Kiss of Fate

by Deborah Cooke

  What Erik lacked in bulk he more than compensated for with determination.

  Eileen respected that. It was a trait she shared.

  She looked at him this time, really looked, aware that this might be the last time they were ever so intimate. The dark hair in the middle of his chest was graced with a trio of silver hairs. Light radiated from her palms when she put her hands on his shoulders, sending the heat of desire through her veins. It weakened her knees, made her feel wanton and sexy. His eyes shone like gems and he was smiling. He looked both tender and possessive, both strong and vulnerable.

  She wanted him.

  Immediately.

  Did mates ever manage to resist the firestorm? Eileen couldn’t imagine that they did.

  He reached for the clip in her hair and she shook it loose. Erik slid his hands into the thickness of her hair, spreading it over her shoulders like a veil. Sparks danced within it, limning the curls with radiance.

  “Now you,” Erik murmured. Eileen pulled off her sweater and dropped it, catching her breath when Erik’s hands closed over her breasts. He opened the catch on her bra, then bent and flicked his tongue across the nipple.

  A spark leapt between the tip of his tongue and her nipple, making Eileen sizzle. He caught her closer and took the sensitive peak in his mouth, the caress of his teeth across it driving Eileen wild. She knotted her hands in his hair and arched her back, closing her eyes as he teased her.

  She could still see the red sparks of the firestorm through her lashes, still feel its heat coaxing her to burn hotter with desire. Erik bracketed her waist in his hands and bent, sliding his tongue down the length of her and making a sizzling line to her navel.

  He rolled his tongue there, tickling Eileen even as she itched to feel him inside her, then unfastened her skirt and let it fall. Her pantyhose and boots and underwear had no chance against his determination—they were dispatched so quickly that they could have been incinerated.

  Eileen didn’t care. She was wet and hot and there was only one item of interest to her.

  Erik.

  He kicked off his own jeans and boots, then caught her in his arms. He might have headed for the bedroom but Eileen shook her head. “Here,” she whispered with urgency. “Now.”

  Then she rolled her tongue in his ear to emphasize her need.

  They tumbled together onto one of the black couches, a tangle of caresses and golden heat. His fingers were between her thighs, starting a conflagration that Eileen wanted to sate. He might have bent to taste her again, but she rolled him onto his back.

  She wanted him fast this time.

  Fast and furious and blazing hot.

  She caught his hands in his and the light grew to a white radiance where they touched. Sparks flew from their interlocked hands, shooting into the room’s darkness like sparklers on the Fourth of July. She pinned his hands to the couch, knowing that she could do so only because he let her.

  Erik watched her with that dangerously sexy smile, his eyes glowing as Eileen lowered herself over him. She took him inside her slowly but steadily, amazing herself at his size and watching his eyes widen. He caught his breath when he was buried deeply inside her, and his voice was strained.

  “I won’t last,” he whispered.

  “I don’t care,” she said as she bent to kiss him. She felt powerful and sexy, all because of the way he looked at her. “Let’s finish the firestorm in a blaze of glory,” she whispered against his ear, loving how her breath made him shiver.

  Erik groaned and ripped his hands free of hers. He caught her buttocks in his hands and moved within her with purpose. Eileen sat up and arched her back, stretching her arms wide and high. She could see the sparks spilling off the ends of her fingertips, as if she had become a Roman candle herself.

  She was burning and yearning, filled with Erik and wanting only more of him. She could hear the pounding of his heart and was amazed when it matched its pace with hers. The light emanating from them pulsed in the same rhythm, becoming hotter and brighter with every stroke.

  The firestorm demanded and Erik delivered. His thumb slid between them, and he pinched her with a surety that made her gasp. Eileen clutched him tightly inside her and heard him groan. She reached for him, wanting his kiss when she climaxed, and he rolled her smoothly beneath him.

