Daughter Of The Dragon Princess Page 7

Lily drove in silence except for when they reached a junction, and she had to ask for directions. His answers were monosyllabic.

  As the distance increased, she gradually relaxed, and her brain started to function again. She wasn’t convinced it was an improvement. What the hell was going on?

  Princesses, dragons, and now sorcerers.

  She didn’t believe it.

  Of course she didn’t, but she didn’t have another explanation either. The whole world had gone crazy. She’d seen things in the last twenty-four hours that she would never have thought possible. For Christ’s sake, she had disappeared in a puff of smoke. At least she thought there had been a puff of smoke. A quick glance at Mal showed his head resting against the seat, his eyes closed, but she knew he wasn’t sleeping.

  “What?” he asked as though he could sense her glance.

  “Nothing,” she muttered. She turned her eyes back to the road and continued driving, but her frustration rose with each mile that sped past.

  “Relax,” he said. “I can feel you thinking from here. It’s exhausting.”

  They were on the motorway now, heading north, but the road wavered before her eyes. She blinked to clear her vision. “I have to stop driving.”

  He glanced across at her and nodded. “We’ll find somewhere to stop for the rest of the night.”

  Half an hour later, she pulled into the driveway of a transport hotel and parked the car in the farthest, darkest corner between two huge trucks.

  She sat rigid, unable to relax her grip on the wheel, hanging on as though her life depended on it. And maybe it did. Taking a deep breath, she relaxed her fingers.

  “Come on, get out,” Mal said.

  “No, not until I get some answers.”

  He picked up the pistol from the dashboard and pointed it at her. “Out”

  “You won’t kill me,” she said with absolute conviction.

  He lowered the gun and pointed it at her leg. “No, but I will hurt you.”

  She thought about that for a second. “No, you won’t.”

  He sighed, put the gun back down, and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m tired. Can’t this wait? When we get to safety, I’ll answer your questions.”

  “Unfortunately, your safety and mine are not necessarily the same thing.”

  He sighed again. “Okay. One question.”

  “Two.”

  He shrugged, but then nodded. “Two.”

  Lily thought about it; she didn’t want to waste a question. “What did those men want?”

  “At a guess—your blood. Dragon blood is the source of all magic on earth. Without dragon blood they’re powerless.”

  “You said I wasn’t a dragon.”

  “They can’t take on a full-blooded dragon. You’re the next best thing. You have dragon blood.” He shrugged. “In all honesty, I don’t know what they mean to do with you. But they’ve had a long time to think about it.”

  “How long?”

  “Is that your second question?”

  She scowled again. “No.” She knew what her next question was. “What is a dragon princess? What am I?”

  He sighed again and rubbed a hand through his hair. “It’s a long story and to understand you have to know what came before.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Mal rested his head back against the seat, staring through the windscreen into the night beyond. Was it such a hard question? Maybe she was better off not knowing. Ignorance was bliss and all that. But she had to understand what she was up against. At last, he started to speak.

  “Long ago, the serpent goddess, Tannith, created the dragons and gave them Ankesh as their world. All dragons are male and have no ability to reproduce their own kind, but they were immortal and, for a time, they were content. But it’s not in our nature to be content.” His smile was rueful. “It’s said we were created in the image of the serpent goddess, and we have the manners and morals to go with that.”

  “You’re not selling yourself here.”

  “You wanted the truth. The dragons possessed much magic and with it, they could see other worlds. They saw this world and they wanted what humans had—not the dying bit, but the children, and they asked the goddess to help them. Tannith loved the dragons, but she wanted them to herself and she refused to make a female dragon. Instead, she came down to earth, opened the portal at Taryn Carnack, and let through the Dragon King. They mated and Tannith had a daughter Shula, the first of the Dragon Princesses. Shula was beautiful and the dragons fought for the honor to take her as mate.” He glanced over at Lily. “She looked a lot like you, long red hair and green eyes.”

  “You knew her?”

  “Shula was my mother.”

