Kindred Read online

  Other Books By Rebecca Goings

  On Eagle’s Wings

  In Your Arms

  The B*E*A*S*T* Within

  B*E*A*S*T* of Burden

  Underneath The Mistletoe (in Mistletoe Magic)

  Promise Me Forever

  Nature of the B*E*A*S*T

  Sincerely Yours

  Once A Dreamer

  Champagne Books Presents

  Kindred

  By

  Rebecca Goings

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Champagne Books

  www.champagnebooks.com

  Copyright © 2009 by Rebecca Goings

  ISBN 978-1-926681-78-8

  March 2010

  Cover Art © Amanda Kelsey

  Produced in Canada

  Dedication

  For my daughter Hannah, who, with her childlike imagination, helped Mommy name Spirit Mountain. And for Donica, who kicked my ass to get this beeyotch out the friggin’ door.

  One

  Portland, Oregon, Present Day

  “Alana, sweetheart, you are not human.”

  Alana Capria’s eyes widened at her grandmother’s dying words. “Hush, Grandmother. Don’t talk now.” With tears in her eyes, she pulled up the blanket on the old woman’s chest.

  “Nonsense,” her grandmother said with a slight grin. “You think I am senile, but I’m not. My heart is failing, not my mind.”

  Alana sniffled, her chin trembling. Her grandmother was suddenly wracked with a bout of coughing, but refused the water Alana offered.

  “Grandmother, please don’t die.” A deep despair overcame her and she closed her eyes to ward off the sting of her tears.

  “Oh…posh,” the old woman whispered. “Everyone must go…sometime.”

  She lay in a large mahogany bed next to a bright, sunny window with warm sunlight filtering through it. The walls of the room were paneled in dark wood, with expensive oil paintings adorning them. Grandmother hadn’t wanted to die in a hospital. She’d wanted a peaceful passing—in her own bed.

  “You’re too young to die.” Alana trembled as she sat on the bed, taking the older woman’s hand in hers.

  “It is true. I am young. But this world has aged me much…faster…than Dragoran.”

  “Dragoran? Grandmother, lie back on your pillows and rest. You aren’t making any sense.”

  Raising her brow, the older woman chuckled, but then looked as if she regretted it, coughing violently into her lace handkerchief. “Alana, it’s time you learned the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  Taking a deep breath, her grandmother said again, “You are not human.”

  “But—”

  “Shush. I am dying. Let me speak.”

  With a slow nod, Alana nibbled her bottom lip with worry. Her grandmother was obviously delirious. She decided to humor her.

  “This will be…hard for you to hear, but hear it you must. You are not from…this world. Your mother and father did not die in a car accident when you were a baby, and I…am not your true grandmother.”

  Alana’s eyes filled with fresh tears. “What?”

  “I was a…servant…in your parents’ household in Dragoran.”

  “Is that another country?” Wiping the tears from her eyes, Alana smiled and tried to play along.

  “No, my dear. Another world. Dragoran is the kingdom of dragon-shifters, and you, sweet Alana, are one of them.”

  “Dragons?” Alana repeated, taking in all the knickknacks and paintings in the room—each one depicting a majestic dragon. For as long as she could remember, her grandmother always had a fascination with them. She even had a standing mirror adorned with many dragons carved into the dark wood curling around the glass.

  Glancing up from the bed, Alana saw that very mirror in the corner of the room, shimmering with the reflected light from the sun. Her own reflection looked haggard. She needed a shower and a good night’s sleep something fierce, but she refused to leave her grandmother’s side. It had been a rough night, and Alana had the bags under her eyes to prove it.

  “Ah yes,” her grandmother said, her voice a little softer. “Your eyes are drawn to the gateway.”

  “I was admiring your mirror,” Alana said. “I always did love it.”

  “And rightly so, child. It is not just any mirror, but a gateway to Dragoran, to your very own betrothed, Rionshalintaris.”

  Smiling, Alana cocked her head, enjoying her grandmother’s strange story. “My betrothed?”

  The older woman nodded. “From the House of Ice, he is. And the Crown Prince of Dragoran, a stunning blue dragon shifter who breathes icy fire.”

  “Tell me then, Grandmother, why are we here instead of there?”

  “Your parents…were murdered.” Alana gasped as her grandmother coughed into her handkerchief.

  “They were killed right after…you were betrothed to Rion. You see, my dear, you are special. Your birthmark gives you away. You are from the extremely rare House of the Sun.” She paused to take a deep breath. “There is only one dragon-shifter born to that House every thousand years.”

  Unconsciously, Alana rubbed at her birthmark under the fabric of her white cotton shirt. It was underneath her left collarbone. She often stared at it as a child, admiring its strange golden color and wondering why it resembled a dragon in flight. But that had merely been the fancy of a child, finding shapes in strange things, especially when her own grandmother had a penchant for the winged, mythical beasts.

  “I…I was…supposed to bring you through the gateway myself on your twenty-second birthday a few weeks ago,” her grandmother said, panting now. “That was to be…the day of your bonding to…to Rion. But I was in the damned hospital!”

