The firestorm was about a Pyr meeting his destined mate. If so, he might be more susceptible to her human form.
Rania shifted shape within his grasp and was rewarded by his start of surprise. He gave her a slow and appreciative survey, making her conclude that she was right. Unfortunately, she was distracted, too. That look made her warm. In fact, it made her tingle. It made her think of the big bed in his bedroom and what they could do there...
“I don’t believe that story about the firestorm,” she said. “I think it’s a ruse and a lie, a trick to get sex whenever you want it.”
He was obviously insulted. “I don’t need a trick to get sex,” he retorted and she could believe it. “The firestorm is the sign of a Pyr meeting his destined mate, the one woman who can bear his son.” He said this with complete conviction.
Was he a romantic? She’d never have expected that.
“How many destined mates do you have? You dragon-shifters can live a long time.”
“Only one,” he insisted. “A treasure worth waiting for.”
Rania wasn’t going to be swayed by something so ridiculous. Believing in the firestorm put Hadrian at a disadvantage. If a destined mate was so rare, Rania guessed that he’d be reluctant to injure her, much less kill her, even in self-defense.
She could work with that.
He lifted her in front of his face, examining her closely. The air was cool, but Rania felt warm and protected in his grasp. There was something about that dragon perusal that made her feel as if he could guess all her secrets. She held his stare, defying him to do so.
“Why me?” he asked in a rumble. She felt the vibration of his voice, which seemed intimate. Seductive.
Rania bristled. “Why not you?”
Hadrian shook his head. The sunlight glittered on the emerald and silver of his scales, making him look like a jeweled treasure. “You have a reason.” He did have a way of seeing past her glib answers.
It seemed harmless to tell him a bit more. “I have to kill one of the Pyr. I chose you.”
He seemed to be intrigued. “Why?”
“Because you’re a blacksmith, as well as a dragon shifter.”
“But Quinn Tyrrell is the Smith of the Pyr.”
“And he has kids. It’s not going to ruin anyone’s life when you die.” Rania was surprised that she’d admitted so much, but something about this dragon’s intensity made her talkative—or defensive about her choice.
His sudden smile surprised her even more. She hadn’t thought dragons could smile, or that she’d find the sight charming. Being wrong on both counts didn’t help her regain her focus.
“It’ll ruin mine,” he noted with amusement and she was almost surprised into a smile herself, because that was true.
Instead she scowled. “That would be the point.”
He didn’t argue it. He just flew higher, and she admired his powerful grace. His wings were so large that he was able to beat them slowly yet remain aloft. He made flight look effortless.
“You’re an assassin for the Dark Queen, but you have a soft spot for children,” he mused and Rania felt herself flush. “That seems inconsistent.”
“I’m just not going to be the one to hurt them.”
To her relief, he didn’t immediately pursue that.
Rania continued. “And no one says my victims didn’t deserve what they got.”
He nodded slowly, considering this. “Why a Pyr?”
“I just follow the rules.”
“What if you die in the attempt?”
Rania shrugged. “If I were you, I wouldn’t count on getting lucky. I have a reputation.”
He laughed. His voice dropped low and that white light seemed to burn even brighter. It certainly prompted a stronger reaction within Rania and she had a hard time keeping herself from stroking his claw.
Why did she want to touch him so badly?
“Maybe I feel lucky now,” he mused.
This had to be beguiling. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”
“Maybe I want one last wish before you kill me.”
“Maybe you’re not that lucky.”
Rania caught her breath as Hadrian pivoted smoothly and dove back toward the earth with incredible speed. Her hair whipped around her face as the earth loomed ever closer. She loved to fly but she never flew to such great heights in her swan form—and even in a plane, she preferred to be the one at the controls. A dive like this was a daring and thrilling move. It was an expression of confidence: he knew he could shift or stop at the last minute, even at such a speed.
She admired that. She clutched Hadrian’s talon as he rapidly descended toward his house, letting him think she was more alarmed than she was. If he meant to alarm her into confessing more or agreeing to his request, she could respect the tactic.
He sped up. “So tell me: are you the pawn of the Dark Queen or are you in league with her?”
“Does it matter?” The earth was looming closer. No, he was aiming for the rocks in the river outside his studio.
“I think it does.” He was too calm. Rania guessed he had planned a trick.
Well, she had one of her own.
“I don’t have to tell,” she replied.
“Maybe I can encourage you,” he said, his tone daring. He opened his claws, smiled at her, then let her drop.
Rania shifted to her swan form, flailed ineffectively with her cut wing feathers, then shifted back to her human form again. She was falling fast and it was terrifying. Her heart raced, even though she had no intention of crashing into the earth.
She let Hadrian think she was in desperate straits, saw him surge forward to intervene in the last minute like a conquering hero, then played a trick of her own.
She wasn’t going to owe him anything, even if it meant making her abilities clear.
Rania chose to retrieve her knife.
Two
The swan maiden disappeared, right before Hadrian’s eyes.
He blinked but he wasn’t mistaken. She was gone. She’d switched between forms, changing from a swan to a woman then back again. Both were gorgeous. She’d fallen fast and just as he’d been about to snatch her out of the air—and earn her gratitude—then she’d vanished in the blink of an eye.
