Soul of the Dragon

by Natalie J. Damschroder

  Then, suddenly, she couldn’t see him anymore. She wondered if he could only cloak in the air. It worried her that if he could, it would increase his vulnerability.

  Tactics, she thought, slamming her hand on the button to close the doors. Not emotion.

  * * *

  Tars didn’t call, and she went to bed tired of the game. That annoyed her. She liked the games. She had to, or she wouldn’t have lasted in the spy business very long. Usually, she was good at them. But then, nothing was usual about this quest.

  She had no trouble falling asleep. That skill hadn’t deserted her, at least. She was able to sleep soundly for three hours before the phone rang, jerking her to alertness.

  In the dark she couldn’t tell which phone it was. Not the number she’d given Jolie Smith, the one Tars would have. And it wasn’t her regular GenCom phone, one he could get. She fumbled in the nightstand drawer and grabbed her only personal unit.

  “Hello?”

  “Lexa?”

  “Aunt Ethel?”

  “Oh, dear, I’ve awakened you. I didn’t know where you were, of course, so I couldn’t calculate a time difference.”

  Alexa pressed the button to illuminate her watch. Three o’clock. “It’s okay.” She didn’t question how her aunt had known she was asleep. She’d been perfectly alert, no grogginess apparent, but aunts—especially aunts who’d helped raise you—could hear things normal mortals couldn’t.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “Oh, of course. Everything’s fine. Well, mostly fine.”

  Alexa sighed. Mostly fine meant everyone was fit and healthy, but her little brother was in deep shit.

  “What did he do now?”

  “He who, dear?”

  “Aunt Ethel…”

  Ethel breathed deep. “Okay. I really didn’t want to call you. But your father insisted, and I knew the conversation wouldn’t go well if I let him call.”

  Paul Ranger was not a tactful man. And he had no tolerance for his son.

  “What happened?”

  Ethel hemmed and hawed for a good minute before blurting, “Peter is getting married.”

  Stunned, Alexa switched ears. The left one must be clogged with sleep.

  “He’s what?”

  “Getting married.”

  “To who?”

  “To whom, dear.”

  “I don’t know whom. That’s why I’m asking.”

  “No, I mean—“

  “I know what you mean, Aunt Ethel. Sorry to be cheeky. Who is he marrying and why is it a problem?”

  “Her name is Victoria Chambers and your father is certain she’s a gold digger. Peter doesn’t have the best track record, you know.”

  Alexa knew Victoria Chambers. She was a sweet, shy girl two years younger than Peter. Alexa had tutored her in math one year. She came from a relatively poor family, though a hard-working one. Alexa had thought Victoria had abusive or alcoholic parents—all too common in the poor families in the suburb of Seattle where she grew up—but her fears had been unfounded. But unless the girl was a brain surgeon or corporate attorney, her father would never be convinced she wasn’t after Peter’s trust fund.

  “Let me talk to Dad.”

  “Thank you.” Aunt Ethel’s relief was clear.

  “Alexa.” Paul Ranger had a fairly peaceful voice and calm demeanor. Few people sensed the cauldron of anger that boiled several inches below the surface. “Where are you?”

  “I’m working, Dad.”

  “I talked to Rock. You’re not working.”

  Alexa scowled. “What do you mean, you talked to Rock?”

  “He called looking for you. Told me about your resignation.”

  Heaving a sigh, she tried to dodge. “What’s going on with Peter?”

  “We’ll get to that. Why did you resign?”

  “I had something personal to take care of.”

  “It had to be pretty important for you to leave that damn company.”

  Alexa caught a hint of fear in her father’s voice. That didn’t make sense. He hated GenCom, badgered her every visit to quit.

  “Aren’t you glad?”

  “I’d be glad if I didn’t think you were into something more dangerous. You have no backup.”

  “Kurt’s helping me out. I also have a pretty big partner.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “You mean you won’t tell me.” His voice had hardened. Anger bubbling up. Volcano about to erupt. He was so predictable.

