Dragon's Mate: A DragonFate Novel (The DragonFate Novels Book 4) Read online

  “But you never have.” Hadrian shook his head. “In a thousand years, you never reached out to them.” He could see her confusion. Had it been part of Maeve’s curse that his mate should be oblivious to everyone but the Dark Queen? If so, he seemed to be breaking that edict. “I thought anybody alive would have more curiosity than that. Twelve kills in a thousand years must have left you with a lot of spare time.”

  “I had other things to do.”

  “But they’re your brothers! Your only kin. Your family.”

  She frowned and looked across the studio, clearly shaken. “I’m helping them,” she said, her tone tentative.

  “That’s good. When you fulfill the deal, the curse will theoretically be broken, right?”

  Her eyes flashed. “It’s not theoretical.”

  “And they’ll be mortal men again, right?”

  “Right.” She was wary, as if he was unpredictable. But she was still listening. Hadrian would take it.

  “And you’ll be Fae.”

  “And immortal. Exactly.” She nodded. “Assuming a certain dragon shifter ever stops talking.”

  Hadrian chuckled. Talking was keeping him alive. “Maybe your brothers deserve to hear that there’s another option. Maybe they’re less inclined to believe the Dark Queen than you are.”

  “The deal is the deal.” She shook her head and took a step closer. “They’ll stay cursed if I don’t fulfill it. I can’t believe they’d quibble over the details.”

  “But what if the firestorm is right about us being destined mates and belonging together? For the Pyr, a mate often has skills that complement his strengths and affinities, so they’re stronger as a team than individually. What if our combined strengths could set your brothers free without you killing me?”

  “You’re just stalling for time,” his mate said impatiently. “You’re just trying to compromise my will to get the job done...”

  He hadn’t even thought it could be compromised, so having her admit as much was great. “Did you ask your brothers the first time?”

  “No.” She was startled. “Why would I?”

  “You just decided for them?”

  “I had the opportunity to free them. What was there to talk about?”

  “They might have had other ideas. They might like being swans.” He raised his hands, trying to think of something that would be better as a bird. “I’d miss flying if someone took it away from me. I’d want to be asked if it was worth surrendering that.”

  She nodded reluctant agreement. “But still, they’re cursed. They must want to be free.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “But don’t you miss them?”

  “I told you: I didn’t even know I had brothers until the Dark Queen showed them to me.”

  He lifted the ring. “Then this doesn’t belong to one of them?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You’ve always had it, you don’t particularly care about it, yet the Dark Queen didn’t take it, even though it’s obviously valuable.”

  “It might not be. It might just look good.” She shrugged. “She looked at it a couple of times, but she’d never touched it.”

  That made Hadrian wonder whether the ring was magickal in its own right. Why else would Maeve have avoided contact with it? Why else would it have started to glow? It was more important than his mate was letting on. Did she know more about it than she was sharing with him? “Maybe your brothers miss you. The portals between the mortal realm and Fae might close. You might not get to hang out together any more than you do now.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not going to worry about losing something I’ve never had.” She frowned. “Give me one of my knives. Let’s end this.”

  “No. I want to ask your brothers what they think of my offer. If they don’t agree, then I’ll give you whichever knife you want.” He lifted his hands. “Come on. Twelve brothers cursed to be swans. I want to see that even if you never did.”

  She eyed him, her expression wary. Hadrian thought she looked dangerous and adorable, which he found a very alluring combination. “You are stubborn, aren’t you?”

  “I like being alive. I like you. I like the idea of spending more time with you. And I’d like to get my gloves done for my friends.”

  “You’d like to meet my brothers. And you’d like to satisfy the firestorm,” she concluded, a hint of a smile curving her lips. “Trust me to pick a dragon with a long bucket list.”

  “It’s not that long,” Hadrian protested, taking a step closer to her. The firestorm shimmered and glowed between them and he heard her pulse increase. She licked her lips and he remembered the feel of her wrapped around him, the memory tightening everything within him.

  He reached out a hand, uncertain whether she’d stay or not, and his fingertips brushed her cheek. He heard her sigh. He saw her soften. He saw her eyes close, those lashes fluttering as if she wanted to resist him but couldn’t. He saw her lips part, as if their thoughts were united. He saw her lean closer and felt the firestorm brighten to incendiary heat...

  Then just as his anticipation rose, his mate said “Uh oh” and vanished one more time.

  Uh oh?

  Where had she gone?

  She hadn’t said anything the other times.

  He told himself that he was getting through to her, even though he’d really wanted that kiss. In this moment, it was hard to believe—but she hadn’t killed him yet.

  That was unassailable.

  Being summoned by Maeve without warning couldn’t be a good thing.

  Did the Dark Queen know that Rania hadn’t been able to kill Hadrian? If so, their interview wouldn’t go well. She’d never had any dread about meeting Maeve before and found the change in her reaction unsettling.

  How had Hadrian managed to affect her so much so quickly? Rania didn’t even want to think about the power a Pyr might have when he beguiled anyone. She was finding Hadrian seductive and persuasive all on his own—well, with the firestorm on his side. With every passing moment and each new confidence exchanged, she had less desire to kill him.

