by Cara Bristol
He cupped her neck, stroking her jaw with his thumb. Her pulse leaped, and he detected the honeyed scent of arousal. She stroked the side of his face, drawing her fingers over his skin, tangling in his hair. He was dragon through and through. On himself he preferred horns and thorns to hair, but any touch from her thrilled him. And her hair was glorious, fiery in color and silky soft.
He eased onto the bed and stretched out beside her, the better to press his lips to her closed eyelids, then her cheeks, taking care not to disturb her wounds. If Helena had been a dragoness, her fyre would have healed her already. Only the most severe battle wounds left scars—or a dragon’s own tears. He’d shed some before he learned she’d survived.
Her eyes popped open, and she scanned his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You tensed.”
“With desire for you,” he said. Not a lie. He wanted her more than anything, but his needs would have to wait until she’d gotten better. But not one second longer. He smiled.
“You have the cutest dimples,” she said.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
“For a human, you mean?”
He shook his head. “No. You just are.” Beauty came in many forms, shapes, and sizes.
“Your eyes are amazing. They’re like topazes. When you shift, they remain the same. It’s how I know it’s you.”
They would never be linked via a telepathic bond, but there was no doubt she was his mate. She’d been the cause and the cure of his ennui. He’d been waiting for her. She filled him with contentment when they were together and longing when they were apart.
The rascally dragon had recognized her from the beginning.
His cock ached, desire drumming in his veins.
He kissed each wound on her face then trailed his lips to her arms to treat each slash, before moving upward and burying his face against her throat. Her pulse thrummed a fast rhythm, and the scent of her desire sent his lust spiraling. He nuzzled her soft skin and then shifted enough for fangs to descend.
Just above where her neck met her shoulder, he sank his teeth. She jerked, but then a low moan of pleasure vibrated through her. Her warm-honey taste and scent seeped into every crevice, every cell of his being. My mate. Mine.
His fyre expanded and exploded, shooting out flares in search of her flame.
There was no answering flash—there was only darkness. Stillness. Emptiness.
His fyre searched.
She arched against him as if in sexual ecstasy, her hips thrusting and rocking, and he found joy in her pleasure, but he couldn’t help but feel sad their mating would fall short of completion. His fyre would never know her fyre because she had none.
Then came a tiny flash. A spark of heat and light.
Could it…could it be?
Another flash. Then a low but steady flicker.
His flame radiated outward enveloping hers, feeding it, building it, and hers grew and flared and then merged with his, and, for a moment in time, they’d become one.
She has fyre!
I have fyre? Her words sounded from inside his head. Did you give me yours?
No, my dragoness mate. You have your own.
He could not even contemplate how that could be, but he could feel. Oh, he could feel.
Hang on, mate, he said, and let the inferno consume him. He shuddered with rapture, an intense orgasm gripping him in the jaws of pleasure and shaking him. Helena convulsed.
Their fyres separated, but within his was a spark of hers, and within hers was a larger curl of his to support and nurture her fragile flame.
He released her neck. Red now, the bite mark would heal, but it would not disappear. She was his. She had fyre. His head reeled.
You never listen to me, the dragon interrupted.
Were you listening the whole time? he demanded.
I always listen. I pay attention.
Is that your dragon? Oh my god, I can hear you both! Helena exclaimed. He’s a bit of a voyeur and a nag, isn’t he?
T’mar laughed aloud and lifted his head—and noticed her wounds. “You’re healing!” He pulled back to better examine her face and arms. The wound edges had fused, and the redness had faded to pink.
She held out her arms, turning them over, and gasped. She patted her face. “There’s no pain anymore.”
“I’ll get a mirror.” He leaped off her bed and grimaced. He’d ejaculated in his clothing. No wonder the claiming occurred during sex. But already, his intelligent jumpsuit was cleaning away the residue.
He ripped the mirror off the bathing chamber wall and brought it to her.
Her eyes widened and then she giggled. “I was thinking more of a hand mirror!”
He held the mirror upright by the bed so she could examine her face. “It’s not bad at all.”
No, because her injuries were nearly healed. Had she seen it before… “I think it’s because you have fyre.”
“I don’t understand how that happened. How can that be?”
“Your fyre came from me.”
The priestess was here? T’mar nearly fell over. She almost never left the temple.
“You’re the woman with the white hair from my dreams!” Helena exclaimed.
“Welcome home, my daughter.” Her long hair swept the floor as she advanced to the bed. Her gaze flicked to the mating mark on Helena’s throat. “All is as it should be.”
Was she referring to her presence on Draco, their mating, or something else? And what did she mean by daughter? The priestess referred to all Draconians as her children. Did she consider Helena her child because she had fyre? What did she mean when she said she’d given the fyre to her?
Ask her, the dragon chimed in.
The priestess doesn’t answer questions. She raised questions and issued edicts disguised as requests.
“You look like you did in my dream. You were in a white stone building with a big fire,” Helena said.
“Not a dream.”
