Dragon's Mate: A DragonFate Novel (The DragonFate Novels Book 4)

by Deborah Cooke

  “Yet no dragons,” Wynter said, her voice silencing the crowd once more. “How can that be?”

  “We got lucky?” Niall suggested.

  Wynter looked Theo up and down, her disdain clear. “They say you escaped Fae. How exactly did you manage that? What was the price you paid?”

  “More than a month of captivity,” Theo countered, his gaze sizzling. He rose to his feet and Caleb could see the shimmer of blue that heralded his shift. The last thing they needed was a dragon shifter fighting a wolf shifter at Bones.

  “Not enough for the Dark Queen I know and despise,” Wynter replied, apparently not as interested as Caleb in keeping the peace. “What else?”

  “Nothing else, as far as I know,” Theo said.

  “As far as you know.” Wynter shook her head then jabbed a finger in Theo’s direction. “I think you made a deal,” she accused. “You dragon shifters are late to this alliance and you have a reputation for wanting to play everything your own way. I think you made a deal and left us out of it, a deal that keeps the Pyr alive while the rest of us go down.”

  “That’s not true,” Theo said calmly, even as there were nods of assent in the bar.

  “Even though you were captured with her daughter?” Wynter asked, turning to face Mel. Mel stood a little taller, her hostility at least equal to that of the wolf shifter.

  “Don’t expect me to defend my mother, or understand all of her choices,” she said.

  Mother?

  Caleb felt as if he’d missed a cue. Mel was Maeve’s daughter?

  Murray caught sight of his surprise and nodded. He’d known then, but Caleb hadn’t.

  “You have a deal with her, too, then,” Wynter accused.

  Mel held up her hand, the one with the red string on her wrist. “If you count being cursed as a deal.”

  “But you’re a shifter, too. Why hasn’t she killed you? She must be cutting you some slack due to blood ties.”

  Mel paled but shook her head. “She’s just not done playing with me yet,” she said softly. “You could take a lesson from that.”

  “Maybe you should explain,” Wynter challenged.

  Mel sighed, then braced her hands on the bar. She nodded once, then spoke clearly, her voice carrying over the quiet bar. “You think she’s targeting shifters and you’re right, but there are three kinds of shifters and she’s only after one. Maybe two. But the third kind could be allies.”

  Mel held up a finger. “First, there are all of you. You’re shifters because it’s your nature. The ability to change forms is part of what you are. You were born shifters and you will die shifters. Your children will be shifters. The majority of you can take two forms, one of which is that of a man or woman. Most of you can choose to shift, although some of you are compelled to do so under some circumstances.”

  “Full moons,” Wynter said with a sigh.

  Mel nodded. “Some of you have other powers, but the important thing is that you’ve always been a shifter and when you shift, you’re still yourself.”

  “What other kind of shifter is there?” asked the bear-shifter.

  Mel held up a second finger. “Sorcerers who learn the spell to shift shape. They can take multiple forms and they do it by choice. Their shift is determined by whim and is a mirror of their magickal powers. There aren’t very many sorcerers of such power, and I suspect Maeve will target them, if only to try to claim their magick.”

  Wynter’s expression had softened a little. “And the third kind?”

  “Those who are cursed to shift, like me.” There was a little stir in the company as Mel tapped the string on her wrist. “I was immortal but not a shifter, until I was cursed by the Dark Queen. I have no control over the shift. Mine happens in a specific way at a specific time.” Caleb saw that Theo was listening to Mel with avid interest. “I can’t stop it. I can’t make it happen. It’s imposed upon me.” Mel’s frustration was clear. “Most who are cursed to shift are stuck in that alternate form until the curse is broken. Sometimes they’re silenced, too. It’s a temporary thing, theoretically, but it can feel like it lasts forever.” She fell silent for a moment, then nodded. “The thing is that anyone who is a shifter like me probably hates the Dark Queen and would make a good ally.”

  “And other than you, those shifters probably aren’t on her list,” Theo said.

