Dragon's Fire: A Reverse Harem Romance

by Lili Zander

  “Let’s just get this done.”

  5

  Rhys

  “I cannot believe you’re going out.” Bastian eyes me with exasperation. “Have you not heard a single word I said?”

  “All of them.” I roll my eyes at my friend. Bastian is wound so fucking tight that if he’s not careful, he’s going to start shitting diamonds. Life is going to pass him by, and he won’t even know it. “But I’m in New York. It was a long flight, and there’s a great Norm bar not too far from here.” I grin in anticipation. “I love Norm girls. So perfectly good on the outside, so deliciously wicked once they lose their inhibitions.”

  “Magic is leaching out of all of us, and you’re hunting for pussy?”

  Erik snorts. “There’s something reassuring about your shallowness, buddy. The end of the world is here, and you want to get laid.”

  I stare out of the floor-to-ceiling window at the city spread below us. It’s dark, and Manhattan looks like golden treasure, bright and sparkling. The park is darker. The zoo is probably still open, since it’s lit up. Not that any of us can step into a zoo without spooking the animals. Dragon magic is powerful, and we can hide our essence from shifters and Norms, but true animals can always sense their predators.

  We’ve owned this penthouse for the last nine years. It takes up the entire floor and has nearly tripled in value since we bought it. Not surprising. Dragons know treasure.

  “We are dragon princes,” I point out to the others. “There’s always something to worry about.”

  To my surprise, Casius comes to my rescue. “Rhys is right,” he says. “We’re doing everything we can. I’ve lost count of how many parties we’ve thrown in the last five years. We’re going to find our mates, and we’re going to break the curse. We must have faith.”

  Bastian nods but doesn’t look convinced. He blames himself for Gideon’s curse. A night of drinking would do him good. “Come on, mate,” I tell him. “Let’s go get pissed.”

  He shakes his head, but Mateo, who’s been silent so far, tosses back his drink and gets to his feet. “I’ll go,” he says. “Someone has to keep Rhys out of trouble, after all.”

  6

  Aria

  Two hours later, I’m sitting at the bar in Cellar, nursing my overpriced cocktail while Bea is flirting her pants off with Jesse.

  The small dance floor is packed. Cellar isn’t really a dance club, more a mix of trendy lounge and dive bar. This is one of Silas’ old haunts. Under his careful eye, I picked my first pocket here, a young man who’d had too much to drink.

  Things are different now. Pete Solomon retired and sold the bar, and the new owner tried to cater to a younger crowd, thinking it would infuse new blood into the business. It’s worked to a certain extent. Cellar is an eclectic mix of old-timers and young investment bankers with more money than sense.

  My palms itch to relieve them of their wallets, but, remembering my promise to Silas, I stay put and people-watch. It’s loud and noisy and too crowded, and I think longingly of my bed.

  I don’t know why I let Bea drag me out like this.

  “Aria Archer?”

  A menacing figure settles onto the barstool next to me. I turn around, raising an eyebrow but not giving him any other acknowledgment. Even seated, I can tell he’s tall, at least six five. His shoulders are wide, and as Silas would say, he’s built like a brick shithouse. He’s bald, and he’s got a scary-looking wolf tattooed on his neck.

  Shifter. I’d bet my life on it. What’s he doing in Cellar? Norms and shifters don’t tend to mix.

  His tone turns impatient. “You are Aria Archer, are you not?”

  “My mother taught me not to talk to strangers,” I say flippantly, taking another sip of my drink. Gah. It’s too sweet. Should have known better than to order the pink cocktail. Should’ve stuck to wine.

  “No, she didn’t,” he replies calmly. “Your mother abandoned you when you were two. After that, you bounced around from one foster home to another, until you ran away when you were eleven.” He smiles humorlessly. “When you were fourteen, Silas Archer took you under his wing and taught you how to steal. You became quite good at it.” He takes a long drink from his bottle of beer and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Speaking of Silas, how is he doing? Those plasma infusions aren’t cheap, are they?”

