Kiss of Fate by Deborah Cooke
“Don’t you remember how he told you what I had become? I remember lying in my bed upstairs, listening to the two of you fight. You’d made him promise not to take dragon form. You were sure it was evil, the mark of Satan upon him. I was coming into my abilities, but you didn’t want to know the truth. He made you hear the truth that I was Pyr, too. He made you listen.” He took a breath, remembering that painful night. “He made me show you the truth.”
She swallowed. “I don’t remember,” she whispered, but the glint in her eyes told him that she just might.
“And after he left, you said that all dragons are evil. You called me devil-spawn,” he said, the heat of that old rejection filling his words. “You called me evil. You said you regretted bearing Erik’s child and believing his promises. You cast me out and told me to repent of my sins—or never come back.” Sigmund’s throat tightened and he jabbed a finger at his own chest. “But I am what I am—I am a dragon shape shifter—and repentance changed nothing.”
She was even more pale as she watched him and her eyes seemed more vibrantly blue. “You turned Slayer because I rejected you,” she murmured, guessing his truth.
“I lost a scale for you!” Sigmund cried. “I loved you, but you refused to love me once you knew that I was like my father.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, and he heard a new compassion in her words. She swallowed and her eyes filled with tears. “I have this dream. I have it all the time. I dream that I’m holding a baby boy. And in that dream, my heart is so full of love for my son that I’m afraid it will burst.”
She stretched out her hand toward Sigmund, seeking reconciliation, and he was tempted to meet her halfway. He held his ground, though, his mouth dry.
“I thought it was a dream for something that might never happen, but it’s of you. It’s a memory of your birth. And in that dream, my greatest fear is that my beloved son will be taken away from me.”
Erik’s mate shook her head. “I can’t have meant to send you away. I must have spoken in anger. I’m sorry. Sigmund, I am so sorry.”
Sigmund felt that old wound ache again, but the pain was less sharp. Sunlight could have touched the ice that encased his heart, beginning the slow melt of spring. Her words lit a spark where there had been darkness for so long, and tempted him to forgive her. He stretched out a hand to Eileen, more than ready to meet her halfway. The sympathy she offered was all he wanted and more.
But their fingers never touched.
Boris Vassily was alive.
Erik couldn’t believe it, but he would have recognized his old foe anywhere. He thought he’d ensured Boris’s death the previous summer, but he’d been wrong.
He knew, too late, that he should have trusted his earlier sense that Boris was in his vicinity. His was a remarkable recovery from the burned remains that Erik had left on the dock, which could mean only one thing.
Boris must have drunk the Dragon’s Blood Elixir, too.
And the blood duel to which Erik had challenged Boris all those months ago was still unresolved. It didn’t matter that Erik had retrieved his challenge coin. It didn’t matter that he had believed he had won. A blood duel was a fight to the death, a battle that left only one of the challengers breathing. So long as he and Boris were both alive, the blood duel was on.
Boris roared and locked claws with Erik, almost bowling Erik over with the force of his assault. Boris laughed, the tightness of his grip making Erik aware that Erik had already fought long and hard.
But he couldn’t let Eileen down.
These Slayers who had drunk the Elixir had to have a weakness, but Erik didn’t know what it was. He wished, a bit late, that he’d paid more attention to old myths, even those he didn’t believe.
Rafferty’s accusation rang in his ears.
Erik refused to accept defeat. He couldn’t win by brute force.
Which meant he had to trick Boris. He’d let Boris believe he was defeated, then have surprise on his side once more.
He deliberately didn’t move out of the way of Boris’s next strike quite quickly enough. Boris’s tail caught Erik across the back and he let himself stumble. Boris laughed and came after him immediately.
Trickery wasn’t the best plan Erik had ever had, but it was his only chance.
He just had to make it count.
