Dragon Seeker [Part One]

by Carina Wilder

  He pulled back, looking down into her eyes, his own narrowing with carnal desire. Need pulsed through him, a throbbing entity overpowering his will. He wanted to say Yes so, so badly. To give himself over to her. To take her for his own, regardless of the risk. Deep within him, his Dragon approved, a fiery growl of consent rising up in its throat. She was the one, he knew. She was to be his.

  But then the human in Lyre, that overwhelmed, devastatingly flawed body, remembered. A silent, desperate apology moved over his features, conquering any previous expression in one swift blow.

  I’m so sorry. The words read on his face just as easily as if they’d been written on a sheet of paper.

  As though to reinforce the message, though, he pulled his phone from his pocket once again and typed a new message:

  I want you so badly that it’s killing me. But I can’t be with you, Beatrix. Not tonight. Not ever.

  And just like that, he rose from his seat and walked to the door without turning around. Stepping into the street he shifted once again, the Dragon exploding from his body almost as an act of rebellion, and took off for the sky.

  Trix remained frozen in her seat, too weakened to move.

  Somehow, her life had just walked out that door and soared into the night sky without her, and she was left to mourn the loss.

  A Stranger

  Lifting one leg in front of the other, Trix felt as though they were made of lead. Nothing drove her now towards the comfort of her bed; no doubt this night would end as sleeplessly as every night had for the last few weeks.

  And now she knew what she hadn’t known before: that the raven-haired godling was out of her reach. That the fantasies, the thoughts of him would have to end. She was going to have to find a way to banish him from her mind, and it was going to hurt like hell.

  Not only was he not hers, but he’d told her he’d never be hers. Never. One of the harshest, ugliest words in the English language. It was so final, so hopeless. And yet, those lips had caressed her neck so sensually. She’d felt all of it—his desire, his lust. She knew how much he craved her.

  But it had been a cruel tease. They’d never do it again. That hand on her arm, the sweet, intimate images he’d conveyed to her mind—never again. He’d been cruel to offer her such closeness. But probably not deliberately cruel. He was too good a man, too kind-hearted, to mess with her mind.

  Trix kept her head down, her hood drawn up as she strolled, heading towards her neighbourhood. What a surreal fucking night. And what an awful ending. It felt like the life had been drained out of her; worse, even, than if the fucking Forsaken had sucked all the blood out of her veins.

  She’d finally reached St. Sepulchre’s Church, several blocks from her flat, when her senses flared to life. A reminder that the London streets weren’t completely safe these days. That there were still Lapsed about, the Forsaken were on the move, and she was now completely on her own. Instinctively she reached for her thigh-sheath, fingers wrapping around the hilt of a sai blade as she drew it, slowing her pace in order to listen for footfalls.

  Behind her, she could hear the pulsing of shallow breaths. Someone was walking, trying to catch her up, but not running at least. Trix took a few more steps before twisting sideways, pressing her back to the wall beside her, face turning to look back the way she’d come.

  But instead of advancing, the figure following her froze as the Hunter’s eyes made contact with hers. A woman. It was a woman, dressed in dark, flowing clothing. A hood drawn over her own head, her features all but obscured in shadow. Trix had no patience for games at the moment; too much had already happened. Drawing the white-bladed weapon up next to her face to display its razor sharp tip, she took off at a near-run, striding rapidly towards the silent figure.

  “Who the hell are you?” Trix hissed, drawing her right elbow up and back, the blade pointing towards the woman at eye level. “And why are you following me?”

  The stranger pulled her hood back, revealing skin the same colour as the blade: bone-white, translucent. And eyes that shone in the darkness of the night. Her features were beautiful, though something about her looked sickly, drained, as though weakened by a prolonged illness.

  “My name is Amara,” she said softly, eyes meeting Trix’s. “I’m here, believe it or not, to help you.”

  “To help?” Something about the woman sent a crisp shiver along the Hunter’s flesh. She was too much like the Forsaken that Lyre had slain only hours earlier. Too white, too inhuman to be an ally. Allies were Dragon shifters. Allies were strong.

