Drakon's Knight

by N. J. Walters

  One of the other men disappeared for a second, returning with a shirt of some kind. She took it with a nod of thanks.

  Jericho offered his hand, but she ignored it. Standing on her own, she gripped the clean shirt to keep from taking the help he offered. His fingers curled into a fist before he dropped it by his side. “This way.” He showed her to a relatively spacious bathroom at the back of the plane.

  Even though she didn’t look for confirmation, she sensed the eyes of the other men on her as she carefully made her way. When she finally shut the door in Jericho’s face, she gave a sigh of relief.

  After quickly making use of the facilities and washing her hands, she finally peered into the small mirror mounted over the sink. The woman staring back at her was a mess. Her skin was pale as parchment, colorless but for the smudge of bruises under her eyes and on the right side of her face. A bandage covered her temple.

  Dried blood flecked her face and neck. She shucked her sweater, biting her lip to keep from moaning as pain shot down her entire left side. After dampening a towel, she cleaned herself up, wincing when she hit tender spots. Thankfully, the borrowed shirt buttoned in the front, so it was easier to get on and fastened. The thing was huge and fell almost to her knees. She had to roll the cuffs back several times so they wouldn’t cover her hands.

  It was disorienting to see herself. Pure terror knocked on her consciousness, but she wouldn’t give in to it.

  She didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror.

  Desolation swamped her, but she shoved it back by sheer willpower. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She swiped it away with her palm and tilted her chin up. She would not outwardly show any emotional weakness they could exploit. The physical ones were bad enough.

  Outside of the injuries, she had black hair, green eyes, and a slender build. Objectively speaking, she was good-looking, or would be without the cuts and bruises marring her face. It was as though she was an observer and not the woman staring back at her.

  “Karina,” she whispered. “Who are you?” It was her lips moving, but she still had no answers.

  The bandaged spot on her shoulder throbbed worse than her temple. Not surprising, since they’d removed a piece of metal.

  Taking a slow, even breath, she lifted the hem of the borrowed shirt and exposed her stomach. There was some slight bruising, but it could have been worse.

  A heavy thump sounded against the door. “You okay in there?”

  She set the bloodstained towel down on the edge of the sink and stuffed her sweater in the garbage. If she didn’t open the door, he would. It wouldn’t matter that she’d locked it. And really, there was nothing to be gained by staying. She certainly couldn’t hide in here.

  No, better to face whatever was coming head-on and deal with it.

  A quick glance told her there was nothing in the bathroom she could use either as a weapon or to contact anyone. Not that she’d have the first idea about who to call. Maybe 911. But the thought of doing that made her stomach lurch. Why was she hesitant to contact the authorities?

  She grasped the handle, turned, and opened the door. Jericho leaned against the opposite wall, his massive arms crossed over his chest, his biceps bulging. The black T-shirt he wore clung to his stomach and pectoral muscles, strained at the shoulders.

  Standing in front of him, she finally had a sense of just how massive a man he was. She wasn’t short by any means, but next to him, she was positively tiny. It wasn’t just his height, which had to be close to seven feet, but the sheer size of the man.

  Coupled with his rough good looks, black hair, and dark eyes, he really was menacing. But instead of being afraid, her heart fluttered.

  Traitorous organ.

  Maybe it was because she was dependent on him, relying on him for everything. Whatever the feeling was, it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. He was a stranger, one who’d taken her. She’d do well to remember that.

  His gaze narrowed, but he didn’t ask her how she was, which she appreciated. She was getting tired of it. She had a sense she wasn’t one to accept sympathy or concern.

  Three men stood behind him. She vaguely recognized all of them but didn’t know their names. Like Jericho, they were all big and tall and tough.

  “Well?” She tried to put some command in her voice. The corners of Jericho’s mouth turned up slightly. It wasn’t quite a smile, but she found herself holding her breath, waiting to see if he would.

