Darkest Flame, page 2
part #1 of Dark Kings Series
There was a grunt from the pair. The male had a broken nose and a cut lip, but the scent Kellan held was strong, too strong for such paltry wounds.
His dragon eyes locked on the female, and he caught sight of her left arm held protectively against her side. Blood ran thick and fast down her leg to drip upon the stones.
In a whirl, the female came up with a weapon of her own.
Kellan’s interest sharpened when the male said he wanted to wound the female. It wasn’t hard to guess she was to lure the dragons.
He inwardly snorted. Stupid humans. They all thought dragons base creatures who wanted to eat everything in sight or char it. How could he and the other Dragon Kings have fallen so far?
They used to rule the skies, the seas, and the earth. Every dragon of every color had called earth home. They had reigned supreme.
And for Kellan and the other Dragon Kings, it had been their right to rule their dragons, keeping everyone in line. That’s not to say there weren’t battles, but with one word from a Dragon King, all fighting would cease.
How Kellan longed for the days of old. He missed his dragons, and he missed being able to take to the skies whenever he wanted. It was one of the many reasons he decided to sleep away the time. He couldn’t look upon the earth and humans without wanting to kill them all.
Kellan was impressed with the female, even though he hated to admit it. She was a valiant fighter, and though she was wounded, she was winning.
She moved in a lightning-quick spin before she kicked her opponent to the ground. Then she landed on top of him and sunk her blade into his heart.
Just like that, the battle was over.
The female had lost too much blood, however. She couldn’t swim back out, and she didn’t know her way through the caves of the mountain to seek help.
The only one that could help her was Kellan. And that wasn’t going to happen. There would be hell to pay with Con, but Kellan had ceased to care long ago.
He wouldn’t return to sleep until she had breathed her last though. Kellan expected her to fall over and die, or try to find her way out.
Instead, she kicked the male away and leaned back against a boulder before pulling some sticks from a pocket on the leg of her skin-tight suit. She bent them, and with a slight pop, green light shone around her.
She set those aside and took another small pack from a pocket next to her ankle on her other leg. Her breathing was harsh, and sweat coated her skin.
“Shit,” she murmured and swallowed audibly.
Her accent wasn’t Scots or British. Kellan went through all the dialects Con had played for him over the centuries in his mind until he reached American.
Could that be why the Brit hadn’t cared for her? It was a silly reason, but then again, humans rarely made sense.
Kellan forgot about accents as the female reached behind her and grabbed something. There was a zipping noise before her black suit loosened.
With a grunt she pulled her right arm out of the black material before carefully extracting her left. She pushed the thick fabric down, giving Kellan a view of a small top that held her breasts. A bathing suit, he recalled.
Her chest heaved as she tried to breathe through the pain and her skin grew pale. Once more she took the small black parcel she pulled from the pocket of her leg and opened it. She grabbed a white packet and tore it open using her teeth. She briefly closed her eyes before pouring the tiny granules over her wound.
A gasp passed her lips as she jerked from the contact. Kellan had never had much to say about humans, but he had to give the female credit. Her hands were coated with blood, her arms shook, she was weak, and it was dark, yet she never gave up.
His interest was piqued when he saw her pull out a curved needle and thread. With her wound on her left side, she had to twist to see it, yet she managed to get several stitches done before she slowly fell unconscious.
For long minutes, Kellan stared at her. The female was slumped to her side, her breathing low and irregular. He knew that a fever could soon overtake her.
If it were up to him, he would forget her. She’d die—as all mortals did. Then Kellan remembered why he had chosen to sleep. He had made a vow once, a promise he had broken because of his hatred of humans.
Con could have ended his life, but he had allowed Kellan his sleep. He seriously doubted Con would give him another pass. Constantine was the King of Dragon Kings. He was the ultimate law—though that never stopped any other Dragon King from doing what he had to do.
Con took their duty of protecting humans seriously. If it had been up to Kellan, he’d have wiped the world of mortals long ago. They were an infection that stained everything. Look what they had done to dragons.
Everything known about dragons was nothing more than a myth, feared and fantasized into something that wasn’t even close to resembling what life as a dragon really was.
Kellan vividly remembered standing after a battle with the humans to find his beloved Bronzes littered upon the ground. The bronze dragons were the Bringers of Justice.
While Kellan had ordered them to protect the humans, the humans had in turn killed them. A betrayal that even now, thousands of millennia later, Kellan couldn’t forgive.
Because even though dragons were supposed to defend mankind, mankind had never wanted their protection. The mortals had sought early on to betray the very beings that had ruled the land first.
But Kellan hadn’t been the only one betrayed. Ulrik, King of Silvers, had been deceived by a human female—and then by the rest of the Dragon Kings.
Kellan squeezed his eyes closed as he thought of that day. If he’d known what would become of his Bronzes, he’d have sided with Ulrik.
In the end, the dragons had been the ones to lose everything. Con had sent them to another realm.
And the Kings remained behind.
