“My brother, the optimist. Did hell freeze over and I missed it?”
He chucked his sweaty towel at me, hitting me in the face.
“Ewww!” I laughed.
“A smile. That’s better than the scowl you wore in here. The workout seemed to help your crappy mood.”
“It did.” It had helped even more when I imagined Kol’s face instead of my brother’s every time I pounded him. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Any time you need to beat someone up, just give me a call.”
With a wave, he was out the door. I finished dressing and made my way down the wide, spiral staircase. Mother was out doing errands. Edda, our family’s live-in servant since before I was born, greeted me at the bottom as she dusted the tall, wooden clock.
“Will you be joining the family for dinner on Friday? Your mother requested that you come.”
I sighed inwardly. My mother still bore hopes of me snagging the most eligible bachelor in town and becoming the model aristocratic hostess for the most posh of high society. Like her. Though I loved my mother, another one with good intentions gone awry, I would never be the daughter she wanted. To avoid the look of disappointment in her eyes, I avoided her as often as I could, especially in the setting she so wanted me to be a part of.
“No, Edda. I’m afraid not. I have something to do for work.”
“Of course.” Edda smiled, surely knowing I may or may not have something to do with work. It didn’t matter. I’d avoid the Cade party train as much as possible. “Well, work hard.” She winked.
“I will,” I promised as she bustled toward the kitchen.
I crossed the marble tile into the foyer, hearing papers shuffle from the front parlor. Frowning, I stepped in. Father was seated in the overstuffed chair next to the fire, reading the newspaper. This was the man I enjoyed spending time with, not the overbearing CEO I’d avoided at his office. At home, outside the realm of his professional kingdom, he was the man I wished he’d been during my childhood, before Jessen had left as the rebellious child he still spoke of with a pained expression. “Father?”
His usual steely gaze was somewhat wilted. “Moira. Come here, girl.”
I obeyed. Though I’d relinquished his hold over the direction of my life, I still treated him with respect.
I sat on the ottoman at his feet. He folded the paper in his lap, twining his fingers together over a paunchy stomach. His face seemed more drawn, his eyes less severe, the mouth less grim. Time was softening the hard lines of a face I once feared. The man who never picked me up when I fell down, who never kissed a scraped knee or elbow, who never wished me a sound sleep at bedtime. No. The man who had taught me severity and tenacity was fading behind the graying hair and softening belly.
“Why are you not at work?”
“Oh, not much to do.”
Since when did that ever keep him from work?
“I can catch up on local politics right here with The Gladium Post,” he said, gesturing to the folded paper in his lap.
I picked up the paper, glancing at the headline, When Will the Devlin Butchers Strike Next?, written by Bard Woodblade, one of their lead reporters.
“So, girl. You still have your eye on The Post? Best be working hard if you do. Not many get the chance at one of their positions. Especially not women.” His jab was meant to bolster my ambition, rather than discourage. I knew that now. Once, I would’ve taken offense, but I’d learned his ways.
“I’m working hard. No need to worry. As senior editor at The Herald, I get to choose from the best stories.”
He pierced me with the grave look I’d grown up knowing so well. “Don’t choose from the best. Choose the best. There is no other way to climb high and far. You’re a Cade, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not. Remember that.”
I glanced down at my fingers, pulling at a loose thread in my jacket. “I have no problem acknowledging who I am.”
“Hmph. Really? Then who is Marina Creed? I’m assuming that’s your pseudonym. Unless there are two senior editors at the university paper.” My father had been reading my articles. My mouth fell agape for about five seconds before I took hold of my wits again. My father actually read my articles.
“I am perfectly proud of my given name,” I said, clearing my voice of emotion. “I want to make my way on my own, not on the back of your accomplishments.”
He rubbed his forefinger along his lower lip, an old habit of his when he fell into deep thought. He stared past me out the window. After a few minutes of listening to the steady crackle of the fire and the hollow ticking pendulum of the clock in the foyer, he gazed down at me with the old hard look I knew so well. “You know, girl. You’re more like me than any of my children. You have a spine of steel,” he said with an appraising stare. “Just know, that steely spine of yours can get you through a great many trials. But steel that is untested by fire is brittle and will break if it bends too far.”
