by Tara West
“Are you sure?” she cooed, batting her eyelashes.
Duncan fixed her with a cool expression before waving her away. “I require nothing more from you.”
She turned in a huff and stormed out of the room. The girl was becoming bothersome. Duncan reminded himself he’d have to look for new help soon. But for now, he had more pressing matters.
Fortunately, nothing much of interest was in The Times other than a tropical storm nearing Puerto Rico. How long, he thought, before the dragoness would make herself known? How long before she or the child exposed their true nature to mortals? The world now was far more hostile than the world into which his child had been born. Swords and spears had been replaced by guns and cannons. Next time, the dragons would not make an easy escape from those who wished to do them harm. Duncan only hoped he reached his mate and child first.
He lifted the porcelain saucer of coffee, black and strong, as he preferred it. He tried to take a sip, but his hand trembled, and the steaming liquid sloshed and burned his fingers. He slowly lowered the cup. He had not been able to regain his composure since waking this morning. He had no idea how many years it had been since he’d dreamed of that fateful night when he’d made love to Fiona, but for the first time in centuries, her lithe form chased away his recurring nightmares as they made love beneath the light of the full moon.
The dream had felt so very real, and he wanted nothing more than to recapture the magic from the night he’d held her in his arms. The bond that tethered him to his dragon mate must have awakened. But how? Whatever magic she had used to conceal herself was no more.
He stood and walked across the padded Persian carpet to the end of his study, where rows upon rows of ancient tomes filled the shelves. He’d found some real treasures over these past couple hundred years, stories that would now be classified as myths, but he knew were not. The heavy globe he’d purchased during one of his many trips to Europe sat beside a richly inlaid armoire. He sat down and spun the axis of the globe with one hand while tracing a line across it with the other, allowing his senses to lead the way.
Duncan stilled when the globe had come to a stop along the Texas coast. How could this be? The last he’d heard of the dragon mother and child, they’d been in England. But his instinct had never been wrong before. He’d always been forced to pursue them on horseback, sometimes taking weeks or even months to reach them, but after recent industrial advances, the horse was no longer his only means of transportation. This time Duncan would travel by train. It could take him under a week to reach Texas.
Whether Fiona’s presence there was an accident, or if the dragoness finally wished for him to find her, Duncan was uncertain. One thing he did know: he would begin his quest again, and this time nothing would keep him from finding his mate and child.
Chapter Eight
Fiona leaned against the porch railing, admiring the sunrise as a slight breeze ruffled her hair. She breathed in deeply the fresh ocean air. Wisps of cloud moved across the horizon, which was lit in brilliant hues of orange and gold. From her vantage point beside the beach, she watched a group of youths chase the tide while splashing each other with foamy surf.
Her dragon senses discerned in the distance an unruly flock of seagulls erupting into a cacophony of squeals before diving atop a bubbling school of fish.
After living for so long under water, she had forgotten the wondrous scents, sights, and sounds of the world above, a world she had not realized until now she’d sorely missed. For too long she’d denied herself, and her daughter, too much of life’s pleasures, all because of one man, which was why she was even more determined to break the bond.
Though the thought of losing the connection to her bonded mate forever twisted a blade inside her heart, for the safety of her child, Fiona had no choice. Duncan was a dragonslayer. He had killed Fiona’s mother. He could kill again.
And if anything ever happened to Safina, Fiona would surely die of heartbreak.
The erratic rumble of Josef’s cart could be heard from over a block away. One wooden wheel seemed to be smaller in size than the others, causing the old wagon to lean slightly to the side. The smaller wheel also made a sharper sound when striking the cobblestones.
Josef was much like the odd wheel. He was not like other mortals, yet he seemed to like cohabiting with them. She wondered if she and Safina would be able to live among mortals again. Fiona had survived them by herself before, but having Safina made concealing their powers even more difficult. Perhaps now that Safina was older, she’d find a way to adapt.
