Soulfire: A Dragon Fantasy Romance (Nightwing Book 1)

by Juliette Cross

  “Don’t worry your precious head about it,” I snapped. “I’m not telling anyone how I get home tonight.”

  He glared. “Your last name.” A command. I understood why Slade leapt off the balcony lickety-split.

  “Cade.” I ground my teeth together. “It’s Jessen Cade.”

  “Ahhh. I see.” His granite face cracked into a smile.

  My heart pumped faster. I thought he was stunning before, but that was nothing compared to this smiling god.

  “As in Cade Heights.”

  I nodded.

  “Cade Technologies.”

  I blew out a breath, propping a hand on my hip.

  A smirk creased his hard features. “Cade Enterprises.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  He laughed, a rumbling sound, melting me inside. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, princess.”

  “Don’t talk about my panties.” My thighs squeezed together of their own volition. “And don’t call me princess.”

  He crossed his arms across his chest. “Not a princess, eh? What title should I give you? Is queen or empress a better suit? No, maybe not lofty enough. How about goddess?”

  I could barely unclench my jaw to mutter, “Arrogant ass.” He chuckled again, making me madder. “How about you, Mr. Nightwing?” My tone dripped with disdain. “As in Nightwing Security. Nightwing Armament and Munitions. Nightwing Industries. Let’s see, what title would suit you best?” I tilted my head, giving him a too-sweet smile. “Prince Pompous Prick? No. How about King of Fucking Everything?”

  His eyes flared with a wicked gleam. His voice dropped low. “Come, princess.” He splayed large hands around my waist, burning through thin silk straight to my skin. “It’s time to get you home.”

  My breath hitched. He scooped me into both arms and leapt off the balcony. I screamed. Massive wings beat us higher and higher. The skylight glass was open. He shot us straight through like a rocket, up into the balmy night. Panicked, I coiled my arms around his neck, pressing my upper body into his, and squeezed my eyes shut.

  “Shit, shit, shit…”

  A rumble of laughter vibrated from his chest to mine. His charged energy tingled my breasts. I straightened my torso, trying to keep his electric aura away from me.

  “What’s wrong, princess?” A lopsided smirk. “Scared of heights?”

  “No.” Like I’d admit it. Or the fact his close proximity had my heart racing.

  We plunged downward. I screamed again, clinging closer.

  “Quite a set of lungs you’ve got there.”

  “Stop it!”

  “It’s okay to admit your fears. It’s natural for a land-lover to fear heights. Take a chance and open your eyes. You might enjoy the view.”

  The challenge was enough for me. I cracked one eye open. Then the other. The sight took my breath away. We skimmed below the clouds. The stars were giant gems winking through the cloud cover, so close I could reach out and touch them. The city glittered in a myriad of lights, like crystals by candlelight.

  “Oh, my,” I breathed in a whisper.

  I felt his eyes watching me, but couldn’t peel my gaze from the view below. If I had wings, I’d never come down. How unbelievably thrilling.

  Lucius began to descend slowly. “I take it you live near campus?”

  “Yes. Cade Heights. Emerald Isle Villas.”

  “Of course.”

  I ignored the condescending tone. How he knew the place was the most luxurious in college residency was another mystery about the man. I didn’t question. He descended lower, circling over Emerald Isle, my stomach fluttering at the sudden drops. Without a word, he banked straight up into the clouds. My heart lurched.

  “Wait! Where are you going?”

  “You have a villa on the top floor, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your brother and his friends are waiting on your balcony.” His voice dropped low, edged with danger.

  “What? How could you tell? You saw them from here? Are you sure?”

  He slanted an arrogant glance at me.

  Dragon eyesight. I forgot.

  “Damn. I thought my brother would wait till morning to chew me out.” He must have been seriously pissed to let himself into my apartment and wait for my return. “Look. I’m sorry. I know you’re ready to be rid of me, but can we go somewhere in your district and I’ll call Sorcha to come get me.”

