Enchanted By Fire (Dragons Of The Darkblood Secret Society Book 3)

by Meg Ripley

  She paused mid-step and looked up at him. A wave of desire rippled over her despite the chaos in her head, and there was something else. Something…more. A pull toward him that was almost physical in its intensity.

  He cocked an eyebrow, but didn’t say a word, his expression somewhere between annoyance and amusement.

  “What?” she asked, not willing to take a stab at yet another puzzle to figure out what he was thinking.

  His eyebrow rose higher and the corners of his lips tremored, as if he was trying to fight back a smile. He looked pointedly at Genevieve, and then at Ragna, who was smiling impishly at her. But no one said a word.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, but then she did understand—at least, she did if she was willing to believe what the young girl had been telling her. She remembered what she’d been thinking a moment ago—just seconds before the whole room had gone silent. She’d wished they would all be quiet, and then they were. But that couldn’t be, could it?

  She looked up at Grant, and he nodded, as if he’d been able to read the unspoken question yet again. Maybe he could. If she could wish for something, and that alone could make it happen, then why couldn’t he be a mind reader?

  “I wish you could all talk again,” she said, feeling like a fool for even considering such a fantastical possibility.

  “Thank you,” Grant said as the smile he’d been holding back lifted the corners of his full, sensual lips.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” she whispered. It was the final straw. Her life hadn’t exactly been normal the past few months, but it seemed like a walk in the park in comparison to this. This was insane. There were no such things as goddesses and dragons, or cats that turned into people. And even if there were, she wasn’t one of them. She was just an ordinary woman. Plain, ordinary Freya.

  She raced out of the house, ignoring the blur of voices behind her. Outside, she took deep breaths of the fresh air, trying to calm the panic that overwhelmed her, but it was no use. Grant’s hands settled on her shoulders from behind. She knew it was him without looking; she could smell his uniquely masculine scent and the invisible elastic that pulled her toward him had slackened.

  “It’s a lot to take in,” he said.

  “Shouldn’t you be afraid I’m going to sew your lips shut or turn you into a cat?”

  “Actually, so long as you’re not rearranging my house again, I think I’ll survive,” he said teasingly.

  She remembered back to that morning, standing in the hall, hoping she’d chosen the right direction. And then miraculously she’d found her way without difficulty. Of course, nothing had struck her as odd about it at the time, but now she understood. And come to think of it, the fleeting glimpse she’d gotten of his house when they’d driven away seemed different than when she’d driven up to it the day before in the back of a cab.

  Oh god, she’d rearranged an entire house in the blink of an eye—and without knowing she’d done it? Just how much damage had she inflicted in the past few months without being any the wiser? And how much more would she inflict unknowingly?

  “I just need a few minutes to think, Grant,” she said, though a plan had already begun to formulate in her mind. Well, perhaps not a cohesive plan, but she knew she needed to get away from him. Grant had stepped into a situation that didn’t concern him. He shouldn’t be running from dangerous men because of her, and who knew what other dangers she would bring to him.

  So, she needed to put as much distance between her and Grant as she could. There would be no reason for the men to pursue him once she was no longer with him, and she would make sure no harm came to him through her own thoughts and actions by committing to putting him out of her mind.

  He eyed her, and she could see the reluctance in his gaze. Maybe he was reading her thoughts, but it didn’t matter. This was for the best, even if it felt like the most wrong thing she’d done in all the time she could remember. Hoping that he couldn’t actually read her thoughts, she tried again. “Please, Grant, this is a lot to take in, and I don’t know what to do with it right now. I need time to think.”

  He sighed heavily, but he didn’t move at first. And then he turned her around and covered her lips with his. It was funny; she’d only known him days, and yet she knew she would miss him terribly. His lips, his hands…the fire in his eyes and the way he couldn’t seem to get enough of her. She knew right then she would never have grown tired of him, that a thrill would course through her body every time he took her, no matter how many years they spent wrapped in each other’s arms.

  “I’ll be inside when you’re ready,” he said when he’d broken the kiss and stepped back.

  Chapter 12

  Freya did go back inside minutes later. She realized that she couldn’t just walk away, not yet. She wouldn’t have gotten more than five minutes away before they realized she was no longer standing outside on the front porch. So, she’d bide her time and wait until Grant was fast asleep. And then she’d walk away and never turn back.

  “Freya, it’s been a long day. We can sort this out in the morning,” he said when she’d come back inside and stood there, searching for something to say. His voice was tender, and she realized that there were tears filling her eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment.

  Genevieve moved to stand in front of her and reached out timidly, patting Freya gently on the shoulder. “There, mo luaidh—my dear. It’s late. Why don’t you get some sleep. There are cabins behind the house where you’ll be safe.”

  “Yes, they’re lovely. Thank you,” she replied distractedly, still trying to process what was going on.

  “Get some rest.” Genevieve turned to address the young blonde then, “Ragna, would you please accompany your mistress and see that she gets settled.”

  “Of course.” Ragna leapt to her feet, seeming glad to finally have a task, and she followed the young woman back out of the house to the first cabin behind it.

