Chapter Eleven
The longer Cynthia rocked, the more her sorrow turned to anger. There were a lot of things she would love to go back in time to do differently. But could she blame anyone? Her parents only wanted the best for her and for the future of the clan. In the end, she had agreed to the betrothal, putting her family’s wishes above her own desires. So, really, everyone had acted in good faith.
Except Moira.
She snorted, emitting a tiny spark of dragon fire.
Moira, her inner dragon seethed.
“Twenty minutes to dinner,” Dell hollered over the plantation grounds.
Cynthia stood and started pacing. A she-dragon could do a lot of things in twenty minutes — like taking flight, spitting fire, and picturing her nasty cousin finally getting what she deserved. Or was she just misplacing her frustration by directing it at Moira?
No, her dragon insisted. Dell is right.
Moira had always been jealous of Cynthia’s privileges as a member of the most illustrious branch of the family. Not that Moira had ever taken a moment to consider that privilege came with a mountain of duties. She was only interested in riches and power. Even as a child, Moira had been nasty. But there was a line between nasty and downright cruel, and Moira had long since crossed it.
Cynthia’s blood boiled as she remembered her cousins reporting that Cal had gone off with Sheila. The details of that conversation were shaky in her mind, but one thing was clear — Presley’s comforting touch on her arm was sincere, while Moira’s was more of a scratch, and her expression barely masked a grin of triumph that Cynthia hadn’t fully registered at the time.
The next image her churning memory served up was that of Silas, many years ago, looking absolutely crushed. He’d been betrothed to Moira — a fact Moira had never stopped rubbing in everyone’s face. But while he’d offered everything Moira’s shallow values could have desired — wealth, stunning good looks, and an impressive family line — Moira had eventually shunned Silas to run off with one of the cruelest, most ruthless dragons of them all.
Drax, Cynthia’s inner dragon hissed.
Drax had attacked her home. Drax had murdered Barnaby. Drax—
Moira, her dragon corrected. It all comes down to Moira.
The sun had started to set, and the reddish-orange hue grew more intense by the minute. Cynthia narrowed her eyes on a patch the color of blood and thought it all through. Moira was the common denominator. A skilled — and dangerous — manipulator of men. Had she persuaded Drax to attack Barnaby in order to seize control of the Brenner fortune?
Cynthia’s dragon snorted. Do you have to ask?
The hum of Cal’s motorcycle sounded from around the corner, and Cynthia was hit by the urge to run over, hug Cal, and never let go. Moira had taken so much from her, but love couldn’t be stolen like a jewel.
“Fifteen minutes,” Dell called from the kitchen.
Cynthia considered all the things she could do with that time.
Kill Moira, her dragon begged.
She made a face. For better or worse, Moira wasn’t close enough to kill. But it sure would be nice to give the bitch a piece of her mind.
Of course, nice dragons didn’t do such things. They shouldn’t even think such things. Cynthia could hear her mother’s admonishments loud and clear in her mind. But another voice was louder — the one declaring, Enough. I’ve had enough.
So, in one of the few impulsive acts of her life, Cynthia jumped to her feet, stomped upstairs, and pulled out the leather-bound phone book her mother had given her long ago. Her hands shook, and she paused. Shouldn’t she calm down and think things through?
Enough thinking. Enough hiding, her dragon snarled.
She flipped the phone book open to the M page and stared for a minute. Then she picked up her phone, dialed, and waited as the line rang and rang.
“Hello?”
The shrill voice that came on the line sliced through Cynthia’s memories, awakening every nightmare.
Cynthia pursed her lips and counted to ten.
“Hello?” the voice demanded.
She took a deep breath and did her best not to spit her reply into the phone.
“Moira.”
The line went absolutely silent, and then a cackle rang out. “Why, it’s you, dearest cousin!”
Cynthia held the phone away from her ear, reminding herself to keep cool when what she really wanted to do was growl, You bet your ass, it’s me, bitch.
For once, she wished she had no manners. No social code that made it impossible to utter what was on her mind.