Mrs. Jenkens had set off for the hospital earlier, so Fiona was relieved when she’d told Fiona Josef would be accompanying her this morning. The strange sounds erupting beyond the neighboring streets unnerved her, and she was loathe to admit she was actually terrified of making her way through the sprawling town by herself. Worried Safina might accidentally expose their powers, Fiona had already ordered her to wait for them inside the safety of Mrs. Jenkens’s home. The door was to remain locked, and under no circumstances was Safina allowed to open it to anyone.
Fiona could barely feel the tight pull at her soul, a dull ache in her chest. Duncan was still a long distance away. Safina was safe for now.
Fiona smiled at the old man as his cart wobbled to a stop in front of the porch. “Good morrow, Josef.”
“Good morning.” He leaned forward and tipped a raggedy straw hat. “Did you sleep well?”
Fiona averted her gaze. It would do no good to tell the speaker about her dream of Duncan. She’d already sensed some reluctance on his part to break the bond. “Somewhat,” she murmured.
When Fiona looked into the old man’s eyes, she read the weariness in his gaze. Her mother had told her that speakers had the gift of sight, and deceiving them was nearly impossible.
Josef slowly stood and straightened his bony spine before climbing out of the wagon. He walked halfway up the tall porch steps and held out a hand. “I have come to escort you to the infirmary.”
“Thank you, Josef.” Fiona allowed him to help her into the cart. She gasped as he hoisted her within a blink. Either he was surprisingly strong for an old man, or else he had stirred a gust of wind to aid him. Fiona suspected it was the latter.
After Fiona had smoothed out the wrinkles in her white gown, she looked up to see the speaker eyeing her intently.
“So you can heal the girl?” His question sounded more like an affirmation.
She shrugged. “I have not seen her, but I am sure I can.”
The lines around the speaker’s tired eyes darkened. “Your healing powers are strong then?”
“Aye, they are.”
Josef turned and swept a hand at the cobblestone road, which was bustling with people. His voice dropped to a near whisper. “How will you explain to others what you have done?”
Fiona leaned toward Josef before answering in a hushed tone. “We will simply say the girl has awakened from her slumber.”
Josef’s dark eyes clouded over. “What of children stricken with polio?” His voice cracked. “Can you heal them?”
The tension rolled off the speaker in waves. After reading his disheartening thoughts yesternight, she knew he was on the precipice of revealing even more troubling thoughts.
She arched a brow. “I have not heard of this polio.”
“It is a terrible disease that leaves many crippled or worse. My grandson, Gabriel, was stricken with polio seven winters past.” He cast his gaze to the ground as a tear slipped down his weathered face. “It killed his mother and father.”
Fiona swallowed a knot of regret, knowing the speaker would ask her to perform the impossible. “I cannot bring humans back from the dead.”
“I know.” Josef wiped a stray tear with the back of his hand. “But what of my grandson? Can you help him walk?” His voice was laced with despair.
Now Fiona knew the reason misery shrouded the man like a cloak. He blamed himself for the death and infirmity of his loved ones. His healin
g powers had not been strong enough to save them.
“I suppose,” she reluctantly answered, “but if he has lived this way for seven years, how do I explain his recovery?”
Josef rubbed his scraggly beard, frowning. “I’m not sure.”
Fiona thought of the last village where she and Safina had dwelled. Duncan had given them a reprieve from the chase, and Fiona and Safina had been able to live in one place for two seasons. Then the villagers had discovered their secret.
“I do not know the people of Galveston. If I heal him, will they mark me as a witch?”
When Josef averted his gaze, Fiona knew he was reluctant to admit the truth.
“I will not tell them it was you who healed him.”
Fiona leaned forward, eyeing him intently. “What will you tell them, Josef?”
“I will think of something.” He turned back to her with a pleading gaze. “Please, mi reina. I will help you break the bond with your mate. All I ask is that you heal Gabriel.”
Fiona groaned as an uncomfortable ache settled in her chest. No good had ever come from helping mortals. She feared this time would be no different.
* * *
After Mrs. Jenkens begged the nurse for privacy, Fiona quickly unwound the bandage covering the girl’s head. What she saw made her limbs turn to ice. Abby, whom Mrs. Jenkens had told her was actually a young woman of seventeen, reminded Fiona much of her own daughter. Like Safina, Abby had pale skin, lush lips and high cheekbones. But whereas Safina had an abundance of wild red hair, Abby’s luxurious mane was a warm chestnut.
