Immortal Coil (A Dragon Spirit Novel, Book 1)

by Black, C. I.

  He struggled to remind himself that she wasn’t interested. Who would be? He’d sworn himself into the service of the Handmaiden and she didn’t even want him.

  “Will I see you at dinner?” he asked, grinding his teeth against his self-pity.

  “I doubt it, and you can blame Hunter for that. He hasn’t left such a mess since the 40s. I suspect when I check in with Tobias, Hunter will have left more than just the abandoned car and the bodies in that small-town hospital.”

  No, Hunter hadn’t left a mess, not since he’d hunted down those drakes who’d attacked Grey. He’d ripped off their limbs and claimed their souls for rebirth. That had been messy and Hunter hadn’t cared. And Grey could never repay the debt.

  Grey’s throat ached. “I don’t know what went wrong, but it had to be big. He’s not a messy guy.”

  “Yeah, give the dude a break. He’s now a dudette,” Gig said.

  Grey barked a quick laugh before swallowing it. Capri slid her gaze to Gig, her lips twitching. What Grey wouldn’t give to hear her laugh. Even if it was Gig’s joke and not his.

  Now Grey’s chest hurt as well.

  “Well, catch you later,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even.

  Capri nodded and sauntered past with Gig close behind. The hall darkened around him and he blinked it back. Not yet. If he concentrated, he could keep his memories at bay for a while yet, at least until he got Hunter through this disaster. Mother of All, just let them get through dinner.

  CHAPTER 12

  After a forever that didn’t last nearly long enough, Anaea sat up from her fetal ball against Hunter’s door. She wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand and took in a shaky breath. She still had a report, a dinner, and some ceremony to get through before she could be free.

  And yet, a part of her didn’t want to be free of Hunter.

  Even when he was silent, hiding in the back of her mind, making himself as small as possible, she was comfortable with him. Certainly, more comfortable with him than she’d ever been with her husband or even her college sweetheart, Mark, as if she could be herself without fear of rejection.

  If only she’d met him while he had a body. One that wasn’t hers. Even if it was a single last fling with a sexy, mysterious stranger—and she was not going to think the d-word, referring to a mythological serpent. She’d focus on the man, or rather his vessel, the one from the bridge and her dreams. She’d only seen him briefly, but she imagined he was as handsome as his voice and presence seemed. The thought sent shivers over her that she was sure he noticed.

  Her face burned. There was no reason to feel embarrassed about being attracted to someone. Maybe, if they had a spare moment, she could get him to read the phone book.

  She stood and went to the bathroom. What a horrible, terrible mess, and as much as she knew a shower wouldn’t solve her problems, she was at least looking forward to something.

  She turned on the taps to let the water heat up and struggled out of her armor, leaving the pieces on the floor where they fell, then grabbed the bottom of her T-shirt. Blood crusted the material to her skin. She eased it up over her head, letting the shirt drop to the floor, too. She didn’t want to think about the hole in her gut, or rather the hole that should have been there but wasn’t any more. There was nothing ordinary about her situation so she shouldn’t expect the usual effects of getting run through.

  When she’d woken in the hotel room with foggy dreams of being shot she hadn’t had holes in her then, either. And now she was sure she had been shot. Okay, so the blood on the hospital shirt and the matching holes had been a giveaway, but she’d been whole, healthy, more or less, and alive. It made her wonder what had happened to her cancer. With Hunter in her head, she could heal gunshot wounds.

  A part of her wanted to ask if, when he left her body—which he was certain to do—would the cancer finally kill her, but another part of her hesitated. Perhaps she didn’t really want to know. Not yet, anyway. Besides, it felt good to be alone for the first time since all this insanity had started. She could always ask him those questions later.

