Dragon Warrior

Dragon Warrior

Meagan Hatfield

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dragon warrior Kestrel Grey fought the vampire horde for centuries without suffering an injury, until a devastating battle landed him in the care of empath and healer Sparrow Rose. Curing Kestrel was Sparrow’s chance to prove herself and save the man she had admired for years—but innocent Sparrow wasn’t ready for the powerful desire that overtook them as part of the healing process…and the tender feelings that followed.

But Kestrel was still determined to resume his dangerous mission. Sparrow would do anything to save him—including take him to bed…

Don’t miss the other spooky and sensual NOCTURNE BITES, available at www.millsandboon.co.uk and wherever eBooks are sold. Titles include:

Firebreak by Anna Leonard

Halo Hunter by Michele Hauf

Prisoner of Temptation by Zandria Munson

Demon Kissed by Patti O’Shea

Marked by Lydia Parks

A Vampire’s Mistress by Theresa Meyers

Hunter’s Surrender by Anna Hackett

Vampire’s Tango by Meagan Hatfield

Her Dark Lord by Mel Teshco

Time Jumper by Connie Hall

The Prophecy by Nina Croft

Looking for more paranormal romance? The sizzling and spine-chilling books of Harlequin Nocturne are available at www.millsandboon.co.uk or your local bookstore.

Interested in writing for Nocturne Bites? Send your submission to NocturneBites@Harlequin.ca

Chapter One

They were going to lose the battle.

“Fall back!” The dragon captain roared the warning into the chaotic night. But some corner of his immortal heart already knew it was too late. Constant claps of gunfire echoed in the darkness. Vampires swarmed his dragon warriors on all sides. A potpourri of fires smoldered from above and below, and the charred scent of flesh perfumed the air. The normally tranquil seaside cliffs and beaches played host to hundreds of vampire soldiers bred and trained with the sole purpose of decimating Kestrel Grey’s kind.

And they were succeeding.

Kestrel’s mighty dragon body quivered with the need to fight, to flee, to focus. Whirling in all directions, he looked to the sands below and the outcroppings above, trying to get a bead on his legionnaires and most of all, the king and queen. The royals were his charge, his responsibility. And right now they were cornered and surrounded on a rocky shelf thirty feet above him.

Damnation!

Kestrel dug his taloned heels into the cliff’s ledge. Scooping air with his mighty wings, he pumped them once, then twice, jetting into the sky and landing in the thick of the horde.

“Die, Derkein!” The piercing war cry screamed from his left.

Kestrel pivoted, shielding his side with a wing. However, as he peered over the lip of his silver scales, he realized with numb horror the vampire’s words were not aimed at him.

The king.

He lay motionless on the ground, two soldiers rushing him fast. One held a sword raised overhead, about to strike down hard. Kestrel’s lips rippled in a snarl over his razor-sharp teeth. The back of his throat fired to life and the taste of ash coated his tongue. Without hesitation, he stalked forward and opened his jowls, unleashing the most dangerous weapon he owned on the bloodsucking bastard, dragonfire. A white-hot jet of it streamed from his mouth, blanketing the soldier in flame. He was reduced to a puddle of molten flesh and charred bone in a matter of seconds.

Closing his jaws, Kestrel shifted his focus to the second soldier. Moonlight reflected off his black sunglasses and made his cropped blond hair glow. When he raised a silver battle-ax, Kestrel spared a frantic glance down at the king. His body lay too close to the soldier for him to use dragonfire again, and by the look on the vamp’s face, he knew it. A calculating sneer parted his lips as he brought the weapon back. Winding up for what would be a deathblow.

Kestrel ignored the blatant fear surging through his veins and charged forward in a blind run. The rock fractured beneath his heavy taloned feet, his heels sinking into the pebbles with each clobbering step, his dragon eyes never leaving the vampire, his prey. The soldier’s confident smile faltered, replaced with a panicked scream as he fought to hammer the weapon down before Kestrel could stop him.

Everything happened in slow motion. The glinting silver blade moved in a graceful curve toward the king’s head. Kestrel’s heart thudded. His body let loose a roar as he pumped his wings, using any bit of leverage he could to get there in time.

Only one thing happened in real time. The moment Kestrel realized he wouldn’t have time to lift the king out of the way. Realized what he had to do.

