Dragon Intrigues

by Isadora Montrose

  He had a new appreciation for Blythe’s job. Even though she was only responsible for the candid pictures, she never got a second to rest. All day she had packed her camera case, plus her laptop, and draped a couple of heavy cameras around her neck. And interrupted each of Bridezilla’s proto-tantrums. Wedding photography was not a profession for the weak.

  Her voice at his elbow surprised him. Again. There she was with her two little hangers-on. Just how did she manage to sneak up on a dragon? Probably some kind of trembler talent for lurking in the shadows where predators couldn’t see you. He gave her an encouraging smile.

  “Have you met Veronica and Megan?” she asked. “Girls, this is Neil.”

  “Hi,” he said.

  “You can take our picture, Mr. Neil,” Megan’s little starfish hands were tipped with blotches of flaking green nail polish but she waved them with assurance.

  “Sure.” He snapped off a few shots. Megan and Veronica beamed.

  Blythe leaned closer. “Would you take photos of all the groomsmen?” she asked. “I’ve remembered something. Maybe.”

  “I already have.”

  “Close-ups,” she pressed.

  “Is she the boss of you?” asked Veronica curiously.

  “Yup.”

  Neil crossed the room to do Blythe’s bidding. He knelt in front of the head table and raised his camera. “Say ‘cheese’,” he ordered. Weary lips did their best to look animated. He panned back and forth, not forgetting to give them another scent check. Nothing.

  “Thank you.” He moved on.

  The band struck up the first waltz. The room fell silent. Courtney glided onto the floor with her new husband, wearing a different shorter wedding dress. Blythe took shots of the happy couple. She signaled to Neil to take some video too. The set dances followed predictably, to a smattering of applause. Then the floor filled up as the guests joined the bride and groom.

  One of the groomsmen approached Blythe and asked her to dance. Neil identified him as Brentwood Slocum’s college roommate, Alden Reilly. She shook her head at Reilly and indicated her cameras. He pressed her. Was he drunk? A waiter interposed a tray of champagne flutes. Packard. Reilly took one. Blythe blended into the shadows, reappearing beside the wedding cake.

  She had also eluded the little girls. Veronica was grabbed by the ring bearer who must have been all of five. He wanted to dance. Megan took his other hand and they capered in an excited circle. The three of them parted hands to capture Brentwood’s younger brother, Jason.

  The teen good-naturedly gyrated with the little ones until Courtney stormed over and broke up the party. Which Neil was recording because it looked like the sort of thing Blythe wanted. Well, not Bridezilla going ballistic. The flower girls partying with their tousle-headed little cousin. The girls fled to the chocolate fountain, so he recorded that too.

  The reception had been so uneventful that he was off guard when one of the bridesmaids staged a scene. Mackenzie Shearwater rose to her feet and left the head table to zero in on Merritt who uncharacteristically looked alarmed. Shearwater was sleekly elegant in her pale green gown, but even for a werewolf, there was something bleak about her profile, and her eyes were stony.

  “What are you doing here?” she cried.

  Merritt’s broad shoulders shrugged. “Would you care for more champagne, Ms. Shearwater?”

  “You’re spying on me, Sam Merritt,” she declared in ringing tones. “Well, I won’t stand for it.”

  “I’m working,” Merritt said through his teeth. “I’ll open another bottle, madam,” he continued in a waiter’s deferential murmur.

  “Later,” threatened Mackenzie. “You owe me an explanation.” Her expression was smug as she returned to her table. The best man looked decidedly smitten, but Neil would as soon have talked to a hyena.

  “What was that all about?” Neil softly inquired over Merritt’s shoulder.

  “Nothing important. Ms. Shearwater is a drama queen.”

  “More like a bitch.”

  “Well, she is a she-wolf. We have a history. She’s not important.” Merritt quartered the room, once more on duty.

  Packard spoke into Neil’s earpiece, “Reilly just entered the gofer room. Hasn’t come out. I’m going to investigate.” He drifted toward the small anteroom set aside for the many wedding consultants. Blythe had used it often to recharge her batteries.

