Taming the Dragon

“A job,” Tess said. As weird as this woman was, the prospect of income went a long way toward banishing any lingering fear. “How do you know I need a job?”

Morgan waved a hand. “You wouldn’t believe me. Yet. Wicked Little Things deals in the magical, the maligned and the misunderstood. The man I need your help with is all three. You’re the first who’s been suited to this task, so...I imagine you’ll come out in one piece.”

Tess lifted her brows, feeling that strange fog trying to creep into her thoughts again, making her want to do nothing more than nod and smile. What was that?

“You imagine? Just what kind of a job is this? I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I’m just a starving artist. I don’t do dangerous. Or kinky. Or violent.”

Morgan’s grin was as sharp as a blade. “This isn’t about your body...Though that will work in your favor,” she added with a quick, assessing look at Tess’s figure. “It’s a small task, Tess McGarry.”

Tess blinked, startled at Morgan’s casual use of her full name. Had she told her when Morgan introduced herself? She must have...but somehow, she didn’t think so.

“If it’s so small then why don’t you do it yourself?”

Morgan lifted her shoulders in an elegant little shrug. “He doesn’t like me. He doesn’t really like anyone, in fact. If I tried to deliver—return, really— this particular item, it would go...poorly.”

Tess made a soft noise. “This job doesn’t sound all that promising, Ms. Le Fay.”

“Morgan,” Morgan corrected her, gentle but firm. “And the job itself is a promise. One I made a long time ago. It’s time for him to stop hiding and remember what he is, but he’s a stubborn beast. Kaden will never go without a push. You’re the right one to give it to him. Beauty, ferocity, and of course, music—his kind adores music, you know—all in one rather reluctant package. It’s you. It’s time.”

The words made Tess’s stomach flutter strangely.

“I don’t—”

“You’ll be handsomely rewarded, of course,” Morgan said, cutting Tess off smoothly. “All you have to do is give Kaden St. George his necklace. It is, as I said, a small task...for the right person. Can you really afford to be so picky?”

Tess stared at Morgan, wondering why she was seriously considering this task. The whole deal was weird. There had to be more. She couldn’t do...whatever this was. She was just a singer. Well, she was trying to be. And a waitress. Or, well, she had been. No job ever seemed to be a fit for her. Until, according to this strange woman, now.

And really, Morgan was right. One look at her checking account and anyone would know she had very little left to lose. She had no family to catch her, no friends who were any better off than she was. Maybe it was time to take a leap of faith.

All around her, the air thrummed.

“Okay,” Tess said, the word seeming to echo all around her. “What do I need to do?”

Relief flickered across Morgan’s face before she took a step back and turned away, beckoning.

“Step into my office.”

TWO

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Tess pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket, cross-checked the handwritten directions with the GPS on her phone, and then looked back up at the ramshackle old house in front of her. Then she swore quietly.

“Either she got it wrong, or the guy doesn’t live here anymore...or this is some kind of sick joke that ends with me being cut into tiny pieces,” Tess muttered to herself. Her eyes roamed over the sagging two-story structure squatting near the edge of a steep, rocky incline that bordered the edge of a river’s choppy waters.

The wood siding had faded to the point where it was as gray as the day’s sky, weather beaten and badly in need of replacement. Most of the white paint had peeled off the wide porch, and what remained was so dingy it was almost indistinguishable from the color of the rest of the house. The curtains were drawn in every window, and what had once been a gravel driveway was so overgrown with weeds that it was tough to tell where it ended. So tough that she’d parked across the street in front of a scrubby little cottage, its front yard full of more windmills, gazing balls and ugly statuary than grass.

This place gave her the creeps.

The only surprise was that this supposed bazillionaire’s house hadn’t been vandalized. It might be in rough shape, but it looked to have gotten there naturally. There were no broken bottles, no busted windows, no garbage anywhere in sight. Weird. Like everything else about this job. Tess’s eyes narrowed as she tucked both the paper and her phone back in her back pocket.

