by Lili Zander
“I have been working on something with the dragon blood you stole last year,” he admits as he swabs my skin with ointment. “It’s a Do-Not-Notice rune. It’s experimental, and for obvious reasons, untested.”
Obviously. Only someone with a death wish would risk antagonizing someone who can burn you to a crisp.
“I’ll be happy to test it for you.”
He chuckles. “Angling for a discount? I like you, Aria, but dragon blood is almost impossible to come by. Ten grand is the best I can do.”
Ten grand will leave me no money to buy a dress. I’m not sure it’ll leave me enough to pay the hospital bill.
Then again, a do-not-notice spell, if it works, will be far more useful than a pretty ball gown. “I’ll take it.”
His lips thin disapprovingly, but he doesn’t try to dissuade me. He pulls another vial from his cupboard.
The liquid inside is a warm orange-gold. It flickers like fire, and I can’t tear my gaze from it. A bone-deep recognition fills me, the same kind of recognition I felt a year ago when I homed in on the three bags of dragon blood in a roomful of samples.
Touch me, it whispers. It is your destiny.
My wrist prickles again. “Aria?” Pieter’s voice seems very far away. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head, dispelling the fog that surrounds me. Not enough sleep, not enough coffee, and I’m losing my mind. “I’m fine. Do it.”
He dips the needle in a glass of water, rinsing off the blue ink before replacing it with the golden liquid. My heart starts to race as the tattoo gun draws closer. I’m standing on the cliffs edge of a precipice.
Stop being dramatic, Aria.
But the moment the needle touches my skin, something happens. My body is ablaze. Heat fills me, a wild, sexual heat that is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. My wrist feels like someone’s holding a red-hot poker to it, and my head throbs. Then, a gong sounds in my mind, deep and resonant, and I hear a voice say one word.
Mine.
Then I faint.
13
Casius
I’m hacking into the Preston Memorial system to plant fake records for Mina Strauss, the panther-shifter that Erik and Mateo were supposedly visiting, when a searing pain fills my mind, followed by a rush of heat.
Every cell in my body comes alive. Flames dance over my skin, an involuntary reaction that hasn’t happened to me since puberty. I feel my bones break and reform, and I have to yank at the threads inside me to control my urge to shift.
I’ve read about this in the Lif Boc Drakonis.
When pain and pleasure fill you,
When your body bursts into flames,
Like the fire your mate will light in your soul,
When your heart feels young again.
Mate.
But where? Who? There’s no one in the suite. Bastian is at work. Erik, always restless in the city, shifted and went for a long flight. Rhys went along with him. Mateo is in his laboratory, trying to figure out why his gaes failed.
The skin on my right wrist is an angry red. I itch at it and squint closer. There’s some kind of faint mark there. I rub at the welt, and when I touch the mark, I’m jerked somewhere else.
Magic. More powerful than Mateo’s spells. More powerful even than Gideon’s dark arts. This is a force that is as deep and vast as life itself.
I’m as ethereal as a ghost. An invisible thread tugs at me, emitting a golden glow. When I touch it, it feels warm and alive.
I follow the thread to a small tattoo parlor, but in my spirit form, I can’t step through the door. I’m blocked.
I don’t understand what’s happening, but the key to these mysterious goings-on lies behind that closed door. I’m sure of it.
14
Aria
Someone’s pressing a hot poker into my wrist. I sit up, ready to tell them off—how the hell am I going to be able to steal anything if my hand is bandaged up?—and I realize where I am.
Pieter is peering down at me, his face white. When my eyes open, he exhales in relief and sinks to the ground next to me. “Are you alright?” he demands. “I was terrified that my rune had killed you.”
I wriggle my fingers and toes experimentally. “I’m fine,” I reassure him. “It’s probably nothing.” Except I’d never ever felt such intense sexual heat. “I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I add in explanation. “It’s probably just that.”
He looks dubious. “Do you feel different?”
I don’t know. “I’m fine,” I say again, grabbing a nearby table leg for support and getting to my feet. I open my backpack and count out Pieter’s money, all eleven thousand dollars of it, and I hand it to him.
