by Anna Morgan
Mateo's eyes narrowed, though he held his powyr at the ready. What game was Kragen playing? Or was he fully aware that if Mateo and Estophen fought, he would be caught in the crossfire?
Estophen's arm slowly lowered. "Perhaps you are right, Kragen. We will give Mateo time to reflect on where his loyalties lie, knowing that when his mind has cleared from the scent of this female's blood, he will repent his rebellion. I don't seek to destroy my youngest son."
Mateo didn't care what either of them thought—didn't care what lies Estophen told to save face and avoid the confrontation. Calla was waiting for him, and if he didn't need to battle his way to her this day, then he wouldn't.
He lowered his head, not feeling an iota of subservience—but the show didn't bother him. "Sire."
The elder vampyr regarded him, expression stony. "The client has given us our orders, My Descent. Calla Andris is to be killed, her head delivered. Prove yourself to me, Mateo."
Mateo stared at his sire. This family, such that it was, had raised him, trained him, taught him everything he knew. He owed them more than his life, they had his undying loyalty.
But Calla…
He turned on his heels and strode out, Kragen's eyes on his back.
Nothing in the apartment could even scratch the bracers on her wrists. She tried prying them off, burning them, cutting into the joint. She tried blunt force, sharp knives, and almost dislocated one thumb just to slip through them. They were almost molded to her skin.
Calla thumped her head back on the wall and dropped the sledgehammer she'd found in the closet. She heaved to her feet, marched to the balcony, and climbed over the rail. Mateo had locked the front door on his way out but left the windows and sliding door accessible. Maybe he thought she wouldn't risk jumping without being able to shift. Calla scoffed. They were only four floors up and each level had offset balconies. She pushed off, imagining the fall was a powyr flight down towards her prey. She landed evenly, rolling the energy forward to save her knees from damage. Two floors. One floor.
Calla dropped to the sidewalk in front of a startled human who blinked at her, a cell phone in one hand. The human looked up at the balcony, back down to Calla, and seemed stunned. Calla moved on. She marched up the street, took the first left turn she could, and absorbed the massive city before her. Light blinked off walls of glass windows and the level of noise here was quite amazing. She smelled oil and gas, the distinct scent of human waste, and a corner vendor's hot tamales. It was a lot to take in. Her little island home was mostly undeveloped, full of wild places and green. This was… busy.
She walked two blocks before stopping a woman with dark skin and braids who looked friendly. "Excuse me," she said, a little chagrined at how she had to concentrate to speak English. "Where could I find a cheap phone?"
"You mean like a pre-paid?" The woman pointed across the street. The beads in her hair clinked together. "Any corner mart like that has 'em at the checkout."
"Perfect. Thank you!" Calla waved. She navigated the street, made it to the corner mart, and stepped out again with a slim, jointed device loaded with two-hundred minutes. She wasted no time dialing her office. Had no doubt it would be manned, had been manned 24/7 since her disappearance.
A female answered the phone with a growl. "This is a secured line for the First General of the Dragon Court of Patomas. Who the hell—"
"Leana, this is Calla."
"General!" There was some commotion on the other end of the line. "Thank the—" she cleared her voice. "Location, General?"
Calla marched briskly down the street, headed cardinally west. She wasn't sure where she was yet and this city seemed neverending. "I don't have time. Get Takoda on the line."
"Right. Yes, ma'am. Here he is—"
"Calla, are you in a secure location?"
"For now." Her tone was terse. "I haven't been compromised; this appears to be an assassination attempt—though one of the oddest I've ever witnessed."
"Not successful, I take it."
His dry voice would light an ocean on fire. Calla snorted. "No."
Mateo would be pissed when he found she was gone, unless she returned before he did. She paused, considering. What was her goal here? She could disappear now—he would have no choice but to hunt her, though she wasn't entirely worried about that. But she'd made him a promise, and she didn't lightly break her word. He would be a coup. And she continued to tell herself that was the only reason she considered returning into her 'captivity.'
