Whoever had painted him had known about dragons—real dragons, not the ones from human movies.
“I’ll settle this,” Gregory said firmly. Then, with another curt nod at the gathered council, he turned and walked towards the end of the cave, where it opened to cold air and a spectacular sunset.
Gregory took a deep breath. Cool air filled his lungs. Then he jumped forward and stretched out his arms.
A heartbeat later, he had shifted into his dragon. His large, powerful wings caught the current, and with one beat of his wings, he shot high up into the air, parting his jaws to roar playfully at the wind that was his to command.
One year left to find his mate. One year left to find an anchor for his steadily growing power.
But first, he had a mystery to solve and a painting to buy. And once that problem was solved, and whoever had dared to threaten him in such a way was suitably intimidated, perhaps he would ride the storm all the way from coast to coast until his mate called out to him.
She had to be out there somewhere, waiting for him. His dragon was sure of it.
Chapter Three: Naomi
Trust Jeff Tyler to make use of any chance to get some publicity for his gallery.
Naomi blinked into the blinding flashes of the cameras, smiling nervously at the waiting reporters. Jeff had told her to dress nicely for Mr. Mysterious Billionaire—but Jeff had failed to mention that he’d invited the press.
Naomi had put on her favorite black cocktail dress for the occasion. These days, it was also her only nice dress, but it hugged all of her curves in just the right way. And the mysterious buyer wouldn’t know that it had lasted her five years already, after she got it on clearance.
“Smile, baby!” Jeff hissed in her ear, grinning triumphantly at the cameras.
It went on for way too long, but a moment later, she was saved from all the attention when a newcomer entered the gallery. Flashes went off again, and the man froze for a moment, a displeased look on his face.
Then he strode forward, disregarding the gathered journalists—coming straight towards where Naomi and Jeff were waiting.
That has to be the mysterious buyer.
Naomi felt her knees go weak. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. Eccentric billionaires, in her mind, were old and feeble, with white hair and flashy glasses, spending their afternoons by a pool, where they made bids at art auctions from their phone.
But there was nothing old or eccentric about this man.
He had to be in his thirties, with the broad shoulders and incredible biceps of a man working at a construction site, and not someone who lazed around on a patio all day.
His hair was a peculiar color somewhere between blond and brown, as if he spent enough time outside that the sun had bleached strands to gleaming gold. It looked a little windswept, although surely someone rich enough to drop twenty thousand dollars on a painting wouldn’t walk here.
Perhaps he’d just stepped from the private jet that had brought him here—or a helicopter. She couldn’t quite pin it down, but there was something about him that made her think of gusts of wind tugging at his hair, and the warmth of a gentle summer breeze.
But right now, there was nothing gentle about his expression.
He strode forward with powerful steps, exuding an air of command. He stopped in front of Jeff, displeasure on the handsome, rugged face that made something inside Naomi tighten with unexpected need.
“I said I wanted to meet the artist,” the stranger said, his voice accompanied by an angry rumble in his chest. “I said nothing about reporters.”
“Now, now,” Jeff said breezily, turning to beam at the gathered reporters once more. “Just
a bit of fun for the press, won’t take a minute, and then I’ll let you and Naomi have a chat.”
The stranger gave Jeff a disbelieving look, his eyes narrowing with obvious displeasure when another flash went off—and then he turned, and for the first time, Naomi looked straight into his eyes.
She felt as if lightning had struck her. As though someone had pulled the ground away from beneath her feet. She was falling, falling... and yet she was still aware of standing in the gallery, next to Jeff, looking at the stranger in front of her.
The stranger had her dragon’s eyes.
She gasped very softly. She couldn’t look away. His eyes were a light gray—the color of storm clouds, filled with the distant illumination of lightning.
She’d never seen anything like it. She’d never felt anything like it.