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

  Plus, for Hadrian, the battle against the Fae was personal. He’d been imprisoned in that realm and compelled to dance until his feet bled. He’d been tricked by Kade, one of the Pyr who was under Maeve’s spell, and even Alasdair had been forced to lie to Hadrian. He’d forgiven his cousin but not the Dark Queen behind it all. There was no telling when a Fae portal would open and a battle would start. Hadrian was done with spells and sorcery. He was ready to kick some Fae butt.

  He also couldn’t evade his sense that his own days were numbered. What Lila called a kiss of death felt like a block of ice in his cheek. It was impossible to ignore. He’d be sure the Pyr were ready if and when he died. That would be the best legacy.

  Hadrian turned down his lane and his lair came into view. He parked the Land Rover beside Alasdair’s and his cousin immediately got out to check his own vehicle—which was untouched, of course. Hadrian took a deep breath but there was no hint of Lynsay’s presence.

  He shouldn’t have expected otherwise. There was no reason to be disappointed. He knew he’d done the right thing by breaking it off, but he would miss her. He wanted her to be happy, though, and knew he wasn’t the one who could give her that.

  Hadrian unlocked the door to the lair and Balthasar followed him with groceries. Hadrian claimed the gloves with purpose.

  “I’m going to call Donovan and tell him the package arrived,” Balthasar said. “And ask how he takes the gloves through the shift.”

  “I need a shower, then I’ll get to work.”

  Alasdair trailed in with the last box of groceries, checking his phone with one hand.

  The mill that had become Hadrian’s home and studio was constructed in an L, which made the division between home and work easy. He’d built his studio in the larger arm of the L and his home in the other. At the junction was his office and a formidable barrier of dragonsmoke buttressing the entrance to his lair, hoard and home.

  His lair had a large main room, with a high ceiling and exposed brick walls. The kitchen was at one end, immediately inside the door. There was a big fireplace on the opposite wall which divided the bedroom from the rest. Kristofer had done some amazing pointwork during a visit years before, building an arch in the wall to the right of the fireplace. It wasn’t original but blended with the architectural details while still looking a bit modern.

  The arch gave access to Hadrian’s bedroom: there was a door between it and the bathroom beyond. Windows on the right of the great room and bedroom offered a view of the river that had originally provided power to the mill. That vista changed with the seasons and Hadrian never tired of it. There was a loft over the bedroom, a second bath for guests, and a room behind the office that could be used as a spare room.

  Hadrian paused in the great room and took a deep breath, assessing. His dragonsmoke was undisturbed, although the protective barrier had faded a bit in his absence. It still gave a resonant ping, though, proof that it was intact. He’d have to fortify it before the end of the day. There was a bit of dust on everything, since he’d been gone more than a month.

  If Lynsay had stopped by to collect her things, she would have done it right away. Her key was probably under the door mat. He wasn’t going to dwell on the end of that relationship or even check for the key at this point. The dragonsmoke didn’t stop a human intruder although that person might feel a slight chill when passing through it. Hadrian couldn’t smell Lynsay’s skin, though, and had to conclude she hadn’t come by at all.

  The odd thing was that Hadrian had the sense his lair wasn’t empty. How could that be? He couldn’t smell or hear anyone, much less see any signs of another presence. He shook his head, thinking that recent events had made him paranoid.

  He left the box from Donovan on the kitchen counter, only giving the enclosed note the barest glance. He wanted to check out the gloves and they didn’t disappoint. He tugged them on, snapping his fingers so the blades extended and catching his breath in admiration. He turned his hands, admiring the blades’ flexibility and craftsmanship. Quinn had set a high bar even with his traditional methods. He was so detail-oriented.

  Sunlight shone through the windows and glinted on the lethal blades. Donovan had explained to Hadrian that he didn’t fold them away with his clothes: in his dragon form, they merged with his claws, lengthening them into swords.

