Dragon Intrigues Read online

  Table of Contents

  COPYRIGHT

  BOOK DESCRIPTION

  DRAGON INTRIGUES

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  CHAPTER 60

  CHAPTER 61

  CHAPTER 62

  CHAPTER 63

  BEAR INTRIGUES: PREVIEW

  BEAR INTRIGUES: CHAPTER 1

  BEAR INTRIGUES: CHAPTER 2

  BEAR INTRIGUES: CHAPTER 3

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO BY ISADORA MONTROSE

  Dragon Intrigues ©Copyright Isadora Montrose 2020

  Bear Intrigues: Preview ©Copyright Isadora Montrose 2020

  Cover Art by Resplendent Media ©Copyright 2020

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this ebook may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the author, Isadora Montrose.

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers.

  DRAGON INTRIGUES

  SPAR: Rescue & Romance

  Book 1

  A BBW/Billionaire Dragon Romantic Suspense

  Don’t dragons eat bunnies? You bet.

  Neil has always hankered after Blythe. Now he’s in a position to indulge his fantasies.

  Photographer Blythe only meant to earn a little extra cash doing a small job for SPAR, the paranormal policing agency. Now she’s up to her bunny ears in trouble. Special Paranormal All Ranks is dealing with ruthless psi-mobsters and this cutthroat gang is after Blythe.

  Wounded warrior Neil is recuperating from his last mission when Blythe’s home is bombed by a murderous arsonist. Rabbit shifter Blythe might be off-limits to a dragon, but he can’t sit on his hands while she’s attacked. But there's more danger ahead than a mere house fire.

  After he and Blythe are caught naked and making out in his kitchen, this protective dragon is thrilled when the head of his clan commands him to marry his own true love.

  Too bad Blythe won’t take their engagement as a done deal. She’ll play along, and let him guard her from murderous thugs, but she's keeping her own heart on lockdown while she plays with his.

  With villains targeting his woman, and Blythe herself refusing to take their destiny seriously, this soldier has a full-time mission. They’re on the run, so there couldn’t be a worse time for a dragon to go wooing. Fate has set Neil an impossible task. Fortunately, Marines do impossible things.

  For fans of Zoe Chant and T.S. Joyce, or anyone who loves steamy paranormal romantic suspense. This hot page-turner will leave you hankering for the next book in the series.

  DRAGON INTRIGUES

  A BBW/Billionaire Dragon Romantic Suspense

  SPAR: Rescue & Romance

  Book 1

  by

  Isadora Montrose

  CHAPTER 1

  Neil~

  Bip bop boo, the bunny bounced down the trail, big eyes swiveling, round ass wiggling, golden ponytail swishing. As merry as a basket of puppies, and as cute as, well, an armful of bunny. Bip bop boo. She ducked behind a fir tree wider than she was. Hot pink disappeared into greenery.

  Only her disturbing scent lingered, an invisible fog of pheromones tuned to disrupt a dragon’s most primal senses. The faintest rustling informed Neil Drake that Blythe Warren was stripping down to her luscious pink skin. Just the thought of her removing her black leggings and skin-tight top was enough to make him break into a sweat. More rustling. The bunny was bouncy but neat. She always folded her clothes before she shifted.

  Seconds later, a good-sized brown cottontail lolloped out of the bushes heading for the wildflower meadow. A flick of her little white scut and she was gone. Bip bop boo. Off to browse. As she usually did at dusk and dawn. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes the better to savor the bunny’s fading scent.

  The light and warmth had vanished with her. Don’t be fanciful, Drake. It’s sunset. Of course the sunlight is going. But it was no good. That deeply feminine scent and the memory of that ripe round ass turned his head every time. Not that Blythe Warren was any kind of a beauty. She was attractive enough, but her chin was a shade too determined and her eyes too sharp. A tough-minded bunny.

  Of course, he admired toughness in a woman. Just as he had a true appreciation of round backsides. Even if they came attached to bunnies. On the other hand, he damn well needed to keep her bunnyhood front and center.

  Even if he had permission to mate hunt, which he most emphatically did not, Blythe was a trembler — a prey animal. Off limits to any dragon. And more to the point, raised to be friendly to summer people but to keep a decent distance. And that went double for the predators.

  But ever since he hit puberty, that little rabbit had been a walking, talking temptation to him. All soft sweet delicious curves. A pint-sized sex goddess waggling her ripe roundness and driving him crazy. You’d think by now, he’d have learned to stop drooling. Dragons did not drool. And Drakes did not hit on the neighbors. No matter how delectable they were.

  He stood up to go indoors and the damned knee gave. Again. He lurched into the rocking chair beside the door before he regained his balance. He eased down into it, rubbing his knee and feeling ancient. Fucking knee. It was never going to be right again. Get used to it. This is your new normal, Marine.

  The chair was where it was so Neil’s grandma could sit and watch the neighbors. Blythe’s people, in fact. So when Urban Outfit drove up the access road, Neil was ideally positioned to watch the shiny silver SUV tuck in behind Blythe’s blue subcompact. He stared past the vine that screened him from view but allowed him to see the Warrens’ porch clearly. Bastard was early this evening.

