Games of Fate (Fate ~ Fire ~ Shifter ~ Dragon #1)

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  She leaned toward the man, still in the forelimbs of the dragon. His steady and perfect heart beat strong under her fingers.

  She whispered, “You are Human. He is Dragon. Together, you are Ladon.” She knew, but she didn’t understand. Their energy curled around her like Dragon had when he protected her from the explosion. Everything forward reverberated with them, with Dragon’s colors. With Ladon’s speed and strength. She would be fine.

  She clasped his palm. “Thank you.” She would be fine.

  Ladon glanced at Dragon and his expression loosened into a wide-eyed roundness. His attention diverted from the shackles still binding her wrists, he stroked her forehead. “You’re burning up.”

  With nothing—with everything—Rysa activated. Her mind stepped through the rabbit hole into Wonderland. Stepped through while her body was held in the forelimbs of a beast she didn’t know, but would. All while holding the hand of a man whose strength calmed the raging whirlwinds behind her eyes.

  Hot-cold power burst from her skin, leaving her new, transformed. She felt Ladon brace himself but he didn’t falter. He didn’t let go.

  He took her from the beast and carried her down the street. Dragon followed and Rysa felt what was to come. She sucked in her breath, not because she couldn’t breathe, but because the future exploded in her head.

  3

  Two nights before, when Ladon and Dragon backed their van toward the rear door of his cousin-in-law’s bar in Branson, Missouri, they hadn’t planned on chasing Burners. They hadn’t planned on rescuing an activating Fate, either. They’d planned to pick up supplies: the two Israeli assault rifles Ladon’s sister wanted, the new Burner harpoon—the one he lost tonight saving the Fate—plus a couple of cases of premium vodka and a new smartphone with more damned apps than Ladon could ever want.

  Then the East Chicago Shifter clan called. Ladon’s cousin-in-law, Dmitri, held out his own phone, a drink in his other hand and a scowl on his Russian face. A particularly virulent Burner gang moved west from Ohio. They burned libraries and churches and ate every Shifter they found, taking some directly from their homes.

  The Shifters, for all their mercurial abilities, had yet to develop a talent for evading Burners. Their breed morphed, healed, enthralled—plus a host of other annoying traits Ladon didn’t care to remember—but they still pleaded for help. And Ladon and Dragon still responded.

  So Dmitri stood in the parking lot of The Land of Milk and Honey and watched Ladon cram rifles and vodka into the storage compartments under the floor of their big van. Both Ladon and Dragon found this vehicle more comfortable than the military transport they used to drive. And less obvious. If normals weren’t paying attention, they’d think the van was a delivery truck.

  His cousin-in-law slapped the side of the vehicle and waved them off, his perpetual Russian gloom the same as it was when Ladon met him over a half century ago.

  So Ladon drove away, as tired as when he’d pulled into the parking lot of Dmitri’s expansive bar-slash-entertainment complex. As tired and fed up as he’d feel when he dealt with the Burners in the Dells, twelve hours later.

  And just as tired as he now felt as he drove away from the St. Paul campus of the University of Minnesota, where he’d tracked the Burners for what he’d thought—he’d hoped—would be the last time.

  Tracked them and let them go so he could protect the lone Fate who now lay unconscious in the back of his van.

  He pulled the parking brake and turned off the ignition. He’d found a lonely retail complex with a shadow-filled parking lot seven miles north of the campus—a secluded place where they could deal with the problem moaning on Dragon’s blankets.

  Ladon looked back at the young woman. Only dim light filtered in through the roof vents but he saw her twitch. The chains rattled and a hollow clink resounded through the van.

  A jolt of worry pulsed from Dragon.

  Ladon did his best to ignore it. Fates weren’t Shifters. They were a completely different issue, one requiring caution.

  He unbuckled and crouched on the step up to the back of the vehicle. Fates never had problems with Burners. Fates never had problems, period. Past, present, or future, one of the triad always knew what the hell was going on.

  Except maybe this one.

