Master of Dragons

by Angela Knight

  And means to have.

  Oh, sweet Semira. As the realization struck, cold flooded over her skin like a wave of icy seawater. It’s the man from my dream.

  She’d seen him so many times over the past week, wearing just that hot, hungry stare. She’d only taken this long to recognize him because he’d changed the color of his shoulder-length hair: plain human brown rather than the exotic cobalt of her dreams. His eyes were different, too—cool blue instead of the glowing, magical crimson she’d come to fear.

  But there could be no mistake. She knew that face.

  What the hell was he? Sidhe? Enemy? Future lover? Both? The dream certainly implied that he was somehow intimately connected to her destruction.

  He was probably Sidhe, and not one of the nice ones. Hell, for all she knew, he was Ansgar himself.

  For a moment, Nineva considered yanking the nozzle from the tank, jumping in the Honda, and peeling rubber for home. Instead she forced herself to give him a flirtatious smile, as if she hadn’t realized he was anything but human. Then she carefully glanced away, her expression casual despite her pounding heart. Her sweaty hand felt slippery on the nozzle as she tightened her grip on the trigger. Fill, dammit. The gas streaming into the tank sounded barely faster than a trickle.

  Panic clawed at her. She had to get away from him. Had to think. Decide what to do.

  Though she was no longer looking at him, she could still feel him, see him in her mind. His image seemed branded on her retinas.

  Nineva stole another look at him from the corner of one eye. She had to admit he was handsome, if not inhumanly beautiful the way her father had been. His face was a bit too angular and uncompromising for that, with those deep-set eyes narrowed under thick brows. His mouth was wide and unsmiling, his jaw a square, aggressive jut. He looked like he meant business.

  Years of nightmares screamed that his business was her death.

  He started toward her.

  Nineva’s pounding heart leaped into a full gallop. She met his eyes directly in a cool, challenging stare and dropped her shields a bit. Drawing on the Mark, she let it glow over the neckline of her gown, hoping to bluff him with the threat of her power.

  His direct gaze didn’t drop, though a flash of sensual interest heated his eyes as they dipped down to her low-cut bodice. One corner of his mouth kicked up in a half-smile, as though he approved of what he saw.

  Dangerous. He was so dangerous.

  Was he Ansgar? Probably not. Her cousin wasn’t the kind to do his own killing. Assassins were more his speed.

  Suddenly the hiss of flowing gas turned into the bubbling of a filled tank. Nineva released the trigger and threw the nozzle back onto its cradle, then swung hastily into the car. Fortunately, she’d already swiped her debit card. She started the Honda and sped out of the parking lot, ignoring an SUV’s angry horn blast as she barreled into traffic.

  She had to get home, return Snowball to her neighbor, and grab that all-important duffel full of cash. If only she’d packed it that afternoon…Unfortunately, the violence of her nightmare had shaken her so badly, she hadn’t even remembered the duffel until she was halfway to the party.

  She only hoped that mistake didn’t cost her her life.

  Kel shook his head as he watched the fairy princess speed from the parking lot like a bank robber fleeing the scene. “Paranoid much?” he muttered under his breath.

  Then again, you weren’t paranoid if they really were out to get you. Particularly if “they” were the army of evil Sidhe warriors Cachamwri had described.

  Poor kid. He seriously doubted she’d be able to fight off a Boy Scout troop. And what was with the costume, anyway? She looked like she should be telling Dorothy there was no place like home.

  Still, she was a surprisingly lush little thing for a Sidhe, with sweetly full breasts that made him contemplate what it would be like to peel her out of that ridiculous dress.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t seem she was in the mood.

  He sighed and strode around the side of the building until he was out of sight of any curious passersby. Shuttering his eyes, he drew on the familiar warm buzz of the Mageverse and wove it into a glamour.

  And promptly vanished into thin air—at least as far as the humans were concerned.

  Comfortably invisible, he gestured, drawing a shimmering pinpoint in the air. A flick of his fingers expanded it into a rippling doorway that glowed with a milky iridescence. He stepped through the dimensional gate into a dimly lit room. Curious, Kel gazed around.

