Kiss of Fate by Deborah Cooke
She sailed past him, leaping for the stairs, and he sizzled from head to toe. The cloud of her perfume—roses and lavender—nearly took him to his knees.
What was she doing wearing such an old-fashioned scent?
What was she doing choosing the same scent Louisa had worn?
She was Louisa.
And the Great Wyvern wouldn’t let him forget it. Neither would his body. Erik bit back a curse, disliking the surge of desire that could lead to a miscalculation.
There was no margin for miscalculation, so he fought to concentrate.
He bolted up the stairs after his mate, glad that she was quick on her feet. He appreciated that she wore low heels and had an instinct for survival.
Erik heard the two Slayers stir in the basement vault and wondered whether they’d immediately give chase. Some Slayers preferred to stalk their prey over time, waiting for that moment of vulnerability. He didn’t know enough about Jorge and his companion to guess their inclinations.
But Erik didn’t imagine for a minute that this was over. Never mind that he had interrupted the Slayers’ scheme, whatever it was, and they would retaliate for that. They would feel his firestorm and would be intent on stopping it. To his horror, they had the scent of his mate—Eileen had just become a target.
He couldn’t risk leaving her alone.
She reached the top of the stairs and made a growl of frustration. Erik saw that there was no window and no exit.
A dead end.
She spun to face him, the swirl of her skirt giving him a distracting glimpse of her long and muscular legs. She held that wooden chest tightly. Her eyes were wide and her hair was working its way loose. She was breathing quickly and there was a sheen of perspiration on her upper lip. But even in her terror, she was seeking a solution.
Eileen Grosvenor didn’t surrender.
That was different from Louisa.
Interesting.
“What now?” she demanded.
The Slayers roared and began to ascend the stairs. The police sirens became louder, the wail echoing through the building. Erik heard the police shoot out the security door. Glass shattered.
“Freeze!” two men shouted in unison, their command resonating in the concrete stairwell. Eileen’s gaze flicked downward, then to Erik again.
“We’re trapped,” she whispered with obvious fear.
There was nothing for it. Erik had to do what he had to do.
“Not yet,” he said, keeping his tone soothing. He really didn’t want to shift in front of her, but there was no choice.
“But they won’t believe me. . . .”
“Just close your eyes,” he commanded.
“What? Why? Are you crazy?” Her blue eyes flashed with indignation and her cheeks flushed even more. “Ignoring the truth isn’t going to solve anything—”
Gunfire erupted in the stairwell far below. “I warned you,” Erik said, interrupting her tirade. He held up his hand before her face; then he shifted shape as quickly as he could.
Eileen must have seen something, because her mouth fell open. She started to speak, but Erik had no time for chatter. He swung his tail hard, taking out the wall on the far side of the stairs.
The concrete rumbled and cracked, but held.
“Holy shit,” Eileen whispered. “It was you.”
The police shouted. Erik swung his tail again, knowing there wouldn’t be time for a third strike. The concrete broke, the chunks tumbling into the alley far below.
A twisted hole was opened to the night, its edges jagged with concrete and rebar. The police bellowed, but Erik didn’t hesitate.
He snatched Eileen with one claw and winced at the shower of sparks between them. Eileen gasped and finally did close her eyes. Erik claimed her wooden box with his free claw and launched into the night, his astonished mate safely in his grasp.
Chapter 3
Maybe Eileen had been crazy to think that nothing else could go wrong on her trip.
She was shaking as the dragon carried her through the night, and as much as she would have liked to have found an alternative explanation for what was happening, she came up blank. Worse, she was so hot that she could have been burning up.
But this fever was sexual. There was no fire in her proximity anymore, just rain and clouds. Her mind had been washed straight into the gutter, conjuring sexual ideas with dizzying dexterity. Her skin was warm and flushed, she could feel her toes curling and that slow rumble of desire low in her belly.
Sex was the last thing that should have been on her mind.
Maybe going crazy would have been an improvement.
She couldn’t help but admire the agile strength of the dragon as he flew, his muscled power, the gentle authority with which he held her. She liked that he had defended and saved her. His scales were warm; his decisiveness was masculine in a way she liked.
A lot.
There was major testosterone in her vicinity, and Eileen’s body responded with enthusiasm.
But he was a dragon, at least some of the time.
The black dragon landed in Hyde Park, showing remarkable grace for his size and power. Once her feet were on the ground and she was a few steps away from him, Eileen extended her hand, silently demanding the return of the wooden chest. She noticed that her hand was trembling and hoped he didn’t. She was pretty sure she didn’t imagine his exasperation in handing over the wooden chest.
Was it weird that a dragon’s emotions should be easy to read?
Not any weirder than having been saved by a dragon in the first place.
“Look away,” he said, his voice exactly the same as it had been when he’d been the man from her dream.
Eileen pretended to do so, but watched out of the corner of her eye. The dragon shimmered with a strange blue light, shimmered so brightly that she had to close her eyes. When the light diminished, he was the man from her dream again.
Remarkably, he was as sexy as ever. Maybe more so. She was a sucker for a man with a secret and this was a big one.
