Dragon Passions: Three fiery & suspenseful paranormal romances!

by Anna Lowe

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  Liam grimaced. “Lion, remember? Besides, Tristan would kill me if I did. He’ll want to win this fight fairly.”

  She wrung her hands. “He will win, right?”

  Clouds drifted closer, inching over the moon.

  Liam frowned. “He’d better. Though his ass is toast either way.”

  She whipped around. “Why?”

  Liam wore one of those You really don’t get it, do you? expressions that made Natalie’s gut sink. Then he explained, motioning with his hands. “For going against orders — again. He’s supposed to keep you safe, not fall in love with you.” A split second later, Liam winced. “Oops. Forget I said that.”

  Natalie’s jaw dropped. She stood there, gaping, her heart thumping wildly as she looked up. Deep inside, she knew the past days had been about more than taking refuge in his apartment, no matter how much she’d told herself otherwise. But to hear Liam say it…

  “Anyway,” Liam continued. “Tristan is supposed to guard you, not kick Marcel’s ass.”

  Natalie scowled. “I’d kick Marcel’s ass if I could.”

  Liam chuckled. “Who wouldn’t? The thing is, Marcel’s lineage makes him the perfect mate for a Fire Maiden. According to Alaric, that is.”

  “Mate.” She’d stumbled across the word in Alaric’s books, but the concept still wasn’t clear in her mind. “Marcel was talking about mating. He wanted me as his.”

  Liam nodded as if that were obvious.

  “It’s barbaric,” she half shouted.

  “True,” Liam admitted. “But then again, if the woman feels the same…” His eyes went distant, and for the briefest of seconds, his sunny expression dimmed with some sad memory.

  Natalie studied him. What secrets hid behind that cheery facade?

  “And if she doesn’t?”

  Liam let out a pained snort. “Then you’re not as lucky as you thought you were.”

  An uncomfortable silence ticked by before Liam gave himself a little shake. “Anyway, Marcel is a selfish bastard. Tristan is different.”

  She hugged herself, looking up. “Is he?”

  Liam frowned. “After a week with him, you still have to ask?”

  Natalie hung her head, ashamed. No, she didn’t.

  “Marcel covets power,” Liam said bitterly. “Oh, and wealth. All Tristan wants is…is…” His eyes roved for a moment before coming to rest on Natalie. You, his eyes said. He wants you. But when Liam spoke, it was to whisper, “Honor.”

  He uttered the word like it was holy, and his jaunty expression became grave. His eyes flickered, and for a moment, Natalie glimpsed another side of Liam. The warrior who’d do anything to help others.

  Like Tristan, Natalie realized, though Liam kept that side hidden away. Why?

  Liam sighed and looked up. “He’s more honorable than any man I know. And he likes you, Natalie. You know he does. But he’s forcing himself to give you space, because he wants you to have a choice. He wants you to be safe.” Liam paused, then whispered, “He would die for you.”

  Five quiet seconds ticked by — seconds in which Natalie’s throat felt drier than ever before, and the word Honor echoed through her mind. Tristan had risked his life for her from the very start. He’d been nothing but gracious as a host, and now, he was defending her at great risk.

  “Dammit,” Liam muttered. “Cut the fire.”

  Natalie looked up as another burst of flames split the sky. Then sparks broke out everywhere, and she nearly yelped. But then she realized that it wasn’t dragon fire or lightning — just the hourly sparkle show at the Eiffel Tower.

  Liam exhaled. “Well, that should help.”

  But the dragons only fought more fiercely, spitting huge plumes of fire. Natalie watched, terrified yet fascinated. She found herself leaning right or left as Tristan banked and even curling her fingers, imagining wingtips sensitive to the slightest change in pressure.

  “Um, Nat?” Liam murmured.

  She blinked, wondering why he was staring. Then she realized she’d raised her arms high, mimicking flight.

  Liam raised an eyebrow. “Maybe that dragon blood is thicker than you thought.”

  Natalie dropped her arms back to her sides. Who was she kidding? Imagining was one thing. Truly flying was another.

  “Oh!” She pointed. One of the dragons — Tristan? — released the biggest stream of fire yet. For a moment, his enemy was completely engulfed, a living outline in fire, and Natalie clutched at her sleeves. “Oh God.”

