Dragon Intrigues

by Isadora Montrose

  “It was just a rabbit,” he wheedled. She was too far away for the energy of that persuasive voice to affect her, but Drake would be getting Hyland’s twisted charm full force. “I didn’t even hit it.”

  “If you shot the bunny,” Neil vowed, “we won’t wait for the sheriff, I’ll kill you myself.”

  And then Granny’s house exploded and flames lit the newly darkened skies. Neil vanished and the exotic purple and green glow from the flames was countered by dazzling light. She could hardly bear to look at the dragon. His wings flashed silver as he spread them. Frost touched her as she crouched, dazed.

  And then a raging silver stream poured from the dragon’s huge and magnificent head. Ice dripped from the gutters. The sound of the SUV starting roused her. Ferris was escaping. She had a job to do.

  It was a bit harder than she remembered to get into the Drakes’ root cellar, and there were more spiders than were strictly necessary. Once she returned to woman, although the door was inclined to stick on the floor, she shoved it open into the basement proper.

  Blythe stepped from the dirt floor of the root cellar onto rough concrete. Before she found the light switch, she stubbed her toes several times on the sort of broken furniture that got shoved down into an unfinished basement. A single bare bulb illuminated the crammed storage area. The rafters were so close even she could reach up and touch them. She sneezed. Dust city.

  Another door. A passageway holding the furnace and hot water heater. Beyond that, some fitted metal lockers. And finally her goal, the wooden staircase to the kitchen. It too was dusty, as if no one had bothered to sweep it since Granny Warren stopped cleaning for the Drakes years ago. She stepped into the big old kitchen. The clunky harvest-gold wall phone was still hanging between the basement door and the refrigerator.

  She pushed buttons and was soon talking to Mystic Bay’s emergency response unit.

  CHAPTER 3

  Neil~

  Frost spread wherever he breathed. Ice coated the bunny’s lettuce patch, her back deck, and the kitchen. The fire seemed to be mainly in the kitchen. Urban Outfit had set his bomb there. Probably detonated it when he realized he was trapped. Neil allowed a heavy stream of frigid water to soak the cedar shingles and pour into the gaping hole over the kitchen and over the smoldering rear deck.

  The house might yet go up. But surely he could stop even a paranormal fire from spreading and save the forest? Blythe’s cottage had a strip of vegetable garden at the back and then a double row of berry bushes. Beyond that were trees older than any living person. Not strictly speaking part of the Old Forest, but ancient just the same. He had to make sure that they did not catch fire, then he would seek and destroy Urban Outfit. His quarry was in a highly visible vehicle, he wouldn’t get far. Dude was a dead douche driving.

  In another few breaths, the fire was out. Time to locate Urban Outfit. In the distance sirens blared. The cavalry was on the way. Urban Outfit had taken the Old Coast Road, heading away from Mystic Bay and the police cars. But he could not drive as swiftly nor as directly as a dragon could fly. It was just a matter of time.

  Neil tried not to think of Great-Grandfather’s fury at having his ban ignored. He had been so close to completing his sentence too. The ten years would have been up in October. Nine years, ten months and thirteen days without spreading his wings. Not that anyone was counting. But dammit, it felt good to be in the air once more.

  He soared higher, not even pretending that the wind under his wings wasn’t orgasmic. He glided over the unlit coast road. The asphalt lay like a gray snake between the trees and the ocean, gleaming faintly under the thickening fog. Urban Outfit’s SUV had stopped on a dangerous curve where the barrier was only a foot high. That jackass was going to take out the next vehicle coming the other way. Likely they would both go over the edge into the Pacific.

  The engine was still purring. The driver’s door opened, a man-sized shadow slipped out. The SUV rolled forward smoothly. The front end gently tipped over the low rock barrier at an angle and bounced all the way to the seaweedy rocks below to land on its hood. The assassin slipped across the road into the Old Forest. Its dark depths swallowed him instantly.

  Neil circled slowly. Even his dragon vision couldn’t penetrate the thick canopy and mists of the Old Forest. But the Old Ones were not fond of strangers. Especially murderous strangers. He should leave Urban Outfit to their untender mercies, get his sorry ass back into human and face the music. He had a report to make. Great-Grandfather would be a thousand times angrier if he heard of Neil’s disobedience from someone else.