  “So, I’m not just a princess I’m descended from a goddess. Great,” she muttered. “So much for being normal.” If she believed it. She’d given up on fairy tales long ago and this sounded like a complete goddamn fairy tale.

  “That was your second answer,” Mal said. “Get out of the car.”

  Gritting her teeth in frustration, she bit back the rest of her questions. In the dim light, she could see the lines of pain etched on his face. The sleeve of his black shirt was dark with blood and the coppery scent hung on the air. She should examine the wound. Or better still, get a doctor to examine it, but how likely was that to happen? With an audible sigh, she climbed out.

  “We should sort that arm out. Do you have a first-aid kit in the car?”

  He opened his mouth, no doubt to argue, and then glanced down at his wrist where dark blood still oozed from the cut. “In the back.”

  Lily walked around, and opened the trunk of the car. Her eyes widened. It was like an arsenal in there. There was even what looked like some sort of machine gun. Moving it gingerly out of the way, she finally caught sight of a green box with a red cross on the top.

  After tucking the box under her arm, she was about to shut the back when she spotted her handbag pushed into the corner. She pulled it out and looked inside. The gun was gone. Cole had taken it, but her cell phone was still there. Sliding the bag over her shoulder, she studied the weapons. Guns were a mystery to her, but even so, she reckoned she could manage to pull the trigger. Selecting a small pistol, she shoved it into the waistband of her jeans and slammed the trunk closed.

  She glanced across to where Mal slumped against the bonnet of the car.

  “You stay here,” she said. “I’ll go see if I can get us some rooms.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “You can’t.” She waved a hand at his arm. “They’ll take one look at you and call the cops. No, I’ll be better alone.”

  Ignoring her, Mal pushed himself up and stretched. He disappeared for a few seconds and came back pulling on a black leather jacket that covered the bloodstains on his chest and arm. Then reaching into the car, he picked up the gun and slipped it into his pocket. He peered at her, amusement flickering across his face.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You might want to take the vest off,” he murmured, his eyes sliding over her body.

  She glanced down at the bulletproof vest he’d given her earlier and realized she didn’t want to take it off. The vest made her feel safe. But it was rather noticeable. She shrugged out of it, and tossed it on the seat of the car before slamming the door.

  “Right then,” she said. “Lead the way.”

  Lily ground her teeth as she shoved in the key card, and pushed open the door of the hotel room.

  Hotel room, singular.

  A huge king-size bed dominated the room and she paused in the doorway, scowling. She had planned on patching him up, then heading to a room of her own, occupying it only as long as it took to make sure Mal was asleep, and then taking off as fast as she could go. He obviously had other plans.

  At the reception desk, when she had opened her mouth to argue, he had slipped his hand into the pocket with the gun. She was still sure he wouldn’t hurt her. Unfortunately, she wasn’t as convinced he wouldn
’t shoot the young guy behind the desk and she’d given in. Ungracefully.

  After dumping her handbag and the first aid kit on the bed, she eyed him cautiously. “Sit,” she said.

  He perched on the edge of the mattress, his expression wary, but he remained acquiescent while she unbuckled both shoulder holsters and placed them on the bed next to the first-aid kit. He also didn’t argue as she unbuttoned his shirt, just shrugging out of it when she was done.

  Crimson stained his chest, but he didn’t seem to be bleeding from anywhere else. She traced her hand over a gunshot wound in his shoulder. It was healing already. “How?”

  He shrugged. “I heal fast.”

  She rested a hand on the hot skin of his chest and gently urged him around so she could see his back. Another wound marred the skin of his shoulder, presumably, where the bullet had exited and a further one in his right arm. Both were well on the way to healing. In fact, the only damage that seemed to be causing problems was the self-inflicted cut. She pulled his right hand away from where he was holding the injured wrist in a vice-like grip. The wound appeared angry, the skin around it inflamed, and blood seeped from the open cut.

  “Why isn’t it healing like the others?”

  “It was used for magic. Those wounds never heal fast. That’s why we resist it unless necessary—it costs us.”

