Dragon's Mate: A DragonFate Novel (The DragonFate Novels Book 4)

by Deborah Cooke

  She liked that they had each other, equal companions. Cousins, not siblings, but they hadn’t grown up alone and isolated from their kind. Her heart ached for something she’d never possessed.

  “They were named for the Anemoi, the divinities of the winds in Greek mythology. Notus was named for the south wind, the hot, wet and changeable scirocco wind from Africa, the wind that brought storms, unsettled weather and change. Boreus was named for the north wind, a powerful cold force that brought both winter weather and fertility. Two other cousins were named Zephyr and Euros for the other Anemoi, the west wind and the east wind.”

  The two dragons were joined by another pair, all of them so slender that they seemed to have only just come of age. There were four older dragons with them, one breathing fire as the others watched. Rania realized it was a lesson as the four young Pyr followed his example with various levels of success. The second older dragon breathed smoke and again the young ones mimicked him. Rania watched as the fathers tutored their young.

  She’d essentially been an only child, the sole mortal child in Fae. She’d always wanted this kind of camaraderie with a group of her own kind.

  If she surrendered to the firestorm with Hadrian, would the Pyr gather to raise their son, even after Hadrian’s death? It was a surprisingly reassuring idea.

  “The names were a decision of four Pyr in homage to their legacy as the descendants of the Dragon Legion Pyr, Thaddeus, and his mate, Aura, who had been a nymph before their firestorm. Aura and Tha had two pairs of twins and it was their grandsons who made this pact.”

  The vision flickered, huts disappearing and vegetation changing with the seasons. Rania understood that time was passing. When the scene came into focus, the two dragons were together and they were larger. They looked more muscular and some of their scales had darkened. They were older, clearly. Rania wondered what had happened to the cousins and fathers, but perhaps that wasn’t part of Alasdair’s tale.

  “When my father’s firestorm sparked, it was Notus who defended his back while my father convinced his destined mate to accept him.”

  Rania smiled at the vision of a pretty young woman walking through the grass, laughing as she swung a pail of milk. The reason for her amusement followed behind her, a handsome man whose attention was fixed upon her. He was obviously using all of his charm in an attempt to persuade her of something, but she laughed at him. The light of the firestorm sparked between them, making them both oblivious to everything except each other. He caught her hand and she spun to face him with delight. She would have dropped the milk, but he caught it from her grasp and set it down, then kissed her sweetly. The way she leaned against him proved that she wasn’t so resistant to his appeal after all and Rania could understand that. The attention of a dragon shifter in the presence of a firestorm made it almost impossible to refuse at least a kiss.

  Rania listened, noting the steady hammering from the studio as Hadrian worked.

  The firestorm’s light flared to brilliance and even in a vision, it made Rania’s heart skip. She scanned the scene, seeking clues as to the time and date, but couldn’t be sure. The hut was roofed with thatch and could have been from any era. The maiden’s dress was simple and modest, her hair long and auburn. Her feet were bare and the clouds bore down low, heavy with rain. A mist was falling and she recognized that it was still Scotland from the shape of the hills.

  If these were his parents, how old was Alasdair?

  There was a pasture behind the amorous couple where the cow was tethered. A man appeared behind the cow, startling it, his gaze fixed on the embracing couple. He had dark hair and dark eyes and there was an intensity about him that made Rania fear his intentions. He stalked the couple silently, unaware that yet another man followed him. She guessed that the second man was Notus, because he shared Hadrian’s auburn hair and there was a similarity between the two around the eyes. Behind the second man, clouds gathered in the distance and Rania could see the wind blowing in the trees. It was as if a storm followed him.

  The south wind, Notus, brought storms. Did the dragon shifter named Notus have the same powers?

