Dangerous Decisions (Obsidian Flame Book 3)

by J. C. McKenzie

  Usually.

  She clutched the cold stone and leaned over the still water. A soft rose scent lifted from the basin.

  Closing her eyes, she pulled her magic past the thick barriers she used every day to hide her true nature. Those barriers had become so second nature, they weren’t easy to breech. At a young age, she’d been raised to protect and conceal her very essence, as the world was not kind to giants. Ispolini women were vulnerable and weak without the natural ability to transform into a giant, and because of that, they were taught to hide so they couldn’t be used against their menfolk.

  Misha scowled and pulled her magic harder, bursting through the shields. The energy vibrated along her skin, flowed out of her fingers and pooled into the waiting depths. A cloud formed in the clear water. The Mother Goddess stirred within her awareness.

  “Mother, I beseech you. Show me the dragon shifter Hank O’Reilly and his true mate.” Her voice, normally higher-pitched, echoed in her room with a deeper, sub-human tone. She set an image of Hank in her mind and held it in place—the stern expression, the chiseled cheekbones, the lighter tones of his dark red hair dancing under the light as if his very essence was a low burning fire. Would he burn on contact? Consume her?

  Ispolini women couldn’t seek the futures of their brothers and sisters, but she’d asked about a dragon. Would this even work? Or would the Great Mother refuse to answer her question?

  “Daughter of mine,” an ethereal voice whispered and wrapped around Misha. “I shall show you that which you already know…”

  Misha’s breath caught. She squeezed the stone edge of the bowl. The cloudy water cleared to reveal Hank’s handsome face, crystallizing in perfect detail. The water rippled. Shadows swirled beside his face. Out of the murky depths another face rose, the features crystalizing until Misha stared at her own reflection.

  Normally, if an ispolin found their true mate, happiness overcame them. Pride, gratitude and overwhelming excitement and anticipation.

  Not Misha.

  While hollow echoes of all those feelings tingled in her limbs and heat raced through her body from the thought of consummating a mating bond with Hank, these were not the emotions overwhelming her mind, body and soul. Nope.

  Dread coursed through Misha’s veins.

  Why was this happening to her? Didn’t she have enough to deal with? What had she done to spite the Mother Goddess to pair her with such a mate? Not only was Hank a dragon, which ran a gamut of all kinds of trouble, he was so serious and lacked social skills. His idea of a date was probably hunting cute squirrels.

  A dragon mate.

  She had a dragon mate.

  She pushed away from the scrying pool and sank to her knees.

  Chapter Nine

  After Misha picked herself off the floor, she headed to her grandmother’s place in search of answers. Now that she stood in the dark room with the old crone, she questioned whether this was a good idea. Hinges screeched as Misha shut the door behind her and the overbearing smells of herbs and patchouli assaulted her nose.

  “Ahh, young Misha. Beautiful Misha,” the old woman crooned and hobbled toward her.

  “Nana.” Misha stepped forward and gripped the old woman’s forearms to steady her. “How’ve you been?”

  “Lonely,” Nana said. “No one visits me anymore.”

  Misha flinched. Her grandmother was right. Misha rarely visited the older woman. It wasn’t the smell, or the scolding, it was the constant criticism that kept her away. After Mom died, Nana took her absence as a green light to double-down on her hate-speech about Mom.

  Misha couldn’t stand it.

  Though she hated Nana’s words, she didn’t hate Nana. Misha barely remembered her paternal grandfather, but the memories she did have still gave her nightmares. It took time, but eventually, Misha realized Nana survived a world different than hers and couldn’t accept or understand Mom’s refusal to adapt to the cruel environment she was thrust into. To try to compensate for their inadequacies, Nana strived to make Misha and her mother strong enough to survive ispolini society, and she failed with both of them.

  “Are you here to discover whether Marian is yours?” Nana narrowed her eyes at her granddaughter.

