Page 8 of Inferno (Drake Security Book 4)

VALENTINO

My ears twitch at the soft sound of Mac’s bare feet against the wood floor just on the other side of the indestructible locked door. What is he even still doing here? I thought we’d decided he’d stay with Lord for now.

I let out a massive, rumbling huff, my huge, scaly chest rising and falling with the effort of it, a tendril of smoke escaping my nostrils to encircle my head. We solved his problem. He’s free to go back to pickpocketing vampires, or whatever dumb ass klepto shenanigans he plans to engage in next.

I curl my large tail around my body. The shift causes some of the treasure beneath me to clatter off the pile and skitter noisily across the hard floor. I make another grumbly sound in my throat and close my eyes. A nap sounds nice, and the afternoon sun coming through the high glass ceiling to warm my scales only makes it more tempting. Something in the back of my mind points out that I’ve been sleeping a lot lately.

I stretch my wings and yawn. Maybe I have been sleeping a lot since the whole Xazedose fiasco, but the bone-deep exhaustion that continues to plague me isn’t giving me much choice. Besides, what’s the difference? So what if I spend a decade locked in my hoard room in my dragon form doing nothing but dozing and counting my treasures? Ten years is but a blink in the lifespan of a dragon. The worst of it would be the ravenous hunger I would have when I came out of my hibernation. Nico once ate an entire field of cattle after a period of hiding himself away in a cave. The farmer was pissed.

I rumble a dragony laugh in my throat. We were forced to leave Italy by a mob of men with pitchforks after that. Lord was so annoyed, but Arson and I couldn’t stop laughing about it, which only made our uptight eldest brother grumpier. The memory buoys my spirit for a moment before fading and leaving the heavy exhaustion in its wake all over again. It’s better than the pure rage I can’t seem to shake in my human form though.

After a week of rampaging through my own house, setting things on fire and breaking anything that wasn’t nailed down, I came up to my hoard room and shifted. And now I can’t quite find the energy or the desire to shift back… or to do anything but sleep, if I’m being honest.

I barely register the sound of more shuffling feet on the other side of the door, or the low, murmuring voices. It sounds like they’re arguing about something. If I cared, I could concentrate and make out what they’re saying, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that Montrose is gone.

Xazedose.

I growl the correction to myself, the anger of my human emotions tearing at the lethargic depression my dragon is so content to wallow in.

I ignore the first sharp rap on my door, tucking my snout under my tail and closing my eyes tighter. I think there’s a second knock and maybe even a third, but it’s the sound of a power drill that actually forces me into action. I jump up and lumber off my resting spot made of gold coins and sparkling jewels that have warmed to match my scorching body temperature and shifted into exactly the right position after days and days of lying there. Trinkets and treasure shake loose from my underbelly and bounce along the floor.

I pull myself into my human form, groaning lightly at the stiff tugging sensation in my joints as I fold my massive form into one that’s a tenth the size. The tink of a screw falling loose from my door and the continued whirr of the drill makes me roar, but it’s a very human sound this time.

“Are you fucking insane?” I bellow, stomping across the room and turning the key in the lock. “You don’t break into a dragon’s hoard room. It’s fucking sacred.” I continue to rage as I fling the doors wide, not bothered by the way Arson tumbles forward at the sudden loss, nearly falling on top of his drill. His wolf catches him around the middle and hauls him to his feet, and the rest of my brothers and their mates have the good sense to take a step back and look mildly apologetic.

My jaw ticks and I glare at them, waiting for someone to say something. They wanted to see me badly enough to break into my hoard, they can damn well find their tongues and tell me what’s so damn important.

Lake scrunches his nose. “No offense, but if Nick Nolte’s mugshot was a scratch-and-sniff, it would smell like you.” He waves his hand in front of his face.

