by Anna Zaires
Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Hey sweetness, I’m Duke—”
He cut off. She wasn’t listening to him. Instead, her eyes had slid out of focus and she swayed on her feet. Pure instinct propelled him forward to catch her slender body as she fell, unconscious.
She landed in his arms, her human form too light for his liking, and he gathered her up close. To his, and his dragon’s relief, he could feel her heart beating strongly through their link, the feeling augmented by physical touch. Striding to one of the recessed doors, he cleared the area with his foot and set her down gently.
Even in unconsciousness her lips pursed as he let her go, a tiny complaint that boosted his ego. Even out for the count she sought his touch.
“Shhh, sweetness,” he soothed her, beating his concern to the back of his mind. No sense in panicking until he knew for sure he had reason to. “Let’s just make you comfortable and see what we have, huh?”
She didn’t answer him, but he didn’t expect her to. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she could hear his voice. That the sound soothed her as it seemed to, her discomforted protests quietened to let him examine her.
His jaw set in anger, he swept back his loose hair and he bent over her. She’d been hurt earlier, but he hadn’t been able to locate her. He’d thought he had, her weakness allowing him more access along their mental link than before, but she’d quickly rallied and shut him out. Not before he’d gotten an approximate location though, so he’d been in the area when he’d spotted the Red Caps. Little bastards were hard to miss and they were always up to no good.
Classified as a level four threat, it meant that every operative was authorized to kill the little blighters. No Judge. No jury. They were all that and executioner as well. It made things very simple. It cost the tax payer far less to pay organizations such as the one he worked for, the PPA, than all the people involved in a court case and bringing nasties like Red Caps to justice.
He opened her jacket and the scent of blood hit him. His growl of anger escaped before he could stop it. He knew it. She had been hurt. With careful movements, he peeled the fabric away to reveal a blood-soaked shirt. His mind switched to professional, and ignoring the curves beneath the shirt, he probed her side gently. Her small gasps of pain and the evidence of his eyes guided him.
“Shit, sweetness. What happened to you?”
Someone had worked her over real good. So well that even at least two shifts to dragon and back again hadn’t healed all the damage. Fury filled him. Who had done this? What kind of creature could do this, to a dragon, one of the hardest to kill creatures in the paranormal world? One of the most dangerous as well. If Red Caps were a level four threat, then dragons had to be level double-O-don’t-be-a-fucking-idiot.
As carefully as he could he checked the rest of her body for injury. The damage appeared to be confined to her side, at least two partially healed ribs and more bruising than he was happy about. Reaching up, he tried to undo the scarf around her throat but before he could touch the material, her hands latched around his wrists, stopping him with surprising strength.
“Sweetness?” He looked down into her clouded eyes. She wasn’t really seeing him, her expression unfocused and full of pain. Instinctive reaction, he figured. But to what?
“Shhh…. It’s okay. Just let me help you.” Her eyes fluttered shut and he managed to disengage her hands. Gently he unwound the material from around her throat, expecting to find more wounds. Most people went for a dragon’s throat, despite the fact it was probably the most armored place on their bodies. So if there was damage to her throat—he winced at the thought—then the pain would have to be indescribable.
The fabric fell away. Duke sat back on his heels in confusion. Her throat was smooth, no wounds as he’d feared. In fact the only thing remarkable about her neck was the collar wrapped around it.
He’d seen collars on women before, had a couple of friends who were into the BDSM scene but this didn’t seem right for that sort of collar. It wasn’t ornate enough. More like an actual dog collar that had been put around her throat. It didn’t fit, didn’t look right. He frowned. It rubbed her skin, an ugly sore mark at the side.
Reaching out, he was about to undo it but the instant his fingers touched the leather, pain flared up his arm. Yelping, he pulled his hand away.
“What the fuck?” He glared at the collar. What the hell was that? That had been magic. Opening the door between himself and his dragon, he pulled power and flicked his vision over to the dragons. Light flared, almost blinding him and he slammed his eyes shut quick before his retinas burnt out.
