Rogue Dragon (7 page)

Kirill made her want to embrace her dragon heritage, even though it was hormones or pheromones that had drawn him to her. Relationships had been built on less. The mate mark drew her attention. She studied the intricate markings, which swirled over her skin from shoulder to elbow. The design looked no different from the rest of the ink illustrations depicted on other parts of her body. It was too late now. She was bonded for life. She swung her legs off the mattress and rose from the bed. There was still the issue of clothing. She couldn’t walk around naked.

Synda snatched up the heavy duvet and wrapped it around her body. She kicked her legs out and the dense fabric fluttered before settling around her feet. Hiking it up to cover her breasts, she walked toward the door to leave the room.

As she got closer to the top of the stairs and the colossal main room, voices drifted down to her. She stopped on the tread and listened. One voice she knew was Kirill’s. The other person had a similar accent, although it was not as pronounced. She stopped short of stepping into the light, which flooded entrance to the hall.

“You must have lost your damn mind in the beat-down your mate gave you if you think for one minute I am going to waltz into Drago’s lair and give him a message.” The unfamiliar man declared.

“You’re the only one that can. If he blows a gasket you’re the only one other than another dragon that can withstand the fire he’ll emit.” Kirill calmly added, “And it wasn’t a
beat-down
, more like a get to know you fight.”

“Uh-huh. Why don’t you just pick up a phone and call the bastard. I’m gonna be honest here. That sick fuck makes my skin crawl. Do you have any idea how hard it is to make stone move?”

“I can’t leave Synda.”

“You mean you don’t want to leave her.”

“Do me this favor.” Kirill accent thickened. “I will owe you.”

The other man snorted. “You owe me anyway and what happens when he wants to know why you didn’t face him yourself?”

“Easy. I’m still searching for her.”

Synda tilted her head and stepped up to catch what they were saying as their voices faded way. Questions roiled though her mind. She bit the inside of her cheek and slowly continued up the last few steps. A quick glance around told her the room was empty. Where could they have disappeared to so quickly? There hadn’t been time to study this part of the house this morning when she was trying to evade Kirill, and then later she’s didn’t care with the way he kept distracting her with his body. But now she had nothing but time. No one would notice she was gone yet; it was her day off. Synda moved farther into the room. The décor was masculine, with dark wood, exposed rock and lots of leather. Every piece of furniture was upholstered in rich hides. A roaring fire crackled in the fireplace.

The interior of the structure was amazing, a partial log cabin stacked against a rock strewn wall. Synda realized the rocky side she’d emerged from was cut into a mountain. It took quite a bit of strength and fortitude to create this living space. She had more questions than answers. Who the hell was she mated to? Maybe she should have thought of that before she actually bonded to the man. Synda scrubbed her face with her palms.

“Hello, good evening.”

She spun around looking for the source of the greeting. A solidly built man, who towered over her, grinned down at her. His shaggy hair, in varying shades of red, hung down to his shoulders. Curiosity was bright in his vivid green eyes. He shook off the smattering of snow on his shoulders and lifted the bundle of wood in his hands.

“I come in peace.” He chuckled. “I’ve always wanted to say that.” The stranger stalked past her and dropped the pieces on the floor before kneeling to place them in a pile next to the hearth. He glanced over his shoulder. “I’m Timur.”

“Synda.” She answered absently while she continued to watch him.

“If you’re looking for Kirill, he’s checking the perimeter,” Timur added.

“Actually, I was hoping for a bathroom and some clothing.”

Timur stood and turned to face her. “Bathroom is fifty feet out the front door and to your left. As for something to wear, I can find you a T-shirt. I think there might be some sweat pants around that might fit you.”

“Thank you.” His words sunk in. “An outhouse! Exactly where am I?”

“I’ll let Kirill answer that.”

She narrowed her eyes and did a jig, then pulled the cover higher around her. “Who are you?”

