DragonMate (8 page)

Her voice didn’t come out sounding completely natural, but Aislinn’s flashed grin kept her from feeling self-conscious. “I’m not surprised. If I’d had the restoration finished earlier, before Marika and Xanthus sorted things out on their own, Kirill’s relative would definitely have shown up as dragon too. Sophie’s Severn would as well.”

Aislinn led them to the back room where the music box sat on the table. Jazzlyn set the framed photograph next to it. “I’m not sure this will help, but it was in Mark’s possession. From the smudges on the frame, it looks like he handled it a lot.”

“My gift doesn’t work on those who don’t want to be found. But the fingerprints might be useful.” A small smile appeared on Aislinn’s face. “There are some advantages to being married to a detective. I’ll ask Trace to find out what he can about Mark. Do you have a last name?”

“Robertie,” Kirill said. “It appeared on several items in his office.”

“I’m not going to ask for further details on how you saw it or how you came by the picture.” Aislinn leaned in to examine it more closely. “Too bad they’re blocking the boat’s name and there’s not enough background scenery to tell where it’s being kept.”

Her attention shifted to the music box. Her expression became somber as she lifted it off the table. She closed her eyes and, as before, the minutes seemed to creep by, stretching into anxious silence until it was broken by Aislinn saying, “She’s alive. I think she might be in an exhausted sleep, possibly on the boat. Either that or she’s rocking herself. The fear is intense, much stronger than it was before, but it’s not crippling. I get the sense she believes she has time. She doesn’t feel as though she’s in immediate danger of being hurt or killed. Beyond that, her thoughts are too murky for me to pick up more.”

With a sigh Aislinn opened her eyes and set the box back on the table. “I’m sorry. My gift works best when someone is terrified or dying and wants to be found and rescued. I wish I could do more. At the same time, I’m glad your cousin isn’t in that particular situation. Trace should be here any minute—he ran to Starbucks.”

Amusement replaced the weariness and worry on Aislinn’s face. “For all his toughness, and despite being married to me, he gets very uptight about coming into the shop. He still prefers evidence that can be bagged, tagged and explained. When he gets here, I’ll ask him to try to recover prints from the picture frame and check them out at the same time he’s seeing if your cousin’s boyfriend has a record or a boat registered to him. I’ll call as soon as I know something, even if it’s just to say Trace didn’t come up with anything.”

“Please call, regardless of how late it is,” Jazzlyn said.

Aislinn stood. “I will.”

Jazzlyn followed Aislinn’s example but couldn’t leave without saying, “You’ve been so generous with your time and your talent. I’d like… I don’t know what I can do to repay you for it.”

The laugh lines at the corners of Aislinn’s eyes deepened. “You already have. You tested the mirror for me.”

Jazzlyn couldn’t think of a reply, though she imagined she was practically lit up from the inside with sexual satisfaction and hope. She couldn’t prevent herself from casting a surreptitious glance at the mirror as they passed it on their way to the front door, just on the off chance it’d reflect something back, the way it’d shown Kirill’s dragon nature.

“I consider myself in your debt,” Kirill said at the shop entranceway, finding it surprisingly easy to say the words to Aislinn. Elves—even those who were half-breed or outcast—weren’t known for their generosity, and yet she’d given freely of her gift without any expectation of gain.

He understood better why Xanthus’ Drui mate had been drawn to work for Aislinn, and why she would desire to return and resume her duties at the shop. “Should you find yourself in need of collecting on the debt and can’t easily find me, send word through Xanthus.”

“I will,” Aislinn said.

He nodded and turned away, welcoming the dusk and the rapidly approaching night. For the moment there was nothing more to be done for Carolyn, and he fully intended to keep the promise he’d made to himself.

Jazzlyn would think about her cousin
only
when there was action to be taken. Beginning now.

“Are you hungry?” he asked as they reached the car.

“Starving.”

“Then I will feed you dinner.”

His cock hardened with the image of her taking pieces of fruit from his fingertips. “Do you know where Drake’s Lair is?”

Her breath caught in surprise. “Yes.”

Her scent grew nervous and uncertain in the tight confines of the car. “It’s very exclusive.”

Possessive feelings fired Kirill’s blood, mixing with heady anticipation as he thought about her being in the presence of other dragon males as well as the Chalice of Enos. “You will be welcome there.”

She rubbed her palms over the material of her skirt, a gesture that stirred every one of his protective instincts to life while at the same time was oddly endearing. “I’m not dressed for it.”

