Stroke of Fire

by Kira Nyte

  For a few minutes, Briella scrutinized him. Syn let her look him over and ponder as long as she wanted. Her direct attention was fascinating and delightful. Every time her gaze moved, flames raked along the same path, an unseen torture that stirred and stoked both his hunger and his dragon. He tasted the hints of smoke and fire at the back of his throat and swallowed the evidence of his true form down. Now wasn’t the time to disclose who he really was.

  No, that time would be soon enough.

  For now, he’d enjoy not having to share her attention with a to-remain-nameless male.

  “Eat before it gets cold,” he urged gently.

  “Sit and I’ll eat,” she countered. “No way am I turning my back on you.”

  “Fair enough.” Syn crossed the small space between them and lowered himself into the chair opposite Briella. He had to make an effort not to let his gaze wander over her slender shoulders or that tank-top-clad torso. “I’m sitting.”

  “You are out of line.” Briella stabbed a fork into several different items on her plate, her gaze flicking between Syn and the food. Her frustration came out with each and every sharp jab and scrape of metal against ceramic. “You have some balls bossing me around in my apartment.”

  “My apologies if you saw my actions as such.” He relaxed in the chair, placing his hands on the tabletop where she could see them. Any and everything he could do to make himself less…intimidating. He was a dragon, after all. Intimidating came with the package. “I think you might have done the same if you were in my position.”

  Briella’s eyes narrowed further. “Why did you stay? Why didn’t you leave? What were you looking for here?”

  Syn shrugged. “You were in no shape to be left alone. And I wasn’t looking for anything, although I will admit to snooping around your paintings. They’re quite remarkable.”

  His compliment appeared to thaw the ice around the edges of her expression. She lowered her gaze and assessed the forkful of food.

  “I don’t appreciate people snooping around my work.” She sniffed the food. “But thank you for the kind words.”

  “You really don’t trust the food. I’ll make you another plate and you can watch, if that’ll make you more comfortable.”

  Briella shook her head. She held out the fork to him. “You take the first bite.”

  Syn obliged. He held her gaze as he took the fork and brought it to his lips. A faint blush rose across her cheeks as he took the food from the fork and chewed it leisurely before handing the fork back. That blush spread down her pale neck and got lost in the thick waves of dark red hair that curled around her shoulders and collarbone. Soft, silky waves that drew his eyes to the lacy hem above her subtle cleavage.

  He swallowed his bite of food. Almost choked.

  “All good,” he said, his voice thick and raspy.

  She waited several long minutes. Apparently satisfied when he didn’t keel over, she scooped up a small amount of eggs. Syn barely realized his fingers had begun to curl into fists when her full lips pursed before she slipped that fork between them. Thank Goddess for the table. He had no control over other parts of his anatomy.

  Briella swallowed and nodded. “Not bad.”

  “Glad you approve.”

  She made a sound, something that may have been a snort if it wasn’t so delicate. “I make better.”

  “Next time, I’ll let you do the cooking.”

  Her eyes snapped up to him again. He offered a smile.

  “You seem so sure there will be a next time.” She scooped up another fork of food. “You seem so sure of a lot of things.”

  “Perhaps I am.”

  “Such as?”

  Syn leaned forward on his elbows. He folded his hands together, his smile growing. He cast the unfinished painting a curious glance before shifting his attention back to Briella.

  “Tell me about your paintings. Tell me about the voices you hear in your head.”

  Chapter Seven

  Briella fumbled the fork, but managed to lower it to the plate without looking like a fool. The succulent scent of the meal enticed her, but her stomach, already queasy from her binge at the bar, revolted at the thought of food as the weight of Syn’s request settled universe-heavy on her shoulders.

  “I’m going to make tea. Want a cup?” she asked, trying to distract herself from his probing gaze and the uncanny warmth that filled every inch of her body as he stared at her. She climbed to her feet and filled the kettle with water. “Or coffee?”

  “Whatever is easiest for you.”

