The Billionaire Dragon's Secret Son (Howls Romance) Read online

  She was certain they had not been seen. She was also certain their cabin would no longer be a safe sanctuary. Their quiet mountain life was at an end.

  The choice before her was dire. She either went back on the run, or she gave herself over to the man who had made her steal the Heartsfire Blade in the first place. But he would try to use Charlie against her, and his father, once he knew who that was.

  Which left her only one choice. There was one place Charlie would be safe. But safety would come at a terrible price. She hid her tears and said brightly to Charlie, “You know, it’s such a perfect day, why don’t we go on an adventure?”

  “Yes!” he exclaimed happily.

  Poppy’s mind was set. It was time to face up to her past, it was time to face up to George Lancaster.

  Chapter Two – George

  George Lancaster stalked across the underground parking lot to his car. It was late, and he wanted to get home and shower, and then… Then what? Fill the lonely hours until it was time to get up in the morning and live another day on repeat.

  It was how he survived, how he buried his need for revenge. His need for her.

  He could still taste her on his lips. If he closed his eyes, he almost believed he was buried inside her, making her cry out in pleasure as her climax hit her. He could still recall the softness of her skin, the scent of her… Every day he relived that night. Every day he swore he would find her.

  And wring her perfect neck for stealing something so precious to his clan.

  He took the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the car, glancing around the parking lot before he slipped inside his luxurious Mercedes. A status symbol, no more. The car, the house he slept in, all just possessions, bought through long hours of hard work. Just one of the many ways he had been made to prove himself over the years. Prove that he was strong, even if he had lost the symbol of the clan’s power.

  But he’d get it back. He had amassed money, and that money enabled him to amass information. And he knew he was getting close to the truth. The truth of the whereabouts of the Heartsfire Blade, and the identity of the one who stole it. His latest clues indicated the Fireclaw Clan, and that was the lead his private investigators were following up.

  “George!” a voice called out, and woke him from his dreams of revenge.

  Kyle Northridge, great. “Kyle, what are you doing here?” George asked, keeping his voice friendly.

  “I was in the building,” Kyle said, not offering any further explanation. He simply stood grinning at George with teeth that were so white, so perfectly straight, they must have cost his daddy thousands. And this was the future of the Blackclaw Clan.

  George huffed. He suspected people thought the same of him when they thought back to him losing the Heartsfire Clan’s sacred blade. A blade that could do mortal damage to any dragon, no matter how thick their hide was.

  “Good to see you,” George lied, and put his briefcase into his car.

  “Off home?” Kyle asked, walking over.

  “Yes,” George replied, sliding into his seat.

  “You work too many hours, George. We should go out some time, get you a woman to keep your bed warm until that wayward mate of yours comes back.” Kyle nearly blinded George with a benevolent smile; at least, that was what Kyle was aiming for. But George knew Kyle had a reputation for getting under your skin, and making sure you owed him. If what George heard was true, a lot of dragons, from a lot of clans, owed Kyle.

  “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind,” George said.

  “Good. Good.” Kyle patted the roof of George’s car as he pulled the door shut. George waved as he started the engine, he didn’t want to be rude… OK, so maybe he did. George did not need a man like Kyle Northridge sticking his nose into his business. Not now when he was on the brink of a breakthrough on locating the Heartsfire Blade, and restoring his clan’s standing in the dragon world. He reversed and drove out of the parking lot.

  Duty. Loyalty. Honor. The very code his clan lived by. The irony that his mate was a thief who had no care for others was not lost on George.

  George gripped the steering wheel tighter, until the whites of his knuckles showed. His dragon was stirring, and he knew why. All these thoughts of his mate always put him on edge. Soon he would have to leave the London and take a vacation to some remote destination where no one would notice a dragon flying at night. His clan owned a few such hideaways, but as the planet became more crowded, some of them were next to useless, unless it was a moonless night, or heavy clouds filled the sky.

  As for airplanes! Don’t even get him started on those invaders of the skies.

  He turned off the highway, driving through the suburbs, the traffic thinning as he neared his mansion. High, impenetrable walls surrounded the house, with motion sensors dotted at intervals to keep intruders out. A wrought-iron gate stood at the only entrance, with a security keypad on the wall next to it. This was his private place, a place where he could relax, away from the scrutiny of others.

  He pressed the buttons and entered his code, sitting patiently while the gates slowly opened. He was in no rush: dinner, and an hour of exercise, would leave him ready for a shower and then bed, where he would no doubt toss and turn, the vision of his mate taunting him. What an exciting life he led.

  The gates were open wide enough for his car to fit between them. He eased his foot down on the accelerator and the car moved forward, the gates swinging shut behind him. The drive leading to the house was not long; it skirted a small ornamental lake, before straightening up to reveal an impressive view of the mansion. George snorted. What he wouldn’t give to live high up in the mountains, with nothing but the clothes on his back and the sun on his face.

  Duty. Loyalty. Honor.

