Fifth of Blood (Fate Fire Shifter Dragon Book 3)

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  Ladon grinned but his eyes remained serious. “Don’t tax yourself. We still don’t know the extent of the changes to your abilities.”

  At this point, she worried more about him. Her healer worked fine, at least on her own body. Her seers behaved.

  And they had already figured out that her enthraller took the brunt of the changes. Ladon kissed along her top lip, breathing in her scent from less than an inch away, the distance he needed to be in order to catch her calling scents. “Love you too, beautiful.” His arms tightened and he dropped his face to her shoulder.

  She stroked his ear and kissed along his hairline. They’d both had enough “taxing” to last a lifetime. Even the lifetime of a long immortal. “How are you feeling?” She reached for Dragon. “You, as well. The sun warm your weary bones?”

  Dragon flipped onto his feet and shook, releasing the dust he’d picked up from the granite. Please come in. He sniffed Ladon’s head. I wish to bathe.

  The now silent beast sauntered toward the edge of the Dragon’s Rock before flopping onto his belly, two legs over the side and two sprawled over the top as he waited. Ladon watched, also silent, and no energy moved between the man and the beast.

  Ladon wasn’t a talkative guy, not like Gavin—or, as she learned during their ordeal, Derek—but the lack of words over the past three weeks concerned her. “I think…” She kissed his cheek. “…it’s my turn…” Another kiss landed on his other cheek. “…to fluff your pillow.”

  Ladon chuckled and flipped her around, laying her down on the blanket. He watched her face with worried eyes, something he’d been doing a lot since they returned. Every time they touched, he watched her for an extended moment the way he watched when he assessed a situation. Then he slowly blinked and smiled.

  His gaze danced over her breasts and her newly toned belly. Running his fingers over her now well-muscled hip bone, his eyebrow arched.

  A low growl rolled from his chest. “Your healer seems to have found your balance.” Quickly, he kissed her bellybutton before covering her body with his.

  She rubbed her face against his diamond of chest hair. He smelled fresh and warm, like the sunshine dancing over his skin.

  He moved down and buried his lips in her cleavage until he groaned in frustration. Lifting off her, he stared at her workout tops, his eyebrows bunched together. “How do you breathe in those things?”

  “Well then, maybe I should take them off.” She started to wiggle both bras up until an image of the baths in the cave popped into her head. She smelled the sweet water and heard the music of the falls. “Someone wants to go in.”

  Ladon nodded, glancing at Dragon, before moving off. He gathered his socks and boots, watching her, silent again.

  They walked hand-in-hand to the cave. Ladon gripped her fingers tightly, the way he’d held her hand every time since they left Portland. When she leaned her head against his shoulder, he curled his arm around her instead.

  In the cave, they stood together in the warm light thrown by their home’s fenestra draconis, the grand, multi-colored window blazing with the sunlight piped in through the dragons’ intricate mirror system. Dragon nuzzled them both, first brushing his snout against Ladon, then breathing warmly-spiced dragon breath on Rysa.

  Leaving the magic of their beautiful home to finish school would tear at her soul. Life darted, chirping and singing, among the cave’s many trees and crops. The dome overhead glistened, like the dragons. And clean, sweet water flowed through the stream, powering the hydroelectric pump at the back of the cave.

  But mostly, Ladon needed healing, and this was the safest place in the world for him to find it.

  “Honey, if you want to talk—”

  Ladon kissed her quiet. In the open area of the cave where they stood, he lifted her against his front, his steady hands cupping her bottom, and kissed her so thoroughly she forgot all her questions. She forgot everything but the intensity of the need to lock out everything and everyone but Ladon and Dragon. And their need to lock out everyone but her.

  Ladon carried her through the massive wood door separating their rooms from the central area of the cave. Rysa held tight, her legs curled around his waist, grinning and kissing his neck and shoulders the entire way. They walked through the clover under the grand olive tree, Dragon ambling by and onto their giant bed.

