Dragon's Kiss (The DragonFate Novels Book 2)

by Deborah Cooke

  Rafferty snapped his fingers. “I know that piece! It was strikingly beautiful.”

  It was also in his pocket, but he didn’t admit that.

  “Yes!” the man agreed, his eyes lighting with the eagerness of a collector. “I am glad to hear you know of it. Do you still have it?”

  Rafferty was intrigued that the dragon prince wasn’t able to sense the presence of the stone he sought—and he was relieved.

  He guessed that the other Pyr had followed his scent from the Atlantic Road, having retraced his path after failing to find the stone.

  Why hadn’t he gone after Kristofer and Bree? Rafferty didn’t know but wanted to ensure that the dragon prince didn’t change his thinking on that.

  He had to distract him, and send him on a false trail.

  Rafferty sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I had it for less than a day. A collector, much like yourself, stopped in to acquire it.” He smiled. “I don’t know whether it’s sixth sense or a communications network I know nothing about, but collectors always seem to guess when I have something of interest to them.”

  “But who?” the prince demanded, seizing Rafferty’s shoulder with urgency.

  Rafferty glanced down with surprise at the other Pyr’s hand, and the prince removed it. “I do apologize, but I am most anxious to obtain this piece. It will complete my collection.”

  “Of course,” Rafferty said. “But you have to recognize that I can’t reveal my customer’s identity. She certainly must be relying upon my discretion, given the reputation of my little store.”

  The dragon prince’s eyes shone for a moment, and Rafferty knew he hadn’t missed the crumb of information that Rafferty had apparently unwittingly shared.

  “Of course,” he said, stepping back. “Then you know this customer?”

  “We have done business in the past, although always with cash.” He smiled. “Even if I wished to provide a contact address to you, I couldn’t do it. She finds me.”

  “That is unusual.”

  Rafferty forced a laugh. “In this business, the unusual is usual.”

  “I see.” The prince inclined his head, almost bowing before he took his leave. “I thank you for your assistance and will leave you to your inventory.”

  “I hope you find another equally beautiful piece,” Rafferty said.

  “There can be no other,” whispered the dragon prince, then turned and mingled into the crowd of pedestrians. He was too tall to disappear and Rafferty watched him until he was out of sight.

  Where would he go? Who would he conclude had the stone? Eithne? Or Maeve? Rafferty had improvised, wanting only to direct the dragon prince away from the Pyr, but wondered in hindsight what he would do.

  For the moment, he unlocked the door of his shop, stepped through his dragonsmoke barrier, and locked the door again behind himself. He descended to the vault in the cellar, unlocked it, and placed the rounded piece of amber inside a Chinese puzzle box of lacquer, where it would be hidden from view. Before he closed the piece, he looked at the spider and the wasp, so perfectly preserved in its golden depths, and shivered a little that a predator should be preserved forever in the act of killing its prey.

  He locked the box, refusing to think any more along those lines, then secured the vault and climbed the stairs. Considering the volume of goods that crowded his shop, an inventory wasn’t a bad idea—and the activity would still his spinning thoughts.

  Rafferty pulled out a ledger and set to work.

  Sixteen

  Bree called Kara from the inn and they agreed to meet at the nursing home two days later. She and Kris traveled to Oslo together and then to Stockholm, thanks to the money Alasdair wired to them. She was glad again of the support of the Pyr and of Kris’s characteristic patience.

  She felt as if she had a new family in this circle of dragon shifters and definitely appreciated it. She just had to be sure her previous family was okay.

  In a way, the old man was her responsibility and she couldn’t abandon him. She’d served him for a very long time, and in hindsight, she wondered if she should have asked his permission before making her request of the Norns.

  Would the old man revoke her choice?

  Until she knew for sure, she couldn’t plan a future with Kris.

