Open Flame (Dragon's Fate)

by Lacy Danes

  Her pa rounded the counter and stared down at the parchment beneath her hand. “You need a part?”

  “Indeed. But not just any part.” The man circled back toward her and grasped the curled parchment. With deliberate slowness, he peeled the drawing back flat.

  Illegible workings drawn in bold strokes across the paper here and there met her gaze. Numbered measurements, weights, and all the little details that her pa’s drawings held for a new working jumped off the page.

  Pa leaned heavily on the counter. “Where did you get this?” His harsh voice rasped.

  Fina’s attention snapped to his face. She had once heard him use that tone when scolding Jonathan, the apprentice, after he’d made a mistake.

  “I drew the design.” The man tilted his head to the side as he regarded her pa.

  “No. You stole my design,” her pa spat, anger twisting every word.

  The man jerked his head back in disgust. “I did no such thing.”

  Her pa whirled from the counter and went back to his drawing bench. He unlocked the chest in which he kept his portfolio of inventions. Then he returned to the counter with a parchment in hand. He unrolled a design that resembled the man’s down to the small ticks around the curve in the part. Though some details looked very similar to her eyes, the handwriting and even the numbered drawing weights themselves were different.

  The man stared at the drawing in shock. “I did not steal. I designed this myself.”

  “Impossible! Get out!” Her pa’s voice shook.

  Fina flinched.

  “You are mistaken, sir.” The man pulled on the parchment roll.

  Pa’s anger made her press harder against the counter, holding the drawing in place. She would not let that design out of the shop until her father was absolutely sure that the design had not come from him.

  The man pursed his lips. “I can see I will have to send to Paris after all.” He yanked hard, and the corner of the page she held tore in an uneven line about her hand. She glanced at her father. The room swayed and rippled. Her heartbeat doubled, and she grasped the counter’s edge.

  She turned back to the man. The room stood empty. Gone. She had not heard the door open and close. How odd.

  A thud came from beside her, and she reeled. Her vision darkened. Pa lay on his side on the floor. His parchment fluttered to the ground next to him.

  Her stomach rose into her throat as she stared at her father’s ashen skin and lax expression.

  She screamed, but no sound left her mouth. With trembling hands, she reached down and grasped his face in both hands. Clammy skin met her touch. His eyes remained open, but he did not blink. “Pa! Pa!” She wrapped her arms about him and pulled his body up to hers. What should she do?

  Catherine.

  Catherine would know what to do.

  “I will get Catherine,” she said in a rush. She pushed to her feet and ran from the shop. In a single blink, she stood in the door to their kitchen. The heavy smell of bubbling mutton stew hung in the air and clogged her nose, choking her. She gasped.

  “Catherine!” She forced the name through her thickening throat. Her head spun, and she grabbed the painted wood molding of the doorframe as the room’s walls closed in on her.

  Catherine stepped up to her. “What’s wrong, Fina?”

  Fina’s focus sharpened on the panic in Catherine’s brown eyes. “Come quick! Pa has fallen and…” Tears welled in her eyes. She couldn’t say the words she feared most in the world.

  Pa is dead.

  Chapter Two

  Five years later. 1795

  Paris, France, Society of Time’s annual showing

  Madoc walked along the maze of inventors, watchmakers and clockmakers that lined the large hall that once hosted ostentatious balls for the continent’s elite. Twenty-five gold-and-emerald chandlers hung from the white-and-green-painted ceiling. The walls were covered with equally hideous green-and-yellow-diamond-pattern wall fabric. If the room had not been filled with every kind of instrument of time known to man and otherworldly, he would run from the room with haste.

  But he could not resist the lure of the clocks. Time fascinated him. It had since the day he’d discovered his abilities. Beyond his elemental power of fire, he could stop time, and stop it for whomever he wished at any moment. Fire guided him whenever he chose to use the flame. But as he aged, his desire to call the flame diminished. It was a difficult power to command, and even with all his years of practice, he lost control at times. It was better to simply refrain from its use.

