The Lost Barinov Dragon (Brothers of Ash and Fire Book 4)

Chapter 1-1

Chapter 1

Excerpt from Barrow’s Journal – My Year with Dragons

There is perhaps no greater territorial dispute in all of dragondom than between the Russian Imperial dragons, the Barinov family and the Drakor family. The conflict began so many millennia ago that none seem to remember where it began, and it is unlikely to end. The greatest period of peace began when Grigori Barinov signed the renewal of a treaty I had the honor of witnessing. I believe this will lead to a golden age for dragons, or at least a time without war.

More than 700 years later – North Carolina

“You must always be safe. Never open the door without me, do you understand?”

The words she’d heard almost all of her life from her mother echoed in Tasha Bellamy’s mind as she removed the lasagna from the oven. The kitchen was quiet; her mother was in her bedroom reading while Tasha checked on their dinner.

“Never open the door without me . . .” Tasha was twenty-one years old now, and she’d had to go to school online her entire life, even college.

Thankfully, she’d been advanced in all of her classes, and at twenty she’d graduated with a bachelor of arts in graphic design. It allowed her to work from home and take care of her mother.

The few times she’d ventured out into the world, usually to get things they couldn’t have delivered to the house, Tasha had looked about her and wondered why it wasn’t safe. What had created such fear in her mother? She didn’t seem mentally unstable; it was just this single unexplainable fear of whatever was outside that door.

All of Tasha’s life, the idea of safety had been a concern for her mother. And because of it, the two of them had lived a quiet life in remote locations or small towns well away from big cities. Once a year—only once—her father would come to see them.

Whenever the doorbell rang, she rushed to open it, despite her mother’s warnings of waiting for her to be there just in case—though she never said in case of what. Tasha didn’t care. She always seemed to know when her father was there; it was as though she could sense his presence, even through the door. So many times she’d dreamed about him, even though she knew he was far away. She would wake convinced that she had been with him while he traveled or sat alone in his office. It was like seeing him through a slightly foggy mirror. They were likely the imaginings of a child, but she hadn’t cared—she’d wanted to feel connected to him, to be a part of the life that he couldn’t share with her and her mother. It made her excitement to see him that much stronger when he finally came to visit.

“Tasha, my little one,” he would say in that deep, rumbling voice, and she would hug him tight, never wanting to let go. Her father was a tall man, with dark hair and fathomless eyes that would have intimidated anyone except for the woman and the child who loved him.

Then, after he kissed her cheeks and hugged her tight, he would seal himself in a room alone with her mother for an hour, their whispers too muffled by the closed door to hear. Tasha would always try to eavesdrop by pressing her ear to the wood. More often than not, her father would open the door and find her standing there. He would arch one dark brow, but he never grew angry with her, never yelled. He simply placed his palm on her head, gently patting her hair, his dark eyes unreadable.

“You will listen to your mother, yes?” he always asked. “Do whatever she says?”

She would nod, and then her father would share dinner with them before leaving them with a briefcase of money and a little present just for Tasha. Small trinkets, stuffed animals, then books, then as she grew older he would leave her jewels. She had half a dozen necklaces of brilliantly colored gemstones. The stones were large and seemed almost too heavy to hang from the delicate chains they had been bound to.

“Cherish them, little one. Promise to protect them. They are very valuable,” her father would say about the gemstones.

“I’ll keep them safe, Dad.” It was important to him, and she knew that whatever it was that kept him away from them, it had to be important. She tried never to get upset that she was growing up without him in her life. That one single day a year was a day she clung to, a day she cherished.

Her time with her father always ended the same way each time. Her father would hold her close and whisper words in Russian she hadn’t understood until she was older and had started learning the language. “Be safe, be strong, be brave.” Then he would leave in the middle of the night and vanish into the darkness. All she would have left then to look forward to until his next visit were her dreams of him.

Now, as she set the lasagna on the stovetop, she stared at the calendar in the kitchen. Her gaze lost focus as she counted the days.

It had been more than a year since her father had last come. He’d never let so many days pass between his visits.

“Mom! Dinner’s ready!” she shouted toward the back of the house.

When her mother came into the kitchen, she smiled as she saw the food. “Where you learned to cook, I’ll never know. You didn’t get it from me.” Her mother came up to her and hugged her shoulders before she went to retrieve dishes and silverware for the table.

“You just follow a recipe. Besides, there’s a lot of good videos online to walk you through it.”

Tasha grew quiet a moment as she set the table with her mother. It had been a few months since she’d dreamed of her father, and something about that bothered her. She’d never gone that long without having one of her dreams. They were silly, childish imaginings, she knew that, but she’d always clung to how real they felt. And the sudden halt to the dreams left her edgy in a way that made no sense.

“Mom . . .”