  The nursing home was exactly the same as it had been the previous year. It was clean and modern, located on a quiet side street, staffed by efficient and kind women. Kara was already waiting in the lobby when they arrived, and Bree saw from their greeting that Kris and her sister were never going to be close. Kris hung back when Bree and Kara went to the desk to say they’d come to visit the old man. The nurse said that he was outside. She and Bree had met before and they smiled politely at each other. Her gaze slid over Kris, but there was no need for introductions.

  “He’ll be in the usual place,” Kara said and Bree nodded.

  Kara led the way to the courtyard, and sure enough, the old man was there. He was sitting in his wheelchair in the sunshine, one hand outstretched. There were seeds on his palm and little birds perched on his hand and arm, even his knee, taking the seeds he offered. Although it was clear that he had once been a tall and broad man, he looked shrunken. He seemed older and smaller than he had even the year before, as if vitality was slipping away from him. Bree supposed it was.

  That made her think Kris was right.

  Kara crouched down in front of him. “Hello, Father,” she said in Old Norse. “I have come for a kiss.”

  He looked at her, as if he didn’t understand.

  Bree joined Kara, her throat tight. “Hello, Father,” she said in Old Norse. He stirred a little and looked at her, one eye bleary with blindness and the other vivid blue. “I have come to say farewell.”

  He stared at her, his expression so impassive that Bree wondered whether he had understood. Then his gaze brightened and she wondered how much he knew of her choice.

  He put out his hand in silent demand, clearly having recognized her.

  Bree placed the foil package on his outstretched palm, then noticed how his hand was shaking. She opened it for him, revealing the chicken heart wrapped inside. She’d stopped at a butcher that morning to bring the customary gift. The old man looked down at it, frowning, as if he was aware of the change in her nature.

  No mortal would have brought him such a gift.

  He looked up at her again, consideration in his gaze.

  Then there was a fluttering of wings and a black raven swooped out of the sky. The smaller birds scattered, chirping, and disappeared into the shrubs in the courtyard. The raven landed on the back of the wheelchair, its weight enough to make the chair move a little. It looked at Bree, its gaze bright, then it bent and seized one half of the heart. The raven devoured it quickly and Bree braced herself to defend the other half of the offering, but the bird didn’t grab for it. It swallowed, croaked, then hopped to the old man’s shoulder. He smiled and reached up to rub its beak.

  “They say the old serpent is dead,” he said, his voice raspy and weak.

  The raven made a chortling sound and bobbed its head, as if agreeing, then looked at Bree.

  She knew that the bird was one of the pair of ravens that flew around the world each day to bring the old man all the news. He was remembering, so this would be Muninn.

  “I have heard this, too,” she agreed.

  The old man fixed her with a look. “Did you see it? Were you there? Is that why you changed, daughter mine?”

  She shook her head and gestured to Kris. “My Drakkir told me. One of his fellows made the kill.”

  The old man considered Kris, then frowned. “When?”

  Bree turned to Kris. “More than five years ago,” he said in Norwegian.

  “I did not know,” the old man murmured.

  “We did not hear your summons, Father,” Kara said.

  The old man looked away, his gaze slipping over the courtyard as if he had never seen it before. “They did not call,” he said, frow
ning. “I did not hear the horn.”

  “Perhaps you were not needed, Father,” Bree suggested.

  “Not needed,” he echoed quietly, then shook his head. His bushy brows rose as he peered at Bree. “One of the Drakkir?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  His gaze returned to Kris and the pair assessed each other. “And you bring one here, daughter?”

  “He is my Drakkir, Father, and the reason for my visit.”

  The old man nodded. “So, that is what changed and why.” He reached out a hand and placed it on Bree’s head. “I give you my blessing, daughter,” he said, his voice husky. “You have chosen well.”

  Bree felt those tears rise again and realized the old man was watching her closely. She blinked rapidly and one fell, splashing on his hand. He considered it for a long moment, then nodded at her again. “Thank you, Father,” she said and he smiled, just a little.

  He eyed Kara. “And you would have a kiss?”

  “A kiss, Father,” she agreed with a smile. “If the serpent is dead, it is time.”

  He between the two of them. “What of my warriors? Were they called?”

