Dragon Passions: Three fiery & suspenseful paranormal romances!

by Anna Lowe

  Nights were the worst, because darkness had a way of shrinking the space between them and intensifying every sound. Every rustle of his sheets, every quiet breath set off fantasies she couldn’t stop.

  She took a deep breath, trying to halt those thoughts, and went back to reading. Hours passed, and the sun slowly set, layering the sky with bands of red, orange, and yellow. One by one, city lights came on. At first, too few to form a pattern. Then more lights came on, and the dots lined up to form a familiar network of boulevards and parks.

  “Good book?” Tristan murmured, making her glance up.

  She smiled, blushed, and promptly cursed herself. Why did he do that to her every time?

  Maybe because he was leaning against the arched double doorway to the next room, arms folded over his chest like a warrior considering his next campaign. One ankle was crossed over the other, making him appear relaxed. Of course, relaxed was a relative term with Tristan, and he only ever seemed to hover in the red to yellow zone, always on alert. Were all dragons that way?

  “Interesting, for sure,” she replied a little lamely.

  Then she tilted her head, studying Tristan more closely. Was his face a little flushed? Was his chest rising and falling in ever deeper breaths?

  His mouth opened and closed, and she leaned forward, certain he was about to say something important, like, Natalie, I keep thinking about you. Do you dream about me the way I dream about you?

  Another full minute passed with them gazing at each other, desperate to speak but unable to form words. The lights of Paris sparkled in the windows, as mute as they were. Even the Eiffel Tower, standing elegantly above the rest, seemed to hold its breath.

  Finally, Tristan cleared his throat. He looked about to leave, but Natalie couldn’t stand to see him go.

  “So…” she started, not quite sure what to follow up with.

  But Tristan leaned toward her, appearing as eager as she for an excuse to linger.

  “Um… Shifters,” she finally said, waving outside. “Do you only change under a full moon?”

  His cheeks stretched into a smile. “No. We can shift anytime we want.”

  She gulped. In truth, she was dying to see him shift. To see a dragon — and not just the little glimpse he’d given her the other day. But something told her shifting was a private act. A little like sex, she supposed.

  And, damn. That random thought made her body tingle all over.

  She rushed to change the subject. “I guess your parents taught you how?”

  Tristan mulled that one over. “Sort of. You don’t shift until you hit your teenage years.” He smiled. “I took off as soon as I could. My poor mother…” He laughed at first, but then his expression soured. “Mostly, I taught myself. My father wasn’t around to help, and even if he were, I doubt he would have been much use.” He cleared his throat. “But it’s instinctive, I suppose.”

  She pursed her lips, trying not to wonder about his childhood. “I guess you have to be careful, though.”

  He snorted. “You learn that long before you can shift. Humans fear what they don’t understand, and even if they’re not as strong as most shifters, they have the advantage of numbers. In the Dark Ages, they burned any witch they could find and hunted some shifter species to extinction.”

  She frowned. “Like what?”

  He shrugged. “Griffins. Harpies. Unicorns…”

  Her eyes went wide. “Unicorns?”

  He chuckled. “Where do you think the tapestries drew their inspiration from? Humans aren’t that creative — unless it comes to instruments of destruction. They’re champions at that.” He gazed out the windows with a grim expression. “That’s where we come in, doing our best to steer human ingenuity and energy in the right direction. But sometimes…”

  A dozen tragic newspaper headlines ran through Natalie’s mind, filling in where Tristan trailed off.

  Natalie took a deep breath. Could she really make a difference? Dare she find out?

  “Would a Fire Maiden really help?” she whispered.

  The smile Tristan flashed was bright and genuine, but a moment later, he sobered as if he’d just remembered something.

  “Oui. She would.” His eyes lingered on hers, full of yearning and regret she wished she understood. “I know she would.” Then he forced a smile and backed away. “Sorry. I’m keeping you up.”

  She was about to protest — Please, I’d rather talk — but Tristan appeared to have made up his mind.

  “Bonne nuit,” he whispered, sounding far away, as if he’d made the mental switch back to soldier mode.

