Fire Maidens: Portugal Page 2
Tears filled her eyes, and she nearly cried, No fair.
Until recently, she had been a normal human, working a normal job in a normal place. Then, one night, she’d shifted out of the blue. Ever since, she’d been desperately looking for help. Her only lead had been a grumpy old eagle shifter living in a remote cabin in Vermont. He’d begrudgingly explained the basics, terrifying as those were. Then he’d advised her to follow her roots to Portugal and mentioned a shifter to contact. So, she’d booked a flight and ended up in Lisbon, desperate to find someone who could guide her. She’d been waiting for days to be granted an audience with the Guardians, a group of shifters who controlled the city.
If anyone can help you, the Guardians can, everyone had promised.
But the Guardians were too busy to make time for her, so she’d been waiting…and waiting…
Waiting too long? She grimaced. Now, she was well and truly screwed. Especially now that she’d reached the mouth of the river and was flying out over the open Atlantic. What did she possibly hope to accomplish there?
She wheeled around, intent on getting back to the city. Maybe she could touch down somewhere, shift into human form, and disappear into a crowd. But the male dragon didn’t let up, toying with her in cruel, cat-and-mouse games. First, he snapped at her tail, and when she tried to twist away, he slapped her wings with his. Her scream of frustration came out as a snarl, but the male only laughed.
“You’re a feisty one. So much fun.”
She tore the air with her claws, driving him back. But when she glanced up, she spotted another dragon speeding toward her from the city.
God, no. Did her attacker have a friend? Or, worse. Was that a vampire on wings?
Much as her stomach roiled, she forced herself to fly directly at it. Maybe a game of chicken could work. If she ducked out of the oncoming dragon’s way at the last possible second, her two foes might collide, giving her time to escape. That was a long shot, but what else could she do?
Even her know-it-all dragon didn’t come up with an alternative, so she flew on, grim as a kamikaze pilot.
The newcomer rushed toward her, unperturbed, and it took everything she had not to veer off course.
Can we turn now? her nerves cried as they came ever closer.
The ruby at her neck warmed, and she squinted into the whipping wind. Not yet.
As seconds ticked by, the oncoming dragon rushed ever closer. His hide was the color of burnished brass, and his eyes glowed blue in the dark. A beautiful, intense peacock hue she couldn’t help noticing.
Dodge aside, her dragon ordered, losing its nerve.
She shook her head. Not yet.
“Marco,” the male behind her hissed.
“Duarte,” the oncoming dragon boomed into the night.
Neither sounded too pleased, but dammit, neither was she.
Obviously, the two males knew each other. Duarte, the prick who’d chased her the whole time, and Marco, the newcomer. Were they friends or enemies? Either way, the distance between them closed quickly.
“Move, louca!” the dragon behind her called.
Laura gritted her teeth. She was not crazy, and she refused to be the first to give in.
At her neck, her ruby emanated warmth, giving her courage.
Marco, the newcomer, didn’t look like he was going to budge, though. Which was good, in a way. If she dodged at exactly the right moment, he and Duarte would collide. If she misjudged her timing, on the other hand, she could die.
Another split second went by before she hollered to her dragon side.
Now!
In one heart-stopping maneuver, she rolled left.
Behind her, Duarte rolled right. Marco, the new arrival, zoomed straight between them, cool and collected as James Bond.
For a moment, Laura wobbled, unable to tell up from down. Then she hightailed it back toward the city, fully expecting the two males to attack her as a team. But the roar that thundered through the sky wasn’t aimed at her, so she risked a glance back.
Whoosh! A long plume of dragon fire ripped through the night.
Laura’s jaw dropped. Marco had turned on Duarte, setting off an all-out battle.
Laura slowed down, not quite ready to believe. Apparently, the two dragons were rivals. Fierce rivals, given the way they slashed, bit, and spat fire. They spun in circles, lunging, retreating, then counterattacking. Flames lit the sky, and their shouts filled her mind in a garble of furious Portuguese.
Then, in a blinding combination of moves, Marco beat Duarte back.
Duarte scurried out of reach, outraged. “How dare you?”
Marco’s reply was an authoritative blast of swirling fire.
Duarte backed away, shooting Laura a dirty look as if she were somehow at fault. Then he wheeled around and fled with short, sulky wingbeats.
“Fine. You have the bitch. I didn’t want her anyway.”
“Idiota,” Marco muttered, watching Duarte retreat.
As Marco hovered in place, a sense of awe washed over Laura. Every dragon was amazing, but there was something graceful, even dance-like to Marco’s movements. His tail lashed powerfully, keeping his body upright, and his leathery hide glinted with muscle. And those eyes — a rich, luminous blue that dared anyone to cross him.
Then those blue orbs turned on Laura, and she gulped. Shit. She ought to have been fleeing, not staring at him. Now, it was too late.
She turned tail and flew toward the city in a futile effort to escape. Marco was in a whole different class from Duarte, and she knew it. Still, she wasn’t about to surrender without a fight.
Within seconds, Marco had caught up with her. But instead of attacking, he flew calmly ahead, then circled around to fly beside her.
He growled quietly, and once again, her mind translated the dragon-speak.