  Neil’s scales went from sleek to prickly, just like they did before bullets started flying. Why hadn’t that douche taken no for an answer? “I’m on my way.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Blythe~

  “You’ve handled the bride very well all day.” Taylor Simpson drained her glass of sparkling water, set it down, took her feet off the footstool, and rose gracefully on her three-inch heels. For all she was twenty years older than Blythe, she looked nearly as fresh as she had this morning. Maybe killer heels were the key to stamina?

  “Thank you,” Blythe murmured around her mouthful of sandwich. She had ducked into the tiny antechamber for a bite and a drink before Courtney threw the bouquet. Her aching feet were propped up on a chair. And she was sure she looked as drained as she felt.

  “Sylvie was impressed.”

  Yes. Blythe managed not to do a fist pump. “Warren and Needles pride ourselves on our tact,” she said modestly.

  “By the way, what happened to Molly? Not that your new assistant isn’t a dish.”

  “Molly has the flu. Didn’t want to infect the bride or her guests,” Blythe said smoothly. “Neil happened to be available. I think Courtney will be pleased with his photos and videos.”

  “No, she won’t,” Taylor said bluntly. “But you’ll be able to sell a ton of them to the guests. Particularly all that footage of the flower girls.”

  “They are scene-stealers.”

  “And related to half the guests,” Taylor said dryly.

  Blythe’s smile was demure. She could taste the referrals from Sylvie Richmond. Even if Courtney ran true to form and publicly criticized her, between Sylvie’s endorsements and the sales of clips of the girls, this wedding was going to be worth every hassle.

  Taylor straightened her already perfect hair, took out a lipstick from her case and applied another chic coat of maroon. Blythe was pretty sure her own lipstick had been gone before noon. The older woman made sure her case was securely zipped and squared her shoulders. “Back into the fray.”

  “Bye.”

  No sooner had Taylor left than two grinning faces peeped around the door. “There you are,” said Veronica delightedly.

  The girls’ wreaths were set at rakish angles, the lace addition on Veronica’s dress had come down in several places, and their faces bore traces of the chocolate fountain. So did their bodices. Clearly they were high on sugar and adrenaline. It was well past their best-before dates.

  “Come in.” Blythe patted the couch.

  The girls sat down on either side of her, bouncing excitedly.

  “How come you’re still hungry?” asked Megan.

  “Because while you were eating, I was taking pictures.”

  “Didn’t you get any duckling?” Veronica was wide-eyed with dismay.

  “Nope. But that’s okay. I was working. Still am.”

  “Oh. We danced with Kevin and Jason, and Mr. Neil took pictures, but Aunt Courtney got sooo mad, so we went back to the chocolate fountain.”

  “Ah.” Sorry I missed that. Not.

  The door opened. Alden Reilly stepped in. All day, he had seemed vaguely familiar, although she hadn’t been able to place him. Still hadn’t. “What are you girls doing in here?” he demanded sternly. “This room is just for staff.”

  “We’re talking to Miss Blythe,” Megan said. She crowded a bit closer. Blythe patted her hand.

  “Well, you run along. I’m sure your parents are wondering where you are.” Reilly had allowed the door to close, but now he held it wide open.

  “You’re not the boss of us, Alden Reilly,” Veronica responded fie
rcely. Her voice was just this side of rude, but her lips trembled. Why was she afraid of Reilly? What were her immature hawk senses detecting? Pay attention, Rabbit.

  Reilly’s scent was utterly neutral, but Blythe sat up straighter. “The girls aren’t troubling me,” she said easily. “What can I do for you, Mr. Reilly?”

  Reilly pulled the door closed and depressed the button in the knob. He reached into the jacket of his tux and produced a small revolver which he waved at Blythe and the cowering girls. “Since the girls don’t want to leave your side, we’re all going to take a walk out that door.” He indicated the door into the service hallway.

  Thoughts crowded her, thick and fast. I wouldn’t have thought a gun could be that thin. How do I keep him from hurting the girls? Where the hell are my bodyguards?

  “Let’s do what he says,” she said calmly.