He takes it from me with a nod of thanks. “How’s Silas?” he asks. “I heard he’s sick.”
“He’s getting better.” I cross my fingers behind my back. With any luck, by this time next week, I’d have robbed the dragons, and collected my million-dollar fee. Then Silas will really get better, and it’ll all have been worth it.
At lunch on Monday, I lied to Bea and told her that Mateo and Rhys had invited me to a fancy ball on Saturday. Bea, being the awesome best friend that she is, immediately offered to accompany me home and help me figure out what to wear.
We’re sitting in my bedroom Tuesday evening, eating cake in our PJs, giggling and gossiping about guys. Me about Mateo and Rhys and Bea about Jesse, who, to her frustration, still hasn’t closed the deal.
It’s a very low-key birthday celebration, which, after the hectic events of the last three days, is just the way I want it.
Silas isn’t at home. The plasma exchange has done its magic, and he’s feeling a lot better. For now, anyway. He gave me my birthday present, an intricately carved dagger from his collection that I’ve been admiring for years, and then he’d announced his intention of going down to the pub. Knowing Silas, he’ll be there until closing time.
I pull the only dress I own from my closet and hold it up. Bea’s mouth falls open. “Aria, you can’t wear that to a ball.”
I almost laugh at how horrified my bestie sounds. Almost but not quite. She’s right. My little black dress has been washed so many times that it’s closer to grey, but it’s my best option. I’ve been through every stitch of clothing I own, and nothing else even comes close to appropriate.
“Maybe I could borrow that green dress you wore to your cousin Theresa’s wedding,” I say optimistically. Madam Buttface is fast asleep on my pillow, and I pet her furry little head absently.
Bea rolls her eyes at me. “First of all,” she says, holding up her hand dramatically. “I didn’t wear it to Theresa’s wedding, I wore it in the wedding. You can’t wear a taffeta and satin bridesmaid dress to the ball. Second of all, it would have been at least three sizes too big on you.” Her expression turns naughty. “But most importantly, you can’t wear my green dress because I set fire to it the instant I got back from Theresa’s reception. It was hideous.”
I flop back on my bed, throwing my arm over my eyes. Madam Buttface yowls indignantly at the disturbance and consents to move half-an-inch out of the way before covering her face with her paw and falling back asleep. Typical.
“What am I going to do?” I groan. Buying a dress is out of the question. I started the month with ten grand. Mariana gave me another twenty for the emerald, but I’ve already spent eleven. She still hasn’t charged me for the blueprints, and I’m expecting those to cost at least another five thousand. Then there’s the hospital bill, hanging like a million-pound weight over my head.
I hate math problems I can’t win. I can live on Ramen for the rest of the century, and it’s not going to make a difference.
But I also can’t go to the ball without a dress. This is the shifter event of the winter, and everyone will be dressed in their most glamorous best. Where the hell is a fairy godmother when I need one?
Evidently, she’s right in front of me. I’m still trying to figure out what to do when Bea says, “I have a cr
azy idea…”
15
Bastian
It takes us two whole days to find Silas Archer’s real address. The wolf shifter is packless and has taken some care to hide his footsteps. Finally, on Tuesday evening, Tracy emails me an address in Hell’s Kitchen. “Do you want me to bring the girl in for questioning, Lord Jaeger?” Tomas, the head of my honor guard asks. “Or the wolf?”
“No,” Rhys says at once, his voice angry. “Mateo’s gaes could have failed for a thousand different reasons. Bastian, this is bullshit. She’s a Norm girl. I don’t want your goons dragging her in here like she’s some kind of common criminal. Leave her alone, for fuck’s sake.”
I give Casius a sidelong glance. “Rhys is right,” he replies. “Magic has been failing all over the world. Maybe what happened to Mateo is part of it. It could be totally unrelated to the girl.”
“Exactly,” Rhys snaps in agreement.
