

* * *

Moorigad Dragon Collection

Part One

A Mystic's Carnival Story

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Debra Kristi

### Contents

The Moorigad Dragon's Story Continues

Other Stories by Debra Kristi

Welcome

1. Mystic's

2. New Job

3. In Deep

4. Destinations

5. Death Knocking

6. Unexpected

7. Necessities

8. Alone

9. Complications

10. Phoenix

11. Visiting Hour

12. Dragon Light

Reap Not The Dragon

1. Wrecked

2. Coffee

From the Author

Glossary of Terms

Acknowledgments

About the Author
The Moorigad Dragon: Moorigad Dragon Collection, Part One (A Mystic's Carnival Story) Copyright © 2014 by Debra Kristi

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All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Ghost Girl Publishing, LLC. www.GhostGirlPublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

eBook ISBN: 978-1-942191-00-1

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-942191-01-8

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_Cover design artwork by Adara Rosalie_

_Book layout by Under Wraps Publishing_

_Editor: Eden Plantz_

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Kristi, Debra

The Moorigad Dragon / Debra Kristi. – 2nd ed.

Young Adult―Fiction. Paranormal―Fiction. Romance―Fiction

Visit the author: <http://www.debrakristi.com/>
The Moorigad Dragon's Story Continues...

Moorigad Dragon Collection

The Moorigad Dragon: Part 1

Reap Not the Dragon: Part 2

Plight of the Dragon: Part 3

Or read the full story uninterrupted from start to end:

Moorigad (Moorigad Dragon Collection Complete Parts 1 - 3)

And don't forget to **claim your FREE** **GIFT** and get extra short stories from Mystic's Carnival:

<http://www.debrakristi.com/claim-your-free-gift/>

# Other Stories by Debra Kristi

The Balance Bringer Chronicles

Blood Promise: Watchtower 7 – Cursed Angel Collection

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To learn more about these stories, visit Debra Kristi's book page:

<http://www.debrakristi.com/all-books/>

* * *

And for updates about new releases, as well as exclusive promotions and giveaways, sign up for The Insider's Club mailing list here: <http://bit.ly/2EWGH3q>
For Scott

The man who never stopped believing in me.
_"Sing my precious little golden bird, sing! I have hung my golden slipper around your neck."_

\- The Nightingale

_Mystic's Carnival_. You may have heard of it―the name has been whispered in quiet conversation, mentioned in folktale. Many believe it does not exist. Let me assure you, it as real as the air around you. If you are lucky or so in need, you may be among the few who come to know the wonder of this mysterious destination. It is not your average carnival. No, not at all. The show of twirling lights, motor rides, and funny sideshows never moves, never sleeps, and can never, ever be found unless so wished by the carnival herself. Is she a living, breathing entity? I'll let you be the judge. Follow now, if you will, into the story, and let our characters introduce you to the splendor of their world and the mystery that can only be found at Mystic's Carnival.

Safe travels, weary reader~

## 1

# Mystic's

### Kyra

A grumble worthy of the grumpiest of dragons rumbled through Kyra's stomach. In a futile attempt to silence the beast, Kyra pressed the heel of her palm into her gut and peeked through the fall of her hair at the convenience store clerk. She stood at the first rack inside the door with nothing blocking her from the clerk's view. The last thing she needed was something as insignificantly stupid as a tummy growl to draw his attention. If he came over, well...

"Finding everything okay over there?" the clerk asked from his station.

She regarded the counter surrounding him. At least he had a protection barrier, even though he didn't know he needed one. "Yep," Kyra grunted, staring back to the selection of beef sticks and jerky on the top row of the rack. Within her pockets, her fingers searched, turning up nothing more than lint. The hunger tore at her stomach like werewolf claws, making human flesh all too appealing. Her eyes darted to the side, back to the clerk. A magazine was open on the counter, but he was no longer reading. The gum-smacking teen was now peering down the aisle at her.

Again, her stomach grumbled. Kyra bit her nails and returned her attention to the display. Terrible, nasty habit, nail biting. She'd have to stop. But not today. Not if it kept her from delighting in charbroiled teen for lunch.

Kyra had never slipped, never harmed a human in her life. Today was not going to be the first. But dang, hunger rolled through her like an ever-destructive tidal wave. _Food, must have food now._ From left to right, then left again, she shifted, awkwardly, in her moment of indecision. With the speed of a predator's strike, she grabbed two handfuls of jerky and ran for the door.

"Hey!" the clerk yelled.

A clamor followed her escape out of the store.

Using the doorframe as an anchor, Kyra swung her body swiftly to the left and bolted down the street, dropping bags of jerky in her wake. Mid-morning, the hustle and bustle of the commute hour had already subsided, allowing Kyra, for the most part, to easily weave through the sidewalk traffic. Her legs pumped in a labored effort weighted by exhaustion and malnutrition. If only the clerk knew what she was, what she could do, how hungry she had become, he wouldn't pursue. Only here, in this world full of naive humans, no one knew. That had been the point. It was the best place she could think of to hide from her family―among the humans. A place where all her kind would refrain from showing their true faces.

She ran and ran and ran, and still the clamor persisted behind her. Why was he chasing her over some stupid jerky? Who was watching the store? She chanced a glance back. No gum-smacking clerk chasing her down. Not anymore. Nope. She had a cop on her tail. _Smart kid_. She hadn't even noticed the cop.

On her right, a steady stream of moving cars. On her left, building after building, trapping her on a steady sidewalk track. The path took her through a barrage of people, all going about their daily lives. Some stepped out of the way, but a few grabbed at her, tried to stop her. Slow her down. Her eyes burned, and Kyra knew it was only a matter of time before her anger and frustration won, leading her to turn. _I need to get out of here._

Spotting a turn, she increased her speed and jarred to the left. It was as if the universe had been listening to her, providing her an exit. Or maybe...just maybe...she had rubbed a genie's lamp and forgotten.

Her run faltered.

_Dammit_.

She was in an alley. A dead-end alley. No greater universal power or genie to the rescue. A trickster, the devil, her own idiocy would seal her fate.

_Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid move._

Kyra spun around. The cop was at the alleyway entrance. Her tummy rumbled, an infinity of churns and boils. Clutching what few beef sticks and jerky remained to her chest, Kyra took slow and steady steps back.

The cop approached with caution. "You're going to have to come with me," he said.

Kyra threw out her hand to stop him. "Please, I don't want to hurt you."

"Was that a threat?" His eye twitched, and his hand tightened on his gun, ready to pull the weapon from its holster at the slightest sign of aggression.

Kyra's breaths were brisk and arduous, everything inside of her turning to an inferno. She had nowhere to go. The alley ended at a wall a few feet behind her. A strategic glance had informed her of all she needed to know―wall, no exit, and a whole lot of graffiti. Every kind of graffiti. There was a wildstyle, a couple of pieces, some stencils, throw-ups, and of course, stickers and tags. It was as if she were standing in a graffiti museum. But the work was beyond the average graffiti art. The pieces and styles came together to create a giant mural. A mural of a wild carnival. _Who paints carnivals on public walls?_

"Come on, girl. I don't want any trouble." The cop took several steps forward, and broken glass crunched beneath his shoes.

"Neither do I," Kyra said, backing up as far as she could. For a millisecond, the wall pressed against her back, and then she was falling, falling through the mural. A tiny yelp escaped her lips.

Everything was pulling, spinning, and the cop's astonished expression vanished in a blur, as if he were a drop on the water's surface. She was like putty in the universe's hands, being squashed and stretched and swiveled. She wanted to wretch. Hard dirt welcomed her with a thump, ending the experience as quickly as it had begun. All the loopty-loo rollercoaster feelings in her stomach ended, leaving Kyra with nothing more than a void in her gut.

"Ouch." She sat back on her knees and rubbed her elbow. Stared at the last bag of jerky laying in the dirt before her. After all that trouble, all she'd managed to secure was one lousy bag. That was hardly enough to satisfy her hunger.

"It's about time you showed up."

Kyra bolted upright and spun around. Before her, on a chair made from an old tree stump, sat an old man with a cane. A clearly blind old man, judging by his milky white eyes. His gray hair hinted to an age older than his dark skin cared to share, and he dressed like a grandpa. Or at least, how she thought a grandpa would dress. Kyra caught her breath. Behind him was the carnival, the one depicted by the mural. It sparkled and glittered and sang with glee.

"What in the name of supernatural magic?" Kyra's gaze wandered from left to right, taking in the endless sights.

The old man smiled, and, for an instant, Kyra worried his face might crack. "I understand it's all rather confusing. My name is Zeke."

He held out his hand. It was the hand of a working man. Worn, rough, and scarred. In general, Kyra had found working men to be more trustworthy than those in positions of power, but that was just her opinion, which didn't count for spit. She hesitated, staring at the man and the place, unsure if any of it was real. Maybe she'd hit her head in the alley and at this very minute the cop had her face-down on the ground and was cuffing her.

Zeke grunted, retracted his hand, and motioned to the carnival behind him. "This is Mystic's."

Her gaze averted to the colorful spectrum. Every possible wash of illumination jumped from the canvas behind him. Only, it wasn't a canvas. It was real, teeming with life.

_It is, isn't it? Real?_

Beyond the carnivals glittering gates rang the music of delight: game jingles, zooming rides, and laughter. At the front gate, a vendor handed out oversized balloons to giggling and squealing children who greedily clutched at the shiny floating bobbles. But the thing that most caught Kyra's attention, a funnel cake cart sat between her and the main entrance. It filled the air with the most delicious aroma. Still ravenous, Kyra pressed the heel of her palm into her stomach to stop the growling.

"What is this place? How did I get here?" She had heard rumors but had never... had she lost time? Slipped into another world? Another dimension? Fallen into a trap for the unexpecting?

"You have a lot of questions," Zeke said with a smile in his voice. "Quite understandable. But I assure you, you have nothing to fear." He leaned upon his cane handle. "Mystic's brought you here through the mural's portal. She's been watching you for a while now and decided you needed a place to call home...if only temporarily."

"Mystic's. The carnival brought me?" Kyra grimaced, making no attempt to hide her skepticism.

"Oh yes." Zeke's face beamed. "Mystic's is no ordinary carnival. She is a beautiful sentient being. Living and thinking. She cares what happens to you, Kyra."

"You know my name?" Kyra jolted back, her insides flaring to new temperatures. Her gaze darted across the crowd searching for signs of her kind. Any who might try to return her to her mother or father.

"She knows much," Zeke continued, ignoring Kyra's uneasiness. "She told me you would come, and I'm glad you did. I think you'll like it here. Like I said, this is no ordinary carnival. She caters to the supernatural."

Satisfied that no one was waiting to jump out of the crowd and haul her away, Kyra snatched the bag of jerky from the ground and turned her attention to Zeke. "Okay, but..."

"I think you should eat first." Zeke's glanced at the bag Kyra crinkled in her grasp. "I'll let one of our own fill you in on all the need-to-knows." He shifted in his seat as if looking for someone. "Sebastian!" he called across the carnival's entrance.

A guy in line at the funnel cake cart, clad in all dark attire—black pants, black shirt, black hoodie—responded with a scrutinizing stare. Something about the way he looked at her was like icicles across her skin, and Kyra thought she could feel his stare scrapping over her bones. He appeared hesitant to respond even as he abandoned his place in line and strolled in their direction. Her gut rolled, twisted into knots, and her muscles tensed. There was something different about him. Something alluring and dangerously different.

He crossed the open expanse with the sway of a guy who hadn't a care in the world and came to stand before Kyra. Like Zeke had done previously, the guy extended his hand. "Sebastian," he said. "I hear you're the new girl."

Kyra bit the inside of her lip and ogled him. He definitely agitated the coals in her fire. She didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

"Kyra." She placed her hand in his palm.

Sharp, arctic waves swelled over her skin, quelling her inner inferno. Kyra sucked back a deep breath and gazed into the eyes of the most incredible being she'd ever come across. Never had she met a being who could compete with her fire. She was baffled, confused, and intrigued. No longer did she burn, nor did he freeze. Their touch was a perfect body warmth.

Maybe the carnival was worth further investigation. She supposed she could hang around for a little while. Sebastian coughed, and Kyra blinked. He glanced to their clasped hands.

"Oh." Heat rushed to her head. She released her hold and let her arm fall to her side. _Was I staring? Oh, dear Rajũn, I was seriously staring. So embarrassing **.**_ She shot a quick glance in Sebastian's direction before settling her gaze upon Zeke. "I guess I can stay for a bit."

"Wonderful." Zeke stomped his cane. "Sebastian, please see that this young lady gets something to eat."

"I'm on it." Sebastian turned and walked away.

Kyra's feet were planted firmly in place. Staring after him, she churned with anxiety, curiosity, confusion, and embarrassment. Her legs had become blocks of lead.

He glanced back. "Are you coming?"

And just like that, the lead turned to molten metal.

Kyra leapt and stumbled after Sebastian.
_Eight months later..._

## 2

# New Job

### Sebastian

Sebastian made his way through Mystic's Magical Market. The walk was colorful and charismatic, and he never tired of the journey. His House of Tarot could be found midway down the pass, between Talia's Crystal Ball Gazing and the Palm Reader. Behind his establishment sat his tiny home of a trailer. And it was tiny, compared to the one Kyra had received many months ago, once she had decided to stay. Not that he minded. He didn't require much room. Simply a place to drop for the night.

Today's crowd was light, which suited Sebastian just fine. He wasn't in the mood for dealing with patrons who didn't much care for the truth in their fortunes. It's not as if he could control the cards. They told what they told. Stepping through his front walk, he ran his fingers through the multitude of hanging crystals and set a melody of fairy opera swimming through the air.

"Sebastian."

His cloud evaporated. Darkness, thick and suffocating, dropped over him. He grumbled and slowly turned back toward the market way. Standing amongst the passing crowd was a man. A timeless, stoic man. A much-hated man. Hated by Sebastian, at least.

"How did you find me?"

"Don't be daft, boy." The gentleman brushed his fingers along the brim of his fedora. "You can't hide from me forever."

"It was worth a try." Sebastian stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"You have a job to do," the man said with a sparkle in his eye. It contrasted against the surrounding gloom he'd brought with him.

All Sebastian's self-confidence and pride melted away with the sag of his shoulders. "Not here." He turned into the House of Tarot and walked to the back, leaving the reading table as a barrier. The space was dimly lit. Sebastian would normally have called it mood lighting...for effect, of course. Today, it was a reflection of the situation pressing upon him. The outlining candles continued to flicker, yet appeared to put out less light than usual. Maybe it was Sebastian's imagination, or maybe, just maybe, this man sucked the light out of everything around him.

The gentleman entered. Impeccable gray suit, sharp tie, and a fedora. Sebastian had wondered on more than one occasion if he was a Frank Sinatra fan. "You have a job to do," he repeated.

Sebastian paced behind the table, restlessness pulsing through his legs. "I don't want another job. The last one you gave me was wretched, and it followed me here."

"If you had done the job correctly, there would have been nothing left to follow."

Sebastian rolled his eyes.

"Respect, boy. You show me respect." The man's expression reminded Sebastian of a shark. It wasn't too far off the mark. The man was, in Sebastian's opinion, a cold-blooded predator.

Sebastian sighed. "I don't want to do this."

"Doesn't matter if you want to or not. I've decided. It's been too long, and you are far overdue." The gentleman flicked his finger in Sebastian's direction.

Searing pain cut and curled across Sebastian's ribs, as if he'd been slapped with a branding iron. "Ouch!" He pressed against his side, breathed deep, and lifted his shirt. Scrolled up the side of his chest was the scribble of one word. "Why?"

"It's how I work," the gentleman said with a mild tilt of the head. "The mark will inform you of everything you need to know." With a smirk, he turned and strolled out of the tarot tent, not allowing Sebastian any further chances to rebut.

With a shaky hand, Sebastian raked his fingers through his hair. _Why did he have to find me? I don't want to do it. Any of it._ He looked down at the word again and studied it. _What the heck is a Balidhug anyway?_

He dropped into his worn, overstuffed chair in a slouch, the table at his side. So many times, he'd found comfort in the chair, but not today. Today there was no comfort to be found. Not in the chair. Not in his tarot tent. And not in his head. His fingers traced arcs over and over in the wood of the table, followed by an obsessive tap, tap, tap.

_I could somehow infuse my tarot cards into the process. Maybe I'd hate it a little less then._ His finger tapped the table again. It wasn't enough, and he knew it.

Tap, tap, tap.

There wasn't a single thing that could...

A tiny glimmer of hope sparked, and Kyra's name enveloped his developing plan. Her friendship had become the calm to his inner storm. Maybe, just maybe, her presence would make his required task bearable.

## 3

# In Deep

### Kyra

A flurry of heat particles swirled deep within Kyra's throat. They sparked and sizzled like a half-witted science experiment gone awry. Her nose twitched in response to the tickle.

For an endless moment, she admired the profile of the man standing beside her and held the fury within her at bay. She'd known Sebastian less than a year, yet it felt like a millennium. Only he had shown her patience and understanding where her family had shown none. He'd taken the time to work with her on balance and inner peace, helped calm her rage. It was because of him she was still sane, still walking the line of indecision.

Her skin shivered with heat, set in motion by his enticing form. A distraction from her practice she neither needed nor minded.

_But I should mind_ , she reminded herself.

She released the fever from her lungs in one long, slow breath. It exploded from her lips in hellfire. Tongues of seething flame lashed out at the crisp air, the embers seeking new fuel, until a sharp widening of her lips killed the blaze. Kyra never tired of the art of fire-breathing. She could practice for hours.

Sebastian raised a brow in an oh-really kind of way, yet barely looked in her direction. He continued to flip through the deck of cards he held and made no attempt to hide the smile flirting at his lips. "I've seen you do better." He teased.

His words meant to challenge, not insult. Of that she was confident. There was nothing in all the worlds she was surer about than Sebastian. He was the best friend she'd ever had, possibly the only friend, and she trusted him with everything about herself. Well, most everything. Possibly a lot. Enough, anyway.

A silent, happy-to-play-along half chuckle rumbled through her chest. She lifted the whiskey bottle and took another swig, coating the inside of her mouth for further fire practice. She used the leather sleeve of her jacket as a napkin before turning to face him.

"Of course, I've done better." Kyra swung the whiskey bottle in a wide arc. "But we weren't sitting around _Normville_ with our thumbs up our aft ends at the time, were we? So, it's not like I was trying that hard." She swirled the bottle of shimmery liquid and scanned the landscape for the umpteenth time. "Are we someplace in America? All human cities have begun to look the same to me. I prefer realms where we're free to be ourselves. Places of magic, like the carnival."

Today was the first time Sebastian had invited her on an errand outside of the carnival. She hadn't a clue to the true nature of the errand, but it was clear, whatever the task, it tormented him. He hadn't moved in the past thirty minutes. He stood in the same spot, leaning against the same stone pylon, playing nonstop with the same deck of tarot cards. His gaze would wander to the wide river several yards away, then back to the deck. She only hoped that her presence made whatever it was he had to do a tad easier. After all, she had assumed that was why he had invited her.

_If he would just open up and share a tad bit more._

She'd told him more than anyone, little as it actually was. They were bonded through their unspoken genealogical pain, runaway status, and secret species prestige. He made life at Mystic's Carnival feel like some place she might want to stay long term. Like a real home. Something she'd never really had before.

Her parents never made her feel comfortable enough or welcome enough. Always pushing her to make the choice―the choice _they_ wanted. And each of them wanted something different. Kyra remained unresolved on the decision that would soon have to be made. Had Anguis the Angry felt the same way? Maybe. Maybe that was why he was angry. He had become famous for refusing to choose a side. But he'd also gone mad. Angry and mad.

She'd been told so often to pick a side that it jumbled in her head like debris trapped in a spinning typhoon. She despised both her parents for it, and every member of their clans. It was their fault she was trapped having to make a choice, their fault she didn't belong. Running away was the best thing she'd ever done because it had led her to Sebastian.

The cards in Sebastian's hands stopped flipping. He turned, looked straight through her, a sense of vexation in his dark eyes. Kyra's chest squeezed, bruising her ego in one quick, stumble-fly reaction. It hurt. Physically hurt. Her hand clutched at the cement behind her, but the pain evaporated with the blink of his eye―that quick, that simple. As if it never were.

"I'm sorry," Sebastian mumbled, looking to his feet. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I guess I need to work more on my control. I haven't figured it all out yet."

Sebastian had been the source of her pain. Intriguing. Kyra leaned closer, the thirst for knowledge, a deeper understanding about him, nudging at her back. This was the first time she'd heard him even hint at his inherited gifts. She would never push, though. Not with Sebastian.

"I get it. I'll help if you want."

His face lifted, faking a smile, and he returned his gaze to hers, this time less intense, if only slightly. "That would be something."

She saw through his pretenses. Whatever he was wrestling with disturbed him more than he cared to voice. She didn't like seeing him so withdrawn, so cutoff, so distant. She wanted to reach over, take his hand, _force_ him to open up. A blend of control and _just_ enough compassion that would make her father frown. Only, that's how this friendship made her feel―compassionate.

Maybe the tough girl armor was the wrong one to wear in front of Sebastian. She knew little about his kind. So, little she had no idea exactly where to pinpoint his species. All she knew for certain was she and Sebastian were not the same. Not that she cared, particularly. She didn't want to push him away with her volatile personality. Behind his protective façade, she could see him trying. She could try harder, too.

The idea of someone in whom she could confide made her insides vibrate and her heart hammer, for she disliked harboring secrets. Secrets often came back to bite ugly chunks out of her tail.

Despite Sebastian's mood, the brooding look fit him. Even looked good on him. It was the way his dark hair fell over his forehead, or how his olive skin would darken, and his indigo eyes took on a look of great knowledge and vulnerability all at once. Kyra and Sebastian were far from similar, and yet, he could easily blend in among her mother's clan with his warm mocha skin and midnight hair, as long as the clan remained in human form.

She would never fit in. Fair skin and deep-set golden eyes were her traits, inherited from her father's side. She'd tried staying with her father and his clan, but the aspects inherited from her mother's line became intolerable for them. She was destined to be a nomad, a runaway, with no place to belong. Yet having a little of both parental lines sure came in hellfire handy on occasion.

A card dropped at her feet.

"Pick it up," Sebastian said. "You should like it. It's a good thing."

Kyra lifted the card and turned it around in her hand. _What does this mean?_ She stared at the extensive art of the design. Kyra had a vague understanding of the tarot cards. She thought she had their various meanings memorized, but too often found herself confused.

"It's The Empress," he said, looking pleased. "She's telling you that big decision you've been struggling with is in your control." Sebastian threw her a sharp, meaningful look. " _Only_ you decide what happens next."

The stone columns around them vibrated with an inconsistent hum of passing cars on the above bridge. Beneath Sebastian's stare, Kyra felt itchy and uncomfortable and naked. He knew her too well. Knew her secrets and weaknesses and fortitude. Knew the weight the decision laid upon her. She lacked the comfort of her guise. Having no witty response ready at the tip of her tongue, Kyra stashed the card in her back pocket with a silent acknowledgment, a customary torque of the lips.

The clatter of footsteps on the adjacent walking path drowned out to a shallow buzz at the back of her ear. Since they were well camouflaged within the shadows and foliage of the surrounding beech trees, she knew the activity overhead shouldn't give her any concern, and it didn't, not really. Sebastian was the cause of her internal nagging.

There was a reason he'd dragged her out here, far from their home at the carnival. And yet, all they had done was stand around and wait. If he was going to share the reason for the errand, she wished he would do it already.

Agitation had her swirling her glossy bottle of fuel faster and faster. It was only liquor, and she didn't need it, but for the purpose of her show, it worked well in creating the illusion. Practice made it convincing. "Why are we here? Why are we standing around doing nothing?"

His focus shifted to the grass at his feet, hiding his face from view. Still visible was the slight tic at the edge of his lip. "I'm waiting for something."

_Obviously. Stop dragging your feet, Sebastian._ "Great." Kyra leaned against the hard surface beside him, dropped her bottle of whiskey, heard it land with a solid thump, and reached for Sebastian's hand. She didn't care he wasn't clan. Didn't care if her father would disapprove, or her mother, for that matter. They weren't present. She only cared about the life she was building now. A life full of carnival misfits. And that included Sebastian.

She pictured her parents' faces if they could see the way she now lived. Ribbons of warmth raced through her blood at the thought. Her fingers glided across Sebastian's skin, gently weaved their hands together. "You can tell me anything. You know that, right? I'd take your secrets to the grave." She stared down at their hands, at their connection, a bristled knot settling in her chest.

Sebastian's fingers locked onto hers and squeezed. The hold was soft and warm and solid. A grip promising to never let go. And Sebastian's eyes filled with so much emotion Kyra didn't know how to interpret it. "That's why I brought you. I trust you unequivocally. Time I shared this part of me with you."

Trust. No one had ever trusted her before. The warmth welling within her heart expanded tenfold, and she imagined her bones bursting into cinder. Finally, _his_ secret would be _their_ secret. She tightened the squeeze on his hand, held fast as the world around them melted into wet paint. Nothing else mattered, only the steadfast love and loyalty of true friends. Within it, they found trust.

"I've never before known anyone with whom I felt safe sharing pieces of myself. Not until you." Sebastian stared at the deck of cards he held tight within his grip. The cards bowed, forming a loose letter C. "There's so much about who and what I am that I am ashamed of. Afraid to admit or to speak out loud." He glanced up at Kyra and held her gaze. "But I think...I think I'd feel safe sharing those parts of myself with you. I think you could help me better understand myself and come to terms with what I am." He blinked and dropped his gaze to his feet, once more.

Kyra bit her lip. Every molecule of her being had come to a complete stop, frozen in the moment.

Shouts broke out in the distance, destroying the moment. All signs of sensitivity washed from Sebastian's face. He looked toward the bridge above, toward the commotion, toward...what, exactly? Perking up, Sebastian stepped to the side, out from cover. Following his gaze, Kyra moved into the trees with him and turned toward the clamor.

On the long, stone structure that crossed the river, four men were fighting. It was three against one, more a beating than a fight.

Sebastian's lips curled into a sneer―a neither hostile nor jealous sneer, but the kind of sneer one plastered on his face when privy to disapproving bouts of behavior. "Look at those humans, beating on each other like dumb animals."

As if she'd jammed her fingers in a light socket, a jolt ran through Kyra. His words surprised her, yet she refused to believe they were his genuine feelings. The false stretch of his lips, strained look in his eyes, gave her reason to think he concealed something, and feigned prejudice to keep his true motives hidden.

"Don't be so judgmental," she said. "It's not like supernaturals are superior when it comes to stupid behavior. After all, why are you hiding at the carnival instead of at home with your family?" A shudder rolled over her, spurred by the thought that their stories could be similar. Was he also being forced into a marriage he wanted no part of? Why else had he remained so closed-lipped? Had he killed to get away? Or would he be killed if caught? Maybe his story wasn't anything so exciting. Maybe his story wasn't so different from hers. Full of speculation, she patiently awaited his answer.

He clenched the deck of cards, turning his knuckles white. Tension built between them. A new development to which she wasn't accustomed. She didn't understand it and didn't like it. His right eye quivered. "I have my reasons."

Anger churned inside her like liquid magma. Slipping and sliding around the bends in her bloodstream like a firewater jet slide. She'd swear the sun got fifteen degrees hotter. Heated with hatred for being shut out. One minute it was trust; the next an iron hatch slammed in her face. "I bet you do, Mister Tall, Dark, and I-Got-Supernatural-Secrets," Kyra mumbled, crossing her arms and letting a dismal scowl fall into place on her face.

Allowing herself to be controlled by petty emotions was unwise. She knew that. Especially when she wasn't exactly an open book, but her feelings rarely asked for permission before taking control of the helm. Her sentiments were the equivalent of a wild card in a poker deck. They could do just about anything.

Sebastian had never asked more than she was willing to give. She should show him the same courtesy. Not always so easy, though. She didn't have as much self-control as he did. Or appeared to have. Now something strange brewed between them. Over what? She couldn't define the emotions or the circumstances, which only made it worse.

"Damn be to Hades." Sebastian scuffed his foot along the ground. "I'm sorry, Kyra. I'm just stressed right now."

She pretended to assess him, even though there was no need. He wore his stress like a magician's cape. "It's kinda showing. Might want to tuck it back under your shirt."

Sebastian laughed. It was fake and lackluster, failing to light up his face the way his genuine laughter always did. Sebastian's body went ramrod straight. Smoke scorched Kyra's nostrils in her irritation. He ignored her―his stare transfixed at the far end of the bridge. "There! He's there." Sebastian took another step into the clearing, another step closer to the water, closer to the commotion of human civilization.

Someone stood at the far edge of the bridge, instantly recognizable as non-human. He moved with a sense of belonging toward the men fighting. Hard to describe, he was the type you didn't want to notice. You knew he was there when looking directly at him, yet you didn't want to see or acknowledge his presence. All Kyra could decently distinguish was a nondescript, dark gray suit and hat to match. Through all her travels over the years, she'd never seen anything or anyone like him. He was a mystery.

He was invisible to human perception. Alarms buzzed inside her like electrified wire. She wanted to be on the bridge, investigating the curious stranger.

Kyra tried to make her words roll out in a drawl, attempted to sound bored, unenthused. Instead, excitement―eagerness―escaped. "Great. Shall we go meet him?"

Sebastian's eyes widened and froze. "No!"

It wasn't that caught-you-naked-doing-something-you-shouldn't kind of look. No. It ran far deeper. She glanced between her friend and the new man. Something properly serious bothered Sebastian, and she didn't think it was her reaction. She wanted to bite right to the core of the _shituation_. "You know what's funny? I can't say with a hundred percent certainty, because he's so far away, but that guy smells a lot like you. Haven't come across that before. Is he related?"

That would clarify a few things. Kyra had been drawn to Sebastian's mysterious side. It was alluring, exciting. Whatever stood on the bridge was equally as mystifying. Of course, she'd been intrigued by the mystery back in the beginning. Now she was ready to be in on the secret.

Kyra had the strangest desire to look back at the man. One quick peek, she spied him already halfway across the bridge, past the four-man squabble, nearing their edge of the extension. He was so close now. The stranger tipped his hat in her direction, sending a horde of butterflies loose within her innards.

Sebastian blinked, sucked in his breath. The top tarot card of his deck flipped from his hands toward the water. The colors flickered across her sight, cutting through the air with more precision than a Lightning Bolt throwing knife. It sailed straight for the rough current.

