Destiny Kills

by Keri Arthur

  I blew out a breath. First things first. I needed to get out of this room.

  Now.

  I grabbed the room keys, then headed out the door. The night was clear and cool, the breeze lazy but smelling ever so faintly of the sea. I breathed deep, and again felt that flick of longing run through me. After eleven years away from the power and beauty of the deep, cold oceans, it seemed my soul just couldn’t get enough.

  I walked across to reception and slid the keys under the door, then turned and studied the street. The desire to get to Maine was a slow, strong beat in the back of my mind. I needed to get there soon, because my dad was dying and I had no idea how much longer he had left.

  Which is part of the reason why we’d taken the awful risk of attempting a breakout in the first place. It could have gone so wrong—more than it had, anyway—and we could have been killed, leaving the kids with no one at all to guide and protect them.

  But I’d had no choice. Dad was a fire dragon. His death would come near dawn, as Egan’s had, but unless someone was there to pray for him—to guide him—his spirit might get lost between this world and the forever lands.

  Dad had no one else but me and Mom. I couldn’t ever remember him mentioning his family or having photos of them. It was as if something big had happened in his past, something that he didn’t want to—or rather, refused to—acknowledge or remember. I knew he was American, that he’d grown up near Las Vegas somewhere, and that he had scars—terrible, criss-crossed scars down his left arm and leg, like someone had tried chopping him up with a large knife—but that was about the extent of my knowledge.

  Which is why Mom had demanded I go to Maine rather than attempt any immediate release of herself and the others. She didn’t want him to die alone.

  And yet, she might well have been condemning herself to a lonely death and an eternity drifting lost between two worlds. Because she was dying, too.

  I blinked back the sting of tears, and tried not to think about the unfairness of it all. There was nothing I could do to alter the fact that I was going to lose both parents. What I could change was the way it happened. The way they went.

  But as much as I wanted to get to Maine, it just wasn’t practical when Florence was so close. We—I—needed those codes. I’d promised little Carli and the others that I’d come back, that I’d get them out of there, no matter what. They only had Jace to protect them now, and a fifteen-year-old shouldn’t have that sort of responsibility on his shoulders for too long.

  I had no idea where in Florence Marsten’s mother actually lived. All we’d really known was that she and his brother were investment partners in the foundation, as well as members of the board. It was no certainty that she actually held backups of everything that was going on at the facility, but Marsten was a careful man. He would have made sure that if anything went wrong at the foundation, he could still get to the years and years of data he’d collected. And we were also hoping that he’d included the security information in that backup plan.

  But with any sort of luck, Marsten’s mom would be in the phone directory. If not, I’d have to go to plan B. When I could figure out what plan B was, anyway.

  My gaze went to the dark horizon. My first priority, though, was taking care of this ring. And really, there was only one place where I could be totally sure it would be safe.

  The sea.

  I glanced up the street at the sound of an approaching car. I doubted it was Trae, but I broke into a run anyway, heading across the parking lot and into a side street. Trees lined the curb, blocking many of the street-lights, casting shadows across the pavement that swayed gently to the tune of the soft breeze.

  Headlights swept across the night behind me. I jumped the nearest fence and dropped behind a spiky-looking shrub. The lights, and the car, got closer, and my breath caught somewhere in my throat. But the car didn’t stop.

  The sudden surge of relief had me shaking my head in amusement. Here I was, having a near heart attack at the thought of being caught by a thief when far worse people were out there hunting me. It was them I should be frightened of, not some damn thief who had no intentions of looking after anything but himself.

  I shoved the cash and card into the zippered pocket of my pants, then climbed back over the fence and broke into a run again, heading down the street toward the sea.

  If I wanted to ask my favor, I had to be there by dawn.

  I kept on jogging. I was reasonably fit despite all those years of being caged, but by the time the long blue line of ocean became visible on the horizon, I was beginning to pant. I slowed to a walk as the houses gave way to more historic-looking buildings and shops. I crossed another street paved in what looked like cobblestones, and under an arch that said Nye Beach. Old-fashioned streetlights washed brightness across the cobbles, sloping down toward the beach. I followed their lead, walking in and out of shadows, listening to the sigh of the wind and hearing nothing beyond the mournful cry of gulls and the hiss of foam across sand. My pulse rate quickened, as did my steps.

  There weren’t any cars parked in the turnaround and not a soul on the beach. Of course, dawn had yet to break free. I had no doubt that when she did, I would not be alone on this beach.

  I jumped the fence lining the turnaround, and dropped down onto the sand. It was cool under my toes, gritty and sharp. I took a moment to wriggle my toes in delight, but the sea, and the task I was about to ask of it, pulled me on.

  The hum of dawn touched the air. Energy began to dance lightly across my skin—a crazy tingling that once again chased the chill from my flesh. My gaze rose to the horizon. Night still held court, but that would soon change. I had to be in the water by then.

  I quickly stripped, dropping my clothes well out of the water’s reach before continuing on. My feet slapped across the wet sand, barely leaving an imprint as sea foam rushed up and caressed my toes. I strode on, into the water.

