Games of Fate (Fate ~ Fire ~ Shifter ~ Dragon #1)

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  “The Shifters breed like rabbits.” Harold snorted too, an impressive mimic of Dragon. “Or rabbits breed like Shifters.”

  “What about you?” He didn’t look any older than her.

  “I was born in 1544.” His voice dropped into a British accent similar to Billy’s. “In the hills outside Manchester. Lived under Tudor rule, I did.” His nose crinkled and his voice changed back to the southern Minnesota accent he used earlier. “An insane Shifter cursed me.”

  “Cursed you? Seriously?”

  He waved his arms like a magician. “‘Upon thy head I leave a scourge so foul, so torturous, that thou shalt walk this Earth always!’ She kissed me right on the lips—” He pointed to his mouth. “—before yelling, ‘You will now and forever annoy the dragons!’ Then she ran off, cackling like a fairy tale witch.”

  Rysa grunted, trying not to laugh. “Annoy?”

  “I said she was insane.” Harold grinned, but his eyes filled with surrender. He hadn’t asked to be made immortal.

  “Shifters can do that?”

  “They’ve got enthrallers who can make you do things and morphers who can do crazy shit with their bodies and a couple of healers who can kill just as easily as they can make you like me.” He shook his head. “She must have been class-one or I would have been maggot chow long, long ago.”

  “Wow.” Then Shifters were more than simple shapeshifters. A lot more.

  “You be careful if you run into one. They’re a slippery lot.” But he smiled and patted her thigh. “Don’t worry too much about it. The Great Sir won’t let any Shifters near you, will you?”

  Dragon blew out a little flame and rubbed Rysa’s side again. She chuckled, feeling better than she had in a long while, and wrapped an arm around his neck.

  Harold leaned close and winked. “I’ve made an art of annoying Ladon-Human. I’m very, very good at it. Anna-Human ignores me.”

  She squeezed his fingers with her free hand, smiling too, happy that he seemed to have accepted her. “Hopefully, I won’t be annoying.”

  His eyebrow arched. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, either.”

  Until they spent time with her. “Thanks for the clothes.”

  He squeezed back. “You sleep. We’ll get those damned things off tomorrow. I think he’s got a plan for making you a talisman that won’t, you know, be so obvious.” He scratched Dragon’s crest. “Ladon-Human’s always got a plan.”

  Dragon nodded.

  “They’re good at what they do, Rysa.” He traced a little star flowing by on the beast’s hide. “Only idiots mess with the Dracae.”

  Dragon rolled onto his back. Squiggly lines burst across his belly.

  Harold laughed. “See? He can be scary when he wants.”

  The squiggly lines turned into tiny sword-shapes.

  “He’s a big mimicking lug, that’s what he is.” Harold stood. He stopped in the door and grasped the frame. “You’re a rare find, if you didn’t know. A Fate with all three abilities. Doesn’t happen very often.” With that, he closed down the door and walked away.

  Dragon touched her cheek, unease rippling across his hide.

  “I’ll go to sleep.” Things might be clearer in the morning.

  Dragon dimmed to a soft shimmer. She stripped off her dirty clothes, folding her jeans and setting them on the floor next to Dragon’s front limbs. Pulling a fresh t-shirt over her head, she crawled into the bed, watching reflected stars and squiggles and glowing triangles glide across the walls.

  14

  “How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

  Ladon steadied the porch swing with one hand, his vodka in the other, as Harold dropped onto the slats next to him. The chains creaked and the bolts in the porch’s ceiling groaned. Harold paid no heed. Ladon looked up, checking the sagging roof anyway.

  “Why the sudden concern?” His relationship with Harold had never been good. The man bristled at what he called “the arrogance of the long immortal.” Perhaps Harold had softened, now that he approached five centuries of his own feet walking the earth.

  Harold scowled. “Marcus and I talked.”

  Ladon glanced at his phone. Nothing on the app. Jani vengeance had probably already descended on the Burners. The War Babies were cruel enough to slice bits off that British Burner and use his flesh to detonate the others. They’d take his limbs and leave his torso, then dump him in a field to fizzle to dust.

