Smoke and Fire (7 page)

Though Taraeth could take care of Mikkel on his own, if need be. It might one day come to that, but if he ever did, Taraeth would then have to face Ulrik.

And that was one former Dragon King he'd rather not mess with.

There was too much loathing, vengeance, and animosity within Ulrik. It consumed him, devoured him.

That kind of hatred spawned an animal that could never be tamed, an animal that would never stop until it got exactly what it wanted—retribution.

“Ulrik and Con fought,” Mikkel said.

Taraeth had discovered that after it happened. He lifted one shoulder. “Isn't that exactly what you wanted him to do?”

“Not until I give the order. I decide when they fight.”

“My men tell me there were other Kings there.”

Mikkel's lips flattened in anger as he sat back. “Rhys, Kiril, and Darius. All to protect some stupid mortal.”

“Darius's mate.”

Mikkel rolled his eyes and snorted. “Mates. That's the biggest load of shite I've heard in eons. Ulrik learned his lesson quick enough with that bitch he took to his bed professing to love her.”

“You won't take a mate?”

“Me?” Mikkel laughed. “Once I'm King of Kings and you and the Dark rid this planet of every last fucking human, then I'll be the savior of my race and return the dragons. I'll find a beautiful Silver to be mine.”

“Because the humans can't carry a Dragon King's seed to term?” Taraeth questioned.

Mikkel lifted his glass in a salute. “Precisely.”

“That sounds like a nice plan.” It went unsaid that it hinged on Ulrik challenging and winning against Con, and then Mikkel betraying Ulrik.

“That day is closer than you think.”

Taraeth finished off his whisky and turned the glass in his hand. “I still remember when I stumbled upon this realm. All those mortals throwing themselves at me, begging me to take their bodies. How were we to stay away? Now there are billions of them out there. They would feed every Fae—Light and Dark—for years to come.”

“It's a wise bargain we struck.”

Taraeth smiled at Mikkel, wondering if Mikkel was plotting against him as he was scheming against Mikkel. “That we did, my friend.”

“Will you help me keep track of Ulrik?”

“That I can't do.”

Mikkel's smile was gone. “Can't? Or won't?”

“Can't,” Taraeth said again. “Your race may not have to answer to anyone but Con, but the Fae do.”

“Who?”

“Death.” Taraeth didn't even like saying the name aloud.

Mikkel chuckled and crossed one leg over the other. “You live thousands of years and die. Why would you fear death?”

“No. Death. Death is our judge. For millions of years there has been no sign of Death's associates. Until recently. Now all the Fae whisper about is the Reapers.”

“Who are they?”

Taraeth couldn't quite hide his shiver of apprehension. “The Reapers are the hands of Death. Death might be the judge, but the Reapers are the executioners. They police all Fae.”

“So kill the bastards.”

Taraeth glanced at his glass. “No one knows who the Reapers are. No one has even seen Death. We can't fight what we don't see or know.”

“So you're afraid of some whispers?”

“What do you think has been hunting the Fae besides the Kings? The Reapers.”

Mikkel made a sound at the back of his throat. “Has anyone ever seen one of these Reapers?”

“You see one, you die.”

“Of course you do,” Mikkel scoffed.

“Mock all you want. The Reapers aren't just a legend. They're real.”

Mikkel gave a shake of his head, as if to say that Taraeth had lost what little sense he had. “Superstitious is what you are. All of you were told that nonsense to keep you in line. Why would only your race have such beings as judge, jury, and executioner? Wouldn't the Kings have had it as well?”

“The Fae are different, Mikkel.”

“That's a pile of shite, and you know it.”

Taraeth held the glass in his hand but set it on the sofa beside him. “You dare to ridicule my people and our beliefs?”

“I'd ask that you not be so narrow minded.”

“You dragons think you're so much better than everyone else. You came to me for an alliance, but even now you look down your nose at me.”

“Because this Reaper stuff is nonsense,” Mikkel stated in a cold voice.

Taraeth wondered what Ulrik would say if he were sitting across from him instead of Mikkel. Ulrik wouldn't give a royal fuck, that's what he would say. His attention was on one thing—bringing down Con.