“It’s Cynthia, if that’s who you mean,” she said.
Moira chuckled. “Not dear, you mean? You break my heart.”
No, Cynthia wanted to say. You helped break mine with all the meddling you’ve done. But saying that would admit to Moira she had succeeded, and Cynthia wasn’t about to do that.
“I wasn’t aware you had a heart,” Cynthia said, picturing Dell giving her a high five for that one. The man was a pro at snappy comebacks.
Moira laughed. “Of course I do. I was absolutely shattered to hear about the death of your beloved Barnaby.”
Cynthia dug her nails into the leather cover of her phone book. Moira had been present the day of the attack. Hovering in the background, keeping a safe distance, letting Drax and his henchmen do the dirty work. Which meant she was lying, as usual. But Cynthia wasn’t going to let Moira get the upper hand, so she kept to the script she’d thrown together in her mind.
“The way you were shattered when Silas left you?” A low blow, but Moira deserved it.
Moira’s voice turned to pure poison. “I left him.”
“Oh, of course,” Cynthia said in a syrupy voice. “For Drax. You two really were made for each other.”
Yeah, her dragon spat. A match made in heaven — or more appropriately, in hell. Drax was cruel, ruthless, and totally self-centered — just like Moira.
“Anyway,” Cynthia went on. “I’m not calling to exchange pleasantries. I’m calling to warn you.”
Another shrill cackle cut through the phone, and Cynthia winced.
“Warn me? You want to warn me?”
If that wasn’t an admission Moira was planning yet another attack, what was?
“Yes, to warn you.” Cynthia’s voice dropped an octave, and her words became knives. “You meddle in my life one more time, and you’re dead. You send another of your mercenaries to Maui, and I will personally come after you. If you so much as imagine launching another attack, I will finish you. Really finish you, Moira. I will strip you of your treasure. Make you a laughingstock before all dragondom. I will watch as the pride and the life drip out of you, one pathetic drop at a time. You will be gone, forgotten. If anyone ever mentions your name again, it will only be to smirk at the disaster you brought upon yourself. Do I make myself clear?”
Cynthia was nearly panting with rage by the time she finished, but it felt good. And it must have worked, because for one blissful moment, the line was quiet. Clearly, Moira hadn’t expected her to speak from the heart.
No more playing nice, her inner dragon growled.
“Well, well. Sweet little Cynthia, full of such spite. What would your mother say?”
“She’d say not to waste my time with trash like you.”
Moira made a choking sound, and Cynthia knew she’d struck a chord. But it would take more than a few sharp words to silence her cousin for good.
“Maybe I’m the one who’s not finished with you,” Moira hissed.
Cynthia was treading on thin ice, and she knew it, because Moira had the means — and motivation — to act on her words. But she was tired of letting Moira bully her and the rest of the world.
“When will you have enough, Moira? When does it end? Was killing Barnaby not enough?”
Moira snorted. “Of course it wasn’t. I need you dead too.” Then she laughed and spoke, sweet as pie. “Don’t take it personally, cousin dear. It’s just that I can’t inherit everything as long as you’re around.” Then her voice dropped back to a menacing threat in one of those crazed personality switches Moira was capable of. “You would already be dead, if it wasn’t for that damn wolf.”
Cynthia froze. “What?”
Moira made a clucking sound. “That tramp of yours. What was his name? You know, the one with no manners. No family name. No money.”
Cynthia’s gut lurched. Cal? God, she’d been so young and stupid to have confided in Moira way back when.
Moira sighed dreamily. “He did have a great ass, though. Too bad his loyalties couldn’t be bought.”
Cynthia felt sick. Had Moira made a move on the man she loved?
“What have you done, Moira?”
Moira chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry, cousin dear. That tramp of a wolf was loyal to you. So loyal, he even made a pact with Barnaby.”
Cynthia froze. How on earth could Cal have been in contact with Barnaby? Why?
