Charred Heart (#1, Heart of Fire) Read online

  Mason was quiet for a moment then stepped close enough for her to feel his body heat. He touched the marking with a thumb.

  “Weird,” he said quietly. “I, uh, take it he bit you there?”

  “How do you know that?”

  Stepping away, she heard the sound of his jeans being unzipped and turned. He’d pushed his shirt up high enough for her to see how flat his abs and lower belly were. Her gaze drifted downwards.

  “You shave everything down there?” she asked, smiling.

  “Yep.”

  Her gaze went to the black mark he wore on the sensitive skin just above his penis. It was black, in the same simple design style as hers, of a great cat.

  “I thought for sure my dick was gonna fall off when it started itching. Then when the skin fell off …” he shook his head. “Anyway, she bit me there.”

  “But what does it mean?” she asked.

  “Maybe they do this to everyone they sleep with?” Mason shrugged and pulled his pants up, zipping them once more.

  “We would’ve seen that before, if so. Somewhere in the library or in all our training.” She sighed and touched the back of her neck. The new skin around the raised tattoo was silky soft. “I mean, is this gonna kill us?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve had mine for like two months.”

  “We could ask Caleb,” she said grudgingly, referring to the oldest of the slayers and the head trainer who had brought in hundreds of shifters before retiring to teach new slayers.

  “Or not,” Mason muttered. “He flips out when we fail to make quota. He’d ban us if he found out we slept with a shifter.”

  “Especially me,” she agreed. “Pretty sure Dillon told his daddy that I dumped him. So, what do we do?”

  Mason met her gaze, thoughtful.

  “Nothing?” he guessed.

  She sighed and nodded. “Does the itching stop now?”

  “Should. Mine did.”

  “Maybe we should drop by Caleb’s just to see if we can dig through the historical records. Discreetly.”

  “Sounds good. Let me suggest it, though, or Dillon will think something’s up.” Mason winked and opened the door, walking out of the bathroom.

  Skylar rolled her eyes and counted to ten before following him. She looked out of the window without seeing any shifters waiting for her. Dillon stood when she approached the table and gathered up their files.

  “We’re going to my dad’s,” he informed her.

  “Whatever you say.”

  He ignored her. Mason gave a trace of a smile and handed her the cup of coffee.

  Skylar trailed them out and down the street, reaching the car before the tattoo itched faintly again. She rubbed it and looked around, sensing that this time, it was a shifter making her itch and not irritated skin.

  She saw no one following but couldn’t shake the sense someone was.

  Climbing in the truck, she kept her eyes on the streets as Dillon took them a circuitous route through the downtown and suburbs towards the east, away from Phoenix. The housing divisions thinned out. Dillon turned down a gravel road leading to several large estates hidden past low, stone gates and desert landscaped front yards.

  He pulled into the familiar driveway leading to his father’s home and drove to the sprawling Santa Fe style house. He stopped the car in the crescent driveway.

  Skylar got out, grimacing at the heat of the late summer sun.

  Not looking forward to the visit, she nonetheless suspected Caleb was the only one who might have the answers she needed in his library. She and Mason followed Dillon inside the house.

  “Going to the library,” she said before Dillon could maneuver her into meeting his sour father. She strode down the hallway to the left, hearing Mason’s soft footfall behind her.

  The library was quiet and empty. It was the largest room in the house, taking up one whole wing. Books lined the walls from ceiling to floor while a central glass cabinet displayed hundreds, if not thousands, of small stone animals and creatures. A black one caught her attention, and she walked through tables to the glass cabinet. One of the charms inside was of a black dragon that looked too much like the tattoo on her neck for her comfort. Her eyes swept over the cluttered collection. They were all animals or mythical creatures like dragons, unicorns and griffins. She’d seen the collection every time she entered Caleb’s house but never paid too much attention to it, assuming the man in his prime had a weird fetish for collecting animal charms.

  Today, however, the collection was making her uneasy, and she didn’t know why.

  “Where do you want to start?” Mason asked, standing a short distance away and looking around the massive library.

  Skylar reluctantly left the case to stand beside Mason.

  “Needle in a haystack,” she responded, overwhelmed by the size of their task. “So what if we just stop hunting these guys?”

  “They burn down cities and attack innocent people, yadda yadda,” Mason said. “Like our instructors told us about the legends from our past.”

  “Yeah. Powder keg. If we don’t keep them in check, no one will,” she recited the canned words her trainers used to tell her.

  “We give them a chance to turn themselves in.”

  “Sometimes I think it’s too generous, if they’re that dangerous.”

  “Could be. Guess we gotta be fair.”

  “Sometimes what we do doesn’t make sense,” she grumbled.

  “Heaven forbid we question what we learn at The Field,” he agreed, referring to the training and rehabilitation center where all slayers and captured shifters went.

  “I guess we don’t have a choice. Born to be what we are.”

  “On that cheerful note, grab a book and start reading!”

  Skylar went to the nearest bookshelf, aware the collection was arranged by topic. She breathed in the rich scent of books, admiring the different members of the collection. Some were hundreds of years old bound in wood while others were newer additions with modern dust jackets. Multiple languages made their search even more complicated.

