“Get to the fucking point,” Thorne ground out.
“The point is that the original doesn’t say anything about the Three being Draken. It uses a generic form of ‘female’ that was most often used to refer to women. Specifically, human women.”
There was another silence. Then Thorne said, “That’s impossible.”
“Why?” Blaze asked.
“Because Draken—full Draken—don’t mate with humans. It’s beneath them. That’s why Arkyld and Maia couldn’t be together in the first place.”
“Beneath them?” Blaze said. “Snotty racist assholes. No wonder they got sent back to the Dragonlands.”
“Trust me,” Tyr said. “Draken are beyond snotty. And if one of them mates with a human and produces offspring… look out. Their children get thrown out on their scaly little tails. Hybrids are a shameful disgrace.”
“Hey,” Zane said. “Watch your mouth, ‘brother’.”
“Wait,” Blaze said, looking around the room. “Aren’t you Draken?”
Zane was the only one who met her gaze this time. He shook his head. “No. We’re Wild Dragons.” At her look of confusion, he elaborated, “‘Shameful’ hybrids. Somewhere in our past is a human ancestor.”
“So we got kicked out of the Real Draken Cool Kids’ Club,” Tyr put in. “Or anyway, our ancestors did.”
Blaze shrugged. “Don’t know why you’d want to be in it, if everything I’ve heard about Draken is true.”
Thorne snarled, “You know nothing about Draken.”
Whoa. Okay. Blaze backed her chair away from Thorne a little bit.
Zane growled at him. Like, actually growled. His eyes went electric blue for a second, with those disturbing catlike pupils.
She stared at him, things clicking together in her mind. His dreams. The way he’d recognized her. They way he knew where all her beauty marks were, where she liked to be kissed, how to bring her to incredible, soaring orgasms like she’d never felt before.
The way she’d felt the gold in the room humming when they made love.
He was watching her now, his eyes intense and burning, and she knew he was thinking about the same things.
What if it were all real? What if she and Zane were somehow magically connected?
She swallowed hard. “So… if I were one of these Three Destined Mate people, how would we know?”
“Weeell…” Tyr drew out the word. “Since we’re the only Guardians left, one of us would woo you with our dragon charms—and our mighty hoards of gold. Then you would fall madly in love with him. And by him I probably mean Zane.”
Blaze glanced at Zane, who had stopped looking at her and was now mashing the cake on his plate with a fork.
Thorne gave Tyr a black look. “And most important, you’d have the Seal,” he added.
“Which I don’t,” she reminded him. That was the flaw in Tyr’s theory. She didn’t actually have the Seal, and she didn’t know where it was.
“I told you this was ridiculous,” Thorne said. “I mean, for one thing, there’s only one of her. There’s supposed to be three.”
“Don’t look at me,” Blaze said, even though he and Tyr were, in fact, looking at her expectantly. “I work alone. I’ve always worked alone, ever since I left the coven with the idol. Solo witch, that’s me.”
“A rogue,” Zane said softly. He raised his head. “You turned against your coven, stole their most precious treasure, and ran away. You practice on your own, without the oversight of a new coven. Technically, you’re a rogue witch.”
“I’m not—”
“You are. You’re the Rogue,” Tyr said.
Blaze felt a chill go down her arms. As if someone had said something so important it had imprinted itself on the fabric of destiny.
Could all this really be true? Had her mission and Zane’s been intertwined from the beginning?
Zane was watching her again. His face was impassive, but she could see his eyes were full of hope he was trying to conceal.
Hope that she had the Seal? Or hope that she was his destined mate?
Dream-memories tumbled through her mind again. The two of them standing on a balcony, her snuggled into the curve of his arm. Lying in a field of wildflowers, and him tucking some in her hair before kissing her gently.
That feeling of warmth spread through her chest once more. Was he putting those thoughts there? He held her gaze, everything he was feeling showing in his eyes. This wasn’t just about the Seal.
It was about the two of them.
