Treasure Lane Dragons: Complete Series (BBW Paranormal Dragon Shapeshifter Romance) (2 page)
Read Treasure Lane Dragons: Complete Series (BBW Paranormal Dragon Shapeshifter Romance) Online
Authors: Anya Nowlan
LIGHT
HIS
FIRE
B
ILLIONAIRE
D
RAGON’S
B
RIDE
T
REASURE
L
ANE
D
RAGONS
B
OOK 1
BY
A
NYA
N
OWLAN
CHAPTER ONE
Devon
Devon suppressed a groan, standing and staring at Remington with all the barely hidden irritation he could muster. As usual, these council meetings could lead to nothing good.
“You can growl all you want, Devon, it doesn’t make what I’m saying any less true,” Remington said, showing off that simpering smile of his that always reminded Devon of a snake that needed to have his head chopped off. And really, what more was he than a slithering nuisance – a dragon from the south, where the mountains were barely hills and the gold ran scarce?
Grimly, Devon mused once more about why he put up with this bullshit when he could have been doing something more agreeable, like plotting how to grow his wealth or making a woman gasp with the things his tongue could do.
The traditions come first,
Devon heard his father’s voice echoing in his ears, always there like a bad migraine whenever he tried to stray too far from what was expected. He sighed, his golden eyes switching from Remington to the other two.
“What say you?” he asked, turning to Cillian, whose emerald green eyes were brimming with mirth. He hoped for reason, but he knew that he would get none from Cillian Greenmeadow when it meant lessening a Bluewing’s irritation.
Easy for him to think this funny. No one’s making him bow to rules so old that the only beings we could reign over when they were devised were lizards and the occasional mammoth,
Devon thought darkly, trying to keep his hands from balling into fists.
“I think the southerner has a point,” Cillian said casually, quirking a brow and tossing a look at Remington. “Our fathers ran the council based on the old rules. If we want to toss those out the window now, we better have a damn good reason for it. And I don’t think we currently do,” he offered, shrugging his shoulders. The blonde man, who completed their circle, Alexander Goldplains, nodded as well, scarce of words as he usually was.
Whenever Devon saw the golden dragon without his twin brother Apollo, the livelier of the two, he had to wonder if perhaps Apollo had laid claim to all the words allocated to the pair, and he simply sent Alexander off to grunt and grumble in response. He’d have to ask Apollo that the next time he saw the man at a poker table in Vegas.
If there is another time,
he thought bitterly.
Devon could feel his dragon roar and thrash at the idea that the rest of the council presented, the animal coiling into a tight ball and then lashing out within him, pressing against the very edges of his consciousness with its demands to be let free and sort this matter with strength, not rules. He’d always preferred a good fight over hours and hours of arguments, but it seemed that his fellow council members were more civilized than he had hoped.
If some blood was spilled, things would be so much easier – that much he and his dragon could agree upon. But more than anything, he wished to be somewhere far from here and if that place had champagne, hot women and plenty of gold, it would just be an additional boon. He could have been hoping for the ability to turn water into gold for how likely that was to happen.
He pulled a hand through his short, dark hair, which was slicked back and formed long, needle-like scales on his scalp. He was almost smothered in the obnoxiousness of the utter glee he could feel wafting from Remington.
Of course
Remington liked the idea he was proposing. After all, he was the only one who matched the criteria. Devon’s muscles tensed at the very thought of letting Remington Redblade become the Head of Council.
His family had been nothing more than worthless for centuries – his father had been a letch and there wasn’t a Redblade yet, who could be counted on in battle. The last thing the dragons of Treasure Lane needed right now was a dragon like Remington leading them. Devon could see the destruction and failure that was likely to come if a man with Remington’s lack of character was given the title and the power that came with being Head of Council.
His hands rolled into fists in earnest now, and he had to focus hard on keeping his dragon at bay. Wouldn’t do him any good to outright kill one of the last surviving members of the four dragon families of Treasure Lane. No matter how much he wanted to.
