Bewitching the Dragon: Bad Alpha Dads (Taming the Dragon Book 4) Read online

  Something else touched her, dulling the pain, and she nearly collapsed with relief, but then she was abruptly released and swayed as she tried to keep her feet without any assistance.

  When she opened her eyes, Rahu was rolling around on the floor with three of the four bandmembers, slamming into tables and chairs and the few patrons of the bar who hadn’t rushed to get out of the way. The fourth member was lying unmoving on the ground nearby, and she hoped to God he was just unconscious and not—gulp—dead.

  “Girl,” Charlotte cried out, and pulled her into her embrace. “You’re okay. I don’t know what the hell is happening, but I’m over it. Let’s get out of here and grab a bottle of wine and go to your place. I’m done with crowds for the moment.”

  “Me too,” Becca said, and she allowed her friend to lead her out of the bar. She glanced back only one time to make sure Rahu wasn’t getting the ever-loving snot beat out of him.

  He seemed to be holding his own, thank God, despite it being three-on-one.

  ***

  “What the hell happened?” Charlotte said an hour later, after they’d changed into comfy clothes and were curled up on the couch in Aunt Pacey’s guesthouse, a bottle of red blend on the coffee table. They each had a glass in hand, generously filled with the dark liquid, and Becca was gulping hers like it was water.

  “I’m not sure. Rahu just started acting like a jealous boyfriend out of nowhere. Although…” She peered at her friend and gnawed on her bottom lip. “Did it seem like the band was singling me out for some reason?”

  Charlotte nodded. “Yeah, it did. But not, like, to hit on you or anything. It was…weird.”

  “Creepy weird.” Becca looked down at her hands, one holding the bowl of a wineglass, the other resting in her lap, and both decidedly not glowing. “Did you notice the, erm, bright light?”

  “Yeah. Pretty lame special effects if you ask me. I had way higher hopes when I first heard this band was coming to town.”

  A tapping sound caught Becca’s attention, and she lifted her gaze to the sliding glass doors that led to the backyard she shared with her aunt, who was standing on the brick pavers, frantically waving as she opened the door and let herself into the guesthouse.

  “Oh my goodness, Rebecca, are you okay?” Aunt Pacey was Becca’s only living relative and the only person who did not call her by her nickname.

  “Yeah, we’re fine,” Becca said.

  “Are you sure?” Aunt Pacey hurried across the room and sank onto the couch. She cupped Becca’s cheek and scanned her face like she was checking for injuries.

  Becca pushed her hands away and took another gulp of wine. “I’m fine. How did you hear so quickly?” How had she heard at all? Becca hadn’t told her aunt where she was planning to go tonight, only that she was going out with Charlotte after work.

  “Tell me what happened,” Aunt Pacey replied.

  Becca glanced at Charlotte, seeking help. She didn’t want to paint too scary a picture. Seven years ago, Pacey had found her sister and husband dead in their living room, a result of a home invasion gone wrong. Ever since then, Becca’s aunt didn’t handle “bad situations” well, especially as they related to Becca. It was like she was afraid those exact same robbers would someday come after her niece. Even though they’d never been caught, the odds were probably a billion to one, but Becca had never been able to convince Aunt Pacey of that fact.

  Aunt Pacey had taken Becca under her wing, and Becca had willingly accepted her aunt’s slightly controlling ways because it made her feel safe and secure at a point in her life when she’d been pretty screwed up, mentally.

  Apparently, Becca had witnessed her parents’ deaths, and the experience had been so traumatic that her mind had tucked the memory away in its deepest, darkest recesses, and try as she may, she had never been able to recall anything at all about that day. She’d woken up that morning with parents, and then the next memory she had was of Aunt Pacey, sobbing and clutching her in her arms, swearing to protect her sister’s child from any and all evil from this point forward.

  Aunt Pacey was sometimes a tad overdramatic, but Becca could hardly blame her at the time, considering she’d just lost her only sibling and thus felt responsible for looking after her niece, despite the fact that Becca was already an adult.

