Dillinger wasn’t wrong. Not this time.
Tweaking a dragon’s tail was never a good idea. Dragonkind warriors weren’t predictable. Violent? Yes. Vindictive? Absolutely. One hundred per cent lethal? Without question. Forgiving when wronged? No way in hell.
Which left him in a bit of a bind.
Given a choice, he never would’ve involved Cate Biscayne… and by default, the dragon warrior about to bang on his door. Sometimes, however, difficult problems called for creative solutions. He needed the TriHexe back. Immediately. No more nibbling around the edges. Diplomacy wasn’t working. Threatening those who lived inside the coven would only cause more problems, ones he wanted to avoid. So… only one thing left to do—use what the Goddess had dropped in his lap. Hold Cate for ransom. Task Rannock with sneaking in and stealing his property back to reacquire his woman.
Not a great plan, given the Dragonkind angle, but some things couldn’t be helped. The longer his Triad’s piece of the puzzle remained in the wrong hands, the more dangerous the situation became.
“Rathbone.”
“I’m aware it’s batshit crazy, D, but…” He trailed off as the protection spell vibrated, keeping him apprised of Rannock’s proximity.
On the sidewalk.
Sixty-five feet from the house.
Well within striking distance for a dragon.
Fine-tuning his magic, Rathbone tracked his guest, sensing when he paused at the base of the stairs leading up to the hotel’s front entrance. Animal magnetism rolled as Rannock tested the shield, pushing magical buttons, looking for weaknesses. When the spell gave nothing away, the dragon in human form strolled toward the side of the house like he had all the time in the world.
Big boots hit the stone walkway.
A rush of magic streamed up the narrow avenue.
Live oaks standing sentry along the path creaked in protest.
Eyes narrowed, he funneled his focus toward the side entrance. Heavy footsteps paused at the top of the stairs, then descended, one beat at a time.
“Fucking crazy,” Dillinger grumbled. “Don’t want him anywhere near here.”
Rathbone threw a sidelong glance at his brother. “You got a better idea?”
Jade-green eyes narrowed on him.
His lips twitched. “That’s what I thought.”
With a sigh, Dillinger shook his head. “Noble’s got the girl. He’s set up in the study.”
“Good,” he murmured, gaze riveted to the wide wooden door. “Keep a sharp eye, D.”
His brother snorted.
“I want to see how he reacts to Cate.”
“You don’t think they’re mated?”
“Not yet. Maybe not ever.”
Dark brows popped up. “What the fuck, Rath?”
“My guess? He hasn’t met her. Not face-to-face, anyway. He knows Cate, sure, has some sort of connection with her, but if she isn’t his mate, if his dragon half hasn’t accepted her, then—”
“We’re screwed.”
Ignoring his brother’s comment, Rathbone dipped his head and rolled his chin against the top of his chest. Taut muscles protested the stretch. A pinch of pain streamed down his spine as he attacked the tension, trying to get loose, knowing he must remain calm. Showing weakness to a predator always ended badly. Usually with lots of screaming and serious amounts of bloodshed. “Success or failure… everything rests on how much he wants her.”
“Big gamble, brother.”
“Worth it if it gets us the results we need.”
Dillinger grunted.
Rathbone turned his attention back to the side entrance. A wave of powerful magic hit the exterior wall. Glass panes, wavy with age, shivered in thick wooden frames. The gilded doorknob rattled. Refusing to make Rannock wait, he murmured a command. The protection spell surrounding his home unlocked, creating an invisible archway in front of the vestibule. Ancient hinges opened without making a sound. The antique door with ornate trim swung inward.
Rathbone tensed as he got his first look at Rannock. He drew a steadying breath. Good Christ. The dragon warrior was huge, at least six inches taller than him, with wide shoulders and a muscled frame. And at six-foot-three, no one considered Rathbone small.
Cataloging the male’s strengths and weakness, he scanned the dragon’s magical qualities. A Metallic. Bronze dragon with the ability to manipulate metal and turn his enemies inside out with his exhale. Liquid metal, if he had to guess. Nasty stuff that anyone with a healthy sense of self-preservation stayed well away from. Standing just out of range of the outside lamps, Rannock stared at him from the darkness. An excellent strategy. One designed to test whether Rathbone could see in the dark.
Tipping his chin in acknowledgement, he let his own magic out to play. The dragon warrior tilted his head, reading his energy, getting a better sense of the power Rathbone wielded. A second ticked into two before Rannock stepped into the light, and Rathbone got his first real look at him. Long hair pulled into a short tail at his nape. Orange eyes shimmering with internal fire. Body loose. Focus sharp. Forceful presence. Nearly as bruising as his brother’s.
Flexing his fingers, preparing for a fight, his guest’s attention jumped from him to Dillinger, then moved back again.
“Rannock,” he murmured, watching the male like humans watched venomous snakes. Chancing momentary distraction, Rathbone searched the landing behind his visitor. He raised a brow. “Alone?”
“Nay,” he said, deep voice thick with a Scottish brogue.
“Of course.” His mouth curved. Dragons always travelled in packs. Which meant his guest had backup. Lots of it. Warriors waiting in the wings capable of unleashing waves of devastation at a moment’s notice. No dummy, Rathbone accepted the information with grace. No sense lamenting what he couldn’t change. “How much time do I have?”
“An hour.”
“Fair enough,” he said, liking Rannock despite the tense situation. He seemed solid, with smarts and skills to back it up. Excellent news, given the task he needed the dragon to complete. “Come in. Welcome to my home.”
“Where’s Cate?”
“Not far. Follow me.”
Gaze shimmering with the promise of violence, Rannock dipped his head beneath the doorframe and crossed the threshold. Dillinger made a low sound. The dragon snarled back, baring pointed canines. Rathbone swallowed a snort of amusement. Of equal temperament, his brother and the Scot would’ve no doubt gotten along under different circumstances. Noble too. And given his immediate liking of the male, friendship might’ve been possible between Triad and pack… if he hadn’t rubbed Rannock the wrong way.
Immortals, no matter the subset, gravitated to one another, forming alliances, helping in times of need, meeting in neutral territory to settle disputes.
Hyperaware of the powerhouse prowling in his wake, Rathbone played with the possibility as he left the wide-mouthed vestibule. Turning into a narrow hallway, he headed for the top of the stairs. Maybe when this was all over, he’d invite the horde waiting to blow his house sky-high in for a meal. The future never promised good fortune. Tempers flared. Trouble started. Wars broke out, so…
Befriending a Dragonkind pack held serious upsides.
Wood paneling smoothed into white walls as he walked beneath a tall archway. Plaster-cast moldings spun him toward the lip of a wide spiral staircase. Pace steady, Rathbone descended into the underground complex beneath Habersham House. Reaching the bottom, he stepped off the stone step into the main corridor. Footfalls softened by a long oriental carpet, he turned left toward his study. Rannock followed, staying on his heels.