Twiceborn

by Marina Finlayson

  “Among others.”

  “And then what?”

  “They fight to see who gets to be queen after Elizabeth dies. It’s called the proving. Not a good time to be a shifter. Lift your shirt and let me see that scratch on your belly.”

  I held the shirt with my good arm and tried to sit straighter so he could see what he was doing. Everything hurt. I was a mass of stings and throbs and aches. I laid my injured arm across his shoulders, grateful for somewhere to rest it.

  “Hope you’ve got some painkillers in that little box of tricks.” I inhaled the smell of him, warm and woodsy. I had to get close to make it out over the sharp scent of Dettol. He smelled like home. I could easily lay my head on his shoulder and drift off to sleep. The edges of the room were starting to blur.

  A massive ballroom, with French doors all down one side, opening on to an even larger terrace. The golden sands of Palm Beach curving away just below. Daylight fading, the sky shot with pinks and oranges as the sun nears the horizon.

  Pretty as a picture. On this night, even the weather didn’t dare interfere with the plans of Her Most Mighty Majesty, Elizabeth of Oceania.

  I stood in the doorway, posing between the huge double doors. My first time in the palace. My first time anywhere other than the estate where I’d been raised, sequestered from my sisters.

  “The fourth candidate,” the herald boomed. “The Lady Leandra.”

  I stalked down the aisle, the chiffon clouds of my dress whispering about my legs. Other whispers followed my progress too. Some were hostile, others thoughtful. The whole shifter community of Sydney was here tonight for the Presentation of the Candidates, as well as many from around Australia and other parts of Oceania.

  The crowd shimmered on the edges of my vision, a rainbow of colour. A huge range of shifters were here tonight, their auras glowing in every imaginable hue. Werewolf orange was well represented—Sydney had a large and thriving pack—though most looked uncomfortable in their tuxedos. Dragon red featured heavily too, of course, along with a large goblin contingent, though not all who glowed brown were goblins. Several taller shifters were clearly leshies. All watched me, but I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead.

  My three older sisters already waited at the dais, one step below our mother the queen, having walked the red carpet before me. As the oldest, Valeria stood closest to the throne, with Alicia in stark black and white beside her, looking as though she’d just stepped off the catwalk. Ingrid, next in line, was not so chic, her makeup a little overdone, but she filled out her green ball gown so well that most would be prepared to forgive her.

  We had never met, my sisters and I. The queen’s heirs were raised separately, ostensibly to protect them from each other till they were all of an age for the proving to begin. In reality I suspected it was to keep them safe from the manoeuvrings of the court.

  We had never met, but already I knew them more intimately than anyone else in the world. They were more real to me than my teachers and all the servants who’d raised me. These last few weeks, since the date of the Presentation had been announced, I’d studied every scrap of information I could get my hands on, pored over every photo. I knew what Ingrid ate for breakfast, I knew Alicia’s fondness for designer fashions and Monique’s small cruelties to her servants. And I knew that Valeria, the oldest, considered the proving a mere formality standing between her and our mother’s crown.

  Tonight she was channelling her inner ice maiden in a pale blue satin the exact colour of her eyes, blonde hair piled atop her head to give her extra height. The expression in those eyes was frosty.

  I’d already decided Valeria was my chief rival, but I was surprised at the fury I felt as those eyes raked me up and down, then turned away to watch the entrance of our last sister as if I was of no more interest. Clearly she’d dismissed me as a threat. I had to force my hands not to clench into fists at my side as the herald called out again.

  “The fifth and final candidate, the Lady Monique.”

  I took my place next to Ingrid and watched Monique approach. She was a delicate little thing, with dark hair and big brown eyes. Her dress boasted a very grown-up plunging neckline, but those eyes, coupled with her tiny size, made her look more like a hopeful puppy than a potential dragon queen.

  I let my attention wander across the crowd, searching out possible allies, noting any who refused to meet my gaze or returned it with animosity. Tonight would see the tentative beginnings of alliances that would make or break fortunes. For the lucky few who threw their support behind the successful candidate, riches and privileged positions at the court of a grateful dragon queen awaited. For the rest, the picture was not so rosy.

