But he took a step back, which diminished the glow of the firestorm, making it orange instead of yellow. Bree felt like she could muster her thoughts.
This strategy was working.
She turned to face him then she laid it all out for him. “That dragon was vicious and cruel; he stole and plundered; he slaughtered, tortured and maimed. He burned the crops in the fields to ensure that people starved. He was evil,” she said emphatically, letting him see how much she despised his kind. “He collected himself a hoard of riches and every warrior who went to fight him was so dazzled by the collection that he lost his mind.”
Her Pyr looked grim. He’d straightened away from the wall and folded his arms across his chest, which only made him look more powerfully masculine. “Except Siegfried.”
“Except Siegfried.” She bit off the words, annoyed that this dragon shifter had guessed what she had omitted.
He leaned on the counter and nodded, his gaze knowing as he eased closer again. “Who, I’m going to speculate, was ultimately killed in his pursuit of dragons, which is why you hate dragons.”
Bree didn’t know what to say to that. It wasn’t quite true, but it was an easier explanation than the actual truth—which was much more personal.
She turned back to her bean grinder.
He leaned closer, proving again that he was impossible to ignore—or that he sensed he was close to unveiling a secret. He dropped his voice low even as she struggled to ignore him. “What’s the end game here?”
She glanced up to find him too close, his gaze too bright. Her heart fluttered, and it annoyed her that her body was on his side. “Does it matter?”
“You attacked me.”
“I was supposed to kill you or at least injure you enough so the Fae could take you captive.” It felt better to admit the truth, although Bree doubted it would change this dragon shifter’s mind.
“Your destined mate.” He gave her a look. “Nice.” His tone revealed that wasn’t his actual reaction.
“It wasn’t you specifically,” she confessed.
He snorted a little, and she knew he was right—the detail didn’t matter. He probably didn’t even believe it.
“I’m Kristofer,” he said, to her surprise, offering his hand. “Kristofer Anderson.”
She looked at his hand, back to his eyes, then started the bean grinder with a fierce gesture. “Kris,” she said, trying out his name. Just as expected, even knowing his name made it harder to hate him.
“I prefer Kristofer.” He closed the last bit of distance between them and leaned against the counter again, apparently at ease, but also alert. And half-naked. “They razz me that no one calls me Kris and lives to tell about it.” His voice was a low rumble that made Bree think there were much better things they could do than argue and drink coffee.
Which, given her love of coffee, was saying something.
“Maybe I like to live dangerously.”
“I can believe that.” His words weren’t filled with condemnation, so Bree risked a glance his way.
Admiration shone in his eyes. The sight took her breath away, especially when she realized he had no illusions about her truth. Most males, even dragon shifters, would have been wary. Many would have been afraid. Most would have run.
Not Kris.
Bree was a serious sucker for a warrior with confidence.
And in this case, it seemed to be deserved. She recalled the way he flew and fought, his grace and power, and the sheer splendor of his dragon form, and swallowed. His human form wasn’t bad either.
How was she going to keep her word and save Kara?
“You don’t have a name?” he prompted.
“We don’t need to be friends, Kris,” she said sternly instead of answering him. “We need to find Maeve’s book and get it back to her, then go our separate ways.”
“And your way is...?”
“Leaving Fae forever with my sister,” she said. “At best, we can be reluctant comrades, if you help me get this book.”
He laughed. “We’re going to be more than friends or comrades. You’re my destined mate. This is the firestorm!” He obviously couldn’t hold back on his excitement and when she glanced his way, she was snared by the sparkle in his eyes.
She dumped the ground beans into the French press. “You sound like a kid at Christmas.”
While she, in contrast, sounded like the Grinch.
“This is better than Christmas. This is it, the big kahuna, the ultimate jackpot. The firestorm is a once in a lifetime experience...”
Enough! It was time to get this straight. Bree turned to face him and propped one hand on her hip. “It’s not the firestorm.”
