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CHAPTER 1

It was cold and snowing the night Duncan Moore snuck into the house to steal his dragon's eye back.

He cursed the fact that Michigan had such harsh winters, as he hid behind a large tree and studied the huge, opulent mansion. Too opulent in his opinion, with its long white columns and large drive that circled a fountain, it even had a pair of frigging stone lions. It was one of those houses where the people living in them were trying to give the rest of the world a fuck-you-I'm-better-than-you message. It would have made him hate the bastard who owned it, if Duncan didn't already harbour a deep hatred for the recently deceased man.

Several wet, heavy flakes had fallen on his face and got stuck to his dark lashes, making it hard to case out the place. Not exactly the sexy, stealth missions he'd always dreamed he would be doing when he was growing up as a dragon whelp. Then again, he'd never imagined he'd be such a colossal fuck-up and disappointment to their ruler either. Especially since said ruler was Brian, the big brother he'd always lauded, but never impressed.

He shook off those unpleasant thoughts. If he ever wanted to get back into Brian's good graces then he had to get his damn dragon's eye back. Until he did, he would never be free and his dragon would forever be trapped.

The lights to the kitchen snapped off and he knew it was time to make his move. Fail or succeed, this nightmare of a decade was finally ending tonight. Sneaking into the back servant's entrance, because that had been the one he'd always been forced to use, he eased the door shut behind him as he let his eyes get adjusted to the darkness.

Since he was from the ancient race of dragon shifters, it didn't take long and he was soon able to make out the shape and layout of the kitchens to the mansion that he'd lived in for ten years, but had never called home.

The aromas of fresh baked bread, steak and cheese hit his nose, making his stomach growl so loud in protest it was a wonder the noise didn't raise an alarm. That would be his luck, to get this far only to have his gut give him away. He could just see the headlines now: Thieving Dragon Shifter busted when his grumbling tum-tum gives him away.

As much fun as that sounded, he hadn't gone this far to blow it now. It was hard though since he hadn't eaten in days and was halfway to starved. He still passed by the food and stole up the back stairs. Since they, like the entrance, were meant for the poor working saps, they were narrow, dank and dark. Several of the wood steps were so rickety he had to walk on the balls of his feet so they didn't creak and give him away.

The sounds of voices and clinking silverware drifted from the main part of the house letting him know the wake was still under way. They were all honouring the deceased, Richard, the sorcerer whom they considered to be the best thing to happen to their society. He was their saviour, their leader and a hero to everyone. To Duncan he'd been a bastard, a viscous killer and his tormentor.

Worst of all, the sorcerer had been his slave master.

Duncan reached the top of the stairs. The object he was seeking now so close it was all he could do not to run down the hall to the room. It was only years of training and discipline that held him back.

Now in the main part of the house, everything around him was rich and classy, from the heavy oak walks to the red, plush carpet that nearly swallowed up his black boots, muffling his footsteps. There were large portraits lining the hallway and despite his haste, Duncan still stopped at one and studied it.

It had been of his master, the sorcerer who was now being mourned by the crowd down below. Even though Duncan knew the man was dead, he still shivered under the hard, penetrating stare of the painting. The artist had captured Richard's appearance perfectly, from his cruel thin smile, long grey hair and light blue eyes. How many times had he looked into that same face right before he was forced to endure yet another punishment? Panic clawed at the insides of Duncan's chest as he stared at the picture, irrational fear making him shake from head to boot.

"You're dead and you don't control me any longer," Duncan whispered to the painting. He pulled the sides of his black leather jacket tighter together, as if to form a protective barrier.

It was stupid to stand there and have this one-sided chat, but he couldn't make himself move forward until he'd proven he could stare down the sorcerer, even if it was just a paint and oil replica of him. After several seconds, Duncan felt some of the fear and anxiety leave his body, the dragon in him came to life for the first time in a decade. Not much, just a little bit of shifting and it let out a long sigh of relief, as if it knew that their suffering was almost over.

It was comforting, that small bit of movement. It let him know that, despite having his dragon's eye taken and used against him, he hadn't lost the other half of his heart. His dragon form was buried, yes, but it was there just waiting to be awoken again, after ten long years of being held down.

But to do that he had to get his dragon's eye back. Which is why he'd come here. It sure as hell wasn't to stop and gawk at pictures on the wall.

Even through his resolve, Duncan felt his gaze drift to the last painting in the hallway. It was of the sorcerer's son, Trent. Even though they'd met several times over the years, he'd only spoken half a dozen words to Duncan.

For a while he'd though it was because Trent was a rich, snobby nancy. Then Duncan had slowly come to realise that Trent was just as much a slave as he was. Sure Richard didn't hold his life essence like with Duncan, but his hold on his son was just as strong, pinning his son down with hard discipline and a firm controlling hand. He made sure everyone around knew what a disappointment his son was too. Trent was one of those rare individuals who still believe in being honorable and always doing the right thing. To Richard that was a personality fault and he'd done everything he could to break it.