  It was one thing to want to be rid of Marcel, but seeing him burned alive?

  “Don’t worry,” Liam murmured. “Dragons are pretty fire-resistant. If Tristan wanted Marcel dead, he’d be dead.”

  Indeed, a moment later, Marcel shook like a wet dog, dispelling the flames. Then he turned tail and beat a hasty retreat across the sky.

  “Yes!” Liam cheered as Tristan nipped at Marcel’s heels, harrying him into ever thicker clouds. “That’s my man.”

  First Marcel, then Tristan, crossed in front of the quarter moon — two torpedo-like shadows, one fleeing, the other in hot pursuit. Eventually, Tristan broke off and hung back, watching Marcel flee.

  Take that, Natalie imagined him shouting. And don’t you dare cross me again.

  She fought away the urge to jump in glee, but Liam sighed.

  “Much as I’d like for Tristan to kill that ass, it’s better he didn’t. Things will be bad enough as it is.”

  Natalie glanced between Liam and Tristan, who was soaring back toward the Eiffel Tower with long, steady wingbeats. “Bad? How?”

  Liam motioned upward. “I’ll let him explain. Or try to, at least.”

  Natalie backed away as Tristan approached. He circled the area once then came in for a landing. His wings curved, catching the air, and his claws extended. But rather than the precision landing he’d executed on the rooftop, this was a long, jogged-in affair, graceful but weary at the same time. With every step, his dragon shape morphed, returning to human form, and Natalie found herself dashing alongside Liam to meet him. Then they both slowed, and Liam stuck an arm out, holding her back.

  “Give him a second.”

  Natalie halted in her tracks. Oops. If she got any nearer, she’d be treated to another full monty view of the most heavenly body she’d ever seen. But much as the thought appealed…

  Her cheeks heated, and she stepped back, summoning what dignity she could. “I’ll wait here.”

  “Roger,” Liam said, military-style, before trotting out to Tristan.

  Natalie counted to ten, then twenty, secretly wishing Tristan hadn’t come to a stop in such a shadowy location. She could see him in silhouette, lifting one foot then the other as he pulled on his pants — but that was all. Damn.

  She could see Liam’s mouth moving too — no surprise — along with little wisps of condensation in the fresh night air. Then Liam tipped his head in her direction, and Tristan turned.

  When their eyes locked, Natalie’s breath caught. Her heart thumped, and a deep voice murmured in her mind.

  Mate. That man is your mate.

  Was that destiny, speaking to her? Was it a trick?

  Whatever it was, she found herself rooted to the spot, forgetting Liam, the Eiffel Tower, even Paris. Peering past the shadows, she focused on Tristan, picking out the hard lines of his face. His eyes had been an angry red when he landed, but now, they glowed a soft amber hue.

  Mate, a higher, female voice deep inside her murmured. That is my mate.

  Natalie shivered, partly in fear, and partly in…elation?

  Time stood still, and her mind felt blurry. Blissfully so, like nothing mattered as long as Tristan was all right.

  Then he crumpled to the ground, and she rushed forward. “Tristan!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tristan struggled to his feet, which was hard, even with Liam’s help. For one thing, Marcel had landed a deep, ripping bite to his leg — the only real damage that bas
tard had managed to pull off, but still. On top of that was the momentary imbalance that always set in after a flight with lots of twists and turns. But most of all, what threw him was Natalie, looking so scared. Not scared of him — scared for him. Worried he might not make it back alive.

  His dragon snorted. As if Marcel can best me.

  The confrontation had only taken as long as it had because Tristan had been holding back. He’d learned the hard way about injuring arrogant sons of the ruling dragon classes. In the end, he would be the one in trouble, not Marcel. As it was, Marcel was probably rushing to Alaric at that very moment, spinning a story about Tristan challenging him rather than admitting it was the other way around.

  And that was the problem. Tristan’s dragon rage had burned high, but he couldn’t vent much of it without his primary weapons. The claw marks he’d left on Marcel’s sides were purposely shallow, and the tiny hiccups of fire he’d limited himself to were barely enough to singe the bastard’s hide. He could have broken Marcel’s ribs with a single whip of his tail, but all he’d left were bruises. No wonder his dragon was still raging inside.