“Of course, it is.” Kris raised a finger toward her shoulder. He smiled as the sparks leaped between them and they both caught their breath. “See? There’s no mistaking it. Feel that heat.” His voice dropped even lower, becoming sultry and seductive. Bree wished she could manage to be immune. His fingertip landed on her shoulder and traced a little circle, sending fire right to her toes—and one other place. Bree couldn’t take a breath. He bent down and whispered in her ear, giving her goose bumps. “Doesn’t it make you think about getting a little closer...”
She heaved a tolerant sigh, even though she did want to do just as he suggested. Instead, she retreated. “And the firestorm is what exactly?”
“It’s a sign that a Pyr has met his destined mate, the one woman who can bear his son.”
“It’s about sex,” she said flatly, interrupting him. “And I’m not interested.”
“Really?” Kris moved closer again and Bree realized she was running out of kitchen. She caught the clean masculine scent of his skin and knew she was running out of excuses, too. She found herself meeting his gaze, looking at his mouth, watching the progress of that slow confident smile.
“I don’t know about that,” he murmured, studying her so closely that she knew he hadn’t missed one bit of her response. “The firestorm tends to get its way. It’s just going to get hotter and more intense, and harder to ignore...”
“Until?”
“Until we consummate it and conceive a son.”
That confession broke the spell completely.
Bree stepped back and glared at Kris. “Wait a minute. This is about dragon babies, too?”
“It’s about the future.”
“So, it keeps burning until I get pregnant?”
“First time, every time.” His confidence in that was ridiculous—unless dragon shifters were particularly potent. Kris smiled again and she had to admit that might be the case. “That’s what they say. We could find out.” His eyes twinkled. “Call it research.”
The suggestion shouldn’t have had any appeal, but with Kris, it was enticing. All Bree’s quick sharp replies abandoned her as she held his gaze and wondered...
No. She was glad it wasn’t a real firestorm. She was going to find the book and free Kara. The kettle boiled, providing the perfect excuse, and Bree pivoted to lift it off the stove, carefully filling the French press with hot water. The task didn’t require her undivided attention, but she concentrated as if it did.
Kris waited in silence.
Watching.
Admiring.
Maybe he knew better than to mess with anyone who loved their coffee.
If so, that meant he was a lot smarter than the dragon she’d hunted before.
He was certainly more persuasive.
Bree emptied the kettle after the French press was full. She was well aware of Kris filling her kitchen as she put the lid on the French press. She took as long about the task as possible, but still couldn’t think of anything clever to say.
She’d have to be blunt.
She turned to confront him. She was determined to sound resolute, but the way the corner of his mouth lifted—as if she was cute—proved that he wouldn’t be easily convinced.
Cute?
Bree let her indignation at that fuel her words. “There will be
no consummation, because this isn’t really a firestorm,” she said with force. “I’m not your mate and I’m not going to bear your son, so you can just forget that bit about satisfying the firestorm...”
Kris leaned toward her, holding her gaze as the heat grew between them to blinding intensity. He dropped his fingertip to her lips and Bree forgot what she was going to say. A predictable wave of desire flooded through her and she closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation despite herself. She felt her lips part and then his breath on her cheek. She knew she swayed closer to his tanned and muscled chest. He had a big dragon tattoo on his chest, which she’d noticed before, but now she found herself studying it.
It was one way to avoid his intent gaze.
“Hard to forget that part,” he murmured, which was true enough. He then brushed his lips across her earlobe and Bree shivered. The problem was that she liked sex, a lot, and that made her susceptible to this kind of campaign. And it had been a while. She heard Kris inhale, as if he wanted to swallow the scent of her skin, as if he was savoring her, and her resistance melted a little more.
He knew her truth, and he wasn’t afraid. Bree’s knees melted.
“Kiss me,” he whispered in her ear then grazed the lobe with his teeth.
“I never kiss anyone,” she admitted in a rush. “Well, unless I’m collecting their souls.”
