Dragon's Heart (The DragonFate Novels Book 3) Page 10

  “We’re on the same side,” Alasdair protested.

  “Not any more,” Kade retorted. “I’ve been pushed aside and ignored long enough.”

  “You can’t mean to fight me for her,” Alasdair argued, even though he could see that was the case. He needed a plan to outwit the other Pyr.

  “Just defending one of the treasures of the earth,” Kade countered. “Give my stylus back and we’ll call it a night.”

  “I don’t have it. I gave it to Rhys to follow his mate.”

  “But he found her here. He doesn’t need it anymore, and I do.” Kade beckoned with one hand.

  “Why do you need it? Maeve is here, not in Fae. You don’t need a portal.”

  “But she does, and I’m on her team now.” Kade smiled with confidence. “We have a thing.”

  “A thing,” Alasdair scoffed. He was sufficiently outraged to seize Kade’s talons and lock claws with him. “Her thing is to eliminate all shifters, including us. She won’t make an exception for you.”

  “Believe what you need to,” Kade replied, more cocky than Alasdair had ever seen him. “I’m not in any danger from her.” His eyes glowed red as he leaned closer and Alasdair feared the other Pyr was in Maeve’s thrall. “I serve her in every way.”

  “You can’t!” Alasdair roared, punctuating his disgust with a hard blow of his tail. Kade caught his breath and breathed fire again. They were in such close proximity that the scales on Alasdair’s chest were singed, which infuriated him. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

  Kade laughed. “I know exactly what I’m doing.” He slashed at Alasdair with his back claw, obviously not holding back.

  If it was a fight to the death, Alasdair was in.

  He raged dragonfire, burning Kade’s wings, and beat the younger Pyr hard with his tail. They tumbled through the air together, talons locked as they slashed and bit at each other. Kade was sneaky and fought hard, but Alasdair was more strategic with his blows—each one of them hit home. He thought he was getting the upper talon as Kade obviously weakened, and moved in to take the other Pyr down. He wouldn’t kill his fellow dragon shifter, but he’d teach him a lesson, one that was apparently overdue.

  Suddenly, Kade twisted, as slippery as an eel, and slid out of Alasdair’s grasp. His weakness had been a trick. He retreated a short distance, then reared up, spreading his wings wide as he breathed a river of dragonsmoke and flew straight at Alasdair.

  Kade targeted his dragonsmoke to strike the wounds on Alasdair’s feet, the ones that refused to heel since he’d been trapped in Fae. The pain on contact was excruciating, and it only got worse as the dragonsmoke eased deeper into the wounds. Alasdair tried to retreat. He tried to outrun the silvery tendril of dragonsmoke, but it followed him, persistent and accurate. It bit at him like a snake, sinking into the sores so that he thought he’d lose his mind. It seemed to be locked around his ankle, like a rope that would follow him anywhere, and he couldn’t break the stream. It was more like a braided cable than a tendril of smoke and he felt a reluctant admiration for Kade’s skill. Alasdair could have been dancing in Fae again, dancing endlessly and against his will. There were daggers in his feet and a haze of dragonsmoke clouding his thoughts.

  He knew the very moment that Kade began to use the dragonsmoke as a conduit and started to suck the energy from him. Alasdair realized he was fading. He feared that Kade wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. Alasdair tried to call out to his comrades in old-speak, but the words were garbled and his cry too faint to carry the distance. He lost the rhythm of flight as the tendrils of dragonsmoke encircled him like a cage. They struck him in a thousand places, siphoning off his power, turning him into a shell of himself. Kade grew brighter and seemed to be larger with every passing moment, his scales shining brilliantly against the night sky and his eyes burning with that red inner fire. He laughed but didn’t ease his assault.

  Alasdair roared in frustration when he realized he couldn’t stay aloft, then he fell.

  He never hit the ground, though. Kade swept him up and carried him off triumphantly. The other Pyr’s wings beat hard, carrying his prey away from the suburb where Lila had been held captive. The air was colder and there was wilderness beneath them, with a road snaking through the darkness of the trees. Alasdair glimpsed the lime green glimmer of the car far below. He shifted shape against his will and heard Kade’s grunt of satisfaction that he was easier to carry. He struggled to stay conscious but soon wished he hadn’t.

