Charming the Alphas (Hex My Heart, #5) (11 page)

White flimsy curtains fluttered in the cold mountain air that gushed in from the open window the last occupant must have left open. Small lamps dotted the room, the one and only modern touch she could find. As she flicked each one on, the shadows receded to reveal three walls lined with books. Taken aback, all she could do for a solid five minutes was turn in circles. From the ceiling to the floor, every shelf held all kinds of books. Some thick, others thin, all very old.

If she needed answers, and she did, then this place had to have them. Her gaze scanned over the various spines. Most were in English, but a few were in French and German. And some in Draeonion.

She continued deeper into the room. Some seemed more recent while others gave hope of being in the time period she needed. A clue she might be on the right path? She hoped.

Tapping a finger over her mouth, she craned her neck up. Shocked, she froze when a familiar romance author of sweet holiday stories caught her eye. Guess that answered the question of families living here. Well, unless big badass dragon warriors liked sitting down to read a Christmas book or two. She guessed it could happen.

A flicker of light against something metallic caught her attention and she zeroed in on the title. The High Council’s seal was stamped into emerald green leather beside the Dragon seal she’d seen draped on the wall in her suite.

What was this doing here? Marabelle pulled the book and cleared an area on one of the emerald settees where more stacks of books covered the rich velvet and any other available space. If anyplace had ever needed a librarian, this hall sat at the top of the list.

Gently she ran her fingers across long black lines woven together to create an elaborate title that read: “A Tale of War”. There were few books or written accounts of the Witches and Weres war. Admittedly, she only knew what had been passed down through the generations. To find a book would be priceless. Her inner librarian sat up and pushed her glasses into place, ready to devour every single word. Careful not to tear the worn yellow parchment paper, she ran her fingers along the curled edges and fine handwritten words. All of it spoke of being an authentic book and one with the answers she needed. Her gaze lit upon one word in particular. Winters. Or at least an older version of the more modern name. In the old language of the dragons known as Draeonian, sometimes it wasn’t so clear. The language was a mesh of Gaelic with a Latin influence that hinted to their origins. While she could read Latin, their old language veered off so drastically that every other word came across as garbled syllables.

Her heart sank. It was the same language the healer used.

From the few lines she deciphered, the story the High Council taught their young already differed from what the book depicted. With her finger tracing across the page she continued on, the sun barely a sliver above the distant ridges.

Several inked drawings brought the story to life in a wash of black blood, warring dragons in full armor and warlocks with their magick tearing up the battlefield.

In a flourish of ink beneath one picture she translated the caption.
Ordú na laochra DraegonStone
. Order of the DraegonStone Warriors. Eight majestic-looking beasts stood with the full warrior armor, all perched atop craggy rocks overlooking a pile of slain warlocks. She shuddered from the mixture of hate and hurt that battled in her.

On the other side of the field, massive werewolves corralled the enemy with a vicious mauling of the soldiers. Judging by the cloaks and staffs, the defeated were witches. Marabelle turned the page, unable to look away, and found another picture, this one of a warlock casting what looked like a spell over a man shifted partway into his dragon form. The familiar shield of the DraegonStones across his armor denoted him as king of his species.

This story she knew, or a version of it. Her father had told her stories of how the High Council used black magick as a way to mind control Dragons as a last effort to take the upper hand in the war and kill off the werewolves for good. The plan had almost worked too.

It was a low blow to use their own king to slay his people. It must have left families ripped apart, pitted brothers against brothers. She couldn’t imagine the horror her government left in their wake.

The repercussions a mere slap on the wrist for their actions. The backlash for using black magick left a smear on the High Council’s polished throne for a century. Eventually, her people viewed their actions as an evil necessity. From what she read, time twisted and molded the truth until the Council looked like the witches’ savors willing to do anything to save their people.

As a young girl she had no choice but to believe it. Now that the curtain had been pulled back, there was more to it than just one species defending themselves against another. She flipped to another page.