I considered his words as he went back to gazing over my shoulder out the window, rubbing his forefinger along his lip in pensive silence.
It made me cringe to be compared to the man who exiled my sister from the family because of his own prejudices against the Morgon race and who had once ruled over my brother like a tyrant. He was right. He was so right. I tempered the anger burning in my chest.
In childhood, Father was the one who forced me to get up when I fell down, who taught me to ignore the pain of scraped knees and elbows, who sent me to bed alone so I might learn independence rather than the life of a coddled child. In short, he made me the strong woman I was. After Jessen left and married Lucius, he demanded that I spend less time with my mother, a sweet but meek woman, and more time with Demetrius. My father made me who I was. Was it his regret of losing Jessen that made him change toward me? Or had he always seen my iron will as a reflection of his own?
“An early snow,” he said, gesturing toward the window.
I stood and watched chunky flakes flurry down in a steady torrent. The sun blotched out by a pall of gray.
“Very early,” I added.
“Best keep warm. It’s going to be a deep, cold winter.”
Chapter 11
The bell gonged, signifying the end of the game. To me, it sounded like the ominous toll of doom. Kris, part of tonight’s cover, beamed her bright smile at Kraven, laughing at some joke, as carefree as ever. Forcing a smile, I wore my full façade of party girl. On the inside was an entirely different matter. I’d set myself up as meat for the slaughter. I was confident that Kol and Lorian and the rest of them would protect me. Still, the idea of where I might be by the end of the night should our plan come to fruition chilled my blood.
“Awesome! Let’s go.” Kris bounced out of her seat toward the door with Kraven close behind.
I’d been forbidden to tell Kris the details of tonight’s plan, keeping those in the inner circle to a bare minimum. But she was my best friend, and everyone knew the unwritten rule. When you were sworn to secrecy about something, that included everyone except your best friend. So, of course, I told her everything. Besides, if I didn’t tell her about my pseudo-seduction of the creepy Borgus guy, she’d think I’d lost my mind and scare him off as soon as he started leering at me. At first, she was hesitant, being more on the cautious side of care than me. But as soon as I told her there would be a bevy of Nightwing Security around the place, she was more than willing to be my accomplice for the evening.
We jostled into the corridor. Kraven stood at our backs, his wings partly open to keep others from running into us.
“Now, the espionage begins,” she whispered in my ear.
I elbowed her. “Kris,” I hissed in warning.
She winked, stepping aside so Kraven could sidle between us.
“You know, this isn’t your typical club. It can get kind of rowdy down there,” he said.
“Sounds fun to me.” Kris smiled.
Kraven looked a little smitten. How
could he not. Kris flipped her soft, honey-brown hair over her bare shoulder, tucking her jacket under her arm. Her halter-top of deep purple accentuated the blue-violet of her eyes. Kraven’s gaze skimmed down her black-clad slender hips and legs when she wasn’t looking. The poor guy was a goner.
Kris had dressed more modestly than me. After all, I was supposed to be bait. I needed to stand out. And I made damn sure of it. I wore skin-tight white patent leather pants with red criss-cross stitching on both outer seams from hip to ankle, and a blood-red corset under my black dragon jacket. I’d been the receiver of numerous lecherous stares by men and venomous glares by women the whole night, but the unwanted attention was worth it if I drew the one Morgon we were looking for.
I linked arms with Kris as we exited the Box and found the darkened stairs leading into the cellars. A parade of Morgons and a few humans were doing the same. I sidled up next to Kris with Kraven on the other side of her.
The house music pumped loud and hard as we descended into the basement. Nearly packed, the party must’ve gotten started early. The most shocking difference was the aura of blue light flickering from the sconces and black wrought iron chandeliers.
“What the heck?” exclaimed Kris. “How is that even possible?”
