Dragon Seeker Part Two Read online

  He looked more beautiful, more sad, than ever. For a moment Trix managed to forget how angry she’d been, how hurt. Leaning her head on his shoulder, she held onto his hand, squeezing gently. So that he wouldn’t feel so alone, even just for a minute or two.

  And he accepted, breathing deeply under her touch. Then, slowly, he pulled his hand away from hers, picked up the phone to write another message and showed it to her. “You asked me about my deafness, and so I told you. Because I wanted you to know. But you should also know that in spite of that memory, I still love this place. I love everything about it. This cottage is my home, really. More than anywhere on earth.”

  She turned to look at him again. “I’m glad you still love this place. Truly I am,” she said. She meant it, too; it seemed too selfish to bask in her own sadness now. He’d been through so much, and in comparison it made her heartache seem almost insignificant.

  Lyre looked out at the dark of the night sky and the frothy sea below them, surveying his territory. Then slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, typing out one more quick message before showing her the screen: “I’m going to bed. Let yourself in when you want. I’ll be up early to take you back to London. That’s where you belong, Beatrix. I misled you last night, and for that I’m sorry. Good night. Sleep well.”

  With the renewed coldness of the words on his screen, he headed back towards the house, leaving her to the night’s cool air and the smell of the sea. Trix turned to watch him go, the words running through her mind, daggers shooting at her insides.

  London. Where you belong.

  Not here, not with him. Just in case the smallest bit of hope had renewed itself, he’d been quick to shoot it right back down. So, he really did believe it—that they weren’t meant to be together. Sure, he’d let her in with the story about his childhood, but now he wanted to make sure she understood that nothing had changed between them.

  And so here she was, alone again, and lost. She didn’t belong anywhere, not now. Not in London, and certainly not in this place. Trix was homeless. And it seemed so fucking pathetic to admit it, even to herself.

  She stayed outside, staring at the house, her emotions waging war with her mind. Finally a light in one of the upstairs bedrooms shut off, darkening the window. She thought then about standing up and walking. Just walking. All she wanted, really, was to go back to London, back to her small, lonely flat. It would take days to get there, but at least she wouldn’t have to look at him again.

  But she didn’t. Instead, she sat for a few more minutes before looking to see if his light had come back on. But the only glow emanating from the house was from the room at the top of the stairs, the one he’d said would be her bedroom for the night. And so, slowly, quietly, she padded over and let herself in. After grabbing her bag, she made her way upstairs to a small bathroom, where she brushed her teeth. For a moment she caught her reflection in the mirror, scarcely recognizing the woman who looked back at her. Red, tired eyes. Sad eyes. Such a different face from the one she’d seen the previous day, all hope and excitement.

  When she was finished, she treaded softly into her room, thankful not to hear Lyre stirring down the hall behind his own door. The guest room was, or should have been, a sweet space, the lamp on the bedside table turned on to guide her to the white linen of a small brass-framed bed. Under normal circumstances, she would have been beyond delighted to find herself in such a lovely place. But tonight it felt like a prison cell, and she couldn’t wait to leave it forever.

  As she contemplated the thought, her phone buzzed and she extracted it from a jacket pocket to see that she’d received a text message from Neko. Oh, God.

  “How are things?” her friend asked. The words were unfortunately accompanied by a winking emoticon. A teasing assumption that all had gone according to plan. That by now, she and Lyre would be naked, bonded, enjoying the fruits of one another’s…fruits.

  Trix picked up the phone and for a second considered typing one word.

  “Shite.”

  But she stopped herself before stashing the phone again, reminding herself why it was that she’d come all this way in the first place. Surely it hadn’t been to sit in the grass in an award-worthy self pity session, was it? Damn it, she was here to claim what was hers. To begin a new life. To be with the man she wanted more than anything in the world. Running away back to London wasn’t her style, and nor was admitting defeat. She was a problem-solver, a fighter. A Hunter. A killer. Not a coward.

