The Last Dragon Lord

VII

VII

“Really, Doc, I’m fine,” Lucan said, trying to climb off a hospital bed. His arm was in a sling and he was hooked up to an IV. He tugged at the IV, but a proximity spell glowed around his elbow and kept the needle in place.

His shoulder ached, but morphine coursed through his veins and dulled the pain somewhat. He felt a rosy, easygoing feeling, the kind that came over him when was about to go on a date. He tasted saline solution in his mouth, even though he hadn’t drunk anything. It was wet, cold, and briny.

He was in a hospital suite, surrounded by couches and plush chairs. It was a maternity room but because it was on the top floor of the hospital, the doctors had put him here because of his celebrity status, and the maternity wing was protected from the press since visitors had to have guard permission to enter.

One of his bodyguards stood next to the bed with a brand new navy blue suit and tie in plastic wrap.

Outside the hospital room window, he saw the helicopters circling Skyscraper Park. Their mechanical fluttering filled the blue sky, and only now did he realize how much time had passed since his midnight encounter.

He blinked several times, trying to focus. The last few hours had been a blur.

Gunshots. Adrenaline. Combat. Grimoires exploding like fireworks.

He’d had a few hours to rest while nurses waited on him, checking his vitals every hour. His phone had cracked in the fight and he didn’t have the guts to call Celesse yet.

Not until he knew what was wrong with him physically.

For the first time in a long time he had some time to himself. When he thought about the fight and how close to death he was, his chest tightened and he wanted to destroy something, anything.

His heart rate monitor beeped.

Despite the mix of emotions he was feeling, his heart rate was normal with a slight uptick every now and again on the dark green cardiograph.

“God,” he whispered to himself. “This is a big f*****g mess.”

He had been waiting an hour for the doctor to come and tell him the news. It was the longest hour of his life. He had asked for Madelaide, but his guards couldn’t find her. He knew she was okay, but he wanted to see her with his own eyes.

All the while he thought about Bartholomew. The anger in the man’s eyes. His bitter words. His refusal to surrender. How he would have kept fighting until the police killed him.

And he claimed that Lucan blackmailed him.

Lucan harrumphed in the middle of his thoughts as he imagined Bartholomew’s bearded face screaming insults at him.

That sonofabitch tried to blackmail ME! Why was HE acting like the victim?

Lucan couldn’t wait to put the bastard in jail until the end of time. Bartholomew was going to pay for this. Big time. And good luck to his good-for-nothing son.

Lucan cycled through his contacts at the university. Surely he could use his influence with the Dean to get Tony expelled for some bullshit reason. Tony didn’t “look” like the studious type. He was a small town, backwater elf who was about to get expelled like a diarrhea from a flaming asshole.

That would show him. Lucan would make sure the kid couldn’t do anything but wash dishes while his dad deteriorated in jail.

He was a man of influence. No employer would deny him if he told them not to hire the boy. No one! All he’d have to do was stroll into their office and schmooze them, promise them something, and they’d turn down Tony’s application like he was an ex-con. Unless they wanted to face Lucan’s wrath. All billion dollars of it.

He was going to crush anyone who tried to interfere with this family’s demise. Physically. Economically. Emotionally.

God yes.

One day, when the biographies about his life came out, this was going to be one of those anecdotes that people talked about.

‘Did you read that part about what Lucan did to the kid whose dad tried to shoot him?’

‘What a d**k!’

Was he being irrational?

Any emotion less than what he was feeling was irrational.

What would Celesse say? She’d be appalled, probably.

But he didn’t care. When you were sitting in a hospital with your arm in a sling and the realization that your daughter could’ve been killed for no reason other than some crazy man’s self-vanity, there was no such thing as the law.

The doctor, an elven man in scrubs with a stethoscope around his neck, entered the room and clipped an x-ray to the wall. “You were lucky, Mr. Grimoire.”

Lucan puffed and waved his hand dismissively.

“Just give me the verdict, will you?”

The doctor frowned and pointed to the x-ray, which was of Lucan’s shoulder.

“The bullet struck your shoulder. Fortunately it was just a soft tissue wound. Our fear was that it might have broken your collarbone, but as I said, you were lucky. We got the bullet out with little trouble.”

“So what now?” Lucan asked.

“You’ll live.”

“No metal poisoning or any of that bullshit?”

The doctor ordered a nurse in and she disconnected Lucan’s IV.

