The Enforcer (Fire's Edge)

by Abigail Owen

  He reached the end of the hall just as a woman with dark gray hair tipped in neon green stepped out of a room. She wore a white lab coat, so he figured this had to be the doctor.

  “Mr. Astarot?” She held out her hand, which he grasped as he nodded. “I’m Dr. Oppenheim. Mariska has been under my care for the last five weeks or so.”

  Mariska? Sounded Russian. A good place to hide if she was what he suspected.

  Brand tucked a spurt of uneasiness behind a poker face that never lost him a game. “All I’ve been told is to come see this woman.”

  “We didn’t want to discuss particulars over the phone, in case someone was…listening in.”

  Brand narrowed his eyes, taking in the slightly too eager light in the doctor’s eyes. His experience dealing with liars and manipulators lit up a warning with big red lights. He’d bet his hefty fee for this job that this Oppenheim person knew what her patient was already.

  Did that mean Ladon knew, too? “Can you give me the particulars now?”

  Her green-tipped hair swayed as she nodded. “She’s almost at the end of another bout. I think you should witness the worst of her symptoms. Then we can talk.”

  At that, Dr. Oppenheim turned and hit a button beside the door. The entire wall was instantly rendered transparent, like glass, and Brand got his first view of the reason he was here. Sort of.

  A woman huddled on the floor in the middle of the room with her back to him, naked, her body consumed by angry red flames that sparked at the tips.

  “We had to remove all the furniture, because when she goes, she melts everything but the walls, which are magically warded to withstand even dragon fire.” The doctor sent him a significant glance, which meant she knew what he was, though he had yet to identify her species. Some kind of healer, possibly a minor deity or demigod with the ability?

  Suddenly, the woman on the other side of the glass clutched her stomach and moaned, low and long. An answering pain radiated through Brand’s body.

  What the fuck?

  He swallowed back a groan. “Is she hurt?”

  The doctor flicked him another glance. “You could say that. She experiences episodes that start with a loss of vision, followed by discomfort, which builds to what she describes as a full-body migraine at the height of the fire.”

  Brand nodded, even as his thoughts spun.

  No dragon or any other fire creature he knew of suffered when they loosed their fire or shifted. And why the hell had her moan affected him, the painful burn spreading deep into his bones?

  Brand breathed in, steadying himself. He possessed a massive level of self-control thanks to the power of kings that flowed through his blood. He was the only one left from his bloodline, but the authority of his ancestors still filled his veins. He sought that control now, having to reach for it, struggle to find it.

  As he watched, the fire pouring off Mariska’s body grew, crawling over the floor and up the walls almost as though it were alive. She crumpled to the ground, curling into a ball. At the same time, a series of keening sounds burst from her.

  His control slipped another notch as pain pulsed through him, stronger than before. On the edge of something sharper, but not quite there. Brand slammed his hand on the wall and leaned into the pain. In the same instant, instinct dragged at him. He needed to be in that room to… Fucking hell. He didn’t know what. Help her? Instinct screamed at him to help her.

  “Mr. Astarot?” Dr. Oppenheim’s concerned tones barely penetrated the haze that had taken over his body. Brand couldn’t tear his gaze from the woman separated from him by a wall.

  She trembled now, body visibly tensing and releasing. Low moans tumbled from her lips and slid down his spine like electric shocks.

  “Why does it take so long?” he groaned around his own escalating situation.

  “We don’t know.” The doctor put a hand on his arm. “But I’m more concerned about you right now.”

  Instinct chose that instant to take over every cell of his body. He needed to be in that room. Now. He shook the doctor off.

  “Step back,” he growled, his voice already dark and smoky, even though he wasn’t shifting.

  “Wait!” Dr. Oppenheim yelled.

  But she was too late. Brand burst into the room and ran at the woman sprawled in the middle of the floor. He dropped to his knees in front of her. “Let me help you.”

  She jerked back. Her eyes, blazing with flame to the point he couldn’t see their color, darted around as if she were searching for him in the dark. Right, she couldn’t see. Her mouth dropped open, but he couldn’t tell if it was from fear of him or from panting through what looked like waves of razor-edged agony. He knew the feeling.

  “I know I can help you.” He had no idea how he knew, but he did. “Will you let me try?”

  She sucked in a sharp hiss, her face contorting. Then she nodded, wincing as if even that small movement was unbearable.

  Urgency moved him around behind her, where he dropped to his knees, banding an arm around her waist and pulling her up and against him, his thighs bracketing hers. The softness of her bare skin registered in his fogged mind, and the edge of his own pain dulled.

  Interesting…

  Flames licked at his body, the heat intensifying. Thankfully, his control of fire kept her from burning off his clothes. Maybe he could try to contain her fire? He sensed her need for more touch, needing it, too, but didn’t want to take advantage.

  “I’ve got you,” he whispered in her ear.

  He ran a hand down her arm, and she sighed, seeming to ease, if only a fraction, at his touch.

  Then she clenched as another pulse shot through her—he knew because an answering pulse shot through him—and she dropped her head back against his shoulder. A scream that pierced his heart poured from her lips, and the fire burst around them before he could get a handle on it, the reverberation of the explosion ringing in his ears, the power behind it shaking him.

