Kiss of Embers (The Dragon Lairds #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

ZARA

R ain fell in a steady drizzle while the gravediggers worked. The rhythmic sounds of their shovels hitting the soil accompanied Serge’s voice as he beseeched the gods to welcome the “nobly fallen” into the afterlife. It was early afternoon, but the struggling sun couldn’t break through the clouds. Autumn hung over the clearing.

And anger hung in the air. On the other side of the deepening grave, the deceased’s kin huddled in head-to-toe black. The mist-covered forest spread behind them. Two men among the group of mourners whispered to each other, their gazes landing on me again and again. After a moment, the younger of the two, a wolf called Alix, curled his hand around the hilt of his sword.

I kept my gaze on the grave, and I did my best to keep my expression neutral even as rain soaked my clothes and dripped down my chin. Serge was an experienced priest. Eight centuries my senior, he’d served under my father and grandfather. No one was more capable of speeding a pack member to the gods’ embrace. But not even Serge could lift the death ceremony’s dour atmosphere. Werewolf custom dictated that such ceremonies should be a time of celebration. Falling in battle was the most glorious death a wolf could ask for.

But the “nobly fallen” wrapped in linen on the ground hadn’t died defending his kin or the pack. No, he’d died under my blade after the moon sickness stole his reason. Feral and manic, he’d killed without thought or justification. Left unchecked, he would have continued killing. Eventually, he would have exposed my people and the rest of the Firstborn Races to the human world. Moon sickness had no cure. The moment the disease took hold, the man’s death had been inevitable.

But I’d hastened it, as duty demanded.

And now duty demanded I stand with his kin as Serge chanted the ritual prayers. Drute was a steady presence at my side, his wings curled around his body to spare his clothes from the rain. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pin Alix and the other whispering man with a hard stare. The atmosphere around the clearing shifted, tension leaking around the anger.

Alix and his companion stiffened. The gravediggers stopped digging. Straightening, they cast wary looks from Drute to the group of mourners.

Seemingly lost to prayer, Serge continued chanting, his arms outstretched and his head tilted back. “Mighty Dralak, god of the hunt! Hear us, hear us, hear us!”

Across the grave, several mourners met my gaze. Resentment—and the hint of a challenge—gleamed in their eyes.

Apprehension lifted the hair on my nape. I’d left my sword at the house out of respect for the dead. A mistake , my instincts whispered. My father would have never been so foolish. Then again, no member of the pack had ever dreamed of threatening my father. Reinald Rockford never needed a sword to make wolves stand down.

“Hear us!” Serge chanted, his voice booming off the trees. On the other side of the grave, more of the fallen’s kinfolk stirred. Dozens of eyes fixed on me. The tension in the air thickened, swirling with the rain-drenched mist that seeped into my bones.

My heart pounded in my ears. Deep in my chest, my wolf lifted her head—and snarled. Did these people think I liked killing my own? That I enjoyed knocking on doors in the middle of the night to tell someone their loved one was dead? Killing an immortal was no straightforward task. In the year since I became alpha, I’d become as competent as any grocery store butcher. I knew the best places to strike a cleaver to separate arms from shoulders and legs from a pelvis. I knew that a curved blade was usually better for cutting through a spinal column. Some nights, the stench of blood lingered in my nostrils no matter how long I stood in the shower.

“Hear us!” Serge yelled. “Hear us, hear us!”

One of the men across the clearing bared his fangs.

“You shame your kin by threatening your alpha!” Drute called, stepping forward. He flared his wings wide, sending a shower of water droplets into my face. One leathery wing snapped in front of me like a shield.

Which was precisely what he’d intended.

Serge startled, then looked around the gravesite as if emerging from a dream. Based on what I’d learned about the priesthood, that probably wasn’t too far from the truth.

Murmurs ran through the mourners. A man shouldered his way to the front of the crowd, his boots squishing in the damp grass, and pointed a thick finger at Drute. “The shame is yours, gargoyle! You’re bound to serve the Rockford Pack. And yet you preside over its members’ death ceremonies.”

