Tempest Rising (Fallen Guardians #10)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

The pounding bass in the seedy Bucharest club hammered at the constant rattling in Race’s head, patching over the fractures in his mind.

Exactly how he liked it.

Because all too soon, they would crack open again.

And chains would rattle.

The Fates’ favorite fucking plaything. Me.

Exhaling roughly, Race leaned back in his chair, half hidden in the shadows, as strobes flashed and pulsing techno held the crowd in its writhing spell. This was one of the few places open from noon until dawn, providing him with what he needed.

Bodies gyrated against each other in desperation, as if they, too, were trying to forget something.

Around him, humans knocked back booze and cut white lines on scarred tables. Scantily clad women in scraps of leather prowled the room, looking for a quick score and a few bucks—

A breathy moan pulled his attention to the intoxicated blonde currently straddling his lap. She’d claimed the spot moments after he’d pushed back his chair to stretch his legs. Now, she rocked on him, her whimpers increasing.

He didn’t care who she was. She chased after what she wanted—he just needed the noise, the contact, and momentary proof he was still made of something solid.

Glassy green eyes fixed on his, she clutched his neck, her musky arousal taunting him. “Make me come, handsome.”

He grabbed her hips and shifted her directly onto his crotch. “Wake up my cock, and it’s all yours.”

She whimpered, grinding harder. He reached past her, grabbed his glass from the table, and slugged back the scotch. It went down like water, not even a damn burn.

Not booze.

Not sex.

Nothing touched him.

Only the relentless rattle inside his head, which nearly paralyzed him, remained, often followed by echoes of screams. His.

His life was a fucking delight.

He lifted the empty glass, the dull lighting bouncing off it. At the right angle, he swore he saw stars—

The blonde on his lap moaned yet again and rocked herself faster. At least she was getting off. He might not have an erection, but his bulge was obvious. He was one massive bastard, after all.

Her halter top loosened, and with her jerky movements, one tit popped free. He glanced at the pink nub. She whimpered, rubbing harder against his cock—

Let’sss go, his dragon rumbled.

His alter ego usually retreated when Race drowned himself in whatever shit dulled the constant darkness clawing his mind. Guess he was privileged this afternoon.

No.

You don’t even get off.

His dragon just had to point that out as if he didn’t know. He hadn’t felt a lick of sensation in three and a half millennia, not since Tartarus—

Pain erupted inside his skull. Race grunted. Scales rippled beneath his skin. His dragon hissed, tormented by memories neither of them wanted.

You want me to leave? Then shut the fuck up. Maybe this human will help me regain my sanity.

Then what? his dragon rasped. Say, ‘Female, I’m a dragon. My seed’s hellfire. You’ll die.’

I hate you right now.

You can’t hate me. I am you.

And there was that.

Even knowing nothing would fulfill him, he remained. It was a way to pass the time until sunset when work began. But the argument with his dragon dropped him back into a funk—

“Fuck me,” the blonde rasped.

Race gripped her wrists, halting her clumsy attempts to open his leathers. “You’re climbing the wrong pole, female. Go find a human.”

“No—”

He dumped her ass on the next chair and stalked through the dark club to the exit.

Yeah, he was a psychotic asshole. Blood and violence were his heartbeat, a rhythm he couldn’t unlearn. Sane women should run, not beg to fuck.

Outside the club, the late-afternoon air engulfed him with an icy embrace. For a second, the chill almost reached his bones. Almost. But dragon heat won.

A pack of scrawny punks drifted past, all piercings and bleached hair, glaring his way.

What? They wanted him to clear off the footpath?

Race growled, his lips peeling back. A flash of fang, and they froze before bolting, tripping over each other in their panic.

Foolish pavement heroes.

He flipped his braided hair over his shoulders and headed down the street, passing the few humans huddled in their coats. The sensation of eyes on him remained, and he ignored it.

He turned into a quiet, rundown alley to dematerialize back to his cave.

Not cave, his dragon rumbled. Mountains. Himalayas.

Race didn’t bother asking why. He had time, so he flashed to a nearby stream, needing the soft barrier water provided. He opened a portal and stepped into a dense forest outside a village at the Himalayan foothills. Twilight cast long shadows through towering trees.

Not long ago, he’d been in this region, helping the angel Lore rescue his abducted female. It still blew his mind that a cold bastard like Lore had fallen hard for a human. All that mate bullshit wasn’t for him. Haunting clubs by day and killing at night suited him just fine.

Now what? he asked his ornery dragon. A prickle brushed against his senses—

Fuck! He spun back and shut the gateway, aware his stalker had crossed through as well.

Persistent asshole. Worse, he knew who the pest was.

Frustration pounded in his skull. Race flashed into the forest shadows, seized the blond male by the throat, and slammed him into a tree. “You don’t listen well, do you? I told you a fucking thousand times. Not now. Not ever. Go back to Lemuria!”

“I cannot,” Koal croaked, amber-gold scales rippling beneath his bronze skin. “You are our last hope—”

“Not as long as I breathe.” Race shoved him away. “Take that message back to whoever sent you. Hunt me down again, and I will kill you.”