  “Grandmother, don’t upset yourself,” Alana said, pushing her back down into the pillows. “You’ll only be in more pain.”

  The old woman winced and closed her eyes, collapsing with exhaustion. “Go to him,” she whispered. Alana barely heard her words.

  “Who?”

  “Rionshalintaris, my dear. The mirror will take you to him. It is a gateway to Dragoran. Believe me, child…you are the only one who can ensure the reign of the House of Ice for the next thousand years. If you do not go back…I fear the House of Fire will attempt to overthrow Rion and his family, and all of Dragoran will be thrown into chaos.”

  “I…I don’t understand,” Alana said, sniffling. Her grandmother wasn’t making any sense.

  The older woman’s hand reached out and grabbed hold of Alana’s right shoulder. A surging bolt of heat suddenly shot forth from her palm, burning Alana’s skin, and the birthmark underneath her clothing began to throb. The outline of the mark itself seemed to cut into her shoulder, making her cry out in pain.

  Looking under her collar, Alana could see the mark actually glowing. A curious wonder came over her as she glanced back at her grandmother.

  “What did you do?” she whispered in awe.

  “I’ve awakened…the shifter…in you, my dear.” The old woman fell back to the bed, gasping. “Go to Rion. He is your Kindred. Reclaim your birthright. Be the next queen…of Dragoran…”

  “But Grandmother, I—” Looking up from underneath her shirt, Alana’s eyes rested on her grandmother’s vacant gaze. “Grandmother?”

  With a burning shoulder and a burning heart, she bent over and so
ftly kissed the old woman’s cheek. Hot tears escaped her eyes as uncontrollable sobs shook her entire body.

  Her grandmother was gone.

  Two

  Alana barely paid any attention to the droning of the attorney as he read her grandmother’s Last Will and Testament in his small, quiet office. She was the only one present at the reading, which didn’t surprise her, as neither she nor her grandmother had any family to speak of. With her grandmother gone, Alana was alone in the world.

  A few tears slipped through her firm countenance as she gazed out the window over the attorney’s shoulder. Her birthmark still ached from when her grandmother had touched it a week ago, and it frequently itched as well. But the itching was always the worst whenever she was close to Grandmother’s old mirror. How odd.

  “To my granddaughter I bequeath all my worldly goods, particularly my personal diaries located behind the loose brick in my fireplace, as well as my standing mirror, carved with dragons.”

  Once he was done reading, Alana sat up straighter in her chair.

  “Do you have any questions?” the man asked, pushing his small, round glasses higher up his nose.

  “Uh, no. No, I don’t.”

  The man nodded and smiled, closing the file on his desk. He stood and held out his hand. Alana stood as well and gave him a friendly handshake.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Capria.”

  “Thank you.”

  After hearing a few more words of condolence, Alana walked out of the attorney’s office and climbed into her car. Reaching for the box of tissues on the passenger seat, she wiped her eyes.

  The day of her grandmother’s funeral had been a hard one, with barely anyone present, other than old friends. Alana had taken two weeks off work to settle her grandmother’s affairs, and the reading of her will was one of the last things on her list. She knew she would most likely inherit the dragon mirror, but she hadn’t known her grandmother had private diaries.

  Starting her car, Alana sniffled and pulled out onto the road, heading for home. She was more than a little curious to find out what was written in her grandmother’s personal thoughts. She’d babbled on and on about some strange land known as Dragoran on her deathbed. Was it possible she might have written about it too?

  The thought disturbed Alana as she drove. Her grandmother had never spoken of Dragoran before, nor of Alana’s supposed betrothed, Rionshal-somebody. But thinking of the woman who’d raised her as being mentally unstable right before her death made Alana’s skin crawl.

  Pressing on the accelerator a little harder, she couldn’t wait to get home and read those diaries for herself.

  ~ * ~

  “Come on, Grandmother, help me out here!”

  Alana stood back from the large fireplace in the den with a scowl on her face. She’d tried just about every brick on its surface and she still hadn’t found the elusive “loose” brick. Staring at the fireplace in its entirety, she tried to find one that seemed odd or out of place. On the mantle, five blown-glass dragons sat proudly, two of them looking as if they would take to the air at any given moment, while one of them was curled up into a ball, as if sleeping. The other two looked evil, their wings wide, and Alana imagined them preparing to release their fiery breath. She’d remembered these figurines ever since her childhood, always on prominent display on Grandmother’s fireplace.

  The sleeping dragon was a bright gold, while the others were green, red, blue and black. Alana looked at the figurines closely, rubbing her birthmark. Perhaps her grandmother was trying to tell her something beyond the grave. She’d said Alana was born into the House of the Sun before she’d passed. Arching a brow, she lifted the tiny golden dragon off its brick in the mantle and tried to pry that brick loose.

  It slid easily into her hand.

  Her heart racing, Alana reached into the cubbyhole and pulled out two thick books. They appeared well-worn, and flipping through them, she recognized her grandmother’s handwriting.

  With a deep sigh, Alana replaced the brick and the glass dragon, then brought the books into her grandmother’s old bedroom. She sat on the bed and regarded her reflection in the standing mirror not too far away. Her birthmark itched once more and Alana couldn’t deny feeling drawn to the mirror. Ignoring the pull to get up and walk over to it, she cracked open the first book and read a few pages.