Unlike Nigel, though, this guy’s secret was already revealed.
He watched her, his gaze assessing, his arms folded across his chest. “Go ahead,” he invited, his manner discouraging. “Ask.”
There was something to be said for the fact that he wasn’t going to pretend that what had happened hadn’t happened. Eileen was a big fan of honesty. She felt short of breath and too warm, overdressed.
And a bit more aware of her single status than she felt was appropriate. She thought of how tightly he had held her, that he had saved her, that he looked skeptical and irritable and delicious as all get-out.
Maybe he’d had a lousy week, too.
Eileen found herself staring at the wry twist to his lips, the glitter of his eyes, the dusting of silver at his temples. He looked dark and dangerous and unpredictable.
And he pretty much was. Her mouth went dry as desire kicked it up a notch.
Eileen looked away, in case he could read her mind, too. Her gaze slipped across the deadened grass as she fought to gather her thoughts.
Everything seemed normal in the park. There was no snow, which she missed, and the grass was brown and muddy from the recent rain. It was dark here, darker than she would have expected in the middle of the city, and she could see stars overhead. The Serpentine shone like black glass to one side and she could hear the hum of traffic. She oriented herself, as much to take a few minutes as anything else, knowing that Kensington Gardens was in one direction and Buckingham Palace in the other.
He waited with surprising patience.
She exhaled and ran a hand over her hair, feeling that a thousand tendrils—more or less—had worked themselves loose. She probably looked as frazzled as she felt. Heat sizzled beneath her skin, as if she were coming down with something.
Who knew that insanity came in hot flashes?
Eileen eyed him again. “Did what I think happened really happen?” she asked.
“Yes.” He spoke with
Eileen cleared her throat. “I mean the dragons.”
“Yes.” The corner of his mouth lifted a little, the barest glimmer of a smile. The softening of his expression made her heart twist. “Trust me.”
Eileen almost laughed at the lunacy of that. She looked across the park, then back at him, finding herself surprised that he was still there. He looked sane, his eyes bright with intelligence. She was so attracted to him that it frightened her—and she was no shy virgin. “Why should I?” she asked, surprised to hear flirtatiousness in her own tone.
“Why shouldn’t you? Who else got you out of there alive?”
“I suppose I should thank you.”
He shrugged, a twinkle appearing in his eyes. The sight did dangerous things to Eileen’s equilibrium. “I suppose you should.”
“Except I don’t feel safe quite yet.”
He laughed quickly, as if surprised by her, and the sight of his amusement sent a pang through Eileen. She wanted . . . well, it couldn’t be healthy under the circumstances.
He bent to pick up the wooden chest but Eileen reached for it first. Their hands collided just above the leather handles and a spark flashed.
She blinked and the spark disappeared, although there was a golden glow between their hands. Fireflies would have emitted that kind of light, except there weren’t any fireflies.
Good. Now she was seeing things.
Things besides dragons.
“Don’t touch that,” she said, hearing her anxiety.
He met her gaze steadily. “I was going to carry it for you.”
“And I should trust you, right?”
His smile was crooked, intimate. “Yes.”
They were angled together, each bent over the box, their hands almost touching and their faces just inches apart. Eileen could feel him studying her, could feel the languid rhythm of the blood coursing through her veins, could feel the slow melt of arousal unlocking her few inhibitions. She could smell his skin and a subtle cologne, one that made her knees shiver.
This was nuts.
She grabbed the handles and straightened. “I can carry it, thanks.”
“Something precious in there?”
“Just a bunch of teeth.” Eileen knew she didn’t imagine the sudden gleam in his eyes. “Sentimental value.”
“That explains a great deal.” His lips tightened and he scanned the sky. She wondered what he was looking for.
She tried to think about what had happened and her brain refused to process it. She reviewed the sensible bits first. “You were outside the Fonthill-Fergusson Foundation when I arrived.”
“Is that what it was?” he mused, his gaze dropping to the box. “Of course.” His gaze flicked to hers. “Yes, I was.”
“How did you get through the security door?”
“It was open.”
Eileen remembered the thugs and nodded. It could have closed between his arrival and her attempt to depart. Maybe he’d even shut it. “But you were in my dream.” Eileen heard that the question had left her tone. His conviction that all of this was normal was contagious.
He nodded once. “Yes. As you were in mine.”
“Really?” Eileen held the leather straps with both hands. “Why? How?”
He averted his gaze then and shook his head. “It’s a long story, too long for tonight.” He frowned. “We need to get a cab back to the house. . . .”
Eileen froze. Did he know where she was staying, too? “What house?”
“My friend has a house in Hampstead Heath,” he said, and Eileen was momentarily relieved. “We should go there tonight to ensure your safety.”
“Excuse me?” She took a step backward. “You expect me to go with you?”
His eyes narrowed and he looked purposeful. He spoke softly. “It’s for your own protection.”
“Think again.” Eileen turned and started to walk toward light and civilization. She had a feeling that the rational explanation would reveal itself once she wasn’t standing in a dark park, alone with a sexy man who thought he could become a dragon.
