Chapter 29
After that Blaze started losing track of the discussion. Fatigue hit her like a sledgehammer, and she almost passed out.
Dimly, she felt Zane sweep her up in his arms and head for the elevator. She could hear Thorne and Tyr shouting at each other: Thorne yelling about going down to Portland and grabbing the women and making them give up the Seals; Tyr saying they couldn’t go storming into people’s houses in the middle of the night; Thorne saying if Rebel could break into people’s houses at night, she shouldn’t be upset when other people did it to her; Zane muttering, “I hope they don’t get so pissed off they flame the computers,” as the elevator doors closed behind them.
And then there was nothing but strong arms and spicy-scented dragon warmth and floating at the edge of sleepy darkness.
Glimpses of wood-paneled hallways, and then a carved door and a brocade-wallpapered bedroom and a big soft bed. Zane put her down and Blaze sank into it with a moan; she’d never expended as much unplanned magic as she had tonight, and she felt like she was wearing lead weights.
No bed had ever felt so good.
Her clothes seemed to disappear, and then she was under the blankets wearing something soft and silky and someone stroked back her hair, kissed her temple and said, “Sleep well.”
And there was deep, blissful, dreamless darkness. Until the nightmares began.
Silas was there, she knew it was Silas but his head was the idol’s. He whispered to her, saying horrible things, wanting her to do horrible things. She took a golden knife and cut out Zane’s heart, so there was a big black hole in his chest. Something was trying to come out of it, something black and deadly with slimy tentacles that burned more holes in anyone who came near—Thorne and Rebel and Jean-Claude and Tyr and Tempest, and then her parents came but they had black holes for eyes and she stabbed them and stabbed them but only black fog came out of the wounds…
She tried to scream but she could hardly make a sound, and she couldn’t get away and there was more and more black fog and the slimy tentacles were reaching into her chest and trying to tear out her heart too…
And then she felt something heavy and metallic around her neck, resting on her chest. It felt warm, and it hummed with a happy vibration she could feel inside her, like a favorite song she had known forever.
The dream scene faded and she was six years old, dozing on the couch with her head in her mother’s lap, and she felt warm and safe and loved.
Arms slid around her from behind. A voice whispered, “It’s okay. You’re safe now. Nothing can hurt you.”
The song was all around her now, a wordless lullaby that soothed her to sleep.
When she woke up, light was streaming through the big windows that lined one wall of the room. The heavy blue velvet curtains were open, swaying in the fresh breeze.
The room was enormous, and looked like it had been originally decorated sometime in the 1800s. Brocade wallpaper, heavy mahogany furniture, and more velvet hangings everywhere, including on the huge four-poster bed she was sleeping in. You could actually close the curtains and be cocooned inside.
Added to that was a comfy-looking overstuffed couch and chair grouped around a coffee table and a huge flat screen TV, somehow managing not to look out of place.
And there was gold. Statuettes, candlesticks—even the chandelier seemed to be made of gold. One of Zane’s pieces—it was similar in style to the one she’d seen the night before. Along the dresser sat a row of torso-shaped display racks like you’d see in jewelry stores, each one with an ornate gold necklace around its neck, some of them inlaid with jewels, some plain.
Like the one she was wearing, Blaze realized. She had on a cobalt blue, v-neck nightgown of silk and lace, and around her neck was a gold collar necklace with delicate linked filigree that came to a point just above her breastbone, lying comfortably on her chest and filling the neckline perfectly.
It should have felt too heavy, but it felt wonderful, like the comforting hand of a friend. Blaze almost thought she heard a faint, faraway hint of music when she touched it.
She sat up and her stomach growled. She was starving. How long had she been asleep? There was no clock, and her phone was still at her house.
God, her house. She had to get over there and see what the damage was. Make sure the balcony doors were boarded up, straighten up the workroom, make sure the magical wards were still working.
But first she needed more food.
She threw back the covers and slid down off the bed, wondering how a person found a zefir to bring food. Or a kitchen. For a second the fatigue hit her again, and she grabbed onto the bed, but in a moment it passed.
Must be hunger. She spied a tiny fridge set into a cabinet under the television and made her way over, but it held only beverages—water, soda, beer.
She grabbed a water and stood up just as the door opened and Zane walked in, a plate of cake in one hand and a fork in the other.
He was barefoot, hair tousled, wearing nothing but faded jeans riding low on his hips. His broad, muscled chest and eight-pack abs looked every bit as incredible in sunlight as they did by moonlight. The sun coming through the window caught the strip of fine gold hairs that ran from his chest down his belly, like an arrow pointing to his impressive package.
Blaze’s stomach growled again.
Zane stopped in his tracks, head swiveling toward her, fork halfway to his mouth. “You’re up,” he said. His vivid blue gaze locked on to her, raking over her from head to toe, lingering on her cleavage before moving back to her face.
Blaze raised her hand self-consciously to her hair, which was wild with bedhead. “Yeah. I’m a mess, too.”
