Chapter 16
Zane stared at Jean-Claude’s butler, his glass of champagne halfway to his mouth. “Ms. McKenna requested a meeting?” he repeated stupidly. “With me?”
He barely stopped himself from asking why, and looking like a bigger idiot than he already did. This was what they wanted, wasn’t it? It was why they’d come. And yet, it seemed too easy. Did she suspect that they had the idol? Or did she know?
He was still staring at Blaylock. Luckily for him, the butler was extremely well-trained and didn’t smack him on the head and ask if he was deaf, the way Tyr would have.
“Indeed, sir. On terrace off the study. If you would come this way, please?”
Zane looked around the party. Tyr was across the room, dancing with a pretty blond woman in a green dress cut way down in the back, his hand resting on her bare skin. Her hips were plastered to his, and she was gazing up at him like he was the best piece of chocolate lava cake ever—and she was about to eat every bite.
And Thorne had disappeared—ironically, to hunt for Blaze. He almost called out to one of them mentally, but at the last second he didn’t.
He wanted to see her alone. He had to see her alone. He couldn’t meet the woman of his dreams for the first time with his brothers hovering over them.
“Mr. Greystone? Ms. McKenna is waiting.”
Zane started, realizing he was still standing like an idiot, staring into space.
Blaylock had one eyebrow slightly raised. That, and the tiny disapproving edge to his tone, told Zane he’d been head-slapped after all, butler-style.
He followed the butler’s stick-up-the-ass attitude down a plush carpeted hallway and into a dim, hushed room lined with bookshelves, containing a scattering of deep leather couches and a gleaming mahogany desk complete with a cut-glass decanter and glasses on a tray.
The whole room looked like it had been decorated by someone who’d seen too many movies starring wealthy asshole businessmen. Clichés everywhere, down to the mounted deer head on the wall. Unusual for green liberal hippie Portland. Of course, D’Amboise was a law until himself. And Zane had a feeling killing animals for sport was the least of Jean-Claude’s sins.
The terrace was even dimmer than the study, but through the open French doors Zane could see a glint of Blaze’s hair in the moonlight outside. His heart quickened. He was about to talk to her—his dream woman. Hear her voice in person for the first time.
The idol felt suddenly heavy in his pocket. Was that a faint murmur he heard? Or just the distant sound of the party? He closed his hand briefly over his pocket. A chill radiated out from the velvet pouch.
Blaylock gestured to the terrace doors, and then stepped discreetly back through the double doors that opened from the hallway, closing them behind him. Zane heard the sound of a key in the lock. It raised his hackles until he realized the latch was on this side—the locked door was apparently for their privacy, not to keep them in.
Not that Zane had to worry about that. He could always use his wings to get out, if necessary.
He took a deep breath, and then walked between the fluttering sheer curtains out onto the terrace. He caught a glimpse of an expanse of starry sky before he turned to meet the woman of his dreams.
“Hello,” he said, extending his hand. “Thank you for meeting me. I—”
That was as far as he got. Two silken ropes twined around his wrists and yanked, as if held by invisible hands. Before he could react, he was suspended a few inches off the ground, his arms spread over his head in a Y-shape.
Zane fought, trying to escape the spell, but this was different from last night. The spell itself wasn’t touching him—it was only animating the ropes that held him. He couldn’t brush away the magic so easily this time.
She’d outsmarted him. He was trapped.
Before he could say a word, Blaze made a swift movement with her hands. His shirt ripped open down the front and spread wide, exposing his heart.
Oh, hell, Zane thought. This can’t be good. She must have recognized him from last night.
And she was clearly holding a grudge.
Blaze walked right up to him, ignoring his struggles, and ran her hands over his chest. The heat from her fingers seemed to strike all the way down into his bones.
His exclamation turned into a murmured exhale. “What the hell are you doing to me?”
“Where’s your tattoo?” she demanded.
“My what?”
He had no idea what she was talking about. Thorne? he said in his head. Little help here? I’m on the terrace outside the study. He projected a picture of its location. Come from outside. Cloak yourself. We’re having an issue with the lovely Ms. McKenna.
Saw you leave. Already on my way.
“Your coven tattoo.” Blaze jerked her hand back, walked around behind him, and magically ripped the back of his shirt and jacket as well. He shivered at the sudden touch of the night air on his bare skin.
Or maybe it was her making him shiver.
