Chapter Fifteen
A sharp jolt of pain woke Constance. She cried out.
“Almost there,” a deep male voice promised. She frowned, trying to remember where she was and why she hurt so much. And most importantly, who the voice belonged to.
She tried to force her eyes to open, but it wasn’t easy and took quite a bit of effort. Everything hurt. Even the roots of her hair ached. Pain cocooned her, holding her until she wanted to give in and sob, not only for the physical trauma she’d suffered, but also for the emotional pain enveloping her.
When she managed to pry her eyes open, the faint light hurt. It wasn’t quite night, and it wasn’t yet dawn, but the in-between time. Her mouth was as dry as a cotton ball. “What—” She swallowed and tried again. “What happened?”
They were definitely in the desert. The land was desolate outside her window. She shivered as the sheer aloneness of the place settled over her. They weren’t on the main highway, either. This was a smaller road of hard-packed dirt.
She managed to turn her head to the side. She recognized the driver immediately. Who could ever forget Nicodemus Wilde? She knew she never would. He had her heart.
The van went over a slight bump, jarring her. She cried out as pain ricocheted through her. The pain was what she remembered the most about the evening. She tried to remember. The warehouse, the statues.
“The statues?” If he didn’t have them, that meant Dent and his people did.
“I have three of them.”
Constance gave a sigh of relief. She hoped that was enough. Her eyelids slowly shut again. She was tired, and it was far too much work to keep them open.
“Constance, look at me.” There was a command in his voice so strong that she found herself complying. “Stay with me.”
She frowned. “Where would I go? You’re driving.”
His frown deepened. Even scowling, he was incredibly handsome to her. She could look at him forever. She loved his dark hair hanging to his shoulders like a black curtain, the strong lines of his face, and his full lips. He had a spectacular mouth and knew how to use it.
She could only see his right side and wished she could see his left. His tattoo was gorgeous and primal. “Tattoo.”
“What about my tattoo?” He pulled the vehicle to a halt in front of a single-story adobe house.
“Why is it important?” Dent had been insistent she find out if Nic had one.
Nic put the van in park and then climbed out without answering her question. She watched him walk around the hood. No, not walk, prowl like some great beast on the hunt. He undid her seat belt and lifted her.
She sucked in a breath. It hurt even though she could see he was trying to be careful. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for—crying out, buying the statues in the first place, or betraying him to Dent. She had a lot to apologize for.
He grabbed her bag and shut the door with his hip. His bare hip. Nic was naked. Okay, she had to be hurt worse than she thought not to have noticed that right away. Nic had a body that could have been sculpted by the gods.
“Whose place?” She couldn’t stop talking. Mostly because she was scared to death. She had no idea how angry Nic was with her, or whether the Knights would find them. Chatting also kept her mind off the pain in her shoulder, back, and arm.
“Mine.” He opened the front door and walked inside, kicking the door closed behind him.
The inside was cool, the walls left natural. There were no pictures hung anywhere, but the living room had shelves on two walls, and they were filled with books, pottery, and all kinds of interesting items.
She only caught a glimpse, because he was already moving down the short hallway. He carried her into a bedroom and set her on the bed. She bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming. She knew her shoulder was bad, very bad. Her hand was bloodstained, and the little she could see of the thick bandage wrapped around her shoulder was also red.
Nic strode from the room, leaving her there. What should she do? She was getting weaker by the second. If she didn’t do something, she could die.
And Abigail would be alone.
That got her moving. She inched to the edge of the mattress and tried to push herself upright. Sweat rolled down her temple. The effort was excruciating.
She’d just about made it when Nic walked back in wearing a pair of jeans and carrying a glass. It was opaque, so she couldn’t see what was inside. He’d stopped to get himself a drink?
She wanted to be mad with him but couldn’t be. He’d saved her life. He could have left her back at the warehouse.
Of course, maybe he brought her here to torture her. As soon as she had the thought, she dismissed it. Nic would never hurt her. She knew that to the depths of her soul.
“What are you doing?” He stood in front of her, big and tall and strong. A force of nature.
“Need to get cleaned up. New bandage.” It was taking a lot of effort to talk. She was finding it harder to concentrate. She wasn’t sure how much more time she had before she passed out. She sat back down again.
