by Bec McMaster
"You've thought this through."
"You must have," she challenged. "Over the years. You must have wondered."
A derisive flick of his brow. "Of course I did. But I don't have access to the case files." He was staring at the ashes on the table. "Who knew you were coming here tonight?"
"Only Serena and Ambyr," she replied, naming her draconian friend - and the female bodyguard who trailed her everywhere. "I didn't tell them why. Nobody knows about that message. Why?"
Those unearthly blue eyes lifted to hers. "What if your father sent it?"
Fuck. Blaisé froze.
"And here you are, running straight to me, proving the theory that you suspect him," he said.
"It could have been anyone."
"Yes."
But it also could have been her father. Tytherion played games within games. If he wanted to test her loyalties, then this was exactly the sort of thing he might do. Oh gods... Her stomach gave a twist, all of the blood rushing out of her face.
Fade moved before she saw him coming, one hand curling protectively around the back of her neck as he pushed her head between her knees. "Breathe," he told her. "It's a theory, that is all. If it's true... then you have to learn the game, and very, very quickly."
"I can't think," Blaisé admitted, with a groan. The dragon twisted inside her, baring its teeth. It didn't like the doubt, the fear. A dragon wasn't meant to be caged. It simply wanted to fight. "Or, I'm not thinking as clearly as I should be. I should have seen this."
"If you went to him with the letter, proving your loyalty, then it would have sparked a manhunt either way. If your father knew nothing of the letter, he'd have some poor bastard rounded up for writing it. An easy way to remove an enemy, or a threat, and to make any sympathisers wary. If he sent it himself, then he would still have his manhunt."
"And either way he'd know the seeds of doubt were planted in my mind." Blaise lifted her head, taking a steady breath. This was what she needed. She forced the dragon down, locked it up with iron bars. Her father knew she was Quickening - what better time to attack her ?
Standing up, he moved with dangerous grace around the desk. Stalking her.
Blaisé's heart hammered, but she'd grown up around males like this. The draconian were ruthless and deadly - and would protect a female with their lives, by instinct.
He leaned closer, resting his knuckles on the desk on either side of her hips. The blatant threat of his sensuality was dangerously tempting. No other male dared get this close to her, not with her father watching. Only Xavian had dared. Once.
That blew all of the wretched heat out of her body.
Why in all the hells would that bastard spring to mind right now?
She put a hand against Fade's chest, the heat of his body blazing beneath her touch. "It's the Quickening," she admitted, swallowing a little as her gaze dropped to that wicked mouth. He can't help it. It's you. The pheromones you're emitting.
"You're going into heat," he whispered, "I can scent it."
Focus, buddy. "It's more than that. Think of it like PMS - of the murderous kind." The dragon inside her was going crazy, pushing at its boundaries, and threatening to take over. All she wanted was sex at the moment. Sex and violence. A dangerous combination.
He actually smiled, and it even touched his eyes. "In that case, maybe I can help?" he breathed, tracing fingers across the small of her back, through the sweat-dampened silk of her strappy white tank.
Blaisé almost laughed. Of course he could. The draconian males were all the same. Let me take a bit of the edge off, sweetheart. You know it will feel better...
Fuck that. She was in control of her own body. If she took a mate - if she Quickened - then it would be on her own terms. And she certainly wasn't rushing into it, despite the tempting flux of power. Once she Quickened, she'd be a force to be reckoned with, the very threat that her father foresaw. The draconian were a matriarchal race, and the Storm Shadow Clan had been without a Queen for too long. Even those males loyal to her father were starting to get snappy around her. It was only natural instinct that dictated their desire for a queen; instinct that made them so unbearably protective.
The problem was, Blaisé didn't want power. She didn't want to be a draconian clan Queen. She didn't want to push her father off his throne. She just wanted to be safe.
