Dragon's Rogue (Wild Dragons Book 1) Read online

  Dragon’s Rogue

  (Wild Dragons Book 1)

  by

  Anastasia Wilde

  Dragon’s Rogue

  Copyright © 2018 by Anastasia Wilde

  Copyright © 2018 by Anastasia Wilde

  First Electronic Publication: April 2018

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning, uploading, or distributing via the internet, print, or any other means, without written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Cover by Melody Simmons

  Books by Anastasia Wilde

  Wild Dragons Series:

  Dragon’s Rogue

  Dragon’s Rebel (Coming July 2018)

  Dragon’s Storm (Coming October 2018)

  Silverlake Shifters Series:

  Fugitive Mate

  White Wolf Mate

  Tiger Mate

  Silverlake Enforcers Series:

  The Enforcers: KANE

  The Enforcers: ISRAEL

  The Enforcers: NOAH

  Bad Blood Shifters Series:

  Bad Blood Bear

  Bad Blood Wolf

  Bad Blood Leopard

  Bad Blood Panther

  Bad Blood Alpha

  Chapter 1

  Blaze McKenna sat at the polished wooden table in her workroom, gazing at the Tarot cards spread out in front of her.

  She’d known what they would say, even before she saw them.

  Her past was coming for her. It was sitting on her doorstep, hovering over her shoulder, lurking in every shadow and making the place between her shoulder blades prickle with a primitive, visceral warning.

  Not just trouble. Evil. Soul-deep destruction. Hell on earth.

  Every night for weeks she’d cast the runes, she’d laid out the cards.

  Every night she’d prayed for a different answer.

  Every night they told her the same thing.

  The darkness she’d tried to escape so long ago had never stopped hunting her down. And now it was about to find her.

  She stared at the last card she’d dealt.

  Death.

  She told herself the Death card almost never meant physical death. It represented transformation—leaving behind one phase of life and beginning another.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t as comforting as you’d think.

  Over ten years ago, when she was only sixteen, the leaders of the coven she’d grown up in had transformed, all right—when they became possessed by an evil power.

  Gradually, they’d turned from witches and sorcerers who believed in using their magic to help and heal, to dark, greedy, power-hungry creatures she didn’t recognize. It had destroyed her father and killed her mother.

  The thought of them still made her heart ache.

  One by one, the coven leaders had tried to initiate the young witches and sorcerers into their darkening circle. Blaze, unable to stand by and watch the destruction of everyone she’d ever cared about, had done the only thing she could.

  She ran. She stole the source of the darkness and took it away with her, hoping to save the people she loved.

  Determined never to use it, never to be caught in its web.

  She stared at it now, sitting in the middle of the table, wrapped in silk and protective runes, emanating icy black evil.

  She’d kept it locked away all these years, afraid to go near it, for fear she wouldn’t be strong enough to resist.

  Now it was out of her vault, here in the room with her, and she could hear it calling. Coaxing her, trying to draw her in with false promises that sounded terrifyingly seductive.

  Everyone had darkness inside them, no matter how deep it was buried. Whatever darkness lurked in her soul yearned toward the artifact like a twisted tree leaning toward a dark sun. That was its power.

  Blaze shuddered.

  She studied the Tarot cards again, scanning them for some ray of hope—some sign that, when the time came, she wouldn’t let the darkness consume her the way her coven had. That the light she’d tried to keep alive inside her would keep her safe, keep her strong.

  So far, the cards said no. They said the darkness would change her, making her into something she didn’t recognize.

  She tightened her lips.

  Over her dead body. Blaze McKenna was no pawn of the Universe, and she sure as hell was no pawn of the dark power in the artifact. Magic was all about inner strength and focus—will and intention. With a strong enough will, you could make the Universe follow your intentions, bend events to your choosing.

  She’d done it before. She could do it again.

  She held the Tarot deck in her left hand, gripping it so hard the oversized cards dug painfully into her palm.

  One more, and the layout would be complete.

  She flipped the top card over and dealt it into the final spot.

  The Tower.

  The card showed a stone tower getting struck by lightning. It was crumbling to rubble, stones tumbling down and people falling from its heights, their mouths open in silent screams.

  There was no misinterpreting that. Sudden, disastrous change. Destruction of everything she knew, everything she was.

  Her coven was coming for her. And when they were through with her, there would be nothing left of the life she’d built.

  Nothing left of the person she’d been.

  All she could do was take them down with her.

  And for that, she had to know more.

  She swept up the cards in front of her and shuffled the deck, focusing on her next question.

  Who?

  She squared up the deck and dealt out the top card, laying the rest of the deck aside.

  The King of Swords. Upside down, or ‘reversed’ as Tarot readers called it. The King of Swords was an intelligent leader. Powerful, making decisions with his head rather than his heart. Reversed, it implied the dark side of the card: A man who was all that, and also ruthless. Obsessive. Cold. Relentless.

