by Ophelia Bell
The truth was plain as day to Belah, but neither man could see through their confusion and anger to get it. They were both hers. Why couldn’t they accept the fact?
Not even magic as strong as hers could convince a turul of a blatant truth he chose to deny, and she would be a fool to get in between the pair until they worked it out. But every dragon knew better than to test Fate by flying into a storm like this.
Backing away from them both with a sigh of resignation, she turned, launching herself off the roof while simultaneously shifting. She beat her wings as hard as she could to clear the storm, which continued to blind her and tear violently at her wings for a mile or more before it abated.
She turned back once, hovering in the air for a moment and observing the massive cyclone that had formed around the two Princes of the North Wind.
She spoke under her breath, hoping they would hear across the distance, despite their disquiet. “You both know what is true. Come and find me when you wake up to it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Iszak’s rage dissipated, and the elation of finding her dimmed when he realized she’d flown away. Belah. His brother knew her name, and as much as he rejected the idea that Lukas had found her, there had to be a good reason for that.
“She must have been confused—thought you were me,” Iszak said, though he didn’t believe that, either.
“You’ve become an expert at lying to yourself, brother,” Lukas said. “Give it up. I saw her first. She came to the show tonight with Erika. I played for her, and she couldn’t keep her eyes off me. It was like I tranced out. The music flowed like it never had before.”
“No!” Iszak yelled, rounding on his brother and pushing him hard into the wall where he’d just had Belah pressed as he desperately made love to her. “It’s been so long since we started searching. I won’t let her go.”
Lukas’s scowl became a smirk. “Sorry, man. Nanyo always promised me I’d know the second I laid eyes on her. It was like all the air left the room, except for our own breaths.”
Frantic though his conviction faltered, Iszak gripped his brother’s shoulders and slammed him into the wall again. Lukas grunted and winced, pushing back against Iszak’s heavy grip, but he wasn’t letting go.
“She sang for me,” Iszak said. “She fucking sang. We haven’t had a vocalist for that piece since … fuck!”
Lukas’s eyes widened and he stopped fighting Iszak’s grip on him. “What?”
“Yeah. I couldn’t believe it. I always thought that without Evie to fill out our trio, we were doomed to be alone. Like it was our music—all three of us together—that would bring our true mates to us.”
“She sang Evie’s part?” Lukas said.
Iszak nodded grimly and let go of his brother, who just stood there, dumbstruck. Neither of them had spoken of their sister since before they enlisted and shipped out to Vietnam decades ago, shortly after they’d learned of her death at the hands of their enemy. They had opted to go take out their grief and impotent need for revenge on someone else’s enemy. The entire experience had left them damaged beyond repair. Now that old song was all they had, but they hadn’t been able to play the original composition together since.
“I don’t fucking believe it,” Lukas said. “What did she say to you?”
Iszak shrugged and bent to retrieve his shirt, then walked across the roof to pick up his sax. The instrument had fallen onto the pebbled rooftop and he gritted his teeth. “Scratched the finish on one side—fuck,” he muttered. “I don’t think I’ve ever held a note that long. She held it, too. Fucking lungs on that woman—I don’t think Evie could even hold that kind of a note. Her voice was … nothing like I’ve ever heard. Like …”
“A dragon’s trumpet.”
“She didn’t say a damn word to me. But the song … she knew all the words. I’d almost forgotten them.”
“Evie made up the lyrics to it. Nobody’s sung it since her, either. I don’t think she ever even wrote them down on paper—I sure didn’t. But she knew?”
“Every fucking word,” Iszak said, turning back to his brother and heading for the door.
“Jesus,” Lukas breathed and followed Iszak down the stairwell. “I don’t even know what to say, man.”
Iszak stomped into his room and set the saxophone in its case.
“Just admit you fucking believe me,” he said, scowling at his brother.
Lukas leaned in the doorway and raked both hands through his hair, grabbed handfuls, and let out a frustrated snarl. “Goddamnit. It couldn’t have been easy, could it? What do you think it means? I mean … this changes everything.”
