Dark and Damaged: Eight Tortured Heroes of Paranormal Romance: Paranormal Romance Boxed Set (40 page)

“I’d be happy to meet with your father,” she said, though she had a feeling this was less about the old man and more about getting the edge on Thane Ealdian. “You have my contact information. Just let me know when is convenient for him.”

She held out her hand for a good-bye shake, but Ransom took it and held it. “If not one of us, will you please consider taking someone with you to meet with Mr. Ealdian?”

She nodded. “I’ll do that.” Consider it, that is.

The door was just closing behind her when she overheard Locke tell Ransom, “Good thinking. Keep her away from Thane.”

Dragons? She'd worked for them for a year, kept her eyes and ears open, and she still didn’t believe it for a minute.

“They sent a
mediator
to deal with me?” Thane was trembling on the verge of change. Again. He’d suffered through the meeting with Dr. Buckley, and gazing upon the remains of his wife and boy, his heir, had been difficult enough, but this? This was an outrage.

He could almost feel his son, warm and pink with life, in his hands. Smell that sweet milky scent. Gaze upon the deep blue of his eyes, so wide and alert that Thane knew he’d have grown up strong. Been a leader, heir to the Ealdian hoard. The finest black dragon…ever.

Did the Heolstors think he was so far gone that he wouldn’t fight to bring his family home at last? They deserved to come home. To be put to rest. Honored.

“Yes, sir. A Bloodkin by the name of Emerson Clark.” Matthew had been with him for centuries, sustained by dragon blood, but this past decade into Thane’s sixty-year seclusion, he’d taken to standing across the room when delivering news of any kind.

“Clark isn’t a Blood name,” Thane observed. But Emerson was. Or had been once. In fact, he remembered a time long, long ago when it had been Emmerich.

“Shall I take the meeting on your behalf?”

The Heolstor claim was an insult, a prevarication, a ploy. They knew very well that their family tree was complete, the bones of all their dead gone to ash. That Carreen had gripped their sigil through the ages didn’t mean she belonged to them. She’d held it all that time so that she could hand it to her husband. A gift, like the peace of an olive branch—the identity of their child’s murderer.

It meant she hadn’t run away after all. The rumors that Thane himself had been responsible for the deaths of his wife and their son would finally be put to rest, too.

“No,” Thane said. Matthew had taken on the Ealdian business affairs in preparation for Thane’s final shift into his dragon, but Thane would handle this himself, as a man. He wouldn’t dishonor Carreen’s act of courage by returning his ear to the Night Song, no matter how sweetly it called him into fire and flight. “Send the mediator to me when he comes.”

“What are you going to do?”

Matthew knew him so well.

Thane would handle this the old way. “I’m going to eat him.”

***

“My meeting should be done by five at the latest,” Emerson said to her long-ago foster brother Bryan as she exited the limousine.
Bryan! I get to see Bryan!
Was it professional to dance in the street? “Then I’ll head over.” Bryan and Mexican food—the perfect combo.

“I’ll be there,” he said. “Can’t wait to see you, Ember.”

Emerson grinned. Ember. She’d thought the name was so cool when she was seventeen. “Feeling’s mutual. You have no idea.”

Bryan was the closest thing she had to a brother. She should’ve kept in better touch. The Bloodkin controlled so much of her life, but they didn’t control her phone.

Tip in hand, she leaned down to the front passenger window of the limo to speak to the driver.

“Thank you so much for your help today. I don’t think I’ll need you anymore.” She was already downtown, and the restaurant wasn’t far.

“Please, no,” he said, warding off the cash. “It’s already taken care of.”

Of course it was
.

She stepped back onto the sidewalk, inhaling deeply, enjoying the early summer afternoon air. So far, everything about Santa Barbara was gorgeous—the weather, the flowers in bloom, the hope for new life. Maybe she’d move here after she quit.

Then she marched up the steps of the townhouse in front of her. Mr. Ealdian had apparently taken an entire home instead of putting himself up in a hotel for a few days while he met with Dr. Buckley at the university. A whole house. Who did that?

For the second time that day, she rang a doorbell. Waiting, she smoothed her skirt and patted her blouse. With any luck, she’d be done here in half an hour.

