Fire and Fantasy: a Limited Edition Collection of Epic and Urban Fantasy

by CK Dawn

  “And would never be again?” he finished clearly well versed in the same disappointment Dragon had known her whole life. “I thought about last night and realized that I do have magic in my life.” His eyes were hooded and hopeful and afraid and a million other uncertain, braggadocious things.

  The moment slowed and Dragon stepped into his space and tilted her head back. Knowing the threat of drowning in his bottomless eyes was imminent, she surrendered to it, raising his bandaged fist to her lips to kiss it better.

  “I am saved,” he whispered.

  “Let’s go this way,” she said, pointing to an alley to their right. “Through the Garden.”

  He smiled, not triumphantly, but as if he’d just been given a gift, then bit his bottom lip to contain it.

  Hands still clasped, they approached Trash Bin like two children who were just seeing the wonderland they were about to step into for the first time.

  The garden piskies that tended Trash Bin were busily encasing an old boot in their transformative cocoon. In a few weeks some fantastical bit of nature would sprout and bloom in the boot’s place. The entire middle section of the alley had been nurtured and fruited in just that way and now the faded graffiti that once spotted the brick walls was outlined in ivy and colored with roses or daisies or gerbera. The dumpsters and rusted trash cans were lush with exotic shrubbery or tiny freshwater ponds containing a lily atop which a single blue-speckled frog chirped.

  To keep Trash Bin from flourishing into the street, a city-appointed gardener would dump something toxic in its center and watch to make sure it spread through that homespun earth. It took the piskies about five years to recover from that invasion and when they did, Trash Bin’s embellishments were always more flamboyant than ever.

  Still more preoccupied by their joined hands than the garden, Dragon remembered his earlier question. Does this bother you?

  “No,” she said, bending to smell the calyx that flowered through the metal grate of an old oscillating fan. Nothing about touching him distressed her and wasn’t that just the crux of the matter?

  She straightened and suddenly he was there in front of her, crowding her in the most delicious way. Her skin prickled in awareness and she stepped away, smiling as she brushed her fingers over the textured leaves of a miniature maple.

  “This place is so beautiful, don’t you think? I always take this way home during the summer. Reminds me that warmth and beauty are always just around the bend. Even after violent revolution.”

  “Like the HC Gardner.”

  “Exactly. He comes here and does his best to change the course of this place—is paid to do so—”

  “And is successful.”

  “Yes! And how odd it is that his success results in even more beauty. I mean, how wonderful,” she said then shrugged. “I guess I’m always surprised at how deeply soulful this place is.”

  He raised their joined hands and twirled her like they were dancing.

  She finished the spin with a giggle and a wobbly courtesy.

  “The piskies are not supposed to be able to exist outside of fae, you know.”

  “I thought that was an urban legend?”

  He shrugged and led her into an easy promenade around a two-foot tall clover ring. “They are the truth of us. Before K'Davrah, we—the fae of the Sun, I mean—believed that only our most beautiful selves should occupy space in the human world. So, you know, glamour. An increase in sales of glamour at Beltane and Solstice and whenever else reason could be concocted to cross interspecies waters for a taste. And then after that, even more glamour, enough to choke a horse.

  “But this garden proves the benefit of honesty. Gorgeous without all the bullshit. An odd bit of home in a faraway place.” He took a moment to close his eyes and inhale the natural perfume of Trash Bin. “I sometimes fantasize about the man I could be—all past debts forgiven, my old shine buffed and polished to a high gloss…then I open my eyes.” He shrugged.

  “And Trash Bin?” Dragon asked entranced by the revelation that made him seem at once whole and vulnerable.

  “Makes me ashamed of my fear. The piskies flourish in this world. They work a kind of natural magic here that makes me ashamed of my regret, makes me embarrassed that I’ve been too self-absorbed to notice any joy that’s passed me by.”

  “Happiness is in the doing,” Dragon commented without feeling.

  “So they say.”