Timur’s bark of laughter sounded like rocks tumbling into each other. “I’ll tell you who I am if you tell me what you are?” He winked.

“Wait ’til get my hands on that damn dragon,” Synda mumbled. “How cold is it outside?”

Timur shrugged. “It’s actually kinda warm. I think the thermometer read twelve below.”

“Really, did that just come out of your mouth?”

He shook his head. “You’re a feisty one. Poor Kirill.”

“Look, Timur, I can’t go outside like this. You mentioned clothes.”

He walked past her, his heavy footsteps reverberating on the stone floor. “Gimme a minute.”

Left on her own, she looked around for a phone, making a complete rotation of the room. She pushed the hair from her face and tapped her foot impatiently. Timur stomped into the room, his arms laden with outfits.

“I wasn’t sure which pieces would come close to fitting you.” He dropped them on the couch.

“Is there a phone here?”

“Not quite a phone.” His voice was monotone.

“Well what is it and where?”

“I believe you have a lot to talk to Kirill about. Honestly, I think I’ll head out, because I don’t want to be here for that Q & A session.” Timur nodded and exited the room.

She watched him depart and snapped her mouth shut. What the hell? Synda walked to the sofa and dropped down next to the pile of clothing. Sifting through the mismatched mound, she lifted up each piece for inspection. Selecting a dark pair of knit pants, she stuffed her legs into them and randomly picked up a shirt from the pile she’d sorted to pull over her head. A quick yank of the bedclothes she’d wrapped around her and the sheet fell to her waist. Synda rose and it dropped to her over her feet. She folded it and laid the blanket on top of the stack of clothing.

When she opened the door, the wind almost yanked it from her grasp. Freezing air whipped at her hair, and a flurry of snow drifted through the doorway. She glanced at the floor around the doorjamb. A pair of scuffed rubber boots rested in the corner. She slammed the door shut and reached for the shoes. A quick up turn to make sure nothing lurked in the interior of the boots and she sat on the floor to slide them on. They were too big and flopped on her feet but some protection against the elements was better than none.

She stretched the hem of the sweater and looked down at it then back at the mound she left on the couch. After debating with herself, she marched back to the heap and pulled out another sweatshirt.

Prepared to battle the weather, she wrenched open the heavy wooden door, and taking a deep breath, stepped into the snow storm. She took a few tentative steps in one direction, then another. The wind whistled around her. Large drifts had formed against the house, and smaller buildings where lost in the sea of white.

Her bladder wouldn’t last much longer. She pressed her thighs together and groaned. She raged aloud, and her words were swallowed by the wind. “Who the hell builds a house without damn indoor plumbing? Seriously, what was the man thinking? It’s below damn zero and I shouldn’t be out in the middle of nowhere looking for a fucking bathroom!”

She marched into a hard wall of muscle and jerked back. Synda lifted her face and brushed the ice from her lashes. Kirill stood looking down at her with an eyebrow cocked. He grabbed her wrist and hauled her forward, moving as if the snow and ice offered no obstruction at all.

He stopped short of a tall white swell and punched a hand into the middle of the mass. One heave and the pile shook. The narrow door, which was only a few planks nailed to a large board in the middle, floated open to expose a dark interior. Synda stuck her head into the space and wrinkled her nose. It smelled bad but it could have been worse. She reared back and stared at Kirill. His lips had formed a straight line.

He yelled to be heard over the wind. “It’s too cold for anything to hide in there.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I swear if I get skunked or bit you may never hear the end of it. Now, do you really want to start our eternity off on that note?”

“Woman.” His voice was rife with exasperation. Spirals of smoke rose from his nostrils before he opened his mouth and blew a stream of fire illuminating the room no larger than a refrigerator box.

Synda pressed her lips to keep from smiling. She nodded at him before stepping up into the tiny area. The door slammed behind her and she turned around to stare out the half-moon shape at the top of the barrier. Kirill stood stoically to the side, leaning on the outer wall with his arms crossed.

