Stone Guardian (3 page)

The door jerked open and his friend stuck his head in the room. His gaze touched on Synda and he cocked a brow at Timur. “Am I missing something?”

Timur pushed off the window frame and shook his head, sure he was still beaming. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, dragon. Your woman was issuing me a challenge on your behalf. And since you’re here I want you to know that I accept. When I get back from the states we can throw down.”

Kirill pushed into the room. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Timur grabbed the strap of his satchel and slid it over his arm and head to rest on the other shoulder. “You might want to explain to Synda that I have been trying to battle you for a few hundred years now. Get some protein in before I get back. You’re looking a little gaunt.” He walked past his friend and looked over at Synda. “Thanks Synda, I may owe you one.”

“Go to hell, Timur. I have only been trying to save you the embarrassment of my kicking your ass,” Kirill spat out and turned to face Synda.

He could hear his friend questioning Synda as he gripped the knob and gently pulled the door closed behind him. Taking the stairs a few at a time, he hummed. If this was the start of his trip then hell, the rest of it might actually be a cakewalk.

Ember waited at the foot of the stairs, and a few pieces of luggage sat next to her. He wiped a hand down his jaw and stopped short, looking at her.

“Is this your idea of packing light?” He nodded toward the bags.

“A couple of things are essential.” She placed her hand on the extended handle of the luggage.

“What is with you women tonight?” He sighed before snatching up the suitcase. Marching into the next room, he placed it on the table and thumbed the release mechanism. The bag popped open with a click and he threw the top back.

Staring at the contents he could feel his cock hardening with the first thing his gaze touched on. He picked up a sheer piece of white material that wasn’t meant to cover anything when worn, and stared at her. “A must-have?” He rubbed his fingers against the soft fabric, and a sizzle of energy ricocheted down his spine.

She snatched it from his hand. “I have to sleep in something.”

“If you’re wearing that you may as well sleep nude,” he commented. “Grab a few pieces of clothing and stuff them in here.” Timur pulled the bag over his head and held it out to her.

“Why? Airlines allow luggage, and I’ll pay any extra fees.”

“It’s not necessary. Do you have travel documents?”

“Okay, so clarify for me why I’m only placing a couple of outfits in
your
duffle? Travel documents? You mean a passport?” She nodded as she spoke, tapping her back pocket. “Right here.”

He took a step forward to close the space between them. “Yes, a passport, and since I’ll be the one doing the flying I’ll decide what we take.”

“Dude, do you even have a license?”

“Oh yeah, been flying since I was thirteen.”

“Sooo…you were a test pilot for DaVinci?”

He leaned over, his nose millimeters from hers. “Haha. If you can’t handle how I do things then keep your pretty little ass here.”

“You won’t be getting rid of me that easily. So bulk up beast-man or whatever you are, and get ready for your passenger.” She stepped back and the corner of her mouth lifted. “You think I’m pretty?”

He dropped his arm. “Woman, do you ever shut up?”

“No, not really. Does it annoy you?” Her smile etched lines in her cheeks.

Timur grunted and started to randomly stuff her clothing into his bag.

“Hey!”

He zipped the bag shut and looked up at her. “You were saying?”

Ember pursed her lips, then just as quickly her face lit up in an all knowing smile. “You’re a cold man.”

“Babe, you have no idea. Grab your coat.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door. He could hear the rubber soles of her tennis shoes squeak on the wood floor as she chased behind him.

* * * *

She followed him into the foyer and snatched her jacket off the newel that marked the end of the stair railing. The door slammed into the wall and snow blew into the hall, coating the floor with a quickly melting slush. Timur stomped out.

In her haste to keep up with him her foot slipped. She grasped the knob to keep from falling and watched his back as he disappeared into the blur of white whipping around him. Getting to her feet, she stepped over the puddle to cross the threshold and pulled the door behind her. Ember slid her arms into the coat and squinted, trying to locate Timur. She jogged down the porch steps and trotted in the direction he’d gone. Catching sight of him, she moved faster.

