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  “Romania. Transylvania, to be exact.”

  “Holy shit. You took me to Transylvania?”

  “In my private jet.”

  I watch her closely to see if she’s moved by this. Impressed by my means. She is not. She doesn’t show me any disdain, but it seems my wealth does not excite her.

  Hmm. I will have to discover what makes her tick. Sex, perhaps. Based on those looks she keeps sneaking my way, I believe she finds me attractive.

  “Is this Dracula's castle?”

  “No. His lies about fifty miles from here.”

  “That far, huh?”

  There’s something glib about her remark, but I don’t understand it.

  I need to find out if she remembers my other form. My dragon. She hasn’t mentioned it, which makes me think she’s blocked it out. The drugs the doctor gave her may have affected her memory of our meeting.

  I hesitate. We traverse the rest of the hall before I say, “I showed you myself, and you were frightened. You fainted.”

  “Why would I be frightened of you?” she asks easily.

  She doesn’t remember. She can’t.

  “You were frightened at our first meeting, too,” I remind her. “When you saw me in the Italian Alps.”

  “That was because you looked like John the Baptist on crack.” She steals a glance at my crotch as if remembering how my manhood looked. “I was a single woman hiking alone, I needed to be careful.”

  “I wouldn’t have hurt you. I will never hurt you, Tabitha.”

  I glide before her to press a fingerprint to a panel on the wall.

  “Plus you were naked,” she says, her gaze traveling across the breadth of my chest now like she’s remembering what I look like unclothed. “And there was that weird storm that blew up…” Her voice dies as I open the doors to my grand ballroom. I take her arm and guide her forward into the grandeur. Here she will get a true impression of my means. Of all that will be hers now.

  The ornate painted ceiling is four stories above our heads. Gold and white columns line the walls, breaking up sections of the parquet floor. A poorer king’s palace could fit inside this space.

  My dragon hates small, confined spaces. Places where I’d have to bust through walls if I shifted. Here, I can shift and still be comfortable.

  “Wow,” she says. “Throw a lot of parties?” Her voice echoes a little.

  “Not for many centuries.” Again, I get the sense she’s unimpressed. I try not to worry. Steering her towards a set of gold-framed doors, I take pleasure in simply having her here, by my side. In the privilege of breathing in her honeysuckle scent. I show her another smaller but no less grand hall. The one with columns and walls coated in gold.

  “Is that real gold?”

  “Yes.”

  She stops and traces the pattern embossed in the gold–the spiral loops that form a triangle. The same pattern is found on each of my scales. “I like this design,” she murmurs like she’s more interested in the pattern than the gold. “Borromean rings, right? Three circles that cannot be unlinked. The symbol of unity.”

  I wait until she’s ready to move on. We exit through a normal-sized side door into a set of rooms with tasteful arrays of chaises, desks, and leather armchairs tucked around fireplaces. A long hall runs between them with floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with my red and gold-bound books. There are even a few rolling ladders.

  “Oh my God.” Tabitha claps a hand to her forehead like she might swoon. “I may have just had a mini-bookgasm.”

  I don’t understand the word bookgasm, but her delight pleases me. Finally, something that impresses my bride.

  I guide her forward with the slight pressure of my hand in the small of her slender back. I love touching her. Feeling the gentle slope of her back just above the curves of her glorious ass.

  She stops before an ancient globe in a wooden frame. Big as a chair, the globe’s surface is yellowed and displays countries that no longer exist.

  “This is incredible,” she breathes.

  “There’s more.” Enheartened, I take her hand and press my palm to a security pad, unsealing a special glass area. Inside the temperature and moisture-controlled rooms lie my vast array of ancient maps, displayed carefully.

  Tabitha rushes forward to examine them. “Wow. I don’t even recognize some of the countries.”

  “Most of them no longer exist.”

  “Ooh, you have a map of the Ottoman Empire!”

  “Yes, circa 1595.”