"I've got a better idea," she said, turning so that he was no longer at her back. The dragon stretched out its claws inside her in warning. It wanted a mate, and Fade was powerful, dangerous and infinitely tempting. Fighting her own instinct to let the Quickening overtake her, was almost as exhausting as being on her guard every second she was in her father's home. A tremble started in her clenched fists, but she forced herself to stand strong. "Get me out of New York. Once I'm out, I'm not a threat. Storm Shadow - and my father - can breathe a sigh of relief. Nobody dies, including me. It's a win-win situation."
"What's in it for me?"
Typical. "You're the only draconian male in New York unbound to my father, or the clan, but war is still risky. You think it won't hit Exile?"
"Exile's out of bounds," he replied. "Your father's word on it."
"Yeah, right. How much of my father's word will hold up when every male draconian in the city realises I'm on heat? And then, once I mate? It's going to shift the loyalty of the males in the clan. Some will side with my father, some with me. They won't be able to help themselves. A Quickened female is always Queen. You think he'll sit back, and let me step up onto the throne - whether I want it or not?"
Fade leaned his hip against the desk, arms crossed. His eyes were hooded.
"Let's be honest," she said. "I'm more trouble than I'm worth, right now, and if you set one foot out of this place, you're dead. That takes you out of the running as my mate. You don't get anything out of seducing me–"
His lips curled up in a very dangerous smile. "I like how naive you are. What makes you think I wouldn't enjoy every single second of seducing you?"
"You're a businessman."
He stepped forward, caging her with the brutal, overwhelming crush of his body. The suit only hid the coiled power inside him. Blaisé let one of her claws spring free, and pressed it against his chest in a warning.
"You don't know me at all, darlin'." His whisper was rough and raw. It tightened everything inside her. "So don't go making assumptions about what I am - and what I might want with you." His gaze dropped, like a smooth caress between her breasts. Something shadowed his eyes for a second - a longing so deep, it seemed an ocean within him. "All that fire," he whispered, tracing a finger against her shoulder. "Burning up inside this skin. You can feel it, can't you? I can. I can see the dragon in you, threatening to get out. You want this so badly it hurts. Why fight it? It would feel so good."
Blaisé couldn't breathe. He was right. It hurt so much to hold herself back from that edge - to stop herself from Quickening. He pressed closer, the stubble of his jaw rasping against her cheek.
"I could take the hurt away." A whisper in her ear. "It would be worth it, for just one night between those sheets with you. You don't even understand your own worth, what it feels like to never touch a woman of your own kind... To never feel that fire, always watching... Looking on from a distance, but never touching." His finger broke its path at her elbow. "Your father would kill me. All of the males of your clan would kill me." His gaze lifted to hers, full of temptation. "And it would be worth every second of the risk."
Blaisé ducked out from beneath his arm, and scrambled to put the desk between them. Her nipples ached, the dragon stirring dangerously within her. Yes, it whispered. No, she told it firmly. She was tired of being nothing more than a play toy to the males that surrounded her. Time to make her own decisions. "You want a female draconian in your bed? Well, Ambyr's downstairs. She's draconian. I don't see you sniffing around her."
That darkened Fade's expression. "I prefer my balls intact, thanks." A hint of snarl filled his voice, and he pushed away from the
desk.
Well. That was the first bit of true emotion she'd seen from him. Blaisé's eyes narrowed.
"So, we need to get you out. Secretly." Fade paced, gnawing on his thumb. "We could send you North--"
"No." She found her feet. "I've got a better place to go."
"Oh?"
"Emory will take me in."
Storm clouds darkened Fade's expression, "Blaisé–"
"He's my brother," she reminded him.
"Half-brother."
"Minor correction. The thing that matters is that he's blood. The Quickening won't effect him, and since his exile, he's lived alone. There are no other draconian allowed within his Washington State territories. I'll be safe to get through this first heat, without males hunting me down."
"I think you underestimate the power of a female's heat," he said softly. "This is not the worst of it, Blaisé. Your scent... it's just the start." With a harsh laugh, he held up his clenched fists. They were shaking slightly. "I know exactly how hard it is for you to hold yourself back, right now. They'll hunt you all across the States, the instant they scent you."