Duncan raised a finger to lightly touch the picture. Where his father was cold and hard, Trent had a warm sensuality that had always intrigued him. With dark brown hair, deep blue eyes and a body that had just the right amount of muscles, he turned heads of both sexes. The most endearing thing about him though, was he didn't realise his appeal and went through life not knowing the affect he had on others.

There was a reserved almost shy aura around him that made Duncan want him all the more. So many times he had to stop himself from reaching out to touch the sorcerer as they passed each other in hallway. To stop himself from seeking out the male, just so he could hear the soft tones of his voice. To accidently brush against him, so he could inhale his warm scent. Duncan shook his head as he brought his hand down. Even if Trent noticed him there could never be anything between them.

Sorcerers and dragons made war not love.

Finally reaching his destination, Duncan found himself frozen in place again. Before him stood the massive black door that led into Richard's private bedroom. His gut clenched at the memories of all the punishments he'd endured in here. Whippings, beatings and being forced to grovel on the ground, begging for forgiveness. To anyone else this would look like just another room. Lavishly decorated, yes. Dangerous and forbidding, no. But then again, they wouldn't have been through what he had.

"Just open the damn door and get what you came here for before you find yourself some other sorcerer's bitch," he growled to himself, he knew it was only a matter of time before some other asshole stumbled upon the dragon's eye and realised what it was. He had to get to it first, before he found himself under some other sorcerer's control. The self-pep talk helped and he managed to force himself to open the door.

Despite the fact Richard was dead, his bedroom remained as always. Rich mahogany furniture, deep, red bedding and more of that damn fluffy carpet. Some would call the room tasteful and even comforting, but they would be wrong. Duncan knew better because he'd seen some of the horrors that'd taken place here.

With a slight shake of his head, he pushed those memories to the back of his mind and rushed to the armoire. It stood so large and wide it almost took up the space of an entire wall, but he knew instantly what drawer to go to. At first it seemed like all the others lining one side of the piece of furniture, but when he pulled the clothing out of it and tapped on the back, a hidden compartment opened.

"Bingo!" he whispered, letting a triumphant grin spread out over his face.

For the first time in a decade he felt a small blossom of hope building up in his chest. His hands shook with excitement and a bit of fear too. After all this time of wishing and suffering, he half expected something to block his way to freedom once again. He was just starting to reach in when a voice interrupted him. "I should have known you would come."

Whirling around, hand going to his gun he found himself face-to-face with Trent. With a growl of frustration, Duncan pulled his weapon out and trained it on the man's face. Despite having the barrel of a gun pointing at him, the young sorcerer didn't show any fear, the corners of his mouth curled up into a smile, one dimple making an appearance on his cheek. It made him appear more endearing than usual and Duncan found himself nearly lowering the gun in response. Trentwore dark slacks and a matching dress shirt, showing he'd come from the wake. The clothes fit him nicely, accentuating his thin, yet muscular body.

"How did you manage to sneak up on me?" Duncan demanded. It wasn't easy to get the drop on a dragon shifter since they usually heard or smelled their opponents from several yards away. He'd even heard tales of some ancients who could detect trouble as far away as a mile.

"I transported here," Trent replied, simply.

"Impossible." Duncan tightened his grip on the gun and wondered what kind of game the sorcerer was playing. "Only the strongest of your kind can do that."

"I've been able to transport for years now, ever since I was eighteen." Trent shrugged, still acting like it was no big deal Duncan had a weapon aimed at him.

"Then how come I've never seen you do it?" Duncan challenged. He didn't add how he'd spent a lot of time watching Trent and it wasn't to see what the sorcerer could and couldn't do. From the first day he'd been forced to live at the mansion, he'd longed for Trent.

"Let's just say that my father controlled a lot more individuals than you." A flurry of expressions went over Trent's face; fear, pain and then anger. No sadness or regret, which Duncan would expect from someone who was still wearing all black and supposedly grieving.

"Well, I have to admit that's a pretty neat skill you got there, but you're not going to stop me from getting what I came here for." Duncan waved the gun even though he knew he'd never be able to bring himself to shoot Trent if it came right down to it. Not even if it meant he'd lose what he'd come here for — his very life.

"I'm not here to stop you from taking the dragon's eye," Trent said, his eyes growing soft. When Duncan didn't respond, too shocked to speak, the sorcerer continued, "I know what it really is and I don't blame you for wanting it. If someone had taken all my magic and basically my soul along with it, I would be fighting to get it back too."

"If you understand so much then why are you even here?" Duncan croaked. Fear and shock had made his throat suddenly dry.

"I came up to help you find it. That and to say goodbye." A slight flush appeared on his cheeks as he averted his gaze to the ground. "I know as soon as you get the eye you'll go back to your kind and I'll never see you again."

