by Abigail Owen
Beside her, Jakkobah displayed his usual lack of reaction, a wall of blank nothingness, which only served to increase Pytheios’s ire. Someday he’d put fear in that man’s eyes. Not today, though. Not if he was involved in this plan.
Slender and pale to the point of albinism, only the slight tint of color in Jakkobah’s hair showed him to be anything related to a red dragon shifter. Even his dark eyes showed no red. A rare thing. As children, Pytheios had protected Jakkobah from the taunts and bullying of others who’d deemed him an outsider. That action had paid off. Now the most well-informed man in the kingdom was loyal only to him.
“Where’s my brother?” Pytheios demanded.
Jakkobah extended a hand, indicating they should move down the hall to the right. “Let us discuss this in a more private location. Nathair is waiting for us in his chambers.”
Pytheios frowned, ignoring the pain that small action caused as it dragged at his hanging skin, and turned to walk in that direction. “Go on, Jakkobah. I need to speak with Rhiamon alone.”
With a birdlike bob of his head, Jakkobah walked ahead of them, the tail of his white, ornately decorated suit flapping around his skinny legs.
Rhiamon moved to his side, though she gave him a wide berth as he hadn’t entirely doused the flames pouring from his body.
“My king?” Rarely had he seen the woman so tentative. He must be projecting a more fearsome image than even he was aware.
Pytheios twitched his shoulders and sucked the remaining fire into his body. “You have nothing to fear from me…my love.”
Tension bled from her, lowering her shoulders and lightening her vibrant green eyes. “I know that.”
But she didn’t, or she wouldn’t fear him. Pytheios let it go. He covered her hand with his own. “I’ll need another influx of power soon.”
She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. “You shouldn’t have risked flying tonight,” she admonished.
“Either that or kill every living soul in this mountain.”
His witch caught his meaning. She, and their son, would both be included in that. With a barely audible gasp, she went to pull her hand from his arm, but he clamped his own down, manacling her to him. Her lips pinched at the pain of his grip. “I have no other creatures to tap. I will need to find something suitable.”
The last had been a hellhound. That should’ve lasted longer, but she was right. He’d wasted it tonight.
He wouldn’t make that mistake again. “Our newest guest in the dungeon should work admirably,” he murmured.
He didn’t miss the glance she sent him. “We haven’t drained a dragon shifter before.”
The implication that the shifters he ruled over wouldn’t like it wasn’t lost on him. “He’s a prisoner and from the Blue Clan. What better way to deal with him?”
“An…inspired conclusion.” She walked quietly at his side after that.
Without knocking, Pytheios ushered both of them into Nathair’s chambers. He hadn’t been in this chamber in some time but was not surprised at the state of it. An entire room dedicated to dozens of computer screens, monitors, gaming systems, and such took up his brother’s entire living room. Half-eaten meals crusted over on plates piled all around the kitchen. Disgust had Pytheios’s lip curling.
Meanwhile Nathair’s bedroom appeared untouched, the bed pristinely made and not a single personal item to be seen. At a guess, given the rumpled pillow and blanket there, Nathair slept on the couch between manic bouts on the systems at which he’d become so adept. His brother’s extraordinary mind plugged into those devices in a way that both calmed him and benefited Pytheios on a regular basis.
He said nothing about the disarray. He cared only about results. “You have a plan for me?”
Nathair nodded rapidly, making no eye contact, as usual. In his hands, he held a child’s toy—his fingers flying through patterns on the Rubik’s Cube at a dizzying rate, keeping up with his mind. “We need to liberate our queen.”
“What…exactly…does that mean? We don’t have a queen.”
“They don’t know that.”
Pytheios sucked air in through his nose as the implications struck. “We put it out there that we have one of the other phoenixes?”
And risk other clans learning sooner that more than two existed?
The Rubik’s Cube picked up speed. “We position multiple pieces, so they can’t see our strategy. The board is still too cluttered, so we need patience.”
Chess. His brother was talking about chess strategy. “Which pieces?”
Clack. Clack. Clack. The toy was moving now. “First, we have two of the other clans attack.”
“Rather than wait for Ormarr to attack the Gold Clan?”
“Use that as part of the strategy.”
“Gold and White,” Jakkobah suggested.
Volos, the King of the White Clan, would do as Pytheios bid. The White Clan was based out of Russia, which made them vulnerable to the Gold Clan if Astarot took over as king. That put Volos in a position to want to help Brock keep a hold on the Gold Clan, which was based out of the Scandinavian countries.
“A distraction?” Pytheios asked.
Nathair nodded. “Meanwhile, we start a rumor of another phoenix being located with Rune Abaddon’s rogues in the Andes.”
Pytheios cocked his head. “Why? We already know that particular phoenix is now with the Blue Clan.”
“We do.”
Pytheios cocked his head. “I still don’t see—”
“One of several things happen with this move. We know there are more, but the other kings don’t. A secret that won’t stay kept for long. By providing a false trail, we buy ourselves more time.”
Allowing Pytheios to hunt for the remaining two.