  His voice matched his name in every possible way—sinful, from the rich, deep tone to the slight accent. She couldn’t pin that down, but it rolled from his lips so smooth and sexy and definitely worked an unseen magic on her.

  Magic. There was something very magical about Syn. Magical and fierce. That much she was sure of, but she was not going to be quick to fall for his charm.

  Your good looks aren’t going to buy you respect, buddy.

  Good was a poor descriptor for Syn’s appeal. He was drop-dead gorgeous. She recalled noting his handsomeness the night before, but today, mind a little more clear, eyes a little less impaired, he made her heart stutter and her breaths come in unsteady gasps. His scent alone coaxed her closer, soothed her doubt until she vividly imagined herself shamelessly sidled up against the man. That mixture of spice and campfire and the cool cast of wind. Never in her life had she experienced an addiction beyond that of painting, but Syn?

  For crying out loud, you barely know him. She shook her head as she pulled two mugs from a cabinet and set them on the counter. You know nothing about him.

  He surrounded her. The power of his presence alone assured her she was safe. A stranger. She would have balked at the idea had it not been rooted so deep in her subconscious.

  Still, the things she heard him say and think made her mind wage war with her body’s reaction to him. There was no discounting the stream of visions she suffered when their fingers brushed. There was no denying he was the man who stopped her on the sidewalk. The man she shocked. There would have been no link, no evidence, in that simple touch otherwise.

  She rapped her fingers against the counter. Her gaze pulled toward the painting. The moment she got home, the ache to paint sprang to life with such a ferocious demand there was no denying it. She barely saw what she created, her fingers and wrist working at the instruction of something far stronger than her own imagination.

  The haunting voice from that terrifying night, the same voice that struck her after the touch, resounded in her head.

  “Get her when she returns.”

  One thing she knew for certain—that voice did not match Syn’s. But either Syn was the bad guy, or the bad guy was an unknown entity she had yet to come in contact with.

  Scalding heat tingled along her spine. It streamed down each vertebra in thin, sensual ribbons until it pooled low in her belly. A deft pulse followed, then a flush of warmth coasted up to her face. Her knees melted. She leaned against the counter to keep from swaying.

  Damn the man for being so…so…

  She shook her head again.

  Get your bearings, Brie. You have a damn stranger sitting at your kitchen table. This is about as careless as careless gets. Mom would have a coronary.

  She’d kick herself in the butt for this oops later. Hopefully there would be a later and she wasn’t about to take tea with a murderer.

  The whistle on the kettle began to pitch. She poured out two cups of bubbling water and dunked a tea bag in each mug.

  “Do you take milk? Sugar?” Briella asked, keeping her gaze averted. She feared her inability to mask the arousal she suffered in Syn’s presence, now that her anger and adrenaline had abandoned her. “Honey? Lemon?”

  “Why don’t I help you?”

  She spun to face him, eyes wide. When did he come up behind her like that? And without a sound? Or was she so far gone in her thoughts she hadn’t heard him?

  Either way, her mou
th dried and her body zinged with recognition as Syn reached past her to pick up the mugs. His eyes locked on hers. Eyes that held no fire, but a stunning dark brown that lightened to amber and gold around his dilated pupils. His nostrils flared and his jaw shifted beneath the neat trim of his scruff. It was far from a beard—she wasn’t a beard girl anyhow.

  Her gaze lowered to his mouth. Her breath hitched and her vision spun. Clearly, her reaction to him the night before had nothing to do with how many drinks she had consumed. Her reaction was primitive and visceral. Her body and her soul knew him, understood him, connected with him on an unseen plane, a place where she longed to be.

  Her fingers curled. In his shirt. Heaven help her, when had she reached one hand up to touch his shoulder? And was that all…muscle?

  “Briella,” he murmured, his voice spreading down her nerves, caressing every ache into a frenzy. His hand molded against the side of her face, warm and rough and strong. His thumb lifted her chin and tilted her head back. Her eyelids fell shut, her body becoming near flaccid. Her heart thundered and raced, making her dizzy. “Sweet.”

