Dragon's Heart (The DragonFate Novels Book 3)

by Deborah Cooke

  Whoever held the gem of the hoard was an obvious candidate.

  Maeve was another.

  He could smell the silver tang of earth magick and guessed that someone in Maeve’s thrall had recently visited Rhys’ apartment. Had she claimed the gem of the hoard, ignoring their recent alliance? Embron couldn’t think of another explanation that fit the situation so well. He’d only trusted her when her magick was in his possession. Now it slipped from his grasp, indicating that she was reclaiming it.

  If so, she had the gem of the hoard, she would have retreated to the sanctuary of her kingdom in Fae. He had no means of accessing that realm—which would only increase its appeal to Maeve. The Pyr were intent upon stopping her, though. Embron would hide in their proximity and listen.

  He waited, then approached the door that gave access to the apartments at the same time as another resident returned home. His smile was beguiling and the young man just glanced over his shoulder, barely hesitating before he let Embron grab the door instead of ensuring it locked. They shared the elevator together, Embron choosing the fourth floor after the young man chose the third.

  It was a small building with only three or four apartments on each floor. When the man got off the elevator, Embron pushed the button for the fifth floor, where Rhys lived. The doors opened and closed at the fourth floor, revealing an empty corridor. Embron smelled toast and heard music. Two apartments were occupied, at least.

  The doors closed and the elevator ascended to the fifth floor. The dragonsmoke stung him as soon as the doors opened again. He heard conversation from Rhys’ apartment, something about Kade and Alasdair, but couldn’t linger to listen, not with the dragonsmoke burning his skin.

  He hit the button for the second floor, preparing himself for an exchange with another resident. A surprise encounter could lead to questions and he tried to be ready for them. The doors opened to an empty corridor, though, and he listened, hearing nothing. He stepped into the corridor and the elevator left. Still, the corridor was silent.

  The restaurant was immediately below. If Embron took refuge on this floor, he would be able to hear conversation in the restaurant. Surely the Pyr might gather there to confer. The unit at the front of the building would give him a view of the street, like that of Rhys’ own apartment.

  He whispered to the door lock to open to him, and it did so immediately, encouraged by a red swirl of magick. He slipped into the darkened apartment, noticing the pile of flyers on the floor immediately inside. They were coupons and ads for fast food restaurants in the vicinity which had been slipped beneath the door, and the pile was large enough for him to conclude that the occupant was away.

  The apartment was neat and sparsely furnished. The shades were partly drawn, but the view over the street was excellent. Embron shifted shape and stretched out across the floor, watching and listening. His senses were sharper in his dragon form and he didn’t want to miss a single detail.

  He placed the orb on the floor beside him. Though it was tempting to take advantage of the interval and draw magick to it, he didn’t want to attract attention. Let Maeve think him beaten.

  He watched the orb’s glow, narrowing his eyes to note the steady departure of earth magick from its stores, then quietly sang to it, buttressing the Regalian magick snared within it, as he waited.

  “Let me see your injury,” Lila said briskly to Hadrian and he leaned forward. “How did it happen?”

  “Someone hit me.” Hadrian braced his hands on his knees. “But Alasdair was the only one with me. I hope nothing happened to him.”

  Lila didn’t point out the obvious. If one dragon shifter could change alliances, then any of them could—and there was the example of Embron, too.

  Rhys said nothing. He paced the width of the room, as if getting control of his temper, then pivoted slowly to face Hadrian. “Tell me exactly what happened,” he said, his words so crisp that Lila knew more was wrong than Hadrian’s injury.

  “I fell asleep,” that Pyr explained. “You know how it is when you’re breathing smoke.”

  Rhys folded his arms across his chest and nodded. “Meditative. When you’re tired, it’s easy to fall asleep.”

  “And Alasdair woke me up. You were gone and I couldn’t feel the firestorm either.” Hadrian looked between the two of them, his gaze clouding with confusion as he eyed the bright sparks burning between them. “I thought you satisfied that.”

  “Never mind,” Rhys said, his tone more insistent. “What then?”

