Authors: Kassanna
The hiss of steam made her turn her head. She pursed her lips. Her current problem stood a few feet away glowering at her with his arms crossed over a smooth, broad, muscular chest. She let her gaze drift south and bit her bottom lip to keep from smiling. Her kidnapper was definitely sexy. Washboard muscles, lean hips and streamline thighs, she averted her eyes to keep from staring at his cock.
As if reading her mind, he laughed. Now that she knew what he wanted, maybe she could talk her way out of the situation. She peeked at him once more from beneath her lids before turning her head and asked herself.
Did she really want to?
What the hell? Of course she did.
She rubbed her arms and would have stomped her feet if she was sure she wouldn’t topple over. “Listen, you know my name but what’s yours?”
He stood still, watching her every move.
Synda tried again. “At least tell me your name. Please?
The one-sided smile on his lips was disarming, taking him from handsome to outright gorgeous. “I am Kirill.” His accent had lightened. “You are freezing. At least allow me to warm you.
Please
.”
She fought the urge to move toward him. If she gave even a little, he would take it as a weakness. Her clothes were frozen and clung to her skin. A yearning deep inside screamed to run to him. She placed her hands against her mouth and blew her breathe on them, taking a few teetering steps back when he stalked forward.
His hands formed fists at his side. “Do you have a cell, sweetness?
She patted her jeans and dug into the pocket, pulling it free. The plastic slipped through her fingers and she scrambled to catch it, not noticing his movements. She straightened, proud she caught the sensitive electronic device before it became embedded in the snow. Synda looked up to where Kirill was a moment ago. She was jerked back against a hard wall of chest and immediately warmth flowed into her.
“Synda.” Her name sounded like a prayer falling past his lips. He dropped minute kisses on her neck. “My sole goal at the moment is to keep you safe even if I have to protect you from
you,
” he whispered.
The phone tumbled from her fingers. The heat flowing over her body felt so good.
His wings closed in, insulating them. “Trust me.”
Secure in his arms, Synda made the conscious decision to let Kirill keep her safe and warm, at least until she could get somewhere where she could do it for herself.
Chapter Four
Manx circled the opulent room. It was enormous for a guest bedroom, with its high windows and ornate handmade rugs. The gilded furniture upholstered in expensive matte velvet didn’t fool him. Drago was hiding, even if it was in plain sight. This place wasn’t just a gilded prison for him. His nephew had set up house in the middle of his territory but didn’t dare leave his roost for fear of a challenge. He’d bet even money the little shit was an average fighter at best and probably cheated most times.
Manx pulled the heavy curtain back and sucked air in through his teeth. Black steel with ornamental swirls and loops covered the windows. Bars to keep him in but most likely to keep other dragons out, Manx placed his hand on the glass and the metal glowed. His nephew must have paid a good chunk of money to have a witch enchant them. Maybe baiting his nephew in his home hadn’t been one of his better ideas. He trailed his fingers along the back of a couch and looked around the room for a phone. He saw a small table tucked between the windows, almost hidden behind the voluminous fabric, and on it was exactly what he sought.
Unsure if he was being monitored, Manx stood with his back to the room and his fist twisted in the drapes as if he was looking outside. He lifted the handset and punched in the numbers to his best friend. The tone chimed and he tapped his foot as he raised the back of his hand to his mouth to muffle his cough.
“Jolly’s.” Tucker answered with his normal joviality.
“I think I underestimated Drago, Tuck.” Manx whispered.
“I told you not to go there, old friend. Synda called and she sounds pissed.” Tucker snorted. “She threatened to shut me down. My suggestion is you get your old ass back here before she shows up tomorrow.”
“I would if I could, but I don’t think my nephew will allow me that option.”
“What do ya mean?”
“I fear I may have brought trouble to her door. When she comes to the island if I’m not there, please…please do what you can to protect her. Send her away and hide her.”
Muffled voices sounded on the other side of the door.
Manx continued, “She’s all I have left of Shalla, No matter what happens I need to know she’ll be safe.”
“She’s like a daughter to me, I give you my word I’ll protect her.”
“Thank you, old friend.” Manx dropped the handset on its cradle and spun around as the hinges whined when the door was pushed open.
He watched as Drago stalked into the room. When his nephew sat down in one of the club chairs Manx waited for Drago to make the first move. He needed to understand where the greedy asshole was coming from―his daughter’s life could very well depend on it.
“Glad to see the clothes fit, uncle.” Drago pulled at his cuffs before he rested his arms on the chair.
“Eh, they’re a little big but then again, I’m not the dragon I use to be either.” Manx leaned on the wall.
“I need to know something.”
“What’s that Drago?”
“I sent out my best man yesterday to retrieve my cousin, a simple task considering she isn’t even a real dragon, and yet I haven’t heard from my guy. Is there something special about Synda you
forgot
to mention?”
“Not at all. She may not be full dragon, nephew, but she is one hell of a human being. I kinda feel sorry for the fella you sent to retrieve her.”
“Of course you do understand, Manx, that I won’t continue negotiations until all parties are present.”
A dry bark erupted through Manx’s lips. “In other words, you’re holding me hostage?”
“That is such an ugly word…hostage. I prefer to think of you as my guest. If you would like to discuss the jewels, though, I’d be more than happy to listen.” Drago waited a moment before rising from his seat. “Well, I tried. Is there anything you need, old man. I would like for you to be comfortable since you’re family.”
Manx shook his head. “We were a dysfunctional family when I left, but damn, exactly how far have you fallen since then?”
