by Alisa Woods
But his duty was here.
He and his brothers, princes of the House of Smoke, existed for literally one purpose—to keep the mortal and immortal worlds apart, as they should be. For ten thousand years, a treaty between fae and dragonkind had protected the soft, delicate humans which dragons relied upon to perpetuate their species. For every dragon was born male—with very few exceptions, including his mother, the queen. Female dragons were so rare that no one was surprised when she mated with his father, the king. It was only right that she should mate with the most powerful dragon on the planet, descended from the original fae-and-dragon pairing that resulted in the treaty. And no one was shocked that out of such strong magic was born triplet princes, something so rare that it hadn’t happened in all of recorded memory. Normally, a dragon mated with a human female and produced a single, male dragonling. More often than not, the mother would be consumed in the process. Either with the sealing ceremony or the birth of the dragonling itself.
It was a horror that brought unwelcome memories.
Lucian swooped over the high-rises of downtown Seattle and circled out over the water, leaving those thoughts behind. In their place, he stretched his senses out to the city and all the living species it held, searching for rogue members of the House of Drakkon, but instead finding only the normal inhabitants. Humans and shifters, mostly wolves. Witches in their covens—he could smell and taste the blue spark of their magic. Witches and wolves may quarrel, but they were really cousins. He was only five hundred years old, but even he could remember the time when they were more like brothers and sisters than enemies. And not so different in their powers, as they were now. The witches used their spells to conjure longer lives, but they were still essentially mortal. Dragons had a foot in both worlds, mortal and immortal, and their lifetimes could stretch a thousand years or more, under the right circumstances.
A vapor of scent crossed his mind, bringing the taste of smoke and sulfur—the whiff of something immortal.
Lucian instinctively banked toward the scent, tracking it like the hunter he was. He dipped toward the concrete maze of the city, but his enhanced eyesight found the source before his fae senses. Nearly a mile away, down in an alleyway, a woman was fighting with a man twice her size. Lucian tucked his wings tighter, picking up speed. His senses flared, and if he were merely human, he wouldn’t have seen the flash of green eyes or the swish of reddish-brown hair or the press of rose-colored lips. His mind filled with her scents—soap-scrubbed skin and floral shampoo and the musty linen shirt clinging to her chest. His magic tasted all of her.
And she was kicking the shit out of her attacker.
Lucian checked his rocketing speed, confused. He scanned them both again—the smell of demon was on the man for certain. Was the woman a slayer? But he couldn’t taste angel on her, just a delicious human scent that wrenched his heart almost as much as the right hook she landed on the demon’s face. He reeled back into a dumpster, sending it askew.
Then she pulled a gun.
Holy mother of magic. Lucian dove again, tucking his wings tight for maximum speed. The man was demon, but she couldn’t know that, not if she were truly human. Her bullet wouldn’t kill him… but it might well and truly piss him off.
Lucian landed and uncloaked at the same time, conjuring clothes to cover his naked human form and stomping hard with black boots on the pavement between them. His golden wings shot out to break his fall, then tucked hard and fast to furl into his body and complete the transformation.
The woman gaped at him, and the crack of her gunfire shocked his ears. His shoulder caught the bullet she meant for her attacker, but it pinged away. He was just as bulletproof in human form as he was in dragon, the strength of his golden scales infusing his skin with powers normally reserved for a true immortal.
No, the bullet was not a concern. But the demon was.
He grabbed the man by the throat and threw him to the ground. Then Lucian knelt to press his large hand over the man’s gaping mouth, the one that would soon be screaming. The runes that controlled demons—another gift from his dark fae ancestry—wiggled in black lines down his arm, settling on the back of his hand. They gained power as they neared their target, and he could feel the magic pulsing from his hand into the man’s body, seeking out the demon. The man was only half monster, a fact that sent a shock of anger through Lucian’s body as the magic did its work.
A halfling? It was a violation of the treaty. This man shouldn’t exist, and he certainly shouldn’t be inside Seattle, attacking humans. Lucian’s magic sought out the man’s demon half and destroyed it.
The screaming was mercifully short.
The man slumped under his hand, the demon gone. What was left of his human half… only time would tell. At a minimum, his memories would be erased, and he would be left in a deep magical sleep. Whether he awoke or not remained to be seen.
Lucian stood and turned to the woman. She was a fighter—that much was clear—and she still gaped at him, watching with a horror that befit what had just happened before her eyes. All his senses were tingling for her, all his runes reshuffling on his body, urging him toward her. Before he could move, she grabbed at her stomach and slowly crumpled to the dirty floor of the alleyway, banging hard against the dumpster on her way down.
Oh no.
He dashed to her side and knelt.
With horror, he realized the bullet must’ve ricocheted and found its way through her body. He placed his hand on the growing stain of blood on her white linen shirt, which had an almost angelic glow in the moonlight. But she wasn’t angel—he was even more sure of that now that he was touching her. He couldn’t taste any metal in her body, either—the bullet must’ve gone through—but the hot stickiness against his palm echoed the sweet and salty taste of her blood in the back of his mind. He could taste many more things about her as well. That she’d been with very few men, but the ones she’d encountered had been dark. Monsters. There was an overwhelming pain reverberating through her that had nothing to do with the bullet wound. It was darkness… but she’d taken that darkness and worked it like a forge to craft something brighter. Made of light.
