Dragon Mine (A Hidden Novella) (9 page)

The man gripped her arm this time—terrified eyes the only part of him that was visible. She looked to the other side and saw a dragon-shaped projectile—fangs and lots of claws—diving toward her.

Oh, hell.

She felt the force of the Dragon shoving her out the other side of the tulpa. She, the man, and Kirin landed on the floor. The tulpa crackled and, in one terrifying moment, completely melted into a puddle on the floor. She watched, fearing that the liquid would re-form into some other ungodly thing. Instead, it dried up, leaving only a tarlike stain.

Kirin was man again, his gaze taking her in, his hands on her face and shoulders, making sure she was all right.

“I’m okay,” she whispered, her eyes scanning him. “You?”

He nodded, and then they both turned to see the man behind her.

With great effort, he was pulling himself to a sitting position.

Not Stein.

“
Daddy
?” She couldn’t comprehend it. Huff, not Stein. She scrambled over to him.

He lifted a trembling hand to her as she reached for him. “I’m sorry, hon. I almost got you killed. Both of you. I could see everything, but I couldn’t do a damned thing about it.” Agony lanced his words.

She hugged him, and his arms squeezed her tight. Relief swamped her, but questions did, too. “Are you all right? Nana said the tulpa could suck out your essence.”

“I could feel it draining day by day. I’m weak, but I’m all right.”

She sat back and reached for Kirin’s hand, hissing at the pain in her palms. “Dad, you made this thing to kill Stein?”

“I was rash. I see that now.” Shame drenched her father’s expression. “I discovered your mother’s journal.”

“I know. She was pregnant.”

“With Stein’s baby,” he growled.

“We don’t know that,” Kirin said without much conviction.

Huff went on. “She wrote how much she enjoyed being with Stein, how he made her feel like a Dragon again.”

“Romantically with him?” she asked.

“She didn’t say it straight out. When I got to the entry where she was pregnant I flipped. She told him first, and that could only mean it was his.” His anguish over that was clear. “He killed her.”

“We can’t be sure Stein hurt Mom.”

“
I’m
sure. I had to do something.” He looked at Kirin, who had discreetly positioned himself so he was partially in the shadows. “I didn’t want to kill him.”

“But you sent the tulpa to his house,” Kirin said.

Her father bowed his head. “I was angry enough at Stein to hurt him, yes, but I created the tulpa to terrorize him into confessing. It came back and said, ‘Stein taken from me. No kill Stein. I want to kill.’ I think the tulpa absorbed my hatred for Stein and took it as a desire for him to be dead. When it couldn’t get Stein, it attacked me.”

Kirin’s eyebrows furrowed. “Stein was taken from it? What does that mean?” He wasn’t asking her dad; more like working it through in his mind.

“I didn’t mean for you to be hurt.” Her father shifted his gaze to her. “Then you came in, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it or protect you.”

“Because of the bargain you made with Goron,” she said.

He nodded, and his shoulders sagged. “I never thought either of you would come here. But none of this happened the way I planned.”

Kirin’s cheek was bleeding, his arm scratched. “I’ve got to find Lyra.”

“I’m coming with you,” Elle said. “We’re still in this together.”

Huff got up on shaky legs. “I’m coming too. I’ll do what I can to find Stein.” His gaze slid to her hold on Kirin’s hand and the way she leaned close to him.

She lifted her chin. “You loved Mom enough to fight the Stramaglias for her.”

“You know about that?”

“I talked to Zelda. So I understand why you hate some Dragons, but you can’t hate them all for the actions of a few. But why couldn’t you understand that I loved Kirin the same way you loved Mom?”

“That’s what scared me. Because when you love someone that much you go crazy for them.”

She turned to Kirin. “You fight tulpas to save them. Or put up with a grumpy Nana and a deranged father-in-law.”

Kirin’s eyebrows rose, but before he could say anything, her dad held out his hand to him. “Whatever happens or whatever role your father played in Tara’s disappearance, I respect you. And accept you as part of my daughter’s life. It’s the least I can do.”

Kirin eyed his hand, then shook it. “Thank you.”

They walked toward the front, where Kirin quickly got dressed.

