Heart of the Dragon

by Gena Showalter

  She must have moved, must have arched her hips, because Darius hissed a torrent of air between his teeth. His muscles were tense, and he was leaning toward her. Closer, closer still.

  In one swift motion, he jerked to his feet.

  "Up," he commanded, his tone inexorable. "You're wasting time."

  Wasting time? Wasting time! Her? Irritated, Grace stood and anchored her hands on her hips. "It's going to be nothing but good times with you. I can tell."

  Darius led her around for the next hour. The heat obviously agreed with him. While he looked as refreshed and vibrant as if he'd just stepped from a yoga class, dirt glued itself to her clothes and body. Even her hair was weighted down and wilted. She was a ghost. Wasn't she supposed to stay clean and untouched by the elements?

  "I hate this place," she muttered. Already she was tired and thirsty. And cranky. "I need a coconut smoothie."

  The man responsible for her distress finally halted. "There are no Argonauts here."

  No shit, Sherlock. Yes, definitely cranky. "I'm telling you, they were here."

  "I believe you," he assured her, as if that had never been in question. "Their footprints are everywhere." He scanned the trees. "Do you know the names of the men who helped you?"

  "Yes. Jason and Mitch. And Patrick," she added.

  "I need their surnames, too."

  "Sorry." She shook her head. "They didn't offer, and at the time I didn't care to ask."

  Darius fought a wave of disappointment. He'd hoped to find the men, question them and finally gain at least some of the answers he sought. The sooner he finished this, the sooner he could reclaim Javar's palace--and the sooner his life returned to normal. No more chaos. No more unquenchable desires.

  No more Grace.

  His lips lifted in a scowl. She was quickly propelling him to the brink of madness. The way she moved, sultry, swaying. The way she spoke, challenging, lilting. The way she watched him with hunger in her eyes--hunger she couldn't quite hide.

  She didn't want to want him, but want him she did. Very much.

  And he wanted her right back--alarmingly so.

  After he'd uttered the binding spell, he'd seen inside her mind and knew she ran from her own desires. Knew her brother, Alex, did the same. They'd watched their father slowly deteriorate, then quickly die. Grace had loved her father for the kind, gentle man he'd been, but watching him fade had been so painful she'd retreated to fantasy, imagining herself anywhere but home. Imagining herself in all kinds of exhilarating situations. A crime fighter of unequalled strength. A lady pirate who sailed the high seas. A siren who lured men to her bed and pleasured them into unconsciousness. The last intrigued him most.

  She craved excitement and passion and all the things she'd created in her dreams, but so far life had offered her none of those things. Nothing managed to live up to her expectations. She'd known one disappointing adventure after another...until she stumbled through the mist. Then she'd finally found the exhilaration she had always craved.

  How could he consider ending her life, when she was only just now beginning to experience her dreams? The question plagued him because he knew the answer; he simply could not accept it. Though he might want her to live, he would fulfill his oath.

  Darius sighed. He was wasting time here, time that he didn't have to spare. His powers were already weakening. He wasn't sure how much longer he had before he weakened completely.

  "Let us journey back to your home," he told Grace. He didn't wait for her response, he simply wrapped his fingers around her wrist.

  "Wait. I want to head into town and ask around about Alex," she said. "That's why I brought his pic--" Before she could finish her sentence, he pictured her home and those very walls materialized around them.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE NEW YORK MORNING announced its presence by shooting rays of sunlight through Grace's living room windows. Cars honked outside; the people above her stomped across their apartment, shaking her ceiling.

  "You have got to stop popping me in and out of places. I'm this close--" she told Darius, pinching her thumb and finger together "--to having a heart attack. And besides that, I wasn't ready to leave," she snapped. "I wanted you to take me into town so I could show Alex's picture around and ask if anyone had seen him."

  "I did not deem it necessary," he said, releasing her. His face was pale and those lines of tension were back.

  He did not deem it necessary, she silently mimicked. What about what she deemed necessary? Scowling, she padded to the kitchen, placed her gun inside a drawer and poured herself a tall glass of ice water. She drained every drop. Only after she'd consumed three more glasses did she offer Darius a drink.