"Do you need an extraction team?"
"No, but there's a complication." She explained the situation, and her braces, briefly.
"I don't like it. What's your location?"
Calla pursed her lips, some instinct warning her. She didn't know if there were spies in court… how had they known where to send Mateo to retrieve her? Paper blew across her path and she stepped on a page. The title drew her attention. "The LA Times?"
"Where?"
"Los Angeles," Calla repeated. "I'm in America."
There was another scuffle on the other end of the line. Then Takoda growled, "You're halfway across the world. We don't have anyone near you. Can you find a place to stay for a few nights?"
"Not a problem." She didn't mention she was going back to her 'captor.'
"Report when you—" Someone thrust Calla against a grimy building and yanked the phone from her ear. A clawed hand crushed it into fragments of plastic and dust.
Mateo leaned in close to her, smelling like fire. He growled, "Tag. You're it."
"Shit." Calla shoved him back, drawing on the inner strength of her dragon even if she couldn't shift, furious over the insult of slapping her phone out of her hand. She broke Mateo's hold and lunged for him, her shoulder down and fury lending her strength. She tackled him to the street and hissed in his face. She wanted to kiss him—one of the stupidest instincts she'd ever had. This whole situation was infuriatingly ridiculous, undignified. That he'd dared kidnap her, almost become complicit in her murder, and she wanted to kiss him.
No. No, she wanted to kick his ass. And when he rolled them over to pin her, she did so, twisting into his grip, grappling him to one side, and breaking free again. She punched him under the ribs, again nearer the kidney; her knuckles bruised with the force of it and unnatural wind whipped around them. Satisfaction soothed her soul. The boy couldn't get away scot free.
Mateo couldn't call on his vampyr unless he wanted to explain to the tabloids he'd been lying about being human. She had the upper hand and the room to take advantage of it. Finally.
A cascade of… something… tingled against her skin. Calla disengaged fast, putting several feet of distance between them. "Whatever spell that was, you can undo it right now."
"No," Mateo said, his voice more gravelly than usual. "I don't think so."
She stilled as the change came over his face, wary. He grew several inches, the fire in his eyes igniting, powyr brushing over her skin with the confident stroke of an old lover. He stopped the shift before his fangs descended and a note of disappointment settled in Calla's gut. She shook herself free of the thought.
Someone brushed into her shoulder as they walked by. No one seemed to care that a vampyr stood on the sidewalk. In fact, their eyes appeared to slide right off Mateo, some force of powyr turning their attention away.
Calla sneered but contained herself with a huff. If Mateo could use all his vampyr powyr in plain sight, there was no use fighting any further. She couldn't take him without her dragon. Much as she hated admitting it.
"You're coming with me."
"If I so choose," she replied coolly. His accent was different in the vampyr form, harder. More sibilant. She liked it. Calla repressed the urge to touch his skin and find out if the fire she smelled left him warm.
His eyes speared her. "There's a price on your head. And on mine. My sire said he would give me time—he's a liar."
Calla sighed. She'd wanted him to turn his back on the cognate. She supposed she was now r
esponsible for the consequences.
"Just come with me for now, Calla. We'll figure this thing out—unless you just feel like a bloodbath."
She ignored the sarcasm, studying him. Mateo stood close to her, towered over her with vampyr-red eyes. Her body yearned for him. She couldn't trust it. Or him for that matter. "You're asking me to trust you."
"The way you asked me to trust you?" he shot back. "Besides, you gave your word."
Point, and game.
"The cognate isn't going to let my defection go without a fight." He offered his hand, relaxed, palm up. The claws of his vampyr were black and pointed. She watched them retract, the ridges on his face softened and smoothed, he became human again, though the fire in his eyes still burned like a comforting hearth. "You owe me, First General."
She did. Calla took his hand, ignoring how perfect it felt. She wanted to know more about Mateo Guerin, rock star and vampyr of the cognate. And he was familiar with this city. She needed a place to stay for now. It would work. "I accept your hospitality," she said. For now.