In my mind, my wolf stalked back and forth, eager to surge forward and make the man regret his words. The first tendrils of bloodlust snaked through my veins. But a death ceremony was no place for a show of authority. These people were part of the pack—and they were in mourning. Calling up my power and forcing them to their knees would prove nothing except that I was a tyrant. My father’s voice flowed through my memory. “Flex your mind before you swing your fists.”

Another pack member piped up. “How many more death ceremonies do we have to attend before someone does something?”

Drute’s wing in front of me twitched, and his gravelly voice rumbled again. “The alpha is working tirelessly to uncover the cause behind the moon sickness.”

“Meanwhile, we bury our dead!” a third person cried. Heads nodded, and murmurs of agreement rippled over the crowd. Muttered words drifted across the gravesite, penetrating the protective wing Drute held before me.

“…too weak to lead.”

“She’s not her father…”

“…Reinald would have already put a stop to it.”

“Reinald isn’t here,” I said, stepping around Drute’s wing. Bloodlust fired hot, and I knew my eyes were the color of amber as I swept my gaze over the mourners. A snapping sound at my back told me Drute had folded his wings. But he stayed close, his big body radiating tension.

A few in the crowd lowered their gazes. Alix tightened his grip on his sword hilt.

I let my wolf surge to the surface. My fangs punched down, and my voice went deeper as I met Alix’s gaze. “If you want to challenge me, be a man and do it with honor. Don’t embarrass yourself by whispering over your kinsman’s grave like a coward.”

For a moment, the threat of violence sizzled in the air. My wolf growled in my mind, and the sound vibrated my throat before spilling from between my lips. Power pumped in sync with my heart, each beat sending my wolf’s aggression spiraling higher. One of the gravediggers swayed on his feet, clearly fighting the urge to kneel. Behind him, a handful of mourners did the same. Finally, Alix released his sword.

“I make no challenge,” he said, lowering his eyes. “Nor do any gathered here.” His mouth worked like he chewed something bitter. “Alpha,” he added.

Silence stretched, the only sounds the patter of rain and the sigh of the trees as a crisp October wind moved through the forest.

“Good,” I said. After another beat of silence, I met Serge’s stare. “Finish the ceremony.”

Serge inclined his head, the black tattoos under his eyes descending like two narrow knife blades. “It will be done, Alpha.”

I turned and stalked away from the clearing. The stares of the mourners bored into my back. Leaves crunched, and the ground trembled as Drute fell into step beside me. I waited until we rounded a bend before speaking.

“Alix will be trouble.”

Drute snorted. “He won’t. His mouth is a lot bigger than his brain.”

I glanced at my father’s advisor—and now mine. “You’re certain? He looked like he’s been thinking of using that sword for a while.”

Drute stopped. He stared down the path we’d just walked, his angular features thoughtful in his grayish face. Around us, the thick Maine forest hid the pack’s territory from human eyes. Perhaps more importantly, it hid Drute. Like the demons, gargoyles hailed from another plane, where they didn’t need to blend into human society. At seven feet tall, Drute’s height already made him stand out. His wings, gray skin, and double axe blade tail put him firmly in “monstrous” territory.

“I’m certain,” Drute said. He turned back to me with dark, serious eyes. “Alix is too weak to challenge you and too stupid to orchestrate a coup. Like many in the pack, he’s more frightened than angry. I promise he’s the least of your—” Drute snapped his mouth shut as he jerked his gaze to a spot over my shoulder.

I turned, and irritation flared in my chest at the sight of Brader Ashcroft moving toward us. “Problems,” I said under my breath.

Even at a distance, it was easy to see why women swooned over Brader. Like all werewolves, he was tall and built like an athlete. But he also possessed movie star good looks. His blond hair was arranged in thick, stylish waves. His cheekbones angled into a square jaw with the perfect amount of golden stubble, and his eyes were the color of a summer sky. After an hour in the rain, I probably looked like a drowned rat with my hair plastered to my head. Brader’s hair was artfully damp, as if he’d just stepped from a salon. At a touch over three hundred years old, he was past the age when most wolves stopped waiting for fate to deliver the perfect mate. And yet, Brader remained unmated.