  She welcomed his weight, his heat, his demanding fingers. She grasped his shoulders, felt her fingernails dig into his back, yet couldn’t pull him close enough to satisfy. She wanted to merge them together, to fuse their bodies into one, to feel his heartbeat as surely as she felt her own.

  The heat grew to brilliant intensity and she tasted the salt of perspiration on her lips—whether it was hers or Erik’s didn’t matter. She wasn’t sure where she ended and he began—there was only the pulse of their union. She felt complete. She was afire.

  She was right where she belonged.

  She wrapped her legs tightly around Erik’s hips, wanting him and only him, wanting his truth and his secrets, wanting everything he had to give and more. The firestorm blazed, cauterizing old wounds, forging new strength.

  He pulled back to look at her, marvel in his eyes. His fingertips were on her cheek, awe in his tone, when he whispered her name.

  “Eileen,” he said with reverence.

  Not Louisa. That single word sent joy through Eileen, convinced her heart of what her mind already knew. She wasn’t a substitute for another woman. She wasn’t a return to the past. She wasn’t a consolation prize. She was the woman Erik wanted.

  And she wanted him. Nigel and Joe and all the other men in her life had contributed to make her what she was, but she didn’t yearn for any of them anymore.

  Her past had prepared her for this present, and for the future she and Erik might share. Erik had taken a different journey but one that had brought him to this place, as well.

  And they were together, whole in their union. She smiled at him.

  Then Erik moved his fingers.

  Heat erupted within Eileen, stole her breath away, blinded her with its white fury. She closed her eyes and shouted with pure pleasure, her joy redoubled when Erik roared with his own release.

  She felt him spill inside her and wondered whether the alchemists had been right about the power of dragon semen.

  She felt transformed by it, invigorated and new.

  Eileen lay there, holding Erik close, listening to their hearts beat in unison. His head was on her shoulder and his eyes were closed. She heard his breathing slow, heard him surrender to his exhaustion, and smiled in the darkness. His weight held her captive but there was nowhere else Eileen wanted to be.

  Chapter 24

  The Wyvern had done what she could.

  And now she would do what she desired.

  Sophie felt the familiar shimmer as her body worked its magic, felt a sense of new power as she became a woman. She returned to the desert in the blink of an eye, manifesting where she had left her loyal champion.

  Nikolas was sitting against the rocks, his expression dissatisfied. He was chucking stones with impatience, obviously still annoyed with Sophie and her decision to leave his side.

  She let herself manifest close beside him, watching him shield his eyes from the brilliant shimmer she could make when she chose to do so.

  “I promised.”

  “It might not have been up to you,” he scolded. “You shouldn’t have gone alone.”

  “I’m back.” She reached out and touched his shoulder quickly, her mouth going dry with just that caress. “Don’t be angry.”

  And once they touched, there would be no turning back. She knew a corner had been turned and something had been set in motion, but Sophie did not know what it was. Worse, she didn’t care.

  Nikolas smiled crookedly and shook his head. “I was afraid for you,” he said, his eyes dark and intent.

  Sophie’s heart skipped. “You couldn’t follow me there.”

  “I will follow you anywhere.”

  “I know.�
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  Nikolas stood and shoved a hand through his hair. He towered over Sophie, all masculine strength and determination. He looked at her with an admiration that buoyed her heart and made her feel full in a new and wonderful way.

  They stared at each other for a long moment. His hair was dark with perspiration, his gaze stormy with desire. His features looked more sharp, his expression more hungry, and she could hear the beat of his heart as clearly as her own. Her breath came quickly, her breasts rising and falling as if she had been running.

  Maybe she had been running, metaphorically.

  Maybe she couldn’t outrun the feelings Nikolas awakened in her.

  Maybe she didn’t want to try.

  “Sophie.” He whispered her name in old-speak and his voice resonated in her thoughts as if their thoughts had been one all along. As if she’d been waiting for him. As if the point to her entire existence had been this morning in the desert with Nikolas.

  It was easy to believe.

  This time, when Nikolas reached for her, Sophie didn’t run.

