Vampire Dragon (9 page)
The dream had been a call for help.
But who wanted him to go to the Phoenix? Killian or Bronte?
A knock at Darkwyn’s door startled him. He slipped into his jeans to open it. “Vivica.”
“You shouted Bronte’s name. I heard you clear at the end of the hall. What happened to your face?”
He covered his cheek with the palm of his hand to heal it while she watched. A moment later, the wound had disappeared.
“I won’t kid you,” Vivica said. “Every time I see you or your brothers heal using magick, it freaks me out. Was it the bird?”
Puck squawked. “Contempt: The feeling of a prudent ‘bird’ for an enemy too formidable to be safely opposed. Simply put: ‘Bite Me.’ ”
Darkwyn ignored Puck. “Did I wake you?”
“It’s three AM. What do you think?”
“I think . . . I have to go. Bronte needs me.”
“But you’re not ready.”
“I am. I can speak human, read, write, do math, and find my way back to the Phoenix. Was it ever a church?”
“Before a fire in the nineteenth century, yes. But let me clarify something, you can speak
English
,” she said, “not human, and I don’t think you know your way out of this building.”
English
,” she said, “not human, and I don’t think you know your way out of this building.”
“I do. I have a Google map.” He produced it and waved it in front of her.
Vivica took it from his hand, examined it, and nodded her acknowledgment. “You did ace computer science, but do you know biology, sociology, psychology?”
“I learned about vampires and tonight I tried to learn about Salem, but I dreamed a bit of scary reality. I have looked up the history of the Phoenix. It was rebuilt—now I understand why—by thirty-year-old Zachary Tucker more than a hundred years ago. That would make Bronte’s young Zachary a hundred and thirty years old? Is that suspicious, or what?”
“Not in my line of work. You, yourself, a former Roman warrior, are older than dirt. Besides, humans tend to name their children after parents and grandparents. Zachary is Bronte’s nephew; they
inherited
the building from another Zachary Tucker, likely a son or grandson of the man who rebuilt the place. You’re
too
suspicious.”
inherited
the building from another Zachary Tucker, likely a son or grandson of the man who rebuilt the place. You’re
too
suspicious.”
Of a cat
, he thought. “I’ve been locked in the body of a dragon for centuries, looked after by a white witch, stalked by an evil witch. Suspicious? Me?”
, he thought. “I’ve been locked in the body of a dragon for centuries, looked after by a white witch, stalked by an evil witch. Suspicious? Me?”
“Bronte is also suspicious,” Vivica said. “Do you think she’ll buy into your
dragon
background? Seriously?”
dragon
background? Seriously?”
“Your point?” Darkwyn asked, slipping stacks of black jeans and T-shirts into his duffel bag.
Vivica handed him an open book. “You haven’t learned enough, yet, not to stumble over your own weird truth. Knowledge would make you less clumsy about your past.”
Darkwyn zipped his bag. “With age comes wisdom?”
“One can only hope.”
“I already have enough wisdom to wonder why Bronte doesn’t have a man.” A grating unease ran through him. “She’s too beautiful not to have a protector.”
“I would have told you if she did when you claimed her as your heart mate. By the way, never call yourself her protector. She would be insulted on so many levels. Having a protector is, in some cultures, the mark of a kept woman.”
“I intend to keep her.”
“You tread dangerously. At least learn about how to treat a woman of today.” Vivica handed him the right DVD, and he took it.
Vivica nodded her approval. “Bronte is free to be yours, if she wishes.”
“She does.” Truth was, he did not know as much as he should, but he planned on-the-job training. Yes, he read every night, quite fast, and found pleasure in what he learned in those books. Computer lessons, not so much. “I will catch up with your culture in my own way in my own time.”
Vivica raised her hands in defeat. “What are you planning?” she asked. “I can practically see your mind racing.”
“Does that mean thinking while running?”
