A Dragon Gambles For His Girl: A Nocturne Falls Universe story Read online

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  A Dragon Gambles for His Girl

  A Nocturne Falls Universe Story

  Kira Nyte

  Dear Reader,

  Nocturne Falls has become a magical place for so many people, myself included. Over and over I’ve heard from you that it’s a town you’d love to visit and even live in! I can tell you that writing the books is just as much fun for me.

  With your enthusiasm for the series in mind—and your many requests for more books—the Nocturne Falls Universe was born. It’s a project near and dear to my heart, and one I am very excited about.

  I hope these new, guest-authored books will entertain and delight you. And best of all, I hope they allow you to discover some great new authors! (And if you like this book, be sure to check out the rest of the Nocturne Falls Universe offerings.)

  For more information about the Nocturne Falls Universe, visit http://kristenpainter.com/sugar-skull-books/

  In the meantime, happy reading!

  Kristen Painter

  A Dragon Gambles for His Girl

  A Nocturne Falls Universe Story

  Copyright © 2017 by Kira Nyte

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction and was made possible by a special agreement with Sugar Skull Books, but hasn’t been reviewed or edited by Kristen Painter. All characters, events, scenes, plots and associated elements appearing in the original Nocturne Falls series remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Kristen Painter, Sugar Skull Books and their affiliates or licensors.

  Any similarity to real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author or Sugar Skull Books.

  Published in the United States of America.

  Table of Contents

  A DRAGON GAMBLES FOR HIS GIRL

  Welcome from Kristen Painter

  Copyright

  About the Book

  Shout outs

  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

  About the Author

  A Dragon Gambles for His Girl

  Ariah Callahan was raised on tales of dragons and magic and a wonderful hidden realm. The fairytales ended when her father became estranged from her beloved uncle, and cold, hard reality set in. Surviving day to day as her father spirals into addiction and depression is all she can do. When the unthinkable happens, her uncle becomes her only hope.

  Alazar Brandvold has made easygoing an art. He’s worked hard to ensure no one in the enchanted town of Nocturne Falls sees the tortured, serious soul inside the shameless gambler who is as quick with a laugh as he is to place a bet—which he invariably loses. The Firestorm dragon gets the wakeup call of his life when his Keeper comes out of hiding and shows him a treasure worth more than all the gold in his hoard.

  And his race’s ancient enemy is hunting her.

  He will have to risk everything in the ultimate gamble not only to claim Ariah as his lifemate, but to convince her that fairytales are real and that the damsel can save the dragon.

  Website and Newsletter for Kira Nyte: www.kiranyte.com

  Find Kira Nyte on Facebook: www.facebook.com/kiranyte

  And Twitter: www.twitter.com/kiranyteauthor

  Contact Kira Nyte at [email protected]

  Shouting out to the wonderful Kristen Painter for continuing to allow me the opportunity to hang in Nocturne Falls. A special shout out to Fiona Roarke and Karen Ann Dell for brainstorming over martinis to get through the bumps in the road.

  And, a huge shout out to all my readers! Thank you for taking the chance on these fun dragons.

  Chapter One

  Ariah Callahan stooped behind the dumpster, shoving aside the wave of dizziness induced by her racing heart. Holding her breath starved her brain of desperately needed oxygen. Between the stench of garbage and rampant anxiety, it was hyperventilate until she passed out or get control of her body.

  The situation unfolding half a block away? She had no control over that.

  Disbelief stung her, its poison lancing through her gut. Her entire body shook, straight down to the marrow in her bones.

  A new onslaught of sirens and flashing lights joined the first wave of responders. The loud thump of booted feet pounded against the sidewalk. Her stomach roiled. Precariously balanced on the balls of her feet, curled over her knees to make herself as small as possible, she leaned forward and peeked around the corner of the dumpster.

  Red and blue lights created blinding beacons in the early evening hour. The stagnant alleyway water glittered beneath the strobe of lights. The events managed to conjure up an impressive crowd in a short five minutes. She still couldn’t believe how fast the cops showed up.

  A fierce shiver shot down her spine. Goosebumps erupted along her arms.

  Terrified, too stunned to cry, the only thing Ariah could think to do after wrestling free of her father’s arms was bolt from the auction house and find refuge in the alley. The first swarm of police cars tore down the small, two-lane road moments later. She wasn’t sure if anyone saw her flee down the alley, but she sure as heck wasn’t going to press her luck for long.

  But she needed to know what was happening. What had happened to her father. Glancing away from the main road to the quiet outlet at the opposite end of the alley, she gauged her options. It was only a matter of time before someone spotted her and alerted police. Any hope of saving her father would be dashed.