  Mel turned and smiled at him as she nodded. “Allies she won’t hunt.”

  “They can still get taken out as collateral damage,” Caleb said.

  “But as our numbers dwindle, we can use all the help we can get,” Mel said. “And like the mates who have followed Wynter, they’ll be adding to our forces unexpectedly, at least to the Dark Queen. That can’t be a bad thing.”

  It was the first positive idea they’d had in a while and the room erupted in chatter as various kinds made suggestions and lists of those cursed creatures and mortals that might prove to be good allies.

  Wynter wasn’t going to let it go easily, though. Caleb saw that as she spun to face the Pyr again. “Is it true that one of your kind warned you of the Fae attack last weekend?”

  “Alasdair had a nightmare,” Drake confirmed. “At the time, we didn’t know what it meant.”

  “But now you have an early warning system,” Wynter said. “Why did he have the nightmare? What’s different about him?” She demanded this of Theo.

  “He was trapped in Fae, as well, and also tortured by Maeve. She went through his thoughts and obviously left him sensitive to the presence of the Fae.”

  Wynter scoffed. “So, you got out of Fae by becoming her spy,” she said to Theo. “And this Alasdair has the ability to hear them coming so he can warn the rest of you. Sounds like the Pyr have come out of this all right.”

  “Hardly,” Theo retorted. Once again, he was shimmering blue around his perimeter and Caleb feared he’d shift shape to fight. Wynter looked as if she was ready to rumble as well, then something completely unexpected happened.

  The door to the street opened and it seemed to admit the sun. Golden light flared in the darkened bar, a light so brilliant that it left everyone blinking.

  “Sorry I’m late,” one of the Pyr said as he strode into the bar. Caleb remembered that his name was Arach. He had dark hair and silvery eyes and moved with youthful purpose. He waved to his fellow Pyr and a stream of brilliant orange sparks launched from his hand.

  The light flew across the bar, burning like a sparkler on the Fourth of July, and dropped toward Wynter. She stepped to one side, but the flame tracked her anyway. It landed on her lips with a sizzle that made her eyes widen, then extinguished. She rubbed her mouth and glared at Arach, clearly understanding the source of the spark.

  A golden glow remained, burning between the two of them and driving the dampness out of the bar. Arach stared at Wynter with awe. She looked him up and down, then turned her back on him to continue her argument with Theo.

  Obviously, she didn’t realize that she was having a firestorm with a dragon shifter.

  Or maybe she did. Caleb wondered whether she was feeling the mating sign of the wolf shifters. He’d never experienced it, but he’d seen the mark appear. It looked like a tattoo of a crescent moon, but it appeared suddenly and of its own volition. The location varied from wolf shifter to wolf shifter, and more than one had made a seductive game of tempting the mate to find it.

  Caleb couldn’t see any change in Wynter, but he thought things had just gotten very interesting. She would feel the mark burn, if she had it. What if she didn’t? Could she be Arach’s destined mate without him being hers? Caleb wasn’t sure. Usually mates had no powers of their own.

  But then, Maeve had turned everything and everyone upside down.

  Murray was wiping glasses with gusto, his eyes round, looking like he needed to do something to keep busy. The Pyr were studying Wynter and only the wolf shifter mates, of all those beyond the Pyr, seemed to recognize what was happening. They looked between Arach and Wynter, smiling and whispering to each
other.

  “This means that to keep the faith with all of us, and prove that the Pyr haven’t made a deal that leaves the rest of us out, you have to offer a hostage,” Wynter said to Theo.

  What? It was time for Caleb to intervene. This was his turf and they followed his rules. He’d let Wynter talk to deal with her grief but she was pushing too far.

  Arach smiled and took a step closer to Wynter, too. She glanced back as the light flared to greater brilliance, burning yellow between them.

  The rest of the Others seemed to finally understand. Maybe they were feeling the sexual demand of the firestorm too.

  Caleb certainly was.

  “Wynter, you’re out of line,” he said sternly. “This is an alliance...”