  Alasdair continued. “In those days, our kind were divided, into true Pyr and Slayers. Slayers had chosen not to defend humans as treasures of the earth any longer, seeing mankind as a pestilence to be exterminated. This was the result of dragons being hunted as trophies. For example, Sigmund, one of the Council of Seven, was killed by human hunters intent on gathering his blood as a curative. One of his three sons turned Slayer as a result of his father’s death, a dragon shifter named Olaf. Slayers had blood that ran black instead of red, a sign that they had embraced the darkness over the light, but many of them were jealous of the firestorm. Slayers could not have a firestorm, and thus had no sons. Olaf was filled with bitterness and resentment, and believed he had been cheated in every way. When Boreus had his firestorm, Olaf was drawn to the spark and tried to steal Boreus’ mate.”

  As Alasdair spoke, the dark-haired man bounded forward, shimmering blue and shifting shape in mid-air. He became a dragon of malachite and silver, a splendid creature of fierce power. He would have attacked the embracing couple, but the man following him moved like quicksilver. He also shimmered blue then changed to the amber and gold dragon with the feathers Rania had seen earlier.

  He was Notus! Notus seized Olaf by the wings before the couple realized the threat and parted. Boreus pushed his mate behind himself and shimmered blue on the cusp of change as the green and amber dragons fought overhead. Boreus didn’t change shape and Rania wondered why not. Shouldn’t he be defending his mate? The maiden looked astonished as she watched the fight overhead and Boreus steadily backed her toward the hut.

  Meanwhile, the pending storm arrived. The trees bent beneath the assault of the wind and dark clouds glowered overhead. Rain began to fall and she saw Boreus’ mate shiver as the raindrops changed to ice and fell tinkling on the ground. Boreus cast a cloak over the maiden’s shoulders and pulled her against his side, the firestorm glowing as she slipped an arm around his waist.

  Would he truly defend her against the Slayer, or was he just sheltering her until the firestorm was satisfied? Rania instinctively distrusted the idea of romance.

  “Olaf and Notus fought over Boreus’ mate,” Alasdair said. “While Boreus was compelled to stand and watch, because he had not yet confided the truth of his nature in her. Miranda was already so frightened that he feared his shift would overwhelm her with terror. There was a conviction amongst our kind that a mortal could look upon the change without descending into madness, and Boreus was protective of his mate in every way.”

  The dragon battle, meanwhile, was ferocious. The pair grappled for supremacy, tumbling end over end through the air, breathing fire and slashing at each other. Olaf was bigger but Notus was more clever. Olaf struck Notus with his tail and Notus raked his claws across Olaf’s belly, ripping open his guts. Rania watched as the Slayer’s black blood flowed and saw steam rise where it hit the ground. The snow fell faster and thicker, and there was a thin coating of ice over everything. The dragons kept fighting, their fury melting the ice and filling the air with mist. Notus breathed fire at the wound and Olaf cried out in anguish, his bellow echoing over the hills. His eyes glinted and he dove after Notus, who soared high in the sky, drawing him away. He disappeared in the clouds that wreathed the summits of the hills, Olaf fast behind him.

  Alasdair made a gesture with one claw and Rania saw the fight from a different view, as if she was hanging onto Olaf’s tail. The dragons swept into a cloud and she felt as if she was flying himself. It was thrilling. The mist and the falling snow diminished visibility to almost nil, and she heard the tinkle of ice falling against the dragon scales. She felt Olaf’s fury and his confusion, then Notus suddenly appeared ahead of him, those feathers glistening with drops of rainwater. Notus glanced back, apparently in fear, then lunged onward and disappeared into the clouds again.

  Olaf gave a roar and raced in pursuit, only to
slam into the side of the hill that had been veiled by the clouds. His head hit the rock hard and he slid down the face of the stone, unconscious. A trail of black blood from his temple followed his descent, sizzling on the surface of the stone. Notus swooped down and attacked the fallen Slayer. Rania winced as Notus cut away Olaf’s genitals, then tossed them into the air and burned them with his dragonfire, deaf to Olaf’s screams. The black blood flowed from Olaf’s wound, staining the snow that was accumulating on the ground, and he shifted between forms before passing out as a dark-haired man. Notus surveyed him for a long moment, then took flight, disappearing into the swirl of snow. It was quiet then and Rania could only see the steady trickle of black blood into the snow.