  The mirror was foggy, which meant her shower had been ready a while ago and she’d spent too much time thinking. She unhooked her bra and slid out of her underwear, keeping her gaze away from her impossibly-healing wounds. Then she stepped under the spray and let the water sluice over her. It ran red down the drain until all of the blood was sloughed from her skin. The heat seeped into her aching muscles and she savored the luxury of hot water on clean flesh. She picked up the bar of soap on the ledge in the corner and scrubbed at her skin, rubbing a thick lather around and around on her belly.

  I hate to interrupt, but we can’t keep Regis waiting.

  Anaea jumped and dropped the soap.

  He was back.

  And she was reminded of the reality of her situation. No, she was not going to think about it. Not yet. She couldn’t, not without losing her mind. But she’d already learned denial didn’t make something go away, and promised herself when the shower was done, she’d face it. Whatever it was.

  She glanced down to find the soap, and hot desire washed over her. His hot desire. With a gasp, she realized her naked body was within her field of vision, and therefore within his field of vision. Oh God!

  She jerked her gaze to the ceiling, her cheeks burning.

  You know you shouldn’t sneak up on a girl while she’s in the shower. She suppressed her thrill of pleasure at the thought that he found her attractive. So there actually was something good about the situation. Of course, he’d missed the worst of it. She hadn’t had to amputate a leg.

  Isn’t that the best time to sneak up on a girl?

  She could feel the innuendo in his words. It heated her veins with more than just embarrassment. Of course, which were his emotions and which were hers was a different story. Perhaps she’d just imagined it all. Having a sexy masculine voice stuck in her head did make a girl fantasize.

  Well, you’re not getting a peep show. She closed her eyes and knelt, feeling around on the floor for the soap. Her hand knocked it into the corner and she chased it, eyes squeezed shut.

  This is going to take forever. Warning deepened his voice. We don’t have forever.

  You don’t get to see me naked. She captured the soap and at a record pace scrubbed herself down, including the stubble on her scalp. At least she was a low maintenance kind of girl. Only mere minutes required to style her hair.

  Hunter’s impatience grew along with another emotion that she couldn’t quite place until she realized he could feel what she was feeling. Like her soapy hands running all over her body.

  God. You’re impossible.

  She rushed out of the shower and dried herself off as fast as she could, then wrapped the towel tight around her and opened her eyes.

  There should be clothes in the bedroom, Hunter said.

  Of course. None that would fit, but she didn’t say that to him. She headed further into the suite to the bedroom, somehow knowing, probably from Hunter’s infusion of memories, where to go. It felt kinky going into his bedroom wrapped only in a towel. Her, with a strange man. She’d never had a fling before. Of course that strange man was in her head. Did that count? How could a relationship between them work? The thought of self-pleasuring jumped into her head, making her blush.

  Stop that, she said.

  His bedroom was a masculine room done in dark woods. Midnight blue walls speckled with stars, low light, and matching blue silk sheets finished off the look. In the corner sat a massive wardrobe and beside it a large leather chair.

  A sleek red dress was draped over the bed. She wanted to ask how the dress had arrived in the room with the front door locked, but wasn’t ready yet to know. Sure, her shower was done, but she’d feel braver, ready to handle anything, if dressed.

  Really.

  She picked up the gown. The front would cover her all the way up to her neck, but the back plunged dangerously low. She wouldn’t be able to wear a
bra, and would be forced to reveal her deformity. So much for the idea that clothing would make her feel safer.

  Anything else? she asked.

  I think you’ll look great in it.

  Still, she said. I’d like something more modest.

  Hunter chuckled. Modesty isn’t something worn at Court dinners.

  She swallowed. I see.

  I don’t see what the problem is.

  Of course he wouldn’t. He obviously hadn’t seen all of her. If he had, she was sure he’d have said something. Every other man had. It was shocking he hadn’t pulled it from her thoughts, even though she was determined to keep that locked away. Surely he would find her repulsive when he realized the lengths she’d gone to in order to stop her cancer.