  The sheets twisted as Ladon shuffled across the bed on his knees, still carrying Rysa. He leaned her against Dragon’s side, not allowing her backside to drop to the linens, as he stripped off her workout bras and her tights. His hands roamed over her hips and belly; his fingers pinched her nipples. His teeth nipped her earlobe and his tongue stroked her to ecstasy.

  And Ladon continued to pull away all her breath with his kisses.

  When he entered her, she gasped, surprised by his quickness. And his intensity.

  Ladon’s eyes took on the same concern, the same sadness with which he’d watched her since Andreas had set her in the back of their van, and he stopped, his body frozen mid-thrust.

  “It’s okay.” Rysa pulled Ladon’s hips toward her, moving him deeper. “I’m okay. I’m safe with you and Dragon.”

  But the only movement he made was a small nod.

  “Ladon, love—”

  He covered her mouth with his, again stealing her breath. And her words. They loved with more intensity than they had any time before. Ladon gripped her thighs, her hips, her shoulder, and his fingers pressed into her flesh with more force than he’d used in the van, before their betrothal. Or in the rain, during the storm. He thrust faster than in the cabin, or in the pool.

  Rysa, with her newfound strength, took it all in, felt it all, and gave back to him all he gave to her. Ladon groaned and a brilliant starburst blazed across Dragon’s hide. The beast rolled, taking them upward, but Ladon didn’t grin. He gripped their bed’s overhead frame and held her against the beast, concentrating more on keeping her from falling than on enjoying his own pleasure.

  When night came and Rysa drifted off to sleep, she curled between the soothing lights of a resting dragon and the warmth of her man. Ladon dozed with his forehead against her neck and an arm and leg wrapped through hers. His breath stroked her skin. His heart beat against her side, and she thought, perhaps, she felt a tear on her shoulder.

  The rain woke her. Distant thunder echoed through the cave and the mirrors reflected lightning-outlined drops and splatters onto the walls. Rysa sat up, alone with only the dragon half of the Dracos.

  Human is in the commons, Dragon signed before pointing at their apartment’s door. The beast referred to the fields, the kitchen, the library—all the open areas under the wide dome—as “the commons.”

  Rysa nodded. Ladon couldn’t be far. The edge of the garden was just within the comfortable distance limit between the two. “Is he okay?” She rubbed the beast’s neck.

  Dragon silently ambled for the door.

  Ladon sat cross-legged in his black silk sleep pants on his white blanket, on the edge of the garden between the kale and the carrots, bathed in the swirling rain reflections thrown by the dragons’ window. More thunder echoed through the cave. The window vibrated and a soft singing accented the rolling storm, a lovely resonance released from the leaded crystal panes.

  Rysa sat next to Ladon and leaned against his shoulder, as silent as the beast. Ladon wrapped his arm around her, drawing her close, and Dragon curled around them both, his big head on the blanket next to her thigh.

  Out of immediate reach, between two bushy lettuce plants, sat a bottle of vodka.

  Rysa recognized it. This was the stray bottle he’d missed when he threw out all the others. The one he’d opened to clean the knife he’d used to scrape off his hair. The one he’d tried to get rid of, but Trajan brought back to him.

  A flow moved between Ladon and Dragon, a stream of energy much slower than she was used to feeling. She lay her hand on the beast’s crest.

  Ladon inhaled, then slowly exhaled. He continued to watch the ra
in behind the swirling colors of the window.

  “I think I’m broken,” he whispered.

  Rysa swallowed, not letting out the sob, and wrapped her arms around his chest, gripping with all her strength. Her seers stretched the short distance between them and no farther. She used their touch to caress the ragged energy flowing from his mind. She did her best to add peace.

  She felt the construct of Dragon’s words more than heard them; experienced the buttressed cathedral of the beast’s conviction. He placed Rysa’s senses inside the three dimensions of his thoughts, in their breadth and depth. The two-dimensional string of words she used to describe what she felt paled to a filament.

  Dragon spoke in the shimmering moonlight-like green-gray sunbursts moving across his hide: We believe in you.

  The next sob she could not hold. It brought Ladon to her chest, his hold tight and his face against her shoulder.

  Rysa did what only she could do.

