by Alisa Woods
“No touching,” Lucian practically growled at his brother. “And no talking, either. Guard her with your life, Leonidas. Any harm comes to her, and I’ll take it out of you, one scale at a time.”
Leonidas’s blue-eyed gaze never left her. “Of course.” He smirked, stepped inside the doorway, then finally glanced at Lucian. “Zephan’s waiting for you outside the wards.”
Lucian’s eyes narrowed, but he just slipped out the door without a word and palmed it closed from some control outside.
She was alone with Leonidas.
“Well, well, well,” he said, looking her over. If the once-over he gave her before was an appraisal, this one felt like she had suddenly been stripped of her clothes, and he was already tasting her, one nibble at a time.
“Well, what?” she asked sharply. “Like what you see?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Ah… the strong ones are always the best.” His tongue visited his bottom lip, tasting it as though he were imagining tasting her.
She’d met a dozen men like him. Maybe not all insanely hot look-alikes to Lucian, but all with that same lascivious appraisal for any woman within sight. Like she was just a thing for him to take to bed. Or bend to his will in some way. She felt the hovering presence of Lucian all around her, giving her some measure of protection in his lair. Surely his brother wouldn’t try anything in Lucian’s own apartment… but if he did, she’d be putting up a serious fight. Not that she’d win against a dragon—she wasn’t an idiot—but she’d leave some blood smears for his trouble, even if they were her own.
Her fists curled up. “Just try me, pal.”
His smirk grew into a smile. “Not on your life, Princess. I value my own.” And with that, he strode toward the great room, not even glancing back. “But we have so much to talk about.”
Lucian practically sprinted to the central meeting room of the keep.
Tension itched down his back every step he moved away from Arabella. Especially given he was leaving her in the hands of Leonidas. Not that Lucian believed for one second that his brother would try to bed Arabella. Not only did he know Lucian would tear him apart—one dragon infringing on another’s treasure was more than enough justification for a battle to the death, brotherhood notwithstanding—but Leonidas had every motivation to help Lucian succeed in finding a mate and uphold the treaty. No, the agitation Lucian felt animating his legs to go faster and get this business with Zephan over with came from an entirely different place, one that unsettled him the more he thought about it.
He didn’t like being separated from her.
Sitting next to her on the bed, flirting hard with her while playing it cool, and trying not to actually ravage her body, had taken more restraint than he expected. And the arousal rolling off her in waves had almost undone him. If he were successful in seducing her, he would, of course, be bedding her along the way. The right time and the right place were the only questions. But this nervous twitch, this need to be back in her presence, sweetly tormented by her attraction to him, her succumbing to his dragon pheromones… that was dangerous for him.
He needed her to want him.
He did not need to desire her in return.
Lucian reached the meeting room, striding past the assemblage of couches and toward the large circular table that was inscribed with the same dragon symbol he and his brothers had etched in their skin nearly from the moment of their birth. The other dragons who joined the House of Smoke from one clan or another gained theirs when they pledged fealty to the king and queen.
His brother, Leksander, was already at the meeting room, hands braced against the table, scowling at the dragon emblem of their House.
“Leonidas says we have company,” Lucian said, dragging his brother’s attention from his brooding. “What do we know?”
Leksander scowled at the dragon for a moment longer then peered at him with his ice blue eyes. The runes on his neck were twitching—the fae was strongest in him of the three brothers. He was the picture of the halfling progenitor of their House, the original son of the Queen of the Summer Court and the King of the Dragon Houses whose portrait still hung in the royal couple’s lair. Leksander sometimes seemed more fae than dragon, possessing more rounded cheeks of his great, great, ten-times-over fae grandmother. It made him exceptional at controlling demons, which was one reason why Lucian sent him out to search for those that might be haunting Seattle. It also might be why his brother was obsessed with a certain angeling. It was, at times, hard to tell the fae from the fallen—they were less different than they pretended, in spite of being enemies.
“We know that Zephan is annoyed,” Leksander answered, straightening up. He ran a hand through his short-cut hair. “And we know there are more demons in Seattle than there should be.”
Lucian snarled. “Halflings? Or full-blooded demons? What are we dealing with here?”
Leksander shook his head and dropped his gaze back to the dragon emblem, tapping it absently with one finger. “Only halflings, as far as I could detect. I’m not sure what to make of it. As soon as I would catch a whiff, it was gone. As if they were there one moment and then banished the next.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know,” Leksander said. “But the fae have all manner of magic of which we have no knowledge whatsoever. I would put nothing past them in terms of trickery, and they are an insidious lot. This could be something in the planning for many decades. Or it could be some lark they dreamed up days ago.”
“I don’t recall ever sensing demon in the city, even before the troubles.”
Leksander gave him an indulgent look. “Neither do I and yet I spend no time in the human realm. Or as little as possible. And you spend even less, my brother.”
Lucian scowled. He was used to taking crap from Leonidas—but he and Leksander had a mutual agreement, unspoken but holding for decades, to not mention each other’s respective obsessions. Leksander for a woman he can never have, and Lucian for the one he lost. “Well, even our extremely promiscuous brother, who likes to dip into the human female population with astounding regularity, claims he has never encountered demons in Seattle.”