  “Bonne nuit,” Natalie echoed, watching him slip silently away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bonne nuit.

  Natalie sighed quietly. Tristan said that every night, though never as sadly as just then. And like every night, he didn’t go to bed. Instead, he headed for the spiral staircase that led to the rooftop. She could tell by the tap of his steps on the metal stairs. A minute or two later, a breath of fresh air wafted through the apartment, and she pictured Tristan gazing over the city. Then there was nothing but silence.

  She turned off her light and lay under her blanket, her eyes on the ceiling. Waiting. That silence, she’d learned, was the precursor to something else.

  A car horn tooted on the street. Trees swayed in the park. Otherwise, nothing. But then…

  Three heavy steps pounded across the roof, followed by a mighty whoosh of air. Natalie clutched her blanket while her heart thumped. Was that a dragon, soaring off into the night?

  It had happened the first night, and the second, too. Each time, she lay still, waiting…wondering. What would shifting be like?

  She closed her eyes, picturing herself soaring over Paris. She could almost feel the cool tickle of wind and see lights streak by below. She would soar toward the moon, then roll and dive toward the star-shaped intersection at the Arc de Triomphe. She imagined winging all the way out to Giverny, where Monet had painted water lilies. Would the ponds be dark patches, or would they shimmer in the moonlight like the effect of an impressionist’s brush?

  She heaved a deep breath. It was so easy to imagine, but flying was impossible, like so much else.

  You’re only a human, with no means of protecting yourself.

  She’d been practicing the defensive move Tristan taught her, but it seemed like too little, too late. If a vampire got that close, she’d be a goner, for sure. She flexed her fingers, imagining claws in their place. If only she had enough dragon blood to shift! Then she could protect herself — and the city too. She could eradicate trouble with a single, fiery breath. She could conquer enemies. Head off trouble before it bubbled over into the human realm. She could…

  An echo of Jacqueline’s mocking voice sounded in her mind. Just a human, not a dragon like me.

  Natalie drooped, looking at her hands. Those were plain old fingers, not claws. Even if she could change into a dragon, she doubted she could singlehandedly make the world a better place.

  She sat up, switched on the reading light, and opened one of Alaric’s books. If she couldn’t sleep, she might as well learn more about dragons. But the views of Paris, as ever, caught her eye, and she sat there, fingering her crystal while taking it all in.

  “Beautiful,” she whispered.

  But then Bijou arched and hissed. A shadow fell over the top right portion of the windows, and something fluttered outside. Natalie’s heart revved, and goose bumps prickled her arm. At first, all she could see was her own reflection superimposed over the city view. But then another face appeared, twisting the features of her reflection into something sinister and distorted.

  She saw a hooked, beaky nose. High, emaciated cheeks, curved ears, and a devil’s horn. The creature’s mouth opened, showing off pointy, widely spaced teeth. Then the grimace became a grotesque smile, and the eyes glowed.

  There you are, my little pretty, its voice sounded in her mind.

  Gargoyle. A real gargoyle, hovering outs
ide her window. Spying on her for Olivier and his vampires?

  Her blood ran cold, and she nearly screamed. But instinct took over, and she reacted without thinking.

  She threw her blanket back and ran to the window, holding the crystal high. And while no sound came out, she was yelling inside. Practically roaring, in fact — as ferociously as a…a…

  She gulped. As ferociously as a dragon?

  The gargoyle’s eyes went wide, and heck, she was just as surprised. Rays of blinding light shot out from the crystal, and the gargoyle lurched back.

  Out of here. Out, lowly creature, she yelled in a voice not quite her own.

  The light of the crystal obscured everything beyond the glass, but Natalie could just make out the gargoyle wheeling away in fear. The crystal’s light intensified, forming a laser that followed the beast, and another voice registered in her mind. Deep and powerful, yet feminine, like a weary queen.

  Go, and warn your masters we are not to be trifled with. You understand?

  We? Natalie glanced at the crystal then pressed her face against the glass. The gargoyle was scrambling away in panic, and the voice she’d heard was…laughing in triumph?