“See?” Tyr was saying smugly. “They’re already falling in love.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Thorne said. “It’s not destiny. She doesn’t have the Seal. She doesn’t even have any friends. If she’s the Rogue, where’s the Rebel? And the Storm?”
Blaze tore her eyes away from Zane. “The Rogue, the Rebel and the Storm,” she whispered. “Oh my god.” She stared down at the tabletop, her mind racing. It couldn’t be true, but…
“Hey,” Tyr said, snapping his fingers. “You okay?”
“No.” Blaze turned to Zane. “Remember the other thief? The one that was at my house the first time you came?” She looked at Thorne. “The one you caught when she fell off the balcony tonight?”
Thorne looked away. “She’s definitely not one of the Three.”
Asshole dragon. “Really?” Blaze said sweetly. “She didn’t have dragon powers, so my tracking dust stuck to her. I hunted her down and spoke to her. Want to know what name she goes by?”
“No.”
“Rebel. Rebel Smith.”
Thorne froze. Then he shook his head. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. “It can’t be that literal.”
“You sure?” Blaze asked. “Because when I tracked her down, she was at her sister’s shop in St. Johns. A wannabe witch’s shop with crystals and tarot cards, and a whole crap-ton of…” She paused for emphasis.
“Dragons,” Tyr finished, before she got the chance. His face had gone pale. “It’s full of dragons.”
Thorne turned on him. “How the hell do you know that?”
“Because I’ve been to that store,” he said. “I’ve met her. She loves dragons. And her name is Tempest.”
His eyes grew unfocused, his voice soft. “Tempest. A wild storm.”
Chapter 29
After that Blaze started losing track of the discussion. Fatigue hit her like a sledgehammer, and she almost passed out.
Dimly, she felt Zane sweep her up in his arms and head for the elevator. She could hear Thorne and Tyr shouting at each other: Thorne yelling about going down to Portland and grabbing the women and making them give up the Seals; Tyr saying they couldn’t go storming into people’s houses in the middle of the night; Thorne saying if Rebel could break into people’s houses at night, she shouldn’t be upset when other people did it to her; Zane muttering, “I hope they don’t get so pissed off they flame the computers,” as the elevator doors closed behind them.
And then there was nothing but strong arms and spicy-scented dragon warmth and floating at the edge of sleepy darkness.
Glimpses of wood-paneled hallways, and then a carved door and a brocade-wallpapered bedroom and a big soft bed. Zane put her down and Blaze sank into it with a moan; she’d never expended as much unplanned magic as she had tonight, and she felt like she was wearing lead weights.
No bed had ever felt so good.
Her clothes seemed to disappear, and then she was under the blankets wearing something soft and silky and someone stroked back her hair, kissed her temple and said, “Sleep well.”
And there was deep, blissful, dreamless darkness. Until the nightmares began.
Silas was there, she knew it was Silas but his head was the idol’s. He whispered to her, saying horrible things, wanting her to do horrible things. She took a golden knife and cut out Zane’s heart, so there was a big black hole in his chest. Something was trying to come out of it, something black and deadly with slimy tentacles that burned more holes in a
nyone who came near—Thorne and Rebel and Jean-Claude and Tyr and Tempest, and then her parents came but they had black holes for eyes and she stabbed them and stabbed them but only black fog came out of the wounds…
She tried to scream but she could hardly make a sound, and she couldn’t get away and there was more and more black fog and the slimy tentacles were reaching into her chest and trying to tear out her heart too…
And then she felt something heavy and metallic around her neck, resting on her chest. It felt warm, and it hummed with a happy vibration she could feel inside her, like a favorite song she had known forever.
The dream scene faded and she was six years old, dozing on the couch with her head in her mother’s lap, and she felt warm and safe and loved.
Arms slid around her from behind. A voice whispered, “It’s okay. You’re safe now. Nothing can hurt you.”
The song was all around her now, a wordless lullaby that soothed her to sleep.
