Dragon's Lair (3 page)

A quick glance in the rearview mirror revealed that while she may have shot the man, it hadn't stopped him. He held his arm and screamed at the other two as all three of them raced for their light-gray four-door.

Alexia drove with no destination in mind. There was little doubt that they'd soon be on her tail, but where could she go? Not to her sister's—she wouldn't put Maureen or the kids in jeopardy.

To the police? No. What would she tell them? That she was in possession of an ancient Druid text containing secrets to powers unimaginable? They would either ask if Halloween had arrived two weeks early or think she was a kook.

Alexia checked the rearview mirror again. No headlights shimmered off the mirror.
So, now what?
Her relief faded. Where could she go?

Outside of two twenties in the pocket of her jeans, she had no other cash on her and her cards were in her desk drawer—at home. Alexia swore. Of all times to start leaving home without plastic, why on earth had she picked this month?

She rolled her eyes. Simple. She hadn't wanted the temptation of a credit card when she was saving every dime for her upcoming trip to England.

She had to go home. Alexia frowned. What if they knew where she lived?

Sweat dampened her back from the sinking feeling that
someone might be waiting for her at her town house. But she had to take the chance.

When she pulled into her neighborhood, she flipped off the headlights before turning onto her street, then pulled into the first empty space along the curb. Heart pounding, she rolled down the window and peered toward the middle of the block at her town house.

Over the rush of her pulse she heard nothing unusual—a door slamming, a horn honking from the next street over, two cats fighting in Mrs. George's yard. Everything she'd expect to hear around midnight.

She scanned the line of parked cars. While she didn't see the gray four-door, a dark limo and a flashy red Rolls Phantom were parked outside of her place.

Neither of the two cars belonged to her neighbors. Both were too impractical, too elegant for this end of town. A pickup truck, Jeep or any SUV could've been ignored.

Then she saw a light come on in her bedroom. Scenes from every late-night horror movie she'd seen raced through her head. She'd have to make do without the credit cards, because there was no way she was going in her town house.

She rolled the window up, then eased her car out onto the street. As she put the car in reverse, she noticed two men running out of her town house. One leaped into the back seat of the limo, the other jumped behind the wheel of the Phantom. Both tore off in the opposite direction down the street.

She hesitated. Would it be safe to—

The town house exploded. A shower of glass and bricks rained on the street. She stared, frozen in shock. Torn between rushing to check on her neighbors and driving as far away as possible, Alexia remained immobile.

The Wilson family, who lived on one side of her place,
were on vacation, so that left the Hazels. The three occupants stumbled out of their home and crossed the street to another neighbor's.

A swirl of ice-cold fear snaked down her spine. She had no idea where the men had gone. No clue who they were or what they'd been looking for. If they'd been searching for the manuscript pages, why blow up her home? Surely they'd want the pages intact.

She had to get away before they found her. Mrs. George, the neighborhood busybody, would be able to tell the police everything they needed to know.

Unwilling to risk being seen, Alexia hit the gas pedal and backed down the street to the first crossroad, then took the long way around the block.

She groaned in dismay. A tank of gas and forty bucks wouldn't get her very far. There was one place she could go, and even knowing that was her only option, she had to brush away a tear. With a frustrated cry, she headed toward the expressway.

The thugs who'd attacked her probably expected her to run to Braeden. But where else
could
she go?

Nowhere.

Alexia turned onto the southbound ramp. If she drove through the night, she could be in the mountains of East Tennessee just after breakfast—assuming the men didn't catch up with her.

 

Even before they crawled into his office with the news, Nathan knew the three imbeciles thought they had failed. But his only intent had been to send Alexia running to Dragon's Lair and back into her husband's arms. With a little prompting on his part, it'd succeeded. Where else could she go once her home had blown up?

Still, there was no point in letting anyone else in on his scheme. So he waited, knowing they'd eventually summon up the courage to tell him that three strong men had been unable to kidnap one small female.

Nor was there any point in slipping into her mind again. When she did finally make her way to Dragon's Lair, he didn't want to risk the Drakes knowing who was behind their troubles. No matter how carefully he covered his tracks, it would be far too easy for one of them to go traipsing through Ms. Reve's mind and catch a trace of him.

That was the last thing he wanted. Too many mistakes had already been made through the centuries. People had paid with their lives for errors in judgment.

His eldest son, Marcus, had been so certain that the Drakes of the sixteenth century were the ones who would translate the book that he'd gone against Nathan's wishes. That mistake had sent the book deeper into hiding.

However, watching his brother's execution had done little to stop another son from repeating the same mistake a generation ago.

Jason had taken it into his head that the previous Drake couple had been the ones who would finally grant the Learneds what they had waited for so long.

And yet again Nathan had tried to convince the dimwit of his error, to no avail. In the end he'd had to kill not only his wayward son, but the Drakes, too. He couldn't risk them living with the certain knowledge of his existence.

