Kiss of Fate by Deborah Cooke

Nothing was moving, though, and the earth wasn’t shaking. He forced himself to take inventory. There was no damage to the greenhouse, which had been designed to neatly collapse in an earthquake.

  The rupture had been within himself, but not an injury of his own. Sloane was puzzled.

  Delaney was clutching the lip of the table in front of him. “What was that?”

  “Nothing good.” Sloane frowned as the pain diminished. “Maybe one of the other Pyr was injured.”

  “Do you usually feel that?” Delaney’s skepticism was clear. “Because I never have. I think it was something else.”

  “Like what?”

  Delaney’s lips set and he put down the seeds. “Something we should find out about instead of playing with seeds.”

  “Maybe it was just a summons, some new trick Erik has learned.”

  “No,” Delaney said flatly. “Erik didn’t send that.”

  Sloane studied his patient, wondering what Delaney couldn’t put into words. It wasn’t like him to be so definite, but Sloane was prepared to trust Delaney’s instincts.

  Especially as they agreed with his own. “Let’s go to Chicago, then,” he suggested. “The others will be at Erik’s lair.”

  “I can set up the computerized climate control.” Delaney moved with purpose to prepare the greenhouses for their absence.

  Sloane listened as the discord continued to fade. It had been the strangest sensation, and not a good one.

  If Erik wasn’t responsible, he would know what was.

  Sophie had her arms folded across her chest when Nikolas returned to Erik’s lair. She was cold, chilled right to the bone, as she never had been before. She felt sick and weak, as well. She saw that Nikolas cradled several things in his arms and didn’t want to look at the damage.

  But she did look as Nikolas laid the pieces of the ruptured Dragon’s Egg on Erik’s coffee table. The large orb had broken in half; then one hemisphere had shattered into three pieces.

  The stone was cold and dead, just the way Sophie felt. She touched it to be sure, running her fingertips over the smooth stone, but knew its powers were gone.

  Its icy emptiness touched her heart.

  It was a portent of change, change for the worst.

  For the Pyr? Or for her?

  She shivered, aware that Nikolas was observing her reaction. “I can’t fix it,” she said, anticipating his question.

  “The choice he offered was no choice.” Nikolas’s gaze searched hers. “I know that it is forbidden for the Wyvern to shed blood, even in her own defense. I could not let him kill you.”

  The intensity of his expression made Sophie’s pulse leap and made her aware of him in a way that she knew was inappropriate. She studied the remains of the Dragon’s Egg, but she was so attuned to Nikolas’s presence that she couldn’t see what was before her eyes.

  Instead, she felt his heartbeat.

  “I am sorry if you believe that I failed you,” he said in a tone that wasn’t apologetic at all.

  Sophie made the mistake of glancing up, and the heat she found in his eyes stole her breath away.

  “There are obligations that are sacred,” he insisted. “Duties that are an honor to fulfill. Your defense in these times is a task I would welcome.”

  “The Wyvern should not have stronger bonds with any single Pyr or human—” Sophie began to argue, but Nikolas interrupted her.

  “He will kill you.” He shook a finger at her. “He will hunt you and he will kill you, although he will probably torture you first. You cannot ask me to stand aside and let that happen.”

  “I cannot ask you to prevent it.” Sophie averted her gaze.

  She jumped when Nikolas touched her throat with his warm fingertip. She glanced at him and found the glistening red of her own blood smeared across his finger. His dark eyes blazed.

  “I will not permit him to do this again.”

  Sophie swallowed, distrusting how attractive she found the idea of having Nikolas as her champion. She was becoming too involved with the Pyr. She was losing her objectivity. She was no longer aloof.

  But she didn’t want to retreat.

  “You have a destined role to fulfill,” she argued. “My defense is not it. You must pursue your own destiny. . . .”

  Nikolas scoffed. “Whether destiny exists or not is not mine to decide.” He fixed Sophie with a hot look. “I believe in choice. I believe in principle and honor and beauty. I believe in dedicating my powers to a cause that matters.”

