Authors: Annette Blair

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Paranormal, #General

Vampire Dragon (27 page)

BOOK: Vampire Dragon

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Darkwyn got up and tossed something toward the bed. “I found coveralls last night when I checked on Zachary, and you get the only down quilted vest in the place. Wear it against your skin, to protect your scar from the coveralls’ rough fabric. Need help getting dressed?”

“Nope, if we ever want to leave this room, I’d better do it myself.” She wiggled her brows and he looked stricken by his reaction. “You don’t mind my scar, do you?” she asked.

“Me? I’m a regular five-scar production, and I have not heard you complain.”

“I like your scars,” she said. “They give you character.”

“I feel the same. You’d better dress before I have to show you how much you matter to me.”

She disappeared into the bathroom, high on the power of her effect on him.

Darkwyn had left the room by the time she came out. The “coveralls” was actually a jumpsuit, but English wasn’t his first language. It had been brilliant, and thoughtful, of him to suggest the vest to protect her wound. A gentle man, in and out of bed. Not a bad catch for a woman who swore she’d never marry.

Whoa.
What had she done marrying a dragon man?

Bronte stopped before rounding the corner from the hallway into the foyer, to regain her composure and check on Darkwyn and Zachary in the hostelry’s self-serve, common, cooktop dining area. Make sure they were really okay, with the situation and each other.

“Really,” Darkwyn said, sipping his coffee. “Was the old Zachary Tucker married?”

Bronte was surprised Zachary had told Darkwyn about old Zachary. This made three living people who knew.

“Yes, old man Tucker’s wife died young. Left him free to be married to the mob.” Zachary hesitated, groaned, and held his head with both hands. “Why didn’t I ever suspect?”

“Suspect what?”

“Gina’s car accident. The mob wanted all the old man’s time and attention, and after he lost Gina, he was so broken, he gave them everything.”

That jarred Bronte. She hadn’t considered the mob in Gina’s death, either. How stupid was she?

“I’m sorry,” Darkwyn said.

Zachary smacked the table with the side of his fist. “I could kill th—no, see, that’s what they do to you. They turn you to vengeance at any cost, like them. Gina’s probably been waiting to scold the old man for years. I hope this reincarnation thing isn’t an unending cycle.”

“If it is,” Darkwyn said, “you might find Gina in this life, in college, maybe, and hey, maybe she’ll remember you like you remember her.”

Zachary chuckled. “I think I hear the old man snorting. Thanks for pulling me out of the funk I was about to fall into, though.”

“Which are
you
, exactly?” Darkwyn asked. “The old Zachary or the young?”

“Funny thing happened on the way to running from the mob. The old guy’s name was Zachary Tucker. He had inherited the Phoenix Hotel building—a secret he guarded well, but, then, I know what he knew—so we grabbed the hidden deed before we ran. I took the old man’s name as my alias so I could claim the last Zachary Tucker as my great-grandfather, and inherit his building.

“After your reincarnated ramblings as a child, you don’t think you gave Sanguedolce a reason to search for Zachary Tucker after you left?” Darkwyn asked.

Zachary flipped the Spam in the pan. “Believe me, my killer grand-monster was afraid I was repeating something I overheard from one of his men. He watched me only because he wanted to know who to kill. Sanguedolce believed only in himself, his ultimate power and control. In a million years, he wouldn’t believe in reincarnation or anything smacking of the supernatural. Ever. Besides, there are like a million Zachary Tuckers on the Internet. Bronte and I hid, literally, in plain sight.”

“No problem inheriting the Phoenix.”

“Nope. Vivica gave us the right papers and put the building in a trust for me. You know that woman can do anything. Anyway, my signature actually resembles the old man’s. Must be a by-product of reincarnation.”

Darkwyn sipped his tomato juice and nodded. “How is the old guy with all this?”

“His earth suit may be worm food, but his memories are as sharp as when I lay in my crib counting the tiles in the ceiling.”

“Do you ever feel
stuck
in a twelve-year-old body?”

“What better place for a centenarian than inside a fresh, agile body? What twelve-year-old wouldn’t want the mind of a brilliant inventor?”

“Invent us an escape,” Darkwyn said. “From Mount Washington—in a blizzard that could last for days—to Salem, Massachusetts,
with
an ingeniously stunning preemptive strike on the mob ready to launch.”

“I said I was brilliant, not God.”

THIRTY-EIGHT

“Speaking of deities,” Darkwyn said, “all of whom I
thank profusely for saving my wife, I need to go see if she needs help. She’s taking longer than I—”

“I’m fine,” Bronte said, turning the corner. And she was, except for the reminder of the enemies they must soon confront.

Zachary got up and went to the cooktop. “If I had been telling the truth about your breakfast, it’d be cold or burnt by now.”

“You know me well,” Bronte said, planting a kiss on Zachary’s head and one on Darkwyn’s lips.

Puck flew in and perched on a brass rail. “Sunflower seeds, over easy.”

