Six Isles' Witches and Dragons Box Set

by Lisa Daniels

  His eyes went impossibly soft, and had a hint of another expression, something she couldn’t identify, but something that sent a frenzied jolt through her stomach. “You may be right, there. But it’s easy to remain with what’s familiar, isn’t it?”

  She didn’t tear her eyes away from him. Something changed in the atmosphere. His lips parted slightly, and one eyebrow raised in an unspoken question. I can’t lose control.

  “Please stop looking at me like that,” Luan whispered, her heart feeling as if it were wedged somewhere in her throat, and everything she’d eaten today churning in her stomach with the alcohol.

  “Like what?” Kerrick said, though he didn’t change his expression. Didn’t take it away from those big, soft eyes that took in everything and more, regarding her in a way she’d never seen anyone else do.

  “Like...” She struggled to get out any more words. Part of her wanted to close the distance, to do something about whatever it was that ravaged her insides, and the other part wanted to leave the room, to not have to handle any additional complications to her complicated life. “… Like you think I’m the only person that matters. With your stupid big eyes or whatever it is you do.”

  The prince chuckled. The sound came out in a low burst. “Heh. Do my eyes get that big?” He touched around his eyelids for good measure, and Luan let out a small, strangled chuckle of her own.

  “I don’t know how else to describe it. You’re always… looking like that, with that smile, and those eyes, and I never know how I should react. So it’s easier to just… ignore it or be mean or...”

  “Are you scared of me?” Kerrick’s eyebrows both quirked up this time, and a rather delighted smile lifted his lips. “You look like you’re one sentence away from fleeing.”

  “I...” Sounds right, she thought wildly, her heart palpitating faster. She got up hastily, intending to use movement to calm down. Her left knee chose that moment not to work properly, and Luan, the powerful air witch who could kill someone just by practically looking at them, stumbled forward, before righting herself, and feeling even more stupid and desperate than before. “Shit, I don’t know what’s happening...”

  “I might.” His voice went low, low enough to send a shiver down her spine, and to quicken the breaths from her lungs. He took slow, careful steps forward after getting up from his chair, palms facing her as if expecting her to bolt or attack at any moment. It felt like an invisible line between them was wrapping them up tighter. His strong hands scraped along her shoulders, before cradling her face, and Luan froze, her brain refusing to process what was happening. It took all her strength to stay still, to register the nervous pulse of her heart, the strange yearning for the distance between them to close even further, though they were so close already.

  “Do you know what happens next?” he whispered, his mouth inches from her lips, his dark eyes boring into hers. As if he could see every lie she’d ever told, and understand the crux of the emotions within, more than Luan herself could ever figure out. “When someone stares at you with big eyes, as you say, and comes close, and touches your face in this way?”

  One long, electrifying silence hung between them. Luan knew she, both of them, were hovering at the precipice of something. He’d thrown control into her hands. She could step off… wherever they were, and have no idea where to go next, except it would be with him. Or she could extract herself from his arms and tell him that there never would be anything more. Their relationship was that of a prince and a cop. A cop charged with protecting him, with making sure he stayed alive long enough to do the challenge against his father. That whatever she thought lay between him, whatever she’d somehow encouraged—it’d be crushed forever. Left in the dirt and never allowed to grow.

  Just thinking about saying no sent a horrible spasm through her body. I don’t want to say no to him at all.

  Before her brain had time to catch up and tell her this was a very, very bad idea, she reached forward and up, pressing her lips against his. An unspoken answer to his question. A terrifying, can’t-take-back step forward into unknown territory, where he might accept or reject her, or do both. It scared her far more than anything else she’d ever done, and that was saying something.

  Heat rushed through her when his lips returned the favor, moving softly at first, testing the waters, and his fingers fluttered around her face, hooking into her hair. The distance between them reduced itself to nothing, and her chest pressed into his. She gasped against his mouth, and that tightened the grip in her hair. Their breaths meshed together as they snatched air between kisses, always returning to explore further, though Luan felt impossibly clumsy with the way she kissed, clacking their teeth a couple of times, not quite in sync.

  He lightly used his grip in her hair to create distance, and they gazed into one another’s eyes for a moment, doing nothing else but breathe, as their hearts raced, and Luan’s brain attempted to process the influx of emotion.

  “We’re going to have to get you to practice those kisses,” he said rather breathlessly, though he didn’t look annoyed. Luan, who had tensed at first, relaxed and gave him a rueful smile. Thankful he wasn’t talking her down because of her appalling lack of skill. Her experience with forays into romance could be counted on one hand. Which, come to think of it now, seemed desperately sad. It never bothered her before. She never worried about it, because she didn’t need romance to do her job well.

  But now?

  “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “I’ll teach you,” he assured her, his fingers teasing through her short hair. She closed her eyes as they brushed her scalp, before digging into the flesh in soothing motions. Warm ripples floated through her body, down her spine, and she tilted her head, chasing the contact. “Though I won’t pretend to be an expert kisser, either. Just… follow my lead. Think of it like our dance at the ball.”

  She remembered the close contact then, so near yet so far, and spending too much time lost in one another’s eyes. “All we did was sway sideways. That hardly qualifies as a dance.”