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, making his testicles tighten and burn. “We could go somewhere casual. Even a fast food place is fine with me. Then we could go back to my apartment.”

Kirill could resist her suggestion only because of the Dragon’s Cup and his desire to have her drink from it. But he couldn’t resist the need to touch her.

He pulled her to him, anchoring her with an arm around her waist and fingers speared through her hair. “We will go to Drake’s Lair.”

He kissed her neck, biting it lightly as his lips moved upward to her ear. “After dinner you may choose where we go. Just know that I intend to pleasure you all night long.”

“Okay,” she said on a moan of surrender when he fucked his tongue into her ear canal.

It was a painful victory. His cock throbbed and wept in protest, urging him to free it and grant it relief.

Separating from her was difficult. Staying the course and not directing her to turn the car toward her apartment was a test of both his will and his endurance.

The drive qualified as torture on so many levels it was nearly unbearable. But bear it he did because once he took her to the dragon’s realm, he didn’t intend to bring her back to this one.

Her nervousness returned when they entered the club’s parking lot. It was filled with expensive cars, makes and models so rare they made even the wealthiest human salivate to own them.

Dragons, Kirill thought, amusement wafting through him. His kind couldn’t resist collecting, regardless of how unnatural it was to trap themselves in steel boxes.

Jazzlyn slowed the car to a crawl, passing several empty spaces as if afraid of damaging one of the parked toys if she tried to park next to it.

Kirill laughed. “Pull in next to the yellow car. If it suddenly moves into your path, I will make good on any damage caused.”

Rather than calm her, his comment increased her agitation. The car slowed even further, something he wouldn’t have thought possible without coming to a halt.

“You’re wealthy.” Her tone would have warned him of her misgivings and doubts even if her scent hadn’t already done so.

“Very.” By human standards.

“Where did it come from?”

“I’m a treasure hunter.”

She dared a quick glance. “Seriously?”

“Yes. And you are my greatest treasure. Something I plan to demonstrate thoroughly after dinner.”

Apparently he was getting better at saying the right thing to his mate. Heat rose to her face and her scent altered, reflecting anticipation and arousal.

She parked the car. He twined his fingers with hers as they stepped away from it.

Pride and pleasure filled him. Any who saw them together would know she belonged to him. Her body language announced it. More importantly, to the male dragons present, she smelled of sex and him.

Guards were posted at the front entrance of Drake’s Lair, there to protect against the theft of the Dragon’s Cup. Kirill didn’t doubt for a moment that the fey were plotting to steal it.

When the males opened the doors, their gazes lingered on Jazzlyn. Their nostrils flared, causing the phantom rise of Kirill’s neck crest and a low growl in his throat.

A snort of laughter escaped despite Jazzlyn’s efforts to contain it. Drake’s Lair. She should have guessed. Drake was another name for dragon.

She’d be willing to bet all the gems in her possession that the doormen sported dragon tattoos matching those embroidered on the lapels of their jackets, and that the
maître d’
who greeted them inside and showed them to a small private table in a plush dining room also had a tattoo matching the one on his tie.

No wonder Kirill had been so casual about coming here. No wonder he’d demurred each time she suggested he collect his car. He hadn’t wanted her to question him in detail.

She suspected Drake’s Lair was more than a club catering to the wealthy, especially given the show the doormen put on—ogling her as though they’d like to steal her away from Kirill, making her laugh and feel flattered at the same time.

Dragons! She just hoped they didn’t expect her to start role-playing too.

She waited until after the waiter—sporting a dragon ring worth more than all her jewelry plus what she had in her checking account—delivered their wine and disappeared with their order. Then she asked the first of her questions. “So are all the members here dragons? Or are elves and faeries allowed in your club?”

Kirill’s stunned expression was priceless. “You know?”

Chapter Seven

Jazzlyn rolled her eyes. “I may be a total introvert, but I’m not entirely blind to the world around me. Every man I’ve seen is sporting a dragon. It leads me to the inescapable conclusion that this club is exclusive in more ways than just serving wealthy patrons.”

“Ah,” Kirill said. “I’m glad you’re so observant. It will make things easier in the long run.”

Amusement lurked in his voice, making her suspicious. Hearing him acknowledge a future together gave her a small thrill. And all of it fed her curiosity. “So are the colors significant? So far no two dragons have looked alike.”

“They rarely do, though sometimes those sharing lair and ancestry are distinguishable only by subtle differences in shade or the presence of an extra color on their scales.”