“What are you doing here? Don’t you know it’s dangerous for a female to fly alone at night?”
Laura gawked. His tone was more scolding than abrasive. Still, she angled away, trying to get around him. Any minute, he was sure to threaten her, and she had to escape.
Marco glided sideways, following without cutting her off.
“Leave me alone. I’m not here by choice, believe me.”
He tilted his head the way so many people had in Lisbon. Did her American accent come through in dragon-talk?
It must have, because he answered with an inflection that mimicked hers. The dragon version of English?
“Then why are you here?”
She shook her head. “It’s a long story. Please, just leave me alone.”
All the weary desperation of the past, stressful weeks came through in her voice, and he watched her quietly for the next several wingbeats.
“Where are you going?” he finally asked in a softer, gentler tone.
Her laugh didn’t hold a pinch of humor. “Good question.”
She’d been holed up in a dingy hotel near the train station, but that didn’t seem safe now that she’d been attacked by a vampire and a dragon. Two dragons, if she counted Marco. But there was something honorable, even old-fashioned in his eyes that made it hard to call him a foe.
Finally, he swung aside and motioned with one wing as if to say, Be my guest. Go.
She flew onward, keeping her eyes on him. Was this some kind of trick?
“Are you staying with someone?” he called after her.
She shook her head. “I’m in the Dom Pedro, near the train station.”
His eyes narrowed as if to say, That dive?
She sighed. The Dom Pedro was a dive, from the mold in the corners to the stains on the mattress. She’d been planning to find a better place, but she was afraid the Guardians wouldn’t be able to contact her if she did.
“Where are you from?” Marco demanded, gliding alongside once again.
She took a deep breath, because it seemed so far away. “Boston.”
His steady wingbeats faltered for a moment. “I see,” he finally said, though his
tone was doubtful.
“I’ve been waiting to see the Guardians,” she finally said.
Marco stopped short. “Why would you seek them out?”
She motioned over her body. “Because of this. I’m a dragon, if you didn’t notice.”
He arched the heavy brow over his right eye. “And?”
And? Anger welled up in her, and she cut the air with her wings. “Maybe it’s all old hat to you, but it’s new to me.”
He frowned. “How new?”
She cringed, hating how out of control her life had become. “Five weeks.”
“Five weeks? No wonder you fly so badly.”
“Hey! I’m doing my best.”
She flew onward in a huff. Great. Another jerk.
“Are you always this tense when you fly?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Only when I’m being tailed by strange dragons.”
“I mean your technique.”
She snorted. “Technique?”
Marco sighed and stuck a wing under hers.
“Hey!” She jerked away.
“Loosen up there. The elbow.”
She had no elbows, dammit. Just a joint in her wing.
“You’re not helping,” she hissed.
For the next few minutes, they flew in silence. Marco remained at her side, probably cataloging all her mistakes.
When he finally spoke, it came out abruptly. “What makes you think you can trust the Guardians?”
The little energy Laura had left drained away. “I don’t know who to trust. I don’t know where to go. Just leave me alone, okay?”
She hated sounding so weak and lost. But dammit, she was lost. More than she’d ever felt.
At her neck, the ruby shone once, then dimmed, as if it, too, had lost hope.
Marco’s eyes narrowed, but she ignored him. She was close to tears, and the last thing she needed was for him to witness her falling apart. Besides, they were nearly back to Lisbon, and she had to figure out what to do. No one had noticed her flying above the streets earlier, but surely they would notice if she executed one of her crash-landings in the middle of the Praça do Comércio. She could see herself now, tumbling head over heels until she smashed into the statue of King José I.
“Fine,” Marco muttered begrudgingly.
She looked at him in alarm. What?
“You can stay at my place.”
“Uh, thank you, but no thank you.”
“What other choice do you have?”
She stared at the river. Drowning herself was one option, she supposed. But she wasn’t that desperate — yet.
She turned to Marco and did her best to bristle with attitude. “Duarte made a similar suggestion.”
Marco snorted. “I am not Duarte. Far from.” Then he frowned. “Believe me, a visitor is the last thing I need. But you need protection.”
She didn’t know whether to be relieved or offended by his reluctant invitation. It didn’t seem as though Marco had anything nefarious up his sleeve. But a girl could never tell.
On the other hand…what choice did she have?
Chapter Three
Marco glanced over his shoulder for the fourth time, cursing. Why was she flying so slowly?
“This way,” he called, jutting his chin toward his house.
His house, dammit. A place he shared with no one. What had gotten into him, inviting her to stay?
She needs help, his dragon pointed out. So, we have to help.
But why? He didn’t even know her name.
So, ask, his dragon said, wagging its tail like a puppy.
He set his jaw in a hard line, determined not to say a word. But moments later, it just slipped out.
“I suppose I should ask your name.”
He wanted to slap a hand over his mouth, but that didn’t work in dragon form.
“Laura Sampao.” Her voice was so weary, something in his heart twinged.
Laura. His dragon practically sang her name.
He frowned. Portuguese name, American accent. A woman who claimed she hadn’t shifted until recently. Every normal shifter underwent his or her first change sometime during their late teen years — sometimes earlier, never later. What made her different?
