Chapter Six
Edmund had never been one for complaint for the length of a road trip. Especially, since Cassandra’s hold on him hadn’t loosened a single degree for the past two hours. Her head lay buried against his back, and the leather seat of his borrowed Boulevard hadn’t eased his discomfort.
She’d directed him out of Seattle, through the small town of Little Glacier. Along the way, they’d stopped, and he’d bought another helmet and she’d exchanged her sexy black skirt for a pair of jeans and long-sleeved shirt. He’d tossed in a leather jacket for her and laughed when she tried to protest him paying for it.
Flyaway hairs from beneath her helmet danced in the wind.
Why would Hera have chosen her for him? She made him feel so… different. Fire exploded in his stomach, and his skin burned in all the places she’d touched him. He was no stranger to extinguishing his sexual desires with women, but these feelings stirred inside him by Cassandra were unknown to him. A result of the mark, where he’d shared a piece of his soul with her, he was certain.
These had to be her feelings. Confused. Genuine. Afraid.
The feelings of an innocent.
She nudged him on his left side. He turned up the driveway to a two-story country style home with wood slate shingle siding and a bay window nestled in the woods at the base of the mountain. His feet planted on the dry soil, she placed her hands on his shoulders and swung her leg back over the seat to dismount. “I’ll open the garage door, there’s nothing in there but an old canoe and some of my dad’s tools and fishing rods.”
Inside, he carried in the contents of his saddle bags. A stone fireplace extended up the far wall of the living room. A set of stairs led up to a loft and beneath was the kitchen and dining room. She disappeared to the right, where another bedroom and bathroom had been tucked under the stairs. “Should we find your father and make him aware we have come?”
Cassandra’s brows furrowed. She frowned. “No. My dad doesn’t come here anymore. Just me. And not that often.”
“He is deceased?”
Cassandra’s eyes grew dark with fury. “Murdered more like it. My father wasn’t one to heed threats. When he refused to comply with an order from the Keepers, they killed him. Of course, they made it look like an accident.”
“And you have proof of this?”
Cassandra laughed. “Of course not. Do you think they would leave evidence behind?”
He followed her to the bar of the kitchen. She took the bag of food he’d pulled from his saddle bags. “Sounds harsh for not wanting to follow the rules of the Keepers. A misunderstanding?”
“Oh no. There is no misunderstanding. My father was a social worker. His job was to ensure dragon born were matched up with their own kind when they hatched, or dragonesses couldn’t care for their own. But then Master Doyen passed in his sleep and we answer to a new director of the society now.”
Edmund took the items she handed him, her fingers brushing his, sparks of fire passing between them. She felt it, too. He could see the desire under those thick lash hooded eyes.
“Dragons are no different, hold on to the old. We do not embrace change either,” he said, trying to focus on anything but those magnetic blue eyes. Deep, like the Glyfada Lake of his birth place, they had him sunken for her.
Cassandra laughed. “Margaret has taken our rules and twisted them to her benefit.”
“And those who oppose?”
“She disposes of them. That’s where Drake and Raymond come in.” Cassandra turned, getting a knife and spreading mayo over slices of bread.
“So, Keepers and dragons?”
“We’re not allowed to bond as the dragon riders of our ancestors once did. It is forbidden. We can’t marry or carry a dragon’s mark.” She held up her wrist for him to see, his mark faint, but more visible than before.
He took her wrist, kissed the mark. Kissed her palm. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment. “And Margaret has changed this?”
Cassandra’s eyelids fluttered up. “As Keepers we are the protectors. We always placed the dragon fiú with their own kind, but not anymore. Margaret has them fostered within the Keepers of our society, those she thinks are of value to her.”
Edmund clenched his teeth. “And the others?”
By the pallor of her face, he knew her answer would bring him more anger. “Traded to governments and sold to the highest bidder, that is those that have managed to hatch. And as you know, the egg market.”
“Which is where you come in.” He released her hand, swallowing the bile rising in his throat. He turned and walked away from her.
“It’s not like that.” She hurried after him. Grabbed his arm. He jerked away from her. Blinding anguish and anger filled him. Then a small part of him sensed her regret, her grief, and her remorse. “Then what is it like?” he managed to grit out between his teeth.
“I don’t like it either, but I don’t have a choice.” Her eyes glazed over, and tears rimmed and dripped down her lashes.
“There is always a choice.” His dragon roared inside him. He had to get out of there before he couldn’t control it. He took long strides, pained by her grief, propelled by his dragon side. He didn’t look back. He heard her in his head. Her cries. Her thoughts.
Something about her mother.
It didn’t matter.
As he walked, his dragon unleashed. His shoulder blades popped allowing his wings to emerge. He ran, needing to get further into the forest. He barely had enough time to unlace and kick off his boots and shed his jeans before the dragon side of him took over.