  Back in that bar, Rahu had acted much like Aunt Pacey often did, although definitely in a testosterone way. Not the jealousy, but the way he’d insisted on getting her out of that club, like he knew those guys in the band were targeting her. And not like they wanted to hook up with her, but like…like they intended to do her harm.

  Which made zero sense. They had no reason to want to harm her, and she hadn’t met Rahu before, so he certainly hadn’t known enough about her to have such an overwhelming desire to protect her.

  She took another gulp of wine. “A fight broke out at this bar where we were trying to listen to the band,” she finally said.

  “A fight?” Aunt Pacey asked. “Where?”

  “The Carousal Bar,” Charlotte supplied. “The band and this guy we’d just met got into a fight. It was pretty ridiculous.” She rolled her eyes.

  “The band got into a fight with one guy?”

  “Yeah,” Charlotte said. “He wasn’t even that big, but he was pretty badass.”

  “Who?” Aunt Pacey asked.

  “The guy we met. What was his name?” Charlotte said, and then she snapped her fingers. “Rahu, that’s it.”

  “Rahu?” Aunt Pacey said, her eyes going wide. “You were hanging out with Rahu tonight?”

  “Wait a second, you know him?” Becca asked.

  “It’s not a common name and far too much of a coincidence for it not to be the same Rahu,” Aunt Pacey said.

  “How do you know Rahu?” Becca asked.

  Aunt Pacey stood, tugging Becca with her, almost spilling her wine in the process. Becca managed to right the glass before the red liquid landed on the couch.

  “Thank you for looking after her, Charlotte,” Aunt Pacey said without answering Becca’s question. “We’re going to head up to the big house now, if you don’t mind. I’d rather Rebecca sleep there tonight.”

  “Aunt Pacey, I’m not a kid. And I want to sleep in my own bed.”

  “It’s not safe.”

  “What are you talking about? It’s not like any of those guys who were fighting even know who I am. Or care, for that matter.”

  Except Rahu, of course, but she doubted he’d come looking for her after she abandoned him at the bar while he’d been fighting off three guys. She probably should have tried to help, but honestly, what was she supposed to do other than alert the bouncer, who had already rushed into the fray to break it up before she and Charlotte slipped out onto the street?

  Charlotte took her glass and the bottle to the kitchen. “It’s okay,” she said when she returned to the living room. “I’m pooped anyway, so I’m heading out.”

  “Why don’t you call an Uber?” Aunt Pacey suggested, although she seemed far less concerned over Charlotte’s safety than Becca’s.

  Charlotte waved her phone as she headed toward the door. “Already on it. I’ll catch up with you later, Becca.”

  As soon as she left, Aunt Pacey tugged Becca in the opposite direction. “Come on, I’ll feel safer once we’re in the big house.” The big house was what she called the plantation home with the fat white pillars. The big house and the guesthouse had been in Pacey’s family for more generations than Becca cared to track, and neither home was any safer than the other, as far as she was concerned.

  But if it stopped Aunt Pacey from nagging, it was hardly a bother to sleep in that house instead of the smaller one. Aunt Pacey hadn’t changed Becca’s old bedroom into a sewing room or office, so it was easy enough to put fresh sheets on the bed, and no doubt Pacey would make a steaming hot, delicious breakfast in the morning, so what the hell?

  It was easier than resisting.

  Chapter Three

  “Warlocks,” Rahu r
epeated as he paced the length of the room that encompassed kitchen, dining, and living area in Ketu and Antoinette’s mansion in the lower Garden District of New Orleans. He held an ice pack to his swollen eye, and it hurt so much to breathe that he was pretty sure he’d cracked a rib or two, but he was way too keyed up to focus on the pain at the moment.

  It was well past two a.m., but both Ketu and Antoinette were awake, standing side by side while Rahu related his story of the happenings at the bar.

  “The band. They’re called Warlocks of War, and they were actual, genuine warlocks.”

  “But everyone else at the club was human?” Antoinette asked.

  “Yes.” Except Rahu. And, apparently, Becca. “And here’s the weird thing: I swear they were targeting Becca.”

  “Who’s Becca?” Antoinette asked.

  Rahu waved at Ketu. “You remember the human girl who babysat Petra and Noah’s kid?” Ketu nodded. “That’s Becca.”