  But it didn’t matter. She hadn’t had a choice then. Just like it seemed she didn’t have a choice now. Perhaps it was a good thing she wasn’t well endowed to begin with. Barely endowed was more like it. The fact that she was lopsided might not be obvious. She supposed it helped that the dress didn’t reveal any cleavage. It could have been low cut in the front as well as the back.

  She closed her eyes and let the towel slip to the floor.

  Hunter snorted.

  She suspected if he had control of her eyes he’d roll them. Well, actually, he’d probably steal a peek. Men.

  Stepping into the dress, she slid the smooth material over her hips and chest and fastened the clasp at the back of her neck. Then she opened her eyes and looked around for underwear.

  Whoever was thoughtful enough to provide the dress hadn’t thought of underwear. Great.

  You don’t need it.

  Spoken like a true man. She went back to the bathroom and put on her dirty undies. The dress revealed the panty line. Better they look at her panty line than her misshapen chest. Besides, she didn’t want to face a room full of strangers who’d happily watched her battle someone to the death without underwear. A girl needed all the protection she could get.

  And now she couldn’t put it off any longer.

  She paced into the living room and sucked in a slow breath.

  You’ll look great.

  She could feel Hunter’s rising concern and paced back down the hall to the bedroom door.

  She had to ask. Had to face it. Knowing was better than not knowing. Right?

  She sucked in another breath.

  Right.

  We will get through this dinner, he said.

  That’s not what I’m worried about... I mean it is, but— Tell me about the drake thing. The words spilled out in a rush.

  Hunter grew still within her. Like I said, term of endearment.

  Yeah, right, she thought at him, the muscles in her jaw trembling with the effort to remain calm. You said you were a spirit. She paced back into the living room. She couldn’t seem to stop moving.

  I’ve already told you too much.

  I don’t think you’ve told me enough.

  I know. His thoughts swirled through her, as if he was deciding what to tell her and what to keep secret.

  This was ridiculous. Even if she didn’t need to know everything, she certainly needed to know more. She pushed against Hunter’s consciousness. The wall between them was thick, impenetrable, and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. She pushed harder, skittering across his defenses, digging a deep rent in its dark mental surface as if with mental claws.

  Memory flooded her. Majestic creatures with scales gleaming in the sunlight, dipped around and through clouds.

  The memory snapped shut. Stay out of my mind, woman.

  That’s a little difficult since you’re in mine.

  Another memory blossomed around her. Hunter trying to stand on shaky legs, but he couldn’t find his balance. Only having two legs and no tail sucked.

  I said, stay out, he growled but the memory continued. He felt so small, so fragile.

  Please. That one word was filled with pain and vulnerability.

  Appalled, Anaea shoved the memory away and imagined her own wall between them. She shouldn’t have gone prying. That was wrong, akin to a form of rape, even if she hadn’t realized what she was doing. His thoughts and memories were private, as were hers. The thought made her sick. She hadn’t meant—

  What was she turning into? All she wanted was to understand what was going on.

  She stopped pacing and hugged herself, willing her twitchy muscles into stillness. But they wouldn’t obey. She was so sorry.

  I know.

  Did you hear that thought?

  No, just sensed your emotion. You’ve closed yourself off from me. His presence stilled within her. I’ll tell you what I can, but it’s dangerous.

  You’ve said that before. Don’t you think at least mentioning you were different than say a human spirit was important?

  Is it?

  Yes— Maybe— She ground her teeth. I don’t know. Can you at least explain the drake thing?

  It’s slang for dragon.

  And that’s what you are? As in scales, tail, wings, breathing fire?

  Only a few of us could breathe fire.

  Nothing in her world made sense any more. Although he was a spirit talking in her head and she’d set someone on fire just with her thoughts. Impossible or not, she was going to have to accept these new rules to the universe or die in some horrible, probably painful way. Of course. Okay, so you’re a dragon?

  The remains of one.

