“My Banksy is in Qatar.” He grumbled.
“My, it’s quite the world traveler.” She’d fenced it in Everett before getting the hell out of Washington.
“Quit fucking around.” Kluge took a step forward, rage emanating from him ominously.
Clea glanced around, taking stock of the situation, looking for anything that could help. She was barefoot, naked beneath her robe, blocked into her own hotel room by two assholes, and her phone was on the other side of the bed. While she knew she could take Kluge when it came to fisticuffs, if she made a move on him, his goon would take over. The last thing she wanted was that wall of muscle anywhere near her. Muscles could restrain her in a heartbeat and with the rage and desperation Kluge was rocking, fun and games would not ensue.
“Fine.” She held her hands up. “Just calm down. I’m sure we can handle whatever’s bothering you, like adults.”
“Whatever’s bothering—” He pointed a shaking finger at her, “I want my diamonds back, you bitch.”
“I don’t have your diamonds.”
“You still wearing them!”
“Seriously?” She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest, trying to appear unruffled though her heart rate was through the roof. “This again? Just have that jeweler in Bellingham make you some new ones. We both know you can afford it.”
Kluge made a strangled sound, running his hands along his bald pate as though he still had hair. Clea moved closer to the little table. One of those chairs would make a good weapon.
For about a minute, anyway.
Still, it was worth a try.
“Come on, Cookie.” Kluge was going for calm, but his voice cracked. “Just hand them over.”
The strain on his face surprised her, but she didn’t let it show. Clea focused on her breathing, trying to get her heart rate to calm down as she inched closer to her goal. If she could just get to the chair, one hit would knock Kluge out and then— she glanced at the door where Muscles stood with his arms crossed over his massive chest.
Shit.
There was no way she was getting out of this one.
Not this time.
12
Thespikesoffearwere new.
Asher bit back a growl of frustration at his current lot, a sense of impotence dogging him as he tried to focus. He normally had all the cunning of, well, of a dragon. But damnit if this mate bond shit wasn’t messing with his head.
The urgency he’d felt this morning had only ratcheted higher as the day had worn on, and now, bouts of actual terror were making themselves known in his system. He was no closer to finding Duchess than he’d been earlier, though.
Well, maybe a little closer. He was in the right town, at least.
Fuck, he was so screwed.
He took a deep breath, and then another, trying to clear his head so he could think beyond his primal need and calm those goddamn spikes of fear. Hisanam carawas nearby. She had to be. And he was going to find her.
As Asher shut out the world and focused on his breathing, he noticed the hum. Deep in his chest, a thrumming sensation he knew well. Treasure.
Part of his hoard.
Cursing himself for not having thought of that earlier, he reached out with his senses in search of what was his. Dragons were intimately connected to their hoard. The treasures, once claimed, an extension of their very life force. That connection was why anyone who ever tried stealing from them usually ended up dead. A dragon could track their treasure across the world, and Asher knew that his was close by.
Though he should have been elated that he’d found her location, doubt crept in as Asher closed the distance. What if Duchess didn’t want him? They’d only agreed to one night after all, and she’d seemed delighted when he’d laid out the terms. He’d never expected to find the type of connection they’d shared, though. And that connection changed everything for him.
Shit, if she didn’t want to be his, he was beyond screwed.
Now he understood why some of his ancestors had abducted maidens and knights. The bond was no joke. He felt like he was going to die without Duchess in his life. As much as he wanted her, though, he wasn’t about to coerce her into anything. That wasn’t love.