  And there was one thing she wanted before she left Lyre behind for good. Insisted on, even.

  The next time she spoke to him, she would ask for an explanation. She would ask him why he was so certain they weren’t to be together. Yes, he was deaf, and yes, perhaps that was an inconvenience for him. But she’d known about it since the day they’d met, and she didn’t give a toss. Furthermore, a lack of hearing was no reason to deny himself love. Even if Minach was right and Lyre felt unworthy, he should bloody well get over it. Everyone felt unworthy for one reason or another. Every-bloody-one.

  Plenty of deaf humans found their mates. And if Lyre didn’t offer her a better excuse for his rejection, she’d spend the rest of her days wondering why their relationship had died before it had ever lived. Why the Dragon shifter she wanted so badly had pulled away from her more than once, when she could feel how powerful their bond was. It had to be more than his disability, and she knew it.

  Right, then. She set her jaw, determined, her anger renewing itself. She deserved answers, damn it. So in the morning when she saw him again, she’d ask him. She’d insist on a reply before getting onto his Dragon’s back. And this time she wouldn’t accept silence as a response.

  Cursed Perfection

  Lyre lay in bed wide awake, a heavy silence enveloping him. Silence, his constant companion for so many years. The hostile entity that lorded over him, casting invisible barriers around his body and mind and ensuring that he would never get close to anyone. It was an armour that he wore, made up of sharp blades to warn off any woman who might be stupid enough to love him, or even to want him.

  Yes, he told himself. It was silence that had pushed Beatrix away.

  No it wasn’t, his Dragon growled.

  It was you.

  Yes, it was. And what an arse he was for it.

  Naturally, he wouldn’t hear her come into the cottage. Wouldn’t register the sounds of her breaths to assess her mood, or the rhythmic beating of her steps on the stairs. But her scent—that was another matter.

  And the moment she finally entered the house, his keen nose picked it up immediately, sending his heart racing in his chest. Within seconds the rest of his body responded, his cock twitching under the covers as it so often did in her presence. Defying his stubborn mind, which was trying in vain to order his disobedient man-parts to resist her enticement. To ignore the fact that the beautiful Hunter was coming closer and closer with each passing second.

  The house shook with the softest tremors with each slow step she took up the staircase. Any normal human would never have felt them, but he did. He registered the heaviness of every stride, the sadness that drew her reluctantly upwards.

  He hesitated to rise from the bed, knowing that the best thing to do for her sake would be to leave her be. To continue to give her the cold shoulder until he’d taken her home. To keep pretending nothing had ever occurred between them, that he didn’t ache for her. That he felt nothing.

  God, what a massive fucking lie.

  A lie that his mind wasn’t willing to live with. And as though some external, powerful force were guiding him he rose after a few minutes and moved softly towards her room. She’d left the door open and before he’d reached the end of the short hallway, his eyes picked up her shadow moving about against the far wall, elongated by the lamp next to the bed.

  Stopping in the doorway, Lyre stood still and watched her for a moment as she looked out a window, her back facing him. Her movements were slow, pained, as though she’d grown twenty y
ears older since he’d been in her company the previous night. Her youthful, beautiful energy had been sapped away, her will to accomplish anything seemingly gone.

  He gave himself a sound internal beating, knowing that he’d done this to her through his callousness. Through his inability to tell her the whole wretched truth. His cowardly denial of their bond was tearing away at her strength, just as it was doing to his. He was killing them both, though to her it must have seemed as though the killing was very one-sided. She couldn’t see his hurt. She couldn’t feel the agony that he suffered every second he was near her and not kissing her, not holding her.

  Perhaps it had been a mistake, but he’d told her the long story about Minach for one reason: to help her to understand a little of his world. To tell her how he’d ended up this way. And when she’d read his words, her reaction had been so wonderful, so lovely. She’d reached for him to take his hand in hers, her first instinct to protect him. To hold onto some part of him, even though she had every right to hate him. She had wanted to shield him from hurt, despite his inability to shield her back.

