by Anya Nowlan
“I’m at no liberty to say.”
Aeon stood, crossing over to the bar tucked in the corner of the dining room and filling his glass with brandy. He raised the crystal tumbler to his lips and took a slow, measured sip, feeling the heat of it go down slowly and leaving no burn in its wake. Dragons had a penchant for severe, hearty drinks. Those were the only ones they could really taste or enjoy to any extent.
“Hey Phase, Aeon here has picked up a girlfriend,” Hex’s voice called out, making Aeon turn around with a scowl readily on his expression.
He had been staring out of the window for a moment, looking at the rolling countryside that stretched around the castle, and had missed Phase entering the room. It was completely unlike him to be off his senses that way. Aeon prided himself on being perfectly aware of what was going on around him at all times.
Considering that the magic of his dragon allowed him to sense the tides of time a split second ahead of them happening, it wasn’t that hard to do. Yet, here he was, thinking about a woman that had filled his mind and body with a happy, warm feeling that could not be countered even by dragonfire, missing the most basic things.
And you won’t even meet her again, he reminded himself glumly.
“He has?” Phase asked, mirroring the smile Hex wore, his interested gaze stopping on Aeon. “Do tell.”
“He’s being shy about it,” Hex commented, smirking.
“May the spirits turn their backs on both of you,” Aeon grumbled, taking another sip of his drink.
The upside to having been alone for most of the past decade was that he hadn’t had to deal with his younger brothers and their damn smartass ways. Bastards.
“Fine, fine. Don’t pick on the grouchy dragon,” Phase sighed, coming to stand next to Aeon and grabbing a drink for himself. “But good for you, if something did happen.”
The last part was added with a lower, quieter voice, kept between the two of them and out of the ears of Hex. Aeon gave Phase a quick sideways glance but didn’t say a word. Not that Phase needed it. The fact that Aeon hadn’t snapped must have been information enough.
“So what’s going to happen next? And why are you here?” Phase asked, taking his glass and finding a seat on one of the ornate windowsills.
The seat he chose created sort of triangle between the positions of the three Prevoir brothers.
It was a natural pattern for them, one that allowed for most control and the magic to flow freely between them without getting tangled in one another’s. The way that time sometimes warped around them was subtle and only really noticeable to them and the few time dragons like them. Subconsciously, they always seemed to fall into patterns that would complement one another thanks to that.
“He’s being a big cry-dragon. Doesn’t want to go and deal with the world,” Hex muttered, making Aeon snarl from the pit of his stomach, smoke rising from his nostrils.
It wasn’t that Hex was wrong that annoyed him. It was that he was right.
“Hold up,” Phase said, raising his free hand. “Let’s try not to take the castle down with an unsanctioned shift this early into our lordship, alright? I’m sure we’ll have more serious stuff to fight about over the year. Aeon, did you hear about the tournament? Are you taking part?”
“I never would.”
Aeon set down his glass, feeling the way the liquid was almost about to boil in the tumbler. The heat of disappointment in himself and the tint of anger that came with it had raised his body temperature high enough to nearly evaporate the alcohol.
“Oh, shame we’re missing it this year. I get way too much enjoyment out of kicking Torren’s ass every year.”
Hex settled into his seat, looking damn near wistful for a moment. While there weren’t that many real rivalries between dragon families, other than the ancient ones that seemed to boil up every couple of decades of course, the younger generation still found ways to compete with one another.
It was understood and accepted that every tournament could only have one victor and most often it was the oldest dragon that partook. Dragons aged like a fine wine, getting stronger as time went by. As such, the younger the dragon, the less likely it was that he would last long in the challenges.
That, however, did nothing to deter them from taking part. Half of the fun was getting to compete against the other dragons, all done under the guise of getting more experience for the future. Seeing as many dragons these days did not even have the luck of finding their fated, the tournament offered a decent alternative.
Fighting for, and claiming a woman of worth while also getting to beat countless other dragons, had its merits. Merits that Aeon had never really seen.
“Perhaps you should. Have you ever even been to one?”
“I think father took me to one when I was younger.”
Aeon shrugged. It wasn’t that pleasant of a memory. Dozens of fully grown, bloodthirsty dragons, going at one another with no other goal in their mind than to beat each other, to be the victor. While Aeon completely understood the pleasure of being the best, it was the goal that they fought for that bothered him. It was, also, the reason his father had taken him there.
“This is not the way,” Chronos Prevoir had told Aeon, towering above him as a stern, quiet figure.
The tides of time always seemed to meet around Chronos, twisting around him like seedlings trying to twist around a great oak to gain support and leverage. He was the dragon that Aeon wanted to one day grow to be.
“Why not?” Aeon had asked.
“A dragon can never be all that he is meant to be without the love of the right mate. While it is not impossible to find one in a tournament like this, then what are the odds that she will be the one fated to be yours?”
Chronos quirked his brow, as if expecting an answer. Aeon had none to give.
“The odds are so slim they are not there at all. Fate will bring the right mate to a dragon that is patient, but not to one who is willing to settle, to someone who simply wants a woman to have his dragonlings. A dragon must know to bide his time.”
