Dragon Fate (4 page)

He didn’t look, but he kept his ears tuned to the padding shuffle of her footsteps behind him. He was glad he didn’t have to drag her by her dreads into his aerie.

That might’ve given his dragon the wrong idea.

The sconces to his right flared up at his entrance then settled to a low waver. The red-gold glow shimmered on the wall of crystal to his left that soared up over their heads in a half dome of triangular panes.

Anjali let out a soft gasp. “It’s like being in the eye of a dragonfly.”

The imagery pleased his beast. “Big fucking dragonfly.”

She drifted past him, drawn toward the view. The bevels on the edges of the leaded glass panes shimmered with shattered rainbows even in the subdued light, and the metallic finish gave the vista beyond a strange, almost posterized effect. His aerie faced away from the city, toward the mountains, and in the stormy night, the jagged peaks against the low, angry clouds looked alien and dangerous.

Anjali touched one fingertip to the edge of a crystal.

“Watch it,” he said. “It’s sharp.” His aerie wasn’t made for delicate human flesh.

But his warning came too late. The faint, iron tang of blood drifted to him.

She raised her hand. The fire opal and one wet bead of scarlet glinted in the flame-light. “What is this place?”

“I told you. My aerie.” He hesitated, but the sight of the gem and the blood compelled him to add, “Where I keep the dragon’s treasure.”

She turned a slow circle and ended facing him. Her lips quirked, not a sneer or a grimace this time, but almost a smile. “Uh. So where’s the treasure?”

His gaze followed the path hers had taken around the space. It was the size of a ballroom, where lords and ladies from another time might have danced by the dozens across the polished slate floor while the storm raged.

The fact it was empty made it seem bigger.

“Every Nox Incendi dragon has a hoard to guard,” he said. “My cousin Rave has a garden grotto. I have this place.”

Anjali put her finger against her lips and licked away the blood.

The imagined scent and taste arrowed through him, as if she’d touched his lips rather than her own. His cock pressed against the woolen kilt, but it was the dragon stirring that bothered him more.

“There’s nothing here,” she pointed out.

For a moment, lust interfered with his logic, because he wanted to say
‘You are here.’

Which was as obvious as a fucking X-marks-the-spot and really not relevant.

“I haven’t found my treasure yet,” he admitted.

Why was he telling her this? For a heartbeat, the impulse confused him. But he needed her willing if he was going to use her to punish Ashcraft for thinking he could steal a dragon’s ichor. If he had to share with her—and obviously he didn’t have anything real to share—to earn her trust, he would tell her dragonlore all night long.

“I know you hate dragons,” he said. “For killing your mother, for being part of this mess with black magic—”

“For dropping me over Vegas,” she interrupted.

He narrowed his eyes. “Hate dragons all you want. Just hate Ashcraft more.”

She sucked in her lower lip, a nervous bite.

His dragon watched avidly.

When she spoke, her lip was plumped and reddened from her teeth. “What do you want from me?”

“To tell me about the warlock.” He handed over her bag. “Here is what you brought to the Keep. You can leave with it all, which is more than most people can say of Vegas. Or you can be part of saving your friend and stopping Ashcraft.” When her fingers closed around the handle, he stepped back, even though everything in him—everything meaning the dragon—urged him to push closer. “I’ll give you a moment to change and think it over.”

He turned his back on her and walked toward the mountains.

The crystal dome belled out beyond the edge of the floor before curving upward so he could look down as well as out. If the panes weren’t there, it would be a deadly plummet down the stone sides of the Keep. At least until his wings spread and he soared out into the wild night…

Instead of looking out to the view, though, a flicker in the crystal caught his eye.

The darkness of the storm outside and the sheen on the glass made the crystal an almost perfect mirror.

A lordly gentleman wouldn’t look.

But a beast would stare its fill.

Anjali was half turned away, as if she wasn’t quite sure whether to keep her back to him or keep him in sight. The profile angle was the best of both worlds for him.

She’d already stripped out of the wet, torn skirt and was digging through the bag. He should probably keep watching just in case she decided to knife him with the stiletto he’d found hidden in a side pouch of the bag. He hadn’t removed the knife—he’d been truthful when he told her he was giving her everything she came with—but he wasn’t going to let her stick it between his ribs just to make up for dropping her.

