Waking the Dragon

by Juliette Cross

  “But the Morgon Guard is leading the investigation, right?” I asked.

  A slow nod. I kept my smile to myself, elated that I had such contacts. No other journalist would have access to the information I did. But it wasn’t just about telling a story. It was about justice. An exhilarating thrill swept over me since I’d be a part of stopping this evil. That is, if Lucius and Lorian allowed me to move forward with my plan.

  A sharp gust of wind and swift shadow fell across the table, drawing our attention to the Morgon landing on the terrace. Bristling at the sight of our newcomer, I breathed in a deep lungful of morning air, frustrated with my immediate reaction to his presence.

  In the full light of day, his wings shone with a sheen of sapphire over deep black, rippling with thick-muscled framing. He was the first Morgon of the Moonring clan I’d ever seen. Most Morgons were named for their hue of wings, but Kol’s clan was obviously named for their eyes. Unusual. In gray military-style pants and matching shirt, he stood stone-like next to Lorian, avoiding eye contact with me. If his skin were gray, he could’ve been a decorative statue on the terrace. But who wanted a scowling statue?

  “Now that we’re all here, let’s debrief,” said Lorian, taking a seat next to Sorcha.

  Without a word, Kol sat next to him.

  “Okay,” I interrupted. “Can I finally ask why we’re debriefing here and not with Lucius. No offense, Lorian, but I thought he was in charge of this little enterprise.”

  “None taken.” Actually, he seemed amused. “Lucius doesn’t want his pregnant wife stressing her mind or body about your whereabouts. So, while you’re hunting your story, I’ll be making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

  Kol made a grunting noise and shifted, still not acknowledging me. Whatever. Lorian gazed at me with those unsettling eyes. “Explain everything about your contact with your lead last night.”

  A chill crawled up my spine, remembering him. “Well, he’s definitely got money.”

  Kol’s eyes finally fixed on me with a lifted brow, an implied question.

  “For one,” I continued, “his shirt. It was Primean silk. I’ve seen enough of it to know the difference between less expensive brands.”

  Primean silk was a rare, shiny fabric made only in Primus, a human-only province to the west of Gladium. The irony was that Primeans still segregated themselves from the Morgons, yet they exported goods to other provinces to make their already wealthy city even wealthier. Greed, a powerful motivator.

  “That’s for sure,” added Sorcha. “Seems like you and Jessen had a new dress in Primean silk for every ball you had to go to.”

  I ignored Sorcha’s comment, not wanting to get into family history. “That leads to the other reason. There was an air about him. It’s not something I can exactly point to, but only the aristocracy hold themselves that way and speak like him.” I felt the weight of Kol’s stare. I shifted my gaze to Lorian. “He also said his name was Borgus.”

  Lorian and Kol shared a look.

  “Wait,” said Sorcha. “I know that name.”

  “Borgus Fireblade,” Lorian enunciated slowly.

  Sorcha’s eyes widened. “I remember! That was the cult leader of the original Larkosians.”

  “Yes, baby. But Borgus Fireblade and all of his clan died out five centuries ago when his fanatical religion was put to an end.”

  “Maybe this guy is a descendent of the original Borgus Fireblade, and he’s carrying the torch, so to speak, and just adopted the name,” I offered.

  Kol fixed his eyes on me. “He wasn’t a Fireblade. He’s one of the Coalglass clan.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Lorian.

  A sharp nod. “Definitely.”

  “Coalglass?” I asked Lorian. “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “Their name comes from the structure of their wings,” said Lorian. “They’re made for speed.”

  I remembered the way his wings were extremely sharp and angular, shiny, compared to other Morgons.

  Kol looked at Lorian. “All of their clan resides in the Cloven Province, so he’s far from home.”

  “Why don’t you talk to Kieren, see if he’ll help locate this guy and find out who he really is.”

  Kol said nothing. His face, neck, and shoulders went rigid. His hand on the table clenched slowly into a fist. Whoever Kieren was, Kol didn’t like the idea of contacting him. Lorian held his gaze, waiting. Kol finally gave him a short, sharp nod.