Kyra reached out, missed the card. It was too far away. She looked back at her friend's drawn face, knowing the deck was his livelihood. "Don't worry. I got this." A too-cocky smile spread wide across her face. With a wave of her hand, she called upon the wind. It answered, like it usually did, churning her rust hair in its wake. The card swirled up in a loop and swooped back onto land, into her awaiting palm. Her cocky smile spread inward, warming and tingling and palpitating with success. She held the prize up to Sebastian. "See. I told you―"

A splash cannonaded behind her, the explosion blossoming a flutter of fealty throughout Kyra's hearty being. Surprise, confusion, they strangled her. Something yanked on her, called her toward the water. Shoving the card into the hands of a milky-faced Sebastian, she turned toward ripples rolling out from the one spot on the water's surface calling her―her target.

Three men ran away on the bridge above. One was missing. She looked to the water, then back to the bridge. The way the men ran reminded her of a snippet from a horrid, low-budget, human action flick. Her heart tripped over a beat, and she didn't understand why. All she knew was she had to go, had to follow the feeling, the pull. She half stumbled, half rushed forward, a trickle of sweat sneaking down her brow, quietly escaping her beastly anxiousness.

Sebastian grabbed her arm, dragged her to a stop. He was the barely-calm before the storm and ready to burst. "What are you doing?"

She looked down at his grip, her emotions pinging and ponging inside of her, torn between her loyalty to Sebastian and the inexplicable need now growing. "Someone fell in. I'm going to save him." Urgency coursed through her in a way she'd never experienced before.

"But...." He sputtered and paused and continued. "But...he's human." His voice hitched.

She flinched at his inferred bias, yet swore it was panic she detected in both his eyes and his tone. She'd never heard him utter anything so ugly, not ever. Not in all their hours playing poker in his trailer, or hanging in the back lot behind Big Eli with a bottle, making up stories about the people riding the magic circle of lights―the Ferris wheel. Not even on his darker days, when she would find him wandering by the wall of fog. Those days, they would walk for hours talking about nothing greater than nonsense. She knew he didn't truly feel that way. He had friendships that proved as much.

"So what?" She peeled his hand free.

"You'll risk exposing us." His voice hitched.

"It's a risk I'm willing to take."

She wasn't a hundred percent confident in her words but didn't want Sebastian to see her falter. Too strong was the pride pulsing through her veins. Besides, going after the man wasn't a choice she was free to make. She _had_ to go. She didn't want to accept it, but knew it was true. Something pulled at her, and it was unyielding. Like she was on the end of a fishing line being reeled in. With an abrupt turn, she walked away, a piece of her breaking into bits with each stretched step put between them. She prayed their trust would survive whatever happened next.

Kyra stepped into the brisk, wild current. It welcomed her like a child returning home after a long absence. It had been too long since she'd allowed herself to swim, and the water was glorious to the touch. Overdue pleasure spread to the corners of her cheeks, and she dove into its depths. Cold, vicious liquid wrapped around every curve of her body as she began to change, shedding unnecessary human garments in trade for her true self. Her scales returned, covering her like a form-fitted bodysuit.

Like an untamed torpedo, she shot through the water, the greatest of water beasts. The turbulent river was no match for her strength. Her movements were second nature, a Sea Dragon's quick, artful angulation.

An abnormality, that's what she was. The blending of two dragon species, something they called Moorigad, something frowned upon. For good reason, too. The traits of both parents clashed within her, a constant storm, each fighting for control. A form of discord was the result. No longer beautiful water serpent or big, strong fire beast was she, but a malformed mixture of the two. And she hated it.

What should have been the long serpentine stretch to her spine was interrupted by a bloated belly. Her tail was too long for a Fire Dragon, too short for a Water Hydra, and ended in a hard clump of nothing. Had she been a proper Fire Dragon, her tail would feature a magnificent cluster of spikes. A great weapon at her disposal. But she wasn't. Hence, the clump. And the pathetic bones on her back supported a hide stretched too thin, riddled with an artistic display of holes. They were supposed to be wings. Instead, they were embarrassing.

She tucked her misshapen appendages in close and closed the distance to her target in a wing's bat.

Thick sediment made visibility onerous. Dirt and small pebbles caught in currents clouded her path, but hazy paths never deterred any respectable sea monster. Sound pulses sent out upon entering the water returned to her from multiple directions, pinpointing her needed location. Even through the filth she saw it, a large object falling to the river floor. She quickened her pace.

A muffled thump rippled through the water. Visible was a slight churn of dark chestnut hair and loose limbs flaring out like a discarded twill doll. He sported an ugly black eye and a scrape across the nose. Still, it was definitely the man she'd seen fighting on the bridge. A man now sinking to the bottom of the lake.

Fealty pulled at her again, pulled stronger. Pulled her to him. It played, danced, and fought with the competing emotions swirling in her chest―puzzlement and unease.

As a dragon, there were many things she could do beneath the water. Helping a drowning man breathe was not one of them.

She wrapped her talons tight around his limp form. Fear clenched, closed her throat. What if he regained consciousness, saw her monstrous self? How would he react? How would she react to his reaction? _Why should I care?_ she reasoned. Problem was, a curious nagging itched at the back of her skull, solidifying her new truth. She did care.

Kyra sacrificed the advantages of her true full-being, yet maintained the majority of her strength and speed, by holding the scales to her body as she transformed back into something more human-like. She kept her long, webbed feet and arms, as well as her strong clump of a tail, to assist with thrust. The rest returned to the shape of a human female canvased in a brilliant, orange-scaled husk.

She bolted straight for the surface and provided air for the man's delicate lungs. A sputter that failed to summon consciousness was her unwelcome reward. His eyes fluttered; he choked on dirty water and failed to take a breath. Dragging him at her side, she made her way to the shore, to Sebastian.

He watched, restlessly waiting, a dark fog brewing over his demeanor.

Kyra shot Sebastian a look so hard it could leave a mark. She hauled the sodden man from the river. "Don't just stand there. Help me."

Her movements were stiff. The transformation of her legs and feet from long and webbed to normal proved difficult while walking. It was that―and her reluctance to address Sebastian's puzzling behavior. She'd done nothing wrong. In fact, she'd gone out of her way to do everything right. So why did she feel like a dragonet forced to pick sides in a game she'd never wanted to play? And why had Sebastian feigned prejudice against humans? She needed to understand.

Sebastian shoved his hands deep into his jeans' front pockets and shuffled his weight. His bangs hid his face in shadow. "This is a mistake. He was supposed to die."

Maybe so, except something inside her wouldn't let it be true. She was unquestionably drawn to the man, and she couldn't explain it. It was as if her free will had been stripped away, a feeling that caused fire to rage through her veins. Her heart squeezed, twisted into an ugly, fuzzy knot.

Kyra hoisted the man onto the grass, laid him out, and studied his face. "How do you know that?" she asked Sebastian. "How can anybody know who is meant or isn't meant to die? Maybe I was meant to save him."

Sebastian shifted. "I just know. Have a feeling, is all."

"Come on," Kyra said. "Don't be like that. I'll take responsibility for him. That gives him a good fighting chance." She bent down, pinched the man's nose, and pressed her lips to his.

The man coughed, then moaned, a stream of water spilling from his mouth shortly after. He rubbed the palm of his hand across his cheek with one long drag. His eyes flickered open, attempted to focus. A twinkle of mischief and a touch of tenderness greeted her. In the manner of a dopey drunk, a lopsided smile spread across his face and one hand looped up around her neck, pulling her closer.

Kyra let a nervous laugh escape and pushed away. She couldn't help but notice his wet clothing revealed a strong, sculpted physique. "Hold on there, stranger."

"You're so pretty. Must be a dream." His words slurred off his tongue, as if half the syllables were stuck to the surface, and his eyes glazed. He attempted to brush his hand along the side of her face. It skipped and bumped like a dragonling's firsts steps. "Like fire beneath the water." His fingers twisted through her red tendrils, pulled them straight. The weight of his eyelids proved too heavy, though, and they closed once again, returning him to a slumbering state.

She stifled a giggle and looked up to her friend, unsure of her next move.

Sebastian reached down, took Kyra by the arm, and helped her stand. "What the hell was that?" His voice was rough, thick, and his words pressed down on her.

"I made sure he was breathing. Breath of Life and all that. You've seen how it's done, haven't you?"

His shoulders relaxed. Face softened. "Oh, right. Looked like you were kissing him." Sebastian released her and turned away, his face reddening. "You are beautiful, you know. Right now, your skin still shimmers the iridescent orange your scales cast. It's magnificent."

"What?" Kyra looked down at her scaled bodysuit. It was fading, returning to bare flesh. Soon she'd be standing before him completely exposed. Naked. She flushed and crossed her arms. "Give me your shirt."

"If you wanted to get my clothes off, there are better ways to go about it." He glanced back and arched his brows, daring her.

A fireball of nerves dropped in her belly, and she pushed away the thought his words had planted in her mind. _He can't be serious._ _We're just friends. And he's definitely not a dragon,_ she thought. _But what if... Maybe he wants something more. Could it be?_

She shook her head and put out her hand. "Stop. Fork it over."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, as if to say _Kyra's a fun-killer_. He pulled his shirt over his head and handed it to her. She hastily slipped it on. He wasn't a huge guy, and his clothing barely covered all the essential areas, maintaining her decency as her skin dried and her scales vanished.

Sebastian scratched the back of his bronzed neck and looked down at the almost-drowned man on the ground. "I still think you should toss him back in the water and forget about him. I mean, what are you going to do with him? You heard what he said. He saw you."

"Let me worry about that." She fixed a look on Sebastian's ribcage. She hadn't meant to, just couldn't help herself. Something new, something she hadn't seen before, trailed his side. Black ink. It was brilliant against his brown skin. She pointed. "What's that?"

He glanced down at the ink scrolled upon his side like a shopping list. He turned, moving it from her sight. "It's nothing. Just a...thing." The pothole in his words gave Kyra pause. She watched in silence as his hand worked through his hair with a mild shake, and he looked around the perimeter.

His actions more than his words told her the mark was supernatural. That meant it came from his family line, something Sebastian never talked about. Kyra knew she would need to tread lightly if she pressed further. "Is it from your mother's or father's side?"

Sebastian's foot dug into the ground, indicating a truth he was yet unwilling to voice.

"Come on. You never share about yourself," Kyra pressed.

"Not now. I'm gonna have to fade. I'm on the clock in a tick, and I have an image to keep." He waved his hands, indicating his present state wouldn't do.

Kyra needed no convincing. Sebastian seriously got into his role at the carnival. Only her gut hinted he was running away from her question.

"What about the reason you brought me here? Are we going to talk about that? Or maybe the man on the bridge?" Kyra took a step closer, practically willing him to stay.

Sebastian's glance flickered back and forth between Kyra and the man at her feet, his palm scraping along his jawline. "Nah. We can do that later."

Kyra rocked back a step, hovered protectively over the unconscious man. She wanted to pursue Sebastian, smooth things over, but she also wanted to stay. What was wrong with her? "Okay."

"You gonna be all right if I leave you here on your own?" he asked.

Rubbing heavily at her damp skin with his black t-shirt, Kyra's gaze darted from the bridge, now empty, to Sebastian. "I'm a big girl, don't you worry."

His lips twisted oddly to the side.

Straightening her spine, rolling the edge of his shirt tight within her fingers, Kyra snapped, "What? You don't think I can?"

"Nah. It's not that. It's just...you're not as mature and Merlin-esque as you think. You still make bad calls. Like this one." With a lazy finger, Sebastian pointed to the river-drunk man lying at her feet. "I can't help worrying about you."

"Eighty-three is plenty old and wise. You needn't worry about me. Go do your stuff. I'll meet up with you later." Proud by nature, born to be strong. She wanted to make sure he understood that about her. Kyra gently shoved him in the chest, nudged him in the direction of the portal.

He pushed back, reached over, and peeled a thin layer of hanging dragon-scaled skin from the side of her face. "If you're going to do stupid things, make sure you maintain the illusion afterwards." He gingerly rubbed the shimmery, orange strip of lizard-like skin between his fingers before letting it flutter to the ground. They stood impossibly close, and he lingered a moment longer than necessary, studying her face. With a sigh, he turned and headed for the small land pocket beneath the bridge, glancing back one last time.

It was a forever stare.

He stepped through the gateway between worlds.

Kyra yelled after him, "I'm sorry, Sebastian."

It was too late, his form already swirled and distorted. He was gone, returned to the carnival, their home away from home, the greatest destination for those who knew how to find it. He hadn't heard her apology, and she wanted him to know how sorry she was for messing up the afternoon. She had spoiled their time with too many personal questions and robbed herself of whatever task and disclosure he'd been ready to share.

She wanted to let things go, let them drift away with the wind, but she was like a dragonling with a bone. So unwilling to unclench her teeth. And something about the nondescript, suited man on the bridge screamed _father_. Sebastian's father, to be precise. Sebastian had done nothing to confirm nor to deny her suspicions of any relation, much less a parental one. Yet Kyra felt so dang sure. If it were true, why had Sebastian looked so forlorn?

She stared at the empty space where Sebastian had been mere seconds before, worried her actions had caused him not only concern, but something more. Her emotions swirled, the dark before a rain.

She sat beside the unconscious man and ran her fingers through his wet, tangled hair. His face was scruffy. He needed a shave, had suffered bruising across his cheek and nose, and probably harbored a battered ego. Despite all that, there were things about him she found attractive. Although not overly apparent, he hid strength beneath his flannel shirt, and she liked that about him. His angular jawline and muscular arms hinted to what he kept covered. His eyes had been tender when he'd looked upon her. And she thought it cute the way he now mumbled in his sleep. He muttered about magical lake princesses and heroic rescues.

She scratched the back of her neck and let out a breath. "All right, big fella. You're coming with me." She lifted him by the shoulder, and together they walked―he stumbled―toward the portal.

When they stepped into the circle, the world beyond shifted, slowly shimmered, and began to distort. A hand shot through the blur. Shot straight at them. Clamped down and clenched the man's soaked clothes in its grasp.

## 4

# Destinations

### Kyra

There it was again. That unexplainable fealty, an unspoken devotion, a sense of duty dragging on her like a forged steel shackle clamped around her flesh. Why did this stranger have such overwhelming power over her?

She hissed. Ripped the half-drowned man free of the grasp pushing through the portal, sending her and her wet cargo tumbling back, back, back.

The river-drunk crashed upon her, the moisture from his garments quickly spreading to hers. "What the fu―?"

Kyra cut him off, shoved him off.

He rolled over like a wet lump of beef and looked like yesterday's leftovers. Several days dead. He wasn't, though. She could hear, see, even sense him breathing.

They'd plummeted in at the carnival's front entrance. Whatever had tried to grab them had missed the opportunity. The portal had successfully spun them out of reach.

Everywhere she looked, people milled about. They stood in the ticket line, waited at the cotton candy vendor, gathered around the balloon peddler. None of them paid any attention to the new arrivals. For the carnival, that was the norm. Strange things were the norm. Anything, everything, all things were the norm.

Kyra pinched her forehead. She didn't want to deal. Not with anything so messy. She rolled her eyes, let them land on _him_. He wasn't going to pick himself up. Get himself out of the space of the portal. Get himself tucked away safe in her dragon's lair.

Nope. She'd have to do it.

She puckered her lips, allowing the pout for half a second. With a heavy sigh, she picked him up and hauled him through the carnival at break-wing speed.

Kyra nodded to a carnie or two, not taking time for much acknowledgment. Her cargo stirred, and she wanted him in the safety of her den―a 1970s Yellowstone Camper Trailer.

Down the midway, through the Fun Zone, across the valley of carnie campers to her own she charged. She kicked open the front door in a sliver-fold of time. Lucky, considering how the carnival worked. So unpredictable. Never the same map twice.

She deposited the man precariously on the edge of her bed and stood in awkward silence. Watched him cradle his head in his hands and felt utterly clueless. Clueless on what to do next. Like a pile of sodden books, his weight sunk into the mattress. Sunk into her list of woes. Now that they were safe, she questioned why she'd even brought him back to her trailer, or to the carnival. Not that she knew where else to take him. She only knew she felt some strange connection between them. Some strange need to protect him. Beyond that, she didn't know what any of it meant.

Scratching her head, Kyra looked away from the groggy man and wandered to the far end of the room, as if escape were possible in a trailer so tight. She glanced between the wall clock and her exposed legs. Her current attire was unacceptable in front of a total stranger, or for her performance soon to start. After pulling underwear, black pants, and boots from the closet and briskly fitting them to her form, she slipped a jacket on over Sebastian's shirt, shuffled a foot back, and turned to go.

She had just enough time to stop in and see Sebastian before her performance. She wanted—needed—to see where things stood between them.

The guy on the bed teetered and moaned. Kyra rolled her eyes and looked him over. "Why don't you rest? I'll be back to check on you later," she said, turning to leave.

"Wait. Don't go." His voice, choked by half the lake, fought to be heard.

She hesitated, hand balanced on the doorknob. Fierce dragon that she was, she had a funny fear of facing humans. This one, at least. She turned toward him. "Need something?"

"You saved my life." He started to stand, wavered, collapsed back on his butt. A wince etched into the lines on his face. "Not once, but twice. That was no easy task, and I don't even know your name."

She bit her lip, took a deep breath, and wondered what troubles she'd created by saving this guy. "It's Kyra. And it was nothing, really."

She meant it―mostly. The no-big-deal part. Saving him had been easy. At the time, she had worried more about being seen. Now it was something more. Saving him may have invited a giant pile of dragon dung into her life, if Sebastian's odd reaction was any indication. Or the creepy grab attack at the portal.

Still, she couldn't escape the feeling, the deep-rooted emotion that pulled her to him, made her protective of him. Nothing about this flew straight with her, and yet it did. Therein lay the problem. She was accepting of things she normally wouldn't be. It wasn't like her.

He extended his hand, and as he did, his eyes lit up the most brilliant shade of sapphire. That twinkle of mischief returned. Kyra's eyes widened at the sight of him. Embarrassing as it was, she couldn't stop herself. She tried to play it off. Yank her emotions inside, shove them down deep, and close the lid. She tried to pretend nothing was amiss. She tried all that and pushed forward to shake his hand. He kissed it instead. Her breath caught, clogged in her throat.

He rose from the bed, bringing his scrutinizing eyes closer. His heat closer. Everything closer. "Thank you, Kyra. I'm Marcus Blackall. I can never repay you, but I'd like to try."

Her heart raced like the quick beat of her feeble wings attempting flight. Then wrecking-ball-guilt slammed her. All the time she'd spent building a relationship with Sebastian, and in one day, she'd let a total stranger unnaturally affect her. On the day of Sebastian's admitted trust, no less. But she and Sebastian were friends, not lovers, so what did it matter? Only, it did matter. He'd acted so odd at the lake. She shook her head, dismissed the thought. Sebastian would never be interested in a volatile dragon. He had far too much patience and calm for her anger issues. She thrust away the guilt.

Marcus Blackall looked around with an appraising eye. "I take it we're at your place?" He paused, briefly, then snapped a sharp look upon her. "Why here?"

Kyra hesitated, feeling very much the moth caught in the flame at that moment. "After what happened, I thought it would be safer."

He nodded. Pulling at his wet shirt, Marcus looked uncomfortable. "You have a laundry facility around here somewhere?"

How absent-minded of her. Of course he would want dry clothes. "It takes forever to get things cleaned around here. Give me a second, and I'll bum a change off my neighbor." _Crap, crap, crap_. Now she not only felt guilt regarding Sebastian, but for overlooking Marcus's needs, as well.

"I'm not afraid of a long hike. Don't want to put anyone out."

Kyra paused, already halfway out the door, and returned her attention to Marcus. How could she tell him there weren't any electric dryers at the carnival, like he might expect? They only had laundry lines. Didn't matter. She turned back, and barbed knots formed in her throat, impeding further speech.

Marcus stood bare-chested, wet shirt in his hand. If that weren't enough to drop her chin, he wore a unique piece around his neck. It drew her eye like an impossibly strong magnet.

It was a tooth on a rope. And not the kind people bought in souvenir shops. Of that, she was most confident. It had once belonged to a dragon.

Maybe it was the tooth. The tooth pulled at her, not Marcus. She'd need to get a closer look, study it, if she wanted to know with any kind of certainty.

"I'll be right back," she mumbled, then ran out the door.

In fifty beats of a dragon's wings, she returned with dry clothes. Her neighbor, more than willing to help out and rack up I-owe-yous from Kyra, had provided her with clean threads. She tossed the garments into Marcus's arms and proceeded to move about the trailer showing him the important things, like how to latch the finicky bathroom door and where to find her chipped Fiestaware dishes, mismatched silverware, and odd assortment of snacks in the kitchen. After not-so-subtly hinting he rest, she flew out the door for her afternoon performance, eager to put space between them and get a chance to clear her head.

Kyra was the only fire-breather at the carnival. She preferred it that way. She danced, spinning wands of fire around herself in a spectacular display of beauty and danger. Their heat tantalized her skin with each pass. She never revealed her dragon nature, so the children's squeals of delight never surprised her when she swallowed the flames from the tips of her wands, before blowing the fire high into the sky. She'd seen humans do it, but they never compared to her ability. Her flames often reached fifteen, even thirty feet high.

Dragons were rarely seen in public. Water Dragons and young dragons even less so. Her build was not what people expected to see when they ran into one of the elder race in human form. Of course, she was a Moorigad, the rarest of all. Not that Moorigads were considered a race among her people. Regardless, she had yet to bump into another dragon at the carnival. And she'd never seen one performing any kind of show―anywhere.

The truth was, no one expected to see a dragon in a bustling public forum. The supernatural community considered dragons a dying breed. Practically extinct. In actuality, their numbers were vast. Removed and hidden. Falling into myth like Santa and his elves.

Dragons tended to be a private lot, but she enjoyed the life of an entertainer. Maybe Sebastian was right. Maybe she was young, headstrong even. Maybe she would change her mind about the carnival someday. That someday wasn't anytime soon. The carnival was the longest she'd ever stayed in one place. She didn't foresee herself leaving anytime in the near future.

The carnival was a supernatural misfit haven. Those who didn't fit in with their kind, fit in with carnies. No inquiries, no demands. That was Kyra―a misfit, a runaway. Not the typical dragon. Everywhere she looked, there were supernaturals. Every flavor, every shape. None of them a dragon, though.

With one finger in the air, she twisted and swirled her fire in a wide arc. It spun up like a tornado. She paused, allowing the crowd to take in the crackling splendor. When the applause reached a mighty crescendo, she smacked her hands together, spread them wide, and watched the flames evaporate.

Ribbons of lights strung high above the audience came to life, announcing the end of the show. Kyra took a bow, and the applause roared. There was no encore, nor a chance for the audience to settle down, Kyra immediately stepped off the stage and made her way through the crowd. The talker had done a great job building the hype; her tip no doubt would reflect. Plastering a semi-sincere smile on her face and shaking hands, she pushed past the people and worked her way through the mob.

A short, ragged man ran after her―the talker. "Kyra, what's your hurry? What about your cut?"

She tilted her head, barely glancing over her shoulder in a torn-between-two-actions way. She kept her gaze on the path between the rides and concessions, the ever-changing landscape of the midway before her. To keep her bearings. Keep her grounded. "Handle it. Will you, Higgins? I trust you." And she did. Whole-heartedly.

He wrapped his hand around her wrist, skin rough against hers. The hand of a working man. "Kyra?" A mix of confusion and concern melded on his face.

She peeked down at him, at their connection. It felt strange. He felt strange. Why?

No chance to figure it out. A strong, familiar scent wafted up around her. "Crap. Can you smell it?" The scent was always so strong in the minutes right before the transformation. Like the carnival was building up, preparing. The stink of a chemical reaction. Everything was warming up to move, change the design. The constantly shifting layout would once again confuse patrons and carnies, alike.

A trickle of sweat ran down the side of Higgins' face, and he struggled to catch his breath. His eyes blinked, appeared blank. His cheek twitched, curved up ever so slightly. She looked away, hiding the smirk his struggle to keep up evoked. "Smell?" he said. "Oh, yes. Of course." He fell silent and watched her with an awkward discomfort about him.

Kyra bounced on her heels and glanced in the direction she wanted to be moving. "Would you mind handling my cut, please? I need to go." Urgency churned like bile in her belly. She needed to make sure Marcus was okay. The necessity, the urgency, did not belong to her, but she possessed it all the same. That was bound to get old fast. Maybe she should have let Marcus die. Maybe she should kill him now. Pulling free, she turned, left Higgins behind, guilt nibbling at her heels.

Metallic. There was always a fresh metallic scent in the air when things at the carnival changed or moved. Quick, sharp sound bursts, clicking and clacking and ticking like a chorus of finger snapping, invisible to the eye. Minuscule light flares flashed this way and that, as if hordes of fireflies fazed in and out of time. Swiftly as it began, it ceased. The magic complete. The carnival had shifted―melding from one scene into another. What had been her surrounding was gone to be replaced by another, new location. Sometimes the people within were moved, sometimes the fixtures, sometimes both. It was disorienting, frustrating, and yet, part of the carnival's charm.

A quick survey confirmed the relocation of the ring toss and cotton candy concessions. But the carousel stood fixed, as it should. The two-story marvel never moved. Like a fixed point. A beacon amidst unstable chaos.

She made her way to the colorful host of horses, calculated her journey beyond, past Big Eli―the Ferris wheel―on to her trailer. It was a guess, at best. Tonight, she hoped things would remain constant.

When the sun went down, the carnival sparkled. A magical array of illumination and merriment. Kyra relished it. Usually found it fun getting lost. It was a game, finding where she needed or wanted to be. Not tonight. Tonight, as much as she hated it, she felt obligated to get back to Marcus. Make sure he was all right.

_Obligated?_ Maybe that was the wrong word.

She wandered forward, thoughts swirling around the mysterious man. Him standing half clothed in her sleeping quarters. The indescribable pull that drew her to him in the water. The dragon tooth hanging around his neck. Sebastian's heavy frown planting so beautifully on his face, clear disapproval as she'd pulled Marcus from the brink.

The carousel's song chimed to a stop, kicking her out of her daydream. Like a dragonet stubbornly clinging to foolish desires, she didn't want to wake. Not yet. She wanted more time to figure things out, but a fresh rush of delighted patrons poured around her, a mix of humans and supernaturals. Caught in a cluster of shimmering lights and jubilant laughter, Kyra found herself bumped, pushed, and knocked, disjointedly ricocheting here and there.

"Ouch!" She glared downward. A bulky, black boot peeled its tread from the top of her foot. No apology, its owner vanished into the crowd.

More metallic. More lights. More snapping. More shifting.

A gentle hand hooked around her fingers. "Kyra! So happy I found you. Have you seen Sebastian?"

Her gaze met Chelsea's bright, blue eyes. They glistened with excitement, sending a funny pang zapping through Kyra's chest. Chelsea was the human that always managed to somehow find her way to the supernatural carnival. The human that clung to Sebastian's every spoken word and followed his every step like a shadow. Kyra wanted to roll her eyes and moan, but she didn't. She smiled and looked the girl over. Chelsea was dolled up, and boys were gravitating closer. Fancy makeup and hair wouldn't help with Sebastian, though. Not if he was her goal, which Kyra knew he was.

Kyra pulled free and shoved her hands into her pockets, but allowed Chelsea to fall into step beside her. "What are you doing here? How do you keep finding your way? This place isn't safe for your kind traveling alone." She kept watch of the space in front of them and avoided looking at Chelsea.

Chelsea leaned in as if whispering a secret, her blonde hair falling around her face in a waterfall of forever-spiraling curls. "I love it here. I'm addicted. I want to keep coming back, and back, and back. I may ask for a job. And what do you mean, 'my kind'? Got a problem with humans?"

Kyra scoffed, ignored the question, and grounded to a flat halt. She watched the activity ahead, not really seeing anything. _Am I in danger of thinking like Sebastian? Am I becoming human intolerant?_ Humans finding their way to the carnival without guidance was an anomaly. Or so Kyra had thought. The idea of one working at the carnival bothered her, but it shouldn't have. Maybe it was _Chelsea_ working at the carnival that bothered her. Chelsea being close to Sebastian almost daily. The possibility Sebastian might like Chelsea back. _But it shouldn't_ , she reasoned. _Not if I'm a good friend to him. The kind of friend he deserves._

A quiver swam through Kyra's upper body. "You get a job here? That could be interesting."

Chelsea searched the crowd, acted like she hadn't noticed Kyra's scrutiny. Her watchful eyes feverishly darted to and fro.

"What are you doing?" Kyra asked.

"Oh, you know." Chelsea bit her lower lip and continued to glance from one person to the next.

Kyra resumed a strong, steady stride. Chelsea followed, and Kyra threw a resolved glance in her direction. "I haven't seen him since before―" She froze her tongue. Nearly let the gems of truth spill from the bag, forgetting, if only for a moment, Chelsea wasn't one of _them_. Kyra's face softened even as the curve of her mouth inverted. "Listen. You're fighting fire with paper. He's never going to like you, because he won't even notice you. I'm sorry, Chelsea."

Chelsea twisted her hair in her hand and avoided eye contact. Her body language read awkward and embarrassed. "It's all right. I'm no longer jealous of you."

Kyra stumbled back a step, heat flushing her cheeks. "What do you mean, jealous?" She hated the audible crack in her voice.

A deep 'v' creased the center of Chelsea's brow. "Haven't you noticed the way he looks at you? I mean, who can blame him? With your eyes of gold and personality blazing brighter than the sun."

Kyra's heart somersaulted. "Sebastian isn't...he would never..." Truth was, Kyra didn't know. He kept so many secrets.

Chelsea played with the edge of her nightdress, a faraway look flittering in her eyes. "He doesn't mean to ignore me. It's just that he doesn't want to see. Not yet. He needs some time. Or maybe something. Someone to open his heart to the possibilities."

The words prattled from Chelsea's lips, and Kyra's fists clenched and unclenched, attempting to strangle the oxygen out of the air. Chelsea obviously wanted to be that _someone,_ and for some inexplicable reason, that made Kyra nauseated. She felt fire rolling within her belly and imagined Chelsea as a tasty dragon treat. Kyra knew it was absurd even as the thought popped into her head. She had no romantic claim on Sebastian. Besides, Chelsea probably tasted like charred crud. "And you're willing to put in the time?"

