by Lili Zander
Bea’s pout turns into a Cheshire Cat-worthy smile. “I hope so.”
Our food arrives, and we are both distracted by the delicious looking food. The waitress sets plates down in front of us, explaining each dish. “This is monkfish liver nigiri, with a garnish of shiso and ponzu daikon,” she says. There’s also lobster sashimi, salmon sashimi, slivers of Ahi tuna, and so much more. The moment the waitress turns her back, Bea and I fall on our food like we haven’t been fed a decent meal in weeks.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that my four bodyguards are eating too, at the closest table to us. Oh good. I’m not sure what the etiquette is here—everything’s so new to me—but I know I’d feel like a dick gorging myself on sashimi if they were going hungry.
As much as having guards irritates me—aside from the four inside the restaurant, there are three additional shifters outside—I can’t help but be thankful. Remembering Pete’s funeral and the ominousness of the closed casket is enough to keep me from getting too upset over needing babysitters.
Thankfully, Bea is too caught up in her food to notice the four hulking men who are paying way more attention to our little table of two than is polite. “Are you ready to tell me about what’s going on with you now?” she asks. “Or are we still pretending to care about my muffin?”
“I care about your muffin,” I protest, reaching for another piece of tuna. “But yeah, let’s talk about me.”
Her gaze is drawn to my mark. “Is that a new tattoo?” she asks. “You didn’t have it on Saturday, did you? I would have noticed it.”
I blink in surprise. “Right,” I mutter, not sure exactly how to explain the mark. The real answer is that it just appeared on my wrist as if by magic, and now I have five dragon mates. But I think I should ease into that story. “Yeah. I got it on Sunday.”
“I like it.” Bea examines it carefully. “It’s very… mythy.”
“Mythy?” My lips twitch. “That’s not even a word.”
“You know what I mean,” she shrugs. “You’re a mythology nerd, and this looks Celtic. It’s very… you.”
Huh. I hadn’t even thought about it in that context. Bea’s right though. I love mythology. I think back to the ball and all the little homages to Norse mythology in the decor. I should have asked Bastian about it. I said I didn’t want to just fall into bed with them. That I want to get to know them before we take that next step, and yet I haven’t asked many questions.
“Did you go to the guy in Park Slope?” Bea asks, not waiting for an answer before she continues. “Never mind. Your tattoo can wait. Tell me about the party. You’ve been all mysterious about it. What happened?”
Now or never, Aria. I take a deep breath and meet Bea’s gaze. “The party wasn’t a Norm party. It was a shifter party. More than that, it was a party thrown by the five Dragon Princes.”
Bea’s eyes practically bug out of her head, and her jaw drops. “The super-rich billionaire guys?”
I give a little nod. “What do you know about them?”
“That’s basically it. I read a magazine article about them last year. There’s five of them, and they’re all very old and very rich.” She leans forward. “Did you meet them? Were they old and wrinkled? Did they look like Hugh Hefner, wearing a velvet robe, surrounded by big-boobed women?”
I choke back my giggles at the image she paints. “Well, you’ve met two of them. Rhys and Mateo.”
Bea’s mouth falls open. “No freakin’ way.”
“Yep.”
“You kissed Rhys at the party, right? Oh my God. He’s your sugar daddy, isn’t he? Oh man, is he old and wrinkly?”
I can’t hold back my laughter as Bea’s mind ping-pongs around, and her mouth just spits things out without actually thinking them through. “Did either Rhys or Mateo look old and wrinkly to you?”
“Lord, no. Those men were fine.”
I’ve teased her long enough. One of Tomas’ men, Sean, I think, is fighting to suppress laughter as he watches Bea’s reactions. I shoot him a dirty look. This is awkward enough, buddy. Don’t need your help.
“Okay, here goes. When I saw the dragon princes, this mark appeared on my wrist, and on theirs as well. It means that I’m their mate.”
“Their mate?” If I thought Bea’s eyes were bugging out before, that is nothing on the cartoon-level of bugged out they are at this moment. “What the hell do you mean, their mate?”
“All five of them.”
“And you’re good with this? Like, for real? Not just because of the fancy restaurant?” She gives me a serious look.