Shit. Okay, that wasn’t just magic. That was seriously powerful magic. And it just added to the mystery his mate presented.
“Okay, sweetness. Let’s get you out of here.”
Sliding his arms underneath her prone form, he lifted her as though she weighed nothing. In this form, she didn’t. Good job he wasn’t carrying her as a dragon. In her other form, she was nearly as big as him.
Striding to the end of the alley, he turned into a bigger side street, and, still holding her, let go of his human form. His body changed, the skin sliding and expanding as the bones within lengthened. Popped and cracked, breaking to reshape themselves and grow some more. Scales pushed out through his skin, pressing against the inside for a second before they popped free, then raced to cover his expanding skin with a rattle and rustle that was music to his ears. His hands around her changed to talon tipped claws that held her no less gently for all their increased size as his wings tore free of his back to beat at the air gently. He turned his muzzled face, considering her through one large eye.
Still out for the count. Pliant in his claws. Good. Even though she was a dragon, he knew he wouldn’t like to wake up mid-flight with someone else in the driver’s seat. It would freak him the hell out, so why should she be any different?
The dragon part of his mind pushed against hers along the link, crooning softly. The man blinked, surprised at the beast’s gentleness. As far back as he could remember he and the dragon had existed in an uneasy compromise. Two halves of a whole not really at peace with itself. Not unless violence was involved. There, they operated as one, and were all the more powerful for it.
He smiled, giving control over to the beast to launch them in the air, pulling the human intelligence to the back of their shared mind for the flight. It was nice to find that they had another area they agreed upon completely. Her safety.
***
It didn’t take him long to fly across the city. A pleasant night and good weather conditions meant he wasn’t fighting a head-wind and could ride the various thermals over the city to get where he wanted without too much effort or jarring for his passenger. Not that he needed to glide all the way, he was strong enough to fly for days in still air if required, but wing-beats would jerk his paws and jostle his mate. Unacceptable with an injured passenger.
Circling his apartment building once, he dropped onto the roof. Between one wing beat and the next, he changed, folding his dragon within his human form with ease. For once the creature didn’t fight him, concern for their mate uppermost in its mind. Relenting, Duke left a tiny door open between him and it, allowing the creature to monitor the link between them and their mate.
He strode across the top of the roof, the small woman held securely in his arms. His magic wove clothing around his naked body; the simple t-shirt and jeans he preferred when off duty. Perhaps as a stroke of defiance, and to underline its presence, the dragon had scrawled tribal-like tattoos all over his arms. He shook his head, but didn’t dismiss them, preferring to get down to his apartment and get her settled.
The stairs down passed in a blur, then he was at the door to the apartment he shared with his brother, Baron. Used to share, he corrected himself. Now that they’d both found their mates, new living arrangements would no doubt have to be sorted. Dragons were territorial and possessive. The two of them living together had only worked because they w
ere twins, born within minutes of each other, then abandoned by their parents for reasons unknown.
He stopped thinking about it, aiming a quick tendril of power toward the door to throw the tumblers on the lock. It was a trick Baron had never worked out, but then Duke had always been more comfortable with magic than his brother. Shouldering the door open, he hooked his foot around it and pushed it shut once through it.
The apartment looked exactly the same as he’d left it this morning. Baron was away in parts unknown, protecting his new mate. Even Duke didn’t know where he was, although he could figure it out if he touched his brother’s mind. He didn’t, just in case. The last time he’d tried that his brother had been otherwise engaged. No way did he want a blast of images like that crowding into his head again. He liked Honor, but that didn’t mean he felt that way about her. Dude needed to get better mental shielding.
Moving across the room, he laid his precious burden down on the sofa and pulled back just to look at her. She still slept, the flutter of her eyelashes over her cheeks the most serene sight he’d ever had the fortune to witness. With relief he noted that her breathing was regular and deep, evidence that the damage to her side hadn’t affected her lungs. But still, the scent of blood clung to her, and the wounds, obviously magically inflicted, needed seeing to.
