A current of air brushed her skin and she knew he’d moved past. She descended to the main floor. It was late morning. Nathaniel would be gone by now, opening up Relics and Runes. It was the perfect time to find out how bad things really were between them.
She slipped on her shoes and jogged out the front door, her feet crunching on the gravel of the wooded drive and then the path that led to the orchard. The first trees were a half mile out from the manor, and by the time she reached the edge, her stomach was growling fiercely. She wished she’d thought to rummage in the kitchen for something before she’d taken on this quest.
The scent of blossoms met her nose. It was the middle of summer, and the trees were heavy with fruit and nuts. Nathaniel once told her that anywhere a dragon lived for an extended amount of time became infused with magic. It wasn’t just the wards he’d placed around the property to conceal it from the world and protect it from those who would do it harm. Mystic energy oozed from his presence. It was in the air here. In the soil. In the water.
When she’d left, it had taken a full month for her body to adjust.
She followed the winding dirt path through the trees. Walnut, peach, olive, fig. She remembered the first time she was here and noticed that one particular tree seemed to be missing. She’d joked with Nathaniel about it, being an American and noticing the omission.
And then she’d bought him one as a gift.
She turned the corner and reached the center of the orchard. Breath whooshed from her lungs.
A mature orange tree spread its branches over a well-manicured circular mound of earth and mulch. Her tree. A citrus tree like this could not naturally survive in this climate. It took magic and care to keep it alive. Had Nathaniel truly hated her, he would have ripped it out by the roots or cast a spell to deprive it of magic and let it wither and die. But he hadn’t. The tree practically glowed and the branches bent, laden with fruit.
“The flesh is red.”
Clarissa whirled to find Nathaniel behind her, dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt that somehow managed to look sophisticated on him. His horse, Diablo, grazed along the trail. She hadn’t heard him coming. Suspicious, considering his mode of transportation.
“I didn’t hear you ride up.”
His eyes narrowed, and the corner of his mouth quirked. “I can be rather sly when I want to be. What are you doing out here?”
She nodded toward the tree. “Thought I’d see what had become of it. The flesh is supposed to be red, you know. It’s a blood orange tree.”
Nathaniel’s wings unfurled from his back with a snap, and he flew to the top of the tree to pluck two fruits from the branches. He drifted back down and tossed one to her. “I enjoy them occasionally, although most of what we grow in the orchard is donated to the local food bank.”
A talon sprouted from the first knuckle of his right hand, and he peeled his orange in a few careful swipes, allowing the thick rind to fall to the pebbles near his feet. She noticed the path was littered with dried peels. Someone must partake of the fruit regularly enough.
“I thought you’d be at work by now.”
He shrugged. “Have been and returned. It is almost noon, Ms. Black. The world still grinds along while you are sleeping.”
“But… I thought the shop was open into the evening.” Clarissa tried not to make her disappointment obvious, but having him here meant he’d probably want to continue his magical interventions for her problem. She wasn’t ready to have her stomach drained of its contents so soon.
“My protégé is working the rest of the day while I devote my afternoon to researching your ailment. It’s best not to sit on problems like these. The sooner one can break a curse, the less time it has to take hold.”
She nodded. “If it truly is dragon magic that was used to curse me, you should be able to neutralize it, right? No one knows this magic better than you.”
He frowned. “Unfortunately, all the test tells us is that a dragon’s blood, scales, or breath were used as a catalyst. The spell itself may be extremely complex. It would have to be considering it has taken root in your bones.”
“So not an easy fix.”
He shook his head. “Not unless we find the perpetrator.”
“Warwick never enjoyed my company.”
“Warwick would not curse you.”
“You don’t know what Warwick is capable of or the rest of the order. It has to be someone.”
“Yes.” Nathaniel scrutinized her as the silence stretched between them.
She dug her nails into the skin of the orange in her hands. “I wasn’t sure my gift would still be here.”
He lowered his chin and his brows became two dark slashes. “Why wouldn’t it be here?”
She took a deep breath and shrugged her shoulders. “I thought since you hated me you might have torn it out by the roots or allowed it to waste away.”
He considered that for a moment, tore off a section of orange, and brought it to his lips. “There was a time I thought I hated you.”
She swallowed at the intensity in his eyes but remained silent.
“It started as fear. I thought you’d been abducted the day you disappeared. No note. No explanation.”
“I’m sorry. I… I was afraid I’d chicken out and not go through with it if I had to face you… I—”
He acted like he hadn’t heard her. “I called in everyone in the magical community, even supernatural acquaintances working for Scotland Yard. Then I received your letter and realized to my shock and embarrassment that you’d simply left me.”
“There was nothing simple about it,” she said softly.
The air in the orchard seemed to drop a few degrees. Unlike the night before when his anger had raised the temperature in the room, now he seemed to be putting off a chill. His gray eyes were cold as ice.
“After your letter, I explained to the order what had happened. We had to restructure several of the rituals we’d developed together while you were here. You see, I no longer had a partner. Our circle was out of balance. You can’t blame them for hating you for that. They all took a hit to their magical reserves, not to mention the time and energy.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Until now she hadn’t thought much about the effects of removing herself from the order, but the blood bond they shared did fuel their magic. She winced as understanding sent a pang of guilt through her and twisted her stomach.
