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

by Kris Austen Radcliffe

  The Ambusti Prime. She was a thermonuclear bomb they’d accidently detonated because their talisman—their filter—was war. And war justified all weapons.

  She’d pant if she didn’t hold it together. Pant like some terrified poodle and fall onto all fours, her tail between her legs.

  Ladon’s focus shifted suddenly from the room to her. He ignored her commands for distance. Ignored them and wrapped his body around hers the way Dragon had when she activated.

  She scrunched against his chest.

  “They won’t hurt you.” His words rumbled through the room, low and vibrating as they mixed with a deafening growl from Dragon.

  Marcus appeared in the hallway leaning on Harold’s shoulder. He shuffled, his steps unsure. “I don’t know where they are. Not physically. They could still be in France, for all I know.”

  Harold’s face reddened. “You let them in on purpose? You had a seizure!” He helped Marcus to the chair but kicked at Ladon before Marcus’s backside hit the cushion. “Get out!”

  Ladon caught Harold’s leg. “You touch her and I will snap your knee. You will shriek for months. Do you understand, pedes? No one touches her.”

  Harold had been kicking at Ladon’s ribs, not Rysa’s arm. But Ladon didn’t care.

  “Ladon, let go.” He’d break Harold’s leg with the sheer pressure of his grip. Gently, she pulled his hand away.

  Harold staggered back. “Don’t come back here! You kill him too and I’ll hunt you, you bastard! I don’t care if I’m a normal, I’ll slice you open and—”

  “Harold!” Marcus sat forward in the chair. “This is not the Dracos’ doing. I set myself out as bait. I knew they couldn’t resist.” Pain radiated from him like he’d been stabbed.

  But Marcus gripped the chair arm with the same conviction Rysa had seen in his younger self’s eyes while they were in the vision. The sickness might take its due, but he’d stand against the War Babies until the day he died.

  “Only they’d have the gall to inflict the damage they did in order to force Mira out of hiding.”

  “You knew it was them?” Ladon hit the floor again. Another crack reverberated through the living room. “Why didn’t you say?”

  Marcus closed his eyes. “Daniel predicted they’d unleash ruin on the world.”

  Rysa stiffened. Her. He meant that they’d unleash her. She’d bring ruin down on everyone. She’d—

  Marcus pointed at her. “Only one Prime per family.” He waved his hand in the air.

  He didn’t mean the burning. He focused in on her cousins’ original intent—getting her mother. It took them twenty years to cut through her mom’s cloak. Now they wouldn’t let up until they accomplished their goal.

  Marcus’s hand shook. “Abilene, Texas, twenty-one years ago. Les Enfants de Guerre destroyed a Shifter medical facility. Set Burners on the place. No one knew that they’d murdered their own father and aunt.”

  Harold knelt next to the chair and touched Marcus’s back. “The healers stopped helping after that.”

  Marcus’s fingers jittered over the torque around his neck. Three cables braided around each other, each strung with a dragon hammered from entwined gold and silver. The beasts lined up across Marcus’s throat, tail to snout. “Ladon-Human divided our insignia. Fashioned us each equal parts. I’ve worn all three since my brothers passed.”

  Both his hands shook. “Les Enfants de Guerre activated on a dagger. A terrible piece, said to have belonged to Alexander the Great himself.” Marcus stroked one of the little dragons. “I saw Daniel.” With a deep inhale, he sat tall in the chair, his head held high. “It’s my time. This was fated long ago.”

  The other Marcus in the vision had been his identical triplet brother, Daniel. But he’d died a century and a half ago.

  Rysa flew across the room. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t cause Marcus’s death. Seeing Daniel wasn’t a sign he should die. It couldn’t be. “That doesn’t mean—”

  He touched her shoulder. “You must go. They will protect you.” He nodded toward the door.

  Ladon stood and dusted his knees. “Go south. I will call Dmitri.”

  “We will stay here,” Marcus said.

  “No! You go south! Dmitri will help.” Ladon pointed at Harold. “You take him to Branson. You pack all your weapons and you get on the interstate. Stay with Dmitri’s clan until Dragon and I grind that unholy triad into paste.”

