Dragon Fall: Masters of the Flame 3 (Mating Fever) (4 page)

Every tiny hair on her body—even the week’s worth of stubble she’d shaved off her legs earlier—stood straight up in alarm, and she stepped back abruptly. Her reflection got hazier again.

But where she’d had her finger, a tiny smudge remained.

Well, at least the cocoa dusting of the tiramisu left a mark.

She forced herself to catch her breath. Lars had lost. His ring had been destroyed. He couldn’t hurt her anymore, couldn’t make her do anything she didn’t want.

But the whisper and now the silence left her shaky, and she stepped farther back.

Lights and noise, that was what she needed.

And where better to find that then a casino.

Chapter 3

Darkness and silence.

Except for the hollow plink of water dripping off one of the stalactites. Bale closed his eyes—not that it mattered if his eyes were open or not in this obsidian oblivion—and let himself sink another increment closer to becoming one with the stone.

The blight in his body was too widespread to fight anymore. His brother, reluctant though he was, would lead the Nox Incendi well with his charming little solarys at his side.

A soft sigh eased from his lips, and the breath was almost as cold as rock.

The elevator pinged a warning, and he cringed, steeling himself against the moment the door opened with its light, its wafting scents, the temptation of escape he couldn’t endure.

“Reyex.”

To his surprise, Torch’s deferential voice rather than Rave’s impatient one emerged from the blinding glare.

He was glad he was well enough hidden in the cavern not to have to force himself upright. He just didn’t think he could straighten anymore past this pathetic hunch.

“Torch,” he said. “My brother told me we have you to thank for ending the warlock threat without exposing ourselves.”

“Killing Ashcraft would’ve been more satisfying.” Torch let out a wry laugh. “But yeah, kinda hard to hide.”

“You did a great service for your clan.”

“You could’ve kicked me to the curb with the rest of my line when they betrayed you. And then they would’ve left me to die since I was too young to fly with them.”

“Those were dark days,” Bale said softly. He’d never blamed Torch’s kin for conspiring to overthrow him. The petralys had taken him hard, and they’d feared for the continuation of the Nox Incendi. But the dragon in him would never step aside. He’d have to be dead.

And that would be soon enough now.

“Can I depend on you to give my brother the same loyalty you’ve given me?”

Torch snorted. “You don’t even have to ask. If you did, you’d have torn my guts out by now, yeah?”

Though the exertion ached, Bale chuckled. “Yeah.”

“And that’s why I wanted to let you know…Esme is awake and out of her room.”

Bale pictured the pale girl unfurling like one of the early spring flowers in the desert outside the Keep—not that he’d ever see that with his own eyes again. “That’s good.”

“No. I mean yes, it’s good, but she’s awake and out of her room
right now
. She went down to the slots hall around midnight, and she’s looking a little…ah…”

All of Bale’s muscles stiffened, as if he was being stretched on a rack. “What?”

“Lost,” Torch said. “Alone. Anjali told me Esme was feeling a bit…” He cleared his throat. “
Lonely
. If you know what I mean.”

The word ratcheted Bale’s muscles tighter yet, until the ache was almost numbing; a relief, really. “There are plenty of people to watch in the Keep. And she can’t get too lost here, especially if your security has an eye on her.”

“Uh, yeah. About that… When I say lonely, apparently Esme wants a bit more than just company.” He twisted the words with an odd inflection.

The dragon understood before Bale did and yanked him to his feet though his body in this form could scarcely move.

“She can’t.” It wasn’t a roar but a strangled curse. “She’s mine.”

“Actually…she isn’t. In this new era we’re living in and especially in this place called Vegas, she can do pretty much anything she wants,” Torch said. “With any
one
she wants.”

Bale growled under his breath. So much for deferential. “And you call yourself clan enforcer.”

“Well, I can’t exactly chain her in the dungeon,” Torch said defensively.

“Why not?” He lurched against a flowstone column where dripping rock met in the middle. For all that it was stone, it was far more delicate than it looked. “Just…bring her to me then.”

“I would,” Torch said, in a tone that said he wouldn’t, “but I thought you might go after her instead.”

The flowstone crumbled under his fist. It would be another hundred years before the edges of shattered stone met again. “Impossible.”