Chelsea nodded, and her face brightened to match the confident resolve she wore.

"You're a better person than I am, Chelsea Briggs. I hope he comes around." If Kyra were honest with herself, she'd have to admit Sebastian was definitely worth the effort Chelsea was investing. But there were times when the truth was better left unsaid. This felt like a moment most worthy of a non-truth.

Chelsea's delight showed in a dazzling display of teeth and dimples. Guilt dropped like the Blarney Stone to the pit of Kyra's stomach. Thankfully, Chelsea couldn't detect the lies Kyra spouted. Part of her despised the omission and knew she should spill the truth, but she would die before giving Chelsea the satisfaction of knowing how much Sebastian meant to her.

What if Chelsea was exactly what Sebastian needed? What then? A good friend wouldn't stand in the way, regardless of her personal feelings. The girl had never given Kyra any real reason to dislike her. It was just one of those things. Sometimes people don't click, no matter what. Kyra glanced at Chelsea, assessed her. _I guess she's not_ all _bad_ , she thought.

Kyra took a deep breath and exhaled, rolling her eyes, she slid her arm around Chelsea. The action was stiff and unsettling, but she did it anyway. Maybe she'd earn a few points with the dragon gods. Fire, Water, either one would do. She was going to do Chelsea a favor. She hoped it'd be good for Sebastian, too. That whole thing about him being into Kyra had to be a gargoyle gag. She was a dragon, and he was not. What kind of future would they have? All odds were against them. Her parents would _never_ allow it. They had already chosen her a suitor. Another reason she had run away. And a reason any relationship with Sebastian was over before it'd begun.

"Come on," Kyra said. "Maybe this time he'll notice you."

Together they pushed through the crowd, Kyra leading the way. All the while, she worried she would lose Sebastian to Chelsea. Her mind struggled with the notion, but she knew in her gut her friendship with Sebastian was stronger than some young girl's crush. No dalliance could destroy what they had, right?

Moments before, Chelsea's body language, her words, had lit up like a beacon, blinding Kyra to all other thoughts. She had missed the implication when spoken. "Wait!"

Chelsea snapped to a stop and watched her with the anticipation of a bored cat.

Kyra blinked hard. "What did you mean, 'he doesn't want to see'?"

"Sebastian doesn't know I remember."

"Remember what?"

Chelsea tipped her head, as if recalling. "The first time I saw him. Outside of the carnival."

Kyra dropped her hands on her hips. "Hold on. Where? Why would he think you don't remember?"

Chelsea threaded a spiral of hair around her finger. "I was a bit out of sorts. So sick I thought I was dying."

"You're doing a horrible job explaining things." Kyra's backbone wrinkled with torrid scales, but she continued to pretend nothing bothered her.

"I know. I'm sorry. I don't feel comfortable talking about it. Sebastian should tell you if he wants you to know," Chelsea said and tossed her arms loosely at her sides.

"He doesn't talk much about stuff. Rather private," Kyra said, the words spitting out between clenched teeth.

Chelsea studied the sawdust covering the ground. "I know."

"So, is that why you came here? After meeting him?"

"Partly. I guess. I don't know how it started happening, but I'm glad it did. One day, I was simply here, and now I never want it to stop."

Kyra studied Chelsea, considered her words. Her gut insisted the girl spoke the truth, only Kyra wanted more. More clues to Chelsea's condition, what led her to meet Sebastian, and her unique entrance into the carnival. More details. More information to fill in the gaps.

The carnival roared and yelped and howled.

A group of rowdy teenage werewolves, shoving at each other playfully, elbowed in between Kyra and Chelsea. Their conversation was cut off, and the girls got caught up in the excitement. Some boys danced; a few sang. A couple grabbed the girls and pulled them into a sway, boisterous laughter accompanying the move.

Chelsea struggled in the arms of a young, brown wolf. He roared even louder.

Kyra channeled her anger into the situation at hand. She embraced a dark gray youngster and ran her fingers through the fur below his ear, extracting a purr. She knew she shouldn't, but she needed to channel her frustration. Poor sap had the misfortune of being in the line of her fiery breath. "Hello, beastie," she said with an evil-as-sin grin. Fire raced around her irises. She felt empowered. Intimidating. Unrelenting.

The wolf stepped back, no longer a beast, but a boy. He hunched forward and hung his head low. "I'm sorry. I didn't know," he muttered and skittered away.

Yesterday's dinner dropped into Kyra's gut. It was a filthy, disheartening feeling. The poor wolf hadn't done a thing to upset Kyra, and yet she had given him a nasty blast of attitude. Why was she being so mean? A dark shadow eclipsed her, tinting her mood more than it already had.

Chelsea hooked her arm around Kyra's, a snicker escaping her throat. "That was crazy."

Kyra looked over Chelsea, scanned their path, and cleared her thoughts before answering. "Yeah," she mumbled, untangling their arms, "crazy."

The girls circumvented the remainder of the teenage fun. Despite her annoyance, Kyra couldn't help but giggle at Chelsea's apparent amusement. "How did you get away from your wolf?" she asked.

"Higgins. Can you believe that? Higgins was my knight in imperfect armor."

Together they glanced back through the mob. Short Higgins and his brown baseball cap bobbed up and down, putting distance between them. Cocking her head to the side, Kyra considered the man for a moment. Heroes came in all shapes and sizes. Even in an old carnie gent like Higgins.

Guilt. Again with the guilt. Guilt for the way she'd treated him only a few minutes before. Right then, she made a promise to be a better friend, a better supporter.

She sighed. Let the feeling release. Evaporate from her thoughts. Once again, she became obsessed with the anxiety Marcus created. Too long she'd been away, and it was taking longer than usual to find the trailer. Why was the carnival being such a bitch? Knocking her around like an inconsequential ball in a stupid carnie game?

The carnival crowd buzzed, busy for a weeknight. The sweet smell of corn dogs, funnel cakes, and popcorn permeated every square inch. Families with children of all ages and all manner of species mingled. And there were couples. Multiple couples, so wrapped up in each other they'd become oblivious to the world around them. Kyra and Chelsea wandered by unseen.

As they rounded the carousel, Kyra expected to see her trailer. It sat among the many used as homes by the carnies, in what they called the Backyard. All stationed together, they created a mini community. It should have been visible beyond the Ferris wheel and a row of gaming booths.

A pop erupted at her ear. The sound bounced off her inner canal and volleyed through the eardrum like a bouncy ball. A pinprick of light exploded smack-dab in her line of sight. No. That wasn't right. Practically _in_ her eye. Kyra was blinded by the intensity; everything went white. And the smell. The nasty metallic smell. It morphed into a sharp taste on the top of her tongue. She swallowed. Made it worse.

Through the brume of her flash-induced blindness, Kyra could make out Chelsea already on the move. Kyra's vision was returning in freckled spots.

Chelsea dashed forward, away from Kyra's hold. "Sebastian!"

He looked up, his dark hair dropping across his right eye. Sebastian sat next to the mysterious, ever-present Zeke on the bench by the lazy river. Zeke didn't work at the carnival. He was too old and too blind to be of any use in that department. Like Chelsea, he was a regular visitor. One could usually find him escaping the noise of the cattle rustlers and talkers, flashing games and screeching rides of the midway, in favor of the calm the bench by the water provided. He came for the company over anything else. Although, no one ever saw him come or go.

The fog surrounding the carnival, the fog that always surrounded the carnival, pressed exceptionally thick today, the tiniest bit of the river's water barely visible. The grass lay damp with dew and the air heavy like the hour before a rain.

Somehow Kyra's and Chelsea's last turn had dumped them at the front by the ticket booth, the same point where the portal to the carnival stood. Anyone coming or going did so from the front entrance. It was also the farthest point from where she'd planned to go. Glancing back toward the rides and games, Kyra could make out the flag at the top of the carousel. They were nowhere near it now.

Her chest heaved, irritation, resolution, depression setting in. With a sigh, she surrendered her trek to the trailer. Instead, she turned and approached Zeke and nodded to Sebastian. Chelsea huddled with Zeke, whispering, their hands wrapped in warm whimsy.

Sebastian stood and, with a quick flick of his thumb, wiped a dab of whipped cream from the edge of his lower lip. "My break is over. Need to get back." His gaze froze on the fog, his body growing infinitesimally rigid. Only a familiar eye would notice the change.

Chelsea scooted up behind him. "Going already? I just got here."

Heat whipped up Kyra's spine in a crooked zig. Where were all the ice lakes when she needed one? A cool down was necessary. She closed her eyes and reminded herself she was going to help Chelsea, as much as it pained her to do so. More importantly, she would help Sebastian.

Of course, that didn't mean she needed to start right that second. Procrastination was a good friend with whom she liked to flirt. This might be one of those times. Sebastian looked in need of a Kyra shakedown.

She crossed her arms and locked a spill-your-guts stare on him. He appeared deep in thought, running from his troubles. Or was it from her? Maybe it was from Chelsea.

"Are you okay?" Kyra asked.

He shook his head and, ignoring Chelsea, held up the remains of his funnel cake. "Want this? I'm not going to finish it."

Kyra pushed her lips into an irritated line, avoiding a scowl. Given the present company, she wouldn't push. She recognized avoidance, especially when delivered by Sebastian's blatant gestures.

The mound of sugar in his hand held zero interest for her. If it had been a ginormous turkey leg, that might have been different. Chelsea's devouring stare said something different, though. She clearly wanted that sweet eat. "Thanks," Kyra said, "but no thanks. Why don't you offer it to Chelsea?" This was as good a time as any. Throwing the girl a rib, Kyra motioned to his personal junkie club.

"Who?" Sebastian's brows pinched together. Confusion. Faked as it were, Kyra appreciated the gesture. It wasn't helping her efforts as matchmaker, though.

She frowned, knowing it was the proper response, although part of her was secretly delighted by his lack of interest. "Stop it, Sebastian. You know who I'm talking about."

He rolled his eyes in a yeah-yeah kind of way and began walking. "Later, Zeke," he called over his shoulder.

Kyra watched Sebastian stride off. He moved toward the lights and commotion of the carnival at a slow and steady pace. Chelsea, in tow, walked with a skip in her step. He handed her the funnel cake. Gravity pulled at Kyra, dragging her face into a sullen stare. Ten, fifteen, a hundred years could pass, and she would never understand Chelsea's sunny-side disposition.

Kyra's nostrils burned, a smidgen of smoke escaped. Anger struggled to control her emotions. Deep, dark, and disturbing. She rallied strength and courage and pinched her nose. She had done a nice thing. She should be content. But she was the furthest thing from content. She needed to pull it together, be a better friend.

Zeke patted the empty space on the old wooden bench. A spot where the paint chipped and peeled, exposing the aged wood hidden beneath, adding to its warmth and charm. "Will you sit a while?"

"Will you share your secrets?" Kyra collapsed onto the bench and pulled her knees into her chest. Her mind was now preoccupied with her tsunami emotions, but she would play his intellectual game. She smelled something on the blind, old man. Something she couldn't figure out. He was worth her time. That was certain. She stared at her knees. "I'm sorry, Zeke. That was really rude of me. I'm in a rotten mood. I won't make for good company tonight."

A hand gently patted at her back. A comforting absolution. Zeke stared straight ahead, joy playing at his lips. He leaned forward, his blind eyes not trained on anything in particular. "What secrets are you looking for?"

Kyra laughed. "You are one of the most mysterious men I know. I bet you have more secrets than you have years notched on your life belt. Sometimes I think you're as bad as Sebastian."

Zeke's apparent bliss slipped from his face like water down a drain. "Poor boy. You shouldn't be so quick to judge what you know so little about." His hand reached out, found her shoulder with perfect aim. There it tapped three times, before resting.

Silence overtook Kyra. She hadn't been quick—had she? She thought she knew Sebastian damn _dragolion_ well. Outside of his secrets, that was. She knew where to find him when he was upset, knew he drank strong, dark coffee first thing in the morning, and knew his mood by the music he played. But she didn't know where he came from or what species he was.

She'd given Sebastian plenty of time to open up about who and what he was. She didn't expect all the gory details, but something beyond his dad was a dick and he unsuccessfully hid mommy abandonment issues would be nice. She'd shared all about her Moorigad status, and that wasn't something she did with ease. She stared into the surrounding fog, thinking of time, friendship, and trust. And Fog. Fog, fog, fog. Foggy emotions. Foggy definitions, foggy lines between them. Simply fog. _What caught Sebastian's eye in the fog?_

Zeke pulled out his leather tobacco pouch and bull's head pipe. Carved from mahogany, the pipe matched the color of Zeke's skin. The bull's eyes stared to the side-oblivion, and its horns reached for the stars. A fierce piece, it stood ready to attack or protect, whichever deemed necessary.

Zeke pushed and twisted, filled and packed the tobacco into the pipe. The most delicious scent of cherries accompanied the process. "How long have you been with the carnival, Kyra?"

Her gaze slowly lifted from Zeke's hands to his face. She wondered how he managed to get the tobacco into the pipe without spilling any. "Long enough."

"Long enough to know how things work," Zeke said with a smile in his tone.

Kyra sighed and dropped her head onto her knees, cheek to kneecap, to better watch Zeke.

"You know where this is going, don't you? You're here because _she_ wants you here. The carnival wants us to talk. So, let's get to what matters, shall we?" Zeke folded the tamper and placed it back into the bag. He nodded ever so slightly. "When was the last time you saw your family?"

Not family. _Let's not talk about their sorry, scaled faces._ She cocooned her head in her hands, and a second later, Sebastian sleeked to the forefront of her mind. As far as she was concerned, he was her family. Plus, she'd seen some of his today.

"Is this about Sebastian?" Kyra fidgeted, twisting her fingers together. "Because I'm really sorry about what happened this morning, but I couldn't help it." Kyra's thoughts returned to the strange man on the bridge. The feeling chewed on her insides. She wanted to know, felt it important to know, practically _needed_ to know if he was Sebastian's relative.

Zeke lit the pipe, took a puff. "And what _did_ happen this morning?"

"You brought up family. I assumed you knew." Kyra dropped her legs and began tapping her feet on the ground. Black emotion swished around her. She didn't want to acknowledge it, but this detour was taking too long. She scratched her collarbone, shifted in her seat. How was Marcus doing? He'd been alone in her trailer for so long.

"Now, now. I don't mean to upset you. I only mean to look out for you. Young thing like yourself running off to the carnival. It doesn't seem right."

"What do you mean? I'm not that young. Besides, there are plenty of young people working here. Take Carlito over in the milk bottles concession." She motioned toward the gaming booths, toward the slender, young man smacking heavily on gum and flirting shamelessly with a couple of girls. Kyra watched him and scratched the back of her neck. Dang, her skin itched.

"Carlito is not my concern at the moment. You are. Don't you miss your parents?"

Kyra leaned back and threw her hands over the top of the bench. Closing her eyes, she listened to the water of the river, hoping it would sooth her, before answering. "Nah. My people aren't the type for attachments."

Attachments. The word lingered in her mind, pressed hard against her membrane. _What is this I'm feeling?_ Her mind crept and curved around the itching, looking for the answer.

Zeke took a long drag on his pipe and let out a slow breath of smoke.

_Utter, pure bliss_ , thought Kyra. That's what the smoke from Zeke's pipe was. Watching him smoke drove her desire deep to breathe fire and fume. And if it smelled like Zeke's cherry tobacco, that would be a pretty cool thing, too.

Zeke chuckled. "Your people."

"Yeah? My people. What of it?" Kyra craved her fire, could practically taste it. Found herself captivated by the smog emanating from the miniature bull in Zeke's hands. But it was not to last. The shackling feeling clobbered her, smacked her in the back of the head with the force of a frying pan―the feeling, the attachment. Fealty. Damn the irritating fealty. It pulled her yet again.

Not privy to her internal strife, Zeke sat back and crossed his legs. "It's not going to be easy."

Her feet tapped faster. Fingers weaved dragon scales tight. Thumbs wrestled in a game of vehement domination. Tension pulled fragmented and fragile across her shoulders. "What are you talking about?"

"Follow what's inside, be true to yourself, and you'll be fine." His hand reached out and squeezed hers. "I think that's your calling card."

"What?" Did he know what she was feeling? Was she supposed to follow the pull back to Marcus?

Something tickled the back of her hand. It was a burning ember. She blinked and looked up. Fire embers floated all around them, like fiery snowflakes.

"Oh," she mumbled. _Oh!_ She jolted up and searched the horizon of tents, flags, and carnival rides. What she sought lay beyond. Fire raged in the living quarters, the wind carrying a message clear across to fetch her. "I'm sorry, Zeke. I have to go."

## 5

# Death Knocking

### Kyra

Using the scent as a guide, Kyra pushed through the crowd. The carnival could shift ten times or more; it wouldn't faze her. Nothing would stop her from getting to her destination this time. Not with the smell of fire to lead the way. Marcus waited in her trailer, and the trailers were burning.

People gawked, some pointed, at the rising smoke. Not everyone, though. Plenty went about their business as if everything were normal. Kyra considered the possibility the fire was like the shifting of the carnival, a personal experience unique to each individual.

Passing the carousel, she spotted Chelsea leaning against the railing, watching the horses. She grabbed the girl by the arm, turned her to face the smoke, and jabbed her finger toward the trailers. "Do you see that fire?"

"What fire?" Chelsea's voice hitched and fell, her face melting into shadowy lines.

Kyra pointed again, this time taking a softer approach and watching Chelsea for her reaction. "That one, right there. You can't miss it."

Chelsea shook her head ever so slightly. "I'm sorry, Kyra. I don't see anything."

The girl was trying, the strain evident in her face. Tight lines around her eyes and lips, the pinch of her nose. Didn't matter. Wanting to see it, needing to see it. Who knew how the carnival worked? How it decided who saw what?

Kyra released Chelsea and ran, ran hard. Adrenaline pumping in a _ka-thump whoosh_ , repeat. With each stride closer, more ash, more debris showered upon her. Something fluttered up against her. She grabbed it, its edges still glowing. It was a partially burnt card.

An instant light explosion―recognition. A tarot card.

She flipped it over.

_No!_

A dancing skeleton stared up at her. _Death._ So similar to the one she'd returned to Sebastian. Maybe the very same one. Sebastian had gone back to work. He should be safe. But then why was his card fluttering into her hand?

Bolting into the clearing, she cursed the drag pulling her to Marcus again. She _needed_ to get to him. _Had_ to protect him.

The trailers scattered out before her in no particular pattern. A few remained untouched by the flames, but the majority burned, each engulfed at varied degrees. Her friends, her family―so many in danger!

"Marcus!" The roar of Kyra's beast crept into her scream with a fever pitch. Called by the fire, her dragon clawed to the surface, edged into her features.

"Oh my! I see it now. Everything's burning."

Kyra snapped her head back. Found Chelsea behind her. The girl jerked back, waving her hands at Kyra, her face drawn wide with astonishment. And something else―a momentary wave of fear? In a whoosh, Chelsea's breath escaped, bringing with it unspoken apologies and understanding. Her eyes softened, body relaxed, and she lowered her hands to her side. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to react so rudely. You caught me by surprise, is all. I had no idea you were so unique. Or that your eyes could be any more amazing. Golden fire." Chelsea waved her hand up to Kyra's orange, glowing skin and dragon-set eyes.

Smoke emanated from Kyra's nostrils. The change was kicking into full flight. "You should leave," she said with a curt edge. Now was not the time for handholding. It would only slow her down. Maybe even get Chelsea hurt.

Chelsea stepped forward, closer to Kyra. Head high, back straight, eyes focused. "No. I'm here to help." She looked around, urgency in her glance, and took off at a run toward the horses' water trough. Before Kyra could complain, Chelsea had grabbed a bucket from its side, filled it, and hurried over to the closest trailer. She threw the water on the fire and returned to repeat the action.

Water. Of course. In the presence of fire, Kyra had automatically responded with her Fire Dragon qualities. Her father's side. Just because she was out of the water didn't mean she couldn't call upon her mother's side―the Water Dragon. As a Moorigad she had access to both dragon traits; she'd use both if she must. She summoned the rain, a thankful smile gracing her face with the request.

Smoke filled the air. If she weren't a dragon, she would find it hard to breathe. No water fell from the sky, no rain, no precipitation responded to her call. Was it the unpredictability of her undeclared status? Neither water nor fire but moorigad, synonymous with confused? Baffled, she had no time for worry. Brilliant, orange scales were already spreading across her skin. They brought her strength, protection, and a touch of overconfidence. She was fully protected by the time she opened the door and stepped with ease into her trailer, having maintained her human shape.

The flames consuming the grass outside her cozy home, threatening to incinerate it in a moment's breath, had yet to touch the walls and spread inside. Everything still smelled like ash. Fabulous, fantastic ash. Unfortunately, it wasn't the time or the place to enjoy it. She needed to focus.

Hidden a step inside the door, behind cover of the side cabinet, she called out. "Marcus?" He groaned. Coughed. The sound came from the back of the trailer―the other side of the partition.

She vanquished her scales, commanded them to meld into her skin. They shifted, sank through the flesh until they were gone, dormant, unseen, and she appeared human again. She pushed the curtain aside, exposing the tight sleep space. Marcus held the side of his face, tried to rise, and coughed violently. She moved in to help, the weight of concern washing over her.

He slung his arm around her and bid a sorry attempt at a smile. It twitched at the edge of his lips, the sentiment never reaching his eyes. "Look at you. Three times my hero." His lazy gaze skittered over her, his eyes struggling to stay open, to stay conscious.

Kyra nudged him lightly in the ribs. "Who knew I was signing up for such a needy guy?"

"Ha. Someone hit me. Crazy powerful punch, too. Tried to knock me out." He struggled for breath. "I fought 'em good, but guess they got the better of me. The place was full of smoke when I woke up."

The pain pierced like a dragon's spike to the chest, caused Kyra to wince. The people at the carnival were her friends. Why would anyone want to hurt Marcus? He was her guest. She wiped sweat and concern from her brow, supported some of his weight, and edged them both around the side of the bed. "Did you see who it was?"

"Nah. I couldn't―"

Something rumbled, deep and loud, beyond the thin walls on their right. The trailer shook. Cupboards above the sink popped open. Dishes flew, catapulted at them as if by an unseen force. Kyra threw up her hands, deflecting the attack. The moment the assault slowed, she yanked Marcus by the collar, pulled him closer to the exit. A flash of light outside the small doorframe bled through the opening, pulling at Kyra's attention. She looked closer, but saw nothing. The grass and neighboring trailers were no longer visible, the tiny doorway now a canvas of stirring embers.

Kyra found it beautiful and perplexing how thick smoke could resemble a wall. Only, it wasn't smoke. Any dragon could tell the difference. Smoke, like fire, was a part of who dragons were―a part of their nature. What now surrounded her trailer was the same eerie fog surrounding the carnival perimeter. Primal, scary, and wrong. What was it doing inside? It never moved. Never wandered inward, within the carnival walls.

And yet...

Her eyes burned like molten lava when she attempted to pierce the haze shrouding her home. With every inch of visibility, the heat of her vision cleared, the fog pressed back, blocking it again.

Water suddenly sloshed through the mist, clearing a path in a way her vision would not. Thrown out in a spray, the water flew in Kyra's direction, carving through the haze like the sharpened claws of a Black Dragon through fresh meat. She inched forward.

Chelsea stood on the other side of the opening, an empty pail in her hands. Patterns of soot smudged her arms, hands, and knees, leaving her dingy and wet. "Kyra! You must hurry."

Muffled shouts and screams carried through the narrow path in the fog. It was chaos, and then it was silence.

Before Kyra could move, the door slammed shut in her face, sealing off her view of Chelsea and freedom beyond. Kyra stepped back and tripped on Marcus's foot. Beyond the close confines of their prison, Chelsea screamed, the sound pressing fear and urgency to course through Kyra's veins.

"What in the hell was that?" Marcus's voice pitched an octave, rang with worry. He steadied Kyra and stepped past her, his hand guiding her to the side. "This place is seriously screwed up. Where did you bring me?" He twisted the doorknob. It wouldn't budge. He threw his weight against it. Nothing.

Kyra scratched at the space behind her ear. Watching Marcus work so close to the fire made her skin itch. He wasn't impervious, not tough like her dragon-self. Her hand reached out and stopped short. She found herself captivated by the bead of sweat sliding down his cheek. She didn't sweat. Never needed to. The air escaped from her lungs in a low, steady rush.

He grabbed her hand and pushed her back a safe distance. "I'll get this. I just need a little more room."

She didn't want to take his masculinity; she only wanted to save him. Yet she knew how men could get. That part rarely changed from species to species.

Her lips tightened, a dammit-all resolve slipping into place, all while she studied the deep crease set in the center of his forehead. A frustrated warmth rushed through her at his need to play valiant hero. Of course, she could provide a quicker exit. Not that he needed to know that.

Marcus threw his body against the door a second time. His mass and the small frame collided with a crash. The tiny trailer rattled; still the door refused to open. It made no sense. Something strange was at work.

Heat continued to rise. The structure groaned. And Kyra's sixth sense stirred. It tingled down her spine, growing in intensity with each increased degree of severity.

With deliberate intention, she ran her hand down the side of his arm. It was slick with sweat. She edged up against him to make sure she'd be heard. "Something's not right."

He turned, looked down at her. "What do you mean?"

"Get away from the door!"

Kyra yanked him behind her as fast as she could. Fire exploded through every crack and gap in the front wall. It reached for them, expanding and spreading across the surface in both directions, lighting up the built-in dinette like a campfire. It glided across the ceiling, licked at their toes, slithered like a snake, and smelled of sulfur, delighting and frightening Kyra's senses. She was torn between wanting to embrace the flame and fearing its finality for Marcus. Without warning, and like a bubble, the fire blew up in their faces and pulled back, tight and light against the wall.

"Whoa!" Marcus tripped and fell. Faster than Kyra could glance back, he had picked himself up. His fingers raked and pulled at his hair.

Before them, flames hugged the wall, turning her home into a sizzling prison. At different points, the fire danced in flames of blue, yellow, and orange. _A magnificent masterpiece_ , Kyra marveled.

"Stay behind me," Kyra said and tried to push Marcus deeper into the trailer. He wouldn't move. She had to act fast if she was going to keep him safe. Stay true to the pull, the fealty. Turning to face him, she found herself pressed up against him, his breath warm on her cheek. He held a frying pan. Odd. "You need to move back, away from the fire." She pressed her palms into his abs.

Marcus's hands grabbed her waist and his gaze pierced right through her. She shivered, feeling something between them she had yet to understand. His eyes darted to the window at their side, breaking the connection. "Can we go that way?"

Kyra grabbed the pan and slammed it against the window with all her might. It bounced back, leaving the window still sealed. "Would you fit?" She hit it again.

"Probably not."

She dropped the pan. "Back there." She pointed to the ceiling vent over the bed. Her redirect got Marcus moving to the back like she wanted.

He shoved his hands up against the vent. "Why is it boarded up?"

"A cat broke it. Fell through. I didn't want the thing coming and going whenever." Kyra glanced over her shoulder at the fire by the door, then back again.

His face hardened, the lines across his forehead cutting deeper into the mold of his skin. Beads of sweat trickled down his face, skipping over the grooves. The area around them turned pallidly still. The only sound, the sparks and crackles of the fire bellowing like a roar. Marcus grunted—it sounded like a rumble—and thumped at the barracked vent one more time. Kyra caught glimpse of a glisten. It was his eyes. She shook her head. Shook the vision away. She'd seen wrong. Seen a flick of the fire's light. If she had seen things correctly, Marcus's eyes were inhuman in the split of that second. And that couldn't be possible.

Marcus dropped his hands, took a step back. "I need leverage. This thing is on too damn tight."

Kyra blinked her suspicions away. Filed them for later. "This isn't working," she said and turned toward the front door, toward the fire. Marcus's hand clamped down around her wrist, his skin warm and rough.

Before she could rush for the door, he whipped her back around again. "What are you? First you pull me from the bottom of the river. An amazing feat for a girl your size." He jabbed his pointer finger in her face. "Now you're implying you can walk through fire. And don't pretend I didn't see you, because I did. I saw you in all your _magnificence_." Marcus flailed his hands out to the side, emphasizing the words he threw at her.

Kyra grabbed hold of his shoulders, looked him in the eye. "That's a conversation for another time. Definitely not _now_." Her searching stare ping-ponged between Marcus and the hungry fire at their back. Urgency tugged at her. "Trust me?"

His chest heaved once before he spoke. "Yeah, I guess I do."

"Good." She gave his hand a quick squeeze before dropping it and turning toward the door. "Follow my lead."

Marcus seized her wrist again. "Why don't you change? Use your power to break us out."

Kyra's eyes widened when she looked back at him. It took her a moment to find her voice. "The space is too small. You could be crushed." She turned away, a chill running through her. She hated hearing him speak of her dragon side.

Facing the fire, she moved with haste. Her scales consumed her form in the first step, while allowing her to retain a human shape. Her arms sprang from her side, welcoming the warm caress of the blaze―a kindred destroyer. She'd gladly bathe in its heat all day if weren't for Marcus.

A crack and pop ricocheted through the trailer. Kyra tilted her ear toward the noise. It sounded like the leveling jacks, and that was bad. They kept the home steady and secure. A low groan, and the whole place shifted, then pitched. The sleeping quarters plummeted downward, knocking Kyra off balance. More cupboards burst open, tossing out pots and pans. They slammed into her, toppling her over backwards. She fell into Marcus's arms, both of them slamming into the edge of the bed behind them.

At the thought of him touching her scaly skin her heart pounded, accelerated with fear and excitement like an indie car at the start of a new race. She pushed away without looking, her back rigid. She didn't want to know. Didn't want to see the rejection in his face. Instead, she crawled toward the door and argued with herself about her feelings. She shouldn't care so much what he thought. Her life was good before Marcus came along.

Options were limited in the tiny space with Marcus present. Lethal and pointless was the use of fire against fire. She couldn't use her tail. That required her full form, and her full form would tear the place apart and crush Marcus. Again, lethal. Nails through the door was a possibility. But then her leverage would be pulling. Not ideal―wrong direction. It would suck more fire inward. And the call for rain still remained unanswered. She quietly called out yet again. No raindrops.

A crash shuddered through the quarters. She swung around to find the folding divider to the sleeping space closed.

