The Witch Thief (Harlequin Nocturne)

by Lori Devoti

  Fafnir had drained each dragon’s power by drinking their blood from the cup. But what if the cup didn’t exist? What if its magic was destroyed?

  The Collector reloaded the crossbow and fired again. Then suddenly, as if he had flipped a switch, the arrows began to speed from the bow as quickly as the other dwarves’ guns had fired bullets, rapidly, with no pause and no end in sight of his supply. Joarr flung up his wing, shielding Amma and his torso. The arrows pierced the scales on his wing. A few even made their way completely through so their metal tips were visible to Joarr, poking out of the underside of his wing. The metal burned and blood streamed down his scales, like tears. But, as he had told the Collector, they did little lasting damage, and none that a few nights’ sleep wouldn’t heal.

  He glanced at Amma. She hadn’t moved; she seemed completely unconscious now. Seeing her lying there, helpless, shifted his focus. He had already decided he wasn’t going to take the Collector up on his offer to trade the dragons for Amma, and now he didn’t care about the Collector at all, not about his arrows or his unhealthy ideas of stealing from the dragons. Without Joarr’s help, the dragons could easily handle one dwarf, even if he was the Collector.

  No, the real threat to Amma and the dragons was the object Joarr had been ordered to protect—the chalice. Joarr had to destroy the chalice, and with Amma unconscious, he was going to have to do it alone.

  He prayed that what Amma had done for him, the magic she had siphoned off Fafnir, would be enough…that his fire would be enough.

  He opened his mouth and thought of her, thought of their child waiting for his chance at life inside her. Thought of the dragons, not as the uncaring, heartless lizards he often called them, but as little boys like he had once been. Little boys who would be much better off once the dragons gave up their outdated beliefs—forgot chalices and bans on male and female dragons bonding, forgot about controlling—and just lived.

  And he let fire, hotter than any he had ever created, rip from his throat.

  The Collector yelled and a new volley of arrows pierced Joarr’s wing, side and neck. He couldn’t block the dwarf and concentrate on destroying the chalice, too. So, he let the arrows bite into his scales unheeded, let the pain feed his determination and fury.

  The blaze roaring from his throat hit the chalice. The cup moved, rolled away from the heat as if alive and retreating. Joarr shuffled closer and dug deeper into his core. This time pure blue flame erupted from his throat.

  It hit the cup, and the jewels on the thing winked at him, as if he and it were part of some huge cataclysmic joke. His body ached and not just from the arrows. Creating this much fire this hot was taking its toll. Then he glanced at Amma. She moved. Not much but some. Her eyes fluttered and she started to cough.

  Suddenly Joarr’s pain was gone; his aches and fatigue were gone. He closed his eyes and concentrated on nothing but his fire and destroying the cursed artifact he’d spent his life thinking he had to protect.

  Chapter 25

  Amma opened her eyes. Light burned into them, caused her to lift her hand to shield them. And heat…there was so much heat. She tried to lift her head, but it was heavy, unnaturally so, as if someone had tied bricks to the back of it. She let her head fall back to the ground with a thump, didn’t even mind the throb as it connected with the concrete. It just felt good to be lying still. She wanted to close her eyes again, to drift off and never wake up, but she knew somehow that was a bad idea…something she couldn’t allow herself to do. She had to fight… Someone had said that recently to her, yelled at her and made her angry.

  She opened and closed her fingers, forced blood through them, and magic. Where was her magic? It didn’t matter; magic hung in the air, tingled around her. Dragon magic, from shifting. She drew it in like spring air into her lungs, refreshing, rejuvenating.

  Instantly, she felt more alive, and just as instantly she remembered where she was and what had happened. With rough, jerky resolve, she shoved her body to a sit. And saw why she was hot.

  Joarr in his dragon form, his gaze narrowed to the point she doubted he could see anything at all, stood only a few feet away blasting fire hotter than any she’d ever seen or felt at the chalice.

  The chalice. She scrambled, trying to stand. He was trying to destroy the chalice, but the dragons needed the chalice, Joarr needed the chalice. Her son needed the chalice. Her brain was foggy, but she remembered her plan—to give the chalice to Joarr, then steal it back.

  Confused, she glanced around, but Joarr blocked her view completely. All she could see was the chalice, Joarr and the intent determination with which he was trying to destroy it.

  Something exploded. Amma staggered. Smoke billowed from behind Joarr.

  They weren’t alone; someone else was behind Joarr, fighting him, trying to stop him from destroying the chalice. She should join them, save the chalice, steal it.

  There was another explosion; Joarr flinched, but kept up his attack.

