Heart of a Dragon (Fallen Immortals #2)

Chapter One

I’m not going anywhere, Lucian Smoke.

Arabella spoke those words to him three days ago, and Lucian had never been so angry with a human in all his five hundred years.

He stretched his wings wide and leaped off the Needle, Seattle’s iconic spindly tower. As he swooped down to the sparkling lights of the darkness draped city below, his fatigue showed itself in a desire just to fold his wings tight against his body and plummet to the ground, dashing his brains out on the concrete six hundred feet below. No one would see him coming, but his cloaking would disappear as soon as his not-quite-immortal life was snuffed out.

If he would even die.

With his luck, he’d just be knocked unconscious, a golden dragon splayed across Broad Street for the world to see.

He strained to pull out of the dive, leaving a dust-devil of stray papers and decaying leaves in his wake.

Why? Why wouldn’t Arabella Sharp act like any normal woman under the circumstances and stomp away from him, his lies, his lair, and his life? He’d pushed her away, laying bare all his deceit, and she’d just stood there, dripping wet at the side of his pool, sexy to the core in her strength and her determination. She’d seen right through his act and refused to leave him to his fate. He’d been unable to meet her righteousness with any kind of answer worthy of it, so he’d stormed off and sent her things to the guest apartment in the keep. But her singular feat—that one act of defiance at his poolside—scorched him like a dragonfire brand across his heart.

It was something Cara would do.

Goddammit.

Lucian rumbled a deep and bone-rattling roar, soaring low and tight across the cityscape. His frustration enlivened the runes under his skin, making them rise and twitch across his scales, itching for magical release. They wanted to vent his rage that this woman—this senselessly brave woman—had arrowed her way straight into his soul. He was such a damn fool to think he could seduce someone like her and not fall down the precipice with it.

He reached out with his fae-given senses across the darkened streets and into the homes of the residents of his city, giving the magic boiling in his blood some release. He searched for the demons haunting the humans he was supposed to protect. One human among them would have to be sacrificed to protect the rest. One woman to bear a dragonling to keep the peace. The treaty was as much a curse as a blessing to humankind. And to him, Lucian Smoke, Dragon Prince of the House of Smoke… it was simple, mindfucking torture.

He blinked, bleary-eyed as he meticulously checked every soul he soared over. He had spent hour upon hour, too many to count, scouring the city, but the surge of demons seemed to have abated. Not a trace of their sulfurous stench had been found in the last three days. But Lucian was far from convinced this uprising of demonkind had been some fluke that could be safely ignored. And besides, the patrols gave him an excuse— no, a completely legitimate reason —to stay far from the keep—

A whiff of iron-rich scent crossed his snout.

Vampire.

He banked sharply left, following it. What the actual fuck? Vampires were forbidden near humans, in an agreement long-standing—for centuries now—between the dragons who watched over the mortal realm and the covens of bloodsuckers who straddled the mortal and immortal. Vampires lived longer than dragons—they were the longest-lived of the supposed mortal-based races—but they were weak. And pathetic. And generally turned Lucian’s stomach with their parasitic reliance on the lifeblood of other creatures.

First demons, and now vampires? What in holy hell was happening?

Lucian quickly wove through the tight alleyway canyons, focusing in on the blood-tinged scent trail like a laser-guided missile. A fast turn into a dead-end that stank of rotting vegetables brought him swooping in on the vampire and his prey—a woman, pretty and pale and prone in his arms, her high-heeled pump dangling from a foot suspended in the air as the bloodsucker bent her backward, feasting on the jugular at her neck. Her eyes were already glazed, halfway to death as she whimpered through the body-wracking pleasure the vampires evoked in their victims. Their arousal scents—hers and his—filled the alleyway. As if there were fucking happening here, not murder.

Lucian vented his roar, but held his dragonfire in check—he would roast the wretched vamp once the human was free. He decloaked just before landing talons-first on the vampire’s back, wrenching him away from the woman and slamming him against the red-bricked wall of the alley. Lucian arched back, shifting fast enough to catch the woman in his now-human arms before she cracked her head on the dirty pavement. She was limp with the death-pleasure the vampires gave, blood still surging from the twin holes in her neck.

The bloodsucker scraped himself off the floor of the alley.