Chapter 17
Eileen was reeling. Her dream of a baby was of Sigmund. Her infatuation with the story of the Dragon Lover of Madeley was a recognition of her own story and a need to address loose ends. Her attraction to Erik had occurred before, and it made sense to her that she still found him so attractive. Her fear of trusting men was rooted in her conviction that Erik had betrayed her.
But she had felt such despair that she had killed herself. Her fear of water made sense in that context, but the scope of her depression didn’t. What had driven her to such desperation? Why had she been so willing to believe badly of Erik? How could she have condemned her only son, even in anger?
It was a story she wanted to know fully, one she’d unravel after surviving this ordeal.
Assuming that she did survive this ordeal.
Before Sigmund could take her hand, Boris set the trees aflame on every side of her, turning the forest into an army of burning torches. Eileen bolted. She ran through the woods, trying to put distance between them, but the flames followed close behind.
The snow fell ceaselessly all around her, eliminating her sense of direction. The forest appeared the same no matter which way she looked. Sigmund seemed to have disappeared. She wasn’t going to stop and look for him.
She heard Erik and Boris battling for supremacy overhead, Erik attacking Boris to keep him from breathing fire. Boris seemed unstoppable, invincible, powerful, and tireless.
It seemed that each time Eileen dared to glance up, Erik took another blow. He was obviously tired and bruised, his blood running from a number of small wounds. There was a big cut on his forehead. He looked like a losing prizefighter just before he fell for the last time.
What would she do if Erik didn’t get up?
Not much. She’d be lunch but quick. As she dodged fire, Eileen tried desperately to think of a way to help her defender.
Eileen leapt over a log and jumped for a gap in the trees ahead. She discovered that she had run full circle and come back to the clearing with the blackened foundation stones. Boris and Erik were locked in combat to one side, the rental car was burning, and Sigmund was nowhere to be seen. She stumbled, pivoted, and knew she’d find either destruction or salvation right in this space.
She had a vague sense of a past confrontation, of anger and recriminations, and felt her body respond with fear. She had to focus on the present, though, before she could explore her shattered memories of the past. She stared upward at the fighting dragons, red coiling around black.
Boris was choking the life out of Erik. In frustration, Eileen picked up a stone and threw it at the Slayer. It bounced off his back, making a metallic ding when it struck his scales. Meanwhile, Boris squeezed more tightly. Erik made a choking sound that Eileen didn’t like one bit. She hurled another rock, then another and another, her vision blurred with tears.
But it was futile. Erik went limp and Boris held him easily in one brass claw.
Eileen felt sick.
Boris pivoted then, his eyes shining with malice. He flung Erik in the direction of the burning trees, then laughed as his opponent’s body fell bonelessly into the forest. There was a crash as Erik tumbled to earth.
Eileen waited, but there was no sound of him moving again.
Boris raised his claws and dove toward Eileen, smoke and fire emanating from his mouth.
Eileen stood her ground and waited, her heart in her throat. She wasn’t going to cringe. She felt the heat of Boris’s approach and had time to hope that he slaughtered her quickly.
Then there was a flash of green in her peripheral vision. Sigmund leapt from the surrounding trees and lunged toward Boris. He shouted as he dug h
Boris, caught by surprise, spun in midair. He bellowed with pain and ripped at Sigmund, tearing open a long wound across Sigmund’s chest. Sigmund breathed fire and Boris laughed as the flames had no effect upon his scales.
“Stupid coward,” he hissed. “You should have been the shard of Erik’s talon. You should have killed the leader of the Pyr and assumed ascendancy, just the way your father did before you.”
Eileen was horrified by this accusation, but she knew it wasn’t the truth. Erik couldn’t have murdered his father for the sake of ambition. She knew him too well to believe it.
She was going to trust Erik until she knew the truth—and probably after that—just as the blond woman in her dream had suggested.
“Useless worm!” Boris roared, then exhaled a torrent of dragonfire upon Sigmund. The green Slayer’s scales blackened under the heat of the fire, but he kept on fighting. He tore at Boris’s wings and struck him with his tail.