  Many shifters lacked the necessary appetite for risk. Those were the ones who looked away, hoping to stay out of the whole bloody business. I didn’t like their chances. It was fortunate provings were so rare, because once one got started, it threw the whole shifter world into turmoil.

  I jumped when his phone rang. My headache had started to fade, thank God, but it had left me so muddle-headed I hardly knew where I was. The pink wall tiles had begun a flickering dance unless I stared directly at them.

  “Ben Stevens. Oh, hi, Trevor.”

  The werewolf guy. I tried to focus on the conversation, but I felt strangely detached, as if I hovered near the bathroom ceiling watching a battered auburn-haired girl lean back against an old-fashioned mirror. Wow, she looked tired. A gorgeous guy on a phone crowded up against her bare legs in the tiny room, sandwiched between the bath and the toilet.

  “Shit,” said Ben. “This afternoon? What time?”

  That caught my attention for a moment, then I lost the thread again as I stared at his eyelashes. They really were preposterous. He was looking at the floor, and they lay so thick against his tanned cheek I wanted to touch them, to see if they felt as velvety as they looked.

  His lips moved, but somehow the words that came out didn’t connect to my brain. I watched his mouth as if I’d never seen it before.

  “… attacked … don’t know … at a friend’s place …”

  He laid a warm hand on my leg, starting an unexpected tingle in my skin. His brown eyes were distant, preoccupied with other things. This close, I could see every pore in his tanned skin. He had a tiny scar on his chin I’d never noticed before. It made him look even sexier, if that were possible.

  “Kate? Kate!”

  It took me a moment to realise he was off the phone. How long had he been talking to me?

  He frowned. “How are you feeling? Everything okay?”

  “Why? Am I turning into a werewolf?” Fear jolted me back to alertness. That’s right, he’d been talking to the werewolf guy.

  “No. You’re fine. Trevor says there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Thank God.” In a rush of relief, I seized his face with my good hand and planted a kiss right on his lips.

  He blinked, the strangest look on his face—almost guilty. “What was that for?”

  “Just celebrating.” The hard knot of terror in my gut unwound. Suddenly all the rest of it felt manageable. “What’s wrong? If there’s nothing to worry about, why do you look so worried?”

  He took me by the arms, careful of my injuries. “Kate, this is important. Are you sure you can’t remember anything from the pick-up today?”

  I shook my head. I’d almost forgotten that whole mess in my werewolf panic. Losing a little piece of memory just didn’t rate against the possibility of turning into a vicious beast and howling at the full moon every month.

  “I remember a woman with blonde hair, but I don’t recall her face or anything else about her. There’s just …” I broke off, some of my relief dissipating. Maybe I already was a vicious beast. “There is one thing. I had a—I don’t know what you’d call it—a vision? I can’t tell if it’s something that actually happened, but I can see my hands covered in blood.”

  He didn’t move, didn’t even blink, but I sensed the tension in him.

&nbs
p; “That’s not good, is it?”

  “No. That’s not good.” He scrubbed a weary hand over his face. I wanted to reach out and smooth the worried lines away. His lips had been soft and warm. I could still taste him on mine. “Trevor said someone died at that address, at about the time you were there. Her name was Leandra, and she was one of Elizabeth’s queen daughters.”

  I sucked in a shocked breath. “And you think I killed her?”

  “No! No, of course not.” His hands reached for mine, enclosing them in a warm comforting grip. “But I’m guessing other people do. Like that werewolf who attacked you. Must have been one of hers.”

  In a way that werewolf had done me a favour. Forget letting life just happen to me, as if I were a piece of flotsam being swept along a storm-filled gutter. I looked back at the person I’d been only a few months ago and marvelled at the change. I’d thought I wanted to die. And maybe, if death had come then, I wouldn’t have struggled.

