Firedrake

by Bianca D'Arc

  They ate and chatted while Krysta fell a little more under Drake’s spell. She felt the impact of his cultured voice and knew he was fully aware of how it affected people. Especially females.

  Her insides jumped as she watched him lick the honey residue from the sticky buns off his elegant fingers. They were tapered and long, with little calluses from playing stringed instruments. The calluses were easy to see on the tips of his fingers as they moved, both nimble and dexterous. She wondered what such talented fingers would feel like on her skin. Would he play her body as skillfully as he played his lute?

  A rush of disquiet filled her. She’d made love with Mace. She shouldn’t be thinking of another man in a carnal way so soon after making a commitment to the young knight. It was disloyal, and it wasn’t like her at all. She didn’t indulge in casual sex. Sharing herself with Mace represented a very real step forward toward a relationship with him.

  Krysta didn’t rush into intimacy. Not since her foolish youth. But Mace was a different story. After knowing him only a short time, she felt strongly enough about him to trust him with her body. That was a big step for her and one she didn’t take lightly. So why then was she feeling this unreasonable attraction for the roguish bard?

  She knew full well Drake could have his pick of women and she’d be damned if she’d be just another notch on his belt. Still, Drake didn’t strike her as insincere, and he certainly wasn’t a cad. He was honest about his appreciation of women, regardless of their age. She’d seen him treat the young Pritchard girl with the same teasing respect he gave her mother, the same caring concern and desire to make them smile. He might be a rogue, but he was a kind one and that combination, Krysta discovered, was dangerous indeed.

  “So what fills your days, Krysta? I know you’re a Guard, but are you always on patrol or have you some other duty?”

  The question drew her back to the moment and reminded her of her job. Judging by the sun’s position, she had only a short time left before she must begin her work day.

  “I train the new recruits in weaponless fighting. Many of us share that duty, but in fact—” she wiped her mouth as she finished her breakfast, “—today it’s my turn. I have a nice class of talented young men and women waiting for me.”

  “Ah, Jinn freehand fighting? That’s a skill I learned many years ago, though I was too large for many of the more intricate movements—or so the armsmaster said.”

  “You might be at that.” She looked him over with a considering eye. “I’d almost forgotten that Drake of the Five Lands was adopted of the Jinn. What clan are you?”

  “Black Dragon.” He said it casually, though they both knew the Black Dragon Clan ruled all of the many Jinn clans. They were the ones responsible for calling most of the wandering Jinn clans together here in Draconia. “I was lucky enough to have gained their notice when I was still just a boy, away from home for the first time with no knowledge of the wider world. Without their guidance, who knows where I’d be today?”

  “I imagine you always land on your feet, Drake.” She smiled at the thought of him as a youth.

  He bowed his head in acknowledgement of her small praise. “It is a skill I’ve learned through much trial and painful error.”

  “Speaking of learning—” she glanced out the window again, “—I must go see to my students.” She stood from the table and reached for the small purse at her belt, but Drake stayed her hand. His gentle touch jolted her, the warmth of his fingers causing little tingles on her skin.

  “Allow me.” He produced a silver coin from his own pocket, tossing it onto the table. It was much more than the simple fare was worth, but she knew he was probably leaving the extra for young Mary Pritchard or trying to impress Krysta with his largess. Probably a little of both. Krysta smiled and thanked him as gracefully as she could manage.

  Drake towered over her as they left the inn, reminding her of her femininity in a very basic way. Her limbs almost shook with the tingling heat of awareness. He was a tall man, but not brawny. No, he had the sleek muscles of the jungle cat, primed and ready to strike, though his loping stride was deceptively lazy.

  “I’ll walk you to the garrison, if you don’t mind the company. I’m going that way and find I’m reluctant to see our time together end.”

  Oh, he was charming.

  “I don’t mind. But Drake…” her conscience rose to remind her of Mace, “…I have to tell you, I’m committed to Mace. I don’t want to lead you on or give you false hope.”