  Power with no heart.

  She knew who that was with a cold certainty in the pit of her stomach. Silas. Once the surrogate big brother she’d adored and worshiped, now he was her nemesis. The one she’d felt behind her all these years, the shadow she couldn’t quite escape. The son of the coven leader, the one who’d taken the artifact they were sworn to protect and tried to use it.

  The one who’d destroyed the coven, and who would never give up until he’d found Blaze and destroyed her too.

  Until he made the artifact his own once more.

  But she couldn’t rely on her feelings—they were too likely to be influenced by fear and dread. She had to be sure.

  Her guts twisting in distaste, Blaze reached for the silk-wrapped object. Despite the circle of protective gemstones that surrounded it, its dark power reached for her eagerly.

  She jerked her hand back, unable to make herself touch it. She didn’t feel herself hit the Tarot deck, but she must have, because the top half scattered across the tabletop. One card fell on the floor, face up.

  Blaze leaned over and picked it up.

  The Knight of Wands. A man ruled
by the element of Fire: passion and raw power. Warm, optimistic, creative, impulsive, unconventional. This card was right side up, representing the positive side of those characteristics.

  Slowly, thoughtfully, Blaze laid the Knight next to the reversed King. Any time a card ‘accidentally’ jumped out of the deck at you, it was important. This was a clear message: not one man coming into her life, but two. One she expected, and one she didn’t. But there was nothing to tell her whether the Knight was working with the King, or against him. Was he an enemy, or an ally?

  No. She had no allies. She’d always been alone; the dark power of the object before her was such that she could trust no one near it, not even herself. This was the first time she’d had it out of the vault since she moved to this house five years ago.

  Blaze stacked up the scattered cards and set them aside. Then she widened the circle of protective stones so that it included the King and Knight cards as well as the dark artifact. Reaching for the container of salt at the side of the table, she sprinkled it around the protective circle, and used her finger to trace powerful runes of protection and containment in the salt.

  She set up a triad of candles made of swirled red and black wax—two at either side of the circle, and one at the top. More protective magic. With a quick huff of breath and a flick of her fingers, she lit them—one, two, three. Gritting her teeth, she finally picked up the silk-wrapped artifact. It was heavy and felt ice-cold, even through the layers of cloth. She unwrapped it and set it back inside the circle, above the two tarot cards.

  It was solid gold, shaped like the head of some alien creature, vaguely human but completely out of proportion. The face was tall and elongated, with a thin nose, a tiny mouth with curled lips, and slanted eye sockets containing dull red rubies.

  The top of the head was squared off and carved to resemble a helmet with snakelike scales. The face looked benevolent, almost kind, but that just made it creepier.

  Blaze could hear it whispering, trying to draw her in, and she ruthlessly blocked out the sound. If she started to listen to it, she would be lost.

  Like Silas and her father and her friends had been lost.

  Instead, she focused her attention on the spell she was about to cast.

  She touched the King of Swords, and began her incantation.

  Chapter 2

  Zane Greystone and his adopted brother Tyr stood on a balcony at the back of Blaze McKenna’s house, wearing their breaking-and-entering clothes.

  Light glowed through the curtains that covered the floor-to-ceiling windows in the French doors, leaving no chinks where a curious burglar could peer inside.

  “Tyr,” Zane whispered. His brother, standing at the railing, didn’t respond. He was gazing out over the spectacular view. The whole cityscape of downtown Portland spread out before them, nestled between the tall, forested Vista Ridge where this house was perched, and the Willamette River to the east. The half-wheel of the Fremont Bridge sparkled in the north, ushering the highway 405 traffic over the river, and the glowing ribbon of the Marquam Bridge completed the beltway in the south. Five more bridges spanned the river at street level.

  They’d both seen that view many times before—from even greater heights than this—but it never failed to mesmerize Tyr. He’d spend whole nights perched on top of the ridge, staring out at the lighted city. Zane always wondered what he was thinking about when he did that, but Tyr never said.

  And now was not the time for them to get lost in rumination. They had a house to burgle.

  Zane glanced again at the curtained windows, his skin itching with impatience and unease. They’d waited until they thought their target would be in bed. The plan was get in, get the artifact they needed, get out. Go home and have a beer. And maybe some cake. Because nobody needed a reason for cake.

  Except she was still up, dammit. Standing in the way of their mission: to find the Three Seals of the Draken Lord Vyrkos, take them to his magical prison under Mount Hood, and stop him from breaking free and raining fire down on the entire Willamette Valley.

  And time was running out.

  So far, of the Three Seals, they had found zero. Which meant they sucked as heroes—not exactly news to Zane. But the personal failings of him and his fellow dragons didn’t matter; they had to get their hands on the Seals. Beg, borrow, buy or steal—whatever it took.