“A handful of mixed nuts for you,” Zachary said, placing them in the middle of a table. “Sass me and I’ll give you another shower.”

“No sass for badass,” Puck said, grooming his feathers. “Do dragons breathe fire?”
Squawk.

“No,” Darkwyn said, pouring himself another can of tomato juice. “They breathe air. Spam all around, Zachary. Need some help? We have to fly out of here as soon as we finish breakfast.”

“There’s a whiteout blizzard out there,” Bronte warned.

“Fortunately, this place rents ski mobile suits. You and Zachary will be warm as toast.”

“And our pilot?” she asked.

“Feathers and scales,” Puck squawked. “Feathers and scales.
Brr.
Makes you wanna ride in a coffin.”

Darkwyn shook his head. “Hopefully I can shift back into a dragon and use my fire to melt the snow for maybe ten to fifteen feet around us, enough to get us above the clouds.”

“That’s nearly as bad as flying blind,” Zachary said.

Puck tilted his head. “I fly blind. Follow me.”

Zachary nodded, a half smile on his face. “Puck’s right. He may not return to Capistrano every year, but birds have a flawless sense of direction. They have a genetic predisposition to migrate with the ability to sense the magnetic field of the earth. Puck made the trip here. It’s in his memory banks to make the trip back. No sight needed.”

“I would have that ability if not for Bronte’s loss of blood.”

“What?” she asked.

“I suffer what you suffer. My brother Bastian says it is normal to feel a heart mate’s pain.”

“You never told me. I’m sorry.”

“It is a blessing. I will always know when you need to rest, or anything.”

“Anything?”
Like when I want to make love
, she thought.

“Yes, that,” he said.

“What? You can read my mind, too?”

“The closer we get the easier I can read you, but that can be a good thing. When I am a dragon, I cannot talk, but I can communicate telepathically. It would help on the trip home if you could, too. Try opening your psychic mind to mine. Close your eyes and listen. Everybody else in the room, close your minds, please.”

“Yeah, right,” Zachary said, walking away, his hands over his ears, singing one of the old man’s favorite songs: “Fools Rush In.” Probably as a warning to them.

Bronte tried to listen for Darkwyn’s inner voice. She really did. “I can’t hear you, Darkwyn,” she said after a few minutes, her emotions mixed about reading him so closely.

“Listen again,” he said. “No, do not crumple your face like that. You are trying too hard. Relax and let my words in. Listen with that big beautiful heart of yours.”

Why did you run when first our eyes met?
That easy, his question came to her mind. She couldn’t have made that up, couldn’t have anticipated him asking.

She formed an answer in thought:
I knew you would change my life if I let you. I was afraid, and my instant attraction to you scared me.

I was awed by you. You are perfect and psychic.

Psychic when I least want to be. Like now. Never perfect.

“Yes, you are,” he said, speaking out loud and leaning charmingly near. “We communicate well without words.” He gave her a look that promised: more to come.

I love you
, she thought she heard, an unacceptable sentiment.
Scary words.
Words she refused to acknowledge. An emotion she resisted, love. A non truth. A non possibility. Especially for her.

“You missed something,” he said out loud.

“I ignored it,” she responded. “Don’t think it again. Not that.”

How about: I want to see your face
, he communicated.
No mask.

No doubt about it, she “heard” that perfectly.

I promise
, she thought in reply,
when I take off my mask, you will be the first to see my face
.

He took her hand and squeezed. “Good enough,” he said so Zachary and the pests could hear. “You are psychic, or you would never have picked up on the telepathy.”

“I admit, I’ve thought I read you a few times before this, but not specific words, just intentions. My psychic abilities have always been sketchy.”

“Believe in yourself,” he said. “We will talk about this, again, when we are home in Salem. Time now to dress for the snow.”

“This trip feels crazy,” she said. “Flying over clouds in a dragon’s arms. Seriously? Fairy tale much?”

“It is crazy, I have no doubt, especially with Killian waiting for us. One thing we have to do midflight is communicate fast. Listen to every word. Mine will be few and filled with meaning.”

“I understand.” She cared more for this man by the minute and wished she regretted it.

“Leave a note from me for the owner of this place,” he said, “care of Works Like Magick, with Vivica’s phone number, and tell them we’ll pay for goods and damages.”

“Fair enough,” Bronte said.

“I’d prefer you didn’t watch my transformation,” Darkwyn said. “The in-between feels ugly, so it must look so. Do this for me. Wait fifteen minutes, then come out.”

“You transformed faster at the house,” Zachary said.

“Because I was under duress, fearful, and furious. It takes longer to force a shift, especially in this instance with Bronte’s injuries weakening me and my awareness that I’ll be putting her in danger again with the trip.”

“We don’t have a choice.” Bronte met Darkwyn’s troubled gaze. “Sanguedolce has forced our hand.”

“I am well aware of that.” He removed the door, causing a general gasp, and left them.

THIRTY-NINE