Aeon was the only one of the three brothers to have been taken to a tournament at all. The younger two had entered them after Chronos had passed and taken them much as the rest of the dragons around their age – as something fun. There were even some dragons who kept several mates, all won from the tournaments.
While frowned upon by some, there was nothing inherently wrong with it. If a dragon was yet to find his fated then there was no harm in keeping many lovers and even sire kin with them.
Silence had taken over the room and only when Aeon was shaken from his thoughts did he realize why that was. All three of the Prevoir brothers had suddenly fallen grim. The loss of their parents still hung heavily over them, as evident.
For a time dragon, no amount of time passed could seem enough in certain situations.
“I think it’s time for me to go.”
Aeon cleared his voice, straightening up. The haze seemed to clear from Hex’s and Phase’s gazes as well as they looked to him. Phase clapped Aeon on the shoulder, giving it a light squeeze before letting go.
“Don’t be a stranger.”
“But don’t get too familiar either,” Hex quickly added.
“Sure. I’ll be both and neither,” Aeon promised with a crooked grin.
He was almost at the door when Phase and Hex took up conversation. The topic of choice was the tournament they were sad to miss and Aeon all too glad to not attend.
“I hear the woman they got is an American this year,” Hex said.
“Who told you that?”
“Torren sent me an update before the official news goes up. Guess we’ll read it in the scroll when it gets here.”
Something stirred in Aeon, making his steps slow and then grind to a halt completely as he came to the doorway. One hand gripped the solid wood and he frowned to himself. His dragon had come alive within him, raising its massive head, and one question bubbled forth in his mind.
“
Hex, did Torren tell you her name?” he asked, noticing the hesitation and worry in his voice and not appreciating it one bit.
“Isobel, I think. Isobel Evans.”
For a very long moment, the time in castle Prevoir stood perfectly still.
Isobel
“You can’t keep me here,” Isobel snarled, pressing her face to the small window that looked out to a dark hallway.
“Watch us,” a deep, masculine voice responded.
Isobel jumped a little, one hand going to her heart. She was still dressed in nothing but her bikini, but the room she had been brought to had a thin blanket that she’d thrown over her shoulders as well. It provided the tiniest bit of cover but anything was better than prancing around in her swimwear.
There hadn’t been anyone in the hallway since she’d been walked in by the dragon-turned-man who had abducted her. Isobel had gasped for air for a good thirty seconds when she had finally been set down on solid ground again, her legs shaking and her heart pounding so hard in her chest that she thought it would pop out at any moment.
The fact that she had then witnessed the first ever shift she’d ever seen, and that the beast shifting was a dragon who had plucked her from the pool at her villa, hadn’t exactly added to her capability of remaining calm. She could barely remember the route she’d taken with the dragon by her side, pushing her along when she moved too slowly.
All she knew was that she was at a castle of some sort. There were no windows that would allow her to try and figure out where exactly she was, and no one even knew she was here. Worst of all, her captors didn’t seem exactly apologetic about what they were doing to her either.
“Take a step back,” the man said.
Isobel hesitated.
“Now.”
His voice bore no semblance of kindness. Isobel ground her teeth together and grabbed the blanket tighter around her shoulders, wrapping herself up in it. She stepped two steps back and angled herself so she had the best view she could get when the door opened.
The heavy lock on the wooden door rattled before the telltale click sounded. The door was pushed inward and a man as large as the one that had walked her to the room stepped in, carrying a package in his hands. He didn’t bother to push the door shut.
One look at him was enough to tell Isobel that there was no way in hell that she’d be able to outrun him, and even less of a chance that she could overpower him.
He was all muscle, strength and speed, in a package that was far too handsome for the threatening look he wore in his eyes. Tall, blond and blue-eyed, he looked like he walked off of a California Golden Coast photo shoot, his hair mussed by the wind. There was something inexplicably off about the way he looked and the way he carried himself that put Isobel immediately on edge.
Not that the fact that he’s one of the pricks that abducted me is giving him any bonus points, Isobel thought grimly.
“Here,” he said, thrusting the package into her hands. “Put this on. It should be your size. You will have another set of clothes tomorrow, along with other necessities.”
“Why are you doing this?” Isobel asked, staring up at the man. “What the hell did I do to you guys?”
It was the first smile she’d knowingly seen on a dragon – at least she assumed the man was a dragon – and it was scary as hell. She could almost see the swirl of fire behind his eyes and the slightly reptilian features hidden under a mask of humanity. The smile didn’t reach his eyes and while they burned so hot, they left Isobel completely frozen.
“You didn’t do anything to us. And we are doing this for you. You need help.”
“I don’t need help!” Isobel countered, flabbergasted. “What would give you that crazy idea?! I was sunbathing by the pool in my damn villa! What about that screams ‘help me!’ to you?”
She was gripping the package too tightly against her chest, her fingers digging into it. It felt like she was this close to snapping, but that wouldn’t have exactly helped her case any. Reasoning with the unamused mountain of flesh in front of her seemed just as futile, but that at least seemed to have some possible margin of success.