  “Utter, smoldering crap. Happiness is ours for the making,” she replied automatically then shook her head at the artifice that suddenly underscored her tone. When did that stop being true?

  “Tango?” she said unwilling to leave this place or give up touching him.

  He huffed a bit of a laugh, then sobered, raising a sardonic eyebrow and straightening his frame. When he stepped into her space, she met him, placing her hand in his and the other on his shoulder.

  He pressed her backward three steps, stopping abruptly so that his bent knee forced her legs to bracket it.

  “All I have ever done is work towards some kind of secular Nirvana. I have yet to realize the enlightenment from that journey.”

  “Really?” He pulled her towards him a few stylistic steps then flung her over one arm in a dramatic dip. “Never?”

  “Well,” she mused, staring at her upside down view of a few Black Eyed Susans outlining a decomposing lamp shade. “There were a few minutes back during the winter of ’98 when I forgot that I need to constantly uplift and was able to simply relax.”

  He pulled her up and led her into a slow lunge.

  “But I’d never felt as if I got what I wanted and I never, ever thought that my actions were meaningful in and of themselves.” She awkwardly pulled away from the pose making a production out of watching a cluster of Venus Jacktraps make a meal out of a terapede. “Do you know that every relationship I’ve ever had has ended in my downfall?” She didn’t look at him as she spoke, more interested in making this confession than she was in his reaction to it. “And afterward, when they’ve gone and I’m in the midst of the same old insanity, they come back to tell me how thankful they are that they met me. How I’ve helped them understand what love truly is.

  “Not that they’re willing to test-drive that new education on me. No, after I’ve killed myself to remake their shabby-chic selves into the perfect guy, they leave in search of greener pastures. Et violà! I’m yesterday’s news.” She tucked a few errant strands of hair behind one ear and smiled self-consciously. “But it’s my fault, I know it is. You can’t love someone into being perfect for you. You just can’t.”

  He wove their fingers together. “The concept that it is right to be made whole by another being is sort of evil.”

  She gazed into his earnest eyes. “I’m broken, you know.” Her voice cracked on the last syllable and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and cuddled her protectively.

  “No,” he assured her.

  “I am.” She used his T-shirt to blot her eyes. “Damaged beyond repair,” she insisted. “All I want is the future—that perfect moment to come where I see only happiness before me and surprise, surprise, it’s mine and it’s real and it’s everlasting.”

  “That’s a good thing to want.” He kissed her forehead several times quickly. “A good way to be.”

  “Do you know how many times I’ve reached for that prize only to be wrong? Dead wrong. The prize wasn’t a prize at all, but a joke. A box wrapped up all pretty and inviting and empty.

  “Lately, when they leave—and they always do—a bit of me goes with them and the unmaking of me is closer to being complete.” She pulled away from him, the magic of the garden gone, and walked toward the deepening dusk on the other side of the alley. “Why would you want someone like me? Tell me quickly, Mr. Fel,” she mimicked Levi’s earlier respect. “Renown as you are and calculating, why would you want a poor, silly, broken record like me?”

  He cupped her face tenderly and smoothed her hair away like something infinitely precious that
needed caring for—that he wanted to care for.

  Then he kissed her. Desperately, as if tasting her was a lifetime of desire finally realized. He kissed her closed eyes and her nose and laid his forehead against hers.

  “I plan to milk you for every ven you can get your hands on,” he admitted raggedly.

  “I figured. Been contemplating using the hell out of you myself. Check is in the mail, that sort of thing,” she explained, thinking of the euphoric way he made her feel. As addictive as bliss with none of the deadly side effects. Her smile was sad as she smoothed the cotton fabric over his heart. “God, I wish—” she started to say, raising her eyes to his. Her breath hitched as if on the verge of sobs and she jerked away from his searching gaze and took a fortifying breath.

  “What?” he whispered, running his thumb gently over her lips like that soft touch could draw out all her secrets. “What do you wish?”

