by Tessa Adams
For the first time since he’d left New Mexico, Logan let himself breathe. If things were as bad here as he suspected, then this whole thing was going to be a lot easier than he had originally planned. He just might get out of this with his scales intact after all. Realizing that felt strange, especially after he’d spent so long preparing himself for death.
Feeling a little more secure than he had since he’d started on this journey, Logan finally let loose the stranglehold he’d been keeping on his psychic abilities for the past two hours. Instantly, his mind shot onto the psychic plane, his consciousness streaking out in different directions to cover the 180 degrees straight in front of him. He couldn’t cover the whole compound, obviously, but he could cover a semicircle of about fifteen miles from where he was standing, as long as the area was on the psychic line that extended out from him in both directions.
As he went seeking, he braced himself for an onslaught of psychic noise—people thinking and talking and going about the actions of their daily life. That was the problem with opening himself up like this: to try to pick up a few important facts, he had to leave himself completely vulnerable to everything else out there.
Surprisingly, the chatter wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d expected it to be for a clan of this size. He picked up a few stray thoughts—a woman trying to decide what to make for dinner, a few men playing a poker game (one had a really good hand, but was too new to the game to understand that) and some Wyvernmoon children trying to organize a basketball game of three on three. Most of them were thinking about the game, but one of the boys was concentrating a lot harder on trying to find a way to impress the girl who was watching him. He was hoping he’d have an on day, that the strange body he was still getting used to wouldn’t betray him at an important point in the game.
Curious, Logan delved a little deeper, trying to figure out why being dragon was new to him when he was at least fifteen or sixteen. Most dragons were born with their beasts as sentient beings inside them. By the time they were toddlers, they were fully aware the thing was there.
When he streaked into the kid’s mind, however, he came out grinning. It wasn’t the dragon the kid was worried about—it was the long, gangly arms and legs that he was still getting used to. Though it had been nearly four hundred years, Logan remembered that feeling well. He’d been barely sixteen when he’d shot up to six foot seven, and for a while nothing had been safe—least of all his own pride. He’d knocked things over, crashed into walls, done any number of crazy things as he’d tried to get used to the body that had seemed to change overnight. He hoped the kid had better luck with his girl than Logan had at his age.
He frowned as soon as the thought came to him. Why did he care about some Wyvernmoon kid and whether he impressed the current girl of his dreams? He’d come here to cripple the clan so badly that it would take centuries for them to recover—if they ever did.
He couldn’t afford to worry about the children or the other innocent members of the clan any more than he could afford to worry about Cecily. If he did, he would never be able to do what he’d come here to, and there was no way he was leaving the Dragonstars vulnerable to this kind of threat. Not after everything Dylan and the others had done for him.
Leaving the boys behind, he shifted his focus a little. Lowered the very last of the internal shields he kept between his brain and the rest of the world. Immediately, he was bombarded from all sides, so hard and so fast that for a moment he thought his head was literally going to explode.
Dropping to his knees, hands to his head, he struggled to get control over all the feedback that was flooding into him. He was tempted to raise the blocks again—at least the first one—and had actually started to reconstruct it when a stray thought got through the mishmash, one that had excitement thrumming in his veins even as it concerned him.
What can I say to convince Cecily that I’m right? That she has to go along with me?
He focused on the thought, did his best to sort through everything else to find the person it belonged to. For a couple of minutes, he found nothing. Under normal circumstances, he might have been tempted to give up. His headache was so bad it felt like his head was going to shatter into a million different pieces.
But he hadn’t expected this to be easy. He forced himself to ignore the nauseating pain and to remain open as he divided the area he’d been focused on into a series of manageable groups. Then he started scanning the groups one at a time. It took precious minutes that he didn’t have, but he refused to stop until he’d combed every quadrant. Maybe it had just been a passing thought, but then again, maybe it had been—
He hit pay dirt on the fourth of the seven quadrants he had set up in his head. A voice, deep and self-assured, was running through a bunch of arguments in his head. Arguments that Logan knew were destined for Cecily.
With a frown, he settled onto a nearby rock and prepared to listen to everything this guy wanted to say.
“Hey, Cecily, wait up!” Thierren’s voice sounded behind her, but she was too frustrated and too hurt to deal with him right then. She quickened her pace, hoping that if she moved fast enough she’d make it inside the house before he caught up with her. Normally, it would be a ridiculous goal—he was a factionnaire, after all—but her house was close and he was still a ways back. One more minute and she’d make it.
A hand closed around her elbow and she mentally cursed, even as she turned to the man she’d always considered one of her closest friends. Amazing the difference a day made. Making sure she kept a cool, impersonal smile on her face, she said. “Yes, Thierren? Can I help you?”
He groaned, tried to pull her into his arms for a hug, but she refused to give in. Not this time. Not only had he embarrassed her in front of the entire Conseil, but he had also been largely responsible for their walking out on her in the middle of the discussion. That was something she could not forget or forgive. Not at this delicate juncture in time.
