by Starla Night
Yes, they were cute. They exemplified what she was beginning to regard as “her” style: Warm colors, cheery objects, and lots of twinkling eyes. And cute. Cute was her.
Maybe it was okay.
She hoped.
Mal was coming soon. She could handle her mom’s rejection because he would be here. She could handle the other student’s stares because he was coming. She could handle the comments of the trolls on her Deviant Art and Tumblr accounts, who said turning pro was selling out. She stood bravely, beside her art, while the doors to the gallery opened and the art show commenced.
Hours passed by. Like, more than one. She checked every single minute.
Where was Mal?
Her professor walked up to her during the second hour of the show. She steeled herself. Seeing him made her hands tremble. It was a conditioned response. Her semester of failures piled up and up and up.
Several employers stood behind him holding wine goblets and cheese snacks.
“Back to the cutesy animals again.” He shook his head. “Have you given any thought as to how you’re going to employ yourself after graduation?”
The employers chuckled and elbowed each other. Students were so short-sighted and idealistic, they clearly thought. Especially art school students.
She flushed hot. “I opened an Etsy store.”
One of Professor Jon’s brows rose. He crunched a cracker and spoke around it. “Have any customers?”
“I just opened it.”
“Good luck.” His tone said she was going to need it. “You should have interned at a professional company and learned how it works.” He turned to leave.
His dismissal, like the others of today, stung.
But it was for the last time.
“I did,” she said.
He paused and turned back to her while the employers continued on, leaving them alone in the quiet corner of the busy gallery. “What was that?”
“I did intern at a professional company.” Her hands shook so hard that she had to clamp them together. “Onyx Corporation. It ends next week.”
His brows rose. “Oh, you got the Onyx internship I announced last semester? Say. That guy who keeps disrupting class. Is he one of them? I’d like to meet him.”
Her professor actually sounded interested.
She swallowed. Her voice trembled in her throat. “He, uh, was supposed to be here.”
“Right.” His brows wiggled. Mal was not here. “How was it working for dragons?”
“Fine.”
“That’s it? Just fine?”
Her heart pounded hard. “They’re fine.”
“They didn’t mind your cutesy illustrations?” He crunched another cheese-cracker hors d’oeuvre.
For the first time, she noticed his sarcasm wasn’t directed at her. Like Mal was blunt to everyone, her professor was sarcastic about everything. Maybe she shouldn’t take it so personally.
She shook her head. “They liked everything.”
“Hmm. You said it’s over after graduation. They’re not keeping you on?”
“I… might keep working for them.” Although damn Mal. Skipping today was the utter limit. He had promised her he would be here. She’d trusted him to keep his word. “I might. Assuming I pass this class and graduate.”
“Oh, sweet bejeezus.” Her professor choked on the cracker and winced as though he’d bit his tongue. “You know this class is based on self-assessment. Right? I grade how you grade yourself. You know why that is?”
He seethed, darkly furious as Mal on a bad day.
Shocked, she shook her head.
“Because I’m just one guy.”
“You’re the teacher,” she said.
“Exactly!” He did a little dance. “I’m not God. I don’t run the Academie Parie. I’m not even the guy who’s going to hire any of you. You fill out your daily self-assessment at a C average, I’m going to give you a C. Write an A and I’m going to give you an A! It’s like no one can figure this out. It’s written in the damned syllabus.”
And he swore.
She tried to catch her breath. “But you hate my art.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Eh. It’s not personal.”
So he did hate her art.
“You know who else I hate? Bob Ross. His happy little cabins and his cheerful little trees. You know who else? Thomas Kinkade. He’s got a shop in every mall. He’s the only artist my mother can recognize. Picasso, no. Thomas Kinkade, yes.” Her professor rubbed his forehead. “Oh, and unless you want me to be here all afternoon, don’t get me started on Disney or Pixar.”
Well… but…
“But you’re the teacher,” she repeated, clinging to the one thing every student understands.
“I know.” He sighed. “All right. Here are your final three pieces. They’re designed for an employer; in this case, we’ll say they’re designed to appeal to dragon aliens. You know them better than I do. Considering your employers’ advertising needs and branding desires, fill out your final self-assessment sheet, turn it in with what you think you deserve for your ultimate grade, and that’s what I will give you for the class. All right?”
No. That made no sense. He was supposed to tell her whether her drawings were any good. Whether any employer would hire her after university.
Right?
He took pity on her. “Okay. I can see you’re struggling. Let’s make it easy. Pick up that piece of paper and write down whether those dragon aliens actually want any more of this disgustingly adorable art.”
She picked up the capstone Student-Employer Art Show self-assessment paper because he ordered her to, but she held the pen lax.
It depended on how Mal’s final launch went. Right?
What if it was all a mistake? What if Mal was wrong, and the dragons hadn’t liked the art Sard had stolen from her and they just loved comfy pajamas? What if everything went wrong and the Onyx Corporation was ruined and everyone had to split up? Because of her?
Could she really give herself any grade? Any in the whole world?
Really?
