Dragon Fever: A Dark Kings Novella Read online

  “That won’t happen.” She took the file and opened it, expecting to see a photo of the target. Yet all that was included was a sketch. “No picture?”

  “No.”

  She should’ve known there would be no explanation. “Who drew this?”

  Sam reached for a glass and tossed back the Scotch in one swallow. Then he softly set it down and stood. “Don’t let me down, Ms. Marek.”

  “When I come through with this, because I will, I want you to tell me who you really are.”

  He smiled while fastening the top button of his suit jacket. “Some things are best left secret.”

  She watched him walk from her hotel room in smooth strides. Only then did she take her glass of whisky and raise it to her nose, inhaling deeply. The first thing she noticed was the distinctive smell. It was irresistible, with a seamless blend of flavors she couldn’t quite recognize.

  The amber liquid passed her lips and touched her tongue before sliding down her throat. The richness of it caught her off guard. It had multiple layers that kept surprising her.

  Another taste followed the first, and before she knew it, she had drunk it all. Rachel looked at the glass with aversion. She didn’t want to like Dreagan whisky because it was made by the Dragon Kings––beings who didn’t belong on Earth. But it was the only thing to do with the Kings that she did enjoy.

  She replaced the glass and began to pack. There was much to do before her first meeting with her dragon target.

  Chapter One

  Two days later…

  Paris

  Asher fisted his hands that rested on his knees. He wasn’t at all happy that Constantine had sent him to Paris. It wasn’t that he minded pulling his weight at Dreagan. It was that he wished to drive himself.

  He looked at the man hired to chauffeur him about the city with distaste. It wasn’t the man’s fault, but Con wasn’t there for Asher to take it out on.

  He looked out the window of the Jaguar XJ but didn’t see the sights. His thoughts were on Dreagan and his brethren. He’d been gone a mere few days, but already Asher missed the Scottish Highlands that had been their home for millions of years. Yet the humans had no idea those who lived on—and ran—Dreagan Industries weren’t human––but dragons.

  Asher could still remember what France looked like before there was a Paris, or before there was ever even a France. The mortals claimed land as if it was their right, decimating it beyond repair while causing animals to go extinct or running them out of the very homes they’d had for eternity.

  Much as the humans had done the dragons.

  He clenched his teeth. Both the mortals and the Dragon Kings were to blame for that war and the deaths that were caused because of it. He blew out a breath loudly.

  The driver looked at him through the rearview mirror. “Everything all right, monsieur?” the man asked with a heavy French accent.

  Asher could speak French, but he replied in English. “Aye. I’m fine.”

  But he wasn’t. None of the Dragon Kings were. In fact, they hadn’t been good for some time. It wasn’t just the Dark Fae who were trying to expose them to the humans––and doing a good fucking job of it.

  It wasn’t even the Light Fae who refused to side against the Dark and help the Kings.

  It was the fact that a banished Dragon King was slowly, but surely, tearing their world apart.

  Ulrik.

  He was out of control. He killed mates of the Dragon Kings, attacked other Dragon Kings, partnered with Dark Fae and humans alike, all to one end––another war.

  Asher didn’t think Ulrik cared who the Kings fought as long as there was a war. But his main goal was the death of Constantine, King of Kings.

  Con was far from perfect, but Asher certainly didn’t want to be responsible for what was left of their race. He looked to the sky and wondered about his dragons.

  He missed them so much that it threatened to swallow him whole. It was one of the reasons he’d sought his mountain for the last millennia.

  But war had a way of changing things.

  It caused the Kings to send their dragons across the dragon bridge to another realm to end the war with the mortals. War also caused them to lose many Kings in the Fae Wars.

  Now the Dark Fae had taken things to a new level. They’d videoed the Kings in battle with the Dark and released it to the human world. That clip showed the Kings shifting back and forth from human to dragon.

  The entire world was in an uproar wanting to know if Dreagan was truly the home of dragons. That kind of attention and surveillance had essentially grounded the Kings.

  Where once they were limited in shifting and taking flight at night or during a storm, now they couldn’t fly at all. Any shifting was done in their mountains, and then only if absolutely necessary.

  With all that shite going on, Con wanted him to put on a smile and make nice at the World Whisky Consortium. When all Asher wanted to do was give everyone the finger before shifting and flying out.

  His thoughts halted when they pulled up at the Hotel George V. He reached for the handle, but before he could grab it, the doorman had the door open.

  Asher clenched his teeth in frustration and gave the man a stiff nod. Why did everyone insist on doing things for him? When he spotted another of the staff attempting to reach the hotel doors before him, he lengthened his strides and opened his own door.

  Instead of letting out a whoop at beating the bellman, he smiled. The hotel was lavish luxury, and the very place the representative from Dreagan was expected to stay. But he’d rather something less…extravagant.

  In minutes, he was being shown up to his penthouse suite. Asher tipped the bellman and waited for the door to close before he let out a breath. He looked around the living area with the pale floors, sea-foam green couch, and long, cream leather ottoman along with the white and gold chairs. Curtains in a dark golden color hung on either side of the expansive windows giving breathtaking views of Paris.

