A derisive snort met her ears. “Neither is ignoring my request for a simple dinner and conversation.”
Isobel snorted. “You expect me to go out to dinner with you after you manhandled me? That’s asking a little much.”
A dark chuckle was his response.
“Come into my treasure trove, little mate. I’ve waited a long time for you.”
“I’m not your mate.”
“Ah…but I beg to differ.”
A shimmer of gold amidst the dinosaur bones caught her up short and she found herself face to face with an enormous golden dragon. Wings unfurled, his length and breadth took up most of the central floor of the museum. He tromped into the open and reared up, his red eyes gleaming.
It was like staring into the face of something out of Tolkien and for a second Isobel just stared. She reached through her bond to both Guidry and Roark to steady herself and was relieved to find them both on the other end.
You could have waited for me tonight. Guidry snapped, his inner voice groggy from sleep.
Roark’s bond, for the most part untested, wasn’t as clear. Izzy?
“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m at the museum. Shipton’s here in dragon form. If you can get me some help that would be really great right now.”
Stubborn female. Came Guidry’s response.
Roark’s was more primal. His cat peered back at her and she reached for him, the love for them both buoying her and the fire bird still caged within. His gentle lovemaking had coaxed her from hiding, but today would be the ultimate test.
Shipton narrowed his eyes and shifted his weight.
“You really are a dragon.”
“Indeed.” He snorted, a wisp of smoke drifting up from his nostrils.
“What do you want?”
“I should think the answer to that was obvious. I want you.” He lowered himself to all four feet, his claws clicking on the marble floor as he ambled forward. He swished his tail, almost knocking out one of the play areas.
Movement out of the corner of her eye revealed her mother and father approaching in hooded robes, along with a dozen or more faceless coven members closing rank behind them.
Were they the ones who caused her death ten years ago, she wondered dispassionately? Her bird stirred, a breath of fire simmering under the surface.
Finally.
A little anger was better than fear any day.
“Mother.”
Dayanara stepped forward, pulling her hood down around her shoulders, her blue eyes luminous in the dim light. “You have been selected to be his bride from the very first. His chosen mate. Do as you are bid, girl, and let our families be joined.”
“I don’t believe I was consulted in this decision, mother.”
Cold laughter met her ears. “This isn’t something open for debate. You are a Fieri and you will do as you are told. You will be mated and bred.”
“Just like the girls who went missing?” The horror of what her family had done and was about to do strengthened her resolve to survive.
“Insolence does not become you, daughter.”
“I already have a mate.”
“That is inconsequential,” Her father snapped. The steel oak had spoken. He turned to the robed figures. “You. Secure her to the table.”
They came at her and she lunged for the closest thing she could find. Clutching a plastic femur from the children’s dinosaur hands on exhibit, she whirled on the approaching witches.
Isobel connected with the first one, the crack of the bone against the side of his head audible in the tomb like atmosphere. The others converged on her, prying the bone from her hands.
“Submit like you are meant to.” Came a menacing whisper.
“Go to hell.”
Hands shoved her forward toward the table newly occupied with the missing ceremonial bowl.
“Where was it?”
“Ask your friend.” Shipton emerged from the shadows in his human form, a robe shielding his nakedness from the shift.
Denver had taken it. But why?
Then it hit her.
The bowl was used for sacrifice. Depictions of Kali Ma and her skirt of limbs and necklace of human heads danced in bas relief over the wood. If she had a guess, it was probably used in blood magic. Just like the table.
Goddess, she was so fucked right now.
Denver must have known what it was going to be used for and he’d hidden it from Shipton this whole time. Until the dragon had almost broken him.
But what could he have used against him?
It only took a moment for the truth to hit her.
He used her.
“You didn’t have to hurt him.” She responded.
“Yes. I did. Now, come here.” Shipton stood on the other side of the table like a benevolent god.
The witch who held her shoved her forward and the heel of her shoe slid on the marble floor causing her to stumble.
Her mother stalked forward, a tight lipped expression on her face. “You will do as you are bid, girl. I would prefer not to start over in three days. The blood magic spell will be cast and you will comply.”
Three days?
Isobel’s blood ran cold. Did that mean if she didn’t comply and let the dragon mate her that she would be put to death? In three days she would rise again from the ashes, completely malleable with no knowledge of what they had planned. How many times were they going to kill her and bring her back just so the dragon could debase her body and produce a child? A dragon and a coven who worshipped fire magic and blood. It was a match made in hell.
Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. She couldn’t let that happen.
“No.”
Instead of responding, Dayanara grabbed her by the hair and pushed her toward the table. “Up.”
Isobel caught herself just before she fell, her palms connecting with the surface. At the contact, her bird fluttered beneath her skin in revulsion. “Like hell.”
“If you won’t do it yourself, I have ways of making you.” Her mother reached into the pocket of her robe and brought out what appeared to be a silver claw. She fit it over her finger and sliced across the inside of her arm, a well of blood bubbled forth almost black in the half light.