With a determined bellow, Kestrel pushed his massive dragon body off the ground. Twisting in midair, he put his armored back to the vamp, shielding the king. Using the momentum of the spin, he swept his tail in a forceful arc. The clubbed end sank into the soldier’s trunk, going in one side and out the other. Before Kestrel hit the ground, before he could yank the appendage out of the vampire’s cavity, something sharp and powerful struck across his quads.

The ax.

Its cracking blow hit him with such impact his center of gravity shifted. Instead of down, he hurtled sideways toward the ledge. The inky sky fell away as he shot over the side and fell toward the beach below. Frigid sea air cushioned his back, while blistering pain seared through his legs.

Kestrel fell for what felt like only seconds before his body slammed against the sandy earth, bouncing once before settling deep into the pocket of sand. The granules embedded into his delicate human skin like shards of glass. His shoulder blade cracked and throbbed where a jagged rock had struck it instead of his dragon armor. He noticed fingers, not talons, clutched what was left of his thigh. Only, he didn’t remember shifting from his dragon form. It must have happened on the way down, which meant his wound must be worse than he thought.

Gravely worse.

His heart thudded in a frantic almost hysterical beat behind his ears. Kestrel kicked his head back and gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes closed as searing pain tore and lashed through his flesh in a blazing streak straight to the marrow. The utter torment sluicing through him nearly drowned out the clashing sounds of battle on the lowest cliff ledge now three hundred feet above him.

Inhaling sharply, he propped himself on one elbow. Metallic and thick, the scent of blood hit his nostrils seconds before the sight of sinew and bone filled his vision. His stomach lurched wildly and the world spun on its axis until he thought he’d be sick. His biceps shook beneath the slight weight he bore upon it before the muscle gave way completely. Kestrel fell back on the sand, exhaling something between a moan and a cry.

Oh, Gods, he groaned inwardly. Fisting sand between his fingers, he bore down hard, riding out the currents of pain. Each one surged and ebbed, one on top of the other so that he never felt a moment’s respite from the ache. Pulsing heat burst from his body with each exhale, only to jet back inside and carve out another slice of his soul in a tearing lick of flames. Until he felt the fire burn him alive, hollowing him from the inside out. Until he didn’t think he could stand another moment.

“Gods, brother.”

He heard the softly spoken words seconds before he felt a presence beside him. Sensed hands on his shoulders, propping him upright.

“What have they done to you?”

Kestrel reached back, groping for his brother in a blind panic. “The king…and queen,” he gasped, nearly blacking out at the pulsing wave of agony washing through him. “Go to them.”

Instead of complying, his younger brother sank to his knees. His hands pressed down hard on one of Kestrel’s legs.

“We have to stop the bleeding.” Falcon said, digging his heel in farther, bearing down on the injury.

“I said go,” Kestrel grated, pushing him away. His gaze fixed on the bloody handprint he’d left on his younger brother’s bare chest. The bold crimson mark stood out, commanding, dominating every thought in Kestrel’s head. It appeared black, like a talisman of death coming to claim him. Again his brother’s voice called to him, but he couldn’t tear his focus off it.

A pair of strong hands, slick and warm with blood, grasped his face, forcing it up to one he’d known since he was a hatchling.

“It’s too late! They’ve been taken,” Falcon shouted, and this time Kestrel heard every word.

Oh Gods, he heard.

He sucked in a breath and held it. Falcon’s words ripped through him with more agonizing force than the vampire whose ax had nearly hewed off his legs. The bare truth lay before him too brilliant and potent for him to ignore.

They’ve been taken.

He’d failed.

He, the Captain of the Dragon Legion responsible for the safety of the flock and their mission, had done the unthinkable. He’d allowed the king and queen to be captured.

His lungs burned, screaming for air. Yet he couldn’t seem to breathe. Another bolt of agony wrenched tighter, twister farther in his gut. When he realized it came from Falcon knotting his holster belt around his thigh, Kestrel used the last reserve of strength to form a plea with his brother.

“Leave me,” he panted, his eyes suddenly heavy. In fact, he noticed his entire body suddenly felt heavy. His eyelids slid closed, as if weighed down by tethers.

“Sorry, brother.” Falcon released his hold and backed up a pace. Kestrel forced his weak eyes open, watching as his brothers face shifted seamlessly into bone and scale. Glittering green scales nearly too brilliant to look at filled Kestrel’s blurring vision. Within seconds Falcon, now in the shape of a green dragon, towered over him.