  This art dealer was the first real lead they’d managed to find in forever. She did a low-profile, high-end business in art and artifacts, ancient and modern.

  And a black-market business in magical artifacts, some of them powerful as hell. Their oldest ‘brother,’ Thorne, had been tracking one particular artifact for months now, buyer to buyer, clandestine deal to clandestine deal. The Dragonfly of Morocco. It could well be the Dragonfly Seal—the first of the Three Seals. The trail stopped here, with this reclusive, secretive woman.

  Thorne had tried to buy it from her—they had enough treasure in their hoards to pay whatever she wanted without even making a dent. Trouble was, she’d refused all Thorne’s offers to meet and discuss the piece. Finally, desperate, they’d had to resort to… this.

  Burglary. And now Zane’s partner in crime was lost in a trance.

  TYR! he shouted, in the mind-speech they used when they didn’t want to be overheard. Tyr jumped. Zane said, Take a picture, for fuck’s sake, and help me get this party started.

  Tyr turned, leaned his hips on the railing and flipped Zane the bird with his black-gloved middle finger. We can’t start anything. She’s not even in bed yet. What the hell is she still doing up?

  It’s only one o’clock, Zane pointed out. Grown people often stay up that late. Hell, maybe she’s a vampire, stays up all night and sleeps in her coffin during the day.

  That’s all we need, Tyr said. Although, it is weird that we couldn’t find any pictures of her. Even her DMV photo is blurred.

  I told you. Vampire, Zane said. That’s why she refused all of Thorne’s requests to meet with her. She probably looked him up online and figured he’s as dry and tasteless as he looks.

  There’s no pictures of him online, either, Tyr pointed out. Or us.

  True. The Greystone brothers were notoriously reclusive and camera-shy. Otherwise, it would be hard to explain why they never seemed to age.

  Tyr drummed his fingers impatiently, looking at the sliver of light between the curtains. What’s she doing in there? Why doesn’t she just go to bed instead of keeping us waiting? Rude.

  Hell if I know. Why don’t you make yourself useful and move the curtains a little, so we can see?

  Tyr started to look interested. Maybe she has a date and they’re doing it on the coffee table. I’d watch that.

  Zane rolled his eyes. Perv.

  Tyr flicked his fingers at the curtains. One of them slowly moved a fraction, creating a small gap. Telekinesis—moving objects without touching them—was one of Tyr’s special powers. Nice if you were spying on someone—not so much when he levitated your bacon off your plate at breakfast and ate it himself.

  I guess you’re not as useless as you look, Zane said.

  Tyr shrugged. Let me know if there’s anything worth watching. Like nakedness. But Zane saw him glance sideways, out over the balcony railing, as if he were still hearing the call of the cityscape.

  Zane knelt on the concrete and peered through the gap in the curtains.

  At first he didn’t see anyone, just a wall of shelves and glass-fronted cabinets, stuffed full of ancient, leather-bound books and rows of glass jars—large ones full of herbs and smaller ones holding different-colored liquids. Other shelves held handmade candles in a rainbow of colors; antique chalices of silver and gold, pewter and wood; crystals and colored stones in all sizes and shapes, from huge spheres a foot across to bowls of tumbled and polished pebbles.

  He gave a soundless whistle. This was the private workroom of a powerful, well-trained sorceress.

  Now that his attention was focused, he could sense the accumulated magic of everyt
hing in the workroom, pulsing against the protective wards designed to mask the power. There were other wards, too. Magic to keep away thieves. Sorcerers. Vampires. Shapeshifters.

  Unfortunately for her, they wouldn’t keep him out.

  The large table in the middle of the room looked like it had been sliced from a giant tree trunk—a huge irregular oval with the bark still on the edges, and the inner rings polished to a high gloss. Its four thick legs were carved in the form of dragons.

  That made him smile. At least she had good taste in decorations.

  But dealing with a human of power could be… difficult. If she’d collected the Seal because she knew what it was, things could get complicated. Especially if she belonged to one of those cults who wanted to free ancient Draken Lords like Vyrkos, hoping to get on their good side and share their power.

  Unfortunately for them, ancient Draken Lords didn’t have a good side.

  Zane shifted over, changing his angle of sight, trying to get a glimpse of her. The mysterious Blaze McKenna. The woman without a past.

  According to Thorne’s background checks, Blaze McKenna had only existed for five years. Before that, nothing. No early history. No court records of a name change. She was either in the Witness Protection Program—which was highly unlikely—or she really was a vampire, starting a new life every twenty years or so.

  That would suck—in more ways than one.

  He slid a few more inches to his left, straining to see the far end if the table… and felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

  She was the woman of his dreams.

  And not only in the woman-I-have-sex-fantasies-about sense.

  He’d literally dreamed about her for over a century.

  Chapter 3

  Zane stared at Blaze McKenna, reminding himself to keep breathing.

  Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.