Dragon's Heart (The DragonFate Novels Book 3)

by Deborah Cooke

  “We understand the import of the firestorm. We trust that it has chosen the right mate for us.”

  “Even if mates are cautious?”

  He chuckled. “Maybe we teach each other the merit of being persuasive.”

  Lila could believe it. She found Rhys and his constancy very persuasive.

  He looked at the gem again. “My father escorted her around the city, showed her the sights, and courted her so ardently that she missed the departure of her ship.”

  “By accident or design?”

  “I don’t know. But she missed the next three she could have taken, and then she agreed to marry him.”

  Lila smiled, finding it easy to imagine that a persistent Pyr suitor would be hard to resist. “And they had twin sons, thanks to the firestorm.”

  Rhys nodded. “Llewelyn was a few minutes older than me.” He sobered then and she knew he was thinking of the loss of his brother.

  She wanted him to smile again. “Will you tell me about him?”

  “Well, you can guess what he looked like. We were twins.” He gestured toward the dragon tattoo on his chest. “Only the tattoo is a recent addition. He never had one. He would have liked being part of the Dragon Legion, though. He was always a good fighter.”

  “But you said he died in that war.”

  “He did, but it was because he intervened for me. It was a big fight and the air was filled with smoke as well as dragonfire. I didn’t see the Slayer coming up behind me and I didn’t sense him at all. I’d taken a few hits and was bleeding a bit, but I shouldn’t have been so inattentive. I thought we’d won the battle. But this Slayer soared in behind me and Llewelyn spotted him in time. He shoved me out of the way and attacked the Slayer, but that meant he took the blow intended for me. It was a hard slash, one that would have torn my wings off if not more, and he took those talons right across his stomach. His guts—” Rhys winced and shook his head. “I’m sorry. It was awful.”

  Lila put her hand on his arm, almost feeling his pain. “He died instead of you.”

  Rhys nodded. His throat worked. “He was dead in the blink of an eye. There was no question of getting help in time. It took Storme and I both to finish the Slayer, and Storme was fatally injured by then, too. I couldn’t believe that I would be the only one to survive, since I was the one who had fucked up in the first place.”

  “But you were.”

  “I was.” Rhys’ voice was husky. “I saw them both exposed to the four elements, because my father had always been superstitious about that and it seemed like the least I could do. Then I left the battle and sought out Kristofer to give him the news about Storme.” He fell silent for a minute and his lips tightened. “They’d argued about going to the battle and had parted badly, so at least I didn’t have that burden to bear. I’d just caused Llewelyn’s death by not paying attention.”

  “It was a war,” Lila said, thinking that guilt might be the reason for the shadow on his aura.

  Rhys shook his head. “It was a mistake. I’ll never forgive myself for it and that’s okay. It was a big mistake. I shouldn’t ever make one like it again.”

  Lila didn’t think about her own mistake. She’d learned from surrendering to Malcolm and knew that satisfying the firestorm with Rhys wouldn’t be a repeat of her error.

  “And thus began your lost years?” she asked lightly, still trying to prompt his smile.

  “Not right away. First I went looking for Gwendolyn.”

  “Who?”

  “The woman Llewelyn loved. She was part of the reason we went to war.”

  “She refused him?”

  “No, not that. She wasn’t his destined mate.” Rhys shook his head and led Lila back to the kitchen. He put on the kettle, then leaned on the counter, facing her. “You have to understand that my father was a great romantic. He loved the idea of the firestorm, and was adamant that a Pyr should commit to his destined mate forever. He believed that the firestorm offered the one opportunity in a Pyr’s life for stability and happiness and also to create a legacy. He believed that the firestorm was always right, and that its spark always led a Pyr to the woman who was the best possible complement for him. Kind of like Rafferty.”

  Lila nodded understanding.

  “So, even though it’s not forbidden for Pyr to be with other women, my father believed it was wrong. A fleeting union was something he could ignore, but for a Pyr to pledge oneself to a woman who was not his destined mate was unforgiveable in his eyes.”

