Page 22 of Dragon’s Rogue

And most of all, he wanted to believe that Tyr’s fairy tale—the Prophecy of the Seals and the Three Mates of Destiny—was true.

The Rogue, the Rebel and the Storm.

The vision of Blaze McKenna stole into his mind. Years of dream-memories followed. Her eyes. Her smile. Her scent. The feel of her skin. The taste of her, slick and salty and filled with love.

The way he felt when he woke after each dream, love and warmth wrapped around him like a blanket.

The empty ache in his chest when he found himself still alone.

The tiny star of hope in that empty void, right now, that said he had to see her again. Taste her lips, touch that skin, kiss the tiny mole he knew was on her right shoulder.

He had to know if she was really his destined mate—the one who would have the Seal, the one who would save them all.

He drifted off into a dream, soothed by the hum of the gold surrounding him. And then, gradually, the song changed.

A discordant note crept into it. And the whispering began. It told him of the glory of the dragons, how they would once more rule.

When they were free.

Chapter 12

The next morning Blaze drove down to St. Johns. She took Skyline Drive across the top of the ridge, with its breathtaking glimpses of the entire Tualatin Valley, and then drove Germantown Road down through the towering, moss-laden trees that looked like a fairy-tale forest, to the St. Johns Bridge.

The delicate suspension bridge, with its arched supports like the windows of a cathedral, was her favorite of all of Portland’s bridges. Through the clear morning air she could see the huge, pointed, snow-capped peak of Mount Hood, a hundred miles to the southeast.

Once across the bridge, she followed her GPS to the address on the map and parked half a block away on the other side of the street, where she could keep the house in sight. There had been plenty of traffic on the main street, but here, in this residential neighborhood just a few blocks away, everything was quiet.

11435 was a small house, a bit shabby and run-down, with paint peeling on the front porch and stains down the siding where the gutters had overflowed. A battered Pontiac was parked in the driveway, faded blue with one mismatched green side door.

This didn’t make sense. Anyone who had the ability to get past Blaze’s security systems was a high-end operative. He probably made ten times as much money on one job as this house cost to rent for an entire year.

What was he doing here? Hiding out?

She took out her pendulum and whispered the words of the tracking spell. It immediately pulled toward the house.

He was in there. Or the idol was—or both of them. Time for phase two—finding out which. The quickest way to do that was ring the doorbell. If he was there, hopefully he’d answer, and she’d get the jump on him. If she got that close, she would sense the idol’s presence.

And if he wasn’t home, she’d go in and take her damn idol back.

Unless it was just him in there, and he’d already sold or hidden the idol somewhere else. Then she’d get the idol’s location if she had to tie him to the bed and…

Fragments of images from last night bombarded her brain. The two of them in a huge four-poster bed. The feel of his hands on her body, his mouth between her legs. His hard shaft inside her, stroking her core.

Her riding him as he lay on his back and thrust inside her, hot and hard as steel.

Things that had never really happened, but felt so real.

God. This was crazy. She had to get a grip, stop thinking these thoughts.

Although, tying him to the bed naked and making him beg would be one way to find out where the idol was.

Maybe she should keep that possibility on the table.

Smiling grimly, Blaze cast a glamour over herself, changing her appearance so that if her thief answered the door, he wouldn’t recognize her.

Nothing too different—just darkening her hair, making her eyes a bit of a different shape, muddying their color.

Just as she was about to get out of the car, the front door of the house opened and a woman came out, carrying a travel mug and slinging a leather messenger bag over her shoulder.