Fire Maidens: Portugal Page 8

  Laura didn’t ask how far, but he could sense her wondering.

  “We’re getting close to halfway,” he called, failing to sound chipper.

  “Only halfway?”

  “Okay, maybe one-third.”

  She drooped, and he searched for something to pep her up. “Right now, the moon is against us, but once it moves overhead, its gravity will pull us along.”

  Laura didn’t look convinced, but she flew gamely on…and on…

  Say something. Distract her, his dragon insisted.

  “This beats marching,” he tried.

  “You mean, like in the Foreign Legion?” she asked, gliding up beside him.

  He bobbed his head. “They used to make us march for hours.”

  “They’re legendary for that, aren’t they?”

  “I suppose so. Hundred-kilometer marches with full kit.”

  The Foreign Legion was legendary for other things too — like men joining to avoid trouble with the law. Before Laura started wondering if he had a shady past, he decided to explain. For him, it had been an escape — from expectations, not the law. He was the last in a long, illustrious dragon family, and his future had been all mapped out from the start. The best schools, higher education at the University of Coimbra, where his father, grandfather, and great-grandfathers had all studied. Then he’d honed his physical skills with a master dragon for three years. Afterward, he completed business school abroad. Only then had he been declared fit to take an increasing role in managing the family fortune. Eventually, he’d been expected to serve among the Guardians.

  “I guess you weren’t interested?” Laura asked when he trailed off.

  Marco snorted. “In living a carbon copy of my father’s life, and my grandfather’s, and all the dragons who came before? No thank you. I threw it all away — at least in their eyes — by doing something different.”

  Laura whistled. “The Foreign Legion? That’s different, for sure. What made you decide on that?”

  He waggled his wingtips in the dragon equivalent of a shrug. “The sense of honor. The international mix. That feeling of a fresh start.”

  Joining had also gotten him as far from Olivia as possible, but he wasn’t about to go into that. Still, he supposed there was one positive to it all. Without Olivia, he might not have joined the Legion and met good men like Finn and Sergio. He might never have charted his own course.

  He frowned, looking ahead. Was he charting his own course now or was destiny?

  He hadn’t planned on heading back to where he started. Madeira. A place he loved, but with a resident he abhorred.

  Olivia.

  We don’t have to see her, his dragon said.

  He frowned. A man could hope, but something told him he’d better not.

  Then he forced those thoughts away and tried a new tack — anything, really, to avoid thoughts of Olivia.

  “So, what exactly does a bicycle advocate do?”

  Laura side-eyed him suspiciously, and he kicked himself for every harsh word he’d ever uttered.

  “Truly, I don’t know,” he admitted. “What does it involve?”

  She thought about it while gliding along. “I spearhead campaigns for safer streets — that means things like protected bike lanes on roads and bridges and awareness campaigns targeted at drivers, especially in high-crash corridors. I meet with local officials and community groups…” She trailed off. “Well, I did. My colleagues have been covering for me for…too long, now.”

  He tilted his head. “Sounds more like a passion than a job.”

  “It’s both. My dad’s side of the family is crazy for biking. They watch all the big bike races — the Tour de France, the Giro d’Italia, and of course, the Volta a Portugal. They go out riding every weekend. They biked to work, to soccer practice…” Her eyes sparkled with the memories, then dulled, and her voice dropped. “Until my uncle Sal’s accident.”

  Marco winced. Her tone said it all.

  “Losing him was hard on everyone. My dad, my family…everyone. Uncle Sal was my middle school soccer coach, and it wasn’t the same after that.” She wobbled in the midst of her glide, then steadied out again. “I was thinking about becoming a teacher, like my mom. But one summer, I interned for the BCB — the Bicycle Coalition of Boston — and that was that. I found a job I loved that makes for safer streets. What could be better than that?”

  Marco thought it over. In spirit, that was similar to what he’d done in the military — trying to make the world a safer place. Sometimes, though, he’d questioned the efficacy of using weapons — or getting involved at all.

