Bonded to the Dragon: The Lick of Fire Collection: Dragon Lovers

by Lockharte, Kara

  An arrogant grin. “I’m certain you couldn’t.”

  I grabbed his hand. It was so hot I gasped and let go, but he kept his grip on me. He pulled me up and turned my hand, exposing the palm. He slowly traced a line in an oddly intimate gesture.

  “See,” he said. His gaze didn’t leave my face. “I’m tougher to kill than you think.”

  His inner dragon heat must have been doing something to the surrounding air. That was the only logical explanation for the weird coiled tension within me and the way goose bumps sprang up all along my arm. I was mesmerized by his gaze, the way a strand of his blond hair curled around his forehead, the unforgettable sensation of his hot fingertips on my hands.

  I looked at him with narrowed eyes; this was what he had intended. “You were trying to piss me off, weren’t you?”

  “Like you weren’t doing the same before. Besides, it’s no fun traveling with a gloomy girl afraid of her own shadows.”

  I couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched me without the intent to restrain me or kill me, at least not in this life. I shook my head slowly, unsure of what he was doing. “What are you trying to prove?”

  “I can keep you from inadvertently using your powers,” he said, looking at the ring on his hand.

  Light seemed to twist on the little band of metal. I wrapped my fingers around the ring but forced myself not to pull it off. “You said you’d give me my freedom.”

  “I did. Do you think you can control your powers? Keep yourself from inadvertently hurting others?”

  I was about to tell him the ready lie before remembering what he had said: I can smell you when you lie.

  “I just want my freedom.”

  He was still stroking my hand, but his touch was setting my thoughts on fire. A hint of bemusement was in his voice. “Are you going to tell me to stop?”

  This should be more traumatic. Before my death, I had been brutalized and abused by men. I would have said that I never wanted any man to touch me ever again.

  Maybe it was the fact that I had died. Maybe it was the fact that this body, though it looked original, wasn’t the flesh I had died in.

  Grant’s touch was different.

  Because I really, really liked it. And that was a huge problem.

  I narrowed my eyes at him again. “Would you, if I asked you to?”

  His fingertips skimmed the inside of my wrist. “Why don’t you try it?”

  “Stop.”

  He dropped my hand. The heat on my skin still lingered from his touch.

  “Give me back my ring.”

  He held out my ring and dropped it into my hand. “Control yourself. Or I will do it for you.”

  And there, that was the solution to my problem. All I had to do was make a mistake, hurt some random person, and he would end me, giving me the death, I wanted.

  I closed my hands around the ring. Maybe I would have taken that path before I’d died. But going back to that place that was not death had given me a clarity of sorts.

  And if Grant was the man I had seen, well, I had the feeling that he would uphold his bargain.

  But I had been so wrong about men before, hadn’t I?

  And yet…I jogged over to him. “Just so we’re clear, I still don’t like you.”

  He snorted. “If that’s what you want to keep telling yourself.”

  I grabbed his arm, and it was like yanking on a pillar of marble and just as effective.

  “I don’t want anyone to get hurt, not accidentally. Can you promise me that, if I let you take my ring?”

  “Till death do us part?” he said with a sarcastic smile.

  I glared at him. “This isn’t the time for terrible jokes.”

  He shrugged. “No, I can’t promise you anything. I don’t understand the full extent of your powers. You’ll just have to trust me.”

  Fuck. Was that what I wanted? Why would I go along if I was just trying to get back to my death anyway?

  Distant screams echoed in my mind. When I had been alive, the Devourer had used my body to do terrible things, and while most of the time I was thankfully not aware, sometimes visions leaked through.

  I didn’t want to cause any more pain. And yet… “Do you have a plan?”

  “I have a friend who may be able to help.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “A side trip? What happened to rescuing your sister?”

  “The Angel of Death’s fortress only reveals itself in the light of the full moon. It is vulnerable to attack then. I was already planning on a visit because they have…things that may prove useful.”

  I pressed the ring into his palm. The ring’s warmth flared between us, and it coated my skin with a not-unpleasant tingling sensation that made me want to press closer to him.

  Oh girl, thoughts like these were only going to lead to trouble.

  I released his hand. “I don’t want to hurt innocent people. Don’t betray my trust.”

  He looked at me, his smile faint. “Don’t give me a reason to.”

  4

  I knew something of dragons. When I’d been dead, I had watched my friend Lana marry another dragon shifter. I had seen some of the things her dragon could do. Fireproof and fire breathing, of course, along with crazy super strength and equally near-magical healing capabilities.

  Grant had all that and more.

  The dragon I had to be stuck with? It wasn’t enough that he was a dragon, with well, all the inhuman abilities I had learned to expect.

  The car we’d been driving in? He picked it up, jumped back up to the road, and set it down on the tarmac. By the time I got around to the door, the car was in the exact condition it had been in before, possibly more pristine.

  He wasn’t just a dragon; he was a fucking more-magic dragon.

  Not to mention the clothes shredded around him? His white suit was now as clean and immaculate as if he hadn’t just finished laying siege to a fairy queen and followed that up by fending off an alien monster in a forest in the middle of the night.