“With his nose buried in female charms, do you really expect him to scent a demon?”
He had a point. “Still, I suspect this is a new phenomenon. What manner of demons did you find? Mine was destroyed in the heat of the moment before I could think to sense its class.”
“That’s unfortunate.” But Leksander didn’t seem overly critical about it. “The scents I followed during my patrol were not strong enough to get a good read. Just soot and sulfur and a sense of the dark arts that conjured them. They had the stink of fae, that’s all I know.”
“Well, then, we’ll simply call Zephan to account for it.”
Leksander snorted—as if calling the fae to account for anything was simple—but he nodded his agreement. Lucian flicked his fingers toward control panel on the wall, sending a tiny spell of activation. The broad circular light panel that shone down on the meeting table slid back into a recessed panel in the ceiling, and the portal opened above them. It was one of the many strategic access points in the keep, ways for the dragons of the House of Smoke to easily enter and leave, en masse.
The keep itself contained state-of-the-art living quarters for those who dwelled within it, but there was no need for embattlements or thick concrete walls, like the original thousands-year-old keep into which Leksander and Leonidas and Lucian had been born, five centuries ago in the heart of France, not far from Paris. Back then, demon hauntings were much more frequent. Although the treaty was in place, the remnants of the pre-treaty times lingered in the form of creatures who still haunted the dank forests and countrysides of that time. The judicious use of slayers—angel hybrids bred specifically for the purpose of hunting demons—over time had all but eradicated the demon population among humans. Occasionally, in the far untouched reaches of the planet, a demon might yet live. But humanity had expanded at a great unfolding rate,
their population swelling to fill the planet’s landmasses. There were few realms that were untouched by human feet in the mortal world. And demons had in turn been driven out.
So this resurgence of demons in a metropolitan city like Seattle… it was practically unheard of in modern times. And troubling.
The keep wasn’t hardened against demon hordes. When they’d relocated a hundred years ago to the remote, at that time, mountains outside Seattle, it no longer needed the stalwart, stone-walled construction. Since then, they’d refreshed the keep every few years with the latest, greatest, and most opulent treasure that could be acquired by human technology or magical means. As for protection, the king and queen were no fools—they used wards to keep out any immortals who were not expressly invited.
And Zephan, reigning prince of the Winter Court, would never be one of those.
Lucian and Leksander both shifted and rose through the portal that opened in the ceiling. The sun was still bright, reminding Lucian of the sweet agony of the ride he had given Arabella around his home. He flew hard to drive those thoughts away, keeping pace with Leksander as they winged their way toward a very specific rocky ledge carved into the mountains surrounding the keep. The ledge served as a calling station for anyone who wished to pay a visit—fae, angels, dragons of another House, or any creature of the immortal realm. It was just outside the perimeter warning system, serving as the front door for the keep at several miles away. With his dragon’s eyes, Lucian could easily see Zephan’s slender form pacing the narrow, rocky lip of the station.
A smile stretched Lucian’s lips. He took pleasure in making the dark fae wait. As soon as Zephan caught sight of them, he stopped pacing and held rigidly still. Lucian and Leksander glided to alight at the very edge, as far from the fae prince as they could be while still standing on the ledge. The fae race generally traveled through magical doors—portals through which they manipulated space, squeezing it to nothing between two spots on the planet—but the treaty had exacting standards that pointed out how close to the keep the portal could reside. This shelf of rock was within feet of that treaty-defined perimeter. The fae were nothing if not precise in fulfilling the terms of a contract.
Zephan glared at them with ice clear eyes that had only a hint of blue. He acted as though Leksander and Lucian were causing him some horrible inconvenience, but he still possessed the cool demeanor typical of the Winter Court. He and his brother folded their wings and shifted to human. The runes on Zephan’s face writhed with the nearness of his dragon foes, especially the Summer Court blood that Lucian and Leksander carried. Zephan’s long dark hair lifted slightly in the breeze, providing a strangely soft contrast to the sharp features of his face. And there were those damned pointed ears, reminding Lucian that the fae, while appearing human, were nothing of the sort.
“How is the Winter Court?” Lucian asked him. “You needn’t travel all this way to say hello—a simple email would do.” The treaty didn’t keep the fae separate from the mortal world—strictly speaking, it only required non-interference—so if a fae wished to don glamour and masquerade as human, nothing would prevent it. They merely were prohibited from killing humans or otherwise interfering with the natural progression of their lives. Lucian had his own reasons for keeping separate from humans most of the time, but he meant what he said to Arabella about being a guardian. His whole purpose in life was essentially to protect humanity. Perhaps originally, the treaty was born of the need to protect human stock for procreation with dragons, to perpetuate of the species, but every dragon loved humanity in a way that was more literal for some—like Leonidas—and more altruistic for others. Leksander loved them from afar. Lucian felt the inherent need to protect them. But the fae—they prided themselves on their separation from the mortal world. And their loathing for it.
The disdain on Zephan’s face couldn’t be more clear. “If I wished to send you a message, trust me, you would receive it.”