  Well, Nineva Morrow certainly didn’t live like a fairy princess. More like someone who expected to have to race from gas stations. The efficiency apartment was clean enough, but the furniture consisted of a relatively new futon, a couple of plastic milk crates full of shabby paperbacks, and a tiny color TV set sitting on a cheap pressed-wood coffee table. The carpet was worn and marked with old stains that probably predated her tenancy. There were no pictures on the walls—no family photos or posters. The whole effect was bleak.

  Interesting. Even if she was broke, the princess could have conjured a few things to make her life more comfortable. Unless she was afraid using any magic at all would make it possible for the Sidhe to track her.

  She certainly went out of her way to shield herself. If it hadn’t been for Cachamwri telling him where to find her, Kel knew he’d still be looking. And Draconian magic was generally stronger than the Sidhe’s. Maybe there was more to the princess than met the eye.

  Luckily, nobody’s magic was stronger than Cachamwri’s. You couldn’t hide from the Dragon God.

  Kel spotted a hardback book on the coffee table and picked it up. His brows rose. “101 Tricks for Professional Magicians?”

  Nineva took the stairs to her apartment two at a time. She’d dropped Snowball off at her neighbor’s even as her stomach knotted at the delay.

  Her duffel lay in the closet upstairs. She had to have it before she could leave. Once again, she cursed the string of car break-ins that had forced her to keep the bag in her apartment. She wished she dared conjure it into her hands, but using any kind of magic at all would be like sending up a flare for her pursuers. Here I am! Come kill me!

  Nineva gritted her teeth, one fist bunched in her pink tulle skirt as she stalked across the landing toward her front door. She needed to change, too. She couldn’t run around looking like an escapee from Swan Lake. Reaching the door, she started to put the key in the lock.

  And froze as her heart suddenly began to pound. What if the dream man was in her apartment, waiting to attack her? Licking suddenly dry lips, she placed her free hand against the door, closed her eyes, and listened with senses other than human.

  Nothing. Not even the faintest hum of magic.

  Which didn’t mean he wasn’t inside, heavily wrapped in magical shielding and ready to blast her into next week. Then again, maybe there isn’t anything to sense. Maybe I was wrong about him being the dream man. Maybe he was just some random human.

  Some big, sexy, random human.

  Nineva bit her lip, staring at the door, wishing she could look through it. Wishing she dared.

  Or you could just stand out here dithering until Ansgar’s men show up to kill you. Idiot. Impatient with herself, she took a deep breath, shoved the key in the lock, and turned it. Lifting one hand in preparation to shield or blast, she threw open the door. It banged against the wall.

  Nobody was inside.

  The apartment stood empty. No towering dream man, no detachment of armored Sidhe warriors, just her own barren, depressing little apartment. Blowing out a breath in relief, she hurried across the living room and down the short hallway to the bedroom she didn’t use. The duffel was in the closet, stuffed with money and a few changes of clothes. She should have just enough time to pack her lone suitcase, too.

  Nineva flung the closet door open and reached for the battered dark green bag lying on the floor.

  A male voice spoke from behind her. “You know, I’m not goin
g to hurt you.”

  With a strangled shriek, she whirled, both hands instinctively lifted as she conjured a pair of spell blasts. The twin globes surrounded her fingers with a hot blue glow, ready to annihilate her foe at the first wrong move.

  The dream man threw his hands up in an I’m unarmed gesture she didn’t buy for a minute. “Hey, hold up. I’m not your enemy.”

  “Yeah, right,” Nineva snarled, and hurled one of the blasts at his head.

  The burning ball of energy splashed harmlessly off the magical shield that surrounded him like an invisible globe. As it hit, his glamour vanished, revealing a swirl of cobalt blue hair falling around those ridiculously broad shoulders. His eyes were the deep, dark red of rubies in his harshly handsome face. She couldn’t see his ears, but she knew they must be pointed.

  Just the sight of him brought back the dream agony of burning skin, the smell of her own flesh crisping. Fear clawed at her.

  Nineva flung another fireball at his handsome face, gritting her teeth in frustration as it splashed harmlessly off his shields. The Goddess Mark on her right breast began to burn. She conjured another pair of blasts, bouncing on her toes, looking for an opening.

