Scorched (Rulers of the Sky Book 1)

by Paula Quinn

  “I really wish you hadn’t come back,” she told him, afraid of how looking at him made her feel. This guy was a nut…or something worse. Much worse. Who cared if he had broad shoulders and a belly harder than a washboard, or large, beautiful weird-colored eyes that could melt Mother Teresa’s kneecaps?

  “Do you want me to leave, Samantha?”

  And damn that musical, baritone voice, too, and the way his tongue peeked out from his lips when he said her name. “Yes, I do. Right now, please.”

  He stood up and the folds of his coat swished around his boots. Sam wouldn’t look up at him.

  “I’m going,” he told her.

  She nodded, looking anywhere but up. “Thank you, and goodbye.”

  A great gust of wind blew her hair around her face, clips and all. She heard the sound of one tremendous flap and looked up in time to see the man who’d put a hole in the roof of her stable hovering in the air over her castle looking down at her. For the space of a breath, Sam’s heart completely stopped beating in her chest at what she saw in the bright light of day. Those were wings. They were real. And then she fainted dead away in her garden.

  *

  Sam dreamed of an angel with wings as wide and as blue as the ocean, with eyes to match. He hovered over her, bare-chested and wearing Gucci boots. Or was he a demon who could probe her mind and read her secret thoughts? Either way, he was so magnificent she smiled in her sleep.

  He’d swooped down from heaven and gathered her in his arms, drawing her close to his body. She could feel the beating of his heart in her darkness as if his heart were her own. He was warm and so very strong, and Sam felt safe clutched to his chest. When he spoke to her, his words were music reaching her somewhere in her thoughts, giving wings to thousands of butterflies in her stomach. He called her name and she danced to ancient songs. He beckoned her to fly with him, and she would have, but then who would repair the blasted castle?

  *

  Sitting beside her on her bed, Marcus probed Sam’s dreams, where she flew with him to music. Ancient music. He knew what it meant. How was it possible? She was human and he barely knew her. He tried to think clearly, but the scent of the virgin engulfed him, making his ancient instincts ache to take her. He’d been a man long enough to know now that eating her was no longer an option—depending on how one looked at it. But Drakkon blood still fired his veins and her beguiling fragrance and sweet face made him want to ravage her beyond anything he’d done with Amanda White.

  There was an innocence about Sam that called to his most ancient desires. He liked the way she looked, the way she looked at him, and the thoughts she had about him that made her cheeks grow pink. He’d felt her fear, and while he found enjoyment at the idea of others fearing him, he didn’t like it in Sam. Oddly, it made him want to protect her, to comfort her the way she had tried to comfort him the first night he’d changed into a man. He hadn’t forgotten her gentle, soothing voice on the worst day of his life.

  Looking at her lips while she slept made his heart accelerate. It made him reluctant to fly away and anxious to possess her as tenaciously as he did his hoard. The urge to touch her stole over him. He hadn’t felt this way about Amanda. Patrick’s wife had been nothing more than a means of revenge. Sam was different.

  He lifted his fingers to her face and ran the back of his knuckles along her cheek. Hell, she was soft. Her face was round, like that of a cherub, as were her eyes, round, dark, and alive with terror of him. Her nose was a small button he wanted to kiss. He felt the Drakkon need to take her, and it was strong. He whispered her name and watched himself sweep her off her feet in her dreams. “Sam.” he whispered again, “I’m staying with you this time.”

  Chapter Eight

  Sam rose slowly from a dream, passing through thick, fading layers of memories so filled with joy, she came awake with a smile on her lips. She opened her eyes and cuddled deeper into her pillow trying to remember what made her heart sing. She’d been so content, so happy. A man had been holding her, promising to stay with her… She sat bolt upright. He had wings!

  She sprang from her bed and ran straight to her window to search the skies. When she saw no sign of a great winged man, she leaned her forehead against the windowpane, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed.

  Her eyes drifted downward, and it was then that she saw him. Two sections of his rich, black hair were pulled back at each temple and tied into a tail, while the rest fluttered softly against the cool autumn breeze. Crouching before her broken wall in nothing but jeans and boots, he pressed a trowel to a stone and set it in the gap.

