Dragon Reborn_Dragon Point Five Read online

  “I guess if it’s ankle-length, no one can bitch about my hairy legs.”

  “There will be no hairy legs. You will shave.”

  “You don’t have to shave in Europe,” Deka muttered. “Wish I lived there.”

  “If you think it’s so wonderful, then perhaps you should plan a trip abroad.”

  “I don’t want to go. I’ve got stuff to do here.” Deka crossed her arms and sulked.

  “Things like hunting down a man who doesn’t want to be found and vexing me?” Auntie arched a perfectly manicured brow. “I say enough of that. You are going to Europe. It will do you some good to immerse yourself in a new culture and visit some of the other Silver Sept branches. The Belleargents in Paris come to mind.”

  “Do I have to go to Paris?” Deka wrinkled her nose.

  “Yes. That is an order.”

  “If you say so, boss.” Deka bounced up from her chair and headed for the door.

  “That’s it? You aren’t going to argue a little longer?” Auntie sounded puzzled.

  “First, you’re giving me heck for not listening to you, and now that I am obeying promptly, you’re still getting annoyed.” Deka rolled her eyes. “I can’t ever do anything right. Maybe I should stay home.”

  “Pack your bags! I am booking you on the first flight to France. Don’t you dare miss it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said quite somberly, at odds with the smile on her lips. Good thing she had her back to Aunt Zahra. She’d wonder why Deka was so excited about going to Europe, which coincidentally was where a certain crate, with a manifest bearing Anastasia’s name—dated after her death—had been shipped.

  A box that she was pretty certain had a man inside.

  My man.

  And she was going to find him. Even better, she had permission. Of a sort.

  Auntie says I have to go to Europe. Wouldn’t hurt to look up an old friend while visiting.

  Bouncing out of the office and heading to her room to pack—more like zip up her duffel bag since she’d prepared it ahead of time; Auntie was so predictable—she ran into her cousin Babette.

  “Why do you have the grin that says you ate Farmer Brown’s prized cow again?”

  “Ew, what do you mean again?” Deka’s nose wrinkled. “I digested and pooped that thing out ages ago. Nothing left to eat.” And dragons were much too refined to eat rotting corpses, and that included zombies.

  “Something’s got you excited. Spill.”

  “Auntie is sending me to Europe.”

  “Europe?” Babette’s voice rose. “Lucky heifer. How come I never get sent to cool places? Instead, it’s ‘Babette, ask Cameron to pick up my prescription.’ ‘Babette, make sure the staff detail my Bentley.’”

  “Babette, stop talking about yourself in the third person.”

  Her cousin and best friend wrinkled her nose. “Nope, because I am so great,” she sang.

  “What’d you do?”

  “I made Mother guzzle a bottle of wine last night.” Babette grinned with pride.

  “That’s not a great accomplishment.”

  “It was a two-liter bottle, and she wouldn’t share. She did, however, agree to let me dye her hair. I might have miscalculated the colors.”

  “So you’re the reason she looks like a rainbow barfed on her head.”

  “Just helping her change up her style, but did I get any thanks?”

  “No!” they shouted in unison then giggled.

  “So why is Auntie sending you to Europe?” Babette asked as she followed Deka through the vast mansion they called home.

  White and gray marble, painted walls, and gilded molding gave the halls they passed through a rich elegance.

  The red crayon on a lower panel with the scribbled words, “Polly is a poopy head,” reminded Deka of when she and Babette had been young and raising hell.

  Not that they weren’t still raising hell. They just did it more maturely now by writing messages in the sky or having it plastered on the Jumbotron at ball games.

  “Aunt Zahra thinks I should immerse myself in the culture that is France since I’m already half-French, what with my unshaven pits and legs.”

  “Did you explain it’s because you ran out of razors and keep forgetting to ask Cameron to put them on the list?”

  “Details,” Deka replied with a lofty wave of her hand.

  “I’m surprised you agreed to go. What happened to finding your mate? You know, the one who doesn’t even realize you’re alive?”