“Doesn’t mean a fucking thing, dude. I’m exhausted. Do you mind?”
But Lukas wasn’t budging from the doorway. “No. We found her. I never thought we’d have to share, but for fuck’s sake, Iszak, we found her! How the fuck can you sleep?”
Iszak gave his brother a weary look as he slipped out of his clothes and climbed into bed naked, for the first time in his life hating that he was sleeping alone.
“In case you didn’t notice, she’s not here, and I don’t have a goddamn clue how to find her, do you? I got the impression she wasn’t exactly happy with us when she left.”
Lukas stood silent for a moment, worrying at a callus on his fingertip. His gaze was distant for a time. Then he refocused. “I might. Remember Erika Rosencrans?”
Iszak chuckled. “There’s a blast from the past. Didn’t she always love it when you watched Ozzie fuck her? You don’t think Belah was doing the same thing, do you? Teasing you?”
“No, dude. Erika’s friends with her. The woman’s mated to this huge Red now. It suits her … she’s still likes a huge tease, though.” He laughed and shook his head. “I love how some things never change.”
“And I suppose you know how to find Erika? If she’s mated to a dragon, she’ll be protected. The Wind is good at helping us find things, but dragon magic’s been tight as a drum for centuries. I doubt they’ve loosened up any. She may be the One, but until we’re properly mated, that radar shit doesn’t work.”
“She’s somewhere in the fucking city, I know that much. We’ve gotta do our Fate’s Fools gig next Saturday. Together. If we’re playing our mating call together, it’ll be powerful enough for her to find us.”
“Man, I can’t even stand to look at you right now, much less spend two hours on stage with you. Ozzie’s lousy at playing interference between us—he just likes to escalate the issue to see us at each other’s throats.”
Lukas’s throat worked and Iszak could almost hear the unspoken curses his brother held back. Finally, Lukas threw up his hands in frustration.
“Suit yourself, man. I have no fucking idea how to get through to you.” With that, he turned on his heel and left, slamming the bedroom door behind him.
Iszak turned out the lamp beside his bed and lay there, hating the way his chest ached like a heavy stone had settled against his sternum. He’d had Belah in his arms tonight and everything had felt right. More than that, she’d felt fucking perfect. How was it remotely fair that she belonged to his brother, too?
What he wouldn’t give right now to have her back in his embrace. To be able to actually say what he’d felt the entire time he’d been inside her.
He’d been so overwhelmed by the sight of her he could barely even believe she was real. She’d just appeared on the rooftop and started singing, her beautiful, naked curves swaying to the tempo of the plaintive tune he always played. The one his sister had promised would call her someday. He’d never believed Evie’s crazy composition would attract the love of his life, but he still played his part of it every night after a gig, in Evie’s memory. His brother had reworked his own part into a new version that he’d turned into a regular show. The audience never knew that there were two parts missing … Evie’s and Iszak’s parts. The vocals and the bass. The alternat
e arrangement Lukas had written for his band didn’t come close to the truth.
Iszak was glad of that, at least. Lukas also hadn’t ever tried to replace Evie’s vocals with either singer or instrument. Their sister’s voice was irreplaceable.
At least, he’d thought so. Until tonight.
He relived those few moments in his mind, from the first sight of Belah and the way her voice sank into his bones, singing all the words of the song his dead sister had written years ago, to his semi-trance that kept him playing, needing to complete the song, and then wishing he could never stop because he was afraid she would disappear if he lost breath enough to keep going.
But she hadn’t disappeared. She’d held onto him just as tightly and desperately as he’d held onto her once they’d come together.
And holy fuck, they’d been flying at the end. Actually fucking flying while they fucked. He’d never felt anything remotely close to that sensation of losing his mind with pleasure while the Wind held him buoyed and weightless.
