Line of Fyre (Alien Dragon Shifters Book 2)

by Cara Bristol

  “As I said, we are colleagues and friends. They worked for my father. They came to support me.” Through the hood’s visor, green eyes challenged him, expecting him to deny her and preparing to fight. It was amusing, charming, touching…

  It took courage to leave one’s home and people and face the unknown. She probably expected Draconians to be as perfidious as her own people. Dragons were the most trustworthy beings in the universe. They followed through on their word—which made them all the more dangerous. They acted fairly and justly, but mercifully? Never. Mercy was for the weak.

  Dragons and humans were enemies, and the latter were wise to fear the former. Draco had acted in good faith, but Earth had broken their promises. If not for the king’s inexplicable change of heart, Draco would have obliterated everything on the surface of the planet, leaving nothing uncharred, resolving the human issue once and for all. This brave and foolish female and her companions would have been among the immediate casualties.

  Strangely, he was inclined to be indulgent. What would it hurt to bring the friends along?

  No. I don’t like them, the dragon disagreed. Those who are weak are too easily swayed by others.

  All the more reason to bring them along. Intimidation of the friends could help to control Helena. However, since his first inclination had been to leave them behind, if that’s what the dragon wished, he would concede. Co-existence necessitated give-and-take. He’d learned long ago to pick his battles. If that is what you want—

  Besides, the male might decide he wants our mate. She is brave and beautiful…

  Mate? Oh no. Where had he gotten that idea? She is not our mate. She is a consort, a political pawn, an appeasement for the king.

  She is our mate!

  Helena shrank back. Her gloved hand came up to press against her chest. “You growled at me!”

  Her two friends closed ranks, rushing to her side.

  She’d heard the dragon? Impossible! T’mar cocked his head. “I believe you’re mistaken.”

  I told you I would recognize our mate when I saw her. When she removes her suit, we will shift, and then you will recognize her, too.

  The dragon needed to understand a human could not, would not, be their mate. The Dragonish word for human translated to “one who lacks fyre.” Perhaps T’mar owned some culpability for the confusion by having admired and found amusement in Helena’s spirit and by having abstained from his concubines’ services. Now that the ennui had vanished like it had never been, and his fyre burned hot and bright, when they got to Draco, he would seek out A’riel and the others and prove Helena was just another female. But until he could disabuse the dragon of his illusion, it would be wise to bring along a buffer.

  “Your friends may accompany you to Draco,” he announced. “We will find a role for them.” What it would be, he had no idea. Perhaps Prince K’ev would have some suggestions. The king wouldn’t be happy—but maybe his father didn’t need to know—at least not right away.

  “Thank you.”

  The dragon was annoyed with him but pleased by her happiness.

  If the male showed interest in Helena, and she reciprocated, that would prove she wasn’t their mate. Of course, the dragon would toast him.

  T’mar shrugged. No great loss.

  Chapter Seven

  After using their wrist comms to inform the settlement they were departing for Draco, a robo loaded with their luggage rolled out of the habitat and followed them over rocky terrain toward the waiting ship.

  Why am I not more afraid? Helena wondered. Patsy, her fierce, resourceful, brave friend had fainted dead away, the reaction more what she would have expected of herself. Instead, she’d held her ground. She’d been scared, yes, because the creature was huge and fanged.

  But magnificent, with the warmest amber, almost topaz, eyes she’d ever seen. He swooped his massive horned head to gaze at her, and for a moment she’d become almost mesmerized. She got the oddest impression the dragon liked her, although in man form, he’d been barely civil. It was like he had a split personality.

  She’d been so certain “Prince T’mar” had been an imposter, a colonist deputized to capture her. He was too good-looking to be a dragon. Blond and tall with broad shoulders tapering into a perfect V-shape. Rugged masculinity tempered by a dimpled grin—not that he’d smiled often. His pronunciation had sounded foreign, but who couldn’t fake an accent? He had vertical pupils, but she’d seen how contact lenses could alter one’s eyes. His attractiveness presented as nonthreatening while his eyes and manner of speaking imparted credibility as an alien—a perfect combination to trick her into leaving with him.