He smiled, and she tried not to let the expression steal her breath.
10
He did indeed know the city well and he brought her to a high-class hotel where the service was instant. He insisted on holding her hand, which wasn't quite comfortable but Calla recognized quickly that being seen with Mateo Guerin meant something to other people. They were escorted to their room, which didn't seem to be normal protocol, but Mateo flirted casually with the hostess and charmed the staff as he passed. He winked at someone as he closed the door, and the instant it locked, the mask fell from his face in shattered pieces.
Calla stood in the middle of the room and tilted her head. "You play that part well."
He rubbed his face. "It used to be fun. Sun, sea, women…" He shrugged, impassive.
"Sport and play," Calla said softly. "It wears on you if you don't have a higher purpose. The Dragon Court—"
Mateo pushed off the door, the contained violence in the motion silencing her, and strode towards the restroom. "The cognate gave me purpose. Evidently, it wasn't enough for me." The door shut with a hard click.
Calla waited, taking a seat on a plush white couch, rather than knocking on the door to follow him in. He needed time, and space, to cope with the decision he was making on his own. She'd done enough by prodding him along this path—if she pushed too hard, it would backfire and a potential lover would become a bitter enemy.
How would the Delphina react when Calla showed up with a vampyr in tow—the same vampyr who'd violated their sovereignty and stole Calla? How would she explain the instinct that drew her towards him, the deep conviction that despite his family and circumstances he would be an asset to the Dragon Court, a male of honor?
She could barely even explain it to herself, but she'd better try, at least, because neither the Delphina nor the Pythian would hesitate to kill him if Calla's argument wasn't convincing. And it was more than her heart at stake—it was her honor. She'd given Mateo her word that he would be accepted, given a place. Word was bond, and she would die before her word failed.
"Why are we here?" she asked once he'd emerged. "Why not the apartment?"
He grimaced. "There's nothing there. I haven't stocked it in months—and the cognate may know about it. They'll be less likely to attack somewhere this public, especially once the paparazzi park outside."
Which must have been the reason for his dramatic entrance. Hiding in plain sight.
"Let's get out of here," he said abruptly. "Do something. Anything. I don't want to just sit here and—"
Calla understood. One of the worst parts of any battle was the waiting. And this was what it was—a battle. The quiet before the start of the war. If he truly had defected, and with her as cognate property, then they would have to attempt not only to retrieve her, but to punish and maybe kill Mateo. It was the only way to preserve their reputation in the networks possible clients circulated in. She knew these next few hours were likely the only peace they would get before the storm descended.
An hour later, they walked the streets of LA hand in hand. It was getting easier for Calla to accept the way his shoulder casually brushed hers, melding into the contact instead of jumping away. They spent a surprisingly good time window shopping, talking about nothing, until Calla spent a moment too long eyeing a dress. He pulled her into the store without asking. An attentive employee greeted them just inside and before Calla could talk him out of it, she was handed three sizes and escorted to a changing room.
"This is unnecessary," she said, stiff.
Mateo sat on a plush ottoman and crossed his legs, waiting, brow raised. "First General of the Dragon Court, I'm filthy rich. Indulge me."
He paid for the dress and insisted she wear it, then advised the stylist to select several more pieces of casual daywear and send them to the hotel suite. Mateo insisted they had to go to dinner since she was in a dress and he was hungry at any rate, sweeping her up into his glittering, frenetic energy. Calla decided not to make a fuss about the dress and just enjoy the experience. Hadn't she and General Takoda discussed this very thing? Romance. Kinship. A night out with a man who potentially understood her.
The first night in a very, very long time.
People clearly recognized Mateo, and when their eyes slid to Calla, they were full of jealousy or longing. She wasn't sure what drove so many people to worship him. He was a man of depths… but he hadn't shown that to his fans, had he? They only knew the jubilant rock star that hopped across the stage under cascading lights.