  He stood by the open passenger-side door and gestured to it.

  “I know. I’m coming,” I grumbled. As I brushed past him, I caught his scent, something like pines and musk. Jeezus, he even smelled clean.

  He got into the driver’s side and immediately the massive car seemed to shrink in comparison.

  “What does it take for you to get dirty, Puff?”

  “Puff?”

  If I was stuck with him, I’d make him regret every moment. I poked him in the shoulder. Fuck, he was solid. “You are a magic dragon. You even smell clean.”

  “Grime and scent are markers of where you’ve been. I don’t like giving potential enemies the ability to track me.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  He adjusted the rearview mirror. “This is going to be a pleasant drive,” he muttered under his breath. He swiped something on the dashboard, and the glove compartment opened, revealing a smartphone. “Passcode is 12345. Check the weather for me. I need to know what I should be prepared for.”

  “Such a unique, secure password,” I said, swiping it on.

  “It’s a burner,” he replied.

  I told him what he wanted to know, then I automatically logged onto social media before I could stop myself. Apparently, even death couldn’t kill that habit.

  The first picture I saw was my mother. She was sitting on a beach somewhere, smiling with my half-sister.

  I had never met my half-sister, our contact mostly limited to “liking” each other’s photos on social media. I did call her once, to ask for money to bail Andrew out of jail, but she hadn’t given it to me. It was super awkward, but I was too high to care at the time.

  Because I loved torturing myself and feeling like shit, I swiped through the timeline of smiling photos, delicious home-cooked food, and photos animated with sparkling heart filters. Eventually, I came to the dates around the time Lana had told my mother about my death.

  I remembered because I had been there as a ghost, watc
hing and listening, as my mother heard I had died of a drug overdose, a necessary lie to protect her from the truth. I heard as my mother ever-so-calmly asked about funeral arrangements; since she wasn’t allowed back into the country, perhaps Lana could help arrange for a cremation and have my ashes scattered at sea?

  The postings didn’t change. A meme about gratitude and God, a funny video about a baby hippo, and a recipe for cake in a mug.

  I didn’t know what I’d expected.

  No, that was wrong, because I knew she had always regretted having me.

  I put the phone down. She deserved to be happy. I had ruined her life after all.

  “Is that your mother?”

  “Yeah,” I said with as little emotion in my voice as possible, trying to make it clear I didn’t want to talk about it. I turned away, wiping my cheek with the back of my hand.

  He ignored the hint. “She looks happy.”

  I had to change the subject. “Hey, are you keeping your eyes on the road?”

  “You turned on the mirroring screen on my dashboard,” he said.

  “How do you turn it off?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a burner phone, burner car.”

  Now it was my turn to look at him. “Burner car? Really?”

  In the shadows, I could see the corners of his lips turned upward. “What kind of dragon would I be if I didn’t have a treasure hoard?”

  I wondered if one could sense the fire within him by touching his lips, his skin. Would his mouth be hotter than a human’s? I shook my head, reassuring myself that it was me being stupid in my illogical flesh.

  “You don’t want your mother to know you’re alive because you think it will hurt her.”

  My hands were on my neck, and I realized I was trying to feel the place where I had been beheaded. I jerked my hands back down into my lap.

  I didn’t want to talk about it with this man—not here, not now, not ever. I opened the glove compartment because that was a way to avoid unwanted conversations in the car. But there was nothing in there. I slammed the compartment shut.

  “Told you it was a burner car,” he said. “We’ll stop in a little bit if you’re hungry.”

  Who kept food in a glove compartment? “I don’t get hungry, thirsty, or tired. Not resurrected by Titania.”

  “No pleasures of the flesh for you, then.”

  “No.”

  The damn feed, still on the dash, blipped with an alert. My mother had posted a picture of her new puppy, an adorable golden-furred ball of fluff.

  I let out a sound of frustration. “How the hell do you turn this thing off?”

  “Not sure. It troubles you to see her happy.”

  “Look, just stay out of my head. Last thing I need is you psychoanalyzing me on my mommy issues.”

  “I’ve touched a nerve,” he replied, his calmness completely exasperating.

  In the past, I had hesitated to tell people. It always made things weird. But right now, I needed him to shut up and stop asking me questions. Awkwardness would work just fine. “You wanna know what happened? My mother was raped when she was sixteen. She went to a party with a friend, had a drink, and woke up to find a group of guys taking turns with her. Nine months later, I was born.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “So. Am. I.” It was how I had spent my entire life.

  We drove on in thankful silence for a few moments. But then he started asking questions again.

  “What happened to the rapists?”

  “As far as I know, nothing.”

  Even in the darkness, I could see his look of disbelief. “Are you telling me she never told anyone? That the perpetrators were never punished?”

  I snorted. “That’s not how it works. She was the one who would suffer if it came out.”

  “She’s a victim! She deserves justice, vengeance.”

  The magic inside me responded. I had the power to make things right, to give those men what they deserved, no matter where they were.

  I clenched my fists, feeling the magic swell inside me. I could do it. I could find them. I could avenge her.