"Kyra?" Marcus called from the other side. The panel shimmied.

_Why not just open it?_ she wondered. One tug on the handle and she understood. The divider wouldn't budge. Instead it glowed a unique crimson aura. _Damn magic. Who is doing this?_ "I'm going to get you out, Marcus. Don't worry," she yelled through the plastic divider.

"Whatever you're gonna do, better hurry it up!" His voice bounded back from the far end of the space behind the divider. Crashes and bangs accompanied his grovel yell.

A prickling sensation crawled over her skin, urging her protective side to the forefront. Enough concern for both of them nestled in her warm gut.

Looking back toward the main door, she fixated on her goal. Marcus's continued words became a buzz at the back of her ear, allowing her to concentrate. She took one step, then slid onto her butt, twisted toward the exit, planted her feet up against the hatch, and thrust. The door gave way to her power, and a hole opened. Breaking at the midpoint, the hatch hung precariously on twisted hinges. The piece bent and cracked, in danger of ripping in two.

Thick fog clung to the outside of the trailer like the hand lock of a stranglehold. Flames rushed to the newly created crater as if pulled by a vacuum. Sucked in through the hole, they fanned out like a wall. Kyra pushed off the floor and slipped through the gap feet first, singeing her jacket through the pass. Dropping into a roll, she moved away from the burning chassis and deeper into the heavy, moist gloom.

For all she could see, she may have rolled into a cloud. Everything was gone. Misty white. Nothing was where it should be. Not even her trailer.

## 6

# Unexpected

### Kyra

She stood, disoriented, the trailer lost, obscured by the haze. Nothing but low-lying clouds pressing in around her, the soaked ground squashing beneath her feet. Panic churned like a cyclone within her chest. Spinning in the direction she believed her home to be, she called out, "Marcus? Can you hear me? Are you okay?"

A muffled laugh replied. It was close, in the fog with her. And for a split second, she saw it―saw him? A suit and hat. Distorted at best. And then the figure was gone, melting into the mist.

She shook what she hoped was a hallucination from her head. Problem was, she knew he was real. Breathing became increasingly difficult with each passing minute. Something in the fog was too thick, too gritty, even for her. She summoned fire up her throat. She would burn it clean.

Nothing came.

Chills ran up her spine, and she tried again, this time bringing the burn to her entire being.

Nothing.

A small cry escaped her lips, and she looked down at her clenched hands. They were no longer the strong hands of a human dragon. All signs of her scales had vanished. She was nothing more than a girl―an ordinary girl. Fear spread like hellfire through her entire nervous system.

_What is happening to me?_ Staring at her hands, she flexed them open and closed and then open again, willing her tough, orange scales to return. The drumming of her heart pounded heavily against her chest, increasing to an unbearable rate. _Where has my dragon gone?_ Kyra could feel her―her dragon Kalrapura deep within―but she was somehow suppressed, pushed down.

A twig snapped behind her, and she spun to the sound. "Chelsea?" Kyra's voice cracked, and she took a step toward the noise of the snap.

The sounds of footsteps on soggy earth coupled with heavy breath neared.

"No," she whispered. "I must get Marcus." She heard the panic in her voice and hated herself for it. She wasn't used to doing things without knowing she could fall back on her powerful dragon side. Yet no other options were at her disposal. Her dragon pushed at her interior walls, ready to burst free when she was in the trailer. Something about the fog had to be inhibiting her ability now. She turned back the direction she'd come from and found the trailer still obscured by the fog, practically impossible to locate.

Moisture collected in her eyes, the result of the mist in the fog. Not due to any weakness or frustration on her part. She stood strong on that point. Closing her eyes, she bowed her head and said a small prayer to Rajũn, the almighty dragon spirit. "Please, see me through this trial. This fog...and my abilities...I am trusting you to guide me."

Kyra reached through the opaque gloom, swatted it back, and took a step forward, toward where her gut whispered the trailer stood. Sucking back deep, she sputtered on the gritty air and blew with all her might. No change. No fire. She paid it no mind and ran the last few steps blindly until her hands found the trailer wall, fire burning along its sides.

Her breath hitched.

_Fire. My trailer is on fire_.

Emotions rattled her bones. She was afraid she'd been away too long. Afraid Marcus had already perished. Afraid that no amount of effort would make a difference. But she had to believe. She held firm to faith, to what she'd seen in his eyes, if only for a spilt second. Something substantial, something enduring, dwelled within Marcus. Something not human. Maybe it was a dragon, too.

Her fists slammed against the trailer's side with one quick blow. "Ouch!" She jumped back and looked down. No protection. She'd gotten burned. Her skin throbbed, ached in a fashion she was unfamiliar with.

"Kyra?" Coughs and sputters accompanied Marcus's voice from the other side of the wall.

Warmth swelled in her chest. Not too late. She could still save him. "I'm here. Are you all right?" She followed the sound of his voice, moving with haste. It led her to the back of the trailer, exactly where she'd left him.

Using the hitch as a step, she looked through the louvered slots of the window above the bed. Marcus had draped the bed sheets over himself for cover. He was already wrestling with the glass. Kyra joined in, attempting to pull a pane free. Her hand slipped, and the metal bit into her palm. "Crap." It hurt, but hardly. She was too focused on getting Marcus out.

Marcus's gaze shifted to take in her cut, but his hands continued to work. He pushed while Kyra pulled on the glass. The ceiling in the front dinette collapsed, and the divider fell from its mount. The heat intensified, and Kyra noticed the fire now nipped at Marcus's heels.

"The glass won't budge!" he bellowed.

Frantic, Kyra searched the area for anything she could use to break the glass. Except, the fog hid everything from sight.

Returning her attention to Marcus and the infuriating panels keeping him locked away, she continued to struggle, pushing and pulling, in an attempt to break one or more free. Kyra bit down, her teeth grinding, while she torqued the glass in her hands. She gave it all the strength she could manage. The glass popped. A quick crackle followed. It sounded like the breaking of ice.

The pane trapped between their hands gave, broke in two, and small shards blasted in all directions. Both Kyra and Marcus fell backwards.

Kyra's foot slipped on the hitch. As it slid forward, the rest of her body pitched the opposite direction. Her back broke the fall, smacking onto the muddy grass a fraction of a second before her head.

"Kyra!" Desperation and irritation scratched at Marcus's voice.

Her blood curdled at the sound. She scrambled to her feet, a sharp pain shooting through her spine. She ignored it and climbed back up to the window. The wall of the trailer was hotter than it had been a minute ago. She peered through the broken louvers, her gaze drawn past Marcus.

The trailer's front portion was completely engulfed. She was reminded of a bonfire, only extra intense and larger. Fire had spread to the edge of the bed, and Marcus beat it with the sheet. A red, satin sheet. Hardly impervious, and it too burned. They were out of time. The place would be gone in minutes.

Kyra screamed and reached through the space provided by the broken glass. A tight line stretched across Marcus's lips. It told Kyra everything he wasn't saying. He held in his pain and played the tough guy, but any fool could see the skin on his arms was scorched and marred. It must feel like he'd been flayed. He hid from Kyra's prying eye behind sputters and coughs, but she saw. She missed nothing. If the fire didn't kill him and she didn't get him out soon, would he die from smoke inhalation?

Blood trailed down her arm, running from the cuts slashed by the shards of glass pressed up against her. She pretended not to notice and focused on her want, her need, and pressed against the suppression and fought to release her dragon. Ice raced around her cranium, and her vision turned a blackened red. Pressure pushed out from her shoulder blades and in the space below. A rippling of points strained in two parallel lines, arching across her crown. Her fingers and nails stretched―grew into strong, long talons.

It took more concentration than normal, while not achieving near the beast she knew herself to be, but it was something. She'd beaten the asphyxiating soup working against her. Dragon talons bit into the side of the structure, tearing at its aluminum casing. The rips and tears created an echoing howl. Primitive snarls and growls responded.

Kyra jerked and slipped to the ground. She landed straddling the hitch. Since the noise had come from behind her, she turned to see what had startled her and caused her to drop. A portion of the fog had turned a hazy yellow and grown in mass. From its obscurity, a giant claw emerged and bore down on her. Her eyes widened, even as her body flattened itself against the trailer frame. The new manner of monster coming at her was strong as steel and made by man.

The backhoe loader's cab came into view. Within its tiny confines, Higgins waved his arms wildly. "Get out of the way, Kyra!"

Never looking away from Higgins and his tremendous machine, Kyra scampered to the side. She moved fast, and when the wall of the trailer unexpectedly ran out behind her she stumbled, and her butt met the grass.

Marcus yelled, his words obscured in the roar of the construction vehicle. The backhoe tore on a collision course, directly for the window.

Higgins jumped up and down in the small cab. "Out of the way! Out of the way!" His voice boomed.

No sooner did Marcus's face disappear than the giant yellow claw crashed down on the top corner of the trailer, pulling the structure apart like a box from the edge. Screams of tearing metal and splintering wood followed the claw's path as it tore down the length of the wall. The backhoe lurched, jumped back, pulled the grapnel with it. In its wake stood a doorway, a gaping hole where the wall and window used to be. Marcus jumped out over the remains of the torn mattress, the back of his shirt smoldering. He dropped and rolled, and Kyra ran to his aid. Smoke billowed from the huge hole, as if trying to follow him, and the flames collapsed what remained of Kyra's once-cozy trailer.

Kyra snuffed out the smolder, leaving a splotchy, plaid mess marking the remains of Marcus's shirt. He sat on the ground with his knees bent high in the air, showing off his blackened and marred jeans. He stretched his arms out across his legs giving Kyra a clear view of his heat soaked skin, glistening in soot and sweat. The air expelled from his lungs in one long exhale, and he set his tired, bloodshot eyes to look upon Kyra, who sat perched beside him.

"Too damn close." Craning his head, he took in everything around them. "Almost like something was out to get me." He continued to search the perimeter, his voice trailed off. A moment later, his gaze settled on Kyra once again. His body jerked with a small cough.

Unsure how to best comfort him, she reached out and gently patted his hand. The action was odd and awkward. Especially when she paused, her palm wavering against his skin. That's when she smelled it. Serpicose. She yanked back and stared at him. If Marcus was the source, that could only mean one thing. He was a dragon. Only dragons used Serpicose. For attracting mates, no less.

A sudden chill ran up her back. Her senses prickled, and her spine straightened. The fog moved, shifted and swirled. Kyra pulled her attention away from Marcus and looked to Higgins. A few feet away, he climbed out of the backhoe's cab. He took a step in their direction and froze. His head tilted to the side, lifting his ear to the sky. He was listening, and she wanted to know to what.

She opened her mouth, ready to call out, when his hand shot up, halting her. She looked up, her ears perked, tight at attention, desperate to hear what Higgins heard. Marcus did the same, his body still, attuned to the night. The darkness cried out. A deathly, frustrated howl spun through the air. As if in response, fog twisted around them, slow at first, then faster and faster until it reached an incredible rate of speed.

Kyra leaped to her feet, dragging Marcus off the ground at her side. She wanted the dizzying spin to stop. She stood ready to lash out at anything and everything tangible that might put a stop to the maddening spin. The twisting fog grew thicker by the moment. Higgins was lost to her, his image stolen by the storm. Kyra thought to lunge for him, meant to, even started to, but the fog squeezed tight like a noose. It pushed the air straight from her lungs. But as quick as the dense gloom moved in, it slipped up and away, vanishing into the night. As if it'd never existed.

Collapsing on her hands and knees, she gasped for breath, weary and confused. Sharp pains splintered through her chest with each gulp of air. Her hand shook as she wiped the sweat from her brow. Once again, her inner voice called to the rain. Despite her weak delivery, the element answered this time and a pleasant drizzle began to fall upon the smoky scene. Satisfaction spread across Kyra's face. She closed her eyes and wished, if only for a moment, that she could be a strong, powerful dragon like her mother. Then she could command thunderstorms instead of mere drizzle.

But Moorigads were never _that_ strong. Never would she be as fast or as magical as her mother.

No thunder came.

With an unstable stance, she stood and took stock of her surroundings. Reaching over to Marcus, she clutched his hand, wanting confirmation she had succeeded in keeping him safe. His skin was warm and strangely comforting. That same feeling fluttered in her chest. New, yet becoming all too familiar. She didn't like it―the fealty. She ignored it. Or tried to. But it now mingled with new knowledge. Marcus might also be a dragon.

In any case, she'd managed to keep the man alive. That was something. Higgins was good, too. A little worse for wear, but still standing. His clothing crumpled and spotted with mud and sweat, she found it curious he looked so tired when Marcus had been the one fighting the fire. She wondered how he'd known they'd been in need of help at all.

Pulling a white hankie from his pants pocket, Higgins dabbed the sweat on his brow. "You two all right?"

"We'll survive, thanks to you." Kyra waved her finger at the construction truck. "Where did you and that big yellow beast come from? That's not standard equipment around here."

A funny look adorned Higgins' face, like he'd swallowed lemon juice. His cheeks and lips twisted, swished, and then he spat to the side. When he looked up he met her stare with a devilish grin. "Who you calling 'beast,' beastie?"

"Very funny." She looked down. Marcus still sat on the damp ground. He watched her from under the cover of a hand rubbing at his forehead. A battered hand with bloodied knuckles. She worried the fire's smoke had caused him yet unspoken health issues and knew his many cuts and mild burns should be treated as soon as possible.

She looked back toward Higgins, and for a moment, everything around her faded into a mesh of blurred sounds and lights, and she considered this man she'd pulled from the lake earlier that day. Had she done the right thing by bringing him to the carnival? How far was she willing to go for Marcus? Could it be her actions were not without consequence and his presence actually brought misfortune?

Higgins' cough pulled her back, made her take notice of him sauntering toward them. "One rule you should learn about this place. Nothing is ever gone or forgotten. Nothing is ever obsolete." He pointed to the yellow backhoe. "I pulled that old thing out of the vehicle graveyard. She's been sitting there since the day we finished the original setup. She came in real handy back in the day. Hasn't been much use for her since. Mighty glad she was sitting back there tonight."

Higgins' words sank in and Kyra's brows knit together. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Are you saying you've been here since day one?"

Higgins rocked back on his heels, snapped his suspenders. "Yep. Of course, I was much younger then. You might have actually taken a shine to me. I was quite dapper, if you know what I mean."

"Higgins! You're just full of surprises tonight. How did you know I needed help?"

A light shone in his eyes, brightened his face. It didn't last long. It faltered when he turned toward the remainder of the small trailer community. With the lifting of the fog, everything stood in clear view. A small spattering of people moved amongst the rubble, some like lost and bewildered children, others with great purpose, urgently attending to those in need.

"Just had a feeling," Higgins said. "We should do what we can to help the others." His words were quiet and touched with an edge of sorrow.

"Of course." Kyra's tone lacked feeling. Elation, confusion, curiosity—an emotional tornado whirled inside her. Hating the lack of emotion she now expressed for others not Marcus, Kyra tugged at her singed jacket and tried to settle her personal storm. With a nod, she agreed and felt the obligation to her fellow carnies drop into place. Together, they stepped out to take on the aftermath, Kyra motioning Marcus to follow.

They'd taken only a few steps when an ear-shattering wail broke through the night's turmoil like the sharp crack of a whip. Drifts of smog wafted clear, and they caught sight of the source. An unfamiliar woman stood amidst the chaos, her arms clenched around her midsection and her nails clawing at the delicate fabric of her dress. Her expression, one of immense regret.

A heavy sigh of acceptance escaped Higgins' lips. Bewildered, Kyra watched as he stepped away from their little group and closed the gap between himself and the wailing woman.

He dragged his palm across his pant leg, wiped it dry, and then extended his hand in greeting. "We haven't had the pleasure. I go by the name Higgins." He leaned forward and lowered his voice, but Kyra still heard. "'Twasn't always the case."

Kyra wondered what he meant.

The woman lifted her palm, cupped the side of Higgins' face. Kyra thought her eyes were the saddest she had ever seen. "I am Kelian, and I've come for you," the woman said.

Marcus leaned into Kyra and lowered his voice. "What is that about?" He stared at the exchange between Higgins and Kelian a brief moment before tilting his face up to the large Ferris wheel in the distance. Kyra had no idea how to answer his question. Before she could open her mouth, he turned to her, his eyes wide with wonder. "Are we at some kind of carnival?"

Kyra had been eavesdropping on Higgins' newly developing situation, but Marcus's question forced her attention back to him. "Yeah." Nerves made her response sound less confident and more like a question. She twisted her thumbs through the front belt loops of her pants, stretched her arms, and pushed up on the balls of her feet.

An amused smirk from Marcus broke into a snort as he soaked in all the characters around them. He motioned to a few. "So, the people here are carnies?"

Silence fell over them when no one spoke in response.

Marcus nodded, and his lips twitched in a half smile. "Everything is now starting to make sense."

The knots in Kyra's chest began to loosen. She wondered if she would have felt this way had she ever brought someone home to meet her parents. Assuming she had stayed with her mother or father. Now the carnival was her home, and she wanted his approval. "So, you're..." She stopped herself. Why was she looking for his approval? Straightening her shoulders, she stood a tad taller. "You got a problem with any of this?"

He shrugged. "Nah, I guess not. I've never known any carnies before." Shoving his hands deep into his jeans pockets, he tipped his head toward two people beating a small blaze. "What now?"

Around them, smoke smoldered from fire-damaged trailers. The drizzle helped drench the burning remnants. People held hands or shirts to their faces, blocking the smoke, and went to the business of helping one another wherever needed―bandages for the injured, extraction for the wreckage-trapped, and flame dousing.

Kyra took a step backward and threw her arms out, attempting to encompass everyone in the vicinity. "We help, of course."

"Of course. What was I thinking?" Marcus's eyes sparked with a shy, I-should-have-known smile. He turned and headed directly for the two carnies he'd pointed out only moments before. Kyra wasn't sure if he expected her to follow, but she stepped in the opposite direction, thinking they could help twice as many if they split up.

She chose a destination, took a few steps, and then...

Someone called her name. She hesitated.

A veil of smoke drifted past, obscuring her view. When it cleared she saw Sebastian kneeling by the water trough, Chelsea curled by his side. Kyra's heart clenched and dropped into her stomach. _Good. This is good_ , she reminded herself and slowly swallowed the lump forming in her throat. Sebastian stood quick, setting Chelsea to the side without a second glance. She shot a scowl in his direction when he hurried toward Kyra.

He stopped directly in front of Kyra, his eyes taking inventory of every inch. "You're hurt." He motioned to her bloody arm. "Were you in danger?"

Her gaze wandered past him to Chelsea and lingered briefly before locking on Sebastian's concerned stare. Kyra wanted to prove to herself and to Sebastian that she was fine. Fine if he and Chelsea became an item and fine if they didn't. Either way. She notched her hand on her hip. "I'm good. You know me, I can handle fire."

He didn't look convinced, his disbelief evident in the hunch of his shoulders and drop of his face. "Right." He shifted, looking uncomfortable, and for a minute, Kyra thought he wanted to touch her, maybe hug her, but he didn't.

Too much time went by without a word. What had it been? Four seconds? Six? Kyra realized she had been fixated on his eyes. There was something about the way he was looking at her. She glanced away, looked past him to Chelsea. The young girl was picking herself up off the ground.

Kyra motioned to Chelsea and lowered her voice. "Why do you insist on pushing her away with such venom?" She gulped, unsure she wanted to hear his answer.

Guilt clouded his eyes, and he spared Chelsea a peep over his shoulder. When he looked back, his features were darker, intensely hollow. "Can't you smell it?"

Smell? The mere mention of the word made her think of Marcus stinking up the air with Serpicose. Making himself sweet and alluring. She looked over to where she'd last seen him. He wasn't hard to find. It was as if she possessed an internal Marcus locator since she'd pulled him from the river.

He was with Ashlyn, the magical man manipulator. Kyra shouldn't have expected anything different. Only that logic wasn't completely true, and she recognized the lie the moment it slithered into her thoughts. The girl was rarely seen outside of the Magician's tent, putting Kyra's assumptions and criticism of Ashlyn to shame. Seeing her here took Kyra by surprise.

Her skin heated as she observed the two of them together. Ashlyn was young and beautiful, with silvery hair flowing like a stream across her perfect skin. Everything she did had a way of looking sensual. Marcus was only male, no doubt powerless against her supernatural ways. And no matter how much she didn't want to admit it, that irritated Kyra like a spike in her dragon's tail. And it irritated her that she cared at all, because honestly, why should she care what Marcus did? Again, she found herself scratching her head at this new lack of understanding or control over her emotions. And, it would seem, her actions too.

She wanted to walk over and punch him and then claw poor Ashlyn to pieces, even if it wasn't her fault. Ashlyn couldn't help what she was any more than Kyra could help being a Moorigad.

Lurking in the background, amongst the debris and filth like a hungry hyena, moved the Magician. Stiff and awkward were his steps, a glint betraying his curious eyes hidden in black shadow beneath the brim of his hat.

Kyra shivered, looked away. She knew what he wanted. Jealousy and irritation excreted from his body like a ruptured water main. It was undeniable, and thankfully, Kyra wasn't the object of his obsession. He made her skin crawl and the hairs on her arms rise. Would he hurt Marcus over a silly girl?

Kyra heard her name called from a distance. No, not a distance—right next to her. She turned back to Sebastian and pushed the thoughts of Marcus out of her head. So confusing, probably rude and selfish too, to be consumed with her own issues in the midst of discussing Sebastian and Chelsea. She must've spaced.

Now what had Sebastian said? _Can't you smell it?_ Kyra sniffed the air. She was overcome with the acrid scent of ash, melted plastic, and just about every kind of burnt item one could think of. The grass was now dewy, and she smelled that, too. She didn't know what smell he meant, so she shook her head.

Sebastian leaned forward and whispered, "Cancer."

Kyra jerked back. "You can―?" She threw her hand over her mouth, stopped mid-sentence.

Chelsea joined them, stood awkwardly between them. "What did I miss?"

"Sorry. I had to make sure Kyra was okay." He spoke without moving his gaze from Kyra.

Chelsea dropped her head onto his shoulder. "I get it."

Kyra's lips twitched, giving Chelsea the best fake smile she could muster. Despite his words, Sebastian was finally giving the girl attention, even if he'd been quick to push her aside. At least Kyra understood why now. Or thought she did. It was possible Chelsea had figured out some time ago that he knew she was ill, and that was why she was being such a good sport about his treatment of her. _Does she know she's dying?_

Seeing Sebastian and Chelsea together made Kyra's heart clench with an indescribable ache, and she had trouble distinguishing the reason why. Was it because she was lonely? She massaged her shoulders and turned away. Maybe it was the visual of finality Chelsea represented, or the new addition in her life. Marcus's life was so fragile. Yet, he had promise of something great, something stronger.

Ashlyn was watching Kyra when she looked back, a deflated yet teasing smile settled on her face. Marcus was no longer at her side. The mad Magician had yanked Ashlyn away and wrapped her protectively within his cloak, like his most precious possession. Cold shivers ran across Kyra's inner scales. Not because it disturbed her in the darkest recesses of her core, although it did that, too, but because she recognized a piece of herself in the action, a bit of what she was becoming. And what she saw tasted bitter and ugly.

She ground her teeth and focused on Marcus. He made his way toward her, shirt in hand, dabbing at the sweat on his brow. Kyra wondered about Ashlyn's smile. She wondered about rumors that Ashlyn waited at the carnival for her one true love, the man who never came. And she wondered if the new pull she was experiencing was destined to turn her twisted and crazy like the Magician. Sudden panic took hold of her. What if Marcus was the man Ashlyn waited for? Would that explain the Magician's presence in front of her trailer earlier? Ferocious butterflies fluttered a mad choreograph around her insides, and fear gutted her. She fought the emotions the pull created, but they were stronger, or she was weaker. Her gaze shot to Marcus, and that's when she saw it.

Kyra's breath caught in her throat. Glowing in the moonlight across his broad chest was the dragon's crest. The symbol of royalty. Another trait, another clue, another piece to his puzzle. She'd seen his eyes; he had survived the smoke; he smelled of Serpicose, and now the crest. But there was no sign of his actual dragon. Where did his magnificent beast go? The men on the bridge shouldn't have gotten the better of him, and Marcus should have easily saved himself from the lake and her trailer. It didn't make sense. The man was a puzzle.

Marcus came to a stop in front of her and exhaled. "The rain seems to have put out the fire." He rubbed his eyes, looking two days spent.

He was right, the fire was nowhere to be seen. She breathed in the night air and looked up to the sky. Was it her imagination, or were the stars twinkling extra bright? She thanked the rain, releasing it from service. The smell of charred remains overwhelmed the underlying rich, dewy bouquet of peat moss and crabgrass, and was a secret welcome to her senses.

Another scent snaked in, mingled with the mix. Serpicose again. It smelled of smoldering moss and warm, wild berries. Kyra inhaled it. Savored it. Followed it. It led her straight to Marcus. Earlier today, she would have said the possibility of Marcus being anything but human was impossible. Now she no longer felt the same. She scrutinized him, and he stared back with an incredibly strong gaze. It stripped her to the bone, destroyed all her carefully constructed barriers.

Sebastian cleared his throat, commanding Marcus's attention. "I see you made it out in one piece." He made no attempt to hide the snark packed heavily into his words.

"Yeah. I have Kyra to thank for that." Marcus looked at Kyra with a gaze resembling an inside joke, something private between just the two of them, and she saw the mischievous twinkle in full force. "She's really something."

Something in Sebastian's eyes glinted. "Yes, she is." He turned and took Chelsea's hand. "Come on. Let's go."

Kyra watched them walk away, her chest constricting and stomach churning with acidic dragon's fire. She couldn't help thinking their exit was rather abrupt. Shifting her weight, she twisted to face Marcus. "What was that about?"

He brushed a stray hair from the side of her face, ran his thumb down her cheekbone. She startled, and he pulled back, looking apologetic. "Don't know exactly. Jealously, maybe?"

Kyra scoffed. That couldn't be right. Could it? Her heart flipped at the thought. Maybe she wanted Sebastian to be jealous. Her gaze wandered to Marcus's neckline and beyond to the unique markings on his chest. This time her fingers followed.

All kinds of emotions warred within her, and she didn't know what to make of them. Or what to do with them. On the one hand, she was pulled to Marcus, and on the other, it was clear she needed to figure out what she felt for Sebastian. Right now, though, her calling was clear. The darn, stupid pull.

Slowly, with deliberate lines, she traced the tooth he had tied around his neck, certain it was the tooth of an immensely old dragon. She couldn't say exactly how old, but it was definitely up there in years. Her fingers ran over it, feeling, sensing―nothing. No magic vibrated from the pendant that she could discern.

"This is a pretty interesting piece." Kyra twisted the tooth between her fingers.

Marcus laughed, one quick snort. "That old thing has been in the family for ages. It's become kind of a joke, actually. You'll laugh at the story that goes with it."

A wicked smile fought to take hold of Kyra's features. "Try me."

"Don't say I didn't warn you. The family has this story about descending from dragons. This thing," he removed the tooth hanging from his neck and held it out in front of him, "is supposedly the tooth of some great ancestor. Before tonight, I never considered it possible." He fixed his gaze with hers, pressed his hand to hers with the tooth between them. "Laughable, isn't it?"

"Does it look like I'm laughing?" The fingers of her free hand traced the faint lines glowing across his chest. Lines only visible in the moonlight. They stretched out like the expanded wings of a large dragon. Marcus shivered, but didn't pull away. Instead, his hand grasped her hand, held it to his chest.

His eyes narrowed. "No, it doesn't. And in light of things I've seen recently, it doesn't sound so crazy anymore." He pressed the tooth into Kyra's palm and closed her hand around it. "Since you saved my life countless times, I owe you this and more. I want you to hold on to it."

Kyra looked down at the ancient piece she now held. "I can't..."

"I insist. Besides, I think you're more deserving than I."

"Kyra! Marcus! Get over here." Higgins' voice broke through sharp and urgent, invoking a gut-curdling urge to respond.

## 7

# Necessities

### Kyra

Kyra's legs carried her with unnatural speed, leaving Marcus to struggle in an effort to keep up. The closer they got to Higgins' voice the more apparent the state of urgency. On the opposite side of the Backyard from Kyra's burnt home, screams for help emanated from a large pile of rubble. Only, it hadn't been rubble prior to the fire. It had been a trailer. A trailer that had imploded, or was being sucked into a massive hole, or something equally as horrific.

Chelsea studied the wreckage from a safe distance and Kyra and Marcus came to a slow stop at her side, taking a moment to survey the situation. Metal twisted and bent and rose in every direction. Sebastian was already hard at work with Higgins, trying to locate the source of the screaming. The sound blasted and bellowed and barked.

"Might as well payback some of the hospitality you've shown me," Marcus said and jogged over to the trailer rubble.

Kyra rolled her shoulders and started to follow, but Chelsea reached out and grabbed Kyra's arm, stopping her mid-step.

"Stay with me?" Chelsea asked, the hint of a plea in her gaze.

Kyra's brow pinched, and she studied the girl, trying to assess if she was going to faint or convulse or something else that would require humanly care.

"I just don't want to be alone." Chelsea crossed her arms and hugged herself.

Kyra chewed on her lip and shoved her hands into her pockets. "Yeah, sure." She shifted her weight in awkward discomfort.

Standing on the sideline, feeling discontent in her lack of action in the face of a crisis, Kyra gaze wandered back and forth between Marcus and Sebastian. The men wrestled with the twisted remains of a trailer, attempting to free a young girl and fellow carnie. Cries of the girl trapped within the rubble were audible all the way to where Kyra stood. The girl was an inexperienced vortex beast. She probably accidentally sucked all the destruction in upon herself. She could, conceivably, pull herself, Sebastian, Marcus, and Higgins into a forever blackhole or another dimension. A painful pang attacking Kyra's heart like a sour case of indigestion.

"Be careful, Sebastian," Chelsea yelled.

Chelsea's words threw fire upon Kyra's open sore. The human girl was a constant reminder Kyra had thought it a good idea to play Cupid. She tried not to think about Chelsea. Kyra had been dumb enough to push Sebastian toward Chelsea in the first place. Instead, Kyra busied her mind with other things.

The conversation with Marcus about dragons played in her mind. Clutching the tooth Marcus had trusted her with in her hand, she squeezed it before shoving it deep into her front jeans pocket. It said a lot he trusted her with his ancestor's canine.