  He walked into the dining area with the large, white rose floral-printed curtains. Then he bypassed the white chairs and table and headed straight to the liquor. With a drink of whisky––Dreagan, of course––in hand, he opened the balcony doors and walked outside into the cold to look at the Eiffel Tower.

  He’d barely taken two drinks before there was a knock on his door. Asher answered it to find a petite woman in a burgundy business suit that hid any curves she might have. Despite her young age, she wore a severe expression that brought him up short.

  Her lips flattened as she gazed at him behind wire-rimmed glasses. He tried to see the color of her eyes, but the reflection on her glasses prevented it. Black hair was pulled away from her face in a tight bun so he had no idea how long—or short—her hair was. With a black planner clutched against her chest, she pushed her way inside.

  “I’m Ms. Engel, your assistant.”

  He watched her small frame march into the room. “I didna hire an assistant.”

  “Mr. Constantine did.” She stopped in the middle of the living room and turned to him. “Every year for the past five, I’ve acted as Mr. Constantine’s assistant. You’re going to need my help.”

  Asher let the door close as he looked askance at the little drill sergeant. The last thing he wanted was someone dogging his steps while he was in Paris. It was bad enough he couldn’t drive himself or open his own damn doors. Now this?

  “What’s your full name?” he asked. He was going to have to make the most of the situation.

  “You can call me Ms. Engel.”

  He stopped before her. “I could, aye. But I asked for your name.”

  After several tense seconds where she debated on whether to tell him, she said, “Blossom Engel.”

  At first he thought she was joking. Then he realized that wasn’t a possibility since Ms. Engel had probably never laughed a day in her life.

  Blossom. Her name was Blossom. It was everything he could do not to even crack a smile. He wasn’t hiding it well by the
way her eyes narrowed at him.

  “Well, Ms. Engel, where shall we start?” he asked, trying to see the color of her eyes again, but failing––again.

  With a quick intake of breath, she flipped open the planner. “Tomorrow morning at seven your breakfast will be delivered to the room. As soon as you tell me your preferences, I’ll notify the kitchen. At eight thirty, you have a meeting with a Mr. Hodges.”

  Asher sank onto the leather ottoman and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger as Blossom rattled on. There wasn’t five minutes throughout the next day for him to have a thought to himself.

  How the hell was he going to get through it all?

  Chapter Two

  Rachel stared at her computer screen, comparing the drawing she’d uploaded of the Dragon King to the man who strolled through the George V as if he owned it. Everyone rushed to do Asher’s bidding without him even uttering a single word.

  Just one more reason to hate the Dragon Kings.

  Wasn’t it bad enough that they were liars? Wasn’t it enough that they set out to fool the world? The company would fall, along with every member of Dreagan. And she was the one who would do it.

  She took in the tall form and the expensive dark blue custom-made suit, the cut emphasizing his wide shoulders and trim form. Asher walked with purpose, but softly, as if he were conscious of his feet striking the ground. His arms swung freely by his sides, but she saw no watch on either wrist. Those around him had to look up because he towered over them.

  When her gaze finally reached his face, she took in the thick ebony hair cut short on the sides, but the top left longer. She was too far away to see the color of his eyes, but his gaze swept the lobby thrice while listening to a woman welcoming him.

  Rachel knew the definition of beautiful. She recognized Asher’s broad jaw that narrowed to his chin was considered handsome. Dark stubble highlighted his jaw and cheeks, giving him an air of daring sophistication.

  Women of all ages at the hotel stopped and stared, the desire evident in the way they panted after him. She could acknowledge his good looks, but she never understood someone’s ability to forget themselves while gawking at another.

  Once he disappeared in the elevator, she returned to looking over the notes uploaded to the computer. As with anyone who came to WWC from Dreagan, last names were never used, so no one thought it odd.

  There was a lot of Mr. Asher this, or Mr. Asher that being bandied around the lobby. Everyone at the hotel wanted to ensure he had the best experience possible. As if he would have any other kind staying in the penthouse.

  She wished the file on him was larger. In fact, there wasn’t much to go on other than the basics.

  Name: Asher

  King of: Hunter Greens

  Tattoo: Left arm

  Notes: Likes to be in charge. Rarely leaves Dreagan.

  Everything else she would have to learn on her own. She expected him to show attention to at least one of the numerous pretty French women in the hotel, but it was like he didn’t even see them.

  She was going to have to rethink how she approached him. The alternate persona she created for her work as a journalist wasn’t far from the real her. There would be a few slight changes, like colored contacts.

  Fading into the background was her specialty. He would never know the times she followed him. With a little creativity, she was going to capture what no one else had. That leaked video would be nothing to what she would tell the world.

  It infuriated her that Sam wouldn’t tell her who had taken the video showing the Kings shifting, but he did confirm it was real.

  That’s what sold her on discovering more of the truth. It was time the world knew the facts about the men of Dreagan. Every human being on the planet deserved to know what kind of monsters walked among them.

  Monsters who could shift, fly, and destroy by breathing fire.