  She is injured, Dragon pushed into his mind. The beast hovered over the girl, nuzzling her hair and sniffing her chest. He’d covered her with a blanket and now fussed with its edges, tucking and untucking every time the slightest whimper crossed her lips.

  Ladon squeezed the side of the passenger seat and the leather deformed under his fingers. They wouldn’t have chased those damned Burners across Wisconsin if they had known Fates were involved.

  That is not true. Dragon snorted out a small curl of flame.

  “Yes, it is.” They stayed away from Fates, even beautiful ones who’d just activated.

  How many Shifters did those Burners eat? They murdered over a dozen normals when they attacked that mall. You would have helped, even if you knew a Fate was involved. The beast sniffed at the girl’s hair again. She needs our help as much as the Shifters.

  Her chest rose and fell in shallow inhales. She moaned again, still unconscious. Ladon stared, unwilling to move closer. Best to be careful and keep his distance.

  The beast lifted one of her wrists. Her burns are not bad. The chains bounced against the floor and filled the van with a discordant rasp. She will not blister.

  Ladon crossed his arms. The plating on his jacket rattled when he rolled his shoulders. She may be hurt and unconscious, but she was still a Fate. “Quit clucking over her like a damned hen.”

  Dragon waved his head side-to-side. Do not yell.

  “I am not yelling! We need to get rid of her.” Fast, before her family showed up.

  Dragon draped his talons over her hip. His irritation poked at the edges of Ladon’s mind like nettle spines rubbing his skin. The patterns on the beast’s hide sped up and he dropped his head low, one big cat eye glaring at Ladon. She needs our help.

  Ladon knelt next to the girl. Terror still contorted her face but it didn’t hide her beauty. The lush roundness of her body and the warm glow of her skin indicated Spanish somewhere in her ancestry. The enticing tones of her thick hair suggested something else mixed in as well—maybe Irish. Yet the planes of her face seemed Germanic.

  And her eyes… Did he see what he thought he’d seen in the street next to the campus parking lot? The way she’d looked at him right before she blacked out had held more openness than he’d seen from a woman in a very long time, if ever.

  He sat back. The smooth curves of her breasts and hips might entice, but gaining control of the situation had to be his priority. He’d long ago had his fill of women and their demands. And their disappointed looks and their leaving. He didn’t need aggravation from one with the ability to see the past, the present, or the future.

  Ladon stared out into the parking lot as he unzipped his jacket. Dragon’s nascent attachment was influencing his responses. It had to be. Fates caused more problems than they solved.

  Most of the time. Except when they wanted to help.

  “She can’t stay with us.” Whichever Fate ability she had—seeing the past, the present, or the future—wasn’t enough to justify keeping her around.

  Ladon threw his jacket at the van wall. Giving in was not an option. Not with a Fate.

  The jacket’s plating caught the back of the passenger seat. A loud rip screeched through the van as the armor opened a hole in the seat’s leather.

  “Oh for the love of the gods!” First the Burners escape. Then a Fate in his van. Now damage to his seats?

  The top of an empty vodka bottle poked out from under a stray t-shirt. The weight rolled around his wrist as his fingers maneuvered the glass. He threw the bottle at the rip, neck first. It hit and lodged in the frame, the body angled toward the van’s roof.

  A low grumble rolled from Dragon.

  Grumbling back, Ladon kicked a
pile of magazines and clothes into the corner. “So what do we do with her?”

  She must come with us. The beast began cleaning her wounds. He fully retracted his talons and flattened his digits, his huge claw-hands taking on an almost human-like shape. Even after all the centuries they’d shared, Ladon still didn’t understand how Dragon manipulated his bones to create such changes.

  Or how he managed to do such delicate work.

  The beast gently wrapped the burns in bandages and tucked the material between her skin and the cuffs. Stubborn as he was, he’d continue to minister to the girl until he felt she was safe. He’d ignore all of Ladon’s words and every pulse of annoyance he pushed to the beast. Dragon saw an injured young woman and not a Fate, and he was going to treat her as such, no matter how vigorously Ladon objected.