“My fear for your safety turned to anger after that. And I did hate you at first. But with time, my anger turned to sadness, then acceptance. I came to understand that your quest for fame was your number one priority, one for which you would pay any price.”
Not any price. She kept the stray thought to herself. Saying it would make it sound like he was something she’d been willing to sacrifice, a price easily paid. But it hadn’t been easy, and there had been so much more to it than simply wanting fame. She glanced down at the path, focused on the dried remains of an orange peel.
“Never in all that time, Ms. Black, or in any of those stages of letting you go, did I think watching an innocent, healthy tree die would ease my pain.” He popped another slice of orange in his mouth, his fingers red with the juice, red as blood.
“So then you don’t… hate me?” She rubbed her palms together and lifted his gaze to his.
“No.” He blinked. “I’m indifferent.”
The word punched surprisingly sharp into her heart.
“I resisted your coming here because I worried it might rip open old wounds. But I’m pleased to inform you that it seems I’ve healed quite completely.” He raised the remains of his orange, pointing to the tree with one finger. “The tree stays. You will go. Once I fix you, that is. And I find I’m okay with that.” He inserted another slice between his teeth. “Enjoy your orange, Ms. Black.”
He mounted Diablo and rode away.
It took everything Nathaniel had to keep riding away from Clarissa and the orange tree. He thanked the goddess she hadn’t as
ked why he was there. The truth was, he liked to go there in the morning, just as the sun filtered through the trees, and think about the day she’d given it to him.
They’d been lovers for a few months, and she’d discovered that he’d never celebrated a birthday. Such a human thing, birthdays. When you were immortal, the number of years since one’s birth seemed far less important. Besides, although he knew the day and year in Paragon, it didn’t translate exactly to Earth years. The closest he could say was sometime in the summer.
So she’d chosen a day, and he’d come home from work to a dinner she’d made with her own hands: chops that could be used as hockey pucks, some undercooked red potatoes, and a paste she said was peas. It was the best meal he’d ever eaten. She’d followed it up with a lopsided chocolate cake with a single candle.
She stopped him before he cut into it. “Wait, I have to sing to you. There’s a song.”
“Ah, yes, the human birthday song. I have heard of it.” He folded his arms and sat back in his chair.
The candle flickered to life with her first note. “Happy Birthday to you,” she sang.
The flame jumped from the wick and turned into a dragon. As she sang, her magic carried the tiny beast around the room, swooping and soaring, doing backflips for his amusement. When she finally reached the last note of the song, the dragon dove headfirst into the candle and turned back into a normal flame on a flickering wick.
She clapped.
“That was wonderful. Thank you. I see the draw of this birthday ritual.”
“Now you blow the candle out and make a wish,” she said, her blue eyes dancing with light over a bright and beaming smile.
“A wish?”
“Yes. You get a wish. Don’t tell anyone or it might not come true. Actually, I wished for real parents when I was nine and I spent the rest of my life in foster care, so there are no guarantees here. Your chances are about the same as wishing on a falling star, but it is tradition, so give it a go.”
The memory of the soft blush of her skin in the candle’s warm glow warmed his heart. Everything about her seemed soft where he was hard, warm where he was cold. She’d been a powerful witch wrapped in the moss-and-lily-scented body of a goddess. He’d blown out that candle and wished for just one thing—her. Even back then, two full months before he’d offered her the bond, he’d wanted her to be his.
After cake, she’d walked him out to the orchard where Tempest had helped her plant the tree. It was only a sapling back then. Barely three branches on its skinny trunk. But with the help of his magic, it had grown into a beautiful, mature tree.
He regretted that no amount of magic could have done the same for their fledgling relationship. He ran his hand down his throat and headed for his study. One thing was for certain—he’d lied to her. Having her here had ripped the scab off his wound. Everything hurt. He needed to fix her magic soon and send her on her way, or her nearness might destroy him.
Chapter Twelve
“Fresh rosemary!” Avery ran her fingers through the prickly leaves of the plant in front of the bookshop and brought them to her nose. “Mmm. I love the smell.”
Rowan opened the door to the place and waited for her to enter. “I hear there is some sort of superstition about it keeping evil out. Not that I believe in human myths.”
“Relics and Runes,” Avery read off the window. “This sounds like the place to learn about human myths.”
“It should be. This street, Cecil Court, is also called Publisher’s Row. This occult bookstore has been here since the late seventeenth century. Everything I’ve learned from my colleagues and reviews online say that this is the premiere source for books on all things supernatural in London.”
Avery stepped inside and gaped in wonder at the shelves of books on witchcraft just inside the door. The city where she was from, New Orleans, had no shortage of references on the occult, but there was something different about this place. She walked deeper into the store and tried to put her finger on exactly what it was. And then it hit her. In New Orleans, most of the shops seemed to cater to tourists with kitschy gris-gris bags prominently displayed to bring people riches or luck in love. This place was designed for practitioners, filled with thick textbooks and magazines, crystals, cards, and herbs clearly labeled but offered without explanation.