When she woke up, light was streaming through the big windows that lined one wall of the room. The heavy blue velvet curtains were open, swaying in the fresh breeze.
The room was enormous, and looked like it had been originally decorated sometime in the 1800s. Brocade wallpaper, heavy mahogany furniture, and more velvet hangings everywhere, including on the huge four-poster bed she was sleeping in. You could actually close the curtains and be cocooned inside.
Added to that was a comfy-looking overstuffed couch and chair grouped around a coffee table and a huge flat screen TV, somehow managing not to look out of place.
And there was gold. Statuettes, candlesticks—even the chandelier seemed to be made of gold. One of Zane’s pieces—it was similar in style to the one she’d seen the night before. Along the dresser sat a row of torso-shaped display racks like you’d see in jewelry stores, each one with an ornate gold necklace around its neck, some of them inlaid with jewels, some plain.
Like the one she was wearing, Blaze realized. She had on a cobalt blue, v-neck nightgown of silk and lace, and around her neck was a gold collar necklace with delicate linked filigree that came to a point just above her breastbone, lying comfortably on her chest and filling the neckline perfectly.
It should have felt too heavy, but it felt wonderful, like the comforting hand of a friend. Blaze almost thought she heard a faint, faraway hint of music when she touched it.
She sat up and her stomach growled. She was starving. How long had she been asleep? There was no clock, and her phone was still at her house.
God, her house. She had to get over there and see what the damage was. Make sure the balcony doors were boarded up, straighten up the workroom, make sure the magical wards were still working.
But first she needed more food.
She threw back the covers and slid down off the bed, wondering how a person found a zefir to bring food. Or a kitchen. For a second the fatigue hit her again, and she grabbed onto the bed, but in a moment it passed.
Must be hunger. She spied a tiny fridge set into a cabinet under the television and made her way over, but it held only beverages—water, soda, beer.
She grabbed a water and stood up just as the door opened and Zane walked in, a plate of cake in one hand and a fork in the other.
He was barefoot, hair tousled, wearing nothing but faded jeans riding low on his hips. His broad, muscled chest and eight-pack abs looked every bit as incredible in sunlight as they did by moonlight. The sun coming through the window caught the strip of fine gold hairs that ran from his chest down his belly, like an arrow pointing to his impressive package.
Blaze’s stomach growled again.
Zane stopped in his tracks, head swiveling toward her, fork halfway to his mouth. “You’re up,” he said. His vivid blue gaze locked on to her, raking over her from head to toe, lingering on her cleavage before moving back to her face.
Blaze raised her hand self-consciously to her hair, which was wild with bedhead. “Yeah. I’m a mess, too.”
“You look beautiful,” he said, sounding totally sincere. “Are you hungry?”
Hell, yeah. She could dive into Zane Greystone right now and eat every bite. If only things were less complicated between them.
“You could say that.”
Her eyes wandered south again without her permission. The bulge in his pants had gotten bigger; maybe he really did think she looked beautiful in the morning. When she jerked her gaze back to his face, a slow smile was curving his lips.
He walked over, his movement fluid and graceful, and leaned up against the cabinet, inches away from her. He smelled good enough to eat, like warm sugar cookies with cinnamon. Damn, she was wanting to curl up next to him again. “You eat cake for breakfast?” she asked.
“Technically, it’s a late lunch,” he said. “It’s after two. And yes. Cake is appropriate for any meal. This is red velvet cake, with cream cheese frosting. It’s one of my favorites. Try some.”
He held the fork out to her, and after a moment’s hesitation she took the bite of cake. He pulled the fork slowly back, holding her gaze as she licked her lips.
It was amazing. “Oh my god,” she murmured, mouth full.
He handed the fork over and she demolished the rest of the cake. Having him so close, watching her eat, was giving her little flutters in her stomach, but she couldn’t seem to move away.
When she finished he took the plate and examined it. “I think you missed some frosting,” he said. “Here.”
