Kiss of a Dragon (Fallen Immortals 1) - Paranormal Fairytale Romance

by Alisa Woods

  The fae. This must be the fae that Lucian mentioned. Or one of them, at least. Had he come to rescue her? A flame of hope lit her heart.

  “This one is not for the likes of you to taste, Tytus,” the fae said. He slowly raked his eyes over her body. Heat rushed her face, and she crossed her arms over her bare breasts. “Although I can see why you would want to try.” He smiled, and Arabella’s small hope was doused in ice.

  “Lucian’s going to come for me,” she said, defiantly, but it was far more hope than any kind of certainty.

  “Of that, I have no doubt.” His smile tempered a little, and he gave a half wave in her direction. Suddenly, she was clothed again, the tatters of her original t-shirt still lying on the ground while she now wore a gauzy, white blouse, so thin as to hardly be any cover at all without a bra underneath. In fact, the thin cuts from the dragon’s talons seeped red immediately into the fabric, sticking it to her. She frowned, confused as to what was happening. It was like he wanted to cover her up, but he didn’t care if she was a bloody mess.

  He gave her an appreciative once over, then turned to Tytus. “Cross me again, dragon, and you’ll know the full power of my displeasure. Make no mistake—you are not protected by the treaty, and those wards on your keep are an insult. Did you really think to prevent my coming with that?”

  Tytus dipped his head. “Of course, not. Those were for the prince in case he followed—”

  The fae snorted, a clear look of disgust on his face. “You are as stupid as you are clumsy. Those would never have stopped him.”

  “I only meant to delay—”

  “Don’t lie to me, Tytus.” The fae’s voice went ice-cold. “You live at my forbearance, and only as long as you are useful to me. Do not test it.”

  Tytus growled. “We both have the same purpose in this. And when you are done with her—”

  “You will not touch her again.” The fae’s voice boomed, heavy with the same magical power that shook the air before. Then he calmed and gave the dragon a sickly kind of smile. “Not until such time as I permit.”

  Tytus bowed again and took a step back.

  The fae turned his icy stare back to her. “Now, my lovely Arabella, you and I have a few things to discuss.”

  She shivered as he held out his hand to her, beckoning her forward. Talk? What the hell were they going to talk about? Should she refuse? Would that serve any purpose whatsoever? Her whole body was still trembling with cold and fear and shock, and her brain was locked up with the panic that came with all of it. She couldn’t really think straight, but she didn’t see much in the way of options. She managed to unlock her legs and stumble forward.

  The gleam in his nearly-clear eyes heightened as she reached out to take his hand. A small smile snuck onto his face.

  Then the world vanished in a blink.

  Lucian sped toward the House of Drakkon like a man possessed.

  And he was—images kept haunting him of Arabella lying in a pool of her own blood. He squashed those down and ignored the horrible, creeping, black feeling that he would arrive too late—moments too late, seconds too late—after any chance of saving her was gone, no matter how powerful the magic in his blood. He focused instead on finally having just cause to tear out Tytus’s liver and feed it to him.

  Even at his top speed, the trip to Idaho was agonizingly long. But he knew Tytus would take her to his lair. Surrounded by his fellow black dragons was the only way he could hope to hold Arabella for any length of time. He had to know Lucian would come for her—and him—which was part of why Lucian was convinced he would arrive too late. Tytus knew the clock would be ticking. And that was the part Lucian couldn’t understand—why take her at all? Why risk war with the House of Smoke? Because Lucian would arrive first, but his brothers and his House would be on his smoke trail, ready with talons and dragonfire to render the House of Drakkon to ash. Why risk it? All to spite Lucian for enforcing some common decency upon Tytus in his treatment of bedmates?

  It made no sense.

  And a violent man doing illogical things… that made Lucian nervous. That kind of unpredictability meant his grip in protecting the realms wasn’t as tight as he thought.

  And Arabella would be the first casualty.

  His dragonfire welled up inside him, anger mixed with magic, and it wanted release, but Lucian held it back—venting at top speed would just slow him down, and he couldn’t afford that.