  But when Natalie rushed up, pale and worried, that rage softened to love.

  “Are you all right?” She touched his arm, sending little bolts of lightning through his veins.

  Oh, he was fine, other than the fact that his whole body was on fire.

  She’s our mate. Deep inside, she knows it, his dragon insisted. We must claim her before some other bastard does.

  He grimaced. Now was not the time to approach Natalie with more talk of mates and forever.

  At the very least, mark her, the beast insisted.

  He trembled, fighting back the urge to hold her. To kiss her. To rub his chin along her cheek and mark her there. Better yet, to take her to bed and mark her all over.

  Liam cleared his throat sharply and reassured Natalie. “I think he’s fine.”

  “Are you?” Her voice was trembling, like her hands.

  Tristan savored the moment. As a soldier, it had been better not to have anyone fret over him. But boy, was it nice to know Natalie cared.

  Nice, his dragon agreed.

  Briefly, he realized that was what the homeless in the soup kitchen might experience. That feeling of pain and problems vanishing, giving way to a flood of hope. Natalie had a way of making you believe everything would be all right, even if the odds said otherwise.

  He straightened, croaking, “I’m fine. Merci.”

  The word felt totally inadequate, because Natalie could have run screaming at what she’d just witnessed or laid into him about the outdatedness of dragon ways. But she didn’t. She just stroked his arm gently and helped him up. And when he looked into her eyes—

  “Whoa, there,” Liam murmured as Tristan swayed for the second time.

  Her eyes were aglow with dragon fire. The kind that stemmed from love, not anger.

  She loved him?

  Of course she does, his dragon said. We are mates, destined for each other.

  “What?” Natalie asked, caught off guard by his reaction.

  I love you, and you love me, he wanted to say. Oh, and you might have more dragon blood than you thought. Noble blood.

  His dragon shrugged. I don’t care. I just know she’s mine.

  Tristan nodded. He was a fool to have denied destiny for so long — that, or he deserved a goddamn medal for resisting an urge rooted so deeply in his soul.

  No more resisting, his dragon swore. To hell with Alaric and the rest of them. She’s our mate.

  But, crap. What about his vow not to follow in his father’s footsteps?

  Easy, his dragon swore. We love her. Protect her. Cherish her to the end of our days.

  It sounded so simple, but could he be the man she deserved?

  Her hand was on his arm, her eyes wide and imploring. “Marcel didn’t hurt you?”

  Liam thumped Tristan hard enough to rattle his teeth. “It will take more than one snotty prep school dragon to whip this guy, right?”

  Then Liam chuckled into Tristan’s mind. But it only takes one pint-size human to melt your heart.

  She’s not pint-size, Tristan growled.

  But she does melt your heart?

  Tristan ignored him, because somehow, he and Natalie had ended up face-to-face and holding hands.

  “Nothing serious,” he whispered. “I’m fine.”

  Was he, though? Natalie had a way of taking his breath away at the least expected times. Like now, with her soft touch doing all kinds of crazy things to his body. Then there were her eyes, full of sparkles as bright as those illuminating the Eiffel Tower. A whole fascinating universe he could have studied forever.

  If it hadn’t been for Liam muttering, Man, you do have it bad, who knew who long he and Natalie might have stood there?

  “Let’s get you two home, shall we?” Liam finally sighed.

  Was the bastard hiding a smug smile? Tristan couldn’t tell. He didn’t care much either. Not with Natalie there, helping him along. Her scent was heavenly, and the whiff of worry in her fragrance slowly gave way to the sweet scent of arousal.

  “Home sounds good,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even.

  Very good, his dragon murmured, replaying his wildest fantasies. Vividly.

  He swore and counted to ten. Natalie didn’t want a caveman bastard.

  She wants me, his dragon promised.

  The hand she’d kept on his side started wandering up his chest, making that hard to deny. Was she as tired of resisting the electric attraction between them as he was?

  “Metro or cab?” Liam asked.

  Tristan pinned him with a murderous look, and Liam chuckled.

