Page 19 of Kiss of Embers

Music rose from Finn’s laptop. His face lit up, and he waved me over. “Come here, cranky arse. He got something.”

“Who?” I demanded, curiosity propelling me across the tent. I snagged one of the dining chairs on my way around the table and then plopped down next to him.

“I’m not cranky,” I muttered.

“Of course not,” he said, a smile in his voice as he clicked to accept the incoming call. A second later, a dark-haired man with piercing golden eyes filled the screen. Even seated behind a modern-looking desk, he looked like someone who could cleave a man’s head from his shoulders with a single swing of a broadsword. And he could. Lachlan MacKay was over a thousand years old and had fought in some of the most famous battles—human and supernatural—in history.

Right now, however, he balanced a chubby toddler with red curls and bright golden eyes on his lap.

“Draga!” the little boy yelled, pointing at Finn. His chubby finger swung toward me. “Draga!”

Lachlan grinned, and the love dancing in his eyes transformed his face from brutal to strikingly handsome. “That’s right, Brodie,” he said. “Finn and Struan are dragons.”

The boy twisted around and patted Lachlan’s jaw with a hand covered in something red and sticky-looking. “Da.”

“Aye, just like your daddies.” Lachlan captured the boy’s hand. “And you, ye wee scamp.” He examined the boy’s fingers, his brow furrowing. “Och. Who gave you jelly?” He reached out of the frame. There was a rattling sound and then he producedsome kind of white cloth. He captured the boy’s hand and wiped the pudgy fingers with a competence that indicated he’d performed such tasks many times before. When he swiped the cloth over the lad’s face, the boy grimaced.

“Uck!”

“Aye,” Lachlan said, his eyes twinkling. “It’s no fun being clean, is it?” He looked at the camera. “Finn. Struan. It’s good to see you again.” Pride filled his voice as he bounced the toddler on his knee. “I don’t believe you’ve met my son. This is Brodie MacKay.”

The introduction was unnecessary. Every dragon in the world had seen Brodie’s photos. Like the other Firstborn Races, dragons had always reproduced sparingly. Then the Curse came along, and our numbers dwindled. The birth of a new bairn was always a cause for celebration. Brodie had also inherited his mother’s rare gift of absorbing magic from any supernatural being he touched. Tales of the boy’s magical—and frequently hair-raising—exploits already filtered through the supernatural world.

I set my apple on the table and then waggled my fingers at the little boy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Master Brodie.”

The toddler rewarded me with a gummy grin. With his red curls and citrine eyes, he was the perfect blend of Alec and Lachlan. Per dragon tradition, he’d taken the surname of his eldest sire. The next bairn would take Alec’s name, and then future children would rotate.

A familiar longing rose within me. I was fifteen years older than Finn, which meant our firstborn would be a MacLure.

Our firstborn.I’d never permitted myself to dwell on the possibility of raising bairns with Finn. But now that we’d found our female, what had seemed impossible suddenly felt very, very real.

Assuming Zara didn’t gut both of us in our sleep.

Finn looked at me, something tender and knowing in his eyes. “You don’t have much contact with the wolf side of your kin. Lachlan has a few centuries on us, and his mother was a werewolf. I thought he might be able to share some insight about Zara and her pack.”

My heart turned over. Finn understood all too well what it meant to be estranged from family. He hadn’t been ignoring me. He’d been trying to gather information.

I reached over and squeezed his knee. “Thanks.”

“No worries,” he murmured, the smile in his eyes letting me know he heard the apology in my voice.

I turned to Lachlan. “We appreciate any information you can give us.” Lachlan wasn’t just any werewolf halfling. For one thing, he was twelve centuries old. His she-wolf mother had been so formidable in battle that even the humans knew about her. Although, as usual, they got much of her history wrong when they penned a saga about her—and the humans who slayed her.

“I’m happy to help,” Lachlan said, looking like a doting father instead of the ancient dragon who avenged his mother’s death and inspired an Old English epic poem. He shifted Brodie on his lap as he leaned forward and appeared to read something on his screen. “The Rockford wolves own a vast forest in Maine. And Zara isn’t just any werewolf. She’s the alpha of the Rockford Pack.”

Surprise coursed through me, although maybe it shouldn’t have. Zara had carried herself like a leader. She’d given orders like she was accustomed to being in charge.

Lachlan’s expression turned serious. “There’s something else you should know. The Rockford Pack is overrun with moon sickness. They’ve tried to keep it quiet, but word is spreading. Zara’s mother was among the first to die. Her father was killed by moonstruck wolves a few months later. In the year that Zarahas served as alpha, dozens of Rockford wolves have succumbed to the illness.” Lachlan nodded toward his screen. “According to these reports, Zara buries several pack members each week.”

Finn met my gaze. “I thought moon sickness was rare.”

“It is,” I said. “I’ve never heard of an entire pack being affected.”

“Nor have I,” Lachlan said. Brodie yawned, and Lachlan stroked the toddler’s curls before tucking Brodie into the crook of his arm. “Obviously, the moon sickness is what prompted Zara to compete in the Games.”

Finn nodded. “Aye, it makes sense. She wants to win the elixir and save her people.”

Lachlan’s expression turned grim. “Just like we want to win it to save our queen.”