  “It’s still being with your partner, matching their rhythm,” he said, and she felt the faintest brush of lips against her temple. Each little touch sank into her, leaving a burning trail across her skin, causing all the little hairs upon her body to prickle.

  “Okay,” she whispered, mind following his kisses all the way to her mouth. When they touched again, she waited, though she was dubious about what could be done just by moving their lips together. He pressed against her top lip, then moved, changing angles, changing the length of time, changing, until it all blurred into one breathy, desperate need to connect. Desire bolted through every cell, and she wanted to drag him to the bed, pull him down, and do what lovers did.

  She was also terrified of that impulse, of having such strong desires outside of her control. As if sensing her hesitation, he slowed down the kisses and gently disentangled from her.

  “I won’t push it, Luan. But I want you to know that I’m here and interested. That’s all.” He gently cupped her chin in one hand, a small, sweet smile upon his kiss-swollen lips.

  No thoughts penetrated her brain in that moment. Everything froze, unable to function under the light of that expression, those words, the way his voice brushed her aural senses, and his scent enveloped her.

  She remained in that same frozen position, even as he slipped away from her and closed the door quietly behind, leaving her alone to process.

  Finally, some semblance of functionality returned to her brain, past the fog of desire and fear blanketing it.

  Turned out she wasn’t the only person around here who could steal the breath from someone else’s lungs.

  Chapter Six – Kerrick

  Sure, Kerrick might be planning to officially challenge his father to a match today, but that barely dented the emotions churning in him like butter.

  He’d kissed Luan. They kissed. They got lost in one another, and how easy it would have been to take everything furth
er, and just give in to what his body wanted. It took every last ounce of control in his blood to drag himself away from her, maintain a respectful distance, and give her time to process her own obviously confused emotions.

  He thought he knew what she was going through. A person unused to the affection and attention Kerrick tried lavishing on her. A person unused to desire, and of a deep conviction that this was wrong, because he was a prince, and she was his bodyguard.

  Hanging onto that respect proved very, very difficult, however, because his mind kept playing out the other, better scenarios. Which led him to… dealing with his own personal needs in the bathroom, biting hard on his lip to keep the sounds to a minimum, as he tried to rub the heat and desire out of him.

  It didn’t work as effectively as he’d hoped. His brain only had to take one stray turn to be floored at the possibilities. That Luan might be one step away from pulling him with her onto something, against a wall, and begging in his ear to take her. With that low, sultry voice of hers, he bet the sound would get him halfway finished without her ever touching him. He loved the feeling as well, of seeing this different side to her. Past the stoic, calm exterior, the hard smile, the dangerous confidence, there was someone who craved intimacy. Who kept throwing up walls against it, but seemed unable to resist the allure, circling him and drawing closer like a magnet.

  I don’t think I want to be done with her, he thought, tapping on the wooden fence outside the manse, staring down at the fish pond with orange and white specimens drifting lazily in the clear waters, pecking at crumbs. One time won’t be enough. Or two or three. She was trouble. Might have saved his life, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be the death of him, somehow.

  Just a shame that this burning attraction in his veins came at a time when he needed to challenge his father. From a person assigned to him only because of duty, and not because they’d done the courting dance before. Of course, he’d never meet someone like her at the endless balls and parties. People like her didn’t turn up at those places. People as strange and unique and compelling were hidden, and it annoyed him beyond measure that he’d never got to meet her beforehand.

  Maybe he wouldn’t have wasted all those years with the wrong people.

  Kerrick’s eyes narrowed as Perran slid beside him, resplendent in navy blue officer’s uniform. He tilted his shoulder to obscure Perran from view. “What do you want?”

  “Just wondering how you’re feeling with the challenge. And also, I need to check out your skills in dragon form and without. Since a challenge can be chosen with one of those two stipulations.”

  Kerrick let out a noncommittal grunt, not eager to lose his mood of Luan, and instead have it replaced with the gut-wrenching anxiety of having to challenge his father to a death match. His own flesh and blood, once a good man, but long since lost to something else.

  “You will need the training. We haven’t been doing all of this just to send you to the slaughter.”

  “My father will cheat,” Kerrick replied, hands clenching the wooden barrier. Two fish fought over one floating bread crumb, sending ripples in the water. “He’s not known for playing fair. I’m younger and stronger. There’ll be something. A dagger in the back at night. Poison in the food or his blade. An enchanted item, one of those Zamorkans waiting on the sidelines to steal away my strength. He’s likely been preparing for this the moment since it was obvious I was back and not staying at the palace, under his mercy.”

  “We have witches of our own,” Perran said. “And we’ve arranged for a Zamorkan ambassador to join us. A special one.” The dragon shifter let a sly smile cover his features. “A null witch.”

  Kerrick, despite himself, turned fully to take in Perran. “You found a null witch?”

  He shrugged dismissively. “You can throw a rock in Zamorka, and you’ll hit a witch. Or warlock. They were more than happy to lend someone to protect you, given that if you win the challenge, then you can flush out that viper’s nest within Azarus, and deal a significant blow to the advances of the Conclave. Maybe take them off the board completely.”