  "Have you anything other than water? Something with flavor?"

  "I could make lemonade." Not that he deserved it. "That will suffice."

  She withdrew several lemons from the refrigerator, beat them against the counter to release the most juice, then sliced a hole in the top of each. She squeezed the tangy liquid into a glass and added sugar substitute--she did not keep real sugar anywhere near her--and water. She slid the drink across the counter.

  Having watched her mix the contents with a leery eye, he lifted the glass and sipped tentatively. She knew the exact moment the sweet-and-sour flavors blended into his taste buds, knew the exact moment he wanted to howl with pleasure. His strong fingers gripped the cup, curling around the glass with surprising gentleness; his eyelids grew heavy, causing his inky lashes to dip over the sensuous planes of his cheekbones.

  As he swallowed, his throat moved. A wicked shiver dripped along her spine, and she had the sudden urge to lick him there. I'm turned on by a man's trachea. How pathetic am I?

  "Surely that is ambrosia," he said. Thankfully his color had returned. He reluctantly set his empty glass on the countertop.

  "I don't mind making more if you're--"

  "I would like more," he rushed out.

  If he reacted like this to lemonade, how would he react to chocolate? Spontaneous orgasm? Maybe she had a Hershey bar hidden somewhere...

  He consumed two more glasses of lemonade in quick succession. He requested a third, but she'd run out of lemons. His disappointment was palpable, but he shrugged it off.

  Watching her with heated eyes, he licked the last drop from the cup rim. "You asked me earlier what power my medallion possessed. I will show you now," he said. "First I will need your brother's surname."

  "Carlyle. Like mine."

  He arched a brow. "Is that common here? To share names?"

  "Yes. You didn't share the same name as your family members?"

  "No. Why should we have? We are each individuals and our names are our own."

  "How do you show your family relationship, then?"

  "House affiliation. My family was House of Py." Darius removed his medallion, and as he held it in his open palm, it glowed a brighter, eerier red. "Show me Alex Carlyle," he said to the dragon heads.

  Four beams of crimson sprayed from both sets of eyes. They formed a circle in the air, and the beams grew wider by the second. Grace watched with fascination as the air began to crystallize.

  "What's happening?" she whispered.

  Alex's image appeared in the center of the circle, and all questions were forgotten. Her jaw dropped open in shock. Dirt, sweat and bruises covered her brother from head to toe, and as she took in his appearance, her blood ran cold. He was pallid, his skin so pale she could see the faint tracings of his veins. He wore only a pair of ripped, stained jeans. His eyes were closed, and he huddled on a muddy floor. Tremors raked him. From cold? From fever? Or fear? The room was sparsely furnished with a small bed and a chipped wooden nightstand.

  With one hand she covered her mouth and with the other she reached out, hoping to smooth his brow, hoping to reassure him that she was here. Just like in the cave, her fingers drifted through like a mirage. Feeling helpless, she dropped her hands to her sides. "Alex," she said shakily. "Where are you?"

 
"He cannot hear you," Darius said.

  "Alex," she said again, determined to gain his attention in any way necessary. How long since he'd last eaten? What had put those bruises on his skin? What had made him so pale? She bit back a deep moan of distress.

  "Do you recognize this place?" Darius asked.

  "No." Lips trembling, gaze never straying, she shook her head. "Do you?"

  "No," he sighed.

  "It's a motel room, I think. Find him," she beseeched, watching in horror as her brother rolled to his side, revealing two bloody puncture wounds on his neck. Vampire? From Atlantis? Had he made it inside? "You said you would."

  "I only wish it were that easy, Grace."

  At last she switched her attention, flashing Darius an accusing glare. "You found me."

  "We were connected through the spell of understanding. I simply followed my own magic. I have had no contact with your brother, nor does anything bind me to him."

  Alex's image began to waver just as a woman approached him. She was the most beautiful woman Grace had ever seen. Where Alex was long and lean, the woman was small and delicate with flowing silvery-blond hair. Pixie features, porcelain skin. She crouched beside him and gently shook his shoulders.