  How the hell did Nana know about Marian’s visit? Had Marian come to see her? Cold prickled her skin. Did her grandmother do a reading on her? Had the old woman seen her fate? How as that possible?

  “It’s no use, you know,” Nana said.

  “What?” Misha eventually found her voice and mentally shrugged her questions away.

  The old woman hobbled to the even older couch and flopped down on the cushions. A cloud of dust billowed out. Nana waved her wrinkled arms at the empty seat beside her.

  So tempting.

  “We can’t see the fate of our brothers and sisters,” Nana said. “The Great Mother won’t show us.”

  Nana didn’t know about Hank. Tension released from Misha’s shoulders. Of course, Misha knew they couldn’t scry the fates of other ispolini. Nana did, too, though, so why had the old woman asked about Marian? Misha sat down on the cushion beside her grandmother. More dust and stale air whooshed out from the couch. “Why do you ask about Marian?”

  “He came to ask, of course.” Nana chuckled and leaned back into the couch. “I see he decided to proposition you anyway. He’s a handsome man, granddaughter. And powerful.”

  Misha shifted under her grandmother’s knowing gaze.

  “If it’s not Marian, why are you here?”

  “I want to know about the dragons.” Misha had found a loophole when she asked the Great Mother to see Hank’s fate. If she’d asked about her own, the waters would’ve remained murky. As long as no one else thought to ask about Hank and his mate, her secret would remain a secret.

  “The dragons?” Nana stiffened. A cruel scowl showed off her crooked and browning teeth. Her gaze shifted back and forth as if the motion would somehow detect Misha’s motives.

  “We’ve lost so many fighting them,” Misha hurriedly added, giving her grandmother a more palpable reason than the truth. In all honesty, she wanted to know more about Hank to help her deal with the unavoidable reality of having him as her mate. She needed to understand why her people and Hank’s waged such a vicious and bitter war against one another. How could she hate the person meant to be her perfect match? It didn’t make sense, and she desperately needed something to make sense right now. “I want to know why we fight them. I want to know what this war is all for.”

  “Ah,” Nana relaxed with the more reasonable explanation.

  “You’re our family’s storyteller. I thought if anyone would know, you would.” No harm in dumping a little extra flattery into the request.

  “Of course, I know.” Nana bristled.

  Misha waited.

  The old woman’s shoulders sagged and for a moment, she appeared frail and old. Vulnerable. “But no one wants to hear that story. Not the true one, at least.”

  Misha frowned. “Why not?”

  “Because it’s a cautionary tale of mistakes, including our own.” Nana grumbled and looked away. Silence settled around the room while Nana pursed her lips and chewed on her hate.

  “Mistakes?” Misha prodded.

  “Bah!” Nana waved at the empty air in front of her. “It doesn’t matter now. Those dragons have taken everything from us. The story of how it started no longer matters.”

  “Nana, please.” Misha leaned forward.

  The old woman shook her head and flapped her hand in the air. “No good will come from digging up a painful past.”

  “But maybe the past will give us the answers to end this.”

  “End this? There’s only one way this will end.” Her grandmother cackled like a crazy old witch on Halloween. “We have all the answers we need.”

  Misha raised her eyebrow.

  “When one of us—dragons or ispolini—are all dead, the war will be over.”

  And that was exactly what Misha was afraid of.
r />   Chapter Ten

  Many generations ago…

  Dew dripped from the stony outer walls of the fortress perched on a rocky ridge in the Bulgarian mountains. Romano Dragoi lifted his chin and refused to look down the side of the near-vertical drop of the cliffside to the river below. The fortress was a commendable feat with three impregnable sides. Nestled in the midst of fertile farmland, the strategic location at the entrance to the pass allowed the ispolini to control movement between Thrace, Northern Greece and the Aegean Sea. And it could all be Romano’s if he secured a betrothal to Ilana Asen, daughter of the ispolin leader.

  “God’s breath, have you looked over the edge?” Edgar bellowed somewhere behind him in the retinue.

