Brother of Ash and Fire: Royal Dragon Romance Page 2

  “That’s...that’s not…”

  But he could say no more. Words abandoned him. She was stealing the jewels, the ones he was supposed to take home. He was a fool. He had failed in his duty. And even if he escaped this fate, he would be exiled for this. The dark rush of thoughts consumed him as he slipped deeper and deeper into unconsciousness.

  Mikhail jerked awake, the memory from half a millennium ago still lingering in his mind, the taste of Elizabeth’s kiss still on his lips and her mocking smile still burned into his memory. But it wasn’t 1559 anymore. Half a millennium had passed between that fateful kiss and the solitary life he led in Cornwall now.

  He sat up, eyes adjusting to the lack of moonlight, his thoughts still back at the moment his life had changed forever—when the woman he’d thought he loved had drugged his wine, stolen his hoard, and then imprisoned him behind iron bars, the one metal that could harm a dragon and which he had no power over, for half a century. The woman had taken everything that mattered to him, and centuries later, it still stung to realize the extent of his gullibility.

  Eyes sharpening in the darkness, his dragon senses assessed the night. A faint patter of rain against the bay windows drew his attention. The dragon inside him shifted, wanting to manifest itself and take flight. Over the years the beast in him had become almost feral, carrying with it a desire to fly in dangerous conditions.

  Elizabeth’s betrayal had dug deep into him, like claws raking old wounds open again and again. He had wanted her for his mate, she had been the one fate had chosen for him, yet she hadn’t believed true mating was real, not until she was on her death bed, and by then it was far too late.

  I was nothing but an unholy beast to her except in those final hours of her life. She saw me only as a means to take back those jewels to line her royal coffers.

  Being rejected by her had nearly killed him. A dragon couldn’t live without its mate. And while he hadn’t completed the mating bond, his dragon had been driven half-mad with grief by losing her. Even now, five hundred years later, thinking of her made his dragon reckless, desperate to hurt itself because it didn’t care to live, not without its mate. He could feel it stir inside him, wanting to plunge off the cliffs and test its wings against the lightning and the rain.

  Soon, he promised. Soon.

  He swung his legs out of bed and stood. The stone floor was cool beneath his feet. He was surprised that it wasn’t snowing outside. This time of year on the coast of Cornwall there should be a great, fierce storm raging against the shore, layering the rocky inland hills with wet, sticky snow.

  It was not the kind of snow he was used to, however, even after living here for five centuries. He preferred his snow thick and fluffy, dry as vodka. Russian snow. The snow of his homeland. But that was lost to him. He could not go home until he recovered the jewels Queen Elizabeth had stolen from him. It was a matter of honor.

  Mikhail left his bedchamber and walked down the narrow hall of his home. It was a stone country house, a mere mile from the cliffs. The secluded spot left him isolated, just as he liked it. It was dangerous to navigate the roads around the coast this time of year, and the self-imposed isolation left him melancholy, but he welcomed the dark tide of feelings.

  He hadn’t always been this way, the kind of man who preferred solitude to companionship. But he’d been burned too often by the friendship of mortals to fully trust them ever again, and he’d never felt at home among the English dragon families, except perhaps for the Belishaws. He was content to be an outsider…forever.

  He paused at the foot of the stairs, listening to the old grandfather clock ticking away the hours. Two in the morning. Outside, the sea pounded against the cliffs, the sound reminding Mikhail of how alone and remote his country house was. The frothy white spray from the water struck the rocks and formed a thick, almost impenetrable mist that had lured many a ship to a watery grave. In many ways, Cornwall was like the edge of hell—a dark, harsh place, especially in winter, and yet somehow that made it beautiful as well. A place of endings, a place of darkness and loneliness that called to his wounded soul.

  His eyes strayed to an oil painting by the stairs, one of the dark cliffs with the distant black figure of a dragon flying out to sea. The house was full of memories and the ghost of his friend James Barrow, the one human he had trusted. But James had died long ago, more than a hundred and fifty years now.

  “Mikhail, stop brooding.” James’s laughter echoed through the hall, a flash of memory that made him smile. If there was anyone aside from his brothers who had understood him, it had been James. The human had been a friend to him when he’d needed it most, a brother when he had become brotherless. Their bond had run deep in a time when Mikhail had felt most alone because of his exile. When James had died, he’d left Mikhail the house, as well as all of the ghosts and memories that came with it.

  Mikhail had no urge to return to bed, lest dark dreams come creeping back up on him. With that unpleasant thought, he headed for the living room. He collapsed onto the leather sofa and flicked on the television, flipping through the absurd number of channels before a news story made his body freeze.

  He turned the sound up to listen to a breaking news report from London. A reporter spoke in front of the entrance to the Victoria and Albert Museum.

  “We officially confirmed last night’s immense discovery,” the man said, excitement flustering his face. “Workmen installing a new wine cellar in the basement of a small bed-and-breakfast in Cheapside unearthed what turned out to be the remnants of a far older building. Tests confirm that the edifice was likely built around the middle of the sixteenth century.”

