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

by Deborah Cooke

  He didn’t wake up, though.

  Once the ice was gone, she put her fingertips to his throat. There was no pulse. He was still cold. Balthasar changed back to his human form and tried to revive Hadrian, but Rania knew it was too late. She folded her arms across her chest, hating this new sensation of being ineffective.

  She should have felt celebratory. Her thirteenth victim was dead. Her bargain with Maeve was fulfilled. Her brothers would be freed and she could begin her life anew.

  But she was filled with regret instead. She wished she’d taken the chance to have Hadrian’s son. She would have learned more about making love. She didn’t doubt that the satisfaction of the firestorm would have been a great experience.

  Maybe Maeve would have made her son immortal, too, just to please her.

  Rania bit her lip. Maybe Maeve would have insisted on making a deal with that son, letting him earn his right to live.

  Maybe it was better if Hadrian’s son would never be.

  She couldn’t feel glad about that either.

  Yet even that wasn’t all of it.

  She was going to miss Hadrian.

  She was going to miss knowing that he was out there somewhere, being enthused about weapons and his skills, making things and solving puzzles, attracting ice and storms, and being loyal to his fellow Pyr.

  His head fell to one side in that moment and she thought she could see a faint shadow on his cheek where she’d given him the kiss of death. It hadn’t been what killed him, though: it hadn’t worked. The mark was blue now, as if it had been frozen and kept from doing its worst.

  Rania frowned. The kiss of death always faded from view after the victim died. It left no sign of its existence. It was a Fae thing.

  Why was Hadrian’s visible now?

  Why hadn’t he died of it earlier?

  She followed the Pyr as they carried Hadrian back into his lair, her thoughts spinning. She was remembering Alasdair’s story and also the prophecy sent to Hadrian. Somewhere there was a solution to the riddle, if she could just figure it out.

  The ice dragon summons frost and cold,

  His power is a force to behold.

  He can thaw the ice of a frozen heart

  To offer a lost shifter a new start.

  His firestorm burns fierce and white

  Its radiance a beacon in the darkest night.

  But can it bring hope to that doomed soul?

  Or persuade his lost mate to become whole?

  If the dragon wins the swan maiden’s trust

  It will be Fae not Others who are turned to dust.

  The future will be theirs, once allied

  If the assassin joins the dragon’s side.

  His being an ice dragon had to change the result of spells like the kiss of death. But how? Why? Rania frowned as she tried to solve the riddle.

  The fire department had arrived and were hosing down the studio. There was a gathering of curious onlookers in the driveway and Alasdair went out to speak to them while Balthasar still tried to tend Hadrian.

  Rania would have followed him, but she never had the chance.

  Rafferty had arrived at Bardsey Island with Melissa and their adopted daughter Isabelle. Donovan, the Warrior of the Pyr, had greeted his former mentor with enthusiasm. His mate Alex was with him, and their boys, too: Nick and Isabelle immediately disappeared together, as they always did. Marco and Jac were also there with their sons—it took a noisy dinner and a long evening to catch up with everyone’s news.

  The ancient Pyr who Rafferty had rescued were doing well, to his thinking, dressed more like modern people but still speaking an ancient variation of Welsh to each other. Another one had joined them, one with a mysterious smile who looked younger. Rafferty heard the story of the hitchhiker and guessed that this was the elusive Uther.

  When he asked, that Pyr just smiled.

  The entire house was asleep, including the recent arrivals, when Rafferty awakened with a jolt. He laid there, listening, uncertain what had disturbed him. Melissa was sleeping deeply beside him and the house was quiet.

  Then he saw a flicker of blue light outside the windows.

  He rose and went to look. The sun was just rising. The rubble left by the mound where Marco had slumbered safely for centuries were gilded with rosy morning light. He remembered old battles and smiled that Marco had found such joy with Jacqueline. He looked more closely, realizing that there was a stag behind the mound, standing so still that he’d missed the creature. It was looking directly at him.

  No, it was looking at something behind him.

