Page 31 of Dragon’s Rogue

In the meantime, Blaze would make her ‘preparations.’ Thorne Greystone had brushed off her spells like cobwebs last night. Never let it be said she didn’t learn from her mistakes.

This time, he wouldn’t see her coming.

Chapter 16

Zane stared at Jean-Claude’s butler, his glass of champagne halfway to his mouth. “Ms. McKenna requested a meeting?” he repeated stupidly. “With me?”

He barely stopped himself from asking why, and looking like a bigger idiot than he already did. This was what they wanted, wasn’t it? It was why they’d come. And yet, it seemed too easy. Did she suspect that they had the idol? Or did she know?

He was still staring at Blaylock. Luckily for him, the butler was extremely well-trained and didn’t smack him on the head and ask if he was deaf, the way Tyr would have.

“Indeed, sir. On terrace off the study. If you would come this way, please?”

Zane looked around the party. Tyr was across the room, dancing with a pretty blond woman in a green dress cut way down in the back, his hand resting on her bare skin. Her hips were plastered to his, and she was gazing up at him like he was the best piece of chocolate lava cake ever—and she was about to eat every bite.

And Thorne had disappeared—ironically, to hunt for Blaze. He almost called out to one of them mentally, but at the last second he didn’t.

He wanted to see her alone. He had to see her alone. He couldn’t meet the woman of his dreams for the first time with his brothers hovering over them.

“Mr. Greystone? Ms. McKenna is waiting.”

Zane started, realizing he was still standing like an idiot, staring into space.

Blaylock had one eyebrow slightly raised. That, and the tiny disapproving edge to his tone, told Zane he’d been head-slapped after all, butler-style.

He followed the butler’s stick-up-the-ass attitude down a plush carpeted hallway and into a dim, hushed room lined with bookshelves, containing a scattering of deep leather couches and a gleaming mahogany desk complete with a cut-glass decanter and glasses on a tray.

The whole room looked like it had been decorated by someone who’d seen too many movies starring wealthy asshole businessmen. Clichés everywhere, down to the mounted deer head on the wall. Unusual for green liberal hippie Portland. Of course, D’Amboise was a law until himself. And Zane had a feeling killing animals for sport was the least of Jean-Claude’s sins.

The terrace was even dimmer than the study, but through the open French doors Zane could see a glint of Blaze’s hair in the moonlight outside. His heart quickened. He was about to talk to her—his dream woman. Hear her voice in person for the first time.

The idol felt suddenly heavy in his pocket. Was that a faint murmur he heard? Or just the distant sound of the party? He closed his hand briefly over his pocket. A chill radiated out from the velvet pouch.

Blaylock gestured to the terrace doors, and then stepped discreetly back through the double doors that opened from the hallway, closing them behind him. Zane heard the sound of a key in the lock. It raised his hackles until he realized the latch was on this side—the locked door was apparently for their privacy, not to keep them in.

Not that Zane had to worry about that. He could always use his wings to get out, if necessary.

He took a deep breath, and then walked between the fluttering sheer curtains out onto the terrace. He caught a glimpse of an expanse of starry sky before he turned to meet the woman of his dreams.

“Hello,” he said, extending his hand. “Thank you for meeting me. I—”

That was as far as he got. Two silken ropes twined around his wrists and yanked, as if held by invisible hands. Before he could react, he was suspended a few inches off the ground, his arms spread over his head in a Y-shape.

Zane fought, trying to escape the spell, but this was different from last night. The spell itself wasn’t touching him—it was only animating the ropes that held him. He couldn’t brush away the magic so easily this time.

She’d outsmarted him. He was trapped.

Before he could say a word, Blaze made a swift movement with her hands. His shirt ripped open down the front and spread wide, exposing his heart.

Oh, hell, Zane thought. This can’t be good. She must have recognized him from last night.

And she was clearly holding a grudge.

Blaze walked right up to him, ignoring his struggles, and ran her hands over his chest. The heat from her fingers seemed to strike all the way down into his bones.

His exclamation turned into a murmured exhale. “What the hell are you doing to me?”

“Where’s your tattoo?” she demanded.