  “Alasdair said you wanted the gem of the hoard and that we were to bring it to you.”

  “At Reliquary,” Rhys reminded him.

  Hadrian nodded. “He had your keys.” His eyes lit and he dug in his pocket, producing the keys and handing them to Rhys.

  Rhys eyed them. “This is the extra set from the restaurant, the keys I keep there in case of emergency. I never gave them to anybody.”

  Hadrian’s eyes narrowed. “It was odd,” he said slowly. “He said he couldn’t cross our dragonsmoke. I said I’d change the permissions, but he told me to just get the stone because we were in a hurry.”

  “And then?” Rhys prompted.

  “And then we got in the elevator and I pushed the button. I had the gem of the hoard in my hand. I remember the elevator starting to descend...and then, nothing.” He looked between the two of them.

  “Was there anyone else in the elevator?” Lila felt she had to ask the obvious question.

  Hadrian shook his head. “I didn’t see anyone.”

  “But there must have been,” Rhys protested. He turned to Lila. “Alasdair and Hadrian are cousins.”

  She wasn’t convinced of the other Pyr’s innocence. “Did he have a red string on his wrist?”

  Rhys inhaled and his eyes glittered.

  Hadrian’s brows rose. “No! I would have noticed that.”

  Because he’d had one as well, when he’d been compelled to dance with Rhys.

  Rhys paced the apartment. “But Alasdair was the one who pursued the Dark Queen when you were freed,” he told her. “The last time I saw him, he was chasing that car.”

  Lila sat down, finding her legs unsteady beneath her. “What if she got him instead?”

  “What would she do to him?” Rhys asked. “Other than curse him?”

  Lila had to tell him. “I always heard she could read minds and that nothing could be hidden from her. I told her and Embron what they wanted to know, because it’s not supposed to be a pleasant experience to have her digging for something specific. I’ve heard of creatures making deals, just to make her stop.”

  Rhys’ gaze held hers and she knew he was thinking of the torture she’d endured. She wasn’t proud to realize that in that moment of anguish she would have given up anything or anyone to save her own skin.

  “What can we do to help him?” Hadrian asked, looking between them again.

  “Maybe nothing at this point,” Rhys said.

  “I’m going to guess that the Dark Queen has the gem of the hoard,” Lila concluded and Rhys nodded, his thoughts obviously having followed the same path.

  “And if Kade has the stylus, he must have followed her into Fae,” he added.

  “He did!” Hadrian said. “I saw him open a portal on the street, right down there. It was the light from Fae that made my feet hurt again.”

  “At least the Dark Queen is gone,” Lila said. “In Fae, which suits me well enough.”

  “Maybe not for long,” Rhys said. Their gazes held for a moment.

  Hadrian was visibly agitated and his aura showed his pain and his uncertainty. Lila found it almost as distracting as the firestorm when she was trying to think.

  “Let me look at that,” she said.

  “It’ll just take time to heal,” Hadrian protested, but he did as she asked.

  She was well aware of how Rhys watched her, admiration in his gaze. She ran her hands over Hadrian’s injury and knew it wouldn’t heal very quickly. She spared a quick glance at Rhys, check
ing his reaction to her plan to heal his friend.

  He smiled and Lila’s heart warmed. “Thank you,” he said quietly, and Hadrian looked up.

  “Thank you for what?” that Pyr said, but Lila had closed her eyes and was exhaling the mist of healing. She felt its cool fingers slide over Hadrian, seeking his injury. She was aware of his nature, the core of fire in his dragon being, and realized he shared Rhys’ affinity to the earth, as well. There was a tinge of ice within him, though, and she summoned it, guessing it was key to his nature. The ice mingled with the mist of her breath and she saw hoarfrost on his skin, in his veins, coating each tiny hair.

  She also saw the outline of a kiss on his cheek, a purplish blue imprint of a woman’s puckered lips. It looked like a bruise or frostbite, but then it shimmered and disappeared as if she’d imagined it.