  When he finally glimpsed the glittering black towers of the House of Drakkon in the distance, it sent both relief and a surge of anger-fueled adrenaline through his body. He kept just below the speed of sound so as not to give any warning of his arrival. Then he counted the seconds until he crashed into the infernal tower of black glass and painted his revenge in Tytus’s blood.

  As he rocketed forward, Lucian stretched his fae senses even further. The House of Drakkon was protected by some weak warding spells—the kind a common witch would place. Tytus must have hired one, given dragons without fae in their blood didn’t have access to that kind of magic. Summoning his runes to act at this distance took focus, but Lucian managed to project their power forward enough to knock away the spell a few moments before he arrived. In that short breath of time, he swept the keep, searching for Arabella’s scent, the heady mix of her soap-scrubbed skin combined with his scent, as he’d marked her again and again during their lovemaking. Tytus couldn’t have missed it, and he would have made her pay for her time in Lucian’s bed.

  Once, twice, three times he searched the House of Drakkon… but she wasn’t there.

  Or she was already dead.

  Lucian crashed through the glass roof, shattering a rain of black shards onto the mountain on which the keep was perched. He screamed his anger in a shower of dragonfire as he landed talons-first on the level where Tytus’s loathsome scent was strongest. The black dragon cowered under the curtain of glass raining on his head, then arose out of it, wings spreading wide to lift off. Lucian barreled into him before he could flee, crashing them both through another wall, a solid one made of wood and plaster, before tumbling into a large room in the center of Tytus’s lair. Lucian’s talons found purchase, slicing through Tytus’s scaly black hide like it was common leather—the only things sharp enough and strong enough to cut dragon skin were the claws of another dragon. The feel of Tytus’s flesh parting as Lucian squeezed, the black dragon’s blood gushing over his claws, only fed his bloodlust, pushing his anger higher. Tytus screamed and blasted fire in Lucian’s face, which forced him to wrench away—then the slip of Tytus’s blood in the meat of his side caused Lucian to lose his grip. Tytus whipped his tail against Lucian’s legs, swiping them from under him, but Lucian took to wing, his fae powers muscling him higher, lofting up the two-story room and back down on Tytus’s head as he turned to run. This time, Lucian’s talons found the black dragon’s throat, squeezing from behind and cutting deep into his flesh. Tytus gurgled with the noise of a man choking on his own blood and plowed face-first into the stone of his own lair, the floor already slick with his blood. His wings and tail flailed at Lucian, but to no avail.

  Just as he twisted his claws to finish the job and split Tytus’s long, serpentine neck in two, something struck Lucian from the side and knocked him free from where he had Tytus pinned to the floor. Lucian let loose a sweep of dragonfire as he came back around, setting all of Tytus’s lair afire, but then he abruptly pulled up—

  Leonidas. Lucian halted mid-turn, confused as his brother hovered over a gasping and gurgling Tytus. What the fuck?

  She’s not here, Lucian. Leonidas turned away from him and flipped Tytus over.

  Lucian watched, still amazed, as his own brother placed the flat of his taloned hand on Tytus’s neck and summoned his runes. The inky magic symbols wriggled across his bronzed scales and down his forearm to gather their power where Leonidas was holding the shreds of Tytus’s neck together. The runes were capable of limited healing for dragon wounds. Of course, their own dragon blood had tremen
dous self-healing powers all on its own, but a wound grievous enough, especially one from another dragon’s talons, could end an immortal’s life. It was how wyvern were destroyed, and how many dragons ended their lives in battle. But here his brother was, bringing Tytus back from near-death with the added power of a healing spell, a bit of fae magic for their enemies.

  What the hell are you doing? Lucian landed with a wall-shaking thud next to his brother and Tytus on the floor.

  Saving your beloved, my brother.

  Lucian blinked. Said nothing, then blinked again. His mind had been so hazed with anger and bloodlust that he hadn’t thought it through—but, of course, she must still be alive. Otherwise, Tytus would have taunted him with her body. Or been ready for the fight. Something.

  Where have you taken her? Lucian demanded, throwing his thoughts at Tytus as he roared his anger.

