Dragon's Thief: A Reverse Harem Serial (Blood Prophecy Book 1) Page 3

  I tense at his words. Damn it. It’s the ethical dilemma I’ve been grappling with. Save Silas by breaking my promise to him, or keep my word and watch him waste away? The last six months have been painful. Brutal. The bills are piling up faster than my shitty job can pay for… Should I take the bait?

  I turn narrowed eyes on him, assessing him more closely. Cruel dark eyes, hard jaw. A predator, one my instincts are warning me to stay away from.

  He still hasn’t let go of me. His fingers continue to dig into my flesh, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of squirming away. Can I take him? I doubt it. He’s two-hundred-and-fifty pounds of shifter, and I’m Norm.

  “I see that’s got your attention.” He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a business card from his wallet. “When you’re ready to talk, call the number.”

  Hang on. What the hell am I doing? If I’m going to break my promise to Silas, there are plenty of Norms I can steal from. This time last year, a panther almost took a chunk out of me at MagLab. I still have the scar he gave me. Shifters are trouble. “Sorry.” I twist away from his grasp. “Like I said, I’m really not interested.”

  His hands clench into fists, and I brace myself for trouble. Then two men turn the corner and see Tall, Dark, and Deadly looming over me. “Hey,” one of them calls out. “What the hell are you doing? Leave the girl alone.”

  My would-be attacker takes a look at the two tall men and seems to decide against picking a fight. He tucks the card into my jeans pocket and saunters away. “She’s a bit tipsy, that’s all,” he says to the men as he passes them. “I was just steadying her.”

  Sure, buddy. Sure you were.

  My knees feel a little weak as my rescuers draw closer. “Are you okay, love?” one of them asks.

  His accent is British, maybe Welsh? His long dark hair is pulled back in a man-bun. It’s not a look I’m typically drawn to, but he totally pulls it off. Or maybe that’s the effect of the chocolate brown eyes, the sexy-as-sin stubble, and the panty-melting accent.

  I don’t like most people, but I’m happy to make an exception here. I don’t know why, but I find British accents impossibly sexy.

  His friend is just as hot. He’s tall and more muscled, and his eyes are a piercing shade of blue. “Do you need a drink of water?” he asks.

  Aria, you’re gaping. Say something. Anything. They’re going to think you’re a gibbering idiot.

  “I’m fine,” I mutter, my cheeks heating under their scrutiny. “Just a little shaken.”

  Their faces darken. “He was bothering you,” Blue-Eyes says grimly. “I’ll make him regret it.”

  The business card pokes into my hip. I can’t let them chase my assailant. Partly because they’ll get the snot kicked out of them—Tall, Dark, and Deadly is a shifter, and these two guys, while very nicely muscled, are Norm—and partly because if I can’t find another way to make money fast, I might need to call that number.

  “I’m fine,” I repeat, with more conviction in my voice. “Really.” I smile up at my two rescuers. So gorgeous, and so out of my league. “Thank you for your help.”

  I wait until I’m back at the bar before I fish the business card out of my pocket. It’s matte black with nothing except a number on it, embossed in silver.

  Talk about pretentious.

  Bea plops onto the stool next to me. “Where were you? I looked for you a few minutes ago, and couldn’t find you.”

  I slip the card back into my pocket. “Bathroom,” I reply, feeling a twinge of guilt as I lie to my best friend. But it’s better this way. Beatrice doesn’t need to know about my secret life. Before she can question me further, I change the subject. “How’s Jesse?”

  It works. She smiles salaciously toward the other end of the bar, where the object of her affection is sipping a beer and doing his best to pretend he isn’t staring at my friend. “I’m still working on him, but I think he’s up for a little spelunking.”

  “Spelunking?”

  “In my lady-cave, duh.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Or persistent,” she says ruefully.

  Judging from the covert looks Jesse’s sending Bea, it’s only a matter of time.

  The music changes and the vibe of the bar changes with it. The deejay has taken over. The crowd on the dance floor erupts in cheers as a deep, pulsing beat flows through the speakers. “Come on,” Bea shouts over the noise. “Let’s dance.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but she doesn’t give me the chance. Grabbing my arm, she tugs me off the stool and pulls me onto the dance floor. I roll my eyes and decide to go with the flow. When Bea gets like this, it’s easiest to just give in, and maybe a little dance therapy will help me forget about the business card that’s burning a hole in my jeans pocket.

