Stroke of Fire

by Kira Nyte

  “Syn,” the stranger answered for her.

  She glanced up at him. Syn. Can the guy get any more alluring? She suspected he lived up to his name. All the more reason to keep herself together. Falling apart was for the privacy of her own home.

  “Syn, this is a dear friend of mine, Mark Heddleman.” Briella moistened her lips when Syn’s hand lifted from her hip, along her spine, and came to rest between her shoulder blades beneath her hair. Not entirely versed when it came to relationships, she still recognized the motion as one of possession. She couldn’t stop herself from leaning slightly into his touch. There was no logical reason for the immense comfort she felt near Syn. “I tripped. Syn happened to catch me before I made a bloody fool of myself in front of everyone.”

  Mark reached for her hand. The moment they connected, she felt Syn stiffen beside her. A sense of disgruntled jealousy flowed from him and threaded through her mind.

  Briella had just become the center of an unspoken standoff between two men. She couldn’t believe it.

  “Thank you for intervening,” Mark said. His gaze fell to her and he smiled. “Everyone’s waiting for you. They were threatening to storm the bathroom. It’s probably best if we return.”

  Mark held fast to her hand as he began to tug her back to their table. Briella looked up at Syn before she was forced to separate from his gentle touch. The break resonated through her like a physical tearing of her body.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, finally turning away from him and following her unyielding friend back to her chair.

  Chapter Five

  Syn tried to ignore the dragon stirring in an agonizing pit of jealousy and desire. He wore that same desire, from the ache in his groin to the tautness of his muscles. Touching Briella Everett unleashed a beast he could barely control. When she looked at him with those blue-gray eyes and those parted pouty lips, he had every intention of giving himself over to her telepathic plea for a kiss.

  Then that human interrupted. The same one he’d been keeping a close eye on from the opposite side of the second-story bar and lounge. Oh, there was no doubt the man had a keen eye for Syn’s lifemate. He made his point clear when he interrupted Syn’s intended kiss. Mark’s blatant move to make his position clear also implied the man’s insecurity when it came to the redheaded vixen.

  And what a vixen. That dark red hair was as silky as he’d imagined. Her petite frame with curves where they belonged and a delicacy that urged him to protect her, explore her, love every inch of her body.

  Syn swallowed hard, the image of Briella beneath that cute dress forcing the muscles to constrict around his lungs.

  Taryn claimed Syn didn’t know how the human world worked. Well, he knew if he gave in to the possessive nature of their bond, one she knew nothing about, Briella would have shot from the bar faster than a bullet from a gun barrel. Letting that guy drag her off was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.

  “This has turned into a very boring night.”

  Syn tore his gaze from Briella and her friends long enough to cast Taryn a dour glance. His interest lay in the woman, not his friend’s jabbing comments. She sipped her second glass of water, an untouched martini on the table, and appeared detached from the interactions between the three women and the man she’d introduced as Mark. His hopes soared when she looked around the bar as if to search him out, only to plummet when she engaged in a short conversation with a friend. He thought about following her to the bathroom when she made a second trip, but decided Taryn would deem that stalking, and kept his ass planted in the chair.

  “Maybe I should’ve come up with a different plan,” Taryn muttered. He threw back the rest of his rum and shook his head. “Whipped already and you’ve barely said a word to her.”

  “I introduced myself, as you suggested.” Syn eyed the untouched shot of scotch Taryn ordered for him when they first arrived. Three hours of watching Briella from afar was damn near driving him insane. He didn’t want to watch. He wanted to be next to her. The draw to the woman was maddening. The equivalent of forcing two high-powered magnets apart when all they needed was to connect.

  He wanted that connection. Craved it as much as he craved the floral scent of her skin in his nostrils and the airy brush of her long hair against his skin. Oh, he craved so much more, but he’d take it slow.

  Shifting in his seat, trying to off-load the discomfort in his cock, he pressed his lips together. “Seems I’m going to have competition. Don’t know if the reason I don’t like the guy is because he’s got his eye on her, or if there’s something more.”