"Oh. My. God. I need to take a selfie!" A young woman broke off from a group of three friends to rush to Mateo's side, phone in hand. Mateo held his arm out, cradling her like one might a lover, and posed broodingly for the camera, his hair draped artfully over his shoulder. A shadow of a beard on his jaw gave him a rakish look, and Calla swore he'd darkened his lashes in the restroom with mascara.
The phone flashed and the woman squealed as she checked it. "Thank you! I am your biggest fan."
Mateo's hand never left Calla, though for all the presence she had, she may as well have been invisible. Mateo winked at the woman and fished in his back pocket, producing a handful of business cards. "Only my biggest fans get backstage passes," he said. "Give that number a call so I can see you at the next show."
"Ho-Ly. Shit." The woman accepted the cards reverently. "We will be there, I promise."
"You better." Mateo pulled Calla closer, slinging his arm around her waist as they moved past his frantic fans. She shook her head.
"Why don't you make them look past you?" Like he had during their fight. All this attention seemed contrary to the danger Mateo said they were in.
He snorted. "I can't maintain a glamour forever. What am I, Superman?"
Well, at least he had some limitations. She had wondered.
A musical tone burst from Mateo's pocket and he frowned. The arm around her waist hardened. With a wave of his hand, the glamour they discussed tingled over her skin. Calla saw the change immediately. People simply… didn't notice them. Mateo answered the phone with a clipped voice, all business, and the extended silence that followed made Calla's blood run cold.
Mateo's face darkened as he hung up the phone and returned it to his pocket. Powyr ignited around him, licking at Calla's skin like invisible fire. Her flesh prickled, hairs lifting as a new sense of fear settled. She grabbed his hand, wanting his focus and dreading it at the same time. Mateo's eyes flicked to her and narrowed. He was primed, all predator, seeking his prey. His pupils widened on her and Calla realized this phone call would change her life.
For a few hours, she'd let herself forget about war and kidnapping, just enjoying a night out in a way she'd never experienced before. And now, as that gentle comfort came crashing down, Calla was once again ready to go to battle.
She'd only been in this city for a day. General Takoda needed a few at least before he or his agents could reach her—she was under no illusion he
hadn't been able to triangulate her location. Though she hadn't ordered a retrieval team, she knew him well enough—he'd sent one. The time to get as much useful information out of Mateo was slipping away. The more he was willing to tell them, the more likely the Delphina would accept Calla's request to bring him into the court. She needed to discover who this client was who wanted her head.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. The march back to their hotel was tense and brisk, which told Calla there was just as much turmoil in Mateo's head as her own. Had he received a threat from his brother? Kragen didn't strike her as the kind of vampyr to hand out warnings. He'd come into her room—her prison—to take what he wanted. Calla would bet anything that Mateo was inclined to be contrary to his brother regardless of the cost. There was no love between them.
Mateo deposited her into the hotel room like one might order a well-trained dog back inside. And that was enough of that. Calla pushed Mateo gently against the hotel door and grabbed his chin to force eye contact. He was lost in his head. Something needed to change before his client, or his family, came after them.
"Who called?"
Mateo's eyes fluttered closed. When they opened again, the vampyr red had receded somewhat. Calla decided to take that as a good sign. "The client."
"Give me a name."
He shook his head. "I don't know. Male, late forties by the sound of his voice."
"Vampyr? Human?"
"I don't know." He rested his head on the door with a thump and Calla released his chin. "Clients speak to my sire, or more accurately, their agents do. I don't usually know who they are." His voice dropped. "I don't usually care."
But he did now. Calla crossed her arms. "I need that name."
"I need to not make enemies," he snapped. "I'm working on it, woman." Mateo pushed off the door and Calla shoved him back against it. He hissed softly. She ignored it.
"No warrior can function until they decide who their master is." She narrowed her eyes. "Who do you serve, Mateo? Your sire or yourself?"
