Dragon Fever: A Dark Kings Novella (2 page)

cannot explain.

Now I am trapped in that ancient past. I have

taken on Scheherazade’s life and the only way I can

protect myself and stay alive is to do what she did to

protect herself and stay alive.

Every night the King calls for me and listens as I spin tales.

And when the evening ends and dawn breaks, I stop at a

point that leaves him breathless and yearning for more.

And so the King spares my life for one more day, so that

he might hear the rest of my dark tale.

As soon as I finish a story... I begin a new

one... like the one that you, dear reader, have before

you now.

Prologue

London

January

The hot water splashed over Rachel’s face as she stood beneath the spray. She braced her hand on the tiled wall of the shower and remained for a moment longer before she turned the faucet off.

Steam swirled around the bathroom as if alive, fogging the glass. She wiped off her face and body before wrapping the towel around her. The glass was cool against her palm when she pushed open the shower door and placed one foot on the mat. Then stilled.

Someone was in her hotel room.

Her gaze swung to the bathroom door she’d left cracked open. Her heart hammered against her ribs as her stomach clenched in fear. No one should’ve been able to get into her room. She’d bolted the door.

In an attempt to slow her racing heart, she took a deep breath. Then, slowly pushed open the door. She peered around the edge to find a man sitting casually in the overstuffed chair. Long black hair was pulled away and clasped at the base of his neck. Gold eyes watched her with a wealth of humor. And a smidgen of mockery.

She blew out a breath and leaned against the door of the bathroom as indifferently as she could while wrapped in a towel.

One side of his mouth lifted in a grin. “You don’t seem surprised.”

She took in his British accent that was a bit too perfect. Sam MacDonald was anything but what he said he was. It was a fact she accepted in order to get what she wanted.

His arms rested carelessly along the arms of the chair. One long leg was bent with an ankle resting atop his other knee. His white shirt was unbuttoned at his neck with no tie in sight. But that was usually the case.

There was something undeniably dangerous about Sam MacDonald. He frightened her, but it was men like him that gave her the information she needed to expose the truth to the world. So he was a necessary evil.

But that didn’t mean she had to like him.

“How did you get in?” she demanded.

His smile widened, stretching his full lips but never reaching his gold eyes. “That’s a secret I’ll keep.” Then he blinked, his chest expanding as he took in a breath, and his entire demeanor changed. “Get dressed. We need to talk.”

She stepped back into the bathroom and closed the door with a sigh. She looked down at her hands to find them shaking.

“Stop it,” she whispered to herself.

She had to get her nerves under control and quickly.  Without delay, she dressed in a pair of black lounge pants and a loose-fitting, long-sleeved gray shirt. When she exited, Sam was in the same position. Except now there were two glasses of Scotch sitting on the coffee table.

Their gazes met. Rachel had learned to listen to her instincts, and as she looked into Sam’s eyes, she saw determination, anticipation, and…a slow burning anger. He blinked, and the anger was gone, hidden once more.

It would show again. It always did. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t hide it for long. She found it difficult to trust him because she knew he was keeping something from her.

“I don’t like whisky,” she replied as she walked from the bathroom. She tucked her leg beneath her and sat on the sofa opposite him.

He gave an indifferent shrug. “I’d advise you change your mind.”

“Why?”

“You want to get close to one of the Dragon Kings, don’t you?”

Her heart leapt, but she kept the emotion from her face. Finally! She’d been waiting for something on the Dragon Kings. It was about time Sam came through after he’d teased her with the information months ago.

That anger she kept seeing in his gold depths must have something to do with them. When it came to the Dragon Kings, her instincts told her what she saw in his eyes was the truth. It was the only reason she was working with him.

Then again, he’d done this to her before, tempting her with information on the Kings. She wasn’t going to fall into that trap so easily this time. “I’m not in the mood for jokes.”

Sam shot her a baleful look. “Do I look like the kind of man who jests?”

As a matter of fact, he didn’t. He was more intense, and that said a lot. She still didn’t reach for the whisky glass. “When? Where?”

“How many men ask you out in a week?”

She frowned and looked to the bathroom where she saw herself in the mirror. Her black hair was piled atop her head to keep it from getting wet. It wasn’t straight or curly, but a frustrating mixture that did nothing.

Her lips were too thin, her skin too pale. She was too tall, and her face too square. Her only redeemable quality was her eyes.

Thanks to a continued––and exhaustive––interest in makeup, she’d mastered every look there was. Her skills allowed her to become whoever she needed to be, whenever she needed it.

“I get asked as often as I want,” she replied coolly as she returned her gaze to him. “And I get left alone when I want.”

He nodded his head of black hair. “You’ll need to be sensual without looking like you’re doing it on purpose.”

“Not a problem. It’s an easy look to pull off.”

“You might find yourself attracted to him.”

She cocked her head to the side as she looked Sam up and down. She recognized beauty and attractiveness. Sam was all that and more, and yet she felt absolutely nothing.

It was how she’d always been. She felt no attraction to men or women. Good looks began to matter less and less when she didn’t feel any sort of desire.

For anyone.

“Not a problem.”

He lifted a brow in question. “Do you find me attractive?”

“I think you’re handsome, but I feel nothing.”

His smile widened. “You’re going to be perfect, Rachel.”

“I want to expose the Dragon Kings. If you’re not going to give me access to that, then don’t waste my time.”

“That’s exactly what I’m giving you.” He lowered his foot to the floor and scooted to the edge of the chair. “Go to the Hotel George V in Paris.”

She raised her eyebrows at the super luxurious Four Seasons hotel, but what else did she expect from a Dragon King?

“A room will be waiting for you.”

At this, she frowned. “The same hotel as him? That’s not wise.”

“You’re a master of disguise with makeup. Use it to your advantage. Everything you’ll need to gain access to the
La Défense
exhibition centre will be waiting.”