“Come on, Ceece. Don’t be like this.”
“I’m not being like anything, Thierren. It’s been a long day and I’m tired. I want to go home.”
“Good. I’ll come with you.” He started to walk, his grip on her arm firm enough that she didn’t have a choice but to follow along with him. It burned her ass, especially since he was holding on to the same arm Julian had savaged the day before, but she absolutely refused to engage in a power struggle out here in the middle of the street for everyone to see. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Besides, she was smart enough to know that the whole world was watching and waiting for just such an occurrence. Julian would love if he had public proof of a break between her and any of the factionnaires who might actually support her. Of course, that was assuming any were left after the debacle earlier that afternoon.
Still, she couldn’t just let the manhandling pass without at least making a comment. “You’re not invited,” she snapped.
“I should be. Because if you want to get out of this disaster alive, I would strongly suggest you take a few minutes to listen to me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t put a dollar down on your odds of surviving the next week.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cecily slowly opened the door to her father’s house, still not sure she’d made the right decision when she’d chosen to invite Thierren back to her place. She was still furious with him for expressing such blatant doubts in front of all the other dragons, but at the same time, they had a long history. She respected him and knew that whatever he had to say, it would be exactly what he believed. He didn’t pull any punches, nor did he have secret agendas. Unlike a lot of the other factionnaires , with Thierren, what you saw was what you got.
“Do you want something to drink?” she asked as she hung her jacket on the tall, wooden coat rack that stood just inside the front door. She was determined to appear normal, though inside she was reeling, her defenses crumbling rapidly.
Had things really gotten that bad that quickly, or had she just been oblivious for
too long?
Was her life really in jeopardy?
And if it was, why? As this afternoon had proven, she was far from a threat to anyone’s bid for power.
Or was Thierren just overstating things, going for the effect? That wasn’t like him, but as she was finding, everything changed when a shot at the throne was in the mix.
He hung his coat next to hers and then answered, “I don’t know,” with a grin that was one hundred percent Thierren. “Are you planning on poisoning me?”
“I suppose that depends on what you have to say.”
“I think I’ll pass, then.”
“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug. “We can talk in here.” She led him into the parlor that rarely got used.
As soon as they entered the small, fussily decorated sitting room off the foyer, Thierren closed the doors with a solid thump. She raised an eyebrow at him, but it was his turn to lift and lower his shoulders. “There are a lot of people who work in this house. I don’t want—”
“I’m not my father. I employ only three people now, and they all live off-site. We’re alone here.”
As soon as she said the words, Cecily regretted them. Maybe it would have been smarter to let Thierren believe there were others around. It certainly would have been safer.
But she was being stupid. This was Thierren. He’d played hopscotch with her when she was a child, had held her when she’d gotten her first skinned knee. No matter how treacherous the times were, there was no way he would hurt her. He just didn’t have it in him.
“Look,” he said with a grimace. “I’m really sorry that I didn’t stick up for you at the meeting today.”
“It’s fine.” She didn’t want him to know how much it had hurt her that not one of the three dragons she’d expected to support her claims had done so. Besides, she shouldn’t complain. She’d wanted to know where she stood. It wasn’t Thierren’s or Gage’s or even Wyatt’s fault that where she stood was absolutely nowhere.
That was her father’s fault and her own. People treated her like she was nothing, like she was incompetent, because that was how she had acted for so long. Sitting inside this house, simpering and wearing pretty dresses because that was what her father had wanted from her. She’d brought this on herself.
Still, it would have been nice if one of the few people she considered a friend, one of the few people whom she thought knew the real her, had given her the benefit of the doubt. Then again, this whole week had been a learning experience for her. Not a good experience, but a learning one nonetheless.
“No, it isn’t. I understand that you felt abandoned in there today—”
“I was abandoned. You walked out on me.” To hell with the stiff upper lip; she wanted to know why he’d done what he’d done. “How could you have done that? I know I made a mistake, but, really, Thierren, couldn’t you have at least given me a chance to explain?”
“I could have, but it wouldn’t have done you or me any good. I can’t afford to be associated with you right now. None of us can, not if we want to help you. Julian’s out for blood, and if he can’t have yours, he’ll settle for whoever steps in front of the sword.”
She ignored the new pang of hurt his words caused her and focused on the important part of his statement. “So, you sacrificed me in an effort to appease him.”
“It wasn’t like that!”
“It was exactly like that,” she snapped. “But, out of curiosity, how exactly is denouncing me in public part of a plan to help me?”
“Come on, Cecily. You know better than that. You can’t just walk into the Dracon Club and think you’re going to be able to change things overnight. Thousands of years of tradition and law have gone into the way things are done in this clan.”
“I know that!”