Clack. Clack. Clack. “The two phoenixes currently with the Ormarr people may think a sister went to find the one who had been there originally.”
Possibly drawing one or both out to a vulnerable position.
Nathair’s hands stilled, telling Pytheios what the man was about to say was likely the critical part of the plan.
“We allow our fake phoenix, our poison pawn if you will, to be taken to her ‘sisters,’ who will deny her. However, her presence will throw doubt as to their own validity, which you’ve already started rumors to hurt,” Nathair said.
Cold satisfaction settled in his gut. Yes. This could work.
With one phoenix mated to a man who had yet to claim the Gold Throne, Pytheios could instill doubt in the other clans and kings that any of the women were a true phoenix. Claim the rogue had no throne and kill him before more could come of it. According to his sources, the phoenix bore her mate’s mark, so she would die, too.
There had never been more than one before. Never. Cast doubt on their legitimacy, and the other kings would rally behind him, rather than become another point of threat.
Another thought occurred, one he did not deign to speak aloud. Once he’d killed all four true phoenixes, their imposter would come to him. He’d mate her, making Pytheios the only remaining king with a phoenix, as far as anyone knew. If she died in his fire, then so be it.
A false phoenix… Brilliant.
Pytheios turned to Rhiamon to find a smile curving her lips.
She cocked her head, her white curls flowing over one shoulder.
“Can you do it?” he asked.
“Make you a phoenix?” She nodded slowly. “Yes. I can do that.”
CHAPTER TEN
A rhythmic thudding noise combined with soft grunts of effort had Skylar peeling her eyes open. What in the—
She sat up in bed and froze as a combination of facts assailed her all at once. She was naked. That came with being pleasantly sore in all the right places. And the man responsible for that was visible in a room across the way from the bedroom, half naked with
sweatpants hanging low on his hips and punching the living daylights out of the black bag hanging from the ceiling.
My mate.
How long would it take to get used to that situation?
Skylar slowly pulled the sheets up to cover herself as she watched Ladon move, fascinated. She already knew, intimately, how leanly muscled his body was, but getting her own personal peep show while he punished himself physically was a morning treat she couldn’t pass up. A burn of wanting fast becoming familiar spread through her, gathering and tightening and warming everything.
At the same time, though, something about the determination that radiated from him, obvious in each precise, violent strike, more obvious in the hard blue of his eyes, told her more about the man. This wasn’t physical activity to keep up a perfect physique or even bolster his reputation as a vicious fighter. This was determination to be at the top of his game in order to achieve his one goal.
Protect his people.
How the hell she knew that was beyond Skylar. But, not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, respect spiked through the heat watching his skill had brought her.
Only one way to deal with that.
Ignore it.
Getting attached sexually was already a bad idea. Getting attached emotionally would be the height of idiocy.
Quietly, she slipped from the bed and dressed in her clothes from the day before—clothing easy to move and fight in. She’d go grab the rest of her things before she showered. On silent, bare feet, she padded across the living area to the open gym where Ladon was working out and leaned against the door, arms crossed.
“Do you need something?” he asked, not breaking his rhythm or even glancing her way.
Of course he knew she was there. All those shifter senses. Skylar didn’t take offense at his rather abrupt manner of addressing her. She tended to be the same way when she was in the zone. “Want to work with someone who fights back?”
That slowed him down. But then he shook his head and kept going. “I’m faster than you.”
“What makes you say that?” She knew exactly why he’d come to that conclusion, because she’d realized the same thing herself when she’d fought him before.
But her question had the desired effect. He executed an impressive round kick that set the bag swaying, the chains from which it hung rattling with the impact, then stopped to stare at her with a hard light in his eyes. “I was holding back when we fought.”
Her serious king was back, replacing the sexy, lust-driven man in her bed. Too bad.
Skylar gave herself a mental shake. Not too bad. Exactly what she needed. Whatever explosive thing had happened between them was a distraction.
“I wondered.” She hopped down the steps leading into the slightly sunken room. “So, when I went at you like this—” She punched in a jab-hook combo.
Sure enough, rather than allowing her to land the second punch, as he had before, Ladon moved and blocked with a technique she hadn’t seen from him. She ended up spun around by the hand she’d used for the hook and pinned with her back against his chest.
He could bend her over and…
Shit. Stop that, Sky.
“Who taught you to fight?” His rough voice rumbled in one ear, his lips brushing her skin.
“My mother.”
“I’m surprised she learned those skills.”
If any other man had said that, Skylar would’ve taken it as an implication that women didn’t or couldn’t fight and bristled. Except the tone of his voice said that wasn’t Ladon’s point. “Every phoenix teaches her daughter survival skills. We all learned hand-to-hand combat, among other things. Kasia’s a mechanical engineer. I fly planes.”
Silence greeted that statement, though he kept his hold on her. “I’m sorry that has to be true.”
Skylar frowned. Because she believed him.
“Show me how you did that.” Her voice came out a bit strangled, but hopefully he’d put that down to how tightly he was holding her and not weird emotion clogging her throat.