  Hadrian couldn’t wait to see that. He moved into the center of the large living space, aware that Balthasar was talking to Donovan already. He summoned the shift and savored the brilliant shimmer of blue light that heralded his change between forms. It always made him feel invincible to shift shape. He thought of Donovan’s advice during the transition and tried to follow it. The shift rolled through him, sharpening his senses and filling him with welcome sense of power.

  As always, it was done in the blink of an eye. It felt great to be in his dragon form, his tail brushing against the kitchen counter, his wings almost reaching the high ceiling of the lair.

  Hadrian wanted to roar with satisfaction when he saw that Donovan’s strategy had worked. The steel blades were part of his front talons, and he slashed with one claw, watching them flash. Hadrian laughed and slashed again.

  “Never mind,” Balthasar said into his phone. “Looks like Hadrian has nailed it.”

  He’d intended to shift back to his human form, but his gaze fell on a patch of sunlight on the wooden floor. He saw a footstep in the dust. A small slender footstep, like that of a woman.

  Bigger than Lynsay’s footprint would be.

  His senses were more keen in his dragon form and he inhaled slowly, checking his impression one more time.

  There was an intruder in his lair.

  A woman, a tall woman.

  Impossible.

  But he could smell her skin. It was faint, so faint that he’d missed it in his human form, but the scent was there.

  “Who’s having a firestorm?” Alasdair asked in old-speak, glancing around.

  “Here?” Balthasar asked. “Now?”

  “Absolutely,” Alasdair said with authority.

  That was when Hadrian saw the faint glow of white light at the end of his talon. He lifted his claw and it brightened as he reached toward the door to the bedroom. He was aware of both Alasdair and Balthasar watching him.

  Hadrian felt the faint tickle of a cold flame and desire stirred within him.

  It was different from the golden sparks of the firestorms he’d witnessed in the past, but it had the identical effect upon his body and mind. His thoughts turned to sensual pleasures and his body thrummed with desire.

  It was the same light that had burned when he’d had the vision of that woman at Rhys’ place, the one who had kissed his cheek. She’d said then that she’d been looking for him and he didn’t think it was for a good reason. After all, she’d given him that kiss of death.

  Hadrian had thought she was a dream, or that it was another fake firestorm, just like Kristofer’s had been at first. He’d seen the red string on her wrist, the mark of Maeve’s curse. He’d concluded that the Pyr were being targeted, starting with him.

  But she was in his lair right now. The light revealed the truth.

  She’d come after him, probably to finish what she’d started. Somehow she knew that Lila and Balthasar had managed to impede the power of that kiss.

  “A fake firestorm,” he corrected quietly in old-speak. “Burning white instead of yellow.”

  “A spell,” Balthasar agreed.

  “No,” Alasdair said with authority. “An ice dragon’s firestorm. I remember that Notus’ firestorm burned white.”

  That reference to Hadrian’s father was a surprise he didn’t need. If his father’s firestorm had burned white and cold, this might be genuine. But how could his destined mate be intent on killing him? It didn’t make sense.

  Either way, he wasn’t going to be easy prey.

  This time, she’d be the one who was surprised.

  He shifted silently back to his human form, keeping the gloves
on, then eased toward the bedroom. The light brightened, the cold light of a winter morning, and its demand for sexual satisfaction redoubled.

  Hadrian reminded himself that the woman hiding in his bedroom had given him a kiss of death.

  That wouldn’t happen twice.

  Hadrian moved so quietly that he might have been a predator. Rania was impressed despite herself. She felt the movement of the air as it stirred to let him pass, but only because she was listening so closely. She heard a rumble, like thunder, which made no sense, but refused to be distracted.

  Her dragon was cool and collected, a hunter. That made them two of a kind.

  No. They had no common ground. She corrected herself: he would be the victim and she was the predator. Only one of them would survive this encounter, and Rania knew who it would be.

