Burned (Dragon Mates Book 3) Read online

  “Probably wise,” Ash agreed, smiling for a moment despite his disappointment.

  They both looked at the ancient objects. Still, nothing happened. Ash's dragon huffed out smoke in his mind, murmured a quiet bellow. Impatience sounded in his tone. There was no surge of power, no sense of being strengthened. Not even a tickle of energy beyond the basic hum that indicated any change might occur slowly. It was simply—blank.

  “I don't understand. The sword is of my ancestors, and I acquired it to be a part of my hoard. There should be something here.” Ash felt the grimness settle over him again.

  “Perhaps something is merely missing.” Eamon eyed the sword and the book again. “What that might be, though, I have no idea.” He gave Ash a long, speculative look before finally shaking his head again in some frustration. “We will think of it. I am sure of that.” He frowned, still eyeing both sword and book with a speculative glance. “One small thought I had was that perhaps this tome needs minor repairs as well. I know you're loath to allow it out of here, but the Center's security is some of the best in the world.”

  Ash had to agree with that. Sebastian spared no expense in defending some of both the human and dragon shifter worlds' most priceless art at the Bernal Center.

  “So if the repairs to The Book of the Near Hills go well,” Eamon went on, “we can consider letting this book go in, too. It can't hurt. And it might even help.”

  Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Ash finally just nodded once. “Fine.” His tone was clipped as he lightly hefted the sword in his hand, willing its power to spill over into him. Still nothing. “Set it up. In the meantime—well.” With exquisite care, he placed the stubbornly unlocked sword back into its case, letting his hand drift over the mysterious rune etched into it. “I don't know what, in the meantime. Perhaps nothing.”

  As he left the room, though, a flash of red-gold hair and a brief yet devastating smile shot through his mind again. Damn it, why could the memory of such a minor encounter with one unknown woman still prod at him? His dragon abruptly sat up and bugled in Ash's mind, clear and loud. Blasting Ash's mind with images of the woman, again and again. Stopping short, Ash swung around to look at Eamon. To hell with it. “Call Nick, if you would, please. I'd like him to stop by when he can. I have a question about one of his students.”

  4

  Teagan scooted her chair little farther back into the sun as she listened to her friend Savannah talk. Ahh, that felt good. While October in Los Angeles was not remotely like Octobers back in Illinois, it had been cloudy all day, just bordering the edge of chilly. Then, just before lunch, the sun had come out, the temperatures had warmed, and Teagan now felt like a lizard happily sunning herself, listening to her work bestie describe her latest conquest.

  "So," Savannah leaned closer, dropping her voice, eyes sparkling, "then he started to go lower."

  Teagan raised her eyebrows. In the short amount of time she'd been friends with Savannah, she'd already learned that the other woman was not remotely shy about any of the details of her sexual escapades. Not that Teagan was about to tell her to stop, though.

  It was fun to live vicariously. She sure wasn't having any sexual escapades of her own. She actually never had, not really, although she hadn't quite yet worked up the courage to admit that to her much more experienced new friend.

  "First just his fingers, then he followed with his tongue. It was divine.” Savannah's voice seemed to drop an octave on the word, and her eyes rolled heavenward. "So this is my second time with him, right? I'm thinking to myself, wow, he really knows what he's doing. So I might have to go out with him again. But sex might be the only thing he's good at." Savannah sighed and sat back in her chair. “The conversation with him never really goes anywhere. I guess I just have to accept the fact that he's mere eye candy and not much more."

  Teagan laughed, spearing the last tiny bit of their shared piece of chocolate truffle tart dessert on the plate between them. The Bernal Center had several little cafés scattered throughout the vast complex, but this one was by far her favorite. It was light, open, and featured spectacular views of the Center's gleaming white buildings that sprawled west toward the sparkle of the Pacific Ocean.

  For the millionth time, Teagan sighed happily. Her life felt almost complete. She had a challenging job she loved, a coworker who had become a real friend, a sweet little rental that was all hers, her cat, Mouser, for companionship, and… Well, dang it. It didn't sound like very much to other people. But for her, it was more than enough. It had to be.