“You look beautiful,” he said, sounding totally sincere. “Are you hungry?”
Hell, yeah. She could dive into Zane Greystone right now and eat every bite. If only things were less complicated between them.
“You could say that.”
Her eyes wandered south again without her permission. The bulge in his pants had gotten bigger; maybe he really did think she looked beautiful in the morning. When she jerked her gaze back to his face, a slow smile was curving his lips.
He walked over, his movement fluid and graceful, and leaned up against the cabinet, inches away from her. He smelled good enough to eat, like warm sugar cookies with cinnamon. Damn, she was wanting to curl up next to him again. “You eat cake for breakfast?” she asked.
“Technically, it’s a late lunch,” he said. “It’s after two. And yes. Cake is appropriate for any meal. This is red velvet cake, with cream cheese frosting. It’s one of my favorites. Try some.”
He held the fork out to her, and after a moment’s hesitation she took the bite of cake. He pulled the fork slowly back, holding her gaze as she licked her lips.
It was amazing. “Oh my god,” she murmured, mouth full.
He handed the fork over and she demolished the rest of the cake. Having him so close, watching her eat, was giving her little flutters in her stomach, but she couldn’t seem to move away.
When she finished he took the plate and examined it. “I think you missed some frosting,” he said. “Here.”
He scooped it up on his finger and held it out to her, his eyes daring her to take it.
She shouldn’t. He was flirting with her—more than flirting. And they needed to talk. About dragons and destined mates and Vyrkos and—
His finger brushed her lips. Yum. She licked the frosting off his finger, sucking it sensually into her mouth. Two could play at this game, she thought wickedly. She heard his soft intake of breath, his eyes half-closing.
He wrapped his other hand around the back of her neck. “You still didn’t get it all,” he whispered, pulling her towards him. “It’s stuck right there…”
He drew his finger over her lips, and then pulled them to his. He sipped at her, soft and gentle, and then he slowly drew his tongue across her lower lip. There was a low rumble in his chest, like a dragon purr.
The gold necklace went warm around her neck, and she heard music, faint and far away. Zane groaned and pulled her closer still, as though he couldn’t bear a fraction of an inch between them.
The warmth spread through her chest, like it had before. What was she feeling? Magic? Lust? Love? Destiny? All of the above?
He pulled reluctantly away, resting his forehead on hers. “You’re still wearing the necklace,” he said. He seemed happy about that.
“It’s beautiful.” She put her hand to her chest. “And… it feels good.”
It did feel good—like it belonged around her neck. Like she’d feel naked with it gone.
“It likes you,” he said, touching the gold with his fingertips.
“I wasn’t aware that gold necklaces had opinions,” she teased.
“Oh, yes.” The music grew louder. “They definitely do.”
“Is that how they express their opinions?” she asked. “That humming?” She’d heard it last night in the gallery, when Zane was examining her collection. And even louder, when they made love. At least, she thought she had. She’d lost her mind for a minute there—it could have been choirs of angels singing, for all she knew.
Zane’s dimple was showing, and he was smiling like he’d heard what she was thinking.
“Gold sings to dragons. That’s why we love it so much.” Zane stroked the necklace, running his fingers along it, and Blaze could feel the touch as if he were stroking her skin. She shivered. His voice grew husky. “Dragons love treasure,” he said. “And treasure loves dragons.”
He’d said his dragon thought she was a treasure. Did that mean his dragon loved her? Did she love him? How could she know that in such a short time? How could he?
His fingers drifted back up to her face, caressing her cheek. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said. “My dragon’s been giving me hell all day. He was worried about you.”
“That’s sweet,” she said. “But I told you—you don’t need to worry about me. Either of you.”
“And I told you, dragons are protective of the things they treasure.”
My dragon thinks you’re a treasure.
Not a possession, maybe. But valuable. Special. Worth taking care of.
No one had wanted to take care of her in so long. Valued her, or thought she was special. Scary, yes. Formidable. Even beautiful. But not a treasure.
This time the tears did spill over.
“Hey,” Zane said. “Don’t cry. That wasn’t supposed to make you cry.”
She dashed her hand under her eyes, blinking hard. “I’m not.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. He rubbed his thumb across her cheekbone, catching the last tear. “Of course not. Blaze McKenna’s a badass witch. And there’s no crying in badass witchery.”
“Exactly. It’s just… it’s been an emotional few days.”
“Tell me about it.”
She stole a look at him, summoning up the courage to ask him some of the things she wanted to know. “Has it been? Emotional for you, I mean? I always heard that Draken don’t really… have feelings. For people. Or each other. Or anyone.”
“I’m not a Draken,” he reminded her. “I’m a Wild Dragon. And they can feel. And love. They can have true mates, especially if they carry the blood of other shifters. And they bond with them just as hard.”
True mates. Someone you were fated to be with, a magical bond that transcended time and space and lasted forever—maybe even beyond death. Blaze had heard of that; it happened to some species of shifters, especially wolves and bears.
But she’d never heard of it happening to humans.
