Rogue Dragon (8 page)

“Synda, do you know where your father is?”

“No, I was going to go home to visit him. I haven’t heard from him in a few days and I was starting to get worried.”

Kirill groaned. He lifted his head, looked into her eyes and saw trust. There was a distinct possibility that Drago had discovered Manx and already made the moves necessary to ensure he’d obtain the Supreme title. But how did you tell your woman, newly bonded, her father might be dead and he’d originally been sent to kill her?

“Synda, I need to explain dragon politics…”

Chapter Seven

Manx sat to Drago’s left and glance around the room, not bothering to conceal his contempt. The depraved idiot had gathered his cronies to form what could be loosely called a court. The room itself wasn’t as large as others that were sectioned off in the warehouse, which had become his temporary home. It was decorated like a royal drawing room, with the groupings of furniture facing an oversized chair flecked in gold, upholstered in red satin and mounted on a dais. Heavy Cerise velvet drapes concealed the barred windows, and the Victorian furniture with the ornately carved arms and legs, on thickly piled rugs the same shade as the curtains, gave the illusion of opulence. Drago sat in his chair like a king receiving his courtiers.

Lesser dragons deferred to Drago about minor matters, feeding into his delusion of greatness. Manx sucked his teeth. What did he care who was in debt to whom? Hell, he used to decide matters of dragon state that could make or break alliances, and ruled on whether or not a dragon could conduct business with humans. This nonsensical posturing was just a parody of what was once true dragon pride. Manx shook his head. No wonder other shifters no longer took them seriously. It was times like this he really wished he could eat a bitch.

Drago was obviously flaunting him to others in a show of pseudo strength by keeping him at his side. Manx coughed and hastily covered his mouth with a handkerchief. He looked at the fabric when he pulled the material away. Crimson stained the white cotton. He needed a little more time to make sure Synda was safe, and maybe find a way to give Drago the slip. He wanted to give his daughter one last goodbye.

Someone cleared their throat, and Manx lifted his head to see what new idiocy Drago had dreamed up. Manx watched as a stranger entered the room. He narrowed his eyes, trying to read exactly who had entered the chamber. The heavy steps of the being, with a thick bulky body and total disregard for those around him, amused Manx.

The creature pulled at the cuffs of his designer suit and smoothed a hand down his tie as if being there was a chore. Manx couldn’t help the smile that split his face. If he wasn’t mistaken, he was looking at a rare species indeed. It had been a while since he’d seen a gargoyle. Hot damn! Reality TV had nothing on the shit that went on in his world. Manx placed his elbows on his knees and leaned forward in his chair. Briefly, he met the eyes of the newcomer, and thought he saw surprised recognition when the man’s eyes widened.

“Why are you here, gargoyle?” Drago’s voice belayed boredom.

“I have a message for you, dragon.” The gargoyle threw back the insult of being generalized.

Drago pursed his lips and slid back in his seat. “You have two minutes.”

The gargoyle snorted. “Kirill sends his regards, but being that he is newly bonded, he’s having a hard time leaving his mate.”

A hush fell over the room. Manx pressed his lips together to keep from hooting. A dragon bond, he hadn’t heard of one happening since he’d mated Shalla.

Drago cleared his throat. “Congratulations are in order, however he still had business with me, and I expect him to comply with our agreement.”

“Yeah about that…” The gargoyle scratched at his chest. “That’s why I’m here. Kirill wants you to fuck off.” The man held up his hands, palms forward. “His words not mine.”

Drago shot to his feet. “What the hell did you say?”

“Listen, I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here, but as I said Kirill, is a little busy at the moment. Basically, he wants you to know that he’s mated to the woman you paid him to kill. Well, you’ll rot in hell before that happens.” The stranger pulled out a rubber banded wad of cash from his pocket, and dropped it on the floor. “He sent back the payment plus interest, and said to tell you if you don’t back off, he’s coming for you. Synda is his and if anyone tries to take her from him, he’ll send your errand boy’s body back to you in pieces. Kirill also wanted me to remind you that the decision is yours, so he suggests you make the right one.”

Manx’s ears perked up at the mention of his daughter’s name. He hid his smile under the guise of covering his mouth to cough. Trust his girl to come out swinging. He sighed. At least she’d found an ally, or a husband if what he heard was true.

Drago took a few steps forward off the edge of the stage. His face twisted into a grimace of fury. Heat rolled off of his nephew, and a billow of gray smoke rose from his mouth when his lips parted. Manx anticipated the move, and angled his body away. A stream of orange and yellow flames followed the haze, and it was directed at the gargoyle. The stranger stood there, his feet set apart, and allowed himself to be engulfed in flames. Small blazes burst out around him as furniture and throw rugs ignited. Other dragons scurried out of the way, running for the exits. Manx patted out his pant leg and shook his head. His clan had become a bunch of pansies under the leadership of an asshole.

The stranger brushed away the remnants of his clothing and mumbled. “Damn, I really liked this suit.” He lifted his head and focused on Drago. “I told Kirill you were a crazy fuck. Let me give you some advice. Walk away. Kirill is more than you think, and his skills far outweigh yours. If you don’t, well, let’s just say you won’t be the leader of this clan long, and you may end up being the main ingredient in someone’s exotic stew. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He met Manx’s gaze and chuckled.

An unearthly roar shook the building, and Manx looked over at his kin as he gave in to his shift and allowed himself to become a dragon. Lost in anger, Drago bellowed as his skin took on a sickly gray color. Manx watched closely. His nephew was no longer the beautiful silver of his youth. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and Manx looked up into the clear green eyes of the gargoyle.

“Can you walk, Manx the Supreme?” The younger man glanced up as Drago’s dragon claimed all the space in the room.