  “You said that I’ve turned to you for advice often, Ragna?”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “Then tell me, what should I do?”

  “I can only tell you that you felt guilty, never having taken a life before, but it was not your fault. You had no choice. You are responsible for so many good things, but you have banished the memory of those in your attempt to escape remorse that you should not feel.”

  “I…I killed someone?”

  “No, Mistress. You defended yourself because he left you no other choice.”

  “I see.” She’d hoped that the young woman would have been able to give her some sort of advice, but now her mind was reeling with new chaos. She’d taken a life, and then banished every memory she’d ever had. Was that why she’d done it? She couldn’t live with the guilt of what she’d done? Or was it something else? A large part of her didn’t want to know, thinking that she must have felt it was too much to bear to have blocked it all out. Would it destroy her to call up the memory of it now?

  She dismissed Ragna—feeling absolutely ridiculous treating another human being like a servant. But then, apparently, neither one of them was human. It was irrelevant now though, since she intended to be gone by morning and Ragna would be free to live her life however she chose.

  She headed for the shower in the suite attached to the large bedroom. It wasn’t likely that washing away the grime from a day on the road would do much to ease her troubled mind, but it was a start. And as she stepped beneath the rainfall showerhead, she couldn’t deny that the heat did wonders to soothe the tension in the muscles in her neck.

  “It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?” Grant said, appearing out of the blue and stepping into the shower still fully dressed. Desire surged through her veins, and she grasped onto it like she had before, this time knowing it would be the last time she would ever feel so entirely consumed by desire for a man. She could live a million years, and already she knew there would never be another like him.

  His hands slid over her slippery body and she reached for
the hem of his shirt. He grabbed her wrists fast though, and she didn’t fight him this time. This time she’d do it his way; she’d take whatever he had to give and savor the memory for however long she had left of this life.

  Lying in bed sometime later, he drew idle circles across her back while she traced the hard planes of his chest with her fingers.

  “Freya?” he asked, and she knew he wanted to know what she was thinking.

  “I can’t seem to process it. It’s all so unbelievable, isn’t it?” She could remember every word that Genevieve had said, and the dilemma those words had created.

  “Not really,” he said, and he seemed so certain. “Have you given any thought to what Genevieve said, to whether you want her to help you remember?” he asked, once again seeming to read her thoughts.

  “Can you read minds, Grant? You always seem to know what I’m thinking.”

  “No,” he said after a hesitant moment. “It’s more of an intuition, I guess you could say. I suppose when you’ve been around long enough, you get a feel for how people think…how they react.”

  “And I react just like an ordinary person?”

  “No. From the first moment I saw you, I thought you were anything but ordinary. But it’s different. I feel…” His hand stopped its path across her hip, but started up again a moment later. “It’s not important. What is important is figuring out what to do now. Freya, the man who attacked you; the one who drugged you…he’s like me.”

  She waited for the disbelief, but it didn’t come. Looking at him as he spoke, she could see the truth in his eyes.

  “We’re safe for now, but we can’t remain with Genevieve forever. And if Genevieve’s right about what they’re after, they’re not going to give up.”

  “The man who attacked me…he seemed to know me. The way he talked…the things he said. You said he’s a dragon, and Ragna said that whatever happened before, it was a dragon man involved. Do you think it’s the same man?”

  “It’s possible. Without your memory, there’s no way to know for certain right now. And I don’t know…”

  He’d let the thought trail off and she figured she knew exactly what it was he was thinking. Genevieve had made it perfectly clear what a threat she could pose to them. And she couldn’t blame either of them for being concerned. If she could really do the things they said, then it was a wonder they hadn’t pitched her out the front door the moment they’d found out. Then again, that approach might leave them worrying just what she might do in retaliation.

  And now they were stuck with Freya, at least in their minds, afraid that to turn her out would be to incite her anger. Of course, she would never…but then again, did she know that she would never? She didn’t know what it was that had compelled her to bury her memory. Perhaps the man who was hunting her—a dragon, according to Grant—was justified in his hunt. Had she hurt him somehow? Had he angered her and she’d retaliated in some terrible way? And what of the man Ragna said she’d killed? Without her memory, there was no way for her to know whether it was in self-defense, or whether it was another terrible act of retribution.

  She didn’t speak again. She laid there listening to the sound of his breathing, feeling the thump of his heartbeat against her cheek. And she didn’t move again until she was certain he was fast asleep.

  Quietly, she slid out of bed and slipped into her clothes, ignoring the swell of emotion that constricted her throat as she looked back at him one last time. And then, hating herself for it, she whispered to him, ensuring he couldn’t follow her anytime soon, “Don’t wake up, Grant, not until Genevieve comes for you,” she said, figuring the kind woman would go looking for him in the morning when he didn’t come to the house.

  And then she tiptoed out of the cabin and walked. She had no particular destination in mind, though they’d passed a town just a mile or two back on their way to Genevieve’s. From there, she’d find a way to leave the area, though she couldn’t go back to Las Vegas if she intended to keep her distance from Grant.