  Sadness enveloped her, a deep throbbing ache that felt ancient yet still raw. And somehow she knew his people were trapped in human bodies, unable to survive without the vessels, as trapped in their lives as much as she was in her death. They were so few, so very few. Only half had survived to take the parasitic spirit state they lived in now, and their numbers dwindled every year. They were down to less than fifteen hundred worldwide.

  Now come on. His lack of comment on what she’d learned made her wonder if he knew the thought had leaked through their walls. We’ve spent too long getting ready. Certain people will be becoming impatient.

  A pair of four inch pumps, conveniently her size and matching her dress, sat by the front door. She put them on, hung the medallion around her neck, and opened the door to find Grey leaning against the wall.

  One of those aforementioned impatient people? she asked.

  But not one we have to worry about.

  “Wow.” Grey stepped up to meet her.

  She smiled in spite of herself and dipped her head to hide her reaction.

  He leaned close, his lips brushing her ear. “I’m flattered, but none of that. Hunter’s not shy.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek and schooled her features into a wary calm. It was what Hunter was really feeling. She could only hope she could keep it up all night.

  Yes, you can. I’ll help you.

  But she knew coaching would only get her so far. She was surrounded by dragons in disguise and didn’t think their human condition lessened their bite.

  * * *

  An insane giggle echoed down the hall and Hunter felt Anaea shiver.

  “Jeez. I was hoping we’d get through dinner without Giacomo,” Grey said.

  Giacomo? Anaea asked.

  Grey’s nickname for the Court Jester. He could sense Anaea’s confusion. It comes from a movie. Jester of Kings. King of Jesters. Thankfully she didn’t ask for more details. But, as Grey would put it, she was paying attention to the man behind the curtain and Hunter couldn’t hit rewind to undo it. In fact, as much as he hated the idea, the more she knew, the better their odds of surviving this mess.

  The Jester cartwheeled into sight, stopping upside down and walking on his hands the rest of the way.

  “Come on,” Grey said, his voice low. He shoved past the crazy human, knocking him over.

  The Jester hissed and growled.

  Hunter cringed. He’d always wondered why King Constantine and Regis kept the human around. He didn’t have any earth magic to be useful, but perhaps he was a physical reminder of what would
happen if a drake body-hopped or body-shared. Hunter would have thought Constantine’s soul sickness and Regis banning body-hopping after the dangers were discovered was proof enough, but Hunter couldn’t deny the effectiveness of the Jester.

  Anaea shoved past him, but he grabbed her wrist in his fleshy, ruined hands.

  Glare at him.

  She did. The Jester let go and shrank back.

  “The King must see you,” he said in a tiny voice.

  Not what Hunter wanted to hear.

  Grey grunted. The Jester mimicked him, then giggled.

  “Come, come. The King calls.”

  What do I do? Aren’t you supposed to report or something?

  Hunter sighed. They really didn’t have a choice. When the King calls, every drake answers, regardless of anyone else’s schedule. Go with him and remember, stoic.

  You mean sullen and silent.

  If that’s what it takes. Maybe they could get in and out. If Constantine was having a bad day he’d be incoherent. That tended to make audiences confusing... and blessedly short.

  The Jester bounced from foot to foot. “Come. Come.”

  “Coming,” Anaea said.

  She started down the hall. Grey fell into step beside her and the Jester leveled a hard stare at him. “Not you.”

  Grey slid his gaze to her.

  Shit. Grey should know better. Don’t react. Just go.

  Anaea ground her teeth. He could feel her fighting the urge to let Grey know everything was going to be fine. Then she jerked to face the Jester and marched down the indicated hall.

  So remember, we need to play this cool, Hunter said.

  I kind of got that impression.

  Constantine is... unstable.

  They turned a corner into the hall leading to the royal chambers. This was one of the only two adorned parts of Court—the other being the rebirth chamber. Here the walls were carved with forest scenes and painted in bright colors. It was a dazzling difference from the rest of the corridors and public chambers. Hunter suspected Prince Regis liked it that way. Everything was a manipulation, a reminder of whose coterie was the most powerful.