  Time, though… Time was his obsession.

  In this hall he would find Franco. He tapped his fingers on his long vest. His perfect new watch design might be the answer to all they so desperately desired.

  He rounded a corner and headed down a row of tables. Each display table lay cluttered with inventions He bumped into a fair-haired human as he leaned into one display. “Pardon.”

  The human looked up at him and smiled, exposing crooked teeth. “Excuse me, sir.” He turned away from the table to allow Madoc access.

  Small gold and silver pocket watches and fobs lay on yellowed velvet. He leaned in and brushed his long hair away from his ear.

  Tick tick tick. Traditional time.

  Nothing of interest here.

  Although humans’ ideas paled in imagination to his, what they knew, they knew well. He would always respect their knowledge of traditional time. Because of that and their ability to find passion in their endeavors, humans both intrigued and frightened him. He pivoted back into the aisle and headed to the next table.

  Hot, argumentative energy washed along his skin as he stepped farther into the throng. He passed a man with copper-colored hair and an almost perfectly rectangular face. The man smiled and exposed fangs to Madoc.

  Madoc smiled back and inclined his head. The man was a Jaberon. They were well known for their ability to see the future and change lives. Humans and otherworldly beings all mingled here. That aspect Madoc enjoyed most about this event. The otherworldly had a different view of time, as did he. He had met some who could travel through the years and back in seconds. Others, like him, who could stop time or fast-forward it.

  Someone’s hand touched his shoulder. “I will see you after the noonday. Shall we meet in our room for cognac at three?” Deep onyx eyes stared up at him. The former Duke of Hudson.

  Madoc blinked, half expecting to see his friend’s old blue eyes shining back at him. They had been friends since Madoc arrived in England. Hudson’s transition from human to blood drinker after his battle with a black energy had been hard, but he had triumphed. At times, darkness still seeped into Hudson’s eyes, but Madoc held faith in his friend’s ability to keep the demon away.

  Madoc pulled his copper pocket watch from his vest and flipped open the case. It was quarter past ten. “How about half past one?”

  “Capital. I will be famished by then.” Hudson started to leave.

  Madoc touched his friend’s shoulder. Hudson spun back to him. “Please restrain yourself here. The more you stand out as a newer creature, the more trouble you will cause.”

  One side of Hudson’s lips quirked up, and he nodded.

  Hudson had never been to an annual meeting as an otherworldly creature. Some would take advantage of his new abilities and might make a jest of him for their pleasure. Madoc’s jaw clenched, and his stomach tensed. He hated that. Being the focus of humor was something both Madoc and the duke avoided at any cost. Madoc had been teased over his loss of control over his element as he grew, and Hudson over his short stature.

  Madoc walked up to the next inventor’s display. An ornate wood-and-ceramic clock sat alone, displayed at the center table. He leaned toward it.

  Tick

  Tick tick tick tick tick

  Tick

  Tick tick tick tick tick

  Tick.

  Five and one. Otherworldly. Madoc glanced up at the average-height man dressed in fine crimson silk pantaloons and a white s
hirt and cravat. He stood a few feet behind the table and observed Madoc. The inventor.

  “A fine clock, is it not?” The man came closer.

  “Quite so. Do you use Franco for your parts?” The mention of the famous craftsman would let this man know that Madoc too was otherworldly.

  “Never. I create my own workings.” The man stood taller and stuck out his rounded chin.

  “That is capital of you. Though Franco is well known in certain circles.” Madoc stared at the man’s brown eyes.

  His eyes slipped to eggplant-colored, then back to brown.

  A timewear, but which of the wears? The wears had the ability understand time in a way that even the time benders did not. They were born from the womb of time itself and could alter the ticks of the clock to do their will. “What else does your clock do?”