“Get out of my house and you won’t have to smell me. Problem solved,” I grumble. I’m well aware that I’m doing a hell of a Nico impression right now with all my growling and snapping, but is it too much to ask for a little space in this family? Is the humiliation of being used and dumped by a fucking incubus not enough? I have to have a family fucking meeting about it too?

“We’re worried about you,” Hemingway says, and Dempsey nods vigorously, his glasses slipping down his nose with the action.

“I needed some quiet time in my hoard for a few days. What’s the big deal?”

“Three weeks,” Arson says.

“What?” I snap.

“You’ve been locked away for three weeks.” An uncharacteristic look of worry flickers over his face.

Has it really been that long? I suppose the days do tend to blur together in dragon form.

“I know demon dick is pretty fucking awesome, but…” Dray starts to say, and I turn on him with a bellow of flames pouring from my mouth. Arson jumps in front of his mate with a roar of his own.

“This is what we fucking mean, asshole.” He shoves at my chest, pushing me back a step and getting in my face. “You’re acting insane. Did Xazedose do something to you? Demons can get in your head and shit, right?” He’s clearly asking someone other than me, even though his flaming gaze is still fixed on me.

“They can…” Dempsey is the one who answers, but he doesn’t sound certain, or maybe he just doesn’t agree that that’s what’s happening.

“I’m fine.” I push Arson back. “If it’ll make you all happy, I’ll take a fucking shower, okay?”

“That would be a start,” Lord says. “But if you want to talk about?—”

“I’m fine,” I snap again.

I can tell they all want to say more, looking around at each other, then back at me. But none of them work up the courage to open their mouths before I stomp past them and slam the bathroom door behind me hard enough to rattle it on its hinges and splinter it down the middle.

Nosy fuckers. So fucking high and mighty, like none of them have ever needed some space and privacy to lick their wounds and coddle a bruised ego. I can think of at least two different occasions when Arson sulked in his dragon form for over a year after some petty disappointment.

I grumble my way through a shower, cranking the heat up high enough to melt the scales right off my back—figuratively speaking, of course. Not that I’ll admit it to those dickheads, but the clean steam filling my lungs and the scalding water cascading over my skin to wash away what was apparently three weeks’ worth of sweat and grime actually does make me feel marginally better.

The pulsing rage in my gut is still there, and if I reach for my dragon, I can feel the weight of his oddly heavy despair, but on the surface, I feel a little steadier. I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my hips. My stomach clenches and growls loudly, reminding me that I can’t ignore my hunger in human form. With my skin damp and my hair still dripping, I leave the bathroom and trot down the stairs towards the kitchen, hoping like hell that Mac has kept the place stocked while I’ve been… resting.

I yank open the refrigerator door and shiver at the blast of cold against my skin. My eyes land on a package of uncooked steak. I grunt and grab it, swinging the door shut again and tearing into the package before it’s even closed. Too hungry to bother with cooking, I fist the first slab of meat and sink my teeth into it, groaning at the flavor of flesh and blood, the juices running down my chin as I chew and swallow, then take another mouthful.

I’m halfway through the third steak and considering the idea of figuring out where I left my phone so I can order a pizza or ten when there’s a knock at my front door. My dragon surges close to the surface immediately, thrashing and huffing like a dog pulling wildly at the end of its leash. Something flutters violently inside my chest, and my heart thunders as if I’m standing on the edge of a cliff about to take flight. Whatever my instincts and my beast are going crazy over is lost on my logical brain though, because I can’t for the life of me figure out who the hell would ring my doorbell. My family walks right in, even when I don’t want them here, and there’s no one else in the world who would bother to come here.

I swallow down the bite that’s in my mouth and toss the shredded package onto the counter. I absently wipe my bloody hands on my towel, leaving pink streaks across the white terry cloth as I head for the front door. I don’t hear anyone else in the house, so I’m guessing Mac had enough sense to clear out with the rest of them. Maybe someone came back to continue the intervention and decided to feign civility by announcing themselves for a change?

I huff a laugh at how unlikely that scenario is.