  “I have to clean the cut.”

  “No, we’re immune to infection. Just wrap it up tight. It will heal once I’m rested.”

  Her turn to shrug, but she wasn’t going to argue. She was just getting to the stage where if Mal told her that pigs could fly, she’d search the sky for them. She opened the first-aid box and selected a bandage.

  “Here,” she said, “give me that.” She took his arm and wrapped the bandage around his wrist.

  “Tighter,” he muttered.

  She pulled it hard, then waited while he flexed his fingers and nodded.

  “Good,” he said. “Now get some sleep.”

  “I’m not sleeping in here with you.” There were two beds but they were way too close together.

  “Then be quiet while I sleep.”

  She stomped into the bathroom, slammed the door behind her, and rammed the bolt home.

  When she came back out, Mal was still seated, his back against the wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his gaze fixed on her.

  “So what happens now?” she asked.

  “Now, I contact Vortigen and we set up another meeting. I hand you over, and that’s it.”

  She glared at him. “You still plan to go ahead with that? To hand me over to the ‘something worse than death’ guy?”

  “I have no choice. And I shouldn’t have said that to you, it was—”

  “Fucking insensitive,” she interrupted.

  “—not wise.” He ran a hand through his hair. “This is not just about you or me, and I don’t have a choice—nothing’s changed.”

  “There’s always a choice.” She rubbed at the tightness in her chest. To her, everything had changed. Her whole life turned upside down. Mal had protected her tonight, and for a while, she had managed to forget that it was because he had an agenda. And handing her over in one piece, to some fuckwit asshole, was right at the top. He didn’t care about her. She turned away, not wanting him to see the tears she blinked from her eyes. She was tired, that was all.

  Sinking down onto the edge of the bed, she peered at him through her lashes. It was some consolation that if she felt awful, he looked it. His eyes were dull, his skin pale beneath the golden tint.

  He swung his legs around, stood up and disappeared into the bathroom. A minute later, she heard the shower run. She could make a run for it now, but first she wanted more answers. Also, it would be better to wait until he was asleep. She would have more time, and at least he couldn’t cuff her again. The cuffs were still back at the farmhouse, though knowing Mal he’d probably have a spare pair somewhere.

  The bathroom door opened, steam billowed out. Mal emerged dressed in nothing but a small towel wrapped around his hips. His body was long and lean, his ribs visible under the taut skin. The mark glowed like a living thing across his shoulder.

  She waited until he sank down on the bed, rubbing his dark hair with another towel. “Tell me about my father.”

  He glanced at her, his eyes wary. “There’s nothing to tell. I’ve told you what I know—he was a sorcerer.”

  “You’re lying, you know more.”

  “Drop it.”

  “No. I waited my whole life for my mother or father, for somebody, anybody, to come and claim me. It never happened. Now here you are, and you have all the answers. You know who my father is.”

  “Your father is dead.”

  She could hear the truth in his voice, but she refused to accept it. “How can you be sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  She jumped to her feet, fists clenched at her side. She was pathetic. Ever since Stark had mentioned her father the night before, she’d been living in some fairy-tale dream world where she was reunited with her family and they all lived happily ever after. Now she was finding it impossible to let go of that dream. “You can’t know.”

  He studied her, head cocked to one side, his golden eyes hard as metal. How could eyes that color be so cold?

  “I can, because I killed him.” He looked away from her as though the conversation was over.

  Shock slammed into her. She pressed a finger to her forehead trying to make sense of his words. “Why?”

  He didn’t answer. Lily slipped her hand behind her, and fumbled for the pistol tucked into the waistband of her jeans. She pulled it out and aimed it at his back. He stood slowly then glanced down at the gun in her hand.

  “Why?” she said. “Goddamn it answer me.”

  “Because it needed doing.”

  He reached out towards her, hand spread, and wrenched the gun from her grip as though by invisible fingers.