“Do you? Do you, really? Because the way you’re shaking things up, it seems like you just got here. Acel and Remy will never go for what you’re proposing, not if you’re the one proposing it. And if they don’t follow you, neither will Luc nor Etienne nor even Blaze. And without them, and with Julian gunning for you, you’ve lost the Conseil before you’ve even gotten a running start.”
“They’re only five factionnaires out of fourteen. I don’t need them.”
“That just shows how naive you are. This isn’t a democracy. Voting numbers don’t mean shit here. We follow the king—”
“The king is dead, in case you haven’t noticed! I’m the closest thing we’ve got, and while I admit I’m a disappointment, I still think some kind of leadership has to be better than nothing at all.”
“That’s just it. You’re not a disappointment. You’re becoming exactly what some of us have been waiting for you to be. But, Cecily, you’re still a woman. You can only do so much, no matter how strong and smart you are. Not just with the factionnaires, but with the entire clan. Very few of the civilians will ever accept you as queen, not without a husband.”
She shook her head as her stomach revolted violently at what he was implying. “I’m not marrying Julian. Even if I could imagine—for one second—tying myself to that man, I wouldn’t do it. He’s exactly what the clan doesn’t need right now. He’s cold-blooded and merciless and has a secret agenda about a mile long. He is not what is best for this clan.”
“I’m not disagreeing. I’ve always thought your father was wrong to try to force him on you—you know that. But what if you don’t have to marry Julian?”
“What do you mean? I know my father has used me as a bargaining chip for years, but I thought it was understood these past couple of years that he had decided to give me to Julian.”
“He had. But, as you so eloquently pointed out a few moments ago, your father is dead. Any agreements, any wishes he had, died with him.”
“So what are you saying? That I should marry one of the other factionnaires , even after what happened this afternoon?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. If you have a husband who is more open-minded about the lines of succession, one who understands you and believes in the vision you seem to have for the clan, the two of you can move the Wyvernmoons in the right direction. In the direction you want us to go.”
“It’s not about wanting it,” she told him impatiently. “Continuing on our current path means annihilation. I can’t believe you don’t see that.”
“I do see it.”
His instant acquiescence made her a little uneasy, when she’d expected to feel nothing but relief. But that was just her being weird after what had happened at the meeting—she should be glad that someone was finally seeing things her way. So instead of questioning his seemingly lightning-fast change of heart, she simply said, “Good. Because I refuse to sit by and watch as we destroy ourselves.”
“I feel exactly the same way. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“It didn’t exactly seem that way in the club.”
“I already explained that. You were going about things the wrong way back there.”
“And you think you know the right way?”
“I do, actually.”
“Really? So should I draw names out of a hat until I hit on someone whom I can actually stand and who can stomach being married to me, as well?”
“I don’t think you need to do anything that drastic,” he said with a smile.
Warning bells went off in her head at the smooth seduction of his grin, then started clanging at top volume when he shifted his weight so that he was sitting close enough for their thighs to brush. She told herself she was being stupid, even as her heart stuttered in her chest. After all, they’d sat like this many times through the years. Tonight was no different.
Except then he reached for her hands, brought them to rest on his knees. The warning bells turned to shrieks even before his thumbs started to stroke across the back of her hand, again and again.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, trying to pull her hands back from his grip. Inside her, her dragon woke up with a vengeance, snarling and
growling at Thierren when it usually tolerated him. If she was completely honest with herself, she would admit that the beast had never particularly liked her friend, but that had never mattered to her before. Thierren had been nice to her when no one else had, when there’d been nothing to gain from it.
Or, at least, when she’d thought there’d been nothing to gain. Now she wasn’t so sure. Hadn’t she just been thinking yesterday that he was the one dragon she didn’t have to worry about? That he had no illusions—or delusions—about marrying her to get his hands on the crown?
Could she really have been so mistaken?
Had she put more faith in him than he deserved?
God, she hoped not. She wasn’t sure she could take it if that was the case. She’d trusted Thierren for years, had told him her secrets when she hadn’t been willing to tell anyone else. If all of those meetings, all that friendship, had just been leading up to a marriage proposal, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to take it. Not without crying—or at least not without taking a swing at him.
“Cecily,” he crooned, leaning down so that his lips were only a few inches from her cheek. As he did, she felt the last little bit of hope inside her dissipate. So much so that when he opened his mouth and started to speak, his words weren’t even a surprise.
“You know, I’ve never had any interest in being part of the royal family. I’ve never wanted the responsibility that comes with ruling a clan—that’s not really my thing. But I feel like I don’t have a choice—”
“You have a choice,” she interrupted.
“What?” He looked confused, and she realized she’d thrown him off his spiel.
“I said, ‘You have a choice.’ ”
“I know that. But I can’t just leave you to struggle through this on your own. We’ve been friends for a long time. I need to step up now and let you know that I’m here for you, any way that you need me to be.”