At the door, she stopped and turned to her father. “Have you ever heard of an orb changing color? My blue orb turned into an orange one, and I’d already used the orange.”

Her dad frowned. “You can’t change the color. It’s impossible.”

“But that’s what happened. It’s how I was able to merge my power with Kirin’s and blast the tulpa’s head off.”

“I saw it change,” Kirin said.

She looked up at a hollow sound, almost like faraway laughter. “Could Goron have done it?”

Kirin grunted. “He didn’t seem like the type to help if he wasn’t getting something in return.”

The deities were a mystery, by their design.

“I’ll drive,” Kirin said, taking her hand and kissing her fingertips. “Your hands need rest.”

They piled into the truck’s cab and headed to Lyra’s.

“That was a nasty trick, Goron, giving the tulpa spin-off abilities like that.” Sedash’s snarl morphed to a grin. “But the Crescents still won. Which means, my deceptive friend, you lose. I will enjoy every moment of your experience at the day care facility.”

“You changed the capabilities of her orb!”

“All’s fair when one of us is cheating.”

Goron crossed his arms in front of him, settling back in his chair. “You will antagonize the rug rats, I suppose.”

“Of course. It will be chaos!” Sedash rubbed his hands together.

Crying children, stressed teachers…hell. But chaos—ah, Goron did love chaos. He would live to see another day of it. And he would win some other wager against Sedash and make him pay. That it would be at the expense of Crescents, well, there was the pure joy of it.

Kirin turned into Lyra’s apartment complex. He paused in front of two empty parking spots that were assigned to one of the apartments.

“Lyra’s Jeep isn’t here. I’m going to check her place anyway.” He pulled into one of the designated slots.

Elle’s father was sound asleep in the back seat of the cab, snoring softly. She and Kirin got out and went up the stairs to a small front porch filled with potted plants. Lyra didn’t answer Kirin’s knock or her cell phone when he called her. After leaving yet another message, he started pacing, driving his fingers through his hair in agitation. “She must be onto something.”

Elle smoothed the hair he’d just ruffled with her fingertips, a touch that used to calm him in these kinds of moments. “Lyra’s headstrong and stubborn, traits I admit I considered  annoying before. But they should help her find your father.”

He nodded subtly and then with more conviction. “You’re right. She can take care of herself, as she’s told me many times.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “Between you and Lyra, I’m surrounded by strong women. Not a bad place to be.” He pulled her close, his expression growing softer and more serious. “Elle, back there when you said those things about loving me to throw off the tulpa…”

Her heart started thrumming fast. She shrugged. “Just doing my part.”

“And you said something about having to put up with a ‘father-in-law.’ Which implies—”

“I was caught up in the moment, I guess.” She had said that, hadn’t she? “On a roll.” She swallowed hard. Yeah, she had been on a roll because…“I meant it.”

His mouth curved in a smile. “Now, was that so hard?”

“Arrogant…” She punched him, and he grunted in pain. “Sorry.”

He gathered her close again, looking down at her with his heart in his eyes. “No, I’m sorry. Sorry I lied to you. Sorry that your mom is gone. But we’re going to find out what happened. I promise you that.”

She brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. “No matter what we find, it won’t change how I feel. Nothing did, to be honest.”

He trailed his fingers down her arm. “Agreed. I’m not losing you again. Ever. Because
I
meant what I said last night: you’re mine, love.”

“Yours,” she whispered, closing her eyes and leaning into his hard, warm body. “Now and forever.”

Things that go bump in the night have always fascinated Jaime Rush. Sometimes those things are human; other times, not so much. Now she has twisted them all together in the Hidden, a series about humans with the essences of gods who walk the knife’s edge between the glamour of Miami and a place filled with dark magick and dangerous beauty.

Jaime is also the author of the Offspring series and is also Tina Wainscott, bestselling author of eighteen novels of romance and suspense. She lives in Southwest Florida with her husband, daughter, and cat.

Mysterious Archer, a descendant of fallen angels, never lets down his icy guard. But when he teams up with Lyra, a Dragon, her warm heart threatens to melt his defenses...

