Dragon's Heart (The DragonFate Novels Book 3)

by Deborah Cooke

  Where was she?

  Lila made it to the door, leaning on the wall most of the way, and tried the knob. Of course, it was locked. She leaned against it, trying to force it open, but no luck. It was a metal door, steel, which also made her doubt that she was in Fae.

  Magick but not Fae. The combination didn’t make any sense, not since Maeve had snared all the magick centuries before and claimed it for her own. Was someone challenging her?

  Who was her captor?

  What did he want?

  Lila leaned back against the door and surveyed her prison. There were no clues within it. Somehow she had to defeat this plan, whatever it was. Somehow she had to escape. Maybe Nyssa would be able to help. She took three deep breaths and tried to calm her fears, even though she didn’t believe things would be okay.

  “New Jersey,” Rhys muttered as they crossed the state line. He was driving faster than usual but couldn’t quell his sense of urgency. They’d made better time than anyone could have expected but it wasn’t good enough. It was dark and the stars were out, the lights of Manhattan gleaming ahead of them. Snow was swirling around the truck, sparkling in the light of the headlights, and drifting across the road, but there hadn’t been any accumulation yet.

  The sparks of the firestorm emanating from Rhys’ fingertips suddenly pulled hard to the right. “This exit.” He cut off a tractor trailer and ignored the trucker’s horn. Hadrian, he knew, was gripping the edges of his seat but wisely keeping his mouth shut.

  The firestorm’s light flickered, dangerously close to extinguishing itself as they plunged down the ramp. Rhys’ heart stopped and he heard Hadrian catch his breath. Suddenly, the sparks flared again, sputtering like wet wood touched with a flame. The gem of the hoard seemed to get a little colder and a little heavier in his pocket, and his heart felt like a rock in his chest.

  He had a very bad feeling about Lila’s condition.

  “That can’t be good,” Hadrian said quietly. “Does this thing go any faster?”

  Rhys put his foot down to the floor. The tires skidded a little and he guessed there was a bit of ice on the road. He ran a red light, following the flames of the firestorm, and didn’t care.

  Lila needed him.

  “Maybe you could breathe some smoke,” he suggested to Hadrian.

  “That’s the extent of your plan?”

  “So far, yes. Find her. Do whatever is necessary to get her back. Retreat to my lair and breathe a dragonsmoke barrier. Then satisfy the firestorm so no one can follow it to imperil her ever again.”

  “That getting-her-back part could be tricky.”

  “That’s why I brought you,” Rhys said and they shared a grim smile. A spark shot off his fingertips, the firestorm brightening to a pale orange flame. “Down this street. I think we’re getting closer.”

  Hours passed and the light was fading when Lila heard the creak of footsteps overhead, then the sound of a door opening.

  Footsteps descended a staircase.

  Heavy measured footsteps, like those of a man.

  Maybe even one who simmered with hidden fire.

  Lila stepped away from the door. She flattened herself against the wall beside the knob, bracing herself to attack, hoping that the element of surprise was enough to make a difference.

  She should have guessed that her plan would be foiled.

  As soon as the door to her prison began to open, she jumped at the man who had unlocked it. She intended to claw at his eyes, but never made contact. There was a shimmer of brilliant blue as he shifted shape, then a dragon breathed a torrent of flame across the basement room. The mattress caught fire as a huge claw locked around Lila, trapping her arms against her body.

  She was hauled out of the prison and slammed into a concrete wall in the larger basement room. She hit her head so hard that she was left dizzy, then the dragon’s eye was beside her face. He was so large that he filled the basement, his tail trailing up the stairs to the main floor above. There was no sign of the man whose footfall she’d heard on the stairs and she’d seen the blue shimmer of change.

  Her captor had to be a dragon shifter. In his dragon form, he was as black as anthracite, scaled from head to toe, and his eyes shone with fire and malice. Smoke rose from his nostrils and he bared his teeth, showing her how large and sharp they were.

  There was also smoke coming from the burning mattress in the other room.