Not yet. Not until the grimoire was in his hands.

After all the planning and work he'd done, Nathan was unwilling to be caught now. He'd nearly risked detection himself years ago when he'd conjured up a winged beast to force Alexia's car off the road.

That petty, yet necessary, act had served two purposes. She'd lost the child she'd been carrying, ensuring that the Dragon wouldn't pass on his power to his child. As an added bonus, her husband's disbelief at her explanation of the accident had driven a wedge between them.

The timing had not yet been right. While he'd been certain even then that these were the two who would eventually give him what he needed, neither of them had possessed the skill at the time to do so.

While he'd been smugly satisfied when she had gone back to school, he'd been forced to kill again. Rumors of the grimoire's existence had been passed down through the generations much like the book itself. Most people scoffed at the rumors. But some, like Ms. Reve's professor, were far too curious.

The man had been too sly for his own good. He'd taken advantage of Ms. Reve's connection to the Drakes and her eagerness to obtain her degree to convince her to do a paper on the grimoire.

Nathan had been slightly amused at Ms. Reve's attempts to change her professor's mind. But in the end, she'd been unable to do so.

The man never lived long enough to discover that Ms. Reve's paper was nothing more than speculation containing nothing of the facts.

Now Alexia had the ability to translate the grimoire. And Braeden Drake, High Lord and Wizard of Mirabilus, was indeed the Dragon that Nathan had long awaited. The Dragon and his mate would renew their love…at least long enough for the grimoire to be translated.

Nathan shook his head. If they knew how much he had dabbled in their love life, they would be horrified. He'd torn them apart, pilfered letters, waylaid phone calls to
keep them from each other long enough for the wheels to turn.

And now, just when each thought their separate lives were finally on track, he would toss them back together.

Never in all his years of waiting had he expected love to be the most evil, albeit strongest, tool he'd employ.

Nathan opened a desk drawer and pulled out a small wooden cube. He rubbed a finger across the smooth worn oak before sitting it atop his desk. “Ah, Aelthed, our time has finally arrived.”

The box vibrated, clattering across his desk before levitating. Nathan easily reached out and captured the cube. “No, not this time, my friend.” He'd been caught unaware the first time this had happened and sported a black eye for days.

“I would think that after eight centuries, you'd be thrilled at the thought of freedom.” He placed the cube back in the drawer and shrugged. “But perhaps you've come to enjoy your solitude.”

He slammed the drawer shut before turning from his desk to face the makeshift altar behind him. Since the hard part of the ceremony had already been completed, he only needed to finish the remainder now—then he'd know for certain that Alexia went to Braeden.

After righting both the small amethyst and sapphire dragons stationed at the rear center of the wooden ledge, he began to chant. Slowly, methodically, he lit two of the candles, then the incense.

He picked up a figurine, the flame from the candles bouncing off the red wax. An image of Alexia came easily to his mind as he lit the figure. “Here burns the Spirit and the Power of Alexia.”

Nathan lit the remaining candles, then completed the
chant. He leaned back in his chair before swiveling to face the desk once again. He stared into the free-standing mirror perched in the corner and focused on Alexia.

The mirror clouded. Fog swirled in the smooth glass, setting his heart racing. “Ah, yes. Appear—”

A sharp knock at the office door interrupted his scrying. With an exasperated curse, he called out, “Enter.” He turned and gazed ardently at the dragons before extinguishing the candles. “Soon, you and all else shall be mine.”

A
lexia gripped the steering wheel of her ten-year-old Thunderbird tightly enough to dig her fingernails into her palms, then leaned closer to the windshield. This seven-hour drive had turned into the never-ending journey.

A rockslide just over the state line had held her up for more than four hours. Then it had started raining about the time she'd hit the foothills. The downpour worsened with each passing mile until she'd had to pull over until it let up enough for her to see the road ahead.

She couldn't help but wonder who would be more upset by her arrival—Braeden or his aunt Danielle. With any luck, his aunt had stayed behind in Boston and she wouldn't be around.

To keep boredom at bay and the family coffers filled, so to speak, Braeden and his brothers designed and built resort hotels around the world. Alexia knew from news
articles and recent television interviews that the current work in progress was a secluded resort in the mountains just outside Gatlinburg, Tennessee. While she could envision Braeden and his brothers there, she couldn't imagine Danielle Drake leaving her high-society life in Boston for the mountains.

On the other hand, since Braeden was cursed, it was a safe bet his aunt wouldn't let him get too far away from her. Why the woman thought she still needed to protect her
boys
was beyond Alexia's comprehension. Danielle may have raised them after their parents died, but they weren't boys any longer.

