Chapter 9 #2
Ugh. Ash pressed her wet palms to her burning cheeks.
“There’s a place we could use.” His low voice shattered the quiet.
“What?” She scrambled to her feet.
“There’s a cave system farther ahead.” His gaze skimmed her as if making sure she was in one piece. “It’s dry, defensible, and well hidden. Come.” He headed through the dense trees again.
Stifling a whimper, Ash followed him, her legs protesting each step. Her stomach growled loud enough to echo in the quiet, but the food she bought was in the backpack Race had slung over one broad shoulder.
She grabbed onto a branch for balance and groaned. “Please, can we stop for a bit? I’m tired, hungry, and everything hurts.”
He turned. “I gave you food. You chose not to eat.”
“Really?” she shot back. “If you’d given any thought about me, other than you being saddled with a human, you’d know I don’t sink my teeth into things that still breathe.”
“You did with me.”
She blinked. “What?”
His mouth curved faintly, and he came back to where she stopped. “It’s not far now. Then you can eat and rest.”
Like a haunting she couldn’t shake, the memory of biting his hand the first time she crashed into him flooded her. Her mouth dropped open, then snapped shut, mortification choking her.
His smile turned into a laugh, and he slipped a hand to the small of her back, urging her forward.
Christ on a cracker. Best to save what was left of her fast-diminishing dignity and not say a word. But the heat of his touch burned through her clothes, goosebumps rippling across her skin, pulling warmth low into her belly.
She tried to ignore it. Tried to focus on the path, on the ache in her legs—on anything but him. But his scent curled around her like smoke, dark and clean, a pull she couldn’t seem to fight.
What’s happening to me?
This need ambushing her didn’t just creep in—it sprinted, full tilt, wearing bloody trainers. The harder she fought it, the stronger it grew.
Just when she thought her knees would cave, he slowed. The trees opened into a winding clearing, several feet wide. Fallen trunks and slabs of stone formed a jagged barrier at the far side. Weeds clawed through rubble and cracked granite.
He nodded to a split in the dark rock face. “The entrance is narrow, but it opens up inside. Watch your step.”
The opening was barely wide enough for Race’s broad shoulders. He ducked inside first, and she followed. A small flame flickered to life in his palm, its amber light spilling over smooth walls etched with worn carvings—wings, fire, spirals fading into the stone.
This place was even larger than the last cave.
Ash trailed her fingers over the etchings. “Someone lived here once.”
“Aye. Dragons,” Race murmured, moving deeper into the vast chamber, shadows bending around him.
A ledge ran along one wall, and above it was a shelf wide enough to serve as a sleeping platform. Just the thought of sleeping on the hard surface made her body ache even more.
On the opposite side was a single horizontal bar, a heat-blackened metal jutting from the wall. For clothes? Probably.
“There’s a chimney.” He nodded toward a narrow shaft in the granite ceiling where a pale column of daylight spilled over a crumbling firepit lined with dusty peat just past the halfway point of the cave. “We can risk a fire. The smoke will disperse into the mist.”
He dropped her things and his cloak on a boulder, then fed the flame that appeared on his palm into the torches still lodged in their holders. Warm light flared, chasing away the shadows.
Her heated body finally calmed down, and she rubbed the goosebumps on her arms.
As Race gathered dry timber and coaxed a fire to life in the old, crumbling pit, Ash picked up her coat and dragged her pack to the rocks placed alongside the pit. Exhaling wearily, she spread the coat, sank down, and rested against the stone, the growing warmth seeping into her.
With her arms wrapped around her knees, her chin resting on them, she let her gaze drift back to him.
Hunkered near the pit, his powerful shoulder muscles shifted beneath his tunic as he fed more wood to the fire.
The flickering light licked across the sharp planes of his face, reflecting in those deep claret depths.
With that gaze, how had she ever thought him human?
Race jerked to his feet. “Stay here. I must hunt.”
“You’re leaving? But I bought enough food for us,” she blurted, trying not to show her dread of being alone. “We can share.”
He didn’t answer at first, just watched her. Then that wry, fanged smile appeared. “You saw my other side, Ash. I need more.”
She swallowed. Right.
He’s a dragon, not some bloke you can feed kebabs.
His features softened a fraction. “You’ll be safe here. I won’t be long. Stay away from the entrance. Anything up in the sky will spot even an ant moving.”
After he left, Ash exhaled wearily. Exhaustion hit like a sledgehammer, but hunger gnawed just as hard. She dug into her backpack for the food, her stomach in a knot. But her gaze stayed fixed on the cave’s bright entrance as she waited for Race’s return.
Her fingers prickled faintly with her powers—all too aware that nothing stood between her and the outside.
Outside, Race inhaled lungfuls of cold air, desperate to clear Ash’s enticing scent from his nose, his mouth, his damn lungs.
The feel of her stare on him, like a warm caress, lingered. Hell! He’d been minutes from dragging her to him—and fucking up.
He scrubbed his face wearily. Only those useless gods knew how badly he needed the warmth she exuded, in a life that had been utterly barren.
His dragon rumbled, Go back. We don’t need food.
I know that, he growled. I need a moment to clear my head.
So, he would hunt. It wasn’t as if there was anything else to do until the portal site was safe enough to get them back to Earth.