His dragon shrugged. She’s special.
Marco wanted to protest, but it was hard to, what with the color of her dragon hide — a light shade of brown with a coppery sheen. Only the noblest dragons had any hint of gold in their coloring. Whether that was bright as a bar of gold or the darkest, deepest shade of copper didn’t matter — those hues only came from royal blood. But Sampao was an ordinary name, and noble dragons rarely mixed with commoners.
In addition to that, something glinted at her neck — a ruby that shone as brightly as a star.
His dragon side barely noticed, admiring her long, slender curves instead.
Now, be nice and introduce yourself, it insisted.
“Marco da Silva,” he muttered. Then he caught himself. Wait a minute. He was in charge, not his dragon.
Just being polite, the beast insisted.
Marco frowned. At least they were nearly home, where the maze of lanes of the Alfama, Lisbon’s old town, meandered uphill toward the dome of the Pantheon.
“See the castle?” he found himself telling her. “We’re heading for the white house a little to the right, the highest on the hill.”
Laura nodded, though she didn’t make a move to circle into the wind — a critical aspect of landing. It was only when he did that she caught on and followed him.
Gliding in to the flat rooftop, Marco raised his wings and threw out his feet, coming to a nice, clean landing. But Laura…
He watched, aghast, as she approached too quickly, eyes wide in fear. Then she overcompensated by scooping her wings. That threw her balance off, and she skidded across the rooftop terrace, claws scraping like nails over a chalkboard. One wing smashed a potted palm, and she barely came to a halt before running out of space. That left her teetering on the very edge of the roof, and it took several heart-stopping moments for her to flop back to the safety of the roof.
He stared as she wobbled to her feet. “Can you not land properly?”
She shook her head miserably.
Marco opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally, he shifted into human form and stormed downstairs, more angry at himself than at her.
Why did she matter? Why did he care?
And, dammit, why was his heart pounding? A bead of sweat ran down his brow, although the evening was cool and he hadn’t been flying hard. Not for the past twenty minutes, at least.
He yanked on some slacks and a shirt — the very clothing he’d hurriedly discarded an hour earlier when his dragon had started clamoring in alarm. Something was wrong, though he hadn’t known what at the time. Even now, he didn’t understand what was wrong.
He glanced out the sweep of windows that wrapped around three sides of the living room. No dragons, no gargoyles, no danger. Just the muted cityscape, dotted with lights.
Cursing again, he grabbed a robe and strode back up to the rooftop. When he got there, his heart lurched. Laura, now in human form, was huddled beside the planter she’d knocked over, trying to sweep up the dirt scattered across the imported Moroccan tiles. Her cheeks glistened with tears.
“Stop that,” he barked.
Then he winced at his own tone. Dammit, what was he thinking?
He was thinking of Olivia, a woman who had manipulated him with every weapon in a woman’s arsenal — sultry smiles, piteous tears, and swinging hips.
This isn’t Olivia, his dragon growled.
Obviously not, because Olivia always glided into dainty, graceful landings on her way in and out of destroying a man’s heart. Laura’s tears were genuine. He’d learned the difference the hard way.
The one thing he’d done right was using English. Dragon-speak was an international language, but regional accents still came through, and Laura’s clearly indicated North American roots.
He wished he could back up in time and start over. Because he did care, even if he couldn’t explain why.
She was naked, a fact that only struck him then. Smooth, bare skin he could barely tear his eyes from, all the way from the perfect curve of her rear to the firm lines of her shoulders.
He whirled away, cursing himself. He’d sworn off women, and this one was no different.
Laura pulled the robe on awkwardly, then kneeled, still trying to collect the dirt she’d scattered.
“I’m so sorry. Really sorry…”
His heart squeezed. It was only a plant.
Then he caught himself, because it wasn’t about that plant. It was all the mistakes she’d ever made in her life, coming back to shame her again. A feeling he could relate to from time to time.
He cleared his throat gruffly. “It’s fine. Just…just…”
Just get yourself together was on the tip of his tongue, but he wrestled it back and managed a more neutral reply.
“Just come down when you’re ready.”
Then he clomped down the stairs without looking back. Not daring to look back because of what his dragon might do. The beast was scratching and clawing inside, demanding to stay at her side. Which was ridiculous. Laura was fine, and he had a quiet evening to get back to. A nice, solitary evening, as he preferred.
His dragon heaved a miserable sigh. Boring.
He strode to the kitchen counter where he’d been working before rushing off to rescue a mysterious she-dragon who had no business messing with his heart.
His dragon growled. It’s all Duarte’s fault.
Marco scowled. His own cousin, harassing a woman new to town. Not that Marco was surprised. He had dozens of second cousins, and each was more spoiled than the last.
When soft footfalls sounded on the staircase, Marco tightened his fingers around his glass.
A delicate, floral fragrance wafted by his nose, and he couldn’t help inhaling. His eyes slid shut, and his whole body warmed. That was the scent of summer and sunshine. The scent of a clean, crisp wind washing in from the open sea.
And just like that, he was drifting in memories of innocent times in a stunning, timeless place.