Smoke and Fire: Part 1 (6 page)

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ryder look up at her before he went back to her things. The smile faded from her lips. She knew one big reason she’d treated Ryder the way she had since she walked into the computer room.

When she hadn’t been able to get in touch with Ryder after he walked out on her three years ago, she had fallen apart. Weeks later, when she was finally able to pull herself together, she used her skills to look for him. But he had disappeared quite effectively.

She wanted to hurt him for leaving her. How silly for her to think that she was over him as she’d told herself for so long. It was obvious from the way she couldn’t stop looking at him, listening to his voice, and yearning for his touch that she’d been lying to herself.

But she wanted him to suffer as she’d suffered. The pain had been so unbearable at times that she honestly thought she might die from it.

At times she’d wanted to die, begged for it. But each day she woke to see the sun.

Kinsey tightened her ponytail, wincing as her head began to ache. She decided to forgo the pain and took her hair down. With a shake of her head, she sighed as her headache began to dissipate almost immediately.

She rubbed the spot where the band had held her hair against her head and closed her eyes. One of these days she was going to learn how to put her hair in a ponytail without it hurting.

After a minute or two, Kinsey opened her eyes and sat back. Only to find Ryder watching her with his hazel eyes darkened. She knew that look all too well.

He wanted her. The desire was tangible, physical.

Her heart skipped a beat and her stomach felt as if an entire flock of hummingbirds was trying to get out. The urge to get up and go to him, straddle his lap was strong.

Then she thought about the last three years where he hadn’t bothered to contact her. Saving her life or not, Ryder had been a dick in the way he’d left. She’d be an utter and complete fool to give in to her need for him only to have him push her away again.

She was stronger now. She was the one in charge of her life and her destiny. Even if he was the other half of her soul, that didn’t mean she should allow herself to be treated so harshly. She deserved better.

Kinsey pulled her gaze from Ryder and focused on the computer screen before her. She pretended as if she had something important to do.

And she did. If only she could remember what it was.

Oh. Right. Trying to determine who would want her at Dreagan and why.

Kinsey pulled up the list of employees at Kyvor, starting with the highest ranking. Of the thirty executives, she had met two of them. Her boss, Cecil Beltz, a sixty-year-old who had worked his way up through the company for forty years.

And Cecil’s supervisor, Harriet Smythe. She was pretty, and one of the youngest executives at just thirty-three. Though she seemingly came out of nowhere, no one could fault her work.

Two of the thirty in top management. That wasn’t much to go on.

“What did you find?” Ryder asked.

She glanced at him before frowning back at the screen. “I decided to try and see who all I know at Kyvor. There are thirty in the top brass. I’ve personally met two of them.” She pointed to the first picture. “Cecil, my boss.” Then she pointed to the next picture of a young woman with bleach-blond hair and a bright white smile. “And Harriet, who Cecil answers to.”

Ryder studied the two for a moment before he began to tap the virtual keyboard. Kinsey was shocked when he pulled up her employee folder and began to look through it.

“You’ve had four promotions in three years,” he said with a nod of approval.

Kinsey sat a little straighter. “That’s right.”

“You made some major moves through the company, Kins, which means you caught the attention of more than Cecil and Harriet.”

She always loved when he shortened her name. Other people did it and she lost her mind, but not with Ryder. It was the way he said it, as if it were an endearment.

“Did you hear me?” he asked as he turned his face to her.

Kinsey could’ve kicked herself. “Yeah. Of course, I heard you.”

“You didna say anything.”

She shrugged. “What is there to say? You’re stating facts.”

“What I’m doing is pointing out that every one of those top executives knows you.”

Kinsey dropped her head back against the chair and blew out a breath. If she could stop thinking of Ryder as a lover, and think of him as a co-worker, she might actually get her brain to function properly.

“Right,” she said and lifted her head. “I need to see which one has it out for me.”

“We,”
Ryder corrected.

Kinsey felt herself softening to him. Dammit. This isn’t what she wanted. She couldn’t. But it was so-damn-hard not to. She gave a nod, refusing to look into Ryder’s hazel eyes again. “A simple search of me wouldn’t bring up my love life.”

“They didna do a simple search.”

At those words she had no choice but to look at him. Kinsey began to worry as she saw the frown deepening Ryder’s forehead. “What do you mean?”

“Knowing about us, about our connection means that someone has probably been following you.”

Kinsey shook her head. “No. That can’t be right. I’m a nobody.”

“You were with me,” he said in a voice filled with sadness.

She dropped her head into her hands and then used her fingers to rake her hair out of her face as she squared her shoulders and sat up. “Then they weren’t following me. They were following you.”

“Most likely. My being with you brought you under scrutiny.”

“I still don’t understand how anyone at Kyvor could get ahold of such information.”

“Ulrik.” Ryder said the name as if it were poison on his tongue.

Kinsey shivered, because she had a feeling the more they dug into this, the more she was going to learn about how intricately she and Ryder were joined.

She wasn’t sure how that made her feel. Part of her was pleased Ryder was with her, because she knew if anyone could help her through this it was him.

But another part dreaded and feared being part of a world she wasn’t ready to accept.

Ready or not, she was planted right in the middle of things.

Chapter Seven

Ireland

Dark Fae Palace

Taraeth knew he was walking a fine line, but as king of the Dark, it was something he did with style. After all, no Dark had ever ruled as long as he.