  Taryn twisted in his seat to observe the table Syn had barely looked away from. “He’s certainly not a slayer, which is good. No indication of magic. He’s too lanky.” His friend faced Syn and shrugged. “By the look on her face when you caught her, that guy’s no competition.”

  A small relief. There was a time, long ago, when there was absolutely no competition. The thought of it was asinine. The Firestorm dragons were revered in his homeland, as were the Keepers. Each dragon had a Keeper, a companion and friend, a protector and a responsibility. Generations of male Keepers who allowed the dragons to live for centuries.

  Female Keepers, the daughters born of a male Keeper’s bloodline, were rare. So rare that where Firestorms were considered lore, even in the paranormal circles, female Keepers had become nothing more than fantasy. History had a pattern, though. When the Firestorm numbers were down, a generation of those rare, exquisite female Keepers seemed to come along. Those numbers were slashed from twenty-three to eight a little over thirty years ago when the Baroqueth slayers launched an ambush that nearly wiped out an already endangered breed of dragon and their companions.

  In the last few months, two of his brethren had found their lifemates and given them all hope.

  Now, it’s my turn.

  “Are you going to drink that?” Taryn’s question pulled him from his thoughts. The bar came back into focus around him. Syn shook his head, pushing the tumbler closer to Taryn, who said, “Shame to watch it go to waste.”

  “I told you not to bother getting me anything.”

  “Not like it would’ve done a thing to you. The least you could’ve done was enjoy the flavor while you mope. Might keep your teeth from grinding down to the gum.” Taryn chuckled and jerked his head back in the direction of Briella’s table. “Hey, by the way, if you continue to stare at her like that you’re going to burn holes through the humans standing between here and there. You’ve barely taken your eyes off her.”

  “Making sure that guy doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want.”

  “Bull.” Taryn tipped the glass to his lips. “You should be checking for the real threat, not some dandy wanting a go at your girl.”

  Point made.

  Syn rubbed a knuckle against his bottom lip. Reluctantly, he looked away from the beautiful Briella and started a stealthy assessment of each person crowding the bar.

  “You don’t suspect one of them might traipse into a place like this. It’s too public for their agenda.” The fight to keep his attention away from Briella was as hard as it was to physically stay away from her. “I never imaged them to be social.”

  “You’re not social, and here you are. The Baroqueth are on the prowl. Any place is on their agenda.” Taryn flagged down one of the servers weaving through the crowd and ordered another drink. He leveled a piqued look at Syn. “Should I order two? Just in case I need to wash down my first?”

  Syn barely glanced at the attractive server, who wore a sultry grin and watched him with a heavy-lidded gaze. “Scotch. Top shelf. Neat.”

  “Be right back,” she said.

  “Love it when you order the best.” Taryn snickered. “Man, she’s swaying those hips with a little more energy.”

  “You’re used to it,” Syn said, unable to hold back a grin. “Maybe you can take her home.”

  “I think those hips are moving for you, brother.”

  Syn rolled his eyes and h
iked an ankle on his knee. He perched his elbow on the arm of the lounge chair and stroked his chin with his fingertips. “Nice try. I’m off the market.”

  “Since when were you ever on the market?”

  Syn remained silent. Taryn knew he wasn’t a man to settle down with a woman. None of the dragons were. Not until they found their lifemates. Everything else was temporary.

  “In all the years you’ve been in New Orleans, you’ve yet to encounter any of our enemies?” Syn asked, looking over each person in the lounge, which was more of a crowd than he felt comfortable around. Especially when women cast him and Taryn hungry looks more times than he could count. What he wouldn’t give to leave this place with Briella on his arm. He brought his attention back to Taryn. “I find that hard to believe.”

  Taryn shrugged. “Believe what you will. It’s been me and my partying self, except for drop-ins by the likes of you and the others. Not much to draw attention on behalf of…us. Besides, there is so much paranormal activity in this city that it can overwhelm the senses.”