  I go extremely still. Very few people know about my thieving, and even fewer people know about Silas’ illness. Each word hits me like a dagger, but I stay expressionless. I can’t let him see that I’m rattled. “Do you want a cookie for doing your research?”

  His lips twitch, but he catches himself. Score one for me knocking him off his game. “Come with me.”

  Bad idea, Aria. Really bad idea.

  I slide off my barstool, drink in hand, and follow him down a dim corridor. At the end of the hallway is the men’s washroom. A guy comes out as we get there, his fly unzipped and his footsteps unsteady. Tall, Dark, and Deadly waits until he’s out of sight before turning to me. “My boss wants a word,” he says. “He’s got a job for you.”

  Should have guessed.

  “I’m not interested,” I reply. “Your boss is just going to have to keep on wanting.” I turn back to head to the bar, and he places his hand on my shoulder.

  “I think you’ll want to hear what he has to say—”

  I cut him off before he can tell me more. I promised Silas. “Look, I don’t know what your deal is or who your boss thinks he is, but I’m out of the game. You’ll have to find someone else.”

  “Even if he is willing to pay for those pricey treatments Archer needs?”

  I tense at his words. Damn it. It’s the ethical dilemma I’ve been grappling with. Save Silas by breaking my promise to him, or keep my word and watch him waste away? The last six months have been painful. Brutal. The bills are piling up faster than my shitty job can pay for… Should I take the bait?

  I turn narrowed eyes on him, assessing him more closely. Cruel dark eyes, hard jaw. A predator, one my instincts are warning me to stay away from.

  He still hasn’t let go of me. His fingers continue to dig into my flesh, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of squirming away. Can I take him? I doubt it. He’s two-hundred-and-fifty pounds of shifter, and I’m Norm.

  “I see that’s got your attention.” He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out a business card from his wallet. “When you’re ready to talk, call the number.”

  Hang on. What the hell am I doing? If I’m going to break my promise to Silas, there are plenty of Norms I can steal from. This time last year, a panther almost took a chunk out of me at MagLab. I still have the scar he gave me. Shifters are trouble. “Sorry.” I twist away from his grasp. “Like I said, I’m really not interested.”

  His hands clench into fists, and I brace myself for trouble. Then two men turn the corner and see Tall, Dark, and Deadly looming over me. “Hey,” one of them calls out. “What the hell are you doing? Leave the girl alone.”

  My would-be attacker takes a look at the two tall men and seems to decide against picking a fight. He tucks the card into my jeans pocket and saunters away. “She’s a bit tipsy, that’s all,” he says to the men as he passes them. “I was just steadying her.”

  Sure, buddy. Sure you were.

  My knees feel a little weak as my rescuers draw closer. “Are you okay, love?” one of them asks.

  His accent is British, maybe Welsh? His long dark hair is pulled back in a man-bun. It’s not a look I’m typically drawn to, but he totally pulls it off. Or maybe that’s the effect of the chocolate brown eyes, the sexy-as-sin stubble, and the panty-melting accent.

  I don’t like most people, but I’m happy to make an exception here. I don’t know why, but I find British accents impossibly sexy.

  His friend is just as hot. He’s tall and more muscled, and his eyes are a piercing shade of blue. “Do you need a drink of water?” he asks.

  Aria, you’re gaping. Say something. Any
thing. They’re going to think you’re a gibbering idiot.

  “I’m fine,” I mutter, my cheeks heating under their scrutiny. “Just a little shaken.”

  Their faces darken. “He was bothering you,” Blue-Eyes says grimly. “I’ll make him regret it.”

  The business card pokes into my hip. I can’t let them chase my assailant. Partly because they’ll get the snot kicked out of them—Tall, Dark, and Deadly is a shifter, and these two guys, while very nicely muscled, are Norm—and partly because if I can’t find another way to make money fast, I might need to call that number.

  “I’m fine,” I repeat, with more conviction in my voice. “Really.” I smile up at my two rescuers. So gorgeous, and so out of my league. “Thank you for your help.”

  I wait until I’m back at the bar before I fish the business card out of my pocket. It’s matte black with nothing except a number on it, embossed in silver.