  She’d go somewhere; somewhere she could think. A place she could hide away and figure out what she was supposed to do now. If Genevieve was right, there were no limits to what she could do now. She could will herself into any job she desired, anywhere in the world; she could add as many zeros to her bank balance as she wanted; she could even return to Asgard…if she had the slightest clue how to get there.

  But therein laid the problem. In theory, and according to Genevieve, she could do anything she wanted to do, she could bend the whole world to her will, but she had absolutely no idea how to wield that power—and no desire to do so even if she did. But how much destruction could she cause in her ignorance? She had no desire to turn the world into her own personal paradise—she would have stayed with Grant if her own selfish desire was utmost on her priority list—but what if she turned it into someone’s personal hell unwittingly?

  Minutes passed, and then an hour, and she continued to walk, heedless of the direction and her surroundings. It wasn’t until she heard footsteps that she was drawn outward from her inner chaos. The strides were long, definitely a man’s, but they weren’t Grant’s footsteps. She looked around, but it was late at night, only the occasional streetlamp interrupted the sheer darkness. A moment passed, and then another. The footsteps continued toward her.

  Then she saw him. He was alone this time, but he advanced with a steady step. She contemplated running, but knew intuitively that he would catch up with her. So, she stood her ground, trying desperately to call up the calm that had served her so well before, but just as it began to wind its way through her body, the man changed. He grew taller, and wider, and his flesh gave way to something else. In seconds, he was no longer a man; he was…a dragon, blood red and the size of a bus.

  She blinked hard, thinking it had to be her mind playing tricks on her, but when she opened her eyes, the giant beast was still there, not five yards away. He was scales and horns, but across his enormous chest, something caught her attention—a scar. Slashing diagonally across him, it ran the entire width of his chest, and something about it tickled her memory, though no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t call it to mind.

  He took a thunderous step forward, and she took a feebly small, human step back. He bared his dagger-like teeth in an evil smile, and she quaked in fear as every remnant of the calm vanished into thin air.

  Chapter 13

  “She’s important to you,” Genevieve observed as Grant strode out of the cabin, looking up at the pitch-black sky. He had no idea how long she’d been gone. Genevieve had shown up in the cabin two minutes ago to tell him she had a terrible sense of foreboding, and when he’d looked around and hadn’t been able to find Freya, he had no doubt what had awoken Genevieve.

  “Yes, she is,” he said simply and then called up the heat in his core. He needed to find her before it was too late. What the hell had she been thinking? They’d driven hundreds of miles to a place Genevieve kept off the radar to make sure she stayed safe, and she just waltzed out into the middle of the night?

  He wanted to be angry, but in truth, he couldn’t be. She was reeling with shock, and rightfully so. He was still suffering from that same emotion—which was not something that happened to him often. Though, that she’d been the one to shock him didn’t surprise him entirely. She was unique in every way; he’d known that from the very start. But a goddess?

  In some ways it suited her; she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen; fiery, passionate and kind. She embodied every kind of beauty there was.

  But what did she think she was going to accomplish by leaving? And then it hit him—it wasn’t shock that had driven her from the Genevieve’s cabin. It was fear. Fear for him, for Ragna, for everyone she could possibly hurt with her near-unlimited abilities, particularly since she had no idea the extent of them, nor how to wield them. He’d been caught—if she regained her memory, she would be better equipped to live as what she was, but if something so terrible had happened that she�
��d buried it all, he didn’t want her to relive that tragedy either.

  He soared high above, gliding through the air at breakneck speed, and it only took moments to find her, the scent of her wafting in the air toward him. He breathed a deep sigh of relief, but his relief fled on the next breath when he smelled the dragon who was far too close to her. It was him—the one who had attacked her.

  He increased his speed, forcing his massive body to move faster, desperate to get to her. Every second felt like hours as his mind conjured every terrible thing that could happen to her.

  They came into view, and white-hot rage coursed through his veins. A blood red dragon hovered over her, and he could see that there were bruises on her body. He charged through the air, and just as the dragon looked up, he crashed into him, taking them both fifty yards away from her. He slashed at the dragon as they rolled to a stop, but the red beast lashed out with his tail, attempting to slice through his unarmored abdomen.

  The beast was too slow. He never made contact, and Grant grabbed hold of him, holding him by the long neck in a powerful grip, and preparing for the final blow.

  “Grant, stop!” Freya screamed, and he struggled against the desire to slash the dragon to pieces and he reined in his claws.

  He looked down at her, amazed that she’d recognized him; more than that, she didn’t seem the least bit fazed or frightened by him. But he couldn’t stop; he couldn’t let the evil creature live. He willed her to understand. “He has to die,” he tried to tell her with his eyes.

  “Please, I need to know why. I need to understand…I need…” she was silent then and he could see the silent argument going on behind her eyes. “I want my memories back now,” she said all of a sudden in an authoritative voice, and he understood what it was she’d done. She didn’t need Genevieve to bring back her memories. She was a goddess, and everything obeyed her command—including her.