EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2017 Angelique Voisen
ISBN: 978-1-77339-264-6
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Karyn White
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To my readers, I hope you enjoy Sky and Rex’s story as much as I loved writing it.
CANARY FOR THE DRAGON
Angelique Voisen
Copyright © 2017
Chapter One
Rex Striker stood in the middle of a crowded street and let the human traffic walk past him. Five days out of seven he did this, unsure why he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and listened. Emerald Street to be precise, a pretentious neighborhood located between the high-rise residential buildings only the wealthy could afford.
A hurrying businessman nearly bumped into him, about to let loose a curse until he glimpsed Rex’s reptilian eyes.
“Sorry,” the man muttered. The stranger clutched his leather suitcase close to him and edged away, as if Rex would suddenly turn into his animal form and bite his head off.
He chuckled to himself.
Humans never changed, even a century after the Paranormal Peace Treaty was set in place.
Long ago, he’d hunted humans for sport, simply because they seemed intent on eradicating his kind. They nearly succeeded, too, but Rex didn’t hold a grudge. Best to leave the past behind and move on. These days, he wore a suit himself, a designer brand his human assistant picked out.
A quick time check told him lunch would end in ten minutes. As the CEO of his own publishing company, he could afford to come back any time he wanted, but Rex relished routine, monotony. It escaped him why he would break iron-clad rules for a chance to hear a canary sing.
His phone rang, disrupting his moment of contemplation. Rex fished it out from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, about to answer his assistant George, but he froze, lifting his head.
A bright flash of yellow stood out from the uniform sleek silver and gray profile of the Emerald Tower II. With his superior eyesight, Rex could make out the outline of the tiny songbird, twenty stories above him.
The animal looked forlorn, wistful. Hah. Rex must be going out of his mind to make that observation. The little bird fixed its talons on the window ledge. Even from here, Rex could make out the little notches scarring the wood, no doubt created by the little bird.
Fly, little one.
Rex waited. Seconds turned to minutes. Wind ruffled his face, messing his hair. For a month, he’d stood right on this spot, willing the little bird to spread its wings and escape. Every single time, it gazed out the window but never took the final step forward.
He shut his eyes to listen for the song. Unlike the shrill noises other birds made, canaries would carry an actual tune. This one had a voice of an angel. Rex could pick out sadness when the notes dipped. The modern world, seemingly always in constant motion, came to halt. Nothing mattered, except the single pure note carried by the wind.
He sighed, opened his eyes to find the canary finished, staring right down at him. Was it his imagination? Eventually, the little bird retreated. Rex’s phone vibrated again, and he picked up, letting George’s voice drone on, listening with half an ear.
“Yes, tell them I’ll be back at the office soon,” he said absentmindedly, cutting George mid-speech and tucking his phone away.
Rex hired George because the human took his job seriously, sometimes far too much. Rex needed George and couldn’t afford to lose his temper. Out of all ten assistants he’d lost over the years, George had stuck the longest.
Besides, it was hard to find someone able to take his orders. Rex intimidated normal people most of the time, as if they could automatically sense a predator lurked inside him.
One more look, but his canary was gone. Showtime over, come the next day. Shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, he whistled on his way back to the office. He walked, because he couldn’t stomach crowded public transport.
Being squeezed between too many humans would make him start thinking of them as potential walking and talking Happy Meals, dolls he could easily break. Humans were too fragile for their own good, breakable like glass, like that canary.
Some nights, Rex wondered if that song bird was a figment of his imagination, a sign he would soon fall to the affliction immortals called time. The longer he lived, the more it became harder to cling to his humanity. Somedays, it felt like a mask had been stretched over his real skin.
Rex knew he needed to form bonds, a mate to tether him back to the real world. But it was not an option after he’d lost his human mate Tim two decades ago. Losing Tim had made Rex a half shadow. He would have followed Tim into death, except Tim had made him swear that awful promise.
Live, baby. For the both of us. Find someone else to make you as happy as I did.
Too bad all Rex was remotely interested in was a damn pet canary. As a result, the dragon in him began its descent to madness. Rex made fail-safes though, to kill himself before he lost control of his beast and wreaked havoc on the city he grew to love.
Still, living shouldn’t be this damn hard.
The security guard outside his building gave him a nod. “Good afternoon, Mr. Striker.”
“Afternoon, Bob. Had lunch?” he asked pleasantly. He knew all his people by their first names. According to George, that would make him a good boss.
Bob made a face. “After my heart surgery, my wife keeps making me eat these healthy salads.” Bob rubbed his rounded belly for emphasis. “I never feel full.”
Talking about lunch was a mistake. Rex’s stomach rumbled. He’d forgotten about lunch—a huge no-no because his animal grew moody on an empty stomach.
He could sense his dragon moving under his skin. A growl threatened to erupt from his lips. His teeth lengthened to canines, but he leashed his inner animal.
Rex’s chest constricted, as if the change would come upon him any second. His skin would split, turn to scales, but his size alone could bring this entire building down. Sweat tickled down his back.