  Talk about pretentious.

  Bea plops onto the stool next to me. “Where were you? I looked for you a few minutes ago and couldn’t find you.”

  I slip the card back into my pocket. “Bathroom,” I reply, feeling a twinge of guilt as I lie to my best friend. But it’s better this way. Beatrice doesn’t need to know about my secret life. Before she can question me further, I change the subject. “How’s Jesse?”

  It works. She smiles salaciously toward the other end of the bar, where the object of her affection is sipping a beer and doing his best to pretend he isn’t staring at my friend. “I’m still working on him, but I think he’s up for a little spelunking.”

  “Spelunking?”

  “In my lady-cave, duh.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Or persistent,” she says ruefully.

  Judging from the covert looks Jesse’s sending Bea, it’s only a matter of time.

  The music changes and the vibe of the bar changes with it. The deejay has taken over. The crowd on the dance floor erupts in cheers as a deep, pulsing beat flows through the speakers. “Come on,” Bea shouts over the noise. “Let’s dance.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but she doesn’t give me the chance. Grabbing my arm, she tugs me off the stool and pulls me onto the dance floor. I roll my eyes and decide to go with the flow. When Bea gets like this, it’s easiest to just give in, and maybe a little dance therapy will help me forget about the business card that’s burning a hole in my jeans pocket.

  Bea and I find a familiar routine, dancing around each other. The deejay is good. Each song seamlessly flowing into the next, and the beat is irresistible. My hips sway, and my arms lift over my head as I lose myself in the music. My eyes fall closed, and I can feel the stress I’ve been carrying around taking a backseat. At least for now.

  After a couple of songs, Bea points at the bar and mimes getting a drink. I nod and move to follow her when a voice rumbles against my ear. “Dance with us, love.”

  It’s Sexy British Guy.

  Bea’s eyes widen, and she smiles from ear to ear, giving me a not-too-discreet thumbs up. Real subtle, Bea. Thanks a lot.

  Piercing-Blue-Eyes steps in front of me, a smile on his lips. “Yes, dance with us, pretty girl.”

  His ocean-blue eyes rake over my body from head to toe, lingering on my curves. Heat pools in my belly at his slow inspection. I didn’t think instalust was a thing… Until now.

  “I’m Mateo,” Piercing-Blue-Eyes says, bending his head and whispering the words into my ear. “And my Welsh friend is Rhys.”

  Rhys. Mateo. Even their names are sexy.

  “I’m Aria.”

  “Aria,” Rhys repeats, my name sounding way hotter when he says it with his Welsh accent. He puts his hand on my hip, and I stay where I am, making no effort to pull away. They’re Norm, and I’m absolutely positive I can take them, except I don’t want to.

  With a warm chuckle, Rhys pulls me against his chest. Piercing-Blue-Eyes—Mateo—gives me a wicked smile before closing in.

  Okay. I’m not bad looking, I know. Bea keeps telling me that if I put in a little effort, I’d be a total hottie. Of course, she’s my best friend. She’s supposed to say that.

  I’ve had a couple of boyfriends, but nothing serious. Most Norms avoid shifters and living as I do with Silas, I’ve never quite fit in.

  Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, and it’s a little surreal.

  Before I’ve made the conscious decision to dance with the men, my body is sandwiched between two hard bodies. The beat pulses in my blood. Every time their hands graze my body, a spark is lit. Every time Rhys whispers something into my ear, my insides throb with need. Every time Mateo’s eyes rest on me, desire unlike anything I’ve ever known overwhelms my better judgment.

  One dance.

  It’s past midnight. Cinderella is going to turn into a pumpkin, any moment now. This isn’t real life. This is some kind of fantasy, and I would be wise to remember it.

  Yet I inch closer to them, my body sending a very different message. One they receive.

  Two sets of hands roam over my curves. Two sets of lips whisper dirty promises. Two devastatingly handsome men make me forget that we are surrounded by people.

  Until a drunken frat-boy crashes into us, nearly knocking me to the ground.

  Rhys pulls me against his chest protectively. “You okay, love?”