  She sniffed the air. Reilly smelled of some sort of cologne. But of nothing else. Not even masculine sweat. Her rabbit senses told her he wasn’t alive. But that was impossible. She took the girls’ hands and stood up.

  “Bring your stuff,” Reilly demanded.

  “Okay.” Blythe slung her camera bag over her shoulder. Reilly was too twitchy to notice her laptop was still on the floor. She nudged it with her heel to send it deep under the couch.

  “And those cameras.” The gun indicated the ones she had removed from around her neck when she sat down to eat. She half turned as she scooped them up. He snatched them out of her hands. “Give me the case too.”

  She got to her feet and handed it over. The girls stood up too, hiding their faces against her waist. Blythe rubbed their tense little backs and guided them to the service exit. With all the waiters and staff around, she had to hope they would immediately be seen.

  Besides, there were CCTV cameras everywhere. Reilly was crazy if he thought he could just walk out of a deluxe hotel with three hostages. She sniffed again. Nothing. He sounded jittery, he acted agitated, but he might as well have been made of wax. They were in the hands of a zombie.

  But at last she had placed him. He had been one of the crowd at the café where she and Molly had videoed Ferris-Sheppard. Never sitting at their table, but always close by. Not that it was unusual for coffee places to have regulars. But it added another layer to this already convoluted conspiracy.

  Reilly hustled them along. Blythe noted that every camera they passed had been put out of service with a spritz of black paint. She was going to go out on a limb here and predict that when they ran that footage, some jerk in a Spider-Man mask would be their culprit.

  Her ring felt tight and hot. Was Neil closing in on them? He claimed they had a bond. Let’s see some proof.

  CHAPTER 37

  Neil~

  The door to the anteroom was locked. Packard had it open in moments, but the room was empty. A half-eaten sandwich and half-drunk glass of sparkling water had been abandoned on a tray on the coffee table. Three dents in the cushions of the small couch suggested three sitters.

  Neil sniffed. Blythe had been in here with the wedding gal, and the two flower girls. And the invisible man. Packard had watched Alden Reilly enter, but the groomsman had left no personal scent trace.

  What the fuck?

  “She’s still in the hotel.” Packard went out the door that led to the service hall.

  Under the couch, Neil glimpsed the dark edge of a soft-sided black case. Blythe’s laptop. He retrieved it, before following the wolf. The service corridor was wide enough for cleaning carts and food trolleys, but the scarred paint and fluorescent light indicated this hall was strictly behind-the-scenes. Nevertheless, it was equipped with security cameras.

  Shit. Every single lens had been incapacitated with black paint.

  “Come on,” Packard called over his shoulder. “He’s headed downstairs.” His eyes were glued to his phone.

  “How do you know?” he asked Packard.

  “We put GPS trackers in her boot heels,” the wolf said absently. He spoke softly into his phone. “Merritt is going to inform the parents and call the cops.”

  “Do we want to involve the police?” Neil asked. The authorities would only complicate a complicated situation.

  “No choice. There are children involved.”

  Fucking fantastic. For the second time in less than a week, he and Blythe were going to be on the periphery of an abduction. The cops were going to put two and two together and make six. They were so fucked.

  How had he managed to lose his mate? He had had one job. One fucking job. Keeping his mate safe. And some asswipe had simply waltzed in and snatched Blythe from under his nose.

  Packard broke into a lope. Neil kept pace. They came to a door labeled exit. The service stairs. They plunged down the steep, dimly-lit staircase, heels ringing on the bare treads. The faint, mournful bong of a warning bell echoed off the concrete walls.

  “Hear that. The service elevator is jammed.” Packard swung himself over the railing to the floor below landing on his feet.

  What a wolf could do, a dragon could handle. But even as Neil flew past Packard, his intuition told him they would be too late. Cold dread iced his soul. His mate was in terrible peril. And he was eating her abductor’s dust.

  CHAPTER 38

  Blythe~

  Veronica and Megan gripped her hands until they ached, their dread all too plain. And all too rational. Blythe struggled to control her anxiety. For their sakes, she had to remain calm and think this through. Job one was to try to slow their progress to give Neil and the wolves time to catch up. Think, Rabbit.

