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

  The other wolf shifters burst from their rooms and a howl rose from several of them. The hair rose on Wynter’s back as she leapt down the stairs. Most of her pack-mates had already shifted. They barked and snarled, led by her brother, Kirk, into the great room of the lodge. Wynter saw four more flashes of silver light, then the wolves were falling dead with stunning speed, those strange blades flashing on all sides.

  The scent of blood filled her nostrils before she reached the fight. Kirk was already surrounded by Fae warriors. He was a big Arctic wolf who had never been defeated in battle before. He leapt at one of the intruders and sank his fangs into his opponent’s arm. The warrior tossed his strange blade to his other hand, as if he didn’t feel pain at all, then buried it to the hilt in Kirk’s chest.

  Wynter watched in horror as Kirk fell to the floor, blood flowing from his wound. The warrior bent and cut out Kirk’s heart, smiling as he held it aloft. He took a bite out of it before Wynter’s very eyes, then kicked Kirk’s lifeless body aside.

  The wolves fell on the intruders, but without Kirk to lead them or Logan to take his place, Wynter feared their attack was doomed to failure. She tried to take the lead herself, but a Fae warrior jabbed his blade at her. She twisted in the last moment and took a blow to the shoulder instead of her back, but it burned like nothing she’d ever experienced before. The pain made her stagger and fall.

  By the time Wynter lifted her head, the warriors were stepping back through their openings between the realms. The rest of her pack was dead around her and the floor was wet with blood. Mates wept and shouted, and one threw whatever she could grab at the Fae. Lamps shattered but Wynter knew it wouldn’t change a thing.

  Her pack had been slaughtered, her brother was dead, and she knew this was the Dark Queen’s plan to eliminate all shifters in action. Wynter saw four of the warriors disappear as her need for vengeance burned to life.

  The first intruder to arrive was the last to depart. It had been less than two minutes since he’d arrived. He spared a cold glance over the carnage, as if counting the bodies, and Wynter instinctively closed her eyes. She played dead, letting him think he’d completed his task, and only opened her eyes when the silver light flashed one last time.

  There was only the light of the moon then and the corpses of the werewolves she called both family and friend. They were all she knew and loved, and they were dead. Wynter checked, twice.

  She was the last werewolf alive in the Alaska pack and that meant the honorable burial of her pack was her responsibility.

  So was vengeance for their deaths.

  The women who had been mates turned to her, the same lust for vengeance in their eyes, and Wynter knew she’d just become a leader of a different kind. The wound in her shoulder burned and she knew that no normal treatment would heal it.

  When the burials were done, they would all to go to New York.

  In her apartment, Sylvia woke up abruptly. She had a bad feeling and halfway wished she’d allowed the vampire Sebastian to stay, despite how irritating and enigmatic he could be. She sat up and looked around, wondering what had disturbed her sleep. The part of Maeve’s book under her pillow glowed faintly red, as if it would protest its innocence.

  Sylvia wasn’t convinced.

  She jumped when Sebastian suddenly appeared outside the windows on her terrace, his hands on the glass as if he’d force his way in. Had she summoned him with her thoughts? Then he stepped back. His eyes were bright and he glittered, a sign that he hadn’t fed. His gaze fixed upon her and she retreated to the other side of the room, pressing her back against the wall.

  His expression turned disparaging. “I won’t feed on you,” he muttered and she heard his words clearly despite the glass barrier. “I’ll never feed on you.” Sylvia wondered at his vehemence, but he flicked a lethal glance behind himself, then at the faint red glow by her pillow. The torn book seemed to be advertising its location. “Fucking magick.”

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Can’t you tell?”

  “I know something’s wrong.”

  “The Fae have attacked. Reliquary is a blood bath, so to speak. It won’t be the only one.”

  The antique shop in Soho, Reliquary, was the haven of the vampires who followed Micah, including Sebastian whose alliance she often doubted. Sylvia guessed that Sebastian had left there in a hurry.

