Chapter Three

Chloe

"This had better be damn good," I snarled as I entered the cabin of the Gulfstream V jet seconds after the stairs had been lowered. "This mission has been—"

I came to an abrupt halt as I noticed the occupants of the jet. Plural. When Robert, the Deputy Director of Operations, had recalled me a day earlier, I'd expected him to be the one meeting me at the airport for my extraction. Robert Thomas was there, but he was far from alone.

"Sirs. Ma'am," I said with more restraint.

That was prudent when addressing Carl David, Director of Operations, Jennifer Kennedy, Director of the CIA, and Mason Rutledge, the Director of National Intelligence.

All of whom were in the plane. All of whom were staring at me.

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked when nobody responded.

"No," Robert said, gesturing for me to take a seat.

Behind me, the crew pulled up the stairs, closing the door as the engines ramped up once more. We were wasting no time. Normally, I wouldn't give a damn, being grateful to leave the shithole I'd been sent to for a brief period before being deployed to the next one. But I wasn't done. My mission was unfinished.

"Why am I being extracted?" I asked, my initial surprise already gone.

To be a part of my world, it was imperative to not be caught by surprise, and if you were, recover swiftly. I was already analyzing what the presence of so many senior members of the intelligence community must mean.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. And either they thought I had done it or …

"There's a new mission," I said slowly, glancing around the cabin, confident I was right.

"There is," Kennedy responded, glancing over at Rutledge to see if he wanted to explain it, but the DNI just waved at her to continue. I was her asset; he was just along to convey the gravity of the situation.

"You know I don't like leaving things unfinished," I said with as much irritation as I dared let show. Robert and Carl, I could lay into. They would take it and give it right back if they felt it necessary. They were my regular contact points, given the nature of the missions I was often inserted into.

But Kennedy was different, and Rutledge's presence meant it was officially sanctioned by the president himself. Whatever it was, it was big.

"This is bigger," Rutledge said, finally interjecting. "Much bigger. And you offer the unique approach of being perfectly suited for the job."

"Since you know I don't give two shits about having my ego inflated, I think it's safe to assume you aren't referring to my skills. Which means you need a woman."

"The best woman," Kennedy said tightly. "But even then, this might be too much."

"Have I failed you yet?" I asked, wondering if she was doubting my skills or the mission. I'd long ago stopped trying to read Kennedy. She was a blank wall. Better at controlling herself than anyone else I knew. Myself included. She had to be.

"This is different," Kennedy continued. "It's likely one way."

I licked my lips. "A suicide mission. Is that what you mean?"

My interest was piqued. But I had no desire to die. The chance of being killed and tortured to death was a constant comrade, of course. But that was if things went wrong. The way the director was talking, it seemed a given.

"Not necessarily. We're just unsure if we can extract you. Perhaps ever."

I shrugged. "I can get myself out. You know this."

"Not from here," Rutledge said. "This is unlike any mission you've been on before, Chloe."

It was odd to hear my real name after spending nearly six months going by another.

"How?"

"We have no advance recon. No potential extraction, as Director Kennedy mentioned. No prior intelligence, no knowledge of our enemies' capabilities. We would be sending you in completely and totally blind."

"How is that even possible?" I said with a snort. "The billions you, the NSA, and about six other organizations spend on satellites and communications monitoring, there isn't a country on the planet you aren't on top of. I know because I've seen it."

"Not here," Rutledge said, leaning forward, staring down his long nose and through his thin-rimmed glasses at me. "It's kind of impossible to listen to conversations when they don't have phones. And even harder to use our satellites when they can't see where you're going."

"Am I going underground?" I asked, confused.

"No," Kennedy said. "You're going to the home of the dragons."

I sat back against my seat with an audible thump of the cushion. "You found it?"

The war had been raging for eight or nine months, and I knew it wasn't going well for our side. The celebrations of our imminent demise had been held near daily in the streets while I worked. But as far as I was aware, nobody knew where the hell the dragons had come from. Had that changed? Why were they sending me and not just nuking the bastards?

"No," Rutledge said, pushing his glasses up and sitting tall, crossing one leg over the other. "Quite the opposite. The dragons have offered us a ceasefire."

"Terms?"

"Simple, actually," Rutledge said. "We send them eight eligible women as tribute every year."

"They want slaves?"

"No," Kennedy broke in with a glance at her boss. "They want mates."

I stared at her. Then at the others. All of them looked serious. Faces tight. Nervous.

So, I laughed. "All right. Very funny, you guys. You got me. Now, what the fuck is actually going on?"

None of their expressions changed. They didn't even flicker.

"All right. Fine. I'll play along with your ridiculous little plan. I go with the dragons to their homeland. How the hell do I mate one of them?" The word even sounded weird coming off my lips. "They're, uh, big and, uh, dragony. In case you haven't noticed."

Wordlessly, Robert extended his phone toward me. A video was playing on the screen. I watched as a crimson-scaled dragon landed in the street between two skyscrapers. It folded its wings in against its sides, and then—

"Holy shit," I exclaimed, grabbing the phone and rewinding it, watching again as the hulking beast was replaced by a tall, muscular male human. "Holy. Shit."

"Exactly," Rutledge said dryly. "Now, you understand."

"So, you want me to go fuck one of their brains out, so I can learn the location of their homeland. Is that about right?"

Looks were exchanged at my crude language, but none objected.

"What you do with him is your business," Kennedy said at last, using typical political speak to ease her burden. But we both knew that was the intent. "We just need the location of that island, along with any other information you can get us. As I said, for now, it appears to be a one-way trip. If we can find a way to get you out, we will, of course."

"Hard to guarantee that when you can't even locate it," I said. "I understand."

And I did. I was to be a dragon's whore. It wasn't the first time I'd used my sex to my advantage, nor would it be the last. It was all part of the mission. My training had included many aspects of that side of the trade. Including how to do it when you really, really didn't want to. The detachment of mind from body and things like that.

Of course, if he looked anything like the hunk of muscle in the video, it wouldn't be that hard. A nice visual went a long way.

"A dragon's mate," I said with a laugh, shaking my head. "Have any of your other operatives ever done anything like this?"

Kennedy didn't bother to answer. We all knew the answer. It was the mission. The one nobody would be able to top.

"Find us their home," Rutledge said with a hiss. "So that when, not if, the ceasefire fails, we know where to strike the bastards."

I noted how he, including myself, assumed it would only be a temporary truce. It would fall apart somehow for some reason.

"Strike?" I glared at him, then at Kennedy. "No. I'm not doing this for you to fire a few missiles. If I get you this information and the war resumes, you nuke the bastards. That's my condition. Take it or leave it."

Rutledge smiled. "Coincidentally, I told the president the same thing. And he agrees."

"Good."

I sat back in the chair, listening to the rumble of the engines, a little smile playing over my face.

It was the ultimate mission for someone like me. There was no topping it. It would be the stuff of legends.

Of course, I had to succeed first.