  Harold ignored him. “Damn it, don’t say it’s your time.” He pushed at Rysa but she wrapped her arms around Marcus’s chest.

  She tried to hold the sobs in, to keep them under control, but it didn’t work. They jumped out of her chest. “I won’t let you die!”

  “Harold!” Ladon bellowed.

  Harold pulled away, his gaze darting between Marcus, Dragon, and Ladon. Skin reddening, he opened his mouth to yell something, but Dragon knocked his shoulder.

  “We cannot protect you. You will be in more danger if you come with us. Go now, while they’re distracted.” Ladon extended his hand to help Harold stand.

  “What…” Dazed, Marcus blinked, but Rysa didn’t feel his seer. He waved between Harold and Ladon. “It will be fine. Rysa, do you see it? Everything will be fine.”

  She wiped away tears. “Fine?” He wasn’t making sense.

  Harold looked between Ladon’s extended hand and Marcus’s face. Inhaling sharply, he nodded and gripped Ladon’s wrist.

  Ladon hauled him to his feet.

  “…Yes…” Confusion washed over Marcus’s features. “Shifters.” He pointed at Ladon.

  Harold touched Marcus’s forehead. “He’s got a fever.” He looked up at Ladon. “Dmitri damned well better help.”

  “No, no!” Rysa stammered. What did she do? She’d hurt him.

  “It is time for you to leave.” Marcus gripped Rysa’s arm. “Be careful.”

  20

  Ladon watched Harold pull out of the driveway. He took Marcus south, to Dmitri’s clan, their old truck crammed full with as many of their belongings as Dragon could fit inside. He’d put Harold’s swords under the driver’s seat, along with two of his guns.

  Dmitri yelled vulgarities through the speaker of Ladon’s whining smartphone. Ladon glowered at the phone as if his stern look could worm its way through the device. Threatening did no good. Nor was it necessary. Dmitri understood what was at stake and he’d provide the support Ladon required. “Are you done?”

  The Russian fell quiet.

  “And find Sandro Torres.” He hit the off button without finishing the conversation. The War Babies were as likely to go after Rysa’s father as Marcus. Just to be thorough. Just to cause as much agony as they could.

  Rysa waited on the bumper of the van, half a shackle in her lap. The beast concentrated his flame and heated a link he’d cut from the chains—his third attempt—to a dull glow. A couple of taps and it rounded to fit her wrist, this time without shattering. She paid no heed, staring at the now empty porch swing, her chin in her hands, silent.

  The beast nuzzled her side. An ache vibrated to Ladon, a brief flitting through her ever-present connection.

  Ladon wanted to offer comfort, but boundaries needed to be reestablished. Respect shown. So he stayed back.

  Dragon quenched her new talisman bracelet in water from the hose. She slid it onto her wrist when the beast held it out, her face expressionless. Then she handed him the shackle half and turned away, her wrist and the burndust surrounding it dropping against her thigh.

  When she came out of the Texas vision, she’d allowed him to trace his fingers over her skin, though she’d declared a need for distance. And she’d calmed his fury before it erupted onto Harold, for which he was eternally grateful.

  She’d helped him as much as Dragon had helped her.

  He tossed the phone into the van. They’d find Mira. His gut told him she wasn’t yet dead—the Burners wouldn’t harm her until her system cleared of dust, and like Rysa, no Fate could see her. It’d take carefu
l tracking, but he and Dragon would find her before the War Babies.

  He’d give Rysa back her mother, alive and able to help her daughter gain control her escalating abilities.

  Rysa’s little smile didn’t mask the pain wafting through their ever-present connection. When Marcus guided Dragon into her vision, the beast heard the grinding, hellish fire that scorched her mind with every seer flare. Heard the noise, seen the overwhelming detail, felt her world spinning.

  Mira had not lied—the pain worsened.

  And now, every twitch or hiccup she made raked Ladon’s mind, body, and soul. When she crawled into the van and buckled her seatbelt, she stared out the window. A flat echo of defeat bounced from her to Ladon and Dragon.

  “Rysa?”