“What are you doing?” Had the woman lost her mind? There was a reason she’d vanquished the table to the bottom storerooms, never to be seen in the museum again. It was an object of dark imaginings, and while it had a place in her coven history exhibit, it was an evil thing made manifest by lust and murder.
Isobel watched in horror as blood dripped onto the table, and like the hungry abomination it was, it sucked the crimson liquid into itself, greedy for more.
Her hesitation was all her mother needed. A spell, noxious and foul, sprang from her lips, weaving around Isobel, rendering her motionless. She slumped against the table, cringing at the sensation of the wood vying for her very life force.
“Get her laid out.”
“You’re all going to die by blood and fire.” She gasped.
Hands grabbed her and she was thrust onto her back. Her hands were tethered with worn leather straps and her legs pried apart.
Shipton moved between her thighs, his arousal clear even through the voluminous folds of the robe.
“Get off me!” Isobel tugged at the bindings but they would not budge. She eyed a ceremonial dagger her mother placed at her side.
“Mmmm. Eventually.” He flipped up her dress and ground himself against her. “When I’ve had my fill.”
“I’d rather die.”
“That can be arranged.” He gave her a hard stare. “But I suggest you spare us the drama. Secure her legs.”
Chapter Eleven
Roark had just hung up with the boys from the station house when he felt her in his head. She was at the museum. Like a film unfolding, he watched through her eyes as they took her and bound her to the cursed table, the dragon preparing himself to mate.
Izzy?
They’ve b
ound me, Roark. I can’t move.
Fuck.
“Museum. Now.”
“What?” Marlene, startled, dropped her phone and it clattered on the desk.
“The coven has her. He’s going to rape her.”
“Who?”
“Shipton.”
Lunging for his phone, he shot off a text to the station house.
Captain. Can you bring me a change of clothes and have my turnout gear and irons at the ready? Emergency at the museum. Necessary shift on premises.
In the next second he shucked his clothes, his body already transforming into his beast. The great cat extended his claws, eager to bury them in the dragon’s underbelly.
“Jesus, Roark. Will you wait?” Marlene stood up in a clatter of heels.
He eyed the woman with distain as he spun toward the exit. Instead of walking toward the door as he anticipated, she opened a window.
“Are you coming?” Her shift was so fast, he almost missed it. The mist grey kitten who darted by him from underneath the pile of clothes was out the window and barreling through the garden, leaving Roark staring after her twitchy little tail.
He bounded out the window and onto the grass, following the kitten’s lead. The museum was only a few blocks away and, moments later, he caught up to the kitten outside the front doors.
She blinked up at him, edging her chin toward the handle.
Lifting his paw, he batted at it until his claw caught and, with a good solid yank, he pulled it open.
Quick as a wink, the kitten surged inside and he followed. The echo of voices drew him onward but the view that awaited him as they hid behind a large planter looked to be something out of an Indiana Jones movie. Robed figures stood around a table where another robed figure, presumably Shipton, presided. Isobel lay prone in front of him, her limbs bound and stretched across the table.
A low growl slid from his lips and he barred his fangs with a hiss. That was his mate. Roark started to go when a slight tap on his foot stopped him.
The kitten gazed up at him expectantly, then back toward the door.
A lone male in a trench coat with a walking stick strode down the entryway, whistling as he went. He stopped just after he came to Roark and the kitten, offering them a wink. From his coat, he pulled out a bundle of something and tossed it at the two cats. The robed figures turned toward him.
The kitten tore into the pack, revealing it to be a pile of clothes. Marlene shifted, changing quickly into sweats from the bundle.
At his questioning look, Marlene smiled. “He’s my brother. Grab some. He brought enough for both of us.”
“Who dares desecrate this space?” A woman hissed, the only one whose hood had been thrown back. She stalked toward the interloper, fury in her eyes.
“Well…” The male witch pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping it against his wrist. He took one out and lit the coffin nail from within. “I seem to have had an invitation after all.”
“Carter Devos, you are not welcome here.” Shipton ground out. “Leave now while your head is still attached to your body.”
“Now, you see that’s where you’re making a big mistake, Shipton. Assuming that I came all by my lonesome.” Carter tisked, taking a draw on his cigarette. “And threatening a member of the Council. Now, that…well…that was a singular blunder on your part.”
He flashed a silver badge attached to his belt and gave the crowd a thin smile.
Marlene strode out from behind the plant, leaving Roark to either shift or not, depending on his choice.
“Not his first one, I’ll warrant.” Marlene interjected.
“You…” The robed woman spat. “How dare you interfere with a mating ritual?”
“When I’m the law and you’re clearly breaking it.” Carter dropped the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under the weight of his boot. “Forcible mating isn’t sanctioned. Nor is kidnapping or murder.”
“You have no proof.”
“Oh, but I think I have all the proof I’m going to need right here.” He eyed the sacrificial table, his lip curled in disgust.
“He doesn’t leave this place alive.” Shipton’s words rang out, spurring the robed figures into action.