  As the intruder fled, the crystal’s light faded, as did the sense of an outside presence. Natalie pushed away from the window, her chest heaving. Holy crap. What had just happened?

  She stared at the crystal in her hand. If that was a dragon’s, and if she really was descended from Liviana…

  Her gaze shifted to her reflection in the windows, and she gulped. Was Clara right about her?

  Then she jumped, because fire flared in the distance, and a second shadow chased the fleeing gargoyle. Natalie threw the French doors open and gripped the guardrail of the narrow balcony. Cool night air chilled her body, and the breeze toyed with her hair. But even the threat of gargoyles didn’t frighten her, because that was a dragon out there.

  Tristan, her heart cried.

  Fire flashed a second time, and deep in her soul, she could hear his furious roar.

  Long after both shadows disappeared, she stood there, sweating and panting as if she’d fought a physical battle. Then Bijou meowed, and she backed away, closing the doors. Then she slumped on the couch. Had that really happened?

  By the windows, Bijou sat, casually lifted one paw, and licked his belly as if to say, Happens every day.

  * * *

  Natalie turned off her light and lay under her blanket, watching the windows. That gargoyle had been a spy for the vampires, she was sure of it. She huddled in a ball, wishing for Tristan. She stared at the ceiling, waiting for the thump-thump-thump that would signal his return. Minutes ticked by, then hours, and she began to fret. Was Tristan all right?

  Then she frowned. This was an echo of the nights she’d spent waiting for Dean. Hadn’t she vowed to change that? Paris was supposed to be her me time, not a time for another ill-fated romance.

  For one long, wavering minute, she lay still. Then, in one sharp motion, she thrust the blanket aside and jumped to her feet.

  Dammit, she was not going to be a passive bystander to her own fate. She was going to…to…

  Her train of thought stalled out. Frankly, she had no idea what she’d do once she got outside. But she was through waiting — and wondering. So she yanked on a robe and stomped toward the spiraling staircase toward the roof. Bijou followed, jumping and playing with the long end of her belt.

  “Hey, kitty.” She stooped to pet the cat. “You think Tristan is okay?”

  Bijou purred, dancing under Natalie’s feet.

  Obviously, the cat couldn’t care less. But Natalie couldn’t relax. She ascended the last few stairs and pushed open the door to the rooftop. It creaked, making her wince.

  “Hello?” She peered around cautiously.

  Bijou slid past her feet, sauntering ahead without even checking for gargoyles.

  “Bijou!” Natalie hissed, hurrying after him with one eye on the sky.

  And that was only one danger, because surely, the cat wasn’t supposed to jump to the very edge of the roof and walk the inch-wide molding on the brink of the nine-story drop. And, whoa — what the heck was she doing, squeezing around the guard rail to follow him?

  She glanced down, then blanched. It wasn’t the first time in her life she’d stepped to the edge of a drop-off without thinking. But that was always followed by a terrifying moment of realization — like now — when fear set in. Not a fear of heights, but fear of her own boldness. Normal people didn’t venture out on ledges. It simply wasn’t done. Could it be the dragon blood in her, erasing what ought to have been instinctive fear?

  Slowly, she tiptoed back. Dragon blood or not, she couldn’t fly, and she certainly couldn’t land on her feet like a cat, not after falling from that height.

  “Bijou,” she hissed, paralleling his path from the safe side of the guard rail. “Come back!”

  But Bijou continued his tightrope walk until he settled atop a ventilation pipe. Then he sat, picked up a paw, and began to clean himself. A lick to the paw, a rub behind the ear, another lick, another rub-rub-rub, as casual as could be.

  “Bijou…”

  Natalie kneeled and reached toward the cat, smacking her lips. That position lined Bijou up with the Eiffel Tower and the nearly full moon. For a moment, she sat on her heels and admired the view in one of those Wow, I’m really in Paris moments that struck her from time to time.

  Then she spotted a blur in the distance — a shadow among shadows, and slowly, shakily, she stood.

