Czytaj książkę: «Dragon's Promise»

Braeden was for Brenda, Cameron for Cheryl…

And for my sister Sandy, I grant you Sean, along with all of his passion and his magick.

With much love, always.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

Ancient castle ruins on the east coast of Ireland—October 3. Two years ago

Candlelight flickered in the drafty cell, casting eerily dancing shadows on the wall behind the altar. Pacing before the altar, Nathan the Learned paused to stare into the undulating flames, before gazing down into a crystal bowl. The water filling the bowl had been blessed by the light of a full moon to lend more power to his scrying.

He scried not for hints of what the future held, because he knew that once his deeds this night were completed, his future would be secure. Instead, he wanted to see the past. Not just a hazy memory of days gone by, but a clear reckoning of what had brought him to this long-sought-after moment of greatness.

With one hand on the head of the naked, bound woman kneeling at his feet, he waved the other over the bowl. The water rippled outward from the center, as if disturbed by a falling pebble.

A wavering image of a medieval castle appeared. Mirabilus. The medieval stronghold where it all began so very long ago. The water stilled, permitting the reflection to become clearer. A cold breeze, not unlike the one he’d felt that fateful night, brushed across his cheek. The shape of an amethyst dragon formed over the image of the castle. It wavered as if trying to take flight and then it cracked, splintering into a million pieces, just as it had that fateful night. He then saw himself as a child hiding within the darkness of a curtained alcove as the High Druid, his uncle Aelthed, killed his own brother—Nathan’s father. The terror of the child flowed into the man he’d become, settling cold in his belly. He had vowed revenge that night and would soon taste the victory he’d craved for so long.

The image of childhood faded, permitting a new one to appear. Again Nathan saw himself, this time a man full grown, leaning over the High Druid Aelthed as he lay gasping his last breaths upon his bed. He cared not that the wizard suffered in his final moments. The man deserved whatever pain and agony plagued him—not just for killing Nathan’s father, but for also seeing to it that he had been laid to rest in an unhallowed grave, unable to ever attain life after death. Worse, when the time had come for Nathan to be named Dragon Lord of Mirabilus, the honor had gone to another, along with the ancient family grimoire and the two remaining dragon pendants.

Nathan shook with unforgotten rage. Oh, yes, the wizard had paid dearly for those mistakes. As Aelthed’s soul had sought escape from his withered body, Nathan had trapped it in a wooden puzzle box that locked with such an intricate, complicated set of moves no one would ever be able to free his soul. For nearly nine centuries, Aelthed’s soul had remained imprisoned. And for most of those years, Nathan had kept the puzzle box close at hand, guarding it like a prized possession.

Until he’d dropped it while trying to escape death at the talons of a Drake’s magical dragon when he’d tried to destroy the eldest Drake and his wife.

Now all the items he needed—the puzzle box, the pendants and the grimoire—were together under the protection of the current Dragon Lord. From what he could discern, the Drakes had been unable to break the spell holding the wizard’s soul captive. So, just as he’d planned, Aelthed’s spirit was still confined, waiting for Nathan to set him free.

Once again the image faded. This time it was replaced by the reflection of his son, pale and cold in death. Nathan screamed in agony and waved the recent, too painful image away.

Tapping the handle of the braided leather whip he held against his thigh, he seethed. A few years ago he’d nearly lost his own life to the current Dragon Lord. Sorely wounded, he’d nurtured his hatred and desire for power, using that dark energy to survive. Which was more than what could be said for his son. The Dragon Lord’s twin had taken his sole remaining son—once again preventing him from reaching his goal.

He cursed the Dragon Lord and his family. They were the only obstacle in his way—the only thing that kept him from attaining supreme power.

For all these centuries, the Drakes had stood between him and his place as Hierophant, supreme ruler over all.

But no more.

This time he would gain possession of the Drake family grimoire, those accursed pendants and the ancient puzzle box—along with its spellbound occupant. Once all of the items were in his hands, he could finish the spell he’d worked on for centuries, and then the position of Hierophant would be his. And when he alone held supreme power, nothing and no one would ever again be able to repudiate his will.

Nathan laughed. And this time he wouldn’t have to lift a finger to defeat the Drakes.

They thought themselves unreachable, hiding behind a specialized security system that made breaking in to Dragon’s Lair undetected, impossible for anyone possessing more than human capabilities. And they were far too cautious, their sixth sense too well developed for him to be able to attack them away from their stronghold.