  Syn spotted the server talking to some customers—flirting, rather—her tray still empty of their drinks. Without warning, he pushed to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Oh, man.”

  Syn ignored Taryn’s taunt and wove smoothly through the crowded lounge, pausing beside the server to tell her not to worry about their order, and continued until he reached the bar. He found a break along the bar top and slid between a group of women in business clothes and a cuddling couple.

  “He’s still here.”

  The sound of her voice threading through his thoughts made his mouth twitch with satisfaction. He rested his foot on the railing that ran along the bottom of the bar and braced his arms on the counter as a bartender bounded toward him.

  “What will it be?”

  “A shot of your best rum and a shot of your best scotch. Both neat.” Syn pulled out his wallet and tapped the edge against the polished bar top. “And does that party have an open tab?”

  Syn made a small motion to the chairs where Briella and her friends sat.

  The bartender shook his head. “They’ve been paying as they go.”

  “Then just the two drinks.”

  Syn flicked open his wallet. His skin burned under Briella’s perusal. He cast the group a shaded glance, half hidden behind the businesswomen laughing over their martinis and wine. To his dismay, Briella and her friends were gathering their belongings and preparing to leave.

  Briella looked like she was in a daze.

  “Maybe I should go thank him. Again. No. That’s corny.”

  Syn pushed off the bar and leaned his side against the top instead. Her girlfriends laughed as they led the way down the stairs. Briella followed, her feet dragging, that man’s arm around her waist. She looked back, her gaze hitting Syn dead center in the chest with enough force to seize his breath before lifting to his eyes.

  “Maybe I should get a water. Another water. Or go to the bathroom. Again.”

  She turned away and continued down the stairs, her friend Mark rambling on too close to her ear. Her shoulders were stiff as he watched her inch out of the man’s hold.

  “Chances are, I’ll never see that guy again.”

  “Here you go, sir.”

  Syn pulled out money for the drinks and handed it, plus a hefty tip, to the bartender. He stayed at the bar as the group descended the stairs.

  “You’ll see me again,” Syn assured her softly through the telepathic link. “That is a promise.”

  Briella stopped at the bottom of the stairs and twisted to look up, finding him once more through the crowd. Her brows furrowed and her lips parted. One of her hands came to rest over her chest, as if to contain the pounding of her heart. He could imagine it, because he felt the same way.

  Then, her friends called for her, the man hooked her arm in a guiding hand, and she was gone.

  Syn picked up the drinks and started back to Taryn, his desire to leave growing with each second.

  He’d barely made it a handful of steps when he caught the glint of something wedged between the seat cushion and the arm of the chair Briella had occupied. Shuffling both glasses to one hand, he tugged a feminine silver clutch from the chair. His first instinct was to chase after his lifemate to return it, but he quickly abandoned that idea. Tucking the clutch under his arm, he returned to his friend and handed him his drink.

  Taryn quirked a brow at the clutch, a smug smile creeping over his mouth. “I see you’ve found a treasure.”

  Syn tossed back his scotch and lowered the glass to the table. “We’ll see.”

  He had no idea what treasures the little bag contained, but he certainly hoped there would be a proverbial key to Briella’s good graces.

  Chapter Six

  The knock against her skull pulled her from a dreamless sleep. She groaned and rolled onto her side. Sunlight cut through the drawn curtains, enough to stab daggers into her head through her eyelids.

  “Never again,” she groused, her voice scratchy and her mouth dry. Shading her eyes from the brutal sunlight, she squinted one eye open enough to read the small clock on her nightstand. Eleven thirty.

  The knock continued, only this time she realized it wasn’t coming from inside her head. Tempted to pull a pillow over her face and ignore the summons, she patted her hand over the surface of the nightstand, hoping to find the bottle of over-the-counter pain medication. Anything to get the splitting pain to ease enough for her to think straight.

  Her fingers never connected with the bottle, or the glass of water. She could’ve sworn she’d left it within reach the night before for this very reason.