  Tytus didn’t answer, his eyes still glazed, even with Leonidas’s healing.

  Lucian knelt next to him, breathing dragonfire in his face to get his attention. Tytus whipped his head back and forth, unsuccessfully trying to avoid the flames’ scorching burn. Leonidas scowled at him, not least because some of the plasma spilled on his hand still on Tytus’s neck, but he didn’t complain.

  If she dies, you die. Lucian sent the thought to Tytus. Tell me now, and if she lives, I’ll let you continue to breathe a while longer.

  Tytus coughed and squinted at Lucian. The fae have her.

  Lucian rocked back and glanced at Leonidas.

  His brother’s eyes were wide. Zephan? But why—

  The treaty. But Lucian scowled. It didn’t make sense.

  Leonidas’s eyes drew to slits and dragonfire leaked from his mouth. He can’t kill her.

  The hell he can’t. There are demons loose in Seattle.

  That doesn’t mean he’s forsaken the treaty, his brother argued.

  I can’t take that chance. Lucian leaped up, spread his wings, and soared out of the giant hole he made in the roof of the House of Drakkon.

  If Zephan had Arabella, there was only one way to reach her—he would have to travel to the Winter Court. Never mind that a dragon bearing the blood of Summer Court fae hadn’t broached the realm in ten-thousand years…

  There was nothing in the mortal or immortal realms which could stop him.

  An impossible thing had just happened.

  One moment, Arabella was standing in the lair of the black dragon who had kidnapped her; the next, she was standing in a room that seemed made of brilliant, glowing ice. The one thing that remained constant between the two rooms was the cool, soft hand holding hers. A man—no, a fae—who had rescued her from a dragon bent on hurting her. Probably killing her. Only this man with the pointed ears, wispy black hair, and ice-clear eyes was looking her over with just as much lascivious intent.

  She dropped his hand. “What just happened?” she asked, looking around her. The walls were translucent, but she couldn’t see past them. They stretched overhead, a dozen stories tall, like she stood at the bottom of a very deep well made of light. The room itself was round, and the walls were wavy, with shadows and crevices that could be hiding a dozen passageways. The floor was likewise made of some kind of glass. There were only two pieces of furniture in the expansive room that made her think it was a room at all, and not some great cavern—a vast white bed, angular and strange, and giant, flat silver screen embedded in the wall above it.

  She shivered in the cool air and dragged her gaze back to the fae who had rescued her… although she suspected her kidnapping had been his plan all along.

  “Being human, I expect you to know very little about the immortal world.” A hint of a smile played at the corner of his lips. He was beautiful but in a cold and cruel way. “We traveled here by way of a doorway. Not an ordinary one, to be sure, but normal transportation for a man with my powers.”

  She swallowed. “Why am I here?”

  His almost colorless eyes glittered, reflecting the softly glowing light that bounced all around the room. His bedroom… or at least a room with a bed in it. He stepped closer and reached for her hand again. She almost pulled it away, but if he could whisk her around the world using magic alone to wherever this place was, there wasn’t much use in physically fighting against him.

  “You’re here because you’ve charmed your way into Lucian Smoke’s bed.” He upturned her hand and softly stroked her palm with the fingertips of his other hand. “So delicate and fragile. I can understand the allure.” Then he looked up and lifted his hand to her face, cupping her cheek and running a thumb across her lips.

  She gasped as they warmed under his touch, flushing pleasure through her as if the brushing of his thumb was the most erotic of kisses.

  He smirked. “If you think a dragon’s bed is filled with pleasure, it’s only because you haven’t been in mine.” He leaned closer, close enough to kiss her, but he held back.

  Her heart stuttered, and an embarrassing heat flooded between her legs. How could she feel attracted to this man who had basically kidnapped her? But her body was betraying her… and her mind seemed just as intoxicated by his commanding presence.

  “I can taste every pleasure you’ve ever had, my sweet, innocent little human.” He was whispering now, his lips nearly brushing hers. “Your dragon’s most seductive powers come from the fae blood in his veins.” The heat had blossomed and flowed up her body. “Just think what a full-blooded fae prince could do for you. To you.”

