Bonded to the Dragon: The Lick of Fire Collection: Dragon Lovers

by Lockharte, Kara

  “I’m fine,” I said, forcing my voice to a pleasant lightness. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like a cow,” she said. “I’m at the point where I just want this baby to be out of me. I was going to walk the labyrinth and get some exercise.” She took the wineglass out of my hand and pushed it into the air. It started floating toward the kitchen. Sophie turned back to me. “Come, walk with me.”

  I wanted to be left alone, but I could hardly turn down the request of a pregnant lady who had just fed me. I followed her through an opening in a tall hedge and stepped onto a gravel path.

  “I’m sorry for what Titania put you through. It will be of no comfort to you, but she does mean well.”

  It never did any good to tell people you thought their family members were bitches who needed to be broken. So I shrugged. “You can’t choose your family.”

  “No,” replied Sophie. “You can’t. And this is why I know you are not a true vengeance demon, because you’re not seeking revenge on Titania or me, or even your friend who killed you.”

  Lana. I yanked a twig off a bush and started pulling off the leaves. I should call her. But then what would I say? Hey, it’s Val. I’m not dead, but I’m trying to fix that.

  I saw that Sophie was giving me an uncomfortable look and realized what I was doing.

  I pushed the twig back into the bushes. “Sorry.”

  “Just try not to do it again.” Sophie tilted her head at me. “Demons are creatures of rage and passion. Nothing pisses them off more than to be told that they are wrong. And again, you just showed me you’re not a true demon.”

  I touched the rose in my hair. Soft petals, still alive. “Is all of this going to be a test?”

  “No. I’m pointing out the ways in which people have been wrong about you.”

  “Then what am I?”

  “Honestly, beats me. I tried to call my godmother.”

  “You talked to her?”

  “She’s not taking my calls right now,” Sophie said in a voice thick with history. “Sometimes she’s just like that. Super solicitous busybody when you don’t need her and entirely nonexistent when you do.”

  I looked up into the sky. A huge bird of prey, with fingerlike wingtips, soared overhead.

  “So then what is the point of this second life that I get?”

  Sophie shaded her eyes, frowning as she looked up at the bird. “Isn’t that what everyone is trying to figure out? How to give their life authentic meaning?”

  I snorted. “‘Authentic meaning’? What are you, a philosopher?”

  “No. Just someone else who’s spent a long time looking for her place in the world.”

  I glanced at her very pregnant midsection. “Looks like you found it.”

  She placed a hand on her belly. “Maybe. Sometimes we are so caught up within our own questions, we fail to realize we’re part of someone else’s story.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Sophie looked at me. “There is a particular shadow to your aura. One I’ve never seen before. Of course, that doesn’t mean anything, because I didn’t start seeing magic until recently. But Hunter once told me that when Grant was young, an old dragon seer came to see him. She told Grant that he was cursed. His fated mate’s path had been turned aside somehow.”

  “I don’t understand.” Why was she telling me this?

  “Dragons believe that each one of them has a destined fated mate who travel on parallel paths in a lifetime until they intersect and become one. She said that Grant’s mate traveled on a parallel path and simply ended.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means, that Grant was destined never to find his other half, because they would die before he ever found them. Apparently, it’s a rare thing that happens to dragons once in a while. But do you know what they call those partners they would never have? Shadows.”

  I shook my head. “No disrespect to you—I appreciate your hospitality and your little pep talk here—but being a part of someone else’s story is no reason to live. One has to find meaning in their own lives, and not just as an attachment to someone else.”

  Sophie looked at me in surprise.

  “Death, or wherever I was, gives you a certain perspective. I lived a long time, attaching myself to someone else’s dreams, someone else’s journey. And where did that leave me? Betrayed and my body stolen and driven by a monster.” I looked away and muttered under my breath. “If I’m going to live, I need to find my own meaning.”

  “Looks like you already see the path.” Sophie was looking at me as if I were a dog who had just done a surprising trick.

  And I realized what I had said.

  If I was going to live.

  I shook my head. Choosing to live would be stupid; I would be condemning myself to the mistakes and the inevitable emptiness that was life.

  “There are those who have lived entire lives looking for meaning,” said Sophie. “Maybe it’s the journey that has the meaning.”

  “Now that is some internet inspirational-meme bullshit.”

  Sophie merely laughed. “Maybe. But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

  “You know what? If the journey is the whole point, then I definitely want to be dead. Because the journey in my old life? Fucking sucked.” I shook my head. “I don’t know why you’re telling me this. Does Grant know that you’re telling me this?”

  “Telling me what?” said Grant, his voice cutting through our little bonding session like a knife.

  7

  “Val’s not a demon,” said Sophie. “Though I agree with your assessment that there is definitely a connection to the plane of True Ending. Honestly, I’m not sure what she is.” She looked at Grant and shrugged. “I wish I could help you more, but I was always better at the theory than the actual practice of shen magic.”

  “Hunter wants—”

  Sophie waved her hand. “I know, I know. Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Just don’t go by the red barn,” she said as she walked away.

  “You know that only makes me want to go by the red barn, right?” I called after her.

