Grigori: A Royal Dragon Romance (Brothers of Ash and Fire) Page 7

  “Are you watching?” he asked her as he held his arm out so she could see it clearly.

  She nodded, holding her breath. She wasn’t sure what to expect.

  “Don’t even blink,” he cautioned.

  The dragon tattoo moved. The serpentine body uncurled and it stretched its wings out, the clawed tips curving as it turned its head to look at her. For second Madelyn couldn’t breathe. There was a moving dragon tattoo on Grigori’s arm.

  “How . . . How is that even possible?” she whispered.

  “We were born thousands of years ago and our existence is tied to ancient magic. The tattoo is a marker of who we are, an outside manifestation of our inner dragon.”

  Madelyn shoved aside the whirl of doubts and thoughts and tried to approach this fantastical situation from an academic perspective.

  “The tattoo is what you meant by turning into a dragon?”

  He shook his head. “You still do not fully understand. Wait,” he rose from the table and disappeared into his bedchamber. When he returned he held Barrow’s book. He set it down in front of her and turned to the page with a sketch of the dragon on the cliff by the sea and tapped his index finger at it.

  “That is what I mean. I would show you, but well, I would destroy this penthouse with my transformation and I really do not wish to do that. I am fond of this place.”

  “But—”

  The penthouse door crashed open and a wild-eyed man in blue jeans and a black shirt stood there, his face marred with cuts. He had one hand pressed to his abdomen where a dark stain was. Red liquid oozed between his fingertips.

  Blood. The man was bleeding . . .

  He spoke quickly to Grigori in Russian, his voice hurried and breathless. It took a second for Madelyn to recognize him. He was the man from the elevator, the other man in her apartment. But it was the long thin scar from his brow down across one eye that caught her attention.

  “Rurik!” Grigori’s tone was panicked as he rushed to the other man, catching him as he fell against the entryway hall, clutching his bleeding stomach.

  Madelyn had seen that face before. She flicked to the first page of Barrow’s book and stared at the trio of portraits. Rurik Barinov. One of Grigori’s brothers. Another dragon . . .

  Chapter 6

  He looked up from the harpsichord, and as

  he went on playing, he looked across at her

  almost as one might gaze into a mirror:

  so deeply was her every feature filled

  with his young features, which bore his pain and were

  more beautiful and seductive with each sound.

  —Rainer Maria Rilke

  Brothers. They were brothers. Grigori and Rurik Barinov. And Rurik was hurt. Something inside her kicked into gear and Madelyn was on her feet in an instant.

  “We need to get him to a hospital.” She joined them by the door, but Grigori’s face darkened and he shook his head.

  “No hospital. Our blood has genetic markers which would be noticed during any routine bloodwork. We can’t be exposed like that.”

  Madelyn stared at him, realizing that this was completely crazy, but they didn’t have time for her to try to argue with him. Not if they wanted to stop the bleeding and get a better look at Rurik’s wound.

  “You’re just going to treat him here?” she looked at the expensive kitchen. It was not going to make a good make-shift hospital.

  “I need rubbing alcohol and towels.” Grigori told her. “They’re in the cabinets in the master bath next to my bedroom. Please fetch them for me.”

  She stared at the two men.

  “Please, Madelyn,” Grigori begged, sadness and pleading shadowing his eyes. “It’s not the first time I’ve patched up Rurik after a fight. I know how to help him. He’ll heal faster once we have him cleaned and bandaged.”

  “Okay.” Madelyn rushed to the bathroom and dug around in the cabinets until she found everything she thought they might need including a small first aid kit. When she came back into the kitchen, she set the items down. “I have a little bit of familiarity with medical stuff, I worked at a vet’s office when I was in college as a vet tech. I can help . . . if you need it.” She’d seen quite a lot of injured animals and helped during emergency procedures. She knew a human man was different than a dog but still . . . she wanted to help.

  Rurik chuckled and then winced. “Grigori, don’t let her neuter me.”