  "Who is that?" Grace demanded sharply.

  Darius narrowed his focus. "That is Teira," he said, an undercurrent of incredulity in his tone. "Javar's wife."

  "I don't care whose wife she is, as long as she leaves my brother alone. Is she cruel? Will she hurt him? What's she doing to him?"

  Just as quickly as it appeared, the image faded completely.

  "Bring them back," Grace commanded.

  "The medallion shows me a vision for only a small period of time, and never the same person more than once."

  No. No! She controlled the urge to stomp her foot, to whimper. To cry. "Take me to Alex."

  "I wish that I could, but I do not know the surface."

  "You said you found me because we're connected. I can give you one of Alex's belongings. Or a photograph of him." Nearing a point of desperation, she jerked out the photo of Alex from her pocket and wrapped Darius's fingers around the folded edges. "You can connect with this and find him."

  "That is not how my powers work, Grace." There was no emotion to him now. He'd reverted to his indifferent, unperturbed self, the part of him she so longed to shatter. Blue eyes hard and cold, he set the photo aside.

  A single tear slowly ran down her cheek. "You have to help me." Gripping the fabric of his shirt, she said, "He's sick. I don't know how long he's gone without food or water. I don't know what that woman planned to do to him."

  "Teira will not hurt him. She is ever gentle and caring."

  "He needs me."

  "I have given you my word that I will help you find him while I am here. Do not doubt me."

  "I don't doubt that you'll help me, Darius," she said brokenly. Hollowly. She stared up at him with watery eyes. "I just wonder if we'll get to him in time."

  At that moment, Darius knew she meant Atlantis no harm. Knew she only wanted her brother safe and whole. Her emotions were too raw. Real. He hated himself for it because he could not let that change his purpose. He might loathe the man he'd become, the man he willingly was--a killer and a user--but that changed nothing.

  When Grace learned that he was helping her only to destroy Alex, as well as Grace herself...

  Tensing, he forced his mind on the matter at hand. Why was Teira with a human? Where were they being held? Their cell was a surface dwelling, yet Alex had been bitten by a vampire--a fact Darius wouldn't tell Grace.

  The female dragon's presence added a new complication. Was she prisoner or captor? A loving woman who possessed a sweet nature and giving heart, she would not make a good captor. Yet Javar would never allow his wife to be taken. Unless he were dead.

  That Darius once again found himself back to that line of thought unsettled him. He had, perhaps, another day here before he must return, yet he was no closer to answers than he had been when he first arrived. Instead the mystery had sprouted new, twisted limbs.

  "The key is the medallion," he said. "I must figure out which human has the most to gain by possessing it."

  "Not necessarily a human." With a shuddering sigh, Grace sank onto a stool. "Any of the creatures in Atlantis could use it to sneak inside your home and steal your valuables. For God's sake, you own jewels of every kind and size."

  That's exactly what those humans had been doing inside Javar's palace, stealing, using the gods' tools to pry out the jewels. "Atlanteans must only ask and we share. There is no reason to steal."

  "There is, too, a reason. Pure greediness. And I know for a fact that the emotion is inherent to all races, gods and humans alike. All of our myths and legends expound upon such things."

  Now he sighed. "Humans are responsible this time." He thought back to the messenger's words and the gun the boy had drawn. "Humans are even now inside my friend's home, wielding guns and the gods only know what other weapons."

  "Could the humans be working with this friend?"

  "Never." He would not consider the possibility. "Javar loathes humans as I do. He would never aid one."

  She averted her gaze from him, shielding her expression. Several seconds ticked until she said, "Do you loathe all humans?" A trace of hurt leaked into her voice.

  "Not all," he admitted reluctantly. He liked one tiny female more than was wise. A female with silky red curls and softly rounded curves. With lush breasts and high-tipped nipples.

  A female he craved in his bed more with every moment that passed.

  "Well, then," she said, straightening her back, pretending she had not a care. "We'll concentrate on humans. I'm willing to bet the same humans who are inside that palace are the ones Alex wrote about. The ones who tried to steal his medallion. The ones who did steal his book."