"What's going on?" Talia, stepped up beside them. She held a red-and white-striped bag of popcorn and popped one piece after another into her mouth. Kyra didn't know Talia all that well, but she'd seen her often and had always waved to her. She was Sebastian's neighbor, the witch that ran the Crystal Ball Gazing and Palm Reader destination beside his Tarot Card tent.

Kyra's shoulders dropped, and she turned toward Talia with a roll of her head and a sigh. "It's Valentina, the new vortex girl. You know how inexperienced she is. Well, she must have gotten scared by the fire or something because she mutilated her trailer." Kyra motioned to the wreckage the guys were working on. "Pulled the whole thing in on herself. Now she's trapped. Marcus and Sebastian are trying to get her out."

"Yeah," Chelsea added with a head nod.

Talia's lips pulled tight, and she stared at the wreckage before them. "Well." She heaved a deep sigh. "I should probably help. We wouldn't want our boy to accidently end up in some destination unknown." She handed her bag of popcorn to Chelsea and walked over to the mutilated trailer.

Chelsea popped a popcorn kernel into her mouth.

Kyra watched Talia in hopes of seeing some grand magic that would fix the situation and get the guys out of danger. She watched and waited, but all Talia did was toss items around the demolished home and then chant.

Kyra sighed and rubbed the tooth hanging at her neck, the gift from Marcus.

_What am I going to do about this guy?_

"I need something from you," Kyra said to Chelsea, then turned to look at her.

Chelsea met Kyra's gaze. "Anything. Just name it."

Kyra had expected this response, suspected Chelsea would be eager to please Sebastian by helping his best friend. That's why Kyra had chosen her. To keep it quiet, for Sebastian's sake.

"Can you come with Marcus and me? I need someone trustworthy. Someone needs to keep an eye on Marcus and tend to his wounds while I take care of something." Kyra returned to watching her men. "I shouldn't be long, and you'll be at Marcus's place, so there shouldn't be any danger. Do you think you could do that?"

An awkward silence fell between them. Kyra sensed something wasn't right, causing an unpleasant sensation to stir in her gut. And though Chelsea spoke not a word, her face soured. She pressed in on her abdomen, and Kyra got the nagging suspicion Chelsea shared in the queasy stomach syndrome.

"Okay." Chelsea's voice was low and lacked her usual conviction.

Kyra knew she should question the matter, but she didn't. The fear it would throw her into relationship territory was too great. The last thing she wanted was to stand there with Chelsea discussing feelings regarding Sebastian, because honestly, she didn't know where hers lay anymore. Instead, she snatched Marcus away from Sebastian and vortex girl and made a beeline for the portal at the carnival's front entrance, Chelsea at their tail.

"Hey! Where ya going?" Sebastian's voice called from behind.

"Quick errand. Nothing more. I'll be back before you miss me." Kyra's words were sharp, had bite. She glanced over her shoulder to glimpse his face. Dark, glistening pools of onyx stared back at her. She snapped her head forward. Didn't want to see anymore. Didn't want to hurt him. His emotions were not her responsibility, she reasoned.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

Sebastian hadn't flirted with Ashlyn, made her mad—that was Marcus. Part of her wanted to be mad at Marcus for falling under Ashlyn's spell, except the logical side of her brain knew he couldn't help it. It was Ashlyn, after all, and all men tended to be powerless in her presence. All men who weren't Sebastian, that was. No, Sebastian had done nothing more than be nice to Chelsea. Now Kyra was reacting like a soulless fire demon. She needed to pull herself together.

She pushed down the havoc-inducing swirl of emotions within her and pulled Marcus through the magical gateway. Promising herself with the first step away from the carnival she'd smooth things over with Sebastian soon. Or later. At least before late became too late and the festering turned to crusted rust.

Kyra, Marcus, and Chelsea soon stood on a quiet, tree-lined street in Philadelphia, where they began their trek toward Marcus's apartment.

It was elegant for a bachelor pad. A well-cared-for, brown leather sofa set filled the center of the room, accompanied by smudge-free glass coffee and side tables. A few pictures decorated the walls, and accessories were sparse. It was a minimalist look. Beautifully impressive, especially for a man living alone. Not a single empty beer can or slice of cold pizza in sight.

Marcus Blackall tossed his keys on the rustic marble counter, told the ladies to make themselves comfortable, and disappeared into the bedroom. The sound of water soon came from the bathroom beyond.

The weight of inevitability dropping upon Kyra's shoulders, she notched her hands on her hips and turned on Chelsea. "What's going on? You've been quieter than usual." She crossed her arms and tilted her head to the side. The foul scent of irritated dragon smoke clogged her nostrils. "Please tell me this doesn't have to do with Sebastian."

_Plleeeaassseee!_

Chelsea began to spin a hand in front of her face, as if willing words that wouldn't come. Kyra took her actions as a ridiculous bid for time. She didn't know if she should smile, laugh, or what?

"I'm sorry," Chelsea said, her face turning brighter than Kyra's hair. "I haven't been completely honest with you, and I'm afraid it will affect what you're trying to accomplish by having me keep an eye on Marcus."

Kyra raised an interested brow and remained silent, waiting for the girl to continue.

Chelsea bit her lip, reluctant, then continued. "The first time I came to the carnival, I thought it was a dream. One marvelous, impossible dream. But then I met you and Sebastian, and I kept coming back because I wanted the dream. Things felt, tasted, so real. I began to believe they were, miraculously as it may seem, truly real." Chelsea's big, remorseful eyes bored into Kyra. "But I only come to visit when I'm sleeping, you see? When I wake up, back home, I leave this place." Chelsea wrung her hands together. "What happens if I wake up?"

Kyra stared at Chelsea, her head buzzing with thoughts and possibilities never before considered. She remembered the cancer, wondered how it factored in. Kyra shivered. Tried to play it off, work it into a roll of the shoulders, not wanting Chelsea to see her reaction. Maybe the cancer was changing her. Maybe her carnival visits meant more than Chelsea realized. There were a lot of maybes.

Still, Kyra didn't smell anything other than human girl on Chelsea. But she did see the girl differently for the first time. "Are you telling me you're asleep right now?"

Chelsea nodded.

"Then whatever you do," Kyra said, "don't wake up."

Chelsea gulped, embarrassment slowly draining from her face, replaced by resolve.

Sebastian's words rang in Kyra's ear―cancer. Images swam through her head. Pictures of Chelsea in a hospital room hooked up to machines, with daily nurse visits and IV drips that kept her under, kept her at the carnival. Kyra cringed.

Marcus entered the room, and she snapped into the now. A light blue t-shirt hugged his chest and upper triceps and worked to compliment his perfectly-fitted jeans. He looked good, if you looked beyond his many bumps and bruises: cheekbone, nose, and arms. The colors in his outfit brought out the blue in his eyes. She fought the desire to smile a little too wide. "Very nice. Don't let that go to your head, though. I suspect you hear that a lot." The devilish grin she received in response was confirmation enough. "That's what I thought." She shook her head and rolled her eyes closed. Only for the count of a wing's flutter. "I have to go for a bit. You'll be good if I leave Chelsea here?"

Marcus closed the gap between them, placing himself dangerously close to Kyra. "We just got here." He looked puzzled and in need of a solid answer.

Kyra stole a glance in Chelsea's direction. "I know. Will you be good, though?" She rubbed her palms down the front of her black jeans and hoped he'd understand. She was uncomfortable with him getting so close. Especially in front of Chelsea. Her pulse increased, and she began to perspire. The tension was too tight across her shoulders. Oh, how her wings wanted to stretch. Her hands began to knead at the pain, and she took a minuscule step back.

He glanced back and forth between her and Chelsea. "Fine, but I don't need a babysitter." His eyes darkened, and an impenetrable veil pulled down over them. The lines across his forehead deepened, and his face flushed, if only slightly. He was trying to hide his irritation, ineffectively so.

She could play the lonely puppy-dog look on him, only it wasn't her style. She was more of a breathe-fire-directly-at-the-target kind of dragon. "Humor me," she said, her tone coming across flat, even though she didn't mean it to.

Marcus stared at her, his eyes serious, giving no indication they would soften anytime soon. He huffed and looked away. "Are you coming back?"

Energy pulsed through her veins at a fierce rate. He may not possess his beast, but there was no doubt in Kyra's mind he was a dragon. He exuded the pure force of a royal giant. "Promise," she said.

"Swear it." His voice was deep and strong without being overly demanding.

Kyra sucked back her breath. The dragon within him scratched at the surface, anything but dormant, and it thrilled her to the bone, though his demands irritated her beyond her dragon's wing tip. "I said I would, didn't I?" Snark bled in and around her words.

Pressed between the peddlers and marketgoers, Kyra found what she was looking for. The door stood open. A thick veil of purple velvet dropped down, obscuring the gap―mostly. Drapes, hanging crystals, bands of feathers, mystic doodads, all shrouded the fortuneteller's wagon in mystery for the average visitor. They also made it impossible for anyone to poke their head through the door without rubbing against a group of dangling silver stars or glass teardrops. A clever early warning system sounding someone's approach. Sets of brass bells chimed when Kyra slid past into the show space.

Sebastian sat in an antique stuffed chair, the pattern worn without looking decrepit. It held a warm, comfortable appeal. His face was decorated in black and white paint, a skeleton pattern, the extensive art partially hidden by the shadows from the hood of his cloak. A lot of thought and effort had been put into the show―the illusion.

The old tarot deck he always carried lay fanned out on the antique cherry wood table between them, illuminated by the mellow flicker of candlelight. The candles, pillars of various sizes and shapes, hugged the edges of the small space. Melted wax dripped down the sides into messy piles on the floor, and the scents of musk and thyme filled the room, creating a full effect.

Sebastian looked up, his dark gaze locking in on Kyra's and warming upon their connection. "Wish you'd come at a better time. I'm working right now."

She dropped into the chair across from him and placed her money on the table. "I know. I'm your next customer." She bit her lip and studied his full ensemble. Not so much the cloak and skeleton paint, but the dark suit he wore beneath. If he ditched the tie made of rope, he'd look hot.

His brows bored down into his gaze, a sudden weight pressing upon them. "You're kidding. I'd do your reading for free, off the clock. You know that. Wait."

Money slid across the table, Kyra pushing it closer to Sebastian's hand. "No. Now is good."

His hand hovered over the bills, a rapid tap of his finger drumming on the hard wood surface. Kyra remained fixated. Black, chipped polish pulsated up and down, pounding thoughts of what she might have to do deeper into her psyche. She shook her head, looked up to meet his stare.

The lines on his face softened. "What's this about?"

She pressed the palms of her hands to her temples, ran them up and back, racking her fingers through her hair. "There's something going on around this guy I saved. Something dark. I need to figure out what it is before it destroys him."

"You should let him go. It's not your fight."

Heat ignited lashing fire around her irises, and she leaned into the table. Ash lingered on her tongue, a reminder her temper had momentarily gotten the better of her. She sometimes found it nearly impossible to control the anger bubbling inside her. Remaining still, she allowed the silence to grow between them. "Don't fight me on this. Just do my reading. Deal the cards."

His eyes narrowed, bored into her, but she knew he would follow through. His hand swept over the bill, hooking her fingers before she pulled away. There, he held her for a matter of seconds. It could have been five lifetimes for the way she felt. The worlds must have stilled, sucked the oxygen out of his trailer, because everything stopped in that tiny moment of time. Nothing else existed―mattered―but him, and them together. Walls fell, barriers broke, and truths were revealed all in a simple touch. She didn't want Chelsea to have Sebastian. She didn't want anyone but her to have him. Dragon heritage be damned.

The connection broke, but Kyra continued to stare at the same point on the table.

Sebastian crumpled the bill in his fist and stashed it away.

His hands moved quick and with the utmost skill shuffling and mixing the deck. "It's been awhile since we've had any time alone." He paused, hesitated, but didn't need to finish the sentence. Kyra knew what he was going to say. Since she'd saved Marcus.

She nodded, eyes fixed on the table. "I know."

"I still want to talk to you."

Kyra looked up, met his gaze. "We can talk about whatever you want."

They stared at each other, letting the silence expand, fill the room. The lines at the corner of Sebastian's right eye began to tighten. The right corner of his lip twitched. "Can we?"

"Of course." Kyra threw her hands wide open, and her backbone straightened, as if thrown by a mini shock blast.

"Then tell me, what are you doing with Chelsea?" Sebastian's hand grasped at the air, then dropped to the table. "Why are you trying to push me away? Push me off on another girl?"

Kyra's heart jumped, stumbled, and droplets of anxiety began to bead her brow. "What do you mean?"

His face darkened, and his eyes turned the color of a moonless night. "Stop trying to force a relationship out of me." A gentle smile slowly graced his face, bringing with it a warm, soft glow. "I don't need help in the girlfriend department. If I do, I'll let you know."

Kyra bit her lip and tried to hide her amusement. His warning was dragon song to her ears. She preferred to see Chelsea charred by fifty dragons than end up a couple with Sebastian. And the fact that he chose to talk about the girl instead of his supernatural heritage was intriguing. Was this a sign of jealously? Did he return her feelings? "No Chelsea, got it. What about the other thing you wanted to tell me?"

Sebastian shook his head. "We can discuss that later. Not in the shadow of Chelsea and yours."

"Mine?" Kyra raised her brow and cocked her head. "You mean Marcus?"

"Yeah. That." His eyes flickered up from the cards for the briefest of moments. "Let's do this. Okay?" He swirled the mess of cards together on the table and gathered them together for the third time. "Clear your mind," he instructed, then asked her to shuffle the deck and break it into four stacks. Kyra warmed within and did as he directed.

Through the years, Sebastian had established his own unique way of reading the cards involving pairs. Kyra watched in anticipation, an over sense of nerves wreaking havoc on her system. The back of her neck became clammy as he reached for the first pair―the pair representing her current situation. He flipped them over, and her heart sank.

At face value, one might think The Wheel of Fortune was a good thing, but she knew it wasn't always so. She stared at the card, realizing she'd have to accept any and all mistakes and decisions she'd made. And in this case, the Wheel of Fortune card was paired with The Tower card. The pairing had disaster scribbled all over it. Plus, The Tower card was inverted! She tried to remember what that meant. Something about change and falling. Maybe that's why people were falling from the tower.

"Don't start freaking out. Most people misinterpret the cards."

Kyra looked up to find Sebastian watching her. She nodded and tapped the table. "Continue." She didn't want him to see the concern she nursed, or sense the knot nestled in her stomach. She glued her focus to the table and the cards spread upon it.

Sebastian pulled the top two cards from each pile in turn, moving from left to right, and placed them as pairs in a line. In her influencers spot were the inverted Lovers and The Hierophant. The Page of Cups and The Devil, upside-down, flaunted the things she should consider or ponder. And the final cards, an upended Queen of Wands and Death, were meant to help her decide a course of action. She hardly saw how. Her heart hammered, and the beast deep within her growled. She reached for The Death card.

"Wait!" Sebastian's hands clamped down on hers, and she froze. The beat of their hearts, the rush of their blood, drumming together in skin against skin, played like a Yinglong's heaven-bound song. She yanked her hand back. For a moment, Sebastian didn't speak, nor did he move. He sat perfectly still, a thoughtful look brewing in his eyes. He sighed and expelled the air from his lungs with the force of a ruptured volcano. He returned to the deck, moving over the cards, rapidly jumping from one to the next. "Not all is as it appears." He repeated the words again in a whisper. "Not all is as it appears."

"But death, The Devil, and a burning tower." Eyes heavy and shoulders slumped, Kyra fell back in her chair, seeping exhaustion. "Isn't it clear what's coming? Death by fire. Again."

Sebastian leaned into the table, closer to her. "Not at all. What I see is a big change in your future. Inevitable change. Set in motion by things you've already done." He pointed to The Wheel of Fortune, then moved his finger to the inverted Tower. "It may be painful, I'm not going to lie. Or it could simply be a slow process. See this?" He pointed to her influencers, the inverted Lovers and The Hierophant. "You're letting your ideals and beliefs sway your decisions. Could be good, could be bad. And it looks like a lover has more control in the situation than you do." He shook his head. "Really, Kyra? I would have thought differently of you." His gaze remained steady on her. It made her punchy, fidgety.

Scales bristled down her backbone. Heat burned along the rims of her ears. "Just read the cards, Sebastian."

At that moment, she hated him. Not because he was giving her a bad time, but because he was right, and she knew it. Marcus Blackall made her weak in the sense that her free will wasn't completely her own. It was the crazy need to be here for him and the pull to save him no matter what. She didn't understand it yet, and she sure as hell didn't like it, but Marcus was a dragon, like her. That had to be a good thing. She hadn't considered him a lover before he'd started stinking up her space with the Serpicose. Since, it'd made her wonder. Maybe they were a meant-to-be thing. What did that mean for Sebastian and whatever was happening to her feelings regarding him?

"What do they say?" she asked.

Sebastian's finger drew a small circle on The Lovers card. "Is it because you love him?"

_Love? That's such a strong word to use._

His eyes remained low, watching her reaction.

She didn't care for the use of the word _love_ in relation to Marcus. She pursed her lips.

Sebastian's gaze flickered up.

Her head shook, unsure how to answer. She couldn't love Marcus. She hardly knew him. So then why was she risking so much for him?

Sebastian's shoulders slumped, and he diverted his gaze. "Things to consider." His hand moved to The Devil. "Are you your own worst enemy? Stuck in old patterns and belief systems? Do your beliefs and routine prevent you from growing?" His mouth puckered, twisting his lips to the side as if daring her to admit her unruly dragon was making the decisions, but she was stubborn, and he knew it. They both knew it.

She wrinkled her nose and met his gaze.

His hand slid over to the Page of Cups card. "Moving forward, you must think before reacting. Don't be closed to alternatives, but keep an open mind." He tapped the Queen of Wands. "Seeing the card this way is a warning. Don't take risks with anything you're not willing to lose." He locked his gaze in a deep stare with hers. It spoke of things she couldn't quite place, but wanted to. So rich with meaning and emotion. It almost hurt to lose the connection, have him look away. Almost.

Sebastian exhaled and continued. "Death. It could mean your death or the death of someone near you. I suspect it means the end of something important, a cycle. But know this: death cannot be cheated. Where there is death, there is always death. Understand?"

She blinked, and her heart clenched. No, she really didn't understand. Or maybe she simply didn't want to understand. She wanted to cheat death, and as a dragon, she wasn't used to being told there were things she couldn't do.

With a sympathetic smile gracing his face, Sebastian took her hand in his own. It was warm, a cozy cocoon. "To take a mark away from Death, another must be paid in its place. Balance must always be maintained."

_That_ she understood. She squeezed his hand. "We're talking about the man I saved, right? Death is coming for him, and it won't stop." She glanced down at the cards. What lay before her was a challenge, but not impossible.

Sebastian bowed his head, a sense of understanding filling the void between them.

Kyra released Sebastian's hand, and a frigid draft washed through her, chilling her to the tip of her tail. Every muscle tensed, shuddering with pain, and she wondered how Ice Dragons endured extreme polar conditions. She looked to Sebastian and blinked. He either didn't feel it, wasn't bothered by it, or was the cause of it. She shook off the chill like snow off a jacket and dropped her fists on the table. "Great. You know I'm not going to lie down and let that happen. How do I stop it?"

Sebastian's eyes widened, and he straightened in his seat. "You can't be serious. Were you paying attention to the cards? Did you hear the bit about sacrifice and cycles coming to an end? Do you want that for yourself? Tell me no!"

Kyra stood, pushing back the chair with a loud _screeeech_ across the wood floor. "If you're not going to help me, I'll find someone who will." Her face dropped, and she looked away, turned to go. She hated it, hated walking out on Sebastian in this manner, but _it_ gave her no choice. Stupid pull or Serpicose or both, stripping her of her free will. Clamping obligation and desire for Marcus to her like a set of iron shackles.

Sebastian was up and around the table before she could make it out the door. He blocked the exit. "Please tell me you aren't going to do something reckless." He took her hands in his own and held them tight. When she shifted restlessly, his thumbs began to warm small circles into them, slowly rotating across the backs of her hands. It reminded her of the infinite possibilities that waited for her. Encouraged her to show strength in the face of Marcus's magic. Made her feel―

Her hands pulled free and found the side of his face. Held him captive, eye to eye. "Reckless is what I do best."

He started to rebut. She didn't give him the chance. With all the fury and rage of her dragon she kissed him, hard and fast. She didn't know why she kissed him. She didn't know why she did half the things she did, but in that moment, it felt intoxicating and exhilarating and right. She would have happily curled up in that moment and never moved forward. Brief as it was, nothing else existed in the span of those few seconds. There was only him, his delicious lips on hers, and the perfect, salty flavor of Sebastian.

She thought he liked the kiss. More than liked it. Had returned it, even, but now... Was it a good sign or a bad one when a guy stood stone-stunned after a kiss?

Kyra stepped away and out of the wagon trailer before Sebastian could come to his senses.

Kyra melted into the chaotic melody of the mass moving along the midway. She thought she heard Sebastian calling her name, but didn't turn to look, only quickened her pace.

She'd kissed him!

And not a tiny peck or a sweet-nothings kind of kiss. The type one's not likely to forget, maybe ever. It was a game changer. A relationship changer. Or a friendship destroyer. What had she done?

Crap!

Crap. Crap. Crap.

Kyra's pulse increased, and she pushed her way through the crowd with more force than necessary. _Stay on task. Focus_ , her inner voice repeated on a loop.

If Sebastian wasn't going to help her in the manner she desired, she knew someone who would. Someone who had been around a lot longer, with decades verses years of accumulated knowledge of who-knew-what at the carnival. She was placing her bet he'd point her in the right direction.

Unlike the majority of those who had set up camp at the magical destination, Higgins chose to live in the thick of it. His tiny abode was nestled behind the whining motor of the Roulette Wheel spinner. Clear electric bulbs were strung across his cozy porch, the circuit hum running across the line lost to the racket of the mechanical monster operating the ride.

An old metal patio table with folding lawn chairs pegged the owner as sociable, yet casual. The green and white plastic weave of the seats looked comfortable, and an elderly gent settled back deep in one, nursing his chipped coffee mug. Not who she expected to find. Harmonious clarinet sounds whispered from the faded vintage Shasta camper behind him, the music of a Benny Goodman quartet playing _Moonglow_.

"Good evening, Kyra. Won't you join me?" Zeke motioned to one of the empty chairs.

Her footing stalled for a fraction of a second while she considered how the blind man always knew who was around him. _Does it have to do with what I smell on him?_ The scent was familiar, yet not. Her gaze probed the area for Higgins, finding nothing. The clarinet continued through a song change, bringing lyrics dripped in a woman's voice, a song of memories and a love gone by.

A crash bellowed from inside. The sounds of dishes clashing. Higgins tinkered in the trailer.

With collected courage in her heart and pursed lips, Kyra approached and sat beside Zeke. "I never realized the two of you were such good friends."

Zeke set his mug on the table, gentle warmth spreading across his features. "We go way back. Higgins is a good man. The best you could possibly have in your corner."

Higgins appeared in the framed light of the doorway. He held up a silver coffee carafe. "Warm up, anyone?" Without waiting for a response, he meandered over, set a cup in front of Kyra, and poured. When it was full, he turned to Zeke and topped off his mug.

He pulled up a chair, putting his blind friend in the middle and giving Kyra a direct view of both men. He savored the steam from his mug of liquid warmth like he was lapping chocolate from the evening air. A contented smile crept across his face. The kind that comes from secrets and a unique sort of knowledge, and Kyra understood she was privy to some confidential boys' club. Except she had yet to learn their secrets.

Higgins pushed his coffee to the side and leaned forward on the table, arms crossed. "So, tell me, lass. What can we do for you?"

Kyra blinked, sank deeper into her seat. "Lass? Where did that come from?"

Chuckling, Higgins shook his head and covered his face with his palm. "I don't know. Days gone by, I guess. What a day it has been, hasn't it?"

Never had Kyra seen Zeke or Higgins so relaxed or delighted. She took a deep whiff of the coffee, curious if it was spiked. As she did, her gaze shifted to Zeke. He was nodding to Higgins in affirmation, but his eyes seemed to hide secrets. _What am I missing?_ _Is this a reference to the fire?_ Or was it something more?

Zeke ran a nail across the metal tabletop, extracting an awful screech. All eyes were suddenly alert and directed at him. "I believe the young lady wanted our help finding something or someone."

_How does he know?_ Kyra cleared her throat. "Um, yeah. If you can." Kyra's words fumbled, tripped over her tongue in their attempt to get out. She was in the presence of men far more experienced than herself, and her confidence slipped. The last thing she wanted was to be judged. They may've looked old, but what were they? In their seventies? Just because she looked around twenty-two didn't make it so. They probably only had about ten years on her. That was her guess, anyway.

Zeke chuckled. Kyra pushed her lower lip out, the corners of her mouth curving down. She didn't see anything funny. He reached over and patted the top of her hand. "Please continue."

A gentle breeze moved through, kissing her skin as it passed. It was the sign she needed. The tiny hint of reassurance she walked the correct path. It was followed by one lone shadow flickering across the moon. Brief, but there nonetheless. And in that moment, she knew she shared company with giants. Centurions. Guardians of the gates, or carnival, or whatever the place truly was.

Her backbone straightened, every molecule racing through her body stood at attention. The dragon within her scratched at the surface, eager to play. It could be her imagination running wild, but she didn't think so. No. She had the tendency to trust her gut, and her gut was telling her these were no ordinary men. She had definitely come to the right place.

Confidence coursed through her blood like a vicious race to some unseen finish line. "I'm in need of magic of an extremely serious nature. Being that you've been here as long as you have, I thought you might know where I could find someone to help me in this endeavor."

Kyra couldn't read Higgins' face, but she thought Zeke looked thoughtful in response to her words.

"What kind of magic are you in need of, exactly?" he asked.

Her hands wrung tight around her fingers, a nervous habit she attempted to hide by placing them beneath the table. "I need a deflection spell. Something that will work with a soul. You know, confusing one soul for another."

Higgins coughed, sputtering coffee in an explosion from his lips. Zeke's mouth hinted at mild amusement, whether in regards to Higgins' reaction or to what she'd said, Kyra was unsure.

"I am only looking to confuse a process. Divert Death so he can't collect. I know there has to be a way." Her words spilled out in a rush. It was horrifyingly embarrassing. Leaning back, she bowed her head. Based on her tablemates' reactions, she was sure she'd blown it. They thought she was crazy. They weren't going to help.

Zeke cleared his throat. "I think you should attend to that." A finger flicked, and he gestured to Higgins.

The little man looked tired and troubled. His gaze traveled the trailer and porch, apparently finding nothing. "What are you talking about?"

A bang erupted from inside the camper. Higgins shot Zeke a dark scowl and hurried inside to see what was amiss.

Another blast broke from inside the cabin walls, followed by Higgins' howl.

It was curious how Zeke always mentioned things before they actually happened. Kyra knew that meant something big. And here he sat, listening to her problem without batting an eye―so to speak. Higgins, too. Yet her best friend, while begging her to trust him, had tried to talk her out of this course of action. He didn't understand and that spawned sorrow deep within her chest. Such emotion didn't belong sitting at the table with Zeke. Kyra scooped it up and tossed it over her shoulder, out of sight.

Zeke sat gazing forward. It placed him looking toward the Roulette Wheel. Kyra had no doubt he heard every creak and groan the mechanism made, along with each squeal and whimper the riders delighted in, even if he couldn't see the spin of the monstrous mechanism or the peoples' bright faces and wide, ecstatic grins. His skin shimmered with a thin layer of sweat, despite the comfortable weather. As the pops and clangs and cracks continued to emanate from Higgins' abode, Kyra wondered if Zeke gave himself a workout by somehow causing the chaos within.

Zeke reached over and squeezed Kyra's hand, capturing it perfectly in his first attempt. "Would you mind seeing to him, Kyra? I believe he could use some help."

She didn't like being toyed with, and that's how the situation felt. Like a game. One in which she was clueless, her least favorite emotion of all. With pursed lips and a traveling gaze, she looked for Zeke's hidden deception. Failing to find anything, she walked toward the trailer.

Kyra didn't know what she had expected to find when she stepped through the door. Maybe pots boiling over on the stovetop, spaghetti and pasta sauce exploding everywhere. Something to that nature. Instead, it was swirls, mystical beads of light twisting and twining around themselves. Spirals in various shades of color vined through the tiny kitchen. Each trail gave off its own distinct hum or sound frequency. Together they created a melody. One that called to her very core, made her want to walk straight into the center of the magical light show.

She took an anxious step forward. "What can I do?"

Higgins tossed his head to the side. "Have a seat." He motioned to a freestanding armchair pulled into the aisle way behind her. It blocked passage to the front of the trailer and barely fit in the camper. She started to protest, not wanting to rest, but filled with the urge to do something. "You came here for magic, didn't you? That's what you're going to get. Now sit."

The power of his voice disarmed her. Kyra backed into the chair, her gaze remaining on Higgins, wide with wonder. "Is Zeke doing this?"

Higgins huffed. "He wishes he were this groovy. But no, the task falls to me."

His hand moved over bowls and jars, mixing and conjuring things Kyra didn't understand. She leaned forward and peered out the door to Zeke, but he was no longer anywhere to be seen. In fact, the carnival was strangely silent. Lights beyond the Shasta Sleeper twinkled, dimmed, and dropped into darkness. With it, the sounds of people and rides vanished.

Kyra began to stand. "What happened to the carnival?"

"Stay seated, please." Higgins spoke without looking in her direction.

She paused, watched him intently, then sat back down. "I don't understand."

"It simply shut down for the night. Nothing to worry about."

"But the carnival never closes." Kyra's voice hitched. The display of magic had startled her more than she'd realized. Higgins was the last one she expected the magic to come from. She was only looking to be pointed in the right direction, not to actually find it. In him.

He turned to face her, his expression an unrevealing mask of emotions. "Tonight, it has. I thought we could use the quiet for what we are about to do."

The wood of the chair gave as her nails dug deep into the arm, her clutch tightening. "What have you done with everyone?"

His lip curved up a tad at the corners, causing a small grin to cut into his weathered mug. "Everyone is fine, Kyra. I doubt they even sense a change."

"What are you? All these years I thought you were a talker or a prat boy. Now I find out you're..." She made a motion with her hand. "...you. Something full of power."