  Not a good death for anyone, even a Burner.

  All these years, the War Babies had stayed in Europe and kept a low profile away from Ladon and his sister. Ladon didn’t pretend to understand Fate machinations or their convoluted justifications for allowing the murdering scum to continue to breathe. Nor did he care. He’d vowed long ago to peel their skulls if they ever again came near the people he cared about.

  He took a swig of vodka. It helped him tolerate the terrible world and the whine of his damned phone. Landlines weren’t noisy. He took another swig and shifted the assault rifle on his lap. He’d picked the large one with a scope that could hit anything within three hundred feet of the house. He couldn’t be too careful, down here by himself. “I had a nap before the Chicago incident.”

  Harold shook his head. “How long has it been since the Great Sir slept?”

  Ladon glanced at the porch roof and the room above. “We left Wyoming seven days ago.”

  “A week?”

  “Yes.”

  Harold scratched his ear. “He can’t go much longer.”

  Ladon stopped a mouthful of the vodka in mid tip. “I know my own dragon.”

  Harold sat back on the swing. “Since when is he yours? You’re his.”

  The whine from the phone was bad enough without Harold’s opinions adding to the noise. “You know nothing.”

  “I know he’s hers, now.” Harold nodded upward.

  Ladon and Dragon would keep Rysa safe. They’d help her find her way. But her reaction earlier when Ladon touched her hair made it clear she didn’t trust him. Though she seemed to trust Dragon.

  He took another sip. The beast was showing a strong attachment. He’d be inconsolable when she went her own way. He’d mope and his hide would dull to shadows for months. Maybe a full year. “She’s a Fate.”

  “That she is.” Harold grabbed the vodka and took a swig. Coughing, he shook his head. “Jesus, man, what are you drinking?”

  Ladon shrugged. This case of vodka did have an abrasive edge. He didn’t mind. It helped him stay awake.

  “Where the hell did you get this?” Harold held the bottle out and scrutinized the Cyrillic on the label.

  Ladon shrugged again. “Derek’s cousin.” His brother- and cousin-in-law didn’t get along half the time, but Dmitri’s business holdings were a connection to the modern world Ladon and his sister could not live without.

  Plus, Dmitri supplied the best weapons. And vodka.

  Harold returned the bottle. “Pavlovich’s providing you with booze? And it hasn’t started a Shifter civil war?”

  “Dmitri does what he wants. No one dare tell him otherwise.” The offending Shifter “disappeared.” Ladon never asked about Dmitri’s practices. Not knowing seemed the best course of action.

  Harold laughed. “Right. I’m sure.” He took the bottle and gulped another drink. Whistling, he handed it back. “That’s going to kill you. All these centuries and bad Russian vodka is what’s going to do you in.”

  “Can’t die.” He pointed up at the room above. “What would Dragon do?”

  Harold laughed and the swing jiggled. “I’m going to stamp WWDD on one of those stupid rubber bracelets.” He tapped across his wrist.

  The odd cultural references should make Harold endearing. They didn’t. “What the hell are you on about?”

  Laughter roared out of the other man. “Still clueless about the wider world, I see?” He shook his head. “The more things change, the more you stay the same.”

  Ladon and the wider world didn’t get along. “
The more things change, the more annoying you become.”

  Harold pulled the bottle away and lifted it high. “Thank you for noticing, oh great Ladon-Human, leader of both men and beasts.” A loud grunt followed a swallow.

  Still nothing on the damned phone. Ladon took back the bottle. “How is Marcus?” If the healers had stopped helping…

  Harold’s face fell. “He’s convinced his time is up. What Daniel predicted is about to come to pass.” He gestured at the sky. “Damned Parcae and their stupid beliefs! Fate this. Fate that. I told him that I’d sell my swords. Pay that damned healer on the Boundary Waters, but the son of a bitch’s got no medical training. He can only give Marcus some comfort.”

  “Dmitri’s a healer. I’ll pay.” Ladon took another swig. “Whatever he wants. I’ll pay.”

  Harold stared at him for a long moment. “Pavlovich won’t touch Marcus. He’s too high profile to help a Parcae. The other Shifters would drop on him like Sputnik from the sky.” He pointed upward.

