They were so pale they looked white, and were flecked with shimmering dots of color. Like the finest opals.
His dragon roared in pleasure, the heat of his beast thundering through the air. Dear goddess. He’d never come so close to losing control. And he wasn’t even touching her.
Thankfully unaware of his blistering reaction, Blayze studied him with a strange calm.
“Who are you?”
“Char,” he said. “I was asked by your father to protect you.”
Her gaze wandered over his face, her nose flaring as she breathed in his scent.
“A half-breed,” she murmured.
Char jerked back, his bemusement shattered by an icy chill. Quite an accomplishment for a dragon who had flames dancing through his veins.
“I prefer to be called Char, not half-breed,” he said in clipped tones.
She continued to study him, either indifferent to his irritation or just oblivious to it. “What is your magic?”
“My mother is a Dalia demon.”
“Dalia.” She tested the name on her tongue before she gave a slow nod. “You stopped time.”
“Technically, I just slowed it,” he corrected.
“It was enough.”
With a grace that marked her as a pureblood dragon, Blayze was suddenly rising from the floor. The beaded gown that she’d been wearing when she was brought back to her father’s lair rustled like a musical instrument in the silence, the scent of exotic spices teasing at his senses.
Char straightened, stepping away from her slender body.
“Enough for what?” he demanded.
Blayze moved to inspect the room, although her delicate features were impossible to read in the darkness. “For me to step outside my curse long enough to concentrate.”
Char stiffened. “You created the illusion.”
She moved to stare at the heavy wooden chairs that were pushed against the wall.
“There is no illusion,” she said.
Char’s irritation changed to annoyance. Okay, his dragon might be desperately in lust with the female. And there might be a strange tug of connection that was even more troubling.
But he wasn’t her servant. And he wasn’t going to be treated as if he was.
“Then what did you do to the room?”
She glanced over her shoulder, her pale eyes swirling with pinpricks of color.
“Not what. When.”
Char scowled. “What are you talking about?”
She continued her circuit of the room, absently stroking her fingers over a marble statue that looked as if it’d been plundered from an ancient Greek garden. It probably had.
He remembered it sitting beside a lattice wall at the other end of the space.
“I took us back in time.”
Char hissed in shock. Was she serious?
“Did you just say you took us back in time?” he demanded in disbelief.
She moved toward the carved headboard that was a part of her bed, her brow furrowed as if she was troubled by the sight of it.
“Yes.”
“How?”
She stared at the wall, seemingly lost in her thoughts. “I grabbed onto the threads of the curse and pulled us backward,” she answered in absent tones.
“You pulled us backward in time by using the thread of a curse.” Char tried to wrap his brain around the mere thought.
He’d never heard of anyone capable of moving through time. Perhaps a Jinn. Or an Elemental creature.
But not a dragon.
“Isn’t that what I just said?” She didn’t even bother to glance in his direction.
Char flatted his lips. Damn Torque. If his friend hadn’t suggested that Char could help keep Blayze in stasis, Synge would never have demanded that he travel to his lair and stay with his daughter.
He could be enjoying time with his fellow guards. Sparring in the gym. Or eating a massive meal and drinking too much nectar. Instead of standing in this dusty room, trying to squash the urge to ram his head into the nearest wall.
“Just how far back in time did you take us?”
She wrinkled her slender nose. “I intended to bring us to the night that my father formally celebrated my birth.”
Char grunted in shock. He wasn’t entirely sure how old she was, and he wasn’t stupid enough to ask. But if she wasn’t completely out of her mind, then he was currently in a time before he was even born.
The thought made his poor brain spin.
“Listen—” He started to say, only to be interrupted when Blayze tilted back her head, her nose flaring as if she caught a sudden scent.
“He’s here,” she murmured, rapidly heading across the floor.
“Wait.” Char moved to stand directly in her path. “Where are you going?”
She frowned, as if baffled by his perfectly reasonable question.
“To find me.”
“To find you?” Char knew he sounded like a parrot, but dammit, he’d just been tugged through time on the thread of a curse. Who could blame him for being a little rattled?
“This is the nursery,” Blayze told him, speaking slowly as if he was especially stupid. “I need to find out why I’m not here.”
She stepped forward, clearly expecting him to step out of her way. Typical dragon arrogance.
Char, however, stood his ground, his expression set in stubborn lines.
“Later,” he insisted. “First we need to discuss this.”
“There’s nothing to discuss.”
His jaw tightened. “Humor me.”
She sent him a glance filled with baffled frustration. “We’re wasting time.”
Char refused to back down. “If we need more, you can always give another tug on the thread, right?”
She stilled, easily sensing the edge in his words. “Does it bother you?”
He released a humorless laugh. “To be whisked through a half dozen centuries? Yeah, a little.”
“But you are capable of manipulating time.”
Char shook his head. It took every ounce of his power to slow time for a day or two. He couldn’t imagine the magic necessary to transfer two dragons through several hundred years.
