Games of Fate (Fate Fire Shifter Dragon Book 1)

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  Harold pulled the bottle away and lifted it high. “Thank you for noticing, oh great Ladon-Human, leader of both men and beasts.” A loud grunt followed a swallow.

  Still nothing on the damned phone. Ladon took back the bottle. “How is Marcus?” If the healers had stopped helping…

  Harold’s face fell. “He’s convinced his time is up. What Daniel predicted is about to come to pass.” He gestured at the sky. “Damned Parcae and their stupid beliefs! Fate this. Fate that. I told him that I’d sell my swords. Pay that crazy healer up near Ely, but the son of a bitch’s got no medical training. He can only give Marcus some comfort.”

  “Dmitri’s a healer. I’ll pay.” Ladon took another swig. “Whatever he wants. I’ll pay.”

  Harold stared at him for a long moment. “Pavlovich won’t touch Marcus. He’s too high-profile to help a Fate. The other Shifters would drop on him like Sputnik from the sky.” He pointed upward.

  “Dmitri has helped other Fates.” He might also enjoy the challenge of fixing Parcae sickness more than the money he’d make. Not that he’d admit it.

  Harold watched the clouds. “You could have told me this when I returned from the War.”

  “You didn’t ask.” Ladon rubbed at his hair. “Besides, Dmitri hadn’t entered the States the last time I saw you.”

  “Derek had.”

  Ladon’s brother-in-law’s relationship with the Shifters was complicated, Dmitri’s buffering notwithstanding. “If you sell your swords, I want them. I’ll give you a fair price.”

  Harold shook his head. “This winter’s going to be hard.”

  One quick nod and Ladon set the rifle against the railing. “Derek will take care of it.”

  “Ladon, you don’t have to—”

  “Yes I do, Harold, and you know it.” He should have fixed this problem long ago.

  You need to sleep, Human, Dragon pushed from Rysa’s room.

  Harold scowled and pointed at Ladon’s nose. “It’s creepy when you two talk to each other. Your face does odd things.”

  “He says I need sleep.” The beast’s fatigue fanned his own.

  “He’s right. So does he.” Harold nodded toward their van in the drive, a dark monolith in the gloom.

  I cannot sleep. I will not leave Rysa unguarded.

  “He says he has work to do.” If Dragon slept, they’d be locked in one location for a full twenty-four hours. The beast would be vulnerable. So would Rysa.

  “Go upstairs. Get a few hours. I’ll stay up.” Harold pointed at the door before wiggling his fingers for the rifle.

  I will go up to the roof and keep watch.

  Ladon stood and rubbed his face. “He’s going up to the roof.”

  Harold nodded and set the rifle against the porch rail.

  They might not be able to fetch Mira and give Rysa back her mother, but Ladon could help Marcus. “Dmitri will cooperate.”

  Harold slumped in the swing with the same unconscious response Ladon always saw when Harold fought against his ever-present need to sit tall in Ladon’s presence.

  “We used to be comfortable,” Harold said. “Even with the sickness, we were okay.” He lifted the rifle and laid it across his knees. His fingers tapped the stock. “It’s been hard to travel to Ely and that damned bastard won’t come down here without extra payment. He hides up north.”

  Harold raised the vodka to the sky with his other hand. The swing creaked as he pushed absently with his foot. “He takes our money and he drinks himself into a coma, just so he can hide.”

  Ladon looked at the phone. Still nothing. “I’ll pay him a visit.”

  Harold shook his head. “Send the Dracas. AnnaBelinda and Anna-Dragon have always been scarier than you.” His hand bounced against his chest in a Roman salute.

  “If I can get Sister away from home.” She hadn’t let Derek out of her sight since the last time Shifters had come looking for him. His brother-in-law chafed, feeling as if under house arrest, but he’d never say that to his wife.

  Nor had she listened to Ladon, either, when he mentioned it.

  “Fresh Northern Minnesota air would do both her and the husband good.” Harold slumped forward and his elbows dropped over the rifle to his knees. “And she can beat up a Shifter. Always a good time, I’m sure.”