“Why aren’t you writing? Is one of those aliens going to kidnap you out of this class period too?” He squinted at her dragon pin-ups, shook his head, and turned to leave. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Be sure it’s filled out before you leave today.”
Her professor headed back to the snack tables.
Emerging from the crowds beside him was the guy she’d met in the parking lot outside the Onyx Corporation. That day, when she’d run out to sign Sard Carnelian’s pajamas print, and accidentally betrayed Mal for the last time.
Tall and cold, he wore the same black suit, ear buds, and opaque sunglasses like a secret agent. His too-hot-for-humanity presence should have tipped her off. She must have been too focused on her new outfit and not thinking straight.
He’d been with Sard. That meant he was working for the Carnelians.
He crossed to her. “Cheryl. Come with us.”
She backed up and hit the gallery wall. If Mal saw her with this guy, he’d get the wrong idea. “Go away.”
Another secret agent dragon appeared. Crap! Two of them.
She tried to control her quavering voice. “Simon, right?”
“Syen.”
Whatever. “What do you want?”
“We want your art.”
Apparently, she could give herself a passing grade on this assignment.
“You’re working for Sard Carnelian,” she accused.
He nodded as though it was obvious. She must be a real doofus.
Jeez, she probably was.
“He’s willing to pay.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “How about I get paid for the drawings your boss already took?”
“That is acceptable.” Syen pulled her into his muscular arms and lifted off the gallery floor. “He is ready to negotiate.”
“Hey, wait!”
And, once more, her classmates shrieked as she was kidnapped and flown away.
Chapter Thirty-One
Mal reached a stalemate with the Empress’s adviser.
“You must give us all your profits from this launch,” the smarmy adviser droned, ignoring any counter-offers. “We don’t care how that places you at a disadvantage for selling your company. You are marrying a human. Your family’s future is not our concern.”
Amber tapped her extended gold-orange claws on the budget sheets she’d been reviewing. “Giving you this launch’s funds is equivalent to giving you the whole company.”
His lips pulled back in a sneer. “Oh? I didn’t realize you were so close to insolvency.”
Her eyes crackled and smoke curled from her lips. “We planned to grow our business, not allow someone else to plunder it.”
He shifted nervously. Despite being days away and shielded by planetary, capital, and palace security, he had every right to feel uncomfortable. “This isn’t my choice. It’s what your eldest brother has driven us to. We were counting on his honor to uphold the marriage promise.”
“She was counting on his money,” Pyro snarled.
“How dare you!” he hissed. “Take care, Sparky. The Empress will hear of your insult.”
Pyro’s nails extended. Claw gouged the table.
Jasper raised a finger. He wished to speak privately.
“Pause the transmission,” Mal ordered.
The adviser’s brows rose in shock. “Don’t you dare pause—”
Alex pressed the pause button. The adviser’s face froze mid-threat. On Draconis, their screen would be frozen for him.
They were already in the Empress’s bad graces. They could hardly afford one more insult to her negotiator.
Mal snapped. “What, Jasper?”
“We’re not making any progress,” Jasper said.
“Obviously.”
Exhaustion pooled in his back. He stretched. His spine popped. His wings trembled beneath the skin. They desired to flex so badly his shoulder blades ached.
What time was it?
Mal had surely missed the hour he had promised to attend Cheryl’s art show. She would be angry, but she would understand.
“What leverage can we use?” Mal slumped in the seat. “They must want our business. They’re going to crush us and take over.”
“Then why not take it?” Kyan asked quietly, his scars a silent testament to his deadly past. “Why talk?”
Huh. A good question.
The Empress controlled the military. She had the power to destroy planets. Taking over one small company—even using a secret, black ops operation like the kind Kyan used to perform—was nothing for her.
“Why not stop the banks?” Amber agreed. “Why not confiscate our products? We will never willingly give them up. Especially not for a stupid reason like embarrassment. The Empress isn’t our mother. This conversation makes no sense.”
Alex tapped his lips. “Unless the Empress is backing Sard Carnelian.”
“Why would that make a difference?” Amber tilted her head at Alex. “She could take everything and give it to Sard. There’s no reason to ask us so nicely to roll over and die.”
“That is also what I thought.” Jasper pondered aloud, steady and thoughtful. “There is no reason for this conversation. Why waste time? And then, I thought, that is the purpose.”
Alex blinked. “Wasting time?”
Jasper nodded. “That adviser is trying to stall us.”
They all pondered it.
“Until when?” Mal demanded. “For what reason?”
“I don’t know.” Jasper scratched his head. “Perhaps it is to give the Carnelians a chance to gain an advantage over us.”
“Steal our products? Impossible. Sard’s in pre-launch now. Their new product goes out next week. He doesn’t have the capacity to steal ours.”
“Perhaps the Empress is unaware of this conversation. Perhaps the adviser is acting without her authority. Aristocrats have connections in the palace we don’t. The adviser may be giving the Carnelians time to do something before our launch.”
“Such as what?” Amber asked.
Jasper shrugged. “Perhaps I am mistaken.”