  She walked forward on her knees, raised her hands to pull in more power. It filled her, warmed her, and suddenly she knew what she had to do.

  Trembling with the effort, she turned her hands toward the chalice.

  If Joarr thought the chalice needed to be destroyed, she’d damn well help him.

  * * *

  Something hit Joarr in the back. Something much bigger than an arrow. A small cannonball, Joarr guessed. He’d been hit by them before, but not for years.

  The Collector must have grown impatient. Too bad for him, dragons were the most patient beings in the nine worlds. And too bad for Joarr that his battle with the chalice had gone on so long, long enough he could feel the end of his reserves wasn’t far away.

  Then what? A dragon without fire or ice, faced with the most highly armed dwarf of all time. How long could Joarr last against him?

  He guessed he would find out, because nothing was going to pull him away from his mission to destroy the chalice.

  As the thought hardened, he saw something from the corner of his eye. At first he thought it was the dwarf or one of his minions, that they had figured a way around him, to his front where he would be more vulnerable. But then he felt the familiar, soothing warmth of Amma and her magic.

  It streamed from her hands in two blue bands and joined with his fire as it struck the chalice. Light flared, red, purple, blue. The heat intensified to the point Joarr leaned backward to escape it.

  Fire so pure, so intense and so hot, Joarr had never experienced anything like it before.

  It struck the chalice. The cup jumped, or seemed to. Then with no other warning, there was a gurgling pop and the cup exploded into gold-tinted mist. Only the jewels remained, still beautiful as ever, red, green and blue, and still winking.

  * * *

  Amma stared at her hand; it glistened. A golden sheen decorated everything, even Joarr, who was still in his dragon form. He glanced at her and then the dragon was gone, replaced by the man. He moved toward her, his stride quick, strong and determined. She took a step back, remembering what she had done, that he knew she had tried to hide their baby’s existence, but he was beside her before she could do more than think about escaping.

  “You’re all right.” He gathered her into his arms and pulled her close to his chest. Warmth radiated from him, and damn her weak soul, she lapped it up, snuggled up against his chest and inhaled his intoxicatingly spicy scent.

  She put her hand against his chest and pushed. “Don’t. I…” She looked away. What was there to say? “You destroyed the cup.”

  He placed his hand over her fingers. “The cup wasn’t what the dragons thought it was. Fafnir used it to drain the dragons’ power. The cup had killed them. I destroyed it so it couldn’t be used against the dragons again.

  “You gave Fafnir your blood,” he added.

  She glanced at his elbow where she had pierced his skin. She’d planned to do as Fafnir had asked, but then realized the blood had to be tied to the dragons’ deaths somehow. So, she
’d used her own. “I thought whatever he was doing only affected dragons. But, after I gave it to him…I got so tired and weak. It was Fafnir, wasn’t it?” She closed her eyes, screwed them shut to block out the pain. She’d endangered her son. Her eyes still closed, she forced out more words. “I thought whatever he was doing only affected dragons. I didn’t think…because…” She paused; she knew Joarr knew about their son now, but still it was hard to say out loud. She’d concentrated so intently on keeping it from him. “I thought he was only getting my blood.” Not their son’s.

  She had been so stupid.

  “What happened to you has nothing to do with our son.” Joarr’s voice was soft, comforting.

  Amma looked at him, surprised. Where was his rage? She deserved it for so many things. Then it hit her. There was no reason for him to be angry; by dragon law he had all rights to their baby. Yes, she’d given him the chalice, but there were no witnesses…and seriously, he was a dragon, would be backed by the entire dragon force. How had she thought she could win?

  Her mind was racing, but Joarr didn’t seem to notice. He repeated what he’d just said, that her weakness had nothing to do with their son.

  She blinked. “So, the chalice didn’t just work against dragons? It worked against witches or elves, as well?”

  “Not exactly.” Joarr turned, his gaze shooting to a bedraggled and angry-looking Collector. “Why don’t you tell her?”

  The Collector laughed. “For what? I don’t give away information for free.”

  Joarr pushed Amma behind him. “This information was already paid for by her.” He glanced at Amma. “Time to pay.”

  The Collector pulled off his hat and ran his feather through his half-closed hand. “Surely you have a better offer than that.”

  Joarr took a step toward him. “Oh, I do. I’m sure the Ormar would be very interested in the deal you proposed to me.”

  The Collector’s countenance darkened.

  “And I bet they’d be even more interested in where all your treasure is stored.”

  The Collector’s hand tightened around the feather. It snapped in two. In two short, jerky moves of his body, he turned to face Amma. “Your father was not an elf. Your father was a dragon. Still is as far as I know.”