  “I want to help the Dragons to find what they need. And I wish to assist you as well, Seeker.”

  Seeker. This was what the Guild members had called Neko. It was the title given to the human tasked with locating one of the four Relics. A title reserved for the lover—the mate—of a Dragon shifter.

  “Why…why did you call me that?” Trix asked, her breath catching deep in her chest.

  “Because that’s what you are. That’s who you are; it’s deep in your blood, in your very soul. And when they call on you to fulfill your destiny, you must follow through.”

  “When who calls on me?” Intrigue was melding with frustration. Riddles. It was too late at night for riddles, and Trix was too emotionally exhausted to decipher the woman’s meaning.

  “The Kindred—the Dragons—will make a request of you, and soon. Help them, and in so doing you’ll help yourself. You know what it is that you need—what you want. You want him.”

  “Are you—are you talking about Lyre? How the hell would you know a thing like that?” Trix once again raised the blade, threatening. “Were you watching us earlier?” The thought of anyone witnessing her moment of bliss, followed by her moment of profound disappointment, was too much. Anger bubbled up inside her.

  “No, I wasn’t watching you. But I have gifts, just as your Dragon man does. Just as you do. We see with more than our eyes. You should know that by now.”

  Of course Trix knew; she’d spoken telepathically to Lyre’s Dragon on more than one occasion. She’d seen him shoot ice from his throat. She knew all too well what they were capable of.

  “So why aren’t you talking to the Kindred yourself? Why don’t you tell them you want to help?”

  The woman’s face took on an expression that wrenched at Trix’s heart. She looked…abandoned. Lonely, isolated, as though she didn’t belong in this world. “That’s rather complicated,” she said softly. “The Dragon shifters would see me as an enemy, at least at first. I prefer to stay away from their kind for the time being.”

  “And yet you’re not worried about getting involved in their business,” Trix replied, stiffening once again. “Or mine.”

  “Your business is intimately tied up in my own, I’ll admit. You want some of the Forsaken to be taken down, as do I. You want to strengthen the Dragon Guild, as do I. We have a great deal in common, Beatrix.”

  Trix came close to asking how the woman knew her name, but clearly there was no point. She probably knew what colour knickers the Hunter was wearing, too, for fuck’s sake. “You said some of the Forsaken. Why not all of them?”

  Amara let out a sigh. “Those whom you call Forsaken are half-breeds. But not all half-breeds are cruel. Some want only to survive in this world.”

  “By killing humans.”

  “No. Some of them—those whom we call the Enlightened—would do no such thing.”

  “Listen, I’m not in the mood for someone to try and tell me those monsters have the tiniest morsel of kindness in them. I need to go home,” Trix said, heaving a weighted sigh of her own and closing her eyes for a moment. “I’m tired, and I…” She opened her eyes again to finish the thought. But the woman—Amara—was gone. Trix spun around, looking in every direction, but there was no sign of a figure in black making her way along the street.

  “Did I dream that?” she asked out loud. “If so, I’ve lost my mind again.”

  She sheathed the sai blade and walked towards her flat, cont
emplating Amara’s words. “Help them, and help yourself. You know what it is that you need—what you want.”

  What the hell did that even mean?

  A half hour later as her head hit her pillow, she found herself hoping against hope that she’d soon find out.

  A Dragon’s Task

  Lyre was still in bed at ten a.m., a dark cloud of misery floating slowly through his mind, when a vast shadow passed across his bedroom window.

  But no sense of panic struck at his chest. He knew before the Dragon hit the ground outside that it was Lumen, with Neko on his back. The only question was why they were here. Lumen never came out to Lyre’s place. Normally, they met in the city in human form, in public places like pubs and restaurants. Kindred didn’t often receive personal visits from the Guild’s head shifter, so this had to be important. And important was seldom a synonym for good.