  “I do not know, Father,” Bree said. “With Kara’s kiss, you could find out.”

  He nodded regally, then rattled the foil that held the other half of the heart. A second raven called from somewhere above them, then descended to land on the other side of the wheelchair, this one grasping the armrest. The two birds croaked at each other, then the new arrival snatched at the meat.

  Like his sibling, Huginn swallowed the offering whole. He rubbed his beak on the old man’s hand, then made a trill of satisfaction. Bree removed the piece of foil and balled it up, then Kris took it from her.

  “It is time,” the old man said, his voice almost as sonorous as once it had been. “Time to choose.” He gave Bree a hard glance. “Would you forget?”

  Bree shook her head, not having even known that was an option. “I do not want to forget, Father. I want only to be with my Drakkir and bear his son. I would teach our son of what I know.”

  “All the tales.” He nodded his approval of that. “But you would die, albeit with your hand in that of your Drakkir.” His glance was sharp.

  “Yes, Father.” Bree swallowed.

  He reached to the birds and she thought he was going to pet them. Instead, he drew a feather from the wing of each one. The ravens didn’t seem to notice the feathers being pulled, and they gleamed blue-black as the old man handed them to Bree. “I give you my blessing, Sigrdrifa, and wish you both a long and prosperous life.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Bree felt those tears rise again as she accepted his blessing and his gift. A profound relief surged through her.

  “You have Siegfried,” the old man said, looking at Kara for the first time. There was no question in his voice and she inclined her head in acknowledgement of what he had apparently always known. He glanced at Bree again, and then at Kris, and nodded.

  “He awaits you, Father, as do the others,” Kara said.

  “Come here, daughter,” he whispered, then beckoned to Kara. “I welcome your kiss.” He was impatient now, Bree could see, more than ready to be reunited with his warriors. With no final battle to face, they could live forever in the splendor of his hall.

  She saw Kara shift shape, her wings fluttering over her head. No one in the courtyard seemed to notice, but she saw that Kris was checking that no one needed to be beguiled. Her tears rose again as Kara framed the old man’s face in her hands, and she felt a new awareness of her sister’s power. When Kara kissed the old man, Bree heard the sigh of his soul passing from his body. It was no more than a whisper, no more than a gasp, then Kara straightened, her eyes burning. The pair of ravens cawed and took flight, leaving him for the last time, and Kara shifted shape again.

  The old man looked smaller and more feeble, and Bree blinked back tears at the change in him. Kris wrapped a supportive arm around her waist as Kara stepped back, and she found herself leaning against his strength. She reached up and took his hand, relieved beyond belief and overcome with emotion.

  “Oh, he’s fallen asleep,” Kris said, as they’d agreed earlier. He bent and tucked the blanket over the old man’s lap with the gentleness she’d come to associate with him. “You two have worn him out. Why don’t we leave him to sleep and come back tomorrow?”

  “That’s a good idea,” Bree said and a passing nurse, who had obviously overhead Kris, nodded agreement.

  “He’s fine here in the sunshine,” Kris said. He straightened the old man’s palm and put a little more seed into it. The small birds came immediately to perch on him and eat, chirping happily. The old man’s chin rested on his chest, as if he was dozing while watching the birds, and Bree blinked back those persistent tears.

  “Goodbye, Father,” she whispered, then sang a verse of that Norse lullaby to send him on his way. Kris was as steady as a rock, and when her voice faded over the last verse, he pulled her close and kissed her temple.

  Kara said nothing as they left, just marched beside them with resolve. They went around the corner to a quiet street, then she turned to Bree. Her eyes were bright. She touched her fingertips to her own mouth but didn’t part her lips, then reached out and pressed those fingertips to Bree’s mouth.

  “I love you, too,” Bree whispered, knowing she would never see Kara again. “All the blessings of the gods to you, sister.”

  Kara nodded and pivoted, then shifted shape as she leapt into the sky. She soared high, her wings beating hard. Bree didn’t even want to blink, lest she miss one bit of this final glimpse. She stood and watched Kara fly higher until she couldn’t see her anymore.