  Because even the bite of dragonsmoke was nothing compared to the horror of Maeve invading his mind. Once they reached her home in Philadelphia, she read his thoughts like he was an open book, her fingers prying loose his memories and secrets with relentless force. Her assault was intrusive and penetrating. It left Alasdair feeling violated and nauseated, and then as Maeve wrung his secrets free, it became painful.

  At that moment, Alasdair would have promised anything to make her stop.

  He did.

  Rhys cooked, putting the energy of his agitation to good use.

  As soon as he’d gotten Lila to his place, taken off her dirty clothes and put her to bed, he’d called down to the restaurant for supplies. He lived in an apartment on the top floor of the same building that housed Everyman Epicure, a situation that did nothing to curb his tendency to work all the time. Usually, his apartment was a refuge, albeit one where he seldom did more than sleep—and that only for a few hours at a time. If Rhys was a workaholic, he was a happy one. His apartment kitchen was well-equipped, even though the restaurant was close, and he was glad of it.

  On this particular night, he was restless as he never was.

  What if Lila wasn’t his mate?

  What if she was?

  Either way, she’d been abducted and abused by Embron and Rhys wanted to avenge her. He wanted to hunt down the dragon prince and demand a reckoning, to battle him to the death in retaliation for what he’d done to Lila.

  But the firestorm wasn’t satisfied.

  And Lila needed his protection.

  Rhys was torn between his desires and his responsibilities in a new and unwelcome way. The orange glow of the firestorm seemed to heighten his feelings and amplify his concerns. He felt more protective of her than he’d ever been of anyone before. He hovered on the cusp of shifting shape, ready to protect her at an instant’s notice. Rhys didn’t like feeling on edge. It wasn’t like him. He was the steady and consistent one, not the one who jumped at shadows.

  But that all changed with Lila in his bed. The firestorm flickered and he saw peril in every corner. He heard danger in every creak of the wind and groan of the old building, even in the sound of traffic on the street far below. He stood at the kitchen counter and told himself to get a grip—then someone knocked on the door and he nearly shifted shape and breathed fire instead of just answering the door.

  It was Justin, bringing the delivery from the restaurant. The usually confident bartender was almost as rattled as Rhys, desperate to apologize for what he saw as his mistake with the drink—and what Rhys knew had been Embron’s beguiling.

  “And Ryan said their bill was unpaid,” the bartender confessed. “It’s not like they were trying to trick you out of a meal: they barely touched their plates.”

  “That’s fine,” Rhys said. “It only makes sense given what happened. I’ll take care of it. Were the other patrons upset?”

  “Not for long. Ryan said she’d gotten some bad news.” Justin pushed his hand through his hair and looked exasperated, even though Rhys was nodding approval. “I really don’t like when you’re off and the place is busy. It’s tough when things go wrong.”

  “I don’t like it either,” Rhys admitted and they smiled at each other. “What happened to her purse?”

  “Oh, her friend took it, the woman who was with her. She just ran out after her.”

  Nyssa Macleod.

  Justin frowned. “Do you think she’ll be all right? It drives me crazy that I made her sick, or served her a roofie
without realizing it.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Rhys reassured his employee: he even had to beguile him a little bit, because Justin had a very strong sense of responsibility. Rhys didn’t feel a bit of guilt about that. He finally sent Justin back downstairs and told him to go home. It was past two in the morning, after all.

  Then Rhys leaned back against the door and exhaled.

  In his agitated state, he could have fried one of his best employees. He had to calm down. If nothing else, his uncharacteristic tension was a good reason to try to satisfy the firestorm. If it was real and Lila conceived, he could try to change her mind about their son later. If it was real, satisfying it would eliminate its flame, which would make it harder for anyone to find them both.

  If it wasn’t real, he had to think it would be a great interval even so. He liked Lila’s honesty and how direct she was. He had no doubt she’d tell him exactly what she liked—and the prospect of delivering to her expectations roused the glowing embers of the firestorm.

