Dragon in Denial: Bad Alpha Dads (Taming the Dragon Book 3) Read online

  DRAGON IN DENIAL

  Taming the Dragon Book 3

  by Tami Lund

  Another book in the Bad Alpha Dads series

  Bestselling and Award Winning Paranormal Romance authors are bringing you the baddest of the bad ALPHA dads. Keyword: bad. So sexy, you’ll want to teach them to be good. These shifter dads need all the help they can get, and we want to give it to them.

  Check out our website www.BadAlphaDads.com for the release schedule and more about our fabulous authors.

  Cover Design: CT Cover Creations

  Editor: CEOEditor

  Copyright: 2019 by Tami Lund

  License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer.

  Thank you for your support.

  All entities, locations, businesses, etc. in this book are strictly figments of the author’s overactive imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Questions, comments, or desires to seek permission to use any part of this book for your own purposes should be directed to [email protected].

  Taming the Dragon Book 3

  DRAGON IN DENIAL

  Ketu Ormarr has a daunting task list:

  Take down the drug trade that has been plaguing his dragon colony for a decade.

  Avenge his sister’s death.

  Protect his sister’s best friend and her son.

  Try not to fall in love with Antoinette Dupré, his sister’s best friend.

  No problem, right?

  Taming the Dragon Series

  Dragon His Heels

  Hungry Like A Dragon

  Dragon in Denial

  Have you read the first book in the Taming the Dragon series?

  DRAGON HIS HEELS

  Gabriel Wilde is a reluctant dragon leader and now, a reluctant dad. Since he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, he enlists the aid of his trustworthy (and admittedly hot) PR manager, Talia Tatsuya. Which is all fine and dandy until his dragon decides she’s their fated mate.

  Damn it, Gabe doesn’t want one of those, either.

  CLICK HERE

  Chapter 1

  Ten years ago, Ketu Ormarr left New Orleans and swore he’d never return. And yet here he was, back for the second time in three months.

  It was better to spend January in the temperate, southern climate than in bitterly cold Detroit, right?

  Yeah, he wasn’t very good at convincing himself this was a positive thing. He could use a coat to protect against the chill, but what the hell did he use to tamp down his emotions when all the reminders of why he left were pelting him in the face like driving rain?

  Rolling his shoulders in an attempt to brush off the frustration mixed with a heavy dose of melancholy, he twisted the knob and stepped through the back door to Dragon Antiques, the shop Gabriel Wilde’s mother owned. She was half witch, half dragon, and until last October, she had lorded over the highly lucrative dragon’s blood drug trade that existed in this town.

  Lucrative—and deadly, as Ketu knew firsthand.

  Steel shelving units were overturned and empty boxes lay on their sides, packing material strewn across the plywood floor like chunks of multicolored vomit. A card table was flattened in the middle of the room, the legs sticking out at odd angles, as if someone had sat on it and broken it—or maybe was thrown against it and it collapsed under their weight.

  “She cleaned it all out and disappeared.” The deep, heavily accented voice preceded the gargoyle who stepped soundlessly out of the shadows near the entrance to the front of the shop. Even in human form, Argyle was massive, his facial features, his muscles still looking as though they were carved from stone under his smooth, dark skin. Truthfully, Ketu wasn’t much smaller than the gargoyle, but he still wouldn’t relish hand-to-hand combat with the guy.

  “Annoying,” Ketu murmured, “but not surprising.” He strode up to Argyle, stopping when they were practically nose to nose. Gargoyles didn’t shake hands. Ketu had learned as much from his last trip to New Orleans, this past fall.

  They stared at each other until Argyle broke eye contact a few seconds later and nodded. Had the other man felt any sort of threat, this greeting could have escalated into a dragon and gargoyle, battling it out among the ruins of a once bustling drug trade disguised as an antiques shop.

  Glad Gabe’s trust of the gargoyle appeared to be legitimate.

  “More difficult to find and stop her,” Argyle agreed. “With the curse on her mother broken, the gargoyles are no longer beholden to her. I have already checked with my brethren, and none have heard from nor seen her since October.”

  That was when she kidnapped Petra Sharmell and Noah Ladon’s baby and led them all to an abandoned sugar mill in southern Louisiana where she’d been keeping her own mother prisoner, tied to the place by a curse Petra had ultimately broken. That action also broke the gargoyles’ protection pact.

  “Four months is plenty enough time for Delilah to set up shop somewhere else and get the word out to her dealers,” Ketu said.

  “As an expression of appreciation for freeing us from our servitude to Delilah, I told your reeve I would help in any way possible; however, I do not know what I can offer. Gargoyles do not normally associate with dragons, so I would not know where to begin the search.”

  “Understood.” Ketu grimaced. If he were not indebted to the previous reeve of the colony in Detroit, he would have demanded Gabe send someone else on this mission to find Delilah and destroy her drug business. But the former reeve had adopted him into his colony at a point in Ketu’s life when he had been so low, he hadn’t been sure he even wanted to go on living, much less be around other dragons.

