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

by Deborah Cooke

  The guy moved into the middle of the circle as the sphere became bigger and brighter. His arms were spread wide as he kept gathering it and building it. The chant was making the earth vibrate beneath their feet and Nick felt Isabelle’s hand close over his. They clutched hands as the light doubled and redoubled again, the red light illuminating the faces of the entire group.

  The chant became more insistent and grew in volume. The other guys got to their feet and began to dance in a circle, stamping their feet in time with the chant. The sphere grew bigger and brighter, as if the leader was drawing the power from somewhere else. The chant rose to a crescendo and then the leader shouted with joy.

  He shimmered blue, then shifted shape, becoming a dark dragon. Nick and Isabelle gasped as one, even though they’d seen the Pyr shift all their lives, and the dragon laughed as he snapped at the glowing orb of red light.

  He ate it.

  The light was extinguished as his mouth closed over it, then he began to shift shape rapidly. He became a stag, a rabbit, a snake, an eagle, a salamander, then a dragon again. He changed shapes so quickly that Nick didn’t want to blink in case he missed one. The leader cycled through his forms with dizzying speed, then the fourth time that he was a dragon, he leapt into the sky. He seemed to be lit from within, glowing red from the tips of his teeth, the ends of his talons and the tip of his tail. Each scale was outlined in brilliant red light.

  When he jumped into the sky, the others shifted shape and followed him, an entire company of dragons soaring into the night sky. They flew straight toward the moon as Nick and Isabelle watched, transfixed. High in the sky but silhouetted against the full moon, they flew in a tight circle, seven dark dragons in a ring.

  One, who had to be that leader, breathed fire from the middle of their circle, as if he was howling at the moon. Instead of dragonfire, though, Nick saw a plume of glowing red shoot from his mouth. He wished he had a telescope as the light launched itself into the distance, like a shuttle being launched from the earth. The red light spread like a plume beneath the shimmer of the northern lights, and he guessed that those tiny lights were scattering.

  When they merged into the northern lights, becoming lost in the moving curtain of lime green, he understood that they were leaving.

  Isabelle pointed at the circle of dragons, drawing his attention back to them. They flew in tight formation again, the leader joining the circle of his companions. Each took the tail of his neighbor into his mouth and they flew with greater and greater speed, spinning into a whirlwind so that their individual figures blurred. They went faster and faster, and there was a flash of blue-green light before they vanished completely.

  It is done.

  The old-speak echoed in Nick’s thoughts, though he didn’t recognize the voice or the source. He looked around, but the weird old guys were gone. They’d vanished without a trace. Isabelle shivered and they headed back to the house together.

  She was the one who looked into the room off the kitchen that the old guys had shared. It was empty, so empty that they might never have been there.

  “Their quest was completed,” Isabelle whispered.

  Nick nodded. The weird old guys were the seven thieves who had set out centuries before to save the world from Blazion and his magick. With the magick’s return to Regalia, their mission was complete. Nick felt both sad that they were gone and glad that they’re triumphed. He and Isabelle both returned to bed and fell asleep immediately.

  In the morning, the adults seemed to have forgotten that the weird olf guys had ever been there.

  By lunchtime, even Nick and Isabelle had forgotten about the ancient Pyr and what they had witnessed, though they both would feel a twinge of recollection whenever they saw the full moon.

  Thorolf landed hard against the ground. It was wet with fresh snow and the air was cold enough to wake him right up. He was surrounded by the wolf mates he’d been carrying, many of whom were scarred or nicked. He did a quick count to make sure he’d brought everyone through with him.

  Then a man cleared his throat. It was a portentous sound and a familiar one. Thorolf was on his feet in a flash.

  He winced as a flashlight beam was shone over him, into his face then down the length of him. He felt rumpled and suspicious, especially when he realized it was two police officers who had found him.

