Dragon's Kiss (The DragonFate Novels Book 2)

by Deborah Cooke

  She didn’t. Her eyes narrowed slightly and her attention was unswerving. “How does a dragon shifter burn his hands?”

  “Long story.”

  “I think we’ve got time.” There was a thread of humor in her tone. Their gazes locked and Kristofer felt warm all over, as well as a definite response to the feel of her pressed against him. “Tell me,” she invited, maybe not realizing that her whisper was so husky.

  He winced. “It’s not a pleasant story.”

  “Look around, Kris.” Her tone was wry. “This isn’t a pleasant story either.”

  “Can you guess how this one ends?”

  “Not well.”

  He appreciated that she didn’t gloss the truth, even though he chose to be more optimistic.

  “Tell me a different story,” she invited.

  He nodded. He hadn’t shared this one before, but maybe it didn’t matter now. “I enlisted once.”

  Her eyes brightened. “For military service?”

  Kristofer nodded again. “Fighting is what I do.”

  “But it sounds like you enlisted in a human army.”

  “I did. I thought it was the price of living in their society. I wanted to contribute to the victory.” He shrugged. “Plus I looked the right age, as if I should be serving, and I got tired of people challenging me about it.”

  “Where and when?”

  “England. 1942.”

  She smiled. “I did a stint as a field nurse in that war.”

  “Same side?”

  “Yes, more common ground,” she said, her tone teasing. “Like you said, it seemed like the right thing to do, and I didn’t think it would kill me.” She shrugged as if it was no big deal. “You must have figured your powers would get you through it, too.”

  “I hoped so,” he admitted. “It doesn’t always work out that way.”

  She spared a glance upward to their bonds and smiled. “No, it doesn’t.”

  Their gazes met again and Kristofer had a hard time catching his breath. He stared at her, thinking she was close enough to kiss.

  And that’s when Kristofer knew what he had missed.

  Bree saw Kris’s eyes brighten, as if he’d solved a riddle. His eyes became so blue that she dreaded whatever he was going to say. “You could have kissed me when we fought the first time and ended it then,” he said, watching her closely.

  Watching for her to twitch, no doubt.

  “You’re the one telling the story,” she countered, trying to distract him—and knowing it wouldn’t work.

  “No, this is important. You not only didn’t kiss me, you warned me not to risk kissing you,” he said with excitement. “You had more than one chance, and you didn’t do it. You didn’t want to kill me, even though you’d made that deal with Maeve.”

  “No,” Bree corrected. “I didn’t want to claim your soul. There’s a difference.”

  He arched a brow, inviting her to explain.

  “What if you finish your story?” she asked instead of answering him.

  “Because you’re trying to avoid the question. That means the answer matters. I know that much about you already.”

  He knew a lot about her already, more than anyone else.

  Maybe even more than the old man.

  Bree knew she should have found that more frightening than she did. “I promise to tell you.”

  He smiled. “Sealed with a kiss?”

  “You don’t want me to kiss you.”

  “Oh, yes, I do.” His eyes gleamed with intent and the fearlessness that impressed her so much.

  “First tell me your story,” she said, trying to sound unaffected by him. “Did your powers help?”

  He considered her for a moment, his eyes that brilliant sapphire, then nodded. “Yes and no. I couldn’t shift in front of the other guys, of course, but my keen senses saved our butts more than once.”

  “You could smell trouble,” she guessed.

  “Incoming mortars, specifically. Sentry dogs. Wood fires.” He frowned. “I heard aircraft and tanks before they did, too. The important time, my senses didn’t help enough, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We were caught behind enemy lines and at a bad time.” He averted his gaze, lost in the memory, and Bree knew it must have been painful.

  She tried to make him smile. “Is there ever a good time to be trapped there?”

  He just shook his head. “No, but it’s worse when you know your side is planning to reclaim some territory.”

  “Ah. That would be a bad time. What happened?”

  His brow furrowed. “There were three of us left and I was making progress getting us back to our own side. But our guys fired white phosphorus grenades to clear out the enemy positions.”

  “Willie P,” she said with sympathy. Oh, she remembered the injuries. They’d been heartbreaking—obviously painful and hard to treat. “That is mean stuff.”

  Kris nodded. “I got burns on my hands, and they took a long time to heal.”

  She tipped her head back to look up, remembering something she’d noticed earlier. “You still have scars on the backs of them.”

  “Yes. From the skin grafts.”

  She nodded, trying to hide how her throat tightened. It couldn’t be. There had been dozens of them.

  But there’s only been one so tall and blond, only one who had understood Norwegian, only one who had cared more for his lost fellows than himself. Only one the nurses had nicknamed “the Viking”.

  “They’re well done for the time period,” she said, her tone neutral.

  “Thanks. I had good care. I was lucky.”

  His gratitude. She remembered that, too.

  It couldn’t be.

  Bree dropped her gaze. “What about the other two guys?”

  Kris grimaced. “It was better that they didn’t survive,” he said, his voice husky.

  Trust her to find a dragon shifter who was honorable, tall, and wore his heart on his sleeve—not just to find him twice, but to help save him once, then ensure he was condemned the second time. Bree wished she could have turned back the clock and said no to Maeve.