“You saved my life tonight. Whether you like it or not, I’m repaying the favor.”

A clawed hand curled around his waist, the long fingers tightening firmly yet tenderly around his middle, preparing to lift him.

“Falcon, no…” Kestrel rasped.

“Don’t talk. Just hang on.”

Chapter Two

“Is he the only one?”

Sparrow Rose pulled her blond ponytail from the collar of her white lab coat as she jogged toward the operating room.

“Yes.”

She blinked up at the dragon lord who answered. Falcon, she believed they called him. Sparrow had worked on him before. In fact, as the flock’s only healer, she’d healed most of the dragon lords and legionnaires at one point or another.

“No one else was injured?” she clarified, half wanting to ask if he needed any attention. Caked blood coated his hands and the black combat pants he wore. Streaks of it smeared his temple as if he’d been running his fingers through his long black hair. However, he shook his head, his neck craning toward the auld women wheeling a gurney toward them. Sparrow focused on them, too, hoping the warrior injured wasn’t Tallon. The king and queen’s daughter had always been the only warrior she felt some kind of connection to. While she hated to think of any of them hurt, she especially worried about the female.

“No,” Falcon replied. Curt, clipped, concerned. Better than angry, she decided.

“He’s the only one.”

For some reason, a knot formed in Sparrow’s throat. She swallowed it just as the rolling gurney stopped under the circular fluorescent light. At the sight of the man atop it, her heart thudded. Every shred of confidence she’d managed to piece together came unglued, crumbling like the fragments of her heart.

She’d forgotten. There was one other warrior who intrigued her, whose well-being she prayed to the gods for each night.

“The captain?” she said on a disbelieving exhale.

“Yes.” He spoke the affirmation in a soft whisper that tugged at Sparrow’s already taut heartstrings.

“Come, young lord.” One of the elderly sisters, dressed from toe to capped head in white, took the warrior by the arm, ushering him out of the ancient cavern. He went willingly, but paused at the archway. His broad shoulders rose and fell beneath his deep breath a moment before he looked over his shoulder, his piercing emerald eyes awash with grief. “He saved my life. Please do what you can to save his.”

Sparrow glanced back at the captain. She knew she had to act fast, and yet couldn’t seem to move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t take her eyes off the man lying so broken and bloody before her. Disbelief shrouded her senses, warring with the inherent healer within her who wanted to get started saving his life. The fact she’d learned to accept as truth failed to register with the sight before her.

Captain Grey had never been healed. In truth, part of her had begun to think of him as invincible. The ideal and perfect dragon warrior.

To see him lying in the infirmary, his pale skin nearly the same color as his waist-length silver dragon lord mane—a mane sullied and stained with streaks of blood and Gods knew what else—sent an ocean of sickness churning over her, nearly drowning her. An overpowering cloak of fear enveloped her. Fear of failing him, of not being worthy enough to save him, wrapped around her in a tight cocoon of dread.

“I can’t do this. I can’t do this.”

The litany ran over and over and unbidden in Sparrow’s mind. It was only when she heard a voice beside her that she realized she’d repeated the phrase aloud.

“He is out cold, young Sparrow,” one of the elder sisters said. “We made certain of it. You’ll do fine.”

Sparrow nodded, unable to verbally acknowledge the auld woman. Then she was gone, leaving Sparrow in the room with the wounded dragon lord.

How it always had to be for her to heal.

How she always felt.

Alone.

Forcing in a breath, she exhaled it slowly, her attention hovering somewhere between his strong jaw and the vein that throbbed sporadically and wildly at the base of his throat. With him safely asleep, Sparrow could allow herself to admit he had such a strong, handsome face for an elder dragon lord. In fact, his silver hair was the only indicator of his age. Like all dragons, his body seemed enormous and strong to her, each fragment of bone surrounded by a bulging sinew of muscle. Yet unlike most of the warriors, she found the captain beautiful. His face a flawless line and arch of perfection that could have been sculpted by an artist of auld.

Flexing her fingers, she lifted them to the edge of the crisp white sheet blanketing his body. Although she dreaded seeing, she had to bare his wounds to fix them. She pulled the sheet away, a gasp falling from her lips.

