Dragon's Heart (The DragonFate Novels Book 3) Read online

  This night might be his only opportunity and he was going to make it count.

  Seven

  Lila awakened to bright light.

  She thought at first that it was the firestorm, then realized there was a beam of sunlight shining across the bed. It was warm and golden, autumn sunlight, and its color reminded her that she should get back to the island. The blinds were open and she could see frost on the window, sparkling in the sun. It would be a cold day, which made her yearn to linger in bed.

  It would be even better if Rhys joined her.

  Lila rolled over and stretched, unable to keep from smiling after their night together. Rhys had been every bit as attentive to detail as she’d expected. She couldn’t remember when she’d had so many orgasms in rapid succession.

  Dragon shifters really did have stamina.

  He’d been more than worth the trip from Scotland.

  Rhys wasn’t in bed with her, but the sounds from the kitchen made it easy to guess his location. Lila stared at the ceiling, knowing it was time to make her decision.

  Should she conceive Rhys’ son?

  She’d come to New York ready for sexual satisfaction and nothing else. Rhys’ faith in the firestorm and his desire for a son was more persuasive than she might have expected. She could give him what he wanted and had pretty much decided to do so, but without the persistent hum of the firestorm, Lila wondered whether that was a wise choice.

  The detail that troubled her was that she’d met Rhys near a beach on North Rona. She’d assumed he’d flown there, following the spark of the firestorm, but he said he’d entered Fae before meeting her. That meant either he’d left Fae without realizing it, or that she’d entered Fae without realizing it, and neither option was reassuring. Either meant that there was a portal to Fae closer to Lila’s home than she’d realized, one that she wasn’t aware existed. Plus Maeve demanded a toll from anyone who crossed the borders of her realm: Rhys had paid one toll but not two, and Lila hadn’t paid one at all.

  It would be irresponsible and wrong to conceive a child without being certain that infant would be safe.

  Lila closed her eyes. She knew Rhys would be disappointed, but she couldn’t choose otherwise.

  She chose not to conceive.

  The firestorm lit immediately, a faint golden glow that slid through her body from head to toe. It brightened to a shimmer and she caught her breath as her desire for Rhys sparked once more. She was surrounded by that yellow light again and so in need of a certain dragon shifter’s touch that she might have been celibate for a year.

  How was she going to leave him and go home?

  She had to find the strength somehow.

  She heard Rhys mutter a curse and felt his confusion.

  It was time to make her confession, even though he wasn’t going to like it much.

  Sylvia thought it was Monday.

  She wasn’t entirely sure and that bothered her. Sylvia liked to be the organized one, the one who knew what day and what time it was, the one who remembered all the details. But she didn’t. Not anymore. Her memory had become unreliable since her escape from the Circus of Wonders with Sebastian and she didn’t like it one bit.

  It had to be Sebastian’s fault.

  She remembered their wild run across the city, a Fae warrior in pursuit, and Sebastian’s deft use of the subways to leave their attacker behind. She remembered being locked in the submarine, the Growler, with Sebastian at the Intrepid museum. She remembered the sound of the Fae warrior landing on the roof just as Sebastian locked the door and the flicker of silver light around the perimeter of the closure.

  She remembered the moment she’d realized she was trapped with a vampire, uncertain when he’d last fed, tingling with the awareness of his intense scrutiny. She remembered her awareness of him, and knew that being attracted to a vampire was a bad idea when she’d make a nice light snack.

  Sebastian had a dangerous way of making Sylvia feel as if she was the only woman in the world. The way he looked at her, as if he could read her thoughts and desires—even though he said he couldn’t—made her tingle to her toes. She was drawn to him, even knowing that was dumb, and aroused by him, probably by his intention, which was even dumber. She suspected that her sensual dreams of the red room and endless bouts of pleasure with Sebastian were of his doing.

  She was unsure whether those encounters had actually happened or not.

