Whisper Kiss

by Deborah Cooke

  Chynna didn't have to open her mouth to explain any of that--her tattoos said it all.

  That was the point.

  Chynna had also given Rox her most important tattoo, the one she loved the best and hid from the world. It was her private emblem and a glorious piece of work, even though it was yet unfinished.

  Rox knew she owed pretty much everything to Chynna, and that her life could have turned out very differently without Chynna's help. Chynna wasn't one for grateful gestures--she, in fact, had been the one to teach Rox to "pay it forward" by passing good deeds along.

  But Rox had finally managed to persuade her surrogate big sister to let her even the score--Rox was giving Chynna the pair of tattooed sleeves she'd long dreamed of having. Ultimately, Chynna wanted all of her skin embellished in one integrated array of images, a choice that tattoo aficionados called a "full suit." Tattoos that wound from shoulder to wrist were called "sleeves" because they covered the skin of the arm like a garment sleeve.

  The problem with this kind of work came in the person's existing tattoos. Few people chose initially to have a full suit--it was a decision they reached in time, after already having a number of tattoos. So those existing tattoos, which might be quite different from one another, had to be integrated into a cohesive whole.

  At least, they did if the tattoo artist was as obsessive as Rox was about making beauty. It was the kind of design challenge that Rox usually welcomed. She was especially determined to do a great job on Chynna's sleeves, both because the tattoos were a gift and because Chynna had some fantastic work on her skin. Despite all of that, on this particular Saturday night, Rox had a hard time concentrating.

  She drew dragons on her sketch pad.

  Blond wrestlers, all pumped up, tight jeans on every one of them.

  They possessed a remarkable similarity to one another.

  Rox crumpled the sheet and chucked it, telling herself to focus.

  Rox had done Chynna's left sleeve first because it had been the easier one. That sleeve wound from the back of Chynna's neck to her wrist, a dozen large full-color roses tumbling down her skin.

  The roses were detailed and realistic, to the point of having dewdrops on their petals and even a few small insects lurking on the stems and leaves. Rox had had more than one customer come in for "a rose like Chynna's."

  Roses were the perfect image for Chynna--pretty, lush, romantic, but thick with unexpected thorns. The dozens of insects and butterflies secreted between the flowers made Rox think of all the lives Chynna had helped along.

  Chynna's right sleeve was the work in progress, and it was more challenging because of her existing tattoos. Rox had photographed and traced them all to prepare her sketch. There was no escaping these older tattoos' not being in ideal positions, but Rox hadn't yet thought of a way to blend them in.

  Even the roses Rox drew on this night looked a bit too stiff, less exuberant than she'd managed on the other sleeve.

  Maybe she just wasn't in the mood for romantic imagery.

  She drew a dragon breathing fire over the existing tattoos traced on her sketch, incinerating them so she wouldn't have to deal with them.

  She colored the dragon amethyst and platinum, recognized that her romantic impulses were leading in different directions, then crumpled the sheet and tossed it in the trash.

  By then it was almost eleven, and Rox thought seriously about going home early. At Neo's request--because he was in the midst of shading a large and splendid koi fish--Rox balanced the till before leaving. They took a lot of cash payment, and the partners liked to ensure that the money stayed where it belonged. Balancing the till was a rational and reassuring task, more rational and reassuring than worrying about a man who could become a dragon and might be targeted by earthquakes.

  Rational and reassuring didn't do a damn thing to stop the sizzle in Rox's veins, though. Rox licked her lips and got an unexpected taste of Niall, one that filled her body with an urgent need. She remembered the hard, muscled strength of him under her hands, and the tender power of his kiss. She could smell his subtle cologne on her own skin, and it teased at her nostrils, driving her thoughts in predictable directions. He'd smelled good, fresh from the shower, and she hadn't smelled his cologne until her face had been pressed against him.

  That was the best kind, in Rox's opinion. The scent was private, then, intimate, something shared only with lovers.

