Dragon Fall: Masters of the Flame 3 (Mating Fever) (8 page)

And kissing a princess should still bring
someone
to life.

Prowling the edge of the darkened center, he found what he was looking for. Careful not to scratch it, he pried the pearl from the slow drip of stone. He’d promised Esme the pearl if she came back to the cavern.

She hadn’t returned, but she had
come
for him. So he should keep his word. But as he gently wiped away the flecks of rock, he realized the pearl was too big for any ring. Hell, it was big enough for a chicken to try to hatch it. Why had he remembered it as so much smaller?

He held the pearl to the firelight. It was beautiful, seemingly opaque, but the milky translucent layers caught the flames and blushed like her skin.

Giving away a piece of his treasure? He closed his fist around the sphere. And he held it tight, not because he wanted jealously to keep it but because he longed so fiercely to give her every single glowing facet in the place.

Suddenly, the orbs seemed like eyeballs, staring at him accusingly.

Giving her his treasure would bind her to him, but she hadn’t asked for it. She’d asked for nothing. Most humans couldn’t survive the sight of an ancient dragon treasure. Usually because the dragon killed them outright, but also the ravenousness for gold and jewels was almost as ferocious in humans as it was in dragons. Humans, though, weren’t built to withstand that hunger. Avarice and the craving for more, more, more ate them from the inside.

The petralys might be turning him to stone, but he didn’t want to see the gold greed change Esme.

Still, one semi-large pearl wouldn’t break her.

And he couldn’t look at it again without thinking of her.

The thick stone that had kept out a warlock’s dark alchemy also fucked with cell phone reception, so Bale had to stalk another circuit looking for a spot where the signal might sneak through. The walk loosened his muscles and made him realize he didn’t want to talk to his brother or his cousin.

Torch might not ask what had happened the night before, but his eyebrows would be arched in that annoying way. And better to see all the stars explode than find out his cousin had told Rave that he’d sent the Reyex of the Nox Incendi on a booty call.

Rave would probably die if he found out his liege and older brother even knew what a booty call was.

So instead, Bale dug through the armoire he’d barely remembered and found another set of clothes from who knew how long ago. Thankfully he still had the archaic cape, although he suspected it would raise more eyebrows than Torch’s if he was seen.

He made his way through the back corridors of the Keep, a warren of twisting passageways that felt deeply at home to the dragon though a human would be hopelessly lost. Even in this upright shape, he felt turned around.

Or maybe that was because he’d locked himself away for so long.

But in any shape, a dragon-shifter could always find his clan treasure.

The Nox Incendi treasure room was deep in the Keep, where no drunk and no thief could ever find it. If someone did, whether accidentally or on purpose, the dragon standing guard would make sure that someone was
never
found.

When the dragon caught sight of him, it stiffened in shock, its wings flaring with a whisper of sound. Yes, too many years had passed since he’d made these rounds.

He nodded as he strode past, careful to keep his gait steady though the long walk had tired him.

The treasure room was even more vast than his private hoard. Before the petralys struck, the Nox Incendi had been a small but thriving clan. Now, they were fewer than ever, which made their treasure richer by comparison. But he would’ve willingly traded every coin and gem for the rare cereus flowers to treat the dragonkin.

Or to find the even more rare solarys to cure them all forever.

He strode between the towering, arched columns, every footfall muted by the distances. And by the drifts of gold and jewels, tumbling like frozen waves of rainbows and molten sunlight.

It was a bit of a cliché, but what a joy to his dragon.

“Smith,” he called. “Your liege needs you.”

“Who?”

The voice was cranky and distracted, but the rumpled male who stepped out from between the columns was younger than Rave and only a little older than Torch.

Bale sighed. “The one who rules you?” Pharos Smith had always been peculiarly gem-struck, even for dragonkin. That served him well in his task as smith, but made him provoking the rest of the time.

Pharos peered at him. “Bale? Shit, man. I haven’t seen you for…” The other male scratched his chin as he lost the trail of the thought.

Well, it had been a long time. But the smith seemed to have forgotten too the proper address for a liege lord.

