Dahlia Read online

  Dahlia

  by Mel Teshco

  Copyright 2017 Mel Teshco

  Cover Art by Kellie Dennis at Book Cover by Design

  www.bookcoverbydesign.co.uk

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you so much to all my fans who love reading The Dragons of Riddich series and have asked for more ☺

  Deanna, thanks for reading another of my dragon stories, you’re a gem!

  Table of Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  First Chapter of Wyatt, Dragons of Riddich

  Chapter One

  Dahlia Mannett stayed crouched behind a nude female statue while she carefully stretched out her leg, easing the cramp that’d taken up painful residence in her thigh.

  If not for her present discomfort, she might have appreciated the beautifully designed landscape with its acres of dazzling green turf and regimented trees. Not to mention the big white country mansion with its huge swimming pool and gazebo.

  A wry smile twisted her lips. Though the Earth mansion was lovely, it looked more like a kid’s playhouse compared to the palace where she’d lived on her planet Riddich.

  She winced as she drew her leg back beneath her. The people of her world would scoff at her muscle spasm. It was barely a twinge on a Riddich’s scale of suffering compared to the pain rituals she and her kind had endured every month to accustom their body to their first, agonizing dragon shift.

  Her chest tightened, heat rushing through her body along with barely repressed bitterness. She was twelve years away from being two centuries old, and she’d yet to find a mate to bring out her inner dragon. And now that she was stuck on Earth, any hope of finding someone compatible was likely negligible.

  She’d all but given up on experiencing her long overdue rite of passage.

  She sighed. She had more to worry about at present than her failure at becoming dragon. She really needed to get moving before her loathsome enemies, the Tantonics, caught up with her.

  She pressed her brow against the cool stone of the statue. She only hoped her brother, King Asher, had also escaped their enemies.

  When he’d broken his ankle after their craft had crash landed on Earth, she and the other three crew members hadn’t had a choice but to separate and leave Asher behind. He was at his most vulnerable shifting into his dragon form, but it was the one and only way his ankle would knit back together fast so that he too could escape.

  All five of them now just had to survive the next twelve months—eleven months and three weeks now to be exact—on Earth before meeting back at the crash site to decide their future.

  Survive. If only it was as easy as it sounded. She peered around the statue to view the trickle of people entering the mansion. There’d been a steady stream up until now and she’d yet to ascertain if these Earth people were friendly.

  But compared to her enemies, humans looked as gentle as Riddich palakhas—woolly six-legged pets that were similar in shape to an Earth dog and just as loyal. She ignored a sharp twinge inside. There was no point dwelling on homesickness when that kind of an ache would never ease.

  She’d heard the explosion of the craft she and the crew had boarded some five months earlier. She hadn’t needed to see the burning debris with her own eyes to know the Tantonics had obliterated every last piece and nothing would be salvageable.

  When she reunited with her brother and the rest of her comrades in a little less than twelve months, it wouldn’t be because they’d be returning home. But she’d be happy to at least see they’d all survived.

  A small bus pulled into the circular driveway twenty yards away from her hiding spot. A dozen or so tall and alarmingly slender women clattered out of the vehicle in their high-heels, laughing and chattering, before they disappeared up the footpath and through the unlocked front doors.

  She released a breath, her tight muscles relaxing. She mightn’t be quite as slender as the latest arrivals—her body was toned and made hard by relentless training sessions—but at least she was no longer so noticeable. Most of those women would be taller than her five-foot-ten height.

  To think she’d once cursed her short stature compared to the lofty height of the men on Riddich. Even most of the Riddich women had been over six feet tall.

  Had been. She exhaled jaggedly. She’d seen enough death before she’d fled her world to know few, if any of her people, had survived. And those who did were likely held prisoner and wishing they too had died.

  A yellow butterfly danced past her in the slight breeze, and she resisted reaching up to touch it. She smiled as it disappeared amongst some little flowers on the lawn. Yellow had become her favorite Earth color, it was bright, happy. Everything her planet was no longer.

  Swallowing hard, she straightened and then forced her legs to unlock. The sun was already closing in on the horizon, throwing shadows across the lawn. If she waited any longer she’d be too tired to do anything but sleep. And goddess only knew she’d had very little sleep since the Riddich craft had crash landed seven days ago.

  Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, she sashayed across the sweeping lawn toward the front door. She needed to look like she belonged. And though her webbed suit and thick boots weren’t fashionable on Earth, she’d bet she’d find something more suitable to wear inside the mansion.

  *

  Lincoln Hillier leaned back in his leather chair and stared intently at the surveillance monitors. Motion detectors had set off his alarm and pinpointed the woman hiding on his grounds.

  He rubbed his bristled chin. To say he was intrigued by the intruder was a glaring understatement. There was something about the short-haired blonde in her stretchy cat-suit outfit and kick-ass boots that stirred his nerve endings and twitched his dick into life.