  How had she managed to do this twelve times before? She hadn’t been lying to him—it had been easy.

  Until now.

  That was probably the point. He wanted to survive, and not just for the sake of the firestorm. It was just bad luck that she found him so attractive. It was probably a good thing that Maeve had summoned Rania when she had. Rania wasn’t very confident that she would have been able to stop that kiss, and a kiss could easily lead to more. A child was the last thing she needed in her life, never mind a Pyr child.

  She’d never thought about children before, never even considered the possibility. As she hurled toward Maeve, Rania wondered what Hadrian had looked like when young. He’d probably been cute. Precocious. Curious. Difficult to discipline, but so mischievous and adorable that it would be hard to care.

  She was smiling when she arrived before Maeve, which proved not to be the best choice. Maeve was in her Dublin townhouse: Rania recognized it from other visits. It was in the mortal realm and elegantly decorated in black and white, with an impressive collection of antiques. Maeve appeared to be alone in her kitchen, standing at a granite counter, pouring a drink from a cocktail shaker. Given the olive, it was probably a martini. The Dark Queen was wearing a black dinner suit with feathers around the collar. They shone blue-black. Rania saw that it was evening by the light of the sky beyond the windows.

  She would have expected it to be noon or so, roughly the same time as at Hadrian’s place in Northumberland, but this wasn’t the first occasion she’d witnessed Maeve bending time to suit herself.

  “Enjoying ourselves, are we?” the Dark Queen demanded, her tone petulant. “Ignoring that there’s a time element to this assignment?”

  “It’s been more complicated than I expected,” Rania said, her manner deferential. “The kiss of death didn’t work on him.”

  Maeve ate the olive. “Can’t find a knife in your collecti
on?”

  Rania didn’t admit that Hadrian had confiscated the ones she’d tried to use. “I haven’t found the right moment yet.”

  “The right moment,” Maeve echoed, as if she’d never heard anything so ridiculous, then sipped her drink with care. “I’m becoming disappointed, Rania.”

  “I promised, Maeve—”

  “Excuse me? What did you call me?”

  Rania blinked. “Maeve.” She’d always called the Dark Queen by her name, but now Maeve shook her head.

  “Only my nearest and dearest can call me by my name. It’s intimate, you know.”

  “But...”

  “But you thought you were intimate. And maybe you were.” Maeve arched a brow. “I invite you to note the use of the past tense.”

  Rania felt things were changing too fast. Had Maeve discerned the change in her?

  She’d seen others bow before Maeve and thought this might be a good time for her to do so. In the past, Maeve had laughed and invited her to stand again. “My queen, I only want to serve your will.” She bowed low, then dropped to one knee.

  Maeve just watched Rania, sipping her drink, and didn’t invite her to stand.

  “I fear, Rania, that you may be becoming unreliable,” she said finally, her voice low with threat. “And that would be a terrible shame, when you’ve come so close to fulfilling your assignment and attaining your goal. It would break my heart to see you fail.”

  Rania had heard the question of whether Maeve even had a heart debated before, but knew it was dangerous territory for speculation. Besides, she trusted the Dark Queen. Why would she even think of that at a time like this?

  When Maeve could read her thoughts? It was a bad moment to even consider a treasonous notion.

  “I won’t fail, my queen. I will finish the task.”

  “Not before you prove your allegiance to me.”

  Rania looked up in surprise.

  “Tell me what you’ve learned.”

  Rania faltered, unable to guess what relevance there was to anything she’d learned. “He has a workshop in Northumberland...”

  “No, no, no. I want to know how they intend to fight me.”

  Oh! “The dragon shifter and blacksmith I chose as my victim is making special gloves for his fellow Pyr.”

  “What kind of gloves?”

  Rania tried to remember the details. “They have blades that flick out, like a switchblade at the end of each finger. They’re made of steel—” Maeve hissed at the word “—and I think they can carry them through the shift to augment their dragon talons.”

  “Kill him now,” Maeve said with heat. “Kill him before he finishes them.”

  “Yes, my queen.”

  Maeve drained her drink then glared at Rania, still on bent knee. “Are you still here?”

  Rania was stung by the Dark Queen’s tone, but she understood that Maeve was frustrated. It was her own fault, for failing to finish her assigned task.

  It was time to make that right. She stood up and wished herself to her collection.

  There was no way Hadrian would end up seizing it all, one weapon at a time. This time, she’d succeed.

  Of course, Sebastian didn’t answer Sylvia’s knock on the door of Reliquary.

  And the other vampires had probably gone to Bones already. Had he gone with them?

  She pounded on the door again, then looked up at the window of his refuge. The curtain flicked. She was certain of it.

  And that made her mad. “Ducking me!” she called out, not caring if she offended him. She would have said more, but in that instant, she realized why the word Semyaza sounded familiar to her.

  It was the name of an angel.

  A fallen angel.

  And the man in the vision had brought her a feather.

  Hadn’t this whole battle started with a fallen angel stealing Maeve’s book? And Sebastian had been the one to claim it, when the fallen angel died?