  His lips tightened. “It’s brutal.” He shook his head. “There was no point in trying to help.” She wondered whether he was trying to justify his choice then he glared at her again. “Yes. I chose to defend you over them. Don’t shoot.”

  Sylvia couldn’t deny that his decision pleased her. He glared at the door knob, a lock she knew he could pick or break, and she stepped across the room to open it and let him in. He swept into her apartment on a breath of cold air, moving with his usual grace and speed, then circled the apartment like a whirlwind. She wondered what he was looking for, but before she could ask, he stopped beside her pillow. He removed Maeve’s book with his fingertips and studied it with obvious distaste.

  There was a faint tinkle, like bells, and Sylvia saw more red light emanate from the volume. She only had half of the book, since it had been torn in their escape from Fae, but in Sebastian’s grip, its remaining pages fluttered as if in a wind. There was no air moving in the apartment and Sylvia moved closer with suspicion. She could feel his agitation and distrust. Why did he hate magick so much? For all she knew, he’d told her before then made her forget his confession.

  He was so annoying like that.

  Pages separated themselves from the binding and took flight, twisting and turning as they rose in the air. Before they touched the ceiling, they disappeared, one at a time.

  The book closed itself as one last page fluttered to the floor.

  Even at a distance, Sylvia could see that it was the page documenting the Coven of Mercy, the thirteen vampires who had gathered in Manhattan. They had pledged to Micah’s scheme to choose victims only from the sick and the infirm.

  As Sylvia watched, lines appeared through the names of Adrian, Petronella, Oliver, Aloysius and Ignatius. It was as if an invisible hand with an invisible pen stroked them out. The magickal ink was red. A heartbeat later, the year appeared beside each name.

  “Five,” Sebastian whispered with quiet heat. “She accelerates the game.”

  Almost half the coven was gone.

  “The other pages,” Sylvia whispered.

  “Yes, she’s distributing the inventories,” Sebastian said bitterly. “To taunt us all with her pending doom. This is the problem with her having her magick back again. I didn’t like that dragon prince, but at least he gave her some competition. At least someone else could summon the magick.” He paced the width of the room, simmering. “Now, we’re screwed.”

  Sylvia ran a hand over the book cover, then tucked the loose page back inside. “Not quite,” she said with quiet conviction. She met Sebastian’s incredulous gaze. “Eithne said she was giving her magick to me. I should learn to use it.”

  “It’s probably too late,” Sebastian countered.

  “We’re still here. It’s not too late.” Sylvia picked up the book, aware that it seemed to weigh far more than it should. It was cold, too, as if she held a block of ice. “You could try to be a little more encouraging.”

  “Pessimism is my learned response to several millenia on this spinning rock,” he countered, folding his arms across his chest to glare at her.

  Sylvia hadn’t realized he was so old. His expression persuaded her to refrain from comment on that.

  “You must like it well enough,” she said instead. “You chose immortality.”

  “Did I?” Sebastian smiled, looking more like his usual wicked self. “Or did it choose me?”

  Sylvia had no reply for that.

  Sebastian looked at the book. “Okay, wannabe witch. What are you going to do first?”

  Sylvia knew a challenge when she heard one. “You could help,”
she challenged back.

  “I know better than to mess with magick, but you suit yourself.” He threw himself into a chair, lounging there even as his eyes glittered. He looked ready to pounce despite his posture and Sylvia was wary of him.

  He was volatile because he was afraid, as afraid as she was, and she knew it. She turned the book in her hands, choosing her words. “The magick won’t betray her. She has too much of it to command. It won’t tell me how she can be defeated. But Eithne said that Regalian magick is sentient and, if the Dark Queen holds all the magick, that part of it might be less securely in her grasp.” She looked up and met Sebastian’s gaze, seeing unexpected admiration there. “I’m going to invite it to play and see what happens.”

  He gave a low whistle. “Not too daring.”

  “The time has come to take a risk.”

  “Stand back,” Sebastian said grimly.

  Sylvia ignored him as she concentrated and composed her first spell. She was vaguely aware that it started to snow outside the windows and that the wind was chilly, but she had more important things on her mind than the weather.