  Which brought him back to his current predicament. Why was he getting involved with this stranger?

  Because it’s the right thing to do. Because she’s special, his dragon reminded him.

  They fell into silence after that, each lost in their own thoughts. Laura drifted back into his slipstream, and slowly, the hours wore on. Marco’s wings felt ever heavier, and his neck ached. Laura had to be feeling it too, judging from the listless way she beat her wings. Which made all his second thoughts return. Madeira was an isolated island with no resting point along the way. If the wind turned…

  Luckily, it didn’t. If anything, it freshened at their backs, speeding them along. And when the moon crossed its zenith and started to descend ahead of them…

  “Oh! I think I can feel its pull,” Laura said.

  Marco smiled. “Me too.”

  She hooted. “Wow. It’s like a magic beam.”

  He laughed. Really, the moon’s gravity was simple physics, but magic beam did fit.

  As with all magic, however, the thrill wore off after a while, and they went back to winging along mechanically. Painfully, even. Straining more and more as time went by. He changed altitude, seeking the strongest band of wind to ride. But that grew increasingly difficult, and his mood darkened.

  “Lights! I see lights!” Laura cried out.

  He did too, but it wasn’t enough. “That’s Porto Santo. A different island.”

  “Oh.” Joy faded from her voice.

  Much as Marco hated to, he had to consider Plan B.

  “We could bail out there,” he said after an inner battle.

  The fact that Laura mulled over the option instead of instantly quitting spoke volumes about her grit. “How much farther to Madeira?”

  “About seventy kilometers.”

  “Seventy?” she screeched. “How far have we come?”

  He thought it over. “Close to nine hundred.”

  “Nine hundred? We just flew nine hundred kilometers? That’s over five hundred miles!” He didn’t look impressed, so she hollered on. “We’ve come that far, and you want to quit now?”

  “I don’t want to quit,” he said, suddenly defensive.

  “Neither do I. We can do it. I’m sure.”

  The Foreign Legion didn’t accept women, and Marco had always considered that a good thing. But, hell. Having a woman declare herself ready to plow ahead when he was considering quitting was a hell of a motivator.

  We can do it, his dragon echoed as they flew on.

  Counting down the landmarks of sleepy Porto Santo helped for a while. But then came the deep, dark channel between that island and Madeira, and boy, did he have to dig into his reserves.

  Without thinking, he started humming a crisp, repetitive refrain. Laura caught on and hummed it too.

  “You know ‘Le Boudin’?” he cut off to ask.

  “No, but it’s catchy. What is it?”

  He laughed. “The song of the Foreign Legion.”

  “Oh.” She flew silently — three wingbeats, then a long glide, just as he’d advised. “What is it about?”

  He hummed a few lines to himself. “Literally, it’s about sausages and lazy Belgians.”

  Laura chuckled. “Sausages?”

  “The gear you roll up in a blanket looks like a sausage, I suppose.” Then he skipped ahead and hummed another few lines. “The next part is better. W
e are crafty. We are rogues. We’re no ordinary men.”

  She laughed. “You can say that again.”

  He eyed her, wondering if she meant the rogue or the extraordinary part.

  “Songs like that kept us going over long marches — and other times.”

  Silence stretched for a moment, and he could sense her imagining how bad those other times had been. Some of the hardest in his life, but some of the best too. He sighed, watching the moonlight bounce relentlessly over the waves.

  “How long was your longest march?”

  “One hundred and twenty kilometers,” he replied instantly. It was impossible to forget that miserable day.

  “A hundred and twenty?” She gaped.

  “It was supposed to be one hundred, but Liam made a comment about the commander’s mother, and we all had to march back ten kilometers, and then turn around and cover the same ground.”

  Laura stared, but Marco found himself smiling. As miserable as that had been, he’d had good company.

  Like now, his dragon whispered, gazing into Laura’s eyes.

  Then he caught himself and forced his eyes forward.

  “Who’s Liam?” Laura asked.