She hesitated, then lifted her hand to clasp the charm that hung from a glittering chain around her neck. The little silver dragon with emerald eyes that Morgan had insisted she deliver here was warm to the touch. It had been since she’d put it on for safekeeping earlier, though that had to be from lying against her skin all the time. Tess liked it. Okay, hell, she more than liked it. There was something about the necklace that made her want to just say forget the job and keep the trinket. Which wasn’t like her...she was no thief.

She forced her fingers open and tucked the dragon back beneath the neck of her T-shirt, against her skin where she preferred it. The heat from it made her shiver with pleasure. Strange...it seemed to have heated up more just in the time she’d been standing here.

“Time to get this over with,” she told herself. If no one answered the door, she’d just return the stupid necklace to Morgan, tell her Thanks but no thanks, and figure something else out.

Tess headed up onto the front porch, the old wood creaking loudly under her weight. She took a final glance around at the deserted road, and then pounded on the door.

“Hello?” she called, silently cursing herself, Morgan Le Fay and especially her former band mates, Mike and August, for busting up the group and removing her only source of income in the first place. “Mister St. George? Are you home?”

She tilted her head close to the door, trying to hear any movement at all. There was a sound from deep within the recesses of the house that sounded like a deep—very deep—sigh. The door rattled slightly, as if there’d been a strong breeze. But the air was very still out on the porch.

The hairs on Tess’s arms prickled. A thin rivulet of sweat trickled between her breasts. It was only then that she realized how uncomfortably hot the silver dragon had become against her chest. Swallowing the panic that urged her to run as far away from this house as possible, Tess knocked again.

“Mister St. George,” Tess said, her voice stronger now. “I’m supposed to deliver a necklace? From Morgan Le Fay?”

She could actually feel whoever was in the house turn his full attention toward her. Everything, even the soft outside noises behind her, went silent. There was a pause, then a strange languid hiss beyond the door. Tess frowned and got closer. It sounded like something being dragged through coins or metal pieces. Something big.

Tess’s breath caught in her throat as her mind conjured a picture of an enormous dragon, a real-life version of what she wore around her neck, uncoiling itself inside this house and getting ready to open the door so it could gobble her up. It might have been ridiculous, but it froze the blood in her veins. It also froze her in place as the door swung open right in front of her.

Her first thought was that Kaden St. George wasn’t the dragon she’d feared.

Then a pair of eyes the bright gold of a candle’s flame locked with hers, and she knew she was in plenty of trouble anyway.

He looked like some dark and malevolent god banished to earth standing there in the doorway. Tousled raven hair, pieces of it gleaming what looked like deep purple, skimmed sharp cheekbones. His face was angular, with a square jaw and a regal blade of a nose, softened only by his mouth. Even set in a disapproving line, his lips looked soft, sensual.

It was exactly the wrong thought, Tess knew, struggling to center herself before she did something ridiculous. But if his face wasn’t enough, the man looked as though he’d only just thrown on the pair of black jeans he was wearing. Her eyes skimmed down his bare chest before she could stop herself, making detailed mental notes on every taut muscle, every slash and curl of the intriguing tribal tattoos that marked his golden skin, disappearing beneath pants he hadn’t bothered to button...

“Who wakes me?” he growled, in a roughened voice as dark and decadent as sin itself.

Tess opened her mouth, though she hadn’t yet decided whether to answer or scream for help.

It didn’t matter.

With a flicker of movement, Kaden St. George dragged her inside and shut the door behind them.

THREE

He hated being woken up.

Kaden had been perfectly comfortable for years now, curled around his treasure and mostly asleep in the ramshackle shell of a house he’d long ago made a cave of. No one came near, no one bothered him...even though humans could sense his presence, they didn’t necessarily believe in what he was.

He didn’t give a damn whether they believed in dragons or not, as long as they steered clear.

And so it had been quiet, perfectly peaceful on the edge of a world that had forgotten him. Until today.

He’d considered ignoring the knocking. He’d considered eating the interloper. Then she’d mentioned the necklace, that one little bit of treasure that had vanished out of a different cave he’d called home centuries ago. He’d never accepted its disappearance, lifted by that damned witch who thought she knew more than anyone.