Fiona cringed when she saw the deep gash on the girl’s forehead. Fiona knew the child would not survive by any mortal means.
Magic was her last hope.
But what chance would Fiona have if she healed the girl? What would a mob armed with powerful weapons do to the dragon pair? Fiona hesitated, her hand hovering over the girl’s wound. Mrs. Jenkens was looking at Fiona with watery, pleading eyes.
Fiona’s breath hitched when the child murmured. She leaned over Abby, her dragon-touched senses attuned to the child’s muffled whispers.
“He broke my heart, Mama.”
Fiona jerked away.
“What did she say?” Mrs. Jenkens’s voice was shrill. She leaned over the other side of Abby’s hospital bed.
“I-I can’t tell what she’s saying,” Fiona lied, though she understood the girl’s suffering all too well. After the night she’d spent in Duncan’s arms, Fiona had contemplated the many ways in which she could end her life. But when she discovered she was carrying a child—their child—Fiona had found the will to live. ’Twas then she realized that no man, not even a soul mate, was worth dying for. Fiona resolved that Abby would learn the same lesson.
She settled her hands over the child’s wound and willed her fires to work. Though it had been centuries since she’d unleashed such magic, Fiona’s gift of healing came to her like second nature. The fire she breathed as a dragon could also be harvested in human form, although it transferred through her fingers and not her flaming breath. The heat emanated from her core, then the pulsating light spread through her extremities and warmed her hands.
Fiona closed her eyes as light crept outward and transferred from her skin to Abby’s. Mrs. Jenkens gasped but said nothing.
As the healing fires engulfed both her and the child, Fiona prayed Mrs. Jenkens would honor her vow of silence.
* * *
Fiona awoke from a groggy slumber to the sound of gentle weeping. The exertion used during the healing, coupled with Fiona’s lack of sleep the night before, had caused her to doze off in the stiff chair beside Abby’s bed. When her eyes focused, she saw that Mrs. Jenkens was holding Abby against her bosom.
“Mama! Papa!” Abby sobbed against Mrs. Jenkens. “Where did they go?”
The old woman stroked Abby’s cheek before kissing her forehead. “They are with the angels, my darling.”
“I want to go back!” Her shriek died on a muffled sob.
Mrs. Jenkens shot Fiona a heartfelt plea, as if Fiona had the power to heal broken hearts, too. If only.
“No, dearest,” the old woman cooed into the girl’s ear. “You have so much life to live. So, so much.”
“But I miss them.”
Abby’s whimper was nearly enough to shatter Fiona’s heart completely. The dragoness tried to suppress the rising tide of sorrow that threatened to overwhelm her. Though guilt had forced her to bury memories of her mother, an image of the dead queen, Duncan’s spear protruding from her chest, flashed through her mind.
“I know you do,” Mrs. Jenkens cried as she rocked the girl in her arms. “Just think of how much I’d miss you if you were gone.”
Abby clutched her grandmother’s back. “I’m sorry, Nana.”
A wave of Abby’s guilt washed over Fiona, the force of it catching the dragon queen by surprise. Perhaps the girl was sorry for trying to take her life. Fiona only hoped she wouldn’t attempt it again.
“Hush, dear.” Mrs. Jenkens shushed her, stroking the girl’s head. “It’s okay now. Everything’s okay.”
After Abby’s crying died down, she slowly pulled out of her grandmother’s embrace. Despite the tears streaming down her face, the old woman wore a lopsided grin as she clutched one of Abby’s slender hands in both of hers.
The girl looked around the room as if in a daze. The bloody bandage hung limply from one side of her head, exposing newly healed pink skin that bore only the faint trace of a jagged scar.
“What happened?” Abby asked.
“You fell from the pier,” Mrs. Jenkens said, sniffling.
Abby pulled her hand free and traced the line across her forehead. “Did I?”