  Ladon looked up at the southern Minnesota sky. It glowed bright and beautiful, like Rysa’s eyes, not hard, like his sister’s. He glanced at the ground. He’d have to watch himself with Rysa.

  “I’ve been working at the grocery store.” The swing creaked. “Stocking shelves. A couple of the local teenagers come by when I’m at work and keep an eye on Marcus. He tells them stories about Europe and sword fighting and the Black Death and they love it. But we could use the help.”

  All this time, and they’d never asked. They wouldn’t. Ladon wouldn’t either, if he’d been in the same position. Still, he felt like an idiot for abandoning the last of the Draki Prime the way he had. All because how it ended made him unhappy.

  Ladon handed the phone to Harold. “If the app indicates a hit, yell. Dragon will wake me.”

  Harold held up the phone. “It’s low on juice.”

  Ladon pulled the van keys from his pocket. Harold annoyed him but he was the most trustworthy normal he knew. “The charger’s in the glove compartment.”

  The phone’s screen cast an eerie glow onto Harold’s face. “What the hell is this app, anyway?”

  “Dmitri loaded it onto the phone.” But he knew what it was—a bit of Shifter armor against the hellhounds stalking the innocent among their people.

  A few movements of his finger and Harold’s eyes widened. “Damned Shifters,” Harold grumbled. “How long has their cold war with the rest of the planet been going on?”

  Ladon rattled the handle on the sticking screen door. He’d get a crew out here to repair the house. “Since the Inquisition. They’re still angry.”

  Harold shook his head. “No one holds a grudge like a Shifter.”

  No one but his sister. He glanced at the normal sitting on the porch swing. He’d never been kind to Harold. Not when Marcus brought him home and not after, either, when Daniel and Timothy died. “We okay now, Harold?”

  The app held the other man’s attention. “Yeah. We’re good. For now. I promised Marcus I’d be nice.” Harold sniffed and his voice dropped into a pitch-perfect imitation of the past-seer. “First, we see who is behind this. Then we tame her fire.”

  Ladon nodded. Marcus never stopped until he completed a task, no matter how fatiguing—or dangerous—it might be.

  Harold took another sip from the bottle. “You’d think he was Yoda or something.”

  “Who?” Ladon didn’t need someone else to worry about.

  Harold laughed and waved Ladon off. “Go on. Get some sleep. Marcus will see to your new darling in the morning.”

  I want a bath, Dragon pushed from upstairs.

  How a Fate would react to being called his “new darling,” Ladon didn’t know. “He wants a bath first. And she’s not my new darling.”

  Harold snorted. “You all need baths. And yes, she is your new darling.” He pointed into the house. “Go on, you idiot.”

  Dragon lay on the floor of the little room, his bulk filling the space between the bed and the closets fitted into the sloped walls. He shifted as Ladon entered, and his head tugged on the blankets at the foot of the bed.

  She’s sleeping? Ladon pushed.

  Anxious sparks played along Dragon’s back. Yes.

  I’ll go down the hall. Next to the bathroom, the other bedroom’s door stood open. He’d be respectful and do the decent thing.

  No. Dragon undulated over the bed. You will not.

  Ladon stepped back as the beast squeezed through the door. Why are you being stubborn? I can’t stay in there with her. You saw how she reacted when I touched her downstairs.

  Women didn’t pull away from a friendly gesture like his touch to her hair after they’d spent hours sleeping next to D
ragon.

  Ladon drummed his fingers on the doorframe. His fatigue was muddling his attempts to understand her responses.

  He thrust his hands into his pockets. He’d apologize in the morning. Make it right.

  You must stay with her. What if she has another vision? I will be on the roof. Dragon tapped his snout on the hallway ceiling.

  In the little room, the only seating besides the top of the dresser and the bed was a wooden chair in the corner next to the bed. I’m tired.

  Then sleep. The beast moved toward the stairs.

  But—

  Do not complain. She is pretty.

  Reflections from Dragon’s hide danced over the walls and a few made their way into the bedroom and over Rysa.

  She was more than pretty. She was stunning. He could get lost in the curves of her body and the moonlight of her eyes. I smell bad.

