Soul of the Dragon Read online

  Her essence was in her lips—ruby red, unpainted yet glossy, full. He imagined their softness under his mouth, their taste under his tongue. He dropped his gaze to her chest, where he could see her heartbeat barely moving her sweater. She lifted a hand to brush her hair off her shoulder, and her coat shifted sideways, exposing her breast. It strained the fabric covering it. His fingers curled, itching to mold the curve.

  He shifted, enjoying the excitement that built inside him. Enjoying the outward manifestation of that excitement. Oh, yes, she would enjoy it, too. But not tonight. Not until they were married. Tonight, there would be just a taste.

  “Do you like shellfish, Alexa?”

  She turned to him, smiling. “Don’t you already know that?”

  He laughed. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Dragonsoul Enterprises owns Pluto, Inc., which owns FutureSafe, which owns GenCom. Which, until recently, employed me. I imagine you know more about me than I know about myself.”

  Tars felt a spurt of anger. He hadn’t been aware that she had resigned from GenCom. No doubt she’d done it to pursue this worthless quest. He squashed the flame with a deep breath. No reason to be angered about this. She was with him now. He’d deal later with Mark and whatever his rationalization for neglecting to pass on this information.

  “I imagine you are right about that,” he admitted, reaching for a bottle of champagne in the ice bucket to his left. “But there will always be more to learn. I look forward to the discovery.” He pulled the cork out with a practiced twist and poured a glass. When he reached to hand it to Alexa, she simply looked at it.

  “Don’t trust me, do you? All right.” He lifted the bottle to his lips and swallowed twice. Alexa raised her eyebrows as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “I never thought you would be so uncouth,” she said, accepting the glass. “I guess the wine isn’t drugged.” She peered into the flute. “What about the glass?”

  Tarsuinn forced away the hurt her mistrust caused. “Alexa, I’ve never tried to coerce you. When you wouldn’t abandon your dragon for my tower, I did nothing. When your father died, leaving you alone, I watched while you trained to come after me. I didn’t attempt to convince you of my cause. I’ve waited patiently.” He set his glass down with a snap, ignoring the last time, the time she had betrayed him. “Too patiently. Forgive me if I become passionate about wanting you in my life, but after so many years of chivalrous tolerance I cannot help but try harder. I will seduce you to my side, not force you.”

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured against the glass. Her eyelids lowered as she drank. Tarsuinn tried to slow his breathing, realizing he had almost lost control. He would not lose control. That was always how she got away.

  The limo pulled into the circle in front of Dragonsoul Enterprises and stopped. The attendant opened the door, and Tarsuinn gestured for Alexa to precede him.

  He nodded at the driver and attendant and ushered Alexa toward the black, blank wall to the left of the lobby. She looked up at him with apparent confusion. “We’re not going inside?”

  He smiled. He couldn’t wait to show her his surprise. “Not really.” He reached into his pocket and pressed the correct key on his remote control. A panel slid to the side, revealing a hidden doorway.

  “How clever,” Alexa commented, but he could hear her mind turning.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” he said, pressing his thumb to the sensor next to the door and waiting for it to open. “The frequency is scrambled, the pad accepts only my print, and the elevator goes only to the roof, which does not allow entry to the building in any manner.”

  “Okay,” she said mildly, stepping into the little box and gazing around with what she probably thought looked like interest. He knew her, though, knew she was examining everything, filing away details in that cold little brain of hers.

  He knew how to make her forget the details.

  They emerged from the elevator onto the roof of the office building. Tarsuinn watched Alexa’s face as he secured the door. She turned in a slow circle, gazing at the city spread below them, at the moon and the stars in the midnight sky above, and at the feast he’d had laid out among tropical flowers on the finest bone china. Satisfaction at the pleasure on her face filled him, and he forgave Mark for not telling him about her resignation. He could afford to be generous. His woman was getting ready to fall at his feet.

  He followed her to the table and held her chair. She looked up at him with limpid eyes, and he held his breath, wondering if he dared to interpret her gaze as infatuated.

