Drakon's Past Page 4

  He pushed her into the chair and crouched in front of her. “Tell me what happened?”

  She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” He sensed her hesitation and waited as she studied him. Finally, she straightened her shoulders, seeming to come to the conclusion he was telling her the truth. “The statue is no longer for sale. You can leave now.” She waved her hand toward the door.

  In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Nic found himself amused. “I can’t do that.” He kept his tone low and as nonthreatening as possible.

  She frowned, the action making her nose crinkle slightly. He was charmed. “Of course you can.” She pointed toward the door. “You walk that way, open the door, and step outside.”

  “After attacking me like that, I think I deserve an explanation.” He’d barely felt her punches. Beneath his skin were the plate-like scales of his dragon. It would take a hell of a lot more than a few punches to hurt him.

  She bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry about that, but you need to go.”

  She honestly wasn’t going to tell him, wasn’t going to ask for help. He didn’t know whether to be impressed by her courage or dismayed by her recklessness. “You need help. If I understand the situation correctly, Mario contacted another buyer and that buyer is playing hardball.”

  Her gaze shifted to the coffee table and back to his face in the blink of an eye. Nic turned and noticed the two phones sitting there. Common sense told him both of them weren’t hers.

  “What happened, Constance? If you don’t tell me, I’ll only go back to Mario and make him talk.”

  “Bully,” she muttered under her breath before plastering a fake smile on her face. “There’s been a misunderstanding, Mr. Wilde. There is no longer a statue for sale. I’m sorry for your trouble.” Then she frowned. “How did you find me?”

  “Mario gave me your email address. It wasn’t hard to trace that back to your grandfather and then to you.”

  She stared at him, her pale skin going even whiter. “Who the hell are you? It’s not that easy to do something like that.” Since he was crouched in front of her, she pulled her feet up on the chair, stood, and jumped onto the floor.

  He slowly stood and her eyes widened as she watched him reach his full height. She swallowed heavily. “You need to leave.”

  He shook his head. “Not happening. You might as well tell me the truth.”

  “I’ll call the cops.” She hurried around to the coffee table and grabbed her phone, clutching it tight in her hand.

  He shook his head. “No, you won’t.” She couldn’t afford to. Not if someone had kidnapped her sister. “Talk to me,” he coaxed. “Let me help you.”

  …

  Constance didn’t know what to do. Nicodemus Wilde had found her. He made it sound as though it was the easiest thing in the world to do. And while they weren’t exactly hiding, it shouldn’t have been quite so simple. They’d kept their grandpa’s email when he’d passed for continuity and for safety.

  “Mr. Wilde.”

  “Call me Nic.”

  She swallowed again, her mouth suddenly dry. Calling him Nic was a bad idea, a very bad idea. “Okay, Nic.” Darn, she’d done it.

  There was something about him that set all her senses humming. It was the same sensation she got when there was something special nearby, something precious that others didn’t see. She usually got it when she was prowling estate sales and flea markets. It was the same one that had led her to those darn statues secreted away in the basement at the estate sale.

  She’d never gotten the feeling around a person before. It was both baffling and enticing.

  “Look, I appreciate the offer, but you can only make things worse.”

  He tilted his head to one side and studied her. She tried not to notice the way his black hair caught the sunlight or the way his dark, dark eyes seemed to pull her in. And she really tried to ignore the way his black leather jacket encased a wide set of shoulders or the way it was open in the front, exposing a flat stomach covered in black cotton. And he was wearing jeans. She was a sucker for a man in a pair of well-fitting jeans. And the denim was molded to muscular thighs.

  She sighed and rubbed her face. She was losing her mind. This was no time to notice how good looking a guy was. She knew what she was doing. If she was focused on Nic’s outward appearance, she wasn’t worrying about what was happening to her sister. But avoidance wouldn’t help Abigail, wouldn’t bring her sister back.

  “You can’t help.”

  “Yes, I can. Do you know the name of the other buyer?”

  She shook her head. “No. Mario only told me your name. Because you’re local, we figured it had to be you who took Abigail.” Just saying her sister’s name made her heart hurt.

  “Find out.” He pulled his own phone out and held it in his hand. “Find out,” he repeated.

  Constance didn’t take orders from anyone. She was an independent woman who stood on her own two feet. She wouldn’t have it any other way. But she was way out of her depth here. She could haggle with the best of them, make a living in a business that was precarious at best. But she didn’t have the first clue at how to deal with a kidnapper.

  She struggled with her choices. What was the best thing to do for Abigail? She had no guarantee if she handed over the statues that the buyer would hand over her sister. And she definitely couldn’t go to the cops. That left only the man in front of her.

  Knowing what she was doing might put her sister in more danger, she lifted her phone and punched in Mario’s number. “You better not be lying to me,” she warned. Nic Wilde might be bigger and stronger than her, but if he was in on this plot, she’d find a way to hurt him.

  “I’m not.” His words were blunt. He didn’t add any explanation. He just expected her to believe him. Funnily enough, she did.

  “What?” Mario said when he answered. “I told you I’d call you back when I found out anything about the statues.”

