A Very Alpha Christmas Page 22

  But reality generally played by certain rules, not the fantasies of one’s conjuring. The simplest conclusion was likely the correct one. Which meant that Drake was a liar.

  Unfortunately, it also meant that the boy had to come from somewhere on this side of reality. An illegitimate child, perhaps? And who knew how he’d been injured? Kiara told herself that she was right to run a mile, even if the truth didn’t quite add up. Drake was most certainly trouble with an enormous capital T.

  Well, at least it had been an adventure, this brief time spent getting to know the man. And maybe it came down to one simple truth: billionaires were eccentric across the board, and the normalcy of life bored them to tears. Maybe they toyed with regular people like her to get a rise out of them, to manipulate them. After all, he’d played that trick in the car on the night they’d met. He’d also asked her to call him Ethan. It wasn’t as though he had a track record of utter honesty.

  Nope. Whatever game he was up to, Kiara wanted no part of it. She’d learned early enough not to let people manipulate her, particularly rich, handsome men. In her entire life she’d never met one of that species who was out for anyone but himself.

  She sat down at her kitchen table, letting out a long, deep breath as she put the palm of her hand over her face. “I’m an idiot,” she muttered, laughing a little. There would be time later to deal with the pain of it all.

  After all, madman or not, she’d found herself attracted to him. He was a beautiful beast, a charming man, highly intelligent, sexy, enticing. And though she knew it was a long shot, some part of her had hoped for the possibility of something more than their arms’ length, professional relationship. She had wanted him, even if only for one night. She’d wanted that body, that mind to be hers.

  But his story—his fantasy—was too much. She would publish the article, leaving out some obvious details, and that would be the end of it.

  Even if all her instincts were beginning to dictate that he was telling the truth.

  * * *

  At eleven a.m. on December 21st, a phone call came in from Kiara’s office.

  “We need you to go collect a book from Micah Drake’s house.”

  The cruel words were spoken by Helen, Kiara’s boss, who’d issued the assignment to write the article. “Drake’s assistant told me that he left it in his drawing room for you, on the desk. Apparently it’s got a lot of information about his art pieces, and he says that it’ll be useful for the article.”

  “Can’t someone else get it?” Kiara moaned. “I…” She found that she had no real excuse as to why she couldn’t go to his house herself. She needed to bite her tongue and go for it. “I’ll get it,” she said. “Will Mr. Drake be home?”

  “No. Apparently he’s away for a while on a trip of some sort.”

  “Oh, thank God. All right, I’ll head straight over.”

  Kiara took a taxi once again. The butler, Rogers, let her in. He was no more or less friendly than he’d been upon their last meeting, as though he didn’t know or care what had occurred between her and his employer.

  Kiara tried to smile warmly to hide her discomfort.

  “I’m told that Mr. Drake is away,” she said.

  “He is. A rather important business trip. We don’t know when he’ll return, if at all.”

  A combination of relief and sadness hit her. At least while she was in the house, he wouldn’t be. But even so, Kiara felt a little disappointed. Reason and rational thought may have dictated that he was bad news. But reason and rational thought had never been a woman’s best friend. Somehow, the thought of never even having the possibility of seeing him again stung. She wanted to ask him more questions, to test him. To see if it could possibly be—if he could be what he said he was. Even if the whole notion was insane.

  Rogers led her to the drawing room, where she found the book in question sitting on Drake’s desk with a note:

  Dearest Kiara, I hope this finds you well. And I hope it sheds some light on things. Be sure to follow through til the bitter end. -M.D.

  The book was a simple binder, filled with information. Each page contained an image of a work of art with details about its origins, as well as how Drake had acquired it.

  One of the first was the ancient stone lion that he’d shown her on the first night at his house.

  “My travels,” he’d cited as the location where he’d come upon it. “Simple curiosity made me want it.”

  On another page was a painting from the nineteenth century. “Bought in Paris in 1850.” On each page was an explanation of where and when he, Micah Drake, had allegedly acquired the works.

  Kiara turned to Rogers.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “Well, it’s a sort of memoir,” he replied. “Mr. Drake has kept careful records of all his purchases.”

  “This is a work of fiction,” she said.

  “If you say so, Miss.”

  A moment later a phone rang. “If you’ll excuse me,” said Rogers, leaving the room.

  Kiara flipped to the last page, anticipating closing the book, tucking it under her arm, and fleeing the house as quickly as possible. But as the page opened up before her, she was halted by a photograph of a large, ornate tapestry.

  The heading read simply:

  If you want the truth, seek it.

  She lifted her eyes to the wall that stood opposite her. The same tapestry hung there, enormous, intricate. A scene of a battlefield was etched into its fibers: wolves, dragons, humans, all fighting with swords, lances, bared teeth and flame.

  Kiara approached the piece, hesitant. What was she doing? This was foolish. She should leave now, and stop indulging the man’s dream world.

  But she couldn’t resist. After all, she too was a dreamer; one who loved fantasy. Mythology. And she had to know what that last page had meant, or she’d never sleep again. She advanced, and, pushing aside the tapestry, took a deep breath. Behind it stood an ornate wooden door, its handle urging her to touch.