Braeden had evoked the curse himself. As had been done in previous generations, he'd made the mistake of marrying an uninitiated mortal. In an attempt to keep their line of wizards pure, a curse had been placed on the eldest son. Supposedly any mortal the son married would be able to drain him of his powers.

While Alexia had never seen any indication that was true, Danielle Drake took the curse seriously. The woman had taken every opportunity she could to drive Alexia away.

Hopefully, Danielle thought Braeden would be safe without her help this time and had stayed behind in the comforts of Boston. It was something Alexia knew she'd discover soon enough.

Since she didn't have directions to the Drakes' resort, the clerk at the convenience store on the edge of town said it'd be impossible to miss Dragon's Lair as long as she stayed on this road.

The rain had finally stopped, but now the typical Appalachian fog coated her car like a layer of frost. As the wipers fought the thick dew, a country ballad crackled from the radio. Something about lost love and pain. If she
weren't so afraid of lessening her death grip on the wheel, she'd turn the radio off. Music that had once soothed her jangled her last nerve.

The closer she got to Braeden the more nervous she became. Between the rockslide, rain and fog, it seemed as if even nature itself was against this trip. Not a good omen, but she had to ignore it.

What she couldn't ignore was the feeling of approaching disaster that clung to her skin like perspiration on a muggy summer day. Except it wasn't summer, nor was it hot. This sensation was frigid, making her shiver in spite of the air blasting from the car heater.

She hadn't seen another car in more than an hour, yet her senses warned of someone—or something—following her. Constant checking in the rearview mirror revealed nothing but an empty road.

Not seeing anything could be meaningless. Alexia knew from past experience that otherworldly creatures existed. One such creature had forced her car off the road, causing the accident where she'd lost her unborn baby.

Her heart flinched at the reminder. And her arms ached with emptiness. Sometimes, like now, Alexia wondered if she'd ever get past that horrible moment.

The accident and loss had led to the breakdown of her marriage. Her disbelief upon learning that she'd married a wizard had been hard to overcome, but she had. She'd loved him with all her heart and had accepted who and what he was. Yet Braeden hadn't returned the same level of trust. He hadn't believed her explanation of the accident.

At first his adamant disbelief angered her. Then the realization that he didn't trust her broke her heart. She could have lived with his anger, but not his lack of faith. So she'd left and never expected to return.

Especially not under these circumstances.

Alexia steered around another curve and slammed on her brakes. Could that be Dragon's Lair? She leaned sideways and tipped her head to better see the monstrosity.

A medieval castle rose out of the Appalachian mists, totally out of place in this environment. Its towers were starkly outlined by the glare of spotlights mounted at the base of the walls.

It was as if Mirabilus Keep, the Drakes' ancestral home, had been transplanted stone by stone from its island in the Irish Sea to East Tennessee.

Resort, castle or medieval keep, Dragon's Lair was aptly named. With the dark sky and steadily thickening fog, the hulking structure loomed over anyone approaching its gates.

Alexia straightened, fighting the sudden urge to turn the car around, floor the gas pedal and head as far away from Braeden's home as possible.

Instead, she took a deep breath and inched the car forward. He wouldn't be happy to see her, not after the things she'd done to him. She had the sinking feeling he would still be angry.

She didn't blame him, but she had no options.

She wasn't running to him because she
wanted
to—she did so only because she
had
to. The pages belonged to his family. Maybe returning them would in some way make up for breaking her vow of silence about the book.

Even though the choice of writing the paper on the manual had been taken from her, guilt for doing so still plagued her.

Perhaps the book would be safe at Dragon's Lair. Perhaps, somehow, even she'd be safe—if not from her husband's anger, then at least from those after the book.

 

Braeden Drake shoved away from his desk, rose, then crossed the office to once again stare out the tall, narrow window. Fog blanketed the mountains, giving life to the murkiness of his mood.

She was out there. And he could feel her getting closer. That one thought—Alexia's returning—had jolted him awake just before midnight.

Since then he'd waited, his anger growing with each passing hour. He hadn't felt this level of rage in years. The mere fact that he was still this angry with her irritated him to his marrow.

There were legitimate reasons to despise his wife. She'd lied about the accident that had killed their unborn child. She'd left him. Then, to make matters worse, she'd used confidential information about his family's secrets to further her career.

Her speculations about the grimoire, the Dragonierre's Manual, had resurrected debates about its existence. Not only debates, but also the increasing number of those seeking to gain fame, fortune and power from discovering the truth about the grimoire.

Somehow she was involved in the recent events at Mirabilus Keep. It was obvious by the timing that her paper on the manual had triggered an avalanche of disasters.

In the months since her work had been published, there'd been four break-ins. During the attempts, four of his employees and an intruder had been killed, a hired carpenter was still in the hospital and another intruder had been seriously injured.