  “Tell me what you need, and I’ll tell you where it is,” Caleb’s smooth, low voice came from the entrance of the library.

  Skylar turned to face him, not expecting to find the eyes of Dillon’s father on her. Dillon was built much like his father, though he lacked the hardness of experience that characterized Caleb’s features.

  “We’re having trouble tracking them,” she said.

  “Dillon should’ve given you everything I gave him about tracking, and you had a source giving you information. You found them, didn’t you?” Caleb asked.

  “And lost them again,” she said. “What we did last time isn’t working this time. The source stopped talking.” She faced the shelf again, reading through the different subjects slowly.

  Caleb was quiet. She held her breath, hoping he left them alone or at least, gave them a few references. She didn’t hear his silent step or register he was behind her until he lifted her ponytail.

  Skylar started to whirl. The most experienced shifter slayer with hundreds of rehabbed shifters under his belt reacted faster than her. Bracing his forearm against her shoulders, Caleb shoved her up against the shelf. His other hand lifted her hair enough for him to run a finger over the tattoo.

  “Interesting,” he said.

  She slammed her elbow back, and he released her. With a glare, she spun to face him.

  “He marked you. Did anyone else see him do it?” Caleb asked.

  She gazed at him for a long moment, before deciding he was probably the only one who might have the answers she and Mason needed.

  “I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “There were tons of shifters in the bar where this one grabbed me.” She touched the tattoo absently.

  “There’s only one dragon shifter left and one dragon slayer in existence. The rest have been tracked and rehabilitated,” Caleb said. He crossed his arms. “I’d say he’s got a plan.”

  That’
s not good. “What does the mark mean?” she ventured.

  Mason joined them.

  “It means he can track you.”

  “Why?”

  Caleb shrugged. “Maybe so he knows you’re coming for his head?”

  “So this Chace is the last dragon and Skylar is the last dragon slayer,” Mason said. “Now he knows when she’s looking for him.”

  Skylar shifted, her instincts wriggling. She didn’t know why the idea of Chace being the last bothered her. Or was it the thought of killing him? She’d been trained for this, but she hoped that he’d come willingly. Her instructors at The Field assured their students that only one shifter in the past hundred years had refused to come willingly and been killed.

  Chace hadn’t seemed like the stone cold, heartless killer that shifters were supposed to be but neither had he seemed like someone interested in being rehabilitated. He’d let her go after marking her. If he wanted to ensure his own life, why not end hers?

  “You want to find him, make him come to you,” Caleb advised.

  “How do you recommend I do that?” she asked, surprised.

  “He marked you for a reason. It doesn’t just happen.”

  She exchanged a look with Mason, who had grown pale.

  “Sky!” Dillon’s excited voice came from the hallway. “We got your dragon. He’s setting fire to buildings west of Phoenix.”

  For a moment, she was too startled to move. Adrenaline kicked in and she bolted towards the door.

  “Don’t forget your tools!” Caleb called after her.

  She waved to indicate she had the golden lasso and the slender knife made from a dragon scale, the only weapon that would kill a dragon, if he didn’t come quietly.

  The idea of seeing him again filled her with a different kind of thrill, one that left her insides humming with warmth.

  Dillon ran to their vehicle, and Mason was quick on her heels. The three of them piled into the SUV and within minutes, they were back on the highway, cutting across Phoenix to the western suburbs.

  “So he just started burning shit down?” Skylar asked, leaning forward from her spot in the front seat.

  “Looks like it,” Dillon said tersely. “Someone radioed it in. He’s targeting some sort of storage building or warehouse or something.”

  “Wow,” Mason said. “I wonder why.”

  “Maybe he snapped,” Dillon said. “Pops said when that happens, they’re beyond the ability to save.”

  Her pulse raced.

  “You up for this, Sky?” Dillon asked.

  “Yeah, totally. I’ve waited my whole life for this.”

  “Hopefully he’s in his human form. Otherwise, it might be hard to get him,” Mason said. “He’s gotta be the size of this SUV.”

  “I told you he was big.” She swallowed hard. She hadn’t considered what she’d do if she had to corner him in his dragon form. Shifters were hard enough to work with as humans. She’d helped the others corral other shifters, but never anything as big as a dragon. The biggest they’d seen was a bear the size of a Ford Focus. But this dragon was old. Ancient even, which meant he was probably closer to the size of a VW wagon.

  She began to pray her eyes had been tricking her when she first saw him flying over the bar, the night they met. She’d convinced herself he wasn’t as big as she initially thought. Mason’s words reminded her that she’d thought him far bigger than they assessed.

  All her training at The Field was going to be needed to capture him.

  “Not chickening out, are you?” Dillon bated.

  “No. Never. You guys will be there to back me up anyway, right?”

  “Definitely,” Mason replied.

  Dillon was silent.

  At least I have Mason. Skylar sat back, unease drifting through her.

  They saw the smoke from the fire miles before they reached it. Local fire engines were already at the scene when Dillon pulled up, and they joined a few onlookers crowded near the truck.

  Skylar engaged her extra senses, trying to pick up the elusive shifter’s essence among the sensations around her. The tattoo itched once more.