I look at the four of them. The dragon princes have a complicated relationship. We are bound by our shared guardianship of the Bloodstone, but in other more prosaic matters, we are rivals. Rhys and I had a bidding war over a Picasso we both wanted last month. He won. Casius poached one of my best employees last year by offering her a million-dollar bonus. In return, I embarked on an aggressive campaign to tank the price of his conglomerate’s stock. The good-natured rivalry doesn’t impact our friendship—the Bloodstone is too important—but it means that I know Rhys, Casius, Mateo, and Erik better than anyone else in the world.
If I push too hard, Rhys will walk away. Erik’s always looking for an excuse not to participate in the balls. Mateo would rather be in his lab, and Casius would rather pour over his books.
I turn to Tomas. “Follow her. I want to know where she goes. Who she talks to. Who her friends are. I want to know everything about Aria Archer.”
“Until we solve this puzzle,” Erik adds, staring hard at Rhys and Mateo, “we should stay away from the girl. Is that agreed?”
Rhys exhales in exasperation but nods curtly, as does Mateo. “Agreed.”
16
Aria
“This is crazy. I can’t believe I’m spending my birthday breaking into the mall.”
Bea snickers. “I told you it was crazy.”
“You could lose your job.”
She waves that aside. “It’s not like we are actually stealing,” she says, rationalizing our petty larceny. “We’re just… borrowing. It’s no different than if you came in here and bought the dress, wore it once, then returned it.”
It’s a little different. For starters, it’s almost ten, and the mall is closed. Bea’s about to sneak into the high-end clothing store she works at through the back entrance. And, of course, we’re here to steal a dress. Specifically, the two-thousand-dollar red ball gown that I tried on last month.
I’ll be honest, I have zero qualms about stealing it. In fact, I’m a little shocked I didn’t think of it first. I’ve just been out of the game for a year, but it feels far longer. So much so that it took my law-abiding best friend to come up with this solution.
I’m a thief. I need to start thinking like one.
“Let’s see. You could be fired. You could become homeless, and then I’d have to let you move in with us. Which isn’t good, because I’d end up killing you the first night because you snore. Your very life is in jeopardy.”
Bea crosses her arms over her chest, looking indignant. “I do not snore.”
She tries to hold back her smile, but fails miserably and breaks out into giggles. I chuckle along with her. This is why Bea is my best friend. She took me under her wing in high school, not caring that I was the outcast. She’s just as integral in my life as Silas, and I can’t imagine a world without either of them in it.
“Bea,” I try again. “I’m serious. I don’t want to get you fired.”
The alarm beeps, and she inputs her code, silencing it. “Quit worrying so much, Aria,” she advises. “We aren’t going to get caught. The security cameras are on the fritz again, and Jennifer hasn’t bothered to report the problem to Corporate. If—and this is a big huge if—anyone asks why the alarm was disengaged tonight, I’ll explain I left my phone in the store and came back to get it. No one will know a thing.”
“You,” I tell her, my voice sincere, “are amazing.” I follow her into the shop floor, automatically noticing the location of the CCTV cameras mounted on the walls and pillars. Taking care to stay in the first camera’s blind spot, I pull a small laser pointer out of my pocket.
One of the first things Silas taught me was an easy trick to tell if the cameras are plugged in. Every camera’s lens is set to auto-focus. When a sharp light hits it, the aperture expands or contracts to adjust the focus, and if I listen very carefully, I can hear the hum of the motor buzzing as the lens recalibrates.
Some high-security facilities use ultra-quiet motors, but this is a dress store in a mall. My low-tech approach is more than sufficient to test their setup.
Nothing. Dead silence. Beatrice is right. The security cameras are definitely on the fritz.
After that, the rest is simple. We make it in and out of the boutique in less than ten minutes, the dress safely tucked into Bea’s oversized purse and her phone very visible in her hand. Just in case.
I’d tell her not to worry—I checked all the cameras, and they’re definitely offline—but Bea doesn’t know that I moonlight as a thief, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.
“So,” she says teasingly, as we make our way back to Hell’s Kitchen. “You’re finally interested in something other than swords, cats, and books. Our little girl’s all grown up.”