  “And it’s only going to work if we trust each other. When one group looks like they have an inside deal, we have to restore the faith of the Others in the alliance.” She turned to those gathered in the bar, inviting their agreement. “Right?”

  “Right!” they roared, toasting her with their drinks and raising their fists high.

  “Looks like a done deal, Caleb,” Wynter said, her eyes sparkling with triumph. If it hadn’t been for the spark of the firestorm, he would have been tempted to wring her neck.

  As it was, he figured Arach had won that honor.

  “Don’t worry,” she said to Theo. “I’ll take good care of you.”

  “Me?” Theo said then laughed. “You won’t be my captor.”

  “You have to keep the faith,” Wynter began to insist but Arach approached her quietly. When he dropped his hand on the back of her waist, a flurry of sparks shot from the point of contact.

  “Take me,” he said in a low rumble and Caleb heard a wealth of meaning in that invitation.

  Wynter surveyed Arach again, her eyes narrowed, then Caleb watched her inhale slowly. “You’re Pyr,” she murmured and he smiled.

  “And I’m all yours,” Arach said.

  “What’s this light?” she demanded.

  “A firestorm,” Arach said. “It means you’re my destined mate.”

  “I don’t think so,” Wynter protested as everyone in the bar watched with open interest.

  “Well, since I’m your hostage, we’ll have plenty of time to find out,” Arach countered.

  Wynter opened her mouth and closed it again, then glanced at Caleb as if she’d appeal to him. As far as he was concerned, she’d created her predicament herself, and he didn’t mind one bit if the Pyr kept her busy while he regained leadership of the Others.

  “You made the rules,” he told her. “You get to live with the consequences.”

  Wynter’s eyes narrowed, her gaze nearly lethal, then Arach took the final step between them. The firestorm’s light flared to brilliant white and Wynter stared at him. Her lips parted, then she licked them. She shook her head, swore with gusto, then spun to face him. Without warning, she caught Arach’s face in her hands and kissed him.

  And the mates who had followed her from Alaska cheered.

  Five

  Alasdair had been sleeping so hard that Hadrian hadn’t wanted to wake him up. Balthasar was out cold, too. Hadrian made a pot of coffee and poured himself a huge mug, then returned to his studio to examine the blades he’d left to cool. They’d come out better than he’d dared to hope. There was no telling when his mate would return, so he heated the forge again, drank more coffee, and got to work.

  He could sleep when he was dead. Ha. Somehow that joke wasn’t funny, given his current situation.

  When would his mate return?

  Hadrian soon forgot his exhaustion as he became absorbed in his task. He hammered each blade for the flattening and tensioning. It was good steady work, if a bit repetitive, but he was motivated to get these gloves done. It was satisfying to see his plan coming together, too. He finished the pot of coffee and made another, forcing himself to remain awake as morning progressed.

  He knew the instant his mate arrived. The hairs prickled on the back of his neck. The air moved in an unusual way, just as he’d noticed when she’d vanished or appeared suddenly before. The firestorm flickered to life: he felt the glow of its icy fire and felt the flurry of white sparks collide with his back. It all happened at once.

  He knew that it was now or never to make his play for survival. He’d already seen that she could be easily prompted to talk, and he had to think that the more she knew about him, the harder it would be to kill him. He’d work with what he had. Hadrian spun to find his destined mate a step away, a different blade raised in her hand. She was poised to strike, but then her gaze met his.

  He saw the difference immediately. The expression in her eyes wasn’t as hard as it had been. The line of her lips was softer, and she flicked a glance over him. She hesitated to make the strike.

  She had doubts.

  Was that because they’d been talking? Or had something changed in her?

  Either way, Hadrian would welcome progress wherever he found it. He moved like lightning to close the distance between them, caught her around the waist and bent to kiss her in the same moment that he seized the dagger in her grasp. His mouth closed over hers and she sighed with satisfaction, then seemed to remember herself. She broke their kiss and snatched for the blade but it was too late.