  So Notus had eliminated the Slayer who threatened his cousin’s firestorm. He had risked death for his cousin, just as Alasdair offered to die in Hadrian’s stead. The Pyr, clearly, had stronger bonds than Rania had realized.

  No one would have offered his or her life in exchange for Rania’s. The realization chilled her.

  “Notus abandoned the Slayer to die,” Alasdair said. “He believed that Olaf could not survive such an injury. But fury is a powerful force, and a thirst for revenge can provide a burning desire to survive.”

  Rania knew that well enough. She watched the snow fall, covering Olaf’s fallen body as time passed. The Slayer stirred finally and sat up with a grimace, then brushed the snow from his shoulders. She saw Olaf’s horror when he examined his own injury, then watched as the Slayer dragged his broken body toward what might have been a path or road. He managed to rise to his feet, bind his wound roughly with a length of cloth torn from his own garments, and cut a staff from a broken tree. He staggered onward, and eventually the opening of a cave came into view.

  Rania guessed that Olaf had sensed the presence of the man there, the one who emerged from the darkness and surveyed him with concern. She shivered, remembering the trapper who had healed her injuries all those years ago when she’d hunted the polar bear shifter, and wondered whether this one had an agenda of his own as well.

  “Olaf was lucky,” Alasdair said. “He always had been, and on this occasion, his luck held. He reached the refuge of a hermit renowned for his healing abilities, and without revealing his nature, received care. His body healed, but his need for vengeance only grew stronger with each passing day. His fury was distilled into a dark and potent force, one he could not ignore.”

  The scene spun and it was clearly spring when Olaf left the cave. He looked healthy again. He embraced the hermit from the cave and walked away, continuing in human form until he was out of view. His eyes glittered when he glanced back, then he shimmered blue, shifting into his powerful dragon form and taking flight. He flew high over the hills, soaring through the clouds, then swooped down on the hermit’s refuge. He returned from the opposite direction and roared on his approach. The hermit came out of the cave, wary but curious, and Olaf roasted him with dragonfire. The hermit screamed as he tried to retreat to the safety of the cave but Olaf was relentless. He landed outside the door, shoved his head as far as possible into the cave, and breathed dragonfire with such force that smoke came out the cracks in the stone.

  “No one would ever know that Olaf had found sanctuary in this place, or that the hermit had healed him. No one would be able to challenge Notus’ conviction that the Slayer was dead,” Alasdair said.

  Rania was shocked by Olaf’s savagery even though it was strategic and defensive. Clearly, dragons weren’t always the good guys.

  Maybe her assignment from Maeve was justified.

  “By the time Olaf abandoned the place where he had found refuge, it was burned and blackened, smoking with destruction. Nothing moved. Nothing uttered a sound.

  Rania watched, fascinated, as Olaf took flight and disappeared into the blue.”

  “Olaf returned to his own lair, abandoning Boreus and his mate,” Alasdair said. “Their firestorm was consummated and no longer of interest to him. He was determined to take vengeance upon Notus in retaliation for his injury. He waited for Notus to have his firestorm. He hid himself from both Pyr and Slayers, letting Notus believe he was dead.” The vision showed a dragon sleeping in the dark shadows of a cave, his breathing so slow and steady that he might have been made of stone. Only the faint glimmer of his eyes and the occasional wisp of smoke revealed that he was alive. Rania was struck by the similarity to Hadrian the night before, when she’d appeared in his studio. Olaf appeared to be soundly asleep or even dead, but she could see the telltale glimmer of his eyes. He was awake and watching. “He banked the fires, as my father would have said, and he waited more than a hundred and fifty years.”

  The sudden spark of the firestorm made Rania jump, even though she’d expected it. The firestorm flared at a distance, but its powerful spark touched even the darkness of Olaf’s lair. The glow was white, exactly the same as the light that burned between herself and Hadrian, and their firestorm felt stronger even with the illusion of the one long satisfied. In the vision, the sleeping Olaf lifted his head, inhaled deeply and smiled. The malice in his expression was a warning.