  The hum of power filled the air with its forceful beat, flaying my skin with its rawness. The sea washed across my thighs, the chill water a sharp contrast to the warmth of the air and yet welcoming in its own way. When the gentle waves began to wash across my butt, I stopped and waited. On the horizon, slivers of gold began to breach the curtain of darkness. The energy grew frenetic, reaching a crescendo as the slivers became a river of red and yellow, flooding across the sky. As the beat of energy came to a peak, and the air came alive with the hum and power of a new day, I raised my left hand, the ring sitting in the middle of my palm and my fingers clenched around it.

  “To the Gods of the sea, I call on thee.”

  The words rode across the energy, held by it, shaped by it, becoming things of power and beauty and command. The waters around me began to stir, the rush of waves momentarily lost to the gathering whirl of energy. Droplets of water shot into the sky, sparkling like diamonds in the gathering brightness.

  “To my brothers of deep, dark waters, and my sisters of the quick shallows, I call on thee.”

  More energy touched the air—a deep bass thrum that spoke of vast, cold places. It flooded through me, filling me, completing me, in a way the warmth of the day never would.

  The droplets became a water spout that glittered, spun, and danced on the rich, dark waters. I unclenched my fingers, offering the ring. In the gathering light, the dragon’s jeweled eyes gleamed like blood dripping from a wound.

  “Keep this ring safe. Keep this ring unfound. Take it to the dark and secret places and let no man nor animal nor fish near it until I command otherwise.”

  There was a flash of silver, the warm kiss of water across my palm, and then the ring was gone.

  “Thank you.” My words were little more than a whisper, but they seemed to linger, riding the disappearing night and the thrum of power, accepted and acknowledged by the deeper energy of the sea and the sparkling, spinning spout of water. I lowered my hand. The water spout gave a final whirl, then fell away.

  Dawn broke fully across the night. The hum of energy faded, as
did the rich resonance of the sea. The waves were just waves, buffering my legs and butt, chilling my skin.

  It left me feeling oddly empty.

  I sniffed, then turned around and walked back to the beach. When I reached the water’s edge, I stopped, letting the sea foam tickle my toes as I looked left and right. How did I get to Florence from here?

  I could hire a car, but that would take ID, and all I had was Trae’s credit card. Stealing a car was also an option, but only if some fool left their keys in the ignition. Unlike Trae, I wasn’t a thief. Except when it came to clothes and some much-needed cash.

  Which left me with some form of public transport. A bus, maybe?

  I studied the buildings lining the beachfront. Given I didn’t know this area, the logical thing to do was ask the locals which was the best way to get to Florence. Shops lined the bottom of the turnaround, near the street, and at least one of them was a café or restaurant of some kind, if the packing and crates out back were anything to go by. I had no idea when any of the shops would be open, no idea if they would even be open today, because somewhere along the line, the days and nights of constant running had merged into a blur, and I actually had no idea what day it was. Still, asking a storekeeper for directions was a good option. It was either that or stop a local in the street. And shop and café workers, especially in a tourist area like this, were far more used to people asking for directions.

  Frowning slightly, I got dressed, then made my way up the last bit of sand and back onto the turnaround, only to discover that the parking lot was no longer empty. A dark car stood in the middle of it. Leaning against it, arms crossed and looking decidedly sexy, was Trae.

  I stopped. “What day is it?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “What, no accusations? No tantrums or histrionics?”

  “Would they get me the truth?”

  “Probably not. And it’s Thursday.”

  “Ah.” At least I’d have more chance of catching a bus if I needed it. “Why are you back?”

  “Because I discovered my wallet had been picked.”

  “How?”

  “Pulled into a gas station to get some gas, and discovered I was missing a credit card and some cash. Further investigation revealed a ring was also missing.”

  “Is that the only reason you’re back? For the ring?”

  “Yes.” He gave me a twisted little smile that had my pulse rate leaping. “Sweetheart, as much as I’d love to stay and explore your—” He paused, and his gaze did a slow, heated tour of my torso, sending pinpricks of heat skating across my body and a shiver that was all delight running through my soul. “—‘problems,’ I have business that negates that.”

  “But what about the promises you made to Egan?”

  His gaze met mine, the pretty blue depths still so cold, yet showing hints of regret and determination combined. “I made no promises to Egan. I agreed to meet him in Florence, but that’s all.”

  “So why ask me before if I wanted your help, if you had no intention of giving it?”

  “Just playing the game, sweetheart. Nothing more. You want to tell me where the ring is now?”

  I studied him for a moment, believing his words and yet sensing something more behind them. Something deeper, darker. “No, because I have no idea where the ring actually is right now.”

  “What were you doing out in the Pacific, then?”

  “Talking to the sea. It, at least, doesn’t lie.”

  Amusement gleamed briefly in his eyes. “Whether you believe it or not, I haven’t told you any lies, either.”

  Maybe he hadn’t, but that wasn’t the point. Egan had believed he would help, and Trae had not disabused him of the notion. That, in my book, was just as bad as lying and stealing.

  Of course, I shouldn’t talk, considering I’d stolen a stranger’s clothes and his cash.