  Don’t trust—and verify! She refused to accept anyone’s word without proof.

  Then he’d turned into a dragon, and she’d been awestruck, relieved, and almost gleeful. Biggs had no idea how outmatched he was. If he could face a dragon up close and personal… She’d love to see the bastard wet his pants. Poor Patsy had fainted!

  She trudged toward the spacecraft, and T’mar shortened his stride to stroll beside her. Patsy and Henry brought up the rear. The robo, loaded with their luggage, zoomed on ahead.

  She glanced at Mr. Tall and Gorgeous. He could have stepped out of a men’s fashion magazine—except for the gray onesie. The jumpsuit had split and torn during the shift. Then somehow, the suit had sewn itself back together. However, the glimpse she’d gotten of a naked T’mar had imbedded itself in memory. Jaw-dropping, panty-dampening wow!

  They stopped in the shadow of the ship. Gleaming with grayish-green scales, horned, winged, and frilled, it resembled the dragons it ferried. T’mar gestured with his hand, and a gangway lowered, although no entrance appeared.

  “Will we be able to breathe on board?” Henry asked.

  She wondered the same. The hazmat suits worked for short durations, but they couldn’t live in them.

  “Yes. You’ll be able to remove your suits as soon as the doors close. On Draco, you’ll receive respirators. If you’ll follow me…” He marched up the gangway and passed through what appeared to be a solid fuselage.

  “Neat trick,” Patsy murmured.

  “Either the doors are open and shielded by a hologram, or they have the ability to manipulate matter,” Henry said.

  “I guess we follow him…” Nervousness ratcheted up several notches. She’d like to believe herself brave and bold, but it wasn’t so. The reality of what they were about to do turned her feet to lead.

  Would she ever see home again? Hug her father? Maybe she wouldn’t be able to tolerate the Draconian atmosphere with a respirator and would die a slow, horrible death. Or she could be attacked by a dragon less friendly than T’mar’s. She’d been assured she would come to no harm, but if the situation had been reversed, a Draconian would be foolish to trust Earth’s government.

  She would never get another opportunity to neutralize Biggs’ influence. With her out of range, hopefully the president would step up, become the man he used to be, and halt the march toward annihilation. It almost seemed like Biggs had a death wish. Relations between Earth and Draco had been amicable once. It hadn’t lasted long, but it did prove an alliance was possible.

  Lastly, maybe she could atone for the injustice done to Rhianna. Perhaps through all of this, she could become the friend Rhianna had believed her to be.

  She had no business putting Henry and Patsy at risk. The promise of safety for the concubine did not extend to unexpected guests. She couldn’t put her friends at further risk. “You two stay here. Go back to the habitat. I need to do this alone.”

  “Either we all go or none of us go,” Henry said.

  “In for a dime, in for a dollar,” Patsy agreed.

  If not for me, they’d be on Earth back in their old jobs.

  Awaiting annihilation. Perhaps that counterbalanced it.

  “I don’t know what will happen, if we’ll ever get home again. Everything is iffy—including our lives.”

  “Everything has been iffy up to th
is point, too,” Henry pointed out.

  “It’s not right to involve you.”

  “It’s our choice. We’re choosing to help you.” Henry grinned. “Why should you get to be the only hero?”

  A hero she wasn’t. She didn’t deserve any parades. Fixing one’s screw ups didn’t make you a hero.

  Henry sobered. “We can’t predict what will happen, but we’re aware of the dangers. You need us. Earth needs us all. Let’s do this together. You are not responsible for our choice. If anything happens, it’s on us, not you. Okay?”

  Patsy gave her a little shove. “Now, let’s board this craft!”

  “All right. Thank you.” Helena sniffed back tears. How had she inspired such loyalty, friendship, and support?

  She marched up the steps. She paused outside the solid fuselage, took a breath and a leap of faith, and then stepped through the wall into a large, vacant chamber.

