Dangerous Decisions (Obsidian Flame Book 3)

by J. C. McKenzie

  His expression softened. “You’ll meet new friends. Find someone else.”

  “Someone else?” She choked out a bitter laugh. “Do you honestly think I could move on to someone else after meeting you? After recognizing and confirming the true mate bond? Could you move on?”

  He shook his head and looked away. “At least you will live. Maybe in another life, maybe if I survive this and find you in a few years, maybe something could work for us.” He rattled his chains again. “But not now.”

  She bit her lip. “That’s a lot of maybes.”

  “I have nothing else to offer you.”

  She shook her head again. No. This wasn’t okay. She wouldn’t leave him to her father. Hank was here because of her, regardless of whether she willingly participated in his capture. She had to make this right.

  “Tell me something.” Hank broke her focus.

  “Sure.”

  “How did you get Sergei to help you?”

  Her stomach churned with the name of the former leader of the Emerald Dragon Clan and the vile tasks he helped Father complete. She swallowed and waited for the nausea to pass. “His mother was half-ispolini and raised with giants.”

  Hank’s head snapped back as if she punched him straight in the face.

  “His mother hid her nature, which is easy for a female ispolin to do. Once Sergei’s father died, she shaped and conditioned him to be our ally at a young age. Even then, he resisted aiding our cause. According to my father, it wasn’t until your mother Isla rejected him and became Mrs. Connor Stone that he started slipping us information.”

  “This betrayal has gone on for generations. Sergei wasn’t your first informant.”

  “The story of his birth is not unique nor is the infiltration of women with ispolini heritage into your ranks.” Though Father never “sacrificed” full-blooded ispolini women, he certainly had no problems throwing the “half-bloods”—his words, not hers—to the wolves. Or in this case, dragons.

  His gaze darkened. “You certainly are beautiful. I can just imagine an army of seductive women using their charms to seduce unmated male dragons. Was that your plan for me?”

  “Never.” She shook her head. This was going all wrong. “Sergei was our most influential insider.” She swallowed. “For the record, I had nothing to do with any of that. I find what they did despicable and grotesque, and I feel the majority of the ispolini people would, too, if they knew what happened. All I feel is shame.”

  She pulled the pin from her hair. Dark brown strands fell into her face. Misha pushed her hair to the side and tucked it behind her ears. She knelt beside her mate and tried to ignore the energy zinging off his skin to hers. She examined the manacles again. Magic pulsed along the surface of the metal and around the links.

  Hank tensed and frowned so hard his whole forehead rippled.

  Inserting the pin into the lock, Misha hummed. The magic of the chains flowed through her and settled into the pin. Her skin vibrated. The power from the chains was strong and the pin small, but she’d make it work. This had to work.

  “What are you doing?” Hank whispered. He leaned toward her and breathed in deeply.

  Did he smell her hair?

  “Even if these shackles weren’t spelled, you can’t pick the locks with that hair pin.”

  “You’re right. I also can’t shift into a giant or cast spells. Female ispolini lack a lot of skills and power.” And agency. She glanced at the giant ginger. A vision of tearing off his clothes and riding him while he remained chained to the wall surged up in her mind. Not a true vision. A dirty thought. A very vivid dirty thought. She sucked in a breath and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Are you okay?” Hank asked.

  “Not at all.” Her mate was shackled and in dire circumstances and she had fantasies about taking advantage of him instead of helping. Yup. Definitely, not okay.

  She moved to his other wrist. “Ispolini women don’t possess big flashy skills, but we can manipulate energy, whether I sift magic from the ether to water to form visions or transfer a spell from one object to another. It’s a subtle skill, without any awe-inspiring, fear-evoking fanfare. But still effective. Still useful.” She winced as she recalled her father’s last words to her before he knocked her out.

  “Transferring spells?”

  “Mmmhmm.” Her skin tingled with power. She drew the bobby pin from the keyhole and held it up for Hank to see. The air thrummed with power. Could he feel it?