  Her mind was awash with a sudden, intense desire. A need for him to close the last millimeter of distance between their lips, to feel his hands on her body, to having him thrusting hard inside her, filling her like no man had before… she leaned forward…

  Fae prince. That thought blared through the haze that was fogging her mind.

  She jerked back. “I know your name.”

  His eyes widened for a split second, then narrowed. The runes at his temples surged and shifted. “I doubt that very much.”

  But she did. She remembered Lucian saying he had to meet a fae prince. “You’re Zephan, a prince of the Winter Court. Lucian told me about you. He doesn’t trust you.” She pulled even further back. “And neither do I.”

  Her mind instantly cleared, as if the fog had been burnt off by the memory of Lucian’s words.

  Zephan smirked, but it was cool again, not heated like before. “No doubt because I could bed you with a simple touch.”

  A shiver ran through her. A touch? He was using magic on her, messing with her head somehow. Lucian already had amazing magic, and he was only part fae; who knew what a fae prince could do.

  His smirk grew even colder and more haughty. “But I’m not the one you should be concerned about, naïve little Arabella. Come, let me show you.” He swept his hand toward the bed.

  She frowned and held her ground.

  Zephan rolled his eyes. “Not the bed, simple girl. The mirror.”

  She looked again, and the screen over the bed had transformed into an enormous mirror. “I don’t understand.”

  He beckoned her forward, and she grudgingly went along. When they reached the edge of the bed, the mirror transformed from a flat, silvered surface that reflected her and Zephan standing side-by-side to a close-up video of Lucian’s face. His expression was dark and angry with an intensity she’d never seen on him—it made her recoil and pity the poor fool in his way.

  She whipped a look at Zephan. “What is this?”

  His smirk was still ice cold. “A memory. A glimpse of the past through the prism of magic. Something to help you see the error of your ways. And why you should never be seduced by a monster like our irksome and brooding dragon prince.”

  She frowned again, but her attention was caught by Lucian moving. The view shifted to show him kneeling next to a very pregnant woman. Her belly seemed nearly ready to burst with the size of the baby contained within it. Lucian’s back was to the mirror frame, but Arabella could see him lay a hand flat on the hugely rounded belly. The rune
s on Lucian’s hand swarmed around his skin, pulsing and warping, and the pregnant belly underneath his touch surged with them. The woman arched her back, pushing up into Lucian’s hand. Arabella could finally see her face as she threw her head back, her long reddish-brown hair spilling all over the floor. Her mouth was wide in a silent scream. Not a whisper of sound came from the mirror—Arabella heard her own heartbeat yammering in her chest, but nothing from the scene splayed in front of her. Lucian’s hand shoved the woman down, holding her belly secure as he raised his other hand.

  It shifted into a fistful of talons.

  Arabella gasped and covered her mouth with her own hand.

  His claws slashed at the woman, splitting her belly wide. Blood gushed everywhere, great buckets of it, all over her belly, the floor, Lucian’s hands and arms.

  Oh God. Arabella’s hand trembled against her mouth.

  The woman’s endless, wordless scream finally forced her up off the floor, her eyes popping open.

  They were green.

  Oh, holy fuck, they were green.

  Lucian kept slashing and tearing at her body, opening it up wide, digging deeper, then finally, when Arabella thought for sure her own stomach would empty out onto Zephan’s pristine white bed, Lucian reached with human hands into the gaping, bloody hole and lifted the baby free.

  A dragon baby—tiny and golden and lashing out with fire.

  “Oh, God.” The words leaked out of Arabella.

  Zephan held up a hand, and the image froze—Lucian holding the bloody infant dragon over the horribly empty womb of its mother’s body.

  “No.” Arabella didn’t want to know this. Whatever this was, there was an explanation for it. Something that gave some reason for why Lucian tore a baby from its mother. But her mind was already spinning the tale. The woman was his mate. His previous mate. And the golden baby dragon was Lucian’s. Only he had no mate now, and no dragonling, either. Unless all of that was a lie, too.