What good were they though? The few times Kellan woke from his sleep and faced the world, he found his brethren hidden away in plain sight, waiting until cover of darkness or a storm to dare to take to the skies.
Flying was their right, their privilege, and even that had been taken away. Because of humans.
Hours ticked by while he mused over his hatred of man, but still the female didn’t so much as twitch. Kellan would have no choice but to bring her to Con, because he didn’t trust himself to try and see to her wound.
Hatred didn’t so easily dissipate through the centuries.
He wasn’t ready to wake from his sleep, but with the two humans invading his mountain, Con would want to investigate. Kellan also found himself curious at the intrusion.
Using the telepathic ability between all Dragon Kings, Kellan called out Con’s name, knowing his friend would arrive quickly. With barely a thought, Kellan shifted into human form. He rotated his arms and shook out his legs. There were no clothes for him to don because he’d had no intention of waking for many more millennia.
He walked naked to the woman and squatted beside her. Kellan didn’t have the power to heal her as Con did. The bleeding had slowed, but it hadn’t stopped.
Kellan shifted the woman onto her back, noting how hot her skin was to the touch. His body, however, responded instantly to the softness of the female, and it infuriated him. His body needed release, but it wouldn’t be by this woman.
Promptly ignoring his thickening cock and the soft curves of the female’s breast, Kellan picked up the needle she had been using and finished stitching the wound.
The male had managed to miss any of her vital organs, but the wound was long and deep. As delicate as humans were, Kellan knew Con was needed if she was to live. The choice of whether she died or not would be Con’s.
Once Kellan finished, he bit the thread with his teeth and tied it off before lifting the woman into his arms. The feel of her curves reminded him of the yearning for a release clawing at him. He had to see to it. It wasn’t because of this particular female in his arms. It had just been too long.
Kellan told himself that once more for good measure before he strode from his cave.
Many of his fellow Dragon Kings had taken human females as lovers. Kellan had had several before his Bronzes were killed. Afterward, he took a female only when he could stand it no more.
It was unfortunate that his body demanded such release. He glanced down at the woman in his arms. She was thin, but her muscles were finely honed. Her dark hair was held back away from her face in a knot so he had no idea how long it was.
Kellan barely looked at her face. There was no need. He never planned to see her again once he deposited her at Con’s feet, even though Kellan admired her courage and tenacity. That’s all she would get from him.
That’s all he could give.
It was much more than he had given a human in thousands of years.
Kellan navigated the corridors of his mountain easily until he came to the entrance. Just as he expected, Con, along with Rhys and Kiril, stood waiting for him.
Con’s face was grim, his blond hair wet from the rain that drenched the world outside. “I knew it had to be something important for you to call to me. Who is she?”
“I doona know, and I doona care,” Kellan said as he tried to hand her over to Con.
Instead, Con clasped his hands behind his back, clearly refusing to touch her, and inhaled deeply. “You found her wounded?”
Of course Con would think he had hurt her. Kellan didn’t blame him, not after what sent him to sleep in the first place.
“Nay. She located my cave,” Kellan bit out as he tried to keep his anger in check. He didn’t want to hold the female any longer or smell her scent or feel her curves. “Take her so I can return to my sleep.”
Rhys raked a hand through his long, dark hair before wiping the rain from his face. “Most of the other Kings have been awake for months. Did you no’ hear Con’s call to arms several months ago?”
“If I did, would I have remained asleep?” Kellan asked, a brow lifted as he stared flatly at Rhys.
“This isna the first time our borders have been breached,” Con said before Rhys could respond. “I need you to take a few days and return with me to the manor. After we have this woman settled and her memory wiped, you can resume your sleep, old friend.”
Kellan didn’t bother arguing. He didn’t like hearing Dreagan’s borders had been crossed, and if Con issued a call to arms, then it must have been important. “Fine. But someone take her.”
Kiril’s green eyes danced with humor as he turned away. “You look as if you’ve got her in hand. She’s nicely formed too. Are you tempted?”
The woman’s head turned, bringing her cheek against Kellan’s shoulder. Her fever raged, reminding him why he’d called Con in the first place.
“She’s fevered,” Kellan said, his gaze locked on Con as he ignored Kiril’s question.
Con said not a word as he closed the distance between them and laid a hand on the female’s forehead. “Aye. I’m anxious to know what happened to her.”
“There’s another in my cave. They fought, and the female killed him.”
“No’ good news.” Con frowned. “In that case, I think it might be better if our visitor isna completely healed until we have more information from her.”
He didn’t care what Con did as long as he took the woman. Kellan didn’t want to be responsible for her anymore. He’d done his duty and brought her to Constantine. That should be enough.
It had to be enough.
As Con used his magic and healed the woman enough so that her fever vanished, Kellan looked over the King of Kings. Con wore black slacks and a white dress shirt with the cuffs unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows. Con’s blond hair was shorter than last time, but his black eyes still saw everything.
Kellan then glanced at Rhys and Kiril who stood at the entrance of the mountain with their backs to them. Each wore jeans and boots. While Rhys donned a thin, dark olive-green sweater, Kiril wore a simple white tee.