Boris smiled, untroubled. He drew himself up tall, wings beating steadily, an impressive vision of red and brass against the swirling snow. Eileen saw him exhale slowly, saw his eyes gleam, and guessed immediately that he was breathing smoke.
The way Sigmund jerked told her that she was right. Boris caught Sigmund’s talons in his own and held fast as he breathed steadily, his eyes glittering. Sigmund writhed and twisted but couldn’t break free of the Slayer’s grasp.
Strangely enough, as Eileen watched, Boris became larger and brighter. Sigmund faded, looking smaller and more crumpled with every passing moment. His struggles became weaker as Boris shone in increasing brilliance. The red Slayer smiled as his green opponent moaned, and his smile was blinding in its brilliance.
He was stealing Sigmund’s life force. Eileen didn’t know how he was doing it, but the evidence was clear. She threw another trio of rocks at the Slayer, but he didn’t even seem to notice them bouncing off his back.
He was going to suck Sigmund dry.
And what would be left? Eileen didn’t think much.
And what could she do about it? Even less.
Eileen’s anger rose, but before she could lose hope, she spied a dark shadow separating itself from those of the forest. She didn’t dare to look straight at the emerging figure, so fearful was she of drawing Boris’s attention to him.
But she felt the heat of the firestorm kindle and knew who approached. Her heart sang that Erik had survived, and she knew she had to help him.
She threw another rock at Boris, a big one. It struck him in the temple and drew dark blood. She earned a glare from him for her deed, and was glad she had broken his concentration.
Boris turned that laser-bright gaze on her, his malice enough to make her tremble. “Don’t be impatient,” he muttered. “You’re next.”
While his attention was diverted, Sigmund revived slightly and began to struggle again.
In that crucial moment, Erik came over the trees and attacked.
Eileen wanted to cheer.
Erik fell on Boris in a fury of talons and teeth, knowing that surprise was his only asset. He caught Boris across the back with dragonfire, searing his old foe. Boris flung Sigmund aside with a surprised cry and spun to lock claws with Erik.
He didn’t get the chance. Erik kicked Boris out of the sky, following the Slayer’s descent.
Sigmund, meanwhile, hit the ground with a thud and a loud crack. He didn’t move right away, but Erik was focused on his task. He was fighting for more than the unresolved blood duel, more than the debts of the past.
He was fighting for Eileen’s life.
Boris struck a tree heavily and Erik breathed dragonfire as he flew closer. The tree ignited and Boris shouted as the flames touched his scales. He leapt out of the fire, but Erik struck him hard with his tail. Boris fell and Erik latched on to his wings. He tore at the leather, shredding it with newfound force.
Boris screamed and struggled, but his wings were rendered useless all the same. He snatched at Erik, catching one leg in his grip, and Erik flew high, dragging the Slayer with him. He spiraled as he flew, spinning ever upward.
The ground dropped away, trees and houses and even the valley of the Severn itself becoming small and distant. The pair punched through the cloud cover and Erik headed for the stars.
“You cannot kill me,” Boris seethed. “I have drunk the Elixir.”
Erik kept going, shooting into the sky like an arrow loosed from a bow. He flew higher and faster than he ever had before. The air grew thin but he continued, knowing that he had one chance.
He had to make it count.
Boris gasped and let go, taking his chances on the impact of the fall. Erik wasn’t having any of that. He swooped through the air, looped around, and snatched the Slayer by the tail. He swung Boris’s weight as he continued to ascend.
“You cannot destroy me,” Boris insisted. “I will heal from wounds that you would not survive.”
“Then I’ll just have to hurt you badly.” Erik kept flying.
“I have drunk the Elixir!” Boris raged.
When he couldn’t breathe anymore, Erik spun like a dervish. He swung Boris’s weight around. The Slayer struggled and fought, but centrifugal force kept his talons away from Erik.
“My father said that the Elixir was a trap,” Erik said.