  The heat of his breath preceded the fiery touch of his lips across hers. An airy brush. A test. A tease. A key that unlocked every wild and sensual need dormant in the deepest recesses of her soul. She leaned into him, his arm slipped around her waist and drew her close. She didn’t want to touch him. Didn’t want him to think he could have his way…

  He kissed her again, chaste, sweet and tender. His lips lingered.

  Her plan to not touch him backfired. A palm splayed against the hard ridges of his abdomen. The hand curled around his shirt at his shoulder, flattened and found its way to the back of his neck. Her fingers tingled, her arms lost their strength. She trembled beneath this taunting kiss.

  Syn combed his fingers into her hair, tipped her head back a little more, and kissed her the way she badly needed. His tongue slipped past her pliant lips and swept into her mouth, filling her with the heady taste of man and fire. His kiss sang to her soul. The hint of possession behind each lazy sweep poured into a void that opened when he touched her. A void in the center of her heart that grew and grew until he did his magic to fill it up.

  Briella drew up onto her toes, demanding a little more of his kiss with a quiet moan. He delivered, from completely possessing her mouth and her mind to pinning her to the counter, their bodies flush. Oh, sweet glory, having Syn so damn close, feeling every little—Oh, definitely not so little—detail of his arousal. If she ever fit so perfectly with a man, it was here, now.

  Lost. She was completely and entirely lost to Syn.

  A buzz shattered the euphoria that had built to suffocating proportions. Syn stole one last kiss before Briella lowered her head to catch her breath and find her flagging control.

  Her gaze landed on his hand, gripping the edge of the counter like his life depended on it.

  And dark, curved—

  Briella shrieked, shoving Syn away. “Holy shit!”

  She stumbled from the kitchen, still dizzy and weak and utterly stripped of fight. Her eyes widened and she gasped when she caught Syn’s gaze.

  Fire. Liquid flames consumed the man’s irises.

  “You-you’re…you’re…” Briella slapped a hand over her mouth, blocking the stuttering words. Holy crap, the room spun. Her legs threatened to give out beneath her weight. That hand, those claws, still bit into the countertop.

  The edges of her vision grayed.

  Don’t do it. Don’t pass out. Don’t, don’t, don’t…

  The doorbell buzzed again, the sound hollow and distant.

  “Damn it,” Syn snapped.

  One moment, there were feet between them. The next, he cradled her against him, both of them sitting on the floor.

  Tremors rattled her muscles and made her teeth chatter, but she still managed to bite out, “Dragon.”

  Those fiery eyes flooded her mind. The rain pricked at her skin as she bolted into her apartment.

  “Briella, listen to me.”

  “You did attack me.”

  Tea with a murderer.

  “No. I tried to stop you from coming in here.”

  Realization chilled the arousal. “You’ve been watching me.” She tried to shove away from Syn, but his arms remained steadfast around her. “Stalking me.”

  “I’ve been watching over you. Protecting you. You’re in danger and you haven’t any idea what that danger is.”

  “Yes.” She growled in frustration and outrage and put all her strength behind her next shove. She deliberately slammed the heel of her palm against the hard mound in his jeans. He barked a shout of pain, released her, and she scooted away. Instantly, her soul ached at the separation and she felt guilty for causing him harm. You’re so screwed. “I do. And I understand deception, as well.”

  She scrambled to her feet and jerked open the door at the top of the stairs. Syn swiped for her as he shot up off the floor, and missed. She barreled down the stairs.

  “Don’t open it!”

  Like hell she wouldn’t. She had a dragon at her back. The last thing she planned to do was listen to it.

  She snapped back the bolt lock and threw the door open.

  Steel slammed into her back, bringing her to the floor in the corner of the entryway. A dull crash echoed around her as the force of the weight pressing her down into a ball snarled and she realized Syn had tackled her. Her bare arms slid against hard, hot metal, or what she thought was metal.

  The weight lifted and she flipped onto her ass. Shock jolted through her as she watched a man as large as Syn lunge up the front steps behind a slender man holding a sizzling orb of blue light.