“It's like the humans believing fairies are small, winged creatures with pointy ears,” Mikkel said.

Taraeth merely smiled aloofly. “But we're not mortals. We've lived for billions of years. We travel from realm to realm, and our magic is feared by many. The Fae aren't some mindless cattle to be swayed by a myth or two.”

“But you've never seen a Reaper.”

“And I hope I never do. That doesn't, however, mean I don't believe they're here. My people all over the U.K. claimed to see Dark fall dead for no apparent reason. That's one of the modes of the Reapers. Then there was mention of a white-haired Fae with red-rimmed white eyes.”

Mikkel sat forward, suddenly interested. “White eyes?”

“The Reapers are Fae who are given greater power, speed, and whatever else Death wishes. They're not to be messed with.”

“But I'm a Dragon King,” Mikkel said. He set his glass on the sofa, then rose and walked from the room.

Taraeth watched him, waiting until the doors closed behind Mikkel before he said, “You're not a Dragon King.”

 

CHAPTER EIGHT

Through the countless decades, there had been numerous conversations between Ryder and Con about Ulrik. Ryder hated spying on Ulrik. No matter what Ryder suggested, Con wouldn't allow Ulrik to just live his life.

Over the last few months Ryder was focused on Ulrik in a way he'd never been before—and even more so now because the thought of Ulrik pulling Kinsey into this war sent Ryder into a frenzy.

Ryder had every camera in Perth looking for Ulrik's face or his car. Anything to prove that the banished Dragon King was there.

Ulrik proved time and again that he'd do whatever it took to hurt the Dragon Kings. That usually meant he targeted their lovers.

Ryder's blood went cold at the thought of something happening to Kinsey. She had been on her own for three years, and nothing had happened. But that didn't mean nothing would happen either.

The fact she'd been sent to Dreagan was like cannon fire over the estate. Someone was making a point. No, Ryder corrected himself.
Ulrik
was making a point.

The question was what?

Ulrik could've gotten to her and killed Kinsey easily. Why hadn't he? Why had he brought her to Dreagan?

None of her tech held any signs of a virus or being tampered with. Ryder checked them all three times just to be sure. Her bag, her purse, and even her car had been thoroughly examined. Still, they found nothing.

Unless … Kinsey was the Trojan horse.

Ryder swung his head toward her. She far surpassed most individuals who worked with computers doing the intricate things she did. She was kind and sweet, willing to help anyone who needed it. But she wasn't a good actress.

He'd always been able to tell when she lied about anything. Since she walked through the door, she'd been telling the truth.

Yet others had been fooled. Darcy, for one. Ulrik and his old Druid had gone to tremendous lengths to make Darcy think her magic remained, when in fact it had left her the moment she helped Ulrik.

Then there was Iona. Her father was murdered just to get her back to Scotland so Ulrik and the Dark Fae could access Dreagan.

“What is it?” Kinsey asked when she caught him staring.

Ryder shrugged, not wanting to tell her his thoughts just yet. “I'm thinking.”

“Apparently hard by the way your forehead is creased. It's about what's going on, isn't it?”

He gave a slow nod. His gaze landed on the box of donuts, and for the first time, he didn't want one.

“Just tell me,” Kinsey urged as she swiveled her chair to face him.

“No' yet.”

“Why?” she pressed, her voice edged with a hint of aggravation. She suspected he was hiding something.

Ryder shoved a lock of hair off his forehead. “I need to get it all sorted in my head first.”

“You look worried. Talking it out helps.”

He paused his fingers as he typed and briefly closed his eyes. This he wouldn't lie to her about. “I am worried. Ulrik has a habit of targeting anyone a Dragon King has shown interest in.”

“If he wanted to target me, why wait three years?”

“Who says he did?”

Kinsey's violet eyes widened. She blinked, her long black lashes briefly closing. “What does he look like?”

Ryder sent a picture of Ulrik in a suit to the monitor above her. Kinsey stared at it a long while without uttering a sound. Ryder then sent several more pictures of Ulrik getting out of his car, in jeans and a sweater, with his hair pulled back, and with it down.