  He paused, catching his breath before continuing. “But the most amazing part of this discovery is the large pile of jewels that were uncovered in the remains of the old building beneath the inn. More than two hundred pounds of raw gems and finished settings, believed to have been from the Elizabethan era, have been transported to the Victoria and Albert Museum. Over the next two weeks, the items will be cataloged and transferred to the Thorne Auction House.”

  The female news anchor interrupted. “And I understand that this find is unusual for another reason?”

  “That is correct. Because the finding is strictly made up of gemstones, they do not fall under the Treasure Act of 1996 and are therefore not required to be sold to a museum. As such, they remain the property of the bed-and-breakfast owners, a Mr. and Mrs. Elwes-Bush. The Victoria and Albert Museum representatives will be among the bidders at the auction, of course.”

  The TV cut away from the reporter to show photos of the jewels. Among the pearls and rubies, he caught a glimpse of a gemstone emerald watch made from a single large emerald, cut into a square box shape, with delicate gold roman numerals inside. A string of wild thoughts raced through him as he recognized what he saw.

  My hoard…

  Mikhail could barely breathe. The jewels, his jewels, were at the Victoria and Albert Museum. He knew those gems, had gazed at them for hours, burning their vivid colors into his mind so he would never forget. He’d spent five centuries trying to find them again, searching all of England for them, and they’d been hidden away somewhere in Cheapside.

  She’d never put them back in the royal treasury, possibly because she knew he’d look for them. When he’d finally emerged from his prison, he’d sought word on their last location. What he’d discovered was that the hoard of jewels had been stolen while being transported from the Tower of London to one of Elizabeth’s residences. The robbers were never caught, and the treasure was lost forever.

  The listless melancholy that had colored the last five hundred years of his life faded. The jewels were in London. He was going to get them back, and he would finally be able to go home.

  A slow smile curved his lips. This time, there would be no tempting virgin to stand in his way.

  2

  The greatest treasures were most often guarded by the slyest and cruelest dragons.

  ―Adam Nevill, H
ouse of Small Shadows

  Diamonds are my best friend… The words hummed through Piper Linwood’s head as she stood in the showroom of the Victoria and Albert Museum, staring at the glass-encased display of jewels with longing and fascination. Never in her life had she seen such an impressive and awe-inspiring collection. As one of the premier gemologists in North America, she’d seen hoards that would make a queen emerald-green with envy.

  But all of those paled in comparison to this.

  No one back home in Massachusetts would have guessed she’d end up in glittering, aristocratic London, overseeing a trove of this magnitude. After ten years, multiple jobs, double course loads for classes, and a heavy caffeine addiction, she’d clawed her way up from small-town life to cataloging this remarkable find.

  And I am going to help sell them. She still couldn’t believe it when Thorne Auction House had contacted her for the position, along with her friend and colleague Jodie Harkness. As a consulting gemologist, her job was to identify and place a starting value on each piece in the collection. It was a huge honor. She was only thirty, but they’d chosen her over a handful of even better qualified gemologists.

  She looked around the exhibit room, full of tourists snapping pictures and taking selfies next to the hoard of jewels, several of them pretending to make a grab for them. A group of blank-faced security personnel protected the collection. Only a small number of jewels were currently on display, and they would rotate the pieces between the vaults and the exhibit.

  But this exhibit was temporary. The pieces would soon be sold at auction, so this was the only chance for the public to see them. A camera crew was recording the event, with a reporter standing next to a collection of salamanders encrusted with diamonds and sapphires.

  The display room was crowded and warm and noisy. She was more accustomed to a tiny room with a gemological binocular microscope, a set of jeweler’s loupes, a refractometer, and a dozen other tools of the trade she used to assess a gem’s quality. The bustle of so many people made her slightly edgy, especially when they strayed too close to the display. She couldn’t help but feel a little protective of the collection, even though they were secured beneath thick pressurized glass cases.

  As she studied the room, her eyes lit on one person and stayed attuned to him as he stood next to one of the glass displays. She shifted her position and frowned, taking in the tall, dark figure, with black slacks and a dark gray sweater that fit him almost regally. Taking a few steps closer, she began to follow him slowly through the exhibit.

  He meandered from case to case, like any tourist, but there was a precise, controlled quality to his movements. Whenever he stared at tourists blocking his view of the display case he was currently gazing at, the tourists moved away like startled rabbits. Piper couldn’t help but look at him, fixated on his tall, lean form. He was handsome, very handsome, but in a too-intense sort of way that made her heart pound and her head feel fuzzy.

  His hair was long enough to fall over his eyes, but he didn’t brush it away or even seem to notice it. He stood transfixed at the final display in the exhibit case, which contained a bag of partially decayed pearls that had been uncovered where the trove was found. Next to the artfully scattered pearls on a blue velvet cloth was a clock made entirely of emerald. It looked like a pocket watch with an emerald lid that folded down to cover the delicate gold filigree face. The clock’s hands had vanished sometime during the last five centuries, but one could still see the numbers around the dial. A few of the other gemologists who’d seen it believed the housing had been carved out of a single emerald the size of a man’s fist. If that was true, then it increased the clock’s value to nearly priceless.