  I let her roam around the room, exclaiming over the ancient artifacts. I make a mental note–not impressed by jets but loves old artifacts. Perhaps that’s because she remembers her previous lifetime. The one when she was mine.

  Tabitha straightens from examining a scrap of Flemish tapestry. “Are you trying to impress me?”

  “Is it working?” I ask. I take her hand and gently lead her out of the room. I would let her stay until she’s poured over every item, but I know she’s hungry. I carefully seal the room again. It’s an old castle, but I’ve made all the upgrades.

  Tabitha presses her lips together like she doesn’t wish to admit the truth.

  Satisfaction plows through me. She is finally impressed.

  She clears her throat as I lead her on through the library. “Will you tell me what you were doing on that mountain top?

  “I had woken from a long sleep.” I consider saying more but decide against it. If she doesn’t remember seeing my dragon, I’m not going to reveal it yet. There’s already a lot to take in.

  She studies me like she knows I’m holding something back. My bride is as clever as she is beautiful.

  “You did scare me,” she admits.

  “I know. I’ve regretted it ever since. You ran so fast. I tried to follow, but you disappeared into the village. I had to go back for my clothing, and by the time I returned, you were gone. I looked for you. I have been searching for you these past ten years.”

  “How did you survive the storm on the mountaintop? The avalanche of rocks?”

  The one I caused by shifting into my dragon form? “Easily. You'll find I am difficult to kill.”

  Tabitha sighs.

  “What is it, little one?”

  “Each answer you give me only opens up more questions. I'm not sure why I'm playing this game.”

  “Ah. I do enjoy games. Perhaps you’ll come to enjoy playing them with me.”

  She flips her hair over her shoulder, not in a flirtatious way. She’s completely unpretentious and yet, at the same time, as regal as a princess. Quite an enigma.

  “I don’t like games,” Tabitha says. “I'm too straightforward, much to my mother's dismay.”

  “Oh? Does your mother play games?”

  “Only one—attracting and acquiring rich men. She always hoped I'd inherit that talent. She pushed me into anything she thought would help—dance lessons, child beauty pageants, modeling contracts. I rejected it all.”

  My chest tightens even though I’d already suspected this bit of information. “You don’t care for rich men?”

  “No. They’re too in love with their own power. They like to own their women instead of partner with them, and they’re far too controlling.”

  Something inside me shifts uncomfortably. My dragon doesn’t speak to me, yet I sense his judgment. I’m everything she dislikes.

  Rich. Powerful. Controlling.

  But these are the traits that make me a good mate. What could I offer her without them? She’d be unsafe. Without comforts. Unimpressed.

  She’s already unimpressed. I push away that uncomfortable thought.

  “You say you’ll tell me the truth and tell me more about yourself, but everything you say conceals more than it tells me,” Tabitha complains.

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her that is how I prefer to play the game, but she just told me she doesn’t like games. I will have to formulate a new plan. In the meantime, I will provide for my mate.

  With a wave of my
hand, I activate a hidden sensor, and two-story-high double doors glide open to reveal my dining hall. She takes in the massive onyx fireplaces that sandwich a long polished table. The room glows from the light of the fires and the candelabrum on the table. Overhead, a chandelier glistens.

  “Isn't this a little overkill?” Tabitha asks, even as her stomach growls loudly. She wavers on her feet, and I catch her elbow to steady her.

  “You’re famished, my treasure. Please join me at my table.”

  With my hand at her back, I guide her to the closest end of the table and help her into a high-backed, plush cushioned seat.

  “This is like a throne,” she muses and nods to the far end of the table. “Are you going to sit on one end of the table, and I sit on the other?”

  Something is amusing her, but I’m not sure what. “Is that what you would like?”

  She ducks her head to hide a smile. “Maybe.”

  “Perhaps at another meal.” I rest my hand on her nape a moment before I seat myself beside her.

  Tabitha

  At the end of the room, a door opens, and a man in a tailcoat and white cumberbund enters, wearing a lofty expression. The pinkish haze of his aura clings to his pompadour.