Now she understood. “The World Whisky Consortium.”

“Dreagan never misses an appearance. They have the most sought after whisky in the world and headline the entire event all five days.”

She would have days to study, photograph, and catch a Dragon King to expose him for who he was to the world. She could barely contain her excitement. It was always such a rush to reveal the true nature of an individual or company.

“The WWC is in two days.” At least she wouldn’t have long to wait.

Sam picked up something on the floor and tossed it on the coffee table next to their glasses of whisky. “There is information about your subject. Don’t miss this chance.”

“That won’t happen.” She took the file and opened it, expecting to see a photo of the target. Yet all that was included was a sketch. “No picture?”

“No.”

She should’ve known there would be no explanation. “Who drew this?”

Sam reached for a glass and tossed back the Scotch in one swallow. Then he softly set it down and stood. “Don’t let me down, Ms. Marek.”

“When I come through with this, because I will, I want you to tell me who you really are.”

He smiled while fastening the top button of his suit jacket. “Some things are best left secret.”

She watched him walk from her hotel room in smooth strides. Only then did she take her glass of whisky and raise it to her nose, inhaling deeply. The first thing she noticed was the distinctive smell. It was irresistible, with a seamless blend of flavors she couldn’t quite recognize.

The amber liquid passed her lips and touched her tongue before sliding down her throat. The richness of it caught her off guard. It had multiple layers that kept surprising her.

Another taste followed the first, and before she knew it, she had drunk it all. Rachel looked at the glass with aversion. She didn’t want to like Dreagan whisky because it was made by the Dragon Kings––beings who didn’t belong on Earth. But it was the only thing to do with the Kings that she did enjoy.

She replaced the glass and began to pack. There was much to do before her first meeting with her dragon target.

Chapter One

Two days later…

Paris

Asher fisted his hands that rested on his knees. He wasn’t at all happy that Constantine had sent him to Paris. It wasn’t that he minded pulling his weight at Dreagan. It was that he wished to drive himself.

He looked at the man hired to chauffeur him about the city with distaste. It wasn’t the man’s fault, but Con wasn’t there for Asher to take it out on.

He looked out the window of the Jaguar XJ but didn’t see the sights. His thoughts were on Dreagan and his brethren. He’d been gone a mere few days, but already Asher missed the Scottish Highlands that had been their home for millions of years. Yet the humans had no idea those who lived on—and ran—Dreagan Industries weren’t human––but dragons.

Asher could still remember what France looked like before there was a Paris, or before there was ever even a France. The mortals claimed land as if it was their right, decimating it beyond repair while causing animals to go extinct or running them out of the very homes they’d had for eternity.

Much as the humans had done the dragons.

He clenched his teeth. Both the mortals and the Dragon Kings were to blame for that war and the deaths that were caused because of it. He blew out a breath loudly.

The driver looked at him through the rearview mirror. “Everything all right,
monsieur
?” the man asked with a heavy French accent.

Asher could speak French, but he replied in English. “Aye. I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t. None of the Dragon Kings were. In fact, they hadn’t been good for some time. It wasn’t just the Dark Fae who were trying to expose them to the humans––and doing a good fucking job of it.

It wasn’t even the Light Fae who refused to side against the Dark and help the Kings.

It was the fact that a banished Dragon King was slowly, but surely, tearing their world apart.

Ulrik.

He was out of control. He killed mates of the Dragon Kings, attacked other Dragon Kings, partnered with Dark Fae and humans alike, all to one end––another war.

Asher didn’t think Ulrik cared who the Kings fought as long as there was a war. But his main goal was the death of Constantine, King of Kings.

Con was far from perfect, but Asher certainly didn’t want to be responsible for what was left of their race. He looked to the sky and wondered about his dragons.

He missed them so much that it threatened to swallow him whole. It was one of the reasons he’d sought his mountain for the last millennia.

But war had a way of changing things.

It caused the Kings to send their dragons across the dragon bridge to another realm to end the war with the mortals. War also caused them to lose many Kings in the Fae Wars.

Now the Dark Fae had taken things to a new level. They’d videoed the Kings in battle with the Dark and released it to the human world. That clip showed the Kings shifting back and forth from human to dragon.

The entire world was in an uproar wanting to know if Dreagan was truly the home of dragons. That kind of attention and surveillance had essentially grounded the Kings.

Where once they were limited in shifting and taking flight at night or during a storm, now they couldn’t fly at all. Any shifting was done in their mountains, and then only if absolutely necessary.

With all that shite going on, Con wanted him to put on a smile and make nice at the World Whisky Consortium. When all Asher wanted to do was give everyone the finger before shifting and flying out.

His thoughts halted when they pulled up at the Hotel George V. He reached for the handle, but before he could grab it, the doorman had the door open.

Asher clenched his teeth in frustration and gave the man a stiff nod. Why did everyone insist on doing things for him? When he spotted another of the staff attempting to reach the hotel doors before him, he lengthened his strides and opened his own door.

Instead of letting out a
whoop
at beating the bellman, he smiled. The hotel was lavish luxury, and the very place the representative from Dreagan was expected to stay. But he’d rather something less…extravagant.

In minutes, he was being shown up to his penthouse suite. Asher tipped the bellman and waited for the door to close before he let out a breath. He looked around the living area with the pale floors, sea-foam green couch, and long, cream leather ottoman along with the white and gold chairs. Curtains in a dark golden color hung on either side of the expansive windows giving breathtaking views of Paris.

He walked into the dining area with the large, white rose floral-printed curtains. Then he bypassed the white chairs and table and headed straight to the liquor. With a drink of whisky––Dreagan, of course––in hand, he opened the balcony doors and walked outside into the cold to look at the Eiffel Tower.