  Sorcha piped in. “Well, why didn’t one of you just follow him and catch him? Bring him in for questioning or something.”

  “We’re not dealing with regular criminals. Not even regular killers.” Kol’s voice fell to a deeper register. “Questioning one of them, even under torture, wouldn’t do a thing. They’ll die before giving us what we want.”

  I swallowed hard, not realizing torture was a viable interrogation technique for the Morgons. For all my historical education on their kind, I seemed to know very little.

  Kol continued, “If he is one of the murderers, we need to get him to lead us to the others. The killings won’t stop by capturing just one of them.”

  “Agreed.” Lorian stretched his hand across the table, taking Sorcha’s in his own. “What else did Borgus say to you?” he asked, glancing my way.

  I shrugged. “Nothing worth mentioning.”

  Sorcha drew Lorian’s hand into her lap, leaning forward. “He came on to you, didn’t he?”

  Kol shifted and pulled his wings tighter against his back.

  “He was interested.” I gripped my medal, twining it in my fingers, swallowing my fear. “That’s why I want to see if he’ll lead us to the others. I want to go back and try again.”

  Chapter 6

  When all eyes swiveled to me, I had the distinct feeling I’d been here before. Except at the dinner party, I didn’t have the Iceman’s frigid stare boring a hole into my face.

  Lorian clasped both hands together on the table, leaning forward. “You do realize that in order to lead us to the others, we’d have to let him abduct you.”

  “Yes.”

  “As in abduct you for the same purpose as the other women.”

  Sweat beaded along my hairline. “Yes. But of course, you’ll track me to their hideout or wherever they take them before anything happens to me.”

  “No.” Kol’s only response. His eyes glittered brighter, drawing me in.

  “Why not? You even said I was Morgon bait last night. So let me be the bait.”

  “No.”

  A scornful laugh escaped my lips. “Lorian is in charge here. Not you.”

  Kol’s posture angled toward me for the first time. The harsh lines of his face, the grim set of his mouth, the taut strain of his shoulders underneath his long-sleeved T-shirt—all warned me he was as unyielding as a mountain. He tightened his white-knuckled fist till something cracked.

  “I am in charge of this investigation.” Steady words laced with ice.

  A shiver rippled through me. “How so?”

  Lorian smirked. “Moira, weren’t you aware that Kol is Captain of the Morgon Guard?”

  The blood drained from my face. Kol was most definitely in charge. I squirmed under the weight of tension rippling off the hulking man. A look of satisfaction cracked his frozen expression. I swear I wanted to punch him.

  “And as Captain of the Morgon Guard, I won’t allow it. You have no business inserting yourself into this.” He turned his hard expression on Lorian, ignoring me once again. “There are other possibilities.”

  “Gaius has had some success then?” asked Lorian.

  “I haven’t received contact via comm since the second murder, but I did make one brief contact where he confirmed he was in.”

  “How did he make contact without a comm device?” I asked, unable to keep my questions to myself.

  Kol’s cold gaze slid over me, completely disregarding my question. “He won’t be able to make furt
her contact without jeopardizing his cover for some time.”

  I interrupted their semi-private conversation. “So, what I gather you’re saying is that this Gaius is undercover for the Morgon Guard, trying to infiltrate the cult. That’s perfect. Then I’ll be in even less danger if I act as bait. Your mole can track my whereabouts straight into their lair and get information back to you. It’s foolproof.” I couldn’t keep the excitement from my voice. Lorian actually chuckled. Not Kol. It looked as if he were about to explode.

  “She’s quick,” Lorian mumbled to Sorcha.

  Sorcha set her drink on the table. “Told you.”

  Lorian tapped his index finger on the table, wild eyes narrowed on the horizon. After a moment, he shifted back in his seat, angling toward Kol. “It’s not such a bad idea. With your tracking abilities, the risk is little.”

  “See,” I said reassuringly, “the risk is little.”

