Page 95 of Dragon’s Rogue

He knew Blaze hated it when he went and talked to it, but he felt compelled to.

It looked the same today as it always did, resting in its cage, surrounded by the glow of the blocking spell, that smug fucking smile on its face.

“It’s coming soon,” he said to the idol. “We’re going to take you down. Your pet sorcerer Turner is going to put himself in my hands, and I’m going to break his evil scrawny neck. I’ll flame his flesh and eat his bones. And once that’s done, you’ll have no link to anyone in the outside world. Your last hope of escape will be gone.”

And Blaze would finally be safe. He left the idol to its smug contemplation, and went to make love to his mate.

The idol opened its eyes. Once again the illusory light around the spell cage dimmed, showing that the cage’s buffer shield was down to almost nothing. It was riddled with holes, like rotting cloth.

The Draken Lord’s voice rumbled through the vault.

“Corwyn.”

“Yes, Master?”

“Tell the sorcerer it is time.”

Chapter 42

Rebel was still awake when her phone rang at 2 a.m.

She hadn’t been sleeping much for the last few days, not since she’d failed once more to deliver the idol to Jack’s boss, and dragons had subsequently invaded her backyard.

They were still harassing her—calling her on the phone, asking personal questions about tattoos, trying to talk her into moving into their lair, for fuck’s sake.

McKenna had some idea that Rebel was resisting doing that because she was deluding herself that she was safe here, just because the dark wizard hadn’t come after her yet.

In reality, Rebel didn’t believe she and Tempest were safe anywhere, including the dragons’ lair. The only way they’d be safe was if the dark wizard—Turner—got the idol, or the dragons killed him.

At the moment, Rebel was okay with either of those possibilities. And if he came after her, she was perfectly fine with telling him exactly who had the idol, and letting him and the dragons fight it out between them.

So she stayed up at night, magical Colt at the ready, spare magical ammunition in the pocket of her cargo pants. Waiting for Jack to come through her door, spewing dark wizard holograms from the hole in his chest, so she could rat out the dragons.

Even though it made her feel guilty, an emotion she’d thought she eliminated from her repertoire years ago. She couldn’t stop thinking about the hot crazy dragon guy she’d had to kiss, which pissed her off—both because of the kiss, and the fact that he wouldn’t get out of her head.

And then there was the irrational worry that he might get hurt because of something she did. As if he couldn’t fucking take care of himself.

It might be time for her and Tempest to leave Portland for good—start again somewhere else. Except, there was Tempest’s prediction.

Something bad would happen if they didn’t help the dragons with their mission.

But something bad always happened. Sometimes the only thing to do was to get out before it did.

Her cell buzzed, dancing across the water rings on her cheap scarred end table. She glanced at it, her adrenalin spiking. It was an unknown number—could be anything from some idiot drunk-dialing to a new client to the damn dark wizard.

Wariness prickled down her spine as she picked it up and hit the button.

“Yeah.” Her voice was low and husky—rough with lack of sleep and too much whiskey to calm her nerves.

“Rebel? It’s me, Jack. You have to… help me.” The voice was low and slurred, but she recognized it at once.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t a trap.

“Where are you?”

“Warehouse. Near… the river.” He told her where. Northeast, in the industrial district. “Wizard… left me… for dead. Found… old… land line. Still works.”

She hesitated, hearing nothing but his harsh breathing and the buzz on the line. What the hell was she supposed to say to that? He’d gotten himself into this mess—and he’d gotten her into it too. And now she was supposed to come running to rescue him from a supposedly abandoned warehouse like a fucking idiot in a low-budget horror movie?