“Stay where you are,” Lucian said without looking at him. “If you run, I will hunt you.”

The supreme absence of sound spoke of how still the vampire had gone, heeding his warning and freezing in place by the wall.

Lucian wasted no time slicing open his own hand and pressing his dragon blood to mix with the woman’s at her neck. He summoned his healing runes as well. But she was nearly drained of blood—she would need to actually take some of Lucian’s blood inside her, not simply heal the wound, which was sealed almost instantly. Instead, he opened a new wound, this one across her wrist, and clamped the open wound of his hand across it.

She gasped and cried out and struggled a bit in his arms, finally rousing from the powerful lust haze induced by the vampire, but Lucian held her fast and focused on keeping the two wounds free from clotting, so the blood could flow free between them. It was intimate, in a way, this exchange, his blood filling her veins, bringing her back from the brink of death. It would extend her life for years, even with the little he was giving her. She wouldn’t need much—his blood would quickly regenerate, replacing the amount she had lost and reviving her soon enough.

“Have any of that to spare?” the vampire asked wryly from his spot by the wall.

“Shut the fuck up,” Lucian growled. His words were meant for the bloodsucker, but the woman was recovering fast enough to be frightened by him. As she had every right to be—he was massive next to her slight build, he had an iron grip on her, and there was no doubt he was a predator. Plus she probably mistook the hatred in his eyes as directed at her, the soft beauty in front of him, rather than the beast behind him.

He softened his voice. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.” It was a whisper, but he was sure she heard it, given his face was close enough for them to exchange breath. She was soft and smelled of honey and lemons and had a gentle beauty about her. She was the kind of woman he could easily see bedding, and his magical taste of her in this intimate hold—skin-to-skin, blood-to-blood—said she was well-experienced and would ride him until the sun rose. But she was soft in other ways than just appearance—untested by the world, living an untroubled life that meant things had come easy to her. Too easy. She had no battle scars. No darkness. No hard edges that she showed to the world as armor to protect the softness inside.

She would never survive a sealing, much less a dragonling.

She was nothing like Arabella.

The mere fact of that thought tormented him. But the simple truth was that a woman like this held no allure for him—she couldn’t fulfill the treaty, and just filling his bed seemed inconsequential next to the sweetness he’d tasted with Arabella. Love blotted out all other things, like the sun driving you blind with its brightness. He knew that all too well. And the price to be paid for it. The things love had driven him to do.

The woman got her feet under her and tried to struggle away. There was enough strength in it that Lucian let her stand on her own. She managed it, twisting an ankle with her high heels, but recovering and stumbling away, throwing fearful wide-eyed glances his way. The vampire was long forgotten in the haze and the shadows.

Lucian watched and waited. When she was gone, he turned back to the bloodsucker.

In a flash instant, he had him pinned to the wall, one hand clamped around the creature’s neck, the other pulled back and shifted to claws. “You’ve picked a bad day to cross me, vampyre.”

“Oh? There’s a good day to meet a dragon in an alley?” His eyes were all pupil, the inky depths of a vampire well-fed. Vampire eyes were normally black anyway, with the thinnest of red lines showing around the edge, but the pupils expanded when they’d slaked their thirst for blood. Lucian knew the vampire need for blood was a curse, not a choice—they were distant cousins to witches and wolves, with a magical mutation even further back in time that split them off that evolutionary tree of magical creatures. Lucian couldn’t rightly blame the creature for desiring the woman’s blood—that bloodlust was encoded in his DNA—but slaking that lust… that was what animals were for. The drinking of human blood had ceased hundreds of years ago—the condition under which his ruling House had allowed the vampires to live. Many had perished soon after, refusing to drink the blood of animals. Given the sexuality involved in feeding, Lucian supposed he could understand that. The rest had found a way to hunt animals and drain their blood, supposedly in a civilized, less disgusting manner. Then they’d gone into voluntary banishment, deep inside forests where the wildlife still ran free.

As a result, there weren’t many covens left… and Lucian didn’t recognize this particular vampire at all. He narrowed his eyes, examining the creature more closely. He had a freshness about him, a youth that could be the recent feed or, more disturbingly, that he was newly turned.