And he remained in control because he had a way of putting the right people around him. As well as choosing sides.

It wasn’t as if the Dark had a lot of people wanting to be allies. But only a fool would turn down an offer that could gain the Dark dominion over the humans.

“Did you hear me?”

Taraeth hated the British accent Mikkel used when he was attempting to pretend he was better than everyone else. The only time Mikkel’s Scots brogue came out was when he was angry.

And the only one who managed to get him angry was his nephew—Ulrik.

“I heard,” Taraeth said.

He raised a hand to quiet Mikkel as the Irish folk song continued to play. Didn’t Mikkel know not to interrupt such wondrous music?

When the last strings of the song played, Taraeth then turned to his guest. Mikkel sat upon the black velvet half-moon-shaped sofa with one arm draped along the back. He wore a custom-made navy suit with a cream dress shirt beneath and a navy and gold tie. Mikkel’s black hair was neither long nor short, but somewhere in between.

Though he wasn’t as beautiful as a Fae, Taraeth recognized the appeal Mikkel had on the fairer sex with his height, gold eyes, and his fortune.

That wasn’t enough for Mikkel though. He’d had a taste—albeit a brief one—of being a Dragon King. Now, he coveted the highest position within those ranks—King of Kings.

Mikkel had gone to great lengths over many centuries to put himself where he was now. Though Taraeth would never admit it aloud, Mikkel had managed to do quite a lot to the Kings.

However, the credit didn’t belong to just Mikkel.

Ulrik had done his fair share against the Kings. All before he even knew his uncle was alive.

Taraeth smiled when he realized how impatient Mikkel had become. “What was your question again?” he asked, just to irritate further.

“I want to know everything you have on Ulrik.”

The song, and then asking Mikkel to repeat the question had bought Taraeth a little more time. Ulrik knew Taraeth was helping Mikkel, but Mikkel had no idea that Taraeth and Ulrik struck their own bargain.

“And he never will,” Taraeth mumbled beneath his breath. In a louder tone he said, “Ulrik is still being … entertained … by Muriel.”

Just as Sinny, her sister, was “entertaining” Mikkel.

“I already know that much.” Mikkel’s lips thinned. His gold eyes grew hard. “I want to know the rest.”

Taraeth rose from the black sofa that mirrored the one Mikkel occupied across the space. He ran a hand down his black silk shirt as he walked to the liquor. There he poured a glass for Mikkel and handed it to him.

As he turned back to the alcohol, he glanced down at his missing left arm. His hatred for Denae hadn’t lessened. If anything, he despised her more every day.

Taraeth poured whisky—Irish, of course—into a glass and took a sip. Then he faced Mikkel. “I’m not Ulrik’s keeper. I don’t follow him around. I thought that was your job.”

“I’ve people watching him,” Mikkel admitted. “But he continues to slip past them.”

“Perhaps your people aren’t as good as you think.”

Mikkel tossed back the whisky and lowered the glass. “If they fail, they pay with their lives.”

Taraeth shrugged, uncaring. After all, he did the same thing. But he was leading an entire race. Mikkel would never be able to lead the Dragon Kings that way. The other Kings would kill him.

“I also have a few of my people working for him.”

Taraeth returned to his sofa and chuckled. “That may not be wise, my friend. If Ulrik finds out…”

“He’ll never find out,” Mikkel said with confidence. “That lad knows I’m in charge. He does what I say without question. And he’ll continue to do so.”

Taraeth wasn’t so sure, but he wouldn’t be the one to point that out to Mikkel. Ulrik would do that soon enough. Because though Taraeth hadn’t admitted it to his right-hand man, Balladyn, he agreed that Ulrik was the stronger of the two.

Yet there was a slight chance Mikkel would win. Taraeth was still hedging his bets for the moment. That could change tomorrow. Until then, he would placate Mikkel in whatever way was needed.

Mikkel raised his empty glass. Taraeth motioned to the liquor with his head. With a smirk, Mikkel rose and poured himself another drink.

“You had the Dragon Kings,” Mikkel said. “Edinburgh, London, Glasgow, Inverness, and all the other cities were burning. Your Dark were feeding on the souls of the useless humans. Why did you pull back?”

Taraeth’s good mood evaporated like smoke. He didn’t enjoy being questioned by anyone, but most especially someone who wasn’t a Fae—like Mikkel.

“We got what we needed with the video. We’ve dealt the Kings a major blow and focused the world’s attention on them,” Taraeth answered.

Mikkel brought the glass to his lips and hesitated. “Did you? Deal the Kings a blow, that is?” he asked before he took a drink.

Taraeth wanted to kill Mikkel right then. It was only by sheer force of will that he held himself back. But he would wipe that fucking sneer off his face. “We did more damage in a few hours than your spy working among those at Dreagan.”

“Touché,” Mikkel said as his gold gaze narrowed.

Taraeth watched Mikkel slowly walk back to the sofa and sit. Tense silence descended over the room Taraeth used for private meetings. Right outside the two sets of doors were Dark Fae ready to kill with just a word from him.

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

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

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

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

“Ulrik and Con fought,” Mikkel said.

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

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

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

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

“Darius’s mate.”

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

“You won’t take a mate?”

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

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

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

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

“That day is closer than you think.”

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

“It’s a wise bargain we struck.”

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

“Will you help me keep track of Ulrik?”

“That I can’t do.”

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

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