  Hank frowned. He glanced at the manacles and back at her.

  She smiled in answer and waited. How long would it take him to figure out she’d drained the anti-shifting magic from the chains? The bonds holding him back were simple metal now.

  Hank jerked his arms from the wall. Cement burst as he wrenched the metal anchors from the foundations. His grin grew and he ripped the manacles from his wrists and ankles to stand.

  Misha scrambled to her feet, all too aware of the giant, fire-breathing dragon shifter looking down on her. He could squeeze the life from her with one hand. All those defence classes and hours spent at the dojo would be for nothing. Her skills wouldn’t protect her. She certainly deserved death if he decided to kill her.

  Without a word, Hank cradled her face and kissed her. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. His mouth crashed down on hers, claiming and possessive. She clung to his powerful frame and drank him in—answering his demanding kiss with her own. The magic between them vibrated and pulsed, weaving together their energies and filling her with searing hot need. This wasn’t a kiss of new lovers, or old. This was a battle between torn hearts and loyalties.

  Misha pulled back first.

  Hank growled and reached for her.

  She backed away farther. The distance cut her soul. She throbbed with longing.

  Hank opened his eyes and straightened. His chest heaved and his breath came out as ragged as her own. He looked torn between wanting to pull her in for another kiss and throttling her.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  Her heart kept pounding like the beating bass in a dance song at the club. Oh, she wanted to. How she wanted to. Her gaze slid to the door. They’d be back soon. Hank needed to leave now, without her. She’d only slow him down.

  Her gut twisted. Why did life have to be so complicated?

  She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  Disapproval, disgust and disappointment flashed across Hank’s expression. She recognized each emotion because they mirrored her own.

  “What will happen to you?” Hank asked.

  At least he didn’t try to argue with her. They didn’t have time for that.

  “Nothing I can’t handle.” She shrugged. She’d be punished, but nothing too severe. She just had to convince them he left before she regained consciousness. Nothing she hadn’t experienced before. They were family, after all. “I’m not the prisoner here.”

  His gaze slipped to the exit, he turned to go but hesitated.

  “Go.” She shoved his shoulder, though her heart hurt.

  He ground his teeth and anger flashed in his gaze. “We’re not done here.”

  “If you say so, big guy.” She shoved him again.

  He grumbled but finally jogged toward the exit. The deadbolt and security bar provided laughable resistance as he yanked it open and slipped out of the room. There was only one way out of the building and Misha knew the route by heart. He’d shift once he found clear skies. Every muscle in her body strained to run after him and help. Maybe even guide him out, though he wouldn’t need her help.

  She’d only get in the way.

  Misha balled her hands into fists. No.

  If she helped, she’d end up botching the escape attempt. She had no special talents to bring to a battle. Oh, she could fight, hence working as a bodyguard, but attempting to play fisticuffs and transfer spells in a dragon versus giant brawl wouldn’t end well for her. She had no wish to bring a broken stick to a gun fight.

  Misha took a deep breath, pulled her shoulde
rs back and let Hank go.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  What the hell was he thinking? Hank put his chin down and pressed forward, stretching out his sore legs and picking up the pace as he ran down the hallway. His feet slapped the hard surface and echoed down the corridor.

  Shouldn’t have left her, his dragon said for the hundredth time. The lizard wouldn’t shut up.

  I know that, he snapped back.

  He slowed to approach the set of double doors with the bright red exit sign glaring above.

  God, he knew that. What the hell was he thinking?

  He popped one of the doors open and peered outside. No one. Worst guarded compound ever. They relied too heavily on the effectiveness of the spelled manacles.

  They didn’t expect him to escape. They expected to torture and kill him.

  A shiver ran along his spine and he slipped out the door, easing it closed behind him. With a deep breath, he jogged around the corner of the building into a shaded area. Protected. Private. Perfect for shifting.

