Caress of Fire (Dawn of Dragons Book 2)

by Mary Auclair

  Those silver eyes made her tingle, deep in her belly, and the sensation shook some sense into her.

  “Yes. I am Marielle Jansen.” Her voice sounded strong, much stronger than she felt in the small enclosure. Marielle lifted her chin and met the Draekon’s stare dead on even as she was melting inside. “And who are you?”

  The Draekon’s already narrowed eyes reduced to two slits and a tic agitated his jaw, making the muscle tighten along his neck. He wasn’t used to being talked to like that by a human—even less by a human woman—and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

  “You should be more worried about what I am going to do with you than what my name is.” That voice of black velvet spoke low, like a growl, and terror filled Marielle’s heart. “And you should worry about the family of the man whom you murdered.”

  “I didn’t murder anybody!” Marielle shouted, throwing caution to the wind, her eyes filling with hot tears of frustration. She was done anyway, if that Draekon had decided she was guilty. But she wasn’t going to plead and beg. She wasn’t going to admit to something she didn’t do. “When I got into the throne room, the dragon was already dead, and Lord Aymond died a few minutes later. There was nothing I could do to help.”

  The Draekon lifted his chin, his unreadable eyes not missing one iota of her expression.

  “Nissar died first?”

  “Yes. He was dead, on top of the stairs, just behind the throne. I found Lord Aymond beside him but I didn’t have enough time to help him.”

  The Draekon turned away from her, then paced back and forth along the bars of the cell, lost in his own thoughts. Marielle watched him walk in silence, her lungs burning from holding her breath. This was the first time anyone had paid any attention to anything she had to say since she had been dragged away from Lord Aymond’s corpse.

  Finally, the Draekon turned back to her, and Marielle inhaled a deep, shaky breath. He looked pissed enough to snap her in two.

  “You will tell me everything you saw before you found him.” Anger twisted the Draekon’s mouth but there was no violence in his voice. “Everything.”

  Marielle nodded furiously. Power exuded from the man’s pores like a perfume, and she was too scared to say anything. This Draekon, for some reason, believed her when she said she didn’t kill Lord Aymond, and she would be damned if she messed up her chance of getting out of this Godforsaken castle alive.

  “I don’t know more than that.” She shook her head, trying to make him understand. “When I arrived, it was already too late. I’m sorry.”

  “This is something in itself.” The Draekon spoke softly this time.

  It had worked, she wasn’t going to die just now. Marielle mentally shook off her fatigue and her fear to concentrate on the Draekon and whatever he wanted from her.

  “Tell me everything from the moment you stepped inside the castle. Even if you don’t think it’s important, tell me.”

  “Okay.” She nodded, seeing the merit in what he said. She closed her eyes, trying to conjure up all that happened since that day Ignio Marula had threatened her family. “I was brought to the castle right after visiting the Delradon-Human liaison office. A young Delradon servant came to see me, showed me to my new rooms, had me cleaned up and put into some fancy gown. I waited until another servant and two guards came to take me to the throne room. They waited outside. When I entered, there was no one. I called, many times, but it was empty. There was some noise at the top of the stairs, and I climbed. I saw the dragon first. He was dead, that was obvious. Then I heard the noise again, and went around the dragon. That’s when I found Lord Aymond. He was almost dead by then. He tried to tell me something, but I couldn’t make it out. And then… then he died. I didn’t have time to help him.”

  Fedryc swallowed, his silver eyes gleaming with emotions she didn’t understand. She could tell it had shaken him, what she’d said, but not in the way a man would usually be shocked to lose the High Lord of his kingdom. At least, not that she thought.

  A while later, he nodded. “Thank you.” He reached for her, his palm cupping her cheek, swallowing it whole. Marielle was too shocked to move and her breathing became fast and shallow. His skin was warm against the cold of the night, and it made her crave his touch even more. “You gave me more than you know. Whoever killed Nissar couldn’t have done it more than a few minutes before you entered the room. Nissar drank the poison, that’s the only way it could have killed him so fast, before he could even fight back. If he had known, the whole castle would have been reduced to ash and rubble. As soon as Nissar was dead, Aymond had but a few minutes to breathe.”