  Rafferty turned, jumping a little to find the ghost of his grandfather, Pwyll, in the shadows. “You must help,” he said in old-speak and in Welsh, then gave Rafferty instructions.

  Rafferty nodded understanding when he’d heard it all, then looked back out the window, unable to stop himself.

  The stag was gone. He wondered whether it had ever been there, because he was certain there were no deer on the island. Then Uther stood up behind the mound and strolled toward the house, whistling softly, as if he’d been out for a walk in the moonlight.

  Rafferty wondered, but then Pwyll tapped his shoulder and he knew it was time. He close his eyes, summoned his salamander form, then hurled himself through space and time to give the assistance Pwyll had requested.

  Of all the Pyr, Rafferty was the most inclined to guide a firestorm to its successful conclusion. That would never change.

  There was a brilliant shimmer of silver light beside Rania as she left Hadrian’s lair. A slit opened from the ceiling to the floor, then a Fae warrior reached through the gap between realms and seized her.

  She struggled against her captor, but he was larger than her and stronger. She saw Balthasar leap at the intruder in her defense and was surprised that the Pyr considered her to be one of them. It must be because Hadrian believed she was his destined mate, but Rania was amazed that Balthasar could overlook her role as Hadrian’s assassin.

  The Pyr really did have each other’s backs and Rania admired that.

  It also made her feel solitary and lonely.

  The portal was quickly closed against Balthasar, though, and she was alone with her captor. Rania shifted shape and tried to escape. But the Fae warrior held fast and she found herself in Fae.

  It wasn’t just anywhere in Fae. She was at Maeve’s court and had a bad feeling about that. She was flung down in front of Maeve, the warrior’s treatment of her so rough that she wondered why she was in disfavor. Maeve sat on her throne before her court and watched, not saying a word in Rania’s defense.

  Things had gone very wrong. Rania was more than a little worried about the outcome of this interview, even though she’d always trusted the Dark Queen. Had Hadrian been right about Maeve’s intentions, after all?

  No, Rania wouldn’t believe it.

  All the courtiers were dressed in red and silver finery and merry music played for a dance. Rania got to her feet and glanced around, well aware that she was the focus of attention.

  What was going on? Why had she been summoned?

  She bowed low. “My queen,” she said with reverence.

  “Indeed.” Maeve’s smile was hungry. “I wanted to commend you on an excellent choice of victim,” she said, her tone gloating. A servant brought her a goblet brimming with a golden liquid. Rania guessed it was mead. Maeve toasted her and sipped. “Here’s to a brilliant elimination. I’m curious to see who you choose next.”

  Next? Rania’s heart chilled. Had Hadrian been right? Was Maeve breaking her word?

  She had to know.

  “I chose the Pyr Hadrian as my thirteenth victim,” Rania reminded the Dark Queen. “He’s dead, so our wager is complete.” She held up her wrist, displaying the red string that was still knotted there. “This should be gone.”

  “Not quite yet.” Maeve laughed at Rania’s obvious surprise. “You didn’t kill Hadrian MacEwan. I did. As a result, his death doesn’t count as your victory.”
<
br />   “I gave him the kiss of death,” Rania insisted.

  “But it didn’t kill him. I did.” Maeve’s gaze hardened. “You lose. Choose another victim.”

  Rania feared that she should have expected this. She should have believed Hadrian and anticipated that the Dark Queen would wriggle out of keeping her end of the bargain on a technicality.

  She felt foolish for trusting Maeve to keep the spirit of their deal.

  And even more foolish for not taking Hadrian’s warning. He’d been right, not just about Maeve but about Rania learning the truth when she didn’t have a dragon shifter to defend her anymore.

  It was interesting that she was so certain Hadrian would have defended her.

  “That isn’t our agreement,” Rania said, keeping her tone polite but firm. “I’ve made thirteen assassinations for you. You should free me and my brothers...”

  “You’ve made twelve assassinations,” the Dark Queen corrected, then drained her chalice of mead. “Choose another victim, and make it quick. This has already gone on too long.”