“Woohoo,” I say dryly. Little does she know what this is really about.
She sighs dramatically. “Two drop-dead gorgeous guys lusting after you. Don’t get me wrong, Aria. I’m thrilled for you. But also, a little jealous.”
She shouldn’t be. After all, Rhys and Mateo didn’t invite me to the ball. I’m not there to flirt with them. In fact, they didn’t even ask me for my phone number, and yes, it bothers me that they didn’t show any desire to see me again. Saturday night, I had to leave for the hospital before we could exchange contact information, but I’d run into Mateo on Sunday, along with his glowering friend Erik. He could have asked to see me again then, but he hadn’t.
It’s all a lie.
“Jesse still playing hard to get?” I ask her to divert myself from my gloomy thoughts.
She nods disconsolately. We spend the rest of the evening drinking wine and coming to the conclusion that all guys are idiots.
17
Aria
The week passes in a whirl. I work at the mall, take care of Silas, and late at night, hidden in my bedroom, study the blueprints of the Park Hyatt and plot my strategy.
The dragon princes’ penthouse is located in the same building as the Park Hyatt. My overall plan is fairly simple. Get into the party, sneak out to the penthouse when the dragons are entertaining their guests, and steal the contents of the safe.
Of course, as the saying goes, the devil’s in the details.
Mariana came through like a champion, and I’m in possession of a gold-embossed invitation to the Valhalla Ball, made out to Kelli Pagliaro. “Kelli Pagliaro is a real person,” she told me when I went to pick up the blueprints. “Conveniently, she’s also a fox shifter.”
I’d eyed her with respect. Mariana is the best in the business for good reason. She pays attention to the details. “Is there a fingerprint check?”
“Just visual,” she’d replied. “Kelli’s photo has been replaced with yours.”
Getting into the party is covered. Next, there’s sneaking into the penthouse, possibly the most difficult part of the job.
Two elevators head to the top floor. One is reserved for the exclusive use of the dragon princes. The other elevator is the staff elevator. That’s my target.
In a lucky break, the company that has taken care of housekeeping in the building for the last nine yea
rs just filed for bankruptcy. During the transition, the normal fingerprint scans have been disabled.
All I need is a uniform and a keycard. Mariana has already acquired a uniform for me. The keycard, on the other hand, isn’t something Mariana can get for me in advance—it’s too risky—so I’m just going to have to play it by ear.
Once I reach the penthouse, I’m entirely on my own. I know nothing about what kind of security the dragon princes have inside their suite. I don’t know what brand of safe I’ll have to break into, and I don’t know how much stuff I’ll have to steal.
There are too many unknowns. I’m dangerously unprepared, and this job feels like a disaster waiting to happen. If it weren’t for Silas, I’d walk away.
No, not walk. I’d run away as fast as I can.
After one last look in the mirror, I step out of Bea’s bathroom and am greeted with a long, low whistle. “You look fan-fucking-tastic,” my best friend says. “Rhys and Mateo won’t know what hit them.” Her lips twist into a mischievous grin. “Somebody's going to get their garden plowed.”
“Get my garden plowed. Really, Bea?” I laugh, my nerves leaching away. My friend’s cheesiness is exactly what I need before the job tonight, which is why I’ve headed all the way to Brooklyn to get dressed.
Besides I can hardly get ready in my apartment, not without arousing Silas’ curiosity.
“Yes, really,” she retorts, pushing me down on a chair in front of her mirror and running a brush through my long, blonde hair. “Your lady-garden is in dire need of a good plowing. How long has it been since Needy Ned? Eight months?”
Ned—Needy Ned as he’s been forever dubbed—seemed normal enough. We went on several dates and then had one less than memorable roll in the hay—thanks, Bea, now I’m using farming euphemisms—and he became super, super clingy. He called me at least ten times a day, texted me multiple times an hour and didn’t seem to realize I didn’t want to spend every waking hour with him. I couldn’t break up with him fast enough.