  With a flush of heat that she tried to ignore, Piper approached the man by the case. He wasn’t dressed like a tourist, and he wasn’t acting like one, either: no pictures, no casual flipping through the exhibit brochure. He stared at the case as though it contained all of his answers. His fixation was unsettling, but she had to admit, it was not unlike her own. Perhaps he was a gemologist? No one else would look at jewels that intensely.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?” she said as she came beside him. Her words came out a little breathless, but he didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t turn to face her the way most men would when a woman spoke to them.

  “The pearls…” he whispered, his tone dark with a smooth but bold Russian accent. “They used to be so beautiful. They gleamed like moonlight trapped in frozen drops of dew.” He raised a hand as though he wanted to reach through the glass to clasp a handful of the age-pinkened pearls.

  The features of his face, which Piper could only see in profile, were cut of marble and destined to break a woman’s heart. This man was as beautiful as the pearls and the emerald clock, but far more dangerous. Jewels were a girl’s friend. A handsome man was not. He looked like the sort who could seduce any woman he wanted and leave her brokenhearted.

  Piper gave her head a shake and focused back on the jewels. Gems would never stand her up on a Saturday night.

  “If left in the ground without proper protection, pearls will decay, just like any other organic material. They are far more delicate than the gemstones.”

  She felt silly rambling to this stranger. This was why she didn’t have a boyfriend. They always said she talked too much about her work and never focused on them. They acted like it was her fault that she’d never really been that into them or their relationships.

  The man slowly turned to face her, and she was struck by his green eyes, so bright, like emeralds.

  Oh, wow…

  Eyes didn’t come in that color of green. They had to be contacts. His mouth—it was a thing of dreams, and its sensual fullness made her want to lean in and nibble his bottom lip and…what was she thinking?

  “You understand treasure?” he asked.

  “Treasure? You mean gems and…” She was flustered, too distracted by his eyes and lips. Was it crazy that she was picturing him leaning down and kissing her right now? Yeah, super crazy. Had she had too much caffeine today? Not possible—she’d only just had her fifth cup from the cafeteria. If anything, she was due for another.

  He nodded, and his eyes now watched her with the same intensity he’d given the jewels. Her entire body flooded with awareness like some kind of sixth sense. Every hair on her arms seemed to rise, and her blood began to pound in her ears. A slow wave of heat started from her face and moved down to her toes. Her body rebelled against her, all because this dark stranger was staring at her in a way that reminded her she was a woman, making her think of all the things that a woman wanted from a man in the dark of night.

  Whispers, sighs, limbs entwined and bodies writhing…

  Piper came back to herself with a jolt and tried to remember what they were talking about.

  “I’m a gemologist. My job is all about treasure.” She couldn’t help but use the word he had. Funny, she never thought of gems and precious stones as treasure, but they were. This amazing new discovery was by definition a treasure trove.

  The man cocked his head and leaned toward her. His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. The predatory move into her personal space made her tense and try to move back, but she was too close to the jewel case. She’d bump into the glass and set off the alarms. The corner of his mouth twitched up as though he almost smiled at her realization of being trapped.

  What the—?

  “A gemologist.” He tested the word, making it sound decadent on his lips.

  “Yeah,” she answered, a little breathless, trying to regain her composure. “I’ve been hired to appraise the gems of this collection before they go to auction.”

  A sharp gleam in his eyes made her freeze in place.

  “Have you now.” It was a statement rather than a question, and for some reason that unsettled her. When she met his eyes again, the green seemed to melt into liquid gold. She jolted and he blinked, the yellow glint vanished. There was something predatory about him that made her both excited
and uneasy at the same time. She’d always been into men who were dominating, but she’d never been around a man who actually put off those dominant vibes before. Her skin flushed at his dark, knowing look.

  “I should leave you to—” she said, now trying to sidestep him.

  “My name is Mikhail Barinov,” he announced, stopping her. There was a touch of pride in his tone, but it lacked the arrogance that she expected to go with it. It was almost as though he expected her to know of him, but she obviously didn’t. Which begged the question, who the hell was he?

  “I’m Piper, Piper Linwood.”

  Mikhail raised her hand to his lips and gave her a chivalrous kiss. His lips were warm and soft on the backs of her fingers. She shivered. It was impossible not to imagine his lips touching other parts of her. The wicked thought filled her with a wild rush of excitement and a hint of panic. She never thought about strange men like this. Was it because Mikhail was insanely gorgeous? Or was it because at the age of thirty she was still a virgin and her hormones were finally kicking into high gear?

  “Will you be attending the reception at the Thorne Auction House tonight?” he asked her.

  Surprise fluttered through her. “Why yes. How did you know about that?” She didn’t think the reception was open to the public.

  There was a flicker of hesitation before he replied. “I shall be there as well.” His lips curved into a small crooked smile that sent her heart racing. “I shall look forward to seeing you again, Ms. Linwood. And the jewels.”

  Before she could reply, the mysterious and sexy Mikhail Barinov slipped into the crowd and disappeared. He hadn’t even told her how he’d known about the private reception.

  Her friend Jodie Harkness joined Piper at the display case. “Who was that?”