Dragon's Kiss (The DragonFate Novels Book 2)

by Deborah Cooke

  “Neighbors,” Bree echoed as if she’d never heard the word.

  “What about your neighbors? You must have them in that building.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know them. I might recognize one or two of them, but we keep to ourselves.”

  “You keep to yourself,” Kristofer corrected and her quick glance proved to him that she knew it. “They might all be having parties without you.”

  “Or cookies,” she said with a sigh.

  “You’re definitely missing out on getting fixed up.”

  Bree was fighting a smile because her eyes were twinkling. “How does that jive with your expectations of a firestorm?”

  “It doesn’t. But they like that I’m waiting for The One. They think it’s sweet. And if they push potential candidates into my path to try and help out, it can’t hurt. One day, I will have my firestorm and they’ll be thrilled.” He paused to think about it. “Although I might have to ask them all to the wedding.”

  She didn’t even crack a smile, and he knew he’d made a mistake by reminding her that one day he’d have a firestorm. “Suit yourself. I don’t want anyone relying on me. I’m going to stick with what I know.”

  “No intimacy then.”

  “Any time you want to have sex, just give me a call. I like having sex with you. I’m up for another round whenever you are.”

  “But no commitment of any kind?”

  “It always works for me.”

  She was lying and Kristofer could hear it in her tone. “It really doesn’t work for me. I end up feeling like I’ve had a snack when I wanted a feast.”

  Bree laughed and he sensed that he’d surprised her.

  Their gazes locked and held for a long sizzling moment.

  “But I’m not your destined mate,” she said, turning away abruptly. “Don’t forget that bit, Kris. It’s important.” She sighed again and marched onward. “Once we get them out, you and I are done. We have to be, for the good of both of us.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “I know. But I don’t believe in the firestorm like you do.” She walked on, dejection in her posture.

  There was one more thing she had to know before they entered Fae and faced possible death.

  Ahead of him, Bree stopped at another arched gateway, one that led into a tunnel. There were two fluted pillars carved into the stone on either side of the opening. “The Egyptian Gate,” she said. She stretched out a hand then stepped into the shadows. “This is where the veil is thinnest.”

  The tunnel, Kristofer saw, was lined with doorways, doorways that apparently led to tombs. He read the names as they continued, feeling wary and on the cusp of change. They emerged from the other end of the tunnel to find a circular path, lined with doorways to tombs. In the middle of the circle was a green mound. “I’ve seen this in pictures before. Isn’t there supposed to be a tree here?” Kristofer asked.

  “There was one. A cedar. It’s the Circle of Lebanon.” Bree stopped suddenly and turned to face a door on the inner circle. “Here,” she whispered and spread her hands across the smooth stone.

  This was his moment.

  “One last thing before we go.” Kristofer caught her hand and spun her to face him.

  “We don’t have time...”

  “Hey, Sigrdrifa,” he whispered, gazing into her eyes. “I love you, and I want to tell you that while I can.”

  Bree opened her mouth and closed it again, her eyes wide as she stared back at him. If he’d expected a reciprocal confession, Kristofer would have been disappointed, but he hadn’t. It was enough, in a way, that she was shaken. He watched her swallow and lick her lips, momentarily at a loss for words.

  “No,” she said. “No. Don’t even say that!”

  “Coward,” he charged, daring her to take that challenge.

  Her eyes were filled with fire. “It’s not cowardly to acknowledge the impossible.”

  “It is cowardly to just accept what’s believed to be true. Love can move mountains, but you have to believe.”

  She stared at him. “Did your father teach you that?”

  Kristofer shook his head. “My father believed in the old gods, but he didn’t believe in love. I’m not even sure he believed in the firestorm.”

  Bree frowned. “Then, who?”

  “Rafferty.” He nodded at the stone door and lifted the stylus. “Ready?”

  “It doesn’t change anything,” she whispered but Kristofer knew his words had.

