Page 17 of Dark Dragon’s Mate

Calling on his power and hoping it would answer, he dipped one finger in the mead and ran his fingertip around the top of the bowl, as if trying to make a crystal wineglass “sing.” A deep resonant humming sound came from the goblet, filling the room and vibrating in his chest, igniting a warmth like a tiny sun.

The sound intensified, and then a flame erupted out of the goblet, bursting into a golden sparkler. Trish gasped.

The sparkler burned for a minute or two, turning crimson and then deep blue before burning out harmlessly.

Trish laughed with delight, her whole face lighting up. The warm place inside his chest expanded.

“How does it do that?” she asked.

“Dragon magic.” He smiled at her, his first real smile in he didn’t remember when. It made his face feel strange. Her eyes changed as she watched his face, softening with some emotion he couldn’t name.

“Here.” He handed her the goblet.

She took the goblet and swirled the mead, which now had a sparkly sheen on top. “It’s not going to set me on fire, is it?” she asked. “I don’t have a dragon stomach.”

“It won’t hurt you,” he said. “I promise.”

She took a sip. He could almost taste it himself—like honeysuckle and summer, with the sparkles fizzing in his mouth. He hoped she liked it. He’d worked for months to get the recipe just right.

Her eyes went wide. “Oh my god, that’s amazing,” she said, taking another sip. “What is it?”

“Akhasa mead,” he said. “It’s a specialty of the Al-Maddeiri clan. I found the recipe in Marcus’s library—the man who raised Kira.” He added, almost to himself, “At least some of the clan’s history was saved.”

But so much had been lost. A whole clan, betrayed and wiped out in one day. Elders and children, customs, rituals, lore, magic, medical knowledge, food, drink, songs, dances, music.

She seemed to sense his mood change and put a hand on his arm, just resting it there, not asking for anything or trying to fix him.

“I’m glad you saved this,” she said. “I like it even better, knowing it’s from your clan.”

He looked down at her, sparkling and shining, a light in the darkness of his lonely gothic castle.

There was a drop of mead on her lips, and he ached to kiss it off, to taste her sweetness again.

To shove her up against the wall and plunder her mouth, listen to her moan. He dipped his head slowly toward hers.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and a babble of voices. Fucking wolves. Trish started and stepped back, then turned to the door.

And Emon pulled his cloaking ability around him, disappearing in plain sight.

Chapter 9

Trish turned to see Mina and Noah Reilly enter the room, with their six-year-old son Brock. Mina was the head of the research team, and Noah, her mate, was an Enforcer. His official assignment was supervising the two security officers who accompanied the entire team, but Trish knew that mostly he was here because of Brock.

Brock was unique among shifters. His biological father had belonged to the only pack of predominantly white wolves ever known to have existed. White wolves had mental powers—healing, telekinesis, visions, mental telepathy, and the ability to erase, blur or retrieve memories. Unfortunately, along with these powers came mental instability, dementia, and insanity.

That pack had been decimated by shifter hunters, and Brock was the sole known survivor—Mina, still human at the time, had been pregnant with him when the pack was attacked. Though he wasn’t a white wolf, Brock had enhanced mental powers, and he seemed to have escaped the dangerous side effects. So far.

Brock was a major component of Mayah’s healing team—he had an uncanny ability to communicate with difficult or out-of-control shifter animals and heal them. Noah had objected to him coming to dragon territory, though, and when overruled, had flat-out refused to let him come without his personal protection.

Brock took one look at Trish and his face lit up. He raced across the room, totally unintimidated by the formal atmosphere—or the knives sticking out of the portrait.

“Auntie Trish! Auntie Trish! You’re finally finally here! I thought you were never ever coming.” He flung himself on her and hugged her legs, talking the entire time.

“This is a castle, isn’t it amazing? It’s very very big, and dragons live here. I’m helping one, me and Uncle Tristan. Her name is Mayah, and her dragon doesn’t ever come out because it’s sad and sometimes inside her head is very confusing. We’re helping her not to be sad and confused.”

Trish knelt down and gave Brock a proper hug, which he returned enthusiastically. He was one of the few cubs at Silverlake, and probably the sweetest, kindest child in existence.

“I heard you were doing that,” she said now. “How is Mayah doing?”