  She wished she could have turned back the clock and gotten to know that injured soldier.

  “Sometimes living to tell about it isn’t the easy option,” she said quietly.

  “Sometimes it isn’t,” Kris agreed and they fell silent.

  What were the odds?

  Slim to none by Bree’s accounting, and yet, here she was, trapped in a fake firestorm with a dragon shifter she’d met before. Kris had looked different then, burned and dirty, but with the same impressive build and short fair hair.

  His eyes had been bandaged. She’d never known they were such a fierce vivid blue. And he’d never seen her, which was a relief, in a way.

  In another way, she felt cheated by that.

  Oh, that war. Bree had never lived so vehemently as when she’d served in that field hospital. Death was everywhere, a palpable presence, and the mortals knew that their moment could come at any time. She remembered the sense of danger and the willingness to take risks. She remembered the laughter and the dancing, the funerals and the pursuit of pleasure. It had been a kind of madness, a need to savor everything immediately, and she had been infected by the mood. All the colors had seemed brighter; all the scents stronger. She’d never felt so alive.

  She’d noticed the fallen soldier right away, guessing immediately that he was the descendant of the Viking warriors she considered her own kind. Of commanding stature and powerful, even when injured. She’d been drawn to him, almost against her will, convinced they had common ground.

  That confession would make Kris laugh—if she shared it.

  Bree remembered his high pain threshold, or maybe it had been a refusal to complain. She remembered his offers to give anything to save his companions. She’d admired his loyalty at the time. She’d thought him noble and honorable, a true warrior. She’d refused to learn his name. She’d never know
n his history, but she’d assisted in his reconstructive surgery. Those scars couldn’t be feigned.

  She’d sat with him at night when he’d had nightmares, unable to stay away.

  But she’d never guessed the truth of his nature. Dragons, apparently, could keep their secrets well.

  Now she knew why he’d refused a sedative for his surgery. They’d done it with a local anesthesia only, which had astounded the surgeons.

  She didn’t believe in coincidence but she did believe in fate. Was Kris right that they were destined to be together? Bree had to give the idea serious consideration with this new revelation. If nothing else, their existences seemed to be bound together, which made her think of the warp on the loom of the Norns.

  Were they going to die like this? Bree didn’t want to believe it. The fake firestorm made her feel so vital that she wanted it to be real.

  She wanted Kris to be right.

  She met his gaze then, knowing that he’d been watching her, and was snared by his intensity. Her hands were aching, her mouth was dry yet she couldn’t look away from the turbulent blue of his eyes.

  Her heart thundered and she felt every point their bodies touched, welcoming the heat that emanated from those contact points, even if it was a lie.

  Maybe it wasn’t all a lie.

  She wished suddenly that she could have had just one night with Kris, because she knew she would experience more life in that single night than she had in all her centuries.

  “You warned me not to kiss you,” he reminded her softly, bending to nuzzle her temple. He touched his lips to her ear and she closed her eyes, surrendering to his persuasive touch. “Tell me everything about a Valkyrie’s kiss.”

  He deserved to know it all, and Bree would tell him.

  While she could.

  Kristofer watched Bree choose her words. Concentration made her look more fragile than he knew she was. He was honored that she intended to trust him with the truth. He didn’t believe for a moment that his mate was too pragmatic to be romantic. She was just on guard against tender feelings. He really wanted to be there the moment she realized she loved someone.

  It was only natural for him to hope it would be him.

  He bent and touched his lips to the hollow of Bree’s throat, feeling her pulse leap beneath his lips.

  “You shouldn’t risk that,” she chided, her words breathless. “And you should put me down. My hands are better.”

  “Do you mind that much?”

  Her smile was wicked and her gaze dropped to his mouth. “I should mind more than I do.” She took a deep breath, one that made her breasts press against his chest. “Even when you steal a kiss, Mr. Dragon Shifter, you make it count.”

  “I’m not a dragon shifter now, apparently,” Kristofer said. He tried to shift again, just because, but Bree shook her head.

  “It won’t work, Kris. Those red sparks out there? They’re magick and they’re here to keep us under control. The Dark Queen doesn’t like surprises, unless they’re her own.”

  “I’ve got to learn more about magick.”

  “I can only tell you one thing at a time,” she teased. “Magick or Valkyrie kisses?”

  It was an easy choice. “The kiss first. I want to know why you didn’t just finish me off.”

  “You remember exactly how Eirene kissed your father?” Bree asked.

  “Yes. She framed his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. They nodded, then she kissed him. Sweetly.” He remembered the sight and couldn’t help smiling a little. His dad had been so into it.

  “There’s a ritual to it, so she could claim his soul,” Bree said, her tone matter of fact. “She had to kiss him, just that way, initiating the embrace. It’s easier to claim the soul if the warrior is willing.”

  “Right,” he agreed. “My dad died then, but she took his soul to Valhalla.”

  “And that’s the key. Not that he died.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He was going to die anyway. If she hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have survived.”

  “I know.”

  “But because she was there, and he was dying, she took his soul.”

  “I get that.”