  The oversized SUV crowded her rear bumper. The driver’s door opened. Urban Outfit got out. Had to admit the sonuvabitch was a handsome bastard. Blond and buff. Only medium height, but Blythe would never see five-three. She probably preferred not having to crane her neck to talk to a man. Or to be kissed. The outsider had shown up last week. Three days ago
to be precise. But who the hell was counting?

  A fellow could be excused for thinking that when a hometown girl defied local custom and started an affair with an obvious douche that her family would intervene. And it wasn’t like they didn’t know about Urban Outfit. Blythe’s Uncle Wally had made a point of driving out to the Drake compound to have a friendly chat with Neil. Sheriff Babcock had used his own truck too, and worn his civvies.

  He had blathered on about how long the Warrens had lived next door to the Drakes without incident. Whatever the fuck that meant. Wally had been casual. But it was clear the sheriff of Mystic Bay had trekked out to here to make sure the dragon-next-door didn’t get any ideas about fraternizing with a bunny rabbit.

  “Blythe,” Sheriff Babcock said pointedly, “has a tendency to be way too sweet and trusting.” His nose twitched and something fierce moved behind his pale blue eyes.

  Wally looked feeble. Too scrawny and short to be any use in a fist fight. And he never raised his reedy treble. But Great-Grandfather always said the Babcocks were bad rabbits to cross, and the sheriff had a surprisingly hard-nosed reputation. Crooks didn’t last long in Mystic Bay. And of course he was death on illegal parking.

  Neil was having trouble with his part of the conversation. “She’s a good neighbor,” he offered. “Brought over a lasagna as soon as she heard about my knee.”

  Wally brightened marginally. “She’s still a hometown gal for all she’s living in the big city.”

  That was news to Neil. “Is she?”

  Wally’s eyes narrowed like he thought Neil was playing him, but his voice remained peaceable as he said, “Yeah, she and Molly Needles started a photography shop in Seattle. They do photo shoots for some high-end real estate companies. And weddings and stuff. She’s only back for a week or so while she sorts out her grandma’s estate. But you’d know all about that.”

  Well, Neil knew Alma Warren had died. And that she had left her cottage and the right-of-way over Drake land that went with it to Blythe. “I was sorry to hear that Miss Alma passed. You’ll all miss her.” He did too. Miss Alma had been part of his childhood, but claiming grief over their dead housekeeper seemed inappropriate when he was addressing one of her actual relatives.

  “Yes, we will,” Babcock said heavily. “Last of her generation.” He paused. “Lot of jokers see a naive kid like Blythe and think she’s unprotected. If you take my meaning?” Those watery blue eyes hardened. “But on West Haven we look out for each other, don’t we?”

  The island of West Haven was really just greater Mystic Bay, which was the largest — the only — town on the island. The Drake land was outside the city limits. Babcock was responsible for all of it. What exactly was he telling Neil? He knew he was supposed to respond. But exactly how? I’d die for the bunny, might be true, but it was a bit over the top.

  Besides, Babcock was clearly telling him to keep his talons off his niece. Neil nodded, but he heard himself say, “Blythe is well past being a kid.”

  “Thirty-two this year, but she doesn’t have what you’d call real-world experience with the users and the ugly customers,” Wally responded evenly.

  “Probably not.” And just where the fuck did Babcock get off rolling Neil in with the users and uglies? The sheriff had to have seen Urban Outfit’s SUV parked in Blythe’s driveway. Had to have heard the gossip. But it was Neil he was warning off his niece.

  For all the rabbit was smiling and nodding, his mission was obvious. Even though he kept talking about Neil joining the Air Patrol as soon as he was healed up, as if he didn’t know that Great-Grandfather had forbidden him to fly. Just as if it wasn’t Urban Outfit who was the real threat to Blythe’s health and happiness.

  Message delivered, the sheriff sauntered off to his truck and drove away without so much as saying, “Hey,” to Blythe. That had been two days ago.

  The slamming of the car door returned Neil to the present. Urban Outfit was wearing his usual wannabe-hiker duds to do his courting. A red plaid shirt tailored to his gym-rat torso was tucked into khakis secured by a shiny leather belt.

  His laced brown boots had never ventured anywhere muddier or more rugged than a parking lot after a drizzle. But they carried him briskly enough up the steps to Blythe’s porch, where he pounded cheerfully on the door with one hand. The other held a big bunch of flowers wrapped in gift paper.

  There was of course no answer. Neil considered crossing the hundred yards or so that separated him from Blythe’s cottage to fill in Urban Outfit. But why should he to display his humiliating weakness? The douche was now pressing his nose up to the glass and was trying to peer past Granny Warren’s net curtains.

  Dude banged on the door again. He reached for the knob, which turned in his hand, took one step in, calling Blythe’s name. No answer of course. Emboldened, he went inside, closing the door behind him. He was gone long enough that he must have checked out the upstairs too. When he came back out, he had left his bouquet behind.