  “What do you mean?” Incomprehension filled Marielle’s mind. The Draekons were all-powerful, had conquered the entire planet in the space of a few months, mowing down human resistance and taking over the land with so few casualties of their own, it was heartbreaking. Surely they couldn’t die so easily.

  “This is not a weakness the Draekons are keen to make known.” His mouth curved down. “Dragons are powerful, their years many times a man’s life, Delradon or human alike. A Draekon’s life is the same, because of the link we share. But this is also our curse. We are born together. We die together.”

  “So killing Nissar killed Lord Aymond.” Marielle understood now, and the implications of this left her speechless. Fortunately, not for long. “And the murderer had to have been there just before I entered, since Lord Aymond was still alive when I found him. The murderer had to know I had been summoned to the throne room, had to have acted right before I went in. He wanted me to take the blame. He planned everything.”

  The Draekon kept staring at her, his strange eyes set on her with intensity. His face was an unreadable mask, nothing filtering through the impossibly handsome, sculpted features. The man was like an all-powerful God from the world before the Great War, before the Draekons and their beasts wiped out all remnants of the old human civilization. All semblance of Gods had perished in the dragons’ fire, along with most of mankind. The Draekons were the new Gods of Earth.

  There was no mercy to be expected from him.

  “This couldn’t have been me. It couldn’t have been any human.” Marielle spoke with desperation. She had to make him believe her. It was her last chance. “I didn’t know about the link. No one does.”

  “I believe you.”

  The Draekon man stepped closer. His striking face, all sharp angles and masculine strength, was heated with animation now. He radiated anger through every pore of his skin, but the anger wasn’t directed at her. Which, she reflected, was a good thing, because if the Draekon ever looked at her with such savagery, she would die on the spot.

  “But if you didn’t kill my father then someone else did. Someone from his own household.”

  “Father?” Marielle spoke without even realizing it. She stared at him. This was getting too much for her. “You are Lord Aymond Haal’s son?”

  “I am Fedryc Haal.” The Draekon man nodded slowly. “And as of this night, I am the new High Lord of Aalstad.”

  Marielle and the Draekon stared at each other for a long time. That strange silver gaze never wavered, never faltered as he studied her face, then glanced down over her body, making her skin prickle and her stomach flip. There was something hungry and dark in that gaze, something savage and wild, so far from human she trembled under it. It was a male gaze, as unashamed as it was brazen. It was a seal of possession that made her want to rebel and melt all at the same time.

  “If you want to live, Marielle Jansen, then follow me.”

  Chapter 4

  Fedryc walked fast, but the terrible knowledge wouldn’t stay behind. That woman, that fiery, attractive woman could not have killed Lord Aymond, he knew that as surely as he was linked to Nyra. He had studied her with all the skill of his years of training in the Emperor’s court. Her pulse, that small throbbing movement at the base of her throat, had remained steady as she assured him she had found Nissar dead first and Lord Aymond had quickly fol
lowed. Her pupils had stayed the same in those storm-colored eyes.

  She was telling him the truth. But if Marielle Jansen hadn’t killed Lord Aymond, then who had? And why?

  Fedryc fought his attraction to the human woman, forcing himself not to glance back. This was the first human woman he had ever seen, and he was struck by her exotic beauty. Not touching her had been the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. Even now, all he could focus on was her. His brain caught every tiny step she made, the way her bare feet lightly brushed the stone. He had to use all his willpower to stop himself from turning around, grabbing that tiny, fiery human woman, and pulling her against him.

  Taste those lips. Grab a fistful of that red hair.

  What is wrong with me? I shouldn’t be lusting after a woman who was destined to mate with my father.

  Fedryc bit his lower lip, hard enough that the metallic taste of blood covered his tongue. His attraction was a distraction he didn’t need. A dangerous distraction.

