Heart Of The Dragon

Fight, man. Fight against her enchantment. Where is your legendary discipline?

With an almost brutal slash, he jerked a shirt from one of the wall hooks. He pulled the black material over his head, covering both of the medallions he wore. The etchings at the bottom of the one Grace had worn flashed before his mind, and in a sudden burst of clarity he placed the stolen medallion with its owner. Javar, his former tutor.

Darius frowned. How had Javar lost such a precious treasure? Did Grace’s brother wield some strange power that allowed him to slip through the mist, fight Javar and win the sacred chain? Surely not, for Javar would have come to Darius for aid—if he still lived, his mind added.

Darius had spoken to his former tutor by messenger only a month ago. All had seemed well. But he knew better than anyone that a life could change in the space of a single heartbeat.

“You have to do something, Darius,” Brand growled, flying into the room. The long length of his opalescent wings stretched to fill the doorway. Without a pause in their glide, his clawed feet smoothly touched the ground. He began striding closer. His sharp, lethal fangs were bared in an ominous scowl, a beacon of white against his scales.

Darius gave his friend a hard stare, careful to withdraw all emotion from his features. By word or deed, he refused to let any of his men know just how precariously he clung to his control. They would ask questions, questions he did not want to answer. Questions he honestly had no answers for.

“I will not speak with you until you calm down,” he said. He crossed his arms over the width of his chest and waited.

Brand drew in a deep breath, then another, and very slowly his dragon form receded, revealing a bronzed chest and human features. His fangs retracted. The cut on his cheek had already healed, a courtesy of his regenerative blood. Darius fingered the scar on his own cheek. He’d acquired the injury from the nymph king years ago during battle and he’d never understood why he’d been left with such a mark.

“You have to do something,” Brand repeated more calmly. He claimed the only clothes left on the hooks and tugged them on. “We’re ready to kill each other.”

Darius had met Brand not long after he’d moved into the palace. They’d both been young, barely more than hatchlings, and both their families had been slain during the human raid. From the beginning, he and Brand had shared a bond. Brand had always laughed and talked with him, made sure he was invited to participate in every dragon activity. While Darius had declined—even then he had kept himself a strict mental distance from others—he’d found companionship with Brand, found someone to listen to and trust.

“Blame your silly game,” Darius said with a slight growl, reminded of the previous antics, “not me.”

The corners of Brand’s lips suddenly stretched to full capacity. “Emotions from you already? I’ll take that to mean you want my head on a platter.”

“Your head will do…to start.” Forcing himself to appear relaxed, he clasped a chair and eased down backward. He rested his forearms against the velvet-trimmed back. “What caused you to transform this time?”

“Boredom and monotony,” came his friend’s dry tone. “We tried to begin the first round of a tournament, but couldn’t stop fighting long enough. We’re on the verge of complete madness.”

“You deserve to be driven mad after the chaos you caused earlier.”

Brand’s smile renewed. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Darius. You should be thanking me, not threatening me.”

He scowled.

Brows arched, Brand said, “Don’t tell me I’m about to win the wager. Not when there is no one here to witness my victory.”

His scowl intensified. “Other than the game, what can I do to help ease this boredom?”

“Will you reconsider bringing us women?”

“No,” he quickly answered. Grace’s lovely face glimmered in his mind, and his lower abdomen contracted tightly. There would be no more women in his palace. Not when such a tiny one as Grace caused this type of reaction in him.

Brand did not seem to notice his disconcertment. “Then let us play our game. Let us try to make you laugh.”

“Or rage?”

“Yes, even that. It is long past time someone broke through your barriers.”

He shook his head. Someone already had, and he hated it. “I’m sorry, but my answer remains the same.”

“Every year I watch you grow a little more distant. A little more cold. The game is more for your benefit than it is for ours.”

With the fluidity inherent to all dragons, Darius shifted to his feet, causing the chair to glide forward. He did not need this now, not when he struggled so fiercely for control. One grin and he might crumble. One tear and he might fall. One scream and his deepest agonies might be unleashed. Oh, yes. He knew if ever the day came that he lost total control, he would be destroyed in a maelstrom of emotion.

“I am this way for a reason, Brand. Were I to open a door to my emotions, I would not be able to do my duty. Is that something you truly desire?”

Brand tangled a hand roughly through his braids. “You are my friend. While I understand the importance of what you do, I also wish you to find contentment. And to do so, something needs to change in your life.”

“No,” he said firmly. When Grace had stepped through that portal, his life had changed irrevocably—and not for the better. No, he needed no more change. “I happen to embrace monotony.”

Realizing that argument held no sway, Brand changed his tactics. “The men are different from you, then. I am different. We need something to occupy our minds.”

“My answer is still no.”

“We need excitement and challenge,” Brand persisted. “We yearn to discover what the vampires are up to, and yet we are forced to stay here and train.”

“No.”

“No, no, no. How I weary of the word.”

“Yet you must make peace with it, for it is the only one I can offer you.”

Brand stepped to the table, casually running his finger over the surface. “I hate to threaten you, and you know I would not do so if I felt there were any other way,” he added quickly. “But if you do not allow us something, Darius, chaos will reign supreme in your home. We will continue to fight at the least provocation. We will continue to disrupt the meals. We will continue—”

“You have made your point.” Darius saw the truth to his friend’s words and sighed. If he did not relent in some way, he would know no peace. “Tell the men I will allow them to finish their wager, if they swear a blood oath to stay away from my chambers.” His eyes narrowed and locked on to Brand. “But mark my words. If one—just one man—approaches my private rooms without my express permission, he will spend the next month chained to the bastion.”

Brand’s chin tilted to the side, and his golden gaze became piercing. Silence thickened around them as curiosity tightened his features. Darius had never barred anyone from his chambers before. His men had always been welcome to come to him with their troubles. That he withdrew that welcome now must seem odd.

He offered no explanation.

Wisely Brand asked no questions. He nodded. “Agreed,” he said, giving Darius a friendly slap on the shoulder. “I believe you will see a remarkable change in everyone.”

Yes, but would the change be for the better? “Before you reenter the training arena,” Darius said, “send a messenger to Javar’s holding. I desire a meeting.”

“Consider it done.” With a happy swagger to his step, Brand strode from the room as quickly as he had entered.

Alone once more, Darius allowed his gaze to focus on the staircase and climb upward toward his rooms. An insidious need to touch Grace’s silky skin wove a tangled web through his body, just as potent as if she were sitting in his lap.

Brand had spoken of the men going mad, but it was Darius himself who was in danger of madness. He pushed a hand through his hair. Leaving Grace had not helped him in any way; the image of her atop his bed refused to leave his mind. He realized he was as calm as he would ever be where that woman was concerned. Which meant not calm at all. Best to deal with her now, before his craving for her increased.

Stroking the two medallions he wore, he followed the path his gaze had taken until he stood poised at the doorway. She would give him the answers he wanted, he thought determinedly, and he would act as a Guardian. Not a man, not a beast. But a Guardian.

Resolved, he released the medallions and the doors opened.

Chapter Five

NO HINGES SQUEAKED. In fact, not a single sound emerged. Yet one moment the bedroom doors were closed and the next, the two panels were sliding open.

Grace stood to the left, unseen and hidden by the shadows cast by the thick ivory. When Darius stepped past her, his feet tangled in the sheet—aka trip cord.