Immortal Coil (A Dragon Spirit Novel, Book 1)

by Black, C. I.

  CHAPTER 17

  Capri rubbed her temples. Police tape had been strung across the room door at the Rest Well Hotel, which meant the Elmsville P.D. had beaten her to the scene and she had to go to the police station to finish this cleanup. Hunter was definitely going to pay for leaving such a mess.

  Admittedly, she didn’t have anything better to do than work, since she wasn’t interested in the pahar or dragon politics. But it had been difficult enough dealing with the detective at the hospital. He hadn’t believed she and her team were FBI—most didn’t given that their unit was pretty obscure within the organization. Flashing her badge usually did the trick but this detective had remained skeptical and she’d had to use her earth magic to influence him into releasing control of the investigation and handing over his notes.

  Swipe mumbled his power words and made a discreet gesture, casting his magic and removing every trace that a dragon had even been in the hotel room. Less than a hundred years ago not even Swipe had known exactly what he did, but with the advent of forensic sciences they now knew he cleaned up everything: footprints, blood, fingerprints, hairs, and DNA. Anything that could lead to questions and reveal dragon-kind.

  After a few minutes, Swipe blew out a long breath. “Done.”

  “Good.” She wanted to get this over with. Facing Mr. Annoying Detective a second time would require even more magic than usual, since meeting him twice in such a short period made things more complicated. It would make her headache worse and the painkiller she’d taken half an hour ago still hadn’t kicked in. Damn that her soul magic didn’t seem to heal earth-magic-induced headaches.

  They left the hotel and drove to the Elmsville police station. Swipe parked the company’s black SUV at the curb and Capri got out. She checked her badge and sidearm.

  “Shooting won’t make this simpler,” Swipe said in his new southern drawl. The green drake was trying on a Texan identity this time, but his turns of phrase kept revealing his Old World background.

  “No, but it would make me feel better.”

  He barked a laugh and flashed her some teeth. “Don’t take too long.”

  She showed a hint of teeth back at him. “Look who’s talking.” His job could take much longer than hers, depending on how much evidence had been collected.

  Swipe shrugged and headed into the building to get as close as he could to the evidence locker to work his magic. At least he looked the part of an FBI special agent: mid-thirties, blond, well-built, and always wearing a suit. If anyone stopped him he could talk his way out of the situation. Gig, the other member of their team, was another issue altogether. He always looked like he’d just woken up in his jeans and t-shirt for the third day in a row. And as much as she begged him to cut his mane of black hair, she found the shag charming—which she wasn’t going to admit to anyone.

  Thank goodness she hadn’t needed his earth magic ability to communicate with technology on the assignment and had left him at Court. Hopefully that would mean one less thing that could go wrong.

  After a moment to ensure her temper was in check, she climbed the concrete steps to the front door, entered, and strode across the small foyer to the officer at the reception desk. He was middle-aged, probably near retirement, and the type most likely in Capri’s experience to question her presence. And there were always questions. How could the FBI know of anything so fast? What was her jurisdiction and the nature of her team, and why had no one ever really heard of her? It got worse if the investigation dragged on, which, with the mess Hunter had left, was growing more likely by the minute.

  “Yes?” The cop sounded bored.

  Bored was good. She could work with bored.

  She flashed her identification. “I’d like to talk to the detective in charge of the investigation at the Rest Well Hotel.”

  He stared at her. She got that a lot. She knew she looked professional in her suit, particularly if she offset the color with her strawberry blond hair and blue eyes. But the fact that she was stuck in a body not quite five feet tall made everyone think she was a child—usually Swipe’s if they arrived together. Maybe she should add some gray to her hair.

  And maybe everyone else should just live with it.

  “The detective, please.” She subvocalized her power word and slid a thread of magic into his mind. The lady will stop bothering you if you page the detective in charge. It’s easy. A simple phone call. Besides, no one wanted to be on the bad side of the FBI.