But he had gotten Mal’s brain moving in a new direction. “Perhaps it’s not a ‘what’ but a ‘who’.”
“I don’t follow,” she said.
“We often stalled the enemy to capture a critical unit.”
Pyro nodded; he and Mal were the only two who had completed military service.
“We would make up any reason,” Mal said. “Any demand. And while our enemies were distracted on one front, we would strike.”
“Who’s missing?” Amber asked. “They can’t be interested in Darcy.”
“Rose.” Jasper levitated. “I will locate her.”
“Of course there is also...” Mal trailed off. Of course. He jumped to his feet and slammed the intercom. “Jeanine? Have you heard from Cheryl?”
“No,” the gravelly voiced receptionist said.
Relief warred with nerves. “Good—”
“Her professor called a little while ago. She needs to ‘fly back to the art show and submit her final self-assessment’ if she wants to pass the class.”
Mal released the intercom. That did not mean what he thought it meant.
“Cheryl doesn’t fly,” Jasper said.
“No.” Pyro rose. The fury in his eyes echoed Mal’s. “But Sard Carnelian does.”
Mal slammed from the room, Pyro right behind him. The rest flew after, levitating down the hall to the nearest external exit.
Kyan met them at the doorway to Mal’s office. His hulking form was most welcome. He fell in behind them as they crowded around the glass exit.
“What would he do with Cheryl?” Worry darkened Jasper’s brow. “Recruit her for his company?”
“We will not give him the chance to find out.”
Amber crackled. “I will assist.”
“We need you here.” Mal shoved open the door and nodded at Kyan. “Kyan and Pyro will assist me.”
Energy shifted Amber’s wrist and hand skin over to scales. “I am Cheryl’s friend.”
The rest of their siblings stared in shock. Female dragons did not make friends easily. And with a human woman? Unheard of.
But this was no time to be amazed.
“You are the only one who can stand up to this adviser,” Mal argued. “He is Draconian through and through. He will try to alert Sard when he sees our absence. Devise a plan with Jasper and Alex. And if all else fails, call our mother.”
Amber blinked. “If we cannot run our own company, she will prevent you from ever running another business.”
“That’s why I’m relying on you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I did not wish to become this company’s figurehead.”
“You’re not.” He strode around the desk and gripped her scale-covered hand in a human shake. “You’re its CFO.”
She blinked.
He looked at his other remaining siblings. “Can you do this?”
Jasper and Alex nodded. They were already thinking about the problem.
Amber’s gaze relaxed. He recognized her not for being a dominant female dragon, but for being the Chief Financial Officer, fourth in order of age, and also fourth in the chain of command after himself, Pyro, and Kyan.
“Our final product will be launched by the time you return with Cheryl.” Amber released him.
“It sure as hell better be,” he roared, “or else we’ll have to fly to Draconis and force it through ourselves!”
He flew into the glass shaft. His clothes shredded and fluttered off as he shattered into dragon form, zoomed free of the roof, and ascended into the bright sky.
Now.
His wings burst free and stretched to their full size. They shocked the other dragons, who burst their own wings shortly after. Three males flew a domination flight to attack their rivals. Mal was a powerful male flying to claim his female and destroy all resistance.
Pyro
and Kyan flanked him.
“Mal.” Pyro’s voice crossed the wind in an echo. “Females are grasping and fickle. Human women are no different. What if Cheryl has already rejected our company work for Sard?”
“She will not,” he snarled.
Cheryl was the secret asset Sard had identified. Mal thought she was his luxury. Like stretching his wings, like sleep, like trusting in his siblings. She wasn’t a luxury. She was essential. Only with her could he become whole.
And confident. Mal hadn’t thought he was lacking in confidence, but this final incident revealed just how cowardly he had been. Believing others wanted him only because of his work ethic was a weakness. It could be exploited. Instead, believing others wanted him as he was—needed him even if he wasn’t working himself to death—was his new mission.
He should have trusted in his siblings. He should have trusted Cheryl when she said he was good enough.
He should have trusted in himself.
Cheryl’s kidnapping was his fault. He’d been too fearful to go to her all the times he’d needed her. What if he had believed in her healing words? Giving into the craving was right. She was his soul.
He would rain fury on any coward who dared threaten her.
Once she rejected Sard, what would he do to her? She was a fragile human. Not a claw-wielding, fire-breathing dragon female.
Mal growled.
On his other side, Kyan matched his fury. The scarred dragon shared Mal’s protective instincts of those who he considered family. And despite their few interactions, Kyan considered Cheryl family.
They all did.
“If Sard threatens her,” Mal growled, “then he will die.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
When Mal gets here,” Cheryl told the big, giant, pierced man introduced as Sard Carnelian, “you are so going to die.”
She sat in a seat in front of Sard’s big desk. His office was paneled in hardwood and other flammables. If she were a female dragon who could breathe fire, like Amber, that would be useful.
The two dragons who had kidnapped her stood behind Sard, guarding the bright windows, and popping hard candy into their mouths.