He scooped it up on his finger and held it out to her, his eyes daring her to take it.
She shouldn’t. He was flirting with her—more than flirting. And they needed to talk. About dragons and destined mates and Vyrkos and—
His finger brushed her lips. Yum. She licked the frosting off his finger, sucking it sensually into her mouth. Two could play at this game, she thought wickedly. She heard his soft intake of breath, his eyes half-closing.
He wrapped his other hand around the back of her neck. “You still didn’t get it all,” he whispered, pulling her towards him. “It’s stuck right there…”
He drew his finger over her lips, and then pulled them to his. He sipped at her, soft and gentle, and then he slowly drew his tongue across her lower lip. There was a low rumble in his chest, like a dragon purr.
The gold necklace went warm around her neck, and she heard music, faint and far away. Zane groaned and pulled her closer still, as though he couldn’t bear a fraction of an inch between them.
The warmth spread through her chest, like it had before. What was she feeling? Magic? Lust? Love? Destiny? All of the above?
He pulled reluctantly away, resting his forehead on hers. “You’re still wearing the necklace,” he said. He seemed happy about that.
“It’s beautiful.” She put her hand to her chest. “And… it feels good.”
It did feel good—like it belonged around her neck. Like she’d feel naked with it gone.
“It likes you,” he said, touching the gold with his fingertips.
“I wasn’t aware that gold necklaces had opinions,” she teased.
“Oh, yes.” The music grew louder. “They definitely do.”
“Is that how they express their opinions?” she asked. “That humming?” She’d heard it last night in the gallery, when Zane was examining her collection. And even louder, when they made love. At least, she thought she had. She’d lost her mind for a minute there—it could have been choirs of angels singing, for all she knew.
Zane’s dimple was showing, and he was smiling like he’d heard what she was thinking.
“Gold sings to dragons. That’s why we love it so much.” Zane stroked the necklace, running his fingers along it, and Blaze could feel the touch as if he were stroking her skin. She shivered. His voice grew husky. “Dragons love treasure,” he said. “And treasure loves dragons.”
He’d said his dragon thought she was a treasure. Did that mean his dragon loved her? Did she love him? How could she know that in such a short time? How could he?
<
br /> His fingers drifted back up to her face, caressing her cheek. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said. “My dragon’s been giving me hell all day. He was worried about you.”
“That’s sweet,” she said. “But I told you—you don’t need to worry about me. Either of you.”
“And I told you, dragons are protective of the things they treasure.”
My dragon thinks you’re a treasure.
Not a possession, maybe. But valuable. Special. Worth taking care of.
No one had wanted to take care of her in so long. Valued her, or thought she was special. Scary, yes. Formidable. Even beautiful. But not a treasure.
This time the tears did spill over.
“Hey,” Zane said. “Don’t cry. That wasn’t supposed to make you cry.”
She dashed her hand under her eyes, blinking hard. “I’m not.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. He rubbed his thumb across her cheekbone, catching the last tear. “Of course not. Blaze McKenna’s a badass witch. And there’s no crying in badass witchery.”
“Exactly. It’s just… it’s been an emotional few days.”
“Tell me about it.”
She stole a look at him, summoning up the courage to ask him some of the things she wanted to know. “Has it been? Emotional for you, I mean? I always heard that Draken don’t really… have feelings. For people. Or each other. Or anyone.”
“I’m not a Draken,” he reminded her. “I’m a Wild Dragon. And they can feel. And love. They can have true mates, especially if they carry the blood of other shifters. And they bond with them just as hard.”
True mates. Someone you were fated to be with, a magical bond that transcended time and space and lasted forever—maybe even beyond death. Blaze had heard of that; it happened to some species of shifters, especially wolves and bears.
But she’d never heard of it happening to humans.
“Is that what you think this is?” she asked. “You really think I’m one of those Destined Mates, even though I don’t have the Seal?”
He gave a one-shouldered shrug, dropping his eyes. “I don’t know about that. All I know is what I feel.”
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