  “Committed, huh?” He seemed to ponder her meaning. “Has he offered you marriage?”

  “No.” She shifted uncomfortably as they walked. “But I’ve committed to learning where the mutual attraction leads. I’m not in the market for a husband—or two.”

  “I’m glad you’re aware what mating with a knight entails.” She did, but only vaguely. Still, she wouldn’t get into that discussion with Drake. Mace would tell her all about it, if they ever got to that point. “I’ll be brutally honest with you, Krysta.” He stopped walking, tugging on her wrist to make her face him. “I don’t think I can stay away. You’re unlike any woman I’ve ever known before and I want whatever time you’ll give me.”

  “I won’t stop seeing Mace.”

  “I didn’t ask you to. But surely you can spare a few minutes to share a meal with me now and again? I won’t deny your right to choose the man you want, but I’ll do everything in my power to convince you that I’m the right man.”

  He squeezed her hands, drawing her closer. She knew he was going to kiss her, and try as she might, she couldn’t work up enough outrage to push him away.

  His lips were gentle at first, coaxing a response. Desire flooded her as his tongue swept inward, invading, conquering, but in the most delightful way. He pulled her into his arms and she felt at home there. Dangerously so.

  They were on a public thoroughfare, but she was oblivious to the movement around them, the rest of the city just starting to stir from their homes and begin the day. Drake plundered her mouth, stirring her to passion even as his hands swept down to cup her backside. She longed to know what they’d feel like on her skin.

  The thought roused her enough to push away. He let her go, drawing from her lips at the last possible moment. His blue gaze questioned, but she had no answers.

  “I have to go, Drake.” She patted his broad, muscular chest with open palms, then pushed back. “Thank you for breakfast.”

  She turned and ran off before he could say another word, the hounds of guilt and confusion snapping at her heels.

  The garrison was built around a central courtyard that served as assembly area and training ground, among other uses. Drake arrived just as the new recruits were being put through their hand-to-hand training by none other than the talented Jinn warrioress, Krysta. He couldn’t stay away. After that hot kiss, he knew there was something between them, though she tried to deny it.

  He marveled at her lithe grace as she demonstrated takedowns, avoidance techniques and strikes to the newer Guards. She drilled them with efficiency and taught with clear words and actions. He realized he was watching an expert at work as he lounged against a support column a floor above the courtyard, hidden by the shadows of the arching wall. The offices and a few of the living quarters were behind him, but the place was designed so that the inner wall was open to the courtyard—one long hall off which the outer rooms lay.

  Curiosity had brought him here. That, and a desire to see Krysta that would not be denied. He had to make contact with some members of his network today, but first he couldn’t resist visiting the garrison. He knew the building well and was able to find an out-of-the-way place to spy the mysterious woman who haunted his thoughts.

  He watched her move, envious of the young men she taught, for they had all of her attention and focus. She touched elbows and patted shoulders as she passed each practicing pair, offering words of correction and praise in equal measure. She was a gifted teacher.

  “You want her, do
n’t you?” The deep male voice surprised him. A quick look to his side revealed his childhood friend Mace, now fully grown and much brawnier than Drake had expected. His old rival had changed since they were teens, but then, so had Drake.

  Mace had somehow discovered Drake’s hiding place, though he kept to the shadows himself. Drake spared him a glance, not liking the way the knight’s eyes were trained on the lithe woman moving around below.

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “I intend to win her, so if you’re just playing around, I’d appreciate it if you’d back off. Even when we were boys, I never stood a chance with a girl if you were interested in her too.” Drake was floored by Mace’s words, but the knight continued right on, not giving Drake a chance to speak. “This girl matters a lot to me, Drake. More than any other woman I’ve ever known.”