  A scowl pulled Deka’s expression. “He was kind of busy at the time. I’m sure, had we enjoyed some proper time together”—naked and in her bed—“he’d have realized we were meant to be.”

  “More like realized you needed to be committed. The man is bad news.”

  “I know.” It was one of his more appealing qualities.

  “So does this trip mean you’ve given up.”

  “Of course, not.”

  “So you’re going to try and get out of it.” Babette nodded her head.

  “Nope. I am going to be on that plane for Paris.”

  “Hold on a second.” Babette’s brow creased. “You shouldn’t be agreeable about this. Why aren’t you fighting?” A light bulb went off. “Holy shit, you’re still looking for him. In Europe!”

  “Shush!” Deka hissed, her finger over her lips. “Don’t let Auntie hear you. She’ll forbid me from going.”

  “And? Since when does that stop you?”

  “It doesn’t.” Deka shrugged. Forbidding a dragoness was like putting a pie out to cool and telling hungry faces and grabby hands not to touch it. It was gone in under five minutes. “Going with permission, though, means all expenses paid.”

  Babette’s gaze narrowed. “Take me with you.”

  “Sorry, cuz. You know what they say. Two’s a couple. Three’s—”

  “A ménage.”

  A snicker escaped Deka. And this was why she loved Babette. Like a sister, not a sister wife. “Sorry, but I am not sharing this dick.”

  “Ugh.” Babette gagged. “You know how I feel about sausage. It’s only good for breakfast and if served with bacon. But pie on the other hand…” Babette’s lips rounded in pleasure. “I love me some fresh pie.”

  “Lots of flavors where I’m going,” Deka mused aloud. Having an extra set of eyes along might not hurt. After all, anything badass enough to kidnap a Golden dragon might be a soupçon difficult to deal with. Look at me, using French words already.

  “How do we convince Auntie to send me with you? You know she says we’re troublemakers when we work together.”

  “Because we are.” Way to state the obvious.

  “I know. I don’t know why they think that’s a bad thing.” Babette smirked. “Remember the last time we went away together?”

  “Don’t even think of it,” Deka hastened to say. “She’ll ban us both from going if you remind her of that incident.” The one that left her unable to enter Canada.

  And, Deka might add, it took a lot to get banned by Canada. The terms of her banishment precluded her from speaking about it. Needless to say, she couldn’t look at poutine without giggling.

  “Good times,” Babette said with a sigh.

  “Yes, they were.” Deka turned thoughtful for a moment—it almost hurt. “Why not tell her you’re thinking of taking French as a second language.”

  “Yeah, that won’t fly. I used that excuse when I told her to stock the pond with frogs.”

  “I remember that. They were delicious.” Especially when battered and deep-fried.

  “Maybe I should pretend to be a caring cousin and tell Auntie you shouldn’t be sent alone.”

  At that, they both giggled.

  In the end, Babette simply told Aunt Zahra that she thought the local police chief was in love with her, and as soon as she got rid of the husband, they planned to run away together and start a hippy commune in the desert dedicated to the spiritual pursuit of peyote smoking.

  In short order, Babet
te was commanded to join Deka on a European vacation, first class—which meant they got to drive the suits sitting with them nuts—and were assigned a luxurious suite at the Four Seasons Hotel George V.

  Only the best for Silvergrace daughters.

  But Deka didn’t plan to use the hotel room for long because, if her plan worked, she’d soon be with Samael.

  “Don’t worry, stud muffin. I’m coming for you.” And it was Babette who added the ominous laugh to her statement.

  Chapter Two

  Arriving in a strange city where it seemed everyone spoke another language might have daunted anyone else.

  Not Deka. Whatever the doorman yelled at her was probably something like, Hey, sexy, let me get your ride.

  No need. She found one. The cab pulled up in front of the portico. How fortuitous she made it into the car first.

  The lady wearing too much makeup—to the point it caked in her wrinkles— shook her fist. As if it were Deka’s fault the human was too slow with her walker to jump in.

