Fire Maidens: Portugal

by Anna Lowe

  So nice, his inner beast hummed. Like home.

  For the first time in over a decade, thoughts of home didn’t come loaded with bitter memories.

  “Sorry.” Laura’s voice was firm but a little scratchy. Clearly, she’d pulled herself together and put on a brave face. “And thank you.”

  He’d drifted so far off on his thoughts, her words ought to have been an intrusion. But his eyes opened slowly, the way he might wake from a pleasant dream.

  When he spotted her, he blinked. Wait. Still a dream?

  Because she was beautiful. Stunning, really. Not in a molded, supermodel way. More like one of those fresh-faced female athletes — not the superstars who sought cameras or fashion deals, but the ones who quietly, relentlessly plugged away at what they did. The kind with long, toned legs and equally toned arms.

  “No problem,” he grunted. Dammit, why was he so gruff with her? “Have a seat.”

  She tugged the sides of the robe tighter and sat on the white leather couch opposite him, keeping her knees firmly pointed to one side. Her coppery-brown hair cascaded over her shoulders and bounced along the plush burgundy robe. His robe, something that gave him a rush of satisfaction.

  Say something, his dragon insisted. Something nice.

  He ran a hand through his short-cropped hair, finding himself tongue-tied. Was he so out of practice when it came to saying nice things, or was it the strange way she affected him?

  Both, his dragon said dreamily.

  He clasped his hands in an attempt to remain businesslike rather than gushing something like Make yourself at home. It was his home, dammit, and he hated company.

  But he was too on edge to sit, so he strode to the bar. “Can I offer you a drink?” A drink could be businesslike, right?

  She gulped and shook her head. “No thank you.”

  But when he held up a glass, he could see the longing in her eyes. There was fear in there too, and damn. How had he missed the dark circles under her eyes?

  “Maybe a little water,” she mumbled at last.

  He poured her a mineral water and himself a sweet Madeira wine. Something told him he would need it.

  “So, you’re new around here.”

  Her cackle toed the line of hysteria, and he wondered if she was crazy or just really, really tired.

  “New. You could say that.” She downed her water in three gulps, then stared at the bottom of the glass. “I arrived in Lisbon three — no, four days ago. Tuesday night.”

  His inner dragon stirred. The same night we couldn’t sleep.

  Marco sipped from his glass, making sure the liquid didn’t mirror the tremors traveling through him. He’d stayed up half that night, overcome by a wistful sensation he hadn’t been able to explain.

  Coincidence, he told himself.

  Destiny, his dragon countered.

  “But you speak good Portuguese,” he noted.

  She sighed. “Not according to my grandparents.”

  Slowly, he coaxed the whole story out of her, or as much as he needed to know. Laura’s grandparents had left Portugal nearly half a century earlier. Her great-great-aunt had been a shifter, but no living member of her family could shift. It had all come over her as a surprise.

  “Big surprise,” she muttered, staring at her fingers as if they might change into claws.

  Marco frowned. “What set it off?”

  Laura placed a hand over her chest, though the robe covered whatever it was.

  Her necklace, his dragon whispered. The one with a ruby that shone like a star.

  Marco furrowed his brow. “Your necklace. May I see it?”

  Laura stiffened, clutching the collar of the robe. “No.”

  Marco did a double take. “No?”

  He tried to remember the last time someone had told him no. Other than that hard-nosed sergeant he’d had to endure in his first months in the Foreign Legion, he came up blank.

  Laura gulped but held her ground. “Sorry. It’s…private.”

  “I believe it’s spelled. Did you know that?”

  Her eyes went wide. “Spelled? As in, a magic spell?”

  He nodded. “Yes. A piece of dragon treasure, I’d wager. Which you obtained…where?”

  Laura rose to her feet and stuck her hands on her hips. “Are you suggesting I stole it?”

  Other than her trembling fingers, she was pretty damned formidable. Clearly a woman who’d stood up to powerful men before.

  “I wasn’t suggesting anything.”

