Chapter Seven
“You’re welcome to read anything you like, any time,” Silas said.
Cassandra stepped into the room and turned in a breathless circle. She’d been expecting bookshelves, but the floor-to-cathedral-ceiling collection was beyond her wildest dreams. Shelves of ancient, leather-bound volumes rose on three of four sides of the trapezoidal room. The widest side opened to yet another balcony with a view over a wide swath of the estate. She turned to the shelves and ran her fingers over spines, some lettered in indecipherable script, others printed in neat block type with glittering gold trim.
Silas stood in the open doorway, arms crossed over his chest, and she wondered about dragons and treasures. Legend said that dragons loved to amass great riches. Did books fall into that category as well?
Silas wasn’t looking at the books, though. He was watching her. Frankly, she enjoyed watching him too, at least from the corner of her eye. Her dirty mind, meanwhile, spun with images like using the solid wood table for more than just reading books.
She cleared her throat and tipped one book, then another sideways.
“Shifting Through the Ages?” She squinted at the title. “Weres, Wolves, and Whims: A Glossary of Shifters Through Time. Are these all shifter books?”
“That section is.” He waved to a different shelf. “Over there are normal books, I guess you’d say. History, geography, that kind of thing. The parts humans know about, at least.”
Was that a tease in his voice? Cassandra eyed the shifter section again. She would definitely be checking those out soon.
She pulled a book out and reshelved it two spots down, tsking. “Modern Medicine, Ancient Traditions is out of alphabetical order. Mr. Llewellyn, I expected better.”
He put his hands up. “Don’t look too closely. You’ll find more.”
She did look closely — at him — as he went on.
“Believe me, there are a lot of out-of-place books in my life.”
He tapped a cardboard box with his heel — the one he’d brought from New York. More books? Still, his tone suggested books weren’t the only aspects of life he wished could be neater, tidier.
“You like things organized,” she said. A statement, not a question. “Under control.”
Her voice went a little husky on that last part as her mind galloped into forbidden territory again.
The glow in Silas’s eyes flared, and she had the distinct impression it wasn’t him peering out so much as his dragon. And somehow, instead of freaking her out, the notion made her nipples peak.
She turned quickly, hiding the flush in her cheeks. It had been ages since she’d flirted with a man, simply because no one interesting had come along. But Silas was beyond interesting. He was fascinating. Powerful, yet understated. Solitary, yet part of a tightly knit group. A simmering volcano, a force kept rigidly under control.
“Dragons of Wales: Noble & Common Lines?” She rifled through a few pages.
Silas gave an apologetic shrug. “Some shifters are a bit hung up on old ways.”
“Some shifters?”
He chuckled. “So I’ve heard.”
She pulled out a smaller book with red leather binding that carried the scent of centuries. “A Reason, A Season, A Lifetime.”
Silas nodded. “That’s a good one.”
“Mates, Myths, and Legends?”
“That must have been my great-grandmother’s. She loved that stuff.”
“And what do you love, Mr. Llewellyn?” She turned, surprising herself with her boldness.
He bit his lip, serious again. A long, thoughtful minute ticked by before he spoke. “Call me Silas.”
Her pulse skipped as if she’d just been called forward for a prize.
“Silas.” It came out a husky whisper, and Cassandra started to wonder if she had her own animal side.
His eyes traveled up and down her body, and his fists clenched at his sides.
“History,” he murmured. “Philosophy. Shakespeare.”
She snorted. He was testing her, just like she was testing him.
“I didn’t ask what you were taught to love. I asked what you love.”
His eyes sparkled, and she gave herself a bonus point. Was she the first to take the trouble to understand the real him?
He looked out over the vast Pacific. “What do I love? Koa Point. The people as much as the place.” He lifted a hand and absently drew a curve in the air. “I love flying at night. Pushing against the trade winds, then gliding home.”
Home. The word had a yearning, wistful quality that made her wonder what need this luxury estate failed to fulfill.
She closed her eyes and focused on the play of the breeze in her hair. What would flying be like? Could a person ride on the back of a dragon, or would that be beneath such a fabled beast?
When she opened her eyes, Silas was studying her. His lips moved as if to add one more item to his list, though no sound came out.
“And what do you love, Miss Nichols?” he whispered at last.
God, he was close. Close enough to kiss, if only she could work up the nerve.
“Call me Cassandra,” she breathed.
He hesitated then spoke so quietly, she barely heard.
“So what do you love, Cassandra?”
She kept her eyes on him. “Sunsets. Quiet city streets at night. Alto saxophones.”
His eyebrows jumped up. “Alto saxophones?”