  He repeated the words that he had carved into the stone above the large front door of the mansion when he bought it two years ago. It was how he reminded himself that he could not run away and seek the solitary refuge he craved. All thanks to that woman. If not for her, he could have slipped into obscurity and lived his own life, on his own terms, instead of spending each day trying to right the wrong she had done to his clan.

  He stopped the car abruptly and got out. Did she have any idea what she had done when she stole from him? Had she any idea of the life she had forced him into?

  He had to let it go. This constant obsessing was driving him insane, but he knew it was useless. He knew it went deeper than the theft of the Blade: a dragon was meant to have his mate by his side. If he had never met her it would be different, he would be different. The longing would still be there, but not this constant obsessing. But he had met her, and worse… he had bedded her. Taken her. Claimed her. And then she had run from him, as if it meant nothing.

  He slammed the car door shut and looked up at the sky, cursing the clear night and full moon. He needed to fly. His dragon was scratching at the walls of his mind, trying to get out, to escape the thoughts of her.

  George stopped and sniffed the air. There was a scent. A new scent. Don’t say he was now hallucinating with his nose? Was that even a thing? Or just one more sign she was driving him to the brink of insanity with her absence.

  “Good evening, sir,” Alfie, his butler-cum-cook, cum-valet said, as George entered the house. He must have heard the car and come running to the door. Duty. Loyalty. Honor. That was Alfie. He had been in the service of George Lancaster’s family for most of his adult life. The two of them shared a bond that went deeper than a master-servant relationship.

  “It’s late, you shouldn’t have waited up.” George knew how early Alfie got up in the morning to begin his chores. But Alfie insisted on never going to bed before George arrived home; he always liked to open the door for George and give him an update on his day. Not that anything ever happened. Alfie rarely left the grounds, preferring to have everything delivered in. Alfie felt safer, more secure that way, and George never questioned him. He knew the old man’s past only too well.

  Looking at Alfie’s darkened ey
es, George made a mental note to be home early tomorrow, so that the old man could get to his bed early.

  “I have dinner prepared. It might be a little dried up,” Alfie said apologetically.

  “I’m sure it will be edible.” George walked toward the staircase. “You should go to bed. I can help myself.”

  “Hmm,” Alfie said. “I’ll give one last turn around the house. Check all the windows and doors.”

  George smiled. Alfie had a set routine he had to perform, or he found it impossible to sleep. But since there were only the two of them in the house, and Alfie was meticulous about locking all the doors when he entered and left by the tradesman’s entrance, it was one he didn’t need to perform. But he did it anyway.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” George said. “I’ll shower and change before I eat.”

  “Good night.” Alfie was already heading off down the hallway, eager to get to bed.

  George took the stairs two at a time. He liked the solitude of the evenings. The emptiness of the house after a day surrounded by people. Maybe later he would take a walk outside, the night air would do him good, settle him before he tried to sleep…

  His dragon burst into his thoughts, bright, fiery, and alert. Something was wrong. Someone was here. Another dragon. He could scent one on the air.

  George undid the buttons of his jacket, slipping it off and casting it aside as he moved lightly down the hallway. His tie followed his jacket, before he undid the top two buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, ready for the fight that was before him.

  He sniffed the air. There was another scent mingling with that of the dragon. One he recognized, one that had haunted his dreams, both day and night, for the last five years. As he moved to open the door to his bedroom, he knew he would no longer have to search for his mate.

  She was here. With another dragon. He pushed the door open, knowing he would fight to the death to protect his mate. Even if she were a lying, thieving wench.

  Chapter Three – Poppy

  Poppy had forgotten just how devastatingly handsome George Lancaster was. Her dreams did not do him justice, and her body reacted to him as he stood, framed in the doorway, his shirt undone to reveal a sprinkling of hair, and his sleeves rolled up as if he were ready for a fight. The fire that flashed in his eyes confirmed her fears: George Lancaster was still mad as hell at her, and she was glad she had told Charlie to hide in the bathroom.

  Although what would happen to her son if George hurt her, she didn’t know. Her face flushed pink, and she wanted to hide from that gaze that ripped her clothes from her body as he stood there, glaring at her. What did she expect, a peck on the cheek and a long time no see?

  George Lancaster strode into the room, his eyes no longer on her, but instead skimming the room, looking for something. Oh no, had he picked her up on a surveillance camera? She was sure she had avoided them all. She thought she had been so careful when she sneaked in here. It was what she was good at.

  Correction. It was what she had once been good at. She was rusty, and she had put herself and Charlie in danger. By the look on George’s face—mortal danger!

  He surveyed the room, and she prayed Charlie would keep himself hidden in the bathroom, and not make a sound. Poppy had no idea how George was going to react to the news he had a son. What if he took it badly? What if he took it very badly? He might think she was making it up. He might not believe that one night in his bed was enough for her to conceive. Hell, it hadn’t even been one night. It had been one brief, exquisite encounter.