She was nobility among humans—he could see it in her actions, even if he hadn’t just tasted it in her soul.
But she was fading fast. Keeping one hand pressed to her wound, he shifted his other into a nightmare of talons. It was a testament to how far gone she was when the six-inch blades before her face didn’t make her flinch. He used the sharp tip to slice open his palm. The blood welled, red flecked with gold, glistening dark in the shadowed alleyway, and he pressed it to her wound. It should be enough to stave off the death that was circling her, waiting for a chance to land.
She was a treasure—he could see that as plain as day in this midnight alley—just as sure as he knew he couldn’t leave her here.
She might be the one. The whisper of it haunted him. She might be strong enough.
He would have to seduce her. Convince her to love him. But he wouldn’t make the mistake of loving her in return, as he had with Cora. His heart. And if this woman survived, he wouldn’t have to carry the guilt of what he had done. She would have riches beyond imagining, including a long life and anything else she desired.
It would be a fair trade.
She roused a little with the infusion of his blood, but her eyes were still glazed. He scooped her into his arms and lifted her from the dirt. A phone in her pocket was quickly freed. He dialed 9-1-1 and tossed the device on the man’s inert body. They would come for him. But she would no longer be here. He shifted again, letting the gold expanse of his wings spread behind him as he gripped her in his talons and lifted into the air.
He was taking this treasure back to his lair.
She was flying.
Gripped in the arms of a golden-winged creature—an angel—and soaring over mountains that reflected the moonlight above.
She was falling…
Arabella awoke with a start. She sat up, gaspi
ng, dizziness flooding her brain. She was on a couch with fabric soft as butter in a vast light-filled room. The windows stretched two stories tall and covered an entire wall, giving a view of the mountains as though she were perched on top of them. The room was gorgeously decorated, like something out of a magazine. The couch formed a wide half circle twenty feet across. Natural wood floors sparkled beneath it. To her left was a white spiral staircase with a twisted metal railing. Near that, a rock sculpture carved from pure sandstone stood as tall as a man. The chairs, the couches, the spare adornments… all of it screamed money.
“Good. You’re awake.” The deep rumbling male voice made her nearly jump out of her skin.
A man appeared around the corner of the couch to her left, striding toward her.
All she could think was, holy shit, I’ve been kidnapped. Her body reacted before her mind could fully grasp what was happening. She launched herself off the cushions and ran at him, hoping to take him off guard. His eyes widened and flashed gold—no that wasn’t possible—but her flying kick was aiming straight for his solar plexus in spite of him being a mountain of a man. But instead of knocking him back when her feet jammed into his body, he moved lightning fast and caught her by the calf, yanking her toward him. She ended up trapped, mashed against his massive chest. He pulled her leg over his hip with one hand and wrapped his other arm around her back, locking her against him.
She struggled for only a split second before realizing the utter futility of that. His arms were bands of iron, pinning her to him. But he wasn’t hurting her… yet.
“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered, peering down into her face. “I’m not going to harm you.”
They always say that. But they lie.
Her heart pounded, and her mind raced, searching for the right thing to say. The thing to keep her alive. But her brain was annoyingly overwhelmed by the extreme maleness of him—cut jaw, broad shoulders, hard-muscled chest. His light amber eyes were blazing down at her. He was easily the most gorgeous man she’d ever been pressed against, and her body betrayed her by responding to him, so close and so hot.
That only welled up anger inside her. “Let me go.” Her words were half whisper, half shudder at his overwhelming sexual presence.
He released her, but it was slow and lingering, fingers dragging across her skin and body before they lifted free. He smelled insanely good—musky and rich and smoky, like a woodland fire burning in the distance. His black hair was tousled like he had just gotten out of bed, and there were little flecks of gold in his blazing eyes—that must’ve been what she saw before by some trick of light.
He stepped back, and the shine in his eyes dimmed. “I saved you. The alley? Do you remember?”
A shuddering wave swept over her body, raising her small hairs in goosebumps. She remembered. But she had been dreaming, right? Surely a man had not landed in the alley on golden wings and knocked out her attacker. She had not actually flown over the mountains, carried by an angel. But the view out the windows drew her gaze like a sharp rebuke to her doubts. And her grip on reality. What kidnapper owns a penthouse apartment in the mountains? And where was she? Seattle was nowhere to be seen.
“What is this place?” she asked. “I saw… I remember, from the alley…” Then she really remembered. She had been shot. A quick look down showed her shirt to be covered with blood. She lifted it, but there was no wound, no pain, just a small, white scar that hadn’t been there before.
“You were attacked by a demon,” the man said. His arms had fallen to his sides, and he watched her, intensely, but didn’t move a muscle.
“A what?”
“I healed you. With my own blood.”
