Drakon's Tear Read online

  Her heart began to pound in anticipation. She couldn’t wait to take pictures, but she needed to be cautious. She’d been warned not to photograph any government buildings or anything that looked remotely military. Infractions had been known to land westerners in jail. The Russian police were aggressive when it came to such matters.

  Still, there was plenty to photograph and places to explore. The city looked beautiful in a coat of white, the people bundled up against the chill. And she no longer had to worry about the man following her. She still couldn’t believe Nic had hired bodyguards without telling her. No, scrap that. Of course, she could believe it. She didn’t know her new brother-in-law well, but he’d left a lasting impression.

  Less than an hour later, Abigail pushed her way out of the glass doors of the hotel and onto the street. She had some local currency, a substantial amount of American money, her passport, and her black credit card tucked away in a hidden pocket in her sweater, one she’d added herself. She’d always thought such precautions over the top until she’d started traveling in foreign countries on her own. Now it was second nature.

  She turned and began to walk along the street, her boots crunching against the snow as she went. The famous onion domes of St. Basil’s Cathedral stood out like beacons. It really was spectacular. She turned in a circle, taking in the wonder of Red Square with the Kremlin nearby and the museum. She wanted to discover the local cafés, make her way to Gorky Park, and do all the things most tourists did.

  As much as her fingers itched to dig out her camera, she didn’t reach for it. She’d brought it along more out of habit than anything. If she was spending a couple of days in an area, she liked to walk around and get a feel for it first. Plus, she was a little nervous about taking pictures of something forbidden and getting into trouble. She’d had enough trouble to last a lifetime.

  So Abigail spent the next couple of hours meandering. Admittedly, she did keep looking over her shoulder, searching for a guy who looked like a bodyguard, but she saw no one.

  She began to get nervous. What if he hadn’t found her? What if she really was out here all alone?

  “Stop it,” she muttered under her breath, drawing the attention of a young couple who passed her on the sidewalk. She’d thought she was alone earlier on her trip and she’d been fine.

  She caught sight of a cluster of shops and hoped to find a place for a light snack. She’d skipped lunch and was now starving. There was a small place that looked promising, but before she could reach it, she felt a tug in her chest and a buzz in her brain. “Not now,” she muttered.

  She knew from experience the sensation wouldn’t go away, would only get worse until she discovered what was causing it. She and her sister both had odd talents. Abigail’s was very specific. She knew gemstones—if they were real just by looking at them or touching them. But since she had no interest in jewelry, her talent was quite useless most of the time.

  And she had to stop standing in the middle of the sidewalk like some statue. She either had to ignore the tug from her gift, or she had to embrace it. She took one step toward the small restaurant, but the pressure in her head increased. Abigail swore under her breath, whirled around, and marched toward the other side of the street.

  There were several shops, but she knew which one she had to enter. She stared in the grimy window. It wasn’t quite a thrift store, but it wasn’t exactly a fine antiques shop, either. It hovered somewhere in the middle.

  Abigail took a deep breath and pulled the door open. An old man with a heavy gray beard was seated behind the counter and greeted her in Russian. “Dobraye ootro.” She nodded but didn’t speak. Her command of the Russian language was practically nonexistent, and her notebook with useful phrases was back in her knapsack at the hotel. That was an oversight on her part.

  She let her eyes adjust to the dim light after being out in the glare of the sun and snow. Shelves lined the walls, crammed full of all kinds of interesting things from books to dishes to trinkets.

  Abigail felt the tug from the left side but forced herself not to run over there right away. Instead, she took her time and worked her way around the store. When the owner spoke to her again, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  “Ah, English.”

  Abigail nodded, grateful once again that many Europeans understood English. She wished her upbringing had included more languages than just basic Spanish. “Da.”

  His eyes twinkled merrily when she answered him in Russian. “You look for something?” He appeared hopeful. Abigail imagined that business was probably slow during the winter months.

  “Nothing special.” That was a lie, but it was her story, and she was sticking to it. “You have many wonderful things.”

  His eyes lit up, and he nodded. “Good things.” He spread his arms wide and smiled. Abigail couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Tea?” He motioned to the kettle behind him.

  She shook her head. “Thank you. Spaseeba.” She tried her hand at Russian. “But no. Nyet.”

  The proprietor laughed and fixed himself a cup. While he was busy, she continued to explore the small shop. It reminded her somewhat of her friend Mario’s store back in Las Vegas, and that made her sad. Both he and the store were gone now. She shook off the melancholy memories and focused in on the reason she’d entered the store in the first place.

  The hum vibrating in her head and chest was getting more intense by the second. She went straight to an old chest of drawers tucked away in a corner and crouched in front of it. It stuck, but she managed to get the bottom one out. Not surprising, it was filled to the brim with clothes.

  Suddenly queasy, she almost slammed the drawer shut, but now that she was here, she had to know what was hidden inside. That, too, was part of her gift—the need to know, to find whatever gem called to her.

