by Bec McMaster
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."
16
"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."
There. Blaisé let out her breath, and opened her eyes. "Please."
The man's nostrils flared, and the musky scent filled her nostrils. Definitely one of the Darkkind creature's that dabbled with the Earthen Elements. She herself was a mix of Fire and Air; a dangerous, combustible mix. Few Darkkind creatures were granted dual Elements to control. Only the Thunderbirds rivalled the draconian in this, which made them mortal enemies.
The door behind him jerked open, a rectangle of light highlighting a solid figure. Fade. He was massive. Raven dark hair spilled over his collar, and the shock of his blue eyes meeting hers was enough to still both the guard and her. The look there said predator, and he examined her as though weighing up the costs of tangling with her, versus the temptation of eating her. A dangerous, sleekly muscled terror, disguised in a three-piece gray Armani suit, with gleaming silver cufflinks.
The strobe lights lit aspects of his sharp face, from the hard line of his jaw to the dark slash of his brows. The only hint of softness were a pair of lips that smouldered on the edge of indecency. But she'd be a fool if she thought that hint indicated some sense of mercy within him. This man stood accused of murdering her mother; the cause of his exile. The only reason he was still alive was because the old Loremaster had demanded more proof.
There had been none to find.
"I need to speak to you," she said boldly. "My name is--"
"I know who you are." That gaze was glacial as it raked the dance floor. It caught, and held on something, but she didn't dare look over her shoulder. "You're a fool, to be seen here with me."
"I'm a desperate fool," she blurted. She wouldn't be here otherwise.
Finally he looked at her, the weight of that gaze licking along the edges of her skin. Then he jerked his head at the bodyguard. "Guard the door, Brutus. Don't let anyone else in."
Blaisé staggered after him, into a plush office that looked as though it belonged at Trump Towers, and the door slammed shut behind her, the music cutting off abruptly. All that remained of it was the throbbing thump through the floors.
Fade poured her a glass of something. The air in here felt like it was one second away from a thunderclap, and she stared at the broad planes of his back.
He turned, offering her the glass. Not even a hint of expression on his face as he took up his own glass, and slunk into his chair with exquisite grace.
"You walk in here, you tell me you're desperate... Hardly a great way to start a negotiations, my dear." He tsked. "Just for future reference. Let me guess, you think I'll help you out of the goodness of my heart? Because a part of me suffers the same over-protectiveness the rest of my gender do?"
Blaisé sipped the drink - shit, it burned all the way down - and dragged out her own chair. Some of his words were correct. She wasn't thinking straight, especially when she needed to. It was the damned dragon inside, the press of the Quickening. Her head was a mess of hormones, violent desires, and the pounding, driving crave for sex. She was holding onto the leash so damned tightly it was all she could do to walk and talk at the moment.
"I don't think you have a heart," she said bluntly.
Fade gave her a raw smile, as if he approved, but she wasn't finished.
"But I also don't think you killed my mother."
That made him freeze. Sitting there, with the glass to his lips, his eyes locking on hers with frightful intensity over the rim of the glass. "Oh?”
Blaisé drained the vodka, then set the glass down. It should have made her eyes water, but there was too much dragon inside her tonight. Vodka was merely fuel for the creature's fiery breath. "They say you were her lover, but I don't think she was. She never looked at you the way she looked at my father. I remember that, even though, as her bodyguard, you had the means to see her in private if you willed it."
Interest died in his hard-eyed gaze. Disappointed in her. He drained his glass. "You were five when she died. What would a child know? And as interesting as this is–"
"That's not what convinces me of your innocence," she hurried on.
"Then what does?"
"You," she said bluntly. "The very fact that you're alive."
"Trapped here at the club," he said, gesturing around him. "Unable to fly. Unable to shift form - or not allowed perhaps. But alive. Some would say that's punishment enough."
"Not for killing her. If my father truly thought you the murderer, he would have made you suffer. I know what the dungeon of the Chateau looks like. And then, after he'd glutted himself on your blood, he would have killed you." Tytherion didn't understand the meaning of mercy. Nor would he have allowed such a challenge to his rule to live. "He would have cut the wings from your back, not just forced you here. I know some whisper that there wasn't enough proof - but I know my father. If he truly believed your hand held that knife, then he wouldn't have worried about law or proof, or a guilty verdict." Blaisé took a deep breath. "Which makes me wonder what he's hiding - just how much he knows about the death. For if you didn't kill her, if father knows that... then he was remarkably content to sit back, and let you bear the brunt of that burden. He never hunted for any other suspects. He simply sat back, grieved in public, and then–" This was the most damning bit of all. "Then, he stepped up onto my mother's throne."
Silence.
"Aren't you a clever little thing." Fade rested his jaw on his hand, danger sparking in his cattish gaze. His voice was suddenly as blunt and cold as the blade of a knife. "If you ever repeat a word of what you've just told me... you'll be dead by the next morning."
"I'm already next," she said bravely, knowing that she'd won him to her side. There has a hard lump in her throat. He hadn't denied it. Which meant everything she'd started piecing together over the last few years could be true.
It's not true. It can't be true, cried the small, desperate little girl inside her. The same little girl who remembered her father tucking her into bed at night, and reading fairy tales to her.
You know it's true, said the cynic. The new Blaise. The one who had watched as her father tore apart every threat he'd encountered over the years.
It was one thing to suspect. Quite another to see the truth of it in someone else's eyes.
Her own father. Had he held the knife himself? Or ordered one of the members of his Claw to do it?
Would he hold the knife when he came for her? Of course not. That was far too dangerous - two females dying in the same way. He'd have other plans to neutralise her. An accident, no doubt.
"There's more." She tugged a piece of paper out of her bra, and slid it across the table toward him.
Her heart thundered in her ears as he picked it up, glacial eyes scanning the words there, his expression tightening with each letter. Then he looked up. "You know what this says."
"Every word of it."
* * *
'Fade never killed your mother. If you want to find the culprit, look closer to home. But be warned: the moment you Quicken, you're in danger. You need to get out now. Go to Fade. He will help you.'
* * *
"I found it under my pillow two days ago." Time to pull herself together. Blaisé met his gaze. "It doesn't say 'you can.' It says 'you will help me'."
Fade held the slip of paper up, and power shivered over his skin. Fire licked at the edges of the paper, turning the words to ash, and he held it until the flames licked at his own fingers. His emotions were locked so tight, she had no idea what was going on behind that devastatingly handsome face. "So you came here, to see if this was true."
"I came here, because I have nowhere else to go." A painful truth. Who else could she trust in the clan? Who else was powerful enough to dare go against her father? "I don't know who sent this. It has to be one of the older males in the Clan, who was there when... when mom was murdered. But they're all dangerously loyal to my father. Or I thought they were. Some of the younger males are too. I don't know who my allies are - or who I can trust. And... father wouldn't have dared hold that knife himself. So someone else in the clan killed my mother. Someone, whose identity I don't know."
"Bane?" Fade named her father's First Claw.
Blaisé shook her head. "I've been doing some reading over the case notes. All four members of his Claw had watertight alibis. Father couldn't afford to have any potential suspect linked back to him if things went wrong. And Bane's a lethal, brutal warrior, but he's not the one you send when you want things taken care of quietly, and without any traces."
"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 eve
rywhere. "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.