“Yes?” Her mother looked up at her, and Tasha had the strangest sense she was peering into a mirror of her future. Her mother was a beautiful russet-haired woman with soft brown eyes and a warm smile. Everything about her was warm and inviting and so at odds with the fears she carried about the world and the dangers in it. Tasha wanted to be like her mother, but not including her fear of the world outside.

“Dad hasn’t come to see us. It’s been more than a year.”

Her mother froze as she placed a fork down on the table. “It . . . it’s been more than a year?”

“Just by a few days, but he’s never waited this long.” Tasha didn’t like the sudden pallor of her mother’s face.

“I’m sure he has a reason . . .” Her mother resumed setting the table, but her hands trembled slightly. They’d both lost track of the days recently. Tasha had been busy designing websites for clients, and her mother was an accountant and busy working with her own clients.

“We should eat,” her mother suggested.

Before they could sit down, there was a knock on the front door. Tasha and her mother both stilled.

Her mother looked relieved, but Tasha didn’t sense her father. She’d always been able to know he was there before. Now she sensed nothing.

“You see? He was just running late.”

Despite her misgivings, she had to believe her mother was right. Tasha rushed to open the front door.

“Dad!” Her smile faded as she saw that the man who stood on their porch wasn’t her father.

An elderly man in a funereal black suit held a closed umbrella, its silver pointed tip resting on the wooden floor of the porch. Tasha looked at the evening sky behind him. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen. Did the man think it was going to rain tonight?

“Miss Bellamy, I presume? My name is Lionel Bovill. May I come in? Is your mother here?” He waited politely for her to answer his string of questions.

“Yes, come in. She’s in the kitchen.” Tasha stepped back and he entered, rolling a large suitcase behind him. Was the man planning to move in? The thought drifted across her mind a second before he spoke.

“Regretfully, I am here to inform you that your father has passed away. I am the attorney who was designated to be the executor of his estate.”

Tasha stopped breathing. Her lungs constricted inward, squeezing out the last of her breath as she tried to process Mr. Bovill’s words. Her father was dead. The dreams had stopped. Had she known somehow that he was gone? Was that even possible?

Her mother stood in the doorway to the kitchen, her eyes wide. “What?”

“Mrs. Bellamy?” The man directed the question at her mother.

“Yes?” her mother whispered.

“Very good . . .” The man cleared his throat and straightened his silver-rimmed glasses. Then he reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a letter-size envelope. “I have here the last will and testament of your husband. I apologize for the late hour of my arrival. My instructions were to come here only when it was dark out.”

“How . . . ?” Her mother cleared her throat. “How did it happen?”

The man’s face dipped slightly as he studied the floor. “It was a deliberate death, madam.”

Her mother crumpled, and Tasha dashed over to her, catching her by the waist.

“Sit down, Mom.” She pushed her mother gently into the nearest chair.

“I’m sorry for the shock this news causes. I wish there was an easier way to deliver it.” Mr. Bovill removed the papers from the envelope. “I will read this brief document aloud. I’ve included a list of assets that have been passed to you both, as none of his other children survived.”

At this, her mother’s head shot up. “His sons are gone?”

Sons? She had brothers?

Had . . .

“Yes, all of his other children were killed. The extended family was killed as well. Only Miss Bellamy remains.”

The man’s words finally began to shatter the dazed confusion in Tasha’s head.

“Killed? By whom?”

“The Barinovs,” her mother said in a lifeless tone. She looked to the wizened attorney, who nodded his confirmation. “He always warned me that they would come after him. It’s why he feared for our safety, Tasha.”

“Who are the Barinovs?” Tasha’s chest tightened with a strange pain. She couldn’t breathe. There was no oxygen left in the room. She swayed and everything tilted wildly on its axis. This time it was her mother who steadied her and helped her to sit down.

The name Barinov echoed in her head over and over, like it was spoken through a tunnel. She knew she had heard that name in her dreams of her father, but she couldn’t remember in what context.

“The Barinovs are a powerful family in Russia. They have been at war with your father’s family since before you were born,” her mother explained. “They are why we have been hiding all these years, why we have only been able to see him once a year. They would watch his movements, so he could only come to visit when he felt it was safe to see us.”

“Dad had other children? Was he married to someone else?” Tasha was still dizzy, and a pounding headache was starting to beat against the backs of her eyes. Were these Barinovs some kind of Mafia? Her father was Russian and lived in Moscow. She had always wondered if maybe he had criminal ties. The suitcase of money he left them had always seemed shady. She’d just never let herself really think about it until now.

“He wasn’t married. Those other children were from several other women. He needed them to protect his family interests in Russia.”

A bitter taste filled Tasha’s mouth. Her father had slept around that much? How did that make her mother feel?

“You were special, Tasha. His only girl. He kept you away from the family and its business. He married me in secret, but I never took his name. Even that was too dangerous.”

The elderly attorney cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I must finish this matter quickly. I must leave for another appointment.” He then read the document in his hands, the last will and testament of her father.