  She smells of Burner. Dragon stopped at the top of the stairs and his head swung around. You were good to offer Harold help. He disappeared down the steps and into the living room.

  The screen door opened and Harold spoke to the beast. Ladon would apologize to Marcus in the morning, as well.

  He would make everything right. Harold said something else to the beast and the outside walls of the house creaked. Dragon moved to the roof.

  On the bed, Rysa breathed in the slow rhythm of sleep.

  Ladon wanted to make things right. More than he’d wanted to at any time in the past.

  Perhaps something else had moved to him and the beast when she connected to their energy at the house. Perhaps her youthful view of the world had loosened a part of him he’d thought long-calcified.

  It felt good, as if he’d awakened with the warmth of the sun touching his face.

  Let her siphon. She gave them a gift much greater in return. They’d help her hold the Burner randomness in check, if she wanted. It would be their payment.

  The bed squeaked when she shuffled her legs. Ladon listened carefully to her breathing, to make sure she hadn’t slipped back into a vision. She sighed, contented, and he exhaled.

  And maybe, someday, she wouldn’t recoil when he offered a touch.

  At his feet, in a neat pile on the rug, were her ripped-up shirt, her socks, and her jeans. He stared trying not to picture her bare hips.

  Dragon had been sitting on her clothes the entire time he’d wedged himself between the bed and the wall. He’d done the same thing several times over the centuries. Staked his claim. Showed Ladon what he wanted by caressing a hip and marking a woman with his scent. Ladon always went along with it, enjoying the company and the attention and the sex, mostly to make the beast happy.

  He rarely had the chance to choose a woman on his own.

  He pulled off his socks. Best not to allow his emotions to attach themselves to a Fate. The sun would rise in a few hours and until then he’d sleep, happy for a moment to feel the warmth from her body.

  He dropped his t-shirt next to his socks and lay down on top of the blankets. The bed creaked and she rolled over. Her nose almost touched his shoulder.

  Ladon closed his eyes and inhaled her complex scent of warm blossoms and mist-under-the-moon.

  Her hand moved toward her chin but stopped when her nails grazed his elbow. She curled her hand around his arm.

  He kissed her forehead. When he pulled back, the taste of her skin lingered, as sweet as he’d suspected it would be. Sweet and lovely and as dazzling as her scent.

  She’d fallen into his life accidentally, unintentionally. He couldn’t be swayed by the promise he’d seen in her eyes. They had boundaries to consider. Edges to delineate.

  What did she see when her eyes gleamed and she bared her soul to him? Did she see a man and a beast, or did she see his soul, with its marks and scars and shriveled attempts to be human?

  Would she be willing to take his hand and lean against his shoulder and be patient enough to see him as something other than an anachronism?

  When she sighed, he closed his eyes. Best not to think of such things. He and Dragon had a job to do. Then they’d return to their quiet life. Entertaining fantasies of a new voice in their silent world would lead nowhere.

  But tonight, he’d give her comfort. He drifted into the few remaining hours of sleep left to him with his fingers wrapped around hers.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rysa never dreamed like this. She should be pondering how to find her mother, or how to deal with the shackles, or how to avoid a burning fate. Yet her dream hands threaded under Ladon’s dream t-shirt and over the hard muscles of his abdomen and chest.

  She dreamed of the heat of his body and the shelter of the space between him and the beast. Of calmed seers and lights and strong hands soothing her fears. Of his dream breath, intense and full of desire, tickling her neck.

  Then he was inside her, moving with slow determination, his arms twined in a tight embrace around her body. Solid arms, his fingers learning every curve and line of her hips and thighs. Arms that would never let her fall.

  They moaned, but no sound filled her dream ears. She knew only the deep rumbles pushing from his body into hers. She felt his mouth. His tongue. Curls wrapped around her fingers as she stroked his hair. He smiled. Gave a kiss.

  She’d never felt this good. She couldn’t, in real space. No one wanted her like this in real space. Yet here in this dream, this man—this beautiful, perfect man—wanted to spend his life with her.

  Consciousness flickered and the dream faded. Images, tactile and visual, vanished, but her body ached. The dream retreated into a desire. Maybe a hope. She floated in the space between sensing what she wanted and knowing what was real.