But everyone knew he had a particular mate in mind.

“Hello, Brader,” I called. “What brings you to Rockford Territory?” Beside me, Drute stirred, and I sensed rather than saw him frown at the hard edge in my tone. Well, too bad. Brader had grown far too casual about entering my lands. Customs were customs, and even alphas requested permission before crossing territorial boundaries. The next time I met with the pack elders, I’d have to propose turning custom into law.

Brader offered a crooked smile as he stopped in front of me. “Zara. Drute,” he said by way of acknowledgment. Then he fixed his blue eyes on me. “Sorry to visit unannounced like this. I just came from the house. I was looking for you.”

What else is new? I bit my tongue before the question could slip out. My mother’s voice whispered in my memory, reminding me to be polite. Brader was a pain in the ass, but he was a neighboring alpha. He’d also stood up for me at the last Council meeting when other alphas questioned my ability to lead.

I forced a smile. “Here I am.”

Brader cast a quick look at the forest behind me. “I heard you lost a pack member to moon sickness last night.”

Denying it was pointless. The Ashcroft wolves had been a valuable ally since my grandfather’s time, but there was no question Brader had spies. I couldn’t prove it, but I was certain that expression about keeping your enemies closer originated with werewolves. Besides, every pack in the country—and possibly the rest of the world—knew the Rockford Pack was grappling with moon sickness. My “challenges” as alpha had been the talk of this year’s Council meeting.

“Two nights ago,” I said, humiliation like acid in my gut. “Serge is wrapping up the death ceremony now.”

“My condolences on another loss.”

It was an effort not to grind my molars. “Thank you.”

Brader studied me, a determined glint appearing in his eyes. “Zara?—”

“Is that why you came all the way from Lewiston?” I asked. “To share your condolences?”

Brader looked at Drute. “Could I speak with Zara alone?”

I lifted my chin. “Drute has served the Rockford Pack for nearly five centuries. Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of him.” And the three of us knew exactly what Brader wanted to say. He’d said it often enough over the past year.

He scowled, his sandy brows pulling together. “Fine. Maybe your advisor should hear what you and I both know to be true.” The determined expression in Brader’s eyes intensified. He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “The moon sickness has ravaged your pack and shows no signs of slowing. Your numbers are dwindling. You’re ripe for a takeover. And there is no such thing as a deposed alpha, Zara. Not a living one, anyway. If your enemies decide to make a move, you won’t survive.”

My blood ran cold. Although, Brader told me nothing I didn’t already know. I was well aware of the danger that dogged my steps. Every day, that danger increased. With each death ceremony, rumors about the Rockford Pack spread. Whispers grew louder. The rumors swirled faster, the word curse floating on the air.

My mother had been the first to die. Bad luck , people had called it. Moon sickness was rare. No one knew why or how it happened. In a healthy werewolf, human and beast shared a mind, but the human was always in control. When moon sickness struck, the human retreated, leaving only the beast. The werewolf turned feral, losing the ability to shift and communicate. Human emotion and cognitive function disappeared. Death followed. I witnessed the disease’s progression in my mother, and I watched my father take her life to spare her dignity. The entire pack had mourned for a month.

Then more cases appeared.

One by one, pack members grew ill. Still heartbroken over my mother, my father hunted the sick to protect the rest of the pack. I joined him, and we spent our nights battling our own people. Friends. Former teachers. Wolves I’d known my whole life. By day, my father searched for a cure. He consulted with witches. He tasked Drute with finding ancient medical texts. He instructed Serge to ask the gods for mercy. It never came. And one night, a pair of moonstruck wolves overpowered him. Before he could get his feet under him, the wolves ripped his head from his shoulders. By the time Drute and I found my father, the moonstruck wolves had savaged his body so badly that his immortality couldn’t revive him.

“I know this is difficult to hear,” Brader continued, his voice yanking me from my memories. “And I understand your reluctance to relinquish your position. You’re the first female alpha in a hundred years. Of course you’re proud of that, and you should be. But not at the expense of the people you swore to protect. Selfishness is an undesirable trait in an alpha, Zara.”