  The SUV groaned and settled a few inches lower. And erupted into green and purple flames. What was this freak using as a fire starter? The blaze posed no imminent danger to anyone, but he was pretty sure Urban Outfit had set it to cover evidence.

  Neil was already in deep dragon shit. What was one more offense? A couple of blasts of his frosty water bath made the flames rise higher as gasoline mixed with water. But eventually the fire succumbed to his talent. If there was evidence in that vehicle, Walter Babcock would find it.

  Only now did he permit himself to think of Blythe. If Urban Outfit had shot her, she was dead. There was no way a small critter like a rabbit would survive a blast of buckshot. As soon as the sheriff arrived, he would organize a search for his niece. Every able-bodied person on West Haven would participate. Dead or alive they would find her. Not that alive was much of a probability.

  Unbidden, a savage bellow echoed in the night. The mourning cry of a bereft dragon.

  The first responders were turning a fire engine onto the access road as he flew over. Someone must have seen the flames and called them out. He landed in his backyard and returned to human. His knee felt better than it had since the doctors had put the brace on. Of course the appliance was history. As were his clothes. Even the shotgun would be no more than mangled steel and shattered wood.

  The French doors that fronted the kitchen were always kept locked. But the side door wasn’t. He went up those steps and flipped on the kitchen lights.

  The bunny said in her sweet, clear voice, “I’m not staying on the line, Fred Bell, I have to go put some clothes on.” She set the phone receiver carefully on its hook and turned, eyes widening, mouth open.

  Even covered in gooseflesh, her naked curves were more lovely than imagination had made them. The bluish cast to her skin was banished by a peachy blush that started at her golden bush and spread to her hair line. And then she was in his arms, clutched to his chest, while he rained kisses over her astonished face.

  “I thought you were dead,” he growled into her hair.

  “Nope,” she said.

  He took her mouth with his. It opened like a flower seeking sunshine. She nestled into him. One hand found the opulent globes of her bottom and lifted her closer. Her small hands gripped his head, fingers twining in his hair and pulling him deeper. Round thighs gripped his hips and a wet pussy slid against his abs. His cock found its home between her legs. The scent of their arousal was a fragrant perfume in his nostrils that ramped up his desire.

  Behind them a throat cleared. “You might want to put some clothes on, the pair of you,” a stern treble ordered.

  Neil turned on one heel, Blythe tucked behind him, ready to do battle. The sheriff looked steadily back at him. “Now,” he said.

  CHAPTER 4

  Dallas~

  The dragon circled, honking like a foghorn. No one had mentioned fucking dragons. He had categorically not been paid enough to take on dragons. It was all part and package of this cluster fuck. First SPAR and now a fucking flying monster. Talk about your lack of full disclosure.

  Another mournful bugle blast. Dallas Sheppard dropped to his belly. A vine twined itself around his neck and he had to fight free. It took him a long time. Getting back to the road took even longer. As if the trees didn’t want him to leave. This forest was creepy and dangerous. Get a grip. This is no time for wild imaginings. It was just a forest. Creepy, yes, but then
this whole fucking island was creepy.

  The inflatable was still where he had left it pulled up on a pocket beach. The tide was in too. Meant he got his feet wet launching it, but also that his getaway was perfect. Tonight had been a disaster. But his backup plan had worked, slick as a weasel. He was pretty smart, if he said so himself. He’d get out of this with his skin whole. And if he’d taken out the bunny he’d get paid too. A one-way split. No cloud was without its silver lining.

  The cruiser was anchored offshore. Just another pleasure boat among a dozen others. He tied the inflatable up behind the stern and went below to his cabin. No sense calling attention to himself with a midnight departure. He wouldn’t budge until dawn. And he wouldn’t turn on a light. In the morning, he’d spend some time looking for whales before he left the area.

  As he fell asleep he pondered what had gone wrong with the game. He and Austin had been on to a sure thing with that pair of hicks. What had possessed them to abandon their usual diddle-and-dupe game for assassination? The client was something special in the persuasion line, but Dallas and Austin Sheppard had too much street savvy to fall for a con. Didn’t they? No one easier to sell to than a salesman.

