. "We found one of Alex's men. He was dehydrated pretty badly, but said Alex had left him to follow another lead. The man's at our boat now, hooked to an IV."

  "Where did this other lead take him?" she asked.

  "We don't know." His gaze skidded away from her. "Do you know what Alex was looking for? His teammate babbled about, uh, Atlantis."

  "Atlantis?" She feigned surprise. Yes, this man worked with Alex. Judging by his words, however, he hadn't known Alex's agenda. That meant her brother hadn't wanted him to know, and Grace wasn't going to be the one to tell him. Besides, how did she explain something so unbelievable? "I thought he was trying to prove the legend about the female warriors. You know, the Amazons."

  He nodded, satisfied with that. "How long have you been out here?"

  "Since Monday." Two miserable days that felt like an eternity.

  "Last Monday?" Jason asked, rejoining the conversation. "You've survived out here--on your own--for seven days?"

  "Seven days? No, I've only been here for two."

  "Today is Monday, June 12."

  Holding back her gasp, Grace counted the days. She'd entered the jungle on the fifth. She'd spent two days wandering through the interior of the rain forest before traveling through the mist. Today should be the seventh. "You said today is the twelfth?" she asked him.

  "That's right."

  My God, she'd lost five days. How was that possible? What if--No. She immediately cut off the thought.

  The possibility continued to flood her, however.

  She pushed out a breath. If it weren't for those missing days, she wouldn't entertain the idea at all. But...what if everything she'd just endured was merely a figment of her imagination? Like a mirage in a desert? What were the chances of there being a man who could teach her a new language with a magic spell? Or lick her wounds and heal her?

  Or kiss her and make her want to weep from the beauty of it?

  Unconsciously she reached for the medallion at her neck. Her fingers met only skin and cotton, and she frowned. She'd lost it in the mist. Hadn't she? She just didn't know, because in all actuality she could have lost it anywhere in this godforsaken jungle.

  Her confusion grew, the truth dancing just beyond her grasp. Later, she decided. She'd worry about sorting truth from fiction later. After she'd had a shower and eaten a good meal.

  There was no way to explain her suspicions to these men without sounding totally and completely insane, so she didn't even try. "Yes, last Monday," she said weakly.

  "And you've been alone the entire time?" Jason asked skeptically.

  "No, I had a guide. He abandoned me."

  That seemed to pacify him, and he relaxed his stance. "Did you see Alex at all?" He patted her shoulder in a gesture meant to comfort her.

  She pretended to stumble backward a step, dislodging his hand. She didn't want to be patronized or coddled. She just wanted to find Alex. When she'd first entered the Amazon, she hadn't worried about him, hadn't worried that he might be lost or hurt somewhere. Or worse. He was smart and resourceful, and had traversed jungles like this before, so she'd just assumed he was not in any real danger.

  "I wish I had seen him," she said. "I'm concerned about him."

  "Do you know anywhere he might have gone?" Mitch asked. "Anything about that lead?"

  "No. Wouldn't his teammate know?"

  "Not necessarily." Jason sighed, a pronounced sigh that revealed a hint of too-white teeth. "All right," he said. "I need to stay here and continue searching, but I'm going to have Patrick--that's another member of our crew--"

  Patrick stepped from the shadows in a swath of camouflage, holding a semiautomatic. A startled jolt sped through her at the sight of the man and his gun. He ignored her upset and tipped his chin to her by way of introduction.

  "He won't hurt you," Jason continued. "I'm going to have Patrick get you to our boat. It's loaded with medical supplies. I want you hooked to an IV ASAP."

  "No," she said after a moment's thought. Alex might still be in the jungle, alone and hungry. He might need her; he'd always been there for her, through the years of their father's cancer, and she wanted to be there for him. "I'll stay with you and help you look for him."

  "I'm afraid that's impossible."

  "Why?"

  "If you're hurt, or worse, it's my ass in a sling. Let Patrick take you to the boat," he cajoled. "It's docked on the river and not far from here, about an hour's hike."

  He didn't want her help here, fine. It would be better to spread out the search, anyway. "I'll go into town and--"

  "You're two days from civilization. You'd never make it alone. And I'm not sending any of my men into town right now. I need them here."

  "Then I'll stay here. I can help," she said stubbornly. She would not be thwarted.

  "To be honest, you'd be more of a hindrance. You're clearly near collapse, and we'd waste precious time having to carry you."

  Though she didn't like it, she understood his logic. Without strength and energy, she would be a burden. Still, helplessness bombarded her because she desperately wanted to do something to aid her brother. Perhaps she'd question the man on the boat, the one who had spent time with him.

  She gave Mitch and Jason a barely perceptible nod. "I'll go to the boat."