  He should’ve chucked Misha over his shoulder and hauled ass with her. He hesitated and glanced over his shoulder. Maybe he should go back for her.

  Male voices rumbled along the courtyard.

  Hank froze.

  No. If he went back for her now, he might never escape and if he was caught with her, he’d put her at risk. They didn’t have any security cameras in the room. They had no reason to suspect she helped him escape. She wasn’t the one imprisoned and she said they wouldn’t hurt her. She told him she could handle it. He needed to trust her.

  Trust an ispolin witch.

  He clenched his hands into fists. She risked herself to free him. He needed to make her sacrifice worthwhile and return with force. Return and collect his mate.

  Hank reached inside and pulled. The dragon energy rose like molten lava, erupting from his skin and burning away any humanity he had left. He bit down the roar threatening to rumble from his throat. He wasn’t free yet. He couldn’t alert the ispolini prematurely. With a deep crouch, he launched into the sky and pumped his wings. Harder and harder, he pushed his wings down against the air and propelled himself toward the open skies.

  No alarms.

  Did they have no lookouts? No sentries? Were they that inept? Or were they short-staffed? They had suffered heavy casualties in their last confrontation.

  He craned his long neck for the clouds and continued to rise to his freedom. Once in the cloud cover, he headed toward Raf. With the shackles off, his leader’s presence thrummed in his veins. The Astarot had sensed his distress and they were already mobilized. In force. Their energy intensified with each breath.

  Hank barred his teeth and angled to intercept Raf. Each beat of his wings took him closer to his people but tore at his heart. Each push through the clouds meant putting more distance between himself and his mate.

  But he would be back.

  The dragons were coming and they’d end this feud once and for all.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Many generations ago…

  Ilana found herself alternating between pacing the tavern’s private bedroom and reading her mate’s note over and over again to ensure she’d arrived at the correct destination at the required time. Sure enough, their hastily made plans had changed. Edgar’s discussion with his father hadn’t gone well and he begged her to slip away from the fortress and meet her at this tavern.

  She glanced around the small room. A double bed with worn sheets and a quilt lay in the corner of the room with a rustic side table and a bowl for washing. She’d only sat on the bed once. After nearly choking to death on the dust cloud, she decided standing and pacing was a safer option.

  If she were a proper lady, she’d worry about the appearance of renting a room and sharing it with a man when unmarried, but Edgar was her mate. The vows of marriage could be spoken at any time and they’d have little impact on the bond forged between them.

  Her heart fluttered. Mother had told her of the expectations of a woman and what happened on the wedding night, but she’d never mentioned once the agony of anticipation. Her lips still seared with the memory of Edgar’s touch. If she had to die with only knowing one kiss, she’d go happily to the grave with Edgar’s. She reached up and trailed her fingertips along her lips just as Edgar had before they parted.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  Ilana jumped. She whirled toward the door. Did she look all right? Did her dress still smell fresh? She straightened her skirts, pinched her cheeks and smoothed down her hair. He was finally here.

  She reached for the door handle, the rough metal cool to the touch and opened the door. Warm ale laden with smoke, beer, mildew and sweat rushed into the room. Her guest remained on the threshold. She smiled and looked up.

  It wasn’t Edgar.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Present Day…

  Misha slipped from the room and made her way to the residential area of the stronghold. With thoughts plagued with worry for Hank and scrambling for a good “story” to sell her father, she wandered aimlessly until she found herself looking at a familiar door.

  She raised her hand to knock. The door swung open before her knuckles made contact.

  Her grandmother narrowed her eyes at Misha. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  Oh no. Did she know? Did her grandmother suspect? The cold woman stepped back and waved Misha into the room.

  With one heavy footstep after the other, Misha entered the quiet space and waited for the door to trap her inside. When the click echoed through the room, she turned to face her grandmother’s all-too-perceptive gaze, and pulled back her shoulders.

