Fire of a Dragon (Fallen Immortals 3) - Paranormal Fairytale Romance (9 page)

An hour before her temperature dropped down to normal. Normal for a dragon’s mate, at least. And an agonizing two more hours while she thrashed in some kind of dream state, alternating moans and mumbling. He couldn’t decide if they were from pain or pleasure. He brought her back to his lair, changed her into dry clothes, and made her as comfortable as he could. It didn’t seem to matter.

He never left her side, feeling each small torment as a strike against his heart.

Finally, in the greatest gush of relief he’d ever known… Arabella opened her eyes.

At first, Lucian couldn’t speak. He just stroked her hair and gazed in wonder at her beautiful, green eyes. She blinked in confusion and sleepiness at him. She was curled up on his bed—
their
bed—the covers twisted underneath her.

“Water,” she said, then coughed.

His heart seized. He’d never run so fast as he did to the bathroom and back, returning with a small paper cup that half sloshed on the bed before he managed to get it to her. She was struggling to sit up, so he helped her, once the cup was secure in her hands. They were shaking, but just a little.

It could have been worse. So much worse.

He held her while she gulped it down.

“More.” She handed it back to him, but at least now her voice sounded more normal.

He ran again, returning with two cups. She drank them both and slowly seemed to come back to him. He couldn’t help pulling her into his lap again, stroking her hair while she drank and just
touching
her—gently, softly, sparking magic and, he hoped, pleasure—anything to revive her and reassure himself that she was truly okay.

Then he girded himself for the words that had to come next. Because he was dead certain that doubts about him had brought this on, and he was determined to head this off, air whatever the issues were… before they could literally kill her.

Just as he mustered the courage to speak, she cut him off by crumpling the cups, tossing them over the side of the bed, and taking his face in both hands… and kissing him.

It was so surprising—and welcome—that he was instantly lost in it.

His hands wove into her hair, and his mouth reveled in hers. How he wished this was all that was required—that she could just know of his love by his touch. But obviously that wasn’t enough. And kissing her, in spite of her fervent exploration of his chest with her hands, was an indulgence he couldn’t afford.

He pulled back from the kiss.

“Arabella.”
His voice choked, and he stroked her hair again as he searched for words. “You have to tell me what caused this.”

She frowned. “Nothing caused it.”

“Is it the other women?” he asked, his chest tight.

She pulled back and gaped at him. “What other women?”

Oh,
fuck.
He gritted his teeth and forced it out. “The ones in Seattle. That night when I… when I thought I might force myself to… to mate with someone else. Cinaed told me you found out. That you thought—”

But she was rolling her eyes at him.
“Lucian.”
She pursed her lips.

He held his breath.

“Did you sleep with them?” she asked.

“No,” he said quickly. Maybe too quickly.

She raised one eyebrow.

“I swear upon my honor, Arabella, I did not…” He swallowed. “I did not technically have sex with them. It didn’t get that far. But I did… there was a brief time of…”
Sweet magic,
why couldn’t he force the words out?

“You messed around.” Her face was set like a stone.

“Yes.” He would sooner have spilled blood—a great quantity of blood—than utter that word.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“No!”

The arched eyebrow again. “Not even a little?”

“No. I just… I was trying to seduce them and…”

Both her eyebrows went up.

He hurried his words. “I was trying to seduce them and cause them pleasure, but there was none there for me. None except…” He swallowed again, ready to drown on these words. “Only when I was picturing
you,
my love. When it was
you
I was touching, only then did I have a fleeting moment of…” His mouth was working, but no more words were coming out.

Her face twisted with emotion, which confused him… and then she snorted a kind of ungracious laugh and shook her head. Which perplexed him completely.

Had the fever demented her? Had it stolen her mind?

She smiled wide, and it made him want to hide under the bed. “For the love of magic, Arabella,” he said, aghast. “Why are you laughing at me?”