But he had another option at hand. He glanced at the woman kneeling on the stone floor before his altar. A necessary link. With her help, this time he would use a Drake to beat them.

Now that the full moon had finally risen, he was anxious to set his perfect plan into motion. He screamed at her, “Say the words!”

When she refused, he snarled and then raised his arm asking, “Do you enjoy the bite of pain?”

At her silence he flicked the whip in his hand, making it hiss and whistle as it snaked toward its victim. The crack echoed in the nearly empty chamber. The tips of the braided leather scored her naked back, adding yet another row of bloody lines to the pale flesh.

Her shoulders flinched, but she gave no other sign of giving in to the agony—yet.

Nathan narrowed his eyes and trembled with a surge of unbridled lust. This gypsy mage could give him many weeks of untold pleasure. Even after his rather ardent lovemaking last night, she was still lovely. The lingering traces of his touch on her luscious breasts and full hips only made her more desirable. He saw the bruises as his marks of ownership, and he ached to once again possess her.

Not just yet. Soon. His mind whispered for him to be patient, and Nathan drew in a long, shuddering breath.

First he needed the ancient curse against his enemies to be spoken. He had repeatedly tried activating the simple yet powerful curse himself and found only failure. He’d studied the curse’s history over and over until discovering that it was not Druid. It was of Romani origin, and he was certain this beautiful gypsy mage possessed the magic to give the curse life. He’d cloaked himself in the allure of youth then seduced her with the promise of riches and whispered of nights filled with tender, fulfilling lovemaking.

But when she’d seen his true self, discovered his lies and the reason for the curse, she’d sworn to never say the words. Her reaction made him more certain she could bring the curse alive and one way or another, he would force her to do so.

Nathan dropped the whip at his feet and grabbed a handful of her thick, raven-hued hair. Tugging on it until the hairpins he’d used to secure the luxurious tresses atop her head and away from her back slipped free.

He slid his other hand along her neck, closing his fingers one by one tightly over her windpipe. “Do you seek death out of some misguided notion that it will save those I wish to harm?” He leaned down and whispered against her ear. “It will not work. If you refuse me again, I know another mage...another gypsy mage...one much younger than you who will be more than grateful to escape your fate.”

The woman tensed beneath his touch, obviously realizing that he spoke of her younger sister.

“Perhaps we will try one more time.” He relaxed his hold around her neck slightly.

She swallowed hard and then nodded.

He released her and stepped back to retrieve the whip and send it sailing to snap loud on the floor beside her. “Say the words.”

When she bowed her head and began to whisper, Nathan lashed his weapon once again across her back, shouting, “Louder, so I can hear you!”

“Not a dragon born—” she paused, gasping as if the words burned her throat more than the lashes across her flesh “—yet a dragon you shall be.”

Nathan tossed a pinch of dark reddish powder into the flickering candle atop the altar. When the flames danced around the dragon blood, he nudged the woman, ordering, “Finish it.”

“Once this beast has taken form, it will answer only to thee.”

Nathan dropped clippings of his own hair into the candle. As the stench of burning hair filled the air, and the flames of the candle sparked, he proclaimed, “I am thee.”

He stared down at the woman. Now that the curse had been given voice, his lust vanished. While there was no way to know how long it would take for the curse to work, her task had been completed. The time had come to end their partnership. “I fear I have no further use for you, my dear.”

He let the whip fly again and again, chuckling as it cracked loudly across her shoulder. Disappointed that she didn’t beg for mercy, or so much as raise a hand in her own defense, he worked the deadly weapon until her ragged breaths were nothing more than a few mewling gasps.

Drenched in sweat and gasping for breath himself, Nathan let the whip fall from his hand and leaned over the dying woman now curled in a ball on the floor. She opened one swollen eye and whispered, “St. George will set you free.”

He growled at her and then shrieked, “You bitch!” before drawing what little life force she had left from her body.

With her last choked breath, she once again whispered, “St. George will set you free.”

Chapter 1

Outskirts of Detroit—One year ago

“Man, now that is one fine-looking piece.”

“Yeah, how’d you like to have a taste of that?”

Inwardly seething, Sean Drake’s only physical display of disgust was a slight tightening of his grip around the beer bottle in his hand at the juvenile comments the thugs in the booth behind him were making about the woman who’d just taken a seat at the bar. Their antics and crude behavior were starting to chafe at his last nerve.

These men were petty thieves and thugs. One was a large, hard-drinking bully, and the other his smaller, junkie buddy. Both low-life slugs.

