There was no doubt that she’d happily cut out his liver and roast it for dinner.
How could his destined mate be an assassin determined to end his days?
Hadrian could have killed her in either form in self-defense. He might have done so if not for the combination of the firestorm’s light and the red string on her wrist. She wasn’t just his mate: she was in Maeve’s thrall. He’d learned to respect the Dark Queen’s powers. He knew that she could cast a spell to compel anyone to act against their own will—or arrange the situation so that making a deal was the only choice. He knew from personal experience that being bound to the Dark Queen’s command was horrific and that her bargains never ended in anyone else’s favor.
Killing him was probably what his mate had to do to gain her freedom. Hadrian couldn’t blame her for that.
But he wasn’t prepared to die just yet.
The white flame diminished to a glow, but it was still burning.
She hadn’t gone far.
Of course not. Her quest wasn’t completed.
Hadrian scanned his surroundings for a glimpse of her.
Nothing.
Well, nothing beyond what felt like a cold rock in his cheek. The place where she’d kissed him when they’d first met had become heavier and colder, like it had been reactivated by her presence. It was colder than anything he’d felt before and it seemed to spread frost through his muscles.
Hadrian forced himself to review what he knew. His mate could spontaneously disappear, which probably meant she could manifest wherever she wanted. He’d heard about Slayers who had been able to do that, but Rafferty was the only one of the Pyr with that ability. She was still close and he could follow the light of the firestorm to find her. He needed to have surprise on his side, though, to have a chance to negotiate. Surprise made her hesitate, and that’s what had saved his butt so far.
If he could surprise her again, they might be able to find another way to break the curse together. If he could help her gain her freedom in another way, she might be glad to fulfill the firestorm.
In that instant, he remembered that she’d dropped her knife in his bedroom.
Hadrian raced toward his lair, dove through the broken window and shifted shape en route. Balthasar and Alasdair stared in astonishment as he ran across the main room in human form, but stood back, just as he’d requested earlier in old-speak.
The dagger was in the bedroom and the bedroom was the perfect place to get close to his destined mate. He knew a few ways to surprise her there and smiled at the prospect.
The white light of the firestorm flared to greater brightness, feeding the burn of desire already thrumming in his veins, and Hadrian found himself feeling very persuasive.
The dagger was exactly where she’d dropped it.
Rania manifested in Hadrian’s bedroom and reached for the blade, smiling with satisfaction. She was a bit superstitious about weapons and had chosen this one particularly for a dragon slaying.
Her fingertips had just brushed the hilt when white light flared behind her. Even that warning wasn’t enough. She was attacked from behind before she could turn, and she knew who her assailant had to be. The dagger spun across the hardwood floor as Hadrian caught her up and flung her onto the bed. He trapped her beneath his weight, holding one wrist in each hand as she shifted shape over and over again. No matter whether she was swan or woman, he held fast. She could have manifested elsewhere, but she wasn’t leaving without her knife.
“Let go of me!” she demanded, feeling an old fear at a most inconvenient time.
“Promise to stay and I will,” he offered.
She studied him with skepticism. “Is that a joke?”
“Of course not. I want a chance to talk.”
She stopped shifting, remaining in her human form, and he smiled. “Talk fast,” she said and to her surprise, he did release her wrists.
Why would he trust her?
Hadrian braced himself over her, which didn’t give her much of a reprieve from that piercing gaze. “For starters, you’re my destined mate.”
“I’m your destiny,” Rania corrected hotly, but the gleam in his eyes wasn’t fear.
He continued with an alluring confidence. “And that means we’re stronger together.”
“You can’t know that. You don’t know anything about me.”
“But I do know that. The firestorm is always right.” He smiled a little. “Even when it seems to be wrong.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Kristofer’s firestorm was a spell, but when the spell was broken, he had a real firestorm with the same mate.” He nodded, convinced of his own logic. “The firestorm never lies.”
Rania was confused by his conviction, and by the firestorm. That white light sparked and sizzled around and between them, emitting a brilliant glow and making her think of better things they could be doing on the bed. She was hot and shivery at the same time, furious with him and wanting to wrap herself around him, too. She wriggled, feeling like her body was following his agenda instead of her own, and Hadrian’s gaze darkened.
“What’s your name?” he murmured.
She found his low voice more seductive than she wanted him to realize, so spoke sharply. “You don’t need to know.”
“But I want to know.” He bent over her, inhaling deeply of her scent and she felt his chest rumble with a little growl of satisfaction. Her nipples beaded and she almost sighed with pleasure. “So perfect,” he murmured, then touched his lips to the side of her throat. The almost-kiss made Rania’s heart leap as she gasped in surprise. Something melted deep inside her and her blood simmered.
She’d never kissed a dragon shifter before.
Having the opportunity was more enticing that it should have been. He was her intended victim! Killing him was the key to her freedom. But Rania closed her eyes and enjoyed his touch, all the same.
Maybe it was just strategic to find out a little more.
Hadrian grazed her earlobe with his teeth and Rania felt her lips part as he kissed her ear. His caress was so gentle that she couldn’t fight against him—and when he continued a trail of burning kisses along her throat, she could only enjoy. She closed her eyes, unable to think about anything other than smoking hot seduction.
Maybe just one taste.
Just to find out what it was like.
She turned her face toward him without intending to do any such thing and Hadrian kissed the corner of her mouth. His touch was so arousing that it made her forget everything—except wanting more.
“Tell me about the kiss of death,” he invited.
Rania’s eyes flew open but his mouth brushed over hers with captivating slowness. “I could give you another,” she threatened, but knew she sounded breathless. It wasn’t true anyway. She’d used up her last kiss of death.
That was the problem.
“Shouldn’t one do the job?”
“Yes.”
He grinned down at her, his eyes twinkling. He looked mischievous, cocky and a bit wicked, a combination that worked for Rania in a big way. “Then I don’t have anything to worry about, do I? The damage is done.” He touched his lips to hers again, coaxing her to participate in their embrace. “Tell me how it works,” he invited. He was over-confident, but Rania admired warriors too much to be immune to that trait.