  “I suppose you have an explanation for being in the park with your friends at this hour,” one said. He lowered the light and Thorolf saw that the older policeman was speaking to him, the younger one standing back. He was well aware of the way their scrutiny lingered on his jeans, his dreadlocks and his many tattoos. He ran a hand over his hair and straightened, smiling a little and trying to look innocent.

  It wasn’t his best trick and he knew it.

  Neither was beguiling, but there was no question that it was the best possible solution.

  “Well, you see, officer, there was this party,” he began, keeping his tone deferential as he lit the flames in his eyes.

  The younger cop laughed under his breath. “Some party,” he murmured.

  “So, there was this party,” the older officer echoed, inviting Thorolf to continue, and he dared to hope that he had a chance of pulling this off.

  Hadrian burst through the earth under a million stars in a midnight sky. It was so cold and clear that the wind nearly stole Hadrian’s breath away. He soared high into the sky, Rania safely in his grasp, and only belatedly realized where they were.

  “Callanish,” he murmured, then flew low over the standing stones. He circled them, eyed the gaping maw in the earth in the middle of the circle where they had erupted, then pivoted and flew high again. The sky was alight with shimmers of lime green as the northern lights wavered and flowed, seemingly so close that he could touch them yet also far away.

  “My brothers,” Rania whispered in anguish and Hadrian realized they were completely alone. The sky was empty in all directions and the ground was still beneath them. He flew over the spot repeatedly and would have gone back into the earth, but Rania shook her head.

  “And the Pyr, too. The Others from Bones. I hope everyone got out okay.”

  “Me, too. Let’s go home and check on them.”

  “Back to my smithy?”

  Rania smiled, her fair hair flowing over her shoulders. “No. That way.” She pointed west. “My home.” Her smile broadened. “I’m wondering.”

  Hadrian chuckled and turned in a broad circle, taking his directions from his mate. He flew low over the north Atlantic, enjoying their time together and his sense of triumph. He was surprised when she directed him toward Iceland, then realized her choice was perfectly right.

  Her home was even more right. It was an ancient cottage, built of stone and settled low against the earth. There was sod growing on the roof so it was hard to discern from above, and she said it was half-buried in the earth. It was the stone circle surrounding it that he spotted first, its shape distinctive even beneath a layer of snow.

  The inner circle was a good sixty feet across, and the ring of stone that surrounded it was eight feet wide and eight feet tall. It was all fitted stone and resonant with the songs of the earth. Hadrian felt immediately at home. There was one break in the barrier, and that opening aligned with the cottage set right in the middle of the inner circle. He could see the ocean crashing against the rocky shore in one direction, icebergs in the sea far beyond it, and a wisp of smoke rising from a volcano in the other direction.

  “Fire and ice,” he said to Rania as he set her down and she laughed.

  “Just like you.” She stepped back and watched as he shifted shape, exhaling with relief when he was in his human form again. Rania cast her arms around his neck and kissed him, then tugged him into her home.

  “Someone’s here,” she said softly on the threshold.

  Hadrian found himself shimmering on the cusp of change before he realized the visitor might be the result of her wondering.

  The man stood in front of her k
nife collection again, his back to her, his hair a long braid down his back. It was exactly like the last time, his posture identical, the door left open the same increment—but this time, Hadrian was with her.

  Rania felt as if she had a second chance to get it right.

  “Father?” she said and he glanced over his shoulder, a smile in his eyes.

  “Daughter,” he replied, surveying her.

  “A second chance?” she asked and he almost smiled.

  “You wondered. That was all it took.” His gaze flicked past her and she knew he was studying Hadrian. She knew the moment he spotted his own ring. “You didn’t lose it then,” he said softly.

  “My mate had it,” she replied. “It was safe.”

  Her father pivoted then and offered his hand to Hadrian. “I am Ulrik.”

  “Hadrian MacEwan.”

  She watched her father inhale. “More than a man?”

  “I am Pyr, a dragon shifter.”