  Sucking in a deep breath of foul-scented air, she stood up and skated along the shadows of the alley until she emerged on a parallel road. The urge to run hit her hard, but she forced herself to keep a steady pace as she looped around half the block, cut down a connecting street, and came up behind the growing crowd of onlookers. Police officers, guns drawn, held positions all around the block.

  Ariah pressed her lips together and covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers. She clutched the thick strap of her crossover bag, short nails biting into her palm.

  “Ariah, Ariah, Ariah. My sweet little girl. Hear me. Listen to me.”

  Ariah’s breath hitched. Her father’s thoughts hit her with such urgency she shuffled back a step. In that small fracture of her mind, a sudden influx of voices and thoughts poured like water into a dry ravine, flooding her with an onslaught of maddening noises. Strangers’ thoughts, curious about what was happening.

  “Sweetheart, I hope you hear me. Please hear me.”

  Ariah fought to tune out the noisy cross conversation that tried to claim her mind and focus solely on her father’s desperate plea.

  “Run. Run from here and never look back. Go to your uncle’s home. He will take you in and keep you safe. I stare our threat in the eye and am left no choice. Whatever happens to me, my darling daughter, know I love you from the deepest corners of my heart.”

  Ariah clenched her teeth b
ehind her taut lips. Tears stung her eyes as she listened to her father’s nonsensical instructions. Go to her uncle’s? Staring a threat in the eye?

  Sadness filled her. After all these years, he’s finally cracked.

  “Ariah, run!”

  Ariah backed away from the crowd, instinct demanding she listen to him. Run. The chill that first gripped her in the alley sent icy tendrils into her blood.

  An eruption of shouts and commands filled the wild night.

  Ariah watched in horror as her father stumbled through the doors of the auction house, hands raised. A gun dangled upside-down on his finger before dropping to the sidewalk.

  Officers converged.

  Ariah spun on her heel and took off at a quick pace, yet hopefully slow enough not to bring attention to herself. Every muscle in her body was stiff, tight with anxiety. By the time she reached her father’s old, rusted-out Toyota in one of the public parking lots, a dull throb stretched up her neck. She clung to the rapidly fraying ends of her composure as she unlocked the car, yanked open the door, fell into the seat behind the wheel, and fumbled to jam the key into the ignition. Adrenaline pumped through her like a double shot of espresso, but somehow, she held herself together.

  Guiding the car onto the street, away from the activity surrounding her father’s madness, she tried to make sense of this insanity.

  Fifteen minutes later, Ariah pulled into the lot of the run-down motel where she and her father rented a room after scrounging up enough money for the week. Endless layoffs on her father’s part and her meager wages from the diner left them with little money. Their home had been foreclosed on, medical bills poured in, and her father’s outrageous gambling habits only exacerbated their dire situation. Ariah had to wonder if her father’s actions tonight were due to a psychotic break brought on by stress.

  More than a dozen times in recent months she’d felt the weight of the world crushing down on her shoulders as she grappled for hope.

  Add in her not-such-a-gift gift of hearing the thoughts of strangers and she might very well follow her father down a similar self-destructive path at some point in her life.

  Ariah climbed out of the car, pulled the hood of her jacket over her head and beelined for their shambles of a room. She wasted no time gathering up their belongings, packing the car in the matter of a few trips. She returned the key to the clerk and got back behind the wheel.

  She just sat there. A frightening calm settled over her. Cold. Hollow. Maybe she was in shock.

  Those fearful moments seemed a blur. She remembered screaming. She remembered freezing up as her father yelled at the stunned elite crowd, his words nothing more than a slur of sound in her memory.

  The metal. She remembered the metal pressed hard against her temple. A gun. Cold. Ice cold.

  Ariah dug into her bag for her phone. When her knuckle scraped against something solid and sharp, her brows cinched. Using the dim yellow glow of the motel’s outside lights to see, she opened her bag wider and found an unusual box. Curiosity edged past her shock as she withdrew the intricate box with beautiful gold lacework over dark polished wood. It was no bigger than the box for one of those fancy watches that cost a couple thousand dollars.

  A small keyhole had been forged into the front of the box. She looked through her purse, but it seemed no key accompanied the object.

  Ariah shook the box. Weight shifted inside, but there was no telltale sound that would help her deduce the contents. Twisting the box around, scrutinizing its intricate craftsmanship, one question haunted her.

  Where did it come from?

  She’d never laid eyes on it before, and it certainly wasn’t in her bag this morning. She knew. She rummaged through it trying to locate a quarter to round off enough money for a vending machine snack.