  “Dammit, Nineva, Cachamwri sent me!” He moved toward her, blocking each and every one of her force spells as she threw them. Wary as a cornered cat, she backed away. “He asked me to protect you.”

  Nineva retreated into the hallway, drawing more and more power from the Mageverse as she went, flinging each blast the moment it filled her fingers. “Oh, give me a break,” she snapped. “Why the hell would the Dragon God be interested in me?” Though, come to think of it, the Cachamwri Sidhe worshipped the Dragon God. Their king, Llyr Galatyn, was Cachamwri’s Avatar, just as she was Semira’s. “Is Llyr after me, too?”

  “Llyr?” The warrior was beginning to look frustrated now. “No, I’m one of Arthur’s men. Cachamwri…”

  “Arthur who?” She frowned. Her father had never mentioned an Arthur. Besides, that was a human name.

  “King Arthur. I’m one of his knights. Look, if you’ll just listen to me…”

  Now he was trying to sucker her with fairy tales. The burn of the Mark built to a savage blaze. “Tell Ansgar I’m not that big an idiot.”

  The Sidhe’s eyes widened. “Ansgar? Ansgar’s dead. Llyr killed him months ago.”

  Reacting to her rage, the Mark flared up like a torch, sending energy lancing down her arms and through her fingers. She yelped at the vicious pain…

  A huge blast of magic shot from her hands and slammed into the warrior’s chest like a fiery cannonball. He went flying with a startled roar.

  The crash shook the apartment.

  Stunned, Nineva stared down the hallway. A man-shaped hole gaped in the rear bedroom wall, revealing broken two-by-fours, shattered Sheetrock, twisted siding, and empty air. She’d blown him all the way through the back wall of the apartment.

  Had she killed him?

  Before she could think better of it, she raced to the hole and looked down. He lay on the grass two stories below, not moving. Heart in her throat, she scanned him.

  Still alive.

  She heaved a sigh of relief. He’d scared the crap out of her, but she didn’t want his blood on her hands, either.

  Maybe because she remembered the dream taste of his mouth…

  Idiot.

  Somewhere a dog barked furiously. A man’s voice yelled a profane question in the distance.

  “Oh, hell.” Her first impulse was to run, but she knew she couldn’t leave the building with a gaping hole in the back wall. What if it collapsed and hurt someone? Heart pounding, she stepped back from the hole and cast a spell. Instantly, it was solid again. Another spell dressed her in jeans and a sweater as she ran to grab her duffel. She didn’t bother packing anything else.

  A moment later, Nineva was clattering down the stairs. At this point, she could probably gate somewhere, but she wasn’t sure she trusted her own skills. The car struck her as safer.

  She wanted to be far away from here by the time that big Sidhe came to.

  Pain throbbed in Kel’s skull with a beat he could feel in his teeth. Slowly, he opened his eyes to a blurry vision of darkening sky overhead. He blinked and managed to focus.

  Cachamwri’s Egg, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been blasted that hard. Maybe when he’d fought his uncle. But since he’d been in dragon form at the time, it was hardly the same.

  The Sugarplum Fairy packed one hell of a wallop.

  Groaning, he rolled over onto his hands and knees and gave serious thought to throwing up. He could feel the muscles in his arms and legs twitch in reaction to Nineva’s magical attack. For a moment, he thought longingly of his own soft bed.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. The Dragon God had given him a job, and he damn well wasn’t going to fail.

  Whether Nineva liked it or not.

  Gritting his teeth, he staggered to his feet and almost fell on his face. Hastily bracing a hand against the building, Kel swallowed hard as he blinked the world back into focus.

  Okay, Tinkerbell, the kid gloves are off. Let’s see how you like dealing with me in dragon form.

  Grimly, he went looking for a place to change.

  It had been eight months since Diana London Galatyn had last turned into a werewolf, and she was getting grumpy. To make matters worse, her back ached constantly and she hadn’t even seen her own feet in three months, though she’d been told her ankles were swollen.

  Meanwhile, Prince Dearg Andrew Galatyn was bouncing up and down on her bladder, suggesting a serious case of ADD. She could almost hear the psychic Wheee!

