Dragon's Fire: A Reverse Harem Romance Page 8

  21

  Mateo

  Concealed by magic, the four of us watch Rhys flirt with Aria. For some reason, my dragon is close to the surface and completely agitated.

  “Well?” Bastian asks me. “Is she telling the truth?”

  Erik makes a scoffing sound. “The Norm girl hasn’t said anything,” he says. “She merely implied that she’s a thief. Griffith is a fool.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Bastian quips, a rare glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Consider the facts. The four of us are keeping each other company, while Rhys is kissing a pretty girl.”

  Casius rubs at his wrist. “She’s probably telling the truth” he replies, “I just looked it up. That convenience store that Aria visited in Harlem is owned by a Creole shifter called Mariana Dupree. She’s a fence. Deals with gemstones mainly.”

  A look of relief flashes over Bastian’s face. “That’s not a problem then. We can retrieve the gems she steals.”

  “No.” My own wrist is sore too. It’s been irritating me all week. “I think there’s more to this. If she knows enough to be able to access a rune that disguises her as a shifter, she knows enough to stay clear of this party. Only a fool would rob us, and Aria didn’t strike me as a fool.”

  “A fool, or someone who is desperate,” Casius says. “You think she’s working for someone.”

  I hope not. I haven’t been able to get Aria out of my mind. I really hope she’s not mixed up in anything bad. “Maybe.”

  Bastian seems to reach a conclusion. “Mateo, you can trace her, right?”

  “Yes.” Aria’s light, floral scent is etched into my mind.

  “Then I’m going to pull Tomas off. I want to see what she does when no one is watching.”

  22

  Aria

  When the band finishes the song, I pull away from Rhys. “We made a deal,” I warn him. “You said you wouldn’t get in my way.” My lips are still tingling from that kiss. My pulse is still racing, and I have to fight an overwhelming urge to melt back into his arms and spend the rest of the night dancing with him, without a care in the world.

  But at five in the morning, Drakkar Raedwulf expects me to show up at the carousel with the contents of the dragon princes’ safe. And if I don’t, Silas’ life is in danger.

  There’s a wicked glint in Rhys’ eyes. “Fuck the baubles, love,” he growls. “Let’s go somewhere private so I can rip that dress off you.”

  Any other day, I’d have been tempted. “I can’t,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”

  He takes the rejection gracefully. His lips brush against the back of my hand. “I’m sure I’ll run into you again, Aria Archer.”

  I really hope so.

  I wait until I lose sight of him on the crowded floor. Closing my eyes, I reach into my senses, letting my instincts take over. Everyone is eating and drinking, laughing with their friends, dancing, celebrating. No one is watching me.

  Good.

  I leave the ballroom quickly, heading down the hallway to the bathroom where I stashed my tools. “You wouldn’t believe the line for the washrooms inside,” I tell the desk employee. The first shift must have ended because this isn’t the guy who gave me a job application.

  He gives me a polite smile. “There’s another washroom down the hallway, ma’am.”

  I nod in thanks and continue down the empty corridor. Even the most suspicious person watching this interaction wouldn’t think anything of it. A loud cheer goes up in the ballroom, followed by almost perfect silence. “Ladies and gentlemen,” a man’s voice fills the room. “Thank you for attending the Valhalla Ball.”

  That must be one of the dragon princes. Things finally appear to be going my way. I quickly enter the unoccupied stall and lift the toilet lid. My backpack is still there. Making a face, I pull it out of the tank and unzip it. Thankfully, it’s waterproof, and the contents inside are perfectly dry.

  In a matter of minutes, I remove my red dress and slip into the hotel uniform. I wipe my face free of makeup—maids that work at the Park Hyatt are unlikely to be wearing blood-red lipstick—and swap my stilettos out for sensible black shoes. I undo my hair from Beatrice’s elaborate hairdo—sorry, Bea—and twist it into a knot at my neck.

  I’ve studied the blueprints. The employee locker rooms are in the basement, and the elevator accessing it is around the corner. All I need to do is lurk in the bathroom until a member of the hotel staff walks by, and then follow them downstairs, telling them I forgot my key.