  She was immediately disgusted with herself. What did it matter if he smiled or not? He wasn’t her friend. He was the man who’d kidnapped her.

  Had he caused the crash?

  It was likely.

  Karina needed a plan, but right now, she was out of ideas. The best she could do was to go along with them and hope she got the opportunity to escape. She ignored the way her heart clenched when she thought about leaving.

  He wasn’t her friend or lover. He wasn’t anything to her. Yet, he was.

  When she swayed, he was there immediately, scooping her into his arms. “We need to get going. Once we’re settled in, we’re going to talk.”

  She was afraid that meant he’d ask questions and expect her to answer. She didn’t assume he’d reciprocate. But that was later. For now, she rested her aching head against his shoulder.

  “Do you have any pain killers?” She didn’t care what brand they were as long as they helped dull the throbbing in her shoulder and the never-ending agony beating at her skull.

  Jericho carried her through the plane toward the door at the front. One of the other men met them there with a glass of water and two small white pills. She took them without hesitation, not concerned about poison. At this point, she almost wouldn’t mind dying if it meant the end of the pain.

  “Thank you.” She held out the glass. He took it from her, gave her a curt nod, and tossed the plastic cup into the garbage.

  Through the entire exchange, Jericho and the rest of the men had been eerily silent. For large men, they moved quietly and with an innate grace.

  She peered up at her captor, held easily in his arms. He watched her with those dark, fathomless eyes. Then he shifted his attention to the others.

  “Let’s go.”

  She had no idea where they were headed but was certain she wouldn’t survive another motorcycle ride. All she wanted was a hot shower and about twelve hours of sleep. Maybe then she’d feel human again, might remember something.

  Sheltering her from the wind with his large body, Jericho carried her down the stairs of the plane. A large SUV waiting for them, and she almost wept with relief. She wondered what the attached trailer was for until she saw one of the other men drive a motorcycle right up the ramp and through the open door.

  When Jericho gently placed her on the back seat of the SUV, the rich scent of leather surrounded her. The only thing beyond the small airfield was woods and sky. They could be anywhere.

  Closing her eyes, she willed back the tears that threatened to fall. She’d figure things out. It was what she did.

  Chapter Five

  Jericho was worried about Karina. He didn’t want to be. Hell, he wanted to hold himself aloof, to treat her like the enemy she was.

  But he couldn’t.

  She was asleep once again. From the reading he’d done online, that was to be expected with a head injury, along with possibly dizziness and disorientation. Even though he’d seen the lines of pain on her face, she’d done her best not to betray any weakness.

  Even injured and with amnesia she was a formidable woman. But who was the real Karina Azarov?

  “Where the hell are we?” he asked. He’d been so concerned about Karina that he hadn’t paid attention.

  “Northern California.” Enoch was at the wheel, driving them through the winding roads. He glanced in the rear-view mirror and their eyes met. “Figured it was far away from Karina’s people.”

  “And still close to my blood brothers,” he finished. His friends knew him well.

  Enoch shrugge
d. “Keeps our options open. Didn’t figure you’d want to leave the country just yet.”

  “Meeting them may no longer be an option.”

  “Why?” Sadiq had taken the third row of the SUV and was leaning against the side with his long legs stretched across the entire length of the seats.

  He knew Sadiq wasn’t trying to be difficult, but to make him think about what he was doing. Little did his friend know that higher thought processes had very little to do with what he was experiencing right now. It was all primal instinct.

  “I doubt they’d exactly be warm and welcoming.” Jericho ran his hand over Karina’s dark hair, careful not to touch her injury. She gave a little snuffle and turned her body slightly toward him, as far as her seat belt would allow.

  “And how is that any different from the last four thousand years?”

  Khalil swore, and Enoch glanced over his shoulder, his expression one of “what the fuck.” Jericho stiffened and slowly swiveled to meet Sadiq’s gaze. “It is no different.” The pain was still there—a familiar companion. But it had dulled over the centuries, becoming an ache he’d lived with for so long he barely noticed it anymore.