He’d run into them a few weeks ago when they were casing the neighborhood around his current apartment. They’d been looking for their next target, and he’d made certain to accidentally bump into them that night to thwart their plans.

He should have killed them instead.

Had he followed his gut instinct, they wouldn’t be here tonight, intent on harassing someone weaker and smaller than themselves. He wasn’t about to let that happen. He didn’t care what trouble they brought on themselves, but they wouldn’t be permitted to hurt anyone else.

Sean tossed back the bottle of beer he’d been nursing and realized with a start that it was time to go home. Not to his sparsely furnished, one-bedroom apartment at the edge of the city, but home to the forested mountains and Dragon’s Lair. He choked back a laugh at that thought. Barely eight months had passed since he’d left the Lair, but it felt like years. Actually, he hadn’t simply left. Confused, half-dead and afraid for his life, he’d run away in the middle of the night.

It had taken him most of this time alone to come to the conclusion that he’d deserved the beating the Dragon Lord had given him. After all, his unwillingness to control his new, and unwanted, powers had put not just himself at risk, but he’d also become a danger to his brothers and their families. As the Dragon Lord, Braeden had been forced to choose between knocking some sense into the new changeling, or killing him.

Thankfully, even though it would have been within his rights as the lord, his brother hadn’t chosen to take his life. Sean knew he should have been grateful, but at the time, the boulder-sized chip on his shoulder hadn’t allowed him to see reason. Instead, he’d convinced his sorry self that everyone hated him, that nobody understood him—basically, he’d reacted like a spoiled, self-centered child.

But he hadn’t been a child. He’d been a relatively normal twenty-six-year-old adult with a college degree, and more wealth and opportunities than most people would see in a lifetime. He had a good position in the family business and a family who’d cared about him.

Until just over a year ago, when he had been torn from a dark dream by the sounds of a striking whip and an evil cackle, followed by what sounded like a raggedly chanted curse. He hadn’t been able to make sense of the breathless words, just snippets of a woman’s pain-filled voice. A demonic urge to change into a dragon had filled him. With it came an unrelenting need to seek Drake blood. Since he wasn’t a changeling, he had chalked it up to being nothing more than remnants of a nightmare.

His shape-shifting into a dragon would have been fine as far as Braeden or Cameron were concerned. Since both of his older brothers were changeling wizards and possessed dragon blood from birth, they would have welcomed his newfound ability. But it wasn’t fine with him. He had always been the normal one, the human brother without any power to read minds, transfer thoughts, slide into dreams, shift into a dragon or materialize someplace on a whim.

For many long weeks after the nightmare, he’d been edgy, moody, confused and unreasonable. As the next month passed, instead of fading away, the troubling urges from that dark dream grew. At the time, he’d thought he was losing his mind. But then, when the dream turned real and he had shifted to dragon form, he’d felt invincible and driven with only one purpose in mind—to kill his brothers. Aunt Danielle had been convinced that he’d been cursed—and since he had heard bits of a chanted curse in his nightmare, he agreed with her assessment, but could do nothing to break whatever spell had been cast over him, except wonder who had cast the spell and why.

Cameron had spent the next two months trying to teach him how to use this new unearthly power and how to control his urges, but Sean had been reluctant to accept his brother’s training. One night, in a moment of what he could now only consider pure insanity, he’d shifted into dragon form and attacked Braeden.

While he’d known that as the Dragon Lord his brother was a powerful wizard, he hadn’t truly known just how powerful until Braeden’s beast gave him a beat down he’d survived only by some miracle.

Sean rubbed the side of his neck. Just remembering that night made his scars burn like fire. How would his brothers—and their beasts—react when he showed up at Dragon’s Lair? Would they let him come home? If so, what would it cost him to gain entry back into the family fold?

A sudden flash of sensual heat flowed through him, interrupting his musings and drawing his attention to his surroundings. The brilliant green eyes of his slumbering dragon flickered open. The black, elongated pupils narrowed and widened, dilating with curiosity and interest.

Sean tensed, focusing on the unexpected awakening of his inner beast. He controlled the urge to shift and then studied the other occupants of the bar. Who—or what—had roused the dragon from its slumber?

His gaze settled on the exceptionally attractive woman at the bar—the one the thugs were still drooling over as they kept up their running commentary of what they’d like to do to her.

Their shallow imaginations leaned more toward control and force than pleasure. The urge to show them exactly how control and force felt grew stronger by the minute.

Yeah, it was definitely time to go home before he did something that would terrify the humans of this world.