  Sam looked around the bailey, pleasantly stunned. Almost every hole had been filled. How…? Where had he gotten the stones?

  She felt his eyes on her and glanced at him, then moved back, afraid to look closer, longer. Why had he come back? What was he? He said he was a dragon, but he couldn’t be. There were no such things as dragons. But, he had wings! She’d seen them. His image marauded her thoughts. He had wings—and what awesome wings they were, shimmering with every color of the sea. Wings she’d never seen on any bird. They were massive, the size and length of a freaking pterodactyl!

  She shook her head to scatter his image. She’d been obsessing over him for the last month and a half! Her body still reacted to the memory of his touch, burning, fevered, ad alive with need. He had told her his name that night in the stables and she hadn’t forgotten. Marrkiya. He was all she could think about, and she fought it like a woman pushing out her first baby. Just when she’d finally convinced herself that he was a nut who’d escaped from the nearest crazy house and she needed to forget him, he showed up in her garden.

  After a few minutes of biting her fingernails, she gathered enough courage to look out the window again.

  He was working. She hadn’t hired him in her delirium, had she? He looked quite at home, like he had every right to be there. The muscles in his arms bunched and glistened sleek with sweat, though the day was cool. Her eyes went immediately to his shoulders, looking for some sign of where he kept those giant flappers. Her gaze traversed over the broad flare of his back and those odd, tribal looking tattoos. Were they magic markings, concealing folds in his flesh? She narrowed her eyes, but could not tell from her height.

  Some mad part of her rejoiced that her wall was finally being fixed. What did she care if he had wings? God help her, his madness was rubbing off on her. Did she dare venture down there to talk to him…to thank him? Would he ask for her soul as payment? She squeaked a whimper of indecision and stepped back again. She paced her room and tried to decide if she was going insane or not. Still undecided, she returned to the window.

  It’s about time you woke up, Sam.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears with her hands. Not again, she prayed hearing his voice in her head. It was almost an intimate experience, talking to him in such a profound way. She had never been close to anyone before, and she didn’t want to begin now with a total stranger who was missing a few brain cells and trying to take hers.

  She blushed and bit her lip when he suddenly stopped his labor and turned to smile up at her. She realized he’d just read her thoughts and found them quite amusing.

  Come down here and speak to me. Do not be afraid. I will not eat you, though damn me, it is not an altogether unpleasant thought.

  Pig. Sam tossed at him.

  Drakkon, he corrected, widening his grin. I thought we’d already established that.

  Whatever you are, go away.

  Come down here to me, Sam.

  No, go away. And stop talking to me in my head.

  Come down, or I shall come up.

  She wasn’t sure if he meant to sprout his wings again or pound up the stairs. Either way, he would end up in her bedroom. “I’m coming down!” she called out from the window.

  She ran her fingers through her hair, giving it back some form and smoothed out her T-shirt and jeans before leaving the room. By the time she stepped out into the sunlit bailey,
she had convinced herself that she was as mad as he was. What girl in her right mind preened herself for a kook? Sam’s steps almost faltered when he saw her and rose to greet her. She couldn’t think straight. He was so incredibly graceful and lithe, sinewy muscles rippling as he stood to his full height.

  “Why do you think you’re a dragon?” she demanded before he had a chance to open his mouth.

  He stared down at her, letting his gaze drift over her features. “Because that is what I am.”

  Damn it, it was difficult trying to concentrate with him giving her his full attention.

  “All right.” She gathered up the remainder of her mettle. She was going to need it. “If you really expect me to believe all this, you’ll have to explain how you came to be a man.”

  “Can we talk over some lunch? I am starving.” He rubbed his flat belly and Sam looked up at the clouds, denying the ache she felt to watch him.

  When she turned to lead him to the castle, she was sure he leaned over behind her and inhaled a whiff of her hair. His warm breath along her nape made her trip over her own feet, but she caught herself before he did.