  Ketu frowned. “Why were a band of warlocks targeting a human woman? And since when do warlocks form bands and play in human clubs?”

  “Because she isn’t human.”

  “She’s not?” Ketu asked.

  Rahu shook his head. “It was really weird. I swear she was human at first. And the next minute, she wasn’t.”

  “What is she?” Ketu asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “If a warlock was after her, she’s probably a witch,” Antoinette said. “They are natural enemies.”

  “I thought that war ended a few centuries ago,” Rahu commented. Also, none of this explained why Becca had appeared human one minute and then was obviously a supernatural being the next. Unless she had been concealing herself from the warlocks, but as far as Rahu had been able to tell, she had no idea that she wasn’t human.

  Which was also pretty weird. Hell, this entire evening had become one hugely strange experience.

  A knock at the door drew their attention. Ketu headed through the room to answer it, Antoinette on his heels. Rahu paused in his pacing to throw back two fingers’ worth of whiskey to dull the pain making its presence known. Man, he was going to feel like shit tomorrow. Doubly so because he had no idea whether Becca was safe.

  After he’d managed to knock out two of the four warlocks, the bouncer had interfered, a massive guy who didn’t take crap from anyone. Unwilling to use magic and expose themselves, Rahu and the warlocks had been forced to break it up.

  Rahu had taken precious minutes to search the crowd, looking for Becca, needing to ensure she had gotten the hell out of that place, and then he’d slipped out of the club while the bouncer and the police tried to sort everything out, and had headed straight for the guesthouse where Petra used to live, hoping Becca still lived in the big house across the way. He’d caught a glimpse of her and her friend Charlotte curled up on the couch, looking perfectly well and drinking wine. He’d ducked out of there when Pacey had come rushing across the backyard.

  So, yeah, she’d been safe and sound at that point, but if those warlocks were after her, how long was she really secure? Did they know where she lived? Where she worked? Shit, if Rahu weren’t so damn wiped out, he’d limp his sorry ass back over there and insist on sleeping on her couch, just in case.

  Do it, his dragon insisted. Shift and fly there. That way you will heal faster and we will know that she’s safe.

  His beast had become damned protective of a woman they hardly knew, and who, by the way, wasn’t a dragon.

  Ketu returned, followed by Antoinette and his gargoyle friend, Argyle.

  “Hey, Argyle,” Rahu said with a lift of his chin. Gargoyles didn’t shake hands.

  Argyle inclined his head once. “You look rather worse for wear, Rahu.”

  “Yeah, got the shit beat out of me by a couple of warlocks. What do you know about it?”

  Argyle was a badass gargoyle who was part of some secret group that made it their mission to protect those who both needed and deserved it. He was stoic and confident and fairly unwavering.

  So it was disconcerting to see worry flit across the man’s dark, stony face.

  “You saw warlocks here in New Orleans?”

  Rahu nodded. “They’re a band. Rock, I’m guessing, although I didn’t stick around long enough to hear them play.”

  “A band?” Argyle repeated, his brow furrowing.

  “Pretty damn weird, isn’t it?” Rahu said.

  “And they’ve discovered Rebecca’s existence?”

  “Yeah, what do you know about that? Why did she appear human one minute and then something else the next? And what is she, anyway?”

  “You broke the concealment spell?” Rahu could see the shimmer of magic wavering along his skin, like he was contemplating shifting into his gargoyle form. And not the stone statue, either, but the big, bad, scary, leathery winged creature.

  “I didn’t do anything.” Rahu stabbed his finger at his own chest. “Well, except beat up a couple of warlocks who were seriously interested in Becca.”

  Argyle canted his head. “You are quite vested in the girl’s wellbeing.”

  Rahu fought the flush he could feel creeping up his neck. “I just don’t want her to get hurt, that’s all.”

  “You feel the desire to protect her,” Argyle said. It wasn’t a question, rather a statement.

  “Wouldn’t anybody?” Rahu responded. “I don’t know what those warlocks’ intentions were, but given the fact that they were warlocks, I’m leaning toward not good.”

  “I’ve never experienced a warlock doing something in the name of good, this is true,” Argyle said.