  “But it means I’m not repeating the mistake I made with Storme,” he said with resolve. “Let’s kick some Fae butt and argue more about it later.”

  Love.

  Love!

  What was Kris doing, saying something like that to her? His words left Bree jangled and unsettled—and aware of the gaping hole his absence would leave in her existence. It wasn’t a good moment to be startled or shaken—and yet, there was a strange glow deep inside her as a result of his confession.

  Love.

  Gods, what a man! She’d been tempted all night by the possibility of kissing him, by the option of claiming his soul, because she knew he was willing. But she wanted him alive, not trapped in a drinking party, and the whispers of appeal from the dead had reminded her all too clearly of that.

  She forced herself to think of her surroundings and her observations, to concentrate. She didn’t want Maeve to be able to surprise them.

  It was bad enough that the dead were restless.

  That the ones calling to her must have been dead for at least a hundred years was no good sign. What had awakened them in the first place? In Bree’s experience, the dead were active for a week or two after their demise, then settled down. It gave her the jitters to be called from old tombs like this.

  She wondered if Kris suspected as much.

  Maybe the veil between worlds was really thin and Maeve had stirred them up.

  Bree always felt bad turning her back on the dead, but she couldn’t claim them all. What if Kris was right that Ragnorak was over? She’d be taking them to a dead end.

  Pun intended.

  His confession burned in her thoughts, even the memory of the conviction in his eyes making her heart race. She was tempted, but the calls from the dead just reinforced her awareness that in the end, she’d be the one left alone. Love couldn’t change that, except that it would make her loneliness worse. She couldn’t bear to think of Kris dead—dust to dust and ash to ash—and of the world with one less glorious peridot and gold dragon shifter. She’d rather be without him and believe forever that he was still in flight, as glorious as ever.

  It had only been three days and she was going to ache when they parted. After a decade, the loss would destroy her. Bree didn’t even look at the name carved into the door. She knew it was the one.

  Kris used the stylus to draw the outline of a door. It looked like a chalk line on the stone. Mundane and ineffective. Nothing happened. Bree had time to think it wasn’t going to work, that it didn’t have enough magick, then the chalk line was illuminated by a faint glow of red light. The light was reluctant and fitful, but it was there. It seemed to muster its strength, then blazed brighter, if not as bright as Bree might have expected.

  It was enough, though. The stone cracked and the door creaked as it opened.

  Lady mercy...

  Bree had been about to step through the door when she heard the raspy plea coming from inside. Kris gave her a thumbs-up, then led the way, reaching back to take her hand and tug her behind him. He was shimmering blue when they entered the crypt and seemed impatient. The door closed and sealed immediately after them, a sign that the magick wasn’t going to last. He’d been right to seize the opportunity.

  There wasn’t room for him to shift, but Bree appreciated that he was alert. The back of the small chamber was a yawning abyss of darkness and Bree knew that Fae was beyond it.

  Lady mercy...

  The stone lid on the sarcophagus to the right scraped as someone tried to open i
t from the inside. There was agony in the words and she tried to ignore it. Bree heard nails scratching on the inside of the lid and the sound make the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She stood and stared, transfixed, as the lid began to lift and the smell of putrefication escaped from inside.

  “Go!” Kris said, giving her a push and then leaning his weight on the lid. There was a crunch and a whisper, but Bree ignored it and ran.

  She bolted into the darkness, appreciating how constant Kris was. Even though they’d disagreed, even though she hadn’t made a confession in return, he still protected her. She was glad to hear his footfalls behind her. The corpse continued to call to her, but as the sounds faded behind them, the appeal was easier to ignore. The blue shimmer of Kris being on the cusp of change lit the air around them.

  Beyond that, there was only darkness in all directions, as if the damp grass underfoot stretched to eternity.

  No. Kris pointed. There was a square of light in the distance. Bree saw a mound surrounded by stones with a massive tree atop it. It looked like the Circle of Lebanon in Highgate Cemetery, where they’d just been, but with the tree. The sight reminded her of the pictures taken before the cedar had been removed. The mounded hill looked like the top of a massive cupcake, with stone doors all around the lower sides.