  “You wouldn’t believe it, you’d try to stop me, it would ruin everything. Multiple lives.”

  “The only life that matters is yours. Your mother—” He halted. Alexa perked up. This was a new twist on an old theme. He never, ever mentioned her mother.

  “What about Mom?”

  “Nothing. I need you to come home and help me fix Peter.”

  Alexa laughed. “He’s not broken, Dad.”

  “He will be if we don’t stop this wedding.”

  “I’m not stopping it—even if I could—unless Peter gives me a reason to try. Where is he?”

  “He’s living with that harlot. In an apartment in The Hills.”

  Alexa whistled. The Hills was the ritzy development in Addison. Even if Peter had gotten a raise, his veterinarian technician job wouldn’t pay enough to live there.

  “What does Victoria do?”

  “She’s an operations manager for some small company. They’re subletting from a friend of Peter’s. But she obviously has expensive taste. She’s after his trust fund.”

  “He doesn’t even get it for another year.”

  “Thanks to you, it’s big enough to wait for.”

  Alexa absorbed the hit, because it was true. When their mother had died—Alexa had been twelve, Peter six—her personal fortune had gone into a trust for each of her kids. Alexa hadn’t needed hers. By the time she turned twenty-five, the year she could access it, she had enough money to live on and a job she loved. She’d folded most of her trust into Peter’s—against her father’s wishes, of course. Peter had understood why she did it but insisted she have access to the interest if she needed it.

  “Have they set a date yet?” she asked.

  “Not until next year,” he mumbled.

  “What was that?”

  “They picked a date next year. May.”

  “Dad, I’m exhausted. It’s three in the morning here. I don’t know why you felt it necessary to call in the middle of the night, but I can’t do anything about it now, and there’s plenty of time to do something if something needs to be done.”

  “They just left,” Paul explained, his voice wheedling now. “I didn’t even think about the time.”

  “Obviously.” She didn’t bother to stifle her yawn. “I’ll call you when my job is done.”

  “Alexa—”

  “Good night, Dad. I love you.” She felt for the “end” button and disconnected the call. Within seconds, she was back to sleep.

  * * *

  Cyrgyn hadn’t returned when she woke two hours later. She went for her run and fell into the zone so sweetly she went an extra mile. The sun was just peeking above the horizon when she returned. Exhilarated, she lengthened her stride, stretching into the morning. She hit the tarmac outside the hangar just as a downblast of wind signaled Cyrgyn’s arrival.

  “Inside,” he urged when she stood still, absorbed in watching his slow fade into view. “I am uncloaking.”

  She rushed to open the hangar door, then closed it behind him when he slid through. He moved to the far end where his mattresses awaited. “Long run this morning,” he said.

  “Were you watching me?”

  A shrug. With the rippling of muscles from shoulder to flank to tail, it was less of a casual move than it should have been.

  Alexa tossed her keys on the nearby table and began stretching before her muscles cooled too much. “How long are you going to be mad at me?”

&nb
sp; “As long as you keep underestimating your enemy.”

  A flash of heat in her chest warned her to concentrate. There was enough tension between them now. She didn’t need to lose her temper.

  “I don’t underestimate my enemy.”

  “As long as you think you can fool him, trick him, you underestimate him.” The dragon settled into a coil and sighed with the weariness of his age.

  “I’m not foolish,” she snapped, stretching her right hamstring. “I know the risk. I don’t know if it’s worth it. I want to discuss it. Rationally. Not be ordered like a five-year-old.” Oh, lord. She’d degenerated quite a bit since yesterday. “Sorry. I got a call from my father this morning. He sometimes makes me act like a child.”

  “I know.” His smile seemed fond, if that was possible on his beastly face. “He has been quite protective since your mother…” He trailed off less abruptly than her father had.

  “What about my mother?” Alexa straightened and strode toward her friend. The friend she’d had since childhood. Who’d “known” her family as well as she had. Better, because he had the perspective of an adult, while her perspective had changed. “Since my mother what?”

