Smoke Bonded
DRAGONS AND ALCHEMY
Since there have been dragons, humans have wanted to hunt them.
They drove them into the lands of Faerie hundreds of years ago until all that remained of them were legends. Tales spoke of the devastation their fire could cause and of the brave men who hunted and slew the beasts so they could never destroy villages again.
What was rarely spoken of, however, was the suffering the dragons had endured for years before being driven to destroy a village. Their kind had been taken by sorcerers for their bodies and blood so their magic could be drained away to fuel terrible spells. Their bones had been crushed for snorting powders and elixirs, and scales and horns sold off as trophies.
The dragons had fled Albion before there were none left to make the journey. They found a home in Faerie, where all creatures, no matter how strange or wild, could find sanctuary. A curse sealed the doors between Faerie and Albion, and for fifteen hundred years, they were safe.
Now, the doors had been reopened. Magic had been restored, and Albion was beginning to discover it still had a few dragonsleft. But they weren't the only ones who had learned of their existence.
There were those who still had records of a time when dragons were the key to great spells and ancient workings. Blood mages and alchemists who hungered for those rare ingredients that had once fueled their spells. Time had only armed them with the technology to dissect, study, mutilate, and murder their way through a whole variety of new species, all at their leisure.
One type of dragon was prized above all—the gold dragon. Legends said that their blood was the key to creating the Philosopher's Stone. Turning lead into gold was the fairytale. What the stone really represented was true and lasting power. They only needed a gold dragon to achieve the impossible.
Unfortunately, someone had found out that a certain magician was on the cusp of becoming the dragon they so desperately needed. Such a prize could not be overlooked, and now, the hunt was on.
What they didn't know was that someoneelsewas hunting the golden dragon, and they had no intention of letting anyone claim so much as a hair from his golden head.
1
Apollo Greatdakes had been drinking steadily since six o'clock in the afternoon. He had bowed out as gracefully as he could from Bas and Bridget's mating party. He was ridiculously happy for his baby brother, but he was also jealous enough to spit. He had to get away before he said or did something that he shouldn't.
The party had been made all the worse because Apollo's mate had been sitting across the table from him, throwing him a knowing, sexy smile every now and again.
Fuck you, Lachlan Ironwood, and your perfect fucking face.
Hours later, Apollo didn't know which club he was in or where he was in Dublin, and he really didn't care. It was dark and packed, and that was all he needed to know. For one damn night, he wanted to pretend he was still the carefree man he had been before he started playing games with Lachlan.
What hereallyneeded was to be dicked down so hard, his soul left his body. He had been horny since Lachlan had cornered him in an elevator weeks ago. No matter how many times he tried, he couldn't take the edge off himself—and itwasn't for lack of attempts. So tonight, he was going to find someone to do it for him.
One guy in particular was doing a solid job of catching Apollo's eye. He was tall and had dark hair and eyes. He was cute. Not Lachlan Ironwood smolder-your-pants-off hot, but cute enough.
What the hell? Why not. Apollo grinned his come-hither smile, and like an obedient dog, the guy did hither quickly to his side of the bar.
"I have been trying to get your attention since you walked in here," the stranger said with a soft accent.
Apollo smiled wider. He had snagged a French boy.
"Maybe I wanted to play hard to get," he replied in perfect French.
Cosimo had made sure languages were a considerable part of their curriculum. As an alchemist, Apollo found learning multiple languages helpful when dealing with old manuscripts...and picking up hot tourists.
"You speak my language like a native. You are full of surprises, golden one," the stranger purred into his ear. "Can I buy you a drink?"
No, Apollo's dragon grumbled.Not mate. Want mate.
"Absolutely! Make it a double, sweetheart," Apollo said out loud. His dragon had caused him enough problems. He was the boss of his own body and could do what he wanted.
Mistake, the dragon insisted, when Apollo accepted the drink. He didn't even know what he had ordered. Ah well.
"I'm Jean," the guy said.
Apollo screwed up his nose. "We don't have to do names. The night is a bit young for that. How long are you in Dublin?"
"Just the night."