  Her father raised a brow, then indicated the ring. “The stone tells me all I need to know.”

  “Not everything, Father,” Rania said. “Maeve is defeated and the realm of Fae no more.”

  “I knew this.” He nodded. “I felt it.”

  “I spoke to your mate in the realm of the dead,” Hadrian said and Rania watched her father assess him again.

  “There is more to you than meets the eye, dragon.”

  “She misses you.”

  Ulrik nodded and dropped his gaze. “I miss her, too.”

  There was such a wealth of love and longing in his voice that Rania’s throat tightened.

  “She asked me to tell you to dream of her, if I ever met you. She said you can meet in that realm again.”

  Rania watched her father’s eyes light then well with tears. He frowned and nodded, and when he spoke, his voice was gruff. “I thank you for this.”

  She put her hand in Hadrian’s. “We’re going to have a son, Father. I hope you will teach him the stories of our kind.”

  Ulrik smiled fully then for the first time. “A child!” he said softly, his eyes lighting. “Oh yes, daughter mine, I would like very much to have a family again.” He opened his arms to her then and she stepped into his embrace, hugging him tightly as her tears rose. She had a family again, thanks to Hadrian. Not just a son on the way, but twelve brothers and a lost father returned to her. From a life of solitude, Rania was surrounded by love—and the greatest love of all was that of her dragon shifter.

  “I don’t understand,” Lynsay said to Abigail. “How can the swan be gone?”

  They were standing by the pond at the big house, its turrets and gables towering over them. The older woman shook her head. “There’s no saying with wild things, dear. It was healed so it went home. It wasn’t banded so it was wild.” Her voice softened. “We had no right to keep it captive, dear.”

  “No, but...”

  Abigail patted Lynsay’s arm. “You did a good thing, dear, and you made a difference. You’ll have to imagine it safely on its way and be content with that.”

  Lynsay wasn’t content with that. She felt cheated, again, denied something important to her. She just wanted to see the swan healed. She just wanted to know that it was okay, to see as much with her own eyes, but Abigail said she hadn’t seen it since the previous day.

  Another chance for something had slipped through Lynsay’s fingers.

  She trudged back to the pub, disgruntled and wishing for a change. She didn’t even know what she wanted. Great sex? True love? A sense of purpose? A partner? All of the above and more—but that seemed greedy. She knew she was lucky. She owned her own business and her home. She had financial security and good friends. She was healthy and pretty much happy.

  If alone.

  There was a guy standing outside the pub when the familiar structure came into view.

  “We don’t open until noon,” Lynsay told him, intending to walk right past him. She lived in the small house attached to the pub. It was newer, but still a hundred years old.

  He turned and smiled at her, the sight stopping Lynsay in her tracks. Had she ever seen such a great looking guy? His hair was dark and wavy, his eyes were piercing blue. His smile was so radiant that she felt as if she was standing in the sun. He was taller than her and broad-shouldered, if dressed in clothes that seemed a bit shabby and old-fashioned. Simple. He’d look amazing in a suit. She took a good look, figuring it couldn’t hurt, not caring if he was offended.

  His smile broadened a little more. “Do you live here?” he asked and she couldn’t place his accent at all. It was a bit Scandinavian, but not quite.

  “I do. I own The Swan & Thistle,” she said, but saw that he didn’t understand. “The pub. The bar. The restaurant. I have a cook, but it’s my place.”

  He nodded and looked at the old building again, appreciation in his expression. She felt like the sun had slipped behind a cloud when he looked away from her, which just proved how much she needed a date.

  “It feels like home,” he said softly when she had continued and Lynsay looked back, curious.

  “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “Not exactly,” he said, smiling again.

  “Then where?”

  “Iceland most recently.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I listen to stories, and I remember them. My mother taught me to do that.” He sobered, his gaze trailing in the direction of the big house. “But I have heard so many. I am afraid to forget them. I think I should begin to write them down.”