  I get lucky. I don’t have to wait too long before an exhausted-looking waiter walks down the hallway. Perfect. I slip out and fall into step with him. “Mind if I tag along?” I ask, giving him a friendly smile. “I left my key at home.”

  “Sure,” he says wearily. “What a fucking zoo. I can’t wait for this ball to be over.”

  “Tell me about it.” I enter the elevator and let him press the button for the basement. I wiped the bathroom clean of fingerprints, and in the dragons’ penthouse, I’ll be wearing gloves. “Still, the tips are good this close to Christmas, right?”

  He grunts in agreement. I follow him to the breakroom and veer off to the right as soon as we enter, heading to the women’s locker rooms. I’m between shifts, and there’s no one around, no one to get suspicious as I pick the dollar store locks and rummage around the contents, looking for an unattended access card.

  Once again, Lady Luck is smiling down on me. The third locker I open has an access card in it. I glance at the name. Maria Kaminski. Thank you, Maria. I really hope you don’t get fired because of me.

  Next stop, housekeeping station. Someone’s been industrious, and a neat row of carts are lined up near the door, ready for use the next morning. I grab a cart of towels, sheets, and supplies, hide my backpack in a nest of linen, and wheel it down the service hallway to the staff elevator.

  So far, everything has gone my way. Will my luck hold, and will the rest of the job be as easy?

  Slipping a pair of latex gloves over my hands, I press the button summoning the elevator. It arrives quickly. I take a deep breath and enter, holding my stolen access card up to the reader.

  The red light turns green, and with barely a lurch, the elevator begins its ascent. The building soars a thousand feet above Central Park, but it takes less than a minute to arrive at my destination.

  The dragons’ penthouse. I can’t help feeling like I’m stepping into the belly of the whale.

  The elevator opens into the apartment. I step out into a small foyer and lights flicker on automatically, almost making me jump out of my skin. Get your head in the game, Aria.

  “Hello?” I call out. “Anybody home? Housekeeping.”

  Nothing.

  The penthouse sits eerily silent and still in front of me. Unease trickles down my spine. The ease of which I got to this point is making me a little twitchy. It’s as if the dragons couldn’t be bothered to secure their private chambers, which doesn’t make any sense. This place should be locked down tighter than Fort Knox on steroids.

  I pull the electronic sensor from my backpack—this piece of equipment significantly more high-tech than the laser pointer I used back at the mall—and check the readings. Nothing.

  No security cameras. No motion detectors. Could the dragon princes really be arrogant enough rely solely on magical means of protection?

  It appears to be the case, but my sense of disquiet refuses to go away, and a thief learns to trust her instincts.

  Before stepping into the main living area, I close my eyes and take a deep, calming breath, opening up my senses. Immediately, I notice a difference.

  The apartment is as empty as it seems, and there’s no one lingering in any of the rooms, but my senses seem so much more powerful than they usually are. I can sense the protective net of magic surrounding the apartment.

  Is this a side-effect of Pieter’s dragon blood rune?

  I reach further inside myself, exulting in the power that answers my summons. The dragon magic
is quiet and undisturbed by my presence. The shimmering strands float peacefully through the air, and when I walk among them, they seem to wrap around me, like a warm, static-covered, fresh-out-of-the-dryer blanket.

  The threads of magic tug, pulling me into a wood-paneled study with views of Central Park. If I look really hard, I imagine that I can see the carousel. Drakkar Raedwulf will be there in a few hours. What is he looking for? What will I find in the safe?

  And what will happen to me when the dragons find out they’ve been robbed?

  It’s too late to think about that. Keep your focus on the job.

  The room is softly lit, the warm glow of light spilling from two lamps on side tables on either side of a comfortable-looking leather couch. On the other side of the room, there’s a large wooden desk, with a painting on the wall behind it.