Ember watched in fascination as the tattoo on his back split along his spine and silver wings unfurled from the opening. His wingspan was so large, she reached out and touched the tip of one. Yesterday she’d thought they were covered in a soft downy of fur but now realized it was more like supple leather. She yanked her hand back. He looked over his shoulder and extended his wings high above them. Two claw-like appendages marked the edge of his wings, and she thought she saw them flex. She swallowed and met his gaze.

He winked. “Ready, or are you having second thoughts?”

“This is what you meant?” She lifted her chin. “Tell me where I’m supposed to sit.”

Timur turned, and opened his arms. “Right here.”

Tapping down her unease, Ember marched up to him. He would never see her fear. She wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her legs, slipping them around his hips. He placed a palm under her ass and hiked her higher so her legs settled above the overnight bag. She felt the bulge at the front of his jeans settle in the apex her open thighs created. Ember locked her ankles at the small of his back, pressing her pussy flush against his crotch. Her clit throbbed and cream flowed over her sensitive tissue. He secured his other arm across her back, his fingertips close to the curve of her breast. Her nipples hardened, pushing up against the thick layers of her clothing.

He rubbed his cheek against hers. The scruff of his light beard tickled her face. “Close your eyes,” Timur whispered.

She snuggled up against him and buried her face in the crook of his neck. Suddenly her stomach dropped and the rush of air pulled at her coat. The wind’s icy fingers slid past her collar and traveled down her back. The tiny braids she wore whipped around her head, slapping her neck. She felt his hand squeeze her butt, holding her tighter. A scent of cloves enveloped her and she realized it was emanating from his body. She inhaled deeply, taking the smell into her lungs. The flap of his wings was the only sound in the quiet night.

“You can open your eyes now.” She felt his lips brush her temple as he spoke.

She lifted her face. “What are you?”

“French, but I lost my accent some time ago.”

“You still have it occasionally. Don’t change the subject.”

“For this trip I’m your protection. We’ll be dealing with some tricky individuals, so listen carefully when the witches speak because they will try to confuse you.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Look around you, we’re above the clouds. There are so many beautiful things to see that it makes what I am pale by comparison.”

Ember stretched her neck to look above them. All around stars sparkled in the inky darkness. The moon hung suspended to the side, so close she could make out the deep indentations of craters. She raised her arm and closed the image in her fist, then giggled. Ember turned her head, looking down her body. Below them heavy mists swirled.

“Can I touch the clouds?”

“Up here we can do whatever we want.” She heard the smile in his voice.

He pulled his wings in and they dropped. She scrambled to get closer. The rumble in his chest erupted through his lips in a rusty laugh. They fell into the thick, slow churning vapors. A damp haze surrounded them.

“Reach out and touch the clouds. I won’t drop you.” His baritone voice came from above her.

She released her grip on his shoulder, dropping her hand to the side, and it disappeared into the fog. Unable to make out anything beyond her wrist, she felt moisture dapple her open palm.

“Hang on.” Timur flapped his wings.

Wind buffeted her face as they spiraled up, bursting free of the clouds and into the clear sky. Lost in the pure joy of flying, she opened her arms wide and arched her back. His hands flexed against her back, keeping her hips in place.

“We can’t play anymore. I only have so much time to reach our first destination.”

She looked up, focusing on his chin and the way the muscles in his jaw moved as he spoke. Slowly she slid her palms along his triceps. Ember laid her head on his shoulder. “You’re going to disappear again at dawn?” she murmured against his neck.

Concern colored his voice. “There’s a hotel in Ontario that I frequent. We’ll get you set up and you can get some rest.”

“Why won’t you tell me what you are?” She sighed.

He brushed his chin on her forehead. “Because I want you to know the man before you meet the monster.”