  “You acknowledge twelve kills,” Rania said, trying to negotiate. “You could free my brothers now, as a gesture of goodwill.”

  Maeve laughed again. “I don’t have to do anything for goodwill,” she snarled. “You’re in my thrall until you fulfill our bargain.”

  “I can’t give another kiss of death. I only had the ability to give thirteen.”

  “Oops.” Maeve widened her eyes in mock alarm. “Then you’ll have to make your kills the old-fashioned way.” She was clearly unsympathetic to Rania’s plight. Rania had the definite sense that the Dark Queen had planned their bargain to end this way.

  She’d said ‘kills’, plural. The next assassination wasn’t going to end it either. Rania was trapped forever.

  She should have listened to Hadrian!

  “Choose your next victim,” Maeve commanded.

  “And you’ll beat me to the kill, once again,” Rania accused, forgetting herself in her anger. “You’ll prolong this deal forever!”

  Maeve smiled and held out her chalice so a minion could refill it. “What if I do? It’s useful to have a pet assassin.”

  Rania folded her arms across her chest. “But there’s no point. If you’re never going to release me, there’s nothing to be gained by serving you.”

  Maeve gave her a smile that chilled her to her marrow. “Isn’t there?” she murmured as she leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “I suggest you get to work or we’ll start dining on swan every night.”

  There was a clatter of chains and a familiar cry filled the court. Rania spun to see a golden cage on a cart being rolled to the middle of the court. Three swans were locked inside it, most of them flapping and calling. Rania’s heart sank with the conviction that they were her brothers. Were her other nine brothers free or already dead? The Fae laughed and poked at the birds as the cage passed, more than one pulling a feather as a souvenir.

  “You have no right!” Rania cried, turning on Maeve. “They should be free! I kept my promise!”

  “Not quite yet,” the Dark Queen insisted and sipped her mead. She lounged on her throne, smug in her triumph. “Which of the Pyr will you eliminate next?”

  Rania was trapped. She knew it, but she didn’t like it. If there was a way out, she didn’t know what it was—and she couldn’t risk the survival of her brothers while she plotted against Maeve. Could she even find her remaining brothers before the Dark Queen did.

  Her heart sank with the realization that she probably would have to kill a Pyr to complete her wager with Maeve.

  Alasdair had volunteered.

  She couldn’t name him, though. Not only did she need to keep Maeve from cheating her of the kill, she had to talk to Alasdair again and make an agreement. Maybe then she could make sure that Maeve didn’t cheat her.

  Maybe not.

  “I have to assess which dragon shifter offers the best opportunity,” she said, dropping her gaze as if in deference. The truth was that she didn’t want Maeve to notice her defiance.

  “There’s another blacksmith,” the Dark Queen noted. “I know you dislike them.”

  “He might expect me,” Rania said, doubting that was true. “I have to do my research.”

  “Don’t dally too long,” Maeve said. “Tomorrow night, we dine on swan.” The court cheered and a number of Fae poked at the swans trapped in the cage. Rania knew her brothers were agitated and she didn’t blame them. She’d worked all these centuries to secure their freedom, and Maeve had changed the deal.

  It was exactly as Hadrian had warned her.

  And he was dead, unable to witness that his prediction had come true.

  She looked at her brothers, remembering Hadrian’s questions about them, and wondered why she hadn’t ever sought them out. Why hadn’t she talked to them or made a connection? She’d always been alone, but she’d also repeatedly chosen to be alone.

  What if this was her chance to choose differently?

  What the world needed was more of Hadrian and his lineage. Rania suddenly had a ghost of an idea about the kiss of death but she couldn’t think about it while she stood before the Dark Queen. Her actions had to come as a surprise.

  “As you command, my queen,” she said, bowing before Maeve’s throne as rebellion burned hotter in her heart.

  Then she wished to be with Hadrian and vanished from the Fae court.

  It was darker than dark.