  Without responding, he angled a hard right back in the direction we’d come. We flew over buildings to the Morgon district. Because my eyes had been shut when we shot out of Acropolis, I hadn’t noticed ornate tile designs decorated each flat rooftop. “That’s cool.”

  “What is?” He banked left toward the outskirts of the city.

  “The rooftops. Sort of a bulls-eye to know whose house you’re at from above.”

  He chuckled. “More like a house number, but yes.”

  I watched someone land on a distant roof. “What if there’s no moonlight? How can you see it in the dark?”

  “I’m a Morgon. I can see in the dark.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I forgot.”

  He dropped suddenly as he aimed for a particular rooftop. The Nightwing crest was known to me—a circle of three black dragons, wingtips touching, a flaming heart at their center.

  “Are we—are we going there?” I stammered.

  “Yes.”

  I looked at him for the first time since we’d taken flight, his face close to mine, trying to ignore the alluring masculine scent of him. Hard, high cheekbones and square jaw set in shadows, the wind gusting black hair away from his face. Magnificent, powerful wings beat above us. Reality suddenly slapped me in the face. I’d placed my safety, my life, in the hands of a Morgon man. Not just any Morgon. One of the Nightwing clan—the most powerful and most hated by my family. And he was taking me to his private home, straight into the dragon’s lair.

  Chapter 3

  Lucius landed with a gentle thud, setting me down within the tiled circle of his clan’s crest. Without a word, he walked across a large terrace scattered with cushioned seating, small tables, and tall potted palms whose fronds rustled in the breeze. He walked through a set of thick columns that led under a high-ceilinged awning. Pulling a remote from his back pocket, he clicked, and a steel door slid up, opening a wide archway into his home.

  Left alone, I took in my surroundings. The Nightwing crest sat dead center of the terrace—a mosaic of black, cream, and crimson tiles—the grandeur and size as intimidating as the Nightwing clan itself. I’d seen the symbol enough times on letterhead in my father’s office, knowing he did business with Morgons. Business is business, he’d say when I asked why it was okay to do commerce with them, but never socialize. His turn of phrase never had answered my question. I dared not step on the crest, afraid to cross some invisible line that would take me farther into a world I didn’t belong.

  Lights flicked on from where Lucius had disappeared. I stepped closer, looking into a huge open room with wide, backless sofas and chaise lounges covered in umber and black suede throw pillows. Sconces cast a golden light on stone walls. Apparently, Gothic décor was a Nightwing thing.

  I pulled out my comm device and dialed Sorcha, my fingers trembling. Her pretty face popped onscreen, rattling her video mail message. When the red light blinked on at the top of my comm to record my message, I gave the camera screen my most desperate expression.

  “Sorcha. Please, please answer your phone. I couldn’t go home. I need a place to crash. I cannot crash here.” I panned my device to record the Nightwing crest on the terrace, including the entrance to Lucius’s home. I glared back in the camera. “Sorcha. Call. Me. Back.”

  A Morgon with white wings landed on the building across the way. He gave me an intimidating once-over, and then disappeared into his home.

  “Crap.”

  I heard Lucius speaking to someone inside. I dialed Sorcha’s number again. Straight to video message. I slipped my comm back into my pocket. Damn it. She
always answered her phone. Always. Unless something dire kept her from it. Or something delectable. I remembered the way Corbin looked at her when they left, like she was a delicious dessert he finally had all to himself.

  “Come inside.” Lucius stood in the arched entrance, a breathtaking silhouette against golden light. “I won’t bite.”

  Sure you won’t.

  I entered his living room, a multi-leveled space, dipping deeper into the room. Vast murals covered the stone walls and high ceiling. A giant mahogany mantle framed an oversized fireplace, the grate cold now at the end of summer.

  “Did you call your friend?”

  “Yeah. She’s not answering, but she’ll call me back soon.” If she knows what’s good for her.

  “Excuse me a minute.” He stepped through an archway into the next room, possibly the kitchen. Glass and silver clinked together. He spoke low to someone else.

  A shiver of apprehension skated up my spine. I was currently sitting in a Morgon’s home. I must be brave or stupid. Blaming the alcohol for my poor judgment, I wished Sorcha would hurry and call me back.