Roark padded toward Carter but the witch waved him on. “Go. Free your mate. Marlene and I will keep these jokers busy.”
The coven members rushed at him but Roark was faster. Jumping in front of Carter, he took a swipe at the first one, knocking him back with one of his massive paws. Marlene stepped up to the plate, her eyes swirling with violet fire.
“Are you ready, bro?”
“What did you have in mind?” Carter raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with humor.
“How about a little dino action?” A spell on her lips, Marlene focused her power on the display behind her, giving life to the Tyrannosaurus bones. It roared its joy, leaping off the dais with an earth shattering thud.
“And I thought I was going to spend the day cleaning out my sock drawer.” He raised his walking stick and struck it three times on the marble floor. The remaining dinosaur skeletons broke free from their bindings, clattering as they tumbled onto the floor.
The robed figure Roark had tackled scrambled up and ran. The others stood stock still as they tried to decide who was to be feared more; the angry dinosaurs charging down the entryway or the lone robed figure behind them.
“I said get them, you fools!” Shipton let loose an angry expletive and thundered forward.
Roark was ready. Without pausing for breath, he charged the bastard, taking a full out, claws extended swing at the motherfucker’s face.
Chapter Twelve
She couldn’t move and it was starting to piss her off. Chaos had erupted all around her, the robed figures, including her parents, scurrying off like the cowards they were. Marlene had mentioned her brother Carter but to witness them both in action was truly a sight to see. If she survived this, she was definitely taking them both out for a drink at the Rusty Nail.
Denver keened in his cage as one of the dinosaurs lumbered by. A robed figure hurled a ball of flame at the enchanted bones, but instead of igniting, it merely bounced off and hit one of the potted fichus plants.
The scent of smoke filled the air as flames began to crackle to life and spread, the noxious spell fire consuming everything it touched.
Out of the fray, a large black panther leapt at Shipton, his claws raking down the bastard’s face.
Roark.
He was magnificent. Sleek with luminous green eyes, his beast was everything she ever thought it would be.
Shipton howled in rage and pain, his form shifting from man to dragon, the robe shredding to pieces. He roared, his mouth opening to spew gouts of flame at the beast.
But Roark was quicker.
He bounded back toward the entrance and shifted, his human form standing in the smoky gloom. Flames licked up all around him, and he vanished from sight only to reappear again wearing turnout gear. More men appeared beside him.
“Get the hoses on.” Roared someone from the back.
The fire was coming closer. Memories of her first death crowded in and Isobel grit her teeth, fighting against the smoke and panic. She would not die like this again.
Her bird fluttered inside of her and she reached out with all of her essence.
Goddess grant me strength…
Denver screeched in his cage, and the dragon turned his attention to her, his red eyes the color of blood.
“Let her go, Shipton.” Roark ran through the blaze as the dragon spewed another onslaught of flame.
“She’s mine. In three days, I’ll claim her again. You lose, boy.” The dragon laughed, the evil sound oozing over her skin like a cancer.
Reach for the blood.
It was Guidry, speaking to her in her mind.
The only way I can help you is if you try to use what he’s given you. Take the blood from the table. It’s the only way to free yourself.
No, she replied. I can�
��t.
You will if you want to live. Do it now, before he burns the damned place down around you all.
How?
She wasn’t a vampire, and she couldn’t soak in power through her skin like some kind of amoeba.
Let the phoenix loose. The blood calls to my blood, just like fire calls to yours, now. The Goddess will listen to you. You share my blood, now. She is the mother of us all.
She heard Roark yell as Shipton turned his gout of flame on her. Reaching into herself with all her might, a flood of images spun through her consciousness just as unbearable heat consumed her.
“Izzy! No!” Roark’s cry centered her.
Blood and fire. Fury and might. Roark and how much she loved him, then and the tentative gift of the present. Guidry and the new mysteries of what he brought her. And, now, this…her bird awakening once more in a birthing bed of fire.
A line from one of her favorite books as a girl trilled through her head and she almost laughed in the absurdity of the moment.
The blood is the life.
Guidry heard her and snorted.
Indeed.
But then it was. The table collapsed beneath her, the ancient wood crumbling beneath the tangible fury of the fire, all of the lifeblood lost within it, given instead to make her whole. Denver screeched in terror, his eyes wide as she stepped from the flames, holding the ceremonial dagger her mother had brought, the bowl long ago turned to ash.
Her dress had become a wisp of ash, her nude form rippling with the flickering flames of her bird.
Roark had been pinned under Shipton’s claw, his face a mask of defeat, even as the firefighters waged a war on the museum turned inferno. His helmet had fallen off and his axe lay abandoned as Shipton toyed with him. He thought she was dead.
Now it was time to send the dragon's sorry ass to hell.
She unlatched Denver’s cage, and with a smile, watched him erupt into flight. A spell on her lips she spun to meet her destiny.
Bound In Fire: Phoenix Shifter Paranormal Page 10