  It sent some kind of relief through Kerrick, but not enough to quell all his building fears. He’d hated interacting with everyone over the weeks, charming them in the only way he knew how, spreading little rumors that he believed there was something terribly wrong with his father, that he wasn’t the man he remembered, that he didn’t return to the palace, because he wasn’t entirely sure if his father was the reason for his initial disappearance. All the nobles ate it up, every morsel, and spread the rumors like wildfire, shaping and raising them into something else, until people forgot the original source, and shifted their support and attention onto Kerrick.

  Oh, the promises he’d made, too. You’ll have more power. Your taxes will be lowered. Of course I’ll lift the trade embargo and lessen the border security. I’ll make life better for us, in the snap of two fingers.

  It wouldn’t quite be within the snap of two fingers, but he had enough backing to be secure in the challenge.

  He just wished he didn’t have to make it.

  With his speech prepared, and the public amphitheater on the island of Azarus open for an orchestra concert, Kerrick was scheduled to open the concert with his announcement. In full view of his father, surrounded by protection, and with hundreds, maybe thousands of eyewitnesses. Luan would be standing right behind him, arms clasped behind her back, eyes cold and impassive as she entered her guard mode, his safety her top priority.

  Skies, there was something sexy about that demeanor. Even at her most distant, he found something alluring.

  He really was a goner, wasn’t he?

  Realizing he’d been silent for a solid few minutes, and Perran hadn’t made any signs of moving, Kerrick cleared his throat and said, “When do you want to start this training?”

  The older dragon shifter smiled. “After the announcement. Let’s not get you worn out before then.”

  * * *

  Minutes away from declaring to half or more of the population of Azarus that he intended to challenge his father, Kerrick was a bundle of nerves. Horrible, squirming nerves. He tried standing straight, adjusting his tie, making sure his gold cufflinks were fixed on neatly, brushing off imaginary dust, but nothing dispelled the unease, or his sweaty palms.

  “You look like you’re about to faint,” Luan said, her voice soft and amused behind him, where he stood in the shadowy alcove, peeking at some of the crowd from his limited position. Perran was in discussion with the conductor, who was old, thin, and looked as though he’d never smiled a day in his life.

  “I don’t faint,” Kerrick said. “But I might just leak myself going in front of that crowd.”

  “You’ve entertained in public before, haven’t you?” Luan sounded curious now. He refused to look at her, in case his heightened nerves turned to something else, like an erection. Going in front of a crowd with an erection would be just about the end of him. Instead, he allowed her low voice to soothe him. And he gritted his teeth tightly to keep rein of any unruly emotions.

  “Never to this many people. And never for a contest for my life and the throne. It’s a little different from just turning up and giving people smiles and waves.”

  Silence fell between them, though he heard her breathing when he strained hard enough. Perran dashed towards them behind the theater stage.

  “Thirty seconds, just while they alert the crowd, and then you’re on.”

  It was the worst thing, waiting. Every second felt like a countdown to his doom, and he watched as the presenter yelled for quiet, his voice carried by the shape of the outdoor amphitheater. The rumbling of the crowd ground to a halt, and the presenter faced them expectantly.

  Unable to swallow the lump in his throat, heart racing so fast he thought it might burst out of his chest, he forced a confident stride and made it to the center of the stage, where thousands of eyes fixed on him. Including, in the top box, draped with scarlet and gold, the king’s seat. The shadow
y form of his father lounged upon an ornate golden throne within the box. Kerrick stared up at it, unable to catch his father’s demeanor or expression, before clearing his throat.

  “Hello, everyone. As you know, I am Prince Kerrick, heir to the throne of Azarus, and I have a special announcement to make.” His throat was impossibly dry, but at least his voice didn’t shake or wobble. He needed to project as much confidence as possible, so people would see him as a leader, a person worth listening to. There were many vaguely familiar faces in the crowd, people who had attended gatherings he’d visited.

  “In front of thousands of witnesses, in belief of the fact that under his rule, our country is suffering—I challenge my father to a Kingmatch.”

  The moment the word was said, the crowd’s silence became electric, as if people couldn’t believe what he’d just said. Then the gathered citizens erupted into roars, astonished shouting, jeers and cheers, the moods extreme, their faces contorted. Kerrick noticed that his father had stood up in the seat.

  Legally, his father couldn’t refuse. If a blood relative challenged, the current ruler had to accept.

  If he refused, then he would have to abdicate in a month, and the throne went to his challenger anyway. A flimsy, ancient rule—one he was sure his father had wanted to change—but they knew the rule still existed. Everyone in the Six Isles knew about Kingmatches. They were the stuff of legends, of poems, and anyone who had witnessed one boasted about them for years afterwards.

  When the crowd quietened enough, his father shrieked, “I accept your challenge!” His voice hit Kerrick’s ears, layered with rage, with indignation.

  But not a refusal.

  The crowd began chanting “Kingmatch!” and Kerrick’s heart sank to hear it. He wore the smile, but it was painted on, and he raised his hands as if in supplication to their cheers, even as he felt his childhood and past crack, and the tiny, unrealistic dream in the back of his mind that his father still cared was banished into nothingness.