Dragon's Kiss (The DragonFate Novels Book 2) Read online

  “I don’t think so,” he said and didn’t even slow down. “Never mind those heels. You’ve got some impressive wounds on your back.”

  “Tell me about it.” She twisted around, trying to see his face. “I’m serious. Can you tell me about it?”

  “About being wounded?”

  “It’s all new to me.”

  He grunted then and slung her around so that she dropped into his arms. He still didn’t slow down and she caught her breath when her back collided with his arm. “This pain is astonishing,” she whispered, feeling as if she couldn’t quite catch her breath.

  “You’re kidding me,” he said, his tone incredulous. “You’ve never been injured before?”

  Bree shook her head. “Not in our playbook. Kara was right. We’re invulnerable.” She crossed her fingers and touched them to her heart. “Honest and true.”

  “Apparently you’re vulnerable to attack by another Valkyrie.”

  She nodded ruefully. “Live and learn. I don’t think a Valkyrie has ever attacked one of her sisters before. You have to believe me that Kara was enchanted.”

  “No, I don’t,” he said, looking resolute again. “She didn’t stop fighting me when the red light went out. If that means Maeve’s spells were broken, then she still wanted to take me down.”

  “Well, you are a dragon.”

  Kris made an impatient growl. “What do you need to heal?”

  “I don’t know.” She thought about it. “Coffee couldn’t hurt, though.”

  “Very funny. Let’s get out of here first.”

  Bree made a joke. Kristofer had to think that was a good sign.

  He’d take all the ones he could find.

  As he ran, Kristofer found himself thinking about Kara’s accusations. She was jealous of Bree, but the specifics of her accusations were telling. Sigrdrifa was the Valkyrie always named in human stories, the one credited with the greatest skill in using runes. He wished he could hear all of his dad’s old stories again.

  Had Kara really claimed Siegfried’s soul? He didn’t remember that detail.

  If Bree hadn’t been back to Valhalla since Siegfried’s death—since she’d arrived too late to claim his soul—then she might not have known about Kara’s deed.

  If she hadn’t been back to Valhalla since the dragon slayer’s death, she must really love him. Kristofer refused to be daunted by the challenge of winning Bree’s heart. It had to be possible. They had a firestorm.

  Despite her insistence that she could walk, Bree was pale and he felt her trembling. She was hurting and no wonder, given the wounds on her back. They’d followed her between forms.

  Could she be killed by a Valkyrie, even though she was immortal?

  Kristofer wasn’t going to let Kara close enough to find out.

  He wished that light hadn’t disappeared behind them. He had to use all of his senses in the darkness and hope he didn’t trip. The path was smooth underfoot, to his relief, either built with care or stamped down with the passage of many, many feet. Kristofer had expected it to be made of fitted stones, like the walls of the tunnel itself, but he could smell and feel that it was pounded earth. It was dark in the tunnel and got darker with every step he took. The smell of earth was stronger, maybe wetter, and the next rumble was louder.

  He’d known it was coming. The tunnel walls shook and bigger pieces of rock began to fall on them. He hoped they got to an opening soon. The air smelled damp and stuffy, which wasn’t promising.

  What if they were going further into Fae, instead of escaping?

  What if there was no escape?

  The possibility sent panic through him.

  There was another rumble, a louder one, but this one ended with a deafening crack. Bree caught her breath and Kristofer halted at a sudden draft of cooler air.

  Something had changed.

  “I smell water,” he said and dropped to his knees. He stretched out a hand to feel the path in front of them.

  There wasn’t one.

  “There’s a crevasse,” he told Bree and reached further. His fingers encountered a crumbling lip of rock on the far side of the gap. “It’s only about three feet wide.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty much.” His touch loosened some stones and they fell. It was a long time before he heard a splash. He looked back, but there was only the very distant gleam of that light in the mouth of the tunnel.

  Had they been tempted into another trap?