  Hadrian summoned the change since the most interesting things happened when his mate was surprised. She was visibly startled to find herself in the grasp of an emerald and silver dragon. Hadrian liked that she wasn’t terrified. Her heart skipped once, then she surveyed him with curiosity.

  Fearless. He admired that.

  He loved how she ran her fingertips over his scales. It felt heavenly, the barest whisper of a caress lighting an urgency within him. He could get addicted to that pretty easily. Her touch and the shimmer of the firestorm sent shivers through him, making him want that kiss all over again. His heart pounded as he watched her eyes darken.

  As if their thoughts were united.

  Then she abruptly stepped away. Hadrian let her go, watching her lips tighten and her gaze lift to the blade.

  “Give it back,” she commanded, as if he would do any such thing.

  He spun the blade, hooking a talon through the lace on the hilt, letting it catch the light.

  “A Scottish dirk,” he said with approval. “As sharp as the best ones are reputed to be. Nice ornamentation on the handle. I like the Celtic knot and the stone in the pommel. Is it amber?”

  “Smoky quartz,” she acknowledged, then glared at him. “Give it back.”

  Hadrian ignored her. “How old is this one?”

  “Victorian,” she admitted through gritted teeth. Her lips tightened into a thin line as she extended her hand in silent demand.

  He laughed. “We both know that isn’t going to happen. I like the collection I’m building, by the way.” He twirled the knife and tucked it beneath his scales, well aware that she was watching him. It didn’t matter. She’d never find the weapon on her own. Then he shifted shape again and had a thought. She liked challenges, too.

  He lifted his hands, offering himself, and grinned at her. “Why don’t you try to find it yourself?” he teased.

  She propped her hands on her hips. “You’re not making this easy,” she complained.

  “Why should I?” Hadrian countered. He leaned against the table beside her, watching the firestorm brighten between them. “I’m not in a hurry to die.”

  “I’m not going to make that deal with you,” she insisted. “You’re just delaying the inevitable.”

  “You talk a lot for a cold-hearted killer,” he noted, studying her. “Are you lonely?”

  She bristled visibly. “Why would I be lonely?”

  “Maybe because you’re alone. You work alone, maybe live alone. That would leave you with no one to talk to.”

  “How I live and work is irrelevant to you.” She was fingering the partially finished blades, as if assessing how useful they might be to her. Hadrian suspected she could use one in a pinch and
deliberately stepped away from his worktable. He guessed that she would follow him and, after a moment’s pause, she did.

  “You have my ring,” she said and Hadrian lifted his hand to admire it. “You should return that to me, too.”

  “I’ll trade it,” he suggested.

  “For what?”

  “The story of it.”

  “The story?” She looked confused. “It’s a ring. It’s mine. End of story.”

  “Come on. That’s not a story. Who did it belong to? How did you get it? Why do you keep it?” He wagged a finger at her. “If you want to learn about telling stories, you should listen to Alasdair. That dragon can spin a yarn, and illustrate it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know. A little advice: if my cousin ever offers to tell you a story, seize the opportunity. Now, tell me about the ring.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. I’ve always had it. It’s always been on that chain around my neck, as long as I can remember.”

  “But you don’t know anything about it?”

  She shook her head.

  “And you don’t wonder?”

  She frowned, her gaze locking on the ring. “I haven’t. It just was. Now that you mention it, that does seem strange.”

  She was uncertain again, as if the rules were changing or the ground was shifting beneath her feet and she wasn’t sure where to step next.

  Hadrian would work with that.

  “And it always shines like this?”

  She shook her head, apparently mystified. “That’s new.”

  “I have an idea,” he said. “Why don’t we ask your brothers what they think of my proposed deal to satisfy the firestorm? I mean, they have a stake in the result, too, and they might want your family line to continue.”

  “You can’t talk to them. They’re swans because they’re cursed.”

  “I remember. Can’t you talk to them in your swan form, or at least understand them?”

  She blinked. “I don’t know.”

  “You’ve never even tried!” he guessed. “Can’t you find them?”

  “I can go to anybody anywhere anytime,” she said with confidence.