  The strange white glow that had lit on his return was brightening as he approached and it was distracting. It was more than a light. It sent a thrill through Rania and reminded her how attractive Hadrian was. It made her aware of how long she’d been alone, even though she knew a man’s touch came with a price. It made her yearn in a way that was irrational and had nothing to do with completing her task. She tried to ignore it, but it reached right to her very core, lighting an unwelcome spark of desire.

  And it brightened, becoming more insistent, as he drew closer.

  Curse whoever was challenging Maeve’s magick!

  Curse whoever was compromising her concentration!

  Curse him. Hadrian could have been ugly, short or gangly. He could have been unattractive or mean. He was a blacksmith, which should have made him repellent, but he was hot in oh-so-many unexpected ways.

  Had she picked the wrong dragon?

  Or was she losing her edge?

  Was she caught in a greater battle, between Maeve and an ambitious competitor? The dragon prince was dead and she’d thought that fight was resolved.

  Rania gripped her dagger, ready to strike. The kiss of death hadn’t finished Hadrian, so she’d use a more traditional method. She narrowed her eyes and fixed her attention on her task, steeling herself against this Pyr’s appeal. He had to die by her hand, as soon as possible.

  She saw the blue shimmer of light that so often heralded a change between forms for a shifter, then saw it again. She was prepared for the man to turn the corner.

  Rania felt him pause just before the threshold, assessing.

  He knew she was there, then. The videos had noted that the Pyr had keen senses. She prickled with awareness of his proximity, that infuriating light as bright as starlight. She lifted the blade with purpose.

  There was a shimmer of blue, then a dragon claw suddenly snatched at her.

  The scales were a rich emerald gleam, as if they’d been carved from gems, and edged in silver. She was surprised by how beautiful they were and stared in awe.

  She hesitated again. How could she injure such a heavily scaled creature, let alone kill him? The dagger she’d chosen suddenly looked small and ineffective, and she doubted her choice. Rania didn’t like to hesitate, not when she was working.

  She had to get it together. She gripped the hilt again, then changed to the other hand, thinking her dexterity might surprise him. Incredibly, she dropped the dagger at exactly the wrong time.

  The weapon clattered to the floor, sliding out of reach.

  Rania stared at it. If she went after it, he’d not only have a clear sight of her but her back would be turned to him. Without it, she had no way to take him down. Should she manifest elsewhere and try again later? She was paralyzed in indecision for a precious moment.

  Her prey took advantage of that. Hadrian snatched at her without coming around the corner, that claw seizing her in a merciless grip and holding her against the wall. His reach was longer than she might have expected. He moved so quickly that she couldn’t have evaded him. She saw the flash of steel talons attached to his nails and her heart skipped because they looked so sharp.

  Rania instantly shifted shape herself, becoming a much smaller swan, and slipped from his grasp. She took flight, leaving him with a handful of white feathers, and sensed his surprise.

  It wouldn’t last long.

  This was her chance.

  Rania launched herself through the doorway and aimed for his eyes with her claws. The white light was blinding in its intensity and the surge of raw desire through her body was staggeringly real. The emerald and silver dragon roared, spewing dragonfire that singed her wingtips. He was magnificent and powerful, his torrent of flame hot and bright. She dodged it in the last minute, but still felt the wave of heat.

  Something dissolved inside her, leaving her trembling, but Rania fought on.

  Unlike Hadrian, she had room to move in the great room with its high ceiling. She dove for his eyes again but he batted her aside. She knocked over a floor lamp, which shattered, and the other two Pyr in the kitchen swore. They didn’t engage, though she wasn’t sure why.

  She spun to attack once more, and this time, Hadrian was less gentle. She almost got his eyes before he seized her again and flung her toward the wall of windows. Rania shifted and turned so that her back broke the glass and she tumbled out the gap in human form. Before the shards had touched the earth, she shifted shape again and soared upward in her swan form, beating her wings hard.