  But then like an arsehole he’d pulled away, just as he did each time they came close to one another. Even though every time she was within his reach he only wanted her more and more. It was a cruel torment to feel those lovely fingers on him, to know that he couldn’t draw them to his mouth and kiss them.

  And now, watching her from a few feet away, he wanted her more than ever. Even in her pain, her every action in slow motion, she was the sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

  As she pulled off her short trench coat and laid it on the chair alongside her weapons, his cock twitched again in response, swelling despite his silent protests. His eyes moved the curves of her waist, her strong shoulders, and those thighs that he wanted to pull apart so that he could find a way to live between them. Her shape was perfection, and it took all his strength and willpower not to step forward and to grab her hips, to pull her backwards into him to show her just what effect she was having on his body. What he wouldn’t have given to press into her, to feel his engorged cock against the roundness of that beautiful arse of hers.

  But it wouldn’t have been fair to do that to her. Just as it might not be fair to stand in her doorway in nothing but a thin pair of cotton boxers and a tight shirt.

  Well, fair or not, finally he summoned the courage to knock on the doorframe, and she turned to look at him as he clasped his hands in front of his erection, hoping to conceal it from view. But she wasn’t looking at anything below his waist. Her eyes, like the rest of her, were devoid of strength or energy. Barely able to look in his direction at all. He wanted so badly to walk over and to hold her, to offer her the last of his strength. But he couldn’t.

  “What is it?” her full lips asked him, her voice only imagined in his mind. She may or may not have been annoyed; it was hard to tell from her expression alone. He wished that he could hear her tone, and for once he cursed his brother for depriving him of the experience. Of so many experiences. Damn it, Minach.

  Instinctively he reached for a back pocket to grab his phone before remembering that he wasn’t wearing his jeans. Sod it. Right. No pockets. Stepping forward, he held a hand up to his face as though to ask for hers.

  She understood, pulling the mobile out of a pocket in her jacket, and handed it over after inputting her password.

  “Do you need anything?” he typed before showing her the screen.

  “Need?” she asked, her expression incredulous. Life was returning to her face. An irritated energy, he supposed, was better than indifference. It proved that she hadn’t gone wholly numb. “Do I need anything?” she added.

  Lyre could tell by her body language that she put the stress on the verb. Well, there was no longer any doubt that she was angry. He nodded, watching her mouth, waiting for more. And it came pouring out in a sea of words as he watched and read those beautiful lips, the vertical line deepening between her eyebrows, the muscles tightening in her graceful neck.

  “Yes, I bloody well need something, Lyre. I need to understand what the hell is happening here. What’s going on with you—with us. You could explain to me why, just when you and I were getting close, you pulled away from me. Twice, now. No, make that three times.” He could see that she’d begun to shake, as she proceeded to unleash on him. Good. Let it out, he thought. I deserve it.

  “And why did you tell me that story about you and Minach, about your deafness? Yet again, you let me get close to you, and God,” she threw her hands into the air in utter frustration as she spoke. “There was a time when I felt you inside my mind, we were so intimately connected,” she said. “I felt like maybe you even cared about me. But if you do, then why are you treating me like this? I feel like a fucking abused, enabling idiot who keeps coming back for more. I was going to wait until morning to say this, but I’ll tell you right now, since you’ve been foolish enough to knock on my door: I’ll not have it, from you or anyone. No matter how much I…” she stopped short of expressing how much she’d grown to care about him. She probably thought he didn’t deserve to know. And she was right about that.

  He frowned as he typed a response. Of course he’d asked for all of this and more, and he was almost glad that she was putting up a fight. She deserved answers. And he’d been a damned coward not to give them to her.

  “I got close to you, Beatrix, because I wanted to,” he wrote. “I needed to feel a little of the bond with you, if only for the briefest moment. But it was a mistake, and I’m sorry. I can’t be with you. I’ve told you that.”

  “Tell me, why not? And please, just give me an honest answer. Is it your deafness?” A very direct question. Good.