“It’s going to take more than a bandage to fix you. It looks as though the bullet shattered bone. Your arm isn’t hanging correctly, and you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
She was totally dismayed by his recitation of her injuries. “I’ll be fine.” She had to be. If she wasn’t going to die, she had to get well so she could protect her sister and Nic. Not that he would want her protection, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t give it.
He crouched in front of her and held out the glass. “Drink this.”
She lowered her head. Big mistake. Everything blurred. “What?”
“Medicine. It will make you feel better.”
At this point, she’d try anything. She nodded.
“Not afraid I’m going to poison you?” he asked.
She snorted. “You don’t need to poison me to kill me.” He could have left her behind, or he could have simply snapped her neck at any point. Nic wasn’t human, not totally. He was strong enough to crush her like a bug if that was his intention.
A tiny smile played at the corners of his mouth. “No, I don’t.” She wasn’t sure if he was agreeing with her or warning her he could kill her at any time. Either way, she didn’t care. If what was in the glass would make her feel better, she’d drink it.
Nic held the cup, not willing to relinquish it. Just as well. Her hand was shaking too much to hold it without spilling whatever was inside.
“Bottoms up.” He tipped the glass, and she swallowed.
The liquid was thick but not unpleasant. She swallowed again. It was warm, too. In fact, it tasted sort of like chocolate, only better. She caught a hint of what she thought was wine. Was this some concoction he’d made himself? She knew it didn’t taste like medicine. If his goal was to help her sleep while he cleaned her wound, she was all for that. The pain was getting to be unbearable. It was relentless, like the worst toothache ever on maximum overdrive, except the pain was in her back, arm, and shoulder.
“There you go.” He pulled the glass away, and she licked her lips. He eased her back down onto the bed, watching her as though he was expecting some kind of reaction.
“What was it?” She could still taste it in her mouth. It was absolutely delicious.
Nic stared down at her, his black eyes fathomless. “Drakon blood.
…
Nic watched Constance, waiting for her reaction. Her eyes widened and her lips parted. Then she shook her head. It was obvious she didn’t believe him.
He crossed his arms over his chest to keep from reaching out to her. In spite of everything, he wanted her. His soul cried out for her. He’d bled for her and would do it again.
He was totally fucked.
He followed her sweet, pink tongue as she licked her lips. He loved her mouth. Wanted to see it wrapped around his cock. As if in agreement, his shaft sprang to life. Thankfully, she was too out of it to notice.
He was getting impatient. Why was it taking so long for his blood to have an effect on her? Usually, it was pretty instantaneous.
“Why—” She broke off as a spasm shook her. She frowned and then cried out, her entire body stiffening. Fear filled her eyes, and she looked at him, not with accusation, but acceptance.
Christ, she thought he had poisoned her. “It will pass,” he promised. At least he hoped it would. Some people didn’t react well to drakon blood.
Her feet started to quiver, and it quickly raced up her body until she was shaking from head to toe. She was trembling so hard he feared she might tumble off the bed.
He stretched out beside her, took a deep breath to steel himself, and then drew her into his arms. His dragon began to rumble in contentment inside him. Every cell in his body seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
She was fighting him. No, she was having a seizure, her muscles totally out of her control. He wrapped his arms around her and anchored her to him. “You’ll be okay,” he whispered. She had to be.
What if his blood didn’t work? He’d never heard of a case where drakon blood hadn’t healed, but there were rare cases where a human seemed almost allergic to their blood and died. Sometimes their blood was just too powerful for a human to handle.
“Stay with me,” he ordered. He would never allow himself to trust Constance, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want her in his life. He could have things his way. He’d take care of her and her sister and have her in his bed on a regular basis. He could set her up in a nicer home in Las Vegas and visit her whenever he wanted.
It was the perfect solution, yet it left him hollow. He’d seen what his brothers had with their women. The communion that existed between them.
That wasn’t for him. But he was keeping Constance.
Decided, he allowed himself to rub his hand up and down her spine. He kissed her temple. She was hot to the touch. Sweaty. And she was still trembling all over.
“Nic.” The fear in her voice tore at him.