Chapter Three

Dust motes danced in the watery light of the setting sun that was beaming through the dirty windows. Exposed brick walls and the disintegrating cement holding the cinder blocks together reminded him of the prison he’d locked his father in after defeating him in a Malice challenge. Drago knew he should have killed the man, but his sire’s blood ran thick in his veins. Instead, he hid the elder in one of his many homes and watched as a once strong and virile man withered away from afar. It was a weakness he’d never allow himself to indulge in again, and after the death of his pater he vowed he would be colder, harder. Had he done what he was supposed to and killed his sire immediately he wouldn’t have the image of a frail and defeated dragon etched in his mind.

He shuddered. Or the fear of what he could become.

Dragons were powerful killers not meant to live long after loss, whether it was a battle or the death of a mate. Too bad he hadn’t been able to issue the death blow to Manx. If anyone deserved to be put down it was his uncle, first for deserting his people, and second for doing it for a human woman.

Now he had to deal with the traitorous Kirill. That Russian bastard only wanted the
Y Ddraig Goch
gems for himself and had outmaneuvered him by mating his halfling cousin. The game was far from over. All he needed to do was bide his time. He had members of his crew watching the house on Fire Island and that damn Gargoyle that always seemed to hang with Kirill. Drago hadn’t forgotten that beast’s invasion of his home or how he’d stolen his Uncle Manx. No, he would make that shifter pay in full for his actions, then mount him on the roof for the pigeons to take a shit on. He’d take care of the Russian first, though. Once Kirill made a move he would know about it. Then he would strike and this time he’d kill Kirill, Manx’s daughter, and anyone else associated with them.

Drago took a long drag from the hookah, opened his mouth, and watched rings of smoke escape through his lips and dissipate above his head. A slight touch to his arm drew his attention down and he watched the slim fingers of his lover slide up his bicep. The woman they belonged to moved behind him. Her lips brushed his elbow and slowly she kissed her way up, past his shoulder to his neck.

He dropped the line he was smoking from and twisted to look at the woman who graced his bed. She wasn’t dragon, but she was valuable, for now. Nicolette was the witch that cast the spells protecting his homes and he couldn’t afford to alienate her yet. Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips and pressed kisses to each fingertip.

She leaned back and laid her head on the pillow, tugging on his arm. With a sigh he reclined, his head a few inches from hers. He stared up at the heavy material draped around the bedposts. Every bedroom he’d lain in looked the same. Stuck in another warehouse he’d converted into a safe haven for himself and his followers, he’d tried to make the rooms luxurious. More and more they started to feel like a gilded jail. One misstep and he could lose everything—his homes, his people, even his life.

If he had the treasure his idiot Uncle Manx hoarded, hell, he’d be sitting on the throne. One made of pure gold, and his queen would be a dragon mate, a woman true to his species. Once he controlled the jewels, female dragons would pour out of the proverbial woodwork to worship at his feet. Of course, he’d have to get rid of his bedmate first and probably suffer her wrath, but those were minor consequences in light of the bigger picture.

Drago turned his head and stared at the sable-haired witch who’d made his homes impenetrable. She looked at him though half-lidded eyes, her pouty lips a deep cherry from the kisses they’d exchanged.

“Why the frown, lover?” Her voice held the allure of a siren.

“I need to know what that ass Kirill is up to.” He released her hand to cup her cheek. “Isn’t there anything you can tell me? Your powers are amazing. Surely you can do something to get me some information on what he and my cousin are planning. I mean, you were able to find her friend with no problem at all.”

“I wish I could, Drago, but as I told you before, the house they’re in is protected and it was done by someone far stronger than me. That old dragon knew someone who wielded ancient magic. A lost art to some, and those who do practice those age-old skills don’t advertise that knowledge. We police our own, and to acknowledge that you have that kind of ability is like putting a blinking sign above your head saying ‘kill me now’. Fear is a powerful motivator in our world and we like to keep an even playing field. Only the most formidable of sorceresses make their talents known. I’ve sent word to the seven covens that if they should be contacted by a black dragon to let me know. For now there is nothing more I can do.” She grabbed his hand in a tight grip.