The dragon shifted restlessly. It didn’t mind the idea of her scratching him a little…

Or a lot.

Though her hand brushed over the pouch, she didn’t go for the knife. Instead, she unfurled another skirt. She stepped into the circle of colorful panels and yanked it up over her hips.

When she cast a glance his way and reached up under the hem, he crossed his arms over his chest and gave no sign he was watching her.

Though he could feel the rapid thump of his heart against his forearms.

She stripped out of her damp panties.

And did not replace them.

Even quicker, she unbuttoned the wet shirt and shrugged out of it. The sconces flickered higher, and she turned her head as if startled.

The flames gleamed on her dusky skin, highlighting the upper curves of her lush breasts rounding over the cups of her bra. The shadow in the cleft between was darker in contrast, and he gripped his own ribs as if he could squeeze out the urge to spin around and delve his fingers into that yielding canyon.

She twisted back to glance at him, dreadlocks flaring over her shoulders, and he could sense her suspicion, as if she wondered if he had control of the illumination.

Hell, he didn’t even have control of himself.

It wasn’t just her body, though that was luxe in exactly the right way that tempted his greedy dragon. Knowing she was alone in the world, but still fighting… That called to him and his beast at depths he’d never allowed anyone to touch.

He closed his eyes for a long count and then cleared his throat.

“Wait a minute,” she called. “I’m not done.” She hastily grabbed another shirt. The drape of the loose neckline left half her shoulder bared, and he held his breath, hoping she might strip off the bra too.

But no such luck.

He held back a disappointed sigh when she said, “Okay, I’m decent.”

He waited another heartbeat, letting his erection and the dragon subside. “What did you decide?” He pitched his voice to bounce off the glass panes.

She didn’t answer until he turned to face her. “Do you promise never to drop me again?”

“Not unless you want me to,” he said.

She scowled. “Under what circumstances would I ever want to fall?”

He stalked toward her. “When it feels good.”

Her glare spiked higher than the flames on the wall behind her. “It didn’t feel good to almost die.”

He inhaled, testing her scent: the lingering incense on her fresh clothes, the hint of raindrops still hidden in her curves, the heat of her anger. “How did it feel to be caught?”

“I don’t like being trapped.”

He studied her. “Is that the same thing?”

She hesitated. “It is to me.”

He spread his hands slowly. “I said I’d let you go if you wanted.”

The mobile curve of her lips upended in a frown. “I’m not going to lie to myself, thinking I can get away from Ashcraft on my own. Even if I could, I’d never be able to live with myself, not with Esme and Uncle Gwain paying the price.”

Triumph soared in him. “So you’ll stay.”

After a second, she shrugged. “I don’t see a way out except through.”

“Through the fire,” he said. “I approve.”

She snorted. “You would.”

He wondered if she realized that sometime between the time he dropped her and now, she’d decided to open her wings.

Chapter 5

Anjali fell into step beside her erstwhile captor as he led them through the secret hallways of the Keep back to the belly of the beast: the casino itself.

“I need shoes,” she’d told him after she dressed, watching the whole time to make sure he wasn’t looking. “You lost mine so you can pay for them.”

“Can they be high heels?”

“No.”

He’d sighed gustily.

When he’d shed the kilt to dress himself from a low chest recessed into the wall, she’d made sure not to look at him either.

Except one glance.

Yeah, the tattoos went across his shoulders and down his back to curl around his tight butt cheeks. She’d already figured out that nudity meant nothing to him, that having such a powerful body gave him a swagger she couldn’t poke holes in even if she wanted to.

And that one glance had made her want.

To poke holes in him.

Not
have him poke her…

Her obsession with his body was easy to understand. She’d had her fair share of lovers, but none like him. Besides the dragon thing, even. Torch Dorado had attitude when he was buck naked except for those metallic tattoos
and
when he was clad head to toe in black t-shirt, black denim, black boots, his hair the only light thing about him.