“It’s all right. Everything will be fine.”
“Don’t… Don’t let them get…”
He kissed the top of her head. “No one is going to get you,” he promised.
She thumped her fist against his chest. “Not me. You.” She threw back her head and wailed. The hairs on the back of his neck all stood on end.
“Constance, you stay with me.” Should he have given her so much of his blood? Should he give her more? He’d never had to do this before and had been working on instinct. He should have contacted Tarrant or any of his brothers. They’d have been able to help.
“Be careful.” She was panting heavily, each word pulled from her slowly and painfully. “Take. Care. Of. You.”
Her eyes rolled back into her head, and her body went limp.
Panicked, he turned her onto her back and placed his ear against her chest. Her heartbeat was faint, but it was there. He yanked at the bandage on her shoulder, unwinding the top layer and then the one beneath it. He tried to be careful but knew if she was still conscious, he’d be causing her pain.
He gently turned her onto her stomach so he could check the entry point of the gunshot wound. It was already closing. Where were the bullet fragments? He grabbed the bandage he’d ripped away. Sure enough, several pieces of metal were tangled with the fabric. His blood had allowed her body to push them out.
Nic arranged her on her back once again, knowing she’d be more comfortable that way. Her upper body and arm were bloodstained. Her bra would never be white again.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He leaned against the headboard and buried his face in his hands. He didn’t know if he’d survive if anything happened to her.
He was a man being torn apart by his conflicting desires.
He wanted to keep Constance by his side, protect her, care for her, make love to her. He also wanted to keep her at arm’s length so she couldn’t worm her way into his heart any more than she already had. He didn’t want to want or need her. He didn’t want to trust her.
If he trusted her, she could betray him.
She’d already done it once. It could happen again. He knew there’d been extenuating circumstances, but what if her sister were in danger again. Then Nic would be the one left high and dry.
For the briefest of seconds, he wished her sister had died. Then he felt shame for even thinking such a thing.
He clenched his fingers in his hair and rocked back and forth. He wanted to roar his frustration to the universe. He was damned whatever he did.
One day at a time. One minute at a time. That’s how he’d been getting through life these past few decades. He could do this. He could take what he wanted without losing himself in her.
“Nic.”
He jerked his head up, but she was still out cold. She’d called his name in her sleep. He swallowed heavily and forced himself to get out of bed. She looked so small, so helpless lying there.
An image of her practically flying through the air, metal pipe in her hand and determination etched on her face as she destroyed the first statue flitted through his brain. No, she wasn’t helpless. She’d come back for him. Had rescued him.
This slight human woman had risked her life for him.
But she betrayed you first, a voice in the back of his head reminded him.
He shook himself and stalked to the bathroom. He was done thinking. All he did was go around in circles and give himself a headache, which should have been impossible. Drakons didn’t get headaches. It must be some residual trauma left over from that damn trap. Plus, he needed to eat.
He grabbed a clean towel and ran it under the tap until it was wet. Then he carried it back to the bedroom and began to clean the blood and dirt from Constance’s body. Her bra got in the way, so he removed it. He’d seen her naked before. Plus, this wasn’t about sex. This was about taking care of her.
He made trip after trip to the bathroom, rinsing and wringing out the towel over and over until all the dried blood and grime was removed. She still didn’t look comfortable in her sneakers and jeans. He removed both, leaving her in her underwear.
He lifted the blanket at the end of the bed to cover her but stopped. He dropped the covering and swore. Then he lifted her into his arms and carried her from the guest room into his bedroom.
“Nic.” She whispered his name again and snuggled against him.
“I’ve got you,” he promised. “You’re safe.”
She sighed and rested against him. The trust she gave him was complete. It stopped him dead in his tracks. The irony of it was almost overwhelming. She trusted him in a way he never could her.
When she shivered, he got moving again. He held her with one arm and yanked back the covers on his bed. When he settled her in the center, a deep sense of satisfaction washed over him. She was where she belonged. With him.
He shucked his jeans and crawled in beside her. He knew he should call his brothers to update them. He also needed food. He was starving. He’d burned a hell of a lot of calories shifting back and forth from dragon to human.