“I can.” Manx struggled to get up.

“Sorry, but we don’t have time to let you try.” The gargoyle bent and slid a hand under his knees and around his waist to lift him.

“Well, this is embarrassing.” Manx sighed.

“I could leave you here to die.”

“No, no, I can live with the humiliation. Who are you?”

“Why does everybody keep asking me that? I’m Timur. Can we leave now?”

“Who’s stopping you?”

“Good point.” Timur cradled Manx against him and sprinted from the room.

Behind them, Manx could hear the girders groaning from the heat and stress. Flames ate at the wall paper as they passed it. Dragons dashed about, but no one stopped them. A scaled leg passed the doorway, and Drago snarled. The interior walls juddered.

“Son, I’d move a little faster if I were you,” Manx yelled above the chaos.

The outer exit loomed ahead as the partitions behind them started to explode from the force of Drago’s body expanding. “Hang on tight, sir.” Timur ducked and crashed through the metal gate. Fresh night air curled around him as the gargoyle released his wings and took to the skies. “Where to, Manx?”

“Home. Take me home to Fire Island.”

* * * *

Synda pulled the coat Kirill had given her closer and leaned into his body. The air currents he glided on threatened to unseat her from between his massive shoulder blades. Above the clouds, the air was clear, and the stars twinkled around them. She kicked out and disturbed the mists that made up the clouds, smiling against the smooth scales at the base of his neck. When she looked around, she found the moon racing them.

She was still a little disturbed by the idea that he’d been hired to kill her, and if she’d had any one of her weapons, she would have shot him. He’d held her down while he told her his “hypothetical” story. Kirill had even told her about Manx and his title before he’d disappeared. But she was still having a hard time equating the ruler Kirill described with the father she’d grown up with. She needed to speak with her dad now more than ever.

After Kiril had released her, she stood calmly and faced him, then hauled off and threw a punch at his jaw. The ass caught her fist and had the nerve to
tsk
at her as if she were an insolent child. He wasn’t fast enough to evade her knee, although he did manage to twist his body before she came in contact with his nuts. That move resulted in him throwing her over his shoulder and giving her a few smacks on the ass. She wiggled in her seat. Her butt still stung a little, and her pussy tingled at the thought of what happened after the spanking. She wiggled to get more comfortable as her cream flowed into her folds. Playing with Kirill had its advantages.

Kirill twisted his head back and bobbed his head as if sensing her desires. She leaned forward and spoke above the wind. “Do you think you can fly a little faster?”

In response to her request, he stretched his neck and lifted his wings, hiding the moon for a moment before he dropped them. A gust of wind buffeted her as he streamlined his body and let the air current carry them along. Her hair rose off her shoulders, and she aligned herself with him. He spiraled, and she lifted her arm, trying to touch the stars that appeared to be just within reach. A laugh burst past her lips, and he dipped into the thin pillows of white that floated along with them. He surged through the mists and beat his wings to take them higher. Synda tightened her legs and hooked her feet under his arms.

When he’d taken them high as he could, he pulled his wings in close to his body and let them plummet. Gravity lifted her from her seat and she let out a hoot
,
throwing up her arms as they tumbled backward, headlong to the earth. Her heart raced, pressure plastered her clothes to her body and made her oversized coat billow around her. She could feel her feet slipping. She tossed her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his throat.

He opened his wings to their full span, and they were jerked up.

“Show off,” she yelled.

His grunt was he only acknowledgment that he’d heard her.

“We don’t have time to play. I need to get to Fire Island.”

A puff of smoke drifted from his nostrils.

“I need to know Daddy is okay, Kirill.”

He twisted his head around and met her gaze. She could see the clear blue fire that burned in his eyes. Synda touched his snout before bending to press her lips to a spot at the corner of his mouth. He shook his head and turned it to face forward. In a spurt of speed, they headed north toward her home.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Chapter Eight

Kirill landed on the rocks below a sheer bluff. Foam capped waves crashed on the rocky shore and around his talons. True to its name, Fire Island was an inhospitable body of land that grew up around an active volcano. He’d heard there was a colony of shifters that had set up their homes here, but he’d never had any urge to actually find out. It was understandable why they would choose this particular isle. It was only accessible by boat or sea plane, so there would be limited human interaction. Why she told him to land on this particular spot, he wasn’t sure. When she slid off his back he felt bereft of her heat. A chill ran down his spine, and it started between his shoulder blades. He shifted in a few steps and peered into the mists that surrounded the bay.

“Synda?” He called out. Spray spattered his back

“I’m here.” She appeared out of the fog like an apparition. Reaching out, she took his hand within hers and pulled him behind her.

Synda led him to the mouth of a cave. He peered at the stairwell carved into the rock wall. She lifted a torch and glanced at him.

“I need your fire.” She held up the cloth wrapped wood.

He drew on the heat that swirled around at his core and formed a small “O” with his lips, blowing out a narrow stream of blue fire. She looked down at the torch in her hands longingly. He wrapped a palm around the back of her neck and flexed his hand, pressing on the tight knot of muscles. Tension vibrated off her.

“Your dragon will show herself. You have fire, Synda, I’ve felt your heat. We’ll coax your beast to the surface together,
da
.” Kirill moved his hand up and fisted a handful of her hair to tug her head back. “Yes.”

She stared into his eyes. He caught a flash of mischievousness and she quickly masked the emotion, but he could see the faint light of amber fire deep in her irises. She grabbed his wrist and tugged at his arm. Kirill released his grasp, and she pulled his hand toward her face. Twining her fingers with his, she drew his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss to the center of his palm. Warmth sizzled along his nerves. He yanked her against him, molding her body to his.

“
Ya
kha tyets vee
.” Kirill reverted to his native tongue.