  She stuck her hand all the way in and felt around. Her fingers closed over a small box tucked away in the back. She withdrew it and studied it closely. It was simple cardboard, the graphic faded from the top. She pried the lid up and could only stare at the bracelet nestled inside.

  It was gray in color, but she knew the tarnish would rub away to reveal silver. However, it wasn’t the cuff-style bracelet that held her attention. It was the single sapphire that had been set in it.

  She slowly pushed upright with the bracelet in her hand. She held it to the light, but it was too dim. Not that she needed further proof to know it was real.

  She swallowed hard. There was something about the piece that made her uneasy. What she was feeling wasn’t normal, even for her. It was something more, intense and dangerous. She wanted to toss the bracelet aside and run from the store, but her feet were stuck in place. The gem was special, and she was afraid she knew why.

  The more she stared at it, the more certain she became. This was no ordinary sapphire. She’d seen and felt two like it before set as the eyes of a dragon statue—one of four statues her sister had found that had changed their lives forever. She had no idea where they came from. She only knew that such gems were very rare and somehow connected to a drakon. The member of the Knights of the Dragon who’d kidnapped her had called them dragon tears.

  Her sister now wore a necklace set with red jewels rarer than normal rubies. Nic had given the piece to Constance, and Abigail knew the gems were important to him. She wished she knew why. Was the meaning literal? Did drakons cry gemstones? It was weird to think such a thing was possible, but weirdness was her new reality.

  However it had been created, there was no denying the power she felt swirling around the stone. But it wasn’t just the stone. There was something about the silver itself that was vibrating. She just had no idea if the power was good or evil. There was a time when she would have laughed at even the suggestion that gems or jewelry could be good or evil. But she’d seen things, experienced things that had changed her attitude forever.

  “You find something?” the proprietor asked. He wasn’t a tall man, but his b
ack was straight and his bearing proud in spite of his advanced age. Or maybe he was one of those people who looked older than he actually was. He was also close enough to make her nervous.

  She took a step back and hit the chest of drawers. The older man stopped and nodded at the bracelet in her hand. “You like?”

  “Yes, it’s lovely.” Her fingers closed around it without permission. She felt possessive about it, which wasn’t like her at all. But this bracelet was meant to be hers. It was important she have it.

  She didn’t question her intuition. “How much?” she asked.

  The owner rubbed his hands together, and Abigail almost laughed. Let the haggling begin. The one thing she’d learned during her trip was that shop owners and antiques dealers were alike the world over—they all loved to bargain.

  “It is special,” he began.

  Abigail almost snorted. “So special it was stuffed in a bottom drawer out of the way.”

  The man laughed. “Maybe it was waiting for special lady to buy it.”

  It was a blatant attempt at flattery, yet Abigail sensed a kernel of truth, and that made her nervous. She started to set it down. “Maybe I won’t bother.” Even as she said it, she knew it for a lie.

  As if sensing a sale slip away, the man named a price that was fair but more than she was willing to pay. It might be worth far more than he was asking, but he’d treated it like a piece of junk, allowing it to languish in a box in a dusty drawer.

  Of course, if he hadn’t, she wouldn’t be able to buy it now.

  Abigail offered him a much lower figure. Realizing the bargaining was back on, the man laughed and shook his finger at her. “You are pretty woman, but that is too low.”

  She smiled in spite of herself. And when he named another price, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll take it.”

  He started to reach out and take the piece, but she held it firmly, unwilling to let it go. It was beginning to creep her out how much she wanted to wear the bracelet. But her need to have it outweighed her concerns.

  She followed him back to the counter and waited for him to fill out the proper paperwork. She hesitated before giving him her name and contact information, but she knew it was necessary in order to get through customs with such a piece.

  More relaxed now, she chatted to the proprietor as she paid. By the time he was done with the paperwork, her stomach was growling, and she was more than ready to find somewhere to eat.

  The old man looked at the bracelet she held clutched tightly in her hand and frowned. “I clean.” He grabbed a rag and a can of polish, but she shook her head. Better if it looked cheap and uninspiring until she left the country. She didn’t want to take any chances with it being confiscated by some less-than-scrupulous border guard.

  “No, thank you.” She slipped the cuff on her wrist. It fit as though it had been made for her. She tucked the receipt and paperwork in her pocket and smiled. “Da sveedanya. Goodbye,” she repeated in English.

  …

  The shopkeeper watched the pretty woman walk across the street and go into the diner. He picked up the phone and called a number he’d hoped to never have to use. It was answered on the first ring.

  “You have news?”

  He swallowed hard, pitying the young American woman, but he had a wife and children, grandchildren to protect. And that meant doing what the man on the end of the line asked of him.

  “A woman purchased the bracelet.” Anton Bruno had brought the odd bracelet in a year ago and told him to hide it in the store where most patrons would never think to look. He had thought the request strange, but he’d done it. Bruno had a reputation, one the shopkeeper wasn’t willing to test.

  “Who?”

  He hated himself for what he was about to do. He turned away from the window and peered at the family picture he kept tucked behind the counter, a reminder to him of who he was doing this for. “An American woman. Abigail Owens.” He gave all the information she’d given him.