  Bea and I find a familiar routine, dancing around each other. The deejay is good. Each song seamlessly flowing into the next, and the beat is irresistible. My hips sway, and my arms lift over my head as I lose myself in the music. My eyes fall closed, and I can feel the stress I’ve been carrying around taking a backseat. At least for now.

  After a couple of songs, Bea points at the bar and mimes getting a drink. I nod and move to follow her when a voice rumbles against my ear. “Dance with us, love.”

  It’s Sexy British Guy.

  Bea’s eyes widen, and she smiles from ear to ear, giving me a not-too-discreet thumbs up. Real subtle, Bea. Thanks a lot.

  Piercing-Blue-Eyes steps in front of me, a smile on his lips. “Yes, dance with us, pretty girl.”

  His ocean-blue eyes rake over my body from head to toe, lingering on my curves. Heat pools in my belly at his slow inspection. I didn’t think instalust was a thing… Until now.

  “I’m Mateo,” Piercing-Blue-Eyes says, bending his head and whispering the words into my ear. “And my Welsh friend is Rhys.”

  Rhys. Mateo. Even their names are sexy.

  “I’m Aria.”

  “Aria,” Rhys repeats, my name sounding way hotter when he says it with his Welsh accent. He puts his hand on my hip, and I stay where I am, making no effort to pull away. They’re Norm, and I’m absolutely positive I can take them, except I don’t want to.

  With a warm chuckle, Rhys pulls me against his chest. Piercing-Blue-Eyes—Mateo—gives me a wicked smile before closing in.

  Okay. I’m not bad looking, I know. Bea keeps telling me that if I put in a little effort, I’d be a total hottie. Of course, she’s my best friend. She’s supposed to say that.

  I’ve had a couple of boyfriends, but nothing serious. Most Norms avoid shifters and living as I do with Silas, I’ve never quite fit in.

  Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, and it’s a little surreal.

  Before I’ve made the conscious decision to dance with the men, my body is sandwiched between two hard bodies. The beat pulses in my blood. Every time their hands graze my body, a spark is lit. Every time Rhys whispers something into my ear, my insides throb with need. Every time Mateo’s eyes rest on me, desire unlike anything I’ve ever known overwhelms my better judgment.

  One dance.

  It’s past midnight. Cinderella is going to turn into a pumpkin, any moment now. This isn’t real life. This is some kind of fantasy, and I would be wise to remember it.

  Yet I inch closer to them, my body sending a very different message. One they receive.

  Two sets of hands roam over my curves. Two sets of lips whisper dirty promises. Two devastatingly handsome men make me forget that we are surrounded by people.

  Until a drunken frat-boy crashes into us, nearly knocking me to the ground.

  Rhys pulls me against his chest protectively. “You okay, love?”

  His voice sends shivers down my spine. My nipples harden and my core clenches. How can three small words have such a massive impact on my body?

  Welsh accent. I’m a sucker for it.

  “Yeah… I’m… uh…” I take a half step a
way, shaking my head to clear some of the fog. I have to get away from these guys before all of my brain cells are toast. “I need to go find my Bea. I mean… my friend Bea.” That sounds legit, right?

  Mateo has finally disentangled himself from the frat boy. He moves closer to me, his big hand cupping my cheek as he looks down at me with heated eyes. “Your friend is occupied.” He inclines his head toward the bar, where Bea is flirting with Jesse.

  After all the work she’s put into getting her lady cave serviced by Jesse, it would be a major bestie foul to interrupt now.

  But staying with these two is just asking for trouble.

  In my defense, I’d like to say that I had every intention of walking away. I was going to hide in the bathroom. Or bail from the Cellar, sending Bea a text so she wouldn’t worry.

  What is it they say about good intentions?

  The road to hell is paved with them.

  Somehow, I end up back in the same dimly lit corridor from earlier. This time, nobody is trapping me. Nobody is forcing me to stay.

  Nobody’s demanding that I stand on tiptoe and press a kiss against Rhys’ mouth.