  One was open, and golden light spilled into the darkness, inviting them onward.

  Bree heard the harp music—haunting, playful, an invitation to dance—and knew. They nodded at each other, then headed toward the open door with purpose. Kris held onto her hand and she didn’t protest. It felt good to have company when facing peril.

  The music was infectious. As they drew closer, the tune became more clear. It was dance music, fast and lilting, music to set toes tapping and hands clapping. It rose high and fell again, going on and on without cease. It was fast and manic, wild music that made Bree’s heart thump in time.

  She distrusted it, although she didn’t know why.

  As they drew closer, she heard laughter and shouting. There was a tinkling sound like wine running in a fountain as well the hooting of party attendees who had over-indulged. There was a tinge of desperation to the laughter, reminding her of that last visit to Valhalla, of people desperate to sound like they were having a good time. Bree looked up and noticed that the illusion wasn’t complete. The sky over the tree looked like a stage prop, painted on canvas, and she had the sense it could be easily snatched away.

  They paused as one in unison outside the portal. The fog swirled around them, seeming to have followed them from the cemetery. It also seemed denser and colder than it had been. The stone portal loomed high overhead, emanating cold. All warmth and light came from beneath the hill. It felt like there was a sanctuary there, but Bree knew otherwise. She touched the cold stone of the portal and her fingers slid through it, as if the glamour could be easily pierced.

  The golden light flickered and beckoned. From the volume of noise, there should have been an epic party in progress, but she could only see three figures dancing. Two men and a woman held hands and danced in a circle, as if they played a children’s game.

  “Rhys!” Kris shouted and stepped through the portal. “Hadrian!”

  The third dancer was Kara.

  They were all in their human forms.

  Bree followed Kris, but spun when there was a clang behind them, like a gate closing. The opening was barricaded by a large stone and her hands didn’t slide through this one. She and Kris were inside a fortress, every means of escape sealed.

  There was a shimmer overhead, as if a curtain had rippled in a breeze, and once again Bree thought the glamour was precarious. They were surrounded by the Fae court, but it wasn’t all red and silver as it had been before, and its occupants weren’t beautiful. The winged creatures didn’t sparkle—they looked green and brown, the colors of the earth, their hair more like trailing algae or moss instead of spun gold. Their hands were gnarled and brown, their faces more so. They were horrifying, redolent of death and rot, their laughter raucous. They were laughing and cheering, taking wagers, pointing and jeering.

  A fiddle joined the music of the harp, the player wizened with years and his back bent like a willow in the wind. The music became wilder and faster. The three dancers stumbled as they kept dancing, and Bree realized they were compelled to do so. Their hands were bound together with thin red string and even Kara’s expression was glazed with exhaustion. The two Pyr looked ready to drop, but still they danced.

  They had no choice.

  The musicians cavorted as they played and the gruesome Fae shouted. The feet of the Pyr bled as they continued to dance and Bree wondered how long this had been going on.

  Suddenly, a woman’s laughter rang out.

  The music stopped abruptly and the entire court seemed to hold its breath.

  Bree braced herself for the worst.

  Thirteen

  The two Pyr dropped to their knees, oblivious to anything but the cessation of torture, and even Kara staggered on her feet. Bree guessed that her sister was just too stubborn to drop. There was no red light in her sister’s eyes and when she looked at Bree, she seemed to be her old self.

  Except that the red string meant she couldn’t shift.

  She shook her head and mouthed the word “run!” That was all the proof needed that Maeve’s spell had been responsible for her sister’s betrayal.

  “Welcome!” Maeve cried.

  The assembly of Fae parted to reveal Maeve seated in majesty on a throne of dark thorns. She looked much older than she had previously, her face lined and her hair streaked with silver. At the sight of her, Bree realized where the magick had come from to create this glamor and snare her victims—she’d surrendered it for this fight.