  She lay her healer’s hand over Ladon’s heart.

  Meanwhile, far north of Portland…

  Praesagio Industries Special Metallurgy, Containment, and Research Facility, British Columbia, Canada…

  Each morning, he emptied his mind. He worked hard, did his trials, and opened himself to the opportunities God offered. And without Ulpi Fates around to block his efforts, he found killing the guards unbelievably easy.

  Then he found something fun in one of the labs—a sliver of his dragon’s talon. So that dipshit Trajan did do something useful after the Ulpi overpowered him in Portland. He picked it up, watching it shimmer and vanish in his hand, and understood the truth of this discovery. God wanted him to have a dragon. And he would. Because he’d earn one.

  When he left, he took the sliver and something even more fun—a shimmering blanket that, that, to his delight, vanished into the background when he held it up to the light.

  Yes sir, Trajan wasn’t a complete fool. Some of the time.

  The black-as-midnight dagger he found in another lab would probably turn out to be useful as well.

  In a drawer, he found his favorite Hawaiian print shirt, the one with the big flowers and the tiki gods. He slipped it on, thinking that this facility was a good property, one with potential, but he’d burn it to the ground anyway.

  Because no one fucked with Vivicus. Not that Russian prick Pavlovich who dismantled his Seraphim. Not the Ulpi or that other Fate triad, those three scary little fucks who murdered his brother Severo, the ones who contacted him first, to set up the deal to steal the half-breed.

  And definitely not the Dracae or their pretty honeys.

  He might have to walk across Canada to do it, but he’d prove his worth. And everyone else would pay….

  The story continues in Bonds Broken & Silent…

  BONDS

  CHAPTER ONE

  Now…

  Daisy Reynolds Pavlovich leaned away from the café’s wobbly table and pressed her back against the cheap, metal coldness of her chair. The little shop in the basement of the Continuing Education Building carried the same strong, roasted-astringent aroma of every coffee shop she’d ever been in. That washed-out, generalized smell of brewed coffee, the meta-scent of places where more than one blend bubbled through more than one pot. And like every place serving food, every surface in the café also carried undernotes of bleach cleaner.

  She wiggled her nose, trying to ignore the stinks and the stenches. Sometimes being a bloodhound enthraller had its drawbacks, and eating in restaurants was one of them.

  If she was honest, she’d admit that being a bloodhound had more drawbacks than benefits. But her abilities offered a level of protection normals did not have. And they allowed her to help animals with her Shifter healing ability and pop the Burners she tracked with her curse of a nose.

  The damned ghouls stunk to high heaven and like most other bloodhound enthrallers, Daisy could smell one miles off.

  Which she had, three months ago, not far from this very café. Her nose was the reason the man sitting across from her was still alive.

  Gavin Bower grinned as he set down his latte. Tall and built like a runner, Gavin had the same entitled, easy charm of a lot of handsome white guys his age. When your head’s topped with a touch-me mop of milk chocolate-colored loose curls, your pale skin glows with health, and your bright blue eyes sparkle with intelligence, you get away with almost everything, she thought.

  Daisy’s impression of Gavin was that even with his hearing issues, he did not want for much.

  She watched him for a second, thinking perhaps her assessment wasn’t quite right. Gavin had more going for him than he showed. He was younger than her. Pre-med. She’d spent enough time with him to wonder if he didn’t know how to express himself. Or perhaps he did, and didn’t want others to see what he considered too private to share.

  Not that she’d been open to such expressions these past three months.

  Under Daisy’s hands, the mug holding her coffee—black, no sugar—warmed her fingers. It felt smooth and clean, but like everything else in the café, carried hints of bleach when she lifted it to her mouth.

  She hadn’t consumed much of her caffeine.

  Outside the café’s open door, the sun dropped toward the horizon, and now hid behind the fresh and green odors made by the many trees surrounding the St. Paul campus of the University of Minnesota. Warm summer light streamed into the café. Golds danced on the glass, along with a hint of late summer humidity. On the other side of the seating area, oranges moved over the counter and the coffee-scented student-workers behind it. And in front of her, brilliant reds and greens flickered over the titanium buds in Gavin’s ears.