  “Come on, move,” snarled Reilly. His gun prodded Blythe in the back.

  “They’re just little girls,” she said soothingly. “Their dresses are quite long, if they go any faster, they’ll trip.”

  Two steps later, Veronica’s hand pulled away from hers, the clever child went down onto one knee.

  “Get up.” Reilly’s cry carried equal parts of anger and desperation.

  “I tripped on my lace ruffle. It’s torn.” Veronica began to cry in earnest. Her tears set off her cousin’s. Now both girls were weeping noisily. Blythe hoped the disabled cameras were equipped for audio and recording every sound.

  “Stop it. Stop it at once.” Reilly was frantic. “Get up and get moving.” His voice shook. Any guy this upset should be stinking to high heaven, but Blythe could still pick up only his cologne.

  She put her arms around the girls’ shaking shoulders. “You heard Alden,” she said softly but clearly. Hopefully the cameras now had his name. “We have to obey him. Up you get, Veronica. Come on, girls.” They continued along the corridor. There were doors every couple of yards, but no one opened one. This hotel was crawling with staff. Where the heck were they?

  She was just wondering if Reilly would shoot if she turned a knob herself, when he flung a door open. “Through here,” he barked.

  They were in a bleak and cluttered service area with doors all around. A freight elevator stood open, warning bell clamoring, its doors held open by a large cart with shelves laden with dirty dishes.

  Reilly pushed them onto the elevator and pulled the trolley after them. They descended to the first floor. Blythe did not recognize the new area. It was as drab as the one upstairs. And just as empty. He blocked the elevator doors with the service cart and hustled them to an exit.

  A large black SUV stood idling at the curb. A security guard was patrolling this back lane. He looked incuriously at the well-dressed guests emerging from a staff door. The gun prodded Blythe harder. She couldn’t endanger the girls. A cab pulled up to the yellow line and the guard switched all his attention to yelling at the driver.

  A man in a Justin Bieber mask jumped out of the SUV and snatched Blythe’s equipment from Reilly. “Where’s the other one?” he demanded.

  “W-what?” Reilly was taken aback. His voice vibrated with anxiety.

  “The other fucking photographer.” Bieber was sweating and he reeked of nail polish remover. Proved her nose was worki
ng fine. This one was a sharp but probably not crystal-enhanced.

  “You wanted the boyfriend?” Reilly’s voice rose shrilly.

  Molly? This was all about Molly? Blythe thanked heaven that she didn’t know where her friend was. You couldn’t reveal what you didn’t know.

  “You idiot.” Bieber tossed Blythe’s gear through the opening rear door. “And what’s with these fucking baby princesses?”

  “They were with her,” protested Reilly. “I had to bring them. And this is it for me.” He turned and darted back into the hotel.

  This was her moment. “In about ten seconds,” Blythe said with all the persuasiveness she could muster. “There’ll be an Amber Alert. Kidnapping children is a federal offense. Before you can go three blocks, the FBI will be after you. You’ll be looking at twenty-five to life. Without parole. With dudes who hate child molesters.”

  “The bitch is right,” said a new voice. Bieber Two. As jittery as the first one and just as stinky. “If we take a pair of little kids, we’re screwed.” Also a sharp. But also crystalless.

  “But they made that other guy,” protested Bieber One. He grabbed Veronica’s arm.

  In the blink of an eye, that sweet round face morphed. A curved beak replaced Veronica’s soft rosebud mouth and small nose. She slashed at the arm holding her. Blood flowed. Bieber One pulled his dripping arm back. As suddenly as she had shifted, Veronica was an ashen-cheeked, frightened little girl.

  “His lookout,” Bieber Two cried. “Get the woman in the fucking car. We don’t need these fucking brats. I’m not doing time as a fucking pedophile.”

  Blythe was thrust headfirst into the SUV by the panicked Bieber clones. Veronica and Megan stared open-mouthed after it. Ahead of them, the taxi peeled off, tires squealing.

  The last thing Blythe saw was the security guard walking over to the girls looking baffled and angry. Bieber One let her fasten her seatbelt before he cuffed her hands in front with zip ties.