by Rush, Jaime
Dragon Rising
Jaime Rush
New York Boston
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Table of Contents
An Excerpt from Dragon Awakened
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Chapter 1
Lyra Slade stepped into Dragon Arts, a felt bag clutched in her hand. She had spent many hours at the dojo sparring and learning how to control her Dragon.
Glesenda, who managed the class schedules, smiled. “Back for more classes, sugar?” She checked to make sure there were no Mundane humans around, a habit all Crescents had. “Or just need to let your Dragon loose?”
The soundproof, windowless Obsidian Room, where they could stretch their wings and flex their talons, stirred Lyra’s Dragon. Play, it growled. Her fingers brushed her right hip where she felt it pawing her skin. Not now. More important things to do.
To Glesenda, she said, “I’d love to, but I need to talk to Cyntag.”
Glesenda nodded to the Sapphire Room, where a class was under way. “Go on in. The class is almost done.”
When Lyra slipped in and took one of the chairs at the rear of the room, a couple of the male students glanced her way. Embers flickered in their eyes, something only other Crescents could see. Crescents traced their ancestry to Lucifera, a mystical island in the Bermuda Triangle. The island’s inhabitants worshipped Dragon gods and magick Deuce gods. More than three hundred years ago, the gods took advantage of a confluence of natural events that allowed them to become physical. Inevitably, the gods and humans fell in lust and created human children who had a sliver of godly essence. Dragon Crescents bore tattoos, the manifestation of their beast that let their Dragon essence connect with their physicality. Mundanes could see the tattoo, but only a Crescent could see it move or blink.
Cyntag acknowledged her with a nod. Most female students swooned over the Dragon sensei with the black hair and dark eyes. Yeah, she’d swooned, too, back when that kind of thing mattered. Before her life completely sucked.
When the class finished fifteen minutes later, Cyntag headed her way. “Lyra, how can I help you?”
“I need an angel.”
His eyebrow arched. “You’re coming to the wrong place, sweetheart.”
“Oh, I’m not…” She was rarely thrown off, but then she saw he was teasing her. “A Caido. I guess I consider them angels.”
Caidos were loosely grouped in with Crescents, holding the essence of fallen angels who were sent to oversee the gods on the island. They, too, became physical and fell to the temptation of lust.
She opened her felt bag and pulled out a platinum feather. “I need to find out whose feather this is. It was in my father’s bedroom, which was trashed. And he’s missing.”
Cyntag took the feather, turning it at an angle to study it. “Could this have anything to do with the woman who went missing a few months back? There was some speculation about his involvement, rumors of an affair.”
“I know Pop had nothing to do with Tara Becker’s disappearance. And I don’t believe they were having an affair.” At least she hoped they weren’t. But you had your doubts, didn’t you?
Cyntag was turning the feather over in his hand. “Do you know what these feathers mean?”
“I don’t know much about Caidos, which of course is their intention. The big mystique makes them superior, aloof, and sometimes rude.”
“Caidos stick to themselves. Trust me, they have their reasons.” He handed the feather back to her. “This is a fighting feather, called a dhagger. When they invoke their angelic essence, they can pull one out and use it like a knife.”
She went cold at the thought of her father facing a pissed-off Caido. “So maybe this guy wants his dhagger back. I’d like to deliver it personally.” She ran her finger along the edge, feeling it nick her skin.
“Do you want me to check into it?”
“No, but thank you. I’m going to investigate this angle on my own. I asked Kirin to come down from Atlanta to help me. Right away he runs into Ellie, and it turns out her father is also missing. I’m sure the two disappearances are related, but he’s not sharing what they’ve found. He’s either trying to spare me or protect me, but no way can I sit around waiting.” She pulled out her cell phone and brought up a picture she’d taken. “I think whoever left the feather might own this car. It’s been parked at the curb near my pop’s house since he went missing. I thought it was the neighbors’, who own a used exotic car lot. Then I got to thinking about it being connected to my pop and asked. It’s not theirs.”
Cyntag extracted his phone from a duffel bag and punched in some numbers. After an initial greeting, he said, “Do you know a Caido who owns a deep purple Lamborghini Gallardo?” He nodded as the other person spoke. “He might be in trouble.” He listened for a few more seconds and then signed off. “Grayson thinks the car belongs to Archer Grant’s brother. He’s going to call Archer, but you can head over to the high-rise in downtown Miami where he lives. Your name will be at the desk, and the security guard will send you up.”
He held up two fingers. “Two things you need to know about dealing with Caidos. Tamp down those emotions. I know Citrine Dragons have a hard time with that, but Caidos shut down when confronted with drama. That’s why they don’t associate with Mundanes or Crescents.”
A yellow Dragon tamping down her emotions? Oh, boy. “I’ll try. What’s the second thing?”
“Don’t touch them.”
She raised her eyebrow. “It’s not like I’d throw myself at him.”
He smiled. “Caidos are so preternaturally beautiful that they’re mesmerizing. It’s called the Thrall. Hell, when I see my friend, I want to kiss him, and I’m hetero.”