That just made her laugh some more. She covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry!” she mumbled behind it. “I’m sorry.” The smile tamed a little, but the laugh still danced in her eyes. “It’s just that I can completely see it. It’s so totally
you,
Lucian.”

“What on earth do you mean?” Horror was squeezing down on his chest. This felt so completely unmoored from reality, he had no idea what was happening.

She spread her hands wide, the smile returning. “You were so determined to do what’s right—what’s noble and good and true—that you pushed away the woman you love so she wouldn’t get hurt.” She rested her hand on her belly, patting it in a loving way that captured his heart. “You couldn’t bear to see the people you love—another woman, another child—suffer, so you gave up everything. The chance at another five hundred years of life. The chance to be
happy,
even if only for a short while. You even tried to kill yourself—death by vampire!—all to keep me safe. Why? Because
you love me,
Lucian Smoke. I’ve known it from that first night you pushed me away, and I know it now with more certainty than any woman on earth has ever known such a thing.”

He just stared at her, amazed. How did this woman see so straight into his soul?

She dipped her head and gave him a mock scolding look. “You tried to run away from me, Lucian. You tried
so hard
to leave me to keep me safe. But even in the arms of other women, even in your dogged determination to fulfill your duty to the House of Smoke, you couldn’t help but think of
me.
You couldn’t help but love me.
Still.”

It was true. All of it.

He reached a hand out to touch her cheek—her skin sparked magic, and he was immeasurably relieved that it was the same temperature as his. “My love, there has to be something that caused the dragonfire to rage inside you. Some doubt you have about me, about our love—”

“I’m
not
having any doubts, Lucian!”

It pained him to press on, but he had to.
“Think,
my sweet Arabella. Is there some dark corner of your mind that worries about… something. Anything. Whatever it is, we have to find it and banish it.
Please, Arabella.
I can’t lose you… or the baby…” Emotion was choking him as he begged.

She sat up straighter on the bed, propped against the mound of pillows at the head, and crossing her legs to cradle her beautifully rounded belly.
Their son.

She was getting comfortable, but the look on her face was livid. “I am
not
losing this baby! You are
not
going to lose me. You need to knock this shit off, Lucian, because you’re starting to piss me off.”

“Arabella, I almost lost you
just now!”

“That wasn’t anything
I
did,” she threw at him, defensively. “It just flares up for no reason.”

“It’s
not
for no reason, my love. There has to be a reason. Just tell me what it is. I don’t want it to fester and then flare up and then steal you both from me just like…” He stopped himself cold.

“Just like Cara.” Her eyes narrowed.

“I didn’t mean…” He didn’t know what he meant.

“I am
not
your dead mate, Lucian.” Her face was pinking up, almost turning red with her anger, which struck a cold, dead fear through Lucian’s heart.

“No, my love, you’re not.” His voice was a chastened whisper.

Her fists were balled up, and she looked ready to pummel him. And she was biting her lip hard, as if she had words to say, but was holding them back.

“Whatever you have to say, my treasure…
say it.”
He braced himself.

She chewed on her lip some more.

He waited.

Finally, she said, “Do you know why Cara died?”

He blinked. It was possibly the last thing he expected out of her mouth. “I… I killed her…” He couldn’t breathe. Was this what she feared? That he would repeat that horror with her?
“Arabella.
I’d sooner fall on an angel blade than… I would never…”

But she waved him off. “Of course not. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying
do you know?
What
really
killed her?”

For the second time, he wondered if the fever had taken her mind when it left. He just stared at her.

“It was Zephan.” The biting cold of her voice speared right through him.

“What?”
he sputtered. “Arabella, I was there. I lived through—”

“No.”
She clambered up on her knees, her hands gripping his shoulders for support as she balanced on the bed, face to face, holding him prisoner with her intense gaze. “You tried to
save
her. But the thing that was killing her—the wound in her soul—that was caused by Zephan. I love you, Lucian Smoke, but I have something I have to tell you. You
have
to understand this.”

He just nodded because he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Zephan seduced Cara.”