A dozen questions jammed her mind, but all she could get out was a hoarse whisper. “What kind of pact?”
“To protect you, of course. My God, woman. How blind can you be?”
Cynthia blinked into the distance, wondering the same thing.
“Two men, both so in love with you they’d give up everything.” Moira’s voice grew bitter. “I mean everything — even their lives. Pathetic, really, if you ask me.”
It figured that Moira would find loyalty pathetic. Cynthia, however, knew self-sacrifice all too well. For years, she had endured the cutting pain and wept bitter tears.
She squeezed her eyes shut and wrapped one arm around her waist. Was there more to what had happened than she ever imagined? But why would Cal and Barnaby have worked together? Cal had ridden off, swearing never to return.
Then it hit her. All those secret meetings Barnaby had gone off to, insisting she stay home. All those times she’d felt watched over, even when there was no one in sight. All the close calls she and Joey had been lucky to escape.
Maybe it wasn’t luck. Maybe there was more to her survival than she’d ever considered.
Cal, her dragon whispered.
She gulped. What had it cost Cal’s pride to work with Barnaby — and to protect Barnaby’s son?
At first, sorrow washed over her, but that was followed by a tsunami of rage, making her fingers flex into talon shape. If Moira were nearby, Cynthia really would have ripped her to bits.
“I’ve had it, Moira.”
Moira laughed. “And I haven’t even started having fun.”
“If you so much as—”
“What? What will you do? Shun me from high society? Freeze my accounts?” She cackled. “Last I checked, you’re the one hiding out in the jungle. The one everyone believes to be dead.”
Maui was hardly a jungle but, yes. The long-abandoned plantation Cynthia managed was a long way away from the mansions and penthouses she’d grown up in.
Moira went on, gaining momentum. “Be careful how far you push me, cousin dear. I might just be tempted to make you suffer a little more. Do you have another lover I ought to cut out of your life before I kill you? Have you been sleeping around with that stable of shifters you keep at your little place? They are something, I’ll give you that. That lion especially…” Her voice drifted into a sultry tone. “Or that tiger from next door. Or one of your dear dragons, perhaps. I guarantee I could make them howl in bed.”
Cynthia nearly hung up the phone. Her cousin was a monster in more ways than one.
“Or, wait,” Moira went on. “Maybe we could approach this like a couple of civilized dragons and strike a deal.”
Over my dead body, Cynthia wanted to say, but she was still reeling from the low blows, and Moira went on.
“Perhaps I should strike where it hurts most. Joey. What is his safety worth to you? Say, your entire inheritance?”
The blood drained from Cynthia’s cheeks. Would Moira really stoop that low?
“Sign everything over to me,” Moira said as if the solution were obvious. “Make the Brenner and Baird fortunes mine, and I’ll let the little brat live.”
It was amazing how hard a woman’s heart could pound without actually breaking out of her rib cage.
“Never. And you will not touch Joey,” she warned in a voice closer to the rough contralto of her dragon’s than her normal human tone. “If you ever—”
Moira cut in. “Enjoy that little seaside farm of yours while you can, dear cousin. You never know when you might lose it too.”
Cynthia nearly hissed a reply, but she composed herself quickly, unwilling to give Moira the satisfaction of hearing her all riled up.
“If you come near my son, it will be the last thing you do,” she said in a low, clear, and frighteningly cold tone. “I will end you, Moira. And I don’t mean financially, cousin dear. I will kill you and avenge all the lives you’ve destroyed. Do you understand?”
She spelled out the last word in syllables, then waited for a reply. Apparently, Moira was too shocked to respond, so Cynthia went on.
“Good,” she finished before clicking the phone off.
For the next minute, her pulse raced, and she felt triumphant. Finally, she’d given her cousin a piece of her mind.
But Moira’s threats had been real. Specific. Insane, but thought through. Which meant she really was planning something. Something a simple phone call couldn’t halt.
I haven’t even started having fun.
Moira’s words replayed in Cynthia’s mind, and her threat hung in the crisp evening air.