On the outside, he wasn’t so different from a guy she’d grind against at the clubs while drinking his drinks, and then flick off and leave behind. But inside…

It was just her fear of the dragon, she told herself. He’d caught her, and even though he said he was setting her free, he’d reminded her she wasn’t, not really. She hadn’t been free since she gave up her art degree to work for her uncle again, sucked back into that world only to find it was deeper and darker and more dangerous than she’d believed.

Those carefree days with Esme and Piper were lost forever, but she owed them the effort to make it right. Whatever it cost her.

They emerged from an unmarked doorway at the end of a line of slot machines. Anjali curled her toes on the tough carpet, feeling conspicuous among the well-heeled—both in terms of wealth and footwear—gamblers. But no one even glanced their way.

Torch looked down at her. “You’re really a vegetarian?”

She blinked. “Do dragons really eat villagers?”

“Not when there’s a perfectly seared steak.”

She huffed. “Eat what you want. I just have other vices.”

“I can’t wait to find out about those.” He stared her down through half-lidded eyes, the tips of his lashes glinting as if they were touched in gold.

Her cheeks warmed, and she prayed her dusky skin would hide the evidence of her fascination with him. “I didn’t offer to tell you.”

“I’d rather figure them out on my own anyway.” Away from the storm and properly dressed, he should’ve seemed…more normal, just another muscle-bound casino heavy, all in black. But behind those gilt-tipped lashes, his eyes still gleamed, the velvety violet darkness sparking not with lightning but something even more dangerous.

She was out of her wet clothes so she was warm enough, but she shivered anyway.

Being a dragon’s focus wasn’t a wise place to be.

Torch put one hand at the small of her back, and the heat of his widespread fingers was like tongues of flame inspiring a different sort of shiver. She’d been alone since Esme and Piper graduated, and she’d gone back to living in the efficiency above her uncle’s shop. Piper had suggested getting an apartment together, but Anjali had been ashamed that they were moving on with their lives and she was still selling hemp pops and glass pipes while fending off the leering winks of the college boys she was tired of indulging.

Now she wished she’d taken up Pipsqueak on the offer. Maybe then she wouldn’t have fallen for the ash-hole’s obvious-in-retrospect ploy to make her one of his minions.

Maybe it was better to be a dragon’s lollipop.

She didn’t even have the fortitude to protest Torch’s high-handedness as he steered her through the throngs of gamblers out to the corridor of shops and eateries. The lighting was indirect but glowing, as if it was morning or evening or some other lazy time when the only thing to do was spend money. Even when Esme had invited them to her family’s chichi gatherings, Anjali had never seen so many trendy handbags…

Torch guided her out of the flow of window-shoppers and through an arched doorway. The boutique was stenciled ‘Queen of the Night’ in a flowing script across the back wall, and the padded hangers dripped with flowing silks and burnout velvets—perfect for a place called the Keep.

He scowled and released her to cross his arms over his chest. Under the modern fluorescent lights, the glinting metallic tattoos seemed to hide. His biceps bunched in the tight sleeves of his black t-shirt like a bouncer facing down an onslaught of unruly drunks, when really it was just two petite salesgirls converging on them.

“Mr. Dorado!” they chirped in unison.

One of them put her hand on the corded muscle of his forearm. “What can I do for you?”

Anjali rolled her eyes. She knew customer service. Unfortunately. But this was just…sad.

“Nothing here in my size,” he drawled. When they tittered, he glanced over their heads at Anjali. “Get yourself something. Get a few somethings. You’ll be here awhile.”

She wanted to protest, remind him he said she could leave at any time, but if she was going to help Esme—hell, if she didn’t want to die at Ashcraft’s evilly manicured hands—she
was
stuck here.

When she nodded mutely, he looked down at the salesgirls. “Do the
Pretty Woman
thing. Comp it all. Text me when it’s done.”

He twisted on his boot heel and walked out the door, slipping into the crowd although his spiked, dirty blond hair was visible above them all.

The three of them watched him go.

“This is a big mistake,” Anjali said. “Big. Huge.”

“I know, right?” sighed the salesgirl. She gave herself a shake and grinned at Anjali. “Whatever. We get commission on comped stuff too, so let’s do this.”