  Rhys closed his eyes and listened to her steady breathing. She was in his bed. He’d stripped her nude since her clothes were dirty and wet, then tucked her in. She wore a stone on a silk cord around her neck and he’d left that, even though he didn’t know why she’d chosen such a token. The stone was dark grey with a fossil in it, and the hole looked like it was a natural one. He sensed that it was important and didn’t interfere. He’d put her clothes into the washing machine in the small closet by the bathroom. There was something satisfying about knowing she was in his lair, in his bed, sleeping as if she trusted him. Maybe she was just exhausted, but Rhys had a hard time caring as the firestorm crackled between them.

  He also had a hard time staying away from her. He could smell how own sweet scent as well as the salty tang of the sea from her skin. The smell of burned flesh was impossible to ignore. He put away the groceries quickly, then lit candles around the apartment. Their glow soothed him, even though their flames undulated back and forth, caught in the crackle of the firestorm between himself and Lila.

  What if it was real?

  He went to the bedroom door and looked in at her, feeling a stab of desire that wasn’t entirely due to the more insistent burn of the firestorm. Her features were serene in sleep, as if she was relieved to be out of that place. Rhys could believe it. He held out his hand and smiled at the sparks that danced between them. The evidence of the firestorm reassured him in one way: at least it was back.

  Lila wasn’t dead.

  Even better, she was smart. She was brave. She had to be old, maybe as old as him, maybe older. She knew what he was, too, and had powers of her own. He’d never met a female shape shifter before. He went to the side of the bed and looked down at her as the firestorm burned brighter with proximity. She had a talent for surprising him, even for challenging him, and Rhys liked that more than he might have expected. She’d come after him, intent on putting the firestorm behind them. She wasn’t big on kids, but maybe that would change.

  Maybe she’d had a bad experience in the past.

  He could think of what it might be. There was one persistent story about selkies, the one about the mortal man who had fallen in love with one and taken her as his bride. The man had hidden her skin from her, so she couldn’t return to the sea, and she’d been his captive as well as his wife. That didn’t sound like any kind of love to Rhys.

  Was that her fear? Being trapped? If so, Embron’s abduction would have been terrifying.

  At least he had her skin. Rhys filled a bucket with water and added some salt, then put her skin into it. It appeared to be dry as well as burned, and he wondered whether it was his imagination that it looked better once in the water.

  He’d be sure to give it to Lila so she understood his intentions.

  And there was, of course, her physical assets. Rhys knew he’d never seen a more beautiful woman. She was lovely, sleek and beautiful, and she moved with the fluid grace of the water. There was something otherworldly about her, a quality he would have noticed even without knowing that she was a selkie. He thought about that kiss on the beach and caught his breath as the firestorm crackled with newfound heat, as if approving of the direction of his thoughts. He thought of the way she’d teased and provoked him on the phone and found himself smiling. He remembered how powerful she’d been underwater and how quickly she’d been able to swim.

  If only he could believe in the firestorm. He had to wonder whether Lila would risk her own survival to trick him. It probably depended on what Maeve might hold against her, or how strong Maeve’s magick was. At least the red string was gone. Rhys pulled up the duvet, and eyed the slight burn on her left wrist.

  She had to be snared in the Dark Queen’s web, just as he had been. Rhys wanted to believe that Lila wouldn’t have done that by choice.

  But he wasn’t sure.

  He went back into the kitchen, which was his favorite place, and breathed dragonsmoke to defend his lair. Rhys knew that he wasn’t in the right meditative state to do a good job. Not only was he jumpy from a combination of the firestorm’s insistent demand and his uncertainty of its truth, but he didn’t trust Embron to leave him and Lila alone, not with the gem of the hoard sitting on his kitchen counter. Rhys didn’t feel safe. His thread of dragonsmoke broke repeatedly and even though he wove in the ends, he knew it wasn’t the best barrier he’d ever created. Fortunately, there was already dragonsmoke encircling his lair, and even though its power faded over time, even the remnants were better than no defense at all.