  Fury surged within her. Orange flames flickered before her eyes, the scent of smoke filled the air, the crackle of fire her ears.

  “Lily, stop it.” Through a haze, Mal took a step toward her.

  But she couldn’t control the anger. Everything that had happened since the stones, her whole life…

  And all around her, the flames burned hotter.

  Chapter 8

  Mal gripped her arms. “Lily, look at me.” He lifted her so she had no choice but to stare into his eyes. She was drowning in the golden depths, as he drew the fire from her. Slowly the temperature in the room returned to normal.

  He released her arms and took a step back. “Damn,” he muttered, and collapsed at her feet.

  He lay sprawled on the floor, so still he might be dead. Lily sank to her knees besides him. “Mal?” she whispered.

  No response. She touched his shoulder. The heat almost scorched her fingers, but at least he wasn’t dead. Sitting back on her heels, she studied him. He had drawn the fire from her. She had balanced on the point of some sort of spontaneous combustion, the heat about to engulf her. He had cooled her down, and in his weakened state, the effort must have been too much. Whatever he had done, he had saved her life. Probably both their lives. There had been real fear in his eyes, but she had been so enraged, and the fact that she was capable of such intense emotion scared her.

  He had killed her father.

  How could she mourn for someone she had never known? But then, she wasn’t mourning her father, the man, but the father of her dreams, the dreams that had sustained her through the lonely years of her childhood.

  Mal had said it had needed doing. What the hell did that mean? Would she like the truth when she eventually discovered it?

  Reaching out with trembling fingers, she stroked the mark on his left shoulder, down over his heart. “Dragons,” she murmured.

  She’d always been fascinated by dragons, hardly surprising when she considered the mark on her own arm. She’d collected models of dragons as a child, then later pictures
, and—when she’d the money—jewelry. Necklaces, earrings, a gold and ruby bracelet that twined around her upper arm much like Mal’s torc.

  And now it seemed they were real.

  “Jesus,” she muttered. But she could no longer deny that she believed.

  Mal didn’t stir. She prodded him again. His skin still burned, but maybe a little cooler. It was her opportunity to get out of there, but she was reluctant to leave. Mal had saved her life. But then, she wouldn’t have needed saving if he hadn’t put her squarely in harm’s way tonight. It was enough to make her head explode.

  Her father had been a sorcerer. Mal hated sorcerers, why should he feel any different toward her? He’d saved her tonight because his people required her help. He hadn’t wanted her, just her ability to open their stupid portal. He’d been prepared to hand her over to some depraved madman to get it done.

  And he had killed her father.

  She had to go.

  Scrambling to her feet, she searched the room. He’d thrown his jacket on a chair, and she rummaged through the pockets. She pulled out a black leather wallet. Inside was over five hundred pounds in cash, and she stuffed the wallet into the back pocket of her jeans. The pistol was on the floor and she tucked that into her waistband, then picked up the car keys.

  Mal lay unmoving. She went to the bed and pulled off a pillow and a blanket. As she tucked the pillow under his head, she half expected him to wake from the manhandling. Did she want him to wake?

  She didn’t know where she was going, what she was going to do. If she stayed with Mal, he would make all the decisions. She wouldn’t have to think, just go with the flow, and if she did what she was told then maybe life wouldn’t be so bad.

  Yeah, right.

  Something worse than death.

  She couldn’t seem to get the phrase out of her head.

  No way. She was out of there. She’d be better off alone than handed over to some maniac. She threw the blanket over him and he still didn’t move. Maybe he was seriously ill. Then she had a thought. She pulled the wallet out of her back pocket and searched through it. There were cards identifying Malachite Smith as a member of various government agencies. He couldn’t be a member of them all, which presumably meant he wasn’t a member of any. Finally, she found what she was hunting for, the card Detective Cole had handed him before they left Scotland Yard. She took it over to the telephone and dialed the first number. It got her through to the station, where they told her Cole was out—could anyone else help her? She broke the connection and dialed the second number. It was a cell phone, and he picked up after a couple of rings.