“What?”
He drew back, but her hands were locked hard on his shoulders, not letting him go. “That’s not possible…” But the trickle of recognition was already worming its way into his mind. Cara had changed—before the fever, before the baby tried to fight its way out of her body—something had happened, and she had fallen into a terrible despair. All along, Lucian had believed that was the point at which she had begun to doubt his love for her, despite his fervent reassurances. He never knew
why.
He never knew what triggered it.

“I’m sorry,” Arabella was saying, again and again. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you. I don’t know how exactly it happened, but Zephan raped her. That fucking mental rape thing he does where he makes you want it. It’s fucking horrible, and it wasn’t her fault. Believe me, I
know
that. But afterward, I’m sure it just flat-out destroyed her, from the inside out. That was his intent with it. He didn’t want to fuck her. He may be a fae prince, but he’s just like every other abusive rapist I’ve seen in my practice—he wanted to
hurt
her.
Control her.
And he did it in the most devastating way possible. I’m sure she felt like she couldn’t tell you—that’s just how rape victims are. It messes with your head. I’ve seen it so many times. And
that…
that’s what triggered her doubts. That’s what killed her, Lucian.”

The horror of it truly seized him. “I failed to protect her.” All the pain was coming surging back. All the dark horror of it. “I failed to keep the fae from her.”

“No.”
She gripped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her. “You failed to keep the fae from me as well. He’s fucking
powerful,
Lucian. You couldn’t have stopped him. And now, with me, he’s been doing everything he can to drive us apart. But you know what?
He failed.”

Lucian blinked, still being pulled into that blackness he fell into after Cara died. “He failed?”

Arabella spoke through gritted teeth. “He tried to seduce me—fucking
twice
with his mental games and his glamour—and I was able to resist. Able to see through it, somehow. I don’t know how… except I know that my love for you is
real.
This whole thing about True Love? I believe in that like you can’t even imagine, because I’ve seen it work.
Felt it,
Lucian. Even now, even as the dragonfire was consuming me, do you know what stopped it?”

“What?” He was held captive by her words.

“Love.”
She said it fiercely, like a quiet battle cry. “My love for you and this baby of ours has a magic all its own—a
powerful
magic—and that love reached inside me and quenched that fire. You and Leonidas helped, but I had to make that final leap myself. And I could because my love for you is True, through and through.
That’s why it worked.
Don’t you see?”

He was nodding with her words—because of course, they made sense. True Love was a force unto itself, but when bound to the magic of the treaty, it carried a fae level of magical power. But he was struck mute by what she was saying. How could he have not seen this before?

“You are
mine,
Lucian Smoke. I’ve known it from the beginning. I don’t love you for what you do, but for
who you are.
This broken, noble man—a person so good, he’d rather fall on an angel blade than cause me any pain. I didn’t even know someone like you could exist. But now that I do, I’ve claimed you for my own, and I am
never
letting you go. Now knock off this business of doubting my love for you! That’s never going to change, and you’re stuck with me.”

Tears threatened his eyes, and his hands had minds of their own, sliding fast up into her hair and pulling her face to him. He kissed her, again and again, and with such need, such love, that he felt he might die just from the completeness of it. It wrecked him, body and soul, and he dared to hope, for the very first time, that this might actually be his life. He might truly have won her.

That she might live after all.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered against her cheek as he brushed his lips there, across her jaw, down her neck…

“Well, you have me anyway,” she said with a light laugh in her voice that made his heart soar.

“Not the way I want,” he said, a huskiness in his voice speaking his meaning for him.

“Oh?” she asked, tipping her head back to give him better access to her neck, where his gentle kisses were quickly turning more fervent as he tasted her and nipped at her delicious body. “How do you want me?”

“Naked at the edge of my bed,” he said hoarsely. He magicked away her clothes and his, and then lifted her bottom, gentle with her rounded belly between them, but determined to tip her back and move her into a position where he could take her as quickly as possible. His need to be inside her had never been so urgent.