“That should do it,” Con said and stepped back. “It’s a good thing I had Kiril drive with this storm.”
Rhys chuckled. “His driving has improved enough in the six months he’s been awake that he’s no longer hitting sheep.”
“I only hit the one, damn you,” Kiril said testily and shoved Rhys.
Con walked between them, and once he was past, Rhys’s arm swung wide and lightly punched Kiril in the jaw before he ran into the storm. Kiril gave a shout and followed.
Kellan looked toward the outside world he wanted no part of, to the woman in his arms. The sooner he got her to the manor, the sooner he could return to his cave and to sleep.
Yet, somehow, deep in his soul, he knew as soon as he left the mountain, his life would change forever.
Kellan walked to the opening and looked through the curtain of rain to find his friends waiting for him in a black vehicle that read “Range Rover” across the front.
He met Con’s patient gaze before he stepped out of his mountain.
CHAPTER THREE
Denae slowly came awake, but kept her eyes closed. Even without looking around she knew she was no longer in the dark mountain by the clean smell and light hitting her eyelids. Who had found her? And where had they taken her?
After what Matt had divulged, she couldn’t return to MI5. They would kill her one way or another for the information she now knew about the setup of Dreagan and MI5’s interest. She could inform those at Dreagan, if they believed her. Yet, where could she go afterward? The agency would easily track her down.
There was movement around her and a chair squeaked as someone rose to their feet. When the door opened a second later, a male voice spoke in low tones to someone else in the room.
“How is she?”
“The same,” said a deep, gravelly voice close to her. It sounded as if the man hadn’t used it in a long time.
“She’s been sleeping for twelve hours.”
“I know.” The irritation and annoyance practically dripped from his voice.
He didn’t want her there, whoever he was. The other man who came into the room seemed genuinely worried about her, however. If she was lucky, maybe he wasn’t part of MI5.
“Let me know the moment there’s change,” said the first man before the door closed behind him.
The floor creaked as the irritated man walked around her bed. “You can open your eyes now.”
For a split second, Denae thought of staying as she was, but the man knew she was awake. Why pretend? She opened her eyes and found herself looking at a chair covered in a navy-and-red plaid. The chair the man had been sitting in, she mused.
It was close to the bed, giving him access to tend to her? Or to keep watch?
Probably the latter.
Denae turned her head to get a look at the room and found him standing with his back to her as he gazed out the large window opposite her bed. His hair hung down the middle of his back in thick, loose, caramel waves.
He kept shifting his shoulders as if the deep orange tee was confining when it shaped his shoulders, arms, and back to perfection.
His arms hung loose by his sides, but his fingers gripped the windowsill, telling her that being in the room was the last place he wanted to be.
Her gaze lingered on his wide, thick shoulders that tapered to narrow hips. Slung low on those hips was a pair of dark denim jeans, which hugged his bum nicely.
As much as she was enjoying the view, her mission had been compromised. If she survived long enough to leave Dreagan—because there was no doubt that’s exactly where she was—she wouldn’t be alive long enough to pack her bags and get on the first flight back to Texas.
“Are you in pain?” he asked.
Denae tentatively tested her left side before she carefully pulled herself up against the headboard. “It’s minimal.”
The silence lengthened until she thought he’d fallen asleep standing up. Suddenly he turned to face her, and her breath locked in her lungs. Her mouth went dry and her heart pounded.
The man before her was as beautiful as a god, as blinding in his anger as the sun. And she couldn’t look away.
His caramel-colored hair was parted on the side and hung in those same waves around a face sculpted from granite. He had high cheekbones and hollow cheeks that gave way to a hard jawline and square chin. His lips were wide and seductively full. His eyes, a startling celadon, held her captive in his intense, almost cruel gaze.
Somehow she pulled away from his eyes and looked down to his chest, which was just as impressive as his back. The tee molded to the thick sinew of his arms and chest.
He was a man who took action, a man who suffered no fools. A man who wouldn’t rest until he had all the answers he wanted.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
She was drawn once more into his pale green eyes. “My name is Denae Lacroix.”
“Well, hello, Denae,” said a voice from the doorway.
Her head snapped to the door to find a tall, commanding man with surfer-boy blond hair and eyes as black as pitch. He was tall and broad of shoulder, and she had a feeling his dress clothes hid a body corded with muscle.
He stood confidently, his control over the house obvious. He was the leader, the one who would determine if she lived or died.
Behind him was a woman holding a tray of food.
How had Denae not known someone was at the door? The hinges popped when it opened. She was usually more aware of her surroundings than that.
She glanced to the man by the window, but he had already looked away. As if he couldn’t stand the sight of her. Disappointment settled uncomfortably in her belly. She’d been so drawn to him that the world had simply vanished. It had never happened before, and in her line of work, that could get her killed.
And obviously the attraction was one-sided.
“Do you know where you are?” the man from the doorway asked as he walked into the room.
The woman tsked and hurried to Denae, placing the tray across her legs. “Con, please. She’s injured and most likely starving.”
