Fury of Fate: A Dragonfury Short Story (5 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

Flaked out on the couch in the smallest living room he’d ever seen, Ivar watched Sasha sleep. Eyes closed, tucked up against his side, her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. His throat went tight as he studied her face.
Precious kitten. So fragile in his arms. So trusting in his presence. Such a gift to his battle-hardened senses. More than he’d expected—or deserved. Fate, though, worked in mysterious ways, ensuring he collided with Sasha when he needed her most. In the space of a few hours, she’d done what no one else ever had and lifted the heaviness inside his heart. Banished the shadows too, helping him forget his despair...if only for a little while.

Strange in every way that counted.

He didn’t do emotion. Not in the traditional sense anyway. Closed off from the world, he’d thought himself immune, far removed from matters of the heart. With her, though, he couldn’t stem the tide of tenderness. She touched him in ways he didn’t understand. He enjoyed her wit. Liked her feistiness and that she stood her ground. Whenever he pushed, she shoved back, putting him in his place, refusing to tolerate disrespect, making him aware he didn’t want to show her any. Another revelation. One of many firsts tonight. Hell, he held a whole mitt-full at the moment, all the novel things she made him feel. The most startling one still surprised him. Gratefulness. He was so damned thankful she’d invited him in, allowed him into her home, into her arms and body, treating him like a normal male.

Him
...a male most women avoided like the plague.

To be expected. He wasn’t anyone’s idea of a nice guy. His track record spoke volumes. History and circumstance had shaped him, dictating the path, honing his skills, making him into who he needed to be in order to survive. But here
, right now, with her in his arms, Ivar wanted to be something else. Something more. A better male even though he knew it would come back to bite him. The certainty of it made him cringe. Yet even as he acknowledged what must be done, Ivar refused to do it. He couldn’t kill her to cover his tracks. Couldn’t do what he’d done to so many others—use his magic to drain her energy, the essence of her life-force—and live with himself afterward. His conscience, long quiet, but obviously alive, wouldn’t let him.

Not after all she’d given him tonight.

Trailing his fingers over her jaw, he changed course to caress the curve of her cheek. Her eyelashes flickered, but she didn’t wake. Exhausted from his loving, Sasha remained deep in slumber, recovering from his possession, all the pleasure he’d lavished on her in the wee hours. Every ounce he’d taken too. But it was over now and—

A pang echoed behind his breastbone.

The heaviness returned, making his chest ache. Ivar sighed, and caressing Sasha one last time, slid his arms from around her. Time to go. He couldn’t stay. The sun was almost up. Ten minutes tops, and dawn would arrive, leaving him vulnerable. At the mercy of deadly ultra-violet rays. Sasha wouldn’t understand the weakness that kept him inside during the day. Nor did he plan on sticking around to explain it. The less she knew about his lineage—and Dragonkind—the safer she would be, so...yeah. Enough with the sap routine. Mourning the end of the night, and the loss of her, wasn’t his style.

Hit hard. Leave fast. His motto, and exactly the way he liked to operate.

Which meant he needed to put his ass in gear—get up, grab his clothes, and head for the door. Right now. Before she woke up and waylaid him. Before the sun crested the horizon. Before he got trapped inside with a female he wasn’t sure he wanted to leave. But as he disengaged without waking her and rolled free, Ivar paused. Bare feet planted next to the couch, he frowned, wondering if he should mind-scrub her before he left. He pursed his lips. Probably. Adjusting her memory of the night would ensure a number of things—his safety along with hers...Dragonkind’s continued anonymity in the human world. A win-win for everyone. And yet, even knowing it was necessary, he didn’t want to invade her mind.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered in resignation.

He needed to take her memory of him. No other option existed. Not if he wanted to get away scot-free. Hitting one knee, he knelt alongside her. Gaze riveted to her face, Ivar reached out and cupped the side of her neck. Soft skin caressed his fingertips, making his heart thump and his conscience squawk.

“I’m sorry, Sasha. Forgive me, kitten.”

The sound of his voice made her shift on the couch.