  Madelyn ignored that remark but Grigori chuckled. “Maybe neutering you would keep you out of trouble.”

  Grigori lifted his brother onto the granite counter and lifted up his shirt, wincing when he and Madelyn both caught sight of the bleeding wound. Her stomach gave a little nauseous roll.

  “What happened?” she asked Rurik and then shot another look at Grigori, trying to stay calm.

  “Can you bring the towels and alcohol over here?” Grigori asked her as he examined the injury.

  Retrieving the towels and the bottle of rubbing alcohol, she set them within easy reach of Grigori.

  Rurik cursed in Russian.

  “What happened?” she repeated. Rurik only shook his head.

  The two brothers spoke in a heated exchange. Grigori slapped the counter with his palm and let out a low hissing sound.

  “What?” Madelyn asked as she took the towels from him and opened the bottle of rubbing alcohol. She poured it over the wounded and Rurik jerked, uttering more guttural Russian cries. Grigori gripped Rurik’s shoulders and held him down so she could wipe the blood away from the wound.

  “We’re not the only dragons in Russia. There is another family. Bigger than ours. The Drakors. They control eastern Russia, we have the West. But we let them have free passage to Moscow and St. Petersburg as long as they don’t violate our treaty and threaten our control of this part of Russia.” His blue eyes were swirling with ebbing rivers of gold as though fighting off something alive inside him that was stirring. His dragon?

  Am I seriously believing that he can turn into a dragon? She was afraid of the answer.

  “How did he get hurt?” she asked Grigori as she examined the wound that was now clear of most of excess blood. It looked like a puncture wound, but she saw a sliver of dark wood embedded in his flesh.

  “We have enemies here in Moscow. The other dragon family I mentioned are called the Drakors. A dragon shifter named Ruslan, the favored son of Dimitri Drakor, the head of their family, came into Rurik’s nightclub and started a fight.”

  “Okay . . .” Madelyn helped Grigori dry the wound around the sliver of wood.

  “Ruslan killed a woman at the club, a woman my brother cares deeply for. Rurik fought Ruslan, and pieces of wood from the bar counter pierced him during the fight.”

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry,” she whispered to Rurik, his eyes met her and then he glanced away, wincing.

  “I need tweezers. I can see a splinter.” Grigori held out his hand and Madelyn placed the tweezers into his palm. He poured some of the alcohol over the metal ends before using them on the jagged bit of wood embedded in Rurik’s body.

  Rurik let his head drop onto the counter and he hissed out a low breath, his eyes seeking hers.

  “So Grigori told you what we are . . .”

  Madelyn nodded, her eyes staying on the splinter while Grigori worked on pulling it out.

  “Now he can never let you go.” Rurik coughed and then his body relaxed slightly.

  Grigori jabbed his brother sharply with the tweezers and Rurik hissed.

  “What? He promised he’d let me go . . .” Madelyn said, but the apologetic look in Rurik’s brown eyes made a pit form in her stomach. She’d been so foolish to think he would stay true to his word. She bit her cheek and held back a few wave of tears as she tried to put her attention back on Rurik’s wound.

  “Madelyn, ignore my brother. I promised I will let you go and I meant it, once I’m sure my family is safe.” Grigori kept his gaze on his brother as worked on the wound but Madelyn sensed he was just as focu
sed on her standing next to him.

  Madelyn bit her bottom lip, but didn’t say anything. Grigori worked quickly, removing the piece of wood from Rurik’s stomach and she applied more alcohol until she was sure no other slivers were still inside.

  “Will he heal naturally?” she asked Grigori.

  “Yes. If he could have shifted into his dragon, he would heal more quickly, but he cannot shift in the city.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too many humans. If we shift and are seen, it could put us in danger.”

  Madelyn stared at the two brothers as the true nature of her situation dawned on her. They were serious. They believed they were men who could transform into dragons, and what’s more . . . she was starting to believe it. Between the candles and the moving tattoo, it was pretty hard to ignore what her eyes were telling her.