  Sadiq dragged his hand over his face and sighed. “I’m sorry—”

  Jericho cut him off. “It’s the fucking truth. We were all abandoned by our sires and tossed out of our homes like garbage. Left on our own to live or die.” Those had been the worst days of his existence.

  “Your brothers didn’t know about you,” Khalil reminded him.

  Jericho banged his head against the seat and sighed. “I know that. Intellectually, I understand.” He shrugged and tried to push aside the hurt. “It no longer matters.”

  “The hell it doesn’t,” Sadiq muttered. “Look, I’m feeling snarly and taking it out on you. We’ve always been honest with one another.”

  “We have.” His stomach tightened. Would he lose one of his friends because of his decision to take Karina? His obsession with his blood brothers? He wasn’t sure he could survive without Sadiq. He and the others were a part of him, just as his dragon was.

  Dark eyes as black as his own stared back at him. They were both fire drakons, and that had bonded them on an even deeper level. “What happens when you finally connect with your brothers? Your real brothers.”

  Jericho was an idiot. All these long centuries, millennia really, he’d gone on and on about his real brothers. First condemning them and railing against them, then becoming obsessed, wanting every scrap of information, every detail he could discover about them. Finally, had come his plan to meet them.

  Through it all, his friends had stood by his side and helped in whatever way he’d asked. He’d never once considered their feelings in the matter.

  Pain seared his soul. “I’m a selfish son of a bitch,” he muttered. They all kept their voices low so Karina wouldn’t wake, but they were drakons, their hearing well beyond that of a human. They heard him.

  “You are my brothers,” he insisted. “The others might be related by blood, but I don’t know them, not like I know you. You are my true family. Never forget that.” His voice was lower, gruffer than usual, but his emotions were riding high.

  “If you don’t want me to approach my blood brothers, I won’t.” He’d rather give up something he’d never had than to lose what was right in front of him.

  Sadiq’s hand fell heavily on his shoulder. “We would not ask this of you.”

  Jericho had known he’d say that. His friend knew he needed to confront his brothers if he was going to put the past behind him. “And that means more than you will ever know.”

  “Doesn’t mean we’ll like them,” Enoch added, keeping his eyes on the road in front of him. “Just saying.”

  Jericho chuckled. “I might not like them, either.”

  They drove in silence as the sky grew lighter. Beside him, Karina slept on, blissfully unaware of where they were taking her. Flying across the country, they’d gained back time. Too bad they couldn’t just shift and use their powerful dragon wings to take them where they needed to go. But those days were gone. The invention of radar and satellites had made flying a much riskier business than it had once been.

  Sometimes he missed the old days.

  The area they were driving through was quite beautiful, with tall trees and the ocean in the distance. America wasn’t their home, but he was enjoying all he’d seen of it. They’d lived in the most inhospitable places of the world, mostly in Africa and Asia, but also parts of Eastern Europe. They’d come overseas for one reason—to carry out his plan.

  So far that wasn’t working out so well.

  Enoch turned off the main highway and started down a secondary road. The rural and sparsely populated area was exactly what they needed.

  He was very aware of every breath Karina took. Being in an enclosed space, he could scent blood and sweat, but underneath was a sweeter perfume, one unique to her. He couldn’t stop looking at her, wanting to stroke her, hold her.

  Which was why he’d strapped her into the seat beside him.

  The more he touched her, the more he wanted her. He had to proceed with caution, or he was going to be hurt.

  As he stared out the window, he admitted the truth. No matter what happened, he was going to suffer. There was no way around it.

  She might not remember who she was at this particular moment, but she was Karina Azarov. They were bitter enemies. He wasn’t sure how either one of them could get around that.

  His dragon slyly whispered inside him. Love her. Bind her. Claim her.