Warmth filled her, and she giggled. That cold empty space within her body, which had grown into a chasm, was filling up fast. She truly wasn’t alone anymore. Manx would have to understand. The idea of what her father would say, the disappointment she would witness in his eyes, dampened her spirits. She took one last look out the hole and studied Kirill’s face. He stared off into the distance and absently combed his fingers through his hair. She took the few steps to the makeshift commode. Resolve made her square her shoulders. She would make Manx see. Her bonding was a good thing.

* * * *

Kirill stared into the blur of white that billowed around him. When he returned to the house and found Synda missing, his first thought was Drago had somehow discovered he was hiding her. He dropped his head back and peered into the night sky, finding it hard to differentiate the flakes from the stars. Then he’d found Timur preparing to leave, and growled at the man who’d had his back for hundreds of years for letting Synda go out by herself.

In that moment, Kirill knew he had to go on the defensive, and to the chagrin of Timur, he changed his message to Drago. Once Drago received it, he knew he wouldn’t have much time to prepare before the crazy fuck came for them. No one knew where to find his lair, but he wouldn’t take a chance, he couldn’t risk Synda. They would separate once the missive was delivered. The gargoyle would go to ground, while he’d take Synda someplace safe and hide her, then return to fight that bastard, Drago, in a Malice Challenge.

The door swung open and she jumped out, walked to a large bank of snow and stuck her hands into it. She rubbed them together after she pulled them free and looked up at him. “I don’t suppose you have any hand sanitizer?”

He shook his head. “I have fire and it can cleanse anything.”

“Ha ha.” She smiled widely at him and his heart stopped.

Kirill cupped her face. “Let’s get you back inside before you freeze.”

She rubbed her cheek against his palm and eased up next to his body, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Yes, because I think we have quite a bit to talk about.”

“Yes we do, mate, starting with who and what you are?”

She waved a hand in the air. “I’m me and I believe you have seen a lot of me in all my glory.”

“I have, but now we need to discuss specifics.” He lifted her over a large white mound.

They trudged toward the looming structure that had been his home for almost three hundred years. At the entrance, he held the door open for her. Heat buffeted them as they entered the small foyer and walked into the great room.

He led her to a double chair and knelt before her to pull her boots. She wiggled her toes and he rubbed her feet. Lifting her leg, he kissed her ankle.

Kirill leaned back on his haunches. “How about something simple. Tell me your full name?” He massaged her calf.

Her eyes had fluttered shut and she cracked one lid. “My name is Synda Supreme of the Tarasque Clan. At least that’s what my dad says I’m to tell other dragons when asked who I am.”

Kirill stopped moving his hands and stared at her. She belonged to the same clan as Drago. His mind worked looking for the connection. “Have you ever met other dragons?”

“Sure. My father has lots of friends. Other beings, and not just dragons, come to him for advice. He is very much respected.”

“You grew up in Alaska?” He picked up her other foot and yanked off the boot.

“Yeah. On Fire Island. Manx, my dad, told me never to tell people who or what I was.”

Kirill’s hands stilled, sure he’d heard her wrong. “Did you say Manx?”

“Yep, Manx Supreme. Don’t get me wrong, the man can be surly, but deep down he’s got a molten center.”

“Double damn.” Kirill made the connection.

He slid his hands up her legs and crawled between the “V” her thighs created. If she was alive that meant Manx the Supreme was alive. Drago was trying to eliminate the competition. Kirill pressed a kiss to her belly. Shit just got serious. He knew that ass would make a play for the jewels and with no one to challenge him it was quite possible he could obtain the Supreme title and rule uncontested.

Kirill rubbed his cheek against her sweater, moving his head in time with the way she pushed her fingers through his hair. With Synda dead, Drago could easily become the most powerful dragon among the shifters. And with the jewels to uphold his claim, he could buy any other backing he needed. The soft brush of her lips on his temple brought him from his musings.