I couldn’t hold back my gasp. In a flash, my blood went from cold to hot. “You have a lot of nerve coming onto my lands and calling me selfish.”

“The solution to your problem is obvious,” Brader said as if I hadn’t spoken. “You must take a mate.”

I knew my wolf glittered in my eyes as I held my ground, my stare locked with Brader’s. “Is that what you would do in my position? Faced with a crisis, find the first woman willing to marry you?” And this was a new fucking tactic on Brader’s part. Every other time he’d proposed marriage, he’d rattled off a list of benefits and amenities like a real estate agent selling a house. Apparently, he’d grown tired of hitting a dead end and had decided to change his approach to insults and misogyny .

Brader’s jaw tightened. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Really?” I made a show of looking at Drute. “Did you hear something different?”

“Enough, Zara,” Brader said, frustration flitting through his eyes. For a moment, he looked like he might reach for me. Then he glanced at Drute and appeared to think better of it.

I folded my arms—and cringed inwardly when my waterlogged clothes adhered to my skin. “I appreciate the advice, but I’m not in the market for a husband right now.”

Brader’s expression went stony. “A marriage between us makes sense. My father believed it, and so did yours. Our packs have been close for centuries. United, we can figure out what’s causing the moon sickness.”

“You don’t know that,” I said, dredging up the same counterarguments I’d used for the past year. “You claim I’m selfish. Trust me, Brader, if I thought walking down the aisle would stop moon sickness from killing my people, I would have already done it.” I shook my head. “My answer is no. Uniting our packs won’t solve anything.”

Silence fell. Brader’s blue gaze stayed steady, his normally affable demeanor replaced with something hard and brittle.

“It’ll buy you protection,” he said finally. Without breaking my stare, he gestured toward the forest around us. “I crossed your border today, and you had no idea. I didn’t encounter a single Rockford wolf when I stepped onto your lands. I walked right up to the house, and no one tried to stop me.”

My heart beat faster. I drew an unsteady breath as fresh humiliation washed through me. Again, denial was pointless. Lately, just about everything seemed pointless.

“You don’t have enough people to defend your territory,” Brader continued. “I’m offering you partnership and mutual respect.” For the briefest moment, Brader’s gaze roamed, touching on my hair and chest before returning to my face. “Things could be good between us, Zara. You’re not indifferent to me.”

My cheeks heated. “I’ll think about it,” I said. Anything to stop him from reminding me of youthful mistakes I preferred to forget.

He looked like he wanted to argue—or remind me of those mistakes. Instead, he stepped backward. “All right.” With a curt nod toward Drute, he turned and strode up the path. Minutes later, he took a hard right and entered the forest without a backward glance.

I exhaled slowly. “I offended him.”

Drute made a noncommittal sound. “Ashcroft is proud. But he has a point.”

Disbelief shot through me. “Are you serious?” I asked, turning to Drute.

The big gargoyle’s features were as fierce as ever, but his voice was gentle as he said, “We’ve lost half the pack. And I won’t be around forever. My term of service is drawing to a close, child.”

A lump formed in my throat. “I haven’t been a child for a long time.”

He smiled, showing the tips of his fangs. “Sixty-five is nothing to me. Besides, I knew you when you were a troublemaker with golden pigtails.” His smile grew. “And a teenage troublemaker with a bad attitude.”

The lump burned. “That’s true.” Drute had been present when I was born—and every day since. No one was more loyal. Devotion was an integral part of his being. Once they bonded with a family, gargoyles were steadfast guardians and advisors. I wasn’t certain how I was going to function without Drute. But like it or not, I was going to find out.

I cleared my throat. “I’m not sure my attitude has improved all that much.”

Drute reached out a claw-tipped finger and caught the tear that spilled down my cheek. “You’re doing the best you can under pressure, Alpha.” His broad shoulders lifted as he sighed. “But my point stands. I’ll return to my plane before the year is out. And you know I can’t come back.”