She nodded. “I love the sound of an alto sax. And I love mixing drinks.”
Keiki strode in, rubbing against the doorframe and mewing for Silas to pick her up.
“Hey, little one,” he murmured, nestling her against his chest.
Cassandra reminded herself it wasn’t nice to be jealous of a kitten.
A muscle in Silas’s cheek twitched, and his voice dropped. “Mixing drinks or mixing potions?”
She’d been holding her breath, and she let it out slowly. So Silas knew about the witch part of her blood. He’d openly admitted that he and several of the others were private investigators, and it made sense for him to have investigated her. But, damn. She had only found out the witch thing a few weeks ago. Did Silas have some kind of secret network of spies?
Moments ago, he’d been warm, open, almost intimate. Now, his face was an impassive mask, impossible to read.
“Mixing drinks,” she said firmly. “I’m an expert in that.”
“And what about potions?”
She made a face. “Total amateur. I didn’t even know until recently.”
“You didn’t know about your father?”
Her fists tightened on reflex. “I knew he was a cheating ass who left me and my mother when I was three. I guess that’s why my mother never told me about witches. I’m not sure she even believed in them. And anyway, one-eighth witch doesn’t count for much.”
He looked at her with a maybe yes, maybe no expression.
“And Ms. Vedma — Eloise?”
Her eyes widened. Wow. Silas really had been digging into her life.
“I always thought she was just a neighbor. I had no idea she was my father’s sister.” She took a step toward him, bristling. “She was killed by a dragon a few weeks ago. Did you know that?”
To Silas’s credit, he nodded. “I know. I’m sorry.” His voice was pained, as if he knew exactly what it felt like to have someone violently ripped from his life.
Keiki reached up and pawed Silas’s chin, asking why he’d stopped petting her. Silas stroked his fingers over her fur absently.
Cassandra stared at him as an ugly thought crossed her mind. “Did you do it? Did you kill Eloise?”
No self-respecting murderer would come out and admit to his crime, but she’d be able to tell by his expression. Years of working in bars had taught her to spot liars.
He shook his head immediately. “It was Drax. Or rather, one of his henchmen, according to my sources.”
“And where were your sources that night she was attacked?” she all but spat.
He caught her hand, and she stared, surprised to find it winding back to slap him.
“What witches do is not my concern. For centuries, dragons and witches have left each other in peace — an uneasy peace, for sure. But peace all the same.” His voice caught on the word peace before growling out the rest. “My sources were purely focused on Drax and his men. What he was up to, where, and when.”
“Too bad they were too late to help Eloise.”
“I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry.” He leaned over to put Keiki down and stayed crouched for a moment. Avoiding her? Giving her a moment of reprieve?
Cassandra stepped back, collecting her nerves. Silas really did sound sorry, and she couldn’t stay angry at him no matter how hard she tried.
“Witches and dragons are enemies, then,” she said, slumping against a bookshelf.
He straightened, reminding her how tall he was, and nodded. “For the past five centuries, at least.”
So what does that make us? she nearly asked, though she could guess the answer.
“Why did you bring me here, Silas?” she asked instead. At least she’d get that much into the open.
His shoulders slumped, and his voice grew weary. For a short time, the two of them had escaped reality. Now, the outside world was crushing down on them again.
“As I said. For your own protection from Drax.”
“And the Spirit Stone?” Her voice wavered, taut as a spring.
She waited for his eyes to drift toward the window, avoiding the truth. But those deep, dark eyes stayed focused on hers, tired yet honest.
“I would feel better if I could protect it too. But believe me, I know enough about stolen property to respect what’s yours as yours.”
Her chest warmed, her fists unclenched, and part of her mind strayed. What stolen property was he talking about?
“Do you think Drax will seek out the diamond?” she ventured at last.
An angry red tint shone from the center of his eyes. “I know he will.”
“It’s safe,” she assured him, but damn. How could she be sure? Still, she forced herself to meet his searching eyes.
“I hope so.”
A sea gull cried as it swooped outside, and they both stood in brooding silence.
“So where does that leave us?” Cassandra asked, wishing she could go back to lighter, teasing topics. Wishing they could both loosen up and have some fun. And for one brief second, she saw the same wish in Silas’s eyes. More than a wish, maybe. A desire. His eyes dropped to her lips, and his nostrils flared.
“That leaves us…” He trailed off as if losing track of his own words.
Cassandra was losing track too because, holy cow. Somehow her hand had wandered over to his chest, and she stepped closer, feeling like a marionette. Like someone else had taken over the controls and was walking her over to him.
Silas’s eyes narrowed, and the glow intensified, flaring and swirling like twin bonfires.