  She met him halfway.

  Eventually Eileen became chilled.

  She wiggled out from beneath Erik, being careful not to disturb him. The man was so exhausted that she wasn’t sure anything could wake him, but didn’t want to take any chances. She made a trip to the bathroom, then brought a towel to clean up. Erik barely stirred, so she got the duvet from the bedroom and put it over him. He slept on, untroubled.

  He frowned even in his sleep, burdened by his responsibilities, and Eileen traced a gentle fingertip over his brow. She couldn’t smooth out his concern, but she did see the scab on his forehead.

  She remembered that he’d been bleeding after his fight with Magnus the day before. It was a strange place for a wound, and that made Eileen wonder if it was particularly significant. So much was significant with Erik and the Pyr.

  These guys needed to offer a manual for mates.

  Then she remembered Thorolf’s comment about the Helm of Awe. Her coat was hanging in the front closet and she dug in its pockets until she found the rune stone that Sigmund must have given her.

  She studied it in the darkness, running her thumb across the carved face. She was convinced that this had been the stone she had seen in the vision Erik had summoned, and that the boy must have been Sigmund in his youth. Had it been part of the charm that had been cast to lure Erik’s father to his destruction?

  Had it belonged to Erik’s father?

  Eileen didn’t know, but she couldn’t ignore Thorolf’s comment. She took the rune stone and returned to Erik’s side. He was sleeping on his back, the shadows under his eyes looking darker than they had when he was awake.

  She bent, feeling slightly foolish, and placed the rune stone on his forehead, right over his injury. Maybe it would magically heal him. Eileen halfway thought Erik would move his head and it would roll down onto the couch. He didn’t stir, except to take a deep breath, one that seemed to come right from his toes.

  And his frown faded.

  He didn’t wake up.

  Still feeling silly, Eileen headed for the shower. The Pyr would probably return at some point and she wanted to be ready for whatever came next.

  Erik dreamed of the sea.

  He dreamed of the waves stretching toward the horizon, the ocean so infinite and blue. He dreamed of promise and possibilities, that long-familiar sense of boundless opportunity that he had forgotten.

  He stood in the prow of a ship as it leapt over the waves. He heard the great square sail snap in the wind behind him, cracking like a whip as the ship was pushed ever onward. He saw the carved head of a dragon arched high over his own head, the effigy snarling into the distance. It was thrilling to head into the unknown like this, to be a mascot on such a journey.

  Erik glanced over the prow and recognized the figure-head, realized that he was dreaming of his very first journey. His hair was long and fair, knotted behind his neck. His jerkin was leather, his boots laced to his knees. His sword was long and sharp—he remembered its hilt like an old friend. He didn’t let himself think about where they had gone and what they had found—he simply recalled that initial joy at setting out.

  It flooded him, filling his mind and body with an optimism and vitality that he had thought lost with youth.

  Tempered, maybe.

  But that power was reawakened, kindled by his firestorm.

  Eileen had forced him to reconsider what he believed to be true. Erik had tried, when he might have assumed he would fail. He had used the ocean as a looking glass and he knew he could do it again. He didn’t need the Dragon’s Egg to see the future.

  He needed the faith that he could conjure a vision and nothing else.

  Eileen had forced him to think about balance, about his own sacrifices that he had made to lead the Pyr. But his fellows had never asked that of him. They had never expected it. And in nursing his own wound, he suspected that he had not made the best choices in leading the Pyr to triumph.

  He could fix that. He could learn from his mistakes and move forward with new confidence.

  Erik felt a hand on his shoulder, knew his father had come to stand beside him. They had sailed together on that first journey, Soren watching over his only son. The memory made Erik smile, made him appreciate the connection that had been between them. It eroded the bitterness of what he had been compelled to do, flooding out the anger that had made it impossible to simply remember his father.

  “We are Pyr,” Soren said, his old-speak deep with authority. “This world is both our treasure and our burden.”