Rooting in his jeans pocket, he pulled his cell free. He had no idea what the magic did with his belongings when he shifted, but they were always there on the other side. For him at least. Occasionally Baron’s things went missing, leading to many interesting conversations with the cell phone companies.
He swiped a thumb over the screen and selected a number before holding it to his ear. “Ris? Yeah, it’s Duke. Can you head over here? I got something I need a second opinion on.”
Before he could get another word out, there was a knock at the door. Frowning, he strode across to open it, to find the Seer on the other side. Surprise flowing through him, he looked down at his cell, then back at the Seer.
“How the hell…wait, no.” He held up a hand as Ris opened his mouth. “Seeing the future, I get it. Come in.”
“Actually,” the tall Seer drawled. “I was just passing this way and wanted to see if you were up for a beer. There’s a nice little bar around the corner.” He paused, then frowned. “Or is that in the next decade? I lose track. Totally blinked and missed the fifties, you know.”
“Really? Too bad, I hear it was a good one.” Hiding his surprise, Duke ushered Ris through the door. Missed the fifties? Just how old was he?
The thought fled from his mind as Ris scanned the room, his gaze finding the unconscious woman on the couch.
“Oh my, oh my…is that her?” Eagerness tainted the Seer’s voice and he was across the apartment like a greyhound to stand by the couch. His expression almost reverent, he looked down at Duke’s mate.
“Did you know that she’s appeared in nearly every Seer’s visions for centuries?” he asked, his voice hushed. His pale eyes were rapt, as though riveted by the unconscious woman, so he missed the little start of surprise Duke couldn’t suppress.
“Really? What’s so special about her?” He couldn’t help asking. Apart from the fact that she’s my mate, of course.
“The Nightborne…here finally. I can hardly believe it.” Ris almost rubbed his hands together, the glee in his eyes evident. Then he appeared to remember Duke, and the fact that he’d asked a question. “What? Oh…she’s important because hers is like a gateway prophecy? Once it occurs, it opens the gates for other possibilities and prophesies to come to pass. Her actions, and those of her companions, will shape the future not just for your kind but all the paranormal races.”
Ris’ voice deepened, taking on the deeper tone it had when he’d spoken Truth at the warehouse. “Do not let the Nightborne fall. If she falters in her purpose, shadow will fall. Only when the blood dies will shadow be reborn from fire.”
He staggered after the last word, the blood draining from his already pale face. Duke grabbed his arm to stop him stumbling into the couch. Seer or no Seer, if he crushed Duke’s mate, then there would be blood spilled.
“Crap. It happened again, didn’t it?” Ris clutched his head, wincing. “If I ever meet that bitch, Truth, I’ll wring her frigging neck.” He looked up, squinting against the light. “What did I say this time?”
“Ermmm…. Something about not letting the Nightborne fall. If she falters, then shadow will fall. Only when blood dies will shadow be reborn from fire.”
Ris arched an eyebrow. “In other words, a fucking riddle.”
“Yeah, pretty much.” Duke grinned, then looked down at the woman on the couch. “She’s called Nightborne then? That’s her name?”
Ris nodded as he knelt down next to her. “All that prophecy has allowed us. She’s injured though….”
“Yeah, but that’s not what I called you about.” Leaning down, Duke gently unwrapped the scarf from around her throat to reveal the strange collar. “What do you make of this?”
CHAPTER FIVE
Unconsciousness was, at times, a blessed relief.
Chase had been a warrior for far too many years to mistake waking from it, with waking from normal sleep. For one, the cloying fluffiness that surrounded her thoughts was quite unlike her. Like any of the Queen’s bodyguard, she woke fast, going from sleep to wakefulness within seconds, often with sword in hand and magic at the ready. A fact that had ensured no one startled one of the Royal Guard out of sleep suddenly. Not if they were attached to their eyebrows, or indeed, any other body part.