She shrugged before abruptly tossing her legs over the side of the bed.
Mrs. Jenkens looked ready to have an apoplectic fit as she jumped up, waving her hands at her grandchild. “Lie back down, Abby.”
Fiona slowly rose, eyes trained on the girl. If the child fell and banged her skull a second time, how would they explain another healing?
Abby ignored her grandmother’s entreaties as she stared at her bare feet and wiggled her toes.
When Abby looked back at her grandmother, Fiona was struck by the wonderment in the child’s eyes. “I was having the strangest dream. I was in heaven with my parents. We were crying happy tears.” She flashed a thin smile before wiping moisture off her cheek. “They were kissing me and stroking my face. It was so beautiful and peaceful,” she said in a dreamy voice before her eyes darkened. “And then this magnificent dragon with brilliant red scales poked her head out of the fog. She told me to come back. She said you needed me.” Abby waved a shaky hand at her grandmother. “I didn’t even get a chance to tell my parents goodbye.”
When the girl broke on a moan, Mrs. Jenkens wrapped her in a tight hug.
“I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Jenkens said through muffled cries.
Abby pulled away and looked at her grandmother with wide eyes. “Then there was this white light. It was so warm, and I swear I felt it all the way to the marrow of my bones.” She pulled her reedy legs to her chest and wrapped herself in an embrace. “Then I woke up.” She touched her temple with the tips of her fingers. “There was this haze in my head, but now that’s gone.”
“Oh, Abby!” Mrs. Jenkens crushed the girl to her ample bosom again.
“Please don’t cry, Nana.” The child pushed out of her grandmother’s arms and turned to Fiona, the faint lines between her eyebrows pinching together. “Who is she?”
Mrs. Jenkens broke into a wide grin. “This is Fiona. She is a healer from the old country.”
“A healer?” Abby gasped. “Did she heal me?”
Fiona swallowed before shooting Mrs. Jenkens a warning look. She did not trust this girl to guard her secret. Mrs. Jenkens, who’d looked ready to spill her very soul a moment earlier, pressed her lips together and averted her gaze.
A look of annoyance crossed Abby’s features as she glared fi
rst at her grandmother and then at Fiona. “You healed me, didn’t you? I remember your hands on me.” Her jaw fell open as recognition flashed in her features. “Your eyes.” She pointed a shaky finger at Fiona. “There is something so familiar about them. How did you do it? Shouldn’t I have died when I fell?”
Fiona smiled serenely at the girl. She reminded herself ’twould do no good to tell this child the truth. “All that matters is that you are well now.”
Abby and crossed her arms. “Fine, but I will get to the bottom of this one way or another.”
Fiona stole a sideways glance at Mrs. Jenkens. “She is a keen child.”
Mrs. Jenkens shook her head, snickering. “Too smart for her own good, I’m afraid.”
Fiona leaned toward Abby, eyeing her forehead. “How do you feel?” She lightly traced the bump.
The wound had healed nicely. In a few more days, the girl’s scar would disappear.
Abby’s bottom lip turned down. “I don’t want to rest in this bed any longer.” She kicked the side of the bed like a petulant child.
Heavens help them, Fiona sensed this girl was wild. How had a woman like Mrs. Jenkens been able to control such a strong-willed youth? Fiona repressed a shudder as she thought of Safina. Her child had always been drawn to mischief. Hopefully, Safina’s rebellious nature had ebbed with time.
Hopefully.
“But you must rest,” Mrs. Jenkens said, her shrill voice rising with each syllable. “The doctor wishes to know you are well.”
“I am well!” Abby jumped from the bed and stormed to a tall armoire across the room. She threw open the doors, revealing an empty shell. She turned to her grandmother and planted both hands on her hips, the hospital gown billowing around her small frame. “Where are my clothes?”
Mrs. Jenkens held out both palms. “Abby, please.”
The wooden door creaked open and the nurse, dressed in a crisp, white gown poked her head inside.
“You there!” Abby extended a finger at the woman. “Fetch my clothes! I won’t spend another moment staring at these drab walls. I am well, and I don’t need to be here.”
