Heart 0f The Dragon (Atlantis Book 1) Read online

  Before The Lords of the Underworld, there was Gena Showalter’s Atlantis series. Rediscover this mythical world of immortals, magic and dark seduction…

  Searching for her missing brother, Grace Carlyle never dreamed she would discover a secret world populated by mythological monsters—or find herself facing a sword-wielding being whose looks put mortal men to shame.

  But there he was, Darius en Kragin, one of a race of shape-shifting warriors bound to guard the gates of Atlantis, and kill all travelers who strayed within its borders.

  Now Grace’s life was in his hands, and Darius had to choose between his centuries-old vow and the woman who had slipped beneath his defenses and stolen the heart of Atlantis’s fiercest dragon.

  Look for the rest of Gena Showalter’s Atlantis series: The Amazon’s Curse, Jewel of Atlantis, The Nymph King and The Vampire’s Bride, available now.

  Originally published in 2005

  Praise for New York Times bestselling author Gena Showalter

  “Showalter’s signature blend of sizzling attraction, breathtaking worlds, and lethal stakes rocks me every time!”

  —Sylvia Day, #1 New York Times bestselling author

  “With compelling stories and memorable characters, Gena Showalter never fails to dazzle.”

  —Jeaniene Frost, New York Times bestselling author

  “[O]ne of the premier authors of paranormal romance. Gena Showalter delivers an utterly spell-binding story!”

  —Kresley Cole, #1 New York Times bestselling author

  “Showalter makes romance sizzle on every page!”

  —Jill Shalvis, New York Times bestselling author

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  —RT Book Reviews

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  —San Francisco Book Review

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  —Lori Foster, New York Times bestselling author

  Also available from Gena Showalter and HQN Books

  The Darkest Torment

  The Harder You Fall

  The Hotter You Burn

  The Closer You Come

  All for You (anthology featuring “The One You Want”)

  The Darkest Touch

  Burning Dawn

  After Dark (duology featuring “The Darkest Angel”)

  The Darkest Craving

  Beauty Awakened

  After Moonrise (duology with P.C. Cast)

  Wicked Nights

  The Darkest Seduction

  The Darkest Surrender

  The Darkest Secret

  The Darkest Lie

  The Darkest Passion

  Into the Dark

  The Darkest Whisper

  The Darkest Pleasure

  The Darkest Kiss

  The Darkest Night

  The Vampire’s Bride

  The Nymph King

  Jewel of Atlantis

  Heart of the Dragon

  Twice as Hot

  Playing with Fire

  Catch a Mate

  Animal Instincts

  The Pleasure Slave

  The Stone Prince

  From Harlequin Nonfiction

  Dating the Undead (with Jill Monroe)

  From Harlequin TEEN

  Firstlife

  A Mad Zombie Party

  The Queen of Zombie Hearts

  Through the Zombie Glass

  Alice in Zombieland

  Twisted

  Unraveled

  Intertwined

  More stunning tales from Gena Showalter are coming your way in 2017!

  Lifeblood

  The Darkest Promise

  Can’t Hardly Breathe

  Can’t Let Go

  HEART OF THE DRAGON

  GENA SHOWALTER

  Dear Reader,

  Since the first title in my Atlantis series, Heart of the Dragon, was published in 2005, I’ve been asked how I thought to combine the lost city of Atlantis with the creatures of lore. The answer is simple: what if. What if mythical gods hid their greatest mistakes inside Atlantis and that’s why the city is buried under the sea?

  One question branched into a thousand others, each more intriguing than the last. What if a dragon shape-shifter is forced to guard the portal that leads to his home, tasked with killing anyone who enters—even the woman of his dreams (Heart of the Dragon)? What if a modern man is sent inside the forbidden land to steal its greatest treasure…who just happens to be a beautiful female he can’t resist (Jewel of Atlantis)? What if the king of the nymphs can seduce everyone he encounters—except the woman he loves (The Nymph King)? I hope you’ll join me on these journeys through Atlantis, where the creatures of myth and legend walk, peril lurks around every corner and forbidden passions ignite. Even readers familiar with the books might find a few new surprises in these slightly revised versions!

  And don’t miss The Vampire’s Bride, the final tale set in Atlantis, where I answer the question readers asked for years: what if the villain in all those earlier stories, the vampire king who has tortured and hated and warred, got a story of his own?

  Wishing you all the best,

  Gena Showalter

  You survived a childhood of mind-numbing pain

  and abject humiliation. You survived a childhood

  of utter terror and unimaginable horror.

  Somehow, some way, you survived a childhood

  with me as your babysitter. Thankfully I’ve found

  a better outlet for my…creative spirit.

  To Auston and Casey Dowling. I love you both.

  To Debbie Splawn-Bunch, who wouldn’t let me

  title this book Extra Crispy Love.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  PROLOGUE

  Atlantis

  “DO YOU FEEL IT, BOY? Do you feel the mist preparing?”