“It is a release from mortality’s grasp!”
Was it? Or had his father been right? Erik wished he had listened more closely.
He wished he hadn’t alienated Rafferty.
But first things first. He turned high in the sky, swinging Boris around so that he could see the twinkle of stars overhead.
“Guess what happens next?” he asked.
Boris shouted in rage and tried to snatch at Erik. “You can’t. You wouldn’t. . . .” His eyes shone. “I can arrange for you to sip the Elixir. . . .”
Erik wasn’t interested. He interrupted Boris’s attempt at negotiation. “Let’s just see how immortal you are.”
“No!” Boris roared aloud.
But Erik flung Boris across the sky and let him fall. He watched the Slayer spiral toward the earth, helpless against the pull of gravity but struggling to fly all the same. Boris screamed much of the way down.
Erik wondered where he would hit and what the locals would make of a broken dragon in their midst. He wondered whether Boris would feel up to beguiling all the humans who gathered, and the prospect made him smile.
No matter how strong the Elixir, it would take time for Boris to heal from the bruises he sustained in this fall. He’d be busy for the short term, just as Magnus was.
This was time Erik could use to ensure his mate’s safety.
He dove toward Ironbridge again, hoping that Sigmund hadn’t taken advantage of his absence.
Eileen couldn’t understand why there was so much thunder during a snowstorm. It was the strangest thing.
But then, there were other, stranger things happening in her life recently.
Eileen winced as she surveyed Sigmund. When he’d fallen, something had cracked within him. He looked withered, more like a crumpled piece of wrapping paper than a dragon. A moment after hitting the ground, he had shuddered and changed back to human form again.
He didn’t move and she didn’t think he’d made the change on purpose. His eyes were closed and his breathing labored. He was even more pale than he had been before and there was a dark puddle spreading beneath him. The blood swirled on the ground, a curious mixture of red and black.
Red? Eileen went to kneel beside Sigmund. She wiped his forehead with the end of her scarf, not liking the sheen of perspiration on his skin. His eyelids flickered, their green hue glittering between the lids in a way that reminded her of Erik.
Then he opened his eyes fully and looked at her.
“Do I call nine-one-one for injured dragons?” she asked, forcing a smile.
Sigmund shook his head minutely. “No point.” The words cost him dearly, she could
“You can’t be so sure. . . .”
He put his hand over hers for a moment, touching her tentatively. “Yes. I can.” He spoke with conviction.
Their gazes held for a long moment; then he exhaled slowly again and shivered as his eyes closed. Just uttering those few words seemed to have exhausted him.
Eileen took off her coat and put it over Sigmund, not knowing what else she could do. He had defended her. He had saved her from Boris and paid the price himself. And she was not innocent—from what he had told her, she had had a role in his choice to turn Slayer. Her wholesale rejection of dragons was a choice that had devastated her in that past life and cost her the man she loved.
She could do better than that.
She could love better than that.
Sigmund moved beneath her coat, as if suddenly restless.
“Be still,” she whispered as she sank to her knees beside Louisa’s son. She picked up Sigmund’s limp hand and held it between her own. His pulse was faint and irregular, as unsteady as his breathing.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, hearing a mother’s scold in her tone. “You should have protected yourself.”
Sigmund almost smiled, although his eyes didn’t open. “I had to protect you.”
Because he had forgiven her—or at least accepted her apology. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again, holding his hand fast within her own. He nodded once and opened his eyes, his unflinching gaze reminding her of his father.
Eileen blinked back her tears as the pair stared at each other. So much pain, so much loss.
And so little time to make it right.
She kissed his knuckles, aching at the injury they had done to each other. The fullness of the truth would come to her in time, but for the moment she was glad they had made amends. Sigmund sighed with what might have been similar relief and his eyes closed again.
Eileen knew that he would die.
He knew it, too. She could see his resignation.
But she was content to sit with him. She wouldn’t leave him or judge him or cast him out.