  Hadrian breathed slowly and more deeply, clearly feeling some relief, and the red faded from the bump even as his aura began to repair itself. Lila heard the tingle of a thousand icicles being blown in the wind and she breathed more mist. This time, she thought of the frost that formed on the shore, on the rocks and edges of the beach, the lacy filigree of frost that marked a winter morning, when the sea was silvery grey, its surface as smooth as a mirror. She breathed mist slowly and steadily, feeling the injury heal in increments, losing track of time and place.

  She knew she was safe, though, safe in Rhys’ lair with a dragon watching over her.

  Lila admitted to herself that was a nice change, then concentrated on healing Hadrian.

  Sylvia awakened to a persistent knocking.

  She rolled over and opened her eyes, halfway expecting to find herself in Sebastian’s library again, as if her flight from captivity had been a dream.

  Or a failure.

  But she was still in her apartment. Maeve’s book was on her shelf, glowing slightly red as if to ensure she didn’t forget it.

  She rolled to her back, thinking of what her aunt had told her the night before over dinner. She wasn’t Eithne’s niece at all, but had been adopted, chosen by Eithne because of her innate gifts. Eithne was a witch and she was leaving her entire legacy to Sylvia, whatever that meant. Learning that she wasn’t who she thought she was, that the story of her parents’ unexpected death was a fiction, had shaken Sylvia too much for her to absorb much else. She had more questions.

  “Sylvia?” Her aunt’s voice carried through the door.

  “Aunt Eithne!” Sylvia said before she realized her mistake. She opened the door. “I’m sorry. It’s such a habit...”

  “I don’t mind,” Eithne said. “It’s actually very nice. Don’t change what you call me unless you want to.” Sylvia saw that the older woman looked tired. Eithne gestured toward the back of the house, where her courtyard was located. “We’ve been invited to dinner. I wanted to let you sleep but they’re getting impatient.”

  “They?”

  “My guests.”

  “I’d rather stay here. I have a lot to think about, if it’s all the same...”

  “It’s not,” Eithne said with uncharacteristic sharpness. She met Sylvia’s gaze steadily. “And bring the book.”

  Sylvia felt her mouth open in astonishment. How had her aunt known about the book? And why would she bring it? On the other hand, it might not be safe to leave it behind. Eithne was already disappearing down the stairs, her footsteps light and purposeful.

  Sylvia closed the door and leaned back against it for a moment. It was evening, which meant it had been an entire day and more since she’d left Reliquary. She’d spent the day of her escape consumed with restless energy and had cleaned her apartment, done her laundry, then gone shopping for groceries. She’d looked over her shoulder the whole time but hadn’t seen anyone following her.

  She’d had dinner with Eithne, relieved that her aunt had returned, but had been startled by their conversation. She’d been awake most of the night, at first because she was thinking about Eithne’s confessions. Later, she couldn’t sleep because she was expecting Sebastian to suddenly step out of the shadows or loom over her bed—or that she’d dream of the red room. She’d finally fallen asleep at first light and had evidently slept all day.

  Sylvia went into her kitchen and looked down into the garden five stories below. She could see a couple, standing together, chatting and looking at the garden. They didn’t seem to be very interested in plants at all and turned with obvious interest when Eithne appeared.

  The man had a little dragon over him, a dragon that was opal and gold.

  He was a dragon shifter.

  She hurried to wash and dress, the presence of one of the Pyr in her aunt’s garden making her curious enough to almost forget Sebastian.

  But not quite.

  He hadn’t pursued her and she was disappointed. She’d had her arguments all composed. She’d been ready to tell him off. She’d been determined to demand the truth.

  But Sebastian hadn’t come.

  Sylvia had just been useful, and obviously she wasn’t any longer.

  She didn’t have to be glad of that.

  Eleven

  Alasdair awakened with a raging headache. He’d never felt such pain, not even after the worst bout of drinking in his life. He felt as if his brains had been tugged out one ear and tossed on the floor, as if someone had rummaged through them, knotted them up, then jammed them back into his head through the other ear. The worst thing was that he couldn’t remember where he had been or what he had done to earn this headache. He remembered finding Rhys’ mate and pursuing Maeve.