  “But why? You live long. You might wait several human lifetimes for your mate.”

  “That’s true. But we never know when the firestorm will spark. A Pyr could pledge himself to a mortal woman, then have his firestorm spark the next day, the next week, the next year. And he would be obliged to follow its heat, to satisfy it and to conceive a son. I don’t actually think anyone can resist it for long.”

  “But people get divorced all the time,” Lila had to comment. “Isn’t it similar?”

  “No, because they don’t get married with the assumption that they’ll get divorced. They really hope it’ll be for the duration. At least, I hope that’s what they think when they marry. Otherwise, I’d expect the match to be doomed.”

  “They’d have one foot out the door,” Lila said, remembering his earlier words.

  “And a Pyr knows that a union with a woman who is not his mate could end at any minute—or that he could be compelled to be unfaithful, which was also not acceptable to my father. My father always said that the mark of a warrior is in his kindness, and that those least worthy of respect are the ones who are cruel without cause.” Rhys held her gaze. “He thought that making such a pledge would be unfair and unkind.”

  “But Llewelyn disagreed?”

  “No, Llewelyn agreed completely. He just fell in love and couldn’t do a thing about it. He decided to leave Gwendolyn without making a promise, and so we joined that war together. I confess that I was afraid he might turn back, which was part of why I went with him. He loved her so much. It was hard for him to make that choice, and I wanted to support him in it.”

  “It doesn’t seem right to deny love.”

  “No. It didn’t.” Rhys sighed. “We had a good example in my parents. Their love was impressive, constant, powerful. I think it only grew stronger the more years they were together.”

  “How does that work?” Lila asked. “The Pyr are long-lived, so did your father survive your mother for a long time?”

  “No. There are those who say that in cases of a great love between a Pyr and his destined mate, his body matches pace to hers. A Pyr will often get his first grey hair after his firestorm, for example, though for all the centuries between then and his coming of age, he might change very little. I’ve looked like this since I was thirty-five.”

  “Except for the dragon tattoo,” Lila reminded him with a smile.

  “Except for that,” he agreed with a smile of his own, then continued when she thought he might fall silent. “My father had a little silver at his temples when my mother’s health failed. She would have been in her eighties by then and at the end, she was a bit confused. She had a fever and was weakened by her illness. I remember when the physician shook his head, took his fee and left her. She was shivering then, making no sense, and my father’s heartbreak was in his eyes. It was terrible to watch her fade away.” The kettle boiled and he turned to make tea, his movements less graceful than usual.

  “And she died then?”

  “Not quite. She was suffering, though. My father shed his boots and his sword and climbed into her bed. He gathered her into his arms, and told her a story of a widow who had stopped in a church to pray on her way to Jerusalem on pilgrimage, a woman whose womb was barren and whose heart was swept clear of hope. He told her about the spark of the firestorm, reminded her of how its glow had lit the chapel like a sunrise. He told her how its warmth filled the heart of the Pyr warrior and lit the features of the widow as she turned to look at him in wonder. He tol
d her of their courtship and their marriage, of the birth of their sons and the joy they found with each other. He told her how much he loved her and he wept a little after she fell asleep in his embrace.”

  Rhys shook his head and his throat worked. His voice was husky when he continued. “I remember the crackle of the fire on the hearth and the rasp of her breathing, the distant sound of the sea and the low murmur of my father’s voice. The mood of the room had changed completely. She was at peace and they were together.”

  “Forever,” Lila said, her yearning for a bond growing steadily.

  “We left them, at his instruction, and when the sun rose the next morning, my mother was dead. My father’s hair had turned as white as snow during the night and he had aged greatly. He made all the preparations for the funeral and I remember him setting his affairs in order. She was buried in that church where they had met, as she had requested, and I was shocked that her crucifix was missing from the rosary in her hands.”