He sounded utterly serious, as if he were discussing coloration on
live
dragons instead of symbolic ones. It might have freaked her out if she hadn’t spent the entire day with him and found him both dragonish and very endearing. “And the purpose of this club is?”

“Many and varied.” He surprised her by standing and guiding her to her feet with a hand on her arm. “We have enough time for me to show you one purpose before our food arrives.”

They retraced their route. But rather than angling for the front door, Kirill veered to the right and escorted her deeper into the club.

The opulence of the place didn’t diminish. But the refined hush gave way to voices. The serenity yielded to the charged atmosphere of men gathering around tables loaded with gems and gold, poker chips and playing cards.

Gamblers. She remembered then how notorious the club was, how often it was raided and yet nothing ever seemed to come of it.

To a one the men glanced up at her, their expressions mirroring those the doormen had given her, and garnering the same response from Kirill. His grip tightened possessively and a low growl sounded in his throat.

Dragons
!
she thought, smiling secretly as it occurred to her that before Kirill, she’d never felt so feminine and desirable.

“This way,” he said, urging her toward another section of the room. “What’s your preference? Dice or roulette?”

“Roulette.”

“Roulette it is then.”

Kirill guided her to a table where a croupier with a dragon on his shirt stood waiting for his first customer. He abandoned his hold on her arm in favor of positioning her in front of him and anchoring her against his chest with both arms around her waist.

Jazzlyn’s heart rate jumped into a running pace when a man appeared next to them and unobtrusively set down a rack containing gleaming gold pieces.

“Lady’s choice,” Kirill murmured, pressing a kiss to her neck.

She was beyond making more than just the most basic decision. “Red.”

He casually lifted several of the gold pieces from the rack and set them on the table, sending shock rippling through Jazzlyn when she realized they were Krugerrands.

The shock was followed by dismay when the ball dropped neatly onto the black eight and the croupier raked in the solid gold coins.

It didn’t get better from there. She won a few times, but Kirill casually tossed the recouped coins back out onto the table until there was nothing left.

If he hadn’t been the one placing the bets—over her protests to be more conservative—it would have made her physically sick to lose so much money. Even so, she couldn’t let it pass without saying something. She turned in his arms and said, “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this.”

His smile warmed her all the way down to her toes. The kiss that followed had her melting against him.

“I prefer to be unlucky at games of chance, but lucky at love,” he said, the purr in his voice tightening her nipples to hard points and sending liquid heat to her cunt lips.

Her channel spasmed. The need to be alone with him spiked through her. “Let’s eat dinner.”

His eyes darkened and flared with lust. “Let’s.”

He led her back to their table. The waiter arrived with their food almost as soon as they’d settled into their seats.

“I’m curious,” she said a short time later, after they’d finished their meal and their plates had been taken away. “This place has been raided at least five times that I can remember. How do you get away with the gambling? I can’t believe every cop, federal agent and judge involved is a dragon.”

“Avoiding detection and prosecution is Pierce’s area of expertise.” Kirill’s mouth curved up in a teasing smile. “He’s our token Faerie, and co-owner of the club.”

Jazzlyn laughed. “I assume you mean faerie as in fey and not gay.”

Kirill’s smile deepened. “The fey are often flexible in their sexuality, but in his case, I’m told he is quite happily mated to a female.”

Their waiter returned with small flutes containing something called—not surprisingly—Dragon’s Flame.

Kirill picked up his glass, his gaze traveling over her possessively. “To our future happiness.”

Slick arousal wet her panties. His nostrils flared and the sudden image of him reaching under the table in intimate exploration made her clamp her legs together. She touched her glass to his then drank.

It was like swallowing fire.

When she could finally focus on her surroundings again, she thought spontaneous combustion had probably been a close call in her case. Every nerve ending tingled in hyperawareness. The feel of clothing against her skin was almost unbearable.

“Potent stuff,” she said, setting the glass down next to his empty one. “You can drink the rest of mine.”

“I have a better idea.” He signaled their waiter and a moment later a small plate of fruit was placed on the table. Mango, she thought as Kirill poured the Dragon’s Flame over it.

If she’d had any doubt as to just how flammable the drink was, it was extinguished when Kirill leaned forward, blowing on the dessert and setting it on fire.

Dragons
, she thought yet again, enjoying the trick though she couldn’t figure out how he’d done it.

The flames licked and danced over the fruit, burning hot and fast before going out. Lust darkened Kirill’s eyes as he picked up a slice of mango and carried it to her mouth, starting a new fire, this one inside her.