Curious about the woman, and his dragon’s rapt fascination with her, he rose from his seat at the booth and grabbed his empty beer bottle from the table. Seemed the perfect time to get another one.

Crossing the uneven floor of the seedy neighborhood bar, Sean knew he was ready to pay whatever price his brother demanded. In an effort not to draw unwanted attention from his family, he’d avoided touching his bank account. Now, he was tired of drifting, tired of picking up one meaningless job after another just to eat and beyond tired of trying to act normal among humans who would never understand or accept what he’d become.

Sean leaned over the empty stool next to the woman, put the bottle on the worn bar top and nodded when the bartender reached to pull a fresh longneck from the cooler.

Intentionally turning to face the woman, Sean breathed in deeply. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but instead of some floral or botanical perfume, her scent was enticing—like exotic spices and promises. Lusty promises that curled around him, twisting, swirling, drawing him ever closer.

He leaned in until his lips were mere inches from her cheek. When she turned her head to look at him, her scent grew stronger, filling his mind and his blood with the need to possess her. He wanted to taste her deep red, full lips, run his fingers through those auburn-and coppery-colored waves curling halfway down her back and get lost in the warmth of her brandy-hued eyes.

When she didn’t lean away from him, he motioned for the bartender to refill her drink then tossed the money for the beer and her drink on the bar.

“Thank you.”

Her low, throaty whisper raced warm and enticing across his face, leaving him almost trembling with lust. The dragon’s rumble of desire deepened to a guttural roar, demanding he claim this woman as his own.

Surprised by both his and the beast’s intense responses, he was certain this was no mortal woman. He freed his senses and brushed his mind briefly across hers.

Instead of discovering nothing of interest, a rush of familiarity, of like meeting like, confirmed his assumption—she was another preternatural. His knowledge about others of his kind was limited, gained from the few details his family had provided and from stories told by a vampire he’d run across a couple of months ago. It didn’t require an abundance of knowledge to know from the instant, sensual heat of her returned touch and the seductive half smile playing across her mouth, that she was a succubus looking for much more than just another drink.

Her sense of desperation swept over him. She wasn’t seeking just a quick night of pleasure. Sharp, painful pangs of hunger gnawed at his gut—she needed to feed from someone strong enough to withstand the draining she would unleash on them.

More than able to satisfy her craving, Sean smiled back at her. She could feed on his life force for days without draining him.

Before he could understand exactly what was happening, or offer protest, Sean’s beast gently blew an invisible puff of fire and smoke in her direction, marking the woman as his.

Didn’t the dragon understand that the two of them were one being? The beast couldn’t claim a mate without committing Sean to the same person. He resisted the urge to gasp at the implication. Of course the beast knew exactly what it had done.

Sometimes Sean wished he’d have paid more attention to what his brother had tried to teach him. Even though he didn’t possess the ability to materialize elsewhere or slide into another person’s dreams like his brothers did, he was able to shift and to communicate telepathically. While it made him more like them, more of a Drake perhaps, he still didn’t understand his beast the way his brothers did theirs.

Why had his beast chosen this moment to mark a woman when it had never considered doing so before? Was it because he’d recently been thinking about returning to Dragon’s Lair and his family?

And why this woman? Sean held back a chuckle. The answer to this question was obvious. He wanted this beguiling temptress with every fiber of his being.

She said nothing, but the slightest widening of her eyes let him know she’d felt the mental brand.

He pushed the drink he’d bought closer to her then grabbed the beer, deepened his smile and nodded before returning to the booth without saying a word.

Caitlin watched him leave. A less-perceptive woman might have been deflated by his nonverbal response, interpreting it as a dismissal. However, she knew better. He may not have spoken words, but his brief touch across her thoughts had felt like a warm, possessive caress against her cheek. His inner beast had marked her, meaning this was no mere mortal man. Whatever nonhuman traits he possessed were apparently from the animal kingdom. But his mental touch hadn’t permitted her entry into his mind to tell her which one.

However it didn’t require any degree of perception to notice that he hadn’t simply walked away—he’d sauntered, swaggered—as if confident of her interest and daring her to follow him.

Caitlin curled her fingers around the glass he’d pushed toward her. The imprint left by his touch was still warm under hers. Beneath the warmth churned a hunger as deep as her own. She shivered with anticipation, knowing her bed wouldn’t be cold or lonely tonight.