  Rhys picked up the jewel and let it swing on its chain, catching the light. “Back at home, my father gave us each half of that crucifix, which he had asked a jeweler to split. He explained that my mother once asked that it be divided between us, for we were two halves of a whole and it was all she had of her own to give. The stone that sat in the center of the crucifix, a cabochon sapphire, was on the half that Llewelyn had. My father joked that it would have been a crime to slice such a fine jewel in half.” He frowned and sighed. “He died that very night. He had made arrangements for his own burial beside her, so within a week, they were both gone.”

  “And this is typical? That the Pyr dies after his mate?”

  “It’s not uncommon from what I understand.” Rhys was staring at the half-cross as it swung from its chain. “And the example of their love is why Llewelyn and I both knew he couldn’t make a vow to Gwendolyn, because he couldn’t be certain that he could keep it. He met her in Wales, when we finally journeyed there to see my mother’s homeland.”

  “You weren’t quick about it.”

  Rhys shook his head. “No. I think we knew that when we left the house in Malta we were unlikely to ever return. We had a good childhood there and a good life. It was only natural to linger and savor.”

  “But you went to Wales.”

  “And there was Gwendolyn. So we went to war. When Llewelyn died, Kristofer was in Norway, then, and I went to him first with the news of Storme. But once that was done, I believed Gwendolyn would want to know that Llewelyn had truly loved her, and I thought I owed him that errand. But I couldn’t find her.”

  “Had she moved away?”

  Rhys raised his gaze to hers. “She’d died. It was said that she had killed herself, that she had filled her pockets with stones and walked into the sea, never to be seen again. It was said that she couldn’t bear the grief of losing the man she loved.” He spun around to pour her tea, reaching for a mug from the shelf.

  “Did she know his nature?”

  Rhys shook his head without turning. “Llewelyn insisted he’d never told her.”

  “What happened to his half of your mother’s crucifix? Was it lost when he died?”

  “No. I looked for it. He didn’t have it.”

  “He couldn’t have lost it. It was too important to both of you.”

  Rhys put the tea down in front of her. “I think he gave it away.” He held her gaze, his own hot with unshed tears. “They said that Gwendolyn wore a gem from her lover when she walked into the sea. That was one of the reasons so many people tried to find her body, but she was never found.” He coiled the chain around the gem on the counter. “Now you know all my secrets.” He might have turned away, but Lila reached to cover his hand with her own. She could see that the shadow on his aura was receding, a sure sign that telling the story of his lost brother was helping him to heal.

  She wanted to finish the job. If he was determined to go into Fae for his fellows, he was probably going to have to fight. Lila wanted him to be as strong as he could be.

  She didn’t want to lose Rhys just yet.

  “You should wear it,” she suggested. “Instead of keeping it in a drawer. That way, your family will be with you all the time.”

  Rhys considered the gem for a long moment before he nodded agreement. “I think you’re right,” he said quietly. He put the chain over his head. Lila smiled that the gem was right over the heart of his dragon tattoo. Rhys met her gaze and they stared at each other for a long hot moment, the firestorm crackling between them with irresistible heat.

  “Thank you for sharing that story with me.”

  “It was easier than I expected.” His smile was rueful. “Maybe it was time to tell it.”

  “Maybe you needed to entrust me with it,” Lila suggested, knowing what she had to do. Her path was absolutely clear, and it had nothing to do with evading Nereus and his scheme for creating more selkies. She reached out to Rhys, putting her hand on his chest so that the firestorm flared white between them. She was going to miss it. She raised her gaze to his, aware that he was utterly still. “This way, I can share it with our son, in case you can’t.”

  He stared at her, his shock obvious.

  Lila smiled. “I will choose to conceive, Rhys, if you want to satisfy the firestorm again.”

  “Lila!” he whispered with a wonder that once again made her feel precious. His eyes lit and he came around the counter in a flash, scooping her up and swinging her around so that she laughed aloud at his pleasure.

  “Are you sure?”

  Lila nodded. “Positive.”