  "Wrote?" he lashed out, concentrating on that one word. He could not allow any written record of his home. He already had the Book of Ra-Dracus to contend with. "You said he told you."

  "He did. In his journal. He kept a log of his search for the mist. Would you like to read it?"

  "Where is it?" he asked sharply.

  "I'll show you." She walked from the kitchen, and Darius followed close on her heels. She led him down a small, narrow hallway laden with the calming scent of chamomile. They entered her bedchamber and it took only one glance at the bed for his stomach to tighten. She stopped at the desk and held up a can for his view. "This looks like an ordinary hairspray can, right?"

  "Of course," he said, though he had no idea what hairspray was.

  "Well, it's not." With quick, precise motions, she untwisted the end and out popped a key. Her lush, pink lips lifted in a half smile, revealing the hint of straight white teeth.

  His stomach didn't tighten this time, but reached up and devoured his throat.

  How could one woman possess so much beauty?

  With a graceful flick of her fingers, she hooked tendrils of hair behind her ears. She bent down and inserted the key underneath the desk. "My father was too sick to hold a job--that's why we moved from South Carolina to New York, so he could be close to Sloan-Kettering. Anyway, to pass the time and make money in the process, he carved and sold furniture. He built this for me a long time ago."

  "I am sorry for your loss."

  "Thank you," she said softly. "My dad built one for Alex, too, though his secret compartments are different. I think. We used to get into each other's stuff, which made both of us furious. Alex would read my diary, and I would steal pictures of his friends. So my dad made us each a desk where we could successfully hide our treasures."

  The melancholy in her voice remained long after her words faded away. Darius very nearly dropped to his knees and vowed never to hurt her or her brother if only she would smile again. He stayed the impulse, knowing such a promise was impossible to keep.

  Inside the secret drawer lay a thin, plain book bound by black leather. As Grace traced her fingert
ips over the surface, she caught her bottom lip with her teeth, slowly releasing it. She handed the book to him, retaining contact until the last possible second.

  He flipped through the pages, frowning at the unfamiliar script. While his spell of understanding gave him complete comprehension of Grace's spoken language, it did not provide him with an understanding of the written. He'd never been concerned with others' opinions of him, but he did not want Grace to perceive any weakness in him. He wanted her to see him as strong and capable, all that a woman could desire.

  He handed the journal back to her, saying, "Read it to me. Please."

  Thankfully she made no comment, merely accepted the book and stood. "Let's get comfortable in the living room."

  Once there, Grace situated herself on the scarlet couch, and he eased beside her. Perhaps he should have chosen another chair, but he craved physical contact with her and saw no reason to deny himself. Not while he hungered for her scent in his nostrils. Hungered for her touch. Even this, as little as it was.

  His thigh brushed hers, and she sucked in a breath and tried to scoot away. Did she think to deny him this minor connection? After everything she'd already allowed? Only hours before, the woman had kissed him as if she couldn't live without the taste of him in her mouth. She had let him suck on her nipples, had let him bury two fingers deep inside of her.

  He spread his knees, straightened the wide width of his shoulders, both actions consuming all of her space.

  "Do you have to sit so close?" she asked on a ragged breath.

  "Yes," was his only reply.

  "Want to tell me why?"

  "No."

  "I don't like it," she insisted, scooting from him for the second time.

  He moved closer. "Want to tell me why?" he parroted.

  "No," she parroted right back, her expression stubborn.

  "Then you may begin reading."

  She examined her cuticles and yawned prettily. Only the needy gleam in her eyes gave her away.

  "What are you doing?" he asked. "I do not have time to waste. Begin."

  "I'm waiting."

  He arched his brows. "For?"

  "For you to move."

  Scowling, Darius stayed where he was for a long while. This was a minor battle of wills, yet he did not want to lose. Did he have any other choice, though? Teeth grinding together, he inched slightly away from her. As he moved, the sweet scent of her lessened and the heat she emanated faded. He wanted to howl.