  What she found stunned her.

  Page after page contained thoughts, ponderings, and memories of this so-called land of Dragoran. Even dated as far back as when Alana was a mere child. Thumbing through the books, Alana learned the different houses of the dragon families. The House of Ice, the family her “betrothed” came from, were blue dragons. The House of Fire her grandmother had mentioned were evil reds, who’d once reigned on the throne. But each king had been a tyrant, and the House of Ice had finally conquered them over two thousand years ago.

  The other dragon houses were the House of Terra, the gentle greens, and the House of Night, crafty black dragons. Alana’s own parents had been green dragon shifters, from the House of Terra. Apparently, no one had been prepared for her to be born a golden dragon. Even her ‘grandmother’, a mere servant named Marinkalian in her parents’ household, was from the House of Terra.

  Glancing up from the diary, Alana gasped. Marinkalian? Her grandmother’s name had been Marin Kalian, but in her diary, she’d written it all together as one name. Reading further, she read about her own betrothal to the child Rionshalintaris, who was so very proud to be chosen as the Kindred of Alanacapria.

  With another gasp, Alana stood and set the book aside. Wandering into the master bathroom, she grabbed the cup near the sink and filled it from the faucet, then took a long swig. Her grandmother hadn’t written her name like that by accident. It was all one name. Just like grandmother’s…just like Rion’s.

  Alana’s entire body shook as she walked back into the bedroom. She refused to look at the standing mirror. Things were far too creepy.

  Determined to read the rest of the book, Alana sat on the bed once more and read about her parents’ murder. It had been suspected the House of Fire had killed them in an attempt to kidnap the infant from the House of the Sun, but that was never proven. In desperation, Marinkalian had used her powerful magics, bringing the baby to the Earth realm with a promise to Rion’s father, the King of Dragoran, she would bring Alana back when she was of age—twenty-two years old.

  Alana’s twenty-second birthday had been a mere four weeks ago.

  She swallowed hard when she came to the end of the books. Her grandmother had written her last entry right before she’d gotten deathly ill.

  “Alana, if you are reading this, then I am gone and was unable to uphold my promise to the King of Dragoran. You must send yourself back through the gateway, child. It works only for you. Merely stand before it and touch its surface with the palm of your right hand. Ask the gateway to take you to Rion, and you shall be transported.

  “I am not insane, child. You know me better than that. Trust me. If I am gone, there is nothing left to bind you to the Earth realm. Claim Rion as your Kindred. He is a loving dragon-shifter. He will take good care of you. I love you, sweetheart.”

  Alana closed the book as a strange tingling prickled her skin. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop the fresh tears from falling. Collapsing on the pillows behind her, she wept.

  Three

  It was dark when she opened her eyes. When had she fallen asleep? Alana couldn’t remember. Rising from the bed, she smoothed her bedraggled hair and shuffled into the kitchen. Her stomach growled violently. She needed food.

  The clock on the microwave read eleven-thirteen p.m. Digging in the fridge, Alana made a sandwich and poured some chips on her plate. The food was good, but she was too exhausted to care. Her grief over her grandmother’s obvious dementia threatened to shake her own sanity.

  Her dreams had been magical ones, of flying dragons and castles, brought on, no doubt, from reading those diaries. She had to l
ook away from the various draconic knickknacks everywhere, for fear she’d be inexplicably drawn to them.

  When her food was gone, she put the dish in the sink without washing it and made her way back to the master bedroom. It was empty—too empty—now that Grandmother was gone. Alana padded quietly to the dragon mirror. Whoever had carved the dragons into the wood had been a master. They curled around the glass as if trying to crawl to the top. She remembered all the times she used to stand before this very mirror, playing dress-up with her grandmother’s clothing.

  Amazingly, one memory from her childhood stood out. She remembered pretending this mirror was a door into another world, where she was a princess in a glorious palace. How strange. Her grandmother had claimed almost the same thing.

  Staring at herself, Alana noticed her red-rimmed eyes—the color of honey, as her grandmother used to say. Blonde hair fell just below her shoulders, and her waist was trim, but not too skinny. Pulling the collar of her shirt down, she glanced at the birthmark near her left shoulder. It seemed to be the same color as her eyes, a dark gold. It itched, but she refused to scratch it.

  Her grandmother had said she’d released the shifter in her.

  What the hell did that mean?

  Placing her right hand on the mirror, Alana felt the cool glass. How could this mirror possibly be a gateway? She trembled, silently wondering if her grandmother had been telling the truth.

  “All right, Grandmother,” she whispered under her breath. “I’ll humor you.”

  Wandering over to one of the diaries on the bed, she flipped through it until she found the full name of her “Kindred.”

  “Dear Lord, man, couldn’t you have had a simpler name?” She chuckled to herself and shook her head.

  Alana turned back to the mirror, once again placing her right hand upon it. Nothing was going to happen. All this talk of Dragoran was merely the ramblings of a lonely old woman. But this was what her grandmother had asked of her. It was the least Alana could do.