  Ladon knelt next to her again and peered at the perfect contours of her face. She’d been unconscious for longer than she should be. Fates were supposed to activate as a bonded triad of three seers. Activating alone might have done some hidden damage. “Are you sure she’s okay?”

  What were they going to do with a sick Fate?

  He touched her forehead. Did the boys see her beauty? Or did they keep their distance? Most normals sidestepped around Fates, both the activated and the unactivated. They muttered words like “odd” and “untrustworthy.” Then they pointed fingers and screamed “Witch!” and burned the Fate at the stake.

  The beast sniffed her hair and shoulders. I do not know. He paused. You must cut the chains.

  Dragon pulled the bolt cutters from the tool storage under the floor. At thirteen feet from snout to tip-of-tail and twice Ladon’s width, Dragon was cramped. The beast’s body alone was the size of a table capable of seating six people. But the van provided room enough for him to at least turn and stretch his neck and tail.

  Ladon refused to take the cutters when the beast held them out. “You do it. You’re the one fretting.”

  You fret as well.

  “No, I do not.” Perfect breasts under a tight t-shirt, perfect hips under tight jeans—she’d continue to be a distraction.

  Not all Fates are bad. Dragon nuzzled her again. No one deserves to be locked to Burners.

  Ladon’s jaw tightened. The beast was correct—not all Fates were bad. This one didn’t seem to be. Though good ones were few and far between.

  And she’d never be part of a triad. Never understand the bond that came with it. And because of the burndust in the shackles, her Fate’s seer was now and forever locked to the chaos of the Burners.

  He sat back on his heels. She did need their help.

  Dragon nudged Ladon’s shoulder. This is not her fault.

  Ladon nodded, touching the girl’s elbow. Like them, she’d been caught in this disaster. Unlike them, though, she couldn’t walk away from its consequences.

  He picked up the bolt cutters to snap the links connected to the cuffs. They’d need to cut off the restraints, but if he cut the chains now she could move when she woke up. He leaned forward, the cutters ready.

  Her eyes flew open.

  Surprise bent him backward. Her Fate’s seer reverberated through the van, rich and oscillating and as beautiful as the moonlight color of her irises. It washed over him, warming the connection he shared with Dragon as it sensed for information about either the past, the present, or the future. Feeling a seer normally made Ladon groan and crunch his nose as if he smelled something foul. But not hers. It felt incredible.

  She is not awake. Dragon poked her with his snout, first on her left cheek, then her right. She ignored him. A vision takes her.

  “Uncalled?” A Fate used her ability to harness the seer inside. The seer didn’t use the Fate.

  At least for every Fate he’d ever known.

  Dragon grabbed for her waist but she dodged, the chains rattling. Her hand splayed on the blankets and her hips twisted. One foot planted and the other pushed.

  Ladon fell flat on his back, the girl holding his arms against the floor, her chains spread over his chest. The strength of her limbs held him firm as she straddled his hips, her thighs tight around his waist.

  Dragon snorted.

  Shut up, Ladon pushed. Are you going to help?

  Why? the beast pushed back. You do not want help. She is lovely.

  The way her pelvis ground in slow waves against his shoved aside his anger and a new emotion coursed from his belly. A grin worked across his face. “Well, now.” Dragon might be right. Maybe they should keep her around. He could use some distraction.

  She stared down at him, her expression open and inviting.

  A lock of her hair dropped to his cheek and glided like silk over his skin. It kissed his lips when more fell across his chin, a touch more intimate than he’d felt in centuries.

  Her eyes, soft yet intense, held his purpose. Her touch, gentle where she grasped his arms, made him want to weave his fingers into hers. The beat of her heart moved from her skin to his and his own pulse steadied.

  He breathed in her sweet, complex scent.

  “Lovely” didn’t come close to describing the woman who pinned him to the floor.

  But a blankness fluctuated with her openness. Nothing and everything reverberated across her features. Ladon guessed she saw only her Fate’s seer playing through her mind’s eye.

  Ladon’s grin vanished. “Pretty Fate, can you hear me?”