Higgins turned from his work, his eyes giving a sad tinge to the slanted grin on his face. "I'd prefer you see me as the friend I've always tried to be, rather than anything else. I've only ever wanted the best for you and anyone else who has ended up here." The smile won control, if only for a moment. It looked less like a smile and more like an effort to placate. "Each of you is like family to me. There isn't a thing I wouldn't do for any of you."

Kyra stood and wrapped her arms around him. "You're a good man, Higgins." His body, stiff at first with rigid arms at his side, relaxed and encircled her with a gentle pat to her back. She found his initial reaction baffling.

"Thank you," he said.

What was it she smelled rolling off him? She took a step back. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head like he was dismissing the question. "This is no small thing you're asking for here, Kyra. It goes against nature. Not only is it dangerous, but it could have long-lasting ramifications. Are you sure this man is worth it?"

Her vision blurred as thought took over and she fell back into the chair. She remembered the Queen of Wands and weighed risk against Marcus's safety. "Yes." Even as the word slipped from her lips, she was unsure if it was spoken by free will.

With the look of a man half asleep, Higgins extended his hand. "Then I believe you have something I need."

Her forehead wrinkled, and her eyes dimmed. "Sorry?"

"I need something of his to bind the two of you together. Otherwise, this won't work."

Her eyes wandered off to the side window, stared out without really seeing. _Something of Marcus'?_ She'd only just met him. How could she possibly have anything?

Kyra caught her breath and slowly looked down.

She pulled the tooth pendant from her pocket. It dangled in the air between them. Even now, she was stunned to have found Marcus the way she had. The tooth had to be magical. Must have called to her when Marcus fell from the bridge and hit the water. It was the only thing that made sense.

Higgins twisted the rope of the pendant around her arm in a simple infinity curl. "Are you ready?" he asked and tied her down to the arms of the chair using twine he produced from the magic show behind him. The twine glowed and shimmered in magic, tickling where it touched her skin. The pendant infinity curl swiveled, conforming to the ties, melding with the one on her right arm. She didn't have a chance to change her mind.

"Yes," she said. The word slipped from her lips as if in slow motion.

One blink and the trailer was gone. Trampled grass surrounded them. Her chair sat on a small patch within the well-lit, yet empty, carnival. Higgins stood at her side. Still sitting, she moved at the speed of light without physically moving at all. Zipping forward, she twisted and turned as if she sat at the controls of her own invisible aircraft. She was on a roller coaster, but not. She spun, fell through water, zipped through fire, unable to breathe. Water clogged her lungs. She choked on smoke and coughed up blood.

The wings of her dragon flapped at her side. They created a funny whooshing sound. _Am I in dragon form?_ She didn't know. She was flustered, disoriented. Droplets of blood splayed out before her, expanding as they would in water. Everything whirled. Lightheadedness and nausea fought for control. She looked down. Blood seeped from her skin. It bled out everywhere. Made her weak and so very...human.

She spun in the midst of a bright light while her dragon struggled with another, larger beast. _Marcus's dragon?_ Her dragon sparkled, exploded into dust, and swirled down into a bottle held in Higgins' hands.

"It is done," he said.

## 8

# Alone

### Kyra

Kyra moaned. Her muscles strained, cried out in pain. What happened? She opened her eyes, found herself half sitting, half lying in the mini dining booth of Higgins' trailer. The metal window trim pressed into the skin above her ear. She sat up and rubbed her head. "I could use an aspirin."

No one responded.

Pushing gingerly away from the seat and sliding out from behind the table, Kyra surveyed the tiny space. Didn't take long. So tight was the space, she could take it all in within a blink. "Hello?" A few steps forward to the small sleeping area, she pulled the curtain back. She was alone. _That's strange_. Had they accomplished what they'd set out to do? Where had Higgins gone? Grabbing a bottle of aspirin from the many bottles cluttering the counter, she shook a few free and downed them. She didn't remember Higgins leaving. In fact, she didn't remember much after the wild magic show.

Kyra stood in the open doorway staring out at the carnival of lights and sounds, not really seeing them. She was thinking, reaching into the farthest recesses of her mind, grasping at the memories.

_Remember._

She rested her head against the frame. _Remember, dammit._

The cool night air whispered against her skin, but Kyra didn't hear it, didn't feel it. She was too distracted. Needing to remember. Remember everything. The events returned to her with the strength of a soft breeze. The spell, or whatever it was, had been completed. At least, that's what Higgins had suggested. He'd said, _It is done_. But what happened after that?

Ah, yes. She'd gotten dizzy, thrown up, and passed out. Kyra frowned. She had to be strong right now. Not fall victim to weakness. Sighing, she pushed away from the door and walked away from the trailer. Walked straight out of the park, directly for the portal, and a path back to Marcus'.

Sooner or later, she would discover if the magic had worked.

Marcus answered the door after Kyra's third knock. No longer comfortable casual, he'd swapped his blue jeans and t-shirt for black jeans and a silver-grey button up. And he smelled... _um, wow_...of an overkill of Serpicose and cologne. "What's going on?" She pushed past him, swept the room in a quick gaze. "Where's Chelsea?" She turned around to face him. Pressed her fists into her hips. "And why are you all dressed up?"

"She had to go."

"What do you mean by that?" Kyra urged. Too much time had been wasted figuring everything out, and Kyra was gone most of the day. Daylight had checked out several hours before she managed to return to Philly and Marcus, only to find Chelsea gone. At least she'd managed to bind dress the wounds on his arms before disappearing.

Marcus shut the door and sauntered over to the sofa, took a seat. The dark leather settled beneath him with an _ehrr_. "You know. Disappear. Evaporate. Whatever it is you strange people do." He tossed his hand through the air nonchalantly.

Kyra balked. She'd seen a lot of things, but trusting Chelsea's story, that was a bit out of Kyra's realm of believability. Existing in a place only in one's dreams... _ridiculous_. With a deep breath, she filed that away to investigate later and motioned to Marcus. "Doesn't explain why you're all dressed up."

"You were gone a long time, Kyra." He stretched and laid his arms out across the back of the sofa. "I'm not much of the hang-around-the-house type. I decided to go out." He smiled. "You got here just in time. Now we can go together."

"I don't think..."

A knock came at the door.

"That would be them." Marcus got up.

"Them who?" Kyra asked, following him to the front door.

"The guys. We're headed to the club." He opened the door to reveal two large men standing at the threshold. "Give me a second, guys," he said to them and turned back to Kyra. "Do you need to clean up before we go?"

"Marcus." She pulled him away from the door. Away from the listening ears of others. "I don't think this is a good idea."

He smirked. "I'm gonna go. You can either go with me, or you can stay here. What's it going to be?"

Stubborn men were like a thorn in her claw. She wanted to burn him to ash and be done with him. Except she would never do that, and she didn't really feel that way. _Ugh...irritating_.

Fifteen minutes later, they were settled in the car and on their way to some club the guys had assured Kyra was filled with raw excitement. More excitement was the last thing she needed at the moment. The sky darkened, and a light drizzle began to sprinkle the windshield. Kyra stared out the side window. _Why do I have a bad feeling about this?_

Marcus rubbed her arm and kept talking with his boys. She was surrounded by people, yet very much alone.

## 9

# Complications

### Kyra

Kyra huffed, studied the club's swirling logo on the front of her glass, then took a swig of her tonic water. So many things were going awry, and the solutions evaded her. Sebastian, Marcus...where did she want to be? If she were honest with herself, the kiss she'd laid on Sebastian told all. She'd fallen for her best friend like a dragon falling from the sky, fast and hard. The new discovery played chaos with her resolve as protector to Marcus. Maybe the fact that Marcus was a dragon and Sebastian wasn't held little to no meaning for her now.

Therapeutically, her fingers caressed the dragon tooth now laced around her neck. As the liquid washed down her throat, she wished it were something stronger.

Inside the establishment behind her, life moved in a rhythm of dance beats. This favorite club of Marcus's broke all kinds of codes by continuing to serve past the legal hour. Kyra thought it absurd. Humans and their rules, she didn't understand them. It wasn't like the place was located in the heart of a residential area where the noise would disturb the sleeping. They were in the center of a big city, the sound of motoring cars only a block away.

After the night's rain, the lights of the city glistened off every surface. The morning's sun barely peeked its head over the horizon. Kyra set her drink on the table beside her, ran her hands along the railing, and gazed out at the changing colors of the sky. Her emotions had been in a constant state of flux since her time with Higgins. She wasn't sure if she was satisfied or extremely anxious with her decision. Spitballs of fire bounced around her innards like a dragonling's party game. Nothing Marcus had done had distracted her thoughts from Higgins and the unbreakable promise she'd made. Not meeting his friends. Not even this place. Had she made a mistake, bounding her dragon to protect Marcus?

Live music danced and swayed out onto the terrace through the open doors behind her. She smelled Marcus's approach moments before he leaned against the rail beside her. He dangled his beer bottle precariously over the sidewalk below. She didn't have to glance down to know there weren't many pedestrians at this hour of the morning, but she looked past his bandaged arms to the street anyway. In fact, there weren't many establishments open, or showing any signs of life anywhere. It was odd to her. She'd become used to the carnival never sleeping.

"How you doing?" His voice was low and husky.

"I'm all right," she lied and glanced back at him. His black eye was a reminder something wasn't right at the carnival. She averted her gaze. Three buttons of his silk shirt, a black-on-silver-grey, were unbuttoned, exposing the well-defined lines of his chest. Desire ignited with a spark. Vibrating low, it worked its way up her center core, moving slow, warming along the way. She recognized it for what it was. Serpicose swept around them, strong and sweet. As long as he had the power of the male dragon's mating incense, she didn't trust him.

"You're still upset." He inched closer. She shook her head. "Sure, you are. Don't try to lie to me. It's not the girl's fault, though. She did say it might happen. You keep interesting friends, Kyra."

"Chelsea was supposed to watch over you," Kyra mumbled and clenched the railing tighter. When she'd asked the girl to come, she had considered her expendable, for the most part. It was one reason she'd asked. Now she worried for the girl's safety. Great. Another drop in the bucket of dragon dung that was her life. What if pushing Chelsea at Sebastian had forced them to bond on some level? What would he think of her if she were to cause the girl harm?

"It's fine. I'm fine. Besides, from what she said, it didn't sound like she could help it. What was it she said? Something about if she woke up, she would disappear. Sounded like nonsense, but it happened right before my eyes. She simply vanished. That's the kind of stuff that will drive a person bat crap crazy."

The warmth of Marcus's hand dropped over hers on the railing. Nerves raked through her, stiffening her shoulders. She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. It was nothing, she told herself. Or maybe everything. He inched closer still. _This is it_ , she thought, _he's going to kiss me._

"Thanks for coming. The guys like you," he said and tilted his head. His face lit up and took on a sexy, eat-you-alive smirk.

As much as she tried not to return the gesture, she couldn't help herself. It spread a warm, tingly sensation to her cheeks. That's when she realized how much power he had over her. She would let him have this one, and for now, she would let Chelsea's disappearing act go.

Spending the last few hours with Marcus had been a notable change of pace. It was strange just hanging out, doing things like humans. She liked his friends. They were nice and played a mean game of pool. Upon their arrival at the club, they'd made her work to prove her ability. She sank the balls so fast they stopped giving her a hard time and started treating her like one of the guys. But hanging with them required her to hold back her authentic self. She wasn't sure how long she would be able to play the role or hold her dragon dormant.

Marcus notched his finger under her chin and lifted her face to meet his. "You've been quiet tonight. Why don't you tell me what's bothering you?"

That was just it. How was she supposed to tell him _he_ was the thing bothering her? Before she could formulate her thoughts, something from the corner of her eye caught her attention.

It moved in a quick glide, swooping from high to low, and looked like a raven.

She leaned forward, studied it closer, more intently. Not only was the bird circling in the sky as if waiting for something below to die, but when it flew low, it flew to the arm of a man down on the sidewalk.

The same man she'd seen in the mist. The same man she'd seen on the bridge.

Kyra's heart accelerated and a trickle of sweat ran down her back. The decision to drink water instead of a martini suddenly seemed a profoundly wise choice.

The gentleman in the dark gray suit looked up at her, removed his hat, letting his midnight hair drop over his brow, and cracked a frightful grin. His face stretched so thin it looked as if it might shatter, break to bits. Kyra's chest squeezed so tight it felt like her ribs were collapsing. A shudder rippled through her soul. _This is it_ , she thought. _Death_.

She spun around, took in every inch of the club visible from their vantage point. Marcus pressed up against her side, the warmth of his arm radiating straight through the bare skin of her tricep. Emotions ripped through her, but she knew what she needed to do. She wasn't going to take a chance with Marcus's life. She shimmied a step away, needing to keep a clear head and a clear lookout for whatever Death was sending at them next. Serpicose couldn't be allowed to muddle her thought process.

Marcus's shoulders hunched, and his eyes clouded over. The line of his lips followed with a downward tip. "What's wrong?"

The early morning exploded in a clash of thunder. It was the sound of breaking glass. Lots of it. The glass wall standing between the club and the terrace shattered and fell in a cascade of dangerous crystal shards.

All eyes turned toward the destruction as the body of a man came flying through. He landed on his face, where he remained, unmoving. From the back, he looked like Marcus's best friend, Toby. Marcus lunged toward the fallen man, but Kyra held him steady.

A monster of a man climbed through the hole in the wall. His eyes glinted when he spotted Marcus.

"Been a long time, Balidhug." The man's voice reverberated deep and scratchy, like a growl.

Something dark—fear and knowing—spiked in Kyra.

_Not human._

The thought had barely registered when the shot rang out. A bullet ripped through the air straight for Marcus's heart. Immeasurable pain rolled across Kyra's body like something was plucking the scales from her hide one by one, a hereditary instinct pushing her to protect. She tried to scream, but the sound lodged in her throat.

Pain. Excruciating pain. Rings of fire thrashed at her eyes, scales tore at her skin and plunged within, nails and wings dug and scratched, rammed deep into her skin. Twisted, torn, and crushed all at once.

Her entire being splintered, fractured in two.

The sliver of metal whizzed past her toward Marcus, and her dragon tore free from her human camouflage. Kyra wasn't even aware she could do that. Her dragon leapt forward and wrapped herself protectively around him, taking the bullet between the shoulders.

Kyra's human form convulsed, still tethered to her dragon, a fine bundle of invisible cords stretched between them. She caught the slightest reflection and distortion when they moved and twisted.

The blow of the bullet pushed her dragon, and Kyra stumbled forward, disoriented.

_How is this happening?_

Marcus remained wrapped safely within her dragon's beastly grip, cocooned and protected by her wings. Aimed high and at close range, the centrifugal force of the bullet slammed hard. Kyra's nails scratched and chipped as she clung to the brick and mortar in a state of desperation. Her odds grew insurmountable, with the bond pulling her human-self while her dragon form floundered, toppling Marcus and her beast over the railing.

Her entire body yanked in one quick moment. She was being pulled over the railing. Her heart raced around her ribcage faster than a bullet train.

_No!_ _I'm not ready._

The wind brushed past her, Marcus still sheltered within the folds of her wings, Kyra dragged over and down by the barely-seen cord.

Her falling thought, of Sebastian.

The ground came too quick, the landing far too hard.

Excruciating heat. Heat so severe it drained your soul. It assaulted Kyra in waves. Seared her flesh from the bones. Her eyes popped open to a vast landscape of treacherous peaks and endless canyons laced in moving fire. Rolling clouds of burnt orange and murky red rumbled in rebellious adulation over the molten terrain. She was unprotected. No scales. No shielded vision. No dragon. Her hands patted at her arms, her waist. It was all there, intact. At least her flesh remained unharmed―unseared, after all.

_Did the spell work? Is Marcus all right?_ A sideways glance produced no hint of him or her dragon. A shudder rolled over her, the memory of her other-self separating and remaining tethered still so vivid. Higgins' spell was clever. Strange, but clever.

The rocky ground scratched her skin when she rolled over onto her knees and lifted herself up. She stood on a precipice, the drop on all sides sheer. On the other side of the dividing canyon, mountains rose to the left and to the right, towering far above. Flinching away from the flames and guarding herself with a hug, she looked for an escape. There was nothing.

Her fingers dragged through her hair, hard. _It will be fine_ , she reassured herself. _Just another puzzle to solve_. She'd start with how she'd gotten here. Except she didn't remember. The last thing she remembered... What was the last thing she remembered?

Fire danced across the rocks and mountain peaks as far as she could see. In the void of valleys below, a storm of waterspouts churned. Varied and not quite equal distance apart, they reminded her of a sloppy presentation of wardens. They rose from beneath as if yearning for something more. Spinning upward into nothingness, they lashed around like savage horses tied to a spike. The movement surpassed the angriest storm Kyra had ever seen.

Wanting to get a closer look, Kyra knelt, placed her hands on the edge, and gazed at the view below. Her hair whipped wildly in response to the howling tempest beneath her fingertips. A tempest that appeared to be getting closer. Was it rising to meet her? Or was her mountain sinking? Maybe the pit below was her personal Hell, and she was descending.

Never had she been so vulnerable, so weak. So _human_. She didn't care for it much. Didn't care for it at all. Her fist slammed into the dirt and rock, meeting its force and finding no give. The bones in her hand screamed, crushing and splintering with a wicked crunch.

Fire shot across her line of sight, kissing the skin of her upper arm. She fell back and rolled, letting the screams and words go as she cradled her wound. Cries turned to uncontrollable coughs. The acidic air burning her throat and nostrils. It tasted like charcoal and smelled of melted plastic. One unpleasant flip of her stomach and Kyra moved back to the edge of the precipice, fearing an involuntary reaction of the most human kind.

The wind lashed at her body, and she closed her eyes, allowed it to cool her clammy, sweat-beaded skin. It was a moment's reprieve from her nightmare. Chunks of her copper hair lay matted to her forehead.

Maybe she was ill. Lying sick in bed with fever somewhere, and this was nothing more than her over exuberant imagination. That would explain her thoughts constantly wandering to Sebastian. She wished he were with her now. He'd tell her to be strong, stand up, fight her way home. But how?

Gathering what courage she could muster, Kyra stood and faced the hell that surrounded her. _You don't believe in fate,_ she reminded herself. Scooping a handful of rock and sediment from the ground, she tossed it forward, aiming for the space between the spiraling storms. "Show me the way out," she called to the wind.

The tiny stones shot straight into the closest waterspout, pulled in by its powerful grip. Some were devoured, others spun and scattered in every direction. She ducked, barely escaping the returning spray. She crouched on the ground, envisioning every space as a bed. She fought it, fought the will to sleep, but every muscle protested when she tried to rise again, her body overcome with exhaustion.

Sebastian kept her moving, kept her fighting. Envisioning him beside her was the encouragement she needed to push onward, not give in to the battle. Getting back to him was what mattered most.

Expanding spirals of water rose higher from the canyon floor and a rush of liquid broke over the top of her tiny stronghold―and over her. It fell with a mighty splash upon her, drenching her. Neither cool nor refreshing, it provided moisture―an uncomfortable wet and something extra unique to Hell.

Kyra dug her heels into the ground, crouched low, expecting to be knocked to the side, even thrown from her safe perch. It didn't happen. The water showered over her, a downpour of despair and depression. It washed away any desire to run or escape. It removed all hope and longing. As the spout jumped from the mountain and traveled onward, Kyra was left behind a hollow shell. The greatest emptiness stirring within her, scraping at her inner walls like a ravished dog licking clean its last meal. Gravity pulled her from her crouch flat to her knees, and she dropped without struggle.

_Why am I fighting? I can't go back. Marcus is safe. He has to be. A soul for a soul, that's what Sebastian said. I maintained the balance. I was Death's collection._

She gave in, allowing her body to succumb and crumble to the ground. Her eyes fluttered, blurring the reds, oranges, and dark browns of the sky together in a mulch of color. Hell. That's where she was going. And she was making the journey alone. She didn't even have her dragon to keep her company.

Her hand flopped onto the rock in front of her. It drew her gaze to a large _something_ flying against the horizon. Whatever it was danced with the fire, flirted with it.

Kyra might have been content to lie with her cheek kissing the dirt forever, had it not been for that beast caught in her gaze. A beast she'd grown so familiar with. She willed her arm to rise and reach out, but it was bonded to the ground by a thousand unseen threads. Or it might as well have been, for all the power it took to move. Kyra poured all her concentration and effort into lifting her arm, bound and determined to get the dragon's attention. Practically an impossible task. The weight and force required to hold the arm up threatened to drop it at any second.

Arm extended with fingers stretched out, Kyra called to her dragon. "Kalrapura!" Her voice was weak and carried little distance, but Kyra knew her dragon. Hearing wasn't one of her weaknesses.

Seconds. That was all she could manage. Her arm fell to the rock, her strength gone.

_Crap_.

She turned her head to the side and laid her cheek upon the pitted ground.

_Brave Rajũn, give me strength._

"Kalrapura," she whispered, closing her eyes. She concentrated on the heavy breaths heaving at her chest.

_This must be Hell._ _It's eternally slow and filled with endless torture_.

The ground rumbled, and the skies roared, yet when Kyra opened her eyes, she saw nothing but the same. Except...her dragon was gone. She lifted her head and searched. No dragon anywhere. With slow, deliberate moves, she followed the reverberation and carefully pulled herself toward the edge. Spirals of water shot past her with a whoosh, climbing straight toward Heaven. Heaven, now there was a thought. She expected there was no reaching Heaven from this place. The spirals vanished into the churning, fiery plume above.

Mists of despair fell like droplets of oxygen. Discouragement took root, spurring her shoulders to slump. She didn't need to feel worse than she did already.

She'd never stopped to consider Heaven and Hell, but a big pit of depression, a constant carwash of despair, was not what she would have envisioned.

A mighty roar bellowed from below.

The mountainside shook, sending rocks and pebbles skittering down the hill. Kyra flattened herself to the surface, all while the pumping of her blood quickened and thunderous sounds rolled closer.

An odd rhythm echoed through the canyons, and thoughts of Kalrapura popped into her head. Kyra wanted to see her. Needed to see her. Needed to see where the bullet had hit her dragon between the shoulder blades, between Kalrapura's wings. She had to see what damage had been done.

And maybe, just maybe, if she got her dragon back, she could pull herself together again.

A crash resonated all around her. Wide-eyed, she held her ground. Another crash and an ear-shattering roar broke over the noise and turbulence. It dropped in her gut like a battle mace, just before the fire flared out over her head.

Dragon!

His talons dug into the edge of her little perch, and his chest pushed up and out with pride and power. He was a magnificent specimen, the most beautiful dragon she'd ever seen. But he was not her dragon.

Where was Kalrapura, her unique orange serpent?

The midnight beast towered over her, stretching out like a blackhole against the landscape of flames. Kyra tried to melt into the hard ground beneath her, but he was impossible to avoid. With the tiniest of moves, his armor hinted of red. Iridescent. His scales were a beautiful iridescent crimson. She'd only heard of, never seen, such extreme brilliance. Wings held high, he displayed multiple battle scars like a badge of honor. And the beautiful, barely-there, crest across his chest meant only one thing: he was either Marcus's dragon, or a member of his family.

Muscles locked and eyes widened, she stared, untrusting of the sight before her. She rubbed at her eyes; the monstrous beast was still there. _How?_ It was the only cognitive thought she could form.

He stretched his neck and dropped his head down to Kyra's level.

Kyra sucked back a breath. _Glorious_. That was the second word that came to her mind. He was truly glorious.

His lips drew back, revealing two rows of dagger-sharp teeth. Weapons meant to kill―devour. One hundred percent pure. A real dragon. Not a mongrel hybrid like her, a Moorigad.

The dragon lunged, his jaws chomping down, trying to devour her. _Freaking, flying gargoyle! I'm dragon dinner!_ Kyra skittered and rolled backwards. Surprisingly, the dragon instantly tumbled sideways, hit by an enormous flaming bird. The dragon roared, and the bird screeched as the two tangled in a dangerous choreography.

They flew across the scorched sky, slamming into mountain peaks and hillsides, tumbling rock and stone beneath their brute force. The dragon was bigger and stronger, but the bird―a phoenix―was faster and exceedingly agile.

There was something familiar about the phoenix. Kyra couldn't say what, though. Having never seen one before, she strained to think of what it could be.

_Run, Kyra._ A voice reverberated in her head. An old voice. A known voice.

She whipped around in search of the warned threat. Which way should she run? It had only been a few seconds since the beastly fight had disappeared from her sight. Thunder shuddered across the sky, moved from left to right, and with it shifted the land, knocking her off her feet. Her mountainside rumbled, and the dragon exploded into sight, having flown straight up the precipice.

Kyra's feet sought traction, desperately scrambling in the dirt. The dragon bore down upon her, looking ready, more than ready, to end her.

"Go!" the voice shouted again.

The dragon's claw slammed down, and Kyra jumped out of the way, using energy born of adrenaline. She barely escaped, felt the wind of his swipe brush across her side. He bared his teeth, let his foul breath wash over her, and lunged. The phoenix swooped in between them, and the dragon grabbed his wing instead of Kyra. She expected relief. Instead, a warm, wet tear ran down her cheek, and her heart lodged in her throat. Confusion tripped up her feet.

The dragon thrashed the phoenix to the ground even as Kyra stood directly in harm's way. The beasts were massive. Together they covered most of the small mountaintop. She dropped, rolled to the side, and heard the phoenix's cry pierce the hot air. She knew the dragon had laid into him. Her insides bled for him, but what could she do?

Dirt clung to her sweat-matted skin like an accessory, and she came out of the roll crying for the fiery bird. The dragon looked up and advanced. Kyra swore he wore a vicious dinnertime grin.

Kyra wanted to cry for the dragon, too, but found no tears. This place had diseased him, turned Marcus's dragon rotten and ugly to its cold, dark core. Was he beyond saving?

Fire was his resource, his to command, and he used it with utter confidence to cleanse the mountaintop, moving the flame with a gentle swing of his head. Kyra rushed from its touch, rolling out of its wake. Only, the mountaintop was small, and her roll was too fast and too long. The edge came quick, her body rolling and tipping over the side. Broken, bloodied nails scratched and clawed at the ground in her attempt to stay her fall. But momentum overpowered her, and she dropped into devil-may-know-what. Craggy cliff chunks bit into her limbs like piranha to the prey, and her body slammed and bounced off the wall, catching every jagged rock along the way. Each laceration was a lava lick at her skin. She bit her lip and held back the screams.

Her body smacked into a hard, crusted surface. Every limb tingled, and she was overcome with weightlessness, as if she floated on a cloud. It lasted half a second before her senses came crashing to the ground with the rest of her, her entire being weighting down like a ten-ton sack of sod. She knew she should keep moving, but somehow, she had managed a moment's reprieve from the beast, and she was exhausted. She closed her eyes and allowed another tear to fall. The sounds of the phoenix dying above slashed a hole through her heart.

"What are you doing here, Kyra?"

Kyra's eyes fluttered open and, fighting the sting that came with her vision, her gaze shot upward toward the familiar voice. Sebastian. Her heart danced at the sight of him.

He stood over her looking like a dark dream, if ever she'd seen one. He wore black jeans with dark military boots, a large leather band strapped to his right arm. His hair was shoved up in a mad mess, asking for someone to run their fingers through it, and the exposed skin across his chest glistened with sweat. At the sight of him, Kyra's eyes widened, and her heart expanded. A friendly face was the last thing she'd expected to find.

Finding Sebastian―he was her golden dragon egg, her treasure-filled cave. He was her everything.

This had to be the doing of the Great Rajũn. He'd taken pity on her and decided to show her mercy. "Thank you, Rajũn," she whispered.

"Your dragon god has nothing to do with this, Kyra." He took a step forward. "Now please answer the question. Why are you here?" He paused, looking deep into her eyes. "It wasn't supposed to be you. It wasn't ever supposed to be you. What did you do?" His voice, soft and soothing, caressed her like a warm, gentle hug.

She thought his eyes looked mournful, but...no, that was wrong. They looked frustrated. Furious. That's what she saw in him―irritation.

She pulled her knees in, squeezing them to her body. "What do you mean?"

Almost instinctively, she looked to the tattoos she'd first noticed under the bridge, running up the side of his ribcage. Before, she'd had no clue what they said or meant. They'd looked like gibberish to her. Now they were clear as the cuts on her skin. Maybe it was this place deciphering them for her. Or maybe she was in a new state of being, possibly one known as death, that gave her the ability. Whichever it was, she could see it was a list. And not a favorites or a bucket list. No. It was a list of names.

The top name was in a constant state of flux. It was her name, then it wasn't, then it was again.

Her thoughts returned to the man on the bridge, the same man beneath the terrace the night she fell―Sebastian's father. There was no doubt in her mind about that now. She didn't know how she knew, but she did. She looked to Sebastian. "Are you him? Are you Death?"

Sebastian's face brightened, boasting a laugh and an unconvincing smile. Thrusting out his hand, he helped Kyra stand. His arms folded in and around her, lifting her with ease. "Nothing so grand. I'm more like his errand boy. There are a lot of bodies between me and the top."

His touch sent a warmth and comfort through her she craved, desired. She never wanted him to let go. Why hadn't she figured it out so much earlier? She had let her pride stand in the way. "I'm sorry, Sebastian. Sorry I didn't listen. You were right; I shouldn't have gotten in the way. Now look what I've done. This was Marcus's fate, not mine. Sorry I didn't trust you."

"As they say, my friend, water under the bridge." He looked pleased with his pun. He brushed a few pebbles off her arm and stepped back. Cold dug into her chest and carved out a chunk, leaving a hole in its wake. She was petrified. Deeply, immensely petrified in this place, this unknown, without his strength guiding her. Of course, her pride still wouldn't allow the fear to show on the surface.

Instead, she pointed to his ribcage and watched as her name morphed into Marcus's. "But the names?" A line moved across the name below Marcus's, crossing it out while she looked on. Then the crossed-out name was no more. It disappeared from Sebastian's skin altogether. Kyra gasped. "What!" She pointed to the space where it had been. "What happened?"

He glanced down and shrugged. "Their need for me is done. They've moved on."

"Moved on? From where? From here?" Her voice hiked. "I thought this was death. Aren't I dead?"

Sebastian glanced to her, then out over the warring landscape. "I can see where you might think that, but this is more of a holding cell. Purgatory, if you will. Death puts up a darn good fight to suck you in. Wouldn't you agree? It's not easy making a comeback from this place, but it is possible."