  “Where are you taking me?” Marielle called from behind him in her musical, fluted voice.

  Fedryc kept going, not trusting himself to pause. Not trusting himself to look at her.

  Then her tiny, brushing footsteps stopped. Reluctantly, he paused his steps.

  “Keep going.” Fedryc turned his head sideways, just enough to see her silhouette a few paces behind him.

  “I’m not moving until you tell me where we’re going.”

  Her voice was small and he could hear the tremor in it but there was steel there, too, something that told him she wasn’t as meek as he had first thought. Fedryc inhaled deeply, then turned fully around.

  Marielle stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her silk-and-lace gown stained and torn, exposing milky white, shapely legs. The tops of her full breasts peeked over the neckline of her dress, round and firm. Delectable.

  Everywhere, red-flaming hair, long and savage with curls, fell around her face like a brazier, all the way down to her elbows. The same color as Nyra’s scales, it was as deep and vivid as the glowing embers of a dragon’s fire.

  The growl started low in his throat as his eyes trailed up.

  Her mouth was full and round, pink as a flower bud, and her delicate, straight nose was speckled with freckles, giving her a vivacious, intelligent expression. Her eyes glowed like a stormy sky, gray and pure, brewing with fear but also with defiance.

  You are mine, Marielle Jansen. You don’t know it yet, but you are mine.

  The thought caught him unawares and he mentally shook it away. He’d had plenty of lovers back on Dagmar, noble ladies and rich traders’ daughters, but none had made him feel such possessiveness, such male envy. He was dangerously close to losing his focus, something he could not afford.

  What is it with you, woman? I’m not myself around you.

  “So?” Marielle cocked her head and her thunder blazed in her eyes, dark and gray as they reduced to slits. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you to my personal quarters.”

  She lifted her curved brows halfway to her hairline and he felt the unfamiliar bite of embarrassment take hold of him. He could clearly see what she assumed at his words. And what with the thoughts he had been entertaining since first laying eyes on her, she was right to think that way. Fedryc passed a hand through his hair, watching as she followed his every movement with wary eyes.

  “It will be for your own safety.”

  “Right.” Marielle looked around at the hallway like she was expecting some kind of answer from the sandstone walls. Then she looked back at him, her stare direct and unflinching. “Why? Why are you protecting me?”

  “You don’t like it?” he answered, taking a step closer, not bothering to soften his tone. “We can go back to the dungeon if you prefer.”

  “I’m not complaining.” Marielle shook her head, and he saw the fear etched on her features, making her already fair skin look as pale as moonlight. “I just don’t understand why you’re suddenly believing me. And I certainly don’t understand why you’re helping me.”

  Yes, you wouldn’t understand. I don’t understand it myself.

  Fedryc shook his head, then looked down the far end of the hallway, where two guards were walking toward them. He didn’t have time to explain to her how dangerous his position was as the new High Lord, how her own life was hanging by a thread. Someone in his father’s house was an assassin. Someone close enough to trick Nissar into drinking something spiked with Venemum Ardere. Now that the murderer’s plan to place the blame on Marielle had been uncovered, she was his obvious next in line.

  “We can’t talk here.” Fedryc bent closer to her and he inhaled her scent, female and lush, layered with fear. Something shifted inside him, and he had to clench his hands into fists at his sides to prevent himself from grasping a fistful of that flaming red hair and inhaling its scent long enough to imprint it on his very soul. It was only his years of training that allowed him to stifle the impulse. “Someone murdered Lord Aymond Haal, and that someone wanted to put the blame on you. You’re the only one who can help me find out who did this to my father, and that’s why whoever killed him will do his best to silence you.”

  “I’m the next target. Whoever killed the High Lord—your father—planned everything. Everything except you believing me.” Marielle nodded, then seemed lost in thought for a while. When she focused on him again, her eyes were the angry dark gray of a stormy night. “Okay. I’ll help you any way I can. Tell me what to do.”

  “For now, follow me until we’re in a safe room.”