  She gasped.

  What the…?

  The orb-wielding stranger pitched the ball of light toward her and vanished as Syn and the other big man grabbed for him.

  She shrieked, ducked. There was a booming sound. The plaster over her head cracked, powder and larger pieces sprinkling down on her hair and shoulders.

  When she straightened, she came face-to-face with the man who’d thrown the orb at her, a grin so cold spreading his thin lips that she could feel her blood chill beneath his fathomless black gaze. Specks of silver danced in his eyes like the tips of knives waiting to spit into her skin. She goggled. She could have sworn he’d blinked out of sight and back again.

  “Dear little Keeper,” he said, his voice as icy as his gaze. Every bit of knowledge about self-defense fled her as she pressed into the corner of the wall.

  Abruptly, something flung the man off his feet. His body smashed into the ceiling and dropped down.

  A whimper escaped her as she watched Syn catch the guy by his throat, claws extended from the tips of his fingers and drawing blood. Unnaturally dark streams of liquid trickled down the man’s neck to disappear under the collar of his shirt.

  “Leave her alone,” Syn warned. Briella shuddered. If she thought the stranger chilled her, the threat in Syn’s voice could have frozen Hell.

  “Or what, Dragon? You have no power in this world, only your scales. And what happens when they fail?”

  Slowly, Briella pressed up from the floor, keeping her back hard against the wall. The trickle of blood flowed faster as Syn’s claws burrowed deeper into her assailant’s throat. The amused look on the man’s face faltered and his eyes widened.

  “I’m not as generous as my brothers. I will kill you and whoever else you bring to threaten what is mine.”

  A hand fell on Syn’s arm and squeezed. Briella’s stricken attention jerked to the other guy, who eyed her curiously before he said to Syn, “Not now, brother.”

  Syn kept his hold for several long breaths before he snapped his arm back, releasing his captive.

  In front of Brie’s disbelieving eyes, the man with the bloodied neck began to fade out of sight—until the man who’d called Syn brother snatched him in the same hold Syn had released him from. He snapped something shiny around the man’s neck. “I don’t have to protect anyone’s sensib
ilities, so let me finish what he started.” The guy winked at Syn, flashed Briella a big smile, and dragged the magic man through the door. She heard him say, “I have a witch friend looking for a guinea pig. Guess you’ll have to do.”

  Breath labored, her mind spinning in shock, Briella stared through her front door as the big man dragged the orb-wielder down the short pathway to the iron gate. A few pedestrians stared, confused, as the two men moved past them, then turned their attention to Briella’s garden and to where she stood, clearly visible in her skimpy clothes, just inside her doorway.

  She instantly wrapped her arms around her body. Syn slammed the door shut and reached toward her.

  “Stay the hell away,” she warned. He obliged and stepped back.

  “I want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Briella looked at him. More specifically, his arms and hands. The claws had retracted. His tanned skin was marred by points of burnished red that slowly disappeared. His eyes—sweet heaven, those eyes—glowed like coals, defining very vertical slits for pupils.

  “You can’t stay here.” If a man could speak and growl in the same breath, Syn perfected that sound. She hated that it played teasingly along the vulnerable nerves that hummed from their kiss. She had just been attacked by a light-holding stranger who could disappear in a blink, and saved by a dragon. She had to get a grip on her libido. “I think we should have an overdue conversation.”

  Briella observed the indentations in the two walls and the ceiling. Plaster continued to float in a choking cloud of powder. “You think?”

  The high pitch of her voice made her brows furrow.

  She looked back at Syn in time to see his eyes transform from those of a mythological creature to the enchanting dark brown with those strange rings of amber and gold. He remained at the foot of the stairs, his dark gray shirt dusted with white plaster, a thin coating lightening his hair.

  “Care to tell me what fucking portal I just stepped through?” Briella shook out her hair and huffed a breath to get the mussed strands out of her face. She rubbed her nose. The dust made it itch. “`Cause this isn’t where I started my day.”