“Change. Tomorrow will be a long day,” he said, ignoring her question.
He turned to leave, his hand on the door handle.
“Wait! Will you at least tell me your name? And what happens tomorrow?”
He glanced over his shoulder and Isobel wasn’t sure whether it was her somewhat desperate appearance at the moment or the fact that he actually cared to answer those questions, but he paused. Pursing his lips slightly, he considered her, letting his eyes run up and down along her body. The way he looked at her was oddly possessive, making Isobel take a step back.
“I am Torren. And tomorrow is the day of the ball.”
“The ball?”
Isobel’s brow furrowed. She couldn’t have felt more confused if she tried.
“The ball to begin the tournament, of course.”
There was that smile again, vacant and uncaring. Anger boiled up inside of her again, practically foaming at the top.
“What tournament?”
“The tournament in which you will be the prize.”
Torren didn’t linger any longer, taking one long step out of the room and pulling the door shut behind him. The lock clattered into place and Isobel never heard the footsteps that took Torren away from her cell, just like she hadn’t heart the ones that had brought him to the room. He was seamless, completely silent like a ghost.
The prize? Isobel repeated in her mind. The prize for what? Why!?
A moment later, she had dropped the package and she was back at the door, practically hissing out of it, screaming for Torren or anyone else that would hear her to come and give her some answers.
It was not that surprising that no one came.
Isobel
I wish I could be surprised by this, Isobel thought, being led into a large, opulent ballroom the next evening.
Her voice was hoarse and her throat hurt from yelling and cursing for hours on end. It had paid off, as another dragon had come to her door eventually, but the only thing he’d done while giving her a hateful look was to shove the shutter of the hole that looked out into the hallway closed.
After that, yelling had been pretty much useless.
She’d had a sleepless night, tossing and turning in her admittedly very comfortable room. Considering that her captivity had been spent surrounded by Italian marble, hardwood floors, Egyptian cotton sheets and a small fridge stocked with tasty foods, she had almost felt odd about complaining when her dress for the evening had arrived.
But that feeling had quickly passed when she realized that she was, in fact, a prisoner, being used in some cockamamie dragon scheme that no one bothered to explain to her.
Almost feels like home, she thought, thinking about the Evans clan and how her mother, Alicia, had run her life up to this point.
Out of the frying pan and into the – apparently quite literal – fire. Isobel couldn’t really appreciate the irony, though. She’d thought she’d gotten away from greedy, self-involved dictators when she’d left her mother in the lurch, but apparently that was something that was cursed to stalk after her no matter where she went or what she did.
“And what am I supposed to do here?” Isobel asked, risking a look at the beast of a man by her side.
He had been introduced as Flite, another dragon shifter, as evident by the gold he carried in his eyes every time he looked at her. This guy was another one of the very particular specimen of men that made her skin crawl. Admittedly, all of them had been her kidnappers so far, so that probably had a lot to do with it.
Flite was lighter built than Torren and appeared younger as well. He was somewhat fidgety and looked sullen, but nevertheless he could sure fill out a suit.
The two of them stopped in front of large double doors, a servant looking at them impassively with his hands on the handles.
“You are supposed to shut up and look pretty,” Fli
te said.
Isobel glowered at him and Flite answered with the cockiest smirk she’d ever seen outside of a high school football victory celebration.
“What if I scream for help?” Isobel asked, running a hand over the curve of her body in a subconscious attempt to calm her fraying nerves.
Her hand stopped immediately when she saw the way Flite was following the movement. His eyes flashed deep, solid gold, with the pupils narrowing and elongating at the same time. For a moment, it looked incredibly familiar to her and Isobel swallowed dryly. She knew who it reminded her of, but she didn’t dare think of him at a time like this.
She didn’t need any additional help to feel shitty about her current situation.
“No one will come, little one. Everyone here has come to see you and be seen as well. They are all going to be competing for you and will consider you as nothing but a petulant little prize.”
Flite seemed to consider this for a moment. His smile evaporated and his gaze slicked up to Isobel’s face again, while her hands crossed over her chest where his curiosity had seemed to linger for a moment too long. It felt like he could undress her with his eyes and that it would take little more than that to have her naked and pinned down on the ground, if he so wished.
“Perhaps in that sense, it would be best if you screamed,” Flite added, leaning into Isobel.
His hot breath touched her neck and she pulled away immediately, revulsion swirling in her gut.
“Flite, stop scaring the lady,” a voice boomed behind them.
Both Isobel and Flite straightened up immediately. Isobel had to turn around to see who it was that had come to her unexpected rescue.
Like the rest of them, Isobel realized with a hint of amusement, he was impossibly tall and built like a football quarterback. His black suit fit him perfectly and though he was covered completely by the clothing, it was like Isobel could see his tight, muscular form even beneath the fabric.
It was uncanny, really. Aeon had made her think much the same, like he wore his strength and his prowess on his sleeve at all times.