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A
rcher watched the shadows around the yellow Jeep while the valet fetched his car, making sure none moved. Wraiths never attacked in the open, but the interior of Lyra’s car was fair game. They had no real reason to assault her. Not that lack of a reason would stop them.

When he pulled past her, she fell in behind him. He kept an eye on the rearview mirror as he drove. The streetlights illuminated her creamy skin and full mouth.

Keeping her around is a bad idea. In many ways.

Unfortunately, she was right. She had information he needed if he was going to find Jeremy. He’d do anything to find his brother, who had already been through so much. Dread and worry tightened Archer’s chest. How much more could Jeremy handle?

Archer glanced again at the headlights on his tail. Would he do anything to help the Dragon girl? The need to help tugged at him, like someone trying to pull out a feather. Her draw to him was normal, one of the curses of being a Caido. That he was drawn to her as well was a dangerous anomaly. Caidos, out of necessity, had to shut down their sexuality. How many times had it been their downfall? From the first fall of the angels from Heaven to the most recent at the island of Lucifera, and Caidos ended up paying the price for their father’s sins, a torment that never ended. Archer thought of those wings in Jeremy’s bedroom. Well, there was one way for it to end: death.

Archer pulled up to the garage entrance at the Raphael and punched in the code to allow his and another’s car to enter. Once inside, her Jeep appeared out of place among the Mercedes, Ferraris, and other luxury vehicles. One thing Caidos could enjoy was the sensuality of a beautiful car, its lines and curves, the purr of the engine, and the thrill of going fast.

Lyra Slade is a thrill you cannot enjoy
.

She parked next to him and stepped out of her vehicle, slinging a large purse over her shoulder. Her high heels
snicked
across the concrete as she stalked toward him, jabbing her finger in his direction.

“How dare you drop something like that and walk away? Wraiths! What do you mean, wraiths? Are they like ghosts?”

“Worse than ghosts. Quick; get to the elevators.” He wanted her inside the building.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something dark slink behind the back of a Maserati across the way. “They’re the souls of dead Caidos who were not properly interred.” He moved behind her. “They become shadows with fangs and teeth.”

“Oh, nice.” She followed his stare. “And they followed us here, didn’t they?”

“Two of them.”

One slithered closer, hiding beneath the front tire of a blue Lamborghini.

“Oh, is that all?” Her voice was pitched high, her eyebrows furrowed as she searched.

He ushered her toward the elevator, scanning their surroundings. The wraiths’ dark, slimy energy pressed closer.

“Why are they after us?” Lyra turned her back toward the elevator the moment they reached it, a sign of good fighting instinct.

His hands clamped over her shoulders, keeping her close to him. “My guess is that someone doesn’t want us poking around.”

Her body vibrated hot beneath his hands. Her skin blurred—fleshtone to yellow and back again.

Wraiths moved like shadows, vaguely taking the shape of gargoyles. The two nearby flowed around the front of the cars flanking the elevator. He searched their shapes and their gaping dark eyes, a nugget of fear forming in his chest.
Are either of you Jeremy?

The forms inched closer. Archer flicked a glance to the indicator above the stainless steel door. Still on the eleventh floor. The staircase was on the other side of the garage. They would have to fight. Transforming made him vulnerable, though he would have to take the chance.

She stared at him. “You’re…glowing.”

A powerful energy just as painful as an electrical charge surged through his body. He roared with it, feeling his wings push through his back like two hatchets. The wraiths shot forward. He readied for their talons to tear into him. Except he heard a roar and a
whump
. The pain and light diminished, clearing his vision. A gorgeous golden Dragon fended off the wraiths, keeping them from attacking as he Transformed. Her scales shimmered as she twisted around and swiped a wraith with her tail. It was whiplike, and the spikes at the tip lacerated the black form. It screamed, the sound like nails on a chalkboard, and rolled away.

The other wraith leaped, its long arms ready to grab him. He threw Light at it, burning a hole through its stomach. Light didn’t work on wraiths as it did on other beings, however. If he punched enough holes into its shadow form, though, he could at least weaken it.

“Get back to back with me,” he said, moving closer to the Dragon.