Kraven winked. “A Morgon trick.” He glanced over Kris’s head, giving me a knowing look. It was Morgon magic, not a trick. “They do this when the Riptides from Cloven play our team.” The Riptides had vibrant sapphire-blue wings. For the first time, it dawned on me that most teams outside Gladium represented one clan, while our team bore members from several different ones.
“They’re the Skyshadow clan, aren’t they?” I asked Kraven.
“Yeah. They all live in Cloven.” Kraven nodded toward the Pit arena. “I’m going to catch up to you ladies in a while. I need to check on the fighting match for tonight.”
“Sure thing,” I said, scanning the room.
I didn’t recognize anyone. No sign of Kol or Lorian. Of course, the plan required them to stay hidden. Everyone knew Lorian and Kol’s link to the Morgon Guard. We wanted the crowd to feel uninhibited. Kol informed me they’d be close, monitoring from a secure room with access to the hidden cameras.
“Come on, Kris. Let’s go get a drink.”
Weaving through the dancing crowd, I wasn’t surprised to have to push my way through to the other side. A voluptuous brunette, human, had her arms wrapped around the neck of a Morgon man who had his tongue shoved down her throat. From behind her, another Morgon pressed close as his hands hiked up her skirt and trailed underneath. I hid my disgust as I pressed forward.
Damn, the sexual tension in this place was amped to a new level. Last time, I’d sensed the escalating sensuality following the fight, but tonight, there was an aura of sex heavy in the air. And the fight hadn’t even started. This place would transform into a full-on orgy after the scintillating blood-bath. Now I understood why Jessen’s face fell ashen when I’d mentioned the Pit. This place attracted the dregs of Morgon society. Not your typical nightclub party people, but the kind that let their beast roam to the surface, satisfying their animalistic urges without hindrance or regret.
“Moira,” hissed Kris close to my ear as we finally made it to the bar. “Some dude just grabbed my boob.”
I grinned. “Welcome to a Vaengar after-party.”
“Yeah, but not all Morgons behave like that.”
Kol flashed to mind. No, they certainly didn’t.
“Kraven’s nice,” added Kris. “Why aren’t you dating him again?”
I shrugged. “He’s just not my type.”
She snorted as she waved over the bartender, the same green-winged Morgon from last time, her hair dyed bright fuchsia. “What? A tall, fine hunk of male isn’t your type? He’s a gentleman, too. Best of both worlds.”
The waitress brought us two Brevettes on ice. I clinked my glass against Kris’s.
“You have a crush on him.”
“What? Me? No! Pfft.” She waved me off and gulped down half her glass.
“Whoa. Brevette is a sneaky drink. I wouldn’t drink it so fast.”
“Sure thing, Mom.”
I shoved her with my shoulder. A roar of masculine laughter erupted from near the body-shot table. It seemed someone was entertaining the lascivious crew as usual. I caught a glimpse of a bare feminine leg between the Morgon bodies pressed close around the table. A girl squealed, then more laughter.
“What’s going on over there?”
“You don’t want to know.” Some unfortunate girls giving up their dignity for a cheap thrill.
I sipped my drink, slyly checking out the room, not recognizing a soul. The grinding house music slowed to a more somber song.
“Kris.” I turned at Kraven’s voice to see a big smile beaming down at her. “Would you care to dance?”
She knocked her drink back and took his hand. “You don’t mind, do you, Moira?”
“No. Of course not.” I waved them off with a smile, happy Kris could enjoy herself while I grew more tense by the moment. “You two have fun.”
Kraven gave me a sharp nod and guided her into the crowd. He was letting me be a lonely, morsel of Morgon bait all by myself. I’d nursed my one glass of Brevette for several songs and was on my second before the fish finally emerged from the murky waters and nibbled on the hook.
“We meet again, Moira.”
I swallowed my breathless gasp and cooled my features before turning with a sensual smile. “Mr. Borgus. How delightful to see you again.”
