Jorge wasn’t even smart enough to heed good advice.
Boris IV had been dispatched to take the lead in destroying the firestorm of Drake. Jorge wanted to capture the mate, but Boris IV knew that was ridiculous. He’d intended to kill her outright, but Drake had severed Boris IV’s arm and Jorge’s more obedient minions had taken control of the battle. They would have left him behind if he hadn’t recovered enough to fly with them, and Boris IV knew it.
Then Jorge had taken his vengeance, by ensuring Boris IV had none of the Elixir from the body of his fallen fellow.
Even though his injuries were more severe and the Elixir would help him heal.
Even though he was the only clone of Boris Vassily who seemed to remember the truth and the one best qualified to take command.
Boris IV seethed at the disrespect shown in this injustice. Boris had centuries of experience in leading Slayers, while Jorge had been alone or a minion. Jorge’s ability to plan for the future had already shown his shortcomings as a leader: Erik had been saved, thanks to the intervention of Delaney and Donovan, while Drake and his mate had survived. To have only injured the Pyr in these surprise skirmishes was pathetic.
To attain his rightful place, Boris IV had work to do.
Disappearing, leaving Jorge with one less talon to serve him, had been the first step.
Next, he had to locate the second batch of eggs. He had almost six months to do it and a keen desire to find them. Being there at the hatching would give him first pick of the new clones. Eating one would restore him physically, given the infusion of the Elixir he’d consume. The newly hatched clone would be disoriented and easy prey.
After that, Jorge would pay.
And finally, once all the details were arranged, Boris IV would pay a visit to his old adversary, Erik, and finish what had been begun.
It was such a perfect plan that it couldn’t fail.
* * *
Drake finally had to admit defeat.
Only when there was nothing else to be done immediately did he report. Erik, as leader of the Pyr, had to know about Veronica’s abduction and the appearance of three Slayers. Theo was right that it would be news better delivered in person, but Drake didn’t want to spend the time to fly to Chicago.
He borrowed Theo’s cell phone instead and for once, he was glad of technological innovation.
“Gone?” Erik echoed, his displeasure clear. “There’s no trace of her scent?”
“She might have vanished into thin air,” Drake confirmed with frustration. “I followed her trail for six blocks and then it disappears. Theo has confirmed this and we have fanned out in all directions…”
“She’s not there anymore,” Erik said, interrupting him tersely.
Drake fell silent, knowing that the other Pyr was right. “They were Slayers,” he said. “Three of them.”
“They must have drunk the Elixir in order to disappear like that,” Erik said. “Did you recognize them? What did they look like?”
“They all looked identical,” Drake said. “That was the curious thing. Not similar, but identical. Like triplets.”
Erik caught his breath and Drake heard Donovan’s voice in the background. “Identical?” that Pyr asked.
“Indeed. Triplets.”
“Quintuplets,” Erik murmured. “There were two here, as well.”
This was not good news.
“What about their scent?” Donovan asked.
Drake shook his head, forgetting for the moment that they couldn’t see him. “I could only smell Slayer rot during the fight. There was no hint of it before their appearance, and there is only a slight whiff of it where Veronica’s trail disappears.”
“A taunt,” Donovan said flatly from Erik’s side, and Drake had to agree.
“How can we guess the location of their refuge?” Drake demanded in frustration. “We must retrieve my mate!”
“The firestorm is consummated?” Erik asked.
Drake nodded again, but Theo pointed to the phone to remind him. “Yes,” he said simply.
“Then we have to hope they want the child more than your mate,” Erik said.
The child! What would Jorge do with a Pyr son? Drake couldn’t consider it.
“This is unacceptable,” Drake protested. “I cannot fail her! I vowed to defend her, and her son…”
“And there has to be a smarter way of finding her,” Erik said, with some temperance. “There is no trail, but that doesn’t mean she’s lost.”
“I do not understand,” Drake said with impatience.
“I’ll ask Niall to seek her in dreams.”
Drake shoved a hand through his hair, not liking that there was so little he could do. It reminded him all too well of how he had left Cassandra and never returned, how she had been compelled to raise their son alone, with no knowledge of his fate. He thought of all the things he had never told her, and ultimately never had the chance to tell her, and feared it was happening all over again. It made him sick that he was repeating his error of the past.
But there was nothing he could do.
“Defend the boy,” Erik said crisply. “Niall may want to talk to you about him.”
“To direct his hunt,” Drake concluded, feeling some relief. “Timothy is the focus of Veronica’s life. She will fear for him.”
“And her concern may give Niall a trail.”
* * *
Ronnie was shaken by what she’d witnessed.
The three dragons had consumed every fiber of the wingless one’s body. There hadn’t been a sinew or a talon left when they had straightened, shifted back to their human form, and strolled out of her line of vision. They walked as if there was nothing remarkable about what they’d just done. She heard thunder again, and that slamming door, then footsteps fading into the interior of the building.
She even heard a slight belch.
They couldn’t have done that to Drake, could they? Ronnie didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know if they had.