  “No. It’s you, Beatrix. I can’t be with you,” he wrote, “because you’re fucking perfect.”

  “Right. That makes so much sense,” she yelled, letting it all out now, probably hoping that somehow her voice would shake the cottage’s foundations enough for him to feel her words in the soles of his bare feet. “If I were perfect, presumably you wouldn’t have rejected me like I’m a slab of rancid meat that needs to be tossed in the bin.” But when Lyre went to protest, she put a hand up to stop him. “Don’t bother,” she added. “Let me show you something.”

  Without another word, she yanked the zipper on her jeans downward, peeling the denim away on the right side, as well as a pair of white knickers, to flash a few inches of skin. For a moment, his heart turned into a manic jackhammer in his chest. Dear God, was she actually taking off her clothes? If she did that, all the strength would leave him. All capacity to fight his desire would melt away. If she only knew…

  But then his eyes met the symbol printed on her flesh. Two swirls of blue and grey, icy and beautiful at once. So familiar to him, so exquisite against her fair skin. And in that moment, he understood everything. Why she was so hurt. Why he was so drawn to her. If he hadn’t been utterly certain before of exactly who she was, he knew now.

  “This is the tattoo I told you about the other night. The one I’d just gotten a day before I saw you,” she said when she’d drawn his eyes back to her face. “This is the symbol, apparently, of the Dragons of Air. Your bloodline. But of course I didn’t know that when I got it. I’d never seen the damned symbol anywhere other than in my own mind until this morning, when your brother showed me a book in his flat. So would you care to explain how this image came to me, without any knowledge of where it originated, or why?” Lyre went to type again, but Trix grabbed his arm, shaking her head angrily. “You don’t need to answer that part either,” she continued, “I already know. I know what the tattoo means, thanks to your brother. And you know, too, so don’t try to tell me you don’t. It means that I’m your mate. You asked me if I need anything, so I’ll tell you, here’s what I need: I need you to explain to me how you can deny what we are to each other. Just show me a little fucking respect and give me an answer, instead of throwing up this wall of silence you force on me each time we get close. I don’t deserve that.
If you find me ugly, or repulsive, or…whatever…then fine. Tell me.”

  Ugly? Repulsive? It was so much the opposite. Surely she knew full well how attracted he was to her. She’d felt his lips on her skin. She knew. And he knew how she felt. How could he not? It was laced through her exquisite scent. He’d tasted it as he’d kissed her neck. He’d inhaled the scent of her wetness, her body aching for his. Even now, it permeated the air in the room around them, even through the pain and the anger. She wanted him, and he was the luckiest man in the world.

  But somehow, he was also the unluckiest.

  A cursed man.

  Lyre’s fists clenched as he turned away from her, a dark, brooding shadow of a man. And for a moment he looked like he might break down the literal walls surrounding them. His Dragon was angry, fighting to escape his human body, to go on a rampage in the small cottage to punish him for his foolishness. But Lyre fought him back, resolve stiffening him to stone. He pivoted to face Trix, the look in his eyes changed. He wished he could speak, as she could. That he could just say the words out loud. But he hadn’t used his voice in such a very long time. To speak was to make himself vulnerable. To give himself over to judgment, to risk mockery. To speak was to show his weakness.

  “Just tell me—what the hell are you afraid of, Lyre?” Trix said out loud again, staring up at him, even as he stared back in silence. “Please. Tell me why we can’t be together, so that at least I can understand, and walk away from you without feeling like my guts have been ripped out. Don’t just turn your back on me again; I couldn’t take it. If you must take me back to London, fine. But stop pushing me away without explaining why you’re doing it.”

  He propped one hand against the door frame as the other went to his brow, holding his head up as though his strong neck might give out beneath it. Then in a flurry of motion he grabbed her phone and typed, fingers moving in a frenzy, the message rushing to escape his mind.

  He took her hand and thrust the phone into it before turning away again. Trix read the words, her heart racing.