The fae were such assholes. “Have you lost a demon or two?” Lucian asked. “I killed one last night.”
“Did you? How unfortunate. You could’ve simply turned it back over to me.” Zephan’s apparent disinterest in the topic meant nothing. The fae were cold, calculating, and ambitious… and Zephan, with his facial runes identifying him as part of the Winter Court, was the prototypical example of a ruthless fae who would do or say anything to achieve his aims. Not that the fae could lie—not technically, anyway—but they were master manipulators. Not a word out of their mouths could be trusted, and their code of honor extended only to the exact letter of the law.
Or, in this case, treaty.
“This demon was half human,” Lucian said. “I’ll not be turning such a pitiful creature over to likes ofyou.” He didn’t know what the fae did with their demons—their dark arts brought them into existence, and just like Lucian’s fae runes, they could dispel them as well. They could conjure whatever demons they liked to serve them at court, but sending them out into the mortal world was strictly forbidden by the treaty. Lucian had no love for the predators who existed among the human population, whether demon halflings or not, but the fae took ruthlessness to a level that would shame the darkest human heart. Under no circumstances would he turn over something even half human to them.
Zephan snorted, his disgust thick in the air. “Well, I can’t be accountable for some stray half demon showing up in your little human city. Our treaty clearly states that we will keep demons in abeyance and out of the mortal realm. There is no mention of halflings. I have no responsibility for that whatsoever.”
“How the hell do you think a halfling is made, Zephan?” Leksander asked. In spite of their fae heritage, Lucian had a dragon’s proper level of loathing for the fae; Leksander took his to another level. Lucian sometimes suspected the reason his brother was so drawn to angels, the fae’s natural enemy, was precisely because he loathed the fae within himself.
Zephan waved away Leksander’s accusation. “Who knows what you found roaming the streets of Seattle. That is none of my concern. It could simply be a leftover of some small cell of rogue demons hiding away and making their appearance only now.”
That explanation was so patently ridiculous, Leksander snarled at the insult.
The sound set Zephan’s runes twitching, the magic roiling under his skin. “Or,” he said archly, “the humans and their technology have advanced to the point of creating demons. Perhaps in a test tube. I hear that is a thing now.”
Lucian’s eyes narrowed. How much did the fae know about the human world? How much did they know about anything? He had often wondered at their ability to know things they couldn’t possibly have access to as if they had some magical spying ability he was unaware of. The fae were far more a mystery than a known quantity.
“Perhaps the Summer Court is involved,” Leksander said, coolly.
Lucian shot him a glance. Those were fighting words. Why was he trying to rile up dissent between the courts? That could only cause trouble for the House of Smoke trying to keep the peace. Besides, Leksander knew the Summer Court didn’t traffic in demons, even in ancient times.
Zephan pulled a face at that insult. Which was a genuine accomplishment on Leksander’s part. “As if the Summer Court could do anything so subtle as conjure a demon that could escape your notice for the better part of three centuries.”
Lucian narrowed his eyes. Was the fae prince bragging now? “What the hell, Zephan? Are you admitting you’re in violation of—”
Zephan’s eyes flashed, and a pulse of magical energy stronger than anything Lucian could generate emanated from the fae—a wave that nearly knocked Leksander from the ledge. “I am in violation of nothing.”
“Fuck, Zephan,” Leksander muttered as he shifted to claws to keep hold of the narrow ledge.
“A little touchy on that subject, are we?” Lucian asked. The fae were never more dangerous than when they were possibly being caught out on something.
“You forget your place, dragon.” But Zephan
was regaining his icy fae coolness. “It’s best that you have an occasional reminder.”
Lucian didn’t need a reminder that the fae were far more powerful in magic than dragons could ever dream of commanding. It was the fae blood which ran through his veins that gave him any powers at all, beyond common dragon magic. It was the treaty, and the treaty alone, that kept the fae from running roughshod over the mortal world.
“Is that why you’re here?” Leksander asked. “To remind us of our place?”
“In fact, I came because I hear you have a new human lover, Lucian.” Zephan’s eyes drilled into him, and that icy coldness flushed straight to his core.
“Word travels fast.” How the fuck did Zephan know about Arabella? Lucian steeled himself from throwing a glance at his brother. He knew Leksander would never breathe a word of anything to the fae. Ever. Under any circumstances. That left Leonidas, but Lucian couldn’t imagine his more loose-tongued brother blasting out information about Lucian’s bed partners to the Winter Court. Not to mention Arabella hadn’t even made it into his bed. Well, at least not for the kind of activity his lusty dragon side desired.
Which only made him think that perhaps the demon he destroyed actually had been part of the Winter Court. Had it somehow communicated with its fae master before its demise?
“Lucian’s lovers are none of your concern,” Leksander threw out, making Lucian cringe.
Because of course, that wasn’t true at all.
“Is that so?” Zephan asked, his icy stare still trained on Lucian. “Because if you’re on the cusp of renewing the treaty for another five hundred years, well, that interests me very much. It would be a shame, my dear prince, to have another tragic loss in the House of Smoke. You don’t have much luck with mates, do you?”