  “I wish I were healed. I wish I didn’t want so much. More than that, I wish to God disappointment didn’t hurt the way it does. It cuts through me like an awl every single time and fool that I am, I come running back for more.” She pulled her bag off his shoulder and took two more steps away from him. When she spoke again, her voice was apologetic.

  “And now here you are to cast your spell over me. And here I am, same ol’ same ol’. Shake my hand, Fel, you got what you wanted. I’m a brand-new—”

  “You’re not,” he said, pulling her back into his embrace. “You’re not a fool.”

  She made a token attempt to struggle, then gave up, leaning heavily into him as if he were the first soft placed she’d fallen on in years. “God,” she said, wiping away tears. “I’m letting you in, aren’t I?”

  “You are?” He held her at arm’s length so he could see her face.

  “Fel!”

  “Oh my God. Okay, you are.” He hauled her close again and wrapped his arms tightly around her, barely noticing her disgruntled squeak at his manhandling. “You won’t regret it.”

  “I do already. No, don’t let go,” she said, snuggling closer. Her conscience set about reminding her of all Jasper’s sacrifices on her behalf and all her past mistakes that made his efforts worthless.

  When Fel’s touch became too conflicting to bear, Dragon created space between them.

  Her face must have reflected her indecision because he said, “We can start slow. Just coffee,” as if to ease her into the idea of dating a prostitute.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “You can change your mind if you want to.”

  “For someone committed to conning me out of everything I own, you are remarkably conscientious.”

  He laughed then pulled her out of the way of a very drunk werewolf baying a country song to the moon. “Which way to your house?” he said, eyeing the half-changed drunk warily. Even though he sang ridiculously of his betrayed heart, a run-off hound and a lost boot, werewolves were notoriously moody and had been known to turn on longtime lovers for little reason.

  She pointed to their left. “Just a few more blocks that way.”

  “Okay.” He held out his hand.

  She took it, relishing the scrape of his calloused palm against hers.

  They didn’t speak as they walked the four blocks to the Salon, but Dragon could feel Fel’s gaze searching her face again and again as if to assure himself that he’d actually closed the sale.

  “Yes Virginia, there really is a Santa Claus,” she said, Fel’s hot stare making her blush.

  “Sorry?”

  “I don’t have any immediate plans to change my mind and ruin your Christmas.”

  “Oh.” He nodded. “Good. I won’t be changing my mind either.”

  “No? Not even when you drained me of every ven I have and all my self-respect?”

  “God no. A woman finally brought to her knees—that’s the sweet spot.”

  Her lips twitched. “Okay.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “That you want me on my knees? Of course I believe you. You’re male aren’t you?”

  “That I want you indefinitely.”

  “There’s a bill of sale between us that kinda gets in the way.”

  He drew her to a halt and gazed tenderly down at her. His slate gray eyes, longish face and sulky mouth suddenly looked approachable somehow. As if there was nothing to fear since all of that gorgeousness had been specifically designed for her.

  “You’re a liar,” she murmured all but drowning in the sincere desire she saw in his face. “Professionally.” She groaned and let her head fall to his chest. “What the hell am I doing?”

  His fingers immediately slid up her nape and into her hair, soothing, seducing her to believe in him.

  “I’ll try,” she said finally.

  Eleven

  “This is me.” She gestured at the fantastical balustrade that surrounded Le Salon Neuf. Dragon approached the gate and rubbed the underside of the iron lion’s jaw. “The cubs give him a hard time.” She nodded at one of the cubs using her father’s tail as a chew toy while the other hunted the lion’s front paws. The lioness watched the frozen tableau placidly.

  Fel followed her through and Dragon smiled nervously as she closed the gate behind him. She was unwilling to introduce Fel to her family. She was equally unwilling to watch Fel walk away. He appeared to want her. More importantly she enjoyed his touch, his company. Only a fool would relinquish the sweet pull of his intent. But after this morning’s intervention, only a fool would dive head-first into a temptation without first weighing the consequences. Still, his very presence, devoid of everything except his overwhelming allure, left her to-do list as blank as his future. Only a fool would let this crooked bit of luck pass her by. Thanks be to God she was a fool.