Cassandra set up her easel on the back patio. For the past three days, she’d been alone. Not completely alone. She had her cell phone, which still got signal, and she’d found the laptop she kept here. Edmund’s absence weighed heavily on her. She rubbed the mark on her wrist, knowing it wouldn’t go away. Day by day the branded symbol became more apparent. Because of it, she could feel him.
Last evening, she’d felt him so close, her heart sped with excitement for him to come through the door. She shook her head. She couldn’t keep thinking of him in this way. She didn’t want any attachments.
She couldn’t bear the pain of losing someone she loved again.
And it was wrong for her to love him. Ha! Love him! Tree days alone made a girl think crazy things.
She dipped her brush into the gold paint, curling her bristles to form the horns of the dragon in her painting. Even though, she’d caught only a glimpse of his magnificent form under the lights in the parking garage that evening, his lathed body haunted her dreams.
So much so, she had to paint him.
It wasn’t enough for her to Google him. Edmund St. George hadn’t lied. That was his name. What he hadn’t shared with her came as a humble trait she admired. Blaring from the speaker of her cell phone, she listened to the heavy metal rock band, Lure. With every loud clash and beat of the drums, her heart thudded with thoughts of him.
She doubted any girl ever told her Roman God no, not with as many followers as he and his band had. A pang of jealousy startled her.
He’d better come back soon. “I’m running out of groceries. You wouldn’t want me to starve, would you?”
She pushed her glasses up, tilting her head to view her painting. “If you can hear me, or know what I’m thinking, then please come back.”
A large blank eye stared back at her from the canvas.
Her father always believed dragons were gifts from the Gods, sent down to protect and watch over mankind. Then people like Margaret sought to manipulate them, use them for their own greed and selfishness, and the dragons were called back to the heavens. Except those who had bonded with their human riders.
Cassandra dipped her brush into the paint again, sculpting the horn with her strokes.
It made no difference to her which of the old tales of her ancestors held truth. She’d met dragons. All that mattered to her was the secret she carried. They existed. Not fairytale or magic from the stories her father told her as a little girl.
They were real, breathing, hot-blooded beings.
And she’d bonded with one.
Her cell phone blinked beside her and she put down her brush mid-stroke to check her messages.
Dungeon Friday 10pm
M
Drake wasn’t the only one who had connections. It had taken her two days to get Jacques to return her phone calls. She almost hadn’t answered the anonymous phone number popping up on her phone. He’d gotten a new number. She promised not to give it out. Not even to Margaret. When she updated him on her situation, he’d added to her distress and Edmund’s credibility by filling her in on what went down on the last deal. Margaret’s niece, Emily, had mated with the Giresun pendragon.
So, she wasn’t the only one who’d broken the ancient rule.
Except Cassandra hadn’t done anything wrong. She hadn’t mated with Edmund. Their bond would fade and go away over time. A little voice in her head whispered to hold on to him. Without him she didn’t feel whole.
Unable to concentrate anymore on her painting, she stared at her phone. There was no need for her to answer. Her mind ran with a hundred scenarios on how this would go down. She couldn’t worry about it now. She’d done her part. She’d set Edmund up to meet with Margaret. The hard part would come later, when she had to face Drake again.
Turning off the music on her phone, she gathered up her brushes to wash them.
A breeze through the trees tickled the back of her neck.
“Is that me?”
Cassandra whirled around, her brushes spilling on the desk and rolling between them. Edmund stood, his boots tied together and hitched over his bare shoulder. Nothing on but a faded, ripped, pair of jeans. She managed to breathe. “You came back?”
“You asked me to.”
Cassandra’s stomach fluttered, delighted with his presence. He left the boots fall with a thud and reached down, picking up her scattered brushes. When he straightened she felt that magnetic pull of his eyes. Her hand curled around his and the brushes. “I d-didn’t expect you to return.”
He placed his hand on her hip, pulling her close. “You missed me.”
“I come out here when I can. Alone. To paint.” She licked her lips.
He tilted his head, lowering it. “You were thinking of me. You’re very talented.”
She put her hand on his chest. “Your shoulder is healed.”
“I have had time to heal and rest… and think.” He brushed his lips across hers.
She moved closer, cursing her body for wanting him, missing him. “And your thoughts brought you back to me?”
He slid his hand down, cupping her ass. Drawing her to feel his hard cock pressing against the restraints of his jeans. “I will always return to you Cassandra. You are my mate. And as my mate, I will find a way to untangle you from the situation that has hold on you.”
“I can’t be your mate,” she whispered against his rough, unshaven, cheek, filled with desire and overwrought with regret.
“The hell with your rules.” He kissed her, parting her lips and plundering her mouth with his tongue. Cassandra wrapped her arms around his neck, whimpering at his invasion. Oh, how she wanted him. Wanted him to claim her as his mate.
She shoved against his chest. “Wait.” His chest heaved under her touch. “There is some place I need you to take me first.”