  “People always fear what they do not understand.” Grigori produced a roll of bandages and held them out her.

  “Thank you.” She tore her eyes away from the brooding Grigori, and studied Rurik. “Help me sit him up.”

  Once Rurik was sitting, they worked together to wind bandages around his waist. His injury was already starting to shrink. Then they helped Rurik over to the leather couch by the fire and he sank back into it with a groan.

  “Will he be okay?” Madelyn asked Grigori in a whisper.

  “Yes. But I’m afraid we have a bigger problem.”

  “What?”

  Grigori used a towel to wipe blood off his hands and then he returned to her and took her hands, gently scrubbing the blood off that coated her fingers and palms. His gentleness warmed her all over.

  “When Rurik killed the eldest son of the Drakor family, it broke our treaty. We are facing open war.”

  His blue eyes were full of haunted memories and pain. As much as she wanted to ask him a hundred questions, the word war was something she couldn’t ignore. What would it mean for Russia if dragons went to war?

  “Can you stay with him? I have to make a phone call.” Grigori nodded at his brother.

  “Yes, of course.” Madelyn sat down in the leather chair close to the couch, watching as Grigori pulled out his cell phone, walked into the kitchen and dialed a number. He leaned back against the counter, his head bowed, blond hair falling over his eyes he spoke in a quiet but firm tone.

  Madelyn didn’t understand anything he said, he spoke too fast, but she heard the name Drakor a few times.

  Open war between dragon families. That could not be good. She glanced over Rurik and found him studying her through tired, ancient eyes.

  “He will have to meet with Ruslan’s father.” Rurik said.

  “Who is Ruslan?” Madelyn asked.

  “The bastard whose neck I broke tonight.” Rurik closed his eyes for a long moment before he glanced at his brother in the kitchen.

  Grigori ended the call and set his phone on the counter. He glanced from his brother, to her, then to the table where their dinner lay half eaten and forgotten.

  “Dimitri will burn his son soon. Tomorrow I must meet him to settle this.”

  “Burn his son? What does that mean?” Madelyn rose from the chair and came over to Grigori. There was something about him, the way he stood, strong, yet resigned to a fight he didn’t want that made her want to reach out and touch him. She wasn’t as afraid of him as before, and after kissing him . . . feeling that errant thought she somehow knew was his, she felt safe. It was probably crazy to trust him, but she was starting to.

  “Dragons are born in fire and die in ash. It is our custom for honoring the dead by placing them on a funeral pyre.” He raked a hand through his hair, clearly distracted, but Madelyn had a dozen questions on the tip of her tongue.

  “You are born in fire?” she asked. “Don’t you hatch from eggs?”

  Rurik burst out laughing, then winced. “Oh, I like her, Grigori. You should definitely keep this one. Hatch from eggs . . .” He started laughing again, one hand still flat against his side.

  Grigori pressed his thumb and forefinger to his closed eyes inside before he looked down at her.

  “We are born as humans are, from a woman’s body as a human, but the dragon is inside us. Born in fire is more of a . . . what’s the English word . . . metaphor?”

  “Oh . . .” She blushed. “You are totally human in the . . .” she struggled, not wanting to ask about his physical capability with humans, because she’d been thinking about that kiss, and the way his hands burned her skin with invisible erotic flames.

  “We make love as mortals do, albeit a little rougher. I broke a bed or two in my day.” He smiled wolfishly at her, the expression an open invitation. But just as soon as the smile came, it died as Grigori focused on his brother.

  “Why did Ruslan challenge you? I know that you were not stupid enough to start a fight here in the city. Our borders are one thing, but Moscow? You could’ve lost control and changed, Rurik.”

  “When he came into the club, I told him to leave but I knew he wouldn’t. He killed Nikita . . . Just because he could. My Niki, Grigori . . .” Stark pain flashed in Rurik’s eyes, a pain so deep that Madelyn’s breath caught on a sob. That was a pain she did recognize. The infinite pain of loss for someone you loved. Whoever this Nikita was . . . Rurik and the dragon inside of him were grieving her loss.