"Then we'll deal with that," she said with false bravado. "Somehow."
"And when you get there? You don't even know your brother. He was exiled before you were born."
"He rang me," she admitted. "After my mother died. He... he was kind to me on the phone."
"Emory's your father's son," Fade warned. "He doesn't understand what kindness is."
'You come to me, Blaisé, if you ever need help...I swear I'll protect you.' She shook her head. She trusted the brother she barely knew over the man standing in front of her. At least he would have no interest in her body, in sex. After that... Once she had some breathing space, she'd be able to get her feet underneath her and work out what her plans for life included.
Not studying at NYU anymore, that's for sure.
The thought hurt a little more than she'd thought it did. She didn't truly want to be a blah, but she wasn't entirely certain she didn't want it, either.
Concentrate. Survival first.
"Give me a week." Fade obviously saw that she wasn't going to change her mind. "I can't pull this together overnight, and you can't run now. Your father would come straight here, and rip my head off. This needs to be done quietly. If you can, come back here on Wednesday, or Thursday night. I should have some details for you then."
"Twice in one week might be pushing my luck."
"Then I'll make it a theme night at the club. Something to give you a reason to attend. Leather and Lace. Always popular. There'll be hordes here."
Blaisé's eyes narrowed. "You just want to see me in leather."
He gave the faintest of smiles, but his gaze was elsewhere. Plotting something, she recognised the look. "Make it Thursday. If you need to reach me before then, call the club. I'll see that my staff know to put you straight through." He slid his card across the table toward her. Silver eyes glinted. "But only use that number if the situation is urgent."
A roll of the eyes. But she picked it up. "Thought I might just give you a call each night. We could play 'Dear Diary' with each other."
Fade crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. "Good to see you getting some colour back into you."
Blaise tucked the card into her cleavage. This time he didn't watch, his gaze growing distant again. She didn't feel slighted; curious more than anything. So that show earlier had been just a show? Or perhaps it truly had been her pheromones. They'd settled since then, the push of the beast inside her not as strong. She felt like she could breathe for the first time in weeks.
But you're not as afraid now, she reminded herself. You have an ally. That too made the pressure ease.
The same damn instinct that would push Fade to protect her had also made her run to him. Male draconians held a protective streak a few thousand miles wide; it was the core knowledge with which she'd been raised, but perhaps part of it was innate as well.
"Thank you," she said, lifting up on her toes to kiss his cheek. His stubble roughened her lips, and he glanced down with a faint scowl.
"You shouldn't be so trusting of strange draconian males," he suggested. "I'm just as likely to turn such a thing to my advantage."
"Perhaps." She shrugged. "I'm going to trust my instincts on this one. But now I'd best get going before Ambyr comes up here looking for me."
Fade gave a rough, humourless laugh, sharp as a punch. "Trust me on this one. She wouldn't dare."
Interesting. It never hurt to do a little fishing and it seemed the big, bad male had a sore spot.
With a nod, she turned toward the door.
"Blaisé?"
She looked over her shoulder.
"Don't breathe a word of this to anyone else. Not even those you think you trust."
Blaisé met those dangerous eyes. "Right now, I don't trust anyone."
* * *
***
* * *
Fade stared through the one-way window, watching the dance floor below. Blaisé took her purse from the pretty African American girl she'd been sitting with, heading toward the bar as though she needed a drink. Smart girl. She'd barely arrived, and if she left now, eyes would notice that her business with him had been the only reason for this visit.
But it wasn't Blaisé that caught his eye. Or held it, rather.
Behind her, a lean, rangy female moved with lethal efficiency through the crowd. Ice-blonde hair was raked back impatiently out of her eyes and he doubted it had seen a brush that week, from what he remembered of her. Unlike Blaisé she was wearing head-to-toe black; tight jeans that moulded to her long legs, a pair of boots that hit her knees, and a leather jacket over her black tank. He couldn't see any weapons, but that didn't mean that she didn't have them on her.