  Hadrian couldn’t see anything in any direction. He couldn’t feel anything around him or sense the presence of any other being. It was strange. Even in his human form, he was always aware of the pulse of another creature at a distance or the faint sound of movement. Now there was nothing. He couldn’t tell whether it was cold or hot either. He stood on something firm, but had no idea whether it was just a single spot or continued, like ground, underfoot. If he took a step, would he fall into a void?

  He was in his human form and tried to shift, but couldn’t. There wasn’t even a shimmer of blue light, let alone the familiar sense of the tidal wave of transformation sweeping through him.

  Was he dead? If he wasn’t Pyr anymore, Hadrian wasn’t sure he wanted to be alive.

  Even the familiar tinge of cold that was always at the periphery of his awareness was gone. He could always feel that the ice and snow were there, just awaiting his summons. No longer.

  Hadrian could move, at least. He brushed his right hand over his left wrist and was relieved that he couldn’t feel a string there. He’d take the good news where he could find it.

  He wasn’t relieved that his fingers seemed to slide right through his arm, as if he’d become insubstantial.

  Or a ghost.

  He didn’t hear his heart beating or feel his lungs filling with air. He couldn’t exactly feel whatever was beneath his feet but when he stamped a foot, he heard a faint sound of impact.

  He didn’t feel it, though.

  Being dead was a definite possibility, given what he remembered of Maeve’s visit. He couldn’t smell smoke or iron, and knew he wasn’t in his lair or studio anymore. There was no light of the firestorm, so either Rania was gone or the firestorm had been extinguished, unsatisfied.

  An opportunity lost forever.

  He pivoted in place, trying to peer into the distance, but it was all black.

  He wasn’t going to just stand in one place for eternity, though.

  Hadrian took a step. He was reassured that whatever supported him seemed to continue, so he took another. Then he took a third step and, convinced that he was on some level surface, he began to walk, gradually increasing his speed.

  He didn’t know how long he walked or how far—he was starting to wish he’d counted his footsteps—when a faint glimmer of light appeared in the distance. He stopped, wondering whether his eyes were deceiving him, but the light remained there. It was golden and moving, like a shifting cloud. He had no idea what it was.

  Since he had exactly nothing left to lose, Hadrian walked
toward the light.

  As he drew nearer, he realized that he was seeing a cluster of individual golden lights, each one on the move. It reminded him of a picture he’d seen of an atom, with electrons orbiting its nucleus, each cutting its own path, snared in a web of attraction. Another dozen steps and he saw that the lights circled a woman. She was sitting cross-legged on the ground and seemed to be reading a book, although he doubted there was enough light for that. Her hair was grey and hung down her back in a silken river.

  The lights were fireflies, not just surrounding her but winking on and off as they did so. She looked up and smiled at him, as if she’d been expecting him, but Hadrian didn’t recognize her. She was wearing a dress that looked medieval to him. There was embroidery on the neckline and along the hem, but the garment was worn and a bit stained. Her hair was loose and blond, her eyes sad but clear blue.

  “Hadrian,” she said as if they were old friends and patted the ground beside herself. “I thought you’d be along soon.”

  Hadrian sat down beside her. In the light of the fireflies, he could see that he was dressed in his T-shirt and jeans, as he had been in his studio. His skin looked normal in color, just as hers did.

  “Do I know you?” he asked, uncertain whether he’d be able to make a sound before he did.

  She smiled sadly. “You know my daughter, Rania.”

  Rania. That was his mate’s name. Though he was glad to finally know it, her name was just another thing Hadrian had learned too late.

  “Where are we?”

  “The realm of the dead,” the woman said with a complacent nod. “It’s not so bad,” she continued, patting the back of his hand. “No pain. No fears. No dread about any event, mostly because you can’t do much about anything anymore.” She pursed her lips. “At least, that would be the case if you stayed.”

  “I have a choice?” Hadrian felt a spark of hope.

  “No, but others do.” She stared at his hand, her gaze fixed on the ring that had been on the necklace around Rania’s neck. It seemed as if she couldn’t tear her gaze away. “Have you seen him?” she whispered, raising her gaze to his with hope.