  She’d lost track of time, thanks to the omissions in her memory. She remembered that she and Sebastian had made a deal in the submarine, and was pretty sure that he’d agreed to answer three questions for her. She had no recollection of what she’d asked, much less what he’d replied. She had about a thousand questions for him so couldn’t even guess what she had asked.

  After that, everything was hazy and vague, more like impressions than memories. Had she been locked in a vault hidden beneath the antique shop? Where was Maeve’s book, the one that Micah had said was entrusted to her? Had Sebastian taken possession of her just to get the book?

  Had she and Sebastian gone to Bones together to meet with the Others? It seemed as if they had, but Sylvia didn’t trust her memory on that either—especially since the entry about the Pyr had revised itself while they were looking at it. That seemed more like a dream than anything that could have actually happened. Could seven more dragon shifters manifest suddenly in the world she thought she knew?

  None of it made sense.

  The only thing Sylvia knew for sure was that she wanted her own bed and her little apartment more than she’d ever wanted anything else in the world. She wanted to sit in her aunt’s courtyard garden and share dinner with Eithne. She wanted to go to work every weekday morning and catalogue books in the basement of the library with a desperation that would have surprised her a month before. If she could have her old dull life back—without enticing vampires, dangerous Fae, dragon shifters, Others or treacherous books—she’d never complain about boredom again.

  She’d awakened in the library with heavy velvet curtains, the one that seemed to be Sebastian’s room. She’d often wondered about the books that filled the shelves, but when Sebastian was with her, she was more concerned about what he’d do next. He was as unpredictable as a feral cat, but a lot more alluring. For the first time, she was alone in this room, but perusing the collection was the last thing on her mind.

  Sylvia drew back the edge of a curtain, only to discover that there were blackout blinds behind them. She looked around one, and smiled at the sunlight that flooded the view. There was almost no one in sight. Some leaves were blowing down the street and the sunlight was fiercely bright and golden. The sky was clear blue. It would be chilly, with a bite in the wind. It must be November, after all.

  She’d gone into the submarine with Sebastian on Halloween. If it was Monday, it seemed that too much time had passed for it to be the fourth. Maybe it was the eleventh of November. Surely it would be colder if it was later than that. Sylvia hated that she wasn’t sure.

  Where was Sebastian?

  She went to the door and grimaced when she found it locked. Of course. He left nothing to chance.

  She was dressed as she had been that night at the circus and that made her want a long hot shower, too. She walked around the library that was her prison, impatient to escape, and scanned the titles—because there was nothing else to do. A lot of them were collections of folklore and old songs. Fables and stories. Lives of saints. She made a mental inventory of them out of habit, seeking similarities, itching to reorganize them.

  If Maeve’s Book of Beasts was on the shelves, it was well hidden.

  Where was Sebastian? He must be sleeping somewhere, or otherwise hidden from the light. Why not here, in this room she thought was his?

  She fought the sense that this was a test or a trick.

  Could she open the window? Sylvia pushed back the window coverings again, only to discover that the windows were fixed panes of glass. They didn’t open and never had. She spun to
survey the room in frustration, then heard a slight sound.

  Metal on metal.

  She straightened, bracing herself for Sebastian’s reappearance. She watched as the knob turned slowly, then the door began to open. It stopped when it was slightly ajar, which wasn’t like Sebastian at all. He never hesitated once he’d made a choice. She knew that much about him already.

  Her heart pounding, Sylvia crossed the room silently. She looked through the crack into the darkness beyond, but saw nothing in the shadows. She touched the knob and urged the door to open. The hinges creaked and it took an excruciatingly long moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness beyond. She could barely see the sweep of the staircase, the one that led down to the shop. Items glinted in the darkness there, hurricane lamps and trinkets. She was struck again how it looked like it was from another time. It was more than the antiques—hurricane lamps were used as lighting, and their flames flickered.

  A yawning silence rose from the antique shop as well as the scent of dust. She could smell dampness beneath it, as if someone had left open the door to a cellar, and then she heard distant voices.

  Men.

  Arguing.