Race stalked out to the busy village catering to hikers and climbers. The bitter winter wind cut through the cedar trees, carrying the scent of woodsmoke. He needed a drink. A godsdamn strong one.

At the mere thought of Lemuria—his former world—pain stabbed through his skull. He wished he could tear the memory out by its roots.

The last rays of the evening sun cast long shadows across the frozen ground. Villagers hurried by in thick woolen shawls, their breath forming white wisps. A shepherd corralled his goats into a pen. They all gave him a wide berth. Good. Showed they had survival instincts, after all.

Race finally slowed down.

There’s nothing here, he snapped, rubbing his throbbing temples.

His dragon stayed silent.

A growl rumbling low in his throat, he stalked off in search of a drink—

“Daayan, daayan!” The screams in the local vernacular tore through the air, punctuated by heavily accented English. “Witch! Must die!”

A mob surged from a dusty side street, wooden clubs raised, chasing after a slight figure torpedoing toward him.

Instinct flared, and Race grabbed the human—

Rain fell, a torrential downpour out of nowhere, drenching them and the mob.

What the fuck?

“Let me go!” she yelled, her English accent jarringly out of place in the mountainous village. “Damn it, release me,” she hissed, casting a wild-eyed look over her shoulder at the advancing horde, her dripping chin-length hair sticking to her face like black ink.

The group of skinny men formed a semicircle, their wet, angry faces flushed from the mountain cold, their weapons braced for battle.

“Sir, give her to us,” one shouted, shaking his baton. “Bad woman.”

Hell, he should let her go. He had more than enough shit to deal with. Instead, he cocked an eyebrow as the rain rustled faster, keeping the furious female shackled to his chest.

“Why?” he drawled, blinking away the droplets. “She’s just a girl. What could she possibly do to a group of big, strong men like you?”

Her heart pounded so hard he could feel it against his pecs.

“She make rain, sir,” the man cried in broken English, flinging his hand upward toward the sky. “See? And lightning!”

The others joined in, chanting, “Daayan, daayan.”

More villagers gathered at the would-be lynching.

“She witch, sir. Bad luck,” the first man said. “Bring curse to village.”

“I’m not bad luck, you whiny git!” She twisted sideways in his grip and attempted to lunge at the man as if to snatch his club and beat him with it. “You know nothing! Go chase your goats, you insufferable jelly-brained twats—”

Race clamped her mouth with his palm, muffling her cussing. Nope, not terrified.

Seething.

She growled.

His dragon stirred.

Then she sank her teeth into his palm—hard—and didn’t let go.

Fuuuuck. The little vixen!

Race didn’t release her. Just kept an ironclad hold around her waist, while she kept her teeth buried in his palm as if determined to take off a chunk.

His dragon prowled beneath his skin, chuffing, distracting him.

Calm down, we’ll be outta here in a hot minute. Race glanced up.

The sky brooded with dark clouds and the promise of rain, but the actual deluge poured only in a tight circle over them. Just them. Him, the girl, and the weapon-toting locals.

He opened his psychic senses and scanned her, promptly picking up on her abilities. The moment he brushed her mind, a wild vibration surged—

And flung him out.

She jerked, and he tightened his hold, pressing her softer curves back into his much harder body.

With her mouth still muffled, she scorched him with her eyes instead. Her furious, pale champagne irises, startlingly vivid against her lush, golden-brown skin, caught him off guard.

Another psionic female? He wasn’t sure. Some humans possessed psychic abilities, so if she were a psi…

No, he wasn’t taking her. He would message Michael to check her out.

“Be grateful I keep your hide safe, little human,” he purred, just to tick her off.

A growl erupted against his palm, rivaling his dragon’s. He smirked. “So good you agree with me.”

Her eyes sparked, silver flecks brightening her striking irises. Oh, yeah, she would knee him in the balls given half the chance.

The rain slowed and stopped.

“Sir,” a bristling villager yelled, then started with the witch tales again.

He didn’t have time to deal with this interlude, amusing as it was. Patrol awaited.

“Too bad, I can’t do that.” He stopped them short, his smile feral. “See, this female here? She’s mine.”

With a strength that surprised him, she jerked free and slapped his chest. “What the bloody hell?”

He raised an eyebrow, lowered his voice, “Would you rather I hand you over? They will stake you to a pole and light the fire under you themselves. Is that what you want?”

“Listen, you big oaf!” Her eyes flashed like lightning. “If you hadn’t caught me, I would have left them in my dust. I didn’t need help!”

A prickling sensation skittered over his nape again, as the band of villagers carried on their ruckus.

His dragon stirred. Trouble.

Race scooped her up and sprinted into the forest, the villagers’ angry shouts fading behind them.

“Here’s your chance to escape, female,” he drawled, setting her down amidst the shadowy trees. “Go.” He spun her back toward the village so she wouldn’t see him vanish into thin air.

Take her, his dragon rumbled, startling him.

No.

Again, that sensation of being followed nailed him in the gut. More of them? Damn bastards just couldn’t leave him the hell alone.

Yeah, he’d have to kill them to get the message across. Lemuria wasn’t his fucking problem.