  She watched him as he walked around the room, his head tilted back, breathing in, like an animal scenting its prey. Why had she come here? She should have taken her chances elsewhere. But deep down Poppy knew that was not an option. The man who had sent her to steal from George Lancaster in the first place was not a man she could trust. He would take Charlie and use him as he saw fit. To the man Brax had called Bernard, an alias, as she had learned when she tried to trace him, both she and Charlie would be property he would use as he saw fit.

  “Where is he?” George asked, jolting her out of her thoughts. How did he know? Charlie had not made a sound.

  “Where is who?” she asked in return, trying to maintain her gaze, but her eyes slipped momentarily to the right. No other man might have noticed, but no other man was as attuned to her as he was to her. She could not fool George Lancaster again.

  “The man you are with,” George said.

  “I’m not here with another man,” she answered truthfully.

  George moved quickly, too quickly for her to react. Was he some kind of superhero, with enhanced strength and agility? There was no other explanation for his lightning-fast movement. He reached for her, his hand curling around her wrist cruelly, his fingers digging into her flesh as he took hold of her arm. A hard yank, and he pulled her toward him, his body now between her and Charlie.

  “No,” she said, and grabbed hold of George’s upper arm, trying to knock him off balance. It worked, but they ended up sprawled across the king-size bed, with him on top of her, his body pinning her down. “Let me go.”

  “No,” he said roughly. “Do you know how many nights I dreamed of finding you? How many ways I have thought of making you pay for what you did?”

  She writhed under him, trying to push him off, but he was too strong. “I’m sorry.” It sounded weak, pathetic. Which was exactly how she felt with this brute of a man on top of her.

  “Liar,” he spat.

  “I am truly sorry,” she said, and a sob erupted from inside her, making him frown, his eyes fixed on hers.

  “I know how good an actress you are, remember?” He lowered his head and captured her lips kissing her fiercely.

  Poppy reacted by biting his bottom lip. She tasted the blood on her tongue, hot and metallic.

  George pulled back, the darkness clouding his face scared her. A deep danger lurked there, a deep, dark danger. A beast lurking beneath the surface, that threatened to burst out, to claim what was his. And she was his. She knew that now. Knew that their lovemaking, all those years ago had meant something. If not to him, then to her. But she could never let him know that. Never let him use it against her. And he would use it. All men did. They tore the life you had created for yourself apart, all to serve their own needs.

  “Please, get off me,” Poppy said, no longer struggling. She didn’t want to fight him, that wasn’t what she had come here for.

  He eased back off her, but did not let her get up. “Why are you here?”

  “I have something that is yours,” she said.

  “You have brought the Heartsfire Blade back to me?” George asked, a look of surprise on his face.

  “No.” She shook her head. “I don’t have it.”

  “Where is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Who did you steal it for?” he asked, his features darkening once more, and his grip on her wrists tightening.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” he asked.

  “Won’t,” she said.

  “You know I can make you talk?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “And what makes you think I won’t?” he asked gently, leaning forward and nuzzling her neck. “I don’t have to use pain. There are other ways to break a woman.”

  Her breasts heaved, as she fought to control her breathing. “Because…” Poppy didn’t know if him finding out she had given birth to his son, and kept that secret from him for the past five years, was going to make him want to hurt her more.

  Tears pricked her eyes, and before she could blink them away, one trickled down her cheek. He saw it, his face softening, and he looked deep into her eyes, trying to read her thoughts. Thoughts that she needed to keep from him, and she turned away from him.

  “What the hell is this?” he asked, turning her to face him. She winced with pain, and he loosened his grip a hair; there was no way he was going to give her a chance to
evade him this time. She had walked willingly into his den, and this was where she was going to stay until he got what he wanted from her. Only he had no idea what that was. Not yet.

  “I’ll explain.” Poppy put her hand up to calm him, her voice soothing.

  “I suggest you do so, quickly,” he ground out, his eyes lingering on her face, before they slid down her body, and then he licked his lips. Could he recall the taste of her?

  “I…” She hesitated. “We need your help.”

  “My help!” His voice was harsh. “Don’t play me for a fool, woman. That might work on other men, but I am not other men.”

  “I know,” she breathed. He didn’t need to tell her he wasn’t the same as other men, she knew, from experience. “I’m not trying to play you,” she said, she needed him to believe her.

  “Then why are you here?” he asked, his voice cutting.

  “I… To show you something.” She was stalling. Scared of his reaction when he found out she had lied to him. No, not lied. She had done what she thought was best, and now, seeing his temper flare, she knew she had been right to keep her child away from such a man.

  But it was too late. She was going to have to tell him. And hope that he didn’t take Charlie and shut her out of their lives completely. Tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes. At least George would keep Charlie safe. Something she had tried to do and failed.

  “Show me something? Get to the point. Tell me why you are here.” He sniffed her, and then looked up again. “Why are you here with the stench of another dragon on your clothes, on your body?” He sneered. “Is that it, you stole the blade for another dragon?”

  Her heart beat rapidly. What was he saying? A dragon? Dear lord, the guy was insane, she had heard all this from Brax. She didn’t believe it then, she didn’t believe it now. Or was dragon a code word? But why would she smell of anything? The only other person she had been near was Charlie.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”