  Sylvia took a step out of Sebastian’s sanctuary. It was Micah and Sebastian who argued. She was sure of it. A woman’s decisive voice interjected at intervals. That would be Micah’s partner, Rosemary, who gave Sylvia the chills.

  She crept to the top of the stairs, wincing when the wooden floor creaked. Were they all in the vault in the basement? Could she possibly make it to the door to the shop and escape? What about the locks?

  “Open,” a woman said so quietly that Sylvia almost didn’t hear her.

  She started and spun, spotting the vampire who looked like a teenage girl leaning against the wall behind her. She remembered that Bella was her name. Bella was blond and pretty, dressed in black and pink. She, too, could stand completely still for long intervals, as Sebastian could. Bella smiled at Sylvia as she dropped a ring of brass keys into her Hello Kitty tote bag. Those looked like they should open all the doors in a magical castle.

  Sylvia pointed back to the door of the library in question. Bella nodded and smiled, revealing the points of her canine teeth.

  Why had she let Sylvia out?

  There was something about Bella that prompted distrust.

  Bella pointed to the door to the street and Sylvia decided she could get over that distrust if it meant freedom. Even if Bella meant to trick her, maybe she could escape anyway. She started down the stairs.

  “Don’t forget your book,” Bella said softly and Sylvia glanced back to see Maeve’s Book of Beasts on the top step. She was sure it hadn’t been there before.

  She was halfway tempted to step over it and keep going.

  Hadn’t she been chosen as its custodian? Didn’t she want to really look through it, maybe catalogue its contents? If she took it, she could copy its lists.

  Eithne had always told her that seemingly random events happened for a reason, that they weren’t random at all, so she should trust in them. If Sylvia was attacked by Fae warriors, well, maybe she’d just hand it over. Before she could think about it too much, she bent down and picked up the book. The glamor wavered a little then it looked just like one of the many notebooks she’d bought.

  She gripped it tightly and glanced up as Bella gave her a fingertip wave.

  That chilling smile was enough to make anyone run. Sylvia took the stairs two at a time, making sure her progress was soundless. The stairs didn’t even creak, so someone somewhere was on her side.

  Even though she was quick, Bella was quicker. The vampire passed her in a blur and met her at the door to the street, holding out a black quilted coat like a valet. It seemed to be new. Bella’s eyes glittered and her features sharpened as Sylvia drew closer, a sign that the vampire might not have fed recently. She opened her mouth and bared her teeth, as if taking Sylvia’s scent—and finding it tempting.

  The door was unlocked. The sunlight was her only salvation.

  Sylvia seized the coat and flung open the door, stumbling into the street as she shrugged on the coat. It was cold, the wind filled with the promise of winter, but she didn’t care. She ran and ran, hugging the book tightly against her chest. No one seemed to pursue her, but she didn’t slow down. She raced toward her apartment in Eithne’s townhouse, her heart thundering and her breath fogging the air.

  Sebastian might follow her at nightfall, but Sylvia would make this day of freedom count.

  To Rhys’ surprise, satisfying the firestorm hadn’t eliminated his agitation. As soon as he left Lila sleeping in his bed, his thoughts began to churn again. He had so many questions and not enough answers, plus a pervasive sense of dread.

  What if his firestorm was a spell, just as Kristofer’s had been? That didn’t mean Lila was deceptive—she could be fooled, too. The possibility made Rhys uneasy. After all, selkies had to be on Maeve’s list as well as the Pyr. Why then was the firestorm’s spark extinguished? That must mean it was real.

  The firestorm was supposed to simplify things, but instead, he felt that everything had become infinitely more complicated. Even if the firestorm was real, Lila was a selkie and he was Pyr: what would their son be? What powers would he have—and which ones would he not inherit? Rhys wanted to respect Lila’s choice not to make a partnership with him, but how could he protect her and their son when she was half a world away?

  After he showered and dressed, he returned to what he knew best. Lila, again, hadn’t had a chance to eat. Rhys cleaned up the kitchen and began to cook breakfast. He had a few things in the fridge and pantry, enough for his breakfast plans. He made himself a pot of coffee and got to work. The rhythm of preparing food soothed him, as it always did, and he dared to hope for the best.