Of more importance had been the feeling that his interest in her was purely physical—an interest that she welcomed with relief. Because of a vow to her mother, she hadn’t fed in over a month, and now blood flowed through her veins like a thick, slow-moving sludge. The lethargy weighing her down was nearly unbearable; she needed something—someone—to refill her life force.

The fastest, easiest way to gain the life-giving power she needed to survive was to simply suck the force from another being. However, that required her to know when to stop before completely draining the donor, and right now her hunger would make that nearly impossible.

But the most pleasurable way to obtain what she needed, the fairest way for the other participant and the longest-lasting method was through hot, intense sex. Finding a willing partner wasn’t a problem, since as a succubus, men and women were always drawn to her whether she summoned the attraction or not. Unfortunately, most humans didn’t possess enough life force, or the driving need—a near-insatiable hunger—to survive mating with her.

Hence the reason for promising her mother that she’d refrain from feeding on them—again. Since this man wasn’t human, he stood a better chance of living through the event.

The old cliché “killing two birds with one stone” came to mind. She would still be honoring her parents’ request by not seeking out a human, and by morning she might gain enough life force to last weeks.

She raised the glass to her lips and then paused before putting the drink back on the bar without taking a sip. Already weak and slow, Caitlin knew the booze would only make her feel worse. She’d come in here as a last resort, looking for a donor, not to get drunk.

Now that she’d found what she wanted—what she so desperately needed—it was time to go. Not for one second did she worry about him finding her. She’d strategically leave enough of her scent lingering in the air that he’d find the way to her home with ease.

* * *

“Aren’t you a hot little thing?”

Hot? Always. Little? Caitlin resisted rolling her eyes at that description. She hadn’t been a little thing since she’d hit just under six foot tall at age twelve.

A yellowish glare from the streetlight at the end of the alley danced in the droplets of sleet rolling down the thug’s drawn blade. She forgot about his comment and took another step back from the two men stalking her, luring them farther into the dark alley.

They’d been in the booth behind the changeling at the bar. She’d heard their crude comments when she’d entered, felt them watching her when she’d left the bar, and she’d seen their reflections in the smoked-glass window as they followed her out. She’d expected him to follow her, but these two were another story.

With a quick touch of her mind to the humans, she discovered that while their goal also included sex, it wasn’t the passionate kind they wanted. She quirked an eyebrow at their stupidity and kept walking backward.

They had corralled her into the alley a block away from the bar where no one would see them—mistakenly thinking she was an easy target. She might be drained, but her tired muscles and slow reactions would still be more than enough to handle these two.

One man swung a knife at her, laughing as she jumped back from what he thought was a lethal blade.

“Yeah. Come on, cut her, cut her.” The smaller of the two men squealed like a child. From the glassiness of his eyes, the lack of meat on his bones and the jerkiness of his movements, he was obviously juiced on something more than beer.

The changeling with a body even she would die for approached frowning, but said nothing to stop the other two men. He hung back. A quizzical expression drew his brows together as if he was waiting for something.

“Do you want my help?” She jerked slightly at the intrusion of his silent query.

“No.” Caitlin scoffed at his offer, adding, “You know damn well that help with these two isn’t what I want from you.”

Once again he gave her a smile full of promises and passion.

She drew her full attention to the thug with the blade, and because the question was usually expected in these situations, she asked, “What do you want?”

Knife man smiled. “Why, darlin’, we want you.”

Of course he did. Everyone wanted her whether the desire was mutual or not. Caitlin shrugged out of her unzipped jacket, letting the buttery-soft black leather hit the wet pavement. “Oh, big boy, all you had to do was ask.”

Her unexpected, brazen comment stopped them in their tracks. Only the twitching drughead seemed upset by the sudden turn of events. But his most dangerous response was to twitch faster.

Needing just a drop of energy before taking on these two humans, she reached out with her mind and touched the junkie, recoiling instantly from the contamination and disease he carried deep in his soul. No way in hell would she place a finger on him and risk poisoning herself needlessly.

She focused on the knife wielder. He possessed a vile darkness that wouldn’t kill her, but it would eventually make her physically ill. From their encounter in the bar, she knew the changeling would give her the opportunity to heal herself long before she became sick.

The blade sliced through her silky tank top and across her rib cage as the thug closed his hand boldly around her left breast. “Teasing will get you killed.”

Caitlin didn’t flinch at the knife tip’s burn. The lost blood would soon be replenished, and the cut would heal momentarily. And while his hold on her body irritated her, it didn’t hurt.

But he’d ruined her favorite top. That was completely unacceptable.