  “You went to such trouble,” she said. “I’m overwhelmed.”

  “There is more to come.” He chose a crab hors d’oeuvre from a tray and fed it to her. Her lips closed over his fingers and he sighed at the shiver inside him.

  “Let’s talk about something benign,” Alexa suggested, chewing delicately.

  “Of course. Opera?” He reached for a plate and selected a variety of delicacies from the tray stand next to the table.

  She grimaced, then hummed in anticipation when he placed the plate in front of her. “Thank you. But can we avoid opera and ballet, please? They’re not to my taste.”

  “What shall we discuss then?”

  His eyes locked on her lips while she licked her fingers.

  “Travel. I think we’ve both done a lot of it. What’s your favorite country?”

  Tars relaxed a fraction. “Scotland holds a special place in my heart.”

  Alexa nodded. “I’ve never been. Well,” she amended, helping herself to a crab puff from his plate, “not in this lifetime.” Her eyes twinkled at him and he laughed.

  “You are a delight, Alexa.” He lifted another bottle of champagne and poured for both of them. “What’s your favorite country, then?”

  “Besides America?”

  “Besides America.”

  “France, I think.”

  They talked for half an hour about cultural differences and tourism versus business travel. They kept the conversation away from her missions, which, of course, he knew all about anyway. By the time dinner arrived he was certain she wasn’t thinking about their past, only their present.

  Then Alexa brought it back. “I’ve been considering your proposal,” she said. Tars tightened, waiting. “It makes sense. But there are risks.”

  “There are always risks in giving your heart,” he offered, trying to keep them on an intimate level. He didn’t want the businesslike Alexa back.

  “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

  “I told you, I always keep my word.” He spooned some mousse from a dish and held it out for her to taste.

  “Mmm. Wonderful.”

  “I made it.”

  Her eyebrow went up. “Hidden talents. I like that.”

  Foolishly proud, he gave her another bite. She moaned again, then sat back.

  “Can you reverse the curse?” she asked. He must have frowned, because she rushed on. “Wait, don’t get angry. I just want to know if it’s possible.”

  How dare she question his ability? “Of course it’s possible to reverse the curse.” He stopped himself from saying more.

  “Does it have to be in his presence?”

  “No.” His hand tightened around his napkin. “I do not ever want to be in his presence again.”

  “I understand,” Alexa said in a small voice that seemed to indicate she shared his sentiments. He unclenched his fist and reached for his wine.

  Then music started, and Alexa watched him with her head tilted sweetly.

  “Food appears without notice. Music begins with no obvious touch of a button. How do you do it, Tarsuinn?”

  “Tars.” It came out sharply and he inhaled deeply, then smiled. “My first name is Tars. And I have an exceptional staff.”

  “An invisible one.” Alexa sipped easily from her glass, clearly over her caution. Tars allowed himself to be pleased. She was positioning herself just where he wanted her.

  When
she crossed her flatware over her plate, he held out his hand. “Shall we dance?”

  Alexa smiled demurely and rested her fingers in his. The zing made his heart stutter, and he forced himself to remain still so as not to give himself away.

  “I love this song,” she murmured, drifting into his arms and following his lead the way she was meant to. He moved slowly to the classical strains, allowing the music to penetrate, take control. Alexa glided closer and he tucked her hand beneath his, against his chest, so she could feel the beat of his heart. Recognize it. Echo it.

  She rested her head on his shoulder and triumph poured through him.

  Alexa waited until she felt it, the infinitesimal change that showed Tars thought he’d won. She tilted her head back and his mouth descended to hers, hungry. He devoured her like a man paroled after twenty years in prison.

  She’d never been kissed this way before. She’d had liaisons, but her whole life had been so independent, so unsteady, that she’d never had a meaningful relationship. All her past kisses had been based on lust, not emotion.

  The emotion in Tars’ kiss blew all the others away.