  She broke the pencil lead and swore softly. She should have overwhelmed Niall with kisses and been done with it. She should have dragged him home and talked about the details later.

  That decided it--she'd leave early and go after him.

  She worked more quickly with her decision made. When the balance was finally done, Rox carried the deposit back to the safe and set up a new cash drawer.

  When she headed back to the front of the shop, she paused to shout at Neo that she was going to leave, juggling the new drawer, then strode down the last bit of corridor. She was startled to find a man leaning on the front counter.

  Waiting for her.

  He was blond.

  He was built.

  He was wearing sunglasses, and he would have looked just in from the beach if not for his black leather jacket and scarf. He looked as buff and dangerous as a dragon shape shifter should look--Rox was awed that he had worn the jacket, just for her. He'd listened to her criticism. He even seemed to have a bit more swagger and less of that stern manner than he had earlier.

  "Hey, gorgeous," he said, exuding smooth charm. "I wanted to come by and apologize."

  And he smiled a killer smile.

  Rox's heart went thump and her knees went weak. It had worked out just as she'd hoped. Niall had changed his mind. He had listened to her and taken her words to heart.

  If that wasn't sexy, Rox didn't know what was.

  The Slayer Chen ducked into the apothecary shop with his precious burden, liking that the ancient proprietor pretended to not even see him.

  The old man was learning.

  Chen strode to the back of the shop, past the dried roots and leaves and jars of preserves, then ducked through a beaded curtain. He quickly folded back a plush rug, revealing a trapdoor in the floor. He glanced over his shoulder to ensure that he was alone and was reassured that the beads were stilling again. He let his right nail shift to a dragon talon, unlocked the trapdoor with his nail, then opened the door.

  The scent of damp earth, rock, and rot assailed him from the darkness below. Chen didn't hesitate, simply lowering his plastic shopping bag with its precious cargo into the hold, then following it. He used a string to tug the rug back into place when the trapdoor was half closed over his head, then secured it from the underside.

  He descended into the darkness, shifting shape at the bottom of the ladder. The roar he emitted was intended to keep the curious aboveground, and so far, the strategy was working well.

  But shifting shape put Chen more in tune with the elements of the earth as well as sharpened his vision. He heard the shadow dragons struggle against their restraints far below him and smiled. He heard Magnus stir in his plastic prison and smiled a little more.

  The elements of the ancient spell were coming together beautifully.

  Chapter 5

  Niall had to admit that he and Thorolf fought well together. Thorolf was particularly fierce on this night--Niall hoped he'd never have to fight against the big Pyr. He attributed the change to Thorolf's new dedication to the Pyr.

  It was about time.

  The two shadow dragons didn't have a chance. The pair targeted the two Pyr separately and tried to divide them, but gradually Niall and Thorolf gained the upper talon.

  When the first shadow dragon lost a wing, they set on him together, slicing him apart with terrifying efficiency and incinerating the pieces before they fell to the earth. They didn't even need old-speak to anticipate each other's moves.

  When only torso and head were left, Niall snatched at the shadow dragon, holding him aloft. The shadow d
ragon breathed a feeble stream of dragonfire.

  Thorolf, meanwhile, attacked the other shadow dragon.

  "Your name!" Niall demanded in old-speak, and tightened his grip.

  "Finish what you've started," the shadow dragon snarled. "Unless you're afraid to do so." He lunged at Niall and snapped, his powerful jaws closing on open air.

  Niall noticed a dark mark shaped like a tiger on the side of the shadow dragon's neck, like a brand. He'd never seen anything like it.

  "Your name will gain you mercy," Niall insisted.

  "Mercy?" the shadow dragon echoed.

  "You know your state is unnatural. You know you cannot heal without the Elixir. Look at what you've become!" Niall leaned closer. "I could drop you, leave you to suffer in this state with no chance of redemption or peace. I could torment you for hours. Or I could destroy your body now, so you can rest. The price of mercy is your name."