  Had the Pyr won that dragonfight? Had he celebrated a little too much? He couldn’t feel the glow of the firestorm so maybe Rhys had celebrated in the best possible way.

  Where was he?

  He opened one eye cautiously then closed it again when the bright silver light nearly made his head explode. Bracing himself for that, he opened his eye slightly again, only to realize that he had no idea where he was.

  He wasn’t alone, that was for sure. He was lying on the ground, cold ground, and he felt bruised all over. There was a woman’s high heeled shoe right beside his temple, one with a red sole. That was worrisome. Alasdair turned slightly to look up, way up, to find himself lying at Maeve’s feet.

  She looked about a million times better than the last time he’d seen her—or maybe he should have said a million years younger. Her hair was dark and glossy again, her cheeks were smooth and unlined. Her lips were full and red, and her dark eyes snapped with vigor. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to have noticed his movement at all. Her gaze was fixed on the orb in her hand, a golden orb with something inside it.

  The gem of the hoard. Alasdair remembered stealing it from Rhys’ lair at her command.

  This was not good.

  Red light swirled in a maelstrom around Maeve, who was seated on a large silver and red throne, and the prostate Alasdair at her feet. He didn’t move, not wanting to attract her attention. The red light wasn’t just swirling around her: it was diving into the gem of the hoard. The gem of the hoard pulsed with a power Alasdair hadn’t known it possessed.

  Maybe it hadn’t possessed it, not until Maeve started to weave her spell.

  He had a thought then to rise and stop her, but realized he couldn’t move. Opening his eyes was the extent of his capabilities. He couldn’t open his mouth or make a sound either. He tried and discovered that he couldn’t shift shape either. Terror flooded through him at that, and he noticed the red string tied around his left wrist.

  He’d been enchanted.

  He must be Maeve’s captive in Fae, even though he’d collected the gem of the hoard as she’d commanded.

  This was really not good.

  Why had she kept him?

  There was a blinding flash of silver light then and a slash appeared in the air. A Fae warrior stepped through the gap and closed it again, then seemed to revel in the red spell light that spun around Maeve.

  “And?” she asked, barely flicking a glance at the new arriva
l.

  “The book is missing,” he said.

  That got Maeve’s attention. She looked at him then and Alasdair respected that he didn’t flinch. “Missing?” she repeated.

  “The woman entrusted with it has apparently fled the protection of the vampires. She is the one who can see its truth.”

  “They could have lied to you, Bryant.”

  The warrior shook his head. “They did not see me, my lady. I didn’t reveal myself, but listened first.”

  She inhaled and sat back. “Vampires don’t miss much.”

  The warrior looked insulted. “I was the heart and soul of discretion, my lady.”

  Maeve harumphed.

  The warrior continued. “The troublesome one says the Pyr will have found her...”

  “How can he know that?”

  “Sebastian is said to have a small measure of foresight, my lady. Although I cannot vouch for his abilities, he does consistently make excellent choices.”

  “Didn’t he surrender the book to this woman?”

  “He warned against the choice, my lady. I heard them argue about that.”

  Maeve nudged Alasdair with her toe. “I know you’re awake. Where would we find the Pyr?”

  I don’t know, Alasdair thought, then felt the jab of her fingers in his mind again. He recoiled and couldn’t stop the first thought that came to him. They will gather at the firestorm.

  Maeve bent down and smiled at him, an expression so chilly that Alasdair would have shivered if he’d been able to. “And you can feel the firestorm, can’t you? Lead us there and I might release you alive.”

  He might have protested but she poked deep in his brain and he screamed instead.

  Rhys watched Lila heal Hadrian, impressed again that she gave so much of herself to others. Her ability was both gift and curse, because he could see how it tired her. He wondered how she discerned injuries in the first place and wanted to learn more about her gifts. He could see the tension slip from Hadrian beneath the cool mist of her healing breath and was grateful for her intervention.