  Only she wouldn’t want it that way.

  I drew a deep breath. Like a tense muscle, the magic in me released and faded back into nothingness.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grant looking at me. Had he sensed my magic? Fuck, I had to keep talking, keep his attention off me.

  “I would have agreed with you. My mother said to me once that those boys took away her power for one night, and that by forgiving them, she was preventing them from taking away her future.”

  “They should have paid for what they did.”

  “I said that to her. And she said that she had no control over that. And she would not worry about things she could not control.” It was her way of moving forward, but it had pissed me the fuck off, her and her saintly forgiveness.

  So I’d been stupid and done everything I could to make her regret having me.

  I thought I’d succeeded. And this was why I could never let my mother find out I was still alive. She could move forward in her new life without me as a living symbol of the worst thing that had happened to her.

  “She came to America, planning to give me up for adoption. I wish she had. But for some stupid reason, she decided to try to raise me on her own, with no money, no help, no family, in a foreign country with a language she barely spoke. It didn’t go as well as she hoped.

  “I’m not saying she didn’t…” I paused, swallowing the bitterness in my throat. “Love me. She tried. She was always praying, forgiving her attackers, forgiving me for my ‘innocent existence.’” I looked at Grant. “I can’t have her know I’m alive. This whole resurrection thing?” I gestured to my body. My voice was starting to shake, but I couldn’t stop talking. “It would upend all her beliefs about God, faith, everything that got her through the shittiest parts of her life. I can’t—I can’t do that to her.”

  Grant glanced over at me. “You’re trying to protect your mother’s faith.”

  I took a deep, shaky breath and blew into my hands, trying to distract my stupid body from the emotions I didn’t need to feel. “I’m trying to give her the life she deserves.” A life free of me. I clenched my fists, hoping Grant wouldn’t press me further.

  Because the truth was, my mother would have a better life without having to worry about me, being alive, the problem child who had been a self-medicating junkie.

  “I have no plans on informing your family of your return.”

  “Good.”

  Silence fell over us. I hugged myself, rubbed my arms, and took several deep breaths. What was my mother doing now? Did she ever think about me? I hoped she didn’t. The only thing I could give her was peace, with my absence.

  “I never knew my parents,” Grant said suddenly. “They died sending me and my siblings here.”

  Somehow, I couldn’t imagine dragons crossing the Rio Grande in the dead of the night or floating here on a homemade raft. “To America?”

  “No. To Earth.”

  “Oh.” I paused. “So you’re telling me that you—dragons are aliens?”

  “To this world, yes.”

  I glanced around at the weird car. Was this a spaceship?

  He looked over at me. “You don’t seem surprised.”

  “No, it explains a lot,” I said, gesturing to the car. “What about fairies? Are they aliens?”

  “No, they are as native to this world as you.”

  I snorted. “I’ve never been ‘native’ anywhere, not even in the white-bread town I grew up in, which was made clear by the kids at school and the racist graffiti that kept being spray-painted on our mailbox.” I clenched my hands as I realized I was just babbling now. “Who raised you, if not your parents?”

  “My older brother.”

  Right. I had seen that. I wavered between asking him more and…not. It was no business of mine, and there was no reason for us to be talking like this. We weren’t friends or even a
llies. I had to remember: Grant was the obstacle to my freedom.

  And yet, to my surprise, he kept speaking.

  “I was still in training. I thought I could save him by putting him into a stasis spell. I brought him to someone who I thought could help. Despite the hatred between the dragons and the shen, my brother had managed to forge a friendship with a particular shen whose power came from death. I brought my brother to him. He killed him.” Grant’s hands began to glow again. “He will not take my sister.”

  Bits and pieces finally fell into place, presenting a picture I had not fully understood. “The Angel of Death killed your brother.”

  “Yes. And with your help, I will kill him.”

  I folded my arms around myself. “Vengeance may not be the answer.”

  His voice was cold and devoid of emotion. “It is the only answer I’m interested in.”

  * * *

  I blinked and realized the car was coming to a stop. The clock read 3:47 p.m., and it was broad daylight.

  Had I been asleep for more than twelve hours?

  Grant waved his hand over the dashboard and the lights went out. “We’re here.”

  “Did you put me to sleep?”

  “You looked tired.”

  “I don’t sleep, I told you.”

  “Everybody needs sleep.”

  Anger rose within me. “I haven’t slept since I was brought back to life. You might have my ring, but don’t think you can just magic me anytime you want.”

  He grimaced, and I realized there was a bloodred stain on the sleeve of his white suit.

  “What happened to your arm?”

  He looked at his forearm. The dark runes of his tattoos seemed faded in the sunlight. The blood disappeared from his sleeve.

  “Nothing.”

  “Grant. I’m serious. Don’t just put me to sleep.” Anger, real anger, filled me. It felt like a betrayal of sorts.

  Even though there was nothing to betray.

  He stared ahead. “There was trouble on the road. I didn’t know how you would react. So I made you sleep to keep everyone safe.”

  “How does me sleeping keep everyone safe?”

  “You sleeping means you don’t unleash your powers,” he said as he got out of the station wagon.