  “When Notus had his firestorm, Olaf sensed the first spark. He was determined to strike at the heart of his opponent, stealing what was of greatest importance to Notus in retaliation for his own loss.”

  Rania saw Olaf emerge from his lair and take flight, a dark and fearsome silhouette against the sky. He flew hard and fast, his wings beating furiously, as he raced toward the firestorm. The Slayer landed in the fields outside a village in the darkness of the night, when the moon was new. There was a quick shimmer of blue as he took his human form. Rania realized there was already a man on the road, walking toward a small village.

  She sat straighter, fearing Olaf’s intent and his viciousness. He couldn’t have succeeded, because Hadrian had been born of this firestorm, but the suspense made her heart pound. As she watched, Olaf stealthily followed the other man into the town, keeping to the shadows to disguise his presence.

  Once again, there were dark clouds gathering in the distance, as if a storm was brewing. The wind whipped around the pair and they both pulled their cloaks closer, indicating that the wind was cold. The slate blue color of the clouds made Rania think they were snowclouds, just as the clouds had been when Boreus’ mate had been attacked by Olaf and Notus had intervened.

  The streets were quiet in the town, although music flowed from a tavern, along with the sound of laughter. The spark of the firestorm and the other man’s path led Olaf to a comfortable house with a single light burning in a barred window. Olaf lingered in the shadows to watch as Notus, in his human form, spoke quietly to someone inside. The firestorm’s light bathed him in silvery radiance, like the light of a full moon, adding to the faint light from the chamber. The wind danced around him and the first flakes of snow began to fall.

  Alasdair cleared his throat. “Notus’ mate was Argenta, the daughter of a wool merchant and a maiden who a talent for spinning. Her older sister, Dora, had been able to spin straw into gold, and after her efforts added to her father’s wealth, word of her skill had spread. She’d been married to a local prince, who kept her spinning all the day and night.

  “Argenta, in contrast, could spin ice into silver, and her father didn’t let that opportunity for gain pass either. She was locked in a chamber and compelled to spin day and night, while her father tried to keep the truth of her abilities secret. Rumors were already spreading in the town when her firestorm with Notus sparked.”

  Rania was struck by the difference between ideas of family. The Pyr defended each other and helped each other: this wool merchant used his daughters’ skills for his own gain, with no care for their welfare or desires. She had to consider her relationship with the Dark Queen. Maeve had never asked what Rania wanted herself. She’d made suggestions and offered a deal, but even her gifts—like the kiss of death—were granted so that Rania could better serve the Dark Queen’s will. No one had ever asked what she wanted, or helped her to
achieve a goal of her own.

  She bit her lip, wondering how much that mattered. It mattered to Hadrian and the Pyr. Should it matter to her?

  The view moved closer, past Olaf and over Notus’ shoulder. There was frost gathering on the edges of the window and snow dancing between Notus and the view of his mate. Rania saw the slender woman at the spinning wheel, her eyes alight as she listened to Notus courting her. She never slowed in her work, though she smiled at his attention.

  The chamber was sparsely furnished, with only a bed, a pail and a small table. It looked more like a prison to Rania. There was a bucket of icicles beside the maiden and she took each one in turn, spinning it into a long strand of silver. She wore a heavy coat and gloves with the fingertips cut off, her face pale with the chill of the room. The silver was coiled on the floor, like gleaming wire, and rolled into chests stacked against the walls. Her hands moved deftly and Rania could sense her uncertainty of Notus.

  She couldn’t blame her, either. He probably just wanted sex.

  “Argenta hadn’t been allowed to mingle in society since her gift had been revealed, for her father feared she might be stolen away. As a result, she was wary of men, particularly the handsome man who came to her window each night, intent upon charming her. Notus told her stories, though, and prompted her laughter, courting her affection. He made steady progress, and that was compounded by the firestorm, which turned Argenta’s thoughts to love and romance. After two weeks of clandestine visits, she surrendered to his appeal.”