  “Should you need me, I have returned to my home, watching over the City of the Dead on Basin Street. My perch is near the resting place of Marie Laveau.” The gargoyle nodded once and strode from the building, leaving Ketu alone with his thoughts.

  His memories.

  His dread.

  ***

  He stood on the sidewalk and observed the brick ranch home with the attached carport. The front of the house was lined with holly bushes. A giant magnolia tree shaded nearly the entire front yard. The shutters around the windows were brown, some of the paint peeling, adding to the guilt he carried like a heavy cloak.

  I shouldn’t have left.

  But I couldn’t stay.

  Clenching his jaw and shoving his hands into his jean pockets, he strode up the path leading to the front door, hesitated, and then turned and walked around to the carport. He looked through the window in the kitchen door at a room that hadn’t changed much since he’d left. Sure, the appliances looked like they had been upgraded, and that kitchen table was new, but those curtains were the same…and so was that urn perched on the windowsill. It was pale blue, with darker blue flowers painted in a circle around the base. Eulalie’s favorite color.

  They still haven’t buried her ashes.

  Sucking in a deep breath, he stepped across the threshold, the way he had every day of his life until ten years ago.

  “Mamá.”

  He winced as the plate smashed against the tile floor, shards of white ceramic flying every which way. The woman who had been holding it turned around to face him, leaning her ample bottom against the sink, her fist over her heart, the fingers of the other hand pressed to her lips while she rapidly blinked against the tears filling her eyes.r />
  “Mijo,” she said, her voice a cracked whisper. “Come here,” she said, spreading her arms. “I’m afraid to walk to you right now. I don’t think my legs can hold me up without the help of this counter behind me.”

  A relieved smile tugged at his lips as Ketu obligingly stepped closer to his mother. As soon as her fingers brushed his shirt-sleeve, she grabbed him and pulled him to her, squeezing him until he could scarcely breathe. He didn’t try to extract himself from her hold, though, because her face was buried in his chest and her shoulders were shaking. His mother hated to cry, so he waited it out, letting the cotton of his shirt soak up her tears while he patted her back. He had no idea if these tears were for him or her.

  And he wasn’t about to ask.

  After long moments, she sniffled and released him, quickly turning away as she swiped at her wet face. When that apparently wasn’t enough, she turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her cheeks, patting them dry with a kitchen towel before facing him again.

  “Gods, how you’ve grown,” she said, taking on her normal mamá persona. “Look at your arms.” She patted the bulges in his bicep while her gaze skimmed up and down his body before settling on his face. “But you’ve aged more than you should have these past ten years.”

  Actually, the aging had occurred before he’d left this place, but tragedy did that to a person. Especially if it was a tragedy that should never have happened.

  “You look as beautiful as ever though,” he responded. It was true, although she, too, looked older than she probably should for her age.

  She patted the scarf wrapped around her hair and rolled her eyes. “Sit. Let me make you something to eat.”

  He didn’t protest. He had anticipated this part, at least, would happen. His mother fed people. When she was angry, happy, sad, stressed out, it was how she dealt with, well, life. Or death.

  In no time at all, a bowl of steaming jambalaya was placed before him, along with a pint glass filled with dark beer. He chuckled as his mother lifted a second glass to her lips and downed half of it before smacking her lips and seating herself in the chair across from him.

  “I don’t know what to do,” she said while he ate. “I have so many questions. But will you answer them?”

  Depends on what they are about. “What sort of questions?”

  “About your life since you left. Where did you go? What are you doing now? Are you happy?”

  These he could answer. Mostly. “I went north. Ended up settling in a colony in the Detroit area.”

  “Settling? With a girl?”

  “Not that sort of settling.” He shook his head. No girl. At least not one he’d ever been serious about. As far as he was concerned, that would never happen. Penance since he hadn’t been able to save his sister. And besides, love—or Eulalie’s belief that she was in it—was partially to blame for her death.

  The rest of the blame fell squarely on his shoulders.

  “The reeve up there hired me to remodel his home. Started referring my services out to the rest of the colony. I enjoyed the work, the people, so I stayed. We have a new reeve now, and he recently asked me to turn the bedroom next to his own into a nursery.”

  After I return from completing this task.

  No, Talia wasn’t pregnant, but Gabe had figured this assignment would not be easy or quick. And maybe he was worried that Ketu might not want to return after visiting his home, his family.

  That won’t be a problem. There are too many memories here. I can’t stay.

  His mother nodded and sipped at her beer. “I am glad you are content.”

  Content, not happy. He didn’t miss the subtle difference in what she asked earlier and the way she phrased it now.

  “So what brings you back after a decade of running?”

  There it was. His mother hid her tears but nothing else.

  And he didn’t bother to deny what she said. Especially since it was true. He sucked in a breath, let it out slowly, before responding.