“Mr. Striker, are you ok? You’re looking pale.” Bob reached out, concern on his features.
Rex took several steps back and slammed a door against his inner dragon, despite knowing forcing his animal back would have severe repercussions later. Lately, it wanted to do was spread its wings and fly, to leave their human half behind.
In some ways, Rex was a lot like his little canary. His. When he began to start thinking of tiny bird as his, he never knew. He saw the scratch marks on the window ledge in his mind’s eye, the way the bird spread its wings, before tucking them back again.
Like that bird, both of them chose to trap themselves in their respective cages.
****
Today would be different. That had been the promise Sky Mitchell made to himself. Every day, he perched on the edge of his bedroom window, debating, wondering why he lacked the courage to free himself.
Forty feet up in the air and yet he couldn’t take those last few steps, terrified of falling. Not plummeting to his death literally, but making a botched attempt. Canaries learned to fly at a young age. Flight gave Sky a taste of freedom, and yet the elders of his people threatened to clip his wings if he ever did attempt to
escape.
Still, he risked it all each day, to catch a pair of golden reptilian eyes looking up at him. Weeks ago, a businessman in a suit with shifter eyes halted in the middle of the street to hear him sing. Sky thought it was by accident, but every single time he perched there and dug his claws into the wood, hating himself, the same man watched him and waited.
Shivering, he flew back in his room and returned to human form. A face more pretty than handsome, accompanied by a body made slender for flight, looked back him from the full-length mirror.
He despised everything about himself, from his canary-yellow hair down to his fragile body. Knuckles rapped on his door, making him jump.
“Sky, Gareth expected you for lunch fifteen minutes ago,” came the gruff voice of Trevor, his father’s long-time enforcer. Trevor sounded strained, and Sky soon discovered why.
Gareth’s voice followed. His future mate-to-be sounded pissed. “Get the fuck out of there. Don’t make me drag you out here, little bird.”
Fuck. Sky hated that nickname. It always sounded condescending to his ears. Gareth used it to remind Sky of his place, of the avian pecking order. Birds of prey dominated the weaker species. Canaries. Him.
Sky tugged on his pants, not wanting Gareth to see him naked. No point in being modest, his best friend Avery would say. Within a week, Sky would be on his hands and knees, handing his virginity to Gareth on a platter.
He’d do it out of duty to his people, for his family to climb up the avian social ladder, because they would be proud to have a son mated to an eagle.
Sky snorted and had his fly halfway up when the door knob rattled. His door swung outwards, to reveal Gareth’s face contorted in fury.
“What took you?” Gareth demanded, striding in. The bully blocked his doorway using his huge frame. If Gareth thought intimidation would work on him, then Gareth had another think coming.
Sky glanced at Gareth then back at the opened window. Ever since the announcement of their engagement came out, he’d been closely monitored more than ever. Over Gareth’s shoulder, Trevor refused to meet his eyes.
By avian law, Sky would rightfully belong to his husband and mate, meaning Trevor couldn’t interfere in domestic affairs. It pissed Sky off that Trevor acted like Sky was already Gareth’s property.
Oh, Sky always knew he was submissive in the bedroom, but he refused to yield to someone unworthy of him. Sky had pride. He would have run out on Gareth a long time ago, if his family wasn’t involved.
“What are you going to do, little bird?” Gareth taunted, noticing his gaze. “You’d rather fall to your death than be mated to me?”
Sky held back his tongue. Growing up as a prey among predators had taught him better, to pick the battles he could win.
“I thought so,” Gareth said with some satisfaction, smug look in his face. “I can’t touch you now, but after the ceremony, you’ll be begging for my cock every day.”
Dread filled Sky at those words, but he refused to let Gareth see any sign of weakness. The strong ate the weak in his world. All a canary could do was survive.
Lowering his gaze, he gritted out an apology. “I’m sorry.”
“You can do better, but for now, I’ll let it go.” Gareth turned on his heel—conversation over, and snapped his fingers, calling Sky the way a master beckoned his pet.
Chapter Two
“This tastes like shit and you expect me to eat it?” Gareth demanded, tone indignant.
The eagle shifter crossed his arms until the muscles there bulged. The bastard glared at Sky, as if expecting Sky to apologize for slaving all morning in the kitchen to make him breakfast.
Sky stared at his own plate, pink, juicy salmon grilled to perfection, accompanied by pesto pasta and asparagus. Why did he ever bother, researching on the internet? Even though the dish looked exactly like the photos on the cooking website, he should’ve known better.
Gareth got a kick out of picking his flaws. To add insult to the injury, Gareth spat into the dish. The gob of spit sat on top of the almond crusted salmon—the fish he took some time picking at the market by the docks, with bodyguard supervision of course.
Sky didn’t know why he bothered making an effort. Maybe he felt some guilt, for all those times the window tempted him to spread his wings. Talking with Avery and some of his flock mates in the same position helped. Hearing the same horror stories the others told him about weaker shifters being taken advantage of by stronger ones made him realize there was no escaping his fate.