  His voice sends shivers down my spine. My nipples harden and my core clenches. How can three small words have such a massive impact on my body?

  Welsh accent. I’m a sucker for it.

  “Yeah… I’m… uh…” I take a half step away, shaking my head to clear some of the fog. I have to get away from these guys before all of my brain cells are toast. “I need to go find my Bea. I mean… my friend Bea.” That sounds legit, right?

  Mateo has finally disentangled himself from the frat boy. He moves closer to me, his big hand cupping my cheek as he looks down at me with heated eyes. “Your friend is occupied.” He inclines his head toward the bar, where Bea is flirting with Jesse.

  After all the work she’s put into getting her lady-cave serviced by Jesse, it would be a major bestie foul to interrupt now.

  But staying with these two is just asking for trouble.

  In my defense, I’d like to say that I had every intention of walking away. I was going to hide in the bathroom. Or bail from Cellar, sending Bea a text so she wouldn’t worry.

  What is it they say about good intentions?

  The road to hell is paved with them.

  Somehow, I end up back in the same dimly lit corridor from earlier. This time, nobody is trapping me. Nobody is forcing me to stay.

  Nobody’s demanding that I stand on tiptoe and press a kiss against Rhys’ mouth.

  He groans and deepens the kiss. Mateo’s eyes light up with wicked amusement, and he brushes his lips against my neck and shoulder.

  Never chug wine from the bottle, Aria. It makes you do things you’d never do otherwise. Like finding myself in a poorly-lit hallway with my tongue buried in one man’s mouth while the other works some kind of devil’s magic against the side of my throat.

  “You taste so sweet,” Mateo growls.

  I doubt it. I am a sweaty mess after all that dancing, but Rhys brushes his thumb over my nipple, short-circuiting my last remaining brain cell. I’m seconds away from climbing one of these guys like a spider monkey when my phone vibrates in my pocket.

  Only two people know this number. Bea and Silas.

  Like a bucket of ice water, every ounce of desire washes away. As if the men can read my mind, their hands both fall away from my body, leaving me teetering, on edge, and feeling far more vulnerable than I would ever admit.

  I pull my phone from my pocket, my gut clenching when the caller id flashes: Preston Memorial Hospital.

  Silas.

  7

  Mateo

  Rhys has a thing for Norm girls. Not me.

  Don’t get me wrong. I’m not like those idiots that rail
against the magical and the Norms intermingling.

  It’s just that things get complicated where dragons are concerned. Unlike the other magicals, we’re extremely long-lived. I just celebrated my three hundred and forty-fifth birthday. To get involved with a Norm, to watch her age in front of you and wither away while you still remain the same—that’s a recipe for heartbreak.

  Not that there are a lot of female dragons in the world, thanks to Gideon Zyrian’s curse.

  Though I typically stay away from Norms, my eyes track Aria as she hurries away. Her hair is the color of the morning sun, bright and beautiful.

  “Wow,” Rhys exhales. “She’s gorgeous.”

  She’s also a distraction at a time when we don’t need one. Every day, the threat from Zyrian seems to increase. The wolf shifter back at Bastian’s palace told us everything he knew, which wasn’t a lot, but I’m concerned about Alaska.

  I’m old enough to know that there are no coincidences.

  “The guy with her was a wolf shifter. I think we should track him, make him realize that threatening Aria would be a very bad idea.”

  What the hell? That’s not what I meant to say at all.

  Rhys shoots me a deeply amused look. “Careful there, Lord Valentini,” he quips. “Or else I’m going to think that you’re interested in her too.”

  “I’m not,” I deny, deliberately putting the small blond Norm woman out of my mind. Even though I can still taste her scent on my lips, and even though my cock is still hard, aching for her. “We have too much going on right now.”

  Bastian has thrown himself into setting up these parties, hoping we’ll find the women we seek, the ones who will free us from Gideon’s prison.

  Casius pores through ancient libraries, looking for another way.

  Rhys flirts. Erik broods. And I?

  I’m the second-most powerful Dragon Mage in the world. I experiment.