  Diana splayed her hands over her huge belly and tried to think happy thoughts at her womb. Three weeks. Just three more weeks, Dearg, honey. Then you get to come out into the big, wide world where there’s lots of room for you and your bony little elbows. And everybody will adore you as the first Sidhe prince born in a hundred and seventy years. She smiled to herself a little grimly. Best of all, Uncle Ansgar won’t be trying to have you killed, because Uncle Ansgar is worm chow.

  Ansgar, her husband’s vicious brother, had hated Llyr from the moment he was born. On his deathbed, their father, King Dearg, had made Ansgar king of the Morven Sidhe, and Llyr the king of the Cachamwri.

  Unfortunately, that hadn’t been good enough for Ansgar, who’d wanted both kingdoms. Over the next sixteen hundred years, he engineered the assassination of Llyr’s ten children and four previous wives, but all the attempts on Llyr had missed.

  Diana and Llyr had finally slain Ansgar during the last assassination attempt eight months ago. Now Llyr, like his father before him, was king of both the Morven and Cachamwri Sidhe.

  And Diana, werewolf and former city administrator of Verdaville, South Carolina, was trying to adjust to life as queen of the Sidhe. Becoming immortal was cool, and God knew marriage to a gorgeous fairy had its perks, but the workload was killer.

  The royal couple had spent the first six months of their reign in the Morven kingdom, trying to repair the damage Ansgar had done during his rule. This morning, after a two-month visit to the kingdom of Cachamwri, Llyr had embarked on a surprise inspection of the Morven palace.

  Diana and her ginormous baby belly had gone along, though at the moment, all she was really interested in was a place to sit. The scarlet court gown she wore was lovely with its gold embroidery and gems, but it weighed a ton. And God knew Prince Dearg was no lightweight. As a result, the small of her back felt like a rabid wolverine was chewing on a particularly tasty knot of muscles.

  Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be a single chair in the armory. All the vast chamber held was an astonishing number of weird-looking swords, not to mention spears, armor, shields, and whatever the thing with all the spikes was. All of it was arranged on gleaming wooden racks or hung on the marble walls between elaborate carvings of battle scenes.

  Diana’s attention focused on one particular bas-relief. Were those fa
iries killing a dragon? It was certainly possible. Though this world looked like the Earth she’d been raised on, it actually occupied a parallel universe where magic was a natural law. As a result, the humans that had evolved here were magic-using Sidhe, and the local fauna included unicorns, Hellhounds, and sapient dragons. The Sidhe and the dragons had made peace centuries ago, but at one time, each had hunted the other.

  Before she could waddle over for a closer look at the carving, a low growl drew her attention to her handsome husband. Well over six feet tall, the king had a long, elegantly boned face, a strong, narrow nose, and large, intelligent opalescent eyes that sparkled with magic. Hair the color of moonlight fell to his muscular backside, currently on mouthwatering display in a pair of black hose. His faintly Elizabethan black velvet doublet emphasized the impressive width of his shoulders, and tall, gleaming boots sheathed his brawny calves. Pregnant or not, just looking at him was enough to make her senses hum.

  Unfortunately, one look told her he definitely wasn’t in the mood for flirtation. A snarl curled the king’s regal lips as those incredible eyes went cold and narrow. “Trivag, where’s my sword?”

  Lord Trivag took a step back, his mouth rounding in an O of dismay as he scanned the armory, apparently hoping the offending weapon would magically appear. A lean, distinguished man with waist-length cobalt hair shot with gray, he looked about sixty, which probably made him six thousand or so. The Sidhe aged very, very slowly. “My King, I inspected the armory myself just two days ago. It was here then.”

  Llyr turned his incandescent displeasure on the three Sidhe currently assigned to guard the armory. “So, did you notice anyone strolling out with the Sword of Semira?”

  All three guards fell belly-down on the marble floor with a clatter of malachite armor. “No, Your Majesty!”

  “It was here when I inspected yesterday,” one dared in a strained voice. He was probably the leader of the detachment, judging by the long blue horsehair tail thrusting from his helm.

  “Oh, for Cachamwri’s sake, get up,” Llyr snapped. “I am not Ansgar. I’m not going to have you executed.” In his anger, he raked a big hand impatiently through his hip-length blond hair, revealing the sweep of a pointed ear.