“You know me. I don’t care about the restaurant. But yeah. I’m good with it.” My cheeks turn flushed. “They’re really great. And,” I lower my voice so the bodyguards can’t hear me, “they’re really hot. I want to jump them all the time.”
She shakes her head. “No wonder you’ve been busy,” she remarks. “So why the hell are you out with me when you could be in bed with five hunky dragons?”
It’s my turn to sigh. “It’s complicated. We’re not doing it. Not yet, anyway.”
“What’s complicated about having five men waiting to plow your furrow? Do you know how very well tended your lady garden could be right now?”
“I know. It’s not that I don’t want to have sex with them. Trust me. I want it more than I should. Which is the problem…” I pause, trying to collect my thoughts, “It’s like I’m drawn to them. I wouldn’t say it’s against my will, but it’s like I’m drunk and my common sense gets short-circuited by sexy-times.”
“What’s wrong with sexy-times?” Bea asks practically. “You’ve always done the whole common-sense thing. Live a little. Enjoy yourself. Unless they are a bunch of dickheads that don’t deserve my bestie, because then we have to have a whole different conversation.”
“They’re not dickheads at all,” I assure her. “I asked them to drop by Cellar tonight. You’ll meet them.”
I think about what she’s said. Bea’s right. I do always go the safe route. And my dragons aren’t dickheads. Well, the one who is sort of a dick, Erik, took care of Silas’ medical bills, so is he really even a dickhead? That brings me to my other issue…
“They are richer than God,” I blurt out. “It freaks me out. Bastian actually told me their money is my money. Can you believe that?”
Bea rolls her eyes. “You’re too independent. I’d love it if someone came along and took care of me. You’ve got five someones wanting to take care of you.”
I pick up a scallop and think as I chew. I got a million dollars for Drakkar’s job. I don’t need that much money, especially not now that Erik has taken care of Silas’ medical bills. I look across the table at my best friend. Bea said she’d love it if someone were to take care of her. What if I paid her tuition to hairdressing school? She wouldn’t like it if she thought it was a hand-out. Maybe I could arrange a scholarship… or something. Hmm.
Bea and I finish our meal, mostly chatting about our co-workers and the latest mall gossip. The check arrives. I open my purse to pay and my jaw drops when I see the black American Express card.
“What is it?” Bea asks curiously.
I pull the card out and show her. She gasps loud enough to turn heads. “Oh my God. Is that what I think it is?” Bea grabs the card and studies it front and back. “It is! A black Amex… no spending limit baby! Let’s go see if it works.”
I pay for our meal and stumble along behind Bea as she drags me down the street. I’m only partially aware of my guards silently following along. They’re good. I’ll give them that.
Bea gives a little squeal and comes to a stop in front of a store window. Chanel. Before I can protest, she drags me inside. The saleswoman looks up when we enter the store, and her mouth pinches with disapproval. She looks like our high-school principal. Fuck.
No more sake for either Bea or me. It makes us do stupid shit. “I saw Pretty Woman on TV last month, Bea,” I whisper to my bestie. “There was a scene very much like this o
ne. In which we get thrown out of the store.”
Bea ignores my protests. She pulls me up to a glass cabinet and points at a medium sized red-leather handbag with the iconic double-Cs. “Can I see that bag please?”
The saleswoman looks Bea up and down, and one perfectly plucked brow arches. “That bag?” she asks, making no move to take it out of the case.
Bea grins wickedly. She’s enjoying this, damn it. “Yes, that bag,” she replies, pretending to be completely oblivious to the bitchy saleswoman’s disdain. “How much is it?”
The woman snorts indelicately. “It’s very expensive. You probably can’t afford it.”
Fuck, it is that movie all over again. “You’re absolutely right,” Bea says gleefully. “I can’t. She, on the other hand, can.” Bea grins widely. “C’mon, Aria. Whip it out.”
With a sigh of resignation, I open my wallet and remove the shiny black card. Like a switch’s been flipped, the woman’s demeanor changes. She gives me a fake-warm smile and opens the cabinet, handing the bag to Bea. “It’s a special edition,” she says. “Only five hundred of these bags have been made. The bag is hand-stitched in France, and the metal buckle is gold.”