“She knows you already. She trusts you. You kept Ashcraft’s nightmares away from her.” Torch coughed lightly. “Anyway, she’s already spent the night here.”

Impotent fury twisted in Bale. “She doesn’t know who”—
what
—“she spent the night with.”

“Then show her,” Torch said. As if he was being so fucking reasonable.

“You want me to show her?” Bale’s voice dropped an octave, falling into the dragon’s range. “You think she could bear to see me?”

“It can’t be that—”

Bale gnashed his teeth and breathed out a fireball.

The dragonfire ignited the brazier. Not just the ever-ready coals but the wrought iron cage itself. The stench of burning metal and stone choked the cavern.

To his credit—or as testament to his foolishness—after a startled step back, Torch held his ground. And his narrowed gaze was fixed not on the raging fire but on Bale.

“There was the hint of a bond between you,” Torch said over the hungry snap of flames. “I saw it in her.”

The blaze sputtered out. “Doesn’t that worry you, since you are the clan’s enforcer? Rave thinks she will be my death.”

“Rave is a mother hen—a big, scaly mother hen,” Torch said. “And maybe right. But I think there are worse fates to fear than death.” With the bluntness that had always been his way, he added, “She could be your solarys.”

“I would not wish that on her,” Bale growled. “Look at me.”

Torch’s jaw clenched. “Let her look at you. Let her choose.”

“In the old days, there was no choosing. The dragonkin took.”

After another clench of his jaws, Torch abruptly grinned. “Yeah, let me know how that works out for you. And welcome to the club.” He spun on his heel back toward the elevator.

If the virgin sacrifices now ruled the dragonlords… Bale smashed another century of stone out of the column. Perhaps it was best if he let himself be taken by the blight.

That would be far too easy, though. Dragons flew into storms and they mined for treasure, but they
never
took the easy path. He’d thought death from the petralys was inevitable. Until…he saw her. And touched her.

“Who’s the dragon?” he growled out. “You’re the dragon. Time you remembered that.” No matter how much time he had left.

But first, he’d find his might’ve-been solarys and send her back to bed.

***

She was up by a thousand dollars. Woo-hoo! And it was hers, all hers.

Good thing she’d found that twenty in her purse since the slots here only took large denomination tokens. She’d turned that first twenty into a bunch of tokens and kept feeding them into the bright, cheerfully jangly machine. If she lost, she didn’t know what she’d do. She couldn’t use her credit cards for fear of being tracked down, and she was relying on Anj’s buff dragon boyfriend to make sure no one whisked her away in the middle of the night.

Unless she decided she wanted to be whisked, because, day-um, she was feeling lucky tonight.

Had she ever been lucky? Other than being born with an engraved platinum spoon in her mouth?

Poor little rich girl. She wanted to kick herself for the self-pity but then she’d just have to feel bad about that too because it’d probably be a wimpy kick. Better to watch the whirling cherries and sling back the free drinks, which weren’t super strong but they all came with a real, ripe, red cherry on a swizzle stick so they had that going for them.

Okay, maybe she was a little drunk even on the not-strong drinks. A silver lining of almost dying of alchemical warlock magic? But she’d always been a lightweight, in more ways than one.

She pushed the button on the machine again. So much less phallic than yanking on the lever, but it kind of made her wistful too—why didn’t she have anyone to push her button? She stared fiercely at the spinning symbols.

“C’mon, cherries,” she muttered. “Cuuuuum on.”

The machine dinged happily and spit out more tokens.

“Hoo-yeah! I am sooo friggin’ lucky tonight…” One of the tokens bounced away, and she sloshed vodka out of the glass onto her hand as she bent to chase it.

And found herself staring down at the gilt-edged token between a pair of awesome-looking male shoes. Like high-end designer Italian loafers, except no brand she’d ever seen, and with a unique medieval bent. She tilted her head to follow the dark, fitted trousers—bespoke, for sure, considering the fine detailing of the two vertical rows of buttons to either side of…

Uh… Oh.

She snapped her gaze all, all, all the way up, past a broad chest encased in fine, black linen, to enigmatic eyes as black as the obsidian cabochon in her ring. Sharp cheekbones flanked a strong, aquiline nose above a masculine mouth as sculpted and burnished as the gryphon in the Amber Suite bathroom.