His plan had failed.
Worse, he had no idea where she’d gone. Hadrian couldn’t see her. He couldn’t smell her. He couldn’t figure out how she could have hidden herself, but she was gone.
And she’d disappeared just when things had been getting interesting.
Maybe that was why she’d fled.
He swooped low over the river, then flew in a slow circle around his lair. There was no sign of his mate—beyond the half dozen white feather tips on the ground. He narrowed his eyes and used all of his senses, but it made no difference. She should have hit the ground hard. She should have been grateful for his last minute rescue. His ploy should have been a game-changer.
But he hadn’t had the chance to save her.
Hadrian was annoyed. He liked plans. He liked executing them flawlessly. He liked using his powers for good, and winning the agreement of his reluctant mate to satisfy the firestorm would definitely be for the good.
But she had a plan of her own.
Why did she want to kill him? It almost sounded as if she was on Maeve’s team, but that made no sense. She was a shifter, too, which meant she was included in the Dark Queen’s inventory of Others to be exterminated. She didn’t seem to be stupid. How could she have overlooked that?
He’d been surprised when she shifted shape the first time, when she’d become a beautiful and delicate swan. She was graceful and lovely, but there was a hard light in her eyes, one that followed her between forms. He’d known that she would finish him off without a heartbeat of remorse.
And then when she’d become a woman, she might have been his every fantasy come true. She was just as delicately made, her skin pale and her hair as fair as sunlight, but she was tall and strong. Her eyes were the gloriou
s blue he recalled from their first encounter and her lips were full. But that fury in her expression had been undiminished.
There was no doubt that she’d happily cut out his liver and roast it for dinner.
How could his destined mate be an assassin determined to end his days?
Hadrian could have killed her in either form in self-defense. He might have done so if not for the combination of the firestorm’s light and the red string on her wrist. She wasn’t just his mate: she was in Maeve’s thrall. He’d learned to respect the Dark Queen’s powers. He knew that she could cast a spell to compel anyone to act against their own will—or arrange the situation so that making a deal was the only choice. He knew from personal experience that being bound to the Dark Queen’s command was horrific and that her bargains never ended in anyone else’s favor.
Killing him was probably what his mate had to do to gain her freedom. Hadrian couldn’t blame her for that.
But he wasn’t prepared to die just yet.
The white flame diminished to a glow, but it was still burning.
She hadn’t gone far.
Of course not. Her quest wasn’t completed.
Hadrian scanned his surroundings for a glimpse of her.
Nothing.
Well, nothing beyond what felt like a cold rock in his cheek. The place where she’d kissed him when they’d first met had become heavier and colder, like it had been reactivated by her presence. It was colder than anything he’d felt before and it seemed to spread frost through his muscles.
Hadrian forced himself to review what he knew. His mate could spontaneously disappear, which probably meant she could manifest wherever she wanted. He’d heard about Slayers who had been able to do that, but Rafferty was the only one of the Pyr with that ability. She was still close and he could follow the light of the firestorm to find her. He needed to have surprise on his side, though, to have a chance to negotiate. Surprise made her hesitate, and that’s what had saved his butt so far.
If he could surprise her again, they might be able to find another way to break the curse together. If he could help her gain her freedom in another way, she might be glad to fulfill the firestorm.
In that instant, he remembered that she’d dropped her knife in his bedroom.
Hadrian raced toward his lair, dove through the broken window and shifted shape en route. Balthasar and Alasdair stared in astonishment as he ran across the main room in human form, but stood back, just as he’d requested earlier in old-speak.
The dagger was in the bedroom and the bedroom was the perfect place to get close to his destined mate. He knew a few ways to surprise her there and smiled at the prospect.
The white light of the firestorm flared to greater brightness, feeding the burn of desire already thrumming in his veins, and Hadrian found himself feeling very persuasive.
The dagger was exactly where she’d dropped it.
Rania manifested in Hadrian’s bedroom and reached for the blade, smiling with satisfaction. She was a bit superstitious about weapons and had chosen this one particularly for a dragon slaying.
Her fingertips had just brushed the hilt when white light flared behind her. Even that warning wasn’t enough. She was attacked from behind before she could turn, and she knew who her assailant had to be. The dagger spun across the hardwood floor as Hadrian caught her up and flung her onto the bed. He trapped her beneath his weight, holding one wrist in each hand as she shifted shape over and over again. No matter whether she was swan or woman, he held fast. She could have manifested elsewhere, but she wasn’t leaving without her knife.
“Let go of me!” she demanded, feeling an old fear at a most inconvenient time.
“Promise to stay and I will,” he offered.
She studied him with skepticism. “Is that a joke?”
“Of course not. I want a chance to talk.”
She stopped shifting, remaining in her human form, and he smiled. “Talk fast,” she said and to her surprise, he did release her wrists.
Why would he trust her?
Hadrian braced himself over her, which didn’t give her much of a reprieve from that piercing gaze. “For starters, you’re my destined mate.”
“I’m your destiny,” Rania corrected hotly, but the gleam in his eyes wasn’t fear.