  Then, before he could process what was happening, the flames sucked back into her body, a river of angry color disappearing into her skin, like water down a drain, swirling around them both, until all that was left were the two of them in a room gone deadly quiet.

  The pain in his body evaporated, leaving behind only a dull ache. Meanwhile, her skin glowed, like a white-hot poker just removed from the kiln.

  What the hell just happened?

  He glanced down into her face and registered how the woman in his arms was beautiful in a way that snatched the breath from his lungs—long red hair spilled over his arm. Delicate features, high cheekbones, eminently kissable mouth. She reminded him of a tiny bird. One who needed protecting from the world. Who might snap if he held her too tight.

  And glowing, like an angel.

  “Fuck me,” Brand spat. Mariska—and he doubted that was her real name—was a phoenix. A creature destined to mate a dragon king, making him the High King of the dragon clans, and, according to legend, bringing peace to their kind.

  Total crap in his opinion, and not Brand’s primary concern.

  This was why Ladon had sent him, because he knew Brand was the only dragon who’d bring her back to him. Because Brand needed Ladon more than he’d need a phoenix. Being a rogue no longer scared him—he knew how to survive that way indefinitely—but he did need the power of a clan behind him in order to take out Uther. He’d waited centuries to kill the King of the Gold Clan.

  Giving this phoenix to Ladon would open that door.

  The woman in his arms stirred, eyelids fluttering open to reveal eyes so pale blue they reminded him of blues found deep in glacier ice. Eyes like a white dragon. Hypnotic.

  “You,” she croaked.

  The lingering dull ache disappeared as an unaccustomed stomach-clenching sensation of trepidation sank to the bottom of his gut. “You know me?”

  She gave a
trembling smile. “That was a damn idiotic thing to do, you ass. I could’ve killed you.”

  Then she went limp in his arms.

  …

  He’s real.

  Kasia’s first thought as she pulled herself out of a deep and dreamless sleep was for the man… The man she’d seen in almost every vision she experienced when she went up in flames. A year of seeing his face with more and more frequency. A year of not knowing his name or who he was. A year of hiding and waiting in total isolation since her mother sacrificed her life.

  Now she’d finally met him.

  While in the midst of what she could only describe as an almighty full-body migraine, blind and incapacitated with pain…and naked as a newborn. That had to have made quite an impression.

  The sensation that came with her visions, that seemed to be tied to them, like a physical manifestation of the intense power being released inside her, was something she couldn’t control, or stop, or even ignore. Almost like unlocking the visions in her head required peeling back her physical self to let the magic loose. No sight, to clear the way for her mind’s eye, followed by the anguish of being stripped raw, turned her body into an open gateway.

  You’d think the fire would be enough, but apparently not.

  He’d held her through it all, his surprisingly gentle touch both soothing her pain and bringing her to the end of her tussle with fire much faster than she could’ve done on her own.

  Leaving me lying naked in his arms.

  The heat of a rare blush crept up her chest and neck and into her face. Then, as the lethargy of exhaustion receded more, realization struck hard. No way should he have been able to survive her fire. Who the hell, or more specifically what the hell, was he? And could she trust him? Or did she need to run?

  “How are you feeling?” The deep tones of a smooth male voice washed over her. He had an accent she couldn’t quite place—not quite American, not quite British.

  A small part of her mind hummed in appreciation. She liked his voice, which reminded her of bottomless pools of water in a cave. Dark. Sinfully beautiful. Her visions were silent, so until today, she’d never heard him speak.

  Stop stalling, she told herself sternly. Face the man.

  After all, he’d done a bang-up job helping her through that vision, though how was a mystery.

  Kasia stifled a miserably embarrassed groan. Slowly, she forced open her eyes, noting the darkened sky outside the window. How long had she been out? Obviously, they’d moved her to her usual room while she was unconscious. Dressed her, too, thankfully. A hospital gown, but that was better than naked, which was how she always ended up.

  Finally, she moved her gaze to the man seated in the chair beside her bed. Despite seeing images of him, she still had to swallow around a suddenly dry throat at the man in the flesh. His face was all hard angles with surprisingly sensual lips that kept him off the edge of too hard. In combination with dirty blond hair, almost light brown in color, that brushed his collar, and an unusual golden-eyed gaze pinned on her now, he gave off a don’t-fuck-with-me attitude that couldn’t be missed.

  He wore what she’d come to think of as his standard uniform—jeans, black T-shirt, probably those steel-toed boots he wore in every vision. An aura of control practically rolled off him, clotting the air and swamping her senses. Of their own accord, her eyes dropped to the tattoo on his arm, the pine trees around his wrist in clearer detail here than in her visions. If her body weren’t still wrung out, she’d be tingling all over by now.

  He stared back steadily, as if waiting for her to make the first move.

  Kasia grabbed the remote for her hospital bed and raised the head so she could address him more upright. Anything to lessen the disadvantage she was already starting with where he was concerned.

  “Who are you?” she asked, keeping her gaze steady on his, trying to project a calm she was far from feeling. As always, her voice came out scratchy following the fire, and she swallowed around her sore throat.