“But you killed—”
She nodded. “Yes, I killed A’riel. She hurt you.”
The priestess killed A’riel?
“She sought asylum in the temple, and I extinguished her fyre. Any dragon who harms any of my children will meet the same fate.”
“But I’m not your child,” Helena said.
“You are. Before I became priestess, I was O’ne, a dragoness like any other. Ten millennia ago, I joined an exploration team in search of a new planet to call home. I’d gone to see the galaxy prior to taking my vows to reflect upon whether I truly had a calling. Our ship developed mechanical difficulties and crashed on your planet where we encountered humans for the first time. The period coincided with the dawn of civilization on Earth.” She paused. “Many believe the sunrise hasn’t happened yet.” Her lips quirked, and T’mar would almost swear she’d made a joke.
His dragon chortled.
Shh! She might hear you, he chided. Normally the mental bond only existed between mates, but he could only guess at what powers the priestess might have. She’d killed A’riel. It was nothing less than he’d wanted to do himself, but the priestess had extinguished another dragon’s fyre!
He insinuated himself between his mate and the priestess.
“I met a man, and our union produced a child. A daughter.”
T’mar’s jaw dropped.
“As I hadn’t taken my vows, I had not yet come into my powers. When the rescue ship came, the others forced me to leave my daughter behind. You, my child, are a descendant of my daughter. And that is why you have fyre.”
I told you she had fyre! Our mate is descended from the priestess herself.
He could hardly believe it. Did that mean she wouldn’t die—
“In mating with a dragon and merging fyres, your flame has become stronger and brighter, and you will live the life of a dragon.”
“That means…”
“Your
fyre will burn for eternity.”
“I’m going to live forever?”
“Yes. Rhianna is also a descendant of my daughter. You are sisters.” She glanced at T’mar. “You wondered why King K’rah insisted upon bringing another human to Draco.” She turned her attention back to Helena. “The king did not insist; I did. I saw you in a vision. Requesting a human concubine offered an expedient way to bring you home.”
“If Rhianna and I are descended from your daughter, born thousands of years ago, do you have more children?”
“I do,” she replied. “But some are lost to me. They have suppressed their dragon side to the extent their fyre cannot be resurrected.”
Helena grabbed the respirator from the bedside table and took a puff. She looked pale and wan, even for a human. She would recover much faster now, but she wasn’t up to par yet.
“My mate needs to rest,” he said.
“Prince T’mar is right. Sleep, my child. Your fyre burns. You will live a dragon’s life, but your human side will require tending. I’ll leave you now.”
T’mar would tend to all his mate’s needs and wants.
“Wait—can I ask you one more question?”
The priestess slowed, and Helena mistook the pause as permission. His mate had much to learn. “You said you had a vision about me. Do you have other visions? Do you know what will happen between Draco and Earth?”
“Human motivations and intentions are closed to me. We will talk another time. When you come to the temple, I will be there.” She headed out of the room. Before she’d taken half a dozen steps, she’d vanished.
Helena rubbed her eyes. “Did she disappear into thin air? Is that a dragon superpower? Can you disappear like that?”
“No. Only the priestess can.”
“I can’t believe I’m part dragon.”
Everything made sense now—their attraction, the dragon’s belief she was their mate, and the king’s insistence that T’mar take a human concubine—he’d been obeying an edict from the priestess.
Helena flung the cover back and got out of bed.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m getting up.”
“You must rest.”
“I feel fine! I can take on the world.” She flexed her biceps and took a couple of steps and then swayed. He caught her before she toppled.
“Rest—conquer the world tomorrow. It will wait for you.” He guided her to bed and tucked her in. “In the future, the merger of our fyres will give you greater energy, but you were so low on blood, it has depleted you. Sleep for a while—”
“Your Highness?”
T’mar turned. His dragon growled.
Two of the king’s men stood at the entrance to the chamber. “You must come with us. His Majesty demands your presence now.”
Obviously, his brother had been unable to appease their father. If he didn’t leave willingly, the guards would force him. What if the king threw him in the dungeon? He couldn’t leave Helena! “One moment, please.”
They nodded, and he could smell their relief. They had to obey the monarch, but it had been ingrained in them to never lay hands on a royal. They didn’t want to put him in chains, but they would if they had to.
T’mar concentrated. Can you hear me? he telepathed.
Helena’s eyes widened, and she nodded. Yes.
I must leave for a short while. He hoped his father would accept his apologies and his explanation. Anything could happen, but he didn’t want to alarm her. Get some rest—please—and when I return, I’ll take you to the palace.
Is everything all right? Who are these men?
My father’s guards. I was about to meet with the king when you cried out, and I ran out on him.
Are you in trouble?
When am I not? He downplayed his concern. He kissed her, long and slow, filling himself with her taste and scent, and then broke away. He smiled, and she grinned back.
Her color had improved even more—as had the healing of her wounds. By the time he returned, she would be rested and recovered. When you are well, we will consummate our mating.
