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I was this family’s only hope of survival. Only an Enforcer had the ability to take over another’s mind so completely. I held the vials out to the two children, but the little boy shook his head no.
“I am Drakán,” he said proudly. “I will not forget.”
“I am Drakán,” the little girl repeated.
Sarah’s face was almost completely healed, but she was crying again. She would never separate herself from her children. If they chose not to have their memories wiped then she would make the same choice. And they would all likely die because of it.
I knelt down in front of the little boy and used his name, making his eyes grow round in his head with my knowledge. He was still too young to have developed the power of reading minds or blocking his own from intruders.
“Jacob, you will always be Drakán,” I said. “No matter how many memories I replace, you’ll still have dragon magic inside of you. Your body won’t forget even if your mind does. You’ll always be special. I’ll make you a promise though if you’ll let me help you escape.”
“How can you make promises? You are not Archos.”
“No, but one day someone will defeat Alasdair, and we will all be free. When that day comes I will find you and your sister and rejoin you with the clan. I give you my solemn oath.”
Jacob grabbed his mother’s hand and gave me a brisk nod. “If you do not, I will somehow remember my Drakán strength and hunt you down for revenge. I giveyoumy solemn oath.”
“I would expect no less,” I said.
I wiped their minds quickly and gave them new ones—memories of a human life most Drakán never experienced. They wouldn’t remember the powerful father they’d once known or the horrors they’d seen in their young lives. It was for the best.
I implanted directions to a safe house I’d bought in Pennsylvania and gave them the bag of money. They had new names, and I took away the aggressive natures of both children so they could fit into human society easier. I’d have to follow up with them in a few days, find Sarah a job and a way to support her family, and get the children set up in schools. All Drakán children were homeschooled because of the violent tendencies that came with being Drakán and how slow they aged. It was especially hard for the very young to control such strong emotions.
But these children and their mother would be normal. And they would live. I’d make sure of it.
My heart and my conscience were both lighter as they drove away, but I knew my body would pay for the consequences of my actions later. I just hoped it didn’t take me too long to heal. I had killers to catch.
ChapterThree
My suite of rooms was in the east wing of the house. It was my escape from the heaviness of the rest of the place, and it was warded with what little magic I’d learned to wield over the centuries. I took my privacy seriously and had my own hoard to protect.
My part of the house was completely modern. Clean lines and sleek, black furniture. Low tables. Lots of mirrors and glass. Boldly printed art in bright colors that I’d never attempt to understand. I didn’t particularly love the modern look. That wasn’t the point. The point was that Alasdair hated it, so I’d learned to make do.
I took a shower and put the thought of rest out of my mind. I could go days without sleep if I needed to. I dressed in a pair of tan corduroy slacks, a black cashmere turtleneck, and black low-heeled boots. My long wool coat would hide my weapons.
A picture of my disfigured Land Rover came to mind, and I tried to think of a suitable replacement we might have in the garage. I’d need something that could handle the mud and the rough terrain of the roads. I’d bought a black H2 a few months ago and hadn’t gotten a chance to use it yet. It would be perfect for the job. And if I was lucky, I’d even bring it back in one piece. Cal was right. I was hell on automobiles.
I’d stalled in my rooms as long as I could. I’d felt Alasdair’s presence in the lair as soon as he’d flown back into his rooms, but I hadn’t yet felt an elevation to his anger, which meant he didn’t know I’d helped his prisoners escape. I needed to find him and tell him of Jillian’s murder quickly, so I could leave the house for my hunting trip and hopefully avoid the confrontation to come.
I checked my appearance in the mirror that hung over my dresser. My hair framed my face, thick and black, and hung in waves to my lower back. My mother had been human—an Egyptian. And royalty of some sort, though my father refused to speak her name. I knew nothing about her other than what I saw in the mirror. My face was delicately angled with a square jaw and slashing cheekbones. My features were even and nondescript. All except my eyes. They were a touch too exotic, thickly lashed, and the color was purely Alasdair—a dark, stormy gray with streaks of silver so my eyes always looked like they flashed lightning.
I’d heard it mentioned once that I looked a great deal like my mother. It’s only one of the reasons my father hated me so much. Dragons don’t show affection in general—not to their mates and not to their offspring—it’s the human mate’s job to show love and affection, not the dragon’s. It’s seen as a weakness for us to show anything resembling love. Which is a hard concept to understand when most of us have human blood running through our veins, and the desire for such emotions is built in. I know I’ve never understood it. But I’ve learned to bury the need.
I checked the clock. Ten thirty. My stomach rumbled, but I pushed the thought of food away. I took a deep breath and headed downstairs to face my father.
The ring of chimes echoing through the house saved me from my task. I was grateful for the distraction, but in the back of my mind I thought it best to deal with the devil I already knew. We didn’t get a lot of drive-by traffic in this area, and by not a lot, I meant none. The only thing that could bring someone to our door was trouble.
I picked up a modified weapon Erik had created that hung from a hook in the foyer. It was an air-compression chamber loaded with poisoned wooden spikes. It looked like a modernized crossbow. The poison would incapacitate a dragon long enough for me to snap the head away from the body and find a way to incinerate it. Sometimes I used them when I was hunting others of our race, but my ability to use compulsion was almost always sufficient.
I stopped at the arched front door and closed my eyes, searching for whoever stood on the other side. I smelled the musty scent of the ancient wood, the damp of the rain outside, and I heard the gusts of cold air whipping through the portico. And very faintly, I heard a heartbeat—a small flutter like butterfly wings that thumped steadily, and the rush of blood that fed it. But I couldn’t grasp the person behind the heartbeat. Whoever it was had a solid wall built around their mind. I readied my weapon and opened the door, confident I could handle whatever or whoever it was on my own.
The man wasn’t at all what I expected. I had the weapon pressed against his chest in a heartbeat, my hand steady even though my pulse raced.
“Are you going to pull the trigger?” he asked, somewhat amused. He towered over my five-foot-four frame, a few inches over six feet at least. His hair hung shaggily over his collar and ears, but the color was amazing—a rich auburn that glinted with shades of copper, russet, and gold. Rain dripped off the ends and rivulets disappeared into the collar of his shirt—a shirt that was plastered to a well-defined chest. His eyes were bluish green, like Caribbean waters, the expression in them good natured.
And they were human.
I lowered the weapon. “We don’t get a lot of traffic out here. It never hurts to be careful.”