  He groans and deepens the kiss. Mateo’s eyes light up with wicked amusement, and he brushes his lips against my neck and shoulder.

  Never chug wine from the bottle, Aria. It makes you do things you’d never do otherwise. Like finding myself in a poorly-lit hallway with my tongue buried in one man’s mouth while the other works some kind of devil’s magic against the side of my throat.

  “You taste so sweet,” Mateo growls.

  I doubt it. I am a sweaty mess after all that dancing, but Rhys brushes his thumb over my nipple, short-circuiting my last remaining brain cell. I’m seconds away from climbing one of these guys like a spider monkey when my phone vibrates in my pocket.

  Only two people know this number. Bea and Silas.

  Like a bucket of ice water, every ounce of desire washes away. As if the men can read my mind, their hands both fall away from my body, leaving me teetering, on edge, and feeling far more vulnerable than I would ever admit.

  I pull my phone from my pocket, my gut clenching when the caller id flashes: Preston Memorial Hospital.

  Silas.

  7

  Mateo

  Rhys has a thing for Norm girls. Not me.

  Don’t get me wrong. I’m not like those idiots that rail against the magical and the Norms intermingling.

  It’s just that things get complicated where dragons are concerned. Unlike the other magicals, we’re extremely long-lived. I just celebrated my three hundred and forty-fifth birthday. To get involved with a Norm, to watch her age in front of you and wither away while you still remain the same—that’s a recipe for heartbreak.

  Not that there are a lot of female dragons in the world, thanks to Gideon Zyrian’s curse.

  Though I typically stay away from Norms, my eyes track Aria as she hurries away. Her hair is the color of the morning sun, bright and beautiful.

  “Wow,” Rhys exhales. “She’s gorgeous.”

  She’s also a distraction at a time when we don’t need one. Every day, the threat from Zyrian seems to increase. The wolf shifter back at Bastian’s palace told us everything he knew, which wasn’t a lot, but I’m concerned about Alaska.

  I’m old enough to know that there are no coincidences.

  “The guy with her was a wolf shifter. I think we should track him, make him realize that threatening Aria would be a very bad idea.”

  What the hell? That’s not what I meant to say at all.

  Rhys shoots me a deeply amused look. “Careful there, Lord Valentini,” he quips. “Or else I’m going to think that you’re interested in her too.”

  “I’m not,” I deny, deliberately putting the small blond Norm woman out of my mind. Even though I can still taste her scent on my lips, and even though my cock is still hard, aching for her. “We have too much going on right now.”

  Bastian has thrown himself into setting up these parties, hoping we’ll find the women we seek, the ones who will free us from Gideon’s prison.

  Casius pores through ancient libraries, looking for another way.

  Rhys flirts. Erik broods. And I?

  I’m the second-most powerful Dragon Mage in the world. I experiment.

  People associate blood magic with the Dark Arts, but they’re wrong. Blood isn’t good or bad—it just is. It is the intent of the Mage that infuses the magic, rendering it light or dark.

  Gideon wants to kill all the dragons, every last one of us.

  I just want to kill him.

  The Eclipse Pack Alpha owes us a favor. What was his name? Lukus Hyde. I pull out my phone and call my assistant, asking Leo to find Hyde’s number for me. Rhys watches curiously as I dial Hyde’s phone.

  He picks up on the first ring. “My name is Mateo Valentini,” I growl.

  He recognizes the name instantly. There’s only five of us, after all. The last remaining Dragon Princes, the surviving members of the ancient Council of Thirteen. “My Lord,” he says, his voice betraying his nervousness. “How may I help you?”

  “A wolf shifter entered a Norm bar called the Cellar tonight,” I reply. “This is your territory. I want to know who this man is.”

  “Has this man committed a crime, Lord Valentini? Wolf shifters are answerable to pack justice. I won’t surrender one of my pack to you.”

  Rhys shakes his head. Are you trying to start a magical war? He mouths.

  Damn it. Stupid fucking shifter politics.

  “He might have threatened someone under my protection.” My knuckles clench white as I force my voice to stay calm. “I will not harm him, but I need a name.”

  “It will be done, my Lord.”

  Rhys starts to laugh as I hang up. “Well,” he says cheerfully. “I’m happy to say that’s the dumbest thing you’ve done in at least a hundred years.”