  “In Valhalla, they are bound together forever, your father and Eirene.” Bree met his gaze again and he saw how serious she was. “He is hers first. He sits at her table. She brings him mead and invites him to her bed. He is hers, and though she might share him with her sisters, your father and Eirene are bound together.”

  “But he’s not the only one.”

  Bree shook her head. “She has a company of warriors at her service.”

  “Until Ragnorak.”

  “When all her warriors ride out to war, in her company. It’s a permanent bond.” She shrugged and laughed a little. “Mortals use the word permanent, but they don’t really understand the full magnitude of its meaning.”

  Kristofer thought about that. “How many warriors are in your service?”

  Bree rolled her eyes. “It’s not important.”

  “I think it is.”

  “Dozens,” she said, crisply. “But I haven’t gone back to Valhalla in a long time.”

  “Why not?”

  “I think it’s boring to party all the time. I like the mortal realm better. Things change there. It’s more interesting than yet another round of mead.”

  Kristofer could understand that, but he didn’t think it was the whole truth. If it was, she would have looked him in the eye. “So, when I kissed you, there was no risk of you claiming my soul?”

  “There shouldn’t have been, no.”

  “You’re not sure.”

  “I usually meet mortal warriors on their deathbeds. The details might not matter, because really, if it’s a good kiss, both parties are kissing each other.” Her expression turned thoughtful and she flicked a glance at him. “You’re the first who ever took the chance. Was that brave or did you just not understand?”

  “Which is the better answer?”

  “I collect warriors,” she reminded him with a gleam in her eyes. “You can guess.”

  “Then I’ll say brave, but really, I trust the firestorm.”

  She frowned and dropped her gaze again.

  Kristofer didn’t want her to tell him again that the firestorm was fake. “I thought you warned me because you didn’t want to kill me.”

  Bree shook her head. “Maeve promised me your soul. I didn’t tell her that I didn’t want it.”

  Kristofer was startled. “Why not?”

  “Because then you would be mine forever!”

  “Sounds like a good deal to me.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Kris,” she said sternly. “I’d tricked you. I did it for Kara, but I’m not proud of leading you into Fae, especially since it would be your doom. If we were bound together, I’d be apologizing to you for all time. You’d be dead, but it would be wrong, as if you’d been cheated of your time, and it would be my fault.”

  “You don’t want to answer to the Norns.” He knew the three Wyrd sisters decided the fates of mortal men, but Bree’s explanation gave him an idea. He needed a minute to think about it before sharing it.

  “Would you?”

  He tried to make her smile. “I thought they were fluffy old ladies, spinning and weaving together.”

  “You can only think that because you’ve never seen them at work,” she retorted. “You’ve never seen their shears or heard their songs. They use skulls as shuttles, you know, and the wool they weave is often stained with the blood of mortals. Trust me. They’re terrifying.”

  “If they can scare a Valkyrie, that’s saying something.” Kristofer pretended to shudder, chuckling when she glared at him.

  “I’m serious!”

  “Me, too.” He bent and leaned his forehead against hers, dropping his voice low. “Kiss me,” he invited.

  Bree looked horrified. “I just explained to you why that’s a bad idea.”

  “But how else are we go
ing to get out of here?”

  Her expression turned wary but curious.

  “Think about it. You kiss me and you claim my soul. Don’t you go to Valhalla automatically to make a delivery?”

  Bree looked up at the string around their wrists. “I’m not sure,” she whispered, but he knew she was thinking about it. “I can’t shift forms because of her magick.”

  “Aren’t some things older than her magick?”

  She frowned.

  “Think about it. I could see my dad again. You could bring me mead. I don’t like it much, but I’d drink it for you.” He’d surprised her again because she smiled.

  “Why don’t you like mead? It’s the nectar of the gods.”

  “Too sweet.”

  “Do not tell me that you’re sweet enough already.” She was losing the fight against that smile.

  “Okay, I won’t.”

  She frowned again. “But if it works, you’ll be dead.”

  Kristofer laughed. “I might end up dead anyway. Don’t pick nits.”

  “That’s not a nit!”

  “So, you don’t want me dead anymore. That’s progress.”

  Bree blushed.

  “Go on,” Kristofer whispered. “Make me yours forever. Maybe that’s how the firestorm is going to work out.”

  “It’s not real,” she insisted again and Kristofer knew one good way to stop that line of discussion.

  He leaned closer, looked into Bree’s eyes, then kissed her.

  All he had to do was persuade her to kiss him back, and the firestorm was on his side.

  Aren’t some things older than her magick?

  Bree had to wonder whether Kris had hit on something. She could remember a world without Fae magick, without all those swirling red sparks and flashes of silver. She could remember when there was only the power of the runes, and old charms passed along in secret. They held a quiet kind of sorcery, one that wasn’t accompanied by light shows. She’d always thought it was rooted in the earth itself, in old wisdom, in understanding life. It wasn’t so much about changing reality, much less compelling it to be different.

  Like the tattoo on the back of her arm. It was wrought of that old earth power. Come to think of it, she shouldn’t have been able to see it. She was in human form, but it was visible on her forearm. It usually disappeared when she took her human form, and was only visible along with her Valkyrie armor.