“Feel, Aria. Feel how soft,” Bea coos while petting the bag.
Now that she’s finished with her spiel, the woman goes in for the kill. “It’s a steal at twenty-eight thousand dollars,” she finishes.
Both Bea and I go completely still in shock. We’re staring at the pretty red handbag like it just grew three heads and each of those heads spun around in circles while epically vomiting pea green soup, Exorcist-style.
Bea carefully sets the twenty-eight-thousand-dollar bag down on the counter. She takes several slow steps away, and I mimic her movements. We high-tail it out of the store before the saleswoman can say another word.
“See why I’m freaking out?” I finally ask her. “It’s just too crazy."
I expect Bea to argue, but it seems one pretty red purse was enough to slap her back down to reality too.
6
Aria
After our failure of a Pretty Woman moment, Bea and I make our way to Cellar. The bar is packed for a Wednesday, though I don’t know why I’m surprised. Half-priced drinks will do that. We make our way through the crowds of people to the bar, and Bea volunteers to get the first round. I whine a little when I realize she’s bought us each two shots.
“Bea…” I mean, I know I’m here to pay homage to Uncle Pete, who frequently drank Silas under the table, but I don’t think it’s necessary to get wasted as a tribute. Hangovers suck.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not tequila, you big baby. I learned my lesson. Are your hotties here yet?”
I look around. “Nope. I told them to come by later.”
She hands me the first shot. She pauses with her glass at her lips, waiting for me. Wincing a little, I gulp down the liquid. I’m surprised when it goes down smooth and with a hint of butterscotch. “What was that?”
Bea hands me the second shot with a smirk. “Buttery Nipple.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “I thought it was your muffin that needed buttering?”
“Shut up and do your shot.”
I carelessly tip back the second shot and am jolted by the tartness of the drink after the first shot’s sweet smoothness. I lick my lips, catching the lingering taste of lemonade.
“And that, my friend, was Slut Juice,” Bea says with a smirk. “Let’s dance!”
I know Bea, and she’s not about to take ‘no’ for an answer. I let her drag me to the busy floor, and lose myself in the familiar rhythm. We dance for a couple of songs, and then I see Bea’s eyes light up.
“Jesse?” I shout over the music. Her head bobs up and down enthusiastically. “Go get him, girl!”
Bea pulls me in for a quick hug. She’s about to head off to find her man when I catch sight of my dragons. A feeling of déjà vu settles over me as Rhys and Mateo approach, both men looking super sexy in dark jeans and t-shirts.
Sake at dinner, and two shots at the bar, and I’m feeling tipsy and flirty and brave. “Fancy meeting you here,” I say with a wink.
Mateo laughs, low and deep. “Indeed, tesoro.” He pulls me against his chest and kisses me softly on my lips. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bea’s eyes widen. Then Rhys kisses me too, and her tongue practically falls out of her face.
“Well, hello to you too.” I sound more than a little breathless.
“Hello, love,” Rhys purrs. “Miss me at dinner?”
Bea clears her throat pointedly. “Oh, uh…” I stutter, suddenly feeling a little nervous about introducing my mates to my best friend. “Bea, this is Mateo Valentini and Rhys Griffith. Guys, this is my best friend, Beatrice Connelly.”
They murmur polite hellos. I look around for the other dragons. “Where’s everyone else?”
Rhys tucks a flyaway strand of hair behind my ear with an indulgent smile. “Bastian and Casius are at the bar.”
I glance over and see the two men chatting with beers in their hands. Erik’s nowhere in sight. Of course.
“Uh, Aria, I’m going to go find Jesse,” Bea says, waggling her eyebrows. “See if I can make my way to third base.”
I grin at her. “Go get that biscuit buttered!”
She sticks her tongue out at me and disappears into the throng of dancers, and I turn my attention back to Mateo. “Erik isn’t here, is he?”
A shadow passes over his face. “No,’ he says. “He wasn’t in the mood.”
Rhys drops a kiss on the top of my head. “I’m going to join Bastian and Casius at the bar,” he says. “But I claim the next dance, love.”