“So allow me to reiterate,” Devon said, casting his eyes upward and seeing the sky turning steadily from pleasant blue to murky red and cloudy, rainclouds forming all around them. He knew very well that it was all his doing, but he didn’t have the energy to hide his frustration right now. They’d just have to deal with it.
“What we are saying is that the four dragon houses of Treasure Lane have decided that for the Bluewings to remain as the Head of Council, I must follow the old rules to the letter. Meaning, a bounty of fifteen million in gold paid to the council’s coffers, as I have already done,” he said, ignoring the wind that blew past them as they stood on the roof of his family’s home, overlooking Gold Valley and everything his kin had spent generations building.
If he had to keep talking for long, that breeze wouldn’t just be wind anymore, it would be a hurricane.
“I must put forth a new set of guidelines to be followed by each house for the remainder of my reign, ensuring that our gold supply stays consistent and our enemies behave, including rules of combat in case of war with any other areas,” he continued, each word coming out more strained than the previous. “And I must marry before the next gold moon, meaning within three weeks at the latest.”
Remington’s eyes blazed at the last bit, his smirk growing wider.
“It is the only way, yes,” Remington said.
Oh, Devon could see his dragon so clearly behind those light, menacing eyes of his. Out of the four men present, Remington was the only one who had taken a wife (much to the chagrin of said wife, Devon mused), and his house was the next in line for the council. For the umpteenth time, Devon wished his forefathers had had the good sense of just killing the Redblade kin altogether, instead of welcoming them into the council – a bit of a Bluewing tradition, wishing death on Redblades. A rare ancient rite of passage Devon wasn’t keen on breaking.
“Sounds about right,” Cillian confirmed, smiling like a man with tickets to the best show in town.
All around the same age, the four dragons of Treasure Lane had all been extensively groomed and prepared for the day their fathers would pass and it would be their turn to stand in the name of continuing the dragonkin traditions. Aside from Remington, Devon got the feeling that his co-council members were not entirely ready for all that came with the responsibilities.
At least, he knew that he wasn’t. And while Remington was chomping at the bit to take over, Devon needed no convincing to know that allowing that to happen would spell doom for all of them.
“It is settled then,” Devon said, receiving a nod from the ever-serious Alexander, whose wheaten hair glinted like gold in the last remaining rays of the sun before it was blacked out completely by Devon’s foul mood and the clouds above. “We will meet again during the gold moon, and if I am not wed then, we will have a new Head of Council.”
Just speaking the words made Devon want to break something. Something fragile and priceless, preferably. Or a particular red-scaled dragon, if he had his choice.
Remington sneered, puffing up a bit with anticipation. Clearly, the man did not expect Devon to follow through. In all honesty, Devon couldn’t blame him – he wasn’t entirely convinced he would do it either. He watched as one by one, the dragons of Treasure Lane changed from their human forms to their dragon bodies, making the mountains shudder with their roars as the beasts were finally freed from their human confines, and the trees shake from the wind as they spread their wings, their massive bodies distinctively graceful as they took to the skies.
“Make sure she’s pretty. Eternity with an ugly hag is not something one should look forward to. And save a bridesmaid for me,” Cillian said with a smirk before the shift took him, getting only a glum glare from Devon in return.
Leave it to the American Irish dragons to make light of things as thoroughly depressing as the situation Devon had been thrown into.
Now, where the hell do I find a bride in three weeks?
***
Devon stood by a window in his study, overlooking the valley. The village was like a little speck of pure gold down there, all the buildings kept in pristine order and the sandy-gold roofs his forefathers had demanded all the buildings have gleaming even in the scantest sunlight. The clouds had begun to disperse slowly as his immediate anger waned and Devon retreated into the quiet calm of the Bluewing mansion.
It was more of a castle, really, all solid rock and polished hardwood floors. Having stood there for centuries, overlooking the valley from a hilltop, it was a testament of the Bluewing fortune. Of course, no one but the dragons themselves really knew how big that fortune truly was, but the piles of gold and riches hidden under the mansion in elaborate tunnels and dark passages were more than enough to warrant bitter feelings when they were put at jeopardy.