  4

  Something sucked at Rysa’s skull. Something new and burning and… nasty. She felt as if someone had grafted a new limb to her forehead. Her brain tried to figure out how to control it but the thing wouldn’t listen. It kept turning on her, slapping Burner chemicals across first one cheek and then the other, then flailing around in the air like some horrific sea monster’s tentacle.

  Or tentacles—she couldn’t tell. This new nasty thing fuzzed out like a vanishing Dragon. She couldn’t perceive it, even though she knew it was there—they were there. Maybe she had an entire Burner octopus in her head.

  A big, squishy, nasty octopus that burned sat on her mind.

  Words cut through the haze. Someone spoke to her: “Pretty Fate, can you hear me?”

  Ladon. The man, richly voiced and as warm as the sun. The dragon, brilliant and swift, bright as the stars. They spoke and colors swirled with words in patterns of place and thought. It caressed her, distracting the new thing in her head.

  “Wake up.” Pretty, lovely Fate. Golden-brown eyes watched her with more attention than she’d ever seen from a man.

  The nasty thing in her head whipped and memories dropped into her vision: Gavin called her pretty. He didn’t speak to her again for the rest of their lunch as they sat in the student union eating peanut butter sandwiches and stale chips.

  Her ex-boyfriend Tom called her pretty. In the vision, his lips forming the word, but no sound came out. His shoulders thrust forward and he dug his fingers into her back.

  The energy flowing around her in the real world carried a different word—beautiful. It smoothed over her skin and she knew Ladon would never dig his fingers into her back.

  He lifted her off his hips and set her against Dragon’s chest. Stars looped along the beast’s hide, filling her eyes with the music of shape and color.

  When she was a child, her father placed a kaleidoscope nightlight under her bed, the kind that threw planets and moons and comets and shooting stars onto her walls. The patterns and colors danced out from under her bed, stretched by the angle of light to floor into funhouse shapes five times the length of her hand, and she knew she was safe from the monsters.

  In the real world, she splayed her fingers over the colors dancing on Dragon’s hide.

  A firm but gentle touch stroked her arm. “What are you seeing? You need to wake up.”

  The nasty thing whipped another memory: Her father said “pretty girl” with a wink and a grin. Then he left, disappearing one day while she toiled at school, almost crying when she didn’t finish the math test because she couldn’t pay attention t
o the numbers on the page.

  A bottle appeared. “Drink some water.”

  She sipped, hoping to wash away the other memories pressing against the inside of her head.

  “What’s your name?” Ladon watched every muscle-twitch, every glance her eyes made, every expression. “Can you hear me?”

  “You are Ladon. Human and Dragon,” she whispered.

  His hand rested on her shoulder. “That’s right. What’s your name?”

  “Rysa Torres.”

  “That’s a pretty name. It’s Latin. It means ‘laughter.’ Did you know that?”

  “I thought it meant ‘tower.’”

  A smile, as brilliant as the dragon’s hide, lit his face. “Laughter of the Tower, you are.”

  “In your eyes, I see. It stops the nasty thing in my skull.” The words drifted out, a truth set free into the river of energy flowing between man and beast.

  His smile transformed into something bright and perfect. “What are you seeing?” But then his lips rounded and confusion spread across his features.

  She’d see the light again. It would fill his eyes and he’d touch all of her and everything would be fine.

  Her hand lifted to touch his cheek.

  The normal parts of her brain, the parts the nasty thing had hijacked with its whipping tentacles and its vision-memories, those real parts released a firestorm of Danger! Terror!

  Scream now!

  The real world slammed down and the visions burst like the fire bubbles had when she first activated. Iron twisted over bandages. When did they bandage her wrists? Dull, thick, the shackles sucked away all her body’s heat.

  The chemical stench of the ghouls hung around her, drifting from her clothes. It mixed with hints of engine oil, strong liquor, and day-old pizza.

  A shriek wailed from her throat. “Get them off me! Please—” The ghouls shackled her. “Please!”

  Ladon grabbed the chains and pulled her to him, snapping the link connected to her left wrist. Repeating the action, he locked the cutters onto the link on her right. The chains fell away.