  A writer. Well, Lynsay understood and admired that.

  “My dad was a poet,” she said. “And the unofficial local historian. He wrote down all the stories he heard.”

  “A kindred spirit!”

  “I guess so.” Lynsay found herself compelled to elaborate. “He wrote a lot about the big house, the manor house up the way. There’s an old story that it was built on the ruins of an ancient castle, one stolen by a barbarian king. It was lost by him when he killed his wife and his twelve sons finally rose against him. Kind of a gruesome story, actually.”

  “Stories are often gruesome. That doesn’t mean they aren’t true.”

  There was a ferocity in his tone then, one that made her wonder what his story was. “You can read my dad’s books if you like.” Lynsay didn’t know what prompted her to make such an offer.

  “I would rather you told me his stories,” her visitor said. “I like how people tell stories, and you have a beautiful voice.” His gaze warmed. “I expect you tell them very well.”

  “My father always said I’d inherited his gift,” she said, feeling herself blush. “Maybe it was the truth.”

  “There is no harm in a father showing kindness to his daughter,” he said firmly.

  That was true enough. “You have strong feelings about fathers,” she said, keeping her tone light.

  “Mine wasn’t very kind. I always thought that if I had children of my own, I would spoil them with kindness.” He shook his head as if that was foolish.

  “I think that’s lovely,” Lynsay said and their gazes clung for a potent moment. She had a lump in her throat for some reason.

  She watched him swallow.

  “Kindness can be rare in our world,” he said, studying her more intently. “I have the sense that you are a kind person.”

  “Some people say I’m a pushover, though. Too soft-hearted,” she added when he seemed uncertain of her meaning.

  “There are worse faults.”

  True enough. Lynsay started to walk toward her own door again.

  “Do you know of a place where I might find work near here?” her visitor asked. “I can work hard and I only need enough of a wage for food and shelter.”

  “Not saving for a rainy day?” she had to tease.

  “It has been and gone. I am simply glad to be alive.” He surveyed her again. “And here. I am glad to be here.”

  “You said it felt like home.”

  “
It does. I would like to stay, if I can find a way.”

  Lynsay looked around, amazed by the strength of her temptation to help. She heard the delivery truck from the brewery approaching—she could always tell by the way Lukas ground the gears on the corner—and had an idea. “I can always use some brute strength around here,” she said, nodding at the truck as it came into view. “There are always kegs to haul and deliveries to be moved.”

  “I can do this.”

  “There’s a room above the pub you can have. It’s usually rented but not right now. And you can eat at the pub.”

  His smile was warm. “Thank you. This will suit me well.”

  “And you can collect more stories.”

  “Yes.” He regarded her with a smile. “Will you tell me yours?”

  “I might.” Lynsay smiled back at him, their gazes locked and the moment stretched into forever. “I’m Lynsay Barnes,” she said, offering her hand.

  “Trymman,” he said, his own hand closing over hers.

  “No surname?”

  “The past is the past. I am more interested in the future.”

  And Lynsay found that she felt exactly the same way as she stared into his eyes. Then Lukas honked the horn, making her jump, and there was work to be done.

  But there was a bounce in Lynsay’s step that hadn’t been there before, as well as a sense that Trymman’s arrival might be just the change she’d been waiting for.

  In the end, it had been ridiculously simple to make a deal with Micah. A Fae sword in exchange for the key to his library. As simple as that.

  Sebastian took his time traveling to the continent, knowing it would take a few days for the parcel with the precious key to arrive. He journeyed by night, by train, lingering in London to see the sights he remembered. When he went to Highgate Cemetery, he sensed the presence of other vampires, the few solitary ones remaining, but his reputation undoubtedly preceded him, because they kept their distance.

  He ignored the news reports about the unprecedented electromagnetic activity around the North Pole, because he knew what it was. He stood on the roof of his hotel each night though and reveled in the sight of the northern lights, sending all that fucking magick right back where it belonged.