  The truth was that Niall had no taste for tormenting even shadow dragons, but his opponent didn't need to know that. And if he surrendered his name, it would be easier to match his identity with those lost Pyr on Ginger's list.

  The shadow dragon's eyes flashed and he would have held back any confession on principle alone. But Niall demanded again in old-speak, forcing his question into the shadow dragon's thoughts. He pushed hard, harder than he ever had before, and saw surprise in the shadow dragon's expression.

  The shadow dragon shuddered violently. "Anson," he admitted with obvious reluctance. "Son of Guthrie."

  That was all Niall waited to hear. He breathed fire as he decapitated Anson, then roasted the falling pieces to cinders. Thorolf left his fight and joined the effort, breathing fire of glorious orange and yellow. In moments, all that was left of Anson was ash, floating on the wind.

  The second shadow dragon was badly battered after his fight with Thorolf. He was barely able to remain aloft and appeared exhausted. His wings were torn and there was a large gash in his side. His back leg hung from a mere tendon while his front claws appeared to be useless. When he saw what had happened to his companion, he tried to flee.

  "Mine," Thorolf said. He raced in pursuit and seized the shadow dragon from behind. Thorolf made short work of him, lopping off both of his wings with savage power. Niall joined him to finish the attack, that shadow dragon struggling against his body's destruction.

  "Barth!" he cried, and Niall loosed his dragonfire.

  Barth pivoted in the dancing flames and Niall had a glimpse of a similar tiger mark on his neck. The fire devoured the shadow dragon, though, frying that mark to nothing in a heartbeat. Barth whimpered, then sighed as his body was destroyed. Niall and Thorolf were left, watching the swirling ash ride the wind to oblivion. Both of them were panting in satisfaction as they hovered high above the city.

  "I don't smell any more of them." Thorolf said.

  "Me, neither," Niall admitted, not missing the other Pyr's pleasure in his perception. "I wonder where they're coming from," he mused. "I'm sick of being surprised every time."

  "Do you think they can manifest in different places at will, like Magnus could?" Thorolf asked.

  Niall wasn't persuaded, even though he couldn't think of another answer. "It seems to be a hard talent to master. I can't believe that Magnus managed to teach all of the shadow dragons to do it."

  "Much less that he'd want to," Thorolf said with a frown. "But Rafferty destroyed the academy. They can't be going back there."

  "I keep thinking they must have found another refuge."

  Thorolf's skepticism was clear. "But where? It would have to be close. And why?"

  "Did you see the mark on their necks?"

  Thorolf nodded. "Barth had a black mark, like a brand on his scales. It looked like the outline of a tiger."

  "Anson had it, too."

  "Weird. Do you know what it means?"

  Niall shook his head. He closed his eyes and asked the wind for tidings. As had so often been the case of late, there was no immediate response. Niall had an affinity with the element of air, but the wind was agitated and distracted, and less likely to heed his call in these days.

  If nothing else, he doubted they'd be attacked again--three shadow dragons in less than a day was a new record.

  Was the tiger mark a coincidence? He wished he'd looked more closely at the other shadow dragons he'd destroyed.

  The wind was disinclined to confide in him on this night.

  But one facet of Niall's abilities was working just fine. He didn't need Rox's business card to locate her presence, especially after a battle in which he'd been triumphant. He couldn't resist the temptation.

  Knowing where Rox was and savoring the firestorm--the only one he'd ever have--wasn't the same as conceiving a son, after all. He inhaled deeply, savoring the flickering heat of the firestorm. It was like a beacon in the wilderness, directing him to the precise location of his mate.

  He inhaled deeply, letting the golden shimmer slide through his body. It was like being filled with firelight, or like breathing sparks, a totally different sensation from anything he'd experienced before. It was seductive and marvelous, making him recall Rox's magical kiss, prompting him to wonder how much more potent it would be if they did consummate the firestorm. It kindled his questions and curiosity about her, tempting him.