  “But there is risk,” added Sorcha.

  I glared at her, then settled my gaze back on Kol, realizing I had to convince him if this was ever going to happen. I refused to let Captain Iceman freeze me out. “What if your guy isn’t able to gain their trust and get all the information you need?”

  “Then you’ll be in more danger.”

  “What I meant is that you’ll need another way in. I’m it! I’m your way in. I know this Borgus guy is the key. I know I can get him to take me and lead us to the other cult members.”

  Kol’s jaw clenched tight, his scar accentuating the hard planes of his face. Man, he sure did hate losing an argument. Silence stretched. The clouds thickened overhead. A wintry breeze gusted across the terrace, lifting the dark hair brushing his nape. Following the lines up his throat and over his cleft chin, I reached his eyes to find him staring at me. Crap. No, he caught me staring at him. I glanced down and brushed away a non-existent piece of lint from my jeans before returning my attention to Lorian.

  Lorian cleared his throat. “She has a point.”

  Kol gripped the edge of the table, straightening and flexing his arm, the tendons tight ropes up his forearm to his bicep. He rolled his shoulder back as if trying to loosen a crick or muscle pull. The wing above his strained shoulder opened briefly before settling back into place. The subtle movements of his body distracted me. He was so large and broad, formidable, yet so lithe and graceful at the same time. The man was a walking, flying paradox.

  I sighed, clasping my hands together on the table. “Look. I’m not saying we go barreling in there tomorrow or anything. I need to check out a few things first, and I need more information on the Larkosian cult as well as Devlin Wood, where they’re dropping the bodies.”

  “These things you’re referring to,” said Kol, flint in his voice, “wouldn’t happen to be other leads you failed to mention.”

  I paused a second. “I didn’t withhold anything. I just forgot to tell you.”

  “Lie.”

  Damn it. He was right.

  Lorian sighed. “She does need a proper education on Morgons and our history. More than her fairytales and university teachings.”

  “That’s not my job.”

  “Fine. Then take her to someone who will. Petrus. Besides, he can give you more insight into the cult’s obsession with dumping the bodies in Devlin Wood.”

  Kol dragged his gaze from me. “I can’t take her to Drakos. You know that.”

  Lorian made a snorting noise. “He hardly lives inside the city limits of Drakos. He’s more like a hermit. Like you.”

  “I can pass her any information from Petrus.”

  “Oh, no, no, no,” I interrupted. “I don’t think so. No offense. But you’d be the worst secondary source ever.”

  Cold blue pinned me again. “And why is that?”

  “You’re extremely…taciturn.”

  Sorcha snickered beside me.

  I ignored her, focusing on Kol. “I need to speak to the primary source. This Petrus guy.”

  Without batting an eye, he spoke directly to Lorian again. “She can’t drive there, and she has no wings.”

  Lorian arched a brow as if that answered the question.

  Sorcha piped up cheerfully. “I have tons of flying harnesses.”

  I straightened. “I’m not flying with anybody, especially not him.”

  Did he just roll his eyes at me?

  Lorian’s otherworldly gaze settled on me. “How exactly do you think Borgus plans to take you, Moira? All of his victims have been abducted by flight. If you intend to follow through with this plan, then you’ll definitely be flying. Better you get used to the sensation, so you won’t be terrified and lose your wits if we’re going to do this at all.”

  He was right. I swallowed hard. “Fine,” I conceded quickly. “I’ll go see this hermit, Petrus.”

  Lorian added, “And be aware that I’m not convinced this is the best course of action. As a matter of fact, your sister would flay us all just for considering the idea. Kol and I will have to discuss it at length before we decide to take such a risk.”

  “Fine,” I bit out, trying my best not to sound petulant.

  “Tell me the other leads you’re withholding,” Kol demanded.

  “I’ve got an appointment to see the owner of the salon where Maxine Mendale worked”—I glanced at my watch—“in thirty minutes. And I’m visiting a bar owner tonight about the night she disappeared.”