  Fedryc didn’t understand how he managed to turn away from her, but he did. He walked through the maze of sandstone hallways, led by his memory of the plans Henron had sent, all the way to his own personal quarters, the only rooms in the entire castle he had secured prior to visiting the girl in the dungeon.

  His father’s old rooms.

  A few minutes later, after passing a group of Aalstad guards who nodded to him with affected obedience and wary eyes, Fedryc opened the door to the unfamiliar decor, and watched as Marielle Jansen entered, her slim, womanly body brushing past him.

  He blinked, and in the second his eyes were closed, he saw it: Marielle’s body, naked and milky white, her nipples pink and hard, the flat expanse of her stomach, and the hair below as fiery red as on her head, but a shade darker. Her dark eyes, responding to him, glazing over with the hold of passion as he lay on top of her. His body responded and his cock pulsed in his pants with longing for that woman who could not be his.

  Fedryc shook the images away. These were a dangerous times he was navigating in. And Marielle Jansen could prove to be the most dangerous distraction of them all.

  “Stay in these rooms. Open the door for no one.”

  “For how long?”

  “As long as it takes!” He didn’t mean to answer so harshly, but he knew his time was short. If he didn’t move away from Marielle Jansen soon, he would reach a point from which he could not return.

  “Stay. Please,” he added in a softer tone.

  Marielle hugged herself, looking around uncertainly, and a growling noise came from her stomach. Fedryc’s eyes went to the hand clenched around her middle and he instantly hated himself for not having considered this. Isobel must not have put feeding the condemned prisoners high on her priority list. Anger flared inside him at the thought that Marielle had been left to starve in the dungeon.

  Pain suddenly twisted her delicate features, and her stomach grumbled loudly.

  Following an animal instinct, Fedryc reached for her, his hand wrapping around her slender neck, and he pulled her closer. She resisted at first, her eyes flashing with defiance, her mouth opening in protest, but she didn’t speak. All she did was watch him with those eyes as gray as fog in the morning.

  Emotions coiled and rose inside him, dark and dangerous, filled with lust and hunger and all the forbidden things he wanted to do with her. All the forbidden things he wanted to do to her.

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nbsp; His thumb caressed the silky skin of her cheek, all the way to her mouth. He slid it along her bottom lip and she opened her jaw a little, just enough for him to see the pink of her tongue, the wetness of her mouth. He stared at it until his lungs burned, then realized he had been holding his breath. His cock pulsed and throbbed, ready to take the woman and make her his.

  He exhaled slowly, unable to shake his fascination with that warm, sweet mouth. His thumb entered her parted lips, felt the hardness of her small, white teeth, then the hot wet of her tongue.

  Then he lifted his gaze to stare at Marielle Jansen’s eyes. They were gray and dark, cloudy with passion. His cock ached and pushed against the confines of his pants, and he knew. He knew that if he looked at her for one more second, he was going to take her, here on the floor of his father’s old room, as rough and as wild as he was, whether she wanted him to or not.

  And he would lose her before she was even his.

  Fedryc pulled his hand to his side, then turned away. He opened the door and paused just before going out. “I will send food for you.” Then he stepped into the hallway and closed the door on the most desirable woman he’d ever met.

  She stared at the door for a long time after Lord Fedryc had left. Her heart still beat too strongly in her chest, pushing against her ribs like it wanted to be free from its cage of bones.

  What just happened?

  The way those silver eyes had looked at her, the way the Draekon had touched her, like he couldn’t keep himself from doing it. She could have melted on the spot.

  The man hadn’t just saved her from certain death, he was handsome and sexy as hell.

  Her hand reached up to her cheek, then went to her lips, to where Lord Fedryc’s touch had lingered. A slow shiver, deep and delicious, traveled up her spine, tingling spreading in her body, delicious and forbidden. She hadn’t pushed him away. She couldn’t have even if she had wanted to. He could have done whatever he wanted to her, she wouldn’t have stopped him. She would have kissed him back and damned herself for a moment of passion.