  She fortified her magic by forcing a smile and the man picked up the phone.

  “You can wait on the bench.” He nodded at an uncomfortable steel beam intended to be a bench running across the back of the lobby.

  “Thanks.”

  He had a ten-second conversation with someone on the phone before hanging up and staring at his computer, an obvious show of ignoring her.

  Fine, as long as whoever controlled her case showed up. Boy, did she ever want to blame Hunter. But Gig was right. Having to take that woman’s body must have been an act of desperation, since, speaking from personal experience, a human female’s strength was not an advantage in a sword fight. And Hunter’s human didn’t look healthy. Not that the dead ever did look healthy, but his seemed particularly worse for wear. His soul magic was probably working overtime healing whatever was wrong with him and that likely didn’t help his situation either.

  The door to the station’s inner sanctum opened and her heart leapt in her chest. It wasn’t Mr. Annoying Detective. It was Eric.

  She swallowed at the constriction in her throat. Logic dictated it couldn’t be him. Their affair had been two human lifetimes ago. She’d snuck into Eric’s funeral when old age had taken him. But the man’s face, his square jaw, his eyes...

  “I’m Detective Miller. What can I do for you, Special Agent?”

  Those eyes still haunted her. The way he’d looked at her when she’d had to follow Regis’s laws and leave within the appointed time frame. Above all else, dragon-kind had to be kept a secret. It still hurt so much. And yet she still considered herself a part of the younger generation who insisted on living in the humans’ realm. For centuries now, humans had blithely lived next door to dragons. Their favorite teacher, trusted accountant, and even lover could be a drake, and since there were too many of them, Regis couldn’t stop them.

  But she’d never take a human lover again. Not after Eric.

  “Special Agent?” Miller’s eyes narrowed.

  “Jones,” she croaked out, then mentally jerked herself back together and thrust a thread of magic into his mind. “I’ll be taking over the investigation of the Rest Well Hotel.” Life will be easier. No messy murder investigation.

  “Dan mentioned something about you. What did you say your unit was?”

  She pushed harder into his mind, cursing Dan. The obnoxious detective from earlier was still making her job difficult. Her unit’s name didn’t matter. They were legitimate—it helped to have a drake involved in the creation of the FBI—but their unit was so small most hadn’t heard of them so naming names usually didn’t help.

  “I’ll need your notes,” she said, trying to steer him back on topic.

  “Sure.” But he didn’t sound certain.

  She concentrated on her magic, but flashes of passionate nights with Eric flitted through her mind. The two men sounded so much alike. If she closed her eyes she could imagine herself wrapped in her Eric’s embrace again.

  “Let me buy you a coffee,” he said.

  Yes. Anything.

  “What?” She dragged herself back to the conversation.

  “Coffee, so I can talk you through my shorthand.”

  She glanced at the ratty old coffeemaker behind the reception desk. The usual station brew often ranged from bad to worse. She suspected Elmsville’s wasn’t any different.

  “But not here,” he said as if reading her mind.

  Mother of All, she wanted to say yes. But the more time she spent with the man, the more difficult it would be to adjust h
is memory.

  And yet, not impossible. Just a little time.

  Surely she deserved a little something for herself. She’d never taken anything in the hundreds of years she’d worked for the North American Clean Team.

  Besides, it was just coffee.

  “Come on, it’ll be faster if I take you through it.” He flashed her a smile heartbreakingly similar to Eric’s.

  She never could say no to that smile. “Sure.”

  “Great.” He rushed back into the secured area and returned with a file folder. “It’s just across the street.” He opened the front door and motioned her out.

  The winter wind bit her cheeks and slipped down her collar but she didn’t care. It had been too long since she’d pulled these memories out and wrapped herself within them.

  Cars drove past, churning the morning’s snowfall into brown slush. Headlights reflected white and red blobs on what little wet pavement was visible. They rushed across the street between a break in the traffic, dodging puddles to a twenty-four hour coffee shop across from the station. It had been buggies and early motor vehicles when she’d run across the street with Eric. She had felt light, free then. In love.

