Heart Of The Dragon

“I cast a spell of comprehension over your mind.”

“Spell? No, no. That’s not possible.” She shook her head. “I speak three languages, and I had to work hard to learn every one of them. What did you do to me? What did you do to my brain?”

“I have already explained that to you.”

“Don’t tell me the truth, then.” She laughed, the sound emerging desperate rather than humorous. “None of this matters, anyway. Tomorrow morning I’ll wake up and discover this was all a horrible nightmare.”

No, she wouldn’t, he thought, hating himself more at that moment than ever before. Tomorrow’s dawning she would not wake at all. “You should not have come here, woman,” he said. “Do you care nothing for your life?”

“Is that a threat?” She fought against his hold. “Let me go.”

“Cease your struggles. Your actions merely press your body deeper into mine.”

She immediately stilled.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“I’m an American citizen, and I know my rights. You can’t keep me here against my will.”

“I can do anything I like.”

All color drained from her face because there was no denying the truth of his words.

To prolong her demise like this is cruel, his mind shouted. Close your eyes and strike.

Once again his mind and body acted as separate entities. He found himself releasing her and stepping backward. She leapt away from him as if he were a bloodsucking vampire or a hideously misshapen Formorian.

He focused all of his might on her destruction, looking anywhere except her enigmatic, sea-colored eyes, thinking of anything except her fierce, admirable spirit. Her shirt was torn and gaped down the middle, revealing the hint of two perfect breasts encased in pale pink lace. Another spark of desire flared inside him. Until his gaze locked on the two sets of rubied eyes that hung in the valley of her breasts.

His breath snagged as he studied the ornament more intently. Surely that was not…could not be…

But it was.

A frown cemented his features, and his fingers fisted so tightly his bones almost snapped. How had this woman come to possess such a sacred talisman? The gods awarded every dragon warrior a Ra-Dracus, a Dragon’s Fire, upon reaching manhood, and a warrior never removed his gift, not for any reason save death. The markings etched at the base of this one were familiar to him, but he could not recall exactly to whom it belonged.

Not this woman, that much he knew. She was not a dragon, nor was she a child of Atlantis.

His frown deepened. Ironically the very oath that commanded him to harm her also compelled him to keep her alive until she explained how and why she had the medallion. Reaching out, he attempted to remove it from her neck. She slapped his palm and scampered backward.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she demanded.

“Give me the medallion.”

She didn’t cower at his hard tone as most would have done. Nor did she jump to obey. No, she returned his gaze with unflinching courage. Or stupidity. She remained firmly in place now, hands at her side.

“Don’t come any closer,” she told him.

“You wear the mark of a dragon,” he continued. “And you, woman, are no dragon. Give me the medallion.”

“The only thing I’ll give you is an ass-kicking, you rotten thief. Stay back.”

He leveled her with a resolute gaze. She was defensive and fearful. Not a good combination when trying to obtain answers. He almost sighed. “I am called Darius,” he said. “Does that ease your fears?”

“No, no it doesn’t.” Contrary to her words, her muscles relaxed slightly. “My brother gave me this necklace. It’s my only link to him these days, and I’m not giving it up.”

Darius worried a hand down his face. “What is your name?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“What is your name?” he repeated. “Do not forget who holds the sword.”

“Grace Carlyle,” she reluctantly supplied.

“Where is your brother now, Grace Carlyle?” Her name floated easily from his tongue. Too easily. “I wish to speak with him.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

And she did not like that she did not know, he realized, studying the worry in her eyes. “No matter,” he said. “The medallion does not belong to him, either. It belongs to a dragon, and I will have it back.”

She studied him for a long, silent moment, then offered him a sunny if brittle smile. “You’re right. You can have it. I just need a moment to take it off.” She raised her arms as if she meant to do as she’d claimed—take it off. But in the next instant, she darted forward until she stood poised at the mist’s entrance. His arm snaked out and jerked her back into the hard circle of his body. She gasped on impact.

Had his reflexes not been so quick, he would have lost her.

“You dare defy me?” he said, perplexed. As leader of this palace, he was used to having his every command obeyed. Well, before today and his army’s game. That this woman opposed him was shocking, yet somehow added to her appeal. She was not a warrior and had no defense against him.

“Let me go!”

He held steady. “Struggling is pointless and merely delays what must be done.”

“What must be done?” Instead of calming, she beat her pointy little elbows into his stomach. “What the hell must be done?”

He whirled her around and used one of his hands as a shackle, locking her against him, chest to chest, hardness to softness.

“Be still!” he shouted. Then blinked. Shouted? Yes, he’d actually raised his voice.

Amazingly enough, she stilled. Her breath came shallow and fast. Amid the growing quiet, he began to hear the beat of her heart, a staccato rhythm that reverberated in his ears. Their gazes narrowed on each other and looking away proved impossible. Minutes ticked by unnoticed.

“Please,” she at last whispered, and he wasn’t sure if she was asking him to release her or hold her more tightly.

He used his free hand to smooth up the velvety soft expanse of her neck, then gently flick her hair out of the way. The heat of her beckoned him to linger, and he fought the urge to glide his hands across her every feminine peak and hollow, from the plumpness of her breasts, to the slight roundness of her stomach. From the exotic slope of her legs, to the hot wetness of her center.

Was she the kind of woman who could accept and return his animal passion? Or would she find him more than she could handle?

The thought jarred him, and he gave a brutal shake of his head to dislodge it. Whether she could handle him or not didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to bed this woman.

And yet…

He easily imagined Grace naked and in his bed, her body splayed for his view. Her arms open and waiting for him. She would smile slowly, seductively, and he would inch his way atop her, graze his tongue over every curve and hollow, enjoy her as he’d never enjoyed another—or let her enjoy him—until they both collapsed.