  The man stared, unwavering, into Madoc’s eyes. “This is a special one here. A clock for us and for humans.” He leaned in, and the scent of mint wafted on his breath. “A clock that, if instructed correctly, can be used by those without ability to bend time just as easily as we—”

  “What a bucket of pig slop.” A soft feminine voice came from beyond his shoulder.

  Madoc straightened his shoulders and raised an eyebrow to the inventor. “I don’t know, miss.” Madoc turned and gazed into eyes of blue fire. The purest of heat, and oh, the flame of her soul danced within them. A jolt of pleasure shot straight through his body and made the arches of his feet tingle. Heat spread through his chest.

  “I’m surprised.” She scowled. “Don’t be taken in by all the foolery so many serve at these events.”

  The gentleman pursed his lips as if holding in a line of remarks, then inclined his head and excused himself to talk to another who entered his display. Madoc concentrated his attention to the miss before him. Curly brown hair hung over one shoulder down to her breast encased in faded indigo muslin. Her angular facial structure was a perfect frame for the fire that burned in her soul. Familiar, yet her name eluded him.

  She regarded him. “We have met before.” She inhaled deeply.

  A correct observation. Now to figure out where. “So we have.” The convention three years past? “Are you enjoying the Spectacle of Time?”

  “More like a skeptical of time, don’t you think?” She frowned and skirted the edge of the table, placing the clock between them.

  He couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from his throat. Human through and through. “Skeptical, some would say. Others would say genius.” He stepped closer to her, needing to feel the heat between them. Her gaze dropped to his cheek. “You notice my cheek mark?”

  “Quite so.” Hardness flashed in her eyes, bursting to heat molten. She had darkness in her. “That red crescent is how I knew who you were.”

  Damn, how could he forget her? His throat tightened. ’Twas a pity. Her fire would never be displaced again.

  Her hand shook as she ran it along her neck and flipped her hair back over her shoulder.

  Beautiful.

  “Do you wish me to take the skeptical out of time, miss?” He wanted to show her everything. He stared back into her eyes. If only he could read her soul.

  “That is not necessary. I have been exposed to the workings of time all my life.”

  He would show her the world. “All aspects of time? Or only the human ones?” That should make her pause.

  She raised a disinterested brow. “Time is time. There is nothing so true or so false.”

  “False?” He could not help himself. The need to touch her grabbed his every nerve. He reached out and ran his middle finger across the back of her hand as she dragged her fingers along the table’s edge. Smooth. Hot. Moist. She smoldered.

  Her hand stilled beneath his touch. “There is no such thing as time.” She tilted her head to the side, then leaned across the table toward him. “We made it up,” she whispered, and her breath caressed his skin.

  His heart pounded into his ears. No. She would push him out of control. No emotion. Logic. He pulled his hand away. “Apparently.” Saliva filled his mouth. He wanted to taste her. To run his tongue along her salty skin and suck her earlobe into his mouth.

  He could not. Though he would show her his world of time. He blew out a stream of humid breath. The air between them misted.

  She.

  Full lips.

  High cheekbones.

  A pillow of soft brown hair.

  Just a moment alone to show her.

  Fire pulsed through his veins.

  The ticks of the clock in the hall slowed, then stopped.

  The humans in the room froze in motion. All except her.

  He narrowed his eyes and stared into her fire-blues. “What do you think?” The words escaped his lips in a challenge before he could restrain them.

  “Of what?” She held his gaze without wavering.

  “Look around you.”

  She tore her gaze from his eyes and looked left, then right. Her chest hitched and her chin shook. She whirled, her gaze back on his.

  He raised his eyebrows and waited for her response. He hoped she’d challenge him.

  “What do you mean?” Her plush lips thinned.

  What a delight. He fought his urge to smile. He couldn’t hold this much longer or he would be scolded by the time council that put on the event. He quickly glanced about. An otherworldly man two tables down shot him a warning glance. Another who stood in the path just beyond him did so as well.

  If only he could stop otherworldly time explorers. A gray raven swooped down to the carpet behind the miss.