  She saw red light illuminate at her fingertips and dared to hope for success.

  Murray was locking up his restaurant and bar, Bones, stifling a yawn when a flash of light woke him up in a hurry. A portal to Fae opened on the dance floor, which had to make the short list of his worst nightmares. He didn’t even have time to react. Someone or something was shoved through the portal, then it was closed, leaving the bar in darkness once again. How could that be? He’d had the wall faced in steel where the portal to Fae had been, and even buttressed it with a wizard’s charm.

  But the portal had opened in the middle of the dance floor. That meant it had been sliced open by a Fae weapon.

  It also meant that there wasn’t a safe place in all the world.

  Murray made his way cautiously across the bar, then realized it was his bartender, Mel, unconscious on the floor. She’d been lost in Fae for over a month and relief flooded through him at the sight of her.

  Unless, of course, she was dead.

  Unless, her return was a trick.

  “Mel?” Murray fell to his knees beside her and checked her pulse. She was alive, but she still had a red string on her wrist. Cursed but breathing. Murray would take it over the alternatives. He felt the air move around him, as if a maelstrom surrounded her, but focused on helping her. “Mel! Are you okay?”

  “No,” she murmured, her voice more husky than usual, then tried to sit up.

  “Are you cursed?”

  “No more than I was before,” she said grimly, meeting his gaze.

  He believed her. Mel had never lied to him and he didn’t think she was starting now.

  Murray helped her as best he could and finally got her to her feet. She was weak and she had some injuries, though he wasn’t sure how serious any of them were. The greater issue was probably that it was Saturday night, late enough to be early Sunday morning. He knew she had to retreat to her sanctuary by the dawn for her weekly isolation.

  It was her curse, and the red string on her wrist showed that it was still in force.

  He got her into a seat at the bar, and poured her a shot of brandy. Mel knocked it back, then shook her head. She looked exhausted and had lost some weight, even though she’d always been tiny.

  “It’s good to be back,” she said and managed to smile.

  “I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life,” Murray admitted, then came around the bar to give her a hug. He wasn’t demonstrative, but he’d been so worried about her. “She let you go. I can’t believe she let you go.”

  “You should be more skeptical, Murray,” Mel said, her tone wry. “She has all her magick back, so anything’s possible.”

  Murray understood. “She released you because you’re doomed.”

  Mel nodded. “We all are. And she wants to watch. It’s part of the game. One last spectacle.” She put a crumpled sheet of paper on the bar and smoothed it out. “This is from her book. It’s the werewolves, specifically those in the Alaska pack. Look, Murray. She’s wiped them out, except for the alpha’s sister, Wynter.”

  “All of them?” Murray couldn’t believe it.

  “All of them. Tonight.” Mel shook her head. “And this is only one page. I didn’t see it all, but it was bad.”

  It wasn’t the most reassuring news she could have brought from Fae.

  “It’s Sunday,” Murray told her and saw her eyes widen. He knew that it was easy to lose track of time in Fae. “I’ll help you get home so you’re there before dawn.”

  “Raymond’s here,” she protested, referring to the ghost of her dead husband.

  “And since when has he been any help?” Murray demanded, knowing that Mel couldn’t argue with that. “I’ll call a cab, and we’ll be at your place in a couple of minutes. Come on. I’ll talk to you through the bathroom door, if you don’t mind. We need to make a plan and it can’t wait until Monday.”

  Alasdair, Hadrian and Thorolf had disappeared by the time Kristofer reached the main room of his house. Chandra stood at the window, rocking a dozing Raynor. Kristofer felt himself shimmer on the cusp of change but tried to hold back until he knew more. Quinn was staring out into the night and he could hear Sara urging the boys to go back to sleep. Kristofer’s mate, Bree, was right behind him and he knew that any suggestion he might make about her staying back to remain safe would be ignored.

  She might not be a Valkyrie anymore, but she’d never lose her fearlessness.

  “Alasdair shouted that they were coming,” Chandra explained. “Then he shifted shape and took off. He tried to warn us.”

  “Of what?” Bree asked from behind him.