  “Who was the other buyer?” she asked.

  “What? What are you talking about, Constance? It’s Wilde. It has to be Wilde.”

  “Just give me a name and address.” She was running out of patience. Every second that ticked by was a second that Abigail was scared and in the clutches of a crazy man.

  “Jeremiah Dent in New York. But the guy is an antique-book dealer.”

  “Keep looking,” she told him. She ended the call and slipped her phone into her back pocket. Nic was already talking to someone on his phone.

  “Jeremiah Dent. A book dealer in New York. I need to know everything about him, and I need it now.”

  How the heck had he heard that? The man must have acute hearing. She didn’t think Mario had talked that loud, and he hadn’t been on speaker.

  Nic began to pace. He was so big he seemed to swallow up all the available space and air around him. The man had to be well over six and a half feet tall. A lot of tall men were skinny or had long legs that looked like spindles. Not Nic. No, he was proportioned perfectly. It really wasn’t fair for a man to be that good looking.

  He paused, and his eyes widened. “You’re sure?” His head fell forward, and he rubbed the back of his neck. That didn’t bode well.

  Her stomach dropped. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been counting on his help until it seemed as though he’d reached a dead end. But he’d tried to help her. That counted a lot in her book.

  He nodded at something else the person on the other end said. “I’ll be careful. Just let me know if you find out anything else.” He tucked his phone away and took a deep breath before facing her.

  “You couldn’t find out anything.” She rushed forward, her words tripping out of her mouth. “That’s okay. You tried. I appreciate that, but you have to leave now.”

  “Constance.”

  She shook her head. “No, you have to go. What if someone is watching? What if they know who you are and think I’m making a deal with you?” Her blood ran cold. “It could get my sister hurt.�
� She couldn’t even think the kidnapper would kill her sister.

  “It’s too late for that.” His words struck her like a sucker punch.

  “Why would you say that?” she whispered. A sense of inevitability came crushing down on her. She was a pawn in a game of chess being played by an unseen player.

  “You’re in way over your head,” he began.

  She shook her head, refusing to believe anything he was saying. “I’m not. All I have to do is wait for the call and hand the statues over to the kidnapper.”

  She realized her mistake as soon as the word slipped out of her mouth. Nic went still and narrowed his gaze. “Statues? I thought you only had one.”

  Shit, she’d really stepped in it this time. There was no point trying to backpedal. He wouldn’t believe her anyway. She shrugged and turned her attention to the black phone, willing it to ring.

  “Constance.” The way he said her name gave her shivers. His voice was so deep and low it sounded intimate.

  She hadn’t known the man for long, but she already knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Best to tell him the same thing she had the buyer. “I have a crystal one with emerald eyes, too.”

  He stared hard at her as if assessing her honesty. Well, she was telling the truth, just not the entire truth. “I appreciate you trying to find out about Mr. Dent. Really I do, but you have to leave.”

  “It’s too late for that,” he repeated. Nic sounded resigned, which she found totally confusing.

  “It’s not too late. Maybe no one knows you’re here.” She had to believe that, had to believe his presence wouldn’t threaten her sister’s well-being.

  “They know.”

  That stopped her cold. “They?” She shook her head. “There’s only one man. The buyer.” She could handle a single person but not a group. “This was a crime of impulse, of passion.”

  Nic shook his head and started toward her. She backed up and kept going until her back hit the living room wall. “I’m sorry, Constance.”

  Now she was really scared. “What haven’t you told me?” She grabbed the front of his jacket and fisted her hands in the supple leather. “What do you know?” The longer he was quiet, the more terrified she became. “Tell me.”

  “I’m going to do everything in my power to get your sister back,” he promised.

  That was good. Not that she thought he’d be much help, but she appreciated the gesture. She also knew he was stalling. Her heart was racing, the pounding so hard her chest hurt. It was getting harder to breathe. She wanted her sister home, and she wanted her here right now.

  “Nic.” She wanted to shake him but knew she wouldn’t be able to move him. He was too big, too solid, too strong.

  “Jeremiah Dent isn’t working alone. He’s part of a secret society. The Knights of the Dragon. They believe certain artifacts have power and will help them enslave dragons.”

  Constance stared up at Nic, wondering if he was putting her on. One look at his face assured her he was deadly serious. “You’re joking?” It had to be said. Who believed in secret societies, especially one that thought dragons were real?

  “No joke. The Knights have your sister, and they’ll do whatever it takes to get those statues.”

  Chapter Five

  Nic didn’t want to frighten Constance any more than she already was, but she deserved the truth. Jeremiah Dent was on the list of current members of the Knights that Tarrant was compiling. His brother would lose his mind if he knew what Nic was telling her. Too damn bad. He could no more lie to her than he could harm her.

  Constance Owens was special.

  There was something about her that made all his senses sing. He wanted about a month with her in his bed to sate his desires. Because he wanted her. More than he’d wanted a woman in a very long time.

  That made her dangerous. It also made her irresistible. But first they had to deal with the Knights and rescue her sister. He only hoped they were able to do both without the Knights learning about him and without either of the women being harmed. It made him sick to his stomach how easily the Knights involved innocent people in their quest for power.

