Kiss of a Dragon (Fallen Immortals 1) - Paranormal Fairytale Romance (19 page)

“I was only taking a taste,” the dragon hissed, but he took a step back from both Arabella and this strange new man who had stopped him.

He was beautiful in the way some men were—slender but high-cheeked; dark, flowing hair long past his shoulders, wispy and straight. Those runes that Lucian had were on this man as well, only just on his face. His eyes were ice-colored, nearly clear, with a hint of blue that dazzled as he fixed a stare on her. But the most strange part about him was his
ears…
they were pointed, like an elf. Or maybe a faery.

The fae.
This must be the fae that Lucian mentioned. Or one of them, at least. Had he come to rescue her? A flame of hope lit her heart.

“This one is not for the likes of you to taste, Tytus,” the fae said. He slowly raked his eyes over her body. Heat rushed her face, and she crossed her arms over her bare breasts. “Although I can see why you would want to try.” He smiled, and Arabella’s small hope was doused in ice.

“Lucian’s going to come for me,” she said, defiantly, but it was far more
hope
than any kind of
certainty.

“Of that, I have no doubt.” His smile tempered a little, and he gave a half wave in her direction. Suddenly, she was clothed again, the tatters of her original t-shirt still lying on the ground while she now wore a gauzy, white blouse, so thin as to hardly be any cover at all without a bra underneath. In fact, the thin cuts from the dragon’s talons seeped red immediately into the fabric, sticking it to her. She frowned, confused as to what was happening. It was like he wanted to cover her up, but he didn’t care if she was a bloody mess.

He gave her an appreciative once over, then turned to Tytus. “Cross me again, dragon, and you’ll know the full power of my displeasure. Make no mistake—
you
are not protected by the treaty, and those wards on your keep are an insult. Did you really think to prevent my coming with that?”

Tytus dipped his head. “Of course, not. Those were for the prince in case he followed—”

The fae snorted, a clear look of disgust on his face. “You are as stupid as you are clumsy. Those would never have stopped him.”

“I only meant to delay—”

“Don’t
lie
to me, Tytus.” The fae’s voice went ice-cold. “You live at my forbearance, and only as long as you are useful to me. Do not test it.”

Tytus growled. “We both have the same purpose in this. And when you are done with her—”

“You will
not
touch her again.” The fae’s voice boomed, heavy with the same magical power that shook the air before. Then he calmed and gave the dragon a sickly kind of smile. “Not until such time as I permit.”

Tytus bowed again and took a step back.

The fae turned his icy stare back to her. “Now, my lovely Arabella, you and I have a few things to discuss.”

She shivered as he held out his hand to her, beckoning her forward.
Talk?
What the hell were they going to talk about? Should she refuse? Would that serve any purpose whatsoever? Her whole body was still trembling with cold and fear and shock, and her brain was locked up with the panic that came with all of it. She couldn’t really think straight, but she didn’t see much in the way of options. She managed to unlock her legs and stumble forward.

The gleam in his nearly-clear eyes heightened as she reached out to take his hand. A small smile snuck onto his face.

Then the world vanished in a blink.

Lucian sped toward the House of Drakkon
like a man possessed.

And he was—images kept haunting him of Arabella lying in a pool of her own blood. He squashed those down and ignored the horrible, creeping, black feeling that he would arrive too late—moments too late, seconds too late—after any chance of saving her was gone, no matter how powerful the magic in his blood. He focused instead on finally having just cause to tear out Tytus’s liver and feed it to him.

Even at his top speed, the trip to Idaho was agonizingly long. But he knew Tytus would take her to his lair. Surrounded by his fellow black dragons was the only way he could hope to hold Arabella for any length of time. He had to know Lucian would come for her—and
him
—which was part of why Lucian was convinced he would arrive too late. Tytus knew the clock would be ticking. And that was the part Lucian couldn’t understand—
why take her at all?
Why risk war with the House of Smoke? Because Lucian would arrive first, but his brothers and his House would be on his smoke trail, ready with talons and dragonfire to render the House of Drakkon to ash. Why risk it? All to spite Lucian for enforcing some common decency upon Tytus in his treatment of bedmates?

It made no sense.

And a violent man doing illogical things… that made Lucian nervous. That kind of unpredictability meant his grip in protecting the realms wasn’t as tight as he thought.

And Arabella would be the first casualty.

His dragonfire welled up inside him, anger mixed with magic, and it wanted release, but Lucian held it back—venting at top speed would just slow him down, and he couldn’t afford that.

When he finally glimpsed the glittering black towers of the House of Drakkon in the distance, it sent both relief and a surge of anger-fueled adrenaline through his body. He kept just below the speed of sound so as not to give any warning of his arrival. Then he counted the seconds until he crashed into the infernal tower of black glass and painted his revenge in Tytus’s blood.

As he rocketed forward, Lucian stretched his fae senses even further. The House of Drakkon was protected by some weak warding spells—the kind a common witch would place. Tytus must have hired one, given dragons without fae in their blood didn’t have access to that kind of magic. Summoning his runes to act at this distance took focus, but Lucian managed to project their power forward enough to knock away the spell a few moments before he arrived. In that short breath of time, he swept the keep, searching for Arabella’s scent, the heady mix of her soap-scrubbed skin combined with
his
scent, as he’d marked her again and again during their lovemaking. Tytus couldn’t have missed it, and he would have made her pay for her time in Lucian’s bed.