  I sat on a claret-colored chaise of fine velvet next to a heavy, dark-wood coffee table. Backless like all the other furniture, obviously for the winged people who lounged here, the chaise rolled in a sinuous curve, curling up where the head would rest. If a piece of furniture could be considered sexy, this one most certainly was. Though it was meant for a Morgon to lounge sideways, I couldn’t help from stretching out onto my back, my body fitting into the soft contours. The feeling was decadent. I stared up at a colorful mural on the ceiling.

  Painted in vibrant hues by a master, two figures stood in front of a castle window, a windswept mountain dusted with snow beyond. A man and a woman. Wait. A man and a woman? A pale, nude woman gazed into a moon-drenched night, her ebony hair falling to her hips. A look of sheer contentment and peace marked her delicate-boned profile. Dragons winged away in the distance. Behind the woman, a nude man, bronze-skinned, standing two feet taller than her, kept a gentle hand on her waist. His arm curved in the shadows between falls of her black hair. Rather than mirroring her gaze into the night, his eyes looked down on her with adoration.

  “Do you like it?”

  I startled and jolted upright. Lucius stood in the wide archway leading into the kitchen, staring intently at me. I felt caught in the act of something shameful.

  “I, um,”—I cleared my throat—“yes, it’s quite lovely. I was wondering why…”

  Brain, please start functioning again.

  “Wondering why?” he prompted.

  “I mean, why do you have a painting of humans on your ceiling?”

  In my parents’ house, ancient works by artists who worshipped the nude form adorned every room. However, the paintings that filled our halls were of picnic bathers, frolicking nymphs, or some other innocent diversion. The scene floating above me was more intimate, as if the painting wasn’t meant for just anyone’s eyes.

  “Only one is human. This depicts King Radomis and his queen.”

  A man in black livery entered the room carrying a cup and saucer. Lucius gestured toward me. The servant, somewhere in his forties, well-groomed with dark hair and sharp features, walked stiffly over and handed me the black-rimmed cup and a folded napkin. “For you, miss.”

  I cleared my throat. “Um, thank you.”

  “For your headache,” clarified Lucius. “Thank you, Brant. That’ll be all tonight.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Nightwing.”

  He gave me a tight bow, possible scorn in his eyes, before exiting through another archway out of the living room.

  I watched the man go, taking a sip of the tea. “How’d you know I had a headache?”

  “Drink the tea. You’ll be feeling better soon enough.”

  Stunned stupid for a minute, I drank the minty blend, still pondering the man leaving the room. My parents had live-in servants; this was nothing unusual. Growing up, my sister Moira and I had our nanny Edda, who still lived with my parents as a house servant.

  “What’s on your mind?” Lucius snapped my gaze from the empty archway.

  “I was kind of wondering how humans feel working for Morgons. As servants, that is.”

  “It’s a job. There are many humans who don’t discriminate. If the pay is good and respect is present, why not work for a Morgon?”

  True. I hadn’t realized there were humans already employed by Morgons, not in this capacity, in their own home. Living in my father’s bubble where Morgons were ridiculed on a daily basis as uncivil monsters, the idea had never occurred to me.

  “He lives here?”

  “Yes. He has his own quarters on the third floor.”

  Morgons counted floors from top to bottom, meaning Brant lived two floors down. “I’m not sure he approves of me being here.” I set my cup in the saucer and straightened my posture.

  “There’s nothing to disapprove of. This is a stop before getting you home.”

  I nodded, somehow irritated by his tone. I gazed up at the mural on the ceiling again. How could this be the dragon king and his enslaved concubine?

  “What’s the problem? You look disturbed by something.” He sat on the lounge across from me, coffee table between us, and whipped his wings over the back edge with flawless grace. Elbows leaning on his knees, he clasped his hands together. For a moment, my mind hazed over, his heated presence filling up my space and causing a fluttering in my stomach. His smile was nowhere near disarming. Quite the opposite. “Are you alright?”