  “This looks like a normal fire. Split up?” Dillon suggested. “Don’t engage, just look?”

  “Yeah,” Mason agreed. He pulled a small case free from his pocket that contained ear buds and tiny microphones. He handed one of each to them.

  Skylar placed her ear bud in then loosened her ponytail to hide her ears. She clipped the microphone to her bra strap then reached to the back of her neck.

  “Would you stop scratching?” Dillon grumbled. “It drives me crazy.”

  “Hey, at least we always know when someone is watching us,” Mason said cheerfully.

  “Exactly. I’m like an itchy radar system,” Skylar agreed. She looked around at the warehouse area, trying to pick up some sense of where she should start looking.

  A faint instinct guided her to the buildings on the far side of the compound, away from the fire and excitement. Just as quickly, the sense was gone.

  “I’ll try that way,” she said, pointing. “Meet back at the car in like an hour?”

  “Yeah. Stay in contact,” Dillon said.

  She nodded, distracted by the attempt to track him. With a glance over her shoulder, she trotted towards the far side of the compound. Dillon was circling the fire to get to the buildings behind it while Mason headed towards the other building in this aisle.

  She slowed when she reached the walkway between two buildings and paused halfway down, instincts unsuccessfully trying to locate the dragon shifter.

  Hell, I slept with him and didn’t pick him up consistently. She shook her head, not wanting that memory to return.

  “Nothing yet,” she said softly.

  “I’m not even sensing a shifter at all,” Mason seconded.

  “Nada here,” came Dillon’s voice.

  She reached the end of the walkway and stepped out into the open area between the chain link fencing and buildings. Walking to the fences, she scanned the desert and the road just beyond a patch of saguaros and squat mesquite trees.

  “Think he jumped the fence?” she asked.

  “Or flew over it,” Mason said with a quiet laugh.

  “You know what I mean,” she replied.

  “Is it just me or is this shifter super complicated?” Dillon complained.

  “Yeah, seems about right,” Mason agreed.

  She rolled her eyes, reading Mason’s tone. With Dillon on the line, though, she couldn’t retort the way she wanted to.

  Instead, she turned and stopped short of moving.

  “Oh, shit,” she breathed.

  Chace was leaning against one of the buildings with his muscular arms crossed, watching her like a hunter ready to pounce. His head was lowered, his dark blue gaze piercing, and his deceptively relaxed form a breath away from snapping. She knew how lean and strong he was from exploring his body with her hands, but seeing him in full daylight made her a little less sure about getting the lasso over his head. She wasn’t going to win in a wrestling match, not with his long, lean limbs, the thick biceps and thighs, and the width of his shoulders and chest. He’d have her pinned beneath him in seconds, the way he had two weeks ago in bed.

  The sight of him sent a streak of cold fear and a shot of hot desire through her, and the tattoo on her neck grew warm. As she had the night they met, she sensed her desire to lasso him and drag him to The Field melting under his intensity. What was it about him that made a lifetime of training simply … disappear?

  Not expecting to find him, it took her a moment to recover.

  “I see you got my invitation,” he said when she didn’t speak. His honeyed growl was about as welcoming as his stance, and she had a hard time reconciling the bristling shifter before her with the tender man she slept with.

  “So you wanted me to find you,” she said.

  “You’ve been following me, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What now?” />
  “Well.” She swallowed, self-conscious under his direct gaze, and withdrew the lasso. “I’m supposed to bring you in.”

  His gaze fell to the gold rope in her hand. “With that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You can give it a try.”

  “You’re coming in voluntarily?” she asked, not expecting his response.

  “If that thing works, sure. Is it magic?”

  How does he know nothing about slayers? “Wow, okay,” she said. “It goes around your neck.”

  He lifted his chin in a silent summons but didn’t move from his spot or change his unwelcoming stance.

  The idea of getting close enough to lasso him suddenly didn’t seem like such a good idea when he was regarding her like she was a wounded gazelle. After a brief hesitation, she approached him and stopped as far as she could while still being able to reach him.

  “What happens next?” he asked.

  “This controls your magic, and I take you in to The Field,” she replied, holding up the lasso. “May I?”

  The arms dropped from their defensive position across his chest, and he straightened.

  “If you can track me, why invite me here?” she asked, waiting for him.

  “Track you?”

  She frowned, gazing up at him. “You didn’t know that?”

  “News to me.”

  “And you know nothing about this?” She shook the soft rope.

  “Nope. After you lasso me, what do you do?”

  Something isn’t right here. She paused. The lasso would make him almost human, unable to shift or use his magic. She’d seen it used on the few shifters she helped Mason and Dillon catch.

  “I take you to the oldest of my kind, and he resettles you when you’re no longer a threat to people,” she answered. “How do you not know this?”

  “How can a dragon slayer not track a dragon?”

  “We did. We just lost you again after …” she cleared her throat, face warm. “Let’s get this over with.” She stretched forward and draped the lasso over his head. It settled around his neck. “That’s it.”

  She was close enough to draw his honey-bonfire scent into her senses, and she did so, ensnared by it like she had been when they slept together. Her body grew uncomfortably fevered.