  “I’m sorry, Rurik,” Grigori said. The brothers shared a silent exchange that seemed so second nature that she wondered what it must be like to have a sibling, to have a secret language of communication simply by having known each other for so many years. It made her heart ache. It was one more reminder of how alone she felt. Her parents hadn’t been able to have children and after they adopted her, they hadn’t adopted any other children.

  For a long moment no one spoke. The air between them was pregnant with sadness and the look of melancholy on Grigori’s face was the same as in the sketch in Barrow’s book.

  “Do you wish to take the bed?” Grigori asked her. “I can stay here by the couch and watch over my brother.”

  “What?” She was lost in thought of her parents and the sad eyes of this mystery man who was part dragon.

  “You need to sleep. We all do. The bed is yours.”

  “But where will you—”

  “I will sleep in one of the chairs by the fire.”

  Rurik growled softly something in Russian that she didn’t understand and Grigori replied solemnly. For the hundredth time that day, she hated that she didn’t know what they were saying. Her grasp of modern Russian only let her hear the occasional word. They were talking about her and beds and females, but she didn’t understand what seemed to be the source of the tension between them.

  Grigori held out a hand. Surprising herself, Madelyn placed her palm in his. The electric pulse she had felt before startled her, but she didn’t pull away. He led her into his bedroom and paused, his eyes turbulent.

  “Madelyn, you know you have nothing to fear from us. My brother and I . . .” he trailed off, but then he seemed to think of something. He held up a finger and left the room. When he returned he held the old journal in his hands.

  “Read it. You’ll understand me.” He handed it to her. “Any questions you have, I promise to answer them.”

  She held the journal against her chest and closed her eyes when he cupped her chin and leaned in. There was a moment of hesitation, his eyes searching hers, as though questioning whether she was still afraid and wouldn’t want him to kiss her, but she craved that kiss now, wanting it more than she wanted to leave. Yes, he was a dragon . . . yes, he had taken her against her will, but she didn’t feel like a prisoner at the moment. Something had changed in the last hour since she’d helped him with his brother. There was a level of respect and trust he’d given her that didn’t make her feel like a captive, and it was chipping away at the remaining sliver of fear. She wasn’t in danger and he was willing to give her answers about something she’d never thought possible.

  I’m not going to let fear rule me. Not
when I might learn something life-changing.

  She tiled her head back, her eyes falling closed as she stood up on tiptoes to kiss him.

  His lips brushed hers. The explosive passion between them was still there, but somehow this kiss, as light as butterfly wings, sent her soul soaring into the clouds. This was a kiss full of emotion, not just passion, a plea for her to stay, to trust him, to be with him.

  She was nothing if not a scholar and if she tried to run from this fascinating man the mysteries of his past, she would be a fool. Her heart, as irrational as it was, had convinced her to stay. She wanted answers and she wanted . . . wanted more of those kisses that left her breathless and feeling like she was flying.

  “I should want to leave,” she whispered.

  “And I won’t let you, not until I know it’s safe. If the Drakors want to wage war, I don’t want you out in the city on your own. You’re safer with me.” His voice was gruff now with determination.

  “So I’m still a captive?” she asked faintly, staring at his lips and hating that she was hot and bothered at the idea now. I have serious issues.

  His lips twitched but he didn’t answer her. He stared at her for a long moment, an infinite breath of time where she seemed to drown in the blue of his eyes. Had she thought he was scary before? Now she saw only an ancient beauty, a man ripped from his own time to live in a modern age. He was a survivor, and there was a devastating, lovely sadness in his face. The way he brushed his thumb over her lips, as though he hadn’t kissed a woman in years and had forgotten how wonderful it could be . . . Madelyn trembled, not from fear, but from the desire to curl her arms around his neck and kiss him back. She wanted to show him that she felt the same electric connection that seemed to draw them together like magnets.

  Whoever Grigori Barinov was, he was a man who loved deeply and was not a person to be feared.