  “Bijou…” she warned. That shadow was moving, and it was coming straight for her.

  Her pulse skyrocketed. God, no.

  Bijou took a break from cleaning himself to hiss at the intruder.

  Natalie did a double take and stared into the darkness. Wait a second…

  Bijou sprang to the terrace and disappeared down the stairs, but Natalie couldn’t tear her gaze away from the creature rushing toward her. Its size might have been exaggerated by the backdrop of that huge, silver moon, but wow. It looked big. Dragon-big. The wingbeats were powerful and steady, the body streamlined in the air.

  “Tristan?” Natalie gripped the railing.

  Then she ducked, because the dragon was coming right at her. When it rushed overhead, her hair tossed. Natalie spun around, watching it execute a tight turn.

  Over the past days, she’d thought constantly of dragons and studied them in books. But nothing had prepared her for this. This dragon was huge and powerful. Graceful, too, and leathery. His body was the same brownish-black color as Tristan’s hair and so smooth, the moonlight reflected off his hide.

  How did she know it was Tristan? The same way she could identify his footsteps without looking. The way her heart leaped an instant before he knocked on the door after running errands. She just knew.

  He stuck his talons forward like an eagle ready to snatch a fish out of a river. The massive wings curled, backwinding his momentum, and he landed in three smooth steps.

  Thump. Thump, thump.

  Natalie’s mouth hung open. The timing was exactly the same, every time. But imagining the maneuver and actually seeing it were two different things. Which meant she finally got to see what accounted for the long pause that always followed those three steps. Would Tristan reach his long neck back and comb his wings like a bird? Would he take a few deep breaths then rest?

  She held her breath.

  The dragon stepped forward to the very edge of the terrace, stuck out his chest, and opened his wings. He held his head high and tipped it back like a wolf preparing to howl. But the sound he made was low, rough, and growly, and it was followed by a tiny sliver of fire spat into the night.

  Natalie gulped. Tristan might as well have beat his chest and announced, I am mighty or This is my territory or Challenge me if you dare. It was that commanding. That intimidating. That…

  Princely, she thought.

  But then he whipped his head around and bared a set of startlingly sharp teet
h.

  “Wait!” Natalie squeaked, falling flat on her rear. “It’s me.”

  Panic filled her, and she screamed at herself. Oh God. She’d surprised a full-grown dragon on his home turf. If Tristan didn’t recognize her, she’d be toast.

  “It’s me,” she yelped, scuttling backward.

  The dragon tilted his head, staring. It was terrifying, but slowly, the red of his eyes warmed to a friendlier orange hue.

  Natalie, those hundred-carat eyes said.

  She nearly crumpled in relief. “Sorry.”

  Slowly, carefully, the dragon folded his wings, taking care not to spook her. Just as slowly, and just as carefully, Natalie wobbled to her feet.

  “Tristan.” She gazed into eyes that appeared centuries deep. “Is it really you?”

  The dragon’s eyes shone, and the massive head bobbed.

  She took a deep breath, steeled her nerves, and extended one hand. “Can I… Can I…”

  Somehow, her lips couldn’t get out all of Can I touch you? But Tristan’s eyes swirled as if to say, Be my guest.

  She inched forward, waiting for the illusion to break. Any second now, lights would flash on, someone would laugh, and Tristan would remove his mask, explaining how he’d pulled off that trick.

  But it wasn’t a trick. That was Tristan, totally different, yet somehow the same. She could tell from the eyes, the wary set of his jaw. His bearing — strong and proud, yet humble, like a man who’d learned life lessons the hard way.

  Her fingers trembled in the tiny gap that remained between them. Finally, she stepped closer, placing her fingertip on the underside of his jaw, exactly the place she would scratch Bijou. His skin was warm, leathery, and just as tough as it looked. So tough, she doubted he could feel her touch. But his head dipped slightly, coaxing her on.

  She set the rest of her fingers down, sucked in another deep breath, and scratched.

  His nostrils flared, and for a moment, her chest tightened. Forcing herself to relax, she scratched harder.