The reminder was unnecessary. I’d thought of little else over the past few months. And maybe Brader was right about me. It was selfish to want Drute to remain at my side forever. He’d served my family for just shy of five centuries, earning his immortality. The catch was that he could only claim unending life in his own world. And once he crossed back to his plane, the portal connecting our two realms would slam shut behind him, preventing his return for any reason.

An ache shot across my heart. More tears threatened, but I blinked them away before they could fall. Drute had every right to celebrate his freedom. I wouldn’t ruin it by sobbing on his shoulder.

“You deserve every bit of happiness coming your way,” I said. “You’ve sacrificed a great deal for the pack.”

As he always did, Drute brushed off five hundred years of servitude with a shrug. “The gods will it that way. My people accept our bondage, and our lands thrive because of it.”

Not for the first time, I imagined the otherworldly plane Drute sometimes described. The gargoyle lands were steeped in perpetual twilight, with skies forked with constant lightning and grand homes carved from soaring granite mountains. According to Drute, his world flourished when gargoyles served with honor on the earth plane. When they broke their vows, the gargoyle plane suffered.

Drute sobered. “I don’t want to leave you with this moon sickness epidemic on your plate. Brader Ashcroft isn’t wrong about your father. Reinald believed the two of you would make a good match.”

A sigh built in my chest. Two years ago, I might have done what Drute and everyone else wanted and married Brader. He brought numbers, as well as important connections with the other alphas on the Council. With Brader’s wolves protecting my borders, I could focus on figuring out the cause behind the moon sickness. But losing my parents had given me a new perspective. I was immortal, yes, but I wasn’t invincible. Life was more fragile than I’d realized. I couldn’t waste it with a man I didn’t love. And I couldn’t hand over my father’s pack and let the Rockford name die out. If that made me weak or selfish, so be it.

“I can’t do it,” I told Drute.

“I thought you might say that. So, we should consider another option.”

I stood close enough to Drute to see my shocked expression reflected in his dark eyes. “I have another option?”

He nodded. “The Firstborn Games. The competition starts a week from tomorrow.”

Apprehension slid down my spine. The Games were no joke. They occurred just once every two hundred years—probably because it took a couple of centuries for anyone to work up the nerve to compete again. The competition was intense, sometimes deadly. But the prize was always rare and invaluable.

“People have died in the Games,” I said.

Drute stroked his jaw, the rasp of his palm against his cheek like stone grinding against stone. “It’s a risk, to be sure. But I’d go with you. And this year’s prize is worth considering.”

“What is it?”

“A dram of the Elixir of Vozgadach. Brewed by the ancient demon wizard of the same name.”

“As in, the Vozga demons?” The demon kingdoms numbered in the thousands. It was impossible to memorize them all, but my father insisted I know the most important ones. Most among the Firstborn Races viewed demons with disdain. Mortal, they existed on the fringes of Firstborn society. But they could channel like vampires, which made them effective messengers. And since they weren’t part of the Firstborn Races, they were the ideal choice for running the Games. The Vozga were known for being philosophers and magicians, and they took their name from the legendary wizard whose potions continued to stump modern-day spellweavers.

“That’s right,” Drute said. “Vozgadach’s magic was one of a kind. His elixir is so potent and precious, the Vozga change its location every hour. It’s shocking that they’ve agreed to part with even a dram of it. I imagine the goddess supervising the Games agreed to give them something important in exchange for their generosity.”

“What does the elixir do?” I asked.

“A person who ingests it receives a single wish with no limitations.” Drute leveled a look at me, his horns glinting in the fading light. “ None , Zara. If you won the Games and drank the elixir, you could wish for all the money in the world. Or your father’s return from the dead.”

My breath caught.

Drute’s dark eyes gleamed. “You could wish for the Rockford Pack to be forever immune from moon sickness.”

Now, my reflection in Drute’s eyes showed wonder…and resolve. “I could save the pack.” Not only would I save my people, no one would ever question my ability to lead again.

Drute waited for my decision.

“Where are the Games being held this time?” I asked.

“South America, in the Amazon rainforest.”

I squared my shoulders. “When do we leave?”