“Who’s your sire, bloodsucker?” Lucian asked, leaning closer and flexing his talons. Vampires were forbidden from creating more of their species by transferring their cursed blood. Either this one was recently purebred, an uncommon occurrence, or the covens were breaking even more laws than he knew.

The vampire lost his cocky attitude and flattened himself further into the wall. “I am purebred. You cannot… you have no cause to…”

“No cause?” Lucian hissed in his face, dragonfire leaking out with the words.

The creature’s normal paleness whitened even further. Lucian could justify the vampire’s death if anyone cared to hold him accountable. The creature was in breach, not Lucian. But something was very wrong about all of this… and finding out what was going on in his city was more important than shredding a single vampire and reducing him to ash.

Lucian breathed dragonfire in the creature’s face, making the bloodsucker squirm. “You would have killed that woman had I not intervened.”

“No! I promise. I was only… enthralled . Just for a moment. I wouldn’t have drained her, I swear!”

Lucian huffed. “Just a taste, right?” He should just slay this monster now.

The vampire’s face opened with something like hope, and he nodded, rapidly. “She enjoyed it. You saw. And besides… she wanted this. It was a voluntary transaction!”

Lucian was halfway to squeezing down on the vampire’s neck when his words registered through his bloodlust. “Voluntary?” What the hell was he talking about?

“Yes, yes!” he gushed. “She was a fetish seeker. Online. Wanted a true vampire experience.” The vampire smirked. “It’s always the quiet ones, you know?”

Lucian snarled, but he’d tasted that much about the woman for himself. She was an adventurous lover—it was possible she had sought out some kind of sex play. And she would never have suspected she would snare a real vampire.

Then the rest of the vampire’s words sunk in. “Always?” Lucian tightened his grip until the vampire’s eyes bulged. One more squeeze… “Is this a sport you engage in often? Luring women to their near, if not absolute, deaths? I’m thinking the world is better off with one less vampire taking advantage of the innocent and unwary. And maybe I need to clear out your coven, as well.”

The vampire was protesting, but he couldn’t make any sound with Lucian’s grip closing down. He watched as blood suffused the dying vampire’s face—blood that belonged to that woman, not this foul creature. He almost didn’t notice the rustling of wings behind him.

“Let him go, my brother.”

Lucian snarled and twisted to face his brother. Leksander. “He nearly—”

“I know,” he said calmly, with a disgusted look for the struggling vampire in Lucian’s grip. “We caught one feeding yesterday.”

“What?” That was enough to make him lean back and drop his hold. The bloodsucker fell to the ground, gasping and pawing at his neck.

“It’s obviously a problem.” Leksander stepped forward and gripped the vampire’s arm, hauling him off the ground. The creature’s eyes were wide again, struggling against Leksander’s hold, even though it was futile. Leksander eyed him coolly. “And a dead vampire can’t deliver a message as well as a live one.”

Lucian frowned, not sure what his brother intended. Then Leksander placed his hand on the vampire’s forehead, and the bloodsucker began to convulse. Lucian took a step back, watching his brother work. The runes were in a frenzy across Leksander’s skin, running down his arm to the hand pressed against the vampire’s head, then racing back again. Leksander’s face was intent on the vampire’s, and the creature jerked and twitched as if being electrocuted. It went on and on and on… until finally, Leksander released him, and the vampire fell to the pavement in a heap. He was gasping, and struggling to stay up on all fours, but he was clearly still alive. And when he looked up—the wide, infinitely-dark pupils were gone. And he had blue eyes. His scent had changed… he seemed positively…

“Human?” Lucian asked, turning to Leksander. He had no other words.

His brother nodded. “Erelah has been helping me channel my inner fae.”

Lucian’s eyes were wide, but he held his tongue with the vampire present. Or, he guessed, human, now.

“Go,” Leksander commanded the man. “Tell your coven that if we catch any more vampires feeding on humans, they won’t be cured… they’ll be summarily executed. They may feed upon animals if that’s their wish. But if there are some among them who wish to put the curse of vampirism behind them, as you have, they may seek an audience with the House of Smoke. Am I clear?”

The man nodded, shakily, and clambered to his feet. He almost fell twice in his haste to leave, turning the corner of the alley quickly.

Lucian’s mouth was still hanging open when he turned back to his brother. “You can cure their curse? When did that happen?”

