Captivated (The Dragons) (5 page)

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T
he President wanted to see me. For dinner. And I found I had none of the old anger in me to deliver to him. I was fast feeling like a bad relative. Like a silly girl who could easily be won by Big Breakfasts and dark, bucking males who hold brainy chics captive for reasons along the lines of a different sort of chemistry than usual.

I didn't really have anything formal to wear, and I felt almost silly considering I might even need to wear something important-looking. I wasn't meeting with the president of Nigeria at a diplomatic event. I was meeting the president of a motorcycle club. Sure, he was scary, but he wasn't exactly red carpet material.

“Get a hold of yourself, Darla.”

I dug around in my box, still having neglected to unpack it. It made me feel better to have all of my stuff in one, centralized location, and I'd quite yelled at Del when he tried to “help” me unpack my things into the drawers in the room.

With enough fumbling through the stuff that fell to the bottom of my box, where whomever cleared out my main dresser drawer had apparently upturned the cosmetics drawer and dumped everything, I retrieved my tinted gloss and raised it triumphantly.

It was just enough color for a simple meet. Casual but not cheap. I didn't want to look cheap. Even the girl toys lingering in the lounge had a sort of class about them. They didn't come off like the average biker groupies I'd seen around town or even on television.

The Dragons weren't the average sort of bike club, though. So there was that.

I settled on a simple, above-the-knee, black A-dress over an artfully ripped pair of blue jeans, and it wasn't until I passed under the large dragon sculpture above the entrance arch to the, apparent, VIP area that I relaxed into it. No one in this part of the lounge was dressed formally or like a slouch, so my shabby chic fit right in.

I hadn't worn accessories. Didn't want to give anyone the impression that I was so happy to be there, I was “going all out.” I'd meet the terms of the agreement, but I didn't have to be a raving cheerleader about it. Neither did I have to become “one of the family.”

The mood of the lounge section was laid back but elite. It was easy to tell that not “just anyone” was asked back there. I wasn't sure if that was somehow part of a message being extended to me.

I followed Del deeper into the lounge, passing by long tables with carved dragon motifs at their ends to the more cozy section where small circular tables and chairs waited for conversations meant to be more intimate.

Del waved me toward one such 'intimate' table toward the very back, and I was careful not to visibly react to the man waiting there for me.

If Link was attractive, this guy was... God-like.

I couldn't tell his exact nationality by looking at him, but there were undeniable angles to his face that were easily attributed to Pacific Islander heritage, even if it first came through a Native American ancestor who'd crossed the Bering Strait. His eyes had a slant, as well, but they were wide and dark. They were the eyes of a general, at the least, and I felt his regard sweep through me like I was a few inches off from a straight up interrogation.

His lips were small but lush, like they were made for eating juicy, exotic fruits, and he had a medium build, muscular but not obnoxiously so. I couldn't see his abs, but I was sure they were probably of the washboard variety.

I took note of how thoroughly I was checking the men out in the motorcycle club and was sure a flush met my cheeks.

“Miss Rios. Please,” he welcomed, gesturing easily to the seat in front of him.

I slid into the space across from the president of the Dragons, ridiculously hyper-aware of my every move.  He had an unsettling effect on me (and probably everything around him).

“The Pres” was the consummate, understated Alpha. Unassuming, observant, and extremely intelligent. I had no doubt he'd already drafted a mental profile that probably fit me to a tee.

“Drink?”

“Um. Sure. White Russian with soy?”

The long haired girl at his side, who I'd just barely noticed before he drew attention to her, retracted a stylus from beneath her mobile and jotted something on its screen. She went back to whatever she'd been doing on it after that, never raising an eye to meet mine.

I guessed she was his assistant.

Just how deep were the Dragons' pockets?

“I hear you're something of an herbalist? Vinnie used to comment on that a lot.”

A twinge went through me hearing him mention my cousin, and I had to remind myself that he was being indulgent. He didn't have to extend a chance to any of Vinnie's relatives to clean up his error. In the eyes of justice, my cousin, by all appearances, had stolen from him.

His dark eyes hung on me, smooth and intent on my answer.

He was pretty
and
powerful, very like a dragon.

“I've dabbled enough. Mostly with herbal cough syrups and various salves. Deodorant, also.” I shut up right there, as I was beginning to move into babbling-idiot territory.

“It's just a casual interest then?”

“I wouldn't call it casual.”

Why did I feel like everything I was saying might be the wrong answer? And did it matter? I was already in this as deep as I could be in it.

“Thank you.”

I nodded to the server delivering the White Russian to me, and she disappeared from my side like the wind. She wasn't wearing the same kind of uniform as Sue. You wouldn't even know she was a server by looking at her. Did he have his own separate “girls?”

Did they do other things for him, as well?

“Link says you've gained some ground on the books you're studying?”

There was a trace of impatience in his voice. It was well-concealed, but I could feel it. I could also see it tucked to the back of the intensity in his gaze. Someone had taught him never to reveal himself.