A large boom, the sound of multiple cannon fire, blasted from the summit above, and there was a flash overhead, followed by spurts of flame bursting in all directions. Horrifying howls, enough to curdle one's blood, accompanied the display. It shot across the sky and died away. They stared up and watched the dragon take to the sky. Kyra suspected that could only mean one thing.

She swallowed the desire to burst into hysterical tears. "The phoenix, it's Higgins. Is it...?"

Sebastian grabbed her arm and held it tight. "He gave us time. He kept you safe."

She wanted to throw herself into his arms and hug him tight. Instead she kept her cool, showed her strength. "But I'm only here because I was keeping Marcus safe. No one else was supposed to die for that cause." She pulled her arm away from Sebastian and raked her fingers through the side of her hair, pulling it taut. Something squeezed all the air out of her. She couldn't breathe. Tears flowed down her cheeks freely. "I didn't know. I didn't know!" she screamed and fell to her knees, whispering. "Not Higgins, it's not fair."

It felt like eons she'd crouched crying, Sebastian hovering above her, but it had only been seconds. Sebastian kneeled and ever so gently, the palm of his hand ran along the curve of her back. "Life is rarely fair. But I need to know. Do you want to live?"

She glared at him. If Kalrapura still dwelled within her, her eyes would be circled in fire. "Of course, I do! I want nothing more, but Marcus..." And Higgins. She didn't deserve to live after what had happened. She looked to the scuffs in the dirt at their feet.

"Forget what I said." Sebastian's tone was sharp, causing Kyra to look up again. The dragon circled the skyscape above them and Sebastian pulled Kyra back against the wall, under cover of the cliff overhang. The sight of the dragon weighed Kyra's chest down with guilt.

She pointed to the dragon. "I need to figure out what to do about him." The dragon roared, his body a mere silhouette against the dark heavens above, twisting and turning in a mad search for prey.

Sebastian took a finger to her chin and moved her until their eyes met. "I don't care about Marcus or his dragon. That dragon can stay down here and burn for all eternity. It's a good fit. But I'll help you with him or Marcus if you so desire. All I care about is you. I want you to live. So did Higgins. As do you." He squeezed her hand in his own. "That's good enough for me. You fight, Kyra, and believe in yourself. Understand?"

His words rang in her ears, drowning out the sound of the crackling landscape, the sloshing water spirals, and the clamor of the dragon above. The weight of his speech and the beat of her heart had her soaring out of sight. She was flying, and she was grounded, Sebastian pulling her into his arms. She was everything and nothing at all. He was her center, her gravity and she wanted nothing more than to meld into him and make them one.

His lips descended upon hers, his kiss not rushed or rash like the one she had earlier pressed upon him, but soft, gentle, and perfect. Everything a first kiss should be, tender, beautiful, and devastating. Her wings flapped, her tail curled, and her fingers clutched, never wanting to let go.

He pulled away, smiled tenderly and, without a word, pushed her backwards with incredible strength. Her body shifted, lost traction, and flew up into the air, dragged by the pull of the twisting water spouts. She clawed at Sebastian's forearms while her legs dangled in the open air. He was her anchor, and she refused to let go. As she did, she saw the line start to form. It was faint, but it was there, wavering in and out across her name. She saw Higgins' name, too, inked below hers. And then it wasn't. She looked for an explanation in Sebastian's expression.

He was stone, gave nothing away. Until his hand betrayed him with one quick wipe of the eye. Confirmation that Higgins was gone.

"No!" she screamed.

A screech replied. The dragon descended, dived down on them from above. Her heart hiccupped, and her hands jolted. Sebastian's arm slipped through her grasp, and she flew into the water stream.

She yelled with all the might she had, hoping her friend would hear. Her words went out to Sebastian. "I trust you completely!"

Water everywhere, rushed around her and caressed her. _Sebastian. What will become of you?_ She gulped a mouthful of water as she pitched and spun in the whirlpool. Despair overtook her and tossed her around like a rag doll. No! She wasn't going to give into it. Not after all Higgins had given up. She was making the decision to live.

Her arms moved against the force of the water, like treading through molasses. Still, she was determined, and so her limbs pushed forward. She pulled herself through the spiraling water like she was swimming upstream, directly up. Maneuvering herself to the center, she let the spin and the force of the water work to gently lift her.

Depression and despair continued to grope at her, nag her, but she focused on the light above. Maybe it wasn't Heaven. Maybe it was simply a way out, a way back to life.

One stroke. A hard push through the water.

_I should have told him. Told him I love him_ , she thought.

She focused on Sebastian and how he made her feel. She focused on getting back to life at the carnival, and she focused on her dragon. Little distance was made. Still, it was something.

Another stroke and another, and she climbed a little bit higher in the tower of despair. It wanted to break her. It willed her to succumb to its power play of despair. She wouldn't have it.

She thought of Marcus. Would she check in on him when she got back? She wasn't sure.

She focused on Sebastian and the earthbound world. She could do this. She would get back to him and their life together.

A gulp of air for the edge and more treading. Her arms cut through the water six, seven more times, pulling impossibly hard up through the twisting current. She was strong even without her beast side, and she was determined. She continued to climb.

She focused on the scent of the morning after the rain.

She had to be close. She could sense it. Five more strokes.

Light flared out all around her, changing the blue water white, and the sound of the liquid moving at her ear morphed to a timed beep. She didn't know what it meant, but she hoped it was a sign she was close. Her pulse accelerated. Sebastian had been right. It was working.

Her body grew tired, and her arms ached from the work. She wasn't going to let that stop her. She threw her left arm up again, cutting through the current in a stroke, focusing on the carnival and the smell of popcorn. Oh, how she hated that buttery smell.

The sound of the beep increased until it was all she heard. The force of the water vanished and the glow of the blue all around her was gone. Oxygen. She inhaled deep.

Pain rippled through her like the Fireball ride from the Fun Zone―top speed, no pauses. She screamed, but heard only a moan. The darkness encompassing her caved and light exploded around her. It hurt to look. Hurt like Hades frozen over. Yet it was nothing but the overhead fluorescents of a room.

"Welcome back, sweetie." A nurse stood over her. Something warm squeezed her hand. The pain of sharp knives slashing ran along her muscles when she turned her head.

Her efforts didn't go unrewarded. Marcus sat at her bedside. Bandaged and bruised, but healthy. Alive.

The nurse checked a few things, then patted Kyra's shoulder. "I'll get the doctor." She stepped into the hall. "Room 206 is awake."

## 10

# Phoenix

### Sebastian

Sebastian took the chiseled stone steps two at a time, rushing out of Purgatory as if the place were ready to implode. _Gotta make sure she's okay_. Wisps of fire and lava lashed up from the pits at his sides, lashed up around his path. He didn't allow them to slow his progress. If only he could snap his fingers, be where he wanted to be. Ah, but that would be too easy.

He ran up the stairs, leaped across the stones of the Madness Abyss, and plowed through the dimensional window of Unrealized Realities. Catching a stone with the tip of his toe, Sebastian stumbled and dropped into the murky ground of the immutable fog forest. Soft earth gave beneath his touch, and moist dirt and moss swathed his bare skin. With a mumble, he pushed himself back up, took stock of his location to gain his bearing. Trying to not get lost in the forest and fog was no easy task. Everywhere he looked it was the same―slender trees stretching up into oblivion and fog no thinner than cotton candy. So thick was the ground-sweeping cloud that it drowned out all exterior sounds, leaving him to wonder if he had only yards to cross to find the carnival, or miles.

Taking a silent minute, Sebastian closed his eyes, tuned into his gut, summoned his inner senses, and listened. A gentle breeze brushed against his skin, cooled his damp hairline. Frogs and crickets, bugs Sebastian didn't recognize, chatted across the vast woodland. None of it was what he sought. He probed further, deeper.

A whirl and a zip. Bings, bongs, and bangs. His head snapped to the sound, the carnival. His way out was there.

Slugging through the thicket in a weave around fence-tight trees, Sebastian pumped his legs with purpose, Kyra's name the only item on his urgency list. _Too long,_ he thought, stumbling over grass tufts and roots. _It's taking too long._ Trees gave way to perpetual white mist, and it clung to him before letting him go, leaving him in the clearing behind the trailers of the Backyard.

"You need to go back, son."

_Hell no._ "Do you have any idea what I just went through?" Sebastian slouched over, leaned into his knees, and considered the old man and his possible motives. Zeke was perched in a folding lawn chair, facing the surrounding fog wall, as if he'd been waiting for Sebastian. Sebastian inhaled deep and let the breath go nice and slow. "Okay, I give up. Why do I need to go back?"

"Higgins cannot be left there."

Sebastian stood straight, scratched the back of his neck. "But Higgins died."

"Indeed." Zeke tilted his head upward. "But as his friends, we must help usher him into his next life."

Sebastian's stomach dropped with the power of the Zipper's downward swing. _Dammit all to Hell._ He owed Higgins this. Kyra would have to wait a little bit...but not too long, Hell help him. Body heavy and chest tight, Sebastian turned around and retraced his steps.

Back through the immutable fog forest, he raced. The window of Unrealized Realities shattered with his leap, sealing directly behind him. Sebastian practically flew over the Madness Abyss and down the eternal winding stairs into Purgatory. Again, fire and lava swept up around his path, but it didn't matter. This was the one place Sebastian found immunity from such torments. Likely, a sign of it being where he belonged. _No time to think about that now._

The bird of fire lay precisely where Sebastian remembered, a most precarious spot. No matter. For Higgins, Sebastian would make it work.

In the molten orange sky above, the trapped dragon flew. The beast soared and flapped his wings in a mellow manner, making the dragon's flight reminiscent to a casual walk through the carnival. Never having been bothered by the beast on his previous visits, Sebastian suspected it was Kyra the dragon had wanted, not him, the Reaper.

Jumping off a short ledge, Sebastian crossed an almost invisible catwalk made of stone, being careful each step of the way. Narrow and worn smooth, the path was anything but safe. It led toward the mountain upon which he had found Kyra and the dragon, the trail disappearing into a labyrinth of tunnels within the mountain's core. But like the back of his hand, he knew them well and moved without falter.

Emerging on the opposite side of the mountain, Sebastian found little relief in the air. Strong, assaulting scents of sulfur sailed with the wind, which was torrid and dry. But at least his task was half accomplished. The phoenix, better known as Higgins, was a mere jog away. Sebastian made that jog in a matter of seconds.

Scratching his head, he stared at the massive wings, the length of the body, and wondered, "How am I..." He reached down and lightly brushed one orange feather upon the wing. In a fizzling shimmer the bird became a man, old and wrinkled, but small enough for Sebastian to carry. "There you are, my old friend," he whispered and squeezed Higgins' hand, allowing sorrow to worm its way through his veins.

Gently, and with respect, Sebastian hoisted Higgins into his arms and began the return trek, slowed by the weight pressed upon him. Upon Sebastian's side, where the mark that had born Higgins' name had burned, a funny tingle tickled the skin. The journey, slow but steady, delivered him yet again to the open space at the far back of the carnies' homestead area.

Sebastian stepped free from the wall of fog and paused. The grass squashed beneath his feet, as if recently heavily watered. This time, not only did Zeke await him, but several other carnies, as well. Carnies Sebastian recognized from the dark alley of Mystic's Carnival. Several of them―clowns. Now, there wasn't a smile to be found. An invisible melancholy tent had been pitched over their heads.

"Place him here, son." Zeke tapped a makeshift wooden table with his cane.

Sebastian narrowed his gaze on the timber pushed and piled beneath it. He raised a brow. "What's going on?"

"Just do it. Then step back."

His fellow performers and friends stood in a solemn circle around the table, waiting. Darkness intensified with each passing moment, making the sky appear as if it had been replaced by thick, dripping tar. Sebastian needed to find Kyra before all light was inked out. He moved forward and placed Higgins on the table. One of the clowns draped a sheet over the body and then nudged Sebastian to step back.

Flames burst to life―below the table, on the table, engulfing Higgins.

"From the ashes comes rebirth," said the crowd. Everyone stared at the flames as if waiting to find death is a lie. But death does not lie. Sebastian had learned that long ago. Slowly, one by one, the group dispersed, moving as if in a sleep walk, back toward the carnival.

"Thank you, Sebastian. You may go," Zeke said.

Sebastian peered into the fire. The flames licked and consumed all. He rubbed his forehead. He turned to face Zeke. "This rebirth thing, it's a funeral by fire. You expect it to guide him into the next life?"

"That's the idea."

"I felt..."

"What is it you felt?"

Sebastian looked to his chest, more precisely, his ribs, for the first time since feeling the sting. Higgins' name was there again, only this time it wasn't black. It burned in raw-flesh-pink, and it was fading. _What does that mean?_ "Um."

"Oh. I'm sorry, son," Zeke said.

Sebastian's head snapped up. His heart racing. "What for?"

"He's sorry about me, boy."

Sebastian spun around, faced three gentlemen in gray suits and fedoras. It was the middle man with whom he was most familiar. This person from whom he'd run away over a year ago. His father. Sebastian stood perfectly still, not saying a word.

"It's time," the man said. "Time you come with us."

"No." Sebastian took a step back, bumped into a body. "I left." His voice pitched, but it was too late. Reaper hands clamped down on his arms and his father's men dragged him away.

Sebastian yanked and kicked. But three against one, he was outdone. "I have to be somewhere," he yelled.

They didn't listen. They hauled him back into the fog, back toward a reaping hell.

"But...Kyra!"

The fog swallowed them, and they were gone.

## 11

# Visiting Hour

### Kyra

Two weeks had passed since Kyra had been discharged from the hospital. Two weeks since Marcus swept her up and brought her back to his place. Two weeks and he'd let her do little more than hole up, relax, watch television. Playing the overprotective Romeo, he wouldn't let her make a meal or wash a dish. He insisted she stay in, rest, and fully heal. He seemed more worried about her condition than she was.

She was bored.

Kyra rolled over, found the space beside her in the bed cold. She sighed and traced her fingers along the line where Marcus should be. He'd let her sleep in again. He'd been doing that a lot. She honestly did feel better. Mostly. Wished she could get him to believe her. All the sleeping filled the hours. What else was she to do?

A short stack of magazines sat haphazardly on the nightstand, right where she'd left them a day, maybe three days, ago. Picking one from the middle of the pile with a lazy hand, she pulled it free and dragged it across the bed closer to her. It was some variation of entertainment publication. She flipped through the pages, looking at the photographs and showing the articles no interest whatsoever. Everything and everyone pictured looked foreign to her. Nothing sparked the slightest memory.

Abandoning the exercise, she flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Shouldn't she remember something by now? Anything? Her hand dug into the pillow behind her head. Anxiety and frustration boiled inside of her. She felt ready to pop.

Something was missing. Something big.

"Marcus?" she called and sat up to listen to the sounds in the other room.

The rustle of paper responded from the kitchen. "Yeah. What is it?" He sounded distracted.

Kyra leaned forward, extending her neck. "Do I have family?"

There was a pause. Kyra didn't know if she should contribute it to preoccupation or to him looking for the best possible answer.

"You never mentioned any."

She stared at the white sheets. Boring white sheets. Her gaze moved to the wall. Beige. Boring beige wall. The carpet was boring too. Everything about this place was boring. Somehow it didn't feel right. Didn't feel like her. Not that she knew who she was. But her gut told her she'd go wild with color and design.

_Do I really belong here?_

She dropped flat onto the bed, letting out a huge sigh. "I'm bored. Can we go out?"

"What did I tell you about that? It's in your best interest to stay home and rest."

Kyra rolled her eyes. Reluctantly she rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom, grabbing Marcus's robe off the bed along the way. She wrapped herself securely in thick, white terry cloth, turned the water on in the shower, and wandered toward the mirror to fix her bedhead state.

If they weren't going to go out, she would pass the time using all his hot water.

Should it worry her she preferred the water at scalding temperatures? Sometimes it hurt, turned her skin a tender pink, but it reminded her she was alive. And being alive meant something when nothing else much did.

Tangles removed from her hair, she slipped under the water's spray. Beneath the cascade of water was the only place in the entire apartment that invoked any memory at all. If you could call it a memory. It was more like a feeling, really. A horrific feeling. She crouched on the floor, her body pulled into a ball and trembling. Hidden within the noise of the shower, she cried.

Why she cried, she did not know. She knew nothing about the origin of the emotion, only that it was hers, the only thing she knew to be honestly and truly hers. And so, she clung to the emotion like a lifeline.

On occasion, hidden within the sorrow and despair, warmth would spread through her chest, radiating from her heart. She yearned for those rare moments, longed for that feeling, even without understand its origin. If Marcus was the source, where had that intense spark gone in his presence?

She sat in the corner of the shower, the hot water doing little to warm her frozen soul, shifting through the emotions, searching for a tangible memory. She felt something just beyond her reach. Something on the brink of recall.

Three knocks came from the other room.

She sat up straight. She almost hadn't heard them, the knocks sounding like mere taps trapped within the pounding of the shower. If it hadn't been for her deep concentration she would have missed the sound all together.

Another knock.

And voices! Had company arrived?

Kyra hadn't moved so fast since, well, since she could recall. Water off, robe on, finger-combed hair, and she was moving through the bedroom, picking up bits and pieces of a conversation. Marcus was talking with someone, a male someone, about her. She didn't give a flying circus tent what Marcus had to say about her behavior, she was crashing that chat.

Kyra stepped out of the bedroom. Marcus was standing at the front door blocking her view of his conversation partner. Neither man had noticed her, yet. The visitor stood outside on the front porch. His foot was placed in the threshold, as if trying to keep Marcus from closing the door.

_Why would he do that?_ she wondered. _What is going on?_

Kyra inched closer, moving forward until she could see their visitor. The stranger didn't look familiar, but he was rather cute. She bit her lip and looked him over. Definitely needed a few minor tweaks in the style department, but she could work with that.

She blinked. _What am I doing? I'm with Marcus._

"You think so, huh?" the visitor was saying as he placed a firm hand on the doorframe.

"Yeah, I do," Marcus retorted.

A testosterone-driven pissing war. _Fantastic._ At least it was something different. Something not boring.

Kyra coughed into her fist and waited.

The conversation dropped and both men's attention snapped in her direction.

Uncomfortable in her skin wasn't something she was used to feeling, at least not the last few weeks. But now, now discomfort had her in its steely grasp. Maybe she should have slipped into something more modest. The visitor was a total stranger, and the way he looked at her...

Feeling naked beneath his gaze, she pulled the robe's neckline to a tighter close. She glanced down. The terry robe stopped mid-thigh. Too much leg for a total stranger. Far too much leg.

She took a deep breath and exhaled. _Too late now._

One step for bravery, two steps for curiosity. Kyra moved deeper into the room. "Sorry to interrupt, but it sounded like you might be discussing me." She looked to Marcus and instantly knew by the look on his face she was correct. "You wouldn't be doing that without me, would you?"

"Sorry our conversation disturbed you." Marcus looked from the towel in Kyra's hand to her still dripping wet hair. "Why don't you finish what you were doing? I got this."

The visitor pushed his way into the apartment. "Kyra, you're all right?"

Kyra's gaze moved from Marcus to the mystery visitor. Her head spun with so many questions making it practically impossible to pick one out of the jumbled mess.

Marcus's arm shot out and pulled her into his side before she could protest. It felt more like a show for the other guy's benefit, than affection for her. Not that she would call him on it. The beast had a temper she preferred not to stir.

"I enjoy a break in the monotony," she said to Marcus, then looked to _him_. Something deep within her soul wanted to know the stranger standing before her. "I'm good, thanks. Do I know you?"

He blinked and took a shaky step back. "You don't remember?"

Something warm blossomed in her chest. It spread to her limbs and tingled at her hair follicles. He may have sounded concerned, alarmed, dejected even, but his presence did something to her. More than Marcus's did. Was the supposed stranger sparking a memory?

"I told you she needed more time. She got a damn skull fracture. Lost a scary amount of blood. And it's only been a few weeks. She needs more time to heal," Marcus snapped.

Kyra patted his chest. "Don't talk about me like I'm not here." She looked to the visitor in the doorway. "I'm fine. Doc is amazed at my recovery."

He stared at her, a glazed-over look taking up residency on his face. "I'm sure he is." A smidgen of hope lit the corner of his eyes. "Do you remember anything? The carnival? Higgins? Zeke? What about dragons?"

The questions made her mind feel like a void. A vast hole of nothing. She shifted, crossed her arms, and scratched her elbow. "Dragons? As in that game people play, or collecting them?"

His eyes darkened, and a deep crease set in across his forehead. It made her wonder how far off she was. "Neither, actually."

Marcus grunted under his breath. Kyra ignored it. She wasn't fond of males getting piss-happy over anything they considered territory violations.

Curiosity had her shifting closer to the front door, inch-by-inch, allowing extra air between her and Marcus. There was something about the stranger she wanted to know more about. Or maybe it was what he knew about her. Whatever it was that was reeling her in, she wasn't about to fight it.

"I'm sorry, I never caught your name." She heard it as soon as the words left her mouth. She was flirting. Right in front of Marcus! What was wrong with her?

If she realized what she'd done, there wasn't a doubt in her mind Marcus would be on to it too. She didn't want to look, see his reaction. Her gaze remained glued forward.

The man's face brightened, his lips curling into a relieved smile. Laugh lines creased the edges of his eyes, eyes that sparkled in the most unusual indigo color. Unusual, yes, and yet it seemed the most natural color ever created within the spectrum. He thrust his hand forward in greeting. "Sebastian. Pleasure to make your re-acquaintance."

_Sebastian._

She stared at his hand, waiting in the space between them. His name swirled around her, around the recesses of her mind like a story once read and put away. A childhood memory long since forgotten. But she didn't want things to be lost and forgotten. She wanted to remember.

Reaching out to meet his hand, she wondered what his touch would bring. A flood of returning memories? A flush of heat? Excitement, maybe? Her palm met his, but when she raised to shake, he lifted her hand to his lips and softly placed a kiss upon it.

Dragonflies took to chaotic flutters in her belly. In her head.

And then her hand was wrapped securely around herself, held warm and firm by Marcus. "Sebastian was just leaving. Weren't you?" Harsh tones raked through Marcus's voice.

"Actually..." Sebastian looked from Marcus to Kyra. He took a step into the condominium and stopped, a strange look washing over his face. "Marcus?" He narrowed his gaze on Marcus, a dark shadow falling over his fine features.

Marcus turned Kyra to face him and kissed her on the side of the forehead. He appeared distant. His neck and jaw muscles strained. "I really need you to go put more clothes on. I'll be there in a minute." He directed her toward the bedroom.

Her feet carried her a couple of steps before stumbling to a stop, the ground covered by the momentum of his nudge. Feeling bold and courageous, she planted her feet, crossed her arms, and firmed her jam. "No. I'd prefer to stay."

Marcus turned and walked toward her. "Kyra, what did we talk about?"

Her hand jumped to her neckline, searched and found what she was looking for. Like a metronome marking a beat, her hand ran up and down along the hefty cord around her neck, tugging at the ancient tooth held secure at center point. Every time she felt the slightest bit nervous, she turned to the cord and tooth. Even now she felt it working its magic to calm her.

"Kyra?" Marcus asked again, grabbed her wrist, and nudged her back toward the bedroom.

Her eyes fluttered, and she looked up at him. For a moment, her emotions had been so overwhelming, she'd gotten caught up in the storm and failed to respond. He now looked upon her with eyes softening, warming to deep pools of blue. They promised security and affection. Complete adoration.

She wanted to argue. Wanted to be reckless and unruly, but something held her back.

The ancient tooth hanging at her neck hummed ever so slightly beneath her touch. It sent tiny waves of calm through her chest and a flood of serenity throughout her entire body. She took a slow breath and allowed Marcus to move her back several more steps. She didn't fight him, even though she wanted to on some level.

"Why are you trying to get rid of me?" Her face reddened and the muscles along her jawline twitched, yet she continued to take step after step backwards.

"It's not like that," Marcus said, warming the sides of Kyra's arm. "I'm looking out for you." His eyes burned with power and grit and determination.

Kyra could feel her eyes rolling. She was so sick of hearing those words. _I'm looking out for you._

"Why don't you let her stay?" Sebastian said from the threshold. He held his hands up, as if pushing against an invisible wall. Lines creased his forehead as if the effort exerted from pressing the air was exhausting. He threw his shoulder against nothing and bounced back.

Marcus shot Sebastian a hostile glare. "Why don't you stay out of this conversation?"

Three more steps, nearly to the bedroom. She'd allowed him to nudge her right out of the room, right out of her free will. How had he done it? She didn't want to go, she wanted to stay. "Stop looking out for me," Kyra mumbled, staring at her feet, avoiding eye contact with Marcus.

At the bedroom doorway, she paused and looked at Sebastian. "I'm really sorry. If we were friends, I hope I remember someday soon." She meant every word and then some. She stepped into the bedroom and slammed the door.

The control that had moved her to the room snapped with the slam of the door. Relief washed over her. Sometimes Marcus could have the strangest effect on her. This was one of those times. She wasn't too keen on this aspect of their relationship. _How embarrassing_. She wanted to hate him, but couldn't. Why couldn't she?

She leaned against the door and slid to the floor. Their voices in the other room rose in anger. The sound hurt her ears. Not physically, but mentally and emotionally and psychologically. Everything about the situation was wrong. The knots in her gut knew it to be true.

She felt like a caged animal―a damn prisoner―unable to come and go as she pleased. If Sebastian knew her, why wasn't he taking her away from this place? Stupid pissing contest.

She paced the room. Left. Then right. Then left again.

Sebastian standing at their front door. Sebastian with his hands pressed against the air.

She caught her breath.

"What does it mean?"

Rage burned a warpath through her soul. So much commotion bombarded her. She was ready to implode.

She grabbed the first thing her hands managed to wrap around, tossed it across the room. Magazines flew in multiple directions, separate papers and pieces landing on the bed, the floor, the nightstands, anything. One flopped at her feet. A picture of large circus tents screamed, "Look at me!"

The ridiculous photo exercise finally had her attention. She lifted the picture with the utmost care. Sebastian had mentioned a carnival. That didn't set off any magic discovery chime in her head. Cheap concessions, fly-by-night rides, rigged-to-rape-you games. Nope. She had nothing. But this... She held the tiny, two-dimensional tent in her hand and wished she understood the significance.

The rage dissipated. Kyra sat at the edge of the bed and studied the picture. Something about it wasn't quite right, but it was close. Close enough that it stirred something in her. Was she feeling homesick?

Marcus stepped into the room. "Sorry about that." He heaved a heavy sigh and began to circle the bed toward Kyra.

Without a word, Kyra stashed the picture in the top drawer of her nightstand and shifted to look at him. "Why didn't you let me talk to him? He might have clues to my past that could be useful." Her hands squeezed the edge of the bed until her knuckles protested with pain.

Marcus dropped to his knees in front of her and clamped his hands firmly upon her upper arms. "I thought you trusted me."

Indecision wavered, shook her like a tree branch, and she could no longer see a clear path. "I do," she said, voice soft and lacking solid conviction. As the words left her lips they tasted bitter, laced with lies.

His hands slid up to her shoulders and began to rub. As he rubbed, he moved onto the bed beside her. "You're so tense."

She stared at the window blinds on the wall next to her. Slivers of light filtered through. "It's been a strange morning."

His hands worked magic, kneading her stiff joints and muscles. She closed her eyes and allowed her imagination to whisk her away. She no longer saw herself sitting in Marcus's boring condominium, but pictured herself on a bed made of a dozen soft pillows, all of them a rainbow of intense hue. In every direction, circus tents and spinning rides constantly morphed in color. Wherever she looked there were lights and twinkling stars and a forever deep midnight sky.

She lay among the pillows and marveled at her imagination. Was it a clue to who she used to be? Who she should be?

Marcus kissed the curve of her neck and with the skill of a true ladies' man, ran his hand along her collarbone. Kyra's mind raced. Her happy place, receding. Was she going to allow him this? After what had just...

Marcus's hand rolled over the ancient tooth Kyra wore around her neck. Heat flushed her system; a trickle of sweat dripped down the side of her brow. The stars twinkled above her head once again. A dozen misshapen pillows of different colors and sizes lay beneath her, and the vibrant backdrop of Fun Zones and circus life surrounded her. It was the night's soundtrack. Jubilant chatter, laughter, and screams of delight.

She wasn't fool enough to believe the mirage, the illusion, but she knew it was where she belonged. Wherever _it_ was. She scorched the image to her memory.

Marcus rolled over, his hands exploring her cheek, her elbow, the side of her thigh. It was not Marcus she saw at her side, but the questioning stranger named Sebastian. She made no move, for fear of losing her connection to the magic. Until...Marcus broke the rule. His hand traveled out of bounds.

Kyra tensed, pulled back, and Marcus looked up.

Only, it was Sebastian Kyra saw. Yet she knew it couldn't be Sebastian. She knew that fact; logically, knew that fact. She was seeing Sebastian just like she was seeing the colors and lights and carnival rides.

Her body relaxed, melted, and accepted the illusion. She found it _euphoric_ to lie with Sebastian beneath the stars.

Her mind might not remember Sebastian, but her heart clearly knew him.

Had quite possibly always known him.

Lost in her illusion, Kyra snuggled beside Sebastian, her body melded into his comforting embrace. The circus dissolved, turned to soft twinkling lights, twirling crystals, and warm, plush pillows.

_I will find you_ , she imagined whispering the words in Sebastian's ear. _I swear it_.

## 12

# Dragon Light

### Marcus

Marcus rolled over on the bed and fluffed the pillow behind his head. Tonight, had been satisfying, even without sex. He turned and studied Kyra, let his finger glide along her collar bone. He liked that she smelled of him. "You alright?" he probed.

She gazed at the ceiling, a dreamy look on her face. "Mmm." It was all she had to say.

Her chilled skin warmed when his finger notched under her chin, turning her gaze to meet his and aligning their lips. His lips brushed against hers. She was inviting and vulnerable and he savored the moment.

Twisting to her side, her hands gliding like silk on butter along the outline of his arm, heading straight for his weakness, his more amiable, more forthcoming zone, the too-often-neglected patch beneath the ear.

Marcus's shoulders arced; he closed his eyes and sighed at her touch.

The phone rang. The sound came from the kitchen, where Marcus had left his cellphone sitting on the counter.