  I inwardly shook myself. Unable to remember what he’d asked me, I glanced up. Oh, yes. “It’s beautiful. It is.”

  “But?”

  I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. “But it’s quite a different portrayal of the king and, uh, his queen, than I’ve ever heard.”

  His mouth tilted with a you-silly-human smile. “Does your race still tell that old nightmare legend about rape and slavery?”

  The cup rattled in my saucer. I wanted to set it aside. I steadied my hand and met his gaze. “Actually, yes. The story I was told did mention, uh, what you said.” I stammered like a nervous child, berating myself for losing composure. Deep breath in. “Do your people tell another story?”

  “Yes. The true one.” Cool, even words.

  “I’ve only been told the human version. Would you tell me the Morgon story?”

  Features controlled, calm, he assessed me as if determining whether I was worthy to hear the tale told by Morgonkind. He exhaled a deep breath and began.

  “King Radomis fell in love with Princess Morga the second he laid eyes on her. This part is true, though I think the human version mentions lust rather than love. She used the fertility rite by moonlight as a means to escape her impending marriage to a cruel, sadistic prince she was being forced to marry. She demanded to complete the rite in privacy in order to keep the guards from seeing her naked body. Once their backs were turned, she fled. The guards, however, were no fools. Everyone knew Princess Morga dreaded her upcoming marriage. When they chased her through the woods, King Radomis saw her from above. He swooped down at the moment a guard pinned her to a tree, taking the liberty of touching what her betrothed would touch soon enough. Enraged, the dragon king shifted to human form and killed the guard instantly. When the others attacked, he had no choice but to smite them all. Rather than be angry, Princess Morga knelt at his feet in gratitude. She asked the king what she could give him in return for saving her.”

  Lucius paused, a tight smile creasing his face. I found myself leaning forward, riveted by the tale.

  “Well? What did he ask for?”

  A steady gaze met mine. “He asked for one kiss.”

  I frowned in confusion. “One kiss? That’s all?”

  He leaned forward farther. “What neither of them knew was that fate had already deemed them a match. And love had already caught flame in their hearts with the bravery, salvation, and beauty of that night. This is why one kiss sealed them to each o
ther forever.”

  My heart raced, pumping a wild beat. “Soulfire. He gave her soulfire with that one kiss.” I leaned back, finding no back to support me. Flailing one arm, my teacup rattled and tipped over, falling to the carpet before I caught my balance.

  “Oh, God.” A humiliating flush burned my cheeks. I fell to one knee and scooped the cup, empty now, back onto the saucer. “I’m so sorry,” I muttered, using the napkin to dab the damp spot on the carpet.

  Lucius leaned across the coffee table, taking the cup and saucer, his index finger grazing the top of my hand. At his touch, my gaze shot to his, tension stretching the silence like a bowstring.

  “It’s okay.” His voice rumbled low. He set the cup and saucer on the table. “Leave it.”

  Awkwardly, I set the napkin down and sat on the edge of the chaise. I linked my fingers together in my lap, fidgeting, anxious under his steady gaze.

  After a full minute of tension-filled silence, I snapped back to the conversation before my embarrassing display. “I thought—I mean, humans tell the story where—” I caught myself before I confessed our brutal version where Radomis took her by force. Lucius waited for me to get my thoughts together, a pinched smile edging the corners of his mouth upward. All patience and calm, this man, while I stumbled to regain my composure. “You mean he didn’t force her to stay with him using soulfire?”

  Expression grave and serious again, he shook his head. “It can’t be done, though I’ll admit many Morgons have tried when helplessly besotted with a female who won’t have him. The woman must accept the bond, but when it’s made, it’s forever.”

  I stood up, my headache having subsided. What he was telling me went against everything I’d been taught growing up. The Morgons were a cursed race, beget by a rapist and a slaver. A sordid fact ingrained in me all my life. If I were to believe Lucius, it was all a lie.

  Refusing to meet his eyes, I asked, “Have you experienced soulfire yet?” In other words, are you single? Why was I asking this stupid question?