  Yes, you were, his dragon glowered.

  Marco exhaled and counted to five. Whose side was the beast on?

  Luckily, his brain served up the answer at exactly that moment. “Let me guess. It belonged to the great-great-aunt.”

  Laura’s hand flattened over the gem, and she sputtered. “Maybe.”

  Marco made a mental note. Definitely. The question was, who had the aunt been?

  “Go on. You started shifting…”

  Laura started walking toward the stairs, and his heart jumped into his throat. She wasn’t leaving, was she?

  Then he exhaled, because she turned and strode back over the plush white rug, one hand still firmly at her collar. She wasn’t leaving. She was just pacing.

  “No one in my family can shift, but someone told me about an eagle shifter, so I went to Vermont…”

  She went on haltingly about Vermont, flying lessons, and her decision to travel to Lisbon.

  “My parents said we have distant relatives here. Shifters. I was hoping they could help me.”

  “Which relatives?”

  “The Cardosas. From my mother’s side of the family.”

  Marco made a mental note, but he doubted it would help. Cardosa and Sampao were common surnames — too common to help pin down her dragon heritage.

  “So I looked up the Guardians…” she continued.

  Marco stared. That was like looking up the president or a Hollywood star — people so sheltered from the public, it was unlikely her appeals had gotten through.

  “I found a raven shifter working as a bartender who said he could get a message through for me.”

  Marco drew a line over his cheek. “A man with half a thumb and a scar like this?”

  Laura’s eyes went wide, and she nodded.

  “Tito.” He cursed. “Tell me you didn’t pay for the favor.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Marco raised his glass. “Smart woman.”

  Her smile was thin. “To be honest, I was considering going back to him. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Why the Guardians?”

  “I was told they’re in charge. So, I thought they could help.”

  Marco hid his skepticism behind a sip of wine. Clearly, Laura had no idea what an old, myopic group the Guardians had become. To them, defending the city meant defending the status quo, not improving things or helping strangers. And any person who looked around Lisbon knew how much there was to improve.

  Of course, the city had come a long way. He’d returned from a decade in the Foreign Legion, amazed at the changes he’d found. But those were all human initiatives. The shifter world had stagnated, and if the Guardians weren’t careful…

  He caught himself before he got carried away. The old Marco — the young, idealistic one — had done his best to open the Guardians’ eyes. But he’d grown so frustrated, he’d ended up turning his back on the whole thing. The Guardians, Lisbon, shifter politics — everything. And now that he was back, his mind was made up. He was not getting involved in that mess.

  Poor Laura. She didn’t have a clue that the men she’d placed her hopes on would be useless.

  “What exactly do you want them to help you with?” he asked.

  Her hopeless look said, Where do I begin? Then she held out her hands and flexed, mimicking claws. “I need help with shifting, for one thing. How to control it. How to hide it. Better yet, how to prevent it.”

  He blinked. Not shift? He couldn’t imagine remaini
ng in human form all the time.

  Laura, meanwhile, rattled off the rest of her list.

  “I want to know what other shifters are out there, and what I have to be careful of. Can I live a normal life at all?” Her questions came out in a flood and went on and on in a similar vein. “Can I stop it? What happens if I start spitting fire?”

  Marco sat in stunned silence. Wow. She truly knew nothing about shifters.

  “What if I get violent?” she went on. “And even if I don’t, will people want to kill me? What about burning villages?”

  His eyebrows jumped up. “We haven’t burned villages in centuries.”

  Her eyes went wide. “You burned villages?”

  He stuck up his hands. “Not personally. But in the old days…”

  A ponderously quiet moment ticked by.

  Laura frowned. “Every shifter I’ve found talks like it’s so self-evident. But how am I supposed to know? Just the details are hard enough to deal with. Like taking off. Flying. Worst of all, landing.”

  He sighed. “You really need to improve your landings.”

  She glared. “You really need to learn to be nicer.”

  Marco was about to say, I did save you out there, but he pinched his lips instead.