“No one?” he murmured, his warm lips tracing a path down her neck.
Bree closed her eyes. “It’s dangerous,” she whispered. It couldn’t hurt to have another taste, could it? That first kiss had been amazing, as one-sided as it had been, but they had been in the middle of a fight. It could have seemed better than it was.
“Maybe you’re not the only one who likes to lived dangerously,” he mused and she had nothing to say to that.
When the weight of his hands landed on her shoulders, she leaned toward him. His fingers curved around her, cradling her closer, gentle but firm. She opened her eyes to find him so close, his eyes glimmering with intent, that smile curving his lips. His gaze swept over her features, lingering on her mouth, and Bree licked her lips without meaning to do so. Kris bent, met her gaze, then slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her.
He invited her to participate and she had to fight hard against that appeal.
Even so, this kiss was every bit as good as the first one.
No, it was better. It was slower and more thorough, both gentler and more demanding. There was no rush. The firestorm burned hotter and whiter, filling her mind with thoughts of need and satisfaction. Bree clenched her hands into fists and forced herself to stand and be kissed without joining in.
He was all warrior.
All hers for the taking.
Tender and powerful. Teasing and persistent. The temptation was almost overwhelming.
Kris smiled into their kiss, bracketing his hands around her waist. They almost spanned it completely and he purred at that, then lifted her to her toes. He spun them around, backing her into the counter as he angled his head to deepen their kiss.
Bree surrendered a little. She opened her mouth, welcoming him, fearing the consequences. She wanted to draw him closer, kiss him thoroughly, wrap herself around him and seduce him. It would be so easy. All she had to do was frame his face in her hands and kiss him, claim his soul, and make him her own forever. He was willing.
But then he’d be bound to her forever. There’d be no escape from him, not until Ragnorak.
Not a chance. Bree broke their kiss and pushed Kris away with one hand planted in the middle of his chest. He stepped back immediately, and his passion was clear in the way his eyes blazed. He took a deep breath and held up his hands in surrender.
“Okay, we’ll talk instead,” he said, his voice hoarse with need. Bree liked the sign that he was powerfully affected, too. “What’s your name?” he asked, which was almost enough to make Bree want to kiss him to silence.
“Is it strictly necessary for you to know?” his mate demanded, then stepped away. She sounded irritable, but Kristofer had already noticed that her tone didn’t match her body language. He doubted it was a true measure of her reaction—the way she’d momentarily softened during that kiss had been. She stood watch over her coffee, as if it would protect her from the firestorm’s promise, and stole glances at him, proving his theory right. It took them both a few moments to steady their breathing.
Another sign. He could feel the rapid beat of her heart and his own matched its pace, making him feel powerfully connected to her and also a bit dizzy.
Not the firestorm. Who did she think she was kidding?
Kristofer understood that she had doubts. Fair enough, as Quinn, the Smith of the Pyr, liked to say. Kristofer would do his best to dismiss her concerns.
Fast.
“The firestorm isn’t just about sex, you know,” he said, speaking with soft conviction. “The firestorm is about promise and possibilities, about partnership, about making a family and building a future. It’s about building a relationship in which each partner’s strengths complement those of the other, about being stronger together than apart.”
She failed to hide her surprise. “Don’t tell me you’re a romantic.”
He chuckled and his gaze clung to hers once more. “Guilty as charged.”
“But you’re a dragon.” She said that as if they were mutually exclusive conditions.
“A Pyr, technically. Half dragon, half man, with the ability to switch it up at will.”
She pushed down the plunger on the French press slowly, her brow furrowed. Kristofer knew he was challenging her beliefs and gave her some time to chew through it.
“Was that Fae?” he asked and she nodded. “Good thing we got out of there.”
She drew his attention to the red string tied around his left wrist. “Read the fine print before you celebrate.”
Kristofer frowned and slid a finger beneath it, but it wouldn’t snap. In fact, it cut into the opposite side of his wrist, and was sharp enough to draw blood.