She laughed, not sure if he was kidding. She’d seen Caidos, but only from across a crowded café or restaurant. The icy glitter in their eyes gave them away, and yes, they were extraordinarily gorgeous.
“I will keep that in mind. Thanks for helping me.”
She walked out into the warm, humid air. True angels were supposed to help humans. Let’s see how helpful one of their bastard sons is.
* * *
Lyra stared at the mirrored, oval-shaped building that shot up into the blindingly bright Miami sky. She’d heard rumors that Caidos wielded a light so powerful it could meld your mind or cut off your leg. There were lots of rumors about them, which made them all the more intriguing. As far as she knew, they were antisocial and asexual, and there were fewer of them than other types of Crescents, probably because males outnumbered females by a large margin.
The contemporary sign matched the building it identified as THE RAPHAEL. A nod to the archangel? Or the artist perhaps? It housed a restaurant, café, wine bar, and several floors of offices. Residences occupied the higher floors. She’d heard that many of these Caido-owned high-rises only allowed their own kind to buy a unit. Massive blue glass doors loomed in front of her. As soon as she neared, a man in a suit stepped forward and opened the door.
A blast of cold air hit her in stark contrast to the heat outside. The lobby was cool not only in temperature but in décor as well. Glass murals made of iridescent tiles and a wall of streaming water lent an austere feel to the lobby. She approached the large black man at the desk. Both employees were Caidos.
“Your eyes match my desk
,” the security guard said with a smile. “Can I help you?”
She thought he was giving her eyes much more credit than they deserved, comparing them to the crystalline blue glass. She glanced at the paper in her hand. “I’m here to see Archer Grant.” She produced her ID, which he checked.
“The elevator will take you to the twenty-first floor, Ms. Slade.”
Mirrored walls in the elevator reflected a nervous woman with blond hair mussed from the breeze. She shored up her shoulders, checked her teeth, and ran her fingers through her hair. The door slid open, and she stepped into a quiet foyer with plush gray carpet. There was only one door, which meant the place took up the entire floor. Damn. Must be nice. It seemed most Caidos in general were wealthy. She’d heard they made judicious investments in the days before Miami’s real estate boom.
She rang the doorbell, hearing pleasant chimes echoing inside. No answer. She tried again, and a few seconds later, the door opened. Several things hit her senses at once: bare chest, the scent of soap, and then the six-and-a-half-foot-tall man standing in front of her. His white-blond hair glistened with drops of water that continued to drip down the contours of his chest and ridged stomach, all the way to the towel wrapped tightly around his waist.
She pulled her gaze back to his face and forced herself to take a breath. His light blue eyes glittered like sun hitting the snow, as cool as the powder she’d skied on during a weekend trip to Colorado.
“You must have the wrong condo,” the man said, and started to close the door.
“Are you Archer?”
He paused, his face a mask of suspicion. “Yeah.”
Oh, boy. “Obviously this Grayson guy didn’t talk to you yet, I’m guessing because you were in the shower. I’m Lyra Slade.” She held out her hand, but he only eyed it. She let it drop.
The man stalked to the kitchen counter and snatched up his cell phone. She’d never seen a more perfect male specimen, not a freckle or a mark on him except for the tattoo of dark silver angel wings spanning his broad back. He eyed the phone’s screen, then hit keys and listened to the message.
She wanted to point out his utterly rude behavior, and she didn’t give a rat’s ass how beautiful he was or that he was a la-di-da Caido. It was damned hard holding her tongue. Do it for Pop. I’ll only have to see this guy for, what, a few minutes?
“Are you going to come in or stand there all day?”
She blinked. “Was that an invitation? Seriously?”
His right eye ticked. “Please, enter. Grayson said you were coming here in regard to my brother.”
She stepped in and closed the door behind her. The place was huge and open, with beige carpet so thick it made her wobble in her wedge heels. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased Biscayne Bay sparkling in the sun and the pier where the cruise ships docked. A huge sectional sofa in creamy, pale leather curved with the flow of a wall. A rock song from what she guessed was the seventies contrasted the softness of the space.
While she’d been looking around, he’d gone into the kitchen and was pouring an odd-colored liquid into a squat, curved glass.
“Drink?”
She eyed the light green liquid as she approached, smelling what she thought was ouzo. Except that stuff was clear. “What is it?”
“Absinthe.”
He was offering her a drink, so maybe he was inching closer to being civil. She should accept, even though she didn’t know what absinthe was. It sounded rather exotic, so why not? “Sure, thanks.”
He grabbed another glass from the cabinet and tipped a crystal decanter toward it, filling half of the heavy glass. He placed a silver slotted spoon over the top of the glass and set a sugar cube on it. He then poured water from an etched decanter over the cube. The sugar melted into the liquid, turning it a milky green. He did the same to the second glass and slid it across the counter to her.
At the first sip, a rush of menthol licorice filled her mouth and nostrils. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she blew out a breath through pursed lips. When she could open her watery eyes, she stared at the liquid. “This stuff is crazy. What’s in it?”