She took a step back from him, eyes wide. Then another. She remembered him touching her… the pain fading… She swallowed. “What are you?”
His shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch, but she felt the weight of the disappointment that dragged them down. “A monster,” he said.
Her heart kicked up a notch again. “What are you saying?”
Instead of answering he transformed. Into an enormous golden dragon. She stumbled backward, legs banging against the couch, then she grasped onto it and stared at the beast in horror. There was an honest-to-God dragon standing before her. He reached halfway to the two-story ceiling with golden wings that stretched the span of the great room. His scales glinted in the morning sun and cast a hazy glow around the room. He had four legs that were tipped in golden talons, and a long neck that ended in an elongated face with razor-sharp white teeth. His eyes had turned to gold like the rest of him.
She scuttled backward and hid behind the couch. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed them, praying that she was hallucinating. But when she forced them open again, the dragon was still there, head cocked, staring intently at her. His great chest moved like articulated brass. His long tail flicked back and forth, fanning slightly with the small wings at the tip. His great wings were still outstretched. As she watched, they furled in, like massive golden sails folding. As soon as they were tucked to his back, the dragon transformed back into a man. For a brief instant, he was naked, and the full glory of his body was laid bare to her. But then clothes appeared and covered him—black boots half way up his muscular calves, loose black pants that cinched tight at the waist, and a long-sleeved hoodie that looked like something out of the Middle Ages. It was black and billowed around his face. He pushed it back and dropped his hands to his sides again.
“What the hell was that?” Her voice shook, but she slowly stood up from behind the couch.
“You should know what I am. And who I am.” His voice was smooth and controlled, resonating with power. She could almost imagine it was how a dragon would sound—if dragons existed. And spoke.
She was losing her mind. “And who is that?”
“I am Lucian Smoke, Dragon Prince of the House of Smoke.”
“Okay.” The evidence was before her eyes, and she liked to think she was a logical person, but this just didn’t make sense. Of course, she knew shifters existed—it was all over the news. In the darker corners of downtown where she worked, she knew the shifter gangs were a real thing. She’d heard rumors of witches as well. But never so much as a hint of dragons. And with all the shifter drama in the news, how could no one know? It wasn’t like no one would notice. But she’d only ever heard of wolf shifters. No dragons.
He was taking slow, measured steps toward her. They still had the couch between them, but she knew that was ridiculous. The man was insanely strong, and that didn’t include the dragon part.
“I’m a dragon shifter.” His honey amber eyes were scanning her face. “And you are a lawyer, Arabella Sharp.”
She frowned and took another step back. “You’re stalking me. And apparently kidnapping me.” She threw another glance at the window, trying to estimate if there were any escape from all of this. But she was miles and miles from anywhere, as far as she could tell.
There was a small hint of a smile on the man’s face. Lucian. His name was Lucian. “My dragon blood saved your life, but you needed time to recover fully. I brought you here because it was safe.”
Arabella finally realized she must’ve been here for some time. When she was attacked—and when this gorgeous man/angel/dragon shifter saved her—it had been well into the night.
“How do you know who I am?”
The smile on his face grew from a hint to an actual smirk. “I know how to use Google.”
She gawked. Not the answer she expected. “So while I was… recovering… you were checking me out. Online.”
His smirk faded. “Indeed. I suspect the man who was attacking you in the alley was related in some way to one of your clients?”
“He was an ex-boyfriend who didn’t like the restraining order I had issued against him.” She narrowed her eyes. “But you called him a demon.”
“He was also that.” Lucian sighed. “You’re an attorney who helps women with domestic abuse cases. That’s dangerous wor
k. You should have better security.”
She lifted her chin. “I can take care of myself.”
The hint of humor was back. “Obviously.” Small lines formed at the corners of his eyes. God, he was beautiful. The smell of him reached her again, now that he was closer. Her body reacted, wanting to close the gap even more. Wanting to run her fingertips over those small lines and see what he tasted like.
She blinked and gripped the couch between them. What was she doing? Lusting after this man who obviously saw no problem with whisking her away to his mountain retreat? Maybe he did save her life somehow, miraculously—she remembered the blood and the gaping wound where there was only a small scar now—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. Maybe he was a shifter, a secret kind. A dragon from the House of Whatever. But it wasn’t like he was born yesterday. She couldn’t tell his age—he was timeless and perfect and gorgeous. And seductive. Just the kind of man that had sucked her into his world before…
He was watching her, curious but unhurried. “Even someone like you would have a hard time defeating a demon on her own.”
“Demon?” All right, she’d had enough of this shit. This man was straight-up crazy, which was made even worse by the fact that he was a massive dragon. But he was definitely nothing she needed to go running her tongue across. What she needed was to get the hell out of there. “Okay, dragon prince from the House of Fire—”
“House of Smoke.” The humor seemed to have fled.
“House of Smoke,” she repeated. “Thank you for saving my life. So… I’m free to go, right?”
“No.”
Her heart spasmed. Oh God, he was keeping her. And probably killing her. Saving her life just so that he could do horrible things to her.