  Rhys was deadly serious when he put her on his feet, his gaze filled with a wonder that made her heart pound as much as the firestorm. His gaze searched hers as he framed her face in his hands. “Thank you,” he whispered and kissed her to silence before she could reply.

  His kiss was right. The firestorm was blazing, heating her to her toes. This was why she had come to New York, and Lila would have no regrets.

  Fourteen

  Lila’s offer was a gift unexpected. Rhys had halfway expected she would retreat to her island and leave their firestorm simmering forever. He was determined to ensure that she didn’t regret her decision. He poured everything into his kiss and loved how she responded to his touch. She wasn’t shy and that was part of why he found her so perfect. Her arms were around his neck, her fingers in her hair, her grip on him both seductive and demanding. She pressed against him, the imprint of her curves lighting fires within him and taking his desire to a fever-pitch.

  It was more than her physical allure that made him want her. She was so giving and generous with her healing skill. She’d helped the Pyr. She’d added her efforts to those of Balthasar and Niall and done it so readily that he guessed she yearned not to be alone any longer. She’d been disappointed and was distrustful of love as a result of her experience, but Rhys would show her that her doubts were wrong.

  He’d fallen hard for Lila. He knew he could love her as deeply as his father had loved his mother. He knew that his feelings would only deepen over time—already he couldn’t imagine his life without Lila and her smile. The firestorm had chosen perfectly for him, and he wanted to be perfect for her.

  This night was the beginning for them both.

  When Lila opened her mouth to him in sweet surrender, Rhys caught her up in his arms. He broke their kiss only for a moment, long enough to sweep the box of salt off the counter and into her lap. She laughed and kicked her feet, her eyes sparkling. Rhys bent and swallowed her laugh with a demanding kiss. He carried her to the bathroom, setting her down beside the tub and catching the box as it fell.

  “I can do this later,” she said, but he knew she needed the restorative balm of the water now.

  “Too bad the tub isn’t bigger,” he said and she gave him a smile. He reached for the tap, but she stopped him with a fiery touch.

  “Not yet,” she whispered and he was willing to do whatever she wanted.

  Lila backed him into the counter, sliding he
r hands under the hem of his shirt. A sizzle marked the touch of her fingers on his skin and Rhys tipped his head back, knowing he would never again feel desire of such intensity. The firestorm burned, it tormented, it filled him with a desire more potent than anything he had felt before. Everything was about Lila, this marvel of a mate, and her pleasure.

  She tugged his shirt upward, pushed it over his head and cast it on the floor. He couldn’t help but look as she surveyed him, and he was glad to see her smile of satisfaction. “My dragon,” she murmured and Rhys chuckled because it was true. She bent to graze his nipple with her teeth and he caught his breath at the stab of heat. Rhys gripped her waist and lifted her to her toes, even as she tormented his nipple with tongue and teeth. She teased them both, driving him crazy, then traced the outline of his tattoo with the tip of her tongue. Rhys gasped. She created a line of fire, one that made the mark of his nature burn like a brand. His teeth were clenched and his heart racing when she leaned back.

  “It’s glowing,” she said with satisfaction. She lifted her gaze to his. “Like you’re filled with inner fire.”

  “I definitely am.” He kissed the side of her neck, trailing kisses to her ear, down her throat, beneath her chin and in the hollow of her throat. He felt her skin warm beneath his caress and her heart skip. His own heart matched the quick pace of hers and he was glad to be leaning against the counter as his world spun.

  It spun around his mate.

  “I’m going to miss the firestorm,” Lila confessed in a sexy whisper, rolling her hips against Rhys and making him catch his breath. “I like how it makes everything more intense.”

  Rhys could only agree. He swept his hands down her back and under the hem of her sweater. It joined his shirt on the floor, then he unfastened the front clasp of her bra with his teeth. She was so smooth, so beautiful, that his breath caught at his good fortune. He cupped her breasts in his hands and Lila leaned back as he teased one nipple with his teeth. He ran his tongue around the taut peak, creating a line of fire on her flesh and she moaned with pleasure.