  “Are you drunk, again?” Romano glanced over his shoulder at his brother. Younger, handsomer, and a charmer with the ladies, his brother rarely took anything seriously. He never had to, and he never would. Their father, the Astarot of the dragons, made it clear. The one requirement he demanded of Romano for him to inherit the title was the promise to take care of all his family, including the immature, selfish, younger brother.

  “Some residual effects from last night, dearest brother.” Edgar clucked at his horse and a number of their servants grunted and gasped as Edgar shouldered his horse up the retinue to join his brother’s side. He flashed Romano a wide grin, completely ignoring the distraught servants behind them who moments ago feared they’d plunge to their deaths over the side of the cliff. “Maybe a wee bit tipsy, but there’s still daylight.”

  “The bells for Tierce have yet to ring.” Romano squeezed his eyes shut for a second and gripped the hard leather of his reins. “You will not ruin this for me.”

  “Of course not!” Edgar exclaimed.

  His assurances meant little. He only cared for himself. Romano forced his shoulders down and lifted his chin again. Why wouldn’t Father let him leave Edgar at home? “There’s a lot riding on this alliance, brother. You will be on your best behavior.”

  Edgar flapped his gauntlet covered hand at him. “Do not worry so much. The lovely Lady Ilana will see your thick black hair and devilish black eyes and be beside herself with fancy.”

  Romano narrowed his devilish eyes at Edgar. “Are you mocking me?”

  “Of course I am. What are brothers for?”

  They finished the remaining approach to the fortress in silence, Edgar contemplating whatever a buffoon contemplated and Romano considering what strategies he could employ to secure the alliance. The bells for Tierce rang, echoing along the cliff face like an eerie siren’s song beckoning them to find her. Romano straightened in the saddle.

  A greeting party awaited at the base of the stairs to the entrance. Lord Asen stood tall and robust. With wide shoulders and thick arms, his prowess on the battlefield in both human form and that of his giant were well documented and admirable. Beside him stood a rather plain woman, tall and willowy, slightly grayed around the temples from age—the lord’s wife. With a crow perched on her shoulder and a somewhat faraway look, the rumors circulating about Lady Asen possessing the gift of foresight didn’t seem so outlandish. The key to Ilana rested in gaining her mother’s approval as much as her father’s, and Romano only had a few days to secure both.

  After exchanging nods with the lord and lady of the fortress, he finally turned to Lady Ilana. She’s…

  Beautiful, his brother finished.

  Romano flashed an annoyed glance at his brother. He hated having his brother’s slurred voice in his head. Edgar sat in his saddle, the big slightly-intoxicated jester, eyes wide and mouth slack, staring at the lady like she was some sort of unicorn.

  Romano’s fingers itched to curl into a fist and knock his dolt of a brother out of his saddle. No. He couldn’t. It didn’t matter if he became infatuated with Romano’s bride. It only mattered that Ilana became his.

  Tall and lean like her mother, Ilana held the same willowy grace but also silent strength. Thick chestnut hair billowed around an angelic face with wide brown eyes and summer freckles that decorated her high cheekbones and straight nose. She looked…she looked at his brother.

  Romano cursed on the inside and slid from the saddle. “A pleasure to meet you.” He greeted their hosts and tried to ignore the unease settling in his gut. Promises be damned. If Edgar ruined this for Romano, he’d see that Edgar paid for his betrayal.

  Chapter Eleven

  Present Day…

  Misha pushed the grocery cart down the sweet-smelling aisle. One wheel let out a high-pitched oscillating squeal and swung side to side instead of staying straight like the others. She could probably make an analogy for her life with this cart, but she was too tired. Tired of lying to her friend. Tired of lying to her ispolini brethren. Tired of her father and his hatred. Tired of trying to rationalize why having a dragon mate wasn’t the end of the world and tired of listing all the reasons why such a union would spell disaster. She’d covered all the paths her future could take from this point forward and none of the realistic ones were good. She should run.

