Thea Harrison - Dragon Bound

The news crew conducted interviews of pedestrians. One woman said tearfully, “Forget about property damage. I heard that sound earlier today and I’m going to be in therapy for the rest of my life. I want to know if Cuelebre is going to pay for that!”

He pushed the mute button. It was turning out to be one expensive damn penny.

Outside the wall-sized windows, early evening fell into full night. Then Rune came loping back into his office, paper in his hands.

“I’ve got it, got her ,” his First exclaimed. “Lots of people bought lots of crap, but only one woman bought only Twizzlers and a Slurpee. What are the odds?”

Dragos leaned back in his chair. He felt a pulse of dark anticipation as Rune handed him the paper. He shuffled through all of the photos. They were of a fixed scene of the 7-Eleven’s registers and the glass front doors. Rune threw his large frame into a chair and watched as, with an impatient shove, Dragos wiped clear the large expanse of his desk and began to lay the photos out one by one.

Rune had printed several sequential eight-by-elevens. As Dragos laid out the grainy black-and-whites he could almost imagine the woman in the photos moving. He couldn’t wait to see the footage and watch her move for real.

There she was, opening the door. She moved to the left and disappeared from the camera. There she was again, reappearing, holding a packet of Twizzlers and a Slurpee drink in slender hands. She paid, gave the cashier a smile. The last photo was of her pushing out the front door.

He went over them again with more care.

The angle of the shots made it difficult to say for sure, but she seemed a normal height for a tallish human woman. She was whippet graceful with long bones and delicate curves. The camera caught the dip and hollow of her collarbones. She wore her thick hair in a ponytail that was somewhat disheveled, and it was either white or some other light color. He was betting on some shade of blonde. Her triangular face was far too young for it to be gray.

The slash of Dragos’s dark brows lowered over his blade-straight nose. The woman looked tired, preoccupied. No, she looked more than tired—she looked haunted. The smile she gave the cashier was courteous, even kind, but sad. She wasn’t what he expected, but he knew in his old wicked bones that this was his thief.

He traced a finger down the silhouette of her figure as she walked out the 7-Eleven door. It was the only one of her walking away. He didn’t like this picture. He slammed his flattened hand down on it and crumpled it in his fist.

“I’ve got you,” he said.

“I have just one question for you,” Rune said. The gryphon’s long legs were spread out, his eyes curious. “How did you know to send me there and what to look for?”

Dragos looked up with a flash of secretive jealousy. “Never mind how. We’ve found her and your part in this is done. You can go back to your regular duties.”

Rune nodded at the photos. “What about her?”

“I’ll take care of her.” Dragos bared his teeth. “I’m hunting this one. Alone.”

He sent Rune away, climbed to his penthouse bedroom and opened the French doors. The late-spring air licked into the room. He stood in the doorway looking at the gleaming city lights.

Where are you, thief? I know you’re running somewhere, he said to the night. He lifted his head to the breeze, which carried the city’s complex mélange of scents.

Power, magical or otherwise, has its own set of habits. He realized he had fallen into a bored complacency. Either life conformed to what he desired or he bent it to his will. He didn’t ask, he took. If a business interest threatened him, he had them destroyed. No mercy. He had settled into the unsophisticated laziness of brute force.

Dragos summoned his Power and began whispering beguilement into the night. He held the image of his thief firm in his mind. The magical threads flexed like long-unused muscles and began curling outward on the breeze. It was only a matter of time before they found their target.

I’ve got you now.

Pia dreamed of a dark, whispering voice. She tossed and turned, fighting to ignore it. Exhaustion was a concrete shackle. All she wanted to do was sleep. But the voice insinuated into her head and sank velvet claws deep.

She opened her eyes to find that she was standing at the edge of a spacious balcony that hung high over New York.

The night scene was dazzling. Lights of all colors were spray-painted on massive skyscrapers against a purple-black background. She looked down. She was barefoot and stood on flagstones, not concrete.

There wasn’t a railing.

She shrieked and fell on her ass as she stumbled back. She scrambled backward until she put several feet between herself and the precipice. Then she noticed her long bare legs pouring out from a simple white negligee. The negligee accentuated her runner’s light, strong build, slender muscles both racy and muscular.

Negligee? She fingered the satiny material. She didn’t own a negligee. Did she? She could have sworn she hadn’t gone to bed in it. By the way, where had she gone to bed again?

A gentle pearly luminescence lit the flagstones around her. The blood rushed through her body on a surge of adrenaline.

Oh shit, she was glowing.

This was so not good. She pushed the hair out of her face. The glow made her feel more naked than she would have if she’d been nude. She hadn’t lost control over the dampening spell since she was a child.

She fumbled for the spell that would shield the luminescence and make her skin appear human. It was dangerous for her to be so exposed, but she seemed to have forgotten how to cast the spell.

“There you are,” a deep, quiet voice said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

That voice. Whiskey and silk, ageless and male. It poured over her and set her body on fire. She was bereft of air. Her lips parted on a soundless gasp.

She turned toward elegant open French doors wrought of black iron. White, gauzy, floor-length curtains billowed in the breeze. They obscured as much as they revealed.

“You want to come inside now.” That incomparable beautiful voice created a deep yearning that shook through her. She scrambled to her feet.

A small part of her mind rebelled. Um hello, that part of her mind said to her. Not into yearning much. Remember what happened the last time you gave in to yearning. You fell for a shithead who blackmailed you? You lost everything and had to go on the run?

The scene around her flickered and started to fade. The dark whispering surged in strength until it was all she could hear or think about. She was so lonely her chest ached. It actually, physically ached. She pressed a hand between her breasts and looked around in confusion.

The hypnotic voice ordered, “You will come inside now.”

All of a sudden that was the only thing she wanted to do. She went to the curtains and gathered them up in one hand as she looked inside into a huge shadowed bedroom. She caught an impression of a fireplace and large sturdy furniture sprinkled throughout the room.

A male reclined on pale covers on an enormous dark-framed bed. He had a massive physique, thick muscles bulging over long limbs, the bare skin of his torso dark against pale linen. The fall of hair onto his strong forehead was darker still. A sensual mouth quirked in a cynical smile. Only his eyes gleamed against the darkness with a faint, calculating, witchy glow.

Unease skittered on light mice feet down her back. There was something important she had to remember about his eyes. If only she could think of it.

Power like champagne filled the room until she felt like she was swimming in it. She had never been in the presence of so much magic before. It pressed against her skin, exhilarating and terrifying, addicting. It turned the fire the voice had ignited in her into liquid desire. An animal sound came out of her.