Ambyr. Doing bodyguard duty for Daddy's little princess, by the look of it.
As if sensing him, Ambyr looked up, those kohl-rimmed blue eyes locking on his, as if she could see him through the glass. The glare she shot him was a challenge, but one hand strayed to her hip as though it sought the weapon he knew his men would have confiscated at the door.
She should be nervous.
Fade's eyes narrowed, but his treacherous cock stirred to life. By trespassing here, Ambyr knew she was dancing along the edge of a dangerous blade. What he wouldn't give to get his hands on her... The only problem was he wasn't certain if he wanted to repay her for her long ago treachery - or fuck her.
Perhaps both.
"What are you doing?"
The words startled him, but he relaxed instantly, not bothering to turn around as Brutus entered the room. "Just... wondering."
"About?"
Things I shouldn't. Fade stepped away from the window, Ambyr vanishing from sight. It was time to focus on Blaisé, and the very tempting proposition she'd put before him. "About revenge," he said, turning toward the minotaur. "And how sweet it's going to taste."
11
"I want to see Fade."
Somehow Blaisé kept her voice steady and her shoulders squared. Don't ever show them fear, her father's voice whispered in her mind, back when he'd ruffled her hair as a child and taught her how to rule a dragon clan. Those days of familiarity between them were long gone now, but the lessons remained. She was freaking using them now, to fool the very man who'd promised her as a little girl that he'd always be there to protect her.
Ha. She hadn't been old enough then to understand the fine print on that paternal contract. Tytherion would protect her, but only as long as she wasn't a threat to him, or his power. And right now, through no fault of her own, she was becoming a threat.
Electric noise screamed out through the nightclub as the DJ swung the music to something with a throbbing beat. Sweat dripped down her spine. The security guard at the top of the stairs gave her no indication he'd heard her, simply staring at her with his arms crossed.
What the hell had she been thinking, coming here? Her presence in the nightclub could be explained. Knocking
on the notorious nightclub owner's door? Not so much. If anyone saw her... She had to get this meeting over and done with before her father or one of his bullyboys realised what she was trying to negotiate. There were too many Darkkind eyes here. Exile was one of the hottest nightclubs in New York for those of the Primordial Races. Hardly the place to be carrying out secret rendezvous, but Fade's inability to ever leave the club had driven her to his door instead.
Play your games beneath Tytherion's nose. Blaisé took a deep breath. This was her only chance to save her life - and those of others.
Tall, dark and deadly glared at her. He smelled of Earth magic, of musk and blood and iron. No doubt the Darkkind creature knew how to use all of those bulging muscles too. Mother Night, what was he? The stink of him... Vaguely animalistic. "You need an appointment."
"Then can I make an appointment please?" She ground her teeth together in a polite smile.
"Do I look like a secretary?"
That did it. Blaisé stepped closer, meeting his gaze. She let the dragon inside her rise, a glimpse of it flashing through her eyes as it yawned and unfurled itself within her. Her skin felt tight, the creature inside stretching, pushing at the boundaries she imposed. "No. You look like a meal," she said, and the part that said it was all predator.
He smiled. "That's cute." The arms uncrossed and the smile died. "You think I don't know how to deal with the so-called top-of-the-food chain?"
"I think that I'm desperate," she retorted. "And I said please."
A flash of red gleamed in the pupils of his dark eyes. "And I think that you're arrogant. Go back to the dance floor, princess. Fade's got more important business to handle." His gaze slid over her with a lingering caress. "Besides, you're not to his taste."
She was handling this badly. The dragon inside her pushed, her skin feeling like it rippled at the edges. Too on edge to deal with political bullshit. Blaisé clenched her eyes shut. "Fade is an exile from the draconian clans with little interest in their business. But even he doesn't wish for a draconian clan war on his doorstep, and if you don't let me inside, then you will be responsible for part of the bloodshed that is to come."