"Crap," he grumbled. He eased away from her, his attention already directed to the other room.

Kyra stared at him, a blank expression on her face. Marcus buttoned his shirt and leaned back over the bed. "You good?"

She simply nodded.

He kissed her forehead. "I promise it will only be a minute. You are my priority." He took a moment to gaze over her. "You're sure you're okay?"

Kyra nodded again, still silent.

Marcus breezed through the kitchen, picked up his phone, and continued moving toward the glass doors at the far end. He spared a glance at the number before stepping out onto the balcony and answering the call.

"Not the best time. I need to keep it short." He leaned over the railing and glanced at the other balconies to verify privacy.

"Is the girl still with you? The enchantment continuing to work?" the caller asked.

"Yeah, she's here. She doesn't remember anything."

A clucking of the tongue sounded on the other end of the line, and Marcus fell silent, waiting and listening.

"I told you to keep her isolated."

"I know. I have." Irritation began to claw at the back of his neck.

"Aw...but I heard you had a visitor. A visitor to whom she spoke." The caller's voice peaked.

"Yeah, so? I handled it. I can handle her." Red bled across Marcus' vision, and his temples throbbed. He hated the mention of Sebastian. Anything remotely involving the carnie boy gave Marcus a headache. He clenched his teeth.

"So you think, but tonight's visitor was no ordinary one. He is the single strongest link to the girl's memories. The most potent attachment she has made. If anything were to tip the scales and slip thoughts and images into her recall, it would be him."

Volcanic heat exploded through Marcus' veins, racing up his neck and across his face.

"It is most likely the thought of him that keeps her content in your presence...for now."

"The thought of him?" Marcus balked. "What kind of blasted charm did you put on that darn tooth anyway?"

"A simple complacency spell. If she is faced with something that causes her discomfort, her mind's eye will swap that for something that pleases her. So, if she looks at you and doesn't like what she sees, she will see the boy instead." The words ended with an almost inaudible chortle.

"No. No. No." His hand squeezed the phone with an anger infused ferocity. The phone's screen cracked with a soft _plink_. Marcus ignored it. "You get over here tonight, and fix it. Fix it now. Don't you realize how incredibly stupid that was? It could destroy everything! No wonder she was..." He fell silent. "Never mind."

Long, winded breaths whispered across the line, the caller awaiting a cue from Marcus. But Marcus was in no hurry to voice his composing thought. He'd been overcome with a wave of dominance. He was untouchable.

Moving to the corner, he dropped down, removed an old vent cover on the balcony's side wall, reached inside, and pulled out a large jar. Holding it before him, he stared at it with longing set deep in his soul. "What's important is I got what I wanted. All we need to do now is make it truly mine." Orange and gold sparks flickered in the jar, a swirl of blue.

"As we shall. In due time. We must first collect the remaining ingredients and decide upon a location."

Marcus laughed. "Right. Well, let's not waste time. Let's get it figured out." He hung up and set the phone down. Kalrapura snarled at him through the glass. Her long, serpent body twisted around and around, fully agitated in her tightly confined prison. Pointing his finger at the dragon, Marcus whispered, "You should play nice. We're going to get to know each other a whole lot better real soon."

The dragon hissed and filled the jar with fire. Marcus smirked and teased the dragon with a tap, tap, tapping of the glass before he placed Kalrapura back in her hiding place. He slipped back into the apartment quiet as a skilled hunter. Kyra waited for him in the bed, curled comfortably under the covers.

He slid into the empty space beside her, his hands slipping around her silky pajamas in one smooth motion. Until the magic of the pendant got fixed, that would be all he would allow. No way would she be seeing another man in his place should they get intimate. Sebastian was staying out of his bedroom. Kyra was his.

* * *

The End of part one.

* * *

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## 1

# Wrecked

### Sebastian

Death was always the same. Not the people or the place or the circumstance. That changed from one stop to the next. Each one unique in its own special way. But Sebastian had come to understand his calling in the past few weeks and now recognized the signs for what they were. Always present. Always pulling. And always overwhelming with the constant stench of death. His own personal calling card.

Sebastian had lost count of the number of souls he'd helped cross over since embracing his Reaper half. He'd fought his destiny. Feared being an icon of death. A messenger of doom. All to help Kyra escape Purgatory. For her, he'd do it again in a fluttered heartbeat. She was more than his best friend. He'd come to crave everything she brought to their relationship. Even the rage of her dragon.

Things were different now, though. He understood a Reaper's value.

And Kyra...well, she didn't remember him. At all. Of course, he would change that. Very soon. First, he had to get past Marcus's damn barrier spell. Sebastian clenched his fist and imagined it slamming into Marcus's jawline.

Damn Marcus for taking Kyra.

Damn him for keeping her from Sebastian.

And damn him for escaping the Reaper.

Sebastian stood beside his second stop of the day. If he had a choice, he'd be at Marcus's door right now, but the opportunity to get away from his father's prying eyes had yet to present itself. So, he tried to behave like any young trainee and assessed the scene. The asphalt spread before him, a dark and crumbled highway to the unknown―at least, unknown to most who found themselves in need of Sebastian's services. He knew exactly where it led.

An empty aluminum can lay at his feet. With slow and deliberate intention, he knelt down and retrieved the evidence. Beer. Sunlight reflected off its silver surface as he spun it with his fingers, then shoved it at the boy standing before him. Right into his hands. Hands covered with blood.

"Think that last drink was a good idea?" Sebastian cocked his head, indicating the mangled mass of metal sitting on the edge of the road. Steam poured out from under the crushed hood.

With an air of indifference, the boy peered from the crumpled can over at the crash site, before looking back at Sebastian. The boy's face resembled an emotionless wax dummy's. He shrugged. "Ehh. Sure, the car is a loss, but I have insurance, and look at me! Not a scratch. Pretty awesome. Right, dude?" He casually brushed the dirt from his shirt. "What the...?" He swatted harder, trying to remove the foreign object stuck to the front of him.

Sebastian knew it was wrong to feel the way he did, but he loved when this happened. A slow, deliberate grin spread across his lips. "That's my claim ticket, Lance." He soaked up pleasure in the taunting, the boy's name lingering on his tongue, dragging out slow and deliberate.

A tarot card clung to the fabric of the boy's shirt like a second skin―a dancing skeleton prancing across his chest. Sebastian watched blatant confusion and fear spread across the boy's face.

Deep valleys curved the flesh across Lance's forehead. "Hey man. Do I know you? How do you know my name?" His voice wavered.

"Think you made it out unscathed? You might want to take a closer look." Sebastian motioned to the wreckage across the road.

Lance flinched at Sebastian's words. He whirled around, faced the ruin, and darted forward. Sebastian knew he rushed for proof, proof of the Reaper's lies. There were always types like Lance. Never trusting. Always needing to see for themselves. There was no denying the moment Lance discovered the truth about his misguided assumption. The quickened pulse, the bulging eyes, the sudden intake of breath―something Lance hadn't yet discovered he no longer needed.

Crumpled behind the wheel in the driver's seat slumped an exact duplicate of the teenager standing near Sebastian. Only the one in the car looked like a broken doll, staring into a void. He was nothing but an empty shell, left vacant by the confused, departed soul.

"But―I―Sophie―" Lance stammered.

"Yes." The word dripped like castor oil from Sebastian's lips as he stepped behind the addled soul. He dropped his fingers upon the boy's shoulder in one quick tap before trailing them down his upper back.

Lance broke into a dance of shivers and shudders and twitches. A mask of dread slipped in, contorting his face and replacing his once-handsome features. A small cry escaped. He turned, glued his gaze on Sebastian, an overwhelming plea swimming in his eyes. "What did you―?"

But it was already too late.

He was sinking, melting down through the ground. Pulled by long, dark, shadowy arms, reaching and grabbing and dragging him under.

Sebastian watched until the boy was no more, knowing his destination was hot and horrific. Excruciatingly torturous. With Lance gone, Sebastian breathed deep, relief blooming in the knowledge the worst was done. He crossed the road, circled the battered car, and approached the passenger side. There she waited, as if in limbo, completely unaware. He placed his hand upon the open window with the tender touch of a grief counselor. The trigger. Her eyes popped open and her head snapped up.

The girl was still dressed in her high school cheerleading uniform and wore Lance's senior ring on a chain around her neck. "Where am I? What happened?" Her voice cracked, rough and dry, from a throat in need of water.

Sebastian opened the car door and laid his palm out before her, awaiting her hand, and offering to help her from the vehicle. "Come. Let me help you."

Her gaze danced over him, then over the car's interior again. "Where's Lance?"

Sebastian knelt, dropping down to the car's front seat level so they could meet eye to eye. "Don't worry about Lance. Let's take care of you. Will you allow me to help you, Sophie?"

Sophie sucked in a deep breath. Her frail body teetered backwards before slowly swaying upright. Slipping her hand into Sebastian's palm, she stood, stepped away from the car, and stared at her Reaper. Her eyes widened. "Your aura, it's so..."

Sebastian warmed her hand in his and looked away.

She tilted her head. "You don't want to know. Do you?"

Fact was, he didn't. He feared the knowing. Feared what his true aura would say about him. As long as he was ignorant of the truth, he could avoid admitting ugly truisms. "You can tell me if you want to," he said, "but it won't do me any good. I'm fated to what I am. I doubt the color of my aura will make a difference one way or the other." He looked past her, and his shoulders sagged. "Are you ready?"

Sophie followed his gaze, her own falling on the broken sight behind them. "Oh!" She turned back, allowed Sebastian to pull her away, away from the wreckage. "I didn't make it, did I?" Her voice was weak and tearful.

Sebastian understood. She didn't want to see the mangled remains in the car. In the last few weeks, he'd heard the request many times. They rarely wanted to know, usually preferred to remember themselves as they'd been before, not how they'd ended up. He agreed it was for the best.

"I'm sorry, Sophie." He glanced at her from beneath a fall of dark hair. "Do you need some time to let it sink in?"

Her eyes glazed over and she stared into the distance. "No." As if chilled, she crossed her arms and hugged herself. Sebastian supposed it was an attempt at self-comfort. "My parents," she whispered.

He brushed his hand back through his hair, shifted his weight. "It'll be hard, but they'll be all right. Trust me. If you'd like, I'll have someone check on them."

Sophie glanced up, her eyes bright with tears. "Would _you_ do that?"

He jerked back. "Me?" He searched her face, looking for any doubt, but found none. "If that is what you really want, I will."

Sophie nodded. "It is. Thank you."

Sunlight bled through the trees lining the roadside, and Sophie's blonde hair reflected the light in ribbons of gold. _It's a shame she moved on so young, so senselessly_ , thought Sebastian, but it was only his job to make the transition as painless as possible. He didn't get to choose who or where or when.

He pushed her hair away from her face and hooked it behind her ear. The action reminded him of Kyra. How many times he had wanted to brush back her wild red hair. Bravery had never backed him long enough to make that move, and now―

He shoved his personal baggage aside and focused on Sophie. "Are you ready?" he asked again.

She blinked and responded with a nod. It was a shaky nod. One that wasn't sure of its true answer, yet wanted to be.

Warmth spread across Sebastian's skin and the edges of his lips curled up into a smile. "Don't be afraid. It's a far better place you go. Makes this place look like detention."

Sophie's face glowed, garnished with a genuine smile and silent laughter. Sebastian smiled, too, outwardly if not committed inwardly. His heart warmed, taking pleasure in the small moments of his quotidian. Sebastian let his hand drop to her elbow. "In all seriousness, you've led a good life, Sophie. You have nothing to fear." He looked over her shoulder to a spot beyond human visibility.

The turn of his body, the pull of his arm, all signaled Sophie to follow his lead. Extraordinary light seeped through the opening, expanding in broad beams of intense emotion and illumination. It pushed forward and out, opening like no other door. Each time Sebastian lived the experience with someone, the crossing, their door, and what waited beyond was unique. Fingers of warmth, acceptance, and love slipped through the gateway, swirling and winding their way toward Sophie. Dazzling ambassadors to take her home.

Through the opening, Sebastian caught glimpses of the new world to which she was destined. One bathed in unimaginable beauty. So intense was the sight, he could barely look upon it. But it was not meant for him. It was never meant for him. This invitation was for Sophie and Sophie alone. Sebastian raised his hand to shield his eyes.

Verse swept through the gap, melodious words wrapping around Sophie, pulling on her like a magnet. Sebastian felt it. Felt the tenor in the music and felt her emotion. He felt it all. All part of his supernatural gift, the pros and cons of being a Reaper. He was only a Minor Reaper, but he was still bestowed with the gifts and abilities to guide his clients. His father preferred to refer to the clients as marks. Sebastian never thought of the individuals he helped that way. With some exceptions, such as Lance.

Sebastian felt the fervor flowing from the gate, urging Sophie onward. "You should go. You'll be fulfilled there."

When Sophie turned and looked back, she glowed the most brilliant color of rose. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. "My parents?" she asked, pulling back.

"Consider it done."

"Thank you. You're a good man." She turned to leave, but paused after two steps and looked over her shoulder. "I didn't get your name."

Sebastian fought a grin and looked down. He casually pointed to the bottom edge of her skirt. "It's Sebastian, and it's been a pleasure."

She glanced down and saw the tarot card plastered an inch above her hemline. "Is that your card? Will I find your number scribbled on it somewhere?"

Sebastian laughed. "You should be so lucky."

"You can't blame a girl for trying to get to know her savior."

His face drooped, body chilled to dry ice temperature. He'd dragged this one out too long. A savior? He was anything but. Sophie needed to go―leave―move on. With the sweep of an arm, he motioned for her to start. She sighed, but didn't argue. In slow, forever steps, she moved forward as Sebastian had suggested, on through the door and into the brilliance of the light beyond. Exceptional radiance, something he'd never know, flowed all around her, painting her the illusion of the perfect angel.

Three steps in, her footing faltered. She stopped and called back, "Maybe I'll see you again...in your next life?"

Sebastian's lips twisted into a smirk. "Nice thought. Highly unlikely. There's no place for my kind where you're going." He watched her face drop and knew it was time to terminate the conversation. "Goodbye, Sophie." He turned and walked away.

Circling the heap of twisted metal, Sebastian crossed the road. He walked directly to the man waiting where the asphalt met dirt. Waiting and watching. Tall and lean, the man stood supporting his weight against the side of a telephone pole. His hands were shoved deep into the pants pockets of his gray wool suit. Only one button was done on his jacket, and he wore his hat on a slight tilt. A slap-n-stick name tag clung to the breast pocket of his jacket. Bold red letters ran across the top saying _Hi! My name is_. Scribbled beneath that in black was the name _Mr. Smith_. Sebastian thought the tag and the man wearing it―his father, actually named Mortifier―were a grim joke. Nevertheless, the air vibrated around him, hinting to his importance.

He grinned at Sebastian. "Awfully sweet on that one. Spent far too much time."

Sebastian huffed. "You're entitled to your opinion. I see nothing wrong in treating them with a little kindness and respect." He glanced back at the gateway. Sophie was barely visible; the light practically enveloped her. _As it should_ , he thought. That was her home now. The doorway flashed with unmeasurable luminosity, collapsing the window inward, closing off the passageway.

Sebastian turned back toward the man in the suit. Mortifier stood straighter, fixed his jacket as he regarded Sebastian. "I've been doing this a lot longer than you. You would be wise to heed me every now and then."

"I'll keep that under advisement... _Dad_."

Mortifier laughed. "You do have a spark about you. Reminds me of someone." His hand flipped, exaggerating his meaning. It was unnecessary. Sebastian knew he'd meant himself.

His father punched a finger toward the middle of the street. The slightest of marks was now visible where the boy had descended. It left a scar upon the asphalt for all to see. Sebastian looked, but said not a word.

Mortifier circled around, placing himself between the site and Sebastian. "What did you do to him, before you sent him off? You added something to that unique cocktail of yours, didn't you?"

Sebastian's gaze slowly raised to meet the superior Grim Reaper's, his jaw tight. "I simply sent him where he was meant to go. You saw the kind of life he led."

Something gleamed in his father's eyes as he stared down at Sebastian. "Yes, that I know. But you did something else. Tell me."

Sebastian looked away, his face falling like a shadow slipping in at sundown. He didn't want his father to see his shame. Not now. Maybe not ever. He wouldn't understand. Mortifier felt fine sending souls to Hell. Ending life on the spot. Not Sebastian. And what he had done was worse. Not only had Sebastian tortured the man without reason, he'd crossed the line, violated the guy's privacy. Digging into people's secret thoughts and turning what he'd found against them was wrong. He hated himself for it.

"I gave the guy a nightmare," he said. "Plucked his most isolated fear and set it free to ravage his mind. I'm not proud, okay?"

Deep, dark, deranged laughter burst from Mortifier's lungs. It filled the air around them, and the sound of glass crackling responded from the wreck across the road.

"Enough! Stop it," Sebastian demanded.

His father, now quiet, took on a nefarious, loaded grin. "It's quite marvelous. Don't you see? You are exactly as I had hoped." He reached out to touch Sebastian, only to have Sebastian smack his hand away.

Sebastian notched his fists on his hips and narrowed his eyes, staring at his father. "All I can see is that you made me into a freak. A freak that was never meant to be." He raked his hand through his hair, took a deep breath. "I don't fit in anywhere. And I never will. Mom doesn't want me because of what I am. And you want me for all the wrong reasons." He turned in a slow circle and let his hand fall. It slapped across the front of his leg. "Don't think I'm here for some father-son bonding session. That couldn't be further from the truth." Sebastian stepped back onto the road. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be. Made a promise to a girl."

Mortifier took a step after him. "Best not be the dragon. You were supposed to take her. You know that, boy. She was your mark." His voice was stern, tinted with discontent.

Sebastian's back and shoulders tensed. He whipped back to face his father. "Her name is Kyra, and no one's reaping her, so back off." He pushed up his sleeves.

Sharp pain cut through Sebastian's calves and kneecaps, crippling him and dropping him to the ground. Every pebble pressing into his palms symbolized another minute, another day slipping between him and Kyra. Too much time had already been lost in finding the magic necessary to break Marcus's barrier.

Sebastian grated his teeth and, with great force, pushed himself up. Standing as if gravity willed him flat on his belly. "Why in Death's name did you do that?" He practically spat the words at his father.

Mortifier studied his nails. "Just a reminder of who the boss is around here. Stay out of dragon business, boy. And stay away from _her_. It's not time."

Sebastian brushed the dirt from his hands. "When will it be time? According to you, the time is never right." His father, this whole training process, was infuriating. Sebastian rubbed his forehead. "You said two hundred souls would satisfy my initiation requirement. That was the last one―two hundred exactly. I'm done. Free to go. You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do anymore."

Mortifier shook his finger. "Not so fast."

Sebastian's shoulders slumped, and his hands hooked low on his hips. "What now?"

"You will have more freedom now, but that doesn't mean you're not on probation. You're still a Reaper. You must still reap, or back under supervision you will go. Abuse your freedom, and back under supervision you will go. Mess where you don't belong..." His father assessed Sebastian. "Understand me?"

"I get it. I don't like it, but I get it." Sebastian turned, put his father behind him, and didn't look back. He'd made a promise, and he wasn't one to break a promise. Not even to a girl he'd never met before today.

He heaved a heavy breath. _How much trouble can a bunch of Reapers swing down on me if I follow my own path to Kyra?_

"You're not ready, boy," Mortifier called behind him.

Putting one foot in front of the other, Sebastian trudged down the empty road, the next town his destination―home to Sophie's parents and as it so happened, Marcus Blackall.

## 2

# Coffee

### Sebastian

Sebastian walked into town with two thoughts on his mind: defying his father and finding Sophie's parents. He started with the simple one first―Sophie's parents. It was a relatively easy assignment for a Reaper. When you deal in death, you tend to get a built-in tracking system. Like a GPS for souls. The walk took longer than expected. Night had turned into morning. Cars now motored down the streets and people moved along the sidewalks, starting their day. Sebastian stood outside a five-story apartment building, looking up.

_Just great_ , he thought and rubbed the back of his neck. People living in tight quarters. Too many bodies, too little space. Harder to pinpoint exact locations without walking the halls, getting close. Something he wasn't looking forward to doing. All the confined emotions would be insufferable. He hated his nobility, keeping a promise under such conditions. Through the double glass doors at the front, he could see a handful of mothers sitting around chatting while their children played in the lobby. _Double great_.

A giant yawn bound from his body and he stretched his arms wide. Sleep had evaded him lately, leaving him tired and cranky, hardly feeling up to the chore asked. An image of Kyra wrapped in nothing more than a robe standing beside Marcus flashed through his memory. It hit him fast. Dagger to the heart. He hated that day. The day she no longer remembered him, their friendship, or the kiss they had shared. The day she chose Marcus over their forgotten friendship.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. This thing with Kyra—he wasn't going to let go, but couldn't let it consume him, either.

Stupid Reaper rules―damn them to hell. And Marcus, too. He could burn and take his infuriating magical barrier with him.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, Sebastian gazed down the block to the bustling coffeehouse. A cup of hot java to get the synapses firing, that's what he needed. Help focus his thoughts and get him back on his game. Could he suffer the coffee-seeking crowd in his less-than-ideal condition? He was willing to give it a try. Likely to be less people in the coffeehouse than in the building housing Sophie's parents.

He moved to the center of the sidewalk and headed down the street. When he hit the alleyway at the edge of the apartment building, he paused, looked down the path. Someone stepped out of a door several feet away. There must be another entrance into the building there―a quieter one. The side door off the alley could be used to get to Sophie's parents. It was unlikely mothers with little ones populated both entryways. He would try the side door later.

Content with the plan, his thoughts returned to caffeine, and his stride moved straight toward the small storefront with the elaborate Java Time sign hanging in the front. An odd familiarity floated over the place. The shop sign drew his gaze like a corpse in the middle of Sunday Mass. The sign showed time slipping down the front in the form of a melted clock face. Coffee poured from a tipped pot jetting out of the used brick wall. In a stream of neon lights, the liquid flowed over the clock and into a chipped cup braced above the entrance.

The sight birthed a déjà vu feeling. The kind bound to happen in his vocation. He'd been so many places, seen so many things, in order to help the departed move on. He was likely to run into some of the same situations and things occasionally. Then there were the memories. So many memories. Passing through the air, through the ether, through him, as his clients transitioned. Occasionally he would confuse which memories were his and which were not.

The door handle was warm to the touch, many hands having already used it this morning. He pulled open the door and stepped into the comfortable atmosphere the shop provided.

Within, people huddled in tight little groups. They sat at tables and sofa and chair groupings alike. Burning in a small hearth at the back corner was a fake crackling fire. The walls closed in with an exuberant collage of chipped and mismatched tea and coffee cups and saucers. Burnt yellow paint washed the walls, while thick weaved rugs softened bare spaces beneath rich wood furniture.

Sebastian was third in line, and although he didn't need to, he studied the menu. They didn't have what he needed, but he knew what he wanted. Straight black coffee. It would do. It had to. If only he could nab a vial of Talia's _Spiritual Peace_ from the cupboard back in his trailer at the carnival. A splash of that in his coffee, and all these emotions and memories would cease to bother. He rubbed at his forehead, wished for silence―internal silence.

The feeling he'd seen this coffee shop before continued to nag at him. He glanced at the fireplace. Hmm, pretty damn sure he'd never been here before. Then the memory dawned. He'd looked through the front window on his way to find Kyra _that_ morning, the morning she'd forgotten him. It had been a brief glimpse, but that was all he'd needed to imprint the image. He remembered.

He was minutes away from Marcus's condo. His chest heaved, inner conflict solidifying. The moment he'd walked into town, he should have recognized the tells. He'd known he was close, but had no idea how close. He'd been too focused on Sophie's parents. Now all he could think about was Kyra. He missed her, worried about her, and should have checked on her sooner. But he hadn't had the answers then. The answers that would get him past Marcus's doorway and the magical barrier the jerk had somehow erected. Now he'd lost an entire month to the search and his father's demands. Sebastian clutched at the side of his leg. The thought of Kyra with Marcus...

Imagery started to flicker through his mind. He tried to stop it short. Didn't want to go there. Didn't want to think about Marcus touching her, kissing her. His chest tightened and his heart _ker-thumped_. He needed to calm down. The tips of his fingers had begun to burn with anger. All the emotion welling inside had him wanting to reap, collect Marcus's soul. He should have. Should have collected it the first day he saw Marcus, when he'd been called to complete that very task. Had he done his job correctly, none of this would have happened.

"Dammit, Kyra." He ground his teeth and muttered the words under his breath. As much as he didn't want to blame her, part of him did. It was her heroics that had gotten them here. If only she hadn't saved Marcus that day.

If only.

So many if-onlys loomed in their past. He dragged his fingers through his hair, knocking the hood of his jacket back. He didn't care. Felt no need to hide here.

Soon he would put this behind them. He had what he needed now. Marcus could no longer keep him out. His hand slipped into his pocket, wrapped around the gift from Talia. The small charm in his pocket would get him through the doorway at Marcus's. Talia had guaranteed it.

Stepping to the front of the line, Sebastian placed his order and moved to the side to collect his coffee. Ready immediately, a young man handed him an open-topped cup and moved away, busy with other preparations. Sebastian reached around to grab a lid. After snapping it in place, he turned to leave, only to smack right into another body. "Oh, hell. I'm sorry." Sebastian wiped the coffee from his jacket and looked up. Involuntarily, he sucked in his breath. Kyra stood in front of him, an innocent twitch of a smile gracing her face.

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# From the Author

_Dear Reader,_

I hope you have enjoyed the start to Kyra's adventure. Thank you so much jumping into the crazy of the carnival and giving my writing a chance. Don't forget to click the link above and keep reading. The story is far from over.

If you have found this story to be a worthy read, please consider leaving a review. Not only do I love receiving feedback, but reviews also help other readers find what they are looking for. It's the readers and reviewers who make up the foundation of our author world, and we love you madly for all you do!

Thanks! Until next time, keep the magic real.

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~ Debra Kristi

# Glossary of Terms

**Essence of** **Anodynse** – The **** incense extracted from the spinal fluid of dragons.

**Balidhug –** The name by which Marcus is referred to by those not in his circle.

**Behemoth** **–** Supernatural beasts, chaos monsters the size of a rhinoceros.

**Bolsvck** **–** The rightful Fire Dragon King who refused to rule, Kyra's father.

**Chaos Demon –** Destructive Demons born from the earth and out of chaos.

**Convergence –** Merging and resurfacing of lost species with one vessel.

**Devil's Eye** **–** A network of rock formations and caverns whose configuration resembles an eye dubbed that of the Devil, located at one of the most extreme depths of the ocean floor.

**Dragonet –** The equivalent of a teen dragon.

**Dragonling –** A baby dragon.

**Grim Reaper –** A member of the Reaper class who has ascended to the top rank.

**Hellhound** **–** A supernatural dog with black spiked fur, yellow eyes, and tremendous speed and strength thought to guard a rare, supernatural treasure.

**Kalrapura –** The **** name of Kyra's dragon.

**Minor Reaper** – A member of the Reaper class who is undergoing the learning process, working beneath a Grim Reaper's supervision.

**Mobürn –** Homeland of the Fire Dragons.

**Moorigad** **–** The blending of two dragon species. The traits of both parents clash within the host, fighting for control.

**Purgatory –** The limbo state between Heaven and Hell.

**Rajũn** – The first dragon and great water deity.

**Spiritual Peace –** A witch's brew allowing a Reaper to escape his or her mental and memory gathering gift.

**Zilant** **–** A winged, snake-like creature, cousin to the dragon.

# Acknowledgments

First and foremost, if you are reading this book, thank you! Your time is valuable and I can't express how much it means to me that you choose to spend it reading my work. You are splendid, fantastic, and magical in my eyes.

For the team that helped bring this story to life―I am deeply indebted to each and every one of you. My heart is on fire with gratitude.

I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for the writing community with their incredible support and continued education. Huge hug to Christine Ashworth for pushing me into our local RWA chapter. It truly propelled me forward and made this publication possible. Thanks to my WANA team, you know who you are. I tried to soak up and absorb a trillion things discussed within our group. You paved the way and I can only hope I have learned from your brilliance.

A giant thank you to my awesome editors, Tiffany Turpin Johnson of TJ Writeography, and Shelly Tegen and Holly Kammier of Acorn Editing, for your stellar recommendations and edits. Without you ladies this story wouldn't be the same. Plus, you're so fun to work with!

To my beta readers and critique partners, where would I be without you? Leandra Savage, Kristy K. James, Tameri Etherton, and Lynne Freeman, thank you a hundred times over for all your incredible feedback. Diana Beebe, you are brilliant with the comma usage corrections. I don't think I need to tell you how much I needed that. Hugs! I adore, love, and value each of you beyond words.

Tatiana Villa, you put up with my change after change after change on the cover design. You are so patient and talented, a dream to work with. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Melinda of Book Cover Corner, what can I say other than "Wow!" All your work on the inside of the book is fantastic. Thank you, thank you! To my MCC team, the hours of world building, character definitions, and idea swapping has been amazing. I love you guys!

The support and raw cheer from my extended family has been amazing. I am so grateful for all of you. Love you! And although he's not here, I much acknowledge my dad for help molding me into the person I am today. This book is for you, too, Dad.

Thanks, Mom, for your countless hours of reading and rereading my work. Your initial editing have not only helped me but taught me a lot. I may be slow, but I am getting better. Also, thanks to my sister for kick starting my writer's voice. No story would have ever been completed if it weren't for you, Kristi (Christy). I miss you. You are forever in my heart.

Last, but definitely not least, to my fantastically supportive husband and kids who have put up with so much since I set upon my writing career. My multiple writing trips away from the home, countless conventions and meetings, and endless hours sitting at the computer typing. I love you with all my heart! Big bear hugs to my husband, Scott, and two kids.

# About the Author

Born and raised a Southern California girl, Debra Kristi still resides in the sunny state with her husband, two kids, and four schizophrenic rescue cats. Her love for the fantastical began at a very young age. Since then, she's had a lifelong love of science fiction, fantasy, and creative storytelling. Unlike the characters she often writes, Debra is not immortal and her only superpower is letting the dishes and laundry pile up. When not writing, she is usually creating memories with her family, geeking out to sci-fi and fantasy television, and tossing out movie quotes.

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Discover more by Debra Kristi, visit her site and explore the various book pages: www.debrakristi.com
