Darkfire Kiss by Deborah Cooke

prolonged thrashing. He seemed to be more vicious now that she wasn’t in his grasp, and she guessed that he had been ensuring her safety.
    There was more black blood and more fire; then the agate one evidently decided he’d had enough. He started to retreat, flying somewhat less gracefully than he had earlier. The opal dragon hovered over the Reflecting Pool, watching him retreat, as if guarding a threshold.
    Or her. Melissa shivered with pleasure at the thought and focused on her camera. The reflections made for a fantastic series of shots.
    Especially when the opal dragon—her defender—fired one last long plume of flame after his opponent. It flared orange against the night, a gorgeous vivid tongue of fire, accented by the falling snow.
    Gorgeous.
    He then began to breathe long and slow, as if exhaling something Melissa couldn’t see. The agate dragon kept flying away, but he sped up, apparently desperate to put distance between them.
    Soon he was lost in the distance, and even the zoom couldn’t catch a good shot of him.
    But she had lots. She checked the memory and was relieved that she hadn’t run out. This was pure gold.
    Melissa glanced up from the camera to find Mr. Conscience on the other side of the pool, watching her. She cursed herself for missing his transformation, even as her heart skipped. His gaze was locked upon her, and she could feel his disapproval across the distance.
    She had a feeling he would have something to say about her taking the pictures.
    She was pretty sure he wouldn’t want souvenir copies.
    In fact, she knew he’d want them destroyed.
    Fat chance. Melissa also had some pretty strong ideas about what she wanted. She had every right to document what she witnessed.
    Her grip tightened on the camera even as she stared back at him. She studied him, liking the fit of his jeans and the span of his shoulders. Dragon or not, he would have caught her eye anyplace, anytime. Her heart skipped a beat at the certainty she’d caught his, as well, and she wondered what he’d say to her.
    How he’d want to negotiate.
    Her mouth went dry at the possibilities.
    Mr. Conscience glanced between her and the Washington Monument, looked unhappy, then turned away. Melissa’s lips parted; then she realized his destination. He strode toward the monument and the sentries posted there, purpose in his every step. They were watching him openly.
    Melissa was curious. Did he intend to try to convince them that they hadn’t seen what they must have seen?
    It didn’t much matter. She had the photographs, which meant she had not only a great story, but the proof of it.
    And she had a chance to ensure that she got to keep those pictures.
    Melissa eased away from the pool, not knowing how closely Mr. Conscience was monitoring her. He didn’t seem to notice, so she backed away more quickly. She could see him talking to the one guard, his intensity palpable even from here. When she reached the shadows, she looked around with care, her heart thumping.
    There was no sign of the dragon working for Montmorency, and she knew Montmorency himself was injured. This might be her only chance to escape from dragons.
    Her gaze clung to the figure of Mr. Conscience, and she hesitated. Didn’t it just figure that he was the most interesting man she’d met in years? She wasn’t sure what to make of the dragon thing, but well, he was easy on the eyes either way. And he was living so definitely in the moment. She liked that he was so alive .
    That was exciting, especially after the places she had been.
    But it wasn’t meant to be.
    Melissa took one last look, regretted again that they hadn’t met under other circumstances, then ran as quickly as she could.

Chapter 3
     
    R afferty knew the woman would run. He told himself not to be surprised that she was gone when he looked back.
    She had to be the kind of person who looked for easy solutions, at least those solutions that were easy on herself.
    And which yielded a