A furrow between her brows, still fast asleep, she turned toward him. Regret punched through. Ivar shut it down, and refusing to turn away, slipped his other hand between her and the seat cushions. Fingers spread
wide, he palmed her lower back, then dipped his head, and pressed his cheek to hers. She murmured his name. He whispered back, telling her it was all right as the Meridian hummed, opening the cosmic connection, allowing him to link into her life-force. Unable to resist, he drank in the way of his kind, drawing nourishing energy from her into his core. Hunger surged, clawing past reason as his dragon half rose. Magic whiplashed, surging through his veins and...oh God. She tasted good. So damned
good
. Better than any female he’d ever—

A snarl broke free, bubbling up his throat.

Sasha moaned in answer. With a quick shift, she buried her hands in his hair. Sensation spiked. The current amplified, immobilizing him as she connected to the Meridian through him. The powerful force that fed Dragonkind flexed. Energy detonated like a bomb, blasting him with cosmic debris. Pain burned beneath the surface of his skin. Heart throbbing, Ivar tried to break free. To push her away and sever the connection. Sasha tightened her grip, and turning the tables, used the Meridian against him, subduing his dragon half. Paralyzed now, unable to let go, his vision tunneled, then flickered, flaring bright, blinking off, spinning him around the lip of sensory overload.

His mind fogged, then went sideways inside his head. The mental slosh slowed his reaction as air rushed from his lungs, cutting off his oxygen supply. Deprivation set in, triggering his gag reflex. His stomach dipped. Bile washed into his mouth. Ignoring the awful taste, Ivar fought physical lockdown, struggling to disengage without hurting her, but...sweet Jesus. She was taking too much.
Was draining his core energy while obliterating his ability to fight back. Something he needed to change. Faster than fast. Otherwise, she would kill him...

I
n her fucking sleep.

Gritting his teeth, Ivar forced his muscles to unlock. Pain lashed him again. He kept going, fighting to break her hold on him.
Non-contact. A serious amount of separation. It was the only way to combat the energy rush and ensure his survival. Body straining, shaking like a drug addict in withdrawal, he wrenched his hands from her skin. The current downgraded, then snapped, freeing him from the magical tether.

Sasha grumbled in protest.

Ivar didn’t care. Breathing like a wounded race horse, he shoved away from the couch and backpedaled. He slammed into the armchair. Wooded legs skittered across the floor as he tripped over his own feet, careened into the kitchen, and scrambled toward the door. He didn’t look back. Didn’t stop for his clothes. Or search for his boots. Only one thing mattered. Freedom. He needed to get the hell away from Sasha. Away from sensory overload. Away from the mind-torque of cosmic connection.

Away from the compulsion he felt to return to her.

Sick to his stomach, Ivar stumbled over the threshold. The door clicked behind him. Cold air slapped at him as he staggered across the porch. Off balance, he lost his footing and fell down the steps. Wooden stair treads hammered his back, scraping a bloody trail across his skin. He landed at the bottom with a bone-jarring thud, and with a grunt, struggled to his feet. His knees buckled and...goddamn it. She’d sucked him dry. Now nothing was working right. His body had gone haywire, messing with his coordination, hampering vital function. God, he couldn’t even see straight. Legs acting like wet noodles, he dragged himself across the yard, past the stupid Jeep, and onto the road.

Sharp
stones cut into his bare soles.

Ivar barely noticed. So close. He was so close now.
Less than one hundred yards away from the firehouse and the safety of home. All he needed to do was hold on a little longer.

Seeing double, Ivar hobbled toward 28 Walton Street. A trio of industrial-size garage doors came into view. Squinting, he focused on the ordinary entrance between the last two. Stumbling beneath the overhang, he reached for the knob.
His hand slipped off cold steel. With a curse, he tried again and caught metal. A sharp twist. A quick shove, and the wooden panel opened wide. Ivar staggered inside, swung the door closed behind him, and collapsed on the concrete floor. Teeth chattering, he rolled belly-up, and swallowing the bad taste in his mouth, let his eyes drift shut, and—

Thank God. He was safe and
...all right, not quite undamaged. But beggars couldn’t be choosers. Alive, after all, was better than dead, so...yeah. Lesson learned. No more sex with the gorgeous blonde down the street. Memory of him intact or not, Sasha was now off limits. For all time. No way would he make the same mistake twice. Or give her another opportunity to link in and drain him dry.