  Sylvia knocked one last time at the door, glared at Sebastian’s window, then headed for the library where she worked.

  She was going to find out every single thing known about Semyaza.

  And that might tell her more about one elusive, annoying vampire.

  Hadrian whistled under his breath as he worked steadily on the gloves, making good progress. He had to use every possible moment. His phone chimed just as he reached a good point to take a break, and he checked the message.

  It was from Quinn, thanking him for the images and notes. It was copied to Erik, the leader of the Pyr, which made Hadrian scroll down.

  He caught his breath when he saw the prophecy that Sara had received. His firestorm was definitely real!

  He righted his chair and sat down to read it.

  The ice dragon summons frost and cold,

  His power is a force to behold.

  He can thaw the ice of a frozen heart

  To offer a lost shifter a new start.

  His firestorm burns fierce and white

  Its radiance a beacon in the darkest night.

  But can it bring hope to that doomed soul?

  Or persuade his lost mate to become whole?

  If the dragon wins the swan maiden’s trust

  It will be Fae not Others who are turned to dust.

  The future will be theirs, once allied

  If the assassin joins the dragon’s side.

  It all made sense. His mate had a red string on her wrist, so she was cursed by Maeve: that would make her a doomed soul. Was her heart frozen? Was that how she made her kills? That might just be a metaphor. She had warmed up a lot since they’d first met.

  The big thing was that he’d been trying to convince her to give them a chance, and the prophecy indicated that he was on the right track: if he persuaded her to ally with him, they could change the tide of the battle against the Fae.

  That was the best news Hadrian had heard in a while. He wanted to ask Alasdair more about his memories of Hadrian’s father’s firestorm, but had let his cousin sleep all day. It was time to rouse him. He turned down the fire in the forge and headed back into the lair.

  It was time to eat something, too. He’d cook for the guys this time, and even the score.

  Who knew—a good meal might even coax his mate to return.

  Hadrian couldn’t wait to see her again, no matter what she tried to do to him.

  Someone had been in her home.

  Rania manifested in the kitchen, just as before, but this time, the air smelled different. The door was slightly open and it was colder inside. What kind of intruder left the door open?

  A thief! Was he or she still in the house?

  It was just sunset and the sky was streaked with orange. The shadows were long inside the house already.

  Rania moved silently through the main floor, finding no signs of anyone. The house was still. She knew she wasn’t wrong, though: someone had been there. She finally eased open the door to the stairs leading to what had originally been the cellar, and paused at the light gleaming from the lower floor.

  She hadn’t left it on.

  Her collection, the only thing of value she possessed, was there.

  Fortunately, there was only one way out of the lower level—unless the intruder was Fae or had similar powers to her own. That the kitchen door to the outside had been left ajar hinted otherwise. Rania took a kitchen knife and moved stealthily down the stairs, counting on the element of surprise.

  There was a man standing in front of her collection, hands on his hips as he surveyed it. He was so motionless that he could have been a statue, but Rania could detect the faint sound of his breathing. She kept her collection in wall cabinets that she’d had custom-built, and she knew she’d left the doors closed and locked. They were flung open now, the light glinting off dozens of polished blades.

  As far as she could see, the only missing weapons were the ones Hadrian had taken from her.

  Who was this man? What was he doing in her home?

  She took a silen
t step closer.

  “Not the hobby I expected you to have,” he said, his voice deep and rumbling. He’d heard her approach and she couldn’t see that he was armed. He had to guess that she would be. Rania braced herself for a surprise.

  He was tall and broad, built like a warrior, and his fair hair was tied back. It hung straight almost to his waist, a lot like her own hair except that Rania couldn’t decide whether his was silver or gold.

  He didn’t stand like an old man, though. There was vitality in his posture, and she could see the muscles in his shoulders. He’d be a formidable opponent.

  There was an undercurrent of amusement to his words, as if he smiled frequently, but when he glanced over his shoulder at her, Rania was startled by the sadness in his eyes. They were blue, clear blue, filled with shadows as if he’d wept enough for a dozen lifetimes. His brows were dark and striking.

  His gaze flicked over her, lingering for a moment on the knife, then her neck. “Was it stolen from you?” he demanded, the very idea obviously offensive.

  Rania didn’t know what he meant. “What?”

  “The ring. I can see a mark from the chain on your neck. Did someone steal it?” The idea seemed to insult him.

  How had he even known she wore a ring on a chain?

  “In a way,” she said, not wanting to admit all of the truth. “I’ll get it back.” She’d retrieve it soon enough, but she felt his displeasure that she’d lost it at all.

  “Are we talking about the same ring?” His tone hardened. “The ring on the chain your mother placed around your neck when you were born? The ring that is your legacy?”

  Rania blinked. Her legacy? “It is?”

  “Didn’t you ever wonder? Didn’t you ever ask?”

  She hadn’t and she knew it, although now, her choice seemed odd. Ever since that sliver had come out of her hand, Rania had felt different. Emotional. Unsettled. She was filled with questions, while previously, she’d felt no doubts at all.

  He ran a hand over her hair. “Now, you’ll never know,” he said sadly, speaking so softly that he might have been addressing himself. He looked like he might weep.