  Holy crap. It’s an honest-to-God Van Gogh, an early version of the Bedroom in Arles, painted during the most prolific period of the Dutch painter’s life. I stop in my tracks to admire the vivid colors and confident brush strokes. Silas has a large print of the same painting hanging over his bed. I wish I could show him the original.

  The strands of protective magic seem stronger here. Almost as if…

  As if there were a safe behind the painting.

  I pad toward it. Just then, the clouds shift and moonlight floods into the room. Something glints on the wall opposite the Van Gogh, and my eye is drawn to it.

  It’s a sword.

  Not just any sword.

  I know this sword. In my dreams, I’ve held this sword. I’ve killed with it. Endellion. The blade of fire.

  But that’s impossible.

  Without conscious thought, I reach for it, my fingers outstretched. The blade is calling to me, singing my name, and my heart fills with a thirst that won’t be quenched until I touch it. Not with my latex gloves. Skin to metal.

  Don’t be stupid, Aria. Fingerprints!

  But I’m in thrall to the blade. I remove my gloves and reach out to run a fingertip over the sharp knife edge. My skin slices open, and I watch, mesmerized by the drop of blood that appears on my finger.

  The moment my blood spills, something changes in the air. The protective magic seems awake now. It’s not angry. It’s curious. Watchful.

  The warning bells ring in my mind. I can’t afford to linger. The party downstairs is in full swing, but any moment, the dragon princes might decide to return to their penthouse. I need to crack the safe, get the contents, and get the hell out of here.

  I cross to the safe, putting the gloves back on my hands. Running my finger along the frame, I check quickly for tripwires. Once again, there aren’t any. Setting aside my unease, I lift the priceless painting and lay it flat on the desk.

  The final obstacle is the safe.

  There are three, maybe four manufacturers in the world that make safes good enough for the dragon princes. I was prepared to crack any of their models.

  Unfortunately, this safe is something I don’t recognize. It’s old, ancient even, and it’s shielded by a thick web of magic. When I try to touch it, it feels like there’s an invisible force field blocking me from coming any closer.

  Drakkar Raedwulf thought that because I was Norm, I’d have an advantage. He didn’t account for this.

  I want to weep with frustration. Whatever is inside this safe is my key to saving Silas. I have to be able to open it. I’m so close; I can’t give up now.

  Think, Aria, think.

  The cut in my finger prickles and I remove the glove to look at it. Drops of blood bead on my skin, and once again, the magic seems to be more alert.

  Is it responding to my blood?

  Then it hits me. Of course not. I’m a Norm. It’s not reacting to me. It’s reacting to the dragon blood that was in Pieter’s tattoo gun.

  Can I use it? My heart hammering, I close my eyes, and I reach for the safe once again, this time with my bloody finger. The strands of magic seem to part, and the safe swings open soundlessly.

  It’s too easy.

  All evening, I’ve been feeling unsettled. The dragon princes are the most feared beings in the entire world. Their magic is legendary, their security the stuff of nightmares.

  And I’m a semi-retired Norm thief, on the verge of looting them.

  Something’s not right here. Every instinct in my body is screaming at me in warning. Every nerve is on edge.

  And then it clicks into place. Rhys’ words, back in the ballroom. I’m sure I’ll run into you again, Aria Archer.

  I never told him my last name.

  It’s a trap.

  23

  Aria

  A deep gong of warning sounds in my mind, but before I can spin around and make a break for it, the room is flooded with light.

  Five large men step out of thin air. I recognize three of them. Rhys, Mateo, and Erik.

  Everyone had warned me that dragons could conceal their essence. I should have connected the dots.

  The other two I don’t know, though one of them, a man with black-framed glasses and a Dean Martin-esque look feels very familiar. He’s frowning at me right now, staring at me, then at the opened safe door, and then at his wrist.

  Speaking of wrists, mine feels like it’s on fire.

  I hold my backpack in front of me like a shield. “This is all a misunderstanding,” I say shakily. I’m in a world of trouble, and the realization crashes over me like a tidal wave. How’s Silas going to react when I don’t go back home tonight? Mariana will tell him the truth, I’m sure of it. Who will pay for his treatments? Will Raedwulf follow through with his threat to kill Silas if I’m dead? “I can explain.”

