Page 39 of Mikhail
“Excellent. My car is just here.” Sinclair waved at the black sedan parked along thestreet.
The lights turned on, momentarily blinding Belishaw. He raised a hand to shield his eyes as Sinclair stepped out of the way to allow him to climb inside. He was halfway in when he was suddenly shoved from behind. He collapsed onto the seat, and something sharp jabbed into the side of his neck. The beast inside him, the one that always surged to the surface when his life was threatened, now sank deep into a dark abyss beyond his reach. The cool leather seat pressed against his cheek, and it was the only relief he felt as a flood of heat surged within hisbody.
“What is happen—ing?” His breath came in short, thin pants as his vision began to tunnel. The last thing he remembered was Sinclair climbing into the driver’s seat in front of him. Sinclair looked back at him, a cold, all-too-dangerous look in his eyes. Then everything wentblack.
When Belishaw struggled back to consciousness, he couldn’t move or think all that quickly. Everything felt muddled. He fought to push away the hazy quiet of darkness still drifting like a night fog insidehim.
“Welcome back, Randolph,” a voice said from the darkness. A single light above illuminated him, and he stared down at his body. He was seated in some sort of chair, but his hands and wrists were clapped in iron manacles. The one metal that a dragon’s strength could not break. Dragons were weakened by iron just as silver affected vampires, werewolves, and other magicalkin.
“What the bloody hell is going on? Release me at once!” Belishaw tugged on the restraints, foolishly hoping that the metal cuffs had a weak spot that would break under pressure. They didn’t. He sank back in the chair, his breath ragged. It felt as though he’d been running for an hour and his body was starting totire.
“Randolph, please do not insult me by assuming that I did not comeprepared.”
The owner of the voice stepped into the light, and a flash of memory returned. He had started to get into Conrad Sinclair’s car to go to dinner with him.Then…
“You druggedme.”
“It was necessary.” The man lifted up a syringe, the metal needle glinting dangerously in the bright light. “As is this.” He stepped towardBelishaw.
Belishaw roared, but the sound was human. His dragon wasgone.
“You’ll just feel a little stick.” Sinclair chuckled as he plunged the needle into Belishaw’s arm, injecting a yellow liquid intohim.
“What the bloody hell did you give me?” Despite the strength behind Belishaw’s voice, he was panicking. The dragon inside him had never left him before. It had been suppressed and buried, yes, but nevergone.
“The first cocktail was a little something special I helped design long, long ago. For a day or so it makes you as human as the next man.” He chuckled. “Well, maybe not the next man, since that’s me, but suffice to say your dragon won’t be able to surface. I had originally planned on it being used against your family five hundred years ago, believe it or not. But things got unnecessarily complicated. It was eventually used against me, so I can vouch for its effectiveness.” Conrad smiled darkly. “There’s nothing so frightening as being effectively turned into ahuman, isthere?”
Human? I’m human?Belishaw swallowedhard.
Sinclair lifted the second syringe. “And this…is a truth serum. Useless against normal humans, but I found it works surprisingly well on dragons once they are sufficiently weakened. Funny, isn’t it? The dragon protects us so much more than we know. Not just on the outside, but the inside. Poisons, serums, medicines—none of those work while we have a dragon inside us, alive and kicking, as the Americans wouldsay.”
“Why did you give me truth serum?” Belishaw asked. He felt something crawl through his veins like slow-moving currents in the sea, well below thesurface.
“Because I need a few questions answered, and I know you, Randolph. Your family has always been plagued by a sense of honor and loyalty, even when you back the wrong side. You wouldn’t willingly betray someone, which means I have to getcreative.”
Sinclair set the syringe down on the small metal stand where a table was laden with sharp scalpels and otherimplements.
Bloody Christ. I should’ve stayed in Jodie’sbed.
“Now, the serum should be reaching your head in a few seconds, and then I can begin myquestions.”
Sinclair pulled the chair in front of Belishaw and sat down, patiently watchinghim.
Slowly, bit by bit, a fuzzy warmth blanketed his chest and his head. The panic and anxiety of the moment faded into a relaxedcalm.
“How are you feeling?” Sinclair asked. The words seemed to come from deep below a lake,distorted.
“Fuzzy…” Randolph said, then chuckled at how odd his voicesounded.
“Good, good.” Sinclair leaned forward. “Randolph, do you know who took the Cheapside hoard from Thorne AuctionHouse?”
He pictured his good friend Mikhail. He loved that Russian bastard. Shadows flitted across his thoughts, and he blinked. The little voice in the back of his head murmured,Don’t tellhim.
“Uh…” He dragged out the word and then laughed at the funnysound.
“Randolph, you feel good, don’t you?” Sinclairasked.
“Yes,” he answered without thinking. He was simply floatingnow.