He felt her fingers on his left shoulder blade, and sucked in his breath involuntarily. Just that small contact sent electricity shooting through his body.
She thought he was a sorcerer. An evil one, if the way he was hanging from his wrists like laundry on a clothesline was anything to go by.
“I’m not in a coven,” he told her. “I came here in good faith to—”
She came around to face him again. “Stop lying. You must be. You’re too powerful to be solo, and I felt power in the others, too.”
There was a sudden gust of wind, and Zane felt Thorne’s dragon presence just above the terrace. Then his brother shifted mid-air, uncloaked and landed on the terrace behind Blaze, in human form.
Watch out, bro. She has a spell—
Too late.
The minute Thorne’s feet hit the balcony, more silken ropes sprang to life and he was strung up the same way Zane was. Blaze whipped around and tore Thorne’s shirt open with her magic.
Damn. Beautiful witch: 2, Dragons: 0
Not the heroic first impression he’d intended to make.
Blaze backed up, looking from one to the other. “All right,” she said. “No tattoos, no coven. So spill it. Who are you people, why are you after my idol, and how much pain do I have to put you through to get it back?”
Thorne said, “We’re not after the idol.”
Blaze snapped, “Don’t give me that crap.” She looked accusingly at Zane. “You’ve been hounding me for weeks, and when I wouldn’t meet with you, you came to my house and stole it.”
“I was the one who asked to meet you,” Thorne said—fairly politely, considering the circumstances and Thorne’s temperament. “I’m Thorne Greystone. This is my brother Zane.”
Blaze seemed momentarily taken aback when she realized she’d targeted the wrong brother, but she continued her attack. “Big deal, you’re not the one that broke in,” she said to Thorne. “All that means is you send minions to do your dirty work.”
Minions? That stung. “Hey,” Zane protested. “I’m hanging right here. No need to be calling names.”
He could hardly concentrate, she looked so gorgeous, furiously angry and crackling with power. A worthy mate, his dragon rumbled.
Mate? The word speared through him like lightning. He’d hoped, but… she wasn’t a dragon. How could she be one of the Three Mates of Destiny?
Unless she wasn’t. What if she was just… his?
There was a shadow at the French doors, and Tyr appeared. Of course. The locked study doors wouldn’t have been a problem for him.
Blaze backed up a step, her arms going up in preparation for another spell. Tyr at least had the sense not to step on the terrace, avoiding the rope trap spell.
Witch: 2, Dragons: 1.
Tyr stayed just inside the study, leaning on the doorjamb, taking in the sight of his bound, bare-chested brothers with their shirts and jackets in tatters. “Well. This looks like a kinky yet potentially fun game. Sort of a reverse harem thing going on. Can I play?”
Thorne said impatiently, “She’s looking for coven tattoos.”
“I’m looking for answers,” Blaze said.
Tyr looked at Thorne. “Coven tattoos? She thinks we’re sorcerers? That’s adorable.” He made his shirt and tux jacket vanish, keeping his bow tie intact. He looked like a male stripper. He twirled slowly, letting Blaze get a good look at his chest and back, flexing for good measure. Zane was happy to see that Blaze looked less than impressed.
“No tattoos here either,” Tyr said. “Would you like me to take off my pants, just to make sure?”
“No,” said Blaze, Zane and Thorne simultaneously.
Tyr shrugged. “Your loss.”
Blaze glared, but apparently decided against smiting him. Zane wished she would. His dragon was not happy that Tyr was showing off his muscles to their mate.
Instead, she turned to Thorne. “I know who you are. You’re well known on the Shadow Market—you make good on your deals, and you don’t fuck with people to try to get out of paying. If the wrong people should find out you’ll steal what you can’t buy, your reputation will go to hell. One word from me to Jean-Claude, and you’re finished.”
Thorne said, very coolly for a man strung up by his wrists, “So what are you proposing?”
While Blaze’s attention was diverted, Zane was working quietly at neutralizing the spell that held the ropes. It was trickier than eluding a spell that was touching him, but he could do it. It would just take a couple of minutes.
Blaze said, “Give me back the idol.”
“We never wanted the idol,” Thorne replied. “I wanted the Dragonfly of Morocco. It may be something I’ve been hunting for a long time.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So why did your minion decide to take the idol instead?”
The spell unraveled, and the ropes slithered off Zane’s wrists. Witch: 2, Dragons: 2. All even. “Not a minion,” he said, his temper rising. “And I didn’t. It came to me.”