Finally, Kinsey said, “He's good-looking, and certainly knows how to wear clothes that make him look amazing. A woman doesn't forget a man like that.”

Jealousy simmered through Ryder. Kinsey thought Ulrik handsome. And unforgettable. It cut through Ryder, sinking deep into his soul.

He'd never forgotten about Kinsey or the love he felt for her. Even though he'd seen a spark of desire in her eyes earlier, he was beginning to suspect she had moved on.

Not that he blamed her. Ryder had walked out of her life without an explanation. Even if he had been able to tell her who he was, he wouldn't have. Because of exactly what she had done when he saved her a few weeks ago.

He always feared she wouldn't be able to accept him. Ryder had wanted her as his desperately, but it wasn't just that he couldn't tell her who he really was. There was the spell put in place to stop the Dragon Kings from feeling anything for mortals.

It was only recently that they discovered when the Silvers moved in their mountain, it was because Ulrik had gotten back part of his magic.

That's all it had taken to break Con's spell. That's when Ryder realized he loved Kinsey. He returned to Dreagan to see if he could understand what had happened. Then Cassie arrived and Hal fell in love with her.

After that, all Hell seemed to break loose. At every turn, someone or something was trying to get onto Dreagan. The Dark were relentless in their attempts to discover where the Kings hid a weapon that could kill them—so far unsuccessfully.

Ryder was still adjusting to the knowledge that Con and Kellan—the Keeper of History—were the only two Kings who knew where the weapon was. And
what
it was.

Everyone targeting Dreagan could be traced back to Ulrik. It took Ryder time, but he discovered that Ulrik's network of spies, mercenaries, corporations, and everyday people was extensive. That wasn't even counting Ulrik's affiliation with the Dark Fae.

Kinsey's head twisted toward him. “I've never seen Ulrik.”

“You didna have to.” Ryder hated that his words came out harsher than he'd intended. He knew it wasn't Kinsey's fault that he'd left her. That had been his decision. Now he was paying the consequences. “Ulrik has many people working for him. Any one of them could've gotten to you.”

She gave a bark of laughter. “Do you really think I'm that naïve that I wouldn't know when someone was trying to scam me?”

“No' at all. But these people are good, Kins. Verra good.”

“All right,” she conceded. “Let's say that one of them did get to me. How? When? Why? You and I haven't spoken in three years.”

“Until a few weeks ago. Someone must've seen me shift, and then watched you run away.”

Her lips pressed together for an instant. “Those who weren't throwing themselves at the Dark Fae were running away.”

“That's true. But they weren't you. As to the how and when? It could've been anywhere, anytime. You visit individuals and corporations as part of your job. You could've been approached at any one of them.”

She raised a dark brow. “I see your point. And I suppose you'll say the ‘why' is because we were once together.”

“Precisely.”

“Have any of the other Kings been contacted by past lovers? What about any of your other lovers? With as long as you've been around, you must've had plenty.”

Was that jealousy he heard in her voice? That made Ryder want to smile. Perhaps she still felt something for him after all.

“No, to answer both your questions. No past lovers of anyone—including mine—have shown up besides you.”

“I'm the lucky one, huh?” she mumbled and returned to face the screen and Ulrik's pictures. “Do you have any photos of his associates?”

“There are literally thousands, by my guess. He's never seen with any of them.”

“So that's a no,” she said. “You're right. It could be anyone, but the fact is, had anyone mentioned your name, I would've been suspicious.”

“They probably wouldna have. What about Dreagan?”

She shook her head. “Not that I can remember.”

Ryder could see that she was becoming agitated by not having any answers. He was as well, but when it came to Ulrik, Ryder was used to this.

“Let's start with something we already know is fact. Someone used your name to write up the work order to send you here,” he said.

Kinsey turned the chair to face him, leaning an elbow on the arm. “Right. We don't know who that is though.”

“No' yet. Truthfully, we may never know. It might be pointless, because it could be just some lackey that Ulrik used to get something done.”