  “After Egan’s death, I made myself a promise to return the ring to its rightful owner. That’s not you, is it?”

  He snorted. “No, we half breeds certainly have no right to that particular ring. But I need it anyway.”

  “Why?”

  He hesitated. “I made a deal with my father. If I give him the ring, he gives me some information I need.”

  “It must be some pretty heavy information if you’re exchanging a ring your brother valued for it.”

  “Egan didn’t value the ring,” he said, voice edged with annoyance. “He valued what taking it meant.”

  “And that makes total sense.” Not.

  He waved a hand dismissively. “It involves clique politics and history, and I’m not about to go into that here. Give me the ring, Destiny.”

  “Sorry. No can do.”

  He uncrossed his arms and took a step toward me. In that instant, the little warmth that had been evident in his eyes fled completely, and the dragon came to the fore. It was like facing a stranger—a complete and utterly dangerous stranger.

  This was not just a dangerous thief, nor even the man who’d held the gun at me. This was someone totally new. Someone who didn’t care who or what he hurt as long as he got what he wanted.

  And I could see why Egan might have called him in for protection.

  “Give me the ring, Destiny,” he repeated.

  I lifted my chin, a small defiance that made me feel better even if it had no perceivable effect on the man standing opposite me. “I can’t.”

  “Why can’t you? What have you done to it?”

  “I sent it somewhere safe. Somewhere where no one can get to it.”

  “You gave it to one of your people in the sea?”

  I had no people in the sea. Mom’s relatives had become virtual strangers the day we’d left Scotland. But I wasn’t about to disabuse him of the notion that I’d given the ring to someone else. The control we sea dragons had over the sea—indeed, any sort of water—was something of a well-kept secret. Well, until Costa Brava, anyway.

  Hell, legends had us physically attacking boats of old, and while I’m sure there were some old sea dragons who loved to smash and crash before they looted, most had no need to take it that far. Not when the sea could smash and crash for us.

  Trae took another step forward. The ice in his eyes, the tension knotting his limbs spoke of anger and violence bubbling under the surface. I should have been afraid. Very afraid.

  Part of me—most of me—definitely was. Yet that last step brought him within a couple of arm lengths, and the raw, spicy aroma of his masculinity washed over me, heating my senses and making my body burn.

  I crossed my arms and fought the desire to traverse the distance between us, to fling myself into his arms and taste those uncompromising, yet undoubtedly lush, lips. Think of Egan, I told myself sternly. He deserves the respect of a decent mourning period, at the very least.

  Trouble was, the part of me that hungered just wasn’t listening.

  I wished I knew whether it was simply lust or something more. I’d never really had a chance to talk to my mom about life and love, and I had no idea what it actually felt like when you finally met the one man destined to be your mate. I had talked to my dad, of course, but he could only bring his experiences and his knowledge as a man and an air dragon to the table.

  And there were greater differences between sea dragons and our air cousins than just the elements we dominated. Our society was more matriarchal than patriarchal, and it was the women who decided when and if the men could impregnate them. I had no idea, however, if females generally remained virginal before they met their mate, or whether they were able to enjoy the company of others. No idea if me being a half breed had any effect on my sexuality and the restrictions that might have been patterned into my DNA. Certainly I hadn’t fallen pregnant in the ten years I was with Egan, so that again suggested I was more my mom’s daughter than my dad’s, but did the mere fact that I hadn’t remained a virgin mean that the restrictions were muted in me?

  Was I even capable of breeding? Of having that one true mate?

  I di
dn’t know.

  And if I didn’t get my mother out of that place, I might never know.

  “Destiny, did you give the ring to someone else?”

  I stared at him for a moment longer, then nodded. It was close enough to the truth, and he couldn’t do anything about it anyway. The dawn had gone, and my ability to recall the ring had fled with it. There was always another dawn, of course, but if he didn’t know the truth of the ring’s disappearance, then he couldn’t force the issue.

  “It’s out of my reach—and out of my control—for at least a couple of days.”

  He swore softly and thrust a hand through his hair. “Damn it, you had no right to do that.”

  “I had every right to protect what is mine. That ring was left to me by Egan”—a lie, but he wasn’t to know that—“and I have no intention of giving it to anyone until I’m good and ready.”

  He made a hissing sound and spun around, his hands on his hips and his head raised. As if he’d rather look at the brightening skies than me.

  My gaze traveled down his leather-coated back. He had good shoulders, good shape, and a butt that filled jeans the way the Gods meant them to be filled. But from the back, he looked more like Egan than ever, and though sorrow stirred through me, it was mixed with guilt.

  I owed his brother more than just half truths.

  “How about we do a deal?”

  He turned back around. The wild, dangerous remoteness had left his eyes, leaving them icy and yet human. If you could ever call a dragon “human,” that is.

  “What sort of deal?”

  “You help me get the security codes—”

  “What security codes?” he asked, frowning.

  “The codes are for the Loch Ness Research Foundation, where we were held captive for so long.”

  His frown deepened. “Why would you want those?”

  “Because my mom’s still there, as are the kids, and because I promised I’d go back and free them. And I intend to keep that promise, no matter what it takes.”