  “I’d like to hear the story, Nana. I’d like to understand.” Misha held her breath and waited for her grandmother to scold her and shoo her out of the room.

  “All right,” she said instead. “Do you know the story of the Dragoi Astarot rejecting his mate?”

  “He spurned his true mate for a woman he’d already married and had kids with.”

  Nana nodded, more to herself than to Misha. Her gaze grew distant and cloudy as she recounted the tale. “That’s not the whole truth. In fact, it’s not the real story at all.”

  Misha held her breath. Finally.

  “His brother’s true mate was an ispolin princess.”

  Misha’s brain blanked like a computer with a virus. What? That couldn’t be possible. Surely, she misheard the old woman. How could history get so mangled? “Are you sure? What about the legend? The one the fake curse was based on? I thought the ispolini killed the Astarot’s true mate.”

  “That fake curse was a fortunate twist of the tale we exploited to bring fear to the dragons. But it’s not the only thing doctored with time. Do you want to hear the story or not?” Nana glared at her.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Nana nodded and continued the tale. “Many generations ago—so many most have lost count and forgotten the details—”

  “But not you.”

  “Of course not me. I’m the ispolini storyteller. Now shush and let me tell the story.”

  Misha clamped her mouth shut.

  “Edgar Dragoi discovered his true mate was an ispolin with strong magical powers. Her name was Ilana Asen. Legend has it, if the children of truly mated parents—one from the ispolini and one from the dragons are also true mates, their progeny will become super dragons. Giant dragons. Ones that would unite both our races as they were once rumored to be.”

  Misha’s eyebrows shot up. “The zmei.”

  Nana nodded. “With the power of dragons and giants combined.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

  “Normally, yes. But Edgar was the current Astarot’s second son, and his older brother was not only ambitious, but jealous and greedy. He discovered the pair’s plan to elope and betrayed his brother.”

  A sinking feeling developed in her gut.

  “Both Edgar’s parents and Ilana’s were true mates. Romano Dragoi knew that and
he had no wish to lose power to his baby brother’s half-breed child. He killed the bride and framed Edgar, hoping to kill two ducks with one pebble.”

  “Two birds with one stone,” Misha replied absently. This was not the same story Lara had told her—the ispolini hadn’t killed the Astarot’s mate. The Astarot’s heir killed an ispolin princess because she was his brother’s mate. Only time and manipulation could twist such an important detail.

  Nana continued. “Ilana’s body was discovered in a decrepit tavern only her true mate could lure her, too. The innkeeper confirmed Edgar Dragoi paid for the room before disappearing in the night.”

  “He framed his own brother?”

  “Something Edgar discovered too late.” Nana nodded. “The death of Ilana Asen devastated our people and we spent years recovering before we retaliated. We stayed quiet, you see. We plotted and planned, and we didn’t raise any alarms or cry out for justice. Revenge was and still is a dish better served frozen.”

  “Cold.”

  Nana scowled and waved off her correction. “By then, Edgar had accepted his brother’s lies of Ilana running off to avoid him, having no idea his own brother framed him for Ilana’s murder, or that we secretly plotted his demise. He spent years searching for Ilana.” Nana took a deep breath as if to mentally prepare for the next part. Something rattled in her chest. “Romano must’ve hoped we’d seek justice and demand Edgar’s execution. When we didn’t appear, he went on with life, resigned to the presence of his grief-stricken brother. We will never know what Romano thought about our lack of response. Surely he suspected something awry?” The old woman shrugged.

  “When the ispolini attacked,” she continued. “The revenge was brutal and unexpected. Edgar had no idea of Ilana’s death until our assassins arrived to exact revenge. He discovered his brother’s duplicity and the true fate of his ispolin mate, and we discovered he had no hand in her death. But it was too late to stem the hatred. They didn’t spare Edgar. After they slaughtered him, they went after the older brother and his wife. Romano had been granted his greatest wish and held the Astarot title, an adoring wife who was his true mate and two beautiful children.”