  For just an instant, she let herself get lost in the unfamiliar sensations—the possessive stroke of his hands over her body, the urgent sweep of his tongue against hers. When he pulled back, she let her confusion show on her face. She opened her eyes and let him see what he expected to see.

  “Alexa. You are mine.”

  “Haven’t I always been?”

  “Yes.” His hand tunneled under her hair, holding her in place. His other gripped her right hip—right where the Taser would have been. She was relieved she hadn’t brought it.

  “You will always be mine,” he said fiercely, his fingers tightening even more.

  Alexa stretched toward him. “If you’ve won, you can reverse the curse,” she whispered against his mouth. She let her lips part and her head fall back, like an overcome heroine from a black-and-white film. “Oh, Tars.”

  “Yes, Alexa, my Alexa.”

  “Do it, Tars. Reverse the curse. Then we can be together, free.”

  It almost worked. She could feel the power gathering, sensed he was about to give in, so convinced was he that she was his.

  But not convinced enough. He tensed, and she looked up. His expression had darkened with understanding.

  “Traitorous bitch!” he spat, flinging her away. She went with the motion, allowing herself to fall against the table and land in position to reach the handgun at her ankle.

  “Is it not enough that I died for you?” he roared, pacing in front of her. She acted stunned, dazed, to buy time and let him get worked up.

  “You didn’t die for me,” she said. “You killed me.”

  “As if you remember,” he scoffed.

  She looked up at him as he paced. In a flash, she did remember. The terror came first, then the memory of being dragged across a stone floor. He was going to toss her out the window. The terror wasn’t from knowing she was going to fall, however, but from the knowledge that she’d failed, and it hadn’t been the first time. Anger flooded her, a pure, fiery rage. She became lost in it. She couldn’t see Tars Suinn standing in front of her now, but Tarsuinn the Mage, his face close to hers, his eyes glowing with his mania. In her memory, he gripped her tunic and said, “You lose.” But he’d underestimated her. She’d fought her despair and held on to his robes. She’d gripped them under his arms, close to his body, so he couldn’t slip free, and he’d gone over the edge with her.

  “I do remember,” she said, rising to a crouch. “You told me I lost, but I took you with me. Off your precious tower. You can’t win, Tars. If you kill me, you’ll never have me.”

  He paced a short path in front of her. He wasn’t looking at her now, but she didn’t stand. She was too close to the wall, and didn’t want to move and provoke him into realizing it. He whirled toward her.

  “You lying, filthy wench. This time, you die alone!”

  Out of time, Alexa yanked the gun out of her holster and aimed it with both hands. “I don’t think so, Tars. This time, you’ll give in to me.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. “You dare to threaten me with that puny weapon?” He lifted his arm, aiming his fingers at her. The gun spun out of her hand and across the roof.

  Uncertainty took the place of Alexa’s confidence. How had he done that?

  “I’m a mage, you idiot.” Tarsuinn looked completely disgusted. “I don’t know why I ever wanted you.”

  He held out his hand again, and Alexa felt herself lift up into the air and fly backwards. In a second she was over the wall, still held in the grip of his magic, too stunned to react. She glimpsed the arch of the ladder over the top of the wall and reached, her fingers closing over it just as she was released to gravity. Her body swung down and slammed into the ladder, knocking the breath out of her. Her grip held, and she closed her free hand around the other arch while her feet found purchase on a rung.

  Now came fear. She’d never believed he had real magic. She didn’t know how to fight this.

  Tarsuinn appeared at the top of the wall. He grinned down at her, once again triumphant. “I know it’s trite, Alexa, but if I can’t have you, no one can.”

  He held up his right fist. It glowed red, getting brighter and brighter until he swung his arm down. A fireball hurled toward her.

  Instinctively she ducked her head, squeezing her eyes closed and tightening her grip. Block! she yelled silently, not knowing why. Half a second later heat wafted over her, but she felt no pain. Nothing slammed into her to break her grip and send her tumbling to the parking lot below. She looked up again. Tars was still there, now looking much calmer and very thoughtful.