Her throat went dry, her mind blank. What was happening?
Destiny, an ancient voice whispered in her mind. Destiny.
A word loaded with meaning for shifters, but one she was only starting to understand. Did destiny have something awful in store for her, or was it showing her the path ahead?
His lips moved, and no sound came out. But sound wasn’t the point, because suddenly, her lips were moving too. Not to speak, but to kiss.
To what? one tiny compartment of her mind protested.
The rest of her felt awash in a sea of bliss. Sure and steady, as if kissing Silas needed to happen. As if the world would end if she failed in that one simple thing.
She sidled closer, heart thumping madly. Her eyelids drooped as she leaned forward, intent on one thing.
Destiny, the voice echoed as her lips met his.
Soft. Warm. Comfy. Her eyelids fluttered. Wait a minute. Since when was Silas any of those things?
Her lips moved, finding more of the same — plus an intensely masculine flavor that made her inner vixen purr. A low, throaty voice rumbled in her mind, and somehow, she wasn’t alarmed.
Mine. You are mine.
She hung on to his body before she started swaying unsteadily. That sounded a hell of a lot like a dragon, and it was in her mind.
I want to love you. Protect you. Honor you to the end of my days.
The words melted her, but the end of my days sounded ominous. How far away did he mean?
One side of her mind floated in the dreamtime of the kiss, while the other exploded with impressions from an unfamiliar scene. There were roars. Bursts of flame. A dark, charred landscape where shadows raced. A life-or-death battle that somehow involved her.
None of it made sense — except the kiss. That warmth, that connection felt exactly right. She clutched his shirt and pressed closer.
Destiny, the ancient voice growled one more time.
What part was destiny? The kiss hinted at timeless love, but the other scene promised desolation and destruction.
Both, the ancient voice declared.
Her hands tightened on Silas’s shirt as she struggled to push the dark images away. One tiny kiss against all that evil — but it worked, because a minute later, the desolate scene was gone, and all that remained was warmth and desire.
Her nerves tingled. Her cheeks flushed. Her soul sang. The way Silas gripped her shoulders made her wonder if it was the same for him.
Then Keiki meowed plaintively, and they eased apart. Cassandra blinked, looking around.
Bookshelves. Arched, bamboo walls. Silas, staring at her. Her eyes went wide. Holy shit.
“Hell of a kiss,” she mumbled, hiding the wobble in her knees, if not the shake in her voice.
Silas looked positively dumbstruck, and she barely heard the one word he uttered.
“Destiny…”
He looked so stricken, she wanted to throw her arms around him and squeeze the worries away. To say, I want to love you. To protect you. To honor you to the end of my days.
But instead of getting closer, they grew farther apart. Silas stepped away, his face creased with concern.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
I’m not, she wanted to say, but somehow, the words wouldn’t come. What had just happened between them? And why did it have to end?
Silas was cold and cool as ever, though his voice was hoarse when he waved around the library, picking up where they’d left off a moment before.
“Use your time here well, Cassandra.”
He sounded so sad, she wondered how soon she would have to leave.
“Read and learn — though you might not want to believe every word. Our ancestors had their own agendas, and their words reflect that.”
Agenda. She was tempted to ask Silas what his was, but then she caught herself. That part of Silas was easy to read. The man had duty and honor stamped all over him. Duty, honor — and self-sacrifice. Even if he did feel what she did — a powerful something she wasn’t entirely ready to examine herself — he’d never, ever let it get in the way of his duty. And doubly so if witches and dragons were sworn enemies.
So where did that leave her?
“You really don’t mind me reading your books?”
He shook his head.
She plucked a book from a shelf and showed it to him, testing again. “None? What about this one?”
He nodded slowly. “Herbs & Healing Spices. As I said, you’re welcome to explore. The books on witches and witchcraft are over there.”
She stepped over and ran a finger along the spines. Did Silas really trust her to that extent? She loved reading, though she rarely found the time. Of course, now that she was confined to a private Hawaiian getaway for an indefinite period, she had lots of time for Highland Hexes — or better yet, Witches & Warlocks.
“Seriously?” she asked, turning back to him.
He nodded. “Of course. You have a right to know about your ancestry, and you might learn a thing or two.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Like spells against dragons?”
He stuck his palms up. “You won’t need them against me. But it wouldn’t hurt to know a spell against…other dragons.”
She filled in the gap. Like Drax.
Silas ran a hand through his hair. “If there even is such a thing. But the more prepared we all are, the better.”
She stared at him, thinking of the battle she’d envisioned. “Prepared for what, exactly?”
“For trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
He sighed and stared out over the sea. “I wish I knew.”