  The doorbell buzzed throughout her apartment.

  “Yeah, okay. Okay.” Somehow, Briella rolled to her feet. She paused as pain ricocheted through her brain. She pressed a palm against one throbbing eye and tried to breathe through the agonizing ache as she shuffled through the sunny apartment. Sweet God, she was so not feeling the cheer today.

  With one eye squeezed shut, one open a mere slit so she wouldn’t walk into anything, she made her way across the small space to the table next to the door. And stared at the set of keys on it. Keys. Nothing else. No phone. No clutch. Nothing.

  “Seriously?”

  She needed her phone to see who was knocking at the door. It was one of those fancy smart thingies with a security camera feed she could pull up through an app. One more step of security beyond the normal alarm and monitoring system.

  What a way to put your money to good use, Brie. No more drinks. Ever.

  Another rap on the door below. Did she have an appointment with someone and she’d forgotten?

  “Anything’s possible with this hangover.”

  Each step reverberated up her spine and hammered against her skull. She had no idea how she made it down the stairs, and didn’t care. She fumbled with the bolt lock, rattled the doorknob as she tried to grip the twist lock, and pulled open the door.

  The front of her small building faced west, so at least the harsh sunlight didn’t smack her in the face. The moment her mind registered who stood on her stoop, she wanted nothing more than to rewind time and not look like a walking mess. She was suddenly utterly aware of the skimpy tank top and flannel pants that covered her, as well as her tousled hair.

  “I didn’t want…to bother you earlier.” Syn, the delicious godly man from the bar the night before, stood a few feet in front of her looking every inch as hot as he had last night. It made her hyperaware of her pitiful comparison. His smile of greeting faded. “You don’t look well.”

  “I kind of went over my limit last night. Not a normal occurrence.” She fought the pain to open both eyes and drink in the medicinal sight of Syn. The irony. “How did you find my apartment?”

  “Your license.” A half-grin crossed his kissable mouth. He lifted a small, silver object. “You left it on your seat at the bar.” He held the clutch out to her. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I figured you’d wa
nt your belongings back.”

  Briella managed to tip the corners of her mouth up before a new wave of aching annoyance hit. When she reached for the clutch, her fingers brushed his.

  A flood of rapid images pelted her, stealing the sight of Syn from her eyes as she suffered an explosion of sensation from the vision. Shadows, darkness, fire, rain. More fire. Blue electric bolts.

  “…get her when she returns…”

  Briella gasped, her arms flailing to grab something. Anything.

  The solid support that encompassed her both scared and comforted her. She became weightless as the vision receded and her surroundings returned.

  “I’ve got you, Briella. You’re safe. Nothing will harm you.”

  Did that pathetic whimpering sound come from her? Was she gasping for air?

  “Are you okay?” Syn’s voice was deep and soothing, a rich, accented blanket that wrapped around her as much as the heat coming off his large body. Her muscles involuntarily relaxed, the tremors that followed the vision subsiding. Her mind, on the other hand, tried to work through the hangover haze to figure out the meaning of the vision. The power behind the images had almost knocked her off her feet.

  She stilled. Slowly, she looked up at the man who cradled her in his arms just inside the door. She heard his thoughts, or rather, something far more direct than a thought. It was as if Syn spoke to her. Telepathically.

  His gorgeous eyes watched her, his concern for her almost palpable. Concern. For a stranger.

  A wave of weakness hit her and she lowered her head to his chest. She had no idea why this man induced the potent sense of rightness he did, but she was too exhausted and pained to pick at logic.

  “Briella, do I need to bring you to a clinic?”

  “No, no. No clinic. I need to sleep this off.” She winced. His arms tightened around her and lifted in an easy motion. Before she could protest, Syn was climbing the stairs. “I’m sorry. I’m such an—”

  “Don’t apologize.” Syn angled them through the doorway. The sound of the inside door would have set off warning bells if her brain was working properly. “I’ll put you to bed. Do you have something to take for the headache?”