  Drake caught the note of dismay in Mace’s tone, as well as the wonder. Could it be he’d found his mate? Drake could hardly believe it, though he knew knights often recognized their true mates within moments of meeting them. Still, he refused to believe Krysta was meant for Mace. She was Drake’s, dammit. Couldn’t they see that?

  The trouble was, Drake didn’t know what to do about all these new feelings storming around inside him. He didn’t want to settle down with just one woman. Did he?

  He didn’t recognize the indecisiveness in himself. Drake of the Five Lands was known for his steadfast character and quick turn of phrase. Why then was he reduced to a babbling idiot on this topic?

  “I don’t honestly know what it is about her, but I can’t say I will withdraw from the field. It’ll have to be up to her, Mace.”

  The other man sighed heavily. “I was afraid of that.”

  They watched her move in silence for some time, each lost in his own thoughts. Drake wasn’t surprised Mace had realized his childhood ambition of becoming a dragon knight. He’d always lived up to the ideals of the Knights Creed—without even trying. Drake thought Mace had probably been born with the knightly traits of honor, bravery, strength, fairness and mercy. His skill with weapons and strategy seemed to come naturally, but he never lorded it over the other boys in the Lair. No, Mace didn’t seem to have any vices at all—something Drake had both hated and admired about his former classmate.

  Despite that, they’d been friends. They’d also been competitors in many ways, but always friendly about it. And now they seemed to be competing for the same woman.

  “She’s something, isn’t she?” Drake marveled as Krysta completed a complex block-sweep sequence he’d never quite mastered himself.

  “One of the best.”

  “You can say that again.”

  The men were left alone as she dismissed her class and disappeared into one of the rooms on the lower floor. Drake turned to study Mace. He hadn’t seen the man in fifteen years.

  “It’s good to see you, Mace. My mother mentioned you’d been chosen. Congratulations.” He held out the hand of friendship, and Mace hesitated only slightly before returning the gesture.

  When they were younger, theirs had been a constructive rivalry, with no real hard feelings on either side. Drake knew Mace couldn’t help the fact that Declan had often thrown Mace’s accomplishments in Drake’s face when he hadn’t lived up to expectations. That wasn’t Mace’s fault. He’d always been better, brighter, and more diligent than Drake. It was just the way he was built.

  Mace persevered. His character was such that if he didn’t get something the first time, or even the second, he stuck with it, trying until he mastered it. Such thoroughness had led him to a high level of skill in a wide variety of endeavors that Drake didn’t have the patience or inclination to even try. Swordplay had been fun, so Drake excelled at that. Other weapons came to him easily as well, but the other things a knight was expected to know eluded him for the most part. Oh, he did well enough, but he didn’t excel. Not the way Mace did.

  Of course, Drake had an active social life, even back then. Mace had spent most of his evenings studying. Not for Drake was the life of a scholar. He far preferred common rooms filled with interesting characters with tall tales from far off lands. Much of Drake’s real education had been earned on the road, talking to people and learning from the stories they told.

  He’d turned his interest in people into songs and tales that paid his way from one inn or faire to the next until he’d joined up with the Jinn. They’d taken him in and nurtured his natural talents, taught him instruments and how to play in a group or solo. He’d loved every minute of it. Learning from the Jinn Brotherhood hadn’t felt like work. Finally, he’d found a way to excel.

  It had taken fifteen long years though, to learn wisdom.

  “Nellin is my dragon partner,” Mace said with pride as they shook hands in the warrior style.

  “I remember him. A fine dragon for a fine knight.” Drake recalled the young dragonet, only a little older than Jenet. He’d been big for his age and promised to be a devil in the air, even back then.

  “He’s a handful, but we get along.” Mace was being modest. They were highly ranked for such a young pair. Drake had heard about Mace’s achievements from his family. “Have you eaten? I was going to get some lunch if you want to join me.”

  The invitation was polite, and Drake accepted with some alacrity. They were rivals once again, this time for a beautiful, willful woman, so Drake fell into the role with which he was familiar. He envied Mace almost as much as he respected him.