  Close on her heels, Patsy and Henry entered.

  Prince T’mar waited in a large open area. Next to him stood an expressionless dark-haired man. She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. This was no human, but a dragon in man form.

  T’mar waved, and the walls shimmered. “The door is sealed. You may remove your protective clothing.”

  Taking off the suit felt like surrendering her security blanket. But if she didn’t feel courageous, she could at least fake it. She peeled off her hood and inhaled an exploratory breath. Her lungs expanded and contracted. Aside from the faint sulfur-char tinge, the air seemed normal. Her damp hair clung to her scalp, and she fluffed it with her fingers.

  Henry removed his hood; Patsy kept hers.

  “You were outside so long, I thought you’d changed your mind,” the prince said.

  “We, uh, I considered it,” she admitted.

  He leaned forward, and his nostrils flared. “Your honesty surprises me.”

  “Are you smelling me?” She jerked away.

  “It is harder to do in this form,” he said.

  Patsy still had on her hood.

  “It’s okay, Pat,” Henry said. “The air is fine. You can take off the hood.”

  “I’m keeping it,” she said. “Until I’m sure everything is fine.”

  Henry shrugged.

  “This is J’toh,” T’mar introduced the other Draconian. “He will escort your friends to their quarters and see to their needs. You,” he said to Helena, “will come with me.”

  How would they find each other again? Four long corridors spoked off the chamber in which they stood. The grayish-green walls and floors offered no distinguishing features. Nothing was marked or labeled. Getting lost would be easy.

  She lifted her chin. “The three of us stay together.”

  “Yes,” Patsy spoke up.

  “We request to be placed together,” Henry amended.

  T’mar ignored him. “I will speak to you alone,” he said to Helena.

  “Why?”

  “You are my consort. Don’t you wish to learn what that will entail?” Yellow eyes glinted with a challenge.

  The floor of the ship rumbled, and then the vessel lifted off. This is it. No turning back. She swallowed and jutted out her chin. “Perhaps you are right.” She vowed to hook up with Patsy and Henry somehow.

  “Come with me, then.” Without waiting for a response, he strode down one of the four corridors. She hesitated, staring after Patsy and Henry being led down a different passage by J’toh.

  “Don’t worry,” Henry mouthed at her.

  Patsy was peppering the aide with questions. “How big is this ship? How many dragons are on board? Are the sleeping quarters separate from the public areas? Which way is the bridge?” Her friend had recovered her spirit after the faint.

  Information equated to power. They needed to find out as much as they could about the Draconians. And T’mar had handed Helena her best opportunity. If Patsy can do it, I can do it. She gave Henry a quick salute and darted after the prince.

  Chapter Eight

  The president had asked for an update on Helena, and while Biggs waited for Marshfield to arrive, he reread the message from his contact on Elementa. Dragon ship en route to Draco. Asset aboard.

  The situation couldn’t have gone any smoother. A few nudges, a threat he was prepared to act upon, and Helena had fallen in line like a good little soldier and done exactly what he’d wanted. Even better—she assumed going to Draco was her idea. Leaning back in his chair, he rocked, savoring a perfectly executed strategy.

  How he wished Bobby could share in the moment. On that thought, the glow dimmed, and he stopped rocking, feeling the loss as a deep, ragged void. He’d never been able to reveal to his brother what he did or how he did it—loose lips did, in fact, sink ships—but having him in his life had been enough.

  Biggs stuffed the grief deep inside again and focused on his next steps.

  The nation tiptoed across a high wire of possibility. If he could get everyone to the other side, the balance of power would shift to one country. The one he controlled. But if a distraction caused a fall, the opportunity would be swallowed by history.

  Marshfield’s notion his daughter could contribute value was ludicrous. She was a privileged, lightweight airhead whose appointment to the strategy team proved Marshfield’s unfitness to rule. On what topic could she provide insight? What handbag to pair with which shoes? How to build a following on social media?