  Rhys’ eyes soften when he hears the quiver in my voice. Erik, the angry one, glowers at me, but it’s not either of them that my gaze is drawn to.

  It’s the one I don’t know, the stranger. He’s tall and well-built. His hair is brown, the color of dark chocolate, but his eyes, deep and liquid and slate-grey, are what hold my attention. He looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  “You opened the safe?” he asks. “How?”

  “I don’t know.” The tendrils of magic are gone now, and I’m starting to wonder if I imagined them in the first place. “The protective magic seemed to like me. It almost… called to me.”

  His eyes flare with a desperate hope. With two long strides, he closes the gap between us, and grabs my hand in his, turning it to reveal the burning spot on my wrist. The area that was slightly pink and irritated before is now a faint, but distinctive pattern. It almost looks as if I’ve been branded.

  What the hell?

  He looks shocked as he traces the outline of the mark with one finger. “Can it be possible?” he whispers. “After all these years?”

  Goosebumps break out on my skin, but not from chill. His touch is electric fire. I feel lightheaded and off-kilter and confused. The second the men appeared, I expected to be fried on the spot. I expected torture and pain. I expected a whole lot of things, and none of them good.

  This gentle touch wasn’t on my list.

  “What are you talking about?” No sudden movements, Aria. Don’t anger the dragon princes.

  He’s not listening. He’s looking at me the way Bea looks at Jesse. The way Madam Buttface looks at her can of tuna. As if I’m the answer to his dreams.

  I watch, transfixed, as this man I don’t know, this dragon, lifts my bleeding finger to his lips, tasting me, tasting my blood. The moment his lips touch my skin, a wild heat fills my body, and I feel faint.

  “Yes,” the dragon holding my hand hisses in triumph. He raises his arm level with mine, showing me a matching mark etched into his skin. “It’s her,” he says, his tone tinged with awe. “The one that was prophesied. The one we’ve been searching for.”

  “Umm, Bastian?” Mateo takes a half-step toward us. “We have a problem.” He holds up his own wrist. “You’re not the only one with the mark. We all have one.”

  The guy holdin
g my hand is Bastian Jaeger.

  “What?” Bastian turns to the other men, a low growl rumbling in his chest when he sees all four men looking at their own wrists, their expressions ranging from awe to relief to joy to suspicion. “How is this possible? Casius?”

  The Dean Martin-esque man has a grim expression on his face. He seems to weigh his words with extreme care when he answers. “We must have misunderstood the prophecy. We assumed that it was referring to five women, one for each of us.” His lips twist. “We were clearly wrong.”

  “What does this mean?” Erik, the big, hulking dragon shifter growls.

  Have you ever felt like you’re a day late and a dollar short? Right now, I’m about a week late and a cool million short. My head is whirling. My skin feels clammy. I’m one step away from total meltdown, and the five dragon princes seem to be totally preoccupied with figuring out some prophecy that refers to me.

  Why would a prophecy refer to me? I’m Norm. None of this makes any sense.

  I pull my hand out of Bastian’s grasp and take a step away from his overwhelming presence. Five sets of eyes follow my movement. My gaze flicks to the door, then back to the men. I lick my lips nervously. There is no way that I can escape, but I still rack my brain for options.

  There are none. Rhys and Mateo take a step toward me, and the scary one—Erik—puts himself directly in front of the only exit.

  “It’s too late for that, little thief,” Rhys says, his lips lifting into a grin, his delicious accent a distraction from the very real danger I’m in.

  Is now the time to be noticing his accent, Aria? Stupid lady-garden. You should be a barren wasteland in this situation, not preparing for harvest.

  Rhys closes the distance between us, his eyes boring into mine. He cups my cheek in his big, warm hand, and his thumb lightly caresses my cheek. I have to fight against the desire to nuzzle into his touch.

  “I don’t understand,” I whisper.