Heart Of The Dragon. Gena Showalter

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ before he was silenced.

      “I like the sound of this,” Tagart interjected. “Count me in.”

      “Me, too.”

      “And me, as well.”

      Before another man could so easily ignore him, Darius uttered one word. Simple, but effective. “No.” He swallowed a tasteless bite of fowl, then continued with the rest of his meal. “Now, tell me more of the vampires’ doings.”

      “What about making him smile?” Facing Brand, Madox shoved eagerly to his feet and leaned over the table. “Does that count? It’s a show of emotion and as rare as his temper.”

      “Absolutely.” Brand nodded. “But there must be a witness to the deed, or no winner can be declared.”

      One by one, each man uttered, “Agreed.”

      “I will hear no more talk of this.” When had he lost control of this conversation? Of his men? “I—” Darius snapped his mouth closed. His blood was quickening with darkness and danger, and the hairs at the base of his neck were rising.

       The mist prepared for a traveler.

      Resignation rushed through him and on the heels of that was cold determination. He eased up, his chair skidding slightly behind him.

      Every voice tapered to silence. Every expression became curious.

      “I must go,” he said, the words flat, hollow. “We will discuss a tournament of sword skill when I return.”

      He attempted to stride from the room, but Tagart leapt up and over the table and swiveled in front of him. “Does the mist call you?” the warrior asked, casually leaning one arm against the door frame and blocking the only exit.

      Darius gave him no outward reaction. But then, when did he ever? “Step out of my way.”

      Tagart arched an insolent brow. “Make me.”

      Someone snickered behind him.

      With or without his approval, it seemed the game had already begun. This wasn’t like his men. They must be more bored than he’d thought.

      Darius easily lifted Tagart by his shoulders and tossed the stunned man aside, slamming him into the far wall. He thudded to the floor in a gasping heap. Without facing the others, Darius asked, “Anyone else?”

      “Me,” came an unhesitant and unrepentant reply. A blur of black leather and silver knives, Madox rushed to stand at his side, watching him intently, gauging his reaction. “I want to stop you. Does that make you angry? Make you want to scream and rail at me?”

      An unholy light entered Tagart’s eyes as he scrambled to his feet. He curled his fingers around the hilt of a nearby sword and stalked to Darius, his motions slow and deliberate. Never once pausing to consider the stupidity of his actions, he pointed the razor-sharp tip of the blade at Darius’s neck.

      “Would you show fear if I vowed to kill you?” the infuriated man spat.

      “That’s taking things too far,” Brand growled, joining the growing group around him.

      A drop of blood slithered down Darius’s throat. The nick should have stung, but he felt nothing, not a single sensation. Only that ever-present detachment.

      No one realized his intentions. One moment Darius stood still, seemingly accepting of Tagart’s assault, but the next he had his own sword unsheathed and directed at Tagart’s neck. The man’s eyes widened.

      “Put your weapon away,” Darius told him, “or I will kill you where you stand. I care not whether I live or die, but you, I think, care greatly for your own life.”

      One second dragged into two before a narrow-eyed Tagart lowered his sword.

      Darius lowered his own weapon; his features remained stony. “Finish your meal, all of you, then retire to the practice arena. You will exercise until you have not the strength to stand. That’s an order.”

      He strode from the chamber quite aware he had not given his men the reaction they craved.

      DARIUS DESCENDED the cave steps four at a time. Ready to finish the deed and resume his meal in private, he removed his shirt and tossed the black fabric into a far corner. The medallion he wore, as well as the tattoos on his chest, glowed like tiny pinpricks of flame, waiting for him to fulfill his vow.

      Expression blank, mind clear, he tightened his clasp on his sword, positioned himself to the left of the mist…and he waited.

      Chapter Two

      GRACE CARLYLE ALWAYS hoped she’d die from intense pleasure while having sex with her husband. Well, she wasn’t married, and she’d never had sex, but she was still going to die.

      And not from intense pleasure.

      From heat exhaustion? Maybe.

      From hunger? Possibly.

      From her own stupidity? Absolutely.

      She was lost and alone in the freaking Amazon jungle.

      As she strode past tangled green vines and towering trees, beads of sweat trickled down her chest and back. Small shards of light seeped from the leafy canopy above, providing hazy visibility. Barely adequate, but appreciated. The smells of rotting vegetation, old rain and flowers mingled together, forming a conflicting fragrance of sweet and sour. She wrinkled her nose.

      “All I wanted was a little excitement,” she muttered. “Instead I end up broke, lost, and trapped in this bug-infested sauna.”

      To complete her descent into hell, she expected the sky to open and pour out a deluge of rain at any moment.

      The only good thing about her current circumstances was that all this hiking and sweating might actually help her lose a few pounds from her too-curvy figure. Not that losing weight did her any good here. Except, perhaps, in the newspapers.

      New Yorker found dead in Amazon

      A shame. She was hot!

      Scowling, she swatted a mosquito trying to drink her arm dry—even though she’d applied several layers of ucuru oil to prevent such bites. Where the hell was Alex? She should have run into her brother by now. Or, at the very least, stumbled upon a tour group. Or even blundered upon an indigenous tribe.

      If only she hadn’t taken an extended leave of absence from AirTravel, she’d be soaring through the air, relaxed and listening to the hypnotic hum of a jet engine.

      “I’d be in an air-conditioned G-IV,” she said, slashing her hand like a machete through the thick, green foliage. “I’d be sipping vanilla Coke.” Another slash. “I’d be listening to my coworkers discuss stiletto heels, expensive dates and mind-shattering orgasms.”

      And I’d still be miserable, she thought, wishing I were anywhere else.

      She stopped abruptly and closed her eyes. I just want to be happy. Is that too much СКАЧАТЬ