  Their wealth, business, and land had been obtained by secrets and lies. Every record she found had the minimum information on it. And many of those records had missing pages. So tracing the Dragon Kings was difficult. After two years of hard work, she was about to thwart whatever hidden agenda they had.

  It helped that so much attention was already focused on Dreagan. More of that interest had followed Asher to Paris. All she had to do was wait for the perfect opportunity. Patience was something she’d acquired long ago, so she didn’t mind waiting.

  She closed her laptop and rose, making her way to the elevator. She was on the seventh floor, just one below the penthouse. On the ride up, she thought about the outfit she’d originally chosen for her first meeting with Asher. She decided the cream dress with the navy heels would work much better for a first impression.

  Though Asher had been cordial and polite, he gave the appearance of wanting to be alone. She would have to gain his attention without blatantly doing so.

  The elevator dinged as it reached her floor. She looked both ways as she exited before turning and walking to her door. After she entered her room, she strode past the living area to the bedroom.

  It wasn’t that she liked what she was able to do by applying a certain makeup method or acting a specific way, but it gave her ways into places and near people that other journalists couldn’t.

  Just last year she exposed the ugly truth about a water treatment plant in Oregon by getting close to the man in charge. In less than a month, he spilled all his secrets without her ever having to even take off her clothes.

  Which is where she drew the line. She’d honed her interview skills as well as reading books on profiling and learning to read people’s body language. If she couldn’t get her information by questioning an individual, then she wasn’t doing her job.

  Some journalists did whatever it took for a story. Not Rachel. Then again, she found it difficult to even think about having sex with someone when she never felt any sort of passion. It didn’t matter––man or woman––she was somehow lacking in that department.

  As a teenager, it had terrified her. In her twenties, she thought she wasn’t with the right men, so kept making changes. It wasn’t until her thirties that she realized she was wired differently.

  It wasn’t that her body didn’t have needs. It was that there wasn’t a single person she’d run across in all her travels that made her heart race. She hadn’t been consumed with lust.

  With her…peculiarity…it allowed her to focus more on her work of exposing lies, corruption, or evil people to the world. It ensured she nearly always worked alone.

  There was no making friends, because it was an inevitability that someone close to her would be affected by whatever she discovered and wrote about.

  Her colleagues used to ask if she was lonely. What they didn’t understand was that she preferred her solitude. She wanted to be on the outside looking in. There she saw the veracity of people and the world. The lies were harder to hide.

  She opened her closet and pulled out the clothes, shoes, and clutch for the night. Then she went to her jewelry case. She only chose a few standard pieces that could be worn with anything.

  Rachel lifted the lid and touched the pearl necklace that had been passed down from her grandmother before looking at the pearl studs that once belonged to her mother. When she saw the locket peeking out from beneath a small box, she sighed.

  Her hand shook when she grabbed it. She let her thumb stroke the ivory rose amid the onyx before she pressed the button on the side. The locket popped open. Slowly, she opened it. Then she sank onto the bed and stared at the pictures inside.

  * * * *

  For three hours from his position on the sofa, Asher listened to Blossom Engel going on about meetings, dinners, tastings, and other such sordid affairs he would have to attend at the World Whisky Consortium.

  “How the fuck does Con do this every year?” he mumbled.

  Ms. Engel continued without hearing him. He’d already gone through half a bottle of Scotch. Right now, he was ready to fling himself over the balcony if Blos
som didn’t immediately vacate the premises.

  “That’s enough,” he said over her.

  She paused from her seat on the ottoman, lifting her brows as she gazed at him over the agenda book. “Sir? I don’t think that’s wise.”

  “I need tonight to myself.”

  “What you need is rest. The next few days are nonstop.”

  He briefly closed his eyes. “I know.”

  “I thi––”

  “I think I’m going to strip out of these clothes and walk around naked,” he interrupted.

  There was a bit of hesitation, as if she were deciding whether to stay or not. After a few seconds, she cleared her throat. “As you wish.”

  He dropped his head in his hands. He couldn’t help but smile as he wondered what the unflappable Blossom Engel would do if he shifted into a dragon right then. Knowing her, she would continue on as if nothing had happened.

  It was no wonder Con used her.

  “The hours of three to five on Friday have me a bit concerned,” she said, a look of consternation crossing her brow. “I may need to shorten one meeting or move the other because of the overlap.”

  “Whatever you think.” He got to his feet. “Ms. Engel, you’re a delight, but I really need some time to myself.”

  “Just a few more minutes, sir.”

  “You said that an hour ago. Now, Blossom, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together. Give me tonight.”

  Whether it was because he’d used her given name or that he left her no choice, she softly closed the agenda and stood. “I’ll see you at eight thirty in the morning, sir,” she said before exiting.

  Asher released a long sigh and sank onto the couch. The quiet was just what he wanted. Thirty minutes later, it was too quiet.

  He looked out the window at the lights coming on all over Paris as night fell. The longer he stood staring at the darkening sky, the more he wanted to feel the wind gliding over his scales as he soared with the clouds.