  The driver, a beefy fellow in a turban and a luxurious beard, turned to look at her. He jabbered something. She assumed it was along the lines, of, Hey, pretty lady, where might I take you on this lovely day?

  Who needed to learn a second language when she could just decipher expressions and intent?

  “Take me to a museum. The big one with lots of old stuff.” Because, according to the manifest she’d borrowed—without permission because a Silvergrace shouldn’t have to ask—a museum was the final destination of the crate she tracked.

  The man yelled and gestured some more while the doorman ensured her door was firmly shut and locked by tugging on it. Their combined niceness made her dig into her purse and toss some money over the seat.

  “Museum. Pronto.” Which was French for fast. Or was that Italian?

  Her driver obviously thought highly of her tip because he threw the car into gear and sped off like a bat out of hell. He didn’t believe in speed limits, gestured at drivers who dared get in the way, and sometimes had to brake on a dime, causing some whiplash. Her kind of driver.

  At the speed he was going, she’d make it to her destination in record time because for once, Deka was being responsible and following a clue. As for Babette, Deka had left her snoring in bed, the mimosa she’d fed her cousin knocking her out. Her cousin never could handle champagne and roofies together.

  But Deka didn’t mind going off on her own. She preferred it, as a matter of fact, because she didn’t want anyone else homing in on her man when she found him.

  The cab whipped to a stop, and the man pointed to the meter. She showered him with more bills and was rewarded with a beaming smile.

  Exiting the cab, even her spoiled ass was impressed by the size of the buildings she faced. Bigger than Auntie Zahra’s mansion—which she ensured she noted in her Snapchat story as Deka posed with it in the background—it sported statues of people instead of gargoyles on the roof.

  She wondered what the gargoyle guild had to say about that.

  The giant glass pyramid in front of the museum proved interesting from an architectural point of view. It also would have looked better with a gargoyle perched at the very top.

  Perhaps she’d leave that suggestion in their box.

  The ticket to get inside—the nerve charging her an admission—took some more of her cash.

  The vastness of the place impressed, although the number of old things on display did make her wrinkle her nose. Would it kill them to modernize some of the older stuff?

  Ugly paintings abounded, as did statues missing body parts. The male statues, for the most part, could have used a hand job to make them a little more presentable. Who thought it was a good idea to carve them after having obviously taken a cold shower?

  Deka wandered through room after room, posing with the Mona Lisa—ass in the air, twerking to a live Facebook post—cupping a statue with sizeable balls, and even did cartwheels through one long hall.

  But she didn’t find a dragon.

  Not a single one. Not even a smell hinting at one.

  Which was why she finally let the guards catch up to her.

  They grabbed her by the arms, but when a dragoness didn’t want to move, nobody, especially not two puny humans, could budge her. Which was why, a moment later, a slender man in a suit sporting a porn-stache appeared, looking most anxious to speak with her.

  “Mizz, you haz to go,” he said with an adorable lisp.

  “Not until you take me to my dragon.”

  The man blinked at her, obviously in awe of her perfect pronunciation.

  “Zer iz no dragonz here,” he said, again doing strange things to the English language.

  “Zou lie!” she declared, getting into the game.

  “Leave, or I will call ze police.”

  “Will they use handcuffs?” she asked. “I love a little bondage. But my future mate might not appreciate me dallying before our wedding. So, instead of trying to tempt me, why not tell me where he is?”

  “Where who iz?” asked the short man.

  “Samael. My future husband. About yay big.” She extended her arms. “Kind of scaly. Looks like a dragon on account he is a dragon.”

  Again, he blinked at her. She wondered if perhaps his hearing aid needed new batteries.

  She spoke more slowly and made sure he could see her lips. “I know you know about him. Everyone in the world knows about Samael and his brother Remiel. They were on television.”

  “Zer iz no dragonz here.”

  The rebuttal brought a sigh. “Now listen, I know that a crate containing my fiancé was delivered to your museum. Just tell me where it went, and I’ll leave. Don’t tell me and…” She leaned forward and drew forth enough of her inner beast to make her eyes glow green. “And you will get to meet your first dragon. Did I mention I have a really long tail?” She glanced around the gallery full of fragile vases and glass cases.