  Gabriel waves a hand. “Tabitha, this is my butler, Buttons.”

  Buttons the butler? Is he serious?

  “Pleasure to meet you, madam,” Buttons says in a starchy British accent. He unfolds my napkin with a snap and lays it over my lap. “First course tonight is a duck consommé.”

  I sit up straight and try to remember my manners as Buttons leaves the room and returns with a silver tureen.

  “This is giving me serious Downton Abbey vibes,” I mutter to Gabriel.

  He inclines his head but doesn’t look like he catches the reference. “Is that a good thing?”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  The broth Buttons ladles into a shallow bowl in front of me smells amazing.

  I hazard a guess as to which spoon to use. The salty broth hits my tongue in an explosion of herbed flavor. “Oh my God, that’s good.” I scrape the bowl in my haste to scoop up more.

  Both Buttons and Gabriel are watching me.

  I clear my throat. “My compliments to the chef.”

  “Very good, ma’am. I will pass them along.” Buttons swans away, and I relax a little.

  Gabriel steeples his fingers, watching me eat with an air of pleasure. “Chef Giampi is very good.”

  “I hope you’re paying him well.”

  “I pay all my employees well.” He dips his head to my bowl. “Does this add to my star rating?”

  “You heard that?” I’m down to the last spoonfuls of broth. Would it be rude to pick up the bowl and slurp the rest? “This would be perfect with a grilled cheese sandwich.”

  “In due time. I told Giampi to start with something light so as not to shock your system. You were asleep for a long time.”

  “That’s so weird. I can't believe I slept through a ride on a private jet.”

  “I may have had the doctor add a touch of a soporific to the cocktail of vitamins he administered.”

  I set my spoon down. “Excuse me? Did you just admit to drugging me?”

  His dark lashes flutter, but the expression on his handsome face doesn’t change. “I will not lie to you.”

  “That doesn’t make it better!”

  I glare at Gabriel while Buttons announces and serves a second course. When the butler is gone, I nod to my plate. “Is this drugged?”

  “No. I have no need to drug you tonight.”

  The fucking nerve! If I could shoot fire from my eyeballs and incinerate him, I would.

  I use my fork to poke at the cooked carrots. They smell like honey and cumin. My stomach growls. I’m going to need my strength to fight him.

  “You would drug me again?” I ask in an icy tone.

  “If circumstances required it.”

  I barely taste the food I’m munching on. At this point, I’m just filling my stomach, so I can regain my strength.

  “Why did you drug me the first time?”

  “You had fainted. And I thought it best to let you sleep through the journey. You were not harmed. I will never do you harm.”

  “For the record, roofying me is harming me.” I stab a carrot. “What else did you do to me?”

  “Other than transport you across an ocean and lay you in a comfortable bed, absolutely nothing.”

  “You removed my shoes.”

  “But not your clothes. The first time I undress you, you will have begged for it.”

  My body has an entirely different reaction to that than my mind. A tightening between my legs. Or is it a loosening? Definitely heat. My visceral reaction to this man and his offensive words confuse me.

  I do note that I’m more offended than scared. I still can’t find it in me to dredge up a fear response to the knowledge that I’ve been kidnapped, drugged, and flown across an ocean to Transylvania. Something about this man feels so familiar. Safe.

  I respond to that with silence. I give him the silent treatment through the next three courses of the meal.

  Gabriel eats sparingly. At some point, the butler serves him some wine from a bottle with an ancient, yellowed label. They don’t offer any to me, and I don't ask for any. I don’t want to risk upsetting my stomach, and I want all my wits about me.

  As soon as I can, I’m gonna blow this joint.

  “One thing I don’t understand,” I say finally, breaking the silence after barely touching the cheese course. “You said I fainted when I saw you. I never faint.”

  “Circumstances were overwhelming.”

  “What circumstances?” I concentrate, but I don’t remember. I allow my distress to slip into my voice. “I’m trying not to freak out, Gabriel.”