“Not like that,” he muttered, giving a wave of his hand that was covered in flames. “But that’s not what I want to discuss.”
Her eyes reflected his dragon-fire, emphasizing the dazzling kaleidoscope of colors.
“Well?”
Char released a slow breath, trying to restrain his inner beast who was desperate to reach out and stroke the pearly luster of her skin. Was it as soft as it looked?
“Can we sit?” he abruptly demanded.
“Char—”
“Please.”
With the sort of sigh that women learned in the womb, she pivoted on her heel to take a seat on one of the heavy chairs against the wall.
“Fine.” She folded her hands in her lap and eyed him with impatience. “Tell me what you want to know.”
Char frowned as he settled on a seat next to her. He was suddenly struck by an odd realization.
Since they’d been jerked back through time he’d been too distracted to actually consider the fact that Blayze had spent most of her existence in hiding, completely isolated to prevent anyone from realizing that she was still alive.
He would expect her to be confused, even terrified, at being taken out of her mother’s protective magic.
Instead she was completely coherent and focused on her goal with an alarming intensity.
“Tell me everything,” he commanded.
“Excuse me?”
He waved a hand. “Start at the beginning.”
She sent him a puzzled glance. “What beginning?”
“When you were cursed.”
“Oh.” She shrugged. “I was too young to really understand what was happening. All I truly recall is that I was lying in my bed when I was hit with an unbearable pain.”
“The curse?” he asked.
“Yes. Things
got very fuzzy, and the next thing I knew I was in a secluded lair and I was wrapped in my mother’s magic.”
Char studied her in amazement. Her tone was calm, almost matter-of-fact. If his life had been destroyed by an evil curse he’d be screaming in fury.
“You were kept asleep?”
She glanced away, her dark hair sliding over her shoulders in a river of ebony.
“It’s difficult to explain. The part of my mind that was compromised by the curse was kept in stasis, but my mother was able to keep our mental connection open,” she said.
“She could communicate with you?”
“Not only that, she allowed me to see the world through her eyes.”
Ah. Well that would explain why she seemed so comfortable to be out of her stasis. Still, it must have been horrible. To be able to see the world and yet know you were trapped by an evil curse.
Char felt a strange tug on his heart. Was it sympathy?
He studied her elegant profile. “I thought she remained in hibernation with you?”
“For the most part she did, but she was anxious to discover who cursed me,” she told him. “At least once a year she would leave me hidden in a secret lair, and try and find some clue.”
“What did she find out?”
“Nothing more than she already knew.” She turned back to reveal her shimmering eyes. “I was cursed on the night that my father celebrated my birth.”
Char gave a slow nod. That made sense. Female dragons were rare. Synge no doubt had been eager to display his glorious prize.
Blayze was worth a fortune.
The lair would have been overflowing with guests. What better opportunity to slip into the nursery and unleash the curse?
“She didn’t learn anything?”
Her shoulders slumped, and Char sensed that a part of her…dimmed.
Caught off guard, he released the flames that danced around his fingers, allowing the shadows to return. Sure enough, a faint glow surrounded Blayze’s slender body. Like a soft halo of white light.
His inner beast stilled, intrigued by the sight. Dragons could create fire. They could breathe it with destructive force. They could allow it to move over their skin. And mold it to use as a weapon.
But they didn’t glow.
This was caused by her magic. Or perhaps, her very essence.
“No one was willing to discuss that night or who might want to punish my father,” she said in sad tones.
Char could no longer resist temptation. Reaching out, he allowed his fingers to smooth through the warm silk of her hair, tucking the heavy strands behind her ear. Even through the darkness he could easily make out her pale features.
He hissed in pleasure, then with an effort, he forced himself to concentrate on her words.
“No one could help?”
She slowly reached up to brush his fingers that lingered on her cheek. Not knocking them away, but almost as if she was trying to process the feel of his touch.
Char abruptly wondered if he was the first male beyond her father to ever lay a hand on her.
“Everyone claimed they hadn’t seen or heard anything,” she said.
He frowned. Even if the lair had been stuffed from top to bottom with demons, Synge would never have left his daughter unguarded.
Not for a second.
“What about your father’s servants?” he demanded.
“They swore that no one was seen going in or out of the nursery.”
“So either they’re lying or the demon responsible for cursing you was capable of entering the nursery without being seen.”
She nodded, her expression revealing that she’d already come to the same conclusion.
“After centuries of waiting for my mother to find the truth, I decided to take matters into my own hands.”
“Even though you were kept in hibernation?”
“I had nothing else to do but study the curse,” she reminded him. “Eventually I realized that I could use my powers to follow the magic back through time. So I decided that’s what I would do.”
Char felt a cold chill inch down his spine. He discovered he didn’t like the thought that she might have come to this place—or rather this time—without him.
“Then why did you wait?” he asked.