The drunk part of her wanted to rub him. Alllll of him.

The rest of her—drunk or not—wanted to sink her hands into the waves of dark hair falling over his forehead and hold tight.

Except…she was still crouched in front of him, her mouth half agape and at the same level as the buttoned placket of his ye-olde-style pants.

Snapping her jaw closed, she hopped up. Most of the rest of the vodka splashed over her hand, and the ice cubes rattled. As rattled as she was. She was used to being nose to nose with many men, but this one stood tall enough that her unbowed head would fit just under his stern jaw… She stumbled a little.

He reached out one hand to steady her, strong, elegant fingers wrapping around her arm just above her elbow. His touch through the three-quarter sleeve of her silky tunic was hot, almost feverish…

“I think you’ve had enough,” he rumbled. “No more of this. You’re coming with me.”

For a moment, she was enthralled by his penetrating voice, low and just rough enough to make her think that the tailored clothes and courteous touch hid something else, something much less polished…

Then she focused on his words.

He wasn’t being elegant and polished. He was…arrogant.

“I’ve
not
had enough, actually,” she said with frosty indifference. “Not enough vodka and not enough winning.” She yanked her arm out of his grasp. “And I’m certainly not going anywhere with a stranger.”

Below the high collar of his shirt, a short cape was fixed at his broad shoulders and draped over his left arm. It should have made him look like a bad Elvis impersonator, but instead he looked princely.

Esme scowled. She’d met princes before. They were dicks, almost every one.

At least this one didn’t try to grab her again.

She spun away from him and shoved the token she’d retrieved into the slot machine. While it spun, she slammed the rest of her drink defiantly. And then licked her hand for good measure.

The weight of his thunderous, dark gaze felt almost as hot as his touch.

The three reels eased to a stop, and the machine made a sad wah-wah sound then fell silent while it awaited her next token.

She whirled back to face him. “You broke my streak,” she accused.

“This is Vegas,” he reminded her. “The house always wins in the end.
Always
.”

She lifted her chin. “Well, then…maybe I’ll cheat.” She’d never once in her life cheated, or even spoken out of turn, really.

And see what it had gotten her.

“I’ll give you a prize,” he said, “if you come back to the cavern now. A gift more precious than any token in that machine.”

Back to the cavern
… She stiffened with a jolt of recognition at the low rasp of his voice. She remembered the sound breaking through her nightmares. And she remembered a touch… No,
she
had grabbed
him
. The memory of heat blazed in her cheeks. And also sank deeper, lower… “Bale.” Reyex of the Nox Incendi dragon-shifters.

Not a prince.

A
king
.

She’d drifted in and out while she’d huddled in the cold stone darkness, pathetically grateful to be dead and buried where Ashcraft couldn’t reach her. But she hadn’t actually been dead, and only partly buried—a cave in a penthouse; now she’d seen everything—and she’d heard Rave, Piper, and Anjali talking to him several times. But she’d been under the impression no one ever
saw
him
. She wasn’t sure why when he seemed fine. He looked… She swallowed hard, tasting the bite of the liquor and the sweetness of the cherries.

With that rich, burnished skin and glittering eyes, he looked like something she couldn’t afford, despite her unexpected windfall of fake coins.

She brushed her hair over her shoulder and tried for a cool tone to hide the warmth swirling through her veins. “I thought you never left the cavern. Should I feel honored you came down just for me?”

“I don’t, and you should,” he said curtly. “Security had to clear this room. I’ve lost tens of thousands of dollars in the time we’ve taken to talk.”

She jerked her head up, looking around. He wasn’t lying. The hall was empty. The slots’ chirping sounded almost anxious, like baby birds with no one to feed them.

Turning back, she eyed him down the length of her nose. “Then maybe you shouldn’t waste your riches bribing me to leave.”

“For you, I will find a way.”

She had no doubt the revenue the Keep brought in each day would beggar the wealthy donors she routinely contacted for her charities. And yet the ring of resolution in his tone seemed to promise more than profit. Curiosity made her narrow her eyes. “What is this prize of yours?”