“Rug,” she reminded him tersely, proof that she was watching him.
“It’s in the other room. This isn’t projectile bleeding,” he pointed out, but still used the disinfectant to clean it up. Then he looked at her, inviting an explanation.
“It’s a spell. It marks you as being under Maeve’s command.”
“Maeve?”
“The Dark Queen. Queen of the Fae. Mistress of all Magick, etc.” She made a dismissive gesture with one hand as if the list of titles were less impressive than they sounded to him.
“But why?”
“Because you willingly entered her realm. You don’t get to just leave Fae. It’s like you trespassed. You have to make a deal to earn the queen’s clemency.”
Kristofer folded his arms across his chest as he realized the ramifications of that. “But we’re out of Fae and I didn’t make a deal,” he noted.
“Not yet.”
His gaze lingered on her bare wrist. No red string, although he could see a line there, one a whole lot like the one on his wrist now. Something stirred in his memory. He’d seen one of those red strings somewhere else recently. He pushed the question away, concentrating on his mate instead. He was going to guess that she’d had a red string too, had tried to break it just as he had but only drawn blood—and now it was gone. “But you were already there. I followed the firestorm into Fae.” He knew with sudden clarity what must have happened. “You’d made a deal.”
“Yes.” At least she didn’t lie.
She took down a mug from the cabinet, then held up another and glanced at him. Kristofer shook his head, so she put the second mug back and poured herself some steaming hot coffee. She closed her eyes in pleasure as she sipped it, but Kristofer wondered if she was trying to hide from him.
“That’s why you don’t have a string?”
She nodded, but didn’t look pleased
“What was the deal?” Kristofer asked, but he thought he could guess.
“You we
re supposed to be killed or taken captive. Either was supposed to be good enough. And I did it. I brought you down, but instead of keeping her promise, Maeve’s warriors dumped us here and said I had to get the book.” She made a sound of frustration. “I did what she asked but I don’t see my sister. I think she changed the terms.” She muttered an uncomplimentary curse under her breath. “Those Fae.”
“So the price of release is a moving target.”
“Apparently.” This didn’t please his mate any more than it pleased Kristofer. She took a gulp of coffee and looked grim.
“Your sister?”
“Kara was captive in Fae. It was supposed to be you for her.”
“Let’s prove she’s still there.” Kristofer didn’t see a phone so he handed her his cell phone. “Make sure. Call your sister.”
She hesitated a moment, then took the phone and punched in a number. She waited, avoiding his gaze, then made a face and ended the call. “Customer is unavailable.” She handed him the phone.
“She could be busy.”
“In Fae.” She bit off the words. “Maeve lied.” She filled up her coffee cup again.
Kristofer was still confused. “But I followed the firestorm to you...”
She exhaled and put down her mug. “I told you the firestorm wasn’t real. I’m not your mate. Work it out.”
“A firestorm can’t be faked!”
“This one is,” she said with conviction. “It’s a spell and it’ll just fade away. It’s Maeve’s magick at work, a lure to draw you into Fae and to me.”
Kristofer wasn’t convinced. He shook his head. “No. The only thing that extinguishes the light of a firestorm is satisfying it and we haven’t nearly done that yet.”
“This one is a trick,” she insisted. She held up a hand when he would have argued. “My deal was agreeing to be a part of this. It doesn’t matter if you believe me. Think about it. You know what I am and you know what that means. I’m immortal. I’m infertile. I can’t conceive your son. It’s not even possible. Logic should tell you that this firestorm is a lie or, at best, an illusion.”
“No,” Kristofer shook his head. There was one thing he knew to be unassailable. “The firestorm is never a lie. The firestorm is one thing that can be relied upon in all circumstances.” He tapped one fingertip on the counter to emphasize his point. “It’s a constant of our nature.”
Dragon's Kiss (The DragonFate Novels Book 2) Page 8