Where had Leftie gone? It was spooky that he had vanished into thin air, which made Ronnie fear that he might be able to appear out of nothing, too.
She paced with greater urgency, desperate to find some way to escape and unable to think of one. She heard a vehicle coming closer and went to the window again. There were lights, as if a flashlight moved in the woods, and she heard a dog bark.
Ronnie guessed that wherever she was, there was a security team supposed to patrol the area. That encouraged her enormously.
At least until one of the triplets emerged from the darkness to the right, dressed in a dark jacket and heavy boots. He, too, carried a flashlight and moved directly toward the lights and sound of dogs. She heard him speaking to the other men, although she couldn’t discern his words. His voice seemed very low.
And melodic, which was strange.
Worse, the security team retreated, not even coming into view of the building.
The triplet was smiling when he returned to the building and Ronnie didn’t think she imagined the triumphant glance he fired toward her window.
It was much later and darker when she heard footsteps in the corridor outside and she spun to face the door.
One of the triplets looked through the door at her, his glittering eyes all the reminder she needed of his capabilities. Ronnie took a step backward and he smiled.
He had a deep cut in his cheek and she hoped it hurt. She thought of the wingless dragon and his torn up back and concluded that injuries followed these shifters between form. It seemed slightly more possible to injure one while he was in human form, so she’d keep that in mind.
He opened the door and she saw that another of the triplets hovered behind him. He carried a tray of covered dishes, which had a lantern on it, and Ronnie could see steam rising from beneath the lids. She could also smell the food. Her stomach growled as he set the tray on a table just inside the door.
“Where’s Leftie?” she demanded.
“He’s no
t so good with trays right now,” the first dragon shifter said smoothly. Ronnie sensed that this wasn’t all of the truth, but the way these two smiled was unnerving. He indicated that the other should carry the tray into the room.
“You’re probably going to poison me,” she charged.
The first dragon shifter seemed to be elected to do the talking. “On the contrary. You’ll only have a healthy son if you eat well during your pregnancy.”
Ronnie regarded him in horror. There was the talk of sons again. These dragon shifters were so convinced that she’d already conceived. She’d been sure that Drake was wrong, but with repetition, it was starting to sound more plausible. “You can’t be serious.”
“I have no sense of humor,” he said flatly and Ronnie believed it.
“I don’t eat dragon,” she said, the smell of the warm food tormenting her.
“That’s good, because we didn’t save you any.” He gestured to the tray. “It’s vegetarian.” He made to close the door, but Ronnie had to learn more.
Could she already be pregnant?
Was that why she’d been captured and not killed? It made a treacherous kind of sense.
“What are you going to do with my son?” she demanded but the door closed resolutely behind the man. She heard him chuckle and raced to the door, pounding on it with her fists. “What are you going to do to me?”
He paused and glanced back. “Nothing.”
“What about Timmy? What about Drake?”
He smiled, then came back to the grate. Ronnie instinctively recoiled from the coldness in his eyes. “All you need to know is that we’re not going to kill you or torture you. That might affect the child, after all.” He nodded in the direction of the tray. “Go ahead and eat. You’ve got nine months to discover our plans, and you don’t want us to force you to eat for the sake of the boy.”
Whether she was pregnant or not, their conviction of her condition was what was giving her a chance to live.
If she wasn’t pregnant, would she be able to fake it?
If she was pregnant, though, the prospect was getting more horrifying by the moment. Ronnie looked around her prison, outraged that she could be confined in such a place for almost a year, never mind that she might have a child in this filthy hole. That might kill her in itself.
Had Drake guessed she would be in this peril? Her captors walked away, the sound of their footsteps fading, even as she heard that stupid thunder again. Maybe there was a subway near them.
Maybe she was losing her mind.
Ronnie shook her head, instinctively knowing Drake hadn’t realized she’d be at risk. He wasn’t irresponsible and he’d never lied to her. She closed her eyes and prayed that he had survived, that he was well and that he would come to save both her and their child.
She knew that so long as he drew breath, he’d look out for Timmy. Those two had a bond, one established the moment they’d met. Drake would take care of Timmy.
Her intuitive conviction made her feel better. Ronnie eyed the tray for only a moment before she removed the lid from the largest dish. It was lasagna, steaming hot. There was a green salad and some garlic bread, water, skim milk and a big mug of hot tea. If nothing else, these dragons understood human nutrition. The tea was probably decaffeinated because that would be better for the baby.
Did that mean they’d get her pre-natal care? She could only hope as much, because that might create an opportunity for escape.
They also understood that she might use anything provided to get away. The plates were plastic, as were the utensils. There was a small dish with a multivitamin in it, and Ronnie recognized both the shape of the pill and the logo on the side of it as the brand she took daily.
They even had the pink one, which was for pregnant and nursing women.
Dragons were nothing if not consistent. Given her circumstance, in a way, Ronnie was starting to hope they were right. Nine months would give her a lot more time to escape, or for Drake to rescue her, than the two months required to prove that she wasn’t pregnant.