  She flew with all her strength, but it wasn’t enough. Hadrian was immediately behind her, so much larger and more powerful in his dragon form that he was gaining on her steadily. The brilliant white glow revealed his proximity. She couldn’t out-run him and her heart was already pounding.

  Rania spared a glance back, unable to keep from admiring his majestic power, then pivoted and spiraled down toward him again. He spun with remarkable agility, avoiding her strike, and snatched her out of the air, trapping her between his claws.

  Rania was surrounded by a cage of steel talons, each one deadly sharp. She squirmed and was nicked, her blood staining one blade red and then her own white feathers. She wasn’t hurt but was definitely surprised. Meanshile, Hadrian was ascending, flying her to greater heights than she routinely flew in her swan form. In her plane, it was another issue, but this was exhilirating. The wind alternatively ruffled her hair and her feathers as she rotated between forms, trying to escape.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered in awe.

  No, she wouldn’t be swayed by a compliment.

  “And deadly,” she insisted, digging a claw beneath his talon hard enough to draw blood. He roared and tightened his grip upon her, those sharp metal claws alarmingly close.

  She was going to disappear, but he froze and she hesitated again. Rania glanced up to see that he was staring at the red cord on her wrist. It followed her between forms, a sign of her bargain with Maeve.

  “I thought I remembered that,” he mused. He lifted her closer to his eyes and peered at her, even as he flew onward. “What does she have against you?”

  It was obvious that he understood the meaning of the red string.

  “Nothing. We have a deal, one I made voluntarily.”

  “I doubt that,” he said with skepticism.

  Rania shifted and flung herself at the talons, hoping that he’d release her instead of cutting her.

  She was only half right. He twisted her around and expertly cut the tips from her longest feathers on one wing. Rania gasped in outrage as the ends of the white feathers spiraled down to the earth, glistening in the sunlight.

  In a way, she had to admire his choice. He hadn’t technically hurt her, but she wouldn’t be able to fly. He definitely wasn’t a stupid dragon.

  “Now, tell me who you are and why you’re hunting me,” he commanded.

  “Or what?” Rania challenged.

  “Or I’ll let you go.” His eyes gleamed, as if he was certain he’d cornered her. If she’d only been a shifter, like him, his conclusion would be deserved. They were high above the ground, soaring through the sky, and her inability to fly was definitely a liability. He hadn’t wondered
yet how she’d gotten into his lair, but Rania doubted that oversight would last long.

  She looked down, as if assessing the distance to the ground, but really she was choosing how much to reveal. How much could she learn before she left? He was sure he had her at a disadvantage and might confess some detail she could use against him later.

  Far down below, his dark-haired Pyr friend with the man-bun was standing outside the lair, looking up. There was a shimmer of blue light around him but he didn’t shift yet.

  She heard a rumble, like a freight train or thunder but close by, and saw the other Pyr nod, as if agreeing with something. He went back into the lair, presumably returning to the other one.

  That rumble must be the old-speak she’d read about in her research. She’d momentarily forgotten about that.

  “Deciding that you need me after all?” Hadrian asked with confidence.

  “How dare you cut my feathers?” Rania demanded. “I won’t be able to fly.”

  He fixed her with a bright glare. “You gave me a kiss of death. You invaded my lair. You intend to kill me and are using a firestorm that’s possibly fake to distract me. I don’t think I’m the one who’s daring too much.” He soared high above the clouds and it was just as thrilling to fly in a dragon’s grasp as any other way.

  One word caught Rania’s attention.

  Possibly.

  “If the firestorm’s fake, it’s not my doing,” she argued, just to see what he would say.

  “If it’s real, then we’re destined mates and you shouldn’t be trying to kill me.”

  The white light shimmered and shone, its blinding brightness making it hard to think of anything other than getting naked with Hadrian. What kind of lover would he be? Quick and to the point? No, he’d take his time. Rania knew it. Were his thoughts turning in the same direction?