  Lunch was pleasant enough, and it had the added benefit of stalling his return to the castle. Mace brought Drake up-to-date on the happenings among their age group over the past fifteen years. Mace was as solid and steady as Drake remembered, and he found he enjoyed catching up with Lair life more than he’d expected.

  After a few companionable hours with the knight, Drake made his way back to the castle and his waiting family. Unlike their last meal together, this second dinner with his family was much less tense and even somewhat enjoyable.

  Rather than the long, drawn-out affair of the night before, this dinner was blessedly brief because the men had to report for duty soon after. That left Drake alone with his mother and Jenet for the rest of the evening. He talked about his adventures with the Jinn and the foreign lands he’d visited. His mother wanted to know all about his travels and Drake had even brought a few things to give her.

  Once he’d made the decision to head home, Drake had picked up gifts for the family. In the tumult of the previous day, he hadn’t had much chance to give his mother the silk scarves, rare spices, colorful fabric and other things he’d acquired for her. He had a few items for Ren and Declan as well—master-crafted blades and small leather workings he thought they’d like—but he’d wait for a more opportune time to give them his gifts. They were small things, really, but Drake knew his family would enjoy them.

  For Jenet, he’d brought a buttery soft, golden leather pouch she could wear around her neck if and when she finally chose a knight of her own. It matched the color of her scales and had pretty designs wrought on it. More importantly, it was made to fit comfortably against her hide and not get in the way as she flew. Drake had designed it himself and commissioned it from one of the master craftsmen of the Jinn.

  He’d also brought some very special salves and creams for Jenet’s scales. Dragons didn’t need all that much in the way of skincare, but the delicate areas where their wings met their body could benefit from lubrication every once in a while. It was a knight’s duty to see to the comfort of his dragon and though Jenet had no knight at the moment, Drake thought she would probably enjoy the gift.

  “They all smell wonderful!” Jenet enthused as she slipped her head through the loop of the leather pouch Drake presented to her. She sniffed each jar, nosing through them with enjoyment sparkling in her eyes. “Will you rub the one in the blue jar on my left wing joint?”

  Drake ducked as Jenet lifted her wing over his head. He stepped up, using the jar she’d sniffed out and the skills he’d learned as a yo
ungster to soothe her irritated skin.

  “You shouldn’t have let this go so far, Jen. Your scales are ragged here.”

  “You could help me, like you did when we were little.”

  He knew that loaded suggestion was her way of nudging him about her desire to make him her knight—against all logic. Not answering her, he concentrated on his work.

  He stepped back when he finished with her left wing and moved to inspect the right. He rubbed the scented cream into the joint until he was satisfied she was in good shape. Or at least as good as he could make her feel with only one treatment.

  “I’ll give you another rub-down tomorrow morning, Jen. The right side is all right, but the left needs a little more attention.” He wiped his fingers on a cloth, then slipped the blue jar back into the pouch she still had around her neck. “You want me to put this with your things, Jen?”

  But Jenet pulled away before he could remove the bag filled with jars of creams and ointments he’d given her. “I want to keep it near for a while, Drake.” Her words seemed almost bashful as she backed away toward the sandy wallow where she slept. “It smells good. And it reminds me you’re really home.”

  Drake worried at her words and her obvious attachment to him, but he didn’t argue. He’d seldom seen Jenet so tentative, even as a young dragonet. The time would come soon enough when he would have to leave her once again. Better to let it lie for now.

  Chapter Seven

  The sound of running feet in the dead of night was never a good sign. It took Drake only a moment to realize he was inside the castle, in his childhood home. He heard scurrying footsteps in the hall pause, then enter the suite. Drake got up, instantly alert to possible danger, or worse…bad news.

  It wasn’t long in coming. A knight he knew from his youth was knocking on his mother’s door, the older man’s face grim.