  Rhys heard Lila’s breathing change as she awakened and put the kettle on for tea. He was trying to prioritize his questions, hoping they wouldn’t argue, when the inexplicable happened: the firestorm sparked again.

  Rhys stared at his hand, unable to believe his eyes. He blinked but it made no difference. There could be no mistaking the sparks that shot from his fingers or the heat that the firestorm launched within him.

  How could it be back?

  His mind clouded with desire and he felt the firestorm’s power slide through his body all over again, making him burn with need again. This time, though, instead of imagining how it would be to seduce Lila, he knew exactly how it would be. He could remember their night together and that only amplified his reaction. He thought of her smooth skin, her full lips, the way she laughed a little, kind of breathless and husky, when he ran his hands down her sides. He recalled the little gasp she made before her release and the way she completely surrendered to pleasure—and he burned the eggs.

  “Oops,” she said from behind him, that thread of humor in her tone. Rhys spun to face her and she smiled. “Something burning again.” She strolled toward him, wearing one of his T-shirts and not much else, and slipped onto a stool on the opposite side of the counter. She was silhouetted by a corona of fire, one that sparked toward him at intervals and burned vivid yellow. “For a chef, you burn a lot of food. That must affect your restaurant’s profits.” She lifted a brow and he saw a confidence in her dark gaze, as well as a lack of surprise.

  “It’s you,” Rhys said curtly and held up a hand, watching the sparks fly. “It’s this.”

  “Just as distracting as ever, isn’t it?” She spoke lightly and again he was struck by her lack of surprise.

  Maybe it was a spell, and she was the one commanding it. The possibility made Rhys feel sick.

  “How can it be back?” he whispered.

  “Well, it’s not for a lack of enthusiasm,” Lila said and he frowned. Her smile faded as she studied him. “I could tell you, but you aren’t going to like it.”

  Rhys poured her a mug of tea and slid it across the counter to her, folding his arms across his chest to watch her and wait. He probably didn’t look encouraging, but
he was annoyed and didn’t care whether she knew it.

  She said she liked honesty.

  Lila picked up the mug and wrapped her hands around it, watching him closely. “I chose,” she admitted, then took a sip.

  “You chose what?”

  “I chose not to conceive.”

  Rhys blinked. “You can do that?”

  “It’s one of our gifts.”

  She called it a gift to deny the firestorm’s promise.

  Rhys exhaled in frustration and turned back to the stove. He took the warm pan with the eggs, dumped them into the trash, then began to wash the pan. His movements were abrupt, but he didn’t want to say too much. She’d chosen. She’d known all along that she could chose yet hadn’t mentioned that detail until this moment. He felt cheated and deceived, which should not be part of the firestorm to his thinking.

  Yet it remained unsatisfied. It burned with new vigor, but this time, its demanding heat felt both exhilarating and futile to Rhys. He stifled the urge to swear.

  Or break something.

  He let himself slam pots on the washboard.

  “You’re disappointed,” Lila said after he cleaned vigorously for a few minutes.

  “You expected me to be.” Rhys glanced her way, knowing his expression was as forbidding as his tone. “You knew I would be.”

  Lila sighed and nodded agreement.

  “I thought we were in agreement,” he added, his tone hard. “I thought we’d made a plan.”

  “We were, actually,” she admitted, which was a bit of a relief. “But this morning, I reconsidered.” She sipped her tea.

  She was unapologetic, and while Rhys respected that the choice was hers to make, he wished she’d talked to him about it first.

  “You don’t think I should get to choose?” she asked and he heard the warning in her tone.

  “No. I just wish we had talked about it first.” He looked down at the sink, then turned off the water, trying to keep his patience. Lila had to have a good reason for her choice. Well, he hoped she had a good reason. She seemed to be sensible, so maybe there was something he could do to encourage her to reconsider again.