As before, he was dressed impeccably, from well-groomed hair to gold cufflinks. A starched, white Primean silk shirt, glowed under the blue light. A dark suit, finely tailored. A thin tie that shined silver in the dark. Even a triangle of handkerchief stuck out of the front lapel—an older fashion that certain members of the nobility still clung to.
“Please. Just Borgus. And the pleasure is all mine.”
I extended my hand for him to shake. Instead, he took my hand and pulled me in, placing a kiss on my cheek, lingering close. I had to tamp down my urge to cringe.
When he pulled back, a glint of cold fire sparked in his eyes. He angled his head in an assessing manner, putting me on high alert. “You’re dating a Morgon.”
Oh, shit! How did I not realize he would smell Kol’s scent on me before the planned abduction? I didn’t even know what marking really meant in the crazy-ass mating rituals of Morgons. Did it mean I was taken? Or that I just liked one of their kind? Or that I’d just fooled around? Kol had tried to reconnect with me before tonight, but I had some “emergency” to deal with every time he had called.
I shook my head. “Not really. I was seeing someone, but I don’t think he’s the Morgon for me.”
His mouth quirked up on one side, the one that didn’t twitch. He seemed appeased by my answer. “Are you here alone?” One dark eye made the tic motion with his mouth.
“No, I’m here with a girlfriend, but she’s, well, preoccupied at the moment.” I waved in the general direction of the dance floor. “Would you mind keeping me company for a while?”
I shrugged out of my jacket, confident that my strapless corset would do the trick and reel him in. My dark hair slipped over one shoulder in a silken sheet. Though it had been several days, I still had to use concealer to cover the bruise from Kol’s bite during our make out marking session.
Borgus shifted his body closer. “I would be delighted.”
Seducing a possible murderer was new for me, making me feel as dirty as the girls doing unspeakable things in the dark corners of this room. But I blinked away my fear, thinking instead of the three girls pinned to the bulletin board in my office. I had a job to do, so I pasted on my sultry smile and lured him in.
I focused on maintaining calm, even breathing. Kol had warned me that Morgons could sense fear. Hopefully, if my heart accelerated with the look I had fixed on my face, he’d think I was only excited and aroused
by his magnificence. This was tougher than I thought.
I waved over the bartender, forcing myself not to think of those girls, not to think what this man did to them. She slid me another Brevette on the rocks.
Borgus tossed down a large bill and waved her away. “So, Moira. Tell me about yourself.”
I leaned my elbow on the bar, jutting out my hip. His face was split—half in shadow and half in hazy blue light, morphing his features to grotesque angles. Last time I’d seen him, I knew he was of the Morgon nobility, his features almost handsome. Now, the sharp contours and high cheekbones contorted into something frightening. Black eyes glinted in the low light with an unnatural luster. Matching their namesake, glossy black wings appeared like shards of glass sticking up over his shoulder. Coalglass.
I fingered an ice-cube, pretending to stir my fresh drink. “Well, I’m a student at GU, so that takes up most my time.”
“What are you studying?”
“Multicultural Studies.”
“Ah.” One of his hands lifted a strand of my hair, twining it slowly. “And what made you choose such a field?”
“I’ve always been curious about other cultures and races. Especially Morgons. But now I’m interested in learning more firsthand.” I gazed up from beneath my lashes, willing him to take the bait.
“Really?” His chest brushed mine. “I can certainly teach you whatever you’d like to know.”
“I’m sure you can.” Holding eye contact over the rim of my glass, I sipped the Brevette. “Don’t you ever wonder about the other half of the population?”
He let my hair slide through his fingers and rested his hand on the curve of my hip.
“All the time.” His mouth and eye ticked in unison. I pretended not to notice as his hand squeezed my hip, inching me closer. “Tell me what else you do with your time.”
“I practice body boxing.”
His eyes widened in surprise and obvious appreciation. “Human women do such a thing?”
“Oh, yes. Some do, anyway.” I gave him my sexy smile. “A girl’s got to keep in shape.”
Waking the Dragon Page 12