  “You can’t surprise me,” he informed her in a low rumble. “My partner can read minds.”

  No, not the Dark Queen. Not here. Not now.

  “Of course, the Dark Queen,” a woman said. “How does it feel to be powerless, Lila?” Maeve came down the stairs slowly, picking her way around the dragon’s tail. Her dark hair had some threads of silver and her face was lined. She looked a lot younger on television as reporter Maeve O’Neill, so Lila wondered what had suddenly aged her. She still wore red spike heels, though.

  Was her youthful appearance maintained by magick?

  Or was it just make-up on television? Lila couldn’t believe her appearance could be changed that much by make-up.

  Maeve’s aura was still silver, but it flickered as if she was injured or sick. Was her appearance affected by the loss of at least some of her magick? Lila glanced down at the red string on her wrist, remembering that magick was finite and that sorcerers had to choose where to use theirs.

  She risked a glance at the dragon and saw the simmer of red magick in his eyes. He had the magic now. Had he taken Maeve’s?

  Maeve moved into the other room with a fire extinguisher. Lila felt a little bit sorry for her being stuck with the dirty work. There was a strong smell of chemicals and enough dark smoke to make Lila choke, then Maeve returned to smile at Lila.

  Any sympathy she felt for the Dark Queen vanished when Lila saw the malice in her eyes.

  “Finally silenced,” Maeve said with satisfaction. “I must say, I like selkies much better when they can’t charm.” She shot a glance at the dragon that was almost resentful, but his gaze remained fixed on Lila.

  Lila looked pointedly at the red string on her wrist, inviting a confession.

  Maeve’s smile broadened. “Mine, of course.” She flicked a quick glance at the dragon and Lila glimpsed hostility in her eyes before it was dismissed. Lila guessed that the dragon was in charge and Maeve didn’t like it. There was a gleam of red in his eyes and a faint glow around him, as if he’d laid claim to the magick and was radiant with it.

  If these two were having a turf war, the last place Lila wanted to be was caught in the middle.

  Nevertheless, it looked like she was.

  The dragon shifted shape and Lila closed her eyes against the shimmer of blue light. When she opened them again, he was the same man who had captured her at the restaurant.

  His aura was as dark as a thundercloud, one that might obliterate the sky. This one was wicked to his marrow and nothing could heal that.

  She gauged the distance to the stairs and Maeve laughed. “Don’t waste your time. Embron wants something from you and you’d be smart to play along. Since I’m in his debt, I might not argue your case if you prove...troublesome.”

  Embron was his name. It meant nothing to Lila, but she’d remember it.

  She looked between the two of them and tried to manage her thoughts. Maeve was said to be able to read minds, and she didn’t want to reveal everything she knew.

  Lila chose to wonder what Embron wanted from her.

  Maeve immediately proved that the rumors of her mindreading skill were true. “The gem of the hoard, of course,” she said, as if Lila had asked her question aloud.

  Lila recalled that she hadn’t seen it in eons. She pointedly thought that she didn’t have it and didn’t know where it was.

  “Ah, but you see, the Pyr do know where it is. You have the misfortune to be the destined mate in the first firestorm that sparked for one of them since they took possession of it.” The Dark Queen smiled. “They’ll do anything for the sa
ke of the firestorm, even step into an obvious trap to try to save the mate. You are his weakness. It’s just a matter of time.”

  Embron looked down at Lila’s fingertips and smiled slowly. Lila didn’t have to look to know what he saw. She could feel the firestorm heating slightly, burning with greater insistence, and understood that meant Rhys was closer. She guessed that there were sparks lighting at the tips of her fingers and glanced down to see that she was right. Rhys had done nothing to deserve a reckoning.

  It was this Embron who should pay the price. She was so horrified that she didn’t hide her thoughts quickly enough. He met her gaze and there was something unsettling about his cool confidence. She knew with fearsome certainty that he didn’t care about any other creature but himself, and that he would do anything to achieve his goal.