  She turned in her seat, glancing at him, but her gaze dropped away. He wanted to lift her up and settle with her in the back of the van, offering the touch she needed until this cloud lifted. But his muscles tensed. She’d feel his desire to rain a Roman retribution onto her cousins. It would drop from Dragon’s talons like acid from a Burner’s finger.

  And she’d push him away.

  “Are you ready to go?”

  She nodded and looked out the window again.

  The beast curled his neck around the seat and laid his head on her lap. Dragon offered the comfort Ladon could not.

  Instead, he drove.

  They stopped in Mankato. Her new talisman bracelet clinked against the window when she stroked a finger across the glass.

  He pointed at a big box store on the other side of the parking lot. Her t-shirt and sweats twisted around her body and she looked uncomfortable. And Dragon wanted food. “Do you want to go in?” Shopping might cheer her up.

  “All I see is fire.” Her forehead pressed against the window. The pressure made the skin around her eyes lighten. “My seers whip around and I don’t know what to do.”

  “Stay with us.” The words surprised him—she needed to stay. She was too vulnerable otherwise. But they snuck out, an impulsive flaring of a desire both he and Dragon had wrestled with since the beast laid her on his blankets in Minneapolis.

  All Ladon’s muscles cinched with a sudden fear that her back would stiffen as it had when he touched her hair. Or the way it did when he’d wrapped his arm around her waist and leaned against her body.

  Her reactions had yelled volumes even as her swaying hips whispered enticements. He still felt confused.

  But now, if she batted away his words, the world would deflate again. Colors would separate and lay down, unwilling to fight or care. He and Dragon would go back to Wyoming, sleep, and listen to the echoes inside their home.

  Her breath fogged the glass. “I want to help find my mom. If they find her first, they’ll kill her. When the dust wears off and she’s visible again, you won’t know where to go without a Fate to help.”

  A shallow inhale rasped into his throat. She didn’t say “go away” or “I’m done with you.”

  You are a Prime Fate, Dragon signed. We will listen to your instructions. Correct, Human?

  Ladon exhaled, thankful for Dragon’s quick answer. “Yes.”

  She sat up tall and a little bounce straightened her back. “Really?”

  Seeing her bounce was more of a reward than any thank-you. Every time her body moved in cheer or excitement, her eyes took on a glint of the openness he’d seen when she was in her visions. The hint made it real, and maybe, if he was lucky, obtainable.

  He wanted to take her hand so she’d feel that they spoke the truth, but he pulled the key from the ignition instead. “Of course. You’re smart and you have the best heart of any Fate we’ve ever met, better even than the Draki Prime.” More of his words toppled out.

  She blinked, her lips parting. His neck tightened and he looked away. When he glanced back, she greeted him with the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

  His world slammed tight around her. He saw only her face, heard only her voice.

  A shudder ran up her spine and she shivered. A small blush crept up her neck. “Oh.” She looked away, not saying anything. But a hint of her smile reflected off the glass next to her face.

  He’d made her feel good. Not with a touch but with a soft moment. He’d reversed some of the hell which had dropped into her life.

  Ladon wanted to do it again. To kiss the delicate skin at the nape of her neck, to whisper reassurance and hold her until the fear subsided. He wanted her to know, more than anything else, that she’d be okay.

  Dragon pulled forward, blocking Ladon from Rysa. Do not think about sex, he pushed. Then he backed up, curling a warning flame at Ladon.

  I must vent before entering the building, the beast signed, so Rysa understood. I do not want to overheat. More flames curled as he cooled himself.

  Rysa tapped the dashboard, obviously grateful for the distraction. “So that’s why he breathes fire.”

  “One of the reasons, yes.”

  She peered at Ladon for a long moment. He held still so as not to jolt her again, no matter how much he wanted to push aside the stray hair on her forehead.

  “Let’s get him some food.” She popped open her door and stretched her legs.

  She’d rolled the waist of Harold’s ridiculous sweats over and they sat like a thick belt around her hips. He walked around the front of the van, his gaze following the line of her waist.

  “Dragon’s right…” Rysa’s eyes closed and she pointed off to the side. “There!”

  Ladon chuckled. Burner chaos might cloud her abilities, but she was still Prime. “Very good. When you’re confident about him, you can practice on me.”