  “Do you know where she is now?”

  He swallowed hard, feeling the threat of those words through the phone. “She went into a restaurant across from the store.”

  “What does she look like?”

  “Short blond hair, slender, blue eyes.”

  “You have done well. You will never hear from me again as long as you keep your mouth shut.”

  He stared once again at the picture of his family. “Then I will not hear from you again.” It was his way of assuring Anton Bruno he would say nothing. He waited, and the line went dead. He set his phone aside and began to tremble. The urge to warn the woman was strong, but he loved his family. He’d just have to live with whatever happened to the young woman and die with the stain on his conscience. At least his family would be safe.

  …

  Anton Bruno ended the call and tossed his phone onto his desk. He was very pleased with this turn of events. The idea had come to him two years ago, but this was the first nibble he’d gotten on the line he’d cast.

  He’d acquired a very special necklace quite a long time ago. Anyone looking at it would say it was made of flawless sapphires, and they wouldn’t be wrong, but they wouldn’t be totally right, either. They weren’t ordinary sapphires. They were actual tears shed by a water dragon. They were rare and powerful when mixed with magic. And that’s what he’d done. He’d had the necklace taken apart and the stones reset into small pieces, like the bracelet.

  The next part had been a little trickier. He’d had to find a mage, and they were nearly as elusive as the damn dragons were. He could cast simple spells himself, but this was more complex. The Knights had gotten cocky as mankind moved into the modern age and had left magic behind several hundred years ago. They’d become dependent on technology and science instead.

  He’d found Evgeny, a physically unimposing man of indeterminate age who went only by the single name. The mage had been intrigued enough by Anton’s idea that he’d come to him in Moscow.

  What Evgeny lacked in stature, he more than made up for in sheer power. His eyes were old, his intellect keen. Anton had insisted on watching while Evgeny cast an ancient binding spell on the bracelet and other pieces. Not that he could re-create it. The spell was intricate and used several languages, one of which he hadn’t recognized, and many unusual ingredients as well.

  He stood and walked to the window, looking out over the city he loved. He wasn’t sure why this particular woman had been the one to discover the bracelet, but he would have his people watch her. Maybe a dragon would be attracted to the woman if she was wearing it.

  It would be an interesting experiment. And since he knew who she was, he could always get his bracelet back at some point down the road if he wanted, by either stealing it or by killing the woman and taking it, whichever was easiest.

  In the meantime, he needed to know everything he could about Abigail Owens. He turned away from the window and picked up his phone again. This time, he placed a call to a hacker he had on his payroll. Before the day was out, he’d know everything there was to know about her.

  Chapter Four

  Vasili was heading toward a favorite restaurant before he left the city when he felt a hard tug in his chest, almost like a physical pull. It was so unusual, so unexpected, he stopped in his tracks and scanned the area, turning in a full circle.

  People looked at him as they passed, but he ignored them. He didn’t see or sense a threat. He shook off the sensation and began to walk again. He’d taken only four steps when he was pulled in another direction. It was as though his dragon half was trying to compel him to go the opposite way.

  All the more reason not to go. Vasili didn’t like anything out of the ordinary, and this certainly qualified. He kept going, but walking became more difficult. He began to actually sweat.

  This isn’t good. Not at all.

  He only had one course of action. He needed to find who or what was causing this odd sensation. Then he needed to either kill them or destroy whatever was making him feel this wa
y. There were no other options.

  Determined, Vasili gave a small growl that startled a man passing him. He spun around and followed the unseen pull, his strides getting longer. He had to force himself not to run.

  Thankfully, he’d already destroyed the artifact he’d gotten earlier from Father Petrov. He had the melted chunk of gold in his pocket, hadn’t wanted to risk leaving it behind. He planned to toss it in the middle of Lake Baikal or maybe bury it in a crevice in the mountains where it would never be found.

  What he was feeling now wasn’t anything like what he’d sensed when he’d held the artifact. This didn’t drain him of power as much as it called to him. His blood was humming, his dragon practically purring.

  Who or what was calling him?

  Snow crunched under his boots as his strides ate up the distance between him and whatever was pulling at him. He paused at an intersection. Left or right? He turned his head one way and then the other. Left it was.

  He was getting closer. Anticipation surged within him. He narrowed his gaze and scanned the street, trying to home in on the beacon. There were shops and restaurants along both sides. His gaze passed over one side, paused momentarily on a dubious antique shop and then immediately landed on a small diner almost directly across from it.

  That was his goal. He knew it was as sure as he knew his own name.

  Vasili moved more cautiously now. The last thing he wanted to do was to step into some kind of trap. It hadn’t escaped him that this was probably some ploy, some lure by the Knights of the Dragon to capture one of his kind.

  He paused outside and peeked through the window. It was a small local establishment, nothing fancy, the kind of place friends and families could stop for a bite to eat. There were people seated at the various tables. He immediately dismissed the two tables with groups of men, the couple in the corner, and the families with children. There were two tables that had single people sitting at them. One was a man, the other a woman.