  Of course, Tarrant would tell him no one was innocent. Or he would have before he met his Valeriya. His brother had mellowed. Nic almost laughed and shook his head. No, Tarrant hadn’t mellowed in the least. If anything, he was more cynical than ever.

  “Constance?” He was getting worried about her. She was staring up at him, a blank expression on her face.

  “A secret society that believes dragons are real?” When he nodded, she started to laugh. There was a slight hysterical edge to it that concerned him. Apparently, this last revelation was the final straw for her.

  “Why don’t we sit down?”

  She shook her head. “What’s next? Dancing frogs? A wizard? This is crazy. All I did was buy a few things at an estate sale. Now I’m in the middle of a bad B movie.” Each word she spoke got louder, until she was practically shouting.

  Nic did the only thing he could think of to quiet her. He kissed her.

  She made a small sound of distress in the back of her throat. He knew he should stop, should take a step back.

  He slid his tongue into her open mouth and tasted her. He caught a slight hint of peppermint, either from a candy or toothpaste. He couldn’t be sure. Underneath it all was the sweet, sultry taste of woman.

  She put her hands against his chest. Instead of pushing him away, she fisted her fingers in his shirt and clung to him. Constance was much shorter than him, so he slid his arms around her and lifted her right off her feet. He loved having her in his arms, loved the press of her body against his.

  He angled his head and plunged back into her mouth, devouring her. He couldn’t get enough. She was like all his favorite foods all rolled into one, and as a drakon, he had a voracious appetite.

  She slid her hands over his chest and around his neck. He groaned when she tangled her fingers in his hair. He lost all sense of time and place. Even the creature inside him rumbled with delight.

  For the first time in centuries, Nic was at peace. The yearning, the emptiness that clawed at him every second of every day had been silenced beneath the onslaught of their kiss.

  He pulled away and stared at the woman he held in his arms, wondering what sorcery she had to be able to calm his demons. She blinked, her cheeks a blushing pink and her mouth hanging open. She seemed as struck as he was by the power of their kiss.

  Nic slowly released her, barely biting back a moan as her body slid over his. There was no hiding his erection, so he didn’t even try. To give Constance credit, she didn’t scream, didn’t accuse him of taking unfair advantage.

  “That.” She licked her moist lips. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

  “Yes, it should have.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He lowered his head and raked his fingers through his hair. “I was out of line.” He couldn’t apologize because he sure as hell wasn’t sorry for kissing her. What he was sorry about was the timing. Constance was worried about her sister’s safety.

  She squared her shoulders and rubbed her hands over the thighs of her jeans. “You really need to leave.”

  He knew he had his work cut out for him. She was ready to kick him out of her house again, and he couldn’t let that happen. “Sit down.” He reached for her, but she backed up a step. He held up his hands in a signal of peace. “Please. Let me tell you about the people you’re involved with.”

  “I’m not involved with them.” She made a wide circle around him and sank back into one of the living-room chairs. “And I’m not involved with you, either.” She buried her face in her hands and took a deep breath. “All I want is my sister back and those statues gone.”

  She raised her head and the fear reflected in her eyes almost brought him to his knees. Inside of him, his dragon roared, wanting to be released so it could wreak havoc on the world for making this woman sad and afraid.

  Constance Owens was a ve
ry dangerous woman. He thought about his brothers and how women had recently come into their lives, seemingly at random, only to discover they were true mates.

  Nic didn’t want any part of that. As happy as his brothers seemed, Nic knew better than to allow any woman that kind of power over him. He enjoyed women, enjoyed hearing them laugh and sigh and moan his name. But he didn’t want one in his life on a permanent basis, and certainly not one who had the potential to destroy him if she turned on him.

  And if his mother turned on him, why wouldn’t Constance. She barely knew him. All she wanted and needed from him was to get her sister back.

  He prowled across the living room and sank down onto the couch across from her. He could give her that. Then he’d take her to bed for about a week and get her out of his system.

  There, he had a plan. He always felt better when he had a plan.

  “The Knights of the Dragon,” he began, “have been around for centuries. These are powerful men and women in banking, industry, and governments around the world. The only allegiances they hold are to one another, not to country. And even then, they’ll turn on their allies if it means gaining power.”

  Constance shook her head, making the ends of her hair dance. He was briefly mesmerized by the color. He wanted to run his fingers through the strands to see if it was as soft as it looked. He cursed himself for not doing so when he’d had the opportunity.

  “You don’t really expect me to believe that.” Her gaze turned sharp, and she pointed at him. “Are you one of them?”

  He reared back in his seat. “Hell no.” That was the worst insult anyone could throw at him.

  She slowly nodded. “Okay. Okay. So the members of this ‘society’.” She made air quotations around the word. “They believe dragons are real?”

  “Yes.” He’d started this discussion, so he might as well finish it. “They believe the blood of a dragon can cure all disease. It can bring someone back from the brink of death. But it’s not an easy cure. Some die while others live. And if taken in small quantities on a regular basis, the blood can keep a person alive indefinitely.”