  Throwing on jeans and a t-shirt, he darted down the long, winding staircase at the centre of the house and opened the front door to find Lumen standing before him, with Neko at his side. Lyre offered them a brief attempt at a very tired-looking grin before signing, “Coffee?”

  “Sure,” they replied in unison as they stepped into the large foyer.

  Lyre’s place, so opulent on the outside, was the essence of comfort inside. Modern furnishings abounded; soft, comfortable-looking couches with large, colourful throw pillows occupied the living room at the front of the house, huge windows allowing streams of daylight to pour in.

  In the kitchen at the house’s opposite end, the entire back wall was one broad set of glass panes overlooking the garden, bright and open. Just like the home of a Dragon of Air should be. Next to the wall of glass, sizeable wooden chairs surrounded a cheerful wooden table that looked more suited to a farmhouse than to a palace. The place was built for lounging in comfort, and perfectly suited to its owner.

  Lyre poured three cups of coffee when he’d reached the counter, glad to have had the foresight to set the machine’s timer to brew by an early hour.

  “Lyre, I’m going to get right down to business,” said Lumen as he pulled a chair up to the table. His back faced his host, but as always, he conveyed the words through thoughts. Lyre tensed. The Dragons’ commander was in his head, direct, bold, assertive. And Lyre knew that Neko was in there with him, listening, ready to interject. A mental conference call, as it were.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, handing them their two cups.

  Lumen and Neko exchanged a brief glance before the Dragon Alpha spoke again.

  “You were there, when Neko found the first Relic at the Watchtower. So you know that I read and memorized the verse that will lead us to the second Relic. You know that it’s my duty to convey the information to the Dragon who is to find it.”

  Lyre nodded. The Dragon shifter charged with the verse, known as the Keeper, held it in his mind until it was time to convey it to the Dragon meant to find the next Relic. It was Lyre, in fact, who’d been the Keeper of the first verse. And until this moment he’d assumed that his work was done as far as the Relics were concerned.

  “Well,” Lumen said, “It’s my belief that the second verse is meant for you.”

  Lyre’s eyes widened. “Me? But that can’t be.”

  “It can, and it is, I’m afraid.” Lumen stepped towards him. And before Lyre could stop him, he’d recited the verse:

  “The tower perches still above

  A labyrinth concealed by grass and stone

  Here, the Pendragon once sought out his love.

  And now, the Relic of Air awaits its Seeker alone.”

  The words shot themselves into the other shifter like bullets, each syllable a punch to his gut, to his very soul.

  “But why—why did you tell me?” Lyre asked, his face contorted with pain. “Now I have no choice but to look. You know that. You’ve assigned me a fate that…I can’t…”

  “The Relic of Air, Lyre. There are only two shifters in this city who come from the bloodline of the Dragons of Air. Twins: you and Minach. And as you know, your brother is in no shape to hunt the Relic. It’s possible that he never will be. And so it’s fallen to you—it’s your duty, just as it was my duty to find the first Relic. You can do this. You must.”

  Lyre strode towards the glass wall overlooking the sprawling garden outside, concern crinkling the place between his brows in another uncharacteristic display, once again taking on the expression that so often occupied his brother’s face.

  He turned back to Lumen. “How can I be expected to find it? I’m…” Lyre stopped short of concluding the sentence.

  The other shifter nodded. “Because there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re the one. You killed a Forsaken last night; he’s only the second of his kind to go down. You have proven your worth, as if I didn’t know it already. This is your duty to your Kindred, Lyre. You must find the Relic, so that the Dragons can flourish. We need the Relics’ power in order to succeed against the Forsaken; it’s our only hope.”

  “But don’t you see? It means more than simply locating a piece of stone. It means…” Lyre dropped his hands to his sides as he took it all in. His duties would involve far more than a simple treasure hunt. Each Relic had a Seeker, a Dragon’s mate, who would help the shifter in his hunt. In Lumen’s case it had been Neko; after they’d bonded, she’d been instrumental in recovering the first Relic. But Lyre had no mate, and nor did he intend to take one. He couldn’t take one. He could never have the woman he so wanted, whatever Lumen said or did.