  Where were the Fae? They could be gathered close by, listening silently for all he knew. He couldn’t hear them or sense their presence, but the idea made his skin crawl. It was really annoying that there wasn’t space to shift so he could breathe fire.

  That was when Kristofer realized that the firestorm’s golden light was gone.

  The red sparks of Maeve’s magick hadn’t been the only light extinguished.

  They hadn’t satisfied the firestorm. That was the only thing that extinguished the firestorm’s light. It should still be burning, and burning hotter with every passing moment. He was still aware of Bree—the silk of her hair brushing his skin, the weight of her in his arms, the need to get her to safety—and he still was attracted to her, but that furious burning desire fueled by the firestorm was gone.

  He didn’t want to believe their firestorm had been just a spell, but that truth was inescapable.

  And disappointing.

  They were still partners, though.

  She had told him the truth.

  The ground rumbled ominously once more and Kristofer knew that if there was a real earthquake, they might not survive it. He didn’t have time to investigate the crevasse more thoroughly so would have to take a chance.

  He tightened his grip on Bree, backed up so he could take a run at it and jumped over the gap. His foot landed on solid earth, but then the ground crumbled beneath his heel. He almost lost his balance and felt Bree clutching his shoulder, then he lunged forward with his other foot. He landed on his knees in the dirt with her almost wrapped around him. “I thought you were fearless,” he teased as he got to his feet.

  “I’m getting over that around you,” she replied, humor in her tone. “I thought you were going to shift.”

  “Not enough room. I need one hand,” he said by way of explanation, then flung her over his shoulder again.

  “Hey!” she protested. “Do you always have to carry women around?”

  “It’s that protect-the-treasures-of-the-earth mandate. I can’t help myself.”

  “As long as it isn’t a damsel-in-distress thing,” she muttered.

  “Don’t you think your situation counts?”

  “I fight my own battles,” she said grimly.

  “And then some,” he agreed.

  Bree made a skeptical sound but didn’t reply.

  She must be hurting badly.

  The path, he saw now, slanted upward. He could only hope it led to an opening of some kind—and the world he knew best. The walls were made of stone and they arched upward to make a curving roof of fitted stone. There were drawings on them, mostly spirals, but there was no time to stop and study them. He sensed that the path of the tunnel was circular, winding in an ever-tighter spiral of its own. There were no forks or branches, thus no other way to go than forward.

  The earth began to rumble again.

  His senses told him this might be the big one. Kristofer ran. The tunnel was getting smaller and he ducked lower, holding Bree close. She buried her face against him and hung on in silence, which was telling in itself. The ground was cracking beneath his boots, falling away to nothing behind them. The walls of the tunnel were crumbling and he had to jump over rocks falling in the path.

  “The tunnel is collapsing!” Bree whispered, a new fear in her voice.

  Kristofer didn’t like the sound of that change.

  But he suddenly smelled a crisp wind and the salt of the sea. They were close! He roared and shifted shape, caught Bree close, then drove his back hard into
the roof of the tunnel overhead. He swung his tail when he felt the rock shattering and broke open the summit of the hill. Stars sparkled high above them, proof that they’d left Fae for the realm he knew best.

  He roared in triumph and breathed a plume of dragonfire into the air, stretching his wings and flying high. He spun and dove again, breathing fire on the hill they’d left, wanting only to incinerate Maeve. He left that hill blackened and smoking.

  Kristofer surveyed the land beneath them, took a deep breath and guessed their location. There wasn’t any light in their proximity, which meant there were fewer people to see him. The closest bright cluster of lights, indicating a town, was almost at the horizon. There was only one cottage far below them, one shrouded in darkness. He dared to hope they hadn’t been seen, even though he heard the sound of sirens approaching from the distance. He soared into the sky with Bree in his grasp.

  The firestorm wasn’t real. It was devastating realization for Kristofer, even though it meant that Bree had been telling him the truth.

  The one Pyr who would understand their situation best was in London.

