Destiny Kills (Myth and Magic 1)

I scratched my back with my good hand and glanced around the room again, spotting a door at the far end. I took a deep breath, then began a careful walk toward the door. The caution paid off, because the axwielding gnomes made no further protest.

A wide, marble tile floor lay beyond the grand old room in which I’d woken. Stairs curved upward about halfway down the hall to my left, and an ornate entrance foyer and doorway lay to my right. Beyond the stairs there were more doors, and the smell of coffee was suddenly, tantalizingly close.

I followed my nose and eventually found a kitchen that seemed big enough to fit a regular-sized house in. Trae wasn’t there, but he

had been. His tangy scent clung to the air, as tempting and rich as the aroma of the coffee.

A timeworn percolator sat on a bench at the far end of the kitchen, and beside it, a sheet of paper held down by a coffee cup.

I walked across and poured myself a drink, then tore open the sugar packets Trae had left near the percolator. Once I’d fortified myself with a sip of the strong, sweet liquid, I finally read the note.

Gone to get some supplies, it said. Be careful and stay put. Trae’s elegant—almost extravagant—signature followed, as well as the time. I looked around for a clock, but there was none to be found. Still, given the way the sun streamed in through the kitchen window, it couldn’t be much past four. Which meant he hadn’t been gone long when I’d woken.

But how long had I been out? I had no idea, but that wasn’t exactly an unusual state for me lately. I absently scratched my leg as I glanced at the kitchen window and studied the long sweep of wildness that had obviously once been a lovingly manicured garden. Was this another of his previously scouted locations? Or had my getting shot forced him to find suitable accommodations fast?

If it was the latter, he certainly had a knack for finding high-class, abandoned properties. There can’t have been many places around like this. Good land was getting scarcer and scarcer these days—especially prized plots near lakes or the sea.

Places like my mother’s ancestral home in Loch Ness. Her family had lived there for hundreds of years, using the loch’s deep, dark waters as not only a safe place to give birth, but a sort of “winter home” when the storms made the sea a dangerous place to be.

Not all sea dragons did this, of course. Most simply migrated to calmer, warmer waters during the winter months. But Mom’s lands on the loch had been her pride and joy—a place where she and her family could be themselves without worry or concern. And the good thing was, even if a dragon form was occasionally spotted, the legend of the monster covered it amply enough.

But then the scientists had come. Taking her and taking her lands, all without a quibble from the uncles and aunts I could barely remember now. Even Dad didn’t discuss them, though I have vague memories of him arguing with a man whose hair was as blue as the rich Pacific waters. Dad hadn’t been happy with him, and I think it was because they refused to help Mom.

Sea dragons didn’t live in large family groups, as air dragons seemed to, but that didn’t mean there was no contact, no closeness. I’d seen my uncles and my aunts many times in the brief few years that we had lived in peace on the loch’s shore. But then Mom was taken, Dad had fled with me—at Mom’s insistence, apparently—and the visits had stopped. Except for that one visit from the man with the blue hair.

I drank my coffee and stared blindly out the window, seeing nothing, and trying not to think about anything, just letting the coffee and the sunshine work its magic on my cold, itchy body. By the time I reached the bottom of the cup, I felt a little more “human” and a lot less shaky. I poured myself another, and decided to undertake a little exploration.

The remaining rooms on the first floor consisted of a huge butler’s pantry, a dining room, what looked to be a study, and, off that, a library. There was also a huge bathroom that looked to have become home to generations of seabirds, thanks to several smashed windows. A fresh wind trailed in, whisking away the clinging, musty aroma of bird. I moved on. The sweeping stairs—which I took extremely slowly because the gnomes with the axes weren’t finished with me yet, no matter what I might have thought—led up to another living area, a huge bathroom and five large bedrooms. From the master bedroom, the sea was visible, a broad sweep of white-capped blue that had my soul singing. I could live here, I thought, as I opened the window and breathed the sharp, salty scent. It rushed deep into my lungs, and flushed both strength and longing through my body.

My gaze ran back from the sea, following a barely visible path from the cliff tops to the property’s fence line. I could get there if I wanted to. If I needed to.

And I would need to, soon.

The sound of a car drawing closer had me leaning farther out the window. But I couldn’t see the driveway or the property’s main gate, so I walked as quickly as my aching head would allow into the living room and peered out the windows there. An old gray car had stopped near the gate, and a figure in a black shirt and dark jeans was hunkered down near one gate post, doing God knows what. After a moment, he rose, and the sunlight ran through his hair, making it gleam like finely spun gold.

He walked back to the car, but paused before getting in, his gaze sweeping the house and coming to rest on my window. He smiled and gave a half wave, then got back into the car. I checked my own wave, and tried to stop grinning.

For God’s sake, I didn’t even know this man. I should be acting with a bit of decorum—and caution—not like some giddy schoolgirl in the flush of a first teenage crush.

Not that I’d actually had any teenage crushes. I’d been far too aware of my differences—and the need for caution—to ever get too attracted to anyone at my school. Especially when I was the only dragon—sea or air—among them.

I turned away from the window and headed back downstairs. Yet the minute Trae walked in the back door carrying a fistful of plastic bags in one hand and a laptop in the other, my silly grin broke loose and my pulse rate went into overdrive.

“Hey, darlin’, nice to see you up and about so soon.” He dumped everything on the counter, then looked me up and down somewhat critically. “You’re still looking a bit peaked, though.”

The concern in his voice and eyes sent a delicious tingle scampering across my skin. “Getting shot will do that to a girl. Where are we?”

“In a big old abandoned house that I just happen to own.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And how would a thief be able to afford this place? It must be worth a fortune, even in its current condition.”

“I told you, I’m a very good thief.” There was a glint in his eyes that was all cheek. “And it’s just perfect for the brood I intend to have one day.”

“If you can find a woman to put up with you long enough to produce a brood,” I said wryly.

“Oh, I’ll find her.” His gaze caught mine, holding it, and suddenly there was something very serious deep in those bright depths. Something that made me want to dance. “And when I do, she won’t want to get away from me. Trust me on that.”

That had almost sounded like a warning. “I think the over-inflated ego I mentioned earlier is rearing its ugly head again.”