  “It is best not to tell you but to show you.” He sets his napkin on the plate and rises.

  3

  Tabitha

  “Let us adjourn to the cigar room.” Gabriel offers me his hand. I shouldn’t allow it, but for some reason, I do. Buttons comes and pulls my chair out for me.

  Gabriel’s big hand closes gently around mine. My belly is full, and my body comes alive in his presence. I wish I wasn’t so damn attracted to this man. I don’t understand what’s going on. I haven’t forgotten that he just admitted to drugging me. Or kidnapping. Or that he’s holding me hostage. Yet I still get flutters when he touches me.

  He leads me out the way we came. I make note of the twists and turns as we head through the library to a study of some sort.

  “So this is the cigar room.” Maybe that’s where the smoky scent is coming from. But no, the cigars have an earthier scent.

  “Yes,” Gabriel leaves me standing in front of a large leather sofa and walks to the fireplace. A touch of a button and flames spring to life. “Would you like a cigar?”

  “No thanks. They give me headaches.” Even with pot. I stick to edibles.

  “Does the smoky scent bother you?”

  “No. I find it comforting.” Some of the rich men my mother chased after smoked cigars. They weren’t all horrible assholes. Just most of them.

  To the right of us is a bank of windows that overlooks a courtyard the size of half a football field.

  “Were all medieval castles this big?” I ask.

  “No. Nor was this one when I first conquered it, but I have done many renovations over the years.”

  “You and your family? You said something about seven hundred years. I assumed you meant your ancestors…”

  “No. I meant me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “There are many things that you need to know, and now it is time to tell you. Take a seat,” he points to the Chesterfield.

  “You know what?” I prop a hand on my hip. “I don’t think so. I want to go now.”

  “Sit down,” he orders. His voice is soft but the echo reverberates in my bones.

  And I sit. He's got that authoritative voi
ce, the same as Rafe. Rafe can give an order, and you want to obey. I never noticed it until Adele pointed out how she found it annoying as hell.

  I glare up at Gabriel like a petulant toddler. “I'd like my phone back. I probably should call my friends.” I’d even call my mom.

  “Ah, yes, your friends. That is part of what I wish to show you.” Gabriel touches another button beside the fireplace, and a fancy flat-screen TV descends from the ceiling. The screen blinks into a familiar view. A stone and timber lodge nestled on a snowy lawn with a pine forest and mountains behind.

  I sit up straighter. “That's where Deke lives. Sadie's boyfriend. And Rafe and Channing. Do you have cameras on their house?” My voice bounces off the high ceiling.

  Gabriel inclines his head. “I prefer to know where my self-proclaimed enemies reside.”

  “Rafe is going to go ape shit.”

  “Rafe Lightfoot, you mean.” He hits another button, and there's a picture of Rafe standing on his snow-covered back porch, talking on his cell. “He has yet to spot my falcon drone.” Gabriel smirks.

  The door behind Rafe glides open, and Adele sticks her head out. Her hair is down and her face is makeup-free. I rarely see Adele like this, and she's my best friend. She's wearing an oversized pair of joggers that pool over her feet and a giant Henley. Rafe's clothes.

  “Holy crap, they're together,” I gasp. “Is this live footage?”

  Gabriel nods. I feel guilty being a voyeur.

  Adele says something to Rafe from the door. He ends his call and heads into the house.

  The footage changes.

  “This is from last night,” Gabriel says. There they all are, sitting in the Blue Moon Grill. Deke and Sadie, Lance and Charlie. Charlie is sitting on Lance's lap, his hands are on her thickened belly. Adele and Rafe are both standing and talking to the group like the de facto leaders that they are.

  “Stop,” I say tiredly. This is just wrong. I can't watch my friend's life like a soap opera. “I need to call them.”

  “Don't you want to know their secrets? What they've been keeping from you?”

  “Whatever it is, I'm sure they had a good reason,'' I say stubbornly. But now I’m confused and curious.