Drago held his gaze. “I’ve had to fight tooth and nail to maintain my position. Having the family jewels will secure my place as king and I can think of only a few that would try to unseat me. Living in this warehouse will become a moot point. Once I have the gems I can buy a fucking castle. I will have my birthright, and not you or some
wurm
of a human you fathered will stop me. Once those stones are in my possession I will have the respect of our nation. With the other dragons behind me I will be able to lead all people, man and beast alike. Drago the Supreme has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it uncle?”
Manx sighed. “You idiot, respect is earned not bought. No wonder everything has gone to hell in a hand basket.”
“We’ll see Manx, perhaps you’ll live to see my ascension.”
Manx rubbed the back of his neck. “Damn and humans were worried about zombies.” His laughter turned into a bout of coughing that racked his frame. He looked at Drago through watery eyes. “The undead ain’t got nothing on your crazy ass.”
“I’ll show you insane, old man.” Drago stomped out of the room.
Unable to maintain the pretense of strength, Manx hobbled to a sofa and collapsed against it.
I am so sorry Synda
.
* * * *
Kirill tossed back the shot of vodka Timur handed him and slammed the glass down on the counter. Using two fingers, he pushed the tumbler toward his friend. Another round was poured and he lifted the glass. Pressing the beveled edge to his lips, he tilted his head back. The potent alcohol burned its way to his belly. He dropped the glass onto the polished wood of the bar.
He’d just gotten to the estate he shared with his old friend, Timur. He’d warmed Synda just enough to keep hypothermia from setting in and anxiously waited until she dropped off to sleep. Careful with his grip to avoid scoring her flesh with his talons, he’d flown them home. When his old friend offered to help him with her, it had taken all his restraint not to snap at the man. Instead, he maneuvered through the house as he always had.
They’d shared the estate since he and the gargoyle both fled from France during the revolution. Seems no matter where they settled, humans always started to encroach. He’d fled Russia when the famine hit and ended up in France, where he met Timur. After a brief sojourn in Britain where his people were being butchered left and right, somehow he ended up in Alaska with the gargoyle in tow. Kirill rubbed his arm where it met the shoulder. Funny, when he was with Synda he never noticed the burning pain.
“That’s a sweet tattoo. I thought dragons couldn’t get tatted.” Timur tossed back another shot.
Kirill glanced at the black swirls that now covered half his arm to the elbow and the right side of his body from hip to shoulder. He noticed the intricate circles and loops in the bathroom mirror when he was getting dressed.
He met his buddy’s gaze. “We can’t. It just appeared.”
Timur choked, his words coming out in a sputter. “Shit on a stick.”
“You’re not helping,” Kirill muttered.
“Do you have any idea what this means? Here I thought you were just being a jealous bastard when you almost bit my head off about the cutie you stomped in here with. Of course, now that I think about it…it is rather strange that you would bring a woman to your lair. I mean, that is like the biggest dragon no-no known to human and beast,” Timur babbled on.
“Shut up, Timur. I know exactly what it means and that is just the tip of my mountain of problems.”
Timur scrubbed his face with the heels of his hands. His smile made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Dude, your mate is sleeping downstairs. That has been the wet dream of every single male dragon since Manx the Supreme disappeared. Hell it gives me hope there might be a little she-gargoyle out there somewhere sitting atop a building pining away for me.”
“You really think someone would wait for you?” Kirill chuckled.
“Damn, you really know how to cut a brother down.” Timur hung his head and poured another round of shots.
“I still have the problem of Drago.”
Timur’s head snapped up. “I told you not to work for that ass even on a freelance basis. That dragon is psychotic. Tell him you couldn’t find her.”
“Are you done with the ‘I told you so’? Telling him that wouldn’t work, he would just send another beast after her.” Kirill pushed the glass to the side and picked up the bottle of vodka to take a healthy swig. “Drago won’t stop until she’s found.”
Timur cocked his head. “Why?”
“The sadistic bastard didn’t just hire me to find her. I was ordered to kill her.”
“Oh shit!”
“It gets better.” Kirill leaned back in his seat.
“How?”
“I’m not sure if she’s dragon.”
Timur burst out laughing. The sound echoed through the cavernous room of the massive log cabin built into the side of a mountain. Tears fell from is eyes as he opened his mouth to speak. When words didn’t come he held up one finger as he bent over grabbing his middle. After a few moments, he straightened and wiped the water from his cheeks. He heaved a breath before he spoke. “Umm, guy you are so fucked.”
“I’d tell you to go to hell but you might enjoy it.” Kirill dragged the bottle along the wood. “I’m going to bed.”
“Wait…wait. Seriously, how will she pass the eggs when it’s time for you to have children? Damn, somebody upstairs has a twisted sense of humor. You have a mate and you can’t even consummate the union…”
Kirill shot his middle finger at Timur as he slammed the door shut to cut off the idiot’s laughter.
As much as he hated to admit it, sleeping beauty with the light snore was actually a rather cruel joke the fates had played on him. Earlier as he’d peeled her clothes from her body, all he’d wanted to do was bury himself in her softness. His cock hardened from the memory and he absently reached down to adjust his growing erection. Inch by slow inch he’d tugged off her skin-tight jeans. Her creamy bronze skin felt like satin under his palm. A brief smile ghosted across his face. Half asleep, she’d batted his hands away when he’d gone for her shirt. He coaxed her into a deeper slumber by singing an old Russian lullaby his mother used to sing to him. It had been so long since he’d thought about his mother, surprised he’d actually remembered the words.
He took a long draught of the alcohol, which stoked the fire growing in his belly. The closer he got to his room, the less his side throbbed. He swallowed the last bit of liquor at the bottom of the bottle and set it down next to the doorjamb.
His body burned for her and for the first time in over five hundred years he wasn’t sure what to do. If he bonded with her, the markings would stop covering his skin and the ache that racked his body would cease. He couldn’t be sure what the mating would do to her though, and as his mate, his
mahtyeh
, she must always come first.