  Jericho refused to listen. Or, at least, mostly refused. There was a small part of him that agreed with his baser half. But his human mind, his keen intellect, wouldn’t let him build dreams that would most likely turn into nightmares.

  After another half hour they pulled up in front of a home that looked like a scouted location for some television show or movie about the perfect rural family. It was a two-story white house with a wraparound porch and a small lawn surrounding it. The only thing missing was a dog and grandma on a porch swing.

  He narrowed his gaze and snorted. “There’s a swing on the porch.”

  “Don’t sit in it,” Enoch warned. “You break it, you bought it.”

  This was not their usual sort of digs. They tended toward rustic in the countryside and refurbished warehouses in the city. They were big men and needed a lot of space.

  “This was the best you could do?” He opened the door and climbed out, inhaling the fresh air. Karina had needed to travel by car, but none of them liked it. They hated being confined in any way.

  “On short notice, yeah.” Enoch took no offense. “Plus, it’s not our usually style. If someone stumbles onto us and starts looking, it should throw them off.”

  There was that.

  Khalil and Sadiq were already unloading the bikes and their gear. While Enoch went to open up the house, Jericho reached in and undid Karina’s seat belt. When he started to lift her out, she stirred and opened her eyes.

  He shouldn’t be attracted to her. Her face was bruised and there was a bandage on her head. But the injuries did nothing to detract from her beauty. If anything, they made her seem fragile and ethereal, things he knew she wasn’t.

  She managed to break their deadlock and looked away. After blinking several times, she asked, “Where are we?”

  “Not quite sure.” He eased her from the vehicle and carried her straight inside.

  “You’re not sure?” she parroted.

  “Nope. But we’ve got a roof over our heads and can rest. That’s all that matters.” He went up the staircase and stopped at the first bedroom. It wasn’t overly large, but it had a bed, which was all he needed. He noted an open door that revealed an attached bathroom. Perfect.

  After setting her down on the mattress, he took a step back. He should leave her alone and go help the others with the gear. Someone would have to get groceries, or they’d starve.

  She put her fingers to her forehead and g
ingerly touched the bandage. She had to be feeling weak, maybe confused.

  Shoving down his need to take care of her, comfort her, he went on the attack, hoping to catch her off guard.

  “Why do you have a tattoo on your shoulder?”

  …

  Karina stopped rubbing her forehead, certain she must have misheard. “What?” Her head hurt and her vision was slightly burred. Maybe the accident had damaged her hearing, as well.

  “Why do you have a tattoo?”

  Still groggy from the nap she’d had, she leaned against the headboard and tried to make sense of his question.

  He sat down beside her, forcing her to slide across the bed as he took up a whole lot of real estate. “It’s on your left shoulder.” He lifted her right hand and placed it on the area in question. Through the fabric of the shirt, she could feel the bandage.

  “I thought that was from the injury you mentioned. I don’t know anything about a tattoo.” She hadn’t remembered her own name. She certainly didn’t remember any tattoo. Her stomach churned.

  Since the accident, it was as though everything she’d seen and heard, everything she’d done and had done to her, had been filtered through a veil, muffling the worst of all of it. Now that had been stripped away.

  “It’s a labyrinth. Small but detailed. It was damaged by the piece of metal that hit you.” He sat beside her like a big, brooding guard dog. “We discovered it when we were trying to stop the bleeding.”

  Listening intently, she had no sense he was lying to her. And she was generally very good at reading people. Sheer frustration made her want to scream. These flashes of knowing were maddening. There was never enough information.

  “Can you show me a picture?” At some point in her life, she’d obviously made the decision to get this design permanently affixed to her body.

  When he frowned, she pushed onward. “Seeing it might spark a memory.” Something had to. She hated feeling adrift, needed to understand who she was. And since the tattoo seemed important to him, she wanted to know exactly what it looked like. Jericho knew more than he was telling her. It was up to her to forge her own path.