  She studied him over two roast beef sandwiches and three full glasses of milk. She realized how much she was enjoying watching him when he looked up from his plate to slant his smile at her. After that, it was easier to envision him as another kind of being. He told her of his past and how some guy named Padgora, who also used to be a dragon, had transformed him with some rock. When he paused in his tale to wolf down a chocolate brownie, groaning with sheer pleasure, and then shoved down four more, Sam couldn’t help but smile. Whatever he’d been before, he was a man now.

  “So, this Padgora changed you knowing you didn’t want to be a man?” Sam thought she must one day thank Padgora for his greedy deed.

  “Aye, he wants my hoard.”

  “Your…hoard?”

  “My treasure,” he explained, licking a few chocolate crumbs off his fingers. “It is very great.”

  “Right,” Sam said, thinking what a shame it was that someone who looked like he did was missing so many marbles. But he did have those wings…

  “He’d agreed to transform me back once I surrendered it, but he went back on his word and demands more.”

  Sam’s heart sank and she didn’t understand why it would. Why on earth should she believe him or care if he turned back into a dragon and flew out of her life?

  “What more does he want?” she asked, wondering suddenly if he’d come here to rob her blind. Well, the joke was on him. She had nothing to take.

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged and rose from his chair. “He has already taken what I value the most.”

  Jeez, how could he turn her suspicion into sympathy in twenty seconds flat? It was so hard to believe him, but part of her did, and that part couldn’t begin to fathom what he must be going through. She remembered the night she found him in her stable, when he woke up and the sorrow in his eyes when he’d looked at his hands. She was about to ask him what she could do to help when his eyes darted to the window.

  “Someone is coming.”

  He was gone before Sam could tell him it was only Eric. Oh no, she’d forgotten all about her riding date with the pediatrician. She’d met Eric Pembroke a few weeks ago at Ellie’s shop and he seemed like a nice guy. Even though Sam had no time for a man in her life with all her repairs and a new manuscript giving her so much trouble, she had accepted Eric’s offer for dinner. Of course, he didn’t have glossy black hair that caressed his neck like a lover’s tender whispers or eyes that made her blood sizzle when he looked at her. But she hoped he might help her forget the man who did.

  Not wanting to leave Eric out there alone with Marrkiya too long, she grabbed a jacket, tidied up her hair, and hurried out the door.

  By the time she reached the bailey, Eric was already out of his saddle and talking to her uninvited, yet helpful guest. Sam could tell by the look on Eric’s face that the god of all men did not please him. But what got her heart pounding and her feet moving, was the way her dragon-man was sizing up her date. Good God, he actually moved closer to smell Eric’s throat. Either smell it or take a chunk out of it. She quickened her pace and reached them in time to hear Eric ask Marrkiya who he was.

  “He’s…um…fixing my wall, Eric,” Sam said hastily, smiling as she reached him. She had to be crazy to accept Marrkiya’s help, but she felt sorry for him and his tale was so intriguing. As a writer, she wanted to hear more of it. “I hired him this morning.”

  Eric turned to her none the happier by that bit of news. He gave his belt a yank, pulling his jeans higher up on his waist. He looked like he was literally pulling himself together. Sam suppressed the urge to giggle at the thought, and then glanced at Marrkiya, wondering if he had just read her mind. Apparently, he had. She blushed when he gave her a slow, rather lecherous wink.

  “Ahem.” Eric cleared his throat, severing Sam’s gaze from the hired help’s.

  “How long do you think you’ll be here, ehm…?” Eric’s voice cracked when Marrkiya raked his eyes over him from foot-to-crown.

  “Marcus, and a few months, at least,” he answered succinctly, then smiled when Eric’s upper lip twitched. You are not serious about this mouse.

  Sam eyed both men nervously, secretly wanting to kick Marrkiya…Marcus in the leg.

  Marcus, he corrected.

  “Are you ready, Sam?” Eric asked her. Even his horse seemed eager to leave.

  “Tell him you’re not going anywhere with him,” Marcus said, picking up his trowel again and slopping more cement onto her wall.

  “Excuse me?” Sam turned to gape at him. He was joking, right?