Lyra backed up until he felt her cool scales brush his arm. They each had a wraith to deal with. She snatched at hers with a hand like a tiger’s paw, only with bigger talons. Her movements were fast and smooth.

He reached over his shoulder to his wings, which weren’t feathery in texture but made of a dense, electric energy. Like brushing your fingers against the tentacles of a sea anemone. Wrenching a feather out felt like removing a fingernail, but he only grunted at the sharp pain. The feather solidified into a metallic-like substance, and he gripped it as if he were holding a knife. The wraith eyed the feather, silver under the fluorescent lights. Archer distracted it with a shot of Light, then lunged at it with the feather.

The wraith sidestepped in a zigzagging fashion. Archer kept checking on Lyra. She was a capable fighter, but she wasn’t used to fighting wraiths.

“Keep whacking it with your tail. What is that thing loaded with?”

“It’s got a sting like a yellow jacket.”

She whipped it out again, but the wraith jumped it and flew to the base of her tail. Its arms clamped on and it bit into her scales. She shook, but it clung like a burr. Archer was so busy watching her that his adversary had inched closer without him realizing it. It swiped at him with its claws, cutting into his shin. He swung at it with his feather, slicing its arm off. The arm disintegrated as the wraith uttered a guttural cry.

Lyra’s scream jerked his head around. The wraith had pulled out one of her scales and was slicing at her throat in wild arcs. Archer grabbed its hand, twisting it. With a screech, it kicked at Archer’s arm, pulling free to take a swipe at her throat again. The edge of the scale was sharp enough to slice into her shoulder. Blood spurted out. Archer latched onto the wraith with one arm. It thrashed and scratched him, but he plunged the feather into its chest.

Its whole body lit up, and then it disintegrated just like the other wraith’s arm. He turned to find that wraith snatching up the scale. Before Archer could grab it back, the thing cut his side, but it met the same death with his feather. He did a quick scan of the garage to make sure there weren’t any others. Just the two. Whoever had sent them hadn’t counted on Lyra being there with him. Two on one was a lot harder.

Lyra.

He turned to find her lying on the concrete floor in human form, naked and curled into a fetal position. Her clothes were in tatters nearby, her purse lying next to them.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. He scooped her up, snagged her purse, and stepped into the car. Blood gushed out of her shoulder wound, a long, deep slice. Her eyes were hazy with pain.

“Let me get you upstairs. I’ll heal you.”

She blinked at him, amber flames flickering unsteadily in her blue eyes. Her pain and fear overwhelmed him. He focused on the feel of her skin beneath his hands, then realized that skin was her ass—soft, round…

Hell.

He could see the reflection of that fine ass in the brass walls of the elevator, his hand splayed across it, his other arm around her back. She had to be naked. Because this wasn’t hard enough. He tried to force cool energy through his being to compensate for the heat where their skins touched.

“Hurts…” she uttered in a strained voice.

“I know, I know,” he soothed,
because I can feel it.
“It’ll be gone soon.”

The elevator opened and he stepped into the apartment. He set her down on his bed.

“You’re b-beautiful,” she whispered, her eyes glassy.

“Sleep.” He waved his hand over her face, and her eyes drifted closed.

She was shivering, going into shock. He placed his palm over her shoulder, her warm blood slick on his skin. Pain seared his shoulder, hot and intense. He seized the corner of the blanket and stuck it between his teeth. She jerked, grimacing as the pain tore away from her. Then she relaxed as the last of it left her and now cut through him. He breathed through it, biting down hard on the blanket. How had she endured it? She was brave, fighting like a warrior. Finally, the pain left him too, and he sagged with relief.

He had healed before, usually in dire circumstances when either Crescent or Mundane were in such pain or fear that the sight of an angel didn’t seem so terribly unusual. Even one whose wings weren’t pristine white. He then went off to deal with the pain he’d taken alone.

He wasn’t alone now. He caressed her shoulder, unmarred now but covered with congealing blood. He went to the kitchen and returned with a bowl of warm water and a towel. She was still asleep. He knew Dragons tried to shed their clothes before they transformed. She hadn’t had time to disrobe. A long time ago, he’d fought a Dragon. Now he’d fought alongside one.