  Darius en Kragin squeezed his eyes tightly closed, his tutor’s words echoing in his mind. Did he feel it? Oh, yes. Even though he was only eight seasons, he felt it. Felt his skin prickle with cold, felt the sickening wave of acid in his throat as the mist enveloped him. He even felt his veins quicken with a deceptively sweet, swirling essence that was not his own.

  Fighting the urge to bolt up the cavern steps and into the palace above, he tensed his muscles and fisted his hands at his sides.

  I must stay. I must do this.

  Slowly Darius forced his eyelids to open. He released a pent-up breath as his gaze locked with Javar’s. His tutor stood shrouded by the thickening, ghostlike haze, the bleak walls of the cave at his back.

  “This is what you will feel each time the mist summons you, for this means a traveler is nearby,” Javar said. “Never stray far from this place. You may live above with the others, but you must always return here when called.”

  “I do not like it here.” His voice shook. “The cold weakens me.”

  “Other dragons are weakened by cold, but not you. Not any longer. The mist will become a part of you, the
coldness your most beloved companion. Now listen,” he commanded softly. “Listen closely.”

  At first Darius heard nothing. Then he began to register the sound of a low, tapering whistle—a sound that reverberated in his ears like the moans of the dying. Wind, he assured himself. Merely wind. The turbulent breeze rounded every corner of the doomed enclosure, drawing closer. Closer still. His nostrils filled with the scent of desperation, destruction and loneliness as he braced himself for impact.

  When it finally came upon him, it was not the battering force he expected, but a mockingly gentle caress against his body. The jeweled medallion at his neck hummed to life, burning the dragon tattoo etched into his flesh only that morning.

  He crushed his lips together to silence a deep groan of uncertainty.

  His tutor sucked in a reverent breath and splayed his arms wide. “This is what you will live for, boy. This will be your purpose. You will kill for this.”

  “I do not want my purpose to stem from the deaths of others,” Darius said, the words tumbling from his mouth unbidden.

  Javar stilled, a fiery anger kindling in the depths of his ice-blue eyes, eyes so unlike Darius’s own—unlike every dragon’s. All dragons but Javar possessed golden eyes. “You are to be a Guardian of the Mist, a king to the warriors here,” Javar said. “You should be grateful I chose you among all the others for this task.”

  Darius swallowed. Grateful? Yes, he should have been grateful. Instead he felt oddly…lost. Alone. So alone and unsure. Was this what he truly wanted? Was this the life he craved for himself? His gaze skimmed his surroundings. A few broken chairs were scattered across the dirt and twig-laden ground. The walls were black and bare. There was no warmth, only cold, biting reality and the lingering shadow of hopelessness. To become Guardian meant pledging his existence, his very soul to this cave.

  Gaze narrowed, Javar closed the distance between them, his boots harmonizing with the drip, drip of water. His lips pulled in a tight scowl, and he gripped Darius’s shoulders painfully. “Your mother and father were slaughtered. Your sisters were raped and their throats slit. Had the last Guardian done his duty, your family would still be with you.”

  Pain cut through Darius so intensely he nearly clawed out his eyes to blacken the hated images hovering before them. His graceful mother twisted and bent, lying in a crimson river of her own blood. The bone-deep gashes in his father’s back. His three sisters… His chin trembled, and he blinked away the stinging tears in his eyes. He would not cry. Not now. Not ever.

  Mere days ago, he had returned from hunting and found his family dead. He had not cried then. Nor had he shed a tear when the invaders who plundered his family were slaughtered in retribution. To cry was to show weakness. He squared his shoulders and raised his chin.

  “That’s right,” Javar said, watching him with a glint of pride. “Deny your tears and keep the hurt inside you. Use it against those who hope to enter our land. Kill them with it, for they only mean us harm.”

  “I want to do as you say. I do.” He glanced away. “But—”

  “Killing travelers is your obligation,” Javar interrupted. “Killing them is your privilege.”

  “What of innocent women and children who mistakenly stumble through?” The thought of destroying such purity, like that of his sisters, made him loathe the monster Javar was asking him to become—though not enough to halt this course he had set for himself. To protect his friends, he would do whatever was asked of him. They were all he had left. “May I set them free on the surface?”

  “You may not.”

  “What harm can children do our people?”

  “They will carry the knowledge of the mist with them, ever able to lead an army through.” Javar shook him once, twice. “Do you understand now? Do you understand what you must do and why you must do it?”

  “Yes,” he replied softly. He stared down at a thin, cerulean rivulet that trickled past his boots, his gaze following the gentleness and serenity of the water. Oh, that he possessed the same serenity inside himself. “I understand.”

  “You are too tender, boy.” With a sigh, Javar released him. “If you do not erect stronger defenses inside yourself, your emotions will be the death of you and all those you still hold dear.”

  Darius gulped back the hard lump in his throat. “Then help me, Javar. Help me rid myself of my emotions so that I might do these deeds.”

  “As I told you before, you have only to bury your pain deep inside you, somewhere no one can ever hope to reach it—not even yourself.”

