The Dragon Delasangre Read Online Free Page A

asks. I let her take my place behind the wheel, show her how to guide the boat through the water and make sure she holds us on course for my island. The boat skitters across the water, seems to leap from wave to wave, barely slowing at each impact, spraying water to each side.
    Near the island, Maria fails to anticipate a particularly large swell rushing toward us and slices through it, taking a solid slap of seawater over the bow. Saltwater spray fills the air around us, coats our faces. She laughs and I can’t resist kissing her, mixing the salt taste on her lips with the sweet freshness of her mouth.
    Overhead a jet drones its way toward Miami International, and a quarter moon dimly glows in the black sky. I take the wheel, slow the boat and turn into the island’s channel. Behind us, Miami’s lights glow on the horizon. The island, Blood Key, is a dark shadow to our front.
    Maria points toward it. “Is that where we’re going?”
    I nod.
    â€œIt’s so dark.”
    â€œWe’ll turn the lights on when we get there,” I tell her and hug her close. “Sometimes lights attract the wrong sort of visitors.”
    She nods. “But . . . wouldn’t it make it easier for you to guide the boat in?”
    â€œNo. I grew up on that island. I know the way.” I slow the boat a little more. The motors’ growls subside into throaty purrs and we glide through the water, rising and falling with the swells. A gust of wind rushes around us and I pull her to me, and press my lips to hers again.
    Maria holds me, kisses longer than I’d intended, thenbacks off and smiles at me. “And just what are we going to be doing on this island of yours?”
    I grin back. “Whatever two people do when they’re deserted on an island together.”
    She sighs, leans against me. “It’s so beautiful here.” The wind gusts again, washes over us. Maria takes a deep breath. “I love the smell of the ocean!”
    I breathe in too, savor the salt smell around us, the sharp scent of excitement building around her and then . . . another scent penetrates my nostrils, and makes my heart race. It smells of cinnamon and cloves, maybe musk and something else—pungent, almost rank, disturbing yet somehow familiar. I sniff the air, wonder whether I imagined it—disappointed to find only a memory of it in the air.
    I cut the motors, let the boat wallow and I breathe deeply again.
    â€œIs anything wrong?” Maria asks.
    â€œNo.” I shake my head. “I thought I smelled something.”
    She frowns, watches me as I sniff the air. “Something bad? Fire?”
    â€œSomething strange,” I say, finding no trace of the aroma remaining in the air. “Maybe . . .” I let the word hang, leave the thought unfinished. My shoulders suddenly feel tense and I flex my back, stretch my neck and push the Chris Craft’s throttle forward. Maria presses against me as the boat regains its forward momentum. I hug her and guide the runabout toward shore.
    Dogs bark and growl in the darkness as we enter the island’s small harbor. I feel Maria tense beside me, smell the acid aroma of fear building within her. “Watchdogs,” I explain. Two thick, dark forms pace and stare, snarl deep growls at our approach.
    â€œSlash and Scar, the two alpha dogs. They lead the pack.”
    â€œSweet names,” she says, her sarcasm evident.
    I smile at her. “There are at least fifteen others like them out there in the dark. We have them to keep the island private and prevent uninvited guests from disturbing our estate.”
    Slash and Scar continue to growl, and hold their ground as we approach the dock. I pick up the boat’s searchlight and flash it on them. They pause a minute, two black, furry beasts frozen in the beam—their massive teeth showing stark white in the artificial light—then they bolt off, into the