  There was no turning back now. Didn’t curiosity kill the cat? But there was a reason for that—curiosity was compelling, a powerful force. And right now, it was winning a battle against common sense.

  The door opened easily for her. This was surprising—it seemed like whatever lay ahead was meant to be kept secret. But then, Drake or someone else had led her here. Inward it swung, and she stepped forward into the room.

  Around her was a chamber of solid stone: the floor, the walls, all made of thick limestone. The room itself felt cool and drafty, and Kiara realized that an arched window to her right was open. No, not just open; it had no glass to begin with.

  Drake had hired the architects to create rooms of varying styles, and she knew it. But this was pushing it, particularly in winter in the mountains. A window that never closed?

  Then it occurred to her that the room should actually have been colder than it was—frigid, in fact, and she moved towards the window itself, looking out. If her mind had assessed things correctly, she should have been on the ground floor, looking out to woods and mountains.

  But no such view met her. Instead, far beneath her sat a series of rolling hills, their grass the coarse brown of winter, snowless. The air was crisp but not that of a December in the Rockies; rather, it was humid, thick with droplets of moisture.

  In the distance men rode horses. Small figures carrying what looked like lances, as though they were headed off to joust. They reminded her for a moment of the image from the tapestry.

  “What the—” she began. How? What was this place?

  At the other end of the chamber was yet another door. Next to it hung a long robe of woven crimson wool. Kiara pulled it off its hook and put it on, pulling the hood over her head in order to cover most of her features. She grabbed a pair of flat-soled leather boots which sat folded over on the floor, and pulled them on. To her surprise, they fit perfectly.

  Opening the next door, she was confronted by a narrow spiral staircase of stone leading upwa
rds and down towards ground level. And it was now impossible to resist: she had to know what was at the top. Going down seemed perilous, with those hostile-looking men so far below.

  Every few steps she found a small window offering her a view of the outdoors, on two sides of the round structure. On one side were the rolling hills that she’d seen. But when she reached the next window she was met with a less pastoral view: that of an actual battlefield.

  Shouts erupted as figures fought on the ground, and Kiara could hear the distant sound of clashing metal: swords, she supposed. If this was role-playing, it was being taken to the extreme.

  But something else was happening as well. It was as though trained animals were fighting humans; large dogs, perhaps. Or were those bears? It was hard to tell from this distance. But how on earth were men and animals fighting like this?

  All the questions darted out of her mind, though, in one instant.

  From far in the distance came a large flying creature. At first it seemed that it must be an eagle or a hawk, but its wingspan was too broad, its neck too long. And as it came closer, she knew why.

  In the sky above the mayhem flew a dragon, silver-scaled and enormous, his wings flapping slowly as he observed the action below.

  His eyes scanned the earth for his enemies and he swooped down, extracting a man from the fray, carrying him off into the distance as the man cried out like a spoiled child whose toys had been taken away.

  The dragon repeated the motion, pulling man after man away from the fight, taking them to some unseen location over the hills. Kiara didn’t see the creature kill anyone, happily. But he certainly made quick work of them, dragging them far from the scene before returning for more.

  She stood paralyzed, uncertain of whether to continue her ascent up the stairs or to descend once again and escape this place, the combination of a dream and a nightmare.

  The dragon returned. This time, he grabbed one of the wounded, transporting him away from the battlefield. His destination was unclear at first, but then Kiara could see him coming towards her, his bright eyes focused on the distance as his silver belly soared over her small window perch. In his talons he carried a man in chain mail, wounded, incapacitated by the war on the ground.

  She climbed hurriedly then, heading up the staircase to its top, where she found a wooden door and pushed it open.

  There on the roof of what looked like a castle complete with parapet, stood the silver dragon, perched over the victims of war. His enormous head turned slowly to her, but nothing in her feared him. He felt familiar, comforting. He was good.

  When he’d studied her for only a moment he took off once again for the field below, and Kiara found herself smiling.

  So it was real.

  8

  The battle raged for some time. Nurses in nondescript linen dresses milled about the roof, tending to the wounded. Those soldiers who could walk were brought through another door, and those who couldn’t were left to rest on thin mats that lay on the uneven stone surface. Whatever this battle was, it was clear that it had been going for hours at least, and that a rhythm had been established in the efficient machine that tended those who’d fallen.

  Those helping the wounded seemed not to notice Kiara at first, or at least they were preoccupied with their patients. So she advanced slowly, hesitant lest she be perceived as an enemy infiltrator.

  “It’s fine,” said a woman who was bandaging an unconscious man’s arm. “The dragon approved you. If he wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

  “Are you speaking to me?” she said.

  “Yes. Please, come help me with this.”

  Kiara walked over and knelt beside the woman’s patient. He was handsome and young, and it seemed a travesty that someone had just tried to kill him.

  “Who are these people?” she asked.

  “This is one of ours, an ally from the south,” the woman said. “He’s human but strong.”