  “Since she died,” he said softly, as if that was all he meant. But Alexa’s instincts were telling her there was more.

  “Do you remember her death?” she asked.

  He turned his head away, as if avoiding her gaze. “I was not there.”

  He hadn’t answered her question.

  “I was.”

  He didn’t respond. Alexa knew when to back off, and how to eventually get answers. There was something important about her mother’s death. Something that made her scalp prickle. Suddenly, she didn’t want to know what that something was.

  “Tell me about your cloaking,” she urged. “I don’t really know the extent of your powers.”

  They talked for the next two hours about Cyrgyn’s abilities and how he’d developed them. The cloaking he’d figured out early, hiding in the woods from hunters and other potential adversaries. He’d simply hidden with his mind, and they didn’t see him.

  “You can’t do it during the day?” Alexa asked.

  “The sun becomes too strong and penetrates the veil,” he explained. “In the woods, in the fog, in the rain, I have more invisibility. Full sunlight reveals all, however.”

  “What else? Obviously, you can fly. Your wings seem too flimsy to hold your massive body, though.”

  “Dragon flight is more magic than physics. I cannot explain the mechanism, only that it is there and it wasn’t hard to learn.”

  “Fire.”

  “What about it?”

  “How do you create it?”

  “Alexa, I am not a zoologist. I have heat. When I focus and blow, it becomes fire.”

  She figured she’d have to accept some things that just were. “What else? Can you move things? Change things? Turn someone’s hair white?”

  Cyrgyn shifted and studied the ceiling. “No, not really. I am aware of your location, approximately. Your life force.”

  “You mean how much of it I have?”

  “Yes.”

  That was intriguing. “Like a video game.” She laughed, but Cyrgyn didn’t look amused. “What about Tarsuinn?”

  “I used to know. I sensed his existence, but once he attained a certain age, I could sense him no longer. I am regaining that, I believe. I feel the pull of his life force.”

  “Can he sense us?”

  Cyrgyn rested his head on his paws. “He is a mage,” he said, as if that explained everything.

  “No, he was a mage. Now he’s a man.”

  “Alexa.” He lifted his head and glared balefully at her. “You do underestimate him. Tarsuinn has never lost his magic. As a boy he levitated objects. He controlled fire. He cloaked himself from my observation. He has retained his awareness. There is no doubt he retained his magic as well.”

  Alexa knew Cyrgyn had more experience than she. He had a better knowledge of Tarsuinn the Mage. He’d witnessed incidents that defied explanation. Hell, he defied explanation. Yet she felt more like Rock Davis than she ever had. Skeptical to the point of suspicion.

  Until she remembered the conference room door jerking out of her hand yesterday morning.

  Before she could say anything, the phone she thought of as the “Jolie Smith” line rang. She snatched the phone from the clip on her belt.

  “Anell Breathwater.”

  “You can save the accent, Ms. Ranger.” Tars’ voice was smooth, controlled. Confident. “I trust you’ve considered my proposal?”

  “I have.”

  “And?”

  She eyed Cyrgyn. “I want to meet you. To discuss it.”

  The dragon gave a disgusted huff.

  Tars sounded pleased. “Of course. How about this evening, over dinner? I can pick you up.”

  Alexa’s turn to snort. “Yeah, right. I’ll meet you at Dominic’s on Tenth. Seven o’clock.” She snapped the phone shut.

  Cyrgyn’s sigh fluttered her hair. “And so it begins.”

  Chapter Six

  Cyrgyn watched Alexa and knew he could wait no longer. Alexa needed backup—as opposed to protection, which was what he really wanted to provide. She was letting her knowledge and skill blind her to the unexpected—what Cyrgyn believed she would call “a rookie mistake.” He couldn’t convince her that her path was the wrong one. And he could not walk it with her. That left only one other option.

  He ground his teeth together. It was the last thing he’d wanted to do. The man represented everything Cyrgyn longed for, everything he’d lost. He hated him with as much passion as he hated the mage. But Alexa was more important than his feelings for his associate.