  “Who are they?” Kristofer asked.

  “I don’t know. He sounded frightened.” Chandra frowned. “I wonder whether it was the Fae. It would stand to reason that he’d be sensitive to their presence after his experience.”

  Kristofer exchanged a grim glance with Bree. Alasdair had been tortured by Maeve, the Dark Queen of the Fae and his mind was a mess as a result. Rhys and his mate, Lila, appeared, looking as if they’d been sleeping soundly. Arach and Balthasar stepped onto the patio, appearing out of the darkness. The two of them had been bunking in the barn and there were strands of straw in Balthasar’s man-bun.

  “Should we go after them?” Arach asked. He was almost bouncing, ready to fight. Vivid blue light shimmered around him.

  “Divide forces?” Balthasar suggested, also on the cusp of change.

  “There are too many mates and kids,” Quinn said. “Most of us should stay here.” He inhaled deeply. “At least the dragonsmoke barrier is secure.”

  “That’s not any defense against Fae warriors,” Rhys noted just as a bolt of silver light flashed in the middle of the room.

  Kristofer shifted immediately to defend Bree and his lair, becoming a dragon of peridot and gold that nearly filled the room. He bared his teeth at the flash, which elongated into a vertical slit. He braced himself for a Fae warrior to emerge through the portal, but the light blinked as a single limp figure was shoved through the gap. Then the portal between realms closed, as surely as if it had never been.

  The man who lay unconscious on the floor moaned and shuddered.

  “Theo!” Rhys exclaimed and fell to his knees beside their fallen comrade. Theo, a fellow Pyr, had been lost in Fae for over a month. He’d been cursed, too, and had attacked Arach when they both had been in that realm.

  Theo was bleeding heavily and Lila, with her healing skills, was quick to join Rhys. Kristofer couldn’t even see Theo’s wounds for all the blood on his skin. There was a burn on his left wrist, as if a string had been tied too tightly there, and his fingers twitched convulsively. His skin was pale and Kristofer feared that he had been tortured by the Fae before release, like Alasdair.

  “Dragon bait,” Chandra warned and took a wary step back.

  “She’s right,” Arach said, coming in from the patio
“It could be a trap.”

  “But we can’t not help him,” Lila protested.

  “He could be infected with something fatal to us,” Quinn said.

  “He could have been forcibly turned against the Pyr,” Arach added. “I saw how potent the Dark queen’s spells can be.”

  But there was no red light around Theo’s fallen figure. He looked so broken that Kristofer couldn’t ignore his need. “I think we have to help him,” he said and Bree nodded agreement.

  “His aura is heavily damaged, but its color is true,” Lila said, dropping to her knees beside Theo. “I think he’s badly injured but he’s himself.”

  “Then why did she release him?” Chandra demanded, holding her son closer. “It has to be a trick.”

  Lila considered Theo’s injuries. “He might have told her everything he knew.”

  “He might not be useful anymore,” Bree agreed, her tone hard.

  “He might be a spy, and not by choice,” Chandra said, her suspicion undiminished. “I think we should be cautious.”

  “I’ll take custody of him,” Lila said. “With Rhys. We’ll take him back to the city and Niall can Dreamwalk to help him, just the way he helped Alasdair.” She looked up at Rhys. “He can’t lie to Niall in his dreams, can he?”

  Rhys shook his head. “No, he can’t.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “I think that’s a good plan.”

  Bree shook her head. “I wonder what price he had to pay to gain his freedom.” She clearly didn’t expect a reply. Kristofer hoped Theo could tell them.

  Thorolf and Hadrian returned then in a flurry of dragon wings: Hadrian carried an unconscious Alasdair. Alasdair was in his human form and murmuring incoherently.

  “He just passed out,” Thorolf said with disgust, after shifting shape. “Good thing we were there because he would have fallen right out of the sky. It would have been curtains.”

  “He dropped like a rock,” Hadrian confirmed, setting his cousin down on the couch. His English accent was stronger, as it often was when he was agitated. He was close to Alasdair and even more worried about that Pyr than the others.