  A chime on the door announced their entrance, and a pimple-faced teen glanced up. “The usual, detective?”

  But she wasn’t free. And she wasn’t with Eric. He was dead.

  Miller nodded. “And for the lady?”

  “Coffee, black.”

  The teen filled their order, Miller paid, and they took a seat by the front window. The place was empty, but that wouldn’t last long, not with such a prime location on Beaumont Street across from the police station.

  Miller blew steam from his paper cup and took a slow sip.

  Even his mannerisms were like Eric’s. But perhaps that’s just what she wanted to see, a means to flame the fantasy. That knowledge didn’t stop her heart from beating just a little faster or her skin from tingling at the thought of his touch. She felt like a youngling, fresh hatched from the egg, and a part of her didn’t care.

  He glanced at her over the rim of his coffee. “So what does the FBI want with this case?”

  “Straight to the point.” And as much as she had momentarily fantasized that this was her old romance, it wasn’t. Confusing romance, even just a remembered one, with business could get a drake in trouble.

  “I like to finish what I start, not pass it along to someone.”

  “I’m not just someone.” But she could tell that didn’t matter, particularly in the way she wanted him to think of her.

  “Yes, you’re FBI.” He didn’t sound pleased.

  This was going to take a lot more magic.

  With a sigh, she subvocalized her power word. Her magic flared and so did her headache, but she didn’t push into his mind right away. If this was going to stick, particularly with skeptical Dan back at the station for Miller to talk to, she needed the right moment to make the manipulation undetectable.

  She took a sip of coffee. “The event at the Rest Well Hotel is connected to the incidents at the Queen Street Bridge and Memorial General.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “This is one small part of a larger investigation we’ve been building for a while.” She pushed a thread of power into his mind. It was a long-term investigation. Handing over the information would be helpful. He wanted to be helpful. He wasn’t giving up, he was aiding the FBI.

  “I’m not sure I see the connection.”

  She pushed harder. Pain radiated behind her eyes. “And I can’t fill you in. It’s a matter of national security.”

  “I’m not just some small-town cop.” His tone darkened.

  It sent shivers of anticipation through her. No, he wasn’t just a cop. He was her Eric look-alike. If only he’d show a little teeth, she’d be completely turned on.

  But she needed him compliant, not randy.

  Mother of All, her head hurt. When was that painkiller going to kick in? Why was he being so difficult to manipulate? She took another sip of coffee to cover her discomfort. “I’m not the enemy.”

  He rubbed his face with his broad hands. “You’re right. Elmsville just isn’t the right speed for me.”

  “And what is your kind of speed?” She shouldn’t have asked, but she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t feel good about shoving thoughts into his head. She wanted to feel sexy for him—even if he was just the image of her dead lover—and not like the manipulator she really was.

  His eyes lit up and he raked a heated gaze over her. Guess he’d caught the innuendo in her question and had similar feelings. Her heart beat a quick tattoo at the thought.

  No. This was not good. She shouldn’t be flirting with him.

  “If I hand over my notes, does that mean you’ll have to leave right away?”

  “Not necessarily.” Her body tingled at the idea. She wanted to stay, but she couldn’t, and had to keep reminding herself of that.

  Her magic billowed within his head and she gained control of his thoughts.

  He jerked forward. “I haven’t filed my report yet.” His eyes glazed over and he shoved the file folder across the table to her. “Here’s everything I’ve got.”

  Ice ate away her heated attraction. She was an awful, awful dragon. But the job had to be done.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Swipe leave the station and head to the SUV. Thank God. She needed to get out of here before she did anything really stupid.

  “Thank you.” She made a final push into his head. He’d make a new case file and note that the FBI had taken over and that would be the end of it.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you, Special Agent Jones.” He stood and held out his hand.

  She stared at it, afraid if she made contact she’d forget herself and let her longing consume her.