Once, twice, three times he searched the House of Drakkon… but she wasn’t there.

Or she was already dead.

Lucian crashed through the glass roof, shattering a rain of black shards onto the mountain on which the keep was perched. He screamed his anger in a shower of dragonfire as he landed talons-first on the level where Tytus’s loathsome scent was strongest. The black dragon cowered under the curtain of glass raining on his head, then arose out of it, wings spreading wide to lift off. Lucian barreled into him before he could flee, crashing them both through another wall, a solid one made of wood and plaster, before tumbling into a large room in the center of Tytus’s lair. Lucian’s talons found purchase, slicing through Tytus’s scaly black hide like it was common leather—the only things sharp enough and strong enough to cut dragon skin were the claws of another dragon. The feel of Tytus’s flesh parting as Lucian squeezed, the black dragon’s blood gushing over his claws, only fed his bloodlust, pushing his anger higher. Tytus screamed and blasted fire in Lucian’s face, which forced him to wrench away—then the slip of Tytus’s blood in the meat of his side caused Lucian to lose his grip. Tytus whipped his tail against Lucian’s legs, swiping them from under him, but Lucian took to wing, his fae powers muscling him higher, lofting up the two-story room and back down on Tytus’s head as he turned to run. This time, Lucian’s talons found the black dragon’s throat, squeezing from behind and cutting deep into his flesh. Tytus gurgled with the noise of a man choking on his own blood and plowed face-first into the stone of his own lair, the floor already slick with his blood. His wings and tail flailed at Lucian, but to no avail.

Just as he twisted his claws to finish the job and split Tytus’s long, serpentine neck in two, something struck Lucian from the side and knocked him free from where he had Tytus pinned to the floor. Lucian let loose a sweep of dragonfire as he came back around, setting all of Tytus’s lair afire, but then he abruptly pulled up—

Leonidas. Lucian halted mid-turn, confused as his brother hovered over a gasping and gurgling Tytus.
What the fuck?

She’s not here, Lucian.
Leonidas turned away from him and flipped Tytus over.

Lucian watched, still amazed, as his own brother placed the flat of his taloned hand on Tytus’s neck and summoned his runes. The inky magic symbols wriggled across his bronzed scales and down his forearm to gather their power where Leonidas was holding the shreds of Tytus’s neck together. The runes were capable of limited healing for dragon wounds. Of course, their own dragon blood had tremendous self-healing powers all on its own, but a wound grievous enough, especially one from another dragon’s talons, could end an immortal’s life. It was how wyvern were destroyed, and how many dragons ended their lives in battle. But here his brother was, bringing Tytus back from near-death with the added power of a healing spell, a bit of fae magic for their enemies.

What the hell are you doing?
Lucian landed with a wall-shaking thud next to his brother and Tytus on the floor.

Saving your beloved, my brother.

Lucian blinked. Said nothing, then blinked again. His mind had been so hazed with anger and bloodlust that he hadn’t thought it through—but, of course,
she must still be alive.
Otherwise, Tytus would have taunted him with her body. Or been ready for the fight. Something.

Where have you taken her?
Lucian demanded, throwing his thoughts at Tytus as he roared his anger.

Tytus didn’t answer, his eyes still glazed, even with Leonidas’s healing.

Lucian knelt next to him, breathing dragonfire in his face to get his attention. Tytus whipped his head back and forth, unsuccessfully trying to avoid the flames’ scorching burn. Leonidas scowled at him, not least because some of the plasma spilled on his hand still on Tytus’s neck, but he didn’t complain.

If she dies, you die.
Lucian sent the thought to Tytus.
Tell me now, and if she lives, I’ll let you continue to breathe a while longer.

Tytus coughed and squinted at Lucian.
The fae have her.

Lucian rocked back and glanced at Leonidas. 

His brother’s eyes were wide.
Zephan? But why—

The treaty.
But Lucian scowled. It didn’t make sense.

Leonidas’s eyes drew to slits and dragonfire leaked from his mouth.
He can’t kill her.

The hell he can’t. There are demons loose in Seattle.

That doesn’t mean he’s forsaken the treaty,
his brother argued.

I can’t take that chance.
Lucian leaped up, spread his wings, and soared out of the giant hole he made in the roof of the House of Drakkon.

If Zephan had Arabella, there was only one way to reach her—he would have to travel to the Winter Court. Never mind that a dragon bearing the blood of Summer Court fae hadn’t broached the realm in ten-thousand years…

There was nothing in the mortal or immortal realms which could stop him.

An impossible thing
had just happened.

One moment, Arabella was standing in the lair of the black dragon who had kidnapped her; the next, she was standing in a room that seemed made of brilliant, glowing ice. The one thing that remained constant between the two rooms was the cool, soft hand holding hers. A man—no, a
fae
—who had rescued her from a dragon bent on hurting her. Probably killing her. Only
this
man with the pointed ears, wispy black hair, and ice-clear eyes was looking her over with just as much lascivious intent.

She dropped his hand. “What just happened?” she asked, looking around her. The walls were translucent, but she couldn’t see past them. They stretched overhead, a dozen stories tall, like she stood at the bottom of a very deep well made of light. The room itself was round, and the walls were wavy, with shadows and crevices that could be hiding a dozen passageways. The floor was likewise made of some kind of glass. There were only two pieces of furniture in the expansive room that made her think it was a room at all, and not some great cavern—a vast white bed, angular and strange, and giant, flat silver screen embedded in the wall above it.