  "Are you feeling the firestorm, even from here?" Thorolf asked with amazement.

  Niall didn't answer because the next time he took a deep breath, he sensed something else.

  Something darker.

  Something far less good than a firestorm.

  It was a smell he knew well, one he'd expected to encounter again but one he wanted as far from his mate as possible.

  What Niall sensed was the presence of his twin brother, Phelan.

  And the shadow of their shared past.

  "Another shadow dragon," Thorolf spat, flexing his muscles. "Where is he?"

  "Not just any shadow dragon. It's Phelan."

  "Your twin," Thorolf muttered. "Big trouble."

  Phelan's presence came from the same direction as the heat of the firestorm. It wasn't a coincidence.

  "Worse than that," Niall muttered. "He's with Rox."

  "No!" Thorolf cried, but Niall was already on his way. He flew straight uptown, the heat of the firestorm drawing him like a trout on a line, hoping that he would get to his mate in time.

  Rox's knees went wobbly and she had a hard time catching her breath. Niall was every bit as sexy as before, but she felt oddly hesitant about following her gut instincts.

  He looked different somehow.

  He sounded different somehow.

  Her intuition was less convinced of his merit.

  It wasn't like her to lose her nerve.

  She dropped the till into the drawer of the cash register with an impatient gesture and shut the drawer. That gave her a moment to collect her thoughts. It also gave her the chance to hold on to the counter. "I didn't think I'd see you again," she said, keeping her tone light. "Not unless I came after you."

  He leaned closer and she caught her breath at how handsome he was. It ought to be illegal for a man to look so good and be a dragon besides.

  "You thought wrong." His voice was low enough to give her shivers of the very best kind.

  Rox knew he was watching her, because she could feel the weight of his gaze on her, but she couldn't see his eyes because of the sunglasses. "What changed your mind?"

  "As I said, I owe you an apology." He leaned across the counter and caught her hand in his. "And besides, how could I let the most gorgeous woman I've met in years just walk away?"

  His words should have charmed her, but his fingers were so cold that Rox jumped.

  There was something odd about him. Niall looked shadowy and a bit indistinct around the edges, like a tattoo with a smudged outline. Or one with a faded perimeter. Really old tattoos often got that look, especially if they'd been done in a hurry or with primitive tools.

  But Niall hadn't looked indistinct earl
ier. Rox would have noticed. In addition, his skin was icy and his voice made her shudder.

  At least there were no sparks. She wondered whether she'd imagined that.

  "I'm really sorry about earlier," he said, his voice dropping into a lower zone of sexy. At least it should have been. Something about him made Rox want to run. "I was just surprised, both by you and the earthquake."

  Rox could understand that. She'd been surprised, too, and pleased that he'd been so determined to protect her. He had had a lot to worry about. A few of her reservations dissolved. "Are all of your people okay?"

  "Yes." He nodded, sliding his thumb across the back of her hand in a slow caress. If his skin hadn't been so cold, it would have been an enticing gesture--as it was, she had to fight her urge to pull her hand away. "And that's a huge relief. I was pretty worried about that trip coming back tonight. Imagine coming home to disaster."

  "But none of them are?"

  He shook his head. "No. It seems like most of the damage was in Chinatown, and there were no clients from that part of town."

  Rox smiled a little, knowing that the kind of person who worried about his clients would have been relieved by that. She appreciated that he'd come to apologize to her, too, and admitted that having your home demolished by an earthquake might affect anyone's mood. She tried to make conversation, even though she couldn't ignore the iciness of his touch.

  He'd been warm when she'd kissed him.

  Very warm.

  Did dragon shape shifters have big swings in their body temperature? She hadn't touched Thorolf enough to know. Despite her uncertainties, she recognized that Niall had come to apologize and felt the need to meet him halfway. "It was nice of you to offer to check on friends and family for them."