Her stomach growled and she pulled up a chair, sitting down to eat her dinner before the lantern went out or was taken away.
She might as well keep up her strength.
The lasagna was delicious.
* * *
By morning, Sam knew she couldn’t bring herself to just walk up to Sloane’s house, knock on the door and apologize.
She needed a story.
Her plan was to go to Sloane’s shop first, then wander down the driveway after she “discovered” that it was closed. It would be as if she hadn’t noticed him leaving and had a question about her garden. She had a thousand of them, actually, so it shouldn’t be tough. There was a worm breeding on her roses, for example, dozens of the little pests gnawing away at the buds. There weren’t as many buds on this late second bloom, of course, but she’d argue that made them more precious.
She probably could have found the answer online in five minutes, but she needed an excuse and this was going to be it.
Sam carefully clipped a branch off one rose bush, which hosted at least three of the little worms, and tried not to feel like an obsessed teenager.
She failed.
She tried to keep her pulse from racing in anticipation as she walked toward Sloane’s shop, but failed in that, too.
There were no two ways about it—she couldn’t wait to see him again.
She was even walking more quickly than usual.
Sloane’s shop was near the road, with his greenhouses behind it. Behind them were rows of herbs, including several of lavender that reminded Sam of all those pictures of Provence. The shop was closed and dark inside, just as she’d expected, but her heart sank all the same. She peered in the windows of the shop to be sure no one was there, then began to walk down the driveway toward the house, carrying her excuse in one hand.
Sloane’s house was located far back from the road, private and secluded behind the field of herbs. A seemingly impenetrable forest filled the land behind the pool that curved around its back side. Sam had a feeling the house was embedded into the hill and admired the solid impression it gave. It could have been there forever, except for its sleek, contemporary design. She was struck once more that no one could approach it without being observed, and that its location had much in common with a fortress. The house was both elegant and rooted, and Sam admired it all over again.
She would have bought it in a heartbeat, because everything about it seemed to scream that it was private and its occupants not to be disturbed. The real estate agent had laughed at her suggestion: evidently she hadn’t been the first to covet Sloane’s home.
Walking through the well-tended rows of his herbs, Sam found it easy to remember how she’d noticed Sloane on the first day she’d moved in—and cringe a little at the assumptions she’d made. Once upon a time, she would have appreciated the view offered by a man like Sloane but kept on going, seeking male companionship elsewhere. She was attracted to smart men, inquisitive men, men who delved into great mysteries and sorted them out—and they seldom looked like Sloane. She’d dated physicists and astronomers, research scientists and quantum theorists. She’d married a virus hunter and biologist.
But this was Sam’s new beginning, her course correction, so she’d lingered.
And Sloane was different. He challenged her assumptions. She’d guessed the truth the first time he’d glanced up at her from his garden. She’d sensed even then that he was perceptive and intelligent. He’d strolled across the fields with that athletic grace and introduced himself, offering his hand to her.
She’d felt an awareness of him, even then, one unlike anything she’d experienced before. It had only heightened when he’d given her a small smile, his eyes glowing. She’d felt beautiful when he’d looked at her like that, with his appreciation clear. His grip was strong and his hand warm, and she’d seen that his eyes were a deep hazel, with green and gold lights in them. Beneath his perusal, Sam had felt something awak
en deep inside her that she’d thought was dead forever.
He had her at hello, both her curiosity and her lust aroused.
That powerful impression had been reinforced with every exchange between them.
And her whimsical cover story, about being a tarot card reader and spell caster, had been put into immediate action. She feared that maybe he already had seen through her story. Sam had thrown herself into researching spells that used herbs, partly so that she had excuses to go to Sloane’s greenhouse and seek his advice. She’d even planted a number of them, making a start of a garden around the house. She’d studied the cards that her sister read so easily and had been devouring books on their interpretation. Contrary to being something easily mastered, she found the detail almost bewildering.
Even with so much to do, Sam hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Sloane. She hadn’t been able to stay out of his shop. She’d been sure that seducing him would be the easiest way to cure her of the attraction.
Instead, she was even more intrigued by him.
It was those secrets.
She was on his porch, with a pathetic excuse at conversation in her hand, an apology composed in her thoughts, her heart skipping as she knocked on his door. He’d see right through the pretense, Sam knew it, but strangely enough, she didn’t mind. She just wanted to see him again.
She wanted to make things right.
Sam couldn’t deny that the house seemed empty. It was silent and dark. She knocked and called and rang the bell, but there was no reply. There was no one near the pool, either. She tried to peer into one window, but it was either tinted or the shades were drawn on the inside. She couldn’t see anything but her own reflection.
The night they’d made love, she’d noticed that it had been impossible to look into his house, even from the pool area. Either the windows were tinted or blinds were closed, because the windows looked like dark mirrors. In earlier days, she might have dismissed his need for privacy as a quirk, but she thought again about that tattoo, and Sloane’s insistence that there be no strangers in his house.