  She slapped his arm. A delectable pout pushed out her lower lip. “Like I could miss you.” Then she bounced away, following the beast.

  If she had stayed next to him, he would have pulled her close, distance be damned.

  She hitched up Harold’s too-long sweats, her hips sashaying as she passed through the sliding doors. Dragon scaled the wall and scrambled along the girders overhead and the giant cutout bumblebees and sunglasses and picnic tables hanging from the ceiling swayed.

  “How long can he stay up there?”

  Her jaw’s perfect line invited a kiss to the delicate spot under her earlobe. “Thirty-two minutes.” But he stayed back, careful not to damage the new trust they were building. He felt buoyed by the new-but-delicate confidence she radiated now that she realized they wanted her help.

  “That’s not very long.”

  The incessant whine of the cell phones in the store would drive him out before then, anyway. He pulled a cart and twirled it with a dash of grandeur, to entertain Rysa. An older woman with a big bosom watched from the produce section, an apple in her hand and a scowl on her face. Ladon winked.

  “Food first?” The beginnings of a new smile threatened as she watched him maneuver the cart.

  I want oranges.

  She glanced up at the ceiling, her brow furrowing. “Does he eat anything other than oranges?” She set two big sacks of the fruit in the cart. “Oh! Cara Caras.” She snapped open a thin film bag. “They’re at the end of the season, but they still look good.”

  Did she hear me?

  Ask her. Ladon watched her lovely fingers pick up another Cara Cara fruit. She looked at it, then set it down.

  I do not think so.

  Besides Ladon and Sister, no one heard either of the dragons, except for one Shifter, centuries ago. Rysa didn’t respond. Maybe it was her seers.

  I will continue trying.

  She waved a Cara Cara under Ladon’s nose. “These are the best oranges. He’ll like them.”

  “Anything you pick out, he will like.” Dragon would eat kumquats if Rysa asked him to.

  I dislike kumquats and kiwis. If Rysa asked, I would not eat them.

  Yes, you would.

  “You need to eat, too.” Her shoulders squared as she set the fruit in the cart. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” This time, a finger waved under his nose.

&n
bsp; He jammed his hands into his pockets to keep from stroking her arm. “I don’t get hungry when I’m fighting.”

  “Well, you’re not fighting right now, are you? And vodka and moldy pizza don’t count.” She pointed at the leafy vegetables. “Spinach? Kale for Dragon? Maybe some salads. Do you good.”

  I told you the drinking would upset her.

  Ladon frowned at the ceiling.

  “He’s chastising you, isn’t he?” She dropped all manner of salad into the cart, along with a loaf of bread. “Come on. I need clothes.”

  In Women’s Apparel, she yanked a pair of jeans off a rack.

  “Won’t fit.” He pointed at a different display. “Those.” He’d run his hands over her hips enough to have a good sense of her proportions. This time, he gripped the handle on the cart.

  Her eyebrow rose. “Is that so?” The wrong jeans went back onto the rack as she asked.

  “Yes.” It took considerable effort to keep his gaze from dropping to her belly. He tossed a couple of t-shirts into the cart instead.

  Color touched her cheeks as she looked away. She’d been blushing a lot since they stopped. He wanted to nibble on her ear and feel the heat against his lips, but also to stand between her and all that caused her discomfort.

  The jeans he’d pointed out landed on top of the shirts. “Not just black stuff, Mr. Monochrome.” A couple more colorful items fell into the basket. “I need underwear.”

  An image of her in thin underthings jumped into his mind and he clenched his throat, fighting a groan.

  “Intimate Apparel is over there. So is Footwear.” She pointed, either oblivious to his effort or choosing to ignore it. “Could you get me some shoes? Size 8. And socks. But not all black ones.” She gave him a little shove.

  He walked away, doing his best to focus on his task. She couldn’t stomp a Burner with anything they had here, so he chose garish athletic shoes.

  Perhaps the new clothes would make her feel better. Her fingers gliding over the skin of his shoulders would make him feel better. Her kisses would calm his raging mind. He’d do the same for her. Take his time. Find all the spots on her neck and along her rib cage and evaporate her anxiety like dew from her skin.