  She began to reintegrate information from the world. Her front felt hot. Her back tingled cold and uncomfortable. The blanket wound around her hips and compressed her legs. She squirmed and yanked, but something large held it in place.

  Distant now, the dream beckoned. She wanted to find it, to remember, but only the ache in her belly and a lingering sense of happiness remained. If she held it close, maybe she wouldn’t forget.

  She opened her eyes, knowing she’d have to, sooner or later.

  Ladon grinned inches from her face. “Good morning, beautiful.”

  Her head rested on his shoulder. He stroked a finger down her arm.

  Shock hit her hard and she flung herself backward.

  “Careful!” He reached for her but she flopped off the edge of the bed.

  When had he come in? She didn’t remember Dragon leaving. Had she blacked out? Why had she cuddled against him in the middle of the night? She’d wrapped her entire body around his. “What—”

  “Dragon didn’t want you alone. And I needed sleep.”

  “Umm…” What had he seen? She wore only a t-shirt and her panties.

  “Nothing happened. I swear you’d sleep through a tornado. Or a volcano. Or a wrecking ball coming through the window.” He pointed at the curtains fluttering in the breeze.

  “Oh!” Her attention snapped to outside. Did she sleep through an attack? Ladon wouldn’t be here with her if she had. He’d be beating up Burners. Punching them with all the strength in those arms.

  Diffuse images popped into her mind, more physical sensations than anything she saw. Had she dreamed about him?

  “It’s okay.” He sat up.

  No shirt covered his torso. Or his shoulders. Or those arms. Every muscle skirting his core was well defined, his chest sculpted, and he moved with a fluid grace no man should possess.

  He grinned again. “You’re nice to look at, too.”

  She snatched the blanket off the bed and held it under her chin. It pulled between her breasts and she kicked at it, fanning it out to cover her front.

  His gaze traveled over every curve and plane of her body, but he wasn’t doing the terrible calculations guys always did. He looked happy, like she’d expect him to look when he watched Dragon play. Tom never looked at her with such reverence.

  She pulled the blanket tig
hter. “How long have you been awake?”

  “A while.” His grin widened into a smile as he picked up his t-shirt off the floor. He sniffed it, frowned, and flicked it like he was airing it out.

  “A while? And you let me…” She waved and the blanket dropped across her legs. Grabbing it again, she pulled it tight around her neck.

  He laughed as he twisted his torso into the black shirt. Was everything he owned black? His jeans were dark gray. His boots had once been black. That jacket with the plating on the sleeves was black, too. So was the van. He probably owned sunglasses with black lenses.

  “You were asleep. And obviously happy.” He sat back on the bed and wove his fingers together behind his head.

  “You’re terrible!” Why was he acting like this?

  His smugness vanished and he gestured at the ceiling. “I’m sorry! I’m a jerk, okay? I was a jerk when I was callous about your… attention issues and I was a jerk when I touched you downstairs and I’m a jerk right now.” He paused. “Dragon didn’t want you alone and damn it, you can hate me for it, but I’m going to make sure you’re okay.”

  He stared at her with his incredible golden-brown eyes and both his brows and mouth frowning. She’d made him feel bad and he sat on the bed, all handsome and pouting with the most kissable lips she’d ever seen.

  Rysa fumbled against the dresser. She shouldn’t think of him that way. They didn’t know each other. But he apologized for being a jerk and he wasn’t treating her as if only her boobs mattered. And he did have kissable—

  The blanket fell to the floor.

  His mouth opened enough that she glimpsed his teeth.

  He hurdled from the bed and lifted her up in one smooth motion. She floated for a moment, held in the air by his solid muscles. Her body felt as weightless as the morning sun warming her back.

  Her bottom came to rest on the dresser. He leaned toward her, his gaze locked to hers until his chest pressed against her breasts and his breath tickled her cheek. His lips hovered just above her temple.

  What had she dreamed? Touching him this way, feeling him this close, overrode all the but but but thoughts that any sane woman should have. He was a jerk who didn’t like Fates. Except the ones he considered friends. And he apologized.