He tossed and turned for an hour, replaying every moment until his brother had appeared and everything had gone to shit. His elation turning to anger at Lukas’s assertion that she was his. Iszak had lost track of her in the middle of their argument, not even aware of the mini-hurricane raging around them.
“Fuck!” he yelled, throwing the covers off and turning on the light again. He started to head back up to the roof naked, thinking he’d fly, but the weight in his chest told him otherwise. Until he found her again, he was probably grounded. It wasn’t a good feeling.
Iszak grabbed his jeans and pulled them on, then headed to the kitchen. From the freezer, he pulled out the frosty blue bottle of turul vodka. The label taunted him with what he really wanted as much as the color of the bottle did, but he’d settle for the contents and the oblivion it offered. He didn’t want any of it, really. The vodka was a substitute and an escape. Flying would be the same.
He wanted her. Now that he’d found her, he wanted her. He wanted the feel of her thighs around him again, the sound of her voice singing for him. She didn’t sing like his sister had—nobody could match Evie’s voice—but Belah had her own raw cadence that betrayed a past as dark as Iszak’s. She’d lost something, or been hurt in some way that still stuck. And fuck if the memory of her voice didn’t haunt him now.
He made his way up to the roof again and settled in the plastic patio chair he’d sat on earlier, took a biting swig of the vodka, and stared up at the glowering moon. Oblivion would be better than wishing for a thing he couldn’t have. She was a dragon … that much had been clear when her wings had come out. He didn’t know what his brother was smoking, but turul and dragons never mated. None of the higher races interbred. It was a rule.
A rule that’s been broken, and you know it.
As if he wouldn’t break every fucking rule to be with her, if he even knew where to find her.
A soft scuffling came from behind him, and he turned to see Lukas juggling furniture with his saxophone hanging from the strap around his neck. His brother cursed when the small table he held balanced on one arm nearly toppled to the ground before he caught it mid-air and acrobatically tossed it up, bounced it off his heel, caught it adeptly on his head, and retrieved it with his free hand. After a few steps, Lukas ceremoniously set the table down beside Iszak’s stool and set another bottle of turul liquor on it, followed by a bag of chips and Iszak’s favorite bean dip.
“What time is it?” Lukas asked.
“Fuck if I know. Late.”
“You’re an asshole.”
Iszak glared at his brother, but his grumbling stomach detracted from the menace he felt.
Chips. Dip.
“Fuck you,” he said with little venom. “Are you going to open those?”
“Hold your horses,” Lukas said, walking across the roof to find another chair. He came back with another well-worn plastic patio chair and set it down. He opened the bag and handed it to Iszak.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. Listen to me.” Lukas opened the bean dip and handed it to Iszak. Then he reached for the liquor that Iszak still held in the crook of his elbow.
Iszak glanced between the food and the alcohol. Finally, he nodded and Lukas snatched the liquor, taking a long swallow.
Iszak dug into the chips, savoring the salty crunch. Fuck, did food taste good just now. When he shoved a bean-dip-laden chip into his mouth, he groaned.
“So, it’s Sunday today,” Lukas said, wiping his mouth and tapping a rhythm on the side of the blue glass of the bottle.
Iszak nodded.
“Nanyo’s expecting us.”
Iszak’s hand slowed as he reached into the bag for another chip. He blinked, trying to clear his head of the fatigue and alcohol. But this wasn’t a trick question.
“Right. We’re having breakfast with Nanyo, like every Sunday.” So what?
“I think we should have a battle plan.”
Iszak’s hand faltered on its way to his mouth with a fresh chip coated in delicious, cheesy, spicy dip. Fuck.
“Drinking’s my battle plan,” he said around his mouthful of chip. He reached out. Lukas handed him the bottle. “Armor against the harpy.”
He took a swig, relishing the burn and the smooth tang of the icy liquor as it slid down his throat washing the salt and bean flavor with it.
“Jesus, dude. I know she’s terrifying, but if Nanyo knew that’s how you felt, she’d disown you.”