Never mind a sexy man capable of convincing her that he was right about his abilities. It didn’t help that she was so turned on and couldn’t stop thinking about kissing him, just to see what it was like.
He followed her, staying half a dozen steps behind. His protectiveness irked Eileen. How was she going to get back to her sister’s house without him knowing where she was staying?
She’d get in a cab and shut the door on him. He might follow in another cab, but with all the cabs looking the same, she should be able to convince her cabdriver to lose him. She’d go back to Lynne’s and have a cup of herbal tea and figure out what had really happened.
What had happened was that Teresa had been shot in the head.
No. Eileen had to be safe herself before she could think about that.
Eileen pulled out her cell phone, shifting the straps of the wooden chest to one elbow, and started to punch in the number for the police.
“Calling the authorities?” the dragon dude asked mildly from behind her.
“Are you psychic, too?” Eileen glanced over her shoulder in time to see his wry smile.
“Not anymore, apparently.” Then he sobered. “What exactly are you going to tell them?”
“That Teresa is dead, of course.”
“They had already arrived when we left. No matter how competent or incompetent you think police forces are, I’m quite certain they have assessed the scene already and found the body.”
The body. Eileen’s fingers faltered and her mouth went dry. “I’ll tell them that I saw the guy who shot her, then.”
The man arched a brow. “The one who turned into a dragon before your very eyes? Don’t you think a story like that might affect your credibility as a witness?”
Eileen stared at him for a moment, then slapped her phone shut with impatience. “Then what should I do? Teresa is dead!”
His eyes glittered. “You should avenge her, of course.”
Eileen stared at him and was pretty sure he had a plan for vengeance already mapped out. It would be tempting to step further into his world, but she knew better.
“No.” Eileen pivoted and marched toward civilization, sanity, and the world she knew, which was devoid of dragons, sexy shape-shifting men, and big weird teeth.
Well, the teeth would go with her.
She reached the sidewalk on Park Lane and headed for the curb. A big black sedan slid to a halt right in front of her, as if she had summoned it.
But she hadn’t.
The back door opened and an older man leaned out. He was well dressed, all in black, and looked both suave and European. “Need a ride?” he asked smoothly. “I would be delighted to be of service.”
It was the car Eileen had seen at the foundation, the organized-crime mobile.
It—they—had followed her.
Uh-oh.
Eileen took a step back and collided with the man from her dream. There was a flash of bright orange light when they touched, like an electrical spark. She hadn’t imagined the first one when their hands had touched. A languid heat spread over Eileen’s skin, making her think inappropriately intimate thoughts about this stranger. She glanced at him in shock.
What was he doing to her?
How was he doing it?
And why?
He stepped around her, positioning himself protectively between her and the car. “The lady doesn’t need your help, Magnus.”
The man in the car smiled. “All this and a firestorm,” he purred. “How very special for you, Erik.”
Erik. His name was Erik. It suited him.
Erik slammed the car door as Magnus laughed. The driver put the car into gear, but Magnus lowered his window. “Fear not. We shall meet again.” He smiled at Eileen, his expression hungry. “Soon.”
Eileen took a trio of backward steps, her gaze flicking between the t
She might need something to bargain with.
Magnus chuckled and murmured something to the driver. There were two others in the car—Eileen could see their silhouettes in the far side of the vehicle. She had a pretty good idea who they might be. The big car eased away from the curb.
Erik took a step toward Eileen, his hand extended.
She took one look and ran. The Benz driver would have to do a U-turn to follow her, which gave her precious time. Eileen sprinted as fast as she could, the wooden chest bumping against her knees. She heard Erik’s footsteps, but didn’t dare to look back. She just had to get back to the real world.
She just had to get to Wellington Arch and get a cab.
And then . . .
And then she’d think of something.
Erik had lived long enough to recognize when he was pushing his luck. He followed Eileen, letting her keep a bit ahead of him. He heard Magnus’s car pull away from the curb and accelerate, but didn’t care for the moment what his opponent would do.
He had to protect Eileen at any price.
A little distance gave his body the chance to regain its equilibrium. The firestorm was jangling his nerves and tangling his logic. It seemed to have become impossibly hot, and to have done so far more quickly than the last time. Maybe that was because—unlike the other Pyr who had never had a firestorm—Erik knew the fullness of its promise.
And how well it delivered.
The firestorm was disassembling his objections with frightening speed. He already admired Eileen’s ability to think clearly under pressure. She was curvaceous and outspoken, purposeful and optimistic. He appreciated how resourceful she was, and that she hadn’t been paralyzed by her fear at the foundation.
She was terrified and he didn’t blame her. He didn’t like that she had the Dragon’s Teeth and he didn’t like that Magnus and his bodyguards knew it. Worse, Magnus had Eileen’s scent and would be able to track her anywhere, and Magnus had witnessed the spark of their firestorm.
The whole thing was a disaster. It was one thing for him to be the sacrifice, but Erik wouldn’t let his mate share his fate.