“Darkwyn, you need enough knowledge to get past your own weird truth. You’re scaring me. Leave too soon and someone could get hurt.”
“I will apply wisdom to new and old truths.”
“I mean that
Zachary or Bronte
could get hurt, because of what you do not know.”
Zachary or Bronte
could get hurt, because of what you do not know.”
“I would never let that happen.”
“I don’t worry about you. You have the strength of ten, heightened hearing and sight, the powers to heal, read minds, and shape-shift, to flee skyward in an extreme emergency. Mind you, try to fly, and you’ll be shot down like a UFO, but that’s beside the point. I’m not sure you would know how to stop if your inner dragon took control, though you do have a keen instinctual insight.”
“Exactly. I sense when someone’s in trouble. Bronte is in trouble.”
“I won’t argue that. What other lessons do you take with you?”
“The basics to live by on this plane. I liked biology, especially the reproductive system, but not theory. I need hands-on experience.” He opened and closed his fists like claws.
She swatted his arm. “You’re such a man.”
Puck made a clucking sound from his cage. “Bronte practice. Grab, grab, grab. Kiss, kiss, kiss.” He squawked in the trumpeting way that announced a pending quote. “Weakness: Certain primal powers of a Tyrant Woman wherewith she holds dominion over the male of her species binding him to the service of her will and paralyzing his rebellious energies.”
Vivica gave the bird a thumbs-down and turned her back on his cage, brow raised. “The cock’s opinionated.”
Darkwyn scoffed. “Do humans eat parrot?”
Puck squawked. “Well shut my mouth!”
Vivica opened his portfolio. “Incredible, you aced the art course. These pictures—Whoa. Provocative. Bronte in a red corset dress, a black mini.”
“I copied them from her website. It says she’s the ‘Vampiress’ who runs Drak’s.”
“True.” Vivica shuffled through his sketches. “You didn’t get
these
off her website.”
these
off her website.”
He snatched them from her hand. “Sorry, no. Those came straight from my imagination.”
“She’s nearly wearing clothes, but I can see how you’d get there so fast. Her costume is meant to draw customers, and yes, those customers are
mostly
male. Do you think you can watch Bronte interact with other men who enjoy her body as much as you do? They ogle her, you know.”
mostly
male. Do you think you can watch Bronte interact with other men who enjoy her body as much as you do? They ogle her, you know.”
“ ‘Ogle’? I have to look that up. Is it sexual?”
“Almost. Stay a few more days, Darkwyn. Read a dictionary or ten. What’s the rush?”
“Bronte’s in danger.”
“From what? Her customers? Outside sources?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Know your friends and enemies. Did you open this DVD on vampires and witches?”
He packed that lesson as well.
“Witch,” Puck said. “An ugly and repulsive old woman, in a wicked league with the devil.”
Vivica gasped. “Shut it bird before I roast you on a spit, or worse, before I take your voice.
I’m
a witch. No devil.”
I’m
a witch. No devil.”
Puck fluffed his feathers. “Rewind. Witch: a beautiful and attractive young woman.”
Vivica nearly smiled as she opened Darkwyn’s door to leave. “Stay,” she begged one last time, but she did not expect him to listen, because, as she’d often said, he rarely did. “If you go,” she added. “
When
you go, take your lessons and your cell phone, and call if you have questions.”
When
you go, take your lessons and your cell phone, and call if you have questions.”
“Will do.”
“Please remain circumspect about your situation.” Slipping her business card into his T-shirt pocket, his mentor stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll be here when you need me, because you will.”
His bedroom door closed as he opened the bird’s cage. “Puck, remind me to look up ‘circumspect.’ Now, I’ll hear the rules, please.”
“Don’t sit on your head.”
Squawk
. “Don’t poop on the girl.”
Squawk.
“Don’t kick the cat.”
Squawk
. “Don’t poop on the girl.”
Squawk.
“Don’t kick the cat.”