  Kristofer turned high in the sky and flew east with all the speed he could muster.

  “You did it!” Bree said.

  “Only because you saved me,” he replied, then felt new hope. Bree had transformed into a bee, and she’d done it to defend him from Kara. She’d done it to save him, to ensure that his soul wasn’t claimed by her sister, and it meant he wasn’t the only one falling hard and fast.

  They might not have a firestorm, but there was something between them worth defending and he’d fight for it until the bitter end. Kristofer smiled down at his mate, barely aware of the scale slipping away from his armor.

  He was too busy planning what he would say to Rafferty.

  Maeve stood in the ruins of what had been her court, surveyed the mess, then plucked something shiny out of the debris. The lack of red light infuriated her, but without her magick, there was nothing she could do about it. The Fae had retreated, probably fearing her wrath, and she suspected they were hiding in the shadows, watching.

  She turned the peridot and gold scale thoughtfully, then spoke to her second-in-command. He had the audacity to remain beside her, at least. “When the Pyr returns, let him pass into our realm,” she said. “Let him think that he has stolen over the threshold without our awareness.”

  “You can’t know that he’ll return, my lady.” Bryant’s tone was as deferential as ever, but Maeve heard his doubt.

  “Of course, he will.”

  “With respect, how will he return, my lady?” Bryant spoke with care and conviction. “The portals are sealed to other realms and without magick to open new ones, there’s no movement possible between the realms.” He pulled his dagger from its sheath, the silver one that let him slice between worlds, and Maeve saw that its light was extinguished, too.

  Maybe she’d become a little too reliant upon her magick.

  She definitely had to get it back from whoever had dared to steal it.

  “He’ll find a way.” Maeve held the scale up to the light, watching the reflections on its surface. She knew she was right. “It’s the curse of his kind, to be unable to keep from doing the right and honorable thing. He’ll come back for the other two Pyr, no matter what it takes. Be sure they’re guarded and can’t escape.”

  Bryant bowed, but Maeve could still smell his uncertainty. “If and when he does, we will do as you instruct, my lady.”

  She pivoted to face him. “You should remember, Bryant, that dragons have the oldest and most powerful magick of all. Don’t under-estimate the Pyr.”

  “No, my lady.” The Fae warrior’s gaze flicked to the two salamanders, his doubt undiminished even though they stirred.

  He’d learn soon enough that Maeve was right.

  She’d make herself right. There were scraps and tendrils of magic still in her realm and she’d gather them all. She’d undo whatever spells she could to harvest their meager bits of magick. She’d gather and she’d encourage and then she’d make sure that stylus still worked.

  All the Pyr needed was a way to get into Fae. Once they did, Maeve would make sure they never left.

  She retreated to her private chambers, determined to find some hint in her grimoires of who had dared to so disarm her. Knowing her enemy would help her to choose the best tactic for revenge.

  The prince slept.

  Of course. His labor was done and he had to be exhausted. Eithne sat watch over him in the comparative darkness of their hotel room. She hadn’t turned on a light, but the crystal orb in the dagger glowed so brilliantly red that she’d thrown a blanket over it. The light seeped through the gaps in the woven cloth, making the room appear to be bathed in blood.

  Eithne didn’t like that association but she couldn’t dismiss it.

  She also couldn’t dim the incessant energy of the trapped magick in the orb. She wondered whether the constant movement of the sparks trapped in the crystal would draw attention from the street below, but couldn’t imagine there was anything anyone could do about it, even if they did notice.

  Embron, the dragon prince, had gathered all the magick claimed by the Fae and secured it in the orb. It had taken him two days and nights of constant conjuring before there’d been the lightning crack of triumph. Eithne had watched, listened, and ensured he had food at regular intervals. She’d been uncertain it could be done, but hadn’t expressed her doubt aloud.

  Maeve had been her apprentice, after all.