  He eased closer and Sophie’s breath caught. Nikolas was all she could see, all she wanted to see, so she simply stared into his eyes.

  His voice softened, falling low enough to make her shiver. “I believe that the Wyvern, our Wyvern, must be protected at all cost.”

  Sophie couldn’t find the words to argue with him. She was too overwhelmed by his power, his determination, and the desire that both awakened within her. She studied the unruly wave of his hair, the resolve in the line of his lips, the sweep of his lashes. She met the glimmer in his dark eyes and her resistance melted.

  What was happening to her? She was supposed to be above earthly desires, immune to their appeal.

  But Nikolas undermined all of that with a single look.

  She felt warm again.

  Alive.

  Nicholas abruptly dropped to one knee before her and bowed his head. The light made blue glimmers in the dark waves of his hair, touched his broad shoulders like a caress. Sophie yearned to slide her fingers into his hair, to caress his strength, but she knew better.

  Intimacy was forbidden to the Wyvern.

  But Sophie yearned all the same.

  Nikolas glanced up at her. His eyes were deep brown, deeper than any brown she might have imagined, filled with devotion. “Accept my service in your defense.”

  “I don’t understand,” Sophie said, although she did.

  Nikolas took her hand in his, swallowing. Surely he could not feel overwhelmed in her presence, as overwhelmed as she felt in his? His hands were warm, so warm that Sophie shivered again, but his touch was gentle. Reverent. “I pledge myself to your defense anytime, anyplace, at any cost.”

  “I cannot ask this of you.”

  His voice hardened. “I offer it of my own will.”

  Sophie shook her head and his eyes flashed. “You could die, just when the Pyr have need of every warrior.”

  “I know the risk, but the greater risk is in doing nothing. Sometimes, Sophie, a man must choose.” Nikolas held her gaze, his intent expression making Sophie’s heart leap. She pulled her hand from his, retreating until her back was against the wall.

  “I understand the stakes,” he said as he rose to his feet, his voice like silken velvet. “Perhaps even better than you.”

  “And if I decline you?”

  “It changes nothing.” He smiled then, a brief flash that made her mouth go dry. Sophie gripped the brick wall as he closed the distance between them. He towered over her, filling her view with his magnificence.

  Would she be able to resist him if he were always present?

  She had to. There was no choice.

  “I will serve you until death, whether you command my service or not.” Nikolas spoke with vehemence. “To take a sacred duty is right. It is noble. It is the essence of what it means to be Pyr.” He caught her hand within his and she didn’t have the will to pull her fingers from his tender grasp.

  Then he lifted her fingertips to his mouth, smiled ever so slightly, and kissed her palm.

  Sophie’s knees went weak.

  Nikolas’s gaze filled with a desire beyond that of being champion. His intensity both thrilled and frightened her.

  Sophie pulled her hand away and hastened to the other side of the room. There was nowhere to hide from Nikolas’s conviction and devotion, though, and worse, he was right. She needed a champion, given Boris’s plan.

  Yet Nikolas was also wrong. Sophie knew that on some level he expected reward for his service and she knew what
reward both of them would prefer. Sexual awareness crackled between them—it had all along—and it would only increase as they spent time together. If she surrendered to the promise he offered, she feared the price she might pay.

  But if she declined Nikolas and dismissed him, she would likely be killed. She wouldn’t be able to help the Pyr—that would be left to the next Wyvern, whenever she might be born or reveal herself. That might be too late.

  Sophie eyed the warrior before her and knew what she had to do. If not for herself, then for the survival of the Pyr.

  Whatever the ultimate price.

  Sophie chose.

  “I accept,” she whispered. “But you must keep your distance.” She saw the light of triumph in Nikolas’s eyes; then he bowed again before her. Her throat tightened, and a pang of desire shot through her like a warning.

  Or a portent of doom. Her gaze flicked to the broken Dragon’s Egg and she feared the consequences of what she had done.