  She stepped up onto the small stoop of the side entrance, the six inches or so of concrete putting her lips in easy range of his.

  “So…” she said.

  “So.” He took two steps forward to close the distance between them.

  “Are you going to kiss me?” she murmured, staring into his eyes and opening her very self to the prospect—as much as she could to someone she could only see in the present tense.

  “Mmm hmm.” He nodded his head slowly.

  “Hurry,” she whispered, sliding her arms around his neck and tangling her hands in his hair.

  He complied unreservedly, weaving his lips with hers and slipping his tongue into her mouth.

  She caught it with her own and sighed in relief.

  Their tongues tangled languidly at first then with increasing fervor, sucked in all that was offered.

  The urge to climb all over Fel was strong, and Dragon honored it by hooking one leg around his waist.

  Fel tore his mouth away from her with a frustrated groan and buried his face in the curve of her neck. His hands lowered from her waist to cup her ass, fitting her center to his erection.

  Dragon felt that contact intensely and any resistance she’d promised to her family and the denizens of Elemental scattered like a flock of scared starlings.

  He tensed as if to pull away from her and she tightened her hold around his neck, but Fel didn’t widen the space between them. His fingers gripping her thigh tightly was the only warning she got before he hoisted her other leg and fit it around his hips.

  They both moaned as the increased contact simultaneously gave relief and intensified need.

  Fel took two steps forward, braced her against the worn stone wall next to the door and captured her lips again, sucking her tongue into his mouth.

  His need released the last of Dragon’s inhibitions and she gave in to her body’s desire.

  Neither one of them heard the side door creak open or Chi’in’s repeated attempts to part them via a loud harrumph.

  It was his angry yell of “Buddha!” as the cat wiggled out of the half-open door that pierced Dragon’s sensual haze.

  At Ch’in’s bellow, Dragon jerked her mouth away from Fel’s and met Ch’in’s censorious, brown
gaze.

  Blinking rapidly to dispel the erotic need that ruled her proved to be surprisingly ineffective. She pushed at Fel’s shoulders and when that didn’t work, she said, her voice low and her lips barely moving, “You need to back the hell off of me right this second.”

  “Do you think that whispering somehow keeps him,” Fel nodded in Ch’in’s direction, “from noticing that your legs are wrapped around my waist?” he asked reasonably.

  “Fel!” she all but shrieked. Her embarrassment gave his name an extra syllable.

  “Wha-ut?” he mimicked.

  “Move!” she glared directly into his eyes.

  “Can’t.” He ground his impressive erection against her, making her catch her breath.

  “Ch’in,” Jasper called, his approaching steps echoing throughout the domed entrance way. “Quill says you’re dead meat if you let Buddha out and he eats the neighbor’s spiny pug!”

  “Movemovemove!” Dragon said, squirming for all she was worth. She yanked hard on Fel’s earlobe to help motivate him, stumbling heavily when he yelped and jerked away from the wall supporting Dragon’s back.

  “You look,” Ch’in squinted at her angrily, glared at Fel, then hissed, “ravaged. Compose yourself; your father comes. Buddha!” he called, deserting her to go after the cat who sat patiently by the front gate.

  Dragon’s fingers nervously smoothed her mussed chignon. “You have to go,” she said to Fel, angrily noting his amused, crooked smile. “Now.”

  “Ch’in,” Jasper said, pulling the thick side door wide. He smiled when his eyes lit on Dragon. It faded as his view widened to encompass Fel.

  “Dad,” Dragon said, clearing her throat. “This is—” she started to say then faltered as the blur of Jasper’s fist whistled past her face and connected with Fel’s jaw.

  “Oh my God,” she gasped, reaching for Fel only to feel Ch’in’s arms encircle her waist and pull her away.

  “Do not interfere,” Ch’in said.

  “What? Why the hell not? Ch’in, let go. Damn it, I thought you were—or became a pacifist.” She winced at the dull meaty thuds that relieved the small courtyard of its civility.