Ladon immediately released his grip, and she hid her small intake of breath, trying to loosen up and focus on the moves and not the man.
She turned to face him, and he waved her forward anyway. “Here. As you come across with the hook, I take you by the wrist with the opposite hand and pull you through, using your momentum against you.” He demonstrated the rest of the move. “Want to try it?”
“Yeah.”
They worked through the move slowly a couple of times, until she had it, then sped up until she could take the full force of his punch and use it against him.
“Not bad.” She grinned as she bounced lightly on her toes. “I think I have a defense against that move, if I’m the one punching.”
The wariness from when she’d first come into the room had left his eyes, but now a light of interest had him cocking his head. “Okay. Try it.”
In slow motion, they played through it, but with her punching, until he had her pinned. “Right. From here, if I grasp your arm with my free hand and throw my hips back, bending forward suddenly, that gives me leverage. Then I step out and—” Still holding his arm, she twisted in a way that put him on the ground.
“Yup,” he grunted, his face in the floor. “That’s effective. But then I can—”
Before she had a chance to step back, he rolled, taking her down, her breath whooshing out of her at the contact with the ground. He didn’t stop moving until he had her pinned underneath him, her wrists in each of his hands up by her head, and the rest of her held still by his body weight.
They stared at each other, both panting from the struggle. Unbidden, a sexual tension she still couldn’t quite fathom filled all the space between them, clotting the air and tingling through her body, bringing her achingly alive. “I’ll…have to give that one some thought,” she said.
“Yeah.” Only he didn’t get up.
No way was she giving in to this thing again. Mating was one thing. Bonding was entirely different. With deliberate insouciance, she tugged her wrists free of his grip and brought her hands up behind her head to lay there casually. “Take your time. Oxygen isn’t all that important.”
“I’d like to kiss you.” Damn that voice. A purring rumble at the best of times, it had dropped lower, smokier…sexier.
Skylar froze. “Oh. Well… That’s…” What did a girl say when her brand new mate, who she barely knew except carnally, made a statement like that? That’s nice? Go for it, big boy?
“Good for you.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she bit down on her lips, trying to contain a slightly hysterical giggle. What a lame comeback.
Ladon shook against her in a silent laugh. “Good for me?”
“Best I could come up with on short notice.” Damned if she was going to acknowledge it more than that.
“You’ll have to translate for me, as I don’t speak Skylar…yet. Is that a ‘yes, kiss me’? Or is that an ‘I’ll knee you in the balls if you try it’?”
“I don’t think kissing is a good idea,” she murmured. And now she sounded like a schoolmarm she’d once had in the mid-1800s in Minnesota.
Prudish. Priggish. Boring.
Except Ladon didn’t appear bored. The amusement faded from his expression, replaced with that intensity that had her breathing going all wonky. “I think it’s a fucking fantastic idea,” he said, almost casually, gaze dropping to her lips as he leaned closer. “In fact, I think fucking is a fantastic idea.”
Holy hell. And I thought the comment about kissing was bad. A needy ache took up immediate, throbbing residence at her core. Maybe… Just to bleed off some of this tension…
His cell phone chose that moment to ring.
Skylar did her best to not appear relieved or, for that matter, disappointed, but based on the cockeyed look he gave her as he helped her
up, she guessed she didn’t succeed. “Saved by the ringtone,” he said before answering the phone.
A glance at the clock told her it was only five in the morning. What could be that important to wake the king?
“Ormarr,” he barked into the phone.
Pause.
“When?” he asked.
The scowl that descended over his face left her in no doubt that he wasn’t happy about whatever the person on the other end was saying. “Fine. Call the council and my guard. We’ll meet them in”—he glanced at the clock—“one hour.”
We. She didn’t miss that he’d included her in that statement.
He dropped the phone on his bedside table. “Gorgon Ejderha, King of the Black Clan, is here with a contingency of his people.”
Skylar got to her feet with a frown. “The timing seems…”
“Wrong?” he finished.
“Suspicious.”
“Yeah. I think so, too. Although he was set to arrive before the Gold and Green Clans attacked.”
Did that spin things differently or not? Was this Gorgon guy only resuming plans already in place?
She cocked her head. “Want to play good cop/crazy cop?”
He crossed his arms, muscles straining in an entirely distracting way she had to consciously ignore. “I’m not sure what that means.”
Dragons and their isolationist tendencies. “It’s an American expression, sort of.” She sighed. “The expression is actually good cop/bad cop. It means you come across reasonable, someone to negotiate with. And I come across the exact opposite.”
“I’m the reasonable one?” He looked to the ceiling, seeming to roll that around in his head for a minute. “To what end?”
“I’m an unknown element, and already batshit crazy according to Brand and your men.”
“True. Not that I believe it.”
Skylar blinked at him and the small warm spot those words created in her chest, then shook it off.
Focus, woman. “As crazy cop, I either antagonize them into revealing something, or, if that doesn’t happen, you appear the reasonable one, gaining their trust and approaching them from a different position.”