As the ruler of Mirabilus Isle, he was responsible for his employees' families. He didn't care about either criminal. However, no clues were found at the scene and
the intruder's prolonged coma made it impossible to get the information he needed.

He'd tried using every ounce of power he possessed to get inside the intruder's mind. But the attempts had proved useless. He'd received only distorted images of the man's childhood.

Dragon's Lair was almost ready to open. He didn't have the time or the energy required to make the repeated trips to Mirabilus, open the resort and keep both his family and the people under his protection safe against those seeking to harm them.

He slammed his fist against the wall. He didn't want Alexia here. Didn't want to deal with the anger and lack of concentration her presence would create.

The sight of headlights stopping just outside the gates warned him that whether he wanted to deal with her or not, she was here.

 

Far from a hotel, Dragon's Lair looked more like a movie set for an old horror flick. A gloomy castle complete with towers, parapet and arrow slits for windows, it'd probably even have a dungeon outfitted with a torture device—in her size.

Braeden would never go that far. Would he? Alexia shook her head and answered her own question. No, he wouldn't.

Even with people he didn't like, he was always formal, polite and able to keep things impersonal. He wouldn't be any less formal or impersonal with her.

Impersonal. Great idea, but could
she
keep it that way? The years hadn't dimmed her memories. She still remembered everything. The whirlwind courtship that brought them breathless to the altar. The deep timbre of his voice,
his caressing touch, the heat of his kisses. The memories twisted in the pit of her stomach, consuming her with despair.

To keep this dire visit impersonal, she needed to remember what had driven her away in the first place. Even though she'd been forced, it had been her unhealed anger and pain that had made it slightly easier to write the paper on the Dragonierre's Manual. Her conscience still niggled regretfully. But there was little she could do about it now other than return the missing section to its rightful owner.

She pulled through the open wrought-iron gates and around the circular drive to the front of the castle. She grabbed the envelope off the seat, then stepped out of her car. The hair on the back of her neck rose. Someone was watching her from one of the many narrow windows.

It would do her no good to put her fear and worry on display. She kept a firm grip on her package, squared her shoulders and opened one of the oversize entrance doors.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Antique iron wall sconces had been outfitted with flame-shaped lightbulbs. Suits of armor flanked all three of the arched doorways. Tapestries covered some walls, while murals of medieval hunting and jousting scenes graced the rest. It would take just a dusting of dried herbs on the rough, planked floor to complete the transformation to the Middle Ages.

Alexia shivered. The enormous lobby was empty and as cold as it looked. If the Drakes had been looking for the dank, dark atmosphere of a medieval keep, they'd succeeded.

Only the registration desk and lobby bar anchored the hotel in the present day.

She crossed to the desk. When no one came out to greet
her, Alexia peered over the counter and picked up a map of the hotel from behind the counter. Management offices were down the hall to the left.

Certain she'd find Braeden's office there, she headed down the long, dark hall stopping at the first set of huge, metal-studded double doors. If the Lord of the Castle had an office, this had to be it. A quick glance at the brass wall plate confirmed her guess.

Should she march right in, knock or turn around and leave? Her stomach somersaulted. Her heart raced. She couldn't decide.

Why? After all this time, why? She'd successfully squashed her feelings for him—her anger and near hatred had made it easy enough. So why now had her legs turned to jelly?

She sensed him just beyond the door. The spicy scent of his aftershave swirled beneath her nose, awakening more intimate memories. The gentleness of his large hands brushing against her cheek. She shivered, remembering the feeling of his warm breath against her neck.

Those tangible memories could easily be pushed back. It was the others, the more recent ones, that threatened to bring her to her knees.

Her chest tightened as she remembered. When he'd lifted her from the car wreck, his voice had been husky and deep with concern. But when she'd lost the baby they'd both longed for, he'd blamed her.

And when she'd tried to explain, he'd insisted that her mind was playing tricks on her.

Alexia lifted her hand to the throbbing in her chest. She couldn't do this. She couldn't face him. Not even after all this time. She'd have to find some other place of safety—because Dragon's Lair wasn't safe, after all.

Quickly, before she was discovered, she turned and headed back down the hall toward the lobby.

The door behind her groaned. She clutched the package in her arms to her chest, hoping the pressure would slow her pounding heart.

“Leaving already?” Braeden's deep voice rippled over her, stopping her escape.

“I don't know.”

The carpet beneath his feet silenced his footsteps, but she sensed his approach. And to her horror her body warmed in welcome.

Obviously perceiving her body's response, he rested a hand on her shoulder. Then quickly withdrew his touch as if he'd been burned.

The brief contact had been enticing, yet at the same time it had proved baffling. The sudden urge to run from desires and longings she thought safely put to rest collided with the need to lean into the chest so close behind her. It would be, oh, so easy to relax against his broad chest, tuck her head beneath his chin and let his strong arms enclose her in still-familiar warmth and safety.