The closer I get to the door, the more my dragon thrashes and tugs, sending scales ripping over my bare skin. I’m a few paces away when the scent registers in the conscious part of my brain. Sweet, smoky, sex.

I roar and yank the door open so hard I nearly tear it off its hinges. My chest heaves with utter fucking blinding fury.

The sun shines from just the right angle behind the fiery haired demon standing on my porch, dressed in a black bodysuit that clings to his body like a second skin like he has any right whatsoever to be here. His eyes rake over me, lingering on my mouth… or maybe it’s on the bloody juices drying on my chin. He groans quietly and licks his lips, and then his eyes flicker to mine and his mouth tugs into a sheepish grin that makes me want to strangle him and shove my tongue down his throat in equal measure.

“We need to talk, deliciae.”

It’s the pet name that snaps the thin thread of my control. I howl and launch myself at him, intent on tearing him into pieces small enough to mail back to his realm one sliver at a time, so every last demon in the underworld knows not to fuck with a Drake ever again.

But before I can get my hands on him, my whole body convulses and my dragon forces its way through, leaving me half-shifted as I fight the two halves of my own soul. I stumble back, a choked sound getting stuck in my throat and my vision coming crystal clear as my dragon eyes shine past my human ones. The horror and worry contorting Montrose’s face only encourages my dragon to snap and thrash its way into control. I’m positive it’s only the knowledge that the entryway isn’t large enough for a full shift that keeps my beast somewhat in check.

“Oh shit,” another voice sounds from somewhere behind the demon. It’s a familiar one, but I can’t focus enough to worry about who it is stumbling onto this embarrassing scene.

Montrose reaches for me, and my dragon wants to launch itself at him, not to destroy him but to scent him, to lick him, to breathe fire down his throat and claim him. The human wail that works its way up my throat is contorted and pained as I fight to shake off my dragon’s sudden bout of utter fucking insanity. I’m never fucking another incubus. I swear to all the gods, I’m not.

The demon’s fingers brush over my skin like a match striking a flint, and then something comes sailing through the air and lands at his feet. The sound of shattering glass accompanies a sudden foul odor. Montrose frowns and we both look down at the broken vial at his feet, a green smoke rising from it.

“Oh, balls,” he mutters. Then his eyes roll back, and before I have a chance to react, he topples backward and crashes to the floor.

The howl that tears from my chest this time is straight from my dragon. I drop to my knees and scramble over the unmoving demon, inhaling deeply, searching him for any signs of injury. There’s no blood, nothing. I whip my head up to find Dempsey standing there, looking shocked.

“What did you do to him?” I growl.

“He’s just stunned.”

“Stunned?” I bellow, jumping to my feet and rushing towards him, ready to shake him until he tells me exactly what he means by that, and where the hell he got whatever it was that just managed to knock out an incubus.

Hemingway sprints through my open front door and puts himself between me and his mate, and in seconds flat, the rest of the family is right behind him. Nico and Arson hold me back, and Lake says some logical bullshit in a calm voice while I kick and snap until my dragon tires himself out and I finally give up the fight.

Dempsey peeks out from behind Hem, eyeing me nervously and holding up a piece of white chalk.

“We need to draw a circle around him to trap him. And if someone wants to text Dahlia, that would be awesome.”

“On it.” Lake whips out his phone and I sag against my brothers, unable to do anything but stare at the unconscious demon on my floor, anxiously watching the rise and fall of his chest with every breath to make sure he’s not actually dead.

MONTROSE

“Mother fucking brimstone,”I mutter, feeling the intense throb just behind my eyes before I’m even fully conscious again. The aftereffects of a stunning potion are worse than a hangover.

I squeeze my eyes tighter and groan, feeling a heaviness all around me that can only mean one thing.

“You fucking asshole dragons,” I mumble, prying my eyes open and blinking blearily at the unfamiliar Parisian style molding on the ceiling overhead.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” A loud, overly cheerful voice makes me wince as I sit up slowly, rubbing my temples and rolling my shoulders in an attempt to release some of the ache left over in my joints from the stun.