***

Coming awake in a flurry of movement, Sasha popped upright on the sofa. Afghan slung over her shoulders, she bounced on the edge of the seat cushion, and flipping the hair out of her eyes, looked around. Sunlight streamed through the living room window, blinding her a moment before she surged to her feet. Her bare soles landed with a thump on the area rug. The solid sound echoed in the quiet. Stretching her arms overhead, Sasha hummed. Man, she felt amazing this morning. Supercharged. Positively electric as though she’d been plugged in overnight.

The strange buzz pricked the nape of her neck, then spread, washing over the tops of her shoulders. Her skin came alive in a wash of goose bumps. Shaking off the super-willy, she tossed aside the crocheted throw, stepped around the coffee table and—

Stubbed her toe on something.

Sasha glanced down,
then blinked. A steel-toed boot, big, black as lethal looking as the man who owed it. Following the trail of clothing, she took in the jeans slung over the back of the armchair. Her gaze settled on the leather jacket beneath the denim, then ping-ponged to the heap of white cotton crumpled on the floor next to it. Her mouth tipped up at the corners. Ivar. He was still here...somewhere. She scanned the kitchen, taking in the bank of cabinets beyond the breakfast bar. Nope. Not there. Stepping toward the chair, she scooped his T-shirt off the hardwood and pressed it to her nose. His scent enveloped her, making her sigh and feel stupid at the same time.

Breathing him in was such a girly thing to do,
but she couldn’t help herself.

She liked the way he smelled—fresh and clean, all male with more than his fair share o
f the exotic. She hummed again. Yum. Oh, so good. Calvin Klein cologne had nothing on him. Sasha huffed. Another idiotic thought, but after the night he’d given her—and all the pleasure—she was entitled to a little sappiness. A truckload of satisfaction too. Maybe even another round, considering he’d stuck around ’til morning.

Jazzed by the possibility, Sasha tugged his shirt over her head. Soft cotton brushed the tops of her thighs as she made an abrupt turn and headed for the double-wide hallway connected to the living room. Her bedroom lay beyond, along with a pint-sized bathroom that boasted a deep claw-foot tub, fancy candles and expensive bath salts.
A lover’s playground. Not that she’d ever considered it that way before. But with Ivar in the mix, the space took on new dimension. Biting the inside of her lip, Sasha stifled a moan. Oh mercy, the possibilities. She could have so much fun with him, hot water and...heaven help her...scented oil.

Anticipation cu
rled in the pit of her stomach.

Her heart picked up a beat, thumping hard as she stopped in the corridor outside the bathroom. The door stood ajar, the edge an inch away from the jamb. Sasha raised her hand,
then hesitated, a little unsure. Should she knock or wait? Despite the intimacy they’d shared, she didn’t know. Wasn’t familiar enough with the male psyche to determine whether disturbing him constituted a breech in one night stand protocol. Hand hovering in mid-air, she debated a moment, then...

Ah, screw it. Forget right and wrong. He’d already broken the rules by staying. She rapped her knuckles against the wood.

No answer. She frowned. “Ivar?”

Nothing.
Not a peep. No sound at all, making her aware of the absolute stillness in the house. The deafening quiet too. Which was well...a touch eerie. Peaking around the jamb, Sasha pushed on the panel with her fingertips. Hinges whispered as the door swung wide. Big tub with the shower curtain pulled back. Stand alone sink with an antique mirror mounted above it. Colorful stained glass window aglow in sunlight. No Ivar in sight. Turning on her heel, she crossed the hall and entered her bedroom.

Empty. Nobody there either.

Doing a one-eighty, Sasha returned to the living room. Feet pitter-pattering on the hardwood floor, she scanned the space again. Weird. Clothes scattered hither and yon, but otherwise everything was in its place. Well, other than the chair. Shoved to one side, it pointed toward the front door. Her gaze narrowed on the entryway. Rug askew, door unlocked, and slightly ajar. Alarm skittered down her spine. Jogging past the peninsula, Sasha reached the door, pushed it all the way closed, and flipped the deadbolt.