  He raised his eyebrows. “You tell me. You recognized me in there.”

  Kasia shrugged. “I don’t know. Not really.”

  “But you know me.” Not a question, and a tone that indicated zero tolerance for stalling.

  She sighed. “Yes. Sort of.” She quickly considered how much to tell him. “I have visions.”

  His brows scrunched over his eyes. “Visions? The doctor didn’t mention anything like that.”

  She flicked a glance at the door. “Probably because I didn’t tell her. When the pain comes and I light on fire, I see things. Glimpses, mostly. Nothing makes sense, and I can’t hear.”

  That intent stare narrowed, hardened. “And you’ve seen me in these visions?”

  She fought back a shiver. Guess he didn’t like that little fact. Too late now. “Yes.”

  He thought about that, and she waited him out. Eventually, he crossed his arms, the muscles stretching the limits of his T-shirt and drawing her gaze again to the tattoo on his arm. Curiosity peaked. Maybe now she’d get to see the rest of it? She’d wondered…

  “My name is Brand Astarot.”

  Brand. Uncompromising. The name suited him.

  His frown deepened. “Dr. Oppenheim thought I might be able to help you figure out who and what you are.”

  Why did she get the impression that he wasn’t comfortable with that statement, like a suit that didn’t fit him quite right? Was he lying about why he was here? If he was, why?

  “I see.” She eyed him closely. He hadn’t stated what his specific job was in that introduction. Something she found concerning. “Is that all you are?” She’d learned to ask the question lately, though certain species were more sensitive than others at being quizzed about their origin.

  Not Brand. His expression didn’t so much as twitch. “I’m a dragon shifter.”

  Panic slammed through Kasia so hard she would’ve swayed if she’d been standing. To hide her shaking hands, she clutched the blanket, pulling it up around her as if she were cold.

  Damn. Damn. Double damn.

  The scent of fire in the room made more sense now. She’d assumed the lingering odor to be her own, a remnant from her fiery vision, but it had a woodsier, earthier undertone to it, not sweet like hers.

  Why didn’t I see this coming?

  Despite wanting to hyperventilate, she did her best to keep her reaction under wraps, deliberately relaxing back against the pillows like she thought his being a dragon was a good thing, and not the most terrifying answer he could have given her. “Makes sense with the fire, I guess.”

  She glanced away, plucking at the front string from her gown as she stalled for time to think, to formulate some kind of plan. She had to figure out how to get him out of here without suspecting anything, then she could disappear.

  Kasia cleared her throat. “So how does this work?”

  Brand rooted around in a well-used backpack she hadn’t even noticed on the tiled floor beside him. He pulled out a tablet and pushed a button to turn it on. “We start at the beginning, and I decide where we go from there.”

  Fan-freaking-tastic. Another round of lies.

  She’d already given a false name and a false history. After a year of hiding in a cabin buried in the wilderness of Alaska, not being able to control her fire, she’d come here in a desperate attempt to get help. Horrible idea. It had just landed her with one of the bad guys.

  Except her visions told her otherwise. If she went on only what she’d seen in those flashes, Kasia would have trusted Brand without hesitation. The memory of how he felt earlier, arm around her, solid chest pressed against her back, his hands on her, touching her without actually touching her, threatened to take away all her logic and experience, which screamed at her to run fast and far away from this man.

  Which version of Brand was real?

  Kasia rolled her sh
oulders. “Didn’t you already get this info from Dr. Oppenheim?”

  He lifted his head, intense gaze back on her, making her want to shift in the bed. “Are you going to be difficult?”

  Was that…teasing…in those dark gold eyes of his? Awareness prickled through her until she slammed on the mental and hormonal brakes.

  What the hell was she thinking? Brand was as perilous as it came in relation to what she was. She had more important things than inconvenient, unwanted attraction to deal with right now. She needed to focus on escaping. “That depends.”

  Her edginess made her snippier than she meant to be, and the barely-there twinkle disappeared behind a scowl. “I’m here to help you.”

  Kasia scrubbed a hand over her face. “Sorry.” She dropped her hand to her lap. “But what I need is a doctor to help me figure out how to control my visions and everything that comes with them. Unless you have some mysterious magical cure, I don’t see what you can do.”

  He leaned back, expression showing he was clearly unimpressed. Immovable. “They can’t help you until they know what you are.”

  Shoot.

  She’d lied about not knowing what she was in the hopes that the clinic wouldn’t need the info. She couldn’t very well tell them she was a phoenix when her mother was supposed to have been the last, and most had believed her dead for centuries. Pytheios had seen her that awful night, though, had tried to scoop her up. So at least he knew of her existence.

  Was Brand here on Pytheios’s behalf?

  She needed to get him out of there, and fast. Sticking to her original lies was her best bet. “What questions do you have?” she huffed.

  Thankfully, he let her rudeness go and got straight to it. “Your name is Mariska?”

  “Umm…yeah.”

  He glanced up from the tablet. Despite his blanked-out expression, she got the impression he wanted to shake her. “You really want to start out by lying to me?”