  But the dragon prince had the authority of his rank and a powerful skill with sorcery of his own. The magick had responded to his first summons, slipping under the crack of the door and around the edges of the windows, its telltale red glimmers drawn inexorably to him.

  It appeared that Eithne had taught him well, too.

  She wouldn’t think of the old adage about those who teach.

  She’d never forget the sight of him at work. The room had been filled with a crescendo of shooting sparks and he’d stood in the midst of it, like the conductor of an orchestra, but one bathed in red radiance. It was against every probability that the magick should be collected into a single orb again, after it had been dispersed to two, but it had been thrilling to witness his success.

  And terrifying. She had no notion of his plans.

  So, as he slept, Eithne summoned what was left of her own magick and gave it away to the one individual who could stand in Embron’s path.

  Her former apprentice, Maeve.

  Her magick was gone. Eithne watched the light in the orb and realized the magnitude of what she’d given away. She felt old and tired for the first time. Worn thin. She sat in silence, purportedly guarding Embron but knowing there was very little she could do to defend either of them in the case of attack.

  She’d become a sentinel, instead of a defender.

  In contrast, the prince was radiant even in sleep, glowing with the power of the magick. Even though the orb was filled with its red light, he seemed to be illuminated from within. Master of magick. She was glad that he didn’t quite have it all.

  She wondered if he would remedy that.

  It had taken her most of their journey across the galaxy to embed her magick in two spheres of crystal, a gift to those twin brothers she had promised to guard with her life. Subsequently, one prince had set his half free, and this one, failing to understand magick at all, had loosed his, too. A world without magick had been invaded by it, tainted by it and changed forever by it. In a sense, the promise of Regalia had found fertile soil on this other, previously innocent, world.

  The lights of Edinburgh’s Royal Mile cast their reflections on the ceiling, an array of shifting colors. Eithne tipped her head back, watching the play of the lights and was reminded of the stars on that lonely journey. It wasn’t so different to be watching one prince sleep instead of two. She wondered what spells had been broken by his summoning of the magick, wondered who was paying a price, wondered who would try to r
eclaim the magick.

  Maeve would.

  She touched the orb set in the hilt of the dagger with her fingertips. Just as she should have suspected, the magick flickered and danced, its whisper slipping into her thoughts. It beckoned to her, invited her, tried to seduce her.

  It wanted to be free.

  Eithne could reclaim her gift and her power. She could take it, while he slept. She watched the play of light in the orb and was more tempted than she knew was wise.

  So close.

  She turned to find the prince watching her with his clear steady gaze, as if he’d heard the murmur of the magick. He smiled, looking as mysterious and dangerous as only a dragon could.

  As if he knew that she’d been tempted.

  As if he knew she’d given her last to Maeve.

  As if he’d never fully trust her again.

  Before she could protest, Embron sat up, moving with his usual resolve and power. He fixed her with a hard look after he stood, then extended his hand regally. His unspoken command was clear.

  Eithne picked up the blade, steeling herself against its whisper, turned it and presented the hilt to him. “Your blade, your majesty,” she said, dropping to one knee.

  She wondered then if he would use it on her.

  “My blade,” he repeated, as if to remind her. His hand closed around the hilt and something new shone in his eyes, something Eithne didn’t trust. He made a quick movement with the blade and she recoiled.

  But he only drew a symbol in the air high over her head. A burning path of red sparks that glowed for a moment and Eithne caught her breath in recognition. She feared what he had in mind, but he strode to the door.

  “It’s the middle of the night,” she protested.

  His look was filled with ominous intent. She shivered inwardly at the sight. “My brother has awaited me long enough.”

  “What?” Eithne was horrified. “You can’t raise Blazion! Not after all he did!”

  The prince smiled coldly. “I can and I will.”

  Eithne lunged after him but he was taller and faster. He strode down the corridor of the hotel toward the fire exit. She heard him on the stairs to the roof, taking them three at a time, before she even reached that door. The steel door slammed behind her and locked audibly as she raced after him, up the stairs to the roof.