  She’d gone as far as packing her suitcase and looking up flights and busses. She made a checklist of things she’d have to do or get—new identification, cash, and new bank accounts. Her finger had hovered over the online checkout button for the flight and images of Hank’s face flashed in her mind. She’d abandoned her futile attempts to flee and ended up at the grocery store stocking up on soul food.

  She saw Hank everywhere, now. She saw him in the mirror beside her, in the reflections of the glass, anytime she closed her eyes. Everywhere.

  She saw him now, standing by a mountain of apples.

  Wait.

  She froze and blinked rapidly. Hank stood a few feet away beside the bin for Gala apples, wearing his business pants and a dress shirt with the top few buttons unfastened. No jacket. No tie. No entourage. Off-duty Hank. Sort of. His eyebrows shot up, and then calculation flashed in his gaze.

  Crap.

  He set the apple down and walked toward her. God, he looked good.

  She licked her lips. Why had she come this way? She’d already been in the produce section. She’d walked down all the aisled and spent the last half an hour drifting aimlessly around the store.

  She swung her cart around and placed it between Hank and her. He stopped abruptly to avoid running into her groceries. He scanned the contents and his dark red eyebrows crept up again.

  “Bananas up, huh?” he said.

  “What?” She glanced at the fruit. What was he talking about?

  Hank shrugged and stepped around the cart. She either had to swing it over again in a full out attack to keep the cart between them, or leave her groceries where they were and handle the situation like an adult.

  This wouldn’t go well.

  “You know what they say about bananas.” Slowly, he approached as if he fully expected her to bolt and would enjoy the hunt.

  A chime sounded and a tired woman asked for a price check. A few customers pushed past them to get to the produce section. One of them had strong body funk that trailed behind them.

  “They’re nature’s fruit?” She answered Hank’s comments about the bananas, though she doubted he posed it as a question.

  Hank stopped a couple of feet away from her. Close enough to touch if she stretched out her arm but not close enough to invade her personal space. His subtle cologne danced along her senses and cleared away the foul smell from the other customers.

  God, he smelled good, too.

  Amusement danced in his gaze. “They say if someone places their bananas up in a cart they’re single and ready to mingle.”

  She reached into her cart and flipped the bananas over. Her explicit vision of them together in bed surged up in her mind again and her body burned with need. She clenched her thighs together and took a deep breath.

  Big mistake. His scent wound around her and now she wanted a taste.

  Hank chuckled.

  She lifted her chin and turned to face him fully. “I think tha
t’s about as true as shoes on a wire signalling a nearby drug dealer. If enough people believe the lie, it starts to become true, even though the shoe tossing was most likely perpetrated by bullies or drunks as a prank.”

  Hank’s teasing smile disappeared.

  She frowned, replayed her words and mentally cursed. Her comment must’ve struck too close to home with how the ispolini made up that awful curse. Hank didn’t know she was ispolini. He couldn’t. He’d hate her. He certainly wouldn’t stroll up to her in a grocery store and flirt with her over bananas. She took a deep breath and forced her body to remain loose and her face calm. Appear normal. “Is everything okay?”

  Hank grunted.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize shoe tossing was a sore point for dragons.” She bit her tongue. The words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them. Ugh. No flirting with her forbidden dragon mate.

  Her stomach twisted. She stood within touching distance of her mate—the soul meant to perfectly complement her own—and did nothing. Maybe she should tell him what she was. That would send him running, either far, far away, or after her with a pitchfork. At least she’d know, and the exposed truth would obliterate the devastating possibilities lurking in the unknown.

  Hank shook his head and rested his basket on a nearby shelf left empty for restocking. “The only thing I’m sore about is not knowing more about you.”

  Yup, still burning up inside. Did someone crank the heat? Fanning herself right now wouldn’t be a good idea. Hank was a predator. If she showed any signs of weakness, he’d pounce. “Not much to know.”