  “What about you, Teags?" Savannah smiled as she abruptly flipped the subject. "Met any incredible hotties yet at your kickass sword fighting class?"

  Teagan started to shake her head, opening her mouth to say no, then paused. “Well," she said instead, very slowly. She'd been awful to the man, but for some reason beyond that, she couldn't stop thinking about him.

  Savannah's eyes widened as she sat up straight, attention riveted on Teagan. "Ooh, you've got dirt for me!” She grinned. “Spill. Did you meet a guy? One who wields a sword like the ancient kings of Ireland?"

  Teagan smiled. Savannah was teasing her, but not at all maliciously. She knew Teagan well enough by now that she'd managed to discover Teagan's lifelong fascination with the history of her maternal ethnic roots. Beside that, while Teagan had always been intrigued by ancient sword skills, she'd never been brave enough to actually learn them until Savannah nudged her into it.

  To be honest, at this point there was only one big secret she was keeping from Savannah. But only because it was mortifying to think about, let alone discuss with someone who, although a good friend, still didn't need to know every single last detail about her.

  But even though Savannah didn't know all her secrets, Teagan felt comfortable enough to tell her about what had happened with the mysterious, and mysteriously intriguing, man the other night. Telling would make it feel like a confession, which her occasionally-practicing (as in, only on the major holidays did they attend services) Methodist family would say was a good way to cleanse the soul.

  "Okay, yes,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks heat. “There was a guy. But I was horrible to him. Seriously awful."

  Savannah's fork clinked down on the not quite empty dessert plate as she cocked her head at Teagan. "Uh-oh. Tell me all."

  Wincing, Teagan briefly summarized what had happened, ending in a low, mortified tone on the part where she'd gasped at the man's horrific scars. “It was so cruel of me,” she said, shaking her head at herself as the memory of his frozen expression at her reaction blasted her mind again and again. "And,” she went on even more pensively, “I know better than most people what it's like to be made fun of. How I could have done that to him..." She twisted her lips down.

  Savannah made a sympathetic noise. When Teagan shot her glance up to her friend, all she saw was genuine sympathy and understanding. Savannah had been one of the few people here at the Center who hadn't done a double take or some other sort of obvious acknowledgment of Teagan's outrageously freckled face when Teagan first got here. For that alone, Teagan would be forever grateful to her.

  Slowly, Teagan went on. "Obviously I don't know what happened to him. How he got scarred, I mean. But actually," she went on thoughtfully, "I don't think he was burned when he was young. I think his reaction to me would've been a little different. More like me. Very unhappy with all the extra attention, but a lot more used to it. Oh, no," she whispered in horror, suddenly feeling even worse. "He's probably even more sensitive about it if this happened to him as an adult.” She stared at Savannah in renewed horror. “Oh, my gosh, I probably ruined his day. Even his week!” Teagan felt sick.

  Savannah leaned forward, reaching out her hand to gently touch the back of Teagan's. "Hey now, you don't know any such thing. You don't know the guy, and you don't know what was going on with him that day already. Besides, he's a grown-up and can handle things on his own." She shook her head. "You have such a soft heart, Teags. One you could
be using to turn all that kind attention onto yourself instead of total strangers. Even hot ones."

  Savannah leaned back, crossing her arms across her chest, abruptly regarding Teagan with a speculative air. Teagan felt like a butterfly pinned to a board. Which was an outrageously cruel practice, but that was beside the point. Shaking her head, she stared down her friend as firmly as she could. "Whatever you're thinking, Savannah, stop thinking it right this second. I've gotten to know you well enough by now to know when you have that look in your eye, it's probably not going to mean anything good for me."