  To her surprise, she felt no envy of her sister’s abilities. She didn’t care that Kara would go to Siegfried. She had everything she wanted and more in Kris, and her heart, though it seemed full now, would only become more full in the future. Bree felt more blessed than she ever, because of one dragon shifter and his firestorm. He’d left her there to beguile a couple of bystanders, then returned to gather her into his warm embrace.

  “Can you still see her?” Bree whispered.

  “Just barely,” he admitted, his voice low and a little rough. “Now, she’s gone.” His lips brushed her forehead. “Will she be back?”

  Bree shook her head. “It’s over. I’ll never see her again.”

  “Are you okay with that?”

  “I’m part of the reason it’s over, so yes.” She pulled back to meet his gaze steadily. “My past had to end for our future to begin, Kris.”

  His smile warmed her to her toes. “Good.”

  Kris was just bending to kiss her when someone shouted. To Bree’s surprise, the woman was shouting at her.

  “Miss!” cried the nurse from the front desk of the care facility. She was running toward them waving. “Miss, your father has died.”

  “Oh!” Bree said, even though she wasn’t surprised.

  The nurse gestured. “Would you mind coming back to make the arrangements?”

  “Of course, we will,” Kris said and took Bree’s hand in his, leading her back to the facility.

  There was one last thing Bree needed to do for the old man.

  The old man’s remains were cremated at Bree’s request. Kristofer thought it fitting that the old man’s earthly form should be consigned to the fire, just like those of the Viking warriors of old.

  “The Pyr are supposed to be exposed to the four elements after they die,” he told Bree when they’d picked up the urn.

  “Why?”

  “It prevents them from being turned into shadow dragons later, and it’s a ritual.”

  “You dragons like rituals.” She was teasing, not complaining. “I’ll need a list.”

  Kristofer chuckled, having no issues with being her tutor.

  Bree’s gaze dropped to the container. “We’ve got fire covered.”

  “I have an idea about the other three. Come on. We have a flight to catch.”

  Krist
ofer had changed their flight reservations, so that they were going to Oslo instead of JFK today. He’d rented a car in Norway and they’d fly home from Oslo. He wasn’t sure when he’d come back to Norway and he wanted to pay his respects.

  Bree wasn’t the only one with former responsibilities.

  “Why Oslo?” Bree asked once they’d checked in with the airline.

  “Just a stop on the way,” he said. “There’s one more place I want to visit on this trip.”

  She sobered. “Your dad’s stave church,” she guessed.

  “There’s no stone for him, although he’s buried there.” He found that his throat was tight. “He just loved it there so much.” He nodded toward her hand luggage. “I thought maybe the old man might like it, too.”

  “Oh, that’s brilliant!” Bree blinked back tears as she nodded. “You’re right.”

  The flight was short and uneventful, and the car was waiting. They drove in silence, quickly leaving the city behind, and Kris looked over to see Bree smiling as the mountains rose on either side of the road.

  “It hasn’t changed a bit,” she said with obvious satisfaction.

  “Feel like it’s home?”

  She shook her head. “It was home.” She cast him a bright sidelong glance. “I can’t wait to see your home.”

  “Our home,” Kristofer said. “If you like.”

  “I’m sure I will.” She sighed. “It’s not going to be hard to give up that apartment, or my day job.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Besides fight with the Pyr to defend the treasures of the earth?” Bree shrugged. “I might need to learn to make cookies.”

  “You might. One of us should.” Kristofer acknowledged and they laughed together.

  It was early evening by the time they reached Lom, where the stave church was located. Kristofer drove straight to the church and parked outside the stone walls. It was the largest and oldest of the remaining wooden churches, which was why his father had admired it so.

  The church was deserted, all tours completed for the day, and he savored the illusion that nothing had changed in four hundred years. The sun was setting in the west, streaking the sky with orange and indigo, and the few trees were scattering leaves. The church was as tall as he remembered, and he eyed the dragon carving on the roof.