But he couldn’t bring himself to leave Constance. Not yet. He lifted her easily, positioning her so her head was resting on his shoulder and one of her arms was resting on his chest.
She needed sleep now. After some rest and food, she’d be fine. What would happen then, he didn’t know. Would she leave him and go back to the city and her sister? Would she stay with him?
He tightened his hold on her, as if that could somehow make her want to stay. He was stronger than a dozen men, but this small woman had brought him to his knees, and she didn’t even realize she’d done it.
If she ever became aware of the power she had over him, he was doomed. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of her breathing. It was slow and steady, and her heartbeat had evened out to a strong beat.
He didn’t know what the future held for either of them, but for now, she was safe.
…
“How did that happen?” Dent demanded. He rested his head against the plush seat in the hotel suite Oscar had secured for him. “How did we lose all but one of the statues, the dragon, and allow the women to escape?” To say he wasn’t happy was a gross understatement. The only good thing in all of this was that none of his fellow Knights were aware of the situation.
Oscar was on his computer, typing furiously. “I don’t know, sir.” He paused and looked up. “Some of the men panicked. They’d never seen a dragon before.”
Dent had, but it had been years. He’d forgotten how fierce, how magnificent, and how damn dangerous they were when they weren’t heavily drugged.
“That allowed the women time to escape.”
Dent didn’t mind the women escaping so much. They could be dealt with at a later time, if necessary. He knew they were too afraid to go to the police. People were never smart when they were afraid. But Constance Owens had surprised him. She hadn’t stayed away. She’d come back for the dragon, for Wilde.
“What about the phone? Can we track the phone we gave Ms. Owens?”
“Negative, sir. I’m not longer getting a signal from it.”
“It’s over.” Dent was exhausted. The sun was already up, and he was more than ready to rest. It had been a long night. All his men had been killed. All but Oscar. And he’d learned the warehouse was gone. Not burned. Not demolished. Simply gone. Vanished as though it had never existed.
He shuddered. Just how powerful were dragons? They really didn’t know as much about the creatures as they should after all these centuries. He remembered what Wilde had said. The dragons were not going to back off anymore. They were coming for the Knights.
“Maybe not.” Oscar looked up from the computer screen. “I put a long-range tracker on Ms. Owens’s van as a precaution. It went over the border into Arizona before I lost it. If we head that way, I think I can pick it up. She’s injured. He won’t be able to take her far without giving her some kind of medical care.
“If he hasn’t already dumped her.” That’s what Dent would do.
Oscar shook his head. “Until we know otherwise, we have to assume she’s with him.”
Dent slowly nodded. Oscar was right. “Can we call in the California team?” Dent had teams of men spread across the country, trained and ready to go on short notice. It took a lot of money and creativity on his part to fly under the radar of the other Knights, but it was worth it. Especially if he could recapture Wilde and have a dragon of his own.
Oscar was already on the phone. “They’ll be here in a couple of hours. Time for you to catch some sleep and have something to eat. I had your bags put in the bedroom.”
Not for the first time, Dent was glad he’d hired Oscar to handle all these details for him. “Right.” He pushed out of his chair and grabbed the bronze dragon statue off the coffee table. He wasn’t about to let it out of his sight. “Make sure they bring plenty of the tranquilizers. If Wilde is in an isolated area, we’ll bring him down that way. Should have done that from the start instead of experimenting with the statues.”
“We had no way of knowing we’d encounter a dragon, sir. And at least we know the statues work as a containment facility.”
“The crystal one is broken.” He’d seen it split into two.
Oscar shrugged. “Maybe it can be fixed if they have both pieces.”
He liked the way Oscar thought. “You think they’ll still have them?” If he was a dragon, he’d destroy them. Of course, maybe they couldn’t be destroyed. If they could contain a dragon, they were certainly powerful.
“It’s possible. We won’t know until we find them.”
Dent nodded and headed toward the bedroom of the suite. “Let me know when the men touch down.”
“Yes, sir. And I’ll have room service bring up something for you to eat.” Oscar was the perfect right-hand man, anticipating what he needed before he asked for it. Satisfied things were moving as they should, Dent closed the bedroom door behind him.
He placed the statue on the bedside table, stretched out on top of the bed, and closed his eyes.