  His eyes widened, showing proper appreciation. “I know not of zis package, but if madame will come wiz me, we shall check. And zen you will leave, oui?”

  “I only want my stud muffin. So, lead the way, little man.” She wrenched her arms free and followed The Suit as he practically jogged in his haste to please her.

  Such nice people these French.

  Alas, he couldn’t do much to help her. He did locate the shipping receipt for the crate; however, a search for the box proved futile.

  “It zeemz to be mizzing.” Frenchie appeared quite perturbed.

  She patted his arm. “Don’t take it too hard. I’m sure you’ll find a nice job after they fire you.” Just not with any Silvergrace companies. Really, how hard was it to track a mysterious box—which wasn’t supposed to exist—that had disappeared?

  With the museum leading to a dead end, Deka had to reevaluate. Thinking was hard work that required a box full of croissants, a baguette, and a bottle of red wine. She dumped them on Babette, who woke with a snort and a line of drool hanging from the corner of her mouth.

  “Whazzup?” she asked blearily.

  “Holy shit, Babette. One night here and you’re speaking like a native.”

  A shove propelled Babette to a sitting position, and the bottle of wine rolled precariously close to the edge of the bed. Good thing it was empty. Deka had found herself thirsty after those two hours of hard searching.

  Scrubbing her face, Babette managed to focus her gaze. “Where have you been?”

  “Chasing down my fiancé.”

  “You’re engaged? I take it you found him, then?”

  “Not exactly. But it’s only a matter of time, and when I do, I’m sure he won’t want a long engagement.”

  Babette blinked, much like Louis—the little man in the suit—had, and Deka had to wonder if there was something in the air that made people incapable of comprehending simple logic.

  “Did you find any clues as to his whereabouts?” Babette asked finally.

  “Nope. But I did bring you breakfast.”


  Babette leaned over and opened the box of croissants. Six flavors inside. “Why is there a bite gone from each one?”

  “I was testing them, of course.” Deka rolled her eyes. “You’ll be glad to know they’re delicious.”

  “So, what’s next?” Babette asked, stuffing her face with flaky goodness.

  “I don’t know. Louie said he’d call me if he got any news on the box.”

  “Louie being?”

  “My new friend at the museum. You should hear his nickname for me. Ze crazy bitch. The accent is adorable. I might get him to record it for me as the ringtone for the family.”

  “Where are we searching next?”

  “Next, we are going to pay a visit to our long-lost family.”

  “They aren’t exactly lost, given we have an address.”

  “Whatever. Dress to impress as Auntie would say, because I hear the French side of the Silver Sept is snooty.”

  The French cousins were also less than impressed with the American cousins who showed up on their doorstep wearing designer jeans, ripped up both legs to the crotch; corsets that displayed their natural bosoms; and high-top sneakers.

  Utterly jealous of our style. Deka held her head high. Aunt J held hers higher.

  Aunt Josephine also looked down her aquiline nose at Deka when she said, “Have you seen a box with my fiancé inside?”

  That got her a sniff, which translated to a snooty no.

  “What about some psycho being with glowing red eyes from another dimension—”

  “We don’t know if it’s from another dimension,” Babette interrupted in a whisper.

  “It body-snatched Anastasia. Of course, it came from elsewhere,” Deka said with a roll of her eyes.

  “Aunt Zahra said we shouldn’t talk about it.”

  “Holy shit, you’re right. For all we know, Aunt J here is a body snatcher, too.” A razor-sharp stare failed to crack her stoic demeanor. “I’m gonna have to check you over.”

  Aunt J didn’t appreciate Deka’s determination to discover whether she was real or not—good news, the face didn’t peel off like a mask. Bad news? Much like other Sept parties, Deka and Babette were tossed on the street, whereupon, Deka shouted, “If you see a box with a dragon inside, or see my fiancé period, give me a ring. I’m at the hotel.” And then, just in case Aunt J didn’t know the address, she recited it loudly. Twice.