“No, but I’m prescribing you several antibiotics,” the doctor said. “You’ll need to take them several times a day.”

“That I can do,” Lucan said, swinging himself off the bed. He shook the doctor’s hand. “Thank God for my deflection spell. That bullet would’ve hit me straight in the heart.”

He motioned to the bodyguard. “Let’s get the hell out of here before the police show up.”

The door opened and Madelaide ran through and hugged him. She was still wearing her purple dress, and a white bandage covered her thigh.

“What happened to your leg?” Lucan asked.

“I scraped it when we were running away,” Madelaide said.

“Why didn’t I notice that?”

“You got shot, remember?” Madelaide asked.

“Heh heh.”

“I’m fine, Daddy.”

A blond-haired woman appeared in the door. She had long, curly hair and she wore jeans and a tank top. Her arms were folded and her gray eyes raged. Even if he didn’t see her face, he knew the hourglass shape of his ex-wife anywhere. Still as gorgeous as ever with legs for days and a “the gods are going to rain fire on you” look in her eyes.

“Great,” Lucan said, “You had to go and bring her, didn’t you? I thought we kept each other’s secrets.”

“The hospital called her, Daddy.”

“Right. Forgot. Parental crap.”

“What the hell is your problem?” the woman asked. “You have some nerve.”

“Thank God I have nerve,” Lucan said. “Otherwise I’d be heartless like you.”

“You could’ve gotten Madelaide killed!” the woman cried.

“Nice to see you, too, Maisy.”

Maisy looked at the x-ray and shook her head. “You get hurt, and now you’re a hero.”

“What?”

“You obviously haven’t seen the news,” Maisy said.

“I don’t have time for you right now,” Lucan said. “Don’t you have a photo shoot that you’re supposed to be modeling in?”

Maisy had been a supermodel. Their marriage was a media sensation. It was even more sensational when they found out that Madelaide had been conceived out of wedlock.

He’d cared for Maisy. Not like a wife. But a friend.

Their marriage didn’t last a year. Not when she discovered that he had been sleeping with other women. She’d tried to sue him for half his estate, but Lucan had been careful … that was back when he and his uncle were still on good terms. His uncle, a skilled attorney, taught him how to structure his assets so that she wouldn’t get anything at all, except for the several million that belonged to Madelaide. Oh, Maisy was liiiivid.

But you had to do what you had to do.

“It all turned out fine, by the way,” Lucan said, patting his shoulder.

“Tell that to the judge,” Maisy said. “You’re unfit to be a father. I’m suing again for full custody.”

“In the middle of the election? Fine.”

“You’ve said and done worse,” Maisy said. “If it’s anything like the past, it’s not like it’s going to stick anyway. But you obviously don’t care. We’re leaving, Madelaide.”

“Got it,” Lucan said. “Thanks for the threat. Maybe some flowers and a ‘I’m glad you’re okay’ would have gone great with it?”

Madelaide hugged Lucan and he bent down and gave her a kiss.

“I’m glad you’re all right,” he said.

“When are you coming next?” Madelaide asked.

“Don’t know, sweetie,” Lucan said. “This is a pretty big deal. Gonna take a lot of my time. But you’re sure you’re okay?”

Madelaide nodded as she walked to her mother. Maisy took her and left the room without looking at Lucan.

“Gentlemen, that is why I got a prenup,” Lucan said.

His guards helped him change into his suit, and as he adjusted his tie, Celesse entered.

“Hey,” he said. He gave her a weak smile.

She scowled at him and held up her phone. “When were you planning on telling me?”

“Soon. I just got released.”

Celesse stomped over to him, and he fully expected her to slap him. But instead she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight.

He wasn’t ready for that. He almost stumbled back from her weight. He hugged her back, kissed her hair and said, “I’m fine, babe.”

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” she asked.

“Only if we let them believe we are,” he whispered.

She pushed him away and composed herself. Her demeanor changed back to her strict, campaign manager self.

“I called ahead to your attorney,” Celesse said. “She’ll be here soon. In the meantime, be quiet.”

“Wha…?”

Lucan’s eyes wandered to the door, where a man in a black suit knocked on the doorway. He had a severe air about him, as if he had never heard a joke in his life. On his suit lapel was a golden pin of a spiraled pentagram, with the letters MCU beneath.

“Ah, crap,” Lucan said under his breath.

So much for privacy and security.

“Mr. Grimoire,” the man said sternly, “I’m with the Magical Crimes Unit, and we need to talk.”