  Lyre’s entire life had been twisted upside down in the course of seconds.

  “It means accepting that your mate is out there somewhere,” said Lumen. “It means that you need to find her.”

  “There is no mate for me.” Lyre scowled, fingers balling into hard fists. It was as much a resolution as a declaration of fact. “There can be none.”

  “Of course there can. Every one of us has a mate, whether we’ve found her or not. Or do you somehow think yourself a special snowflake who’s above that sort of nonsense?” Lumen’s tone was harsh, the Alpha Dragon inside him roaring into action. Much as Lyre was his friend, he needed to respect his role. A Dragon had duties to his kin, and Lyre wasn’t exempt.

  “No, of course I don’t think I’m special. There’s nothing whatsoever that’s special about me. I’m not worthy of a mate. Of love. And any mate of mine would be brought down, ruined. I won’t do that to any woman. Please don’t ask it of me, Lumen. Don’t do this. Find someone else, or ask Minach. I can’t help you.”

  With those words, Lyre opened the door into the back garden and stepped out, shifting instantly into his Dragon. In seconds he’d disappeared into the clouds above.

  “Leave him,” said Neko. “Whatever his reasons for resisting, you can’t force him against his will.”

  “I know,” Lumen replied. “No one can. But perhaps there’s someone who can convince him that he is far more worthy than he thinks.”

  A Seeker’s Duty

  When Trix’s phone rang at eleven a.m., waking her from the few hours’ sleep she’d managed, she assumed that it would be Bertie, looking to send her on another mission. The thought appealed, of course; it might be another chance to see Lyre, to talk to him. Maybe if she saw him again, they could work things out. She could ask him why he’d pulled away, just when they were growing close.

  “Hello?” she said, picking up.

  “Trix.” it was Neko’s voice. “Did I wake you?”

  “I…er…yes. Sort of.”

  “Sorry about that. Listen, I heard about last night.”

  “Last night?” Trix’s heart hammered in her chest. Had Neko spoken to Lyre? Maybe she had some news. “What about it?”

  “Lumen told me that you and Lyre took down a Forsaken. Are you all right?”

  All of a sudden memories came flooding back of the previous night’s harrowing events. The Forsaken, killed. The strange woman, Amara…

  “I am. I’m fine, I suppose. It was a surr
eal night, to say the least. But listen, Neko—I have to ask you something. You’re the only other human I know who’s met up with a Forsaken.”

  “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  “I can’t talk about it in front of the Dragon shifters…”

  “Talk about what?”

  “It will probably sound a little mad. But there was someone else. Someone I met in the street, after…well, after Lyre was gone.” She didn’t want to get into her conversation with Lyre, and the hollowed out feeling he’d left inside her. Neko would probably understand, but somehow just talking about it was too painful a thought.

  “Oh?” Neko replied.

  “It was a woman. She was white as a sheet, and so odd. She was sort of beautiful, though. Said she wanted to help me.”

  Neko went silent for a moment before replying. “Trix, tell me—what did she look like?”

  “Dark hair, pale skin. Bright eyes, though I couldn’t quite make out their colour. Her voice was sweet, and she didn’t threaten me or anything, or I might have assumed she was one of them. She told me things that she shouldn’t know, couldn’t know.”

  Silence.

  “I’ve encountered her too, Trix,” Neko said slowly after a time. “Speaking of mad, though, I…saw her in dreams.”

  “You what?”

  Neko let out a brief chuckle at her own expense. “I never told a soul; it seemed too crazy to say that I’d had something like visions. But she helped me, too. She was the reason I went to my house in the country on the day when I..when we…”

  “When you and Lumen killed Umbra.”

  “Yes. She helped me. She helped us all, really.”

  “And you think she’s on our side?”

  “I do. I don’t know who or what she is, but she’s on our side.”

  “Her name is Amara,” said Trix. “And I suppose I should keep this information to myself.”