  Yet she didn’t possess a single regret.

  Chapter 8

  “Let’s start with Magnus’s departure,” Erik began, liking how closely Eileen attended his explanation. He kept his voice low as he leaned toward her. “Dragonsmoke is a territory mark. I breathed a circle of dragonsmoke around the house you were in last night.”

  “To define the house as your territory?” Her needles clicked busily as she listened.

  “In a way. We can’t cross one another’s territory marks, not without the express permission of the one who made the mark.”

  “I didn’t see any smoke this morning.”

  “Dragonsmoke is undetectable to humans. You might have felt a bit of a chill as you stepped through it, if you’re sensitive to such things. Otherwise, only we see it. And hear it.”

  “Hear it?”

  “A closed ring has a resonance. It’s a high tone, like the sound crystal makes when struck lightly.”

  “Why wouldn’t I hear that?”

  “Our senses are sharper than human senses.”

  The conductor strolled past them again, on his way to the next car. “Watford Junction next,” he droned, then paused beside them. “If you’d care to have another romantic moment on the platform, I should warn you that it’s quite a short stop. Pickup only.”

  Erik glared at the very annoying human. “I thank you for your courtesy.”

  The conductor moved on, whistling, as the train slowed.

  Erik looked back at Eileen to find her biting back a smile. Her eyes sparkled. “Obviously those enhanced senses don’t include your sense of humor,” she teased.

  “I have a perfectly good sense of humor, when no one is stalking my mate.”

  “I’m hardly your mate.”

  “Think again.” Erik bumped his ankle against hers. A spark leapt between their boots, settling into a golden glow when he didn’t move his foot away. He felt the heat increase between them, as if he had put his leg closer to a furnace.

  He studied Eileen and noticed the thick spike of her lashes, the fullness of her bottom lip, the sparkle in her eyes, and the quickness of her breath. She licked her lips and he watched her gesture hungrily, wanting. It would have been easy to claim another kiss, to taste her again.

  But they had issues to resolve.

  He moved his leg away. “The firestorm is the mark of destiny.”

  “Destined love?” Eileen asked, her tone skeptical.

  “Destined sex.”

  Eileen half laughed, then shook her head when Erik didn’t laugh. She flicked a look at him, then returned to her knitting.

  “What did I say?”

  “Nothing.”

  Erik tapped her knee with a heavy fingertip. “We have a deal and it’s reciprocal,” he said softly. “Because I admire honesty, too. We have that in common.”

  She blushed then, blushed so crimson that her face could have been aflame. But she did what he asked. She dropped her knitting into her lap and looked directly at him. “Okay, my sister gave me a bunch of advice this morning,” she said, and he suspected that the truth was heavily edited. “She thinks I choose men who aren’t worth the trouble.”

  Erik waited, letting her decide how much to tell him. Was he included in that company? He had to admit that becoming involved with him could have many repercussions for her.

  Few of them good.

  Having sex and parting ways would be simpler.

  “Like this guy I was seeing,” she said. “We met at a conference and had a long-distance thing going on. I thought when I came to England for this sabbatical that maybe it would get more serious.” She flicked a look at Erik. “I thought I’d surprise him.”

  That sounded ominous.

  “But?” Erik prompted.

  “But I’m the one who got the surprise. His wife answered the door.” She dropped her gaze, hiding her thoughts from him.

  Erik winced. “Not very honest of him.”

  “No. I should have guessed something was odd when he had to always call me. Maybe on some level I did.” She shrugged. It didn’t appear to Erik that this man had broken her heart or even left a lasting wound.

  “Maybe the trouble is that I’m a sucker for a British man,” she said lightly, her eyes sparkling. “It’s the accent.”

  “What a relief.” Erik sat back, waiting for his moment.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not British, so there’s no issue between us.”

  “Of course you are!”

  Erik shook his head. “Viking.”

  She shook a needle at him playfully. “We have a deal.”

  “We do,” Erik agreed easily.