She wallowed for a moment, knowing that once the fuzziness wore off, then the pain would set in. If she’d been knocked unconscious, then things were serious. Not some newbie warrior who’d barely held a sword before or thrown a spell, if someone had taken her out, then they were good.
Some of the fuzziness receded and the sound of voices reached her ears. Male voices, both deep, but only one sounded familiar. She lay still, keeping her body relaxed as she tried to probe her memory for why she knew the voice. Why warmth spread out from the depths of her heart to her chest at the sound of it. Her memory wasn’t playing nice, but she didn’t let that worry her and instead turned her attention to her body so she could assess her fighting capability.
Reality swam back a little when she pushed and pain flooded her body, forcing her to bite back the instinctive gasp. Okay, she’d definitely broken some ribs, and what felt like bruising around them, which meant they’d re-broken at least once before she’d healed them with a shift. More worrying though were the open wounds across her side, surrounded by soreness.
Memory returned. Sellers lashing out, hitting her while she was locked in her human form. The pain as his fists hit again and again. The bastard wore rings, the sharp edges causing more damage than his fists alone would have done. Anger flooding her, she locked the memory down and reached for her magic. It was there, but she couldn’t access it, like it had been locked behind a door. She could sense it, feel it, but not touch it. She hadn’t been able to ever since she’d woken in this cursed time.
“Well, it looks like a dog collar to me.”
The closer she got to waking, just a thin barrier between her and the conscious world, the louder the voices became. Their owners were close, easily within striking distance should she wish to cause them harm. She held off, assessing the situation and probing the missing gaps in her memory.
“Yeah, looks like it to me. Cheap store one.”
The voice again, the one whose tones soothed her soul and made her heart ache as deep within she felt the pull on her very essence. The rest of her memory slammed into place with a resounding click.
Her mate.
The guy with the sexy voice was her mate, the same man who’d found her in the alley and dispatched the Red Cap. What had happened after that though? She pushed at the black spot in her mind but nothing, no other details were forthcoming. She must have blacked out.
“Yeah, real cheap. I’m still not sur
e what you want me to say though. It’s a collar. Could it be a BDSM thing?”
The words from the other male stopped her thoughts in their tracks. BDSM…they thought she was a collared submissive. If she hadn’t been playing possum, she’d have laughed outright at that. Her? A submissive? Hegra’s tits, she didn’t have a submissive bone in her body.
“No, no…I don’t think so. Look again. Look properly.”
Something in his tone warned Chase a moment before magic rolled through the room, whispering over her skin to settle at her throat. Testing the collar.
“Crap. Magic. Powerful magic.”
“Yeah…no shit, Sherlock.” Her male snorted in amusement. “That much I could figure out for myself. Any idea what it is?”
She held her breath, not sure if she wanted them to know what the collar did. He was a dominant male, she’d easily gleaned that from their conversations, and if she knew anything about male dragons, if he knew she was subject to another’s will, he’d track Sellers down and confront him.
And die.
She couldn’t let that happen.
“Not a clue to be honest. I can just feel the power, not what it does. Perhaps it focuses her magic?”
She relaxed with relief, the slight movement obviously not discernable to the men who watched her.
“Could be…so it won’t hurt her?” Concern shaped her mate’s voice and she felt like a fraud for her deception. She should admit she no longer slept, let him know that she was okay. Little scrapes like this wouldn’t kill her. Yeah, but they’d been enough to knock you out. She ignored the little voice, shoving it to the back of her head as someone, her mate by the feel of it, settled on the couch next to her.
“Shouldn’t, no, but be careful, just in case?”
Gentle hands pulled her jacket free, then her shirt. The movement pulled at the torn edges of her skin, and pain lanced through her body, radiating out from her side. This couldn’t just be the damage of Sellers’ fists, he had to have had something on those rings. Some kind of—