  I gazed into his eyes, their dark brown rich as liquid chocolate. Be careful what you wish for, they say. Death, once longed for, looked different when you were staring it in the face. People—at least, things that looked like people—wanted me dead, because of something they thought I’d done. Maybe I’d even done it. It made no difference. Guess what? I’d decided to live.

  Somehow, without my even realising it, life had become valuable to me again.

  Perhaps the reason stood before me, brown eyes full of worry. I looked down at our joined hands, then at his mouth, wanting to taste it again. A rush of emotion—and something even more basic—filled me. It had been a long time since I’d kissed anyone.

  “Ben. I’m alive. We’re safe. And I’m not going to turn into a werewolf. You can’t imagine how good that makes me feel.” I leaned in till our foreheads touched. Whatever that guilty look had been about, he didn’t draw away now. Sudden heat flared in the little bathroom. My hands tightened on the muscles of his shoulders. Now or never, before I lost my nerve. “Really, really good. Let’s celebrate some more.”

  He froze as my lips found his, asking a silent question.

  “Kate …” I trailed one hand across his shoulder to the smooth column of his throat. His pulse hammered under my fingertips. “This isn’t a good idea. I don’t think—”

  “That’s right,” I breathed into his mouth, “don’t think. Just feel.”

  He gathered me against him. For once he didn’t argue.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  My empty champagne flute clinked against the stone balustrade of the terrace as I set it down and looked out over the dark scene below. There was no moon tonight, but the white dots of streetlights cascaded down the hill below us. Their light showed the rest of the world lay dreaming beneath the summer stars; the only signs of life were up here at the party of the century.

  My mother was desperately old-fashioned: the strains of a waltz floated out the open French doors from the ballroom. Of course the dragons knew how to waltz—most of them had been around since before the waltz was invented—but some of the lesser shifters looked nonplussed, eyeing the members of the formally clad orchestra as if they were aliens.

  “Better?” asked Luce.

  She leaned back against the stone beside me, but she wasn’t relaxed. She hadn’t wanted me out here in the open, but the ballroom was stuffy and I refused to be pawed any longer by lesser creatures looking to hitch their wagons to my star. Her dark eyes were never still, darting from one person to another, constantly assessing possible threats to my person.

  No one was armed tonight, of course, in the presence of the queen, not even my security chief, but Luce was a weapon all by herself. Perhaps, like others before her, my mother underestimated Luce because of her slight stature. She had the look of a pretty Chinese doll with her flawless skin and hair like a river of black satin. But Luce had a wiry strength and agility that had to be seen to be believed. Many who’d seen it hadn’t survived the experience.

  More likely my mother overlooked Luce because she was only a wyvern. Her aura, the soft blue common to the lesser winged shifters, glowed with a purity that spoke of her vitality and strength, but there was no denying a wyvern was lower down the social scale than a griffin. Valeria, favoured in this as in everything else, had been given a griffin as her security chief. I’d been assigned Luce, and I thanked my mother’s prejudices for it every day.

  “The evening seems to be going as expected,” I said, ignoring the question.

  “I’d be happier if Valeria didn’t have quite such a crowd around her all the time.” A sour expression marred the prettiness of her wide face with its dark almond-shaped eyes as she glared at my sister. Valeria stood just inside the doors, surrounded by sycophants and opportunists. Her back was turned to us, but I had no doubt she knew where every one of her sisters were, including me.

  A flicker in Luce’s aura betrayed the strength of her feelings. She certainly took her job seriously. In fact she was the only woman here tonight not wearing a gown, having opted for a tux instead as being more practical. The fall of her long dark hair was confined in a bun, instead of her usual business-like ponytail. It revealed the elegant curve of her neck, but I couldn’t help thinking she’d chosen the style more for the vicious-looking hairpin that secured it than any consideration of attractiveness. I was sure that hairpin could prove lethal in Luce’s hands.

  “Ever the pessimist, aren’t you? The werewolf pack leader seems receptive.”

  I was more interested in other dragons than werewolves. Dragons were where the real power lay, but no doubt I could find a use for a pack of the beasts. But it amused me to bait Luce. Predictably, she rose to the bait.