  “Interesting,” he mused. “I don’t think I’ll destroy you right now, after all.” He disappeared, and silence took over.

  Alexa was left dangling, wondering what the hell had just happened.

  Chapter Seven

  Tars stormed into his office and slammed his finger on the button that paged Mark. It didn’t matter that it was the middle of the night. Mark would come.

  It was only a few seconds before the young man entered the room. He stood quietly while Tars, full of restless energy and anger, paced back and forth.

  “I take it the evening didn’t go well?” Mark finally asked.

  “So glad I pay you to state the obvious.” Tars spun to his console and called up the cameras that panned the outside of the building. He tapped the directional controls until Alexa came into view.

  “That’s Alexa Ranger?” Mark asked.

  Tars nodded. There were very few photos of Alexa available, and though Tars had had Mark keep an eye on her activity, the man had never seen her personally.

  “She’s the woman from the other day,” Mark realized. “The one you called your destiny.”

  Tars didn’t answer. He was watching Alexa. She had descended to the bottom of the ladder, a good fifteen feet above the ground. He watched as she swung from the bottom rung, then dropped, fell to absorb the impact, and rolled to her feet in one smooth motion. He was impressed despite his anger.

  Anger. He’d been too quick to boil over, to retaliate against her manipulations. He hated his reversion to Tarsuinn the Mage, a man consumed by obsession and hatred. Tars had believed he’d grown beyond destructive emotion. That his desire—his love—for Alexa had returned to its original purity.

  “Was there a problem with the arrangements?” Mark asked after a moment.

  “No. You did well.”

  “Then—”

  “Why didn’t you tell me Alexa Ranger resigned from GenCom?”

  Tars turned and caught the surprise on Mark’s face.

  “I wasn’t aware she had,” he said.

  “It’s your job to be aware.”

  “I’ll look into it.”

  “While you’re at it, research the rest of the people on this list.” Tars pulled a piece of paper from Alexa’s file. He’d never had to resort to mafia t
actics in his business dealings. Nor in his personal ones, as his whole life he’d gotten exactly what he sought. This challenge was different, however, and always had been.

  “What do you want to know?” Mark took the paper from Tars and glanced at the names. “This is Alexa Ranger’s family.”

  “I want to know where they are and what they’re doing. The information may become valuable.”

  Mark scrutinized him, but Tars didn’t explain. He didn’t tell the man everything. He waved his dismissal and began packing files into his briefcase.

  “Tars, what are you thinking?” Mark put the list down on the desk and braced his hand on it. He ignored the look of warning Tars threw at him. “You aren’t planning…you don’t operate that way.”

  Tars snapped the briefcase shut and swung it off the desk. Mark followed him to the door. Annoying gnat of a man, Tars thought, then stopped, sighing and rubbing his forehead. Mark was loyal, intelligent, hardworking. It wasn’t fair to take his bad humor out on him. And he was right, after all. Tars Suinn had never done anything illegal.

  He was feeling more and more, however, like Tarsuinn the Mage.

  * * *

  Alexa didn’t waste any time getting away from Dragonsoul Enterprises. She flagged the first cab she saw and directed it to the restaurant where she’d left her car. She ignored the driver’s off-key rendition of “Feel Like a Woman” and tried to catch her breath.

  What the hell had happened up there? Cyrgyn was obviously correct about Tars keeping his magic. But the fireball should have knocked her off the ladder and ten feet into the air. It hadn’t touched her.

  And where was Cyrgyn, anyway? She tilted her head against the window and looked up at the dark sky, knowing full well she wouldn’t be able to see him if he was up there. She hadn’t been looking for him during the altercation, but now that she thought about it, she wondered why her protector hadn’t swept down out of the sky and roasted the mage.

  Just as well he hadn’t, she thought, paying the driver with her emergency twenty—she’d had no chance to grab her purse—and checking the Saturn automatically before she got into it. She’d learned something valuable on her own. Now if she could just figure out what…