He continued with an alluring confidence. “And that means we’re stronger together.”
“You can’t know that. You don’t know anything about me.”
“But I do know that. The firestorm is always right.” He smiled a little. “Even when it seems to be wrong.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Kristofer’s firestorm was a spell, but when the spell was broken, he had a real firestorm with the same mate.” He nodded, convinced of his own logic. “The firestorm never lies.”
Rania was confused by his conviction, and by the firestorm. That white light sparked and sizzled around and between them, emitting a brilliant glow and making her think of better things they could be doing on the bed. She was hot and shivery at the same time, furious with him and wanting to wrap herself around him, too. She wriggled, feeling like her body was following his agenda instead of her own, and Hadrian’s gaze darkened.
“What’s your name?” he murmured.
She found his low voice more seductive than she wanted him to realize, so spoke sharply. “You don’t need to know.”
“But I want to know.” He bent over her, inhaling deeply of her scent and she felt his chest rumble with a little growl of satisfaction. Her nipples beaded and she almost sighed with pleasure. “So perfect,” he murmured, then touched his lips to the side of her throat. The almost-kiss made Rania’s heart leap as she gasped in surprise. Something melted deep inside her and her blood simmered.
She’d never kissed a dragon shifter before.
Having the opportunity was more enticing that it should have been. He was her intended victim! Killing him was the key to her freedom. But Rania closed her eyes and enjoyed his touch, all the same.
Maybe it was just strategic to find out a little more.
Hadrian grazed her earlobe with his teeth and Rania felt her lips part as he kissed her ear. His caress was so gentle that she couldn’t fight against him—and when he continued a trail of burning kisses along her throat, she could only enjoy. She closed her eyes, unable to think about anything other than smoking hot seduction.
Maybe just one taste.
Just to find out what it was like.
She turned her face toward him without intending to do any such thing and Hadrian kissed the corner of her mouth. His touch was so arousing that it made her forget everything—except wanting more.
“Tell me about the kiss of death,” he invited.
Rania’s eyes flew open but his mouth brushed over hers with captivating slowness. “I could give you another,” she threatened, but knew she sounded breathless. It wasn’t true anyway. She’d used up her last kiss of death.
That was the problem.
“Shouldn’t one do the job?”
“Yes.”
He grinned down at her, his eyes twinkling. He looked mischievous, cocky and a bit wicked, a combination that worked for Rania in a big way. “Then I don’t have anything to worry about, do I? The damage is done.” He touched his lips to hers again, coaxing her to participate in their embrace. “Tell me how it works,” he invited. He was over-confident, but Rania admired warriors too much to be immune to that trait.
Playing along might be strategic. It might lull him into complacency.
That was all the rationalization Rania needed.
She parted her lips and stretched toward him, inviting more of a kiss. Hadrian didn’t hesitate to slant his mouth over hers. His kiss was persuasive and powerful, demanding enough to drive every sane thought from her mind. She felt how he held himself back, and the combination of tenderness and strength was absolutely perfect. She opened her mouth to him intuitively, loving the feel of his arousal against her thighs. It was thrilling to
know that she could excite a dragon shifter.
He broke their kiss, then surveyed her, his gaze hot. The mark of the kiss of death on his cheek was turning silver, as if molten sterling had been embedded in his cheek.
She’d never seen it do that before.
Rania remembered a bit late that he’d asked a question. “It waits for opportunity,” she admitted, exhaling her words in a rush. Hadrian kissed her ear, then interlaced his fingers with hers. He’d noticed what she liked and was doing it more. She respected his technique—he was using her weakness against her, and she didn’t want him to stop.
“What kind of opportunity?”
Rania parted her thighs, welcoming his weight against her. He was hard and she rolled her hips, her motion making them both inhale sharply. “An injury,” she confessed, her voice so breathless that it didn’t sound like her own. “If it should be a fatal one, the kiss accelerates its effect. If it should be a minor one, the kiss ensures it becomes fatal. A victim could die of a paper cut.”
“Sounds fearsome,” he murmured.
“It is.” Rania opened her eyes and looked at him, pulling away slightly to study the silver mark with uncertainty. Why was it changing? “Why are you alive?”
He lifted a brow, which made him look reckless and sexy. “Strong constitution?”
“It’s not enough.”
“A healer’s intervention?”
Rania shook her head. “It shouldn’t be enough. It’s not possible to heal a kiss of death. It’s a killing spell.”
Hadrian’s eyes darkened with intent as he bent to brush his lips across hers again. It was a taste, a tease, and a temptation. Rania found herself reaching up to meet his touch.
This time, he closed his mouth over hers and kissed her thoroughly. This kiss was less gentle and more demanding, a kiss that seared her very soul. Rania was lost in sensation and didn’t want to be found. The white light flooded through her as she surrendered to Hadrian’s seductive touch. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he didn’t need a trick to get lucky. All he needed was his kiss. She moaned a little when he deepened his kiss, demanding more. The heat rose within her with insistence and she found herself wrapping one leg around his, trying to draw him even closer.
Dragon's Mate: A DragonFate Novel (The DragonFate Novels Book 4) Page 5