He knelt on the bed beside her and ran the cloth over her skin, washing away the blood. There was no need for modesty because he had no sexual drive. Another side effect of the human/angel union was to suffer pain at feeling desire, others’ and their own. All Caidos had to shut down that part of themselves for self-preservation. So it meant nothing to run the cloth over her breasts, her flat stomach, and those hip bones that jutted out slightly. To wash her yellow Dragon tattoo that slept as she did.

That he was taking his time had nothing to do with his drinking in her curves. Yet his fingers itched to touch her, as he had at the club. His body stirred as it had not in a long, long time. How long had it been since blood had rushed into that particular organ? He had been hoping it had atrophied, and here was why.

He dropped the cloth into the bowl and set it on the nightstand, then pulled up a sheet to cover her. He had never been drawn to a woman. Desired one, yes, but never pulled like this, right from his soul. He’d seen the danger of that in Grayson’s haunted eyes and in his rage, his experience a warning to all Caidos.

Not that this woman would torture him on purpose. She
was
torturing him though.

He ran the back of his fingers against her cheek, so soft and flawless. He would allow himself only this touch. Nowhere intimate that would violate her sanctity. It would be the last time he’d touch her.

You’re weak from the healing. Stop. Don’t give in.

He knew his conscience was right. Where angels feared to tread—that place was here with this woman on his bed. Still, he couldn’t pull his hand away. Her warmth seeped into all the cold places inside him.

Being in full wing usually numbed the pain he felt from emotion, but amazingly, right now he could feel it like a low-voltage hum through his being. He indulged in a need he hadn’t known he had.

“Beautiful,” he whispered back to her, having never uttered those words about anyone before.

With a gasp, she grabbed his hand and shot to a sitting position. “Where am I?” She took him in with wide eyes, and he could see the pieces clicking in her mind. “What were you doing?”

“Cleaning the blood off you.”

The sheet had fallen away, pooling around her waist. She snatched it up again, covering her breasts. She inspected herself, her shoulder. “I was cut, badly. I remember the pain. God, it hurt so much.” Her hand groped all along her skin.

“You’re fine now, though in need of some clothing.” He got up and opened the drawer. He located a button-down shirt and blindly handed it to her, remaining turned away.  

“You healed me?”

Thankfully she hadn’t seen the cost. He faced her again, and the sight of his shirt draped over her small body tightened his stomach. “Yes.”

She brushed her fingers across her cheek where he’d touched her moments before, a puzzled expression on her face. Could she feel the echo of his touch? Then her eyes went to his wings, and her voice softened to a reverent hush. “I’ve never seen a Caido’s wings before. They’re luminescent, like smoky silver. You have a glow all around you.”

She wanted to touch his wings. He could see it in her eyes, the way they caressed the width of them. The thought shivered through him, not painful but…tempting.

Her wonderment fled. “You’ve been hurt, too. Can you heal yourself?”

Archer looked at the cut on his side. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, only crusted with dried blood. “It will heal on its own.”

Lyra took the cloth from the bowl and wrung out the water. As she stretched to reach him, the sheet fell away. The shirt covered her hips and ass, but left her long, creamy legs bare. She hissed in pain at the same second he saw the red, angry line on the back of her thigh.

She twisted around to see it. “Bastard ripped out one of my scales. And tried to slice my throat with it!”

“Calm down.” Now her anger pulsed. “I’ll heal it.” He sat on the edge of the bed and waved his hand over it.

“You put me to sleep, didn’t you?” She winced but never took her eyes from him. Which made him work harder to keep his expression neutral as he took her pain.

“Consider it a sedative.”

The line disappeared from her skin, burning on his thigh for a few seconds before fading.

She was watching him. “You take on the pain.”

He lifted a shoulder. “It’s just a sting.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. Really.”

She started to reach toward the cut with the washcloth but paused. “You don’t like it when people touch you.”

He shook his head. “No, we don’t.”

She bent her legs to the side, a demure position, yet still provocative. “Let me get this straight. Your energy draws women to you, but you don’t like anyone to touch you.”