He finished off his glass. “Grande wormwood, anise, and fennel, along with other botanicals. Want another?”
“Maybe next year, thank you.” She pulled out her cell phone and showed him the picture of the Lamborghini. “I understand this might be your brother’s car.”
His expression remained passive. “Yes.”
Well, that was helpful. Don’t elaborate too much. “Have you talked to your brother lately?”
“Not for a week or so, but that’s not unusual.”
She removed the felt bag from her purse, loosened the cinched top, and extracted the silver feather.
His eyes riveted on it. “Where did you get that?”
“From the last Caido who was rude to me.”
In a blur, he was standing in front of her, gripping her wrist. “Do not toy with me, Dragon Girl.”
She tried to pull free, meeting his fierce stare with her own. “Let me go, and I’ll tell you.”
His hand felt cool against her skin, tight as a handcuff. Her resolve melted as she looked at his achingly stunning face. It’s the Thrall. Don’t let it get to you.
He loosened his grip but didn’t back up. She pulled away and rubbed her wrist, still holding the feather.
“I found this in my father’s bedroom, and it looks like there was an altercation. He’s missing. I need to find out who left this and what happened. That Lamborghini has been parked by the curb near my father’s house since I discovered him gone.”
Archer held out his hand, palm up, and she laid the feather in it. A tremor shook his body, and he grabbed his phone and dialed.
After a few seconds, he said, “Jeremy, it’s Archer. Call me.” The muscles in his jaw quivered. Yeah, he was worried. He grabbed a set of keys from the counter and went down the hall. He reappeared in linen pants, pulling a dark blue shirt over his head as he walked to the foyer. “I will find him and get to the bottom of this. What’s your number?” He punched in some keys on his phone and waited for her to respond.
She gave him her number. “But I’m going with you.”
He held the door open for her, but she suspected it was more to make sure she left than out of courtesy.
She paused in front of him. “That dhagger being at my pop’s means something really bad went down, doesn’t it?”
“It could mean several things.” His absinthe-tinged breath washed over her.
“None of which you’re going to tell me.”
“Correct.”
“But it’s not good. Because if you plucked one of your feathers and lanced someone with it, you’d retrieve it. If you could.”
His eyes shadowed at that. Bingo.
He ushered her through the doorway with his hand on her back, then pulled the door shut and jabbed the elevator button. It arrived within seconds. Once closed inside, he turned to her, and her stomach plunged. That’s only because the elevator’s going down, silly.
“You’re not coming with me.”
“Like hell. Excuse me, like heck. This is about my father.”
“I work alone.”
“Do you have a father in your life? Someone who taught you about the world, about doing the right things, and what love means? Do you have someone who matters?” She touched his forearm.
He jerked away as though she’d burned him. Damn, forgot about not touching.
The doors opened at the lobby, and he held his arm against one edge to keep them from closing. “I will let you know what I find.”
He’d let her know only what he wanted her to know. After exiting, she watched the numbers above the elevator door that indicated Archer was going down to the parking garage.
Not knowing what he drove was a problem, but when the silver Aston Martin shot out of the residents’ garage a few minutes later, she was ready.
Chapter 2
Archer inadvertently forced Lyra to run three re
d lights before he pulled up to an apartment complex. He parked and launched out of the car. She did the same, catching sight of him as he walked up the stairs to the second floor. He knocked on a dark blue door and, when no one answered, inserted a key and went inside.
She ran up the remaining steps and to the door. The doorknob turned, and she carefully pushed it open a few inches. Drawn blinds cast the small living area into shadow with bars of dim light across the brown carpet. No sign of Archer. The sound of footsteps sent her ducking into the bathroom. After Archer left, she would take a good look around. He walked past, and she held her breath.
His footsteps paused, and in a piqued voice, he said, “Come out, Dragon Girl.”
With a chagrined smile, she stepped out of the bathroom to find that Archer’s expression matched his voice. “My name is Lyra.”
He filled the hallway, his features cast into shadow. “Right now you’re a trespasser. I told you I would contact you.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t listen very well.”
“Clearly. You have to leave now.”
“Still not listening.”
Lyra back-stepped toward the bedroom and reached the doorway when his hand clamped on her shoulder. The sight in front of her snared all of her attention. Glittering dust covered the green carpet in the shape of wings, as though someone incinerated the Caido but left his tattoo behind.
“That can’t be good.” She turned to Archer. “Does this mean he’s…dead?”
He pulled his hand away from her. “You’re smart to be fearful.”
“How can you tell I’m afraid?”
“I feel it.” He stepped away from her, as though fear had a pungent smell. “This is not something you should be involved in.”
“Jeremy did something to my father. I’m going to find out what.”
Archer rubbed his hand over his mouth, shaking his head. “Jeremy wouldn’t hurt your father without provocation.”
“My father wouldn’t have provoked him.” Lyra pointed at the feather outline. “Who can do this? Another Caido, I imagine.”