  “It’s not pessimism. I’m being realistic. One dragon is worth more than Trevor and his whole werewolf pack.”

  We both contemplated Valeria again. Three men jostled for positions at her elbow; I could tell they were dragons from the red glow of their auras. In fact a veritable rainbow of auras surrounded her, with shifters of every type clamouring for her attention. My mouth quirked with distaste. I probably looked as sour as Luce.

  The waltz finished to polite clapping, and one of the dragons broke away from Valeria’s little gathering. He stepped out onto the terrace. The lights from the ballroom cast his face into shadow as he approached.

  “Is that Jason Hepburn?” I murmured to Luce. She’d been around so long she knew nearly every shifter in the whole domain.

  She nodded, her dark eyes dismissive. “A minor player.”

  “You wanted a dragon,” I reminded her, choosing to overlook her impudence. She was not paid to have opinions on her betters.

  His bow was carefully calculated to gratify without seeming too subservient. “I see you’re drinking champagne.” His deep voice promised a warmth that was reflected in his twinkling blue gaze. “May I get you another?”

  “No, thank you. I find the occasion calls for a clear head.”

  “Very wise, my lady. Or may I call you Leandra?”

  He could call me whatever he liked if he chose to take my side in the coming war. He was a tall man, handsome in a slightly unconventional way—his nose was a little too big, but his generous mouth and bright blue eyes distracted from that fact. His eyes had the predatory gleam so common to our kind. I could probably have guessed he was a dragon even without the tell-tale colour of his aura.

  “That depends if we’re going to be friends or not,” I said.

  He wore his blonde hair long, grazing the shoulders of his tux. And what broad shoulders they were.

  He leaned closer and my pulse quickened. I wasn’t yet used to my body’s instinctive reaction to the presence of a male dragon. The only one I’d had any dealings with up till now was my mother’s odious little spymaster, and he was hardly the type to make my libido sit up and take notice.

  “Why don’t we try a friendly dance and see where it takes us?”

  He made it sound as if he were offering sex and my body thrilled in response. I took his proffer
ed hand and let him lead me back into the light-filled ballroom. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead and the hum of conversation filled the large room. He shouldered his way through the crowd to the open space in front of the orchestra, my hand clasped firmly in his. Luce trailed us at a discreet distance, but I was hardly aware of her any more.

  He twirled me into his arms as another waltz began, the full skirts of my gown flaring out around us in a cloud of deep blue chiffon, the colour chosen to bring out the gold flecks in my brown eyes. My stomach clenched as his leg thrust between mine and we began to move. I’d waltzed many times before, but never with another dragon. Flushed with heat, I was acutely conscious of his body pressed against mine.

  He bent his head close, a small smile playing round those full lips. “Luce is watching like a hen with only one chick. Does she think I’m a threat to you?”

  His breath against my ear ignited a fire deep inside. Perhaps dancing was a mistake. I needed my wits about me, tonight more than ever.

  “Are you a threat to me? You seemed very friendly with Valeria earlier.”

  He shrugged, as if Valeria were of little importance. “Did you know there used to be quite a lot of interest in the science of auras?”

  He hadn’t answered my question, but I let that pass, curious to see where he was leading. Auras were not something we usually spoke of, since the ability to see them was peculiar to dragons. No need to give away even a hint of the edge it gave us to the lesser shifters.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Well, this was a couple of centuries back. Before your time.”

  Everything was before my time. I was twenty-five, barely mature even by human standards, but considered little more than a hatchling by other dragons, most of whom counted their age by decades, if not centuries. Other dancers whirled by in a riot of colour—both dresses and auras—as I gazed up into his face.

  “The proper reading of an aura can tell us many things.” I watched his lips, fascinated. That husky voice made everything he said sound suggestive. We swayed to the music, our bodies moving as one. “Not just a shifter’s type, but their emotional state, their general health—even something of their character. For instance, I can see that your bodyguard is fiercely loyal to you … and that she doesn’t like me much at all. I wonder what either of us has done to provoke such feelings?”