  Something sure has hell had called them to the attention of SPAR. And he didn’t think it was the bunny and the twinkly. He and Austin had worked that particular hustle since their teens. Even scored off a few psychics. What was different about this pair to set SPAR on their trail?

  The fucking client, that was what. And who had given their names to that shadowy dude? The fucking arms dealer. That was who. Austin had known Desirée Sweet and her pal Jinx from the days when they ran a call-girl scam. When Sweet claimed to have reinvented herself as a paranormal arms broker, they had happily become customers.

  For a while Desirée had been handing out crystals and gadgets as if they were candy. Tried to make them believe that she was making them herself. Tuning them —maybe. At best she was a low-rent go-between for the manufacturers.

  Anyway Sweet was the link to the client. She had to go. Once Dallas torched her and got rid of the weaponry she’d sold him, he’d sink so deep into the shadows the client would think he had imagined Dallas. Payback was gonna be so sweet.

  It was too damned bad about Austin, but a fella had to know when to cut his losses. Now that his twin was in SPAR’s clutches, there was nothing anyone could do for him. He’d have to assume old Austin was telling all to SPAR. Yet another reason for a fresh start. Austin hadn’t left a will, but Dallas was his natural heir. Be interesting to see what his brother had been keeping back.

  The boat rocked him like a cradle, lulling him to dreamland. He had a passing hope that he had created roasted rabbit this evening. It was a comforting thought. He fell asleep with his crystal clutched in his fingers like a yellow talisman.

  CHAPTER 5

  Blythe~

  The heavy testosterone fog made it hard to breathe in Neil’s kitchen. Blythe was fed up. All three males were taking turns chewing on her hide. They had gathered around the kitchen table for what was supposed to be a fact-sharing session. How had it turned into a what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-Blythe session?

  Three sets of hard eyes were fixed on her in masculine condemnation. The head of the Drake clan, Duncan Drake, focused molten gold ones on her and Uncle Wally like death rays. Neil’s were as hard and cold as glaciers as they darted between her and his great-grandfather. Uncle Wally’s pale blue ones were reproachful and worried.

  “Don’t you Uncle Wally me,” he paused for breath. “I want to know what I’m supposed to tell your mother?” Mom was Uncle Wally’s big sister.

  She restrained her urge to shout as the men were doing, and tried for reasonable. “I’m a big girl now, Uncle Wally. You don’t have to tell Mom anything.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Neil interrupted through clenched teeth, “you’ve been playing secret agent for SPAR? Are you out of your little bunny brain?”

  She ignored the insult. “It was just a small job,” she said placatingly. “Business has been off. Taking the occasional photo for SPAR seemed like a natural expansion of our market.”

  Neil growled. It wasn’t fair that Uncle Wally looked as spiffy in his uniform as if he had just put it on. Neil’s great-grandfather had only had to drive over from the Big House, and he was a dragon, she expected him to look suave. But Neil had been as naked as she was when Uncle Wally walked in on them.

  Like her he had just returned to human. His dark hair had been a mass of wind-tossed curls tangled by her fingers. His chin sporting a dark shadow that had left her cheeks reddened. And yet, there he sat, looking like an ad for Esquire Magazine, freshly shaved, clothes and hair immaculate.

  While she was a hot mess in a sweater that was falling off one shoulder, because Neil’s mother was six-foot in her sock feet and built like a Valkyrie, and Blythe’s own clothes were part of a crime scene. A too-big pair of black leggings and some thick wool socks completed the total waif look. It was hard to project adult assurance when at any moment your naked bosom was going to pour out of your borrowed neckline. Besides, chartreuse was so not her color.

  “Normally we stay well back of a subject and use a telephoto lens,” she explained. “The bait thing just evolved on the Hyland Ferris job. Besides he was supposed to be just a two-bit scammer.”

  Neil’s wrath expanded his chest. The temperature dropped. “Since when does SPAR endanger civilians?” he spat at his great-grandfather. “Let alone bait a trap with an innocent bunny?”