  Erik turned to see his father smile that secretive smile, the one that stole over his lips as if he had remembered a mysterious pleasure. His eyes glinted with confidence and pride; then he pushed something hard into Erik’s hand.

  Erik knew what it was, felt his fingers tighten on the rune stone. He knew it was his father’s talisman and was surprised to be given it.

  “Dream upon it,” Soren advised. “It will guide you true, give you the strength you need, provide direction when you are lost.”

  Soren nodded once, narrowing his eyes to survey the endless stretch of the sea, and his joy in adventure was obvious. “Who knows what we shall find? Who knows what we will learn?” He turned that sparkling gaze upon Erik. “But it is all ours to claim, to savor, to defend. Our gift and our responsibility.”

  He squeezed Erik’s shoulder once and his smile broadened. “Remember to dream.”

  Then Soren turned to scan the horizon once more with pleasure and anticipation. With optimism. He ducked his head and turned to hail one of his fellows, leaving Erik alone with the view and the echo of his father’s old-speak.

  And the rune stone. Erik opened his hand to find his father’s prize cradled in his palm. It was marked with the Helm of Awe, the most powerful sigil of protection known to the Vikings.

  That his father had given it to him stole Erik’s breath away.

  That Erik had given it to his own son and lost both brought a tear to his eye.

  He didn’t have to mourn that loss any longer.

  He could choose to move forward with optimism.

  Erik wakened suddenly and sat up, refreshed and filled with new purpose. Something fell to his lap, hitting the duvet with a thunk, and he was astounded that it was the very same rune stone.

  It had come back to him.

  He could guess who had brought it to him, although he didn’t know how Eileen had gotten it. He turned it in his palm and let his gaze slide out of focus. Erik smiled as he saw the past and present mingled together on the smooth, dark surface of the stone, and a ribbon to the future.

  His gift of prophecy was back.

  Perhaps it had been lost in the firestorm. Maybe it had been overwhelmed. Either way, Erik chose to believe that it had been strengthened by his test and that his choice to trust Eileen had been the right one.

  He looked into the future in the stone.

  Erik saw the Dragon’s Teet
h, so close to Rafferty’s grasp yet not quite within it, and knew he could help. He saw many dark challenges ahead, storms that would not be easily navigated. He saw light at the end of them, though, a company diminished but stalwart. He saw a sacrifice, but could not see clearly whose sacrifice it was.

  He recognized that the Great Wyvern did not believe it fitting for him to know everything she knew.

  He knew to accept what was offered and be glad of it.

  Erik swallowed and kissed the rune stone, then rose to his feet with new determination.

  There was work to be done.

  Delaney had a bad feeling about this exercise.

  He’d had the sense of dread ever since Sloane had suggested hypnosis. Although he respected Sloane’s judgment, he had a niggling sense that the Apothecary of the Pyr didn’t truly appreciate the extent of the wickedness involved.

  Sloane hadn’t felt his whole body respond to Magnus’s whistle.

  Sloane hadn’t had that moment of terror when he knew his choices weren’t his own.

  Sloane didn’t lie awake at night, fearing when the summons would sound again, dreading what his body might do against his will.

  Delaney didn’t trust Magnus. He really didn’t like that the only way to find out what Magnus had planted in his subconscious was to trigger it. He didn’t want to betray his fellow Pyr, or bring destruction upon them.

  He wanted to be healed, though. He wanted to banish the last of the shadow implanted in him. And he couldn’t continue to live like this. There had to be an answer, and Eileen’s words to Erik made Delaney want to know the answer immediately.

  All the same, he was afraid.

  They stood on the roof of the building that housed Erik’s lair. The city was just beginning to rouse itself for another workweek. The lake was choppy and dark, and there was a distant sound of automobiles and trains. The clouds in the sky hung low, their bottoms slate gray with the promise of snow. They stretched as far as the eye could see in any direction, blanketed the world in a way that seemed claustrophobic to Delaney.