  Once again, he’s right. Something is seriously wrong if Rhys Griffith is acting like the more sensible dragon.

  8

  Aria

  I catch a cab, spending money I don’t have. As it races up 8th Ave and across West 57th, the cabbie driving far faster than the speed limit in response to the urgency on my face, I text Bea.

  Heading home. You looked cozy with Jesse, didn’t want to interrupt. Let me know how it goes!!

  I force enthusiasm I don’t feel, hoping Bea will be distracted enough that she won’t wonder why I bailed early. Of course, she’ll probably think I left with either Rhys or Mateo.

  Arriving at the too-bright hospital, I rush up to the receptionist. “My father was brought in here?” I demand. “Silas Archer?”

  The woman behind the counter looks up suspiciously. “You’re Norm,” she says. “Silas Archer is a wolf shifter.”

  She’s some kind of small animal. Rabbit, if I had to guess. They’re always excessively concerned about the rules and are paranoid about annoying anyone higher up on the food chain.

  “So? Shifters give birth to Norms. It happens.” I stare at her icily, and she drops her gaze, her nose twitching nervously. Definitely a rabbit. I’d feel bad about lying to her, but right now, I’m freaking out about Silas. I must see him.

  “He was brought into the ER an hour ago,” she says meekly. “He’s on the fourth floor. Room 403.”

  “Thanks.” The elevator is too slow. I take the stairs, three at a time, guilt surging through me. I shouldn’t have gone out with Bea tonight. Silas had been slow to get out of bed this morning. I should have been home, taking care of him. Not drinking pink cocktails and making out with two hot guys.

  I’m sorry, Silas. Please don’t die.

  I’m not good at crying. Living on the streets, you learn to suppress your emotions, because feelings are weakness, and everyone around you is waiting to prey on you. It’s been a long time since I was homeless, but those life lessons aren’t easily forgotten.

  My eyes are dry as I hurry to Silas’ side. Nurse Rabbit didn’t tell me what was wron
g with him, and I fear the worst, and my throat seems to close with panic. Silas is all I have. My only family. I can’t lose him.

  A middle-aged female doctor is standing next to Silas’ bed, reading his chart. She looks up as I rush in. “I’m Aria Archer,” I gasp. “Silas’ daughter. How is he? What happened?”

  She’s shifter too, but unlike Nurse Rabbit, she’s not fussed that I’m Norm. Or maybe she’s just focused on the important things. “He had a severe seizure,” she says. “His neighbor found him and called 911.”

  “He has TTP.”

  She nods. “Yes.” She looks up at me, her face sympathetic. “He’s going to be okay today, but his condition is worsening. I see on his chart that he’s doing one plasma infusion a month, but he needs more. We’re going to have to increase the frequency of the exchanges.”

  Fifteen thousand dollars every time Silas gets a plasma exchange.

  I put my hand on Silas’ arm. His eyes are closed, and his breathing is labored. For the first time, I notice the wrinkles on his face, the grey in his beard and his hair. Silas has always been a larger-than-life figure to me. Laughing, indomitable, utterly fearless.

  Now he’s dying.

  “Whatever he needs.” I force the words out through numb lips.

  “We’re going to keep him under observation tonight,” she continues. “We’ll do a plasma exchange tomorrow.” She pats my shoulder. “We’re going to take care of him.”

  Until the hospital realizes that we can’t pay our bills.

  I sit at Silas’ bedside for a very long time, watching him sleep. I don’t have time to ponder the best way forward. All my options have fallen away, and there’s really only one path ahead. It’s not a hard decision to make.

  At six in the morning, I fish the now-crumpled business card out of my pocket, leave Silas’ room to find a payphone, and dial the embossed number.

  No more ethical dilemmas. If I have to break my promise to save Silas’ life, so be it.

  It’s early, and I’m expecting the call to go straight to voicemail, but the phone only rings once before someone picks it up. “Aria Archer.” The man on the other end sounds satisfied. “I expected to hear from you this morning.”

  “You want to hire me for a job,” I say bluntly. Tall, Dark, and Deadly had said his boss would be willing to pay for Silas’ treatments. How much money can I get? How much leverage do I have?