She took the offered fruit, his fingers remaining against her lips, inviting her to lick them clean. Flushed need heightened the color in her cheeks. At the beginning of the day, she wouldn’t have been able to imagine herself doing something so wanton in public, but there was no way to resist the temptation to explore and wield her feminine power.

It would have been easy to blame her behavior on the Dragon’s Flame, but Jazzlyn didn’t. With Kirill she felt bold, confident, two words that had never applied to her except when it came to her jewelry making.

She slowly licked the fruit juice and residual drink from his fingers, her eyes never leaving his as she did it.

He offered another piece and she took it, sucking it into her mouth, imagining it was his cock and knowing by the expression on his face that he was imagining the same thing.

With each slice of mango she expanded on her sensual torment. Licking, sucking, caressing the tips of his fingers until he was panting slightly, his face taut.

“Let’s go,” he said, abruptly rising to his feet.

Instead of leaving the club, he led her toward a guarded alcove. Through the arched doorway she saw a jewel-encrusted chalice positioned on a velvet-lined pedestal like something belonging in a museum.

A blond man joined them as they stepped into the alcove, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal a gold and green dragon tattooed on his arm. Unlike the other men she’d encountered, he didn’t devour her with his eyes. Instead the corners of them crinkled in amusement as he directed his attention to Kirill. “I have to say, this is a surprise though I’d heard rumors of your hasty departure from Xanthus’ lair. You wish to offer the cup to your beautiful companion?”

Jazzlyn blushed at the compliment. Kirill’s growl ended with a yes.

The blond casually lifted the chalice from its pedestal and poured the flute of Dragon’s Flame he’d arrived with into it before passing the cup to Kirill.

“This is freely given, Hakon?” Kirill asked.

“Yes.”

Kirill drank from the cup then turned toward Jazzlyn. She had time to notice it was engraved with pictures, small images conveying a dragon story, before the rim was held to her mouth, and Kirill urged her to drink.

She guessed it was a club ritual. And because she sensed it was important to him, she obeyed, swallowing a fire that burned like lust and left her breathless, aching for Kirill to come inside her and quench the flames.

He placed the cup back on the pedestal. “My thanks,” he said to Hakon.

“You return home now?”

“No.” The single word held a wealth of frustration. “Jazzlyn’s cousin is in trouble. Until she can be found and delivered from danger, we must remain here.”

“She’s missing?”

“Yes.”

“Have you visited Inner Magick? It’s possible Aislinn might be able to help you find her.”

Jazzlyn spoke up. “We’re waiting for a call from her now. She’s done what she can using her gift. There’s a chance her husband can come up with a lead. It seems likely my cousin is on a boat, though we don’t know its name yet.”

Hakon frowned. “Then your cousin could be anywhere, including in international waters.” He glanced at Kirill. “If you’d care to accept my hospitality for the night, I offer it. I keep a speedboat at the ready. Should the call arrive and you need to act on it, any of my men are capable of taking you out on the water if I’m not home.”

Jazzlyn’s hand curled around Kirill’s arm. “I’d like to accept,” she said, touched by Hakon’s offer.

Kirill’s hand covered hers. “Then we will. I believe I promised that after dinner you could choose where we go.”

Hakon took a card from his pocket and scribbled directions on it. He passed it to Kirill, saying, “I’ll call ahead and say you’re expected. Arrive whenever it suits you.”

They thanked Hakon and left the club, stepping out into a warm, star-filled night.

The surf pounded only a short distance away. The beach was a shrouded, romantic stretch of sand and privacy.

A shiver of anticipation slid through Jazzlyn, fantasy and opportunity merging. If only she was courageous enough to shake off a lifetime of shyness and go for it. She’d never made love under the stars.

Her cunt lips were swollen and flushed, urging her with each step she took to be bold and ask for what she wanted. At the back of her car, she halted, intensely aware of the way her clit pressed against her panties, a tiny imitation of the hard ridge at the front of Kirill’s pants.

She put her palm on his chest, toying with his nipple through his shirt. “Before going to Hakon’s, I’d like to walk on the beach.”

“Just walk?” He enfolded her in his arms, nuzzled her neck, sucking and biting, his hand caressing her breast.

“Maybe more,” she whispered.

He released her long enough for her to retrieve a blanket from the trunk of her car, then hand in hand they walked the distance to the beach, pausing to remove their shoes before stepping onto the sand.