The door opened to a man in a trim navy suit, slightly balding, with sea-gray eyes. His composure was so quiet and contained that she concluded he must be Matthew Chandler, Mr. Ealdian’s personal secretary, with whom she’d been corresponding by e-mail.

She held out her hand. “Emerson Clark for Mr. Ealdian.”

Pink spots flushed the man’s cheeks. Then, clearly unsettled, he stepped aside, gaze dropping to the gleaming hardwood floors. “Please…
my lady
, do come in.”

Again, expecting a guy
. What was the Bloodkin’s problem with women who had androgynous names? It’s not like Emerson was
that
uncommon for a girl. “You seem surprised.”

“Begging your pardon,” he said, deeply apologetic. “Your name contains a patronymic. Emer
son
. I made a foolish assumption.”

“Please don’t worry about it.” She entered, taking in the tall foyer, spare but spacious, with a long console to the right and a sweeping stair to the left in the same deep, gleaming wood as the floor. Very elegant. Very money.

“Are you accompanied?” Mr. Chandler stood at the threshold, searching the street. The limo had already pulled away.

“No, it’s just me today.”

He stepped back inside. “My apologies again, but I’m afraid I will have to reschedule your appointment.”

Because of her
name
? She stared at him, and then reminded herself that she was going to quit. Maybe even this week if the university continued to cooperate.

“All right. Would you like to set another appointment now,” she asked, “or would you like to consult with Mr. Ealdian and contact me later?”

“I will contact you shortly.”

“That will be fine. It was nice meeting you.”
Or not meeting you
.

She turned and reached for the door handle to let herself out, but he put a hand to the door.

“Of course, I’ll have a car take you.” Mr. Chandler sounded appalled at the thought of her leaving alone.

“No, thank you. It’s a lovely day. I’d like to walk.”

“A Bloodkin woman
does not
—”

“I’ll be fine.”
Because
this
Bloodkin woman does
.

He moved—or avoided touching her—and she wrenched the door open. The likelihood of crime in this neighborhood was nil, and now she could meet with Bryan even earlier. At last, she had an evening on her terms. What a concept.

She was on the stoop when Mr. Chandler spoke behind her. “My lord, please stay where you are.”

Because women are so dangerous?

“Is Emerson Clark here?” a low voice rumbled.

Emerson hung her head.
So close
.

“There’s been a mistake,” Mr. Chandler said.

“Why do I scent a woman?”

Emerson huffed silently.
Scent? Must be her girl cooties
.

She sighed.
Might as well get this over with
.

She pasted on an extra sunny smile and turned back toward the house. “Mr. Ealdian?” She remained on the stoop but leaned to the side to address the shadow on the stairs. “I’m happy to reschedule for whatever time suits. It’s really no problem.”

A man descended the last few stairs and came into the light.
Oh, sweet Lord
. Did all the Bloodkin have such excellent genes? Thane Ryce Ealdian was way younger than she expected. Mid-thirties, maybe. Sandy hair. Less dashing than the Heolstor brothers, but his cut jaw, full mouth, and the line of his brow were blunt in their sensuality. He was tall and lean, those muscles no doubt developed with the help of a personal trainer and chef. Her belly fluttered in response—
this
Bloodkin, so…raw, was much more her type.

When he stepped fully into the sunlight, she attempted to cover a snort of laughter with a cough and ended up with watery eyes and wheezy breathing instead. He was wearing deep indigo contact lenses with a vertical slit for the pupil. Maybe not her type, after all.

“Please, excuse me.” She fanned her face and blinked back tears. “Allergies.”

This was so rude. She was a professional. Up till now, she’d prided herself on her composure. Clearly, this guy was really into the dragon shifter thing, and she respected that, but man, he’d just taken her by surprise.

“You’ve met with the Heolstor family?” He did have a wonderful voice, so low and resonant that she could feel it in her chest like the bass guitar in a club. “What did Gerard say?”

“Actually, I met with his sons.” She held out her hand. “By the way, I’m Emerson Clark. I’ll be handling the mediation for the Kingman Hills project.”

His hand was dry and hot and strong. “You mean the mediation between Gerard and me?”

She smiled with a shallow nod. “I’m picking up on that, yes.”