Mateo’s arms flex around me, reminding me that I’m still ensconced in his arms. I don’t know why it bothers me that Erik isn’t here. Even though I don’t give my mouth permission to speak, I hear myself asking, “Why doesn’t he like me?”
Mateo’s eyes soften, and he pulls me against his chest. “I’m not a princess,” I mutter, my voice muffled against his body. “I don’t think everyone needs to like me. But Erik really seems to hate me. Why?”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Mateo says reassuringly. His eyes turn teasing. “You’re the mate of the five dragon princes, tesoro. That makes you a princess.”
Now there’s a thought I definitely don’t want to consider. “You’re changing the subject.”
Mateo sighs. “Erik’s story is his to tell,” he says. “But it has nothing to do with you. If you want to know why, ask him.”
Fair enough. I should talk to him. Erik paid Silas’ medical bills, and I still haven’t thanked him for it. I dance with Mateo in silence, and then something strikes me. “You said you were trying to figure out how to break the curse,” I say, and then clap my hand over my mouth.
Mateo’s lips tilt into a smile. “Don’t worry,” he says. “There’s a gaes on the room. No one except your friend will be able to remember us. What were you going to ask?”
Magic is really useful. “You’ve found your true mate. Shouldn’t the curse be broken? Maybe it is, and you just don’t know it?” I ask hopefully.
“Unfortunately, no.” He shakes his head. “When I do magic, I can feel the weight of Zyrian’s curse. It feels like something’s holding me back. Fighting against me. That’s still there. The curse hasn’t been broken.” He sighs and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “That’s the nature of prophecies. They offer us hints, not answers. The future is never clear. Only glimpses can be seen. We have the key, now we just need to find the lock.”
“It’s not true love, is it?” I ask reluctantly. “Does the curse break when I fall in love with you?”
“I doubt it,” Mateo replies, his eyes amused. “That seems a little too easy. And Zyrian wasn’t a fan of love. It’s a blood curse. The answer will lie in blood.”
A chill rushes down my spine at the way he phrases that. The answer will lie in blood. I’m Norm. How can I be the answer to breaking the curse?
“Do you know what you’re going to do next? Where else can we find the answers?”
“The obvious answer is Castle Jaeger,” Mateo replies. “In Maija Essen’s library, we might find a clue.”
It didn’t fully sink in this afternoon, but Bastian’s five hundred years old. He’s older than the United States. Holy fuck. That’s crazy. “Bastian’s castle? Where is it?”
“Germany. In Cologne, on the outskirts of the town, near the Königsforst.”
Mythology, I like. Geography, not so much. “What’s the Königsforst?”
His lips twitch. “A forest,” he replies, his voice teasing. “Castle Jaeger is in the center of it. Norms venture to the edges but don't enter the deep forest.”
I’ve never left the country. Travel’s one of the things that isn’t really possible when you’re working a minimum-wage job and paying medical bills. “If you think the answer might be there, why haven’t you gone looking for it already?”
Mateo shifts uncomfortably. “We all think that it’s wiser to stay together. My sleep has been restless. My dreams warn me that our enemies are marshaling against us.”
“What enemies? Who can oppose dragons?” I ask with bewilderment.
“Other dragons,” he answers. “Pawns of Zyrian. He’s got quite a following. We’ve always had targets on our backs. Now, more than ever. If word gets to Zyrian that you exist, then the attacks on us will increase ten-fold.”
Fear floods my bloodstream and clogs my throat. “Why do you have targets on your backs?”
Mateo pulls me closer in an attempt to comfort me. My body heats, reacting to his nearness. I press my lips to his, kissing him. Instinctively, his arms tighten around me, and he kisses me back, his tongue dancing with mine. His hands slide down my back, over my ass, and sharp desire flares to life. I feel Mateo’s eyes stare into mine for a moment before he pulls back.
“Because the council thwarted Zyrian,” he says, answering the question I forgot I asked. I take a deep breath and try to squelch the heat still running through me. “There used to be thirteen on the council. Zyrian was one of them. When Maija died, Zyrian swore that he would destroy them all.” Mateo sounds sad. “Seven dragon houses have been obliterated. At one point, it was so bad that we rarely dared to leave our forts. But then Zyrian retreated.”