Now Duncan knew the punk was playing games. In all the time he'd known Trent, the sorcerer had never looked twice at him. "Just stand there and don't move. Make sure you keep your hands up too and don't even think about using magic," he ordered as he slowly took a step back towards the armoire.

Still facing forward, he twisted one arm behind him and reached inside the hidden compartment. When his fingers found nothing, but empty space, his heart clenched in horror and a cold sweat broke out over his entire body. Desperate now, despite the fact the truth was literally at his fingertips, he continued to blindly search the compartment. Nothing ... nothing ... nothing!

"Where is it?" he roared, thrusting the gun forward.

"What do you mean?" Trent seemed so genuinely perplexed Duncanalmost believed him before reminding himself that all sorcerers were lying bastards.

"The dragon's eye, where did you put it?"

"It's in there." Trent gave a slight shake of his head as all the colour drained from his face.

"No, it's not," Duncan bit back around his clenched teeth. His finger caressed the trigger of the gun, but despite his rage he still couldn't bring himself to pull it. Perhaps the years in captivity had made him weak and now, even when he did get his eye back, he would be useless. That thought enraged him even more and he let out another roar.

"Calm down," Trent snapped, casting a worried glance over at the door. "Do you want to bring everyone up here? Even though my dad is dead his bodyguards are here and they're still carrying weapons."

"Good, because you're going to be needing them if you don't tell me where the fuck my dragon's eye is!" Duncan rushed forward so the gun was inches from Trent's chest.

"I didn't do anything with it, honest. I'd been planning on giving it back to you so why I would I take it?" Trent held his hands up in the surrender pose, panic making his eyes so wide they seemed to take up half his face.

"Bullshit!" Duncan spat. "Getting a dragon's eye is the biggest prize to all sorcerers. Yet you're going to stand there and tell me that you had these grand plans on handing mine back to me, like it was some great big fucking present wrapped up in a bow?"

"Yes." Trent's voice was sharp with exasperation. "Are you going to believe me or would you rather sit around arguing about this long enough for the guards to discover you?"

"I could just shoot you and then look for it. Cut out the whole arguing factor all together."

"You won't do that." Despite his brave words, Trent eyed up the gun nervously.

"Are you so sure of that?" Duncan challenged, trying his damndest to sound convincing.

"Yes, I am. You may be desperate, but you're still good."

"A sorcerer calling a dragon good. That's rich." Duncan gave a bitter laugh.

"It's true though." Trent looked up, his gaze so earnest it did strange things to Duncan's emotions. The sorcerer swallowed hard before continuing, "I've seen how, even with everything my father put you through, you always remained kind and caring to those around you. I'm unarmed and, unlike my father, I've never done anything to you. So no matter how bad you want your eye back, you won't hurt me for it."

"You're just trying to guilt me into lowering my weapon," Duncan scoffed. Sadly enough it worked. With a deep sigh, he dropped his arm and lowered his head in defeat.

"I'm going to look too, just to make sure you didn't miss it," Trent soothed as he slowly edged his way around Duncan. As he went by, their bodies brushed for one second and even though he was at his lowest, Duncan couldn't help but notice how nice it felt. He breathed in deep realising, not for the first time, how Trent had a sensual, unique scent. It was mix of herbs, oils and other plant life that sorcerers used in their spells.

"You're right, it isn't here. Something is seriously fucked up here," Trentsaid, his brow creasing in confusion.

"Yeah, some thief is running around with my magic and life force. I would say there is a lot fucking wrong with that," Duncan snarled as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

"But nobody except you and me should have been able to get through the spell I wove around it." Trent waved his hand over the compartment like he hoped to grab onto the elusive magic that had beaten his shield.

"You were protecting it?" The suspicious part in Duncan wondered if Trent was thinking of using the dragon's eye himself. Duncan had seen the guy in action when it came to using his gifts and he was so powerful at times he was scary. With the added magic Trent could get from the eye, he could be an even more dominant sorcerer than his father.

"Of course I was. I was going to give it back to you." Trent turned to look at him. Hurt marring his face. "You believe me don't you?"

Before Duncan had a chance to answer, the door flew open with a loud bang. Both men jumped and spun around in time to face half a dozen sorcerers. Duncan's heart dropped as he recognised them all as members of Richard's bodyguard team. Since he knew they would be out for blood, he instantly went on the defensive, raising his gun up.

One of the guards raised his hand, throwing off a magic bolt. It hit Duncan hard in the hand. He let out a cry of pain and felt his fingers go limp. A shock wave went up his arm, like he'd been hit with a brick. The gun slipped from his grip and went flying across the room.

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Excerpted from "Dragon's Eye"
by .
Copyright © 2011 Stephani Hecht.
Excerpted by permission of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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