  He returned to his vehicle. But this time he opened the rear door. He stood up, having accessorized his snazzy togs with a long gun. Not a big deal in rural Oregon. But a huge deal on West Haven. There were multiple ‘No Hunting’ ordinances in Mystic Bay and they applied to the entire island, not just the town. Of course they were meant to forestall the desires of dragons and other riffraff to kill and eat tremblers like Blythe.

  But they applied equally to incomers like Urban Outfit. What the fuck was he doing with a gun? He had to know that the bunny had gone for a run in the woods. Even if he was target shooting, he couldn’t have picked a worse time. Unless he was a fucking rabbit hunter.

  CHAPTER 2

  Blythe~

  For the first time in more than a month, Blythe ate her fill of late summer grass without watching her back. There was nothing like browsing at twilight in the long shadows. And nothing like foraging on the island. Greens in Seattle just didn’t have any flavor. Too much car exhaust.

  She sighed, enjoying the tension leaving her muscles. She was not cut out to live on adrenaline. This was absolutely the last assignment she planned to accept from SPAR. It was one thing do a bit of watching for them, but quite another thing to be the bait in a sting.

  And waiting for the keepers to show up was way too nerve-racking for a simple photographer. But at least the job was over and finally Ferris was safely in custody. She had watched the con artist and the keepers board the ferry and the ferry leave on schedule. Job done. He was SPAR’s problem now. And they were welcome to him.

  A powerful engine disturbed her minor victory feast. When you had preternatural hearing, even two vehicles of the same make and model sounded distinct. She knew that engine. What the heck was Ferris’ SUV doing tooling up her drive? She cursed all keepers and her contact at SPAR, stamped her hind legs, and dove for the nearest shelter, a tunnel dug by wild rabbits. It was damp and cool but it muffled sound. More importantly, it didn’t connect to home.

  On the other hand, she knew exactly where the furthest side tunnels of this old burrow ended. One came up under the Drake cottage porch. She’d be safe enough there, guarded by a dragon. She could spy on whoever was driving Ferris’ vehicle. If necessary, she could even retreat to the Drake’s root cellar and from there make her way into the kitchen.

  The Drakes even had a landline. More importantly, she could do what her intuition had been telling her to do for days and tell Uncle Wally about Hyland Ferris. Screw SPAR. If they couldn’t handle a low-grade psychic criminal, she would employ a professional lawman to deal with Ferris.

  Blythe made it to the Drake front porch in time to be blasted by a world class thunderclap. She ducked back into the tunnel. Was Ferris taking potshots? Or was that the unfurling of mighty dragon wings? Come on, Neil, make yourself useful. The falling leaf detritus and the buzzing in her ears confirmed her worst fear.

  Hyland Ferris wasn’t supposed to be dangerous. He wasn’t supposed to be armed. For all he was a flat, he was just a small-time con artist. And where
in blue blazes was Neil? True these days he was cranky and sullen. And he had made it plain he didn’t have time or use for Granny Warren’s boring hero-worshipping granddaughter. Even if she was over her teenage crush by a decade. But at least he had done his brooding on the porch.

  Another round of buckshot sprayed weeds and dirt. Ferris was no patient outdoorsman. He was firing at shadows. Or wild rabbits. Surely Neil had called the cops? It would be just her luck if the dragon had decided today was the day to leave the compound and hang with his cousins.

  She flattened herself, crept forward to peer through the latticework that was supposed to keep critters out. She unclenched the muscles of her smarting ears and allowed them to swivel like radar dishes. Ferris’ next shot took out half a holly bush. Her ears throbbed anew.

  Fortunately she had a partial view of Ferris. He was turning in a slow circle, gun pointed low. That rat fink knew she was a shifter, all right. Neil materialized from behind a Douglas fir. Even with a bum knee and a major limp, he moved silently. Ferris jerked like a puppet on a string when Neil’s cane poked him in the back. The shotgun discharged into the air taking out a branch’s worth of oak leaves.

  “Put the safety on, and lay your weapon on the ground.” Neil’s deep voice was composed of equal parts flint and gravel, hard, crisp, and lethal.

  Hyland’s voice came smooth and sincere. He really was good. The perfect psychic con man. “I’m just getting in a little practice. No harm done.”

  “Tell that to the sheriff.” The cane poked harder. “On the ground. Now. There’s no hunting on West Haven.” The dragon’s voice cooled the air several degrees. “And you’re trespassing.”

  Hyland’s face was furious but he smoothed out his features as he laid down the shotgun and put his hands in the air. He began to turn but the handle of Neil’s cane made a short sharp arc that landed in the small of the psychic’s back and spun him to land facedown beside his weapon. A large booted foot stepped squarely between Hyland’s shoulder blades. Hyland lay still.

  Neil picked up the gun, tossed his cane aside, and chambered another round. He pressed the muzzle into the base of Hyland’s neck. Even though he was breathing grass and mud, Hyland turned his head to try his charm.