“There ye are.”

She’d sensed Obsidian approaching. A weird buzz or maybe hum filled her head when a dragon shifter was near. Like a radio tuning into a frequency that didn’t quiet tune in. Eyes locked on a gruesome depiction, she asked in a flat tone, “Is this our past? Or maybe it’s our future?” Was history about to repeat itself because of her?

Hordes of demons-like creatures swarmed the skies while fire consumed the countryside. Human homes burned alongside otherworldlies as magick flayed dragons and werewolves. The carnage... her heart fell. Slowly she slid the cover shut.

She’d never realized the extent of the war. History marked it as the High Council coming out the victor. But her father had told her it ended in a truce when the weres killed the queen of the High Elder within her government. Behind closed doors a treaty had been drawn up. Two centuries later the prejudice between their people still divided them and why today it was forbidden for a Royal to marry anyone other than a witch.

“Tell me about your home. Where do you come from?” Marabelle looked to the DraegonStone standing in the chiseled doorway and fixed her full attention on him. Lavender-rimmed eyes pierced through the shadows.

“Why do ye ask?”

How would she say this without sounding paranoid or worse, offensive? The same way she always did. Straight to the point. It usually worked out. “Because if we’re at the cusp of another war, I want to know if the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

He paused a beat but she caught the tick of a smile and humor cross his expression. “Fair enough.”

“Well?” she pushed when his attention drifted to the brightening sky beyond the window. Shoulder braced against the wall, he scraped a hand down his face and she noticed the deep-set lines that marred the corners of his eyes as if the weight of the world rested on him alone. “I grew up in a family like any other. I had sisters and brothers. A mother and a father that loved me and taught me what a dragon shifter needed to know to survive in the seventeenth century.”

She knew he was old, but that put him in the times of the war. Sadness dulled the fire in his eyes when he spoke of his family.

“Family?”

“Aye, lassie. I grew up with a sword in my hand and a family at my back. It was a different time back then.”

As he spoke of the past his brogue grew deeper, more pronounced.

Obsidian entered the room, strode over to the desk opposite her and perched on an empty corner. Facing her, he continued, “Until greed and power became something to kill over fer two hundred years I never had a real use fer using a blade.”

“Is that what happened to your family?”

He nodded. “Aye. The war took ’em. Nearly took me.”

She mentally ran the numbers. That made him a little over four hundred years old. Did he have a family? Children? “Who was the other man with you last night?”

“My brother. He doesn’t...” Obsidian looked as though he was chewing on a few words that could fit before settling on one. “He prefers nae getting involved.”

She cocked a brow but kept silent with her observations. She still needed answers and didn’t want to scare off the guy who had them. “You knew my father.” A statement not a question. He’d already said as much.

Another nod. “I’m indebted to the man that saved my life. Without his healing magick I would have died alongside my family two hundred years ago. And now I am indebted to the family of that man.”

“Wait. Maybe you mean an ancestor. My father was older than most with a daughter my age, but he wasn’t hitting triple digits.”

“Marabelle, how much do ye know of yer father and family history?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Yer family line. Did you ever grow curious as to why yer father was kept close to the Royal court while not being a Royal?”

Now that he mentioned it, she thought he held favor as a powerful warlock and healer.

“Yer father was of the Draeonian blood line.” He drew out carefully as if measuring her reaction to the news.

“You mean it’s more than a language?”

“Where do ye think the language came from?”

“I don’t know, honestly.”

“The Draeonians were the first humans that learned the powers of the ley lines. Some warlocks learned to harness the powers of the magick. Others learned the powers of the animals.”

“Okay, so you’re saying we all had the same beginning?” Her brows pinched together as she digested what that meant. “I sense there’s a bigger story there than what you’re telling.”

Obsidian gave his tried and true single nod and flat stare.