  He wore expensive, cutting-edge tech produced by a division of Praesagio Industries. He dressed well, too. No, Gavin did not want for much.

  Except, perhaps, his friend, Rysa Torres. The woman who, on the night Daisy rescued Gavin, had been yanked away by Burners. And the woman who now planned to marry the Dracos.

  Gavin, for his part, seemed miffed.

  Daisy, for hers, wondered how much of his longing was based on possessiveness and how much was true caring. But then again, this too may be an emotion too private to share.

  Gavin tapped the tabletop and a soft, hollow thump filled the air between them. “Rysa insists she already knows which house they’re going to buy.” He rolled his eyes.

  Three months and he should know better than to roll his eyes at the declarations of a Prime Fate. He had yet to meet a Fate face-to-face, so he did not have personal experience with the abilities of a future-seer such as his friend, Rysa. She currently traveled from Wyoming with the Dracos—Ladon and his beast—and would return to Minnesota tomorrow.

  Since the fight three months ago, Daisy had been careful to make sure no Fates came near Gavin, mostly because her father had asked. She was to make sure Ladon’s “new love’s friend stayed out of harm’s way. So as not to tax the dragons.” There were… issues.

  Her father had not been specific. Daisy did not ask.

  But mostly Daisy watched over Gavin because she knew his friendship meant a lot to Rysa.

  And Daisy and Rysa had a history, even if Rysa didn’t know about it. Even after all this time, Daisy still felt she needed to look out for the kid.

  Daisy sipped at her black bleach-coffee. They could sign, but Gavin found her American Sign Language difficult to read. He teased about her “dragon accent,” but more likely her muddled signing came from her lack of practice. So she squared her body and faced Gavin head-on to allow him to easily read her lips.

  “She’s a Fate, Gavin. She knows everything.” Though Fates didn’t know everything. Daisy had learned that lesson more times than she cared to count.

  Gavin leaned forward. “You still haven’t told me how you’re connected to all this.”

  He meant the small corner of the Shifter, Fate, and Burner world he now knew existed. The bit of reality Daisy walked within every moment of her life. The part with dragons.

&nb
sp; She watched Gavin again, peering over the rim of her mug at the handsome normal human seated on the other side of the table. He wasn’t all that much younger than her. Nine years ago, he and Rysa had both been eleven. Daisy, seventeen. Three months ago, their paths converged.

  The Fates bound everyone to fate, Gavin included.

  Daisy curled her fingers around her mug of bleach-tainted coffee.

  Gavin threw her his most open and disarming smile. The one she’d seen him use on just about everyone he wanted to make feel comfortable. It always worked, even on Daisy.

  Mostly, she guessed, because he never gave off an air—or scent—of manipulation. Even with his entitlement, Gavin had a fabulous bedside manner. He would, one day, make a fabulous physician.

  Daisy nodded and set down her coffee mug. “Where should I start, Dr. Bower?”

  He closed one eye and scrunched up his mouth. “At the beginning, of course.”

  Daisy laughed. “My beginning, or theirs?” The complications that led them to this table, in the same café where the hell of Rysa’s heritage first lit the poor woman’s brain on fire, under a similar evening sky, started long, long ago. Some parts of the story, during the Roman Empire. Other parts, later in the wilds of Gaul. And others still, during the cold death of a particularly brutal Russian winter.

  But not for Daisy. For her, history was much closer. And much more personal.

  Gavin grinned again. “Yours, of course.”

  Oh, he truly was disarming. And handsome. And a good friend.

  Maybe this was the moment the Fate had meant so long ago, warning Daisy to never tell the stories until the right moment.

  Daisy glanced out the café door. Outside, her boys—Radar and Ragnar—waited, tied to the bike rack. Her two guard dogs, who were as much a part of this world as her. And now, it seemed, as was Gavin.

  “San Diego, nine years ago,” Daisy said, still looking out the café door. “Before I knew what the hell was going on—and a few years before I activated.”