  He looked at the windows. It wasn’t dark enough to cloak, but he’d have to chance it. He turned back and saw Alexa watching him warily.

  “Are you going to yell at me some more?” she asked.

  “No. It does no good.” She looked relieved, and he stood to make his way outside. “Do what you wish. You will not be alone.”

  Alexa watched him leave and wondered what the hell he meant. Was he planning to watch her from the sky? Or was he being mystical, speaking of the connection between their souls?

  She shrugged and shut the hangar door. Whatever. She wasn’t into mystical. That made her laugh, for what was a cursed dragon if not mystical?

  She went upstairs to prepare for her “date,” mentally cataloging her limited wardrobe. She wanted to be appealing without being provocative. And she needed ease of movement. All of her clothing, actually, fit the last requirement. Some of it fit the first. But what would Tarsuinn want her to wear?

  That was the key. She had to think like her enemy. What would hit the right note? Not the fire-engine red, skin-tight silk number. That was bar material. Not the classically cut pinstripe suit, despite the slit in the long skirt and the deep V of the neckline.

  She finally settled on a three-piece outfit in ice blue. The color reminded her of Tars’ eyes. That was a play to his ego so subtle he wouldn’t recognize it. The pants hugged her hips and flared from knee to ankle, hiding the gun she holstered above the short matching boots. It was the only weapon she dared wear, because with luck she’d be close enough to Tars for him to detect anything else. The sleeveless sweater she wore under the calf-length coat hugged her too well to conceal a gun or Taser, anyway. She left her hair down. Guys seemed to like that. Contemporary guys did, anyway. She didn’t know why Tars would be any different.

  She examined herself in the mirror on the back of the door, jerked her collar and straightened her cuffs. She looked tough. Like Angelina Jolie in half her movies.

  Shit. That wasn’t the image she wanted at all.

  Her watch beeped. She didn’t have time to change. If she was lucky, Tars liked a challenge. She grabbed an itty-bitty purse—a place for her phone and keys and an accessory the GenCom fashion consultant had insisted on when he put together this outfit—and headed for the
Saturn. On the drive to the restaurant, she tried to nail her plan down in her head. She couldn’t. Nothing in her experience fit the situation.

  After discarding ten different opening gambits in half as many miles, she decided to just play it by ear. She cursed as she parked. She hated flying by the seat of her pants.

  She slid from the car and scanned the immediate area. No signs of Tars or any of his goons. Not that she’d recognize his goons, but she knew he had to have them. She began to cross the street, half-expecting to be grabbed and yanked into a van that would suddenly appear in front of her. But that wasn’t the avenue he chose.

  Alexa’s ear caught the hum of an engine before she’d reached the center line. She looked to her right, and a stretch limo glided toward her. It paused in front of her, and the door opened.

  “Come, Alexa.” Tars himself motioned her to enter the vehicle. “Though the restaurant is…nice, I have a much more intimate plan for our dinner.”

  Alexa smiled and stepped into the car, settling on the leather seat across from Tars. No one else shared the compartment, and the divider between them and the driver was up. “Where are we going?” she asked.

  Tarsuinn studied her. She’d dressed fashionably, yet did not hide nor flaunt her femininity. He was pleased by the gleam of her hair. If she’d sat next to him, he would have been able to rub the satiny texture against his fingers, smell her, feel her warmth. But he would wait for her to come to him. He could see in her smile that she would come. In time.

  “I have had our four-star chef prepare a feast for us on…in a very special place,” he corrected himself. His spy could be wired, and he didn’t want to give away his secrets.

  “I can’t wait.” Alexa gazed out the window at the city rolling by, and Tars watched her. She sat relaxed, her hands at her sides, and he noted her lack of fear. That was good. She would come to him more readily if she was not frightened of him.

  He examined her, looking for the familiar and the new. It had been so very long since he’d last seen her beauty, and though she looked different in this incarnation, she also looked just the same.