  "Thank you," Jason said.

  "We'll keep you apprised of our progress," Mitch added. "I promise."

  "If you haven't found him in a day or two," she warned, "I'm coming back in here."

  Jason lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. "I'll give you a piece of advice, Grace. Go home when you've regained your strength. Alex may already be there, worried about you."

  Her back straightened, and
she leveled him with a frown. "What do you mean?"

  "If he's anything like me and his lead fell through, first place he'd go was home. To regroup, see his loved ones."

  That made sense. "Anyone check to see if he bought a plane ticket?"

  "We have people at the airport now, searching, but don't have any answers yet," Mitch said, shifting on his feet. "Because this is the last place he was seen, we're to stay here and search until the office hears from him."

  Could Alex be home? The concept was so welcome after everything she'd been through that she latched on to it with a vengeance. She turned to Patrick. "I'm ready. Take me to the boat."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ONCE AGAIN seeing only black-and-white, Darius flattened his palms above his head, against the rocky cavern wall. He stared into the swirling mist. She'd escaped. Grace had actually escaped. Everything inside him urged him to vault into her world and hunt her down. Now. However, his reasons were not what they should have been. It was the beast inside him that craved her nearness--not the Guardian.

  Teeth gnashing together, he remained in place. No matter his desires, entering the surface world was not an option. Not until he appointed a temporary Guardian. Darius uttered a brutal curse into the mist, hating that he must wait. Yet beneath his impatience was an undeniable pang of relief. Grace would live a while longer, and he would see her again, no matter where she went, no matter how many days passed.

  He dropped one of his hands and clasped his medallion from beneath his shirt. When he felt only one, he stilled. Frowning, he reached inside his pocket, encountering only the buttery soft glide of leather. His breath became as chilled and frosted as the mist, and dark fury pounded through him. Not only had Grace escaped him, and quite easily, too, but she had also stolen the Ra-Dracus. His hands fisted so tightly his bones threatened to grind to powder.

  The woman had to be found. Soon.

  With one last glance at the mist, he stole out of the doomed cave and up into the palace. Seven of his warriors were waiting for him in the dining hall.

  They stood united, each of their arms crossed, each of their legs braced apart. The stance for war. In the center was Brand. His lips were thinned in displeasure, and his brow was stern. There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes that didn't quite match the rest of his expression.

  "Do you have something to tell us, Darius?" his first in command said.

  Darius paused midstep, then he, too, assumed a prebattle position. His men had never waylaid him like this, and he cursed himself for allowing their game. "No," he said. "I have nothing to tell you."

  "Well, I have something to tell you," Zaeven growled.

  Madox placed a warning hand on the young dragon's shoulder. "That tone will get you nothing but a beating."

  Zaeven mashed his lips together in silence.

  "I do not have time to play your silly game right now."

  "Game?" Renard said, exasperated. "You think we're playing a game?"

  "What else would you be doing here if not trying to win your wager? I told you to stay inside the practice arena for the rest of the day. That is where I expect you to be." Darius pivoted and strode toward the hallway.

  "We know about the woman," Tagart called, stepping forward. A scowl marred the clean lines of his features.

  Darius paused abruptly and spun to face them. He schooled his features to reveal only mild curiosity. "Which woman is that?" he asked with false casualness.

  "You mean there is more than one?" Zaeven jumped in front of Tagart. His features lost their steely edge.

  "Shut up," Brand told the boy. He refocused on Darius. His next words lashed out as sharply as a sword. "I'll ask you again. Do you have anything to tell us?"

  "No." Darius's tone was absolute.

  Tagart's scowl darkened with a flash of scales. "How is it fair that you are allowed to have a woman here and we are not?"

  Brittan leaned against the far wall. He crossed his feet at the ankles and grinned with wry humor. The infuriating man found amusement in every situation. "I say we share the woman like the nice little fire lizards we are."

  "There is no woman," Darius announced.

  Their protests erupted immediately. "We saw her, Darius."

  "Brand touched her."

  "We even fought over who would have her first."

  Silence. Thick, cold silence.

  Very slowly, very evenly, Darius roamed his gaze over every man present. "What do you mean Brand touched her?"

  The question elicited different reactions. Brittan chuckled. The younger dragons paled, and Madox and Renard shook their heads. Tagart stormed from the room, muttering, "I've had enough of this."

  Brand--the gods curse him--rolled his eyes.

  "You're missing the point," Brand said. "For years we have followed your orders and your rules without dispute. You said women were not allowed, and so we have always forgone pleasures of the flesh while residing in the palace. For us to discover that you have a whore hidden in your chambers for your own personal use makes a mockery of your rules."