  If that objective was possession of the gem of the hoard, then there was no telling what he’d do once he had it. The gem would give its master control of all the earth magick. The adept who knew its spells could draw all that power to himself, and Lila doubted this dragon shifter would use it for the benefit of anyone else.

  She looked away but not quickly enough. He caught her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You will tell me all that you know,” he said, speaking in a low seductive voice. His voice wound into her thoughts with curious ease and blended with her desires, twisting them. She wanted to tell him, but she knew the impulse wasn’t her own. “You will remember the entire history of the gem of the hoard.”

  Lila thought that she didn’t know it. Not all of it.

  “Then you will tell me what you do know,” he continued. Flames appeared in the pupils of his eyes and Lila closed her own eyes. She knew an unnatural ability when she saw one and didn’t trust that trick.

  To her surprise, he released her and she peeked to find that he had stepped back. He smiled coldly as he put a copper bowl on the floor. Maeve stood back, also smiling in an unsettling way. Embron produced something from his pocket and tossed it into the bowl.

  It was Lila’s skin.

  She lunged for it, unable to stop herself, but he seized her again, holding her captive just a few feet away. Lila kicked and struggled, but she might as well have been fighting a man of stone. She panicked, horrified, as Maeve struck a match and dropped it into the bowl.

  The pain was immediate and excruciating. Lila felt her toes burning, as surely as if they’d been pushed into the flames. A scream rose in her throat but she couldn’t make a sound, her cry trapped so that she thought it might choke her. Dark smoke rose from the skin as it burned and her thoughts filled with entreaties for mercy.

  “Remember what you know about the gem of the hoard,” her captor invited.

  Yes, yes. Lila would do that. She would do anything to stop the pain. She would tell him anything. She would tell him everything.

  “Excellent choice.” Maeve flicked her wrist and conjured a jug of water. She poured it into the bowl and the fire sizzled as it went out. Lila sagged in relief as the pain subsided, trembling to her very core. Her skin was still intact, just a little singed around the edges.

  Maeve poked in the bowl with one manicured fingertip, then pulled out the skin. “Imagine if we let the whole thing burn,” she mused, then turned a glittering look on Lila.

  She wasn’t going to give them any reason to do that.

  The gem of the hoard.

  “Start at the beginning,” Maeve invited, and Lila did.

  Rhys located the house in the wee hours of the morning. He’d driven past a suburban house in New Jersey and knew immediately that he’d found the place where Lila was being held hostage. The brilliant flare of the firestorm when his truck was alongside the house couldn’t be denied, nor could the scent of dragon.

  Hadrian hunkered down in his seat, looking grim. “He’ll smell us. He’ll feel it.”

  “I had to be sure,” Rhys argued and his friend nodded once.

  Rhys found a high school with a deserted parking lot six blocks away. He parked there and turned off the truck, hoping that distance would dim the firestorm’s flame. It looked like his strategy had worked. The flames glowed like embers at the ends of his fingers, but there were no sparks.

  Early on a Sunday morning, the parking lot was empty. The other Pyr pulled into the lot and parked their vehicles alongside his truck. Balthasar was the first to get out and he stood beside Arach’s car, studying the sky. The night was overcast, with a brisk wind from the west. The neighborhood was quiet, and the sound of the turnpike was so distant that only the Pyr could probably hear it.

  Rhys was struck by the power of the firestorm even in its subdued state. It hummed in his veins and slid over his skin, turning his thoughts to passion and feeding his desire to shift. He wanted to defend his mate with every fiber of his being and knew that he would fight with brutal efficiency this night. He eyed the glow around his hands, thinking it should be brighter with such close proximity. Was that a measure of Lila’s welfare or a sign that it was a trick? He wished he knew.

  Drake came to stand beside him, that Pyr’s eyes narrowing as he considered the orange glow on Rhys’ fingertips. His lips tightened and he didn’t comment, just surveyed the sky and took a deep breath. “The sun will rise soon,” he said finally, his voice deep. “We must wait for the cover of darkness.”