  Savannah laughed, the trademark big peal that drew a couple of glances from fellow diners. "Oh, don't you be afraid. Like I said, you're so softhearted you worry about hurting the feelings of a complete stranger, but you don't take the time to turn that concern on yourself. Well," she said dramatically, making a little flourish with one hand, "that's what Auntie Savannah, also known as art appraiser extraordinaire, is here to do for you." She jabbed her finger at Teagan, who nervously drew back. "You are a piece of art, and completely unaware of your own worth. Of how gorgeous you are. It's time to change that."

  Teagan sat as far back in her chair she could, arms clutched defensively around her middle. She didn't like the sound of this at all. “I don't like the look on your face right now.”

  Savannah seemed as satisfied as a cat with cream. "Ah, little grasshopper. Don't you worry, this isn't going to hurt one little bit. Auntie Savannah has been dying for a new project, and honey, you're it. It's time for a Teagan makeover!"

  Sheer terror gripped Teagan. A new project? A makeover? Oh, no. That was the stuff of nightmares. “I'm not one of those TV shows about remodeling old houses and putting them on the market, you know," she warned, ruining it by gulping.

  “Oh, yes, you are!” Savannah pounced, grinning. “Project Teagan Makeover is a go.” She nodded her head in the decisive fashion Teagan knew meant her determined friend's mind was made up and there would be no changing it.

  Trouble.

  The only way of escape was to deflect. "Um... Okay? But first," she hastened as Savannah's face lit up, "Walter has a new project he wants me to tackle. Something I’m starting this afternoon. Let me see if my nerves can handle that before you go all out on," she shivered, “Project Teagan Makeover.”

  Savannah's eyes widened as she exclaimed, "That's perfect!"

  Teagan frowned. "Um, perfect because why?"

  Savannah's eyes sparkled. "Because it's going to give you so much more self-confidence to get your first solo project here under your belt. You're going to rock it, Teagan."

  The ball of nerves in the pit of Teagan's stomach began to churn once more. She raised slightly panicked eyes to her friend. “I don't know about that. I'm not sure I’m ready for solo projects yet."

  "Yes, you are." Savannah's voice was so firm that Teagan almost believed her. "This is what I'm talking about. You don't have enough confidence in yourself. Such as believing me when I tell you that you're stunning."

  Teagan shook her head. Rolling her eyes, Savannah went on. "You also don't believe that you are incredibly good at what you do here at the Center."

  Well. Yeah. "I do love what I do here," Teagan admitted softly. Savannah nodded encouragement. "But," she went on slowly, "I've barely been here long enough for anyone to be able to assess my work. Walter will see that Celia is right. I don't know what I'm doing."

  Savannah made a dismissive harrumphing noise, muttering something under her breath about Celia being a royal beeyotch. Out loud, she said, "Teagan, Walter is no dummy. Heck, Mr. Bernal is no dummy. They don't hire slackers or idiots here." She leaned forward, grabbing Teagan's hands with both of hers and squeezing hard. "Teags, you are in excellent company here at the Center because you deserve it. You would not have been hired except that you're very good at what you do. Are you still young, recently out of school, still learning? Yes. But they hired you because they see enormous potential. Don't let that nasty little piece of work Celia tear you down. She's just jealous." Savannah waved one hand as if she was swatting away an annoying insect.

  Teagan's eyebrows shot to her hairline. "Jealous? Of what?"

  Taking a long-suffering sigh, Savannah closed her eyes and briefly muttered for the help of some deity above. Opening her eyes again, she just said, "Operation Teagan Makeover, aka Operation Teagan Confidence Boost, begins this afternoon when you start a new project, and proceed to kick book conservation ass from here to next Sunday by how well you do on it. After that, we'll work on project Make Teagan See How Incredible She Is." Savannah poked a no-nonsense finger at Teagan, accompanied by a stern frown.

  Teagan began to protest, but Savannah shook her head. "Hey. I may have been the one to talk you into going to the Institute to take lessons, but who's the one actually there leaning how to fight with a sword?”

  Well. That was true.

