Page 6 of Dragon’s Rogue

No one he wanted to meet, probably.

Tyr shook his head. “I told you and Thorne from the beginning we shouldn’t be doing it like this.”

Zane sighed. “Don’t start that again.” Tyr was obsessed with old legends and prophecies. One of them said that the Seals couldn’t be bought or stolen, only freely given.

Like that would ever happen.

“Fine,” Tyr said. “Then let’s go get that damned dragonfly and get out of here. This place is giving me the willies. I keep feeling like something’s watching me.”

“Vampire bats? Gargoyles?”

“Whatever. Let’s just hope she goes to bed now. Then we can break in, get the artifact, and head for home. Get yelled at by Thorne for taking too long. The end.”

And hope the Dragonfly of Morocco really was the Dragonfly Seal. And that Tyr was wrong about the legend. Then all they had to do was find the other two Seals, put them back in Vyrkos’ tomb without tripping any magical booby traps or accidentally releasing the ancient evil Draken Lord, and save the two million people in the Portland metro area from a horrible fiery death.

No pressure.

Chapter 4

Up on top of the house, a dark figure climbed over the roof ridge and silently made its way down toward the balcony. When she got near the edge, she froze.

There were two men on the balcony, dressed in black from head to toe—black pants, black turtlenecks topped with many-pocketed combat vests, and ski masks.

In fact, they were dressed exactly like her.

Shit. Did all the kids in the class call each other this morning and decide to wear the same thing? And rob the same damn house?

Silently, she cursed her ex-boyfriend. She should have known better than to get involved with any scheme involving Jack Harper. Or a sorcerer. Definitely not both. But the job seemed straightforward, and the money was too good to turn down.

She should have known that meant ‘too good to be true.’

She should ditch out on this job, right here right now. But there was another reason she’d agreed to take this on, a personal one.

Blaze McKenna was a rogue witch who made her money from dealing in dark artifacts.

Rebel hated rogue witches.

Rogues had killed her parents, putting her and her little sister out on the street, to claw their way up a food chain that had way too many predators.

And this one was living large off the misery of others, in her overpriced villa that spilled recklessly down the forested ridge overlooking Portland.

Now, according to Jack’s employer, she’d acquired a dark artifact that could put the entire city in danger. She needed to be stopped.

If Rebel could make a good payday at the same time, it was a win-win.

Rebel eyed the two men. Chances were good they were after the same thing she was. They had their heads tilted back, looking up at the master suite windows on the top floor. Watching for the lights to go out. Waiting for the witch to fall asleep.

She had to beat them to the artifact.

They were blocking her preferred entry point, but she had a plan B. Rebel always had a plan B. All she had to do was use her secondary entry point, and get to the vault first. As silently as she’d come, she crept back up the roof, keeping low and staying out of their line of sight so the movement wouldn’t attract their attention.

She felt the familiar thrill she always got when a job was underway. She loved everything about breaking and entering: the skill involved, the secrecy, the feeling of being somewhere she didn’t belong when all was dark and quiet, and everyone was asleep.

Knowing that she could slip in and out like a shadow, knowing that she was the best at what she did. That no one and nothing was safe from her skill.

She climbed back over the roof ridge at the end of the house and ducked behind the chimney. She clipped her grappling hook to the top of the chimney, tested her harness with a tug, and let herself down slowly until she was hanging outside the attic window, out of sight of the two men on the balcony.

She put her hands lightly on the sides of the window frame and concentrated, feeling for the electrical energy that meant an alarm, or the different kind of energy that meant magical wards. She’d always been able to elude both, sensing the energy fields and slipping through them, though she’d never been able to say how. It was an inborn talent.