Blood. The harsh copper stench of it hit her nose, making her turn her head away briefly. Until she saw his leg. Instinct had her clasping her fingers around what was left of his thigh with one hand and reaching for a gauze pad with the other. Winding the thick roll of fabric around his wound, she attempted to staunch the bleeding, alarmed at how rapidly the bandage filled with dark crimson.

Closing her eyes, she decided to heal his torn abdomen first. Sparrow closed off all emotions, all sensations and zeroed in on his heartbeat. Although low, it thumped strong and constant, like a metronome. Inhaling, she let the power pour through her, allowing the flood of healing energy to flow into him on the exhale.

Beneath her open palms, invisible hands lifted the ripped and jagged tissue, ligaments sewed tight. The top layer of skin melted into a full unit once again. The thin line where a weapon had obviously entered his cavity dissolved, as if someone had taken an eraser to the mark, removing any evidence that such a wound had ever existed.

Without breaking her concentration, she moved her hands lower to his leg. A flood of heat poured from her into the warrior beneath. The energy within her pumped into him with strident force, for minutes, then the better part of an hour. Until her hands shook. Until fatigue draped over her like a wet cloak, slowing her movements, corking her energy flow.

Panting, Sparrow let her hands fall away, swiping the back of one along her forehead and the steady beads of sweat accumulating there. She’d fixed the massive wound on his abdomen. But her gaze fastened on the useless flesh and bone of his leg in muted concession. Her heart and spirit crumbled at the truth laid out in blood and bone before her.

She couldn’t save it.

She closed her eyes, dropping her chin to her chest. This could have been her chance to prove to the higher council that the position of resident healer was not a worthless one. That it deserved to be reinstated. Yet she was helpless to do anything other than saw off what was left of his leg, effectively handing this proud man a life any warrior feared more than death, tossing her dreams to the wind along with the limb to the dogs.

“Dammit.” She slapped her hand down on the table.

He groaned and her focus instantly swept up to his face. Sweat beaded on his skin. His mouth moved, his inhalations sharp and ragged.

She looked at the dragon lord beneath her. An errant thought, a plan whispered through her mind before she could stop it. Images, pictures from old texts and her father’s notebook flashed in her mind along with one thought.

I can’t heal him, but I can fix him.

Sparrow moved to her office with renewed purpose. The warrior needed her help, and by the gods she was going to give it to him. Her father might have failed the flock. But perhaps he had taught her how to save one in the process.

Once she had collected and sorted everything she needed, she cracked open a timeworn leather book to the exact page she needed. After rereading a few things, she stared at the unconscious warrior and tried to remember the ancient words she’d practiced all her life for just a moment like this one.

Fear coiled around her. Maybe she couldn’t do this. Maybe she was meant for a life of books, research not practicum. Maybe it was as all the elders whispered when they thought she wasn’t listening…that she undoubtedly had some of her father’s genius and gift. But perhaps she had some of his madness, as well.

Sparrow glanced at the golden rods and pins beside her and back at the warrior. Desire to prove herself closed her eyes. The clawing need to help the captain made her focus. Exhaling, she opened her eyes and her palms hovered over the mortal wounds on his thigh.

He’s asleep. He can’t hurt you the way Father hurt you.

A shudder passed through her at the memory. No matter how hard she tried, how many times she healed. The same fuel always stoked the fire inside her, feeding her energy as well as her fears. She tapped the well. Let the power flow through her in a dizzying current.

In a low, steady burn, the heat returned. A soft, comforting glow spread through her body, warming the room and banishing any vines of doubt still clinging to her soul. Sparrow kept her eyes screwed tight and focused all her will on the warrior beneath her. The words of the spell poured effortlessly from her lips in a droning chant barely above a whisper.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the warmth fled. The light within her died, replaced by stabbing cold, shooting daggers first through her palms and then in her gut. Unbearable agony unfurled in a nauseating ribbon down her spine, coiling around it like a serpent bent on constricting the very life out of her. Rolling waves of blackness crashed and ebbed over her vision until the ground beneath her began to fall away.

Loss.

Pain.

Misery.

Fear.

Of all the emotions bombarding her, it was the fear that restricted her. Fear that tightened around her core, knotting her stomach. Fear for the warrior. Fear for herself. Fear of failure permeated the air around her until it was all she drew in.

She didn’t realize until too late that it wasn’t her fear she was feeling.

It was his.

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