  Amma went cold inside. Her mouth fell open and her hand pressed against her abdomen. “But you said… I went to Alfheim…”

  The Collector waved his hand in front of his face. “And the elves rejected you.” His eyes cold, he lifted one brow. “Trust me, it is better than what the dragons would have done to you.”

  He looked back at Joarr. “Done. Satisfied?”

  Amma had lost all feeling in her hands and feet. She could feel her heart, though; it was beating wildly. She could feel blood and magic coursing through her, too. Based on what the Collector had told her, she had gone to Alfheim and declared herself to some random… She looked at the Collector. Her jaw tight, said, “The elves you sent me to, was there…?”

  He shook his head. He looked bored; not one speck of remorse was visible. “Nothing to you. They had shorted me on a deal not too long before that.”

  And those elves had been responsible for Amma losing one hundred years of her life. The rage hardened inside her. She fisted her hands and took a step forward.

  This time when the Collector looked at her, he didn’t look bored. His eyes rounded and he glanced to the side. A rope hung only a foot away; he dived for it, digging in his pocket as he did. There was a click as he flicked a switch on some gadget he had stored in his never-ending pockets. His short body wrapped around the rope and it jerked upward. Within seconds, he was at the ceiling. Amma fired, anyway. Balls this time, round, hot balls of fire and molten anger.

  She had given up so much, and for what?

  The balls smashed into the floor below the Collector. He glanced down once, then hopped onto the overhang and scurried out of sight.

  An arm wrapped around her waist. She felt and smelled Joarr behind her…heat and spice, warm and soothing. But anger still pulsed inside her. She wanted to find the dwarf and make him pay for what he’d done.

  “He’s gone now,” Joarr murmured.

  Her body stiff, Amma didn’t reply. She twisted slightly, her eyes scanning for some sign of the dwarf.

  “He’ll have an escape route, probably dozens of them,” Joarr murmured.

  She kept her gaze where she’d last seen the dwarf, as if she expected him to pop back out, like a rat from a hole.

  “I won’t take our son from you.”

  Amma’s shoulders dropped, but she didn’t turn, couldn’t.

  “It wouldn’t be fair to him or you.” Joarr swallowed; he blew out a breath. “The dragons don’t have to know.”

  She did turn then. “You’re honoring our deal?”

  He dropped his gaze to the floor briefly. Then looked back up. Acceptance filled his eyes. “If you choose to look at it like that, but he needs you.”

  “He…” She wasn’t sure how to say what her lips burned to say. It was unheard of in the dragon world. “He needs a father, too.”

  Joarr smiled, self-mocking. “Not that, he doesn’t.” He nodded to Fafnir’s lifeless wyrm body. “That’s what awaits me. Keep him from that. Keep him from me.”

  He pressed a kiss against her lips. It was soft, lingering and sad. Then he turned and strode from the bar.

  The Collector completely forgotten, Amma ran after Joarr, but his legs were too long, his stride too filled with purpose. By the time she reached the street, he was nowhere in sight. She looked up; clouds filled the sky…Joarr as a dragon, flying from her, leaving her and their son.

  Her hand on her stomach, she closed her eyes. This was what she had hoped and planned for, but the pain at losing Joarr…she hadn’t planned on.

  Chapter 26

  It had been two weeks since Amma ran out of the Collector’s club chasing after Joarr. She’d stayed in the human world. She had nowhere else to go, and after losing Joarr, she’d been lost and morose. She tried to think of their son, but that depressed her even more.

  Her son, who would never know his father. If she chose, he would never even have to know his father was a dragon. He’d grow up like her…exactly like her, feeling deserted and disconnected. Of course, he would be three-quarters dragon versus her half. He would be much more likely to exhibit dragon powers from the beginning of life.

  Half. She was half-dragon. She still hadn’t processed that.

  She spent another day trying to come to grips with everything, trying to figure out her next step. Female dragons lived somewhere, together, she assumed. But she had no female dragon family, unless her father had other daughters.

  More sisters… She didn’t need more sisters that didn’t see her as their equal.

  She needed a family. Her son needed a family.

  What was she doing, hiding here in the human world from the life he deserved?

  She headed to the nearest portal.

  * * *

  Joarr sat on a rock, staring out over the mountains that surrounded the dragons’ realm. He’d done it; he’d pushed the Ormar too far. He’d returned and told them everything except that Amma was pregnant. That information he would hide from them, protect with his life.

  But he’d told them that he’d destroyed the chalice. He’d told them why, too, even though he’d known it wouldn’t matter, that they wouldn’t listen. They claimed it wasn’t his place to make the decision, that even if his story was true, the Ormar should have been presented with the chalice and made the decision.