  Why are you being so mean? his dragon griped.

  Because he’d been so badly burned by Olivia, he supposed.

  “Then there are vampires.” Laura touched her neck.

  Marco sat up straighter, already guessing who the prime suspect would be. “Did Fausto bother you?”

  She soured. “I didn’t stop to ask his name. I just ran. But he was with Duarte, and the two of them…”

  Marco dug his fingernails into the armrests of his chair. If Duarte was back to hanging out with Fausto, that was troubling news, indeed. Someone really should inform the Guardians.

  Someone really should help this woman, his dragon added.

  Marco stood his ground. That someone wasn’t going to be him.

  But the more he spoke with Laura, the more irritated he grew. How dare the Guardians ignore her pleas? And what the hell were the Guardians doing if not monitoring the likes of Fausto?

  Laura leaned forward, her eyes shining with hope. “Do you know the Guardians?”

  Indeed, he did. All too well.

  He tried letting her down easy. “The Guardians may not be your best hope. You need someone else to help you. Someone less occupied with other matters.”

  We’re not occupied with other matters, his dragon murmured.

  He made a face. “Someone experienced in training others.”

  We taught Chico and Danilo and cousin Mara, his dragon whispered.

  Dammit, that wasn’t what he meant.

  “A she-dragon would be good,” Marco said, then waited for blissful silence. But somehow, the cheeky beast had an answer for that too.

  Someone like Olivia? it growled.

  Not like Olivia! he nearly yelled.

  How the glass didn’t shatter under his killer grip, he didn’t know.

  Laura tilted her head. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He jumped to his feet. Now, he was the one pacing. Maybe that would help.

  Pacing never helps, his dragon grumbled. Only flying. Breathing fire. Better yet, flying and breathing fire — over the mountains of home.

  Images of rugged slopes and cascading rivers rushed through his mind, and he sniffed longingly for the scent of laurel. The sound of surf pounding over a rocky shore filled his ears, making his soul sing.

  When he blinked himself back into focus, he froze, because he was staring into his mother’s eyes. Dark, weary eyes full of sorrow and regret.

  Then he blinked again, realizing he was facing a mirror, not a ghost. Still, he stared a minute longer. High dragon society in Lisbon — which he avoided as best he could — constantly reminded him how much he looked like his father. Same sharp jawline, same dark, wavy hair.

  Your father’s looks, your mother’s eyes — and heart, an old aunt had once told him.

  Which was the problem. Lisbon didn’t suit him any more than it had suited his mother. Like her, he pined for the mountainous island that felt like his true home. But he’d turned his back on that place forever, so that was that.

  Doesn’t have to be, his dragon whispered in his mind.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Laura murmured, making him whip his head around.

  He frowned. At himself — and at Laura. What right did she have to make him dream impossible dreams?

  She huddled deeper in the folds of his — er, her — robe. “Can I do something to help?”

  He nearly laughed out loud. This was about him helping her, in an extremely limited and strictly businesslike way. He didn’t need help from her.

  “No.” It came out a harsh grunt, so he tried a gentler tone. “It’s late. Let me show you to the guest room. And as for finding someone to help you…” He turned his back, studying Lisbon’s skyline before his eyes got tangled with hers again. “Let me sleep on it. I’m sure I’ll think of someone.”

  Oh, I can think of someone, his dragon chuckled.

  Chapter Four

  Marco stabbed the keypad of his phone then held it to his ear, muttering. He’d spent a sleepless night pacing across the rooftop. Stars had risen and set, along with Jupiter and Neptune. Freighters slipped their lines and steamed quietly out to sea, and bats fluttered over the ruins of the Castelo São Jorge. Peacocks roosted in the castle gardens, and their haunting cries broke the silence from time to time.

  Mostly, Marco had spent the night staring out over the river. After ten years in some of the harshest, most dangerous corners of the globe, he was home — or near enough to home — and ready to live a nice, quiet life. The kind that focused on leaving other people alone and being left alone. How the hell had he become mixed up in someone else’s problem?