“Welcome to Relics and Runes,” a voice said from the direction of the register.
Avery turned to face a young man who was dusting something in the front window. “Hello.” She narrowed her gaze on his nametag. “Albert.”
He smiled at her and the faintest blush stained his cheeks. “Can I help you find something?” His voice cracked at the end of the sentence and ended in a bit of squeak.
“Actually, I was wondering if you had any resources on dragon myths and legends in the area.”
“Oh, sure we do. Come, follow me.” Albert led her around the counter and down a flight of stairs. “Actually, I wish the owner was here. He’s sort of an expert in tales about supernatural creatures. Unfortunately, he’s out indefinitely on personal emergency.”
“Oh, that’s terrible.”
“Between you, me, and the lamppost, I think he might’ve needed a holiday to calm the nerves. Guy’s a bit high-strung if you catch my drift.”
She nodded.
“Here you are, right between the books on lycanthropy and spirit animals.”
“Thank you. I can take it from here.” She began perusing the books but felt him staring at the side of her face. She paused and turned her head slowly to look at him again. “Is there something wrong? Do I need to be supervised in this section or something?”
He laughed through his nose and ended in a snort. “Actually… uh… would you care to have tea? I mean, sometime, when you are available?”
Avery did a double take and noticed the interested look in the boy’s eyes. He wasn’t her type and seemed quite a bit younger than her, but she’d worked in the service industry long enough to have plenty of experience with unwanted advances. As they went, this one was harmless.
“You seem like a nice person, but the truth is, I’m just visiting from America and my schedule is booked. I’m sorry.”
He nodded quickly behind a toothy grin. “Well, all right then. Can’t blame a chap for tryin’.” He turned to go but paused to snap a selfie with her in the background. She caught a frame of herself staring stupidly in his direction on his screen before he jogged up the stairs.
She shook her head. Men. Turning back to the shelf, she ran her finger along the spines of the books in front of her. Dragon Tarot, Dragon Meditations, Dragon Magic, Dragon Folklore. That’s it. She slid the hefty book on myths and legends of dragons in the United Kingdom from the shelf just as Rowan jogged down the stairs.
“Found it!” Avery said, holding up the book.
Rowan’s eyes widened and roved around the basement room. There were as many shelves down here as upstairs, but the air was a bit stale, as if the room saw less use.
Avery reached out and rubbed Rowan’s shoulder. “Hey, are you okay? You look sort of… distressed.”
Rowan came fully into the basement and searched the rows of shelves. They were the only two customers down here, which was good because the level of agitation Rowan was putting off would make anyone nervous.
“Rowan? Rowan?” Avery’s stomach dropped. Something had definitely rattled the dragon.
“Do you smell that?” Rowan wrinkled her nose.
“Smell what?” Avery balked at the intensity in Rowan’s eyes. Their amber color seemed to darken with her mood.
“Smoky male. I think another dragon has been here recently.”
Avery frowned. “Seriously?” She looked over both shoulders.
“Not that recently.” Rowan rolled her eyes. “The scent is muddled by the herbs and tobacco residue. I could barely smell it upstairs. It’s almost like he might have tried to cover it up.”
“Do you think one of your siblings might have been here?”
Rowan planted her hands on her hips and shrugged. “Anything’s possible.” Her gaze flicked to the book in her hand. “Let’s go pay for that. I need to talk to Alexander.”
They climbed the stairs and Avery handed the book to the boy, whose cheeks reddened the moment he saw her.
“Good choice,” he said, scanning the back. “That’ll be nine quid.”
Rowan handed him her credit card.
While he was ringing her up, Avery noticed a box of stones on the counter and ran her fingers over each of the different sections. Some felt hot, some cold, and some tingled where her skin brushed a smooth edge. She frowned, thinking of the orb Aborella had tricked her into wearing. Stones could hold curses and charms. She moved her hand away nervously.
“Who owns this store, Albert?” Rowan asked.
“Man’s name is Clarke. He’s off for a few days. Takin’ care of some personal items.” He bagged the book and handed it to her.
“Right. Thank you.” Rowan sniffed as if trying to clear her nose to get a better whiff. She led the way toward the door.
“Call or stop by if there’s anything else I can do for you,” Albert called. “I’m at your service.”
Chapter Thirteen
Paragon
Whatever Aborella had done to Raven had drained her. Her limbs felt heavy, as if she’d been emptied of all her blood. The worst part was seeing Gabriel’s face. He was bereft. She’d been mated to him long enough now to know that this was his personal nightmare. A dragon’s heart beat to protect his mate, and this was completely out of his control.
“Raven, how do you feel?” Gabriel asked quietly.
She placed a hand on his cheek and lied. “I’m okay.” With his help, she got to her feet. “I don’t know how they got their hands on that spell or why it worked, but they took my magic. I’ve got nothing.”
“Fuck.” Gabriel’s face twisted into a mask of rage. “If we ever get out of this, I’ll kill her.”
Tobias groaned. “Let’s focus on the getting-out-of-this part. Killing her can wait for another day.”
The Dragon of Cecil Court Page 7