  I could’ve easily visited Mikal at his house, but I didn’t want to visit him in a place with so many intimate memories. No. I wouldn’t give him hope of any kind of reconciliation by meeting in a place where we were once lovers. Still, I had to find out anything he could give me about Maxine and the night she vanished. I had to find him at his club.

  I stood from the table. Kol stood with me.

  “Where are you going?” I put a hand on my hip.

  “We are going to the salon. Not that it’ll be much help.”

  “If you don’t think it’ll help, why bother? I can just relate any information they give me.”

  “The same way I can relate any information from Petrus.”

  A stand-off. I narrowed my eyes and pressed my lips together, wanting to spit nails. He was infuriating to the nth degree.

  “Fine. Meet me at Carella’s on Lexington Avenue within thirty minutes.” I stood from the table.

  He scoffed. “I’ll be there in five.” His eyes gave me a once-over as if pitying my feeble human body. With a nod to Lorian and Sorcha, he took two long strides, and with one beat of his wings, shot straight up into the air, soaring higher and higher toward the gathering clouds.

  “Show-off,” I mumbled under my breath. I swallowed hard to lessen the fluttering in my stomach from watching the fastest launch I’d ever seen.

  Lorian walked to the edge of the terrace, watching other Morgons in flight going to and from work. A white-winged Morgon of the Icewing clan stepped from his balcony across the way, alighting into the air with a grace and beauty I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to.

  I glanced back to find Sorcha smirking at me with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “What?”

  “Ohhh, nothing.” She sipped her second—or was it her third?—mimosa.

  “Whatever you’re thinking, just stop it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she sassed. “Now, you just run along and go play, I mean, go investigate with your partner.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for breakfast.” How did I ever get into this with that exasperating Morgon as a partner?

  Mid-morning traffic was light, but it still took me twenty minutes to arrive and find a parking spot near Carella’s. Kol stood in the shadow near its entrance, leaning with arms crossed against the brick facing, his wings tucked tight against his back. His eyes lingered on my car as I approached.

  “You are Moira Cade, aren’t you?” His tone dripped with sarcasm. “As in, the daughter of business tycoon, Pritchard Cade.”

  “What are you implying? Just sp
it it out.”

  “I’m curious what you did to make daddy disown you.”

  Ass. I crossed my arms. “What makes you think my father disowned me?”

  “He apparently cut you off financially for you to be driving that thing.”

  My ten-year-old economy sedan sat in a forlorn state at the side of the curb. Yes, she was dinged to hell and back, but she was mine. And Kol was seriously pissing me off, intruding in my private life.

  “My relationship with my father is none of your damn business.” I stepped more into his space, glaring up at him.

  He arched a dark brow, apparently unused to feminine aggression.

  “Look,” I said. “We may be stuck with each other for the duration of this investigation, but get one thing straight. I don’t take shit from any man. Not even a Morgon one who happens to be a foot taller than me.” I jabbed a finger in his chest, refusing to wince at how hard my finger bent back. Freaking slab of stone. “So keep your personal observations to yourself.”

  He actually smiled just a fraction, which only made my frown deepen. “Not a problem.” He swept an arm toward the salon entrance. “After you.”

  I walked ahead, then spun back around. “You know. It might be better if you stay out here.”

  He sneered. “Not happening.”

  “I’m not trying to withhold information or anything. It’s just that you’re kind of big and intimidating. It might be better if you stay outside.”

  “Am I now.” Not a question.

  “Pfft. To some people, Iceman. Not to me.”

  Oops. Didn’t mean to let that name slip. He moved into my space this time. I was suddenly rethinking whether I found him big and intimidating. I gulped dry air. “Relax. And just stay a little ways back. People respond well to me. Other than you, that is.”

  He tilted his head and cracked his neck. “Lead the way, Kittycat.”

  My mouth dropped. “Excuse me.”

  “You heard me.” His voice was a low rumble, mere inches separating us.

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Mmm. You sure enjoy judging others. Taciturn. Intimidating. Iceman. But you can’t handle how others see you.”