  That sounded so easy. Yet, how did one bury such tormenting grief? Such devastating memories? How did one battle the horrendous agony? He would do anything, anything at all, to find peace.

  “How?” he asked his tutor.

  “You will discover that answer on your own. Much sooner than you think.”

  Magic and power began swirling more intently around them, undulating, begging for some type of release. The air expanded, coagulated, leaving a heady fragrance of darkness and danger. A surge of energy ricocheted across the walls like a bolt of lightning, then erupted in a colorful array of liquid sparks.

  Darius stilled as horror, dread and yes, anticipation sliced a path through him.

  “A traveler will enter soon,” Javar said, already tense and eager.

  With shaky fingers, Darius gripped the hilt of his sword.

  “They always experience disorientation at first emergence. You must use that to your advantage and destroy them the moment they exit.”

  Could he? “I’m not ready. I cannot—”

  “You are and you will,” Javar said, a steely edge to his tone. “There are two portals, the one you are to guard here and the one I guard on the other side of the city. I am not asking you to do anything I would not—and have not done—myself.”

  In the next instant, a tall man stepped from the mists. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face pale, and his clothing disheveled. His hair was thick and silvered, and his tanned skin was lined with deep wrinkles. He had the look of a scholar, not of war or evil.

  Still trembling, Darius unsheathed his weapon. He almost doubled over from the sheer force of his conflicting emotions. A part of him continued to scream to run away, to refuse this task, but he forced himself to remain. He would do this because Javar was right. Travelers were the enemy, no matter who they were, no matter what their purpose.

  No matter their appearance.

  “Do it, Darius,” Javar growled. “Do it now.”

  The traveler’s eyelids jolted open. Their gazes suddenly clashed together, dragon gold against human green. Resolve against fear. Life against death.

  Darius raised his blade, paused only a moment—stop, run, do not—then struck. Blood splattered his bare chest and forearms like poisoned rain. A gargled gasp parted the man’s lips, then slowly, so slowly, his lifeless body sank to the ground.

  For several long, agonizing moments, Darius stood frozen by the fruit of his actions. What have I done? What have I done! He dropped the sword, distantly hearing a clang as the metal thudded into the dirt.

  He hunched over and vomited.

  Surprisingly, as he emptied his stomach, he lost the agony inside him. He lost his regret and sadness. Frigid ice enclosed his chest and what was left of his soul. He welcomed and embraced the numbness until he felt only a strange void. All of his heartache—gone. All of his suffering—gone.

  I have done my duty.

  “I am proud of you, boy.” Javar slapped his shoulder in a rare show of affection. “You are ready to take your vows as Guardian.”

  As Darius’s shaking ceased, he straightened and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. “Yes,” he said starkly, determinedly, craving more of this detachment. “I am ready.”

  “Do it, then.”

  Without pausing for thought, he sank to his knees. “In this place I will dwell, destroying the surface dwellers who pass through the mist. This I vow upon my life. This I vow upon my death.” As he spoke
the words, they mystically appeared on his chest and back, black and red symbols that stretched from one shoulder to the other and glowed with inner fire. “I exist for no other purpose. I am Guardian of the Mist.”

  Javar held his stare for a long while, then nodded with satisfaction. “Your eyes have changed color to mirror the mist. The two of you are one. This is good, boy. This is good.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Three hundred years later

  “HE DOESN’T LAUGH.”

  “He never yells.”

  “When Grayley accidentally stabbed Darius’s thigh with a six-pronged razor, our leader didn’t even blink.”

  “I’d say all he needs is a few good hours of bed sport, but I’m not sure he knows what to do with the appendage between his legs.”

  The latter was met with a round of rumbling male chuckles.

  Darius en Kragin stepped inside the spacious dining hall, his gaze methodically cataloging his surroundings. The ebony floors gleamed clean and black, the perfect contrast for the dragon-carved ivory walls. Along the windows, gauzy drapes danced over stained-glass windows. Crystal ceilings towered above, reflecting the tranquility of seawater that enclosed their great city.

  He moved toward the long, rectangular dining table. The tantalizing aroma of sweetmeats and fruit should have wafted to his nostrils, but over the years his sense of smell, taste and color had deteriorated. He smelled only ash, tasted nothing more than air, and saw only black-and-white. He’d willed those senses away. Better, easier to exist in a void. Only sometimes did he wish otherwise.

  One warrior caught sight of him and quickly alerted the others. Silence clamped tight fingers around the chamber. Every male present whipped his focus to his food, as if roasted fowl had suddenly become the most fascinating thing the gods had ever created. The jovial air visibly darkened.

  True to his men’s words, Darius claimed his seat at the head of the table without a smile or a scowl. Only after he’d consumed his third goblet of wine did his men resume their conversation, though they wisely chose a different subject. This time they spoke of the women they had pleasured and the wars they had won. Exaggerated tales, all. One warrior even went so far as to claim he’d gratified four women at the same time while successfully storming his enemy’s gate. For a nymph, that was possible. A dragon? No.