Dragon Soul (Dragon Falls, #3)(5)
Too far, my mental sage warned. You’ll start seeing conspiracies everywhere if you go down that path.
Fortunately for my peace of mind—what was left of it—Mrs. P slept the rest of the way to Munich.
You just have to get her through a change of planes, and then onto a ship in Cairo, my sage pointed out. How hard could that be? Do that one little thing, and you’ll pocket a cool two grand, which will give you a start to fighting your way out of a dreary future, frustrating talks with the unemployment office, and an all-around loveless existence.
Unbidden, my gaze traveled along the rows of seats until it settled on the head crowned with short auburn curls.
My so-called savior was dressed casually in clothing that wasn’t in the least bit flashy, but still gave that off that subtle whiff of money. A navy blue blazer covered up a shirt in a lighter shade of blue, which was tucked into a pair of black chinos. Sharply creased chinos. This was a man who exuded quiet self-confidence, and absolute comfort in his own skin.
Even the fact that he wore lace-up dark gray, somewhat scarred boots rather than shoes didn’t ruin that impression. I was musing on what sort of man he was that he was so with it and together, yet marched around an airport wearing a pair of boots that would be more comfortable striding across a moor, when he must have felt my unabashed scrutiny, because his head turned and he glanced back at me.
Our gazes met in a way that left me breathless. My first impression of him had been one of chilly disinterest, but as I held his gaze, something kindled in the depths of those stormy green eyes, a brief flash of amusement that had me feeling strangely warm. One side of his mouth twitched, and he tipped his head a fraction of an inch in acknowledgment of… what? Awareness that I was clearly staring at him? Or perhaps it had something to do with our interaction with the nasty hissy man?
He turned back to the book he held, leaving me feeling oddly bereft.
The blush I had been working on faded as I stared at the back of his head, admitting that it was just too bad I wasn’t going to see Mr. Bracelet Thief again. Those cool gray-green eyes combined with an air of mystery left my mind wandering down all sorts of paths, and not all of them were rated PG.
Two
There were red dragons everywhere.
“Just what I need—competition,” Rowan said under his breath.
His gaze moved along the two lines of people queued up to go through passport control, counting no fewer than three red dragons, including the woman named Sophea.
Not red dragons, he mentally corrected himself. They were red dragon–demon hybrids. His sister, Bee, informed him that there were only a handful of non-demonic red dragons left alive, of whom Sophea was clearly one. His gaze paused on her as she assisted her elderly charge into sitting down on a walking stick that converted into a tri-legged seat. If he didn’t know why Sophea was helping the old lady, he’d have been fooled into thinking she was exactly what she appeared: a thoughtful, helpful caretaker assisting a woman in need.
She looked every bit her part—of mixed Asian descent, she had shoulder-length glossy black hair, cut in wispy layers that seemed to catch every light breeze. The long strands would occasionally caress the soft pink of her cheeks, making his fingers itch with the need to brush the hair back where it belonged. It looked smooth as silk, that hair, and he wondered what it would feel like trailing across his bare chest.
He frowned at the sudden erotic image. Where had that come from? Certainly it was true that Sophea was a pretty woman—with warm brown eyes that made him think of the dark, hidden depths in a pond; a heart-shaped face; and curves that would drive a saint mad with desire—who would no doubt attract admiration wherever she went, and yet, that did not mean he had to watch her so diligently.
Another strand of her hair flicked in the air, disturbed by a custom officer passing by Sophea. Rowan desperately wanted to brush his fingers across the soft curve of her cheek.
Stop it, he told himself. You’re acting like a randy stallion. Focus on what’s important, and remember that she’s a dragon, and thus the enemy.
Still, there was the episode on the plane with the demon-dragon who had made a bold attempt on the old woman. That was puzzling until he realized that Sophea clearly wasn’t working with her demon kin… or perhaps she had been, but changed her mind and decided to keep the old lady to herself.
The line shuffled forward a few feet at the same time that his phone burbled a notice that someone had texted him.
Did you find the ring yet? the text from his sister Bee read. We can’t do anything until you have broken it.
How do you expect me to get this all-important ring when eight hours ago I didn’t know it existed? he texted back, tiredly rubbing his eyes. For what it’s worth, you were right and the old woman was on the flight to Munich. I’m watching her now.
Two minutes later Bee texted back an answer. For all that’s good in this world, steal the ring from her!
I’m not a thief, he answered somewhat angrily. I don’t relish stealing things from a nice old lady. If you wanted the ring so badly, why didn’t you get it yourself?
It had to be the exhaustion making him so snappish, he thought absently as he waited for Bee’s response. It came almost immediately.
She’s not a nice old lady—she stole that ring from Bael. She’s got to be some sort of badass who-knows-what to do that. And we’d get it if we could, but we’re working on locating the sword Bael has hidden somewhere in Russia. Besides, you owe the dragons. GET THE RING ASAP!