  “I’ve been sent here. My reeve wants to stop the distribution of dragon’s blood.”

  Her eyes widened. “Why you?”

  Shaking his head, he said, “Gabe doesn’t know my family history. But he knows that I’m from here. He made an assumption that I would be the best choice to return and see to the task.”

  That had been a hell of an awkward conversation. Gabe had questioned him about his hometown, his life while he’d lived here, and he’d told him as much as he could without bringing his sister—or her death—into the discussion. What Gabe didn’t know was that Ketu had started paying attention to the dragon’s blood trade too late. He hadn’t been able to save his sister.

  He’d failed her.

  He wouldn’t fail his reeve.

  His mother reached across the table and rested her hand on top of his. “As happy as I am to see you again, and as much as I would love that drug business to be destroyed, are you sure you are up to this? Does your reeve know…everything?”

  “No, not everything. Like you, I prefer not to talk about it.” He stood and took his bowl to the sink, rinsing it before sliding it into the dishwasher. “As to whether I can handle it…” He shrugged. “I don’t have a choice.”

  “We all have choices, mijo. You can tell your reeve you are not able to do this assignment. If he is a good man, he will understand and find someone else. Not that I’m not grateful you finally came back for a visit.”

  He couldn’t say he would have if Gabe hadn’t asked him to do this. And that made him feel like shit. It wasn’t his parents’ fault Eulalie died. And yet he’d punished them by cutting them out of his life. Or rather, leaving theirs. Gods, had it felt like they’d lost two children?

  He was a lousy son. A horrible brother. Did he even deserve to be called a dragon?

  “I’ll get through it,” he said. “I have to.”

  Maybe, just maybe, this would be the atonement for his sins. It wouldn’t bring his sister back, obviously, but perhaps he could finally do something right.

  For once.

  Chapter 2

  Antoinette Dupré pressed her back against the tree, slowly turned her head, and leaned to the side so she could see the activity going on across the street, over by the fence. A fence that surrounded a playground where a whole mess of kids of various ages played, they and their parents or caregivers appearing oblivious to the drug deal about to go down not ten feet away from them.

  These dragon’s blood dealers had no fucking morals.

  Duh, her dragon whispered in her head.

  Yeah, good point. They’d have made different career choices if they did.

  She glanced around the tree again. A female dragon who probably hadn’t even hit her twentieth birthday yet stood on the sidewalk, clearly trying to pretend she wasn’t waiting for her dealer to show. Except her face was sallow, her bloodshot eyes wide and sunken. Her clothes hung on her body like they were three sizes too big, and her gaze kept darting every which way while she nervously tapped her left foot and chewed on her bottom lip. Those clothes probably had fit before she started using, but dragon’s blood had a nasty habit of making users forget to eat. Other side effects included making supremely stupid choices just to get the next fix. Choices that sometimes led to untimely deaths.

  She looks like Eulalie. The thought came unbidden. Like practically everyone else who mourned Eulalie’s death, Antoinette tried her damndest to not think about her best friend. It hurt too freaking much.

  No, she doesn’t, her dragon said. Eulalie had curly, dark hair. Like yours.

  Antoinette used to be jealous of Eulalie’s hair because it was always gorgeous, without her even having to try. That may or may not have been the reason Antoinette started letting hers go carefree instead of attempting to tame it like she used to, when her bestie was still alive.

  A young male dragon, who was probably only a few years older than the girl waiting for her fix, approached, nodding at the thin woman. The hood of his sweatshir
t was up over his head, and he had both hands stuffed into his pockets.

  Seriously, how did no one else not notice him and think, He’s up to no good?

  Okay, yeah, that was a horrible stereotype, but this was a known location for drug deals, so why the fuck didn’t anyone of authority actually police the area?

  This is a dragon problem, not a human problem.

  Her dragon was right. While humans occasionally partook of dragon’s blood, they also had plenty of other opportunities of their own making to get them high. Their issues were on a level all on their own. Plus, they had no idea dragons actually existed and lived among them and created a highly addictive substance using their own freaking blood.

  It would be interesting to see the lab work if a human ever overdosed on dragon’s blood. How would they explain the magical matter they would find in the autopsy?

  But the deal was about to go down. Antoinette lifted the hood on her own sweatshirt to hide both her mess of curls and her identity as much as possible. Then she left her hiding place and jogged toward the two dragons standing on the sidewalk.

  The girl pulled a couple of bills out of her pocket and the guy slipped a small dragon figurine out of his, Antoinette rushed up, grabbed the little glass object, and stuffed it into her sweatshirt before either one of them fully comprehended what was happening.

  Now, here was the point where she had to be prepared for pretty much anything. Often both the dealer and user would bolt, running in opposite directions. While her first instinct was always to chase after the user to try to talk some sense into them, she’d learned that was almost always a futile course of action. Best bet was to try to eliminate the pushers, because then, hopefully, the users would eventually be forced to get clean.