  He was more aroused than he had been in a very long time.

  It was probably nothing short of a crime that his house was presently filled with supermodels, as well as anyone and everyone who was remotely interested in beauty and fashion, and he felt nothing more than a vague detachment toward them all.

  As the unlikely successor of Australia’s Teeny-Bikini fashion label after his mother had left him heir, he’d put his life as a high profile barrister on hold to continue her legacy.

  Lord only knew he’d done little else for her.

  He’d been pleasantly surprised to discover the bikini business was a profitable venture. He’d been even more surprised to discover the fashion label put his specialty field of criminal law to financial shame and that his own input, an instinctive flair for design, had pushed the profits up even further.

  His cell phone buzzed and he answered the mobile security call, informing the patrol it was a false alarm. He’d already switched off the outer perimeter system so that the high-tech security company didn’t show up and disturb this latest launch of a whole new bikini range.

  He disconnected the call with a slow smile as he watched the intruder stalk toward his front door. She was a woman on a mission, and suddenly his fashion extravaganza held about as much appeal as a hike in quicksand.

  He disconnected the rest of his security system and pushed to his feet, stalking out of the room and away from the monitors he’d had specially installed in the office, the one area in the house he actually used.

  He needed to find out more about this woman. Discover just what exactly she wanted. His smile spread until warmth filled him from the inside out. If she’d gatecrashed his party in the hopes of becoming one of the select new models to launch his latest bikini line, he most certainly wasn’t disagreeable.

  *

  Dahlia opened the big double wooden doors and stepped inside. Her eyes widened. Not just because the entry with its tinkling fountain water feature and bronze statues was far more grand than she’d envisioned, but because at least a dozen people were scurrying about like ants, which seemed to be everywhere on Earth.

  A tall, lean man with a red, blotchy face approached her, his polished shoes echoing on the gleaming white-gray speckled floor. “You’re the newest model I presume?” Before she had a chance to answer, he waved his arms dramatically and added, “You’re late. The rest of the models arrived some time ago.”

  Actually it’d only been a handful of minutes, but she had more important things to worry about. Like her mistaken identity. “But I’m—“

  “Come on then, no gawping, there’s plenty of time for that later. Let’s get you to the dressing room. Hopefully Lincoln hasn’t noticed your tardiness.” r />
  Dahlia’s protest died on her lips. If fate ensured she’d be concealed in this house, then so be it. She smiled, and the man looked flustered momentarily, before he ushered her up a flight of polished stairs. “Now don’t get nervous, this could be your big break.” He laughed. “What am I talking about? This is your big break.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Goddess only knew she needed any breaks she could find. And hiding away from the Tantonics would be the biggest break of them all.

  The man nodded, a knowing smile on his face. “Not to be too predictable, but I can see why you’re here.” He rubbed his hands together with a smirk. “Oh, won’t there be some major catfights when you become Lincoln’s latest addition.”

  She arched a brow. There was no chance in hell of her being anyone’s addition, least of all to some Earth man. Even on Riddich she’d had standards. She most certainly wasn’t going to lower them now.

  “Who is this Lincoln?” she asked.

  The man laughed. “Oh, don’t be coy now! Lincoln isn’t just famous for his fashion brand. His bedroom skills are legendary.” His voice dropped as they got to the first floor and walked down a wide hallway. “Although some of the models are complaining they haven’t been invited into his bed recently.” He gave her a meaningful look. “I bet he’s saved himself for you, m’dear.”

  With that he pushed open a door, revealing a room where the same slender women she’d seen earlier sat in a row of chairs placed in front of wall mirrors. Hairdressers used hot irons and curlers to primp and tease the models long tresses, while makeup artists slathered the women’s young faces in gunk, giving them a garishly beautiful appearance.

  “Who’s this?” a long-haired brunette with rollers in her hair asked, no hint of warmth in her voice or in her stare.

  Dahlia resisted rolling her eyes. If the catty model thought she could intimidate her, she could think again. Spite meant little to nothing to her when compared to the war she faced with the Tantonics.

  Her belly squeezed tight. She only wished she knew if her brother, Asher, was still alive. Not to mention her other brother, Kadin, who’d been banished three years earlier from Riddich.

  “And you are?” Dahlia asked with an arched brow.

  The brunette lifted her pointed chin in a disdainful, as if you don’t know look. Her big hair made her body look undersized, like the Barbie dolls Dahlia had seen advertised on the craft’s screen-capture. “I’m Charlie ... supermodel.”

  Some of the girls sniggered and Dahlia sashayed forward and said, “I’m Dahlia ... Riddich princess.”

  The whole room suddenly went silent, but it wasn’t because the women believed one word of her introduction. The hairs on the back of Dahlia’s neck rose even before she pivoted with a sharp gasp. She froze, for a moment simply drinking in the most beautiful man she’d ever laid her eyes on.