“Is that what you think this is?” she asked. “You really think I’m one of those Destined Mates, even though I don’t have the Seal?”
He gave a one-shouldered shrug, dropping his eyes. “I don’t know about that. All I know is what I feel.”
She gathered the rest of her courage. “And… what do you feel?”
Zane didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took her hand and pulled her to the couch. They sat down, him still holding her hand, smoothing his thumb over it the same way he’d stroked the gold necklace.
And it gave her the same shivery feeling.
Blaze held her breath.
Finally he said, “Do you know how old I am?”
Draken lived a long time. Centuries. But she didn’t know if Wild Dragons were the same. “You look like you’re about thirty.”
He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling and his dimple reappearing. “I’m two hundred and eighty-seven.”
“No way.” What was she supposed to say to that? “Umm… you don’t look a day over two hundred?”
Zane laughed.
“I’m sorry,” Blaze said. “All I can think of are Viagra jokes.”
The dimple deepened. “So far, I haven’t found the need. Maybe in another few hundred years. I’ll let you know.”
A few hundred years. She couldn’t even imagine that. “I guess I can’t wrap my head around living that long. Things around you change so much. Doesn’t that feel strange?”
He was still stroking her hand with his thumb. She loved the way that felt, and it scared her that she loved it.
“I was here before Portland was settled. I watched it grow into the city it is today. I used to fly up the Columbia Gorge with my father, and later with Thorne, and bathe in the river. I’ve seen the forests decimated by fire more than once, and seen them grow back even more beautiful.
“I was there when they built the first paved road along the Gorge. I went to the dedication ceremony, as a human, up on Crown Point, the bluff where I used to sit and sun myself and watch the river. It was just before they broke ground for Vista House. That night, sleeping in my cave further along the bluff, I had my first dream. About you.”
That stunned her. “You dreamed about me all the way back then?”
He nodded. “Over a hundred years ago. 1916. I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. After that, I used to look forward to going to sleep, hoping that the dreams would come, treasuring them when they did. Sometimes you were alone in them, and sometimes we were together. I’ve made love to you a thousand times in my dreams.”
Blaze just listened to him, mesmerized.
“I didn’t know when I would meet you, or if I even would. I didn’t know if anything in the dreams would be real.”
He reached out, running his fingertip along the edge of the necklace, over her skin. His voice was almost a whisper. “But I wanted it to be. So much.”
Blaze felt frozen. Part of her yearned toward him the way she had from the moment they met. The part that made her feel warm inside when she was with him, safe and protected. The part that had broken open inside her when making love to him, and had made the gold in her gallery sing.
But that part felt raw and new and vulnerable, and this was all so overwhelming.
The part of her that had survived and held to her mission all these years was resisting it, telling her that to be strong she couldn’t rely on anyone else. If she couldn’t trust her coven, the sacred circle she was born into, how could she trust a dragon?
That made her ache on the inside, a hollow feeling she hadn’t let herself feel for years. This was all too much. She opened her mouth to say so, but he stopped her.
“All I’m trying to say is, I feel like I’ve known you for a hundred years. I know instinctively that you’re mine, and so does my dragon.” He touched the necklace. “And we’re yours.”
The words seemed to echo in the room, and the gold hummed, as faint as a distant sigh.
His fingers trailed up her neck, along her jawbone. “I keep having to remind myself that I’m a stranger to you, that you don’t feel that.”
He took a deep breath. “So if you want to take this slow, or…”
Or not do it at all… She could almost see the words trembling on his lips, and she knew he couldn’t bring himself to say them.
He couldn’t bring himself to give up the woman of his dreams.
He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, brushing them lightly over her knuckles. Electric tingles spread from everywhere he touched her. His hand cradled hers like it was a delicate dragonfly, captured for only a moment, and so precious that a false move would crush it.
How could that simple touch of lips against her hand be more electric than any full-on kiss she’d ever had? He paused, and looked up into her eyes.
There was something deep and fathomless in their sky-blue depths. As if she could see the universe in his eyes, years and centuries of life, all coalescing into this one moment.
She caught her breath. She had meant to pull away, to say she needed more time, but she couldn’t. All she could do was lose herself in those eyes, swept away like flying.
His lips moved to the inside of her wrist, making her shiver, and continued up the tender skin on the inside of her forearm. Then he released her hand, skimming his fingers up her upper arm, across the point of her shoulder, tracing her collarbone and up her neck. Her head tipped back of its own volition, and she raised her lips to his, feeling them part gently with a sigh.
His hand brushed her hair back over her shoulder, and cupped the back of her neck.
And then his lips were on hers.
Oh.
His kiss was deeper than it had been the night before. She could feel the emotion behind it. Gentle, and yet powerful, with a hint of seductive darkness. Every nerve ending tingled—her breasts, her belly, her sex. She wanted to savor him like fine wine, and drink him down like a shot of whiskey.
Every piece of gold in the room began to sing. It was both a sound and a feeling, and it was pure joy.