  Grant snorted, and I realized he was holding two glasses of wine. He handed one to me.

  Sophie didn’t even turn. “At least you’re honest about it. But really, don’t go there.”

  I watched her walk back to the white-shingled house. Behind the house were rolling fields of green grass. The sun was setting, giving everything a golden hue like we had walked right into a nature calendar. I glanced back to Grant. His jacket was off, the top collar of his white shirt unbuttoned, but the crisp whiteness of his ensemble was almost blinding in its brilliance. As he leaned against the all-too-convenient fence post, a dangerous red-wine glass in hand, it looked as if he were waiting for a casual photoshoot with his bride.

  Sophie’s revelations reeled back into my mind. Why was Sophie trying to make me think that I was his mate? Was this part of a plan to manipulate me into doing what they wanted? Had Grant put Sophie up to it?

  Just as quickly, I dismissed that thought. It wouldn’t be like him. He’d be more direct.

  But why did I think that? I mean, I barely knew Grant.

  Grant’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbow, revealing those thick, nicely tattooed forearms, but with a different pattern than I had seen them last. If I touched his arm, would the tattoos move in response?

  I tightened my grip on my wineglass. “Why did you bring me here?”

  His eyes met mine, and I realized he had been surveying me as much as I had him. “Sophie and Hunter have a workshop of sorts.”

  I struggled to focus on the topic, trying to mask the direction of my thoughts. “What are they, like, Santa’s elves? Do they make toys or something?”

  He took a sip from his wineglass. “No. Weapons.”

  I gestured at the orange orchard, the picturesque farm straight off the pages of an inspirational poster. “Sure looks like it.”

  He snorted. “Magical weapons. Ones t
hat can be used against the Devourer. You cannot defeat the Devourer the same way twice.” He paused, looking at me. “Except, apparently, you can.”

  Goosebumps prickled my skin. I felt the nearness of him, the smoldering heat of his internal flame.

  And a strange, similar fire within me.

  Rational thought disappeared as I fell into those endless blue eyes tinged with gold, leaving nothing but a primal sense of what we were.

  Woman

  Man.

  Dragon.

  What would he taste like if he kissed me? What would it be like to unbutton his white shirt, exploring the muscled ridges I had only seen hints of? Would his skin burn me if we touched?

  I was so close to him. All I had to do was reach out.

  But I knew better than to play with fire.

  I looked at an invisible spot on my wineglass, breaking the weird spell. “I know what drives you, Grant. But what are you going to do afterwards when you finally get what you want?”

  Grant exhaled slowly, and I thought I saw a trace of smoke escape his lips. “Never much thought about it.”

  I turned my back to him, not wanting him to see the way my eyes were watering—because something had flown into them. I didn’t want him to mistake it for weakness.

  “Vengeance,” I said. “I know you want vengeance.”

  As I said the words, there was something in me that hungered to help him. Vengeance would fulfill the emptiness it whispered.

  I could see how glorious it would be, to be the instrument of his vengeance, to unleash my power and fury and see others cower and repent for what they had done.

  It would be so easy. Because that could be my meaning, my purpose.

  I thought of my mother, clutching her rosary beads as she prayed.

  What’s done is done.

  I forgive your father, whoever he was.

  I forgive you, my daughter.

  I forgive.

  I had asked her why. Why forgiveness?

  Because if we don’t forgive, then we give them more power. We give them the ability to define who we are. And we keep the cycle of hate going.

  I hadn’t understood at the time.

  But now?

  Perhaps I was my mother’s daughter after all.

  I blinked, and it was as if no time had passed. “Vengeance is not a way to live.”

  Dry leaves rustled on the ground behind me as Grant moved. “I will not ask you to do what you do not want to.”

  I wiped the water from my eyes and turned around. “Are you really going to try to kill an Angel of Death?” I heard my question and shook my head at the ridiculousness of it. “That sounds stupid even as I say it. Is an Angel of Death even alive?”

  “Oh, he is very much alive. And yes, he can be killed.” The way he said it made it clear that he was relishing the thought of it.

  A thing of death that was alive. Maybe there was a deeper reason Grant needed me, one that had been in front of me this whole time. “Is he like me?”

  Grant had amusement in his eyes. “You think you’re an angel?”

  “I’m a pretty piss-poor excuse for one if I am. Sounds like this guy isn’t either.”

  “His name is Calix, and he is called the Angel of Death by other shen. My brother was friends with him, which is still rather rare between shen and dragons. Calix has the power to restore life to those near death. The Devourer nearly killed my brother, so I brought him to Calix. Calix said he would help. And in the end, he killed my brother.”

  Now the tattoos on Grant’s forearms were beginning to dance. “Calix betrayed my brother, and he betrayed my trust. That cannot be allowed to go unpunished.”

  Clearly, he was someone who did not take betrayal well. “I understand.”

  He looked at me, his eyes dark. “Do you?”

  “Just because I choose not to act on my deeper inclinations doesn’t mean I don’t have them.”

  “I’m not the only one who sticks to what they know. Or have you changed your mind about your ultimate goals?”