  He had to be six-foot-two at least, tall for an Earth man, with wide shoulders and a lean build. She swallowed. She’d bet beneath his suit he was fit and toned. As a warrior it was second nature to recognize strength and vigor.

  But then she became sidetracked by his smoky and aroused stare as he stepped forward. Lifting a hand, he brushed the side of her face, touching her with something close to reverence.

  Her knees weakened and her pulse jerked erratically. Even her breath caught in her damn throat at his smooth palm, so unlike her tough warrior comrades with their rough hands.

  “Stunning,” he murmured huskily.

  A shiver raced through her and turned into an almost painful shudder. Yes, on her planet she was famed for her beauty, but surely she paled in compared to these beautiful Earth women? And if she was stunning, what did that make him? With his shorn dark hair, strong jawline and piercing blue eyes, even the fierce, handsome warriors from her planet looked flawed in comparison.

  “And you are?” she asked in a stupidly breathless voice.

  Some of the girls behind her tittered even as he smiled at her, his stubble a dark contrast to his straight white teeth. She had a crazy urge to run a hand over the growth on his face and touch the twin dimples in his cheeks to see if they were real.

  To see if he was real. Not some dark, suited god straight from her biggest fantasies.

  “I’m Lincoln,” he said softly.

  Her breath hissed, disappointment cutting deep. She should have known this was the one and same man she’d heard about. He was what Earth people called a player, someone who used women for their own pleasure.

  Her one and only doomed sexual encounter had taught her all about players. She’d put on a cool, detached façade when Wyatt had failed to get past her shattered disillusions because her inner dragon hadn’t come forth. Instead he’d lost himself with other women ... women whose dragons had already been freed.

  She shoved the memory into the back of her mind. Her chin lifted. “The same Lincoln known for his womanizing?”

  His smile grew into a grin. “I guess my reputation precedes me.”

  “I guess it does.” She stepped back, dismissing him with a vague, “It was nice meeting you.”

  But as she turned away, he snared her arm with a hand and turned her back to face him. Weakness flooded through her, even as her stomach pitched. She gasped and didn’t even try to jerk out of his steely hold.

  His blue stare sharpened with intent. “You haven’t told me your name.”

  She blinked, feeling helpless under his stare, even as something within stirred and roused, her blood heating and her pulse accelerating. He’d clearly stepped into the room after she’d introduced herself to the other women. Good. He hadn’t heard her mention princess. “I’m Dahlia,” she managed.

  Damn it to hell, she was royalty, and a warrior! Yet she’d never sounded or acted so small and uncertain in all her life!

  “Dahlia,” he repeated softly. “I’ll be seeing you again very soon.”

  She frowned, even as her heart rejoiced. But before she could reject him and her silly yearnings, he released her and turned to the older man who’d escorted her upstairs.

  “Monty, see that Dahlia wears the diamond ensemble.”

  A couple of the models gasped, and Dahlia felt the burn of Charlie’s glare right between her shoulder blades.

  Monty’s brows knitted together. “But that piece is the main draw-card—“

  “Exactly. It’s also the one and only piece I want her to model.” He turned back to Dahlia, his dimples reappearing and his eyes glinting with triumph, “You’ll be the climax of the whole show.”

  Chapter Two

  Dahlia looked into the mirror while two people fussed with her hair and her face. She hid a wry smile. She wasn’t sure exactly how she’d been reduced to this latest undertaking of catwalk modeling, but if fate had directed her into doing this and keeping safe, who was she to argue?

  She’d run with it, just like she had with so many other scenarios in the past. To survive, sometimes there was no choice left but to adapt.

  It felt odd not being in her uniform. After she’d showered in the guest bathroom, she’d folded her uniform and scorch gun in a tight wad before placing them in the bathroom cabinet—the safest place she could find in any hurry. Now she sat in a chair in a fluffy white robe, glancing at the screen that’d been set up to show the runway.

  She’d seen a reality show about model hopefuls, but she’d only made it halfway through the first season before she’d flicked it to another more practical show. The only thing that’d kept her watching had been the clothes and fashions of Earth. She had so much to learn if she wanted to assimilate with humans.

  She only hoped she’d remembered a few of the basic rules of modeling. If she didn’t want to look like a complete moron, she’d need to observe how these girls walked and twirled on the runway.

  A pity her stare kept searching the screen for even a glimpse of Lincoln in the crowd of paparazzi and well-dressed people. Hard though it was to admit, the man had poured more heat through her veins than any single Riddich male ever had.

  If her dragon had existed she was sure the beast would have roared approval.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. She needed to stop thinking about her one flaw. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t made up for her lack of a dragon in other ways. She’d been the princess everyone had admired, a woman who’d not once sat back and been pampered and spoiled. No, she’d been in the thick of things, training to fight and defend Riddich.