“This room holds the true history of our beginnings as an otherworldly. True to man’s nature nae matter the skin or race, dominance over the other forced the species apart. The Draeonians carried on through the centuries unnoticed by most and thought to have died out. While not the most powerful of otherworldlies, they could foresee the future and telepathically communicate with any shifter in whatever form.”

She forced down a swallow. “So... Wait! My father, the man that I grew up with and zapped with more than a few ill-casted spells, was a Draeonian?” She couldn’t believe it. No way.

“Aye. There ye go. He was part Draeonian and part dragon, which gave him powers the High Council could not ignore.”

“How is it I never knew any of this?” She never shifted, turned scaly or sprouted wings. What. The.
Fuck!

“Ye father swore me to secrecy and it’s the last secret ye’re High Council wanted to get out.” Obsidian drew his blade and twirled the handle over in his hand as though all of this was old news. Well, for him it was. Centuries old, in fact. With shaky fingers she knotted her hair up, letting the information percolate in her brain. Coffee. She needed coffee, or a stiff drink. Both would make all the bitterness go down.

“And, my dear, why we suspect ye’re father was killed.” An older gentleman joined them with Lucian and Zane bringing up the rear. Immediately their gazes zeroed in on her and all the crazy banging around inside her head calmed. Thank the goddesses, because she really needed them right now.

Marabelle stood as the man reached a hand out to clasp hers. Rough and callused, he reminded her of her father. He stood a good two inches taller than her father, shoulders straight with no other sign of his age beyond the softly creased skin around his eyes. He had the same bright green eyes and warm smile her father had, made for putting a person at ease. And also with a whiff of herbs surrounding him that spoke of hours spent with spell making. Interesting.

“And also, my dear, why we fear ye’re powers were taken. Hopefully we’re in time to put a stop to all the schemin’ and lies before it’s too late.”

If ever there were a loaded statement... She looked between all the men standing in a semicircle around her with her mates standing the closest.

Hades on fire. The world had just gotten a whole lot more complicated. With everything they’d gone through till now, at least she knew her men were there for her. That made it a little less scary.

“I’m not going to like what I’m about to hear, am I?”

O
bsidian bowed his head and waited beside her. She could see the respect the man held for the older man. “I’m Marabelle.” Cautiously, she offered her hand in greeting. How did one go about meeting the Scottish elder of an extinct race of dragon shifters, anyway? She didn’t want to do anything that could land them in the dungeon, if this place even had one.

A warm hand engulfed hers. “Aye. Aye, lassie. I knew ye when ye were a babe just born. I’m Malevrick Langaurd. Winter Languard, actually. The Elder of the Order.” More royalty. Marabelle gulped and forced a nervous smile. “And ye’re uncle.”

What? She blinked several times and worked her mouth in a way that probably made her look a little off her broomstick. She had family beside her mother? Real family not just coven sisters? Did she have cousins and aunts?

Cherry drops, chocolate mints...

A soft chuckle in her head mellowed her rampant thoughts.
“I see ye’re mother has had a heavy influence on ye. Calm yerself, Marabelle. We’ll have time to talk at length later.”

She looked at her men who appeared—amused. Yeah, okay. Not nervous at all.

A rich voice carried over the room. “Old man,” he drew out his words with an accent a shade heavier than his brother’s but not as deep as her uncle’s. Interesting. With long strides the man who had assisted Obsidian in her rescue last night stepped through the door and clapped Obsidian on the back. With one glance they exchanged some kind of information before he continued in a tone she found smooth yet rough around the edges. Any woman he picked to use it on would succumb to every cheesy pickup line he uttered. She’d bet her best cauldron on it. “The Order is a dead society and holds nae more power than a river rock does holdin’ back water.”

Her uncle gave a tired sigh as if this wasn’t the first time he’d heard the argument. Releasing her hand, he held her gaze a few seconds longer. “Yet here we stand, youngling.” he called over his shoulder. “Forgive Razer. He forgets his place as a warrior and
nae
the Elder.”

Lucian and Zane stood sentential at her side, quiet supporters as she took in the massive load of new information.