Chapter Two – George

George Lancaster stalked across the underground parking lot to his car. It was late, and he wanted to get home and shower, and then… Then what? Fill the lonely hours until it was time to get up in the morning and live another day on repeat.

It was how he survived, how he buried his need for revenge. His need for her.

He could still taste her on his lips. If he closed his eyes, he almost believed he was buried inside her, making her cry out in pleasure as her climax hit her. He could still recall the softness of her skin, the scent of her… Every day he relived that night. Every day he swore he would find her.

And wring her perfect neck for stealing something so precious to his clan.

He took the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the car, glancing around the parking lot before he slipped inside his luxurious Mercedes. A status symbol, no more. The car, the house he slept in, all just possessions, bought through long hours of hard work. Just one of the many ways he had been made to prove himself over the years. Prove that he was strong, even if he had lost the symbol of the clan’s power.

But he’d get it back. He had amassed money, and that money enabled him to amass information. And he knew he was getting close to the truth. The truth of the whereabouts of the Heartsfire Blade, and the identity of the one who stole it. His latest clues indicated the Fireclaw Clan, and that was the lead his private investigators were following up.

“George!” a voice called out, and woke him from his dreams of revenge.

Kyle Northridge, great. “Kyle, what are you doing here?” George asked, keeping his voice friendly.

“I was in the building,” Kyle said, not offering any further explanation. He simply stood grinning at George with teeth that were so white, so perfectly straight, they must have cost his daddy thousands. And this was the future of the Blackclaw Clan.

George huffed. He suspected people thought the same of him when they thought back to him losing the Heartsfire Clan’s sacred blade. A blade that could do mortal damage to any dragon, no matter how thick their hide was.

“Good to see you,” George lied, and put his briefcase into his car.

“Off home?” Kyle asked, walking over.

“Yes,” George replied, sliding into his seat.

“You work too many hours, George. We should go out some time, get you a woman to keep your bed warm until that wayward mate of yours comes back.” Kyle nearly blinded George with a benevolent smile; at least, that was what Kyle was aiming for. But George knew Kyle had a reputation for getting under your skin, and making sure you owed him. If what George heard was true, a lot of dragons, from a lot of clans, owed Kyle.

“Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind,” George said.

“Good. Good.” Kyle patted the roof of George’s car as he pulled the door shut. George waved as he started the engine, he didn’t want to be rude… OK, so maybe he did. George did not need a man like Kyle Northridge sticking his nose into his business. Not now when he was on the brink of a breakthrough on locating the Heartsfire Blade, and restoring his clan’s standing in the dragon world. He reversed and drove out of the parking lot.

Duty. Loyalty. Honor. The very code his clan lived by. The irony that his mate was a thief who had no care for others was not lost on George.

George gripped the steering wheel tighter, until the whites of his knuckles showed. His dragon was stirring, and he knew why. All these thoughts of his mate always put him on edge. Soon he would have to leave the London and take a vacation to some remote destination where no one would notice a dragon flying at night. His clan owned a few such hideaways, but as the planet became more crowded, some of them were next to useless, unless it was a moonless night, or heavy clouds filled the sky.

As for airplanes! Don’t even get him started on those invaders of the skies.

He turned off the highway, driving through the suburbs, the traffic thinning as he neared his mansion. High, impenetrable walls surrounded the house, with motion sensors dotted at intervals to keep intruders out. A wrought-iron gate stood at the only entrance, with a security keypad on the wall next to it. This was his private place, a place where he could relax, away from the scrutiny of others.

He pressed the buttons and entered his code, sitting patiently while the gates slowly opened. He was in no rush: dinner, and an hour of exercise, would leave him ready for a shower and then bed, where he would no doubt toss and turn, the vision of his mate taunting him. What an exciting life he led.

The gates were open wide enough for his car to fit between them. He eased his foot down on the accelerator and the car moved forward, the gates swinging shut behind him. The drive leading to the house was not long; it skirted a small ornamental lake, before straightening up to reveal an impressive view of the mansion. George snorted. What he wouldn’t give to live high up in the mountains, with nothing but the clothes on his back and the sun on his face.

Duty. Loyalty. Honor.

He repeated the words that he had carved into the stone above the large front door of the mansion when he bought it two years ago. It was how he reminded himself that he could not run away and seek the solitary refuge he craved. All thanks to that woman. If not for her, he could have slipped into obscurity and lived his own life, on his own terms, instead of spending each day trying to right the wrong she had done to his clan.

He stopped the car abruptly and got out. Did she have any idea what she had done when she stole from him? Had she any idea of the life she had forced him into?

He had to let it go. This constant obsessing was driving him insane, but he knew it was useless. He knew it went deeper than the theft of the Blade: a dragon was meant to have his mate by his side. If he had never met her it would be different, he would be different. The longing would still be there, but not this constant obsessing. But he had met her, and worse… he had bedded her. Taken her. Claimed her. And then she had run from him, as if it meant nothing.

He slammed the car door shut and looked up at the sky, cursing the clear night and full moon. He needed to fly. His dragon was scratching at the walls of his mind, trying to get out, to escape the thoughts of her.

George stopped and sniffed the air. There was a scent. A new scent. Don’t say he was now hallucinating with his nose? Was that even a thing? Or just one more sign she was driving him to the brink of insanity with her absence.

“Good evening, sir,” Alfie, his butler-cum-cook, cum-valet said, as George entered the house. He must have heard the car and come running to the door. Duty. Loyalty. Honor. That was Alfie. He had been in the service of George Lancaster’s family for most of his adult life. The two of them shared a bond that went deeper than a master-servant relationship.

“It’s late, you shouldn’t have waited up.” George knew how early Alfie got up in the morning to begin his chores. But Alfie insisted on never going to bed before George arrived home; he always liked to open the door for George and give him an update on his day. Not that anything ever happened. Alfie rarely left the grounds, preferring to have everything delivered in. Alfie felt safer, more secure that way, and George never questioned him. He knew the old man’s past only too well.

Looking at Alfie’s darkened eyes, George made a mental note to be home early tomorrow, so that the old man could get to his bed early.

“I have dinner prepared. It might be a little dried up,” Alfie said apologetically.

“I’m sure it will be edible.” George walked toward the staircase. “You should go to bed. I can help myself.”

“Hmm,” Alfie said. “I’ll give one last turn around the house. Check all the windows and doors.”

George smiled. Alfie had a set routine he had to perform, or he found it impossible to sleep. But since there were only the two of them in the house, and Alfie was meticulous about locking all the doors when he entered and left by the tradesman’s entrance, it was one he didn’t need to perform. But he did it anyway.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” George said. “I’ll shower and change before I eat.”

“Good night.” Alfie was already heading off down the hallway, eager to get to bed.

George took the stairs two at a time. He liked the solitude of the evenings. The emptiness of the house after a day surrounded by people. Maybe later he would take a walk outside, the night air would do him good, settle him before he tried to sleep…

His dragon burst into his thoughts, bright, fiery, and alert. Something was wrong. Someone was here. Another dragon. He could scent one on the air.

George undid the buttons of his jacket, slipping it off and casting it aside as he moved lightly down the hallway. His tie followed his jacket, before he undid the top two buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, ready for the fight that was before him.

He sniffed the air. There was another scent mingling with that of the dragon. One he recognized, one that had haunted his dreams, both day and night, for the last five years. As he moved to open the door to his bedroom, he knew he would no longer have to search for his mate.

She was here. With another dragon. He pushed the door open, knowing he would fight to the death to protect his mate. Even if she were a lying, thieving wench.