  Rhys turned on him with horror. He meant to wait an entire day?

  Arach was studying the houses that backed onto the football field. There weren’t many windows facing the park, which was a good thing. “Not many potential witnesses,” he said softly. “Good choice, Rhys. We can shift here tonight.”

  “We’ll meet again, here at dusk,” Drake said with finality.

  “But my mate!” Rhys protested.

  “Is the bait in the trap,” Drake reminded him. “Your arrival is anticipated, but we must learn more before we reveal ourselves.” Rhys was impatient with this logic, even though he saw the sense of it. He reassured himself with the simmer of the firestorm—that it still burned meant that she was alive—as Drake assigned tasks to the others. They would explore the neighborhood and learn as much as possible by the time they reconvened at sunset.

  Rhys was sent home to rest, the better to diminish the firestorm’s light, and knew he would spend the day chafing with impatience instead.

  Four

  Lila closed her eyes and thought the story she knew so well.

  Before we speak of the gem of the hoard, we must consider the Isle of the Blessed.

  Once, when the world was young, the gods descended from the heavens to mingle with men. The children born of these unions were so beautiful that they were easily distinguished from those of either lineage. They lived longer than mortals, and were often given additional gifts. They could change their physical form, switching from the skin of a human to another creature. Some of these shapeshifters controlled their transitions by choice; others were compelled to change by an outside force, like the phase of the moon. Some of these shifters preferred one skin over the other, and many lived most of their lives in one form or the other. Over time, those often lost their ability to shift between forms.

  There were those, both mortal and immortal, who resented these beings, because they were seen to be endowed with too much advantage. As a result, the children born of the union of gods and men, regardless of their differences, joined together. They called each other the Blessed, for truly, they believed they were. Many of them hid their gifts in an attempt to blend into mortal society, but this did not halt their persecution: their innate beauty revealed their truth.

  Eventually, the Blessed realized they had to choose. Dissatisfied with the societies of mortal men, yet having no desire to retreat from the physical realm as the immortals did, these children born of both kinds decided to create their own realm. They boarded ships and sailed away from the cities of men, full of hope for a new future. The Old Man of the Seas took them in the palm of his hand—for there were many of his daughters and his only son in
their ranks—and guided their ships safely to an island that was a natural paradise. Some said he had created it just for them. The Old Man of the Seas was much concerned with justice, after all.

  The Blessed explored their new home from one coast to the other and were very pleased with their good fortune. They convened a ruling council in which each of their thirteen kinds was represented and each voice was heard. They divided the island to give each kind a domain suiting their needs best. They built a capital city where there was a natural harbor and agreed to work together for the common good. They chose a king from the ranks of their fellows, one Evenor, the son of the Old Man of the Seas who had shown them such favor, and he vowed to rule them to the best of his abilities.

  The Blessed prospered in this place, and their affluence and influence grew over the years. They each used their gifts to create fine goods or to cultivate crops, providing for themselves then trading the remainder with the cities of men. Their cloth was reputed to be more finely woven and more richly hued than that found anywhere else in the world; their wine was both sweeter and more potent than any other; their grain was hardier and its flour made bread more delicious and more fortifying. Their women were renowned for their beauty and their soldiers for their valor. It was as if all their worldly endeavors were graced by the divine favor of their forebears. Over time, the cities of men began to regard the Isle of the Blessed as a magical and mystical place. That Evenor did not allow mortal men to set foot on the island only increased its allure.

  It also fed the envy and lust of mortal men.

  The palace of Evenor, which overlooked the harbor, was a large and graceful residence. Its walls were carved of the white stone found only on the island, a stone that was both uncommonly strong and light. The spires of its thirteen towers—one for each kind—were said to rise so high that they touched the clouds, and birds soared around them. The highest tower was the residence of the official oracle, who brought the council of the gods to Evenor and took the prayers and blessings of his subjects to the gods. In the beginning, there was regular communication.