Finally, someone who could be direct. She could be, too. “I’m also coming to understand that my being a woman presents a problem.”

“I planned on eating the man Emerson Clark alive.”

She laughed out loud.

He merely lifted a brow. “Are you coming inside?”

Her gaze went to Mr. Chandler, who’d basically just kicked her out. He was pale and his expression crestfallen. He gave a subtle, pleading shake of his head.
No
.

So silly. She wasn’t going to tell on him.

She looked back into to Mr. Ealdian’s very interesting contact lenses. “If I could have just a few minutes of your time to bring you up to speed?”

He gracefully pivoted to clear the doorway, saying silkily, “After you.”

***

Sending a woman was
not
a mistake. Whatever momentary confusion her name had caused, someone had arranged it. No question.

Thane guided her to the house’s study, a hand just skimming the back of her silk blouse. “Can I get you something to drink?”

He stopped at the bar cart to pour himself a glass of Scotch. He needed to give himself something to do. Strangers unsettled him, pumping his blood just a little too fast to be completely safe. And a woman… Well, he’d not allowed one close for years now.

She walked deeper into the study, standing in the center of the room just before the overlarge desk. One of her arms touched the briefcase hanging near her hip. Not quite nervous. As Bloodkin, she should know to be at the very least wary of an old dragon.
We bite
.

She was shorter than most dragon-born. She had clear brown eyes that were level and circumspect. Her light brown hair was too straight to be natural, a layer cut to frame her face. She had a pouty mouth, merely glossed. Her narrow skirt fell to the knee. And her blouse barely showed the notch between her collarbones. She was curvy, but she wasn’t here to seduce. Nevertheless, his fingertips itched to touch her. All of her.

What did they mean by throwing a Bloodkin woman at a dragon near his change? A distraction? A peace offering? For his
wife and child?
No.

“The Heolstor brothers seemed just as surprised when they met me,” she said.

“Were they?” He held up his Scotch to remind her of his offer.

“Oh, no, thank you,” she said as she looked around the study. It wasn’t his, so she’d learn nothing if she were here to spy.

“How did your meeting with Dr. Buckley go?” she asked.

“The remains of the woman and child belong to me.” He’d only allow this farce to play so long, abiding by the Bloodkin Assembly’s strictures on inter-kin conflicts. In this modern age, the Triad who controlled the Assembly had become absolute on maintaining secrecy about dragon matters. No fighting. No fire in the sky. “And the Heolstors know it, too.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” she said and returned her direct gaze to him. “Nevertheless, there is a process.”

How politic. She seemed too intelligent to allow herself to be a pawn.

She went on to describe the actions she’d taken with the university and the donors. When he requested documentation, she reached into her briefcase and produced it. Efficient. Prepared. If she
was
a pawn, she wasn’t a helpless one.

“I hope you can understand,” he said, “how offensive this process is when the remains being kept from me are that of my late wife and son.”

The space between her brows wrinkled in what seemed like momentary confusion. Thoughts flickered behind her eyes—
she hadn’t known about his loss?
—but she kept her composure. “I will do my utmost to bring it to a speedy—”

Thane slapped the desk in frustration and felt one of its legs give with a crash. “Who sent you?”

She blinked at the noise, startled, but she didn’t shrink. “My boss informed me that a Bloodkin had to handle this matter, and so here I am.”

“Who?
A name
. Who directed you to take on this mediation?” Her involvement had to have somehow been arranged by the Heolstors.
Have this woman for the one we took from you
. He was not so easily bought.

A knock sounded at the door.

Thane ignored it.

The door opened anyway.

“My lord, if I may—”

Thane inclined his head over his shoulder, snarling. “Get out.”

When he looked back at Emerson Clark, her gaze was full of censure, but still no fear. If anything, she was showing more grit. “My boss is Martin Fraser.”

Thane was not so unaffected. “Fraser isn’t a Bloodkin name.”

“I’m not sure who’s Bloodkin and who’s not within the company. I just do my work as well as I can.”

Not sure who…? Unbelievable
.

Of course, the Bloodkin had staff all over the world—lawyers and businessmen to manage concerns. Few were kin themselves, and those who were of the Blood, were young like this Emerson—
a ridiculous name for a woman
—and only there to educate themselves on how the world’s networks operated.