  “Dmitri will do what he is paid to do.” Though he might enjoy the challenge of fixing Parcae sickness more than the money he’d make. Not that he’d admit it.

  Harold watched the clouds. “You could have told me this when I returned from The War.”

  “You didn’t ask.” Ladon rubbed at his hair. “Besides, Dmitri hadn’t entered the States the last time I saw you.”

  “Derek had.”

  Ladon’s brother-in-law’s relationship with the Shifters was complicated, Dmitri’s buffering notwithstanding. “If you sell your swords, I want them. I’ll give you a fair price.”

  Harold shook his head. “This winter’s going to be hard.”

  One quick nod and Ladon set the rifle against the railing. “Derek will take care of it.”

  “Ladon, you don’t have to—”

  “Yes I do, Harold, and you know it.” He should have fixed this problem long ago.

  You need to sleep, Human.

  Harold scowled and pointed at Ladon’s nose. “It’s creepy when you two talk to each other. Your face does odd things.”

  “He says I need sleep.” The beast’s fatigue fanned his own.

  “He’s right. So does he.” Harold nodded toward their van in the drive, a dark monolith in the gloom.

  I cannot sleep. I will not leave Rysa unguarded.

  “He says he has work to do.” If Dragon slept, they’d be locked in one location for a full twenty-four hours. The beast would be vulnerable. So would Rysa.

  “Go upstairs. Get a few hours. I’ll stay up.” Harold pointed at the door before wiggling his fingers for the rifle.

  I will go up to the roof and keep watch.

  Ladon stood, rubbing his face. “He’s going up to the roof.”

  Harold nodded and set the rifle against the porch rail.

  They may not be able to fetch Mira and give Rysa back her mother, but Ladon could help Marcus. “Dmitri will cooperate.”

  Harold slumped in the swing, the same unconscious response Ladon always saw when Harold fought against his ever-present need to sit tall in Ladon’s presence.

  “We used to be comfortable,” Harold said. “Even with the sickness, we were okay.” He lifted the rifle and laid it across his knees, his fingers tapping the stock. “It’s been hard to travel to Sweet Lake and that damned bastard won’t come down here without extra payment. He hides up north.”

  Harold raised the vodka to the sky with his other hand. The swing creaked as he pushed absently with his foot. “He takes our money and he drinks himself into a coma. Just so he can hide.”

  Ladon looked at the phone. Still nothing. “I’ll pay him a visit.”

  Harold shook his head. “Send the Dracas. AnnaBelinda and Anna-Dragon have always been scarier than you.” His hand bounced against his chest in a Roman salute.

  “If I can get Sister away from home.” She hadn’t let Derek out of her sight since the last time Shifters came looking for him. His brother-in-law chafed, feeling as if under house arrest, but he’d never tell that to his wife.

  Nor had she listened to Ladon, either, when he mentioned it.

  “Fresh northern Minnesota air would do both her and the husband good.” Harold slumped forward, his elbows dropping over the rifle to his knees. “And she can beat up a Shifter. Always a good time, I’m sure.”

  Sister did enjoy a good beating. Ladon looked up at the southern Minnesota sky. It glowed bright and beautiful, like Rysa’s eyes, not hard, like his sister’s. He glanced at the ground. He’d have to watch himself with Rysa.

  “I’ve been working at the grocery store.” The swing creaked. “Stocking shelves. A couple of the local teenagers come by when I’m at work and keep an eye on him. He tells them stories about Europe and sword fighting and the Black Death and they love it. But we could use the help.”

  All this time, and they’d never asked. They wouldn’t. Ladon wouldn’t either, if he’d been in the same position. Still, he felt like an idiot for abandoning the last of the Draki Prime the way he had. All because how it ended made him unhappy.

  Ladon handed the phone to Harold. “If the app indicates a hit, yell. Dragon will wake me.”

  Harold held up the phone. “It’s low on juice.”

  Ladon pulled the van keys from his pocket. Harold annoyed him but he was the most trustworthy normal he knew. “The charger’s in the glove compartment.”