  Trying to have a conversation with a gargoyle was damned annoying. Rahu wanted answers, and he was pretty sure this guy had them—or at least knew more about the situation than Rahu or Ketu or Antoinette—yet he sure was skirting around the questions.

  “So what’s the deal?” Rahu asked. “Why are they targeting Becca?”

  “Becca?” Argyle said. “You are familiar enough to call her by her nickname?”

  “Dude. Can you quit trying to psychoanalyze whatever relationship I have with her—which is none, for the record—and tell us what the fuck the deal is?”

  Ketu raised his eyebrows, but luckily he didn’t say anything. Rahu was exhausted and his ribs ached and his head hurt and his best friend outweighed him by at least fifty or sixty pounds, but if he had made a crack about Becca, Rahu was pretty sure he would have taken a swing at him.

  Argyle inclined his head once and confirmed, “Rebecca is a witch.”

  “Finally, we’re getting somewhere,” Rahu muttered. “Does she know what she is?”

  “No.”

  Rahu glanced at his best friend, who shrugged. “How is that possible?” he asked, turning back to the gargoyle.

  “It was a decision made when her mother discovered she was with child,” Argyle said.

  “Why?”

  There was the slightest hesitation and then Argyle said, “To allow her to have as normal a life as possible.”

  Rahu narrowed his eyes. “Normal by whose definition?”

  “I need to understand how they discovered her tonight. What exactly happened? Leave out no detail.” It was both unsurprising and annoying as hell that the gargoyle did not answer his question and instead asked one of his own.

  Rahu give this guy a taste of his own medicine. Except maybe, if Argyle knew exactly what went down, he’d actually provide some real answers.

  Blowing out a breath, Rahu said, “I went to this place called the Carousel Bar down on Royal Street.”

  “I’m familiar,” Argyle stated.

  Rahu gave him a glare. “Becca and her friend Charlotte—who’s definitely human, right?”

  Argyle nodded once. How the hell did he knew so much about Becca? Except—“You were the one who carried her away after those Rojo dragons knocked her unconscious and kidnapped Petra and Noah’s baby.”

  “Yes.”

  Rahu waited for him to expound, and then finally s
aid, “So we’re sitting at the bar and Becca touches my arm and this crazy spark of magic hit me like—”

  “You did break the concealment spell.” Argyle’s body started to shimmer again, and Rahu took a step back, just in case. Because all that anger seemed to be directed at him.

  “Dude, I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

  “This spark of magic. Describe it,” Argyle barked.

  It had felt like his skin was sizzling, but not in a bad way. He was a dragon, after all, so he tended to like things hot. Especially the attraction between two people. A pull so intense it literally caused sparks to dance along his skin. A chemistry that was—

  “No,” Rahu said, his eyes wide. No way was he telling this guy about a bizarre allure that, if Becca were a dragon, would have made him wonder if he hadn’t just connected with his fated mate.

  Argyle’s mouth thinned until it almost looked like he didn’t have lips. “This concealment spell is incredibly sophisticated magic. Pacey and I had to work together to create it.”

  “Pacey? Becca’s aunt?” Her aunt and this gargoyle created a spell to conceal her supernatural self from even herself?

  Without confirming Rahu’s question, Argyle said gravely, “There is only one way that concealment spell could be broken, other than by myself or Pacey.”

  When he did not elaborate, Rahu finally asked, “How?”

  “Physical contact between Rebecca and another with whom she is highly, mutually attracted.”

  “Huh?” Rahu stared blankly.

  Argyle sighed. “It is obvious you are charmed by her. She must also be interested in you. It is, unfortunately, a terrible fault of this spell, and another reason we chose to allow her to believe she was human. She would not have felt this sort of attraction to another human, at least not to the degree that could have broken such a powerful spell.”

  “Wait. You’re saying I really did break the spell that was protecting her from the warlocks?”

  Argyle’s glare was practically a living thing, and Rahu was certain that if he could have, the gargoyle would have burned him to a crisp with that look alone. Luckily, dragons withstood great degrees of heat, and a withering look simply glanced off his dragon’s scales.