Just as well Bale had other concerns today. He held out the enormous pearl.

Pharos’ eyes opened almost that big. “The Moon of the Sea. There was a rumor Keats wrote a poem about it.” His gaze jerked to Bale. “Other rumor is, you ate Keats.”

“No,” Bale said impatiently. “I ate the poem, not the poet. He died of a fever in the lungs, not dragonfire, and I claim all my kills.”

Pharos tilted his head from one side to the other as he eyed the pearl without touching. “Why’d you bring it here? You owe the treasury nothing more than you’ve already given.”

All the Nox Incendi dragonkin tithed to the clan treasure. Bale suspected he’d been missing in action long enough that he owed something. If only his presence.

“The Moon was lost for a long time,” he said. “Think you can make something of it?”

The dragonsmith grunted. “It’s perfect as it is.”

“It has to be more than perfect. It needs to be…” A vision flickered in Bale’s memory of Esme, her head thrown back in the pleasure of her release. “The only one in existence.”

Pharos took a square of cloth from his pocket and swiped the pearl from Bale’s palm. “Is that all? Well, why didn’t you say so?”

“Let me know when it’s…” Bale pursed his lips as the other male strode off, holding the pearl ahead of him. “Done.”

He received no answer.

Yeah, he’d been gone too long.

He wandered through the halls of the treasure room, resisting the urge to roll in the pools of coins. If he fell down, he might never get back up. Although being the centerpiece of the gleaming hoard wouldn’t be the worst way for a dragon to spend eternity.

Except then he’d never see what the smith made of the pearl.

Never see it on Esme.

Breathing the old scents of metal and mineral and blood long turned to dust, Bale closed his eyes. Maybe he could find the strength to go on a little while longer.

He left the treasury. Along the way, he encountered more of the dragonkin. All were in their upright forms, and all stepped aside unspeaking to let him pass, their eyes wide. Got a little weird, and he wondered if he had become a ghost haunting his own halls.

He was almost relieved to retreat to his penthouse prison. At least there were no eyes—shocked, confused, worried, or subtly accusing—except for the still-glowing gemstones.

And one pair of obsidian.

Esme stood in the dark heart of his treasure.

Chapter 8

There was no noise to warn her, but Esme sensed a presence behind her and twisted to face Bale. “It wasn’t like this before,” she said sharply.

His gaze roamed the glimmering cavern before returning to settle on her. “You don’t like it? Is it not…beautiful to your eyes?”

She swallowed and twisted her hands in the scalloped hem of her button-down white linen blouse. Did he sound hurt? But he was the one who’d left her passed out from pleasure in the big, empty bed. “No. It’s incredible.” She reclaimed her scowl. “You know that. But I already knew you were rich, since you’re—”

“A dragon.” He looked away. The serpentine trail of gemstones embedded in the stone column glowed on the austere lines of his face.

Making him even more damned amazing than the bedazzled cave.

He was dressed in another outfit from some not-quite-right time with dark trousers and a loose shirt with laces across his chest. And that ridiculous yet valiant cape draped around his left shoulder. Like a cosplayer from a movie no one else had ever seen.

That seemed…lonely to her, and her heart ached.

She didn’t want to be bedazzled by him. She’d learned to be wary of everyone. Everyone wanted something, and since she had more than most—not of her own, but borrowed from others—people wanted more from her. She’d tried to give back, going to school for grant writing and volunteering at non-profits, but the well of need was bottomless.

When she was headed off to boarding school after her nannies were done with her, her mother had taken her chin in one hand, turned her face side to side, then kissed her on each cheek and told her to watch out for the other children. “They’re spoiled little brats,” she said, “but not like you. You’re the real deal, darling. Rich already, beautiful already, fucked already.” She let out a little laugh when Esme merely stared at her. “And quiet too. Well, that’s a plus for our kind. Just remember: don’t cry where they can see you. Everybody likes rich, beautiful tears, but they aren’t worth shit.”

Worst of all, her mother wasn’t wrong.

Maybe it wasn’t the same for a dragon lord. But from the distant look in his eyes and the way he held himself so stiffly, she thought maybe it was.