  “Right. A cab. Let me go find one. But don’t dawdle. It will be raining soon.”

  Which left Tristan alone with Natalie for a few blissfully quiet minutes, though he didn’t know what to say. I love you. I need you. I want you? He wasn’t sure it would come out right. You’re my mate was definitely out, as was I told you Marcel was an ass.

  In the end, he held his tongue and looped his arm over her shoulders, keeping her nice and close. Every breath he took brought him a whiff of her tempting scent, and his inner dragon refused to settle down.

  The approaching storm intensified that feeling, too. By the time they made it to the cab Liam had hailed at the end of the park, the clouds grew darker, and the distant sound of the jazz concert broke off. Natalie hurried ahead to open the door.

  “Here, let me help you.” She bent to help him maneuver his injured leg in. Then she hurried around the cab, got in, and slid all the way over to his side, fretting over him the whole time.

  Going soft, Monsieur Chevalier? Liam chuckled as he took the front seat.

  Tristan ignored him. Was it a crime to feel good? To enjoy a woman’s touch in a way he never had before? Her hands were so gentle, her voice so soft. And the silky wisps of her hair on his shoulder so…so…

  Tempting, his dragon growled.

  “Natalie…” he whispered, reaching for her hand.

  She laced her fingers through his and stroked his palm. At the same time, her chest rose and fell in a deep breath. One a lot like his — the kind you took to settle down.

  “We have to stop meeting like this,” she joked a moment later.

  He laughed. “Maybe I like meeting like this.”

  It was too dark to see her blush, but the heat rising from her face gave it away.

  “You like getting hurt?”

  He shook his head. “Call it my cheap excuse to get close to you.”

  She nestled closer, whispering, “Maybe we can find an easier way.”

  He grinned like a fool, admiring their reflection in the window. Him and her, so close and comfortable. Like a real couple without a care in the world.

  His dragon snarled away the little voice that wanted to point out they were anything but. Tonight, we are a real couple without a care in the world.

  Her knees rested against h
is thigh, and her hand lay over his heart. He kept his arm over her shoulders, and when her hair brushed his hand, he inhaled sharply. How good would it feel to run his hands through her hair — all ten fingers through the full length of those long, silky locks? How good would it be to feel her hand against his bare chest instead of through his clothes?

  You aren’t forgetting the forbidden part of what Alaric said, are you? Liam murmured into his mind.

  No, he was actively ignoring that order. All his life, something had been off-limits. Well, not his mate. Not tonight.

  Liam sighed. You know you smell like ash, right, champ?

  Tristan grimaced. Shoot. If Natalie got any closer, she’d back off, for sure.

  Told you not to spit fire. Liam sighed.

  Natalie nestled closer, not appearing to mind one bit.

  Streetlights flashed as the cab cruised along, casting them into alternating strips of darkness and light. Tristan’s reflection in the cab window was worn and haggard, and outside, rain started to splash the sidewalks. By the time the cab pulled up outside his building, it was pouring.

  Tristan leaned forward, speaking to the driver in French. “My friend will pay when you take him home.”

  “I will?” Liam protested.

  “Yes. Good night.” Tristan pushed the door open decisively. Liam owed him dozens of favors. Hell, he owed Tristan his life. The same was true in reverse, but right now, Tristan had a chance too good to pass up.

  Liam sighed and waved. “Have a good night, kids.”

  Oh, Tristan planned to, if he was reading Natalie right. A moment later, he and she were dashing through the rain.

  “Mademoiselle. Monsieur Chevalier,” the doorman murmured as they rushed through the lobby.

  “Bonsoir,” Natalie said, polite as ever.

  “Bonsoir,” Tristan growled, slamming the gate to the elevator closed. It took off with a lurch, climbing toward the top floor.

  They looked at each other, and an entire conversation passed in silence. Their eyes danced, while their nostrils flared, and raw, pulsing energy crackled between them. Then, a moment later—

  Tristan didn’t know who initiated the crash of a kiss they fell into next. Was it him, with his step toward her, or Natalie, who’d reached up to touch his cheek? Either way, they went from quiet yearning to hot-blooded action in the span of a heartbeat. Their lips met, their arms tangled, and he pressed her body against the elevator wall.