  The phone’s screen cast an eerie glow onto Harold’s face. “What the hell is this app, anyway?”

  “Dmitri loaded it onto the phone.” But he knew what it was—a bit of Shifter armor against the hellhounds stalking the innocent among their people.

  A few movements of his finger and Harold’s eyes widened. “Damned Mutatae,” Harold grumbled. “How long has their cold war with the rest of the planet been going on?”

  Ladon rattled the handle on the sticking screen door. He’d get a crew out here to repair the house. “Since the Inquisition. They’re still angry.”

  Harold shook his head. “No one holds a grudge like a Shifter.”

  No one but his sister. He glanced at the normal sitting on the porch swing. He’d never been kind to Harold. Not when Marcus brought him home and not after, either, when Daniel and Timothy died. “We okay now, Harold?”

  The app held the other man’s attention. “Yeah. We’re good. For now. I promised Marcus I’d be nice.” Harold sniffed and his voice dropped into a pitch-perfect imitation of the past-seer. “First, we see who is behind this. Then we tame her fire.”

  Ladon nodded. Marcus never stopped until he completed a task, no matter how fatiguing—or dangerous—it might be.

  Harold took another sip from the bottle. “You’d think he’s Yoda or something.”

  “Who?” Ladon didn’t need someone else to worry about.

  Harold laughed and waved Ladon off. “Go on. Get some sleep. Marcus will see to your new darling in the morning.”

  I want a bath.

  How a Fate would react to being called “his new darling,” he didn’t know. “He wants a bath first. And she’s not my new darling.”

  Harold snorted. “You all need baths. And yes, she is your new darling.” He pointed into the house. “Go on, you idiot.”

  ***

  Dragon lay on the floor of the little room, his bulk filling the space between the bed and the closets fitted into the sloped walls. He shifted as Ladon entered and his head tugged on the blankets at the foot of the bed.

  She’s sleeping? Ladon pushed.

  Anxious sparks played along Dragon’s back. Yes.

  I’ll go down the hall. Next to the bathroom, the other bedroom’s door stood open. He’d be respectful and do the decent thing.

  No. Dragon undulated over the bed. You will not.

  Ladon stepped back as the beast squeezed through the door. Why are you being stubborn? I can’t stay in there with her. You saw how she reacted when I touched her downstairs.

  Women didn’t pull away from a friendly gesture like his touc
h to her hair after they’d spent hours sleeping next to Dragon. Ladon drummed his fingers on the doorframe, his fatigue muddling his attempts to understand her response.

  He thrust his hands into his pockets. He’d apologize in the morning. Make it right.

  You must stay with her. What if she has another vision? I will be on the roof. Dragon tapped his snout on the ceiling.

  In the little room, the only seating besides the top of the dresser and the bed was a wooden chair in the corner. I’m tired.

  Then sleep. The beast moved toward the stairs.

  But—

  Do not complain. She is pretty.

  Reflections from Dragon’s hide danced over the walls and a few made their way into the bedroom and over Rysa.

  She was more than pretty. She was stunning. He could get lost in the curves of her body and the moonlight of her eyes. I smell bad.

  She smells of Burner. The beast’s head swung around. You were good to offer Harold help. He disappeared into the living room.

  The screen door opened and Harold spoke to the beast. Ladon would apologize to Marcus in the morning, as well.

  Make everything right. Harold said something else to the beast and the outside walls of the house creaked. Dragon moved to the roof.

  On the bed, Rysa breathed in the slow rhythm of sleep. Ladon wanted to make things right. More than he’d wanted to any time in the past.

  Perhaps something else had moved across their connection when she connected to their energy at the house. Perhaps her youthful view of the world had loosened a part of him he’d thought long calcified.

  It felt good, as if he’d awakened with the warmth of the sun touching his face.

  Let her siphon. She gave them a gift much greater in return. They’d help her hold in check the Burner randomness, if she wanted. It would be their payment.

  The bed squeaked when she shuffled her legs. Ladon listened carefully to her breathing, making sure she hadn’t slipped back into a vision. She sighed, content, and he exhaled.