  “I’ll sit watch,” Hadrian said in old-speak, just as Rhys heard his friend settle on the roof overhead. He was relieved when Hadrian began to breathe smoke, slowly and deeply, making a barrier faster and thicker than Rhys had been able to do. Hadrian wove his dragonsmoke into Rhys’, buttressing what was there, filling gaps and increasing the thickness. Within moments, the lair felt more secure and Rhys felt some of his concern fade.

  Now he could cook. Lila had barely tasted her dinner before Embron’s interference. She had to be hungry and Rhys could solve that. He checked the ingredients he’d requested, then had a hot shower while he made his plan. The wounds in his side were fierce and deep. He cleaned them up as best as he could, smearing them with one of Sloane’s unguents. They stung, but he knew the mixture would help him heal. Then he bound the wounds and dressed.

  It was snowing outside and the wind buffeted the window. He’d turned on the gas fireplace when he’d changed and surveyed his lair with satisfaction, his anticipation rising.

  Was it his imagination that a red light flicked in the heart of the gem of the hoard? Rhys picked up the cold piece of amber and looked into its depths, but was only able to see the two creatures trapped forever in its depths. He shuddered, then left it on the end of the counter. He hadn’t ever believed in magick. Even if recent events showed that he’d been wrong, Rhys sure didn’t trust it. He had no idea how to command it and he didn’t want to learn. The sooner it was extinguished the better, and the only unfortunate thing was that surrendering the stone might make Embron or Maeve even more powerful.

  He wondered what Lila knew about magick and the gem of the hoard, and resolved to ask her.

  Cooking, though, was a process that Rhys could command. He controlled all of the variables when he cooked and maybe that was why it gave him so much satisfaction.

  He reviewed his plan and began to mise en place. He chopped and he sliced. He sautéed and he stirred. He listened to Lila’s breathing and he strove to time the meal to be ready when she awakened. Slowly, the tension in him eased. He breathed more smoke once his preparations were done, adding to Hadrian’s efforts, and dared to hope that Lila truly was his destined mate.

  There was only one way he could think of to find out for sure.

  Just the possibility made the firestorm crackle with greater vigor.

  Lila awakened in a comfortable bed, a little shaken from her dream. A safe harbor? She doubted there was any such place. She would not think a
bout those children. She wasn’t sure why she’d thought of them now, except maybe for Rhys’ comments about the firestorm.

  It had just been a dream, not a portent. She lived in the moment, not in the past, and the future would be pretty much like the present, forever and ever.

  Funny how she’d never found that a disappointing prospect before.

  Lila sat up with purpose, deliberately pushing away the memories. The room was such an improvement over her prison that she thought she might be dreaming again. It was clean and comfortable. The pillow was real, and so were the smooth sheets. She was clean and almost naked, wearing a T-shirt that had to belong to a man.

  She liked the exposed rafters overhead and the hardwood floor, the brick walls and the thick rug beside the bed. She wiggled her toes in it, and made a pretty good guess as to which man’s bed she occupied. The bedroom wasn’t much bigger than the bed and she saw a walk-in closet on the wall opposite to the window. The blinds were down, but she could hear traffic and guessed from that and the dimensions of the space that they were back in one of the most expensive cities in the world. She sensed that she wasn’t alone, and when she smelled food cooking, she smiled.

  Of course. Lila lifted her hand and studied the glow of the firestorm, burning around her hand. It was brighter than it had been, closer to yellow than orange, and was shooting little sparks into the air. She felt its heat slide through her body and licked her lips, her imagination filling with ideas of better things to do in bed than sleep.

  That was, after all, what she’d come for.

  “I thought you were awake,” Rhys said. She jumped a little to find him in the doorway watching her, his eyes dark and his expression inscrutable. He looked as if he’d had a shower because his dark hair was damp. He was wearing a T-shirt that was tight enough to reveal how muscled he was, jeans and a pair of kitchen clogs. His shirt was probably the same size as the one that was hanging around her in folds.

  His aura had changed, though, from the last time she’d seen him. It still had that shadow upon it, the one she thought had been caused by grief, but she looked closer and saw more. The aura was fragmented around his feet and she knew he’d sustained an injury there. The halo of red-gold light that surrounded him was also cracked on one side of his torso. That was new.