  “A sword, Teagan." Savannah emphasized the word with a little fling of her hands. "Do you even know how hugely badass that is? I may talk a good game," she gave a self-deprecating snort, "but let us both be sure of the fact that I have no interest in ever picking up a sword and swinging it around. You're a lot more amazing than you give yourself credit for, Teags.” Her face was solemn although her voice was gentle. "As your newest bestie, it's part of my job description to help you recognize that."

  There was a brief beat of silence during which Teagan tried to digest everything. Yeah, she'd had a very supportive family growing up, but tooting her own horn wasn't something that came easily to her. At all.

  Savannah rescued her by grinning slyly. "Okay, now then. Let me finish telling you about my date last night. I didn't even get to the part yet about where he flipped me over onto my stomach and had his wicked way with me from behind."

  Teagan swallowed hard, for some reason suddenly picturing the gorgeous scarred man flipping her over onto her stomach and—doing something wild and amazing to her. Whoa. But that was just an impossible fantasy. She had proven by her reaction to his face that she wasn't dating material for any guy. Her best bet was to just focus on her job, as well as her flourishing skills as an uncoordinated swordswoman.

  Pushing away her steamy thoughts of the man in a tangled smash of lingering fascination and flusteredness, she listened as Savannah continued to give her every single detail of experiences Teagan would never, ever have.

  5

  After lunch, Teagan double-checked all of her supplies were in her satchel before she drove to the house of the collector. Walter had warned her that the man was slightly eccentric and didn't particularly enjoy meeting the public. He was a personal friend of Mr. Bernal's, which was the only reason she was being allowed in the house. He had an assistant who would show her the book, although the collector would also be present to discuss it. The man would be there remotely, watching somehow. Since Teagan had worked with antiquities and priceless ancient manuscripts since her graduate school days, she was accustomed to the occasional oddities of the very wealthy people who tended to collect them. She wasn't really discomfited by the thought of an unusual procedure by which the manuscript's owner would somehow communicate with her.

  No, the part that scared the snot out of her was knowing that this was her first solo project, and it was kind of a big deal since the guy was a personal friend of Mr. Bernal's. Although Walter had assured her that she was the right one for the job, she had done some self-soothing by forcing herself to recall that the book was set in her favorite time period. Just like the book she was repairing at the Center, the photos of which were securely downloaded onto the tablet also tucked into her satchel.

  By the time she pulled up to the fancy security gate outside the stately old home about twenty minutes east of the center, Teagan was still nervous, but overall more calm than not. She wore what she thought of as her personal suit of armor. It wasn't actually metal, of course. It was a pair of fitted yet classy dark brown pants—the color of which the saleswoman had called espresso with hints of mocha, what
ever that meant—a cream blouse, and a pretty pale olive cardigan that looked professional and academic without making her look like her grandmother. She loved her grandmother, of course, but she herself wasn't exactly ready to be addressed as Granny. Finished off with a pair of sensible shoes she could stand around in all day without her back aching, and the work satchel filled with a magnification loupe and other such important implements, Teagan was as ready as she felt she could be. No matter how eccentric this old guy would turn out to be, she would do the Bernal Center proud.

  She hoped.

  Just before she'd left work, she'd taken a long, fairly appraising glance at her face in a bathroom mirror. Teagan didn't often look at her reflection. Over the years, she'd tried every cream under the sun, every medicated wonder product that would supposedly dissolve freckles into a smooth complexion, and all sorts of pricey brands of makeup designed to even out her skin tone. She was in the habit of wearing a light foundation every day, but she'd learned in junior high not to layer it on too thickly. That had been a huge mistake that had haunted her right up until the day she graduated high school. These days, foundation was good enough that it didn't make her freckles totally pop, but light enough that it still looked natural and not like she'd applied pancake makeup.

  None of it mattered anyway. In the end, her freckles still showed. Usually, people didn't stare too long. Heaving a sigh, calling on Queen Boudica for strength, she headed to the collector's house in the comfortable boonies of Pasadena, about twenty minutes east of the Center.