He must be wondering what she wanted from him. What
else
, since he’d already given her the first—and best—and second and better, for that matter—orgasms of her life.

To him, she wasn’t a spoiled little rich girl or a virgin sacrifice. She was…just Esme. Basically nothing. Exactly as she’d asked of him. Yet here she was, standing in his space, wanting more.

And he’d already told her he didn’t have anything to give, that his clan needed everything he had left in him. She was just being greedy coming here—the first time in her life she actually wanted something she couldn’t have.

“Never mind.” She spun on her heel, her cheeks burning hotter than the flames dancing in the wrought iron braziers.

She stared at the elevator, trying to hurry it along with the force of her mind.
That
would be a useful magical power. Escape from awkward self-inflicted situations was way better than immortality, since who wanted to live forever with the memories of all those awkward self-inflicted situations?

There’d never been so much light in the cavern, and she couldn’t help but see the blurred shape of him reflected in the brushed steel of the closed elevator doors. He loomed behind her, a dark bulk threatening to eclipse her fuzzy paleness in the white linen and dove-gray skirt.

“Why did you come here?”

She shot a sidelong glance over her shoulder. “I was brainwashed by a warlock, kidnapped by one of my best friends, and supposedly celebrating my bachelorette party?”

He moved directly into her line of sight, and she had to tighten every muscle to stop herself from leaning toward him, drawn like some silly hothouse flower to a darkly radiant sun.

He pressed closer. “Why did you come
here
? To me?”

So
awkward. Was she supposed to admit she wanted to be fucked again? And more than that, honestly. She’d wanted to maybe talk this time. In the dark would’ve been fine—easier, even. In this cavern, she’d woken up without the gnawing emptiness for the first time in…longer than she could remember, maybe ever. Because
he
had been there.

But he had bigger concerns than her: the Keep, the dragons, a homicidal warlock, and, oh yeah, his own life.

“It was a mistake,” she said.

“No mistake. That elevator goes one place: here.”

She ground her teeth together and paused. She’d never done that before. Orthodontia was expensive—her mother had complained about the price while swiping her triple-platinum credit card—and it hurt, and anyway, Esme knew better than to display such temper. But now…it felt good to grind the words she wanted to say, sharpening their edges before she opened her mouth. “I woke up thinking maybe we could go for round two. Or would it be three, technically? And then, I don’t know, maybe get brunch. But you were gone.”

Oops. She hadn’t meant to say that, or at least not quite that way. …Okay, she
had
meant to say that, and fuck the awkwardness.

He stared at her. With its burning, bright-hued jewels and lingering shadows, the hall was a mysterious, fitting backdrop for this dragon lord.

But she’d like him even better naked in her bed again.

“Brunch,” he said slowly. “With a dragon.”

Really? Of the things she’d said, he focused on brunch? “Presumably even dragons eat more than virgins. Whatever. I told you to forget it,” she reminded him. “I didn’t mean to impose.” Oh thank god, the elevator door opened.

“Esme.”

She took one step toward her escape when he grabbed her elbow and wheeled her around.

She crashed into his chest, and his mouth crashed down on hers, and the whole thing was a glorious dragonwreck.

Bracing herself on his broad chest, she opened her mouth, taking his tongue in the first heartbeat. He groaned and snaked his hand behind her, dragging her flush against him. The hard bulge of his cock nudged insistently against her belly.

Some
one was imposing.

She twined her arms up around his neck, holding him fast. If he thought he was going to sneak away again…

Maybe this wasn’t how one-night stands were supposed to work, but hell if she cared.

His hand was up inside her blouse, rubbing the small of her back in restless circles and dipping below the waistband of her skirt to splay his fingers across her butt. She broke the kiss to drag her mouth down his neck to the laces of his shirt. The cords crisscrossed down from the notch of his throat to the center of his chest, a soft, knotted barricade across his skin.

She played her tongue over the laces, darting between the holes, while her hand went to the rigid swell of his erection. Through the cords, she could almost see his skin—

Bale cupped her chin and lifted her head. “I need to extinguish the fires.”

“No.” She breathed across his throat. “I want to see you.”