She poked his chest. I’ll hold you to it.
He waggled his human eyebrows. I have something else you can hold.
She laughed aloud.
He planted a quick kiss on her mouth. “Bye, mate.”
She scooted farther down in the bed, pulled the cover up to her chin. “Hurry back.”
Flanked by the guards, he flew to meet the king.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Compared to the army-like barracks of the human habitat, the harem reminded Patsy of a five-star hotel—even the servants’ section was opulent. Since the habitat had housed visiting ambassadors when relations were friendly, it revealed how little regard the dragons afforded to humans. Well, the feeling is mutual, she thought.
She was eying dragons through the window when Henry emerged from his private room. “I can’t sit anymore. I’m going to find Helena,” he said.
“Is that wise? We were told to wait here,” she said. “Someone will come to give us an update.”
“I’m not so sure of that. They aren’t exactly forthcoming with the info. It’s been hours since they drew blood for typing, and they haven’t asked for a donation. What if neither of us matched? Helena might have died.”
“Don’t say that!” Patsy shook her head. “I refuse to believe that.”
“We need to know.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
“No, you wait here. It’s not safe,” Henry said. “Besides, one of us should be here in case somebody does deliver an update.”
“Excuse me? Did you forget we were partners? I went to all the same places you did. The same dangerous places. I can handle whatever you can handle.”
“From the little they told us, I got the impression she got attacked when she wandered into the wrong area—”
“Then it’s not safe for you, either.”
“Right. And if something happens to me, then Helena will still have you. This whole situation has gone south.”
“I still don’t like you going off alone.” On missions, they’d sometimes disagreed, but they’d always worked it out. They had to. Unilateral decisions were a sure way to get yourself and your partner killed.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. Apparently since retiring from the CIA, he’d shifted into an arrogant chauvinist.
“Do you have any clue where she might be?” she asked. The harem footprint resembled a five-armed star.
“I’ll find her.”
He had a one-in-four chance. Guess right, and he got the prize. Guess wrong, and he might get toasted or slashed like Helena.
His blue eyes turned to steel.
She knew that look. Nothing would dissuade him. Patsy sighed. “When we flew in, I saw a demiforma dragon dressed like a medical professional rushing into one of the arms. That’s probably where she is.”
“Do you remember which one?”
“You know the big dragon statue in the fire fountain?”
“How could I miss it?” His lips twisted.
“Right.” She snorted. “The tail points toward one of the arms. It was that one.”
“I’ll start there, then.” He straightened his collar and adjusted his untucked shirt, brushing his hands down his sides. Henry was packing. She’d worked with him too many years to not recognize his tell. He’d managed to slip a weapon past the ship’s sensors.
No operative, active or retired, went anywhere unarmed if he could help it.
“I’ll find Helena and be back as fast as I can. Stay put.”
“Don’t get yourself killed,” she said.
“That’s my plan.”
* * * *
Not a vision, or even a premonition, just a sense of impending change kept the priestess from returning to the temple. Lacking a clear reason for remaining in the harem, she wandered the halls, striking dread among
those she encountered. She was respected, exalted…and avoided. She was the most venerated dragon in all of Draco, and most would prefer to never see her, and certainly not outside the temple.
She could count on her fingers the number of times she’d left sanctuary, and most of those had occurred in the past few months. For ten millennia, she had cloistered herself, nurturing and protecting the Eternal Fyre, embracing the quiet and solitude, for they were the few possessions she could claim as her own.
She had had to maintain appearances and decorum, but it had been such a joy to see Helena. The daughter of her daughter—many times removed—she had a fyre stronger than Rhianna’s. She hadn’t expected that. Being surprised by the unexpected was another of her secret pleasures. It didn’t happen often enough.
Two of my children are back on Draco, she said to her dragoness.
So why aren’t you happy?
It is not my purpose to be happy.
Perhaps each child found reminds you of how many are still lost.
Many were still lost, but that wasn’t the cause of her mood. Of late, she’d been afflicted by the oddest melancholy in which solitude had seemed to stifle rather than feed her fyre. Upon reflection, she’d traced its genesis to Rhianna’s arrival. She had relished their interactions and looked forward to them more than she should. With Helena’s appearance, joy had multiplied. The other child, the one whose fyre she would be forced to extinguish, would cause her grief, but another vision had revealed the time hadn’t arrived yet, so she was able to set aside her sorrow.
The contact with her two daughters had awakened a stirring, a faint, but growing…discontent. While she didn’t expect or seek happiness, neither did she wish for its opposite—melancholy. A devoted priestess should remain unmoved, detached, neither caring too much nor caring too little.
She’d assumed as her children returned to her, her longing would be satisfied, but although her daughters brought her joy, she desired…more. That came as a surprise.
Perhaps not all surprises were good ones.
The proper recourse would be to retreat into solitude again and sever ties to the personal and the secular. Except—she could not. Would not. As unsettling though the yearning was, she felt freer for having experienced it.