  Even now, the red string on the wrists of the three prisoners seemed to be getting thinner, as if it was fading away.

  Maeve stood and raised her hands. “What a delight to have new guests arrive, just when things become a little dull.”

  “I thought your magick was gone,” Bree said.

  Maeve’s smile turned mean and, given the aging of her features, she looked like a vengeful crone. “I found enough to bait the trap. Apparently, a little bit goes a long way, when results are very probable.” She stepped closer and sneered. “I knew you both would come. I just had to let you in.”

  “Because we’re your only chance of getting out,” Kris murmured and the Fae Queen’s dark eyes flashed.

  “You will pay for that impertinence.”

  “No,” he said with the confidence that made Bree’s heart sing. “You will pay for yours.”

  “Never!” Maeve cried. She raised her hands and Bree felt movement behind them. She knew Fae warriors moved to answer Maeve’s command. She wasn’t going to be trapped again and she saw that Kris was already shimmering a brilliant hue of blue that made the Fae gasp. They shifted in unison and it felt good to hear the Fae cry in dismay.

  Kris roared and took flight, snatching Bree out of harm’s way, his scales glittering peridot and gold in the light of Fae.

  Even Maeve’s court gasped at his magnificence.

  Kris turned in the air and released a plume of dragonfire that sent the Fae scattering. The ground scorched, smoking as it burned, and the circle of stone disappeared as if it had been made of cardboard. Bree cried a warning when she saw the Fae warriors loading their bows, but Kris ignored her. He was diving down to snatch up his fellows, and she knew he intended to force his way out of Fae to rescue them.

  Silver light flashed as Maeve cast a spell at the two Pyr, aging visibly as she did so, and the two captives became salamanders again.

  “Where is Theo?” Kris roared, but no one answered. He swooped low over the court, breathed a torrent of fire that scattered the Fae, and set Bree on her feet in the midst of the cleared space. She ran after the two glittering salamanders and caught them, one after the other. She put them both in her pouch with her remaining rune stones, then looked for Kara. Her sister was
held captive by the Fae warriors, trapped in her human form, her expression furious as she struggled against them.

  “She lied to me, Bree!” she shouted. “Someone phoned and said it was you. The line was bad but I wasn’t sure. Whoever it was said that the old man was dying and we had to go earlier. She told me not to worry about going home for my bags because we’d miss the flight.” Kara aimed a kick at one of her captors and spat at the other. Meanwhile, Fae archers began to aim at Kris, the air filled with their arrows. “The cab was right outside Bones. I thought it was luck. But as soon as I got in, these thugs tied that string on my wrist. I had to make a deal, Bree. I was forced to call you!”

  Bree believed her.

  She fought her sister’s captors, using her hands and raw strength. She heard a bone snap and her kick sent one warrior to his knees. Kara spun and punched the other in the face and it looked as if they’d break free.

  But in that moment, the arrows of the Fae archers found their mark. There was a shout of joy from the Fae and Bree looked up to see two arrows sink into Kris’s chest. He began to bleed immediately and profusely. It looked like there was a gap between his scales there and the archers had targeted the exposed flesh. How could that be?

  Then Bree wondered if the arrows were poisoned.

  But Kris roared and breathed fire over the ranks of the Fae again, setting wings ablaze and sending Fae of all shapes and sizes fleeing into the darkness. She wanted to cheer that he’d rallied. He swooped low, talons extended. Bree stood proudly with Kara, reaching for him to snatch them up and get them all out of Fae.

  But Maeve smiled and lifted one hand, exhibiting something to the court. There was laughter as the peridot and gold item shone in her hand, and Bree wondered what it could be.

  When Maeve snapped it deliberately in half, Bree realized how there had been a gap in Kris’s armor. He’d lost a scale, she wasn’t sure how or why, but Maeve’s possession of it was definitely a bad thing.