A human stoops down right in front of me, his aura so bright it’s painfully blinding while I’m dealing with this fucking hangover. He’s all shiny and pulsing gold. His outfit is just as loud as his energy—a black suit coat with a red silk shirt underneath, paired with a flowing skirt that is actually gorgeous. If he weren’t currently holding me hostage, I might ask where he got it. The red pumps he has on are on point too if I’m being unbiased, which I always am when it comes to fashion.

“Do you greet all your guests by tranquilizing the living hell out of them?”

“Pun intended?” someone asks. I turn my head slowly to see a dragon wearing a teasing smirk, perched on the lap of a wolf. How hard did I hit my head when I went down? The dragon smells incredible though, like pure chaos. My mouth waters.

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me.” Another human inches up next to the first one with a shy smile on his face. There’s something soft about him that makes me want to put him into an overly large purse and carry him around like one of those tiny dogs that exists only to warm its master’s lap. “But it was the only thing I could think of in the moment to keep the situation from escalating.”

“You did the right thing,” another dragon says from behind him. I may still be a bit foggy, but it’s not too much of a leap to figure out that these are Valentino’s brothers. Now that my headache is fading a smidge, I’m fairly certain I saw some of them through the shop window when I followed the twerp into the city.

“Where did you even ge—” I start to ask, but then a pulse of raw power draws my attention to a woman lurking in the corner. She’s clad in black leather and covered in tattoos. Her blue eyes pierce me shrewdly, and she smirks. “Ah, a witch,” I mutter. “That makes sense.”

“Dahlia.” She introduces herself with a tip of her head, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders.

“Actually, can I ask you some questions?” The puppy human asks, vibrating with interest all of the sudden as his nerves dissolve. He doesn’t wait for my answer, just steps closer and sits down on the floor on the other side of the circle I’m being held prisoner in. He folds his legs and pulls a pen from behind his ear, flipping open the notebook that he’s been holding. “I’ve been reading up about demons and I’m hoping you can confirm or correct what’s in the texts. It seems clear to me that the Christian mythology and the Greek and Roman versions of the underworld are all based on a misinterpretation of your species and the realm you call home. Am I correct in thinking you’re closer to fae than any of the creatures that originally evolved in this realm?”

I stare at the nosy human with a bland look. Props to him for doing his research, but I’m not about to play Professor for whatever Demons 101 class he chose for his independent study.

“Clearly, I made a mistake coming here. I wanted to give Valentino a warning, but if I’m going to be treated like a prisoner, then perhaps you don’t need my help.” I sniff. Am I salty that a couple of humans and a nest of thieving dragons managed to capture me so easily? Maybe a little. But this is what I get for trying to do something nice for a change. Lesson learned. Mac can face the consequences of stealing from Maggard on his own.

The dragon on the wolf’s lap snorts a laugh. “What were you going to warn him about? That a nose full of incubus pheromones will give him a hangover for weeks on end? He’s already figured that one out.”

I bristle and cast a glance around the room, wondering where my dragon is. And what does the yummy chaos dragon mean by a hangover? Is Valentino okay? I sniff the air, trying to get a whiff of him, wherever he is. It does no good though, everything in here smells like him.

Heavy footsteps sound behind me and I crane my neck, my breath catching when my dragon fills the doorway. His eyes are full of exhaustion that makes me want to claw my way out of this damned circle so I can wrap myself around him and make everything all better. Even though I’m the one who broke him in the first place.

The blood that was dripping from his chin when he opened the door has been washed away, and he’s fully clothed now. Shame. His gaze lands on me and my whole body vibrates.

“What’s the warning, demon?”

Any resistance I planned to put up dissolves immediately on hearing Valentino’s luscious voice demand an answer. “I’m not the only demon your little brother has been stealing from.”