He behaved like a person who'd learned self-discipline from a very early age.

I sat up a little straighter.

“Yeah. There are some glyphs that older herbalists and apothecaries use.”

A slight grin appeared at his cheek.

“Not the well-known sorts, surely.”

He was already following me, and he didn't seem put off in the least. That was good.

“No. Definitely not during certain eras.”

“And what dots have you connected with these glyphs?”

“Well, plants have a kind of...”

My eyes averted to the table as I gathered my words.

“Spirit?”

My gaze met his.

“Yeah. The herbs I was asked to pay special attention to are associated with elements that fit the properties of the original... elixir Link mentioned like a glove.”

The president's grin deepened.

“Drug, you mean.”

I shrugged. “Yeah.”

“And you think you can figure the right proportions of the ingredient we're missing?”

“To replace what Vinnie took? I'm pretty sure I can.”

The president didn't reply right away, his gaze making it clear that he was considering everything I'd said. I didn't know if I'd convinced him that I was capable of mixing up a good alternative to go with the base they already had waiting, but I figured I could pull it off. Question was whether or not
he
thought I could. I was only obligated to try, though, not succeed. My deal didn't hinge on triumph.

“You were angry your first few days here. Understandably.”

“I'm still angry.”

“And you'll put in the same amount of effort you would in a happy state?”

I met his eyes squarely.

“I will.”

He smiled, softly, like he might find that somehow admirable.

“Family.”

I swallowed the emotion that rose to my throat.

“Yeah.”

“Alright. I'll give you access to what you need. If you can make something that works as effectively as the original shipment our partner procured for us, you're free to go. And so is Vinnie, wherever he might be.”

I nodded.

His eyes lowered to my drink.

“You've barely touched your White Russian.”

I followed his gaze and quickly lifted the drink, bringing the straw to my lips.

I had him figured out, but I didn't, and as simple as everything sounded, I had the feeling he'd be asking for more from me if I managed to make a comparable compound to the one they seemed so intent on replacing.

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I
got to work as soon as the herbs and supplies were left at the door, and noting Link's lacking appearance, I dragged the box into the drying room and set one of each herb pack on the counter next to the books and my notes.

There were more toys in the box to play with: several scales, scissors, a few manual herb grinders (which are preferable with delicate operations, I find), a bunch of empty containers of varying sizes, carrier oils, alcohol, xanthan gum, and even a microscope. There was also a copy of the original order. The herb they'd lost was extremely rare. It was no wonder they were looking for a replacement they could more effectively manage.

I bit my lip setting the paper down and got into the swing of things. Mixing and swirling, cooking and testing ph on the color strips I now had at my disposal. The only thing I didn't do was test the formulations myself. I figured I could save that for them. The contents of the vials I wound up filling were assuredly safe.

I wound up with five of them, two of which were very close to being the exact same thing with a few tweaks. The only way to tell if the bluish mix would do the job was to mix them with their base, and take it down the hatch.

A knock shook me out of my daze as my eyes looked to the bottles in front of me, and I blinked myself back to awareness. It was definitely Link. I could tell by the hollow sound of his knuckles against the other door. It was distinctive from the door everyone else used.

I pulled my head together as best I could and made my way out of the drying room, a wisp of hair falling from the bun at the top of my head and into my face. I brushed it out of the way absentmindedly, having to internally pinch myself to snap out of whatever effect he was having on me.

I was beginning to think I had less control over my response to it than I had at first.

“The pres wants to know how everything's going,” he non-greeted when I pulled the door open.

“Oh. Um. Good. I have five possibles ready. Now that I have the basics of what you guys are looking for... It's easier to put together. You can test them.”

I sounded as nervous as I felt, and an additional layer of “I-am-stupid” affirmation descended over my self esteem realizing it. Would they let me go home early if I'd miraculously managed to find “the” right mix?

It sounded wrong even as I thought it. The way the pres had looked at me.... I had a feeling I'd be asked around for 'my opinion' on various 'legal' tonics even after they let me go home.

Whenever that would be.

“The Pres will want
you
to test it.”

“Why? I tested the ph, and it's totally safe otherwise. The herbs are mixed in benign amounts. There's plenty of documentation on their properties and toxicity levels. I've recorded everything I did for each vial.”

“He's not sure he trusts you, yet, I guess.”

A likely answer.

I searched the endless depths of his eyes, careful to pull myself back before I fell into their sway completely. He was being sincere, but I was still uncomfortable with the prospect. If this actually worked, I'd be stuck in a room next to this guy while I was in heat.

It wasn't a good idea by a long shot.

“After I get a little rest in, I'll be in a better mind frame to do some... testing. I guess we'll take it from there.”

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I
was asked down to the lounge the night before I agreed to test the drug, and this time I wore earrings and something cute. The club was having a function. Apparently the friggin' mayor was even going to pop in (to the VIP part of the lounge anyway). Oddly, when I made my way downstairs, I was escorted to that area myself. I wasn't sure how to process that, but I knew better than to rebuff the club president's kindness.