“My mother’s power kept me in a protective bubble that was intended to shelter me, but it also kept me trapped.” Her hand dropped away from his fingers. “And when I escaped her powers, the curse’s madness made it impossible to focus my thoughts long enough to explain what I wanted to do.”
Her eyes sparkled with pinpricks of light and Char could feel the frustration heating her skin. A frustration she’d no doubt endured for centuries.
“And then I arrived,” he said.
A smile curved her lips and Char caught sight of a dimple that danced in her cheek. Yet another enchanting surprise.
“Yes. I finally had the opportunity to use my magic.”
His fingers brushed down her jaw, savoring the feel of her skin. The glow that surrounded her abruptly brightened, and Char felt a tingle of pleasure.
The pretty dragon liked his touch.
“What exactly is your magic?” he asked.
She hesitated, as if wondering whether or not to tell him. “I don’t actually have any powers,” she finally admitted. “At least not in the traditional sense.”
Char arched a brow. “Now I’m intrigued.”
“I can’t create magic, but I can see it, and sometimes I can manipulate it.”
“Manipulate it?” He gave a confused shake of his head. “What’s that mean?”
“It’s difficult to explain. When I concentrate, I can see magic like strands of music.” She lifted her hands, waving them in a graceful motion. Like a conductor directing an unseen orchestra. “They’re like strands that float through the air in various patterns.”
Char studied her in fascination. “And you can manipulate them.”
“Not if it’s just a quick spell. Something that is there and then gone.” Her brow furrowed, as if she was struggling to think of the words to explain her talent. “But if it’s a magic that lingers or if it’s a permanent part of an object, then I can use my powers to touch and alter the threads.”
Char gave a nod. It would be easy to assume that her powers were disappointing for a purebred dragon. There were dragons who could change iron to gold. Or create earthquakes that could smash entire cities. Or even control the minds of massive hordes of demons to force them to do their bidding.
Hell, Char was a half-breed and he could slow time.
But anyone who assumed her powers were somehow inadequate would be wrong.
The ability to manipulate the magic of others meant that her powers were limitless. As vast and infinite as magic itself.
“Like you traced the threads of your curse,” he said.
She nodded. “Yes.”
He studied her in confusion. “But you can’t break it?”
“No.” The opal eyes flared with brilliant colors. “I’ve tried for centuries.”
He turned his head to glance around the empty room. “Why did you bring us to this time?”
“I didn’t mean to bring you.”
Char felt that same blast of annoyance at the thought that she might have disappeared without him.
He told himself he was simply worried about her safety. Who knew what was just beyond the door? Probably the crazy-ass demon who’d cursed her in the first place. Or maybe something worse.
She was a fool to rush into an unknown situation without backup.
But he knew that wasn’t what was bothering him.
He resented the thought that she regarded him as an unwanted companion. Like he was some bug that got stuck to her shoe and now she was trying to scrape him off.
“We’re in this together now,” he informed her, his tone indicating that he wasn’t arguing the point.
She blinked, studying him with that strange, calm intensity. “I suppose s
o.”
A rueful smile twisted his lips. He didn’t think she was deliberately trying to bash his pride. It was more a lucky accident.
“So, what was your plan?” he asked.
“I realized that if I could move backward in time, I didn’t have to worry about how to break the curse,” she told him. “I could simply stop the spell before it ever happens.”
CHAPTER THREE
The Viper Pit in downtown Chicago was renowned among demons.
The ritzy club was hidden behind a subtle glamour that made it look like an abandoned warehouse. It was the best way to keep away humans and other riffraff. Once past the illusion, however, the public rooms spread out like a palace.
There were acres of marble floors dotted with white fluted pillars, and glittering chandeliers that hung from the impossibly high ceiling. A dozen fountains sprayed droplets of water between the white-clothed tables that were surrounded by the crowd of demons.
In the back of the club was a wide doorway that gave access to the basement. The lower rooms were reserved for the gaming tables, as well as for those searching for more intimate entertainment. There were private rooms where they could join in the ongoing orgies or start one of their own.
The upper balcony was reserved for the vampire owner of the club, Viper, and his exclusive guests. Tonight, his guest was Styx, the Anasso, the King of Vampires.
Hidden by the crystals of a large chandelier, Levet studied the two powerful vampires.
Viper possessed the haunting beauty of all vampires. His hair was long and as pale as moonlight. A direct contrast to his eyes that were as dark as midnight.
Tonight he was attired in a cherry-red velvet coat that flowed nearly to his knees, and black satin breeches that looked more suitable for a Regency ball than a Chicago nightclub.
Styx had chosen his usual black leather. The six foot five vampire had long black hair that was braided and decorated with turquoise beads. He had the narrow, bronzed features of his Aztec ancestors. And the temper of a rabid hyena.
They were currently sharing a bottle of brandy from Viper’s private stock. Levet’s mouth watered. He’d occasionally managed to sneak a bottle or two from the cellars, but it had been months since he last—
A ripple of darkness shot upward, bringing a sharp end to Levet’s distraction.
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