  “The same.” She took his hand, feeling slimy and horny all at the same time. Life just wasn’t fair. It was obvious she was overdue for a lover, but at the moment the only one interested in her was Grey. But that idea seemed too much like sleeping with her brother. Which was a shame because he was hot and a nice guy.

  She rushed out of the coffee shop, leaving Miller inside, and headed to the SUV. Who she really wanted was Eric. She’d always wanted Eric. And her attraction to Miller was just the long-held dream, nothing more. She’d be fooling herself if she pursued anything. Besides, the more he saw her, the harder it would be to keep his questions about the investigation at bay. It would have been nice if he’d just been some Joe on the street. As it was, she’d just have to return home and try not to think sexy thoughts.

  CHAPTER 18

  Anaea woke tangled in a towel and Hunter’s silk sheets, with the medallion by her cheek and the chain loose about her neck. One of her hands rested on her good breast and the other clutched her inner thigh. The clock by the bed said 6:53 AM. It was getting close to dawn. Hunter’s consciousness felt fuzzy and when she gave him a mental nudge he mumbled something in a language she didn’t recognize and seemed to roll over.

  Still asleep, it seemed. Good, because she couldn’t help thinking about that dream. And God, what a dream. She was liquid heat, caressed and loved by Hunter, no less. Perfect and whole. She’d never felt loved like that by anyone before, not even Mark.

  Just thinking about it made her trembling and hot all over again. She wanted to go back. It wasn’t fair that she was once again in her cold reality. But life wasn’t fair. She knew that as well as anybody. Perhaps even more so. Besides, the Hunter of her dreams was who she wanted him to be, not who he was. She didn’t belong in his world and she was damaged goods about to hit her expiry date. She just wanted...

  Her eyes burned. She blinked back the tears. She’d be damned if she cried any more.

  She wanted what she couldn’t have.

  So get on with it already.

  Hey, Hunter said, his voice thick with sleep. You okay?

  She shoved all thoughts of the dream aside. Best if he didn’t know. You keep
asking me that.

  Heat simmered through her. But she hadn’t thought—

  Oh, God. Her hands were on—

  She yanked the sheets around her, heat of her own making flooding her face.

  So we’re going to play this game again, are we? His tone was steeped with the sexual invitation he’d had in her dream.

  Boy, if only.

  He chuckled, sending shivers of anticipation over her. Good God! She couldn’t believe she was even considering it. Even for a heartbeat. Besides, once he realized she was scarred it’d be over and she didn’t think she could stand the rejection. Not with him stuck in her head.

  Don’t we— She sucked in an uneven breath. Don’t we have that ceremony or something?

  He sighed. Yeah. He almost sounded disappointed.

  Or maybe she just wanted him to be. Jeez. So the ceremony?

  Something flittered across her senses but she couldn’t tell what it was and he clamped down on it, leaving a gut-churning emptiness. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what he was feeling, but surely it would be better than him closing her off.

  Ah... yeah. The ceremony.

  Images of a vast chamber flooded her mind. Giant pillars with carved dragons curling around them, clinging from their tops, or sleeping at their bases, supported a domed ceiling. A stone altar sat in the center engraved with more dragons and at its foot stood a woman wearing a shimmering, silver dragon cloak.

  The vision snapped to black. You should get dressed. His tone remained strange as if, in this quiet moment, he wanted to but couldn’t deny what he was, wanted to deny his magical ferociousness. He thought all he’d done was fill her head with horrific, violent memories, but there were wondrous ones as well, she could sense them on the edge of her consciousness and yearned to look at them. But she wouldn’t. Not without permission. She wouldn’t abuse their connection like that.

  It didn’t matter that he was a dragon and she a human. She couldn’t deny it. She was inexorably drawn to him. His spirit.

  Which wasn’t fair. Not now, not when her time was so short. She supposed it was fitting, though. She’d drawn the short stick in her marriage and in life. Why stop now?