  “Tell him you’re not going,” he repeated, unmoved by the sudden frost in her voice. He turned to meet her eyes, willing her to defy him.

  She tried, drawing up her lower lip with the effort. Finally, she had to turn away from the power in his potent gaze. The moment she did, she offered Eric her sweetest smile. “Let me get Drak…” Her eyes swung guiltily back to Marcus. “…my horse.”

  You named your horse Drakkon?

  So? She could hear the humor in his voice. I liked the name.

  When did you get a horse? There were none in the stable when I was here last. I would have remembered, for I was quite hungry that night.

  That’s disgusting, Marcus. And if you must know, Eric gave Drakkon to me from his stables.

  How thoughtful.

  Yes, it was.

  You’re not going, Sam.

  Watch me, she answered audaciously in her head and stalked toward the stable. Who did he think he was to land into her life and tell her what she could and could not do? Raymond had made the mistake of thinking her weak-spirited and needy, but her childhood hadn’t been a cushy one. No one, not even a dragon, was going to boss her around.

  When she realized what she was talking to herself about, she threw her hands to her head. Was she mad for playing along and having whole conversations in her mind? What she should be doing, rather than entertaining this arrogant loon, was riding into the nearest town and leading Scotland Yard straight to his feet.

  My little innocent has some fire in her after all. His velvety voice licked her spine. Fire, and a decadently enchanting sway to her hips.

  Sam blushed to her roots and stumbled into the stables trying to still the “sway to her hips.” She would ignore him and hope he would go away like a bad dream. She didn’t need this in her life. Not now. She hadn’t been able to write since he’d landed in her stable. Deadlines didn’t wait. Just ignore him, she chanted to herself while she saddled her horse and led him outside.

  Having returned to his work on her wall, Marcus barely looked up at her when she reached him. Perfect. After a brief struggle, she mounted Drakkon and glared at the two men who hadn’t offered their assistance. Eric was busy replacing his riding gloves to his perfectly manicured fingers. She wasn’t really surprised by his lack of chivalry, but for some silly reason, she had expecte
d Marcus to help her.

  Maybe it was because he looked like he belonged here in a castle, but not in the twenty-first century. He was bigger, harder, and so less tamed than any man she knew. She could easily imagine him wearing spurs and a sword, his silky black hair whipping over his shoulders as he thundered his war horse off to battle. While Eric, his sandy hair neatly cropped and donning a Polo shirt and an expensive leather jacket, would never dream of getting his hands dirty.

  She looked down at her wall-fixer while he continued to cement as if she and Eric had already left. Ignoring him had worked, then. Well, good. She was happy. When he started whistling, she kicked Drakkon and trotted out of the bailey.

  “Be a good horse, Drakkon.” Marcus called over his shoulder, and Sam did not miss the way he dragged the horse’s stupid name off his lips to finish her humiliation. His next words were spoken telepathically. Don’t let Sam fall off or you’ll be a gelded Drakkon come the morn.

  Apparently, poor Drakkon the horse could hear Marcus’ thoughts as well—and understand him. For the stallion slowed his pace just a bit. Sam wondered if dragons really ate horses.

  Aye, we do. But they taste wretched.

  Go away, you psycho, Sam admonished him, digging her heels into her anxious horse’s flanks and crossing the rickety drawbridge ahead of Eric.

  Who would repair your walls?

  Sam shook her head as if it would get rid of him. “This is too weird.”

  “What?” Eric called out behind her.

  “Nothing.”

  You do not have emotions for him, do you? Look how he trails after you like a lowly worm.

  If you’re asking me if I like him; yes, I do. And he’s not a worm. He’s a pediatrician.

  And pediatricians are better than Drakkons? His smug chuckle chimed in her head, setting her heart pumping and her teeth grinding. I think not, Samantha.

  She almost laughed at his gigantic ego, then caught herself and brought her hand to her head. “My God, I’m as insane as he is.” Why wasn’t she screaming and pulling her hair out of her head by the roots? There was a man who could fly in her bailey, talking to her telepathically. Why wasn’t she galloping off to the closest asylum instead of to O’Malley’s for lunch with Eric?