  He stared at the odd-colored bird on the floor behind her. A chill raced up his spine, and the room moved again. His brother, Jordan, had mentioned the gray raven. He had said that when he’d bitten his now wife and life mate, Celeste, the bird had appeared.

  Madoc had only once bitten a woman.

  Never again. Not until the watch was perfected. He couldn’t watch as someone he cared about died.

  Yet, there sat a gray raven. No. The fowl couldn’t be the gray bird. There could be another odd-colored bird in the world.

  He tore his attention back to the pretty miss.

  The other side of the table stood empty.

  He spun about. She was nowhere.

  The bird hopped to the place where she had resided. Its gray head jerked to the side; then it pecked at the carpet.

  The stupid bird had distracted him from her. His heart beat in his ears and sweat touched his brow. That damn bird. He would find her. He couldn’t resist her draw.

  Fire raced through him once more. The ticks slowed and stopped, everything in the room stilling with the sound.

  He circled and walked to the right. Stall after stall, human beings stood motionless in time. The man to his left held his hand up with a pocket watch in his palm. The woman next to him slipped another watch from the table into her skirt pocket. The next stall was filled with otherworldly who went about their business as if nothing had happened.

  Her pretty brown hair and indigo dress were missing.

  He returned to the table where they’d met, then set out to the left.

  Still nothing. Madoc set his jaw. Panicked.

  To hell and back. His heart pounded faster than he could recall. Otherworldly beings started toward him.

  The raven hopped closer to him and the spot where the girl had stood. He stared at the raven. The bird cocked its head to the side and cawed.

  The energy in the room warped, and pain ripped through his ears. He cringed and bared his teeth.

  “Madoc, what is going on?” A familiar tenor voice came from over his shoulder.

  “Do you need our assistance?” asked another from somewhere beyond the bird.

  That damn bird. Gray feathers, green eyes and black bill.

  He lunged at the fowl and grasped, catching nothing but air. The bird flew off, and Madoc landed with a thud on the rough-carpeted floor. The air pushed from his lungs. His world twirled out of control—as d
id the hold he had on time.

  “Are you well, Madoc?” Slender icy-white fingers extended in front of him. He grasped the offered hand and pulled himself to his feet.

  Franco stood before him, dressed in his typical pale gray suit. “What is all this time flutter about?”

  He released Franco’s hand. “I am uncertain.” Madoc glanced around the room. Where was that damn bird?

  The odd gray raven had to be the reason his elements and emotions twisted into a bumblebroth. He needed logic where none existed. The image of the girl’s creamy skin, brown curls and full lips filled his mind. His throat tightened. No. He closed his eyes and opened them. He needed to find her.

  Sweat ran down Fina’s neck and between her breasts. The air in the hall thickened until she choked.

  Fresh air. She needed fresh air. She ran out the door of the hall and into the sunlight. She blinked, unable to see. Wheeling to the right, she headed toward the gardens.

  That evil man. First he gave her pa a stroke, and now… Now he played with her mind. A witch. The evilest kind of witch. She gritted her teeth. She had hoped to run into him again one day, to tell him what a cad he was. To call him out herself and kill him. She would not fear him. Inhaling the crisp air into her burning lungs, she shivered. Strength. Her pa deserved better than her running away.

  Yet she had not expected him to be here in Paris. She would catch her breath and then find Jonathan. He would help her focus. They would save her pa’s shop and find new inspirations to take back home.

  That dreadful man. She covered her mouth with her hand and fought back tears.

  The red mark on his cheek and the long, shiny hair. She shivered. Once again, she wanted to touch him. His lingering touch on her hand in the hall… Her nightmares crashed back into her mind. Long, muscular legs entwined with hers. Their bodies joined at their cores, sweaty. Passion. Salt, spice and something sweet and unknown from his skin danced on her dream’s tongue. Each time the dreams came, the details lingered longer and longer.