ELEVEN
Bronte surged up and out of her nightmare with a
scream trapped in her throat.
scream trapped in her throat.
Her room, she saw, not the pitch-black inside of a closet.
Silence, she heard, not the approach of a killer.
Alone
, she thought. No Darkwyn with a bullet in his chest.
, she thought. No Darkwyn with a bullet in his chest.
She released her breath and fell against her pillows, hand to her thumping heart. “Blessed be.”
The Phoenix had looked different, like a church, Scorch the cat, at first evil, turned tame. A threat, but not to her. Yet.
Another phoenix rose up in her mind’s eye. Darkwyn. Nearby. His heart beating with worry beneath a tattoo that, to her, symbolized victory. If only . . .
Her tricky psychic gifts in play, Bronte rose to put on her mask and wrap, and she went to the balcony, her emotions at war.
Joy trumped anxiety, layering her fears in an odd sort of way, anticipation at the base of it all.
Opening her mind, she sensed Darkwyn’s yearning as she watched him hesitate when he saw her.
She stopped fighting fear to give him a sense of her positive reaction to seeing him. And how did she know he’d catch either nuance, unless he was as empathetic as her. Well, more empathetic, hopefully. He must be.
Darkwyn Dragonelli could make her open to him, a stranger who should frighten her, though he seemed more like a friend. Odd, his affect on her. Troubling.
Everything she’d experienced in life—including a mother who’d been battered before and after her birth—trained her to hide in every possible way, emotions included. The more mysterious she remained, she believed, the more power
she
wielded. Yet this invader coming her way turned determination to dust scattered like dry leaves in the autumn wind.
she
wielded. Yet this invader coming her way turned determination to dust scattered like dry leaves in the autumn wind.
She should . . . see a psychiatrist first thing in the morning, which wouldn’t help her now.
Maybe a twenty-four-seven Internet shrink would do, but did she close the French doors and go find one? No.
She waited on her balcony for
Darkwyn Dragonelli
—tall drink of stud-sculpture, atypical Greek god, broad, straight-spined, regal bearing. Interested in helping
her
; the paradox.
Darkwyn Dragonelli
—tall drink of stud-sculpture, atypical Greek god, broad, straight-spined, regal bearing. Interested in helping
her
; the paradox.
His effect: mouth-drying, knee-weakening, womb-pulsing, so stimulating, she must try not to pounce.
She should grab her stash of vibrators and lock herself in the bathroom, though she’d probably still emerge wanting
him
.
him
.
As he came closer, taking a breath became an act of will: inflate lungs, deflate.
Heart, don’t stop pumping now.
Heart, don’t stop pumping now.
Her flowing white wisp of a robe billowed around what must appear to be her nakedness in the chill predawn air, this pink baby doll nightie, her least substantial item of night clothing. She’d worn it for a reason she hated to admit, though she didn’t know why exactly. Yet here he came.
Finding her waiting here on her balcony at the hush of the hour, her yard in shadow, should give Darkwyn the impression that she, and the universe, welcomed him.
A swirl of leaves waved him closer, the ripe scents of apples, pears, and pumpkins, as the earth prepared for a winter sleep, welcomed him.
On this amazing night, she’d try a bit of magick, utilizing the witchcraft she’d been trying to learn from her friend Vickie Cartwright and Vickie’s triplet sisters to help protect herself and Zachary.
In her room, she lit a candle to raise a flame, and set it on the floor of the balcony. She sprinkled salt around herself, protection, as she hoped to open to a man she knew nothing about, though Vivica approved him. Even now, Mother Nature brought him on a current of sea air and a swirl of winged maple seeds.
“Earth, air, water, fire,
Pure of heart, make him aspire.
Match his needs to my desire.
One in flesh, two go higher.Bless this man ringed in fire,
Sent by fate as head vampire.
Crazed in doubt, I am mired,
Ease my mind as I require.This I will, so mote it be.
And it harm none.
Bring him to me.”
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