  Of course, Laura needed help. But a few phone calls could solve that. Why did he feel compelled to keep her close?

  Same reason we sensed her fear and flew out to investigate, his dragon said. Destiny.

  Marco frowned. His destiny didn’t have a woman in it. Not even for a short time, and not even for business. He’d decided that long ago.

  Eventually, the indigo sky had taken mercy on him, fading to a brighter, lighter tone. Slowly, the strip of sky above the horizon developed an orange glow. Steel-gray clouds breezed overhead, and the gaps between them filled with yellow and gold. A church bell had chimed six a.m., and not long after, a pinprick of red flared over the horizon.

  He waited as long as he could, then dialed.

  “Come on,” he muttered. “Pick up…”

  The phone rang three more times before a grumpy voice answered.

  “Hello?” A crashing sound followed, along with a distant, cursed, “Fuck.”

  “Finn?” Marco replied.

  His dragon shifter friend recovered his dropped phone and cursed again, this time in French. “Merde.”

  Marco rolled his eyes. “You’re going soft. It’s 6:20. That’s practically sleeping in.”

  “Not in civilian life, it isn’t.” Finn groaned, and the sound of rustling sheets crackled through the phone. “If your house isn’t burning down, I don’t want to hear it.”

  Marco considered. His house was fine, but burning fit what was going on in his heart and soul.

  “Can you get over here right away? I need help.”

  Those last three words sputtered clumsily from his lips, a combination he hadn’t used in… Well, ever.

  The line went silent for a moment. Then Finn replied, dead serious. “I’ll be right there.”

  The line clicked off, and Marco took a deep breath as he put the phone down. Sometimes, he wondered what he had to show after a decade in one of the world’s elite fighting forces, other than memories and a few scars. But that brief call reminded him what he’d gained. Friends. Blood brothers, really, each ready to come running at a word. They’d a
ll left the Legion at the same time, taking the plunge into the hard, cold civilian world. Finn, the Irish dragon shifter, was just one of a tight-knit company. Sergio and Liam were two others, though Rome and Paris were farther away than the room Finn rented in the maze of streets below.

  Marco’s eyes drifted there for a time. Finn lived about ten minutes away, so when the lock on the main door jiggled only a minute later, Marco tensed. Stepping downstairs, he sniffed the air, then exhaled.

  “Amit,” he called softly down from the second-story landing.

  A grizzled old man looked up from the ground floor, holding a crisp newspaper and a bakery bag.

  “Bom dia.”

  Amit was many things. A grizzled old jackal shifter who hailed from Angola, though he’d been in Portugal for decades. Amit was Marco’s security force, cook, and valet, all in one.

  Amit was also perceptive. Too damn perceptive. A moment after entering the house from his quarters above the garage, Amit’s nose twitched, and his eyes went wide.

  “Pequeno almoço para dois, senhor?” His voice was perfectly normal, but his eyes sparkled with glee at the notion of breakfast for two.

  Marco grimaced. Laura had spent the night in the guest room, and he’d spent his up on the roof.

  “Breakfast for three,” he muttered.

  Amit’s eyes doubled in size, and his cheeks shone with a grin that said, Well, well.

  Marco winced. No, he had not just ended a decade of celibacy with a kinky threesome.

  “Finn is the third.”

  “Of course,” Amit said, still sporting that shit-eating grin.

  Marco covered his face with his hands. “Finn will be arriving soon, I mean.”

  “Whatever you say, sir. Breakfast for three.” Amit set down the newspaper and about-faced out the front door.

  Marco rubbed his chin wearily, then headed to the shower. God, it was going to be a long day.

  * * *

  Forty-five minutes later, Marco poured his third cup of coffee and Finn’s second. Breakfast crumbs littered their plates — the fancy set Amit had insisted on using despite Marco’s protests that this was purely business, not some kind of occasion. Marco had finished filling Finn in on the events of the night, and Finn had lectured him on looking on the bright side of things.