“While you were busy not sleeping and obsessively searching the city for demons.” His brother’s cool gaze was now trained on him.

Lucian winced under it. He was the crown prince, and supposedly, the one entrusted with making calm, rational decisions for the realm. He should have thought of sending the vampire back to his coven with a warning. Even without the enticement of a cure, the House of Smoke could certainly enforce the agreement—with dragonfire, if necessary. Instead, Lucian had been willing to squeeze the life out of a being that had no chance against him.

Lucian stared at his boots in the dark Seattle alley. He was too distracted.

“You just need some sleep,” Leksander said as if reading his mind, even though not in dragon form. “Where is Arabella?”

Lucian’s head snapped up. “At the keep. Unless she’s realized her foolishness and decided to leave.” But the idea of that stabbed through him.

Leksander’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t keep her locked in the guest apartment forever.”

“She’s not locked in!” Lucian growled and dropped his gaze to his quickly-healing hand, absently wiping the smear of blood from it. “I’ve done everything I can to get her to leave. Cinaed is watching over her, ready to drive her away at a moment’s notice. Whenever she comes to her senses.”

“Which is why you’re flying non-stop patrols.”

Lucian lifted his gaze to glare at his brother.

“You can’t keep this up,” Leksander said, meeting his glare.

“I can keep it up longer than she can.”

His brother just shook his head. “I doubt that. Just send her away.”

“I tried that.” Lucian looked away, down the alley, at the electric glitter of the city at night.

“You’re not fooling me, Lucian.” His brother’s voice was cool and damn aggravating. “Or her, either, it seems. If you truly wanted her gone, she would be.”

He slowly turned to face his brother. “Have I told you to fuck off recently? I feel like that’s in order again.” But his words didn’t have much venom in them. The truth was he’d spent himself already in his feeble attempts to push her away. The danger wasn’t that he would force her out—the danger was that he would fall into her arms all too easily again. But Lucian wasn’t ready to release her into the human world, simply because he wasn’t sure it was safe. The fae prince of the Winter Court had already expressed far too much interest in her. If Lucian sent her away, maybe Zephan would lose interest in her… or perhaps he would consider her fair game. And the idea of that… No. Nothing could force him to risk her life with a sealing, but he couldn’t stand the idea of her trapped in the fae prince’s bed, with the endless mindfuckery—and just general fucking—that would happen there. So Lucian was allowing her to stay, doing something he shouldn’t… giving her hope.

Leksander held up his hands, a conciliation that also took in the alley walls around them. “Things are going to hell fast in Seattle, Luc. You need to focus.”

Lucian grunted. “I can see that with my own eyes. I don’t need a lecture from you.”

“No. You need a kick in the ass. Leonidas volunteered, but I told him Erelah would want the honors.”

A small smile twitched Lucian’s lips, just for a moment. “You know, when it comes to the end of things, maybe I’ll call on your angelfire girl and her holy blade. Make quick work of it.”

“Lucian, for the love of magic—” But Leksander’s expression wasn’t worry about Lucian’s morbid thoughts; it was disgust. Which Lucian absolutely deserved for forsaking his duty.

He sighed and looked away again. It was incredibly self-indulgent even to consider going wyvern when the fate of the mortal world depended on him getting his shit together and producing a dragonling.

“You need to put an end to it,” Leksander said, his voice gruff. “Find another woman to fulfill the treaty. Be done with it.”

“I know.” But the thought of it filled his throat with bile. “I will. After a few more patrols.” Then he shifted and leaped into the air, ignoring his brother’s protests below.

Of course, Leksander was right. Lucian needed to bury himself in another woman’s scent—seduce her and use her to forget Arabella. And to fulfill the treaty, even if it cost that woman her life. Because the fate of humanity rested on it, and for that, one woman’s life—or as many as it took to produce a dragonling—was the price the humans would have to pay. It was Lucian’s fate to be the executioner. And once it was done, he would allow the torment of that to drive him wyvern, even with the gift of another five hundred years from his dragonling. The next Dragon Prince would have to endure the curse of his species and the treaty on his own.

Yes, a price had to be paid for peace... but the fates couldn’t force him to make this woman —Arabella—be the one to pay it.

He’d already sacrificed his heart for the world once; he wasn’t going to do it again.