Iszak glared at his brother. “It’s not about her. What’s she going to say about our little issue? We fucked up somehow. How else would we wind up with the same woman as our true mate?”
“I don’t fucking know, dude! I just know that it’s a problem, and Nanyo’s good at fixing shit like this. So my plan is to just lay it out for her and wait for her answer. Nothing good ever came from keeping shit from Nanyo.”
Iszak eyeballed his brother. “We’re in the same family, right? You’re talking about the same grandmother who had the three of us singing in every tavern, busking on every corner of every city, from the time we were old enough to sprout pubes. You don’t think she had a hand in pushing Evie away? Our own sister would just as soon latch onto a man she knew wasn’t the One, rather than stay.”
Lukas shrugged and reached for the bottle. “Marcus did find her while she was singing.”
“Not our song, though. She was singing a fucking Beatles tune that day they met. Not even a good one.”
Lukas chuckled. “She always had to make all the covers we did gender appropriate. And I liked Marcus at first. Even started to believe we could make it happen if we wanted it bad enough, after she started getting hot and heavy with him.”
“So you believe that we’re in the same fucking pickle now.”
Lukas raised an eyebrow, produced his sax, and put it to his lips. He set a jaunty rhythm with it, playing a song Iszak knew from way back during the war.
He couldn’t help but laugh and start singing about pickles and motorcycles. But when he reached the lyrics that dealt with dying, they both trailed off before finishing. The Vietnam War was long over, but the scars it had left on them both remained.
“Nanyo never fucking stopped us from nearly destroying ourselves,” Iszak said bitterly. “She had to know the shit show we’d be flying into.”
Lukas tapped a soundless rhythm on the keys of his sax, and Iszak could hear the notes even though his brother wasn’t blowing through the mouthpiece. “She knew there wasn’t a goddamn thing we could do for Evie. Fighting over there as pilots meant we’d live. The Wind was always on our side. Fighting the Ultiori would have gotten us killed.”
“The fucker dodged,” Iszak said, also dodging his brother’s suggestion that they’d avoided a bigger risk by going to fucking war for a cause that wasn’t their own. “You know that’s what happened. We always knew h
e was lying about something. Where’d he take her, do you think? Mexico? Canada? Would she have convinced him to go back to Budapest? Not that it fucking matters now.”
Without being asked, Lukas passed the bottle back and Iszak took it. “Do you think she loved him, even though he wasn’t the One?” Lukas asked.
“You mean even though he’s the rotten bastard who got our sister killed? Why the fuck should I care if she fucking loved him? It wasn’t enough.”
“Because now that I’ve met Belah, I know there’s one mate for me. That means there had to be one for Evie, too. After Evie left, Nanyo kept going on about how nothing that really mattered was simple to find, and that Evie’s path might be rough, but that didn’t make it the wrong path. I just wonder if someone’s out there wondering, like we both were until tonight, if they’re ever going to find her. What if she isn’t really dead?”
“You know she’s dead. There’s no other way she’d have given up a feather covered in her own fucking blood.”
Iszak struggled to hold back the bile that rose to his throat, tossing back more liquor to force it down. The day they’d received that macabre package filled with mementos of their sister’s had been the day he and Lukas had enlisted in the human army. The blood-stained feather had been the worst of it, and no matter how long he cursed at the Wind, it never contradicted what the message had implied: their sister was dead at the hands of their enemy. And that fucking human bastard, Marcus Calais, had led her to her death.
“She’d have wanted this for us,” Lukas said. “Maybe Marcus wasn’t the One for her, but she wasn’t afraid of taking a chance on him. She could have been right about him—she always had great instincts about people.”
“She was wrong, though.”
“But we aren’t wrong!” Lukas yelled, tilting his head at the sky. He followed up the outburst with a frustrated howl, then turned to glare at Iszak. “Our fucking hearts aren’t wrong, dude. Belah sang for you. She sang our song—the song no other woman but our dead sister knew the lyrics to. We’ve got to figure out how this works, with the two of us. For Evie. She’d have …”