  "She is not a whore," he growled. Instead of offering an explanation, he repeated his previous question. "What did they mean you touched her?"

  His friend pushed out an exasperated sigh and threw up his hands. "That's it? That's all you have to say?"

  "Did you touch her?"

  "She backed into a table, and I helped right her. Now will you concentrate?"

  Darius relaxed...until Madox muttered, "Yes, but did you have to 'help' her for so long, Brand?"

  With surprise his lips thinned.

  With disbelief his jaw tightened.

  With fury his nostrils heated with sparks of fire.

  Darius recognized the emotions and did not even try to mute them. All three hammered through him, hot and hungry, nearly consuming him. He didn't want any man save himself touching Grace. Ever. He didn't stop to examine the absurdity of his possessiveness. He just knew it was there. He didn't like it, but it was there all the same.

  "Did you hurt her?" he demanded.

  "No," Brand said, recrossing his arms over his chest. "Of course not. I'm insulted that you even have to ask."

  "You will not touch her again. Not any of you. Do you understand?" His piercing gaze circled the group.

  Each man wore his own expression of shock during the ensuing silence. Then, as if a dam had broken, they hurdled rapid-fire questions at him.

  "What is she to you? She wore your mark on her neck."

  "Where is she?"

  "What's her name?"

  "How long has she been here?"

  "When can we see her again?"

  He ground his teeth together.

  "You have to tell us something," Madox snapped.

  Or there will be a revolt, rang in the air unsaid.

  Darius tilted his head to the left, felt the bones pop, then tilted his head to the right, felt the bones pop. Control. He needed control. "She only just arrived," he said, offering them a bit of information to pacify them. He liked and respected all of his men. They'd been together for hundreds of years, but right now they were nearly more than his precarious discipline could withstand. "She has already left."

  Several moans of disappointment harmonized, from the deep baritones of the elders, to the crackling timbres of the young.

  "Can you bring her back?" Zaeven asked eagerly. "I liked her. I've never seen hair that color before."

  "She will not be returning, no." A sharp pang of disappointment caught him off guard. He wanted to see her again--and he would--but he wasn't supposed to desire her here, in his home, lighting the room with her very presence. He wasn't supposed to look forward to their encounter, to sparring with her or touching her. Neither was he supposed to mourn her loss.

  It wasn't the woman herself he wanted, he assured himself. Merely her ability to regenerate his senses. Senses he'd once fought to destroy.

  "There has to be a way we can bring her back," Zaeven said.

  They didn't know
that she was a traveler and must die, and he didn't tell them. They had never understood his oath, so how could he explain this most loathsome task of all?

  "Brand," he barked. "I need to speak with you privately."

  "We aren't finished with this conversation." A muscle ticked in Madox's temple. "You have not yet explained your actions."

  "Nor will I. The woman was not my lover and was not here to see to my personal pleasure. That is all you need to know." He pivoted on his heel. "This way, Brand."

  Without another word or even a backward glance to ensure his friend followed, Darius strode to his chambers. He sank stiffly onto the outer lounge and jerked his hands behind his head.

  How had his life become so chaotic in only a few short hours? His men were near revolt. A woman had bested him--not once but twice. And though he'd had sufficient time, he had failed to do his duty. His hands curled into fists.

  Now he had to leave all that he knew and travel to the surface.

  He despised chaos, despised change, yet the moment he'd encountered Grace he'd all but welcomed both with open arms.

  Brand stepped inside and stopped when he reached the edge of the bathing pool. Darius knew that if he could see colors right now, Brand's eyes would be a deep, dark gold filled with bafflement. "What is going on?" his friend asked. "You are acting so unlike yourself."

  "I need your help."

  "Then it is yours."

  "I must journey to the surface and--"

  "What!" Brand's exclamation rang in his ears, followed quickly by a heavy pause. "Please repeat what you just said. I'm sure I misheard."

  "Your hearing is excellent. I must journey to the surface."

  Brand frowned. "Leaving Atlantis is forbidden. You know the gods bound us to this place. If we leave, we weaken and die."

  "I will not be gone more than a single day."

  "And if that is too long?"

  "I would go still. There has been a...slight complication. The woman was my prisoner. She escaped." The confession tasted foul in his mouth. "I must find her."

  Brand absorbed that information and shook his head. "Do you mean you let her go?"

  "No."

  "Surely she did not escape on her own."

  "Yes, she did." His jaw clenched.

  "So you did not let her go?" Brand persisted, obviously stymied by the concept of his leader's failure. "She managed to outwit you?"

  "How many ways would you have me say it? I locked her up, but she found a way out." Because she slipped the medallion from my neck when I was distracted by the feel of her body under mine, he silently added.