  “A comrade. Lion shifter. He’s back in London now. Tristan is in Paris, Sergio in Rome…” His closest friends were all over Europe these days. Thank goodness for Finn hanging around Lisbon, making the transition home a little more bearable for them both and keeping things interesting.

  Like Laura. His dragon grinned.

  Marco couldn’t help but glance over. Her sleek lines… That determined expression. Laura kept life interesting, all right.

  The tiny pinpricks of light ahead refused to grow nearer, and moonlight glittered off the sea below, more menacing than before. But then, a sharper slice of white light reached out of the darkness. Marco held his breath, counting.

  One, one thousand. Two, one thousand. Three, one thousand—

  The light reappeared when he hit five, and he whooped.

  “That’s São Lourenço — a lighthouse on Madeira. We’re close. Very close.”

  “If you’re just saying that to make me feel better…” Laura muttered.

  He wasn’t. Ten minutes later, a series of humps rose from the sea like the back of an emerging sea dragon. Then they connected, forming a peninsula that snaked toward a series of huge, craggy mountains.

  “Ugh,” Laura groaned. “This is like the Boston Marathon. The end stretches on and on.”

  He looked over. She ran marathons?

  His dragon snorted. Not surprised.

  Finally, the roar of crashing surf reached his ears, and shortly after, the rich scent of land filled his nose.

  Home, his dragon murmured. Home.

  From one moment to the next, the scenery beneath him went from the ocean’s steel blue to the dull brown of land, and he stuck out his feet. Thumping to a landing had never felt so good. Laura stumbled in beside him, then slumped wearily.

  “Wow. I did it.”

  He stared at her wordlessly. Wow was the word. That flight had pushed him harder than he cared to admit. And for Laura to make a marathon flight barely a month after shifting for the first time…

  Wow, his dragon agreed.

  Her ruby shone from more than just moonlight, hinting at some outside assistance. But, hell. A spelled gem could provide a little motivation, but it couldn’t power her wings. That was all Laura.

  Amazing, his dragon crooned.

  Briefly, he closed his eyes, relishing the feel of home soil under his claws. The next time he glanced at Laura, she had shifted back into human form and was swaying to her knees.

  In the blink of an eye, he shifted and rushed to her side. “Hang in there.”

  Her skin was pale yet supple, and he dragged his eyes to the eastern horizon, where the first hint of dawn appeared. So, Laura was naked, as was he. He could handle that like an adult, right?

  But somehow, looking away was harder than it had been before.

  “Oh God. Someone’s coming.” Laura pointed.

  A long line of dust rose from the rough track that wound along the peninsula. A vehicle. Marco squinted into the darkness, then exhaled in relief.

  “That’s one of my staff.”

  Laura gave a weak snort. “Of course. The staff.”

  A Land Rover pulled up, and the driver jumped out — Adriano, a grizzled old wolf shifter who’d been loyal to Marco’s family for generations. Adriano’s eyes widened at the sight of Laura, but without comment, he whipped out two blankets and covered them.

  “Did you have a good flight, senhor?”

  If Marco had had any energy left to laugh himself silly, he would have.

  But Laura’s expression was serious as she gazed to the east. “Are you sure no one will follow us here?”

  Marco pursed his lips. Vampires didn’t worry him much — although technically, they could board a commercial flight. Dragons, on the other hand, like Duarte or one of the Guardians…

  As Marco looked over the impenetrable mountains of his native land, his heart swelled. The dragons of Madeira were fiercely independent, and he was a native son. If there was any place on earth to keep Laura safe, this was it.

  “Senhor.” Adriano opened the rear door of the car.

  Marco half guided, half carried Laura to the car, then slid in beside her. He tried to sit straight, but a moment later, he collapsed in a heap, cuddled with Laura. The door thumped shut behind him, and the car took off with a lurch.

  Then all he felt was the welcome heat of the woman beside him, and within seconds, they were both sound asleep.

  Chapter Nine

  Laura stretched slowly. Where was she? Cool, crisp sheets rustled over her body. She opened her eyes, catching a glimpse of a lush green mountain. A moment later, she groaned and curled into a ball. Surely, she was still flying, and this was all a hallucination.