  SPAR was the code name for the paranormal police. Special Paranormal All Ranks was a covert organization that policed psi-criminals. She had not previously realized that Duncan Drake was involved with their operations. She assumed he was a bigwig. Hard to see the head of the Drake family as a lowly field operative.

  Uncle Wally didn’t comment but he glared harder at Duncan and Neil.

  Duncan’s aristocratic aloofness got frostier. “You can skip the holier-than-thou attitude, Babcock,” he declared. “Paranormal criminals are a reality. If regular law enforcement could take them out of circulation, SPAR wouldn’t be necessary. But as it is, it’s all that stands between the general public and powerful criminal sensitives.”

  “And who polices SPAR?” grumbled Uncle Wally. “Who elected you people judge, jury and executioner?”

  “I’m sure Blythe was never supposed to get close enough to the subject to become a target,” Duncan smoothly ignored that issue. “Besides I didn’t recruit her. And I’ll see that she is taken off the books.”

  “You do that thing, sir.” Neil’s courtesy was intact, but his deference seemed to be over. Which considering the chewing out Duncan had given his great-grandson before they joined Uncle Wally was interesting.

  “Hey,” Blythe protested waving a hand. “I’m right here. I can speak for myself. Molly and I like doing jobs for SPAR.” That was an exaggeration, but a gal had to stand up to know-it-all, take-charge males or she’d get trampled.

  “Over my dead body,” Neil declared as if making her decisions was his job.

  Uncle Wally leaned forward. “I don’t like the implication that rabbits are wimps. Blythe is smart, observant, and skilled at staying in the shadows. But what she isn’t is trained. Untrained operatives are just cannon fodder. And I do object to my niece being treated as expendable.”

  “I am trained,” she objected. “I’ve had plenty of self-defense training.”

  Uncle Wally choked. “A few classes at the Community Center,” he sneered. Which was rich coming from her instructor.

  “Don’t start,” Neil said.

  She shivered, took one look at the hard faces confronting her and decided to save her breath. Suddenly she felt too weary to continue fighting. The thought of Ferris shooting at her, and of Granny’s house lying in smoldering ruins, made her blink back tears. Damned if she would cry in front of dragons. She had rabbit honor to uphold.

  Neil rose to his feet. “Excuse me, gentlemen.” He went across
to the fridge and laid out bread and cheese and a box of alfalfa sprouts. He put together a sandwich and set it in front of her. “Eat,” he commanded. “You used up a lot of energy this evening. Besides you never got dinner.”

  The cheese sandwich was plump with sprouts and suddenly she was starving. She bit into one half and used her tongue for savoring. A mug of steaming tomato soup appeared beside the sandwich. “Thank you,” she managed.

  “I’m sure Blythe was only supposed to photograph that crook,” Mr. Drake said carefully, “not make contact.”

  Neil snorted. “Ferris is no petty criminal. If SPAR can’t categorize the killer psychopaths correctly, maybe they should stick to using pros. All Ranks is one thing, but Blythe and Molly are civilians.”

  “Agreed.” Mr. Drake folded his hands on the table. “But I’m sure that no one at SPAR knew Ferris had escalated. We don’t send amateurs after the really dangerous criminals.”

  Uncle Wally checked his phone and raised a hand. “No way our arsonist is Hyland Ferris,” he announced. “Ferris left on the five-fifteen ferry, accompanied by two unknown day visitors.”

  Her sandwich was suddenly ashes in Blythe’s mouth. “He looked like him, and he sure sounded like him. And he had the same talent for lying. I could tell, even at a distance, when he tried to charm Neil.”

  Duncan Drake consulted his phone. “Ferris and his keepers were met in Friday Harbor. He is currently discussing his sins with SPAR. Perhaps the accomplice is a chameleon talent?”

  It was Uncle Wally’s turn to snort. “Let’s not complicate this, Duncan. He’s more likely to be an identical twin. We’ll check into it. But since Ferris is almost certainly not his true name, SPAR will have to take the lead on that.”

  “Done,” declared Duncan.

  Uncle Wally didn’t seem any happier but he just nodded.

  “Have you had any success tracking Ferris’ accomplice, sheriff?” Neil asked. If he didn’t unclench his teeth, he’d be looking at root canals. Of course the Drakes could afford any amount of expensive dental work.