  “There’ve been no Vikings for a thousand years. You can’t be Viking, Erik, so don’t put me on. Those people are all dead.”

  Erik spoke with quiet heat. “But we’re not people, Eileen.”

  She stopped knitting.

  She stared at him as her lips parted.

  She looked at the wooden chest, then back at him. There was a question in her eyes, one that she obviously thought was too crazy to say aloud.

  “Yes,” Erik said, knowing exactly what that question was.

  Eileen swallowed and looked down for a moment. It was a shorter interval than Erik expected, and he admired her resilience.

  She nudged the box with her foot. “Anyone you know?”

  “Well before my time, I’m afraid.”

  “It would be easier that way.”

  “I think so.”

  She took a deep breath. “How many of you are there?”

  “Too few, at least on the side of right.”

  “As opposed to those two thugs,” she said. “And Magnus.”

  Erik nodded, watching her carefully. She was listening, making sense of what he told her with remarkable speed. Once again, he was impressed by his mate. “Those who choose darkness are called Slayers.”

  “Are you immortal?”

  “No.”

  “Then how long do you live?”

  Erik shrugged. “It depends. Anyone can die a violent death at any time.”

  “Just like us.”

  “Yes. My father always said that a Pyr aged more slowly until his firestorm; then he tasted his own mortality. I’m not entirely sure what he meant.”

  Eileen studied him, her gaze lingering on his temples. She seemed to be deciding what to ask next, but Erik didn’t want to overwhelm her. He particularly didn’t want to discuss the fact that satisfaction of the firestorm always led to a conception.

  Yet.

  So he changed the subject. “Why Telford, wherever that is?” He assumed it was a place so small and insignificant that it was unknown to him. Anywhere past Birmingham should be familiar to him, given all the time he had spent in Shropshire, but he’d never heard of Telford.

  “Not Telford.” Eileen winced. “It’s a new town, established in the 1960s and not interesting at all.” That explained Erik’s ignorance of it—he’d left Britain right after Louisa’s death. “But it’s th
e closest train station to where I need to go. I’ll rent a car to carry on. That’s what I did last time.”

  “And where are we going?”

  Even though Erik had a bad feeling when he asked, her answer shook him to his marrow.

  “Ironbridge.” Eileen started to knit again, oblivious to his dismay.

  Ironbridge?

  “Why?” he asked, his voice unnaturally strained.

  Eileen must have mistaken his horror for surprise. She cast him an impish smile. “I know it’s the founding city of the industrial revolution and all that gritty stuff. Not a typical haunt for a comparative mythologist, but I’ve been researching a local story. I decided to go back there one more time before I go home.” Her words fell more quickly as her agitation increased. “I couldn’t stay at Lynne’s house with those Slayers chasing me, not after I saw what they did to Teresa. . . .”

  Erik grabbed her hand, stilling those busy fingers, and she fell silent. “What myth?” he demanded, fearing her response.

  “It’s known as the Dragon Lover of Madeley.” She considered him, finally recognizing his agitation. “Do you know it?”

  Erik caught his breath and dropped Eileen’s hand. He stared out the window without seeing the view. He felt exposed and vulnerable as he seldom did.

  Did he know it?

  He had lived it.

  Eileen knew she had said something wrong.

  She just didn’t know what it was.

  Did it bother Erik that she collected stories? Eileen couldn’t imagine why. Even people who thought her work was useless were content to let her waste her own time.

  Eileen, of course, didn’t think her work was useless.

  Erik was silent, more than silent. It was as if he had turned his attention away from her and only in its absence did Eileen realize how potent his interest was. If it hadn’t been for the sizzle of heat that she already associated with his presence, she would have felt as if she sat across from a stranger.

  She couldn’t help thinking about Lynne’s advice, especially in relation to Erik Sorensson. She shouldn’t get involved with him. She shouldn’t even talk to him. The man could turn into a dragon. He implied that he was hundreds of years old. If she hadn’t seen him shape-shift, she would have assumed he was demented.