  Unfortunately, she was very good at the latter, and while a “following” counted for squat in a sane, rational world, it had begun to become a threat. The celebrity-obsessed public idolized Helena Marshfield. “My good luck charm,” the president had joked. When his policies ruffled feathers, a public appearance by his daughter and a few lifestyle Instagram posts smoothed them over.

  When Helena spoke, people listened.

  She hadn’t yet publicly opposed him, but she’d become bolder in private, criticizing the direction he’d set. Ever since Rhianna had gone to Draco, Helena had worked on her father, raising doubts in the president’s mind. If she went public, she could ruin everything. Had she been an ordinary adversary, he would have eliminated her. But with her fame and popularity, an accident or disappearance would have resulted in an investigation.

  Success was so close, he couldn’t risk it. There were two ways to seize control: by coup and by small, incremental steps no one noticed until it was too late. The former offered the benefit of a quick change but also came with a high potential for failure. Revolutionaries who failed ended up convicted of treason and executed. So, he opted for the slow, steady approach. It had taken twenty years to get to this point, but he could smell success.

  He hated the filthy space lizards, but he owed them a small debt of gratitude. While he would have achieved his goals in any case, their threats had fast-tracked his rise to power. With an entire planet on alert, liberties and legal processes had been “temporarily” suspended, allowing him greater leeway to do what needed to be done.

  The door slid open, and Alan Marshfield entered the war room.

  “Good morning, Mr. President,” Biggs said.

  Worry had etched permanent lines into Marshfield’s haggard face and stooped his posture, aging him ten years. He sank into his seat. “Anything new to report?”

  “Yes, but it’s not good.”

  A muscle ticked in the president’s cheek. “Tell me.”

  “The dragon collected Helena. She is on her way to Draco.”

  “So she went.” Marshfield squeezed his hand into a fist and slammed it down on the table. “Dammit! I still can’t fathom why she would do this!”

  “Misguided loyalty perhaps? It wasn’t necessary. We will win the war against the dragons.”

  “At great loss to human life.”

  “Casualties are unavoidable, but we have the advantage. Draco will make a show of force and firepower, but they’ll have to send their armada halfway across the galaxy, and contrary to what everyone believes, they don’t have the capability to incinerate
an entire planet.” This certainty, of course, ran contrary to the public statements he’d authored to instill fear in a gullible citizenry. At the same time, he downplayed the threat to the president.

  “Some cities will burn, but most of Earth will remain intact,” he continued. “We’ve achieved great scientific advances in manipulating the weather; we can call on the rains and monsoons to protect us. They have no interest in conquering us, per se. They can’t occupy this planet; our geology and atmosphere won’t sustain them.” He shrugged. “What they want is Elementa.”

  “Then maybe we should give it to them. The metals aren’t worth the cost.”

  “With all due respect, Mr. President, I believe you’re letting emotion cloud your judgment.”

  “My daughter’s life is at stake!”

  “I understand your concern, but you’re the leader of a nation. Is her life more important than any of the others who might have to be sacrificed?”

  The president’s shoulders slumped, and he stared at his clenched fists.

  “I sympathize with the difficulties of your position.” Biggs injected concern into his voice.

  Marshfield’s head shot up. “Tell me you didn’t have anything to do with my daughter going to Draco.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Did you put her on the colonist’s ship to Elementa?”

  “I’m not sure if I should be insulted—or flattered.”

  Fists clenched, Marshfield sprang to his feet. “Biggs—”

  So Marshfield still had a backbone. How interesting—and inconvenient. At this critical juncture, he couldn’t allow him to impede the plan. Perhaps Marshfield had outlived his usefulness?

  Many officials and staffers—the vice president, the secretary of state, chief of staff, the press secretary—acted for and spoke on behalf of the chief executive. Nearly all matters funneled through Biggs before they went to the president. In actuality, rarely was the chief executive’s presence and approval or disapproval required for the running of the country. Given the current planetary crisis, he hadn’t been seen in person for months anyway. If a situation arose requiring a face of authority, holograms and computer-generated vid would suffice.