  It was a nice way of asking if I was still intent on killing myself.

  I let out a deep breath. “Sometimes you think you are following a light that will lead you out of a tunnel. And sometimes, the light merely blinds you to all the other potential paths around you.”

  He moved closer, and I was struck by his scent: smoke, something wood-like, and another element that was all him. I was caught by the intensity of his gaze. I couldn’t move away if I had wanted to. “Are there other paths?” he asked softly.

  “If there were, would you keep following the one you were on?”

  His eyes turned hot. “Would you?”

  There was a chime. He looked up, and I stepped back as a glowing light appeared above us.

  Sophie’s voice spoke. “Grant. Hunter’s ready for you to test out the device.”

  “I’ll be there in a moment,” said Grant.

  I turned my back to him, unsure of what was going on.

  I didn’t want the spell to be broken. But this never had a chance of lasting.

  He was a warm, silent sentry behind me. “I will fulfill the bargain we agreed to. But if my preferences mattered to you, I would rather you live.”

  * * *

  I stood in the orchard alone for a period, watching butterflies flit around me. A black squirrel leapt from orange tree to orange tree. I never thought that autumn in Upstate New York would ever be the place for oranges, but I picked up a ripe orange off the ground and found it entirely unblemished.

  I would rather you live.

  What the hell was I supposed to do with that?

  I tossed the orange absentmindedly from hand to hand. I had to be realistic and not mistake his meaning for what it truly was. Of course he would rather I live: he needed me to help him with his angel-killing plans.

  But hadn’t we been talking about what would come after?

  The orange spun into the air.

  Why should I even care about what he thought? Just because he was hot? Just because he seemed like a genuinely good guy, well aside from the I-must-have-vengeance attitude?

  Was I going to help him kill someone I didn’t know?

  And that, I realized, was the likely truth of the matter. He was trying to make sure that I was on his side when the time came.

  The weight of reality settled into my stomach. That’s all he meant. That’s all it could be.

  I began pacing as I tossed the orange in the air.

  I had no idea what I would do if he asked me to kill some angel.

  I had to get my ring back. These conflicting emotions were too dangerous to have around Grant.

  But to do that, I had to bring my powers under control.

  It was getting dark, so I followed the stone path to Sophie’s back door. The interior door was open, but the screen door was locked.

  I knocked. “Sophie? Hunter?”

  The door opened of its own accord, and I walked into the kitchen. On the counter lay a series of what looked to be a United Nations of teapots: Asian, African, English, and others I definitely didn’t recognize.

  Sophie stood there, carefully cleaning out the stem of a teapot with what looked like a very long cotton swab.

  “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

  Sophie pulled out the cotton swab. Sparkling pink slime was stuck to the other end. Okay, so not exactly a normal teapot.

  “That’s what everyone keeps asking me. But how can I rest when there is so much cleaning to do before the baby comes? I don’t think these pots have been cleaned in decades!”

  I didn’t know how having clean teapots would help her prepare for a newborn in the house, but then again, I had never had a kid before.

  “I have a question for you.”

  She picked up a pot that looked as if it was created from a crystalized blue rock and peered inside the spout. “Go on.”

  “You told me you didn’t know what I was. Is there any way that I can at least try to figure out
what my powers might be or the extent of them? So that I can learn to keep myself from hurting others?”

  Sophie put the teapot on the folded towel and smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.” She untied her apron and hung it up. “Follow me.”

  As I stepped outside through the back door, I realized that the stone path I had walked up on had…moved. Rather than heading down toward the orange orchard, it now twisted around the back of the house, through a tall hedge of bushes studded with tiny white flowers. The scent was subtle and pleasant, unlike the stink at the fairy queen’s court.

  Behind the bushes, and completely enclosed on three sides by them, was another cabin.

  “Here’s where you and Grant will be staying,” she said, pushing open the unlocked front door.

  Lights switched on automatically as we entered the cabin, revealing a more luxuriously appointed living room. It looked as if it was ready for a fashion shoot, with a white couch and a furry gray blanket tastefully slung over the side, and a huge, pristine coffee-table book about rain forests.

  Toward the back, modern barstools faced the small, white-and-gray marbled kitchen.

  I gave Sophie a look of disbelief. “Not saying your house isn’t nice, but this…” I waved to the cabin. “Why wouldn’t you want to move in here?”

  “I’m comfortable in the other house. Come,” she said, brushing past me. “Let me show you the rest of this place.”

  We turned down a small hallway with two doors. “There’s one bedroom here,” she said, pointing to one door. “And a bathroom over here.”

  One bedroom for me and Grant was not going to work. “Umm, Sophie…”

  Sophie placed her hand on a small square pad on the wall. A door slid open, revealing a room that seemed straight out of Japan: sparse white walls and a floor consisting entirely of tightly woven straw matting. At one end of the room was a low coffee table and two square cushions for floor seating.

  “Is this the room I get for telling you that I don’t sleep?” I asked.

  “The tatami mat floors are natural magical neutralizers, great for training purposes but obnoxiously hard to clean if you walk on them wearing outdoor shoes,” she said, slipping off her shoes.