He knew on some level that there was something wrong with that kind of thinking, that his canary yearned to test its wings. Screw the consequences.
“Fucking hell, are you even listening to me?” Gareth boomed.
His chair scraped on polished marble, the sound making Sky cringe. Trevor was nowhere to be found. Sky hunched his shoulders by instinct, flinching when Gareth came within striking distance. The eagle shifter’s hand blurred. Sky waited for Gareth’s fist to make contact with his face, but Gareth liked his face pretty. Sky’s plate flew, the food making a mess on the wall behind him.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you? Can’t you do anything right?” Gareth grabbed a fistful of Sky’s shirt, dragging him up.
Sky met his gaze, unable to believe he would be chained until death to a man he despised so much. Why bother with this charade, if Gareth felt the same way?
“Why do you really want to mate me?” he dared to ask.
Gareth glowered. “What?”
“We hardly know each other. Can you really imagine spending the rest of your life with me?” Sky pressed. Shit. Good canaries didn’t question their mates, but he’d never been the meek and submissive type.
Gareth snorted. “Everyone else in the Eyrie thinks you’re some kind of prize. You don’t amount to much to me, but I like having what others can’t have. I’ll break you down until you meet my standards.”
Gareth released him, did his usual inspection by eyeing Sky up and down—like Sky was already his property. That look always made his skin crawl, made Sky want to shrink and turn into his canary. At least in his other form, he’d be safe. He could stay in bird form forever, let his human half erode until there was nothing left. Better be a bird than be mated to a monster.
Sky said nothing. That seemed to satisfy Gareth.
Gareth’s answer only reinforced what Sky already knew. Sky had somewhat hoped that this little arrangement would somehow turn to something soft, like the couples in the arranged marriage romances he read. Maybe they’d have a rocky start, then grow to accept and eventually love each other. Right. Who lived in that fantasy world?
Still, he’d hoped Gareth had some redeeming qualities.
“We’re heading out. I’m fucking starving. You’ll clean this mess up later,” Gareth said, gesturing to the table. “Get dressed.”
Sky didn’t know what he hated more, being stuck in his prison or being outside in public with Gareth showing him off like a trophy.
“Fine,” he gritted out.
On his way back to his bedroom, he gave the dining table another look. Perfect table setting, matching plates and cutlery, even the food looked amazing—if one ignored the cracked plate on the floor and the mess on the wall. All the image in his mind lacked was the happy diners. People were seldom perfect though.
Shaking his head in silent disgust, Sky retreated to his room and quickly dressed. Making Gareth wait would only prolong his agony. Knowing Gareth’s tastes, Sky picked something appropriate. Suits and ties had never been his thing, but all the places Gareth ate at required formal wear. By the time he finished, Gareth wasn’t done. Not much of a surprise. The bastard liked people waiting on him.
Gareth was like a prince to their people—wealthy family, good bloodline, so no surprise there.
Sky checked his wristwatch. Almost lunchtime. He wouldn’t be able to look out his window, catch a glimpse of guy in a suit. God. Something was wrong with him, that looking at a stranger became the highlight of
his life.
Gareth’s loud footsteps returned Sky’s attention to his future mate. Designer suit, shoes, hair with too much gel—everyone back home always gushed over how Gareth was the perfect package. In Sky’s eyes, Gareth looked more like a puffed up peacock than a proud eagle.
He clenched his jaw when Gareth snapped his fingers at him and Trevor. “I made a last-minute booking at Pierre’s. Be thankful the wait staff know me there.”
Another jab at the so-called awful lunch Sky made. It had tasted fine to Sky, even though he was no great chef. He didn’t rise to the bait. With Gareth, keeping silent seemed like the best solution. How he’d go about the rest of his life this way, Sky didn’t know.
They exited the building—also owned by Gareth’s family, and Trevor drove. Gareth took calls and answered mails. Sky stared out the tinted windows, glum, wanting to get this over and done with.
“We’ve arrived, sir,” Trevor announced, stopping the car.
They got out. Pierre’s was a fancy new French place that was all the rage a few weeks ago. Sky hated places like that, where folks judged each other all the time based on what they wore, or who they were with. He already spent most of his life being watched, preened over, sneered at, like a bird in a cage.
Though the glass window, Sky spotted a couple of business associates of Gareth’s father, and his stomach plummeted. Great. Gareth brought him here to tote him around like a fashion accessory. He wasn’t even hungry.
Gareth grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and tugged him along, like an errant pet. The front door of the restaurant loomed ahead, but he couldn’t stand a second more of this. His suit was killing him. Sky wanted to be back in his normal clothes, peering down from his view by the window to catch a glimpse of his silent watcher.
The urge to flee kicked in, and he looked left and right of the crowded street. People walked past by them. A guy in a charcoal suit got out from the cab by the curb. The cab—his best option of escape. Sky could catch it, drive to God knew where, anywhere but here. For a day, he’d escape his life. That was all he wanted.
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