  For a long moment, she sat, the box in her hand, an unseen energy calling to her from within. She tried to recall those hazy moments in the auction house when her father lost it. Had she seen the box among the items up for auction? Did her father snatch it at some point?

  “You’re going to make yourself believe things happened that may not have happened.”

  Ariah sighed and pulled out her cell phone, one of those pre-paid flip phones intended just to get her by. She had committed her uncle’s home number to memory years ago. His was the only number she cared to know, since her father didn’t have a phone of his own. Despite her failed attempts to reach him over the last decade, he was her last hope. Her only hope.

  Lifting the phone to her ear after she dialed, she listened to the ring. Once. Twice. Three times. She began to pull the phone away when the call connected.

  “Hello?”

  The sound of her uncle’s strong, gruff voice acted like a hammer against the glass shell holding her together. Her chin began to quiver and moisture coated her eyes. Faint tremors skated along her body.

  “Hello?”

  “Uncle Mark?”

  “Ariah?” Concern pinched his voice. “Oh my gods, Ariah. Honey, are you okay?”

  Ariah shook her head. Keep it together, girl. Come on. You’re stronger than this.

  Her tears didn’t care. Nor did the ball of emotion swelling at the base of her throat.

  “Ariah, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

  “I…I don’t know.” She sucked in a breath. When it released, a sob flew out on the exhalation. “Dad…he’s…I don’t know what happened tonight.”

  “Honey, calm down. Where are you?”

  Ariah sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve. It did little to stave off the pain and fear from gutting her. She couldn’t stop the sobs.

  “Ariah, where are you?”

  The hard edge of command in her uncle’s voice fed her a little strength. “At Mountain View Inn.”

  “Where is that?”

  “North Carolina.”

  “Do you have a car?”

  “Yes.” Another sniffle. Another flood of tears. “Dad told me…to go to you.”

  “Are you in danger?”

  “I-I don’t know.”

  The commanding tone softened a bit, overpowered by calm control. “I want you to listen to me, okay?”

  “Yes.” There wasn’t much else she could do. Her mind was on a one-way spiral downward.

  “I want you to drive straight here, do you understand? Don’t stop for anything but gassing up the car. Come straight to me, Ariah.”

  “I will.” Ariah squeezed her eyes shut, wiped at her face again, and let out a sharp breath in an attempt to pull herself together. She jotted down her uncle’s address on a crumpled napkin, as well as brief directions once she got off I-95. Her gaze landed on the box when she opened her eyes. “I think Dad stole something tonight. From an auction house.”

  Uncle Mark said something under his breath.

  “I found a strange box in my purse. I-I should bring it to the police.”

  The line grew unnervingly silent for a long moment.

  “A box? What kind of box?”

  Ariah tipped the thing in her hand. “A box. Dark wood with pretty gold lacework.”

  “Is there a key?”

  “No, but there’s a spot for a key.” Ariah tried to pry the corner open. “Something’s inside, but the box is shut up pretty good.”

  “Ariah, you need to get down here immediately.”

  Ariah’s brow creased. “I can’t leave my father. He needs help. Regardless what he did, I can’t leave him when he needs me.”

  “I’ll handle Mike. I promise, he’ll be safe. He told you to come to me. Listen to him. Get your foot on that accelerator and get down here.” Uncle Mark’s harsh voice set her on edge, but the barked word that followed shot her into motion. “Now!”

  * * *

  Grit scratched her eyes as she pulled into the expansive driveway of the two-story Georgia colonial. At close to two in the morning, she was surprised her eyes remained open at all. Ariah cut the engine and stifled a yawn—and saw a shadowed figure barrel toward her c
ar. Panicked, she reached for the key and started to turn over the engine when the bright glow of the floodlights from the driveway slashed across Uncle Mark’s familiar face.

  Only, he looked nothing like the uber-composed uncle she remembered from years ago.

  Ariah had no time to get her hand on the door handle before he threw the door open, clasped his strong hands on her biceps, and lifted her out of the seat. His dark eyes scoured her from head to toe and back again. He twisted her one way, the other, assessing something Ariah wasn’t privy to.

  “You’re unharmed.” Uncle Mark’s fierce gaze panned over his expansive yard, scanning the surrounding neighborhood before returning to Ariah. “Go inside. I’ll get your things.”

  “I can—”

  “Go.”

  Ariah shut her mouth, grabbed her purse, and hurried into the safety of the immense home.

  “Well, hello, Ariah.”

  Ariah’s shoulders stiffened at the silky sound of her aunt’s voice. Slowly, she turned toward the receiving parlor to her left. The willowy brunette sauntered toward her. Bits of silver flashed in the woman’s otherwise chocolate brown eyes, enhancing the chill that accompanied everything about the self-proclaimed witch.