  “Human? Isn’t everyone?”

  The woman finally looked at her, her eyes narrowing. “You know little about this place, then?”

  “I don’t know what this place is,” said Kiara. “At all. In case that gives you an idea.”

  “Don’t worry. Many react like this the first time. You are in the year 1650, in the north of England. This battle has raged for many years between humans and the Changers—the shifters. Some humans are on our side—the side of the dragon—and others are not.”

  “What Changers? What do you mean?”

  “Those who can alter their form. Those not entirely human,” she said, standing. “Lord Drake being one of them.”

  “Lord…Drake?”

  “She means me.”

  Kiara closed her eyes. The voice was like velvet, coming at her from behind. Micah.

  She turned to see him standing before her, cloaked, his hair blowing in the wind. “I suppose this wasn’t the best way to let you know what I really am, Kiara. But as you can imagine, it’s not the easiest thing to explain in words.”

  In one swift gesture he let the robe fall to the ground and once again, the silver dragon stood before her, gleaming in the pale sunlight.

  “Drake,” she said softly, rising to her feet. She approached him, placing a hand on his neck, on the scales that shone like polished silver in the sunlight. “Why am I not afraid of you, of this?” she asked.

  He shifted once again, taking up the robe from the ground before Kiara had much of a chance to observe his naked form.

  “You’re not afraid because you know me, and the dragon and I are one being. You trust me, even though reason told you not to.”

  “I suppose I do.” She couldn’t help but laugh. It was madness, this. “This is where you go, when they say you’re on business,” she said. “This is the war that you talked about.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry that I didn’t believe you. You have to understand…”

  Drake smiled. “Of course I do. You’d be foolish to believe my words without evidence. This isn’t the sort of thing that most know about, let alone can fathom. Strong humans have been locked up in mental wards after witnessing such things. So I’d advise you not to include it in your article.”

  “Of course I won’t.”

  “This is what happens,” he said, gesturing to the wounded. “Daily, hourly. This is what happens in my time. In my home. This is war.”

  “Your home?” she said. “I thought Silver Creek was your home—at least a temporary one.”

  “Silver Creek is my escape. I told you that,” he said, advancing. “Bring them in,” he commanded to a man who stood by. “We’ll call the doctors and tell them what’s happened.”

  Immediately, men began to lift and carry the wounded towards the door that led to the staircase.

  “So these men are from…your home?” Kiara said, watching. “From another time?”

  “Yes. This one, for instance, is from one of the families that are assaulted daily by marauders. And I should be there, defending him and the others. But I get so tired, Kiara. It’s been so many years.”

  She looked at him. His age—of course. He wasn’t twenty-five at all.

  “What are you?” she asked. “Not who this time—I do mean what.”

  “I am a member of the Clan of the Drake. I have the blood of the dragons in me, and I am a Leaper.”

  “Well, there’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear in my entire life. What’s a Leaper?”

  “A person who can move through time and space, as I can do. The soldiers who bring the wounded to me—they use a portal, set up in my home. A few modern doctors help me to heal them because I can’t bear to let them suffer.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Can I do anything for them? I’m no doctor, but…”

  “The doctors will sedate those who need it, see to it that wounds are mended and that give them antibiotics to prevent infection. There is little else to do. If I had my way the war would end.”

  “This war you’re talkin
g about—who’s fighting?”

  “The clans of the south and the north,” he said. “In what you know as England. And I will need to come back here, Kiara. I had hoped to stay in Silver Creek—to get to know you. I had hoped for a calmer life, at least for a little.”

  “But you can’t have it. You can’t leave these men,” she said, looking over at those who still lay suffering on the tower’s roof. Whatever this was—whatever madness—there really were wounded men lying not ten feet away. And Micah Drake really was the most enigmatic creature she’d ever met.

  “If I can’t help you,” she said, “I should go. You have your hands full.”

  “No. Please don’t.” He faced her, taking her hand and kissing it softly. “Please, help me to escape just a little longer. ”

  She laid her right palm on his cheek, feeling his heat surge through her fingers. “Of course, I’ll do whatever I can. This place—is it your castle?”

  “This is only a tower,” he said. “The Watch Tower of Arach. It is under attack from the south because of its strategic position. The opposing forces have been attempting to take it for some time. I’d hoped not to involve myself in the battle, but I’m afraid I’ll be needed again.”

  “I’ll do what I can to help, if you want me,” she said, “Though I’m no fighter.”

  Drake laid a hand on her neck, caressing her skin with his thumb.

  “Oh, I want you more than you know,” he said. “And you’re here, which tells me that you’re some sort of fighter. Most women would have turned and fled once they saw that stone room. Hell, most women wouldn’t have looked for it. Your curiosity—your intelligence. Those make you strong. Now, stay here and be safe. I’ll be back very shortly.”

  “I will.”

  And then he was flying again, retrieving more men from the field even as he drove off the enemy. Occasionally he brought various non-human creatures up: the large wolves, bears and wildcats that Kiara had seen from above. The allies to the dragon. Allies to the man known as the “Duke.”