  Then she remembered the thump of her landing… The firm loop of Marco’s arm around her shoulders… A bouncy ride in a four-wheel-drive…

  After that, she couldn’t remember anything. With a twitch of her nose, she sat up. She wasn’t flying over the ocean. She was in a land of rich earth and blooming flowers.

  “Madeira,” she whispered, remembering.

  Then she flopped back and stuck up her arms in triumph. She’d done it! Every muscle ached, but hey. She’d really done it!

  That, or she’d died and gone to paradise. The windows were wide open, and a fresh breeze wandered in and around the bright room. Somewhere in the distance, surf roared over boulders, and in the garden, birds called to one another. Everything was bathed in golden sunlight, and the temperature was balmy without being hot.

  Madeira. She loved the island already.

  Slowly, she stretched one leg then the other. One poked out from the cheery yellow sheets, bare, and she winced. Once again, she’d managed to end up in a stranger’s home without a scrap of clothing. On the plus side, there didn’t seem to be any vampires around.

  In fact, there wasn’t much of anything around except spectacular views, as she discovered when she finally creaked out of bed. One window looked onto a steep volcanic slope tangled in greenery. Beyond it, mountain ridges rose vertically, as if the island had been tossed up from the ocean and landed on one side. The next window revealed the same mountain shelving, enough for an ambitious farmer to have planted a dozen tidy rows of grapes. Then the slope fell off again, dropping into the sea.

  The inland-facing window revealed a handful of picture-perfect houses, their terra-cotta roof tiles glowing reddish-orange in the morning light. And the view out the front window—

  Laura put a hand over her mouth, because some sights were too beautiful for words. All those flowers framing the window. An impossibly vibrant square of turquoise — a pool. Curved stone walls and terra-cotta tiles, and in the distance, the rippling ocean.

  Damn, did Marco know how to pick his real estate.

  The room had its own ensuite bathroom
, and given the sleepy silence of the house, she decided on a quick shower. In the end, she luxuriated under the warm stream for a good quarter-hour — a sin she decided to blame on the tangles in her hair. Then she plucked a fluffy white robe off a hook, slipped it on gingerly, and cinched the belt tight. That was as presentable as she was going to be until she found some clothes, so she headed outside. Marco wouldn’t mind, would he?

  She found him a few doors down, seated on a balcony overlooking — well, half the universe, or so it seemed. All those mountain slopes, all that ocean. All those puffy clouds, floating across a brilliant blue sky.

  Marco stared off into the distance, as peaceful as she’d ever seen him. Did she dare break the silence?

  Then his ear twitched, and when he turned, she barely beat him to a greeting.

  “Good morning.”

  “Bom dia,” he murmured, rising.

  He kept his mouth open as if to say more, but he seemed to get stuck that way for a little while, looking at her.

  She blushed and motioned beyond him. “It’s so beautiful here.”

  “Beautiful,” he echoed without tearing his eyes from her. Then his Adam’s apple bobbed, and he pulled out a chair. “Breakfast?”

  As she sat, he pushed in her chair, and she couldn’t help but inhale his clean, piney scent. Did he naturally smell that good, or was that some kind of subtle cologne?

  She cleared her throat and forced a smile. “We made it.”

  His smile was a second sunrise. “We made it.” Then he motioned over the dishes on the table. “It’s closer to lunchtime than breakfast, but we can pretend.”

  She laughed. Pretending had been her savior so many times over the past five weeks. By now, she was a pro.

  “Are you sore?” she asked.

  He shook his head casually. “No. You?”

  “No.” A moment later, she burst out laughing. “Are you kidding? I’m sore in places I didn’t know I had. You’re not?”

  “No.” He circled his shoulders gingerly. “Well, maybe a little.”

  They both laughed, then ended up gazing into each other’s eyes. And, boy, were his eyes blue. Blue as the sky, deep as the ocean. Eyes a girl could gaze into for hours.