He stripped, tossed his clothes on a rock near the cave, and shifted, his massive dragon form unfurling as the mountain air flooded his lungs. Other males would give him a wide berth—or fight him. Dragons were selfish bastards, especially where airspace was concerned.
He glided across the midday sky, circling the jagged ridges until the valley opened below. Earth-brown creatures scattered across the field, six-limbed and quick. He banked lower, talons unfurling—
He veered away, settling on a rocky ledge and letting them flee. Their lives intact. For now.
He rested on his forelimbs, his head canting.
Unease prickled through him, his pulse spiking. Someone was close. He could feel it, the faint trace of another presence riding the wind, staying downwind.
Race launched himself skyward, his wings hammering the air, dread slamming through him.
Ash had better still be in the cave.
The crunch of twigs and shifting rubble snapped Ash out of the exhausted sleep she’d fallen into, her heart hammering. She jerked upright.
Race stalked inside, barefoot and shirtless again, a bundle of clothes gripped in one hand—no signs of blood or anything suggesting he’d fed—and clad only in loose black pants, leaving little to the imagination. Heat spread to her face. “You’re back.”
He tossed the bundle on a rock nearby, his brow furrowing as his gaze swept over her. “You didn’t eat?”
“A little,” she murmured, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
He strode across, bringing the freshness of wild forest and chill air with him, mingled with his own unique male scent, trapping her in its snare.
She rubbed her nose, as if it would stop this madness.
He crouched near her, opened the backpack, and handed her the food parcel. “Eat.”
She frowned. “I said I did.”
“A little?” His eyes narrowed, firelight shadowing the hard cut of his face. “You haven’t eaten anything since I pulled you from the pyre.”
Was it that long? “Guess adrenaline is a good substitute.”
His expression didn’t so much as twitch. He just held out the food, his stare unwavering.
Not in the mood to fight him, Ash unwrapped the parcel again, pulled out a skewer, and bit into the cold meat. Chewed. Swallowed, forcing down each bite while he watched, feeling like a wayward child under discipline. Ugh.
The fire popped softly, filling the silence that stretched between them. Tension clung to the cave, like blades. Finally, he rose, only to pace the floor, his steps measured, controlled. At the entrance, he paused, staring at the brightness outside.
Frowning, Ash packed the food away, then she grabbed her coat and joined him at the narrow opening. “What’s wrong?”
“Why would you think that?” he asked, his frame a solid barrier between her and the outside.
She stared at his broad back. “Race, besides my sixth sense clanging like a bell, you’re guarding the entrance like it’s a shrine.” She rolled her eyes. “Except I’m the one inside. Bit too late to make me a saint.”
“You do have a way with words, don’t you, vixen?” he drawled, that hint of amusement back in his voice. He slipped out into the afternoon.
Ash followed, shivering in the growing cold, and hastily put on her coat. “Dodging my questions by stomping outside won’t change anything. I’ll still be here.”
“Indeed.” He lifted his gaze skyward. “Just keeping watch.”
“Of course, you are.” She drifted closer, drawn to his warmth despite herself. Questions about her powers pounded her mind once more. He was immortal and lived a long time. Maybe he would know something.
She stopped near him, watching those perfect features as he studied the empty sky. “Race, what’s happening to me? These storm powers—this lightning—it’s driving me mad not knowing why.”
“As I mentioned, you are a Storm Summoner, and extremely rare,” he said. “Your kind can command the elements themselves, channel lightning, call on storms.” He glanced at her. “In the wrong hands, that ability could devastate entire territories. Dragons hoard power like humans hoard gold.”
Her mouth fell open. “Oh, for the love of Christ, you can’t be serious?”
“Oh, I absolutely am, vixen.” His expression grew harder. “But an unclaimed Storm Summoner? Every dragon lord would kill to possess that kind of weapon.”
At his words, she rubbed her temples and took a step back. “I’m not a weapon.”
“No. You’re not.”
“But how?” she demanded. “I don’t have any magic in me. Most days, I’m overlooked, practically invisible. I can’t have that kind of power.”
He didn’t answer. Just watched her in an unnervingly quiet way that made her stomach drop.
“What?” she demanded. “What aren’t you saying?”
He exhaled deeply, the sound low and weighted as he looked up at the jagged peaks, the sun sliding behind them. “To understand this, I have to explain something else first.”
Her heart in her throat, Ash nodded.
“As a Guardian of the human realm, I—and several others—are tasked with keeping mortals safe from demons. Recently, Michael—”
“Whoa.” Her hands flashed up. “Demons? Michael?”
“Yeah. He’s the archangel and our leader.”
Ash gaped at him. Dragons in another realm, fine—she’d seen them with her own eyes. But angels and demons walking around Earth? Dear God.
She rubbed her temples. “Go on.”
“A few years ago, a prophecy came to pass—that the line of the fallen Watchers would rise again. Some of their descendants would possess powers beyond anything ever seen.” His gaze held hers, steady and quiet. “Some have already been found.”
“Oh, brilliant.” She laughed, the sound like gravel. “So, on top of she-dragons wanting me dead and males wanting to own me, there’s a prophecy breathing down my neck? Nothing to worry about, then. Please, continue.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Ash.” His voice gentled. “But the reason I have to explain about the Watchers is—though Michael must confirm this—I’m certain you carry their bloodline.”
“What?” she rasped.
“The ones we call psionics.”