Dragon's Fire: A Reverse Harem Romance

by Lili Zander

  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.”

  “Why?”

  “Who can tell?” he asks. “We thought maybe he was tired of revenge. It’s very draining to always be angry, to walk around with a giant chip on your shoulder. But maybe he was just biding his time.”

  “And Raedwulf?”

  Mateo shrugs. “The wolf is just a pawn. If Zyrian’s not controlling him, someone close to him is.”

  The music picks up in tempo, and the people on the dance floor scream in appreciation. The previously crowded space seems to get even more so, pushing me closer to Mateo. Our conversation is completely forgotten as the long, hard lines of Mateo’s body meet the softer lines of mine.

  “I’ve been trying to stay away,” I whisper, running my palms up and down Mateo’s hard chest, unable to stop myself from touching him. “Despite what Casius said about the magic not making me do anything I don’t want to do, it feels unnatural.”

  His smile is strained. “Magic is an extension of your senses,” he says softly. “Nothing about it should feel unnatural.” He places his hand over mine, trapping it against his chest. “Norms don’t understand the mating bond.”

  “I thought you said I wasn’t Norm?”

  “You’re not a shifter either.” His luminous blue eyes hold mine. “If you were a shifter,” he says, moving his palm over my heart, “You’d understand it here.”

  Maybe I do. I barely manage to hold the words back. Not trusting myself, I reach up on tiptoe and brush my lips across his. “Can we do this?” I whisper against his lips. “Can we take things slow?”

  “Whatever you want, tesoro,” he says. He sinks his fingers into my hair and deepens the kiss, and another tendril of desire winds through me as I lose myself in his touch, right there, in the middle of the dance floor.

  Somehow, this feels like the calm before the storm.

  52

  Aria

  Two hours later, I plop on the barstool next to Casius, completely, utterly exhausted. “Not a dancer?” I ask teasingly. I’ve been dancing for hours with Rhys, Mateo, and Bastian, but Casius has avoided the dance floor like the plague.

  He makes a face. “I had enough of it at the balls.”

  The balls where they searched for their mate. I nod in understanding. “How long have you been doing them?”

  “Since I was twenty-one years old.”

  I blink at his answer. Ever since he turned twenty-one… so three hundred and two years? Holy shit. “That’s
crazy.”

  He chuckles. “Tell me about it.”

  I feel most comfortable geeking out with Casius. “Valhalla, Annwn, Olympus, Duat. How come all the balls have mythical names?”

  His eyes sparkle with enthusiasm. “The balls are ancient,” he explains. “Since the dawn of time, the magical have gathered in peace four times a year. The locations have changed over the years, but they celebrate the solstices and the equinox.”

  Mariana had said that to me. “But the winter solstice is in December, not January.”

  “That’s a fairly recent development,” Casius replies. “The magicals started complaining about traveling so close to Christmas, so Bastian moved the date.”

  “Why call it the Valhalla Ball?”

  Casius chuckles. “A vanity on the part of Bastian’s Norse ancestors,” he says. “They thought they were powerful enough to mock Odin. Or maybe they meant to honor the Allfather. Their motives are lost in the mists of time.”

  “The Annwn is the Welsh Otherworld,” he adds. “Rhys hosts that one. Mateo’s family has always thrown the Olympus Ball.”

  “Which makes Mateo Greek, right?” I ask, totally intrigued. Of course, none of them would be American. America hasn’t been a country long enough.

  “He’s actually Italian, but his ancestors recognized the old gods. Zeus, Hades, Poseidon.”

  “So that leaves the Duat. Is Erik Egyptian, or is that you?”

  “Me. My ancestry is muddied, but my forefathers believed in the Ma’at, in the Earth God Geb, the Air God Shu, and the Sky Goddess Nut. Erik, like Bastian, is Norse.”

  “Why doesn’t Erik host a ball?” I ask, hungry for more information.

  “He used to,” Casius replies, his tone turning sad. “Then his mate died.”

  He seems to realize what he said a second after he said it because he goes beet red. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Shock courses through me. “His mate died?” I ask, trying to keep my tone even, despite the emotions rioting through my body. Knowing what I do about the mate bond, I can’t imagine how it would feel to lose a mate. And now I show up, and supposedly I’m everyone’s mate. God, that has to suck for Erik.

  No wonder he doesn’t like me. I wouldn’t like me either if I were being forced by fate to have a new mate.

  “Zyrian killed her.” Casius sounds uncomfortable. “If you want to know more, you’ll have to ask Erik directly. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  The heartbreak of Uncle Pete’s death is still close to the surface, and I’m just as eager as Casius to change the subject. “So who’s searching for the diary? Has Silas been able to remember what was in it?”

  Casius’ eyes narrow. “The diary?” he asks carefully.

  “Look, I’m not dumb. I’m assuming you’re still looking for signs of who I am. So, what have you found?”

  “Why are you asking me? Why not ask Silas?”

  I don’t want to. “Silas is the only parent I’ve ever known,” I say, not meeting Casius’ eyes. “I don’t want him to think I’m looking for someone else. I’m not. I’m just curious about who I am.”

  “You’ve got a good heart, Aria,” he says to me, kissing my forehead. “We haven’t found much. You bounced around from foster home to foster home when you were a child. Silas was trying to find the families you were placed with.”

  “Wouldn’t family services have that information?” I ask.

  “It’s missing.”

  “Missing…” I say, my voice trailing off.

  Hagen Nygaard.

  If I put a voice to my suspicions, I’m signing the fox-shifter’s death sentence.

  53

  Aria

  I’d like to say that I spend the rest of the evening worrying about Hagen, but it would be a lie. I haven’t had a proper night out for ages. Ever since Silas got sick, I’ve been worrying about hospital bills and how we’re going to pay for his treatment.

  So I let my hair down, dancing with four of my princes. I even manage to talk Casius onto the floor. Despite grumbling about it, he turns out to be a really good dancer.

  I have an amazing night. I just wish Erik would have been there.

  It’s after two by the time we get back to the penthouse. I fall into bed exhausted, a little tipsy, a whole lot turned on.

  And I’m yanked into a dream.

  I’m back at Gideon Zyrian’s castle, Endellion in my hand. The spirits try to stop me again, hissing their warnings, but I ignore them. Silas is in danger.

  I stagger to a halt when I get to the central throne room. Zyrian’s there, Silas kneeling at his feet, with a knife at his throat.

  “Aria,” he calls out to me, his voice desperate and strained. “Leave!”

  I shake my head, tightening my grip on my sword. The Bloodstone around my neck feels like a familiar, reassuring presence. “Not without you.”

  Zyrian looks me up and down, a sneer on his lips. “So, you are the mate,” he says. “The Norm who is something else. But what?”

  As soon as he asks the question, he invades my mind. I feel his touch there, unpleasant and vile, like dozens of snakes slithering through my consciousness. He’s sifting through my thoughts, trying to find out the secret of my identity.

  I struggle against him, trying to block his entry, but he’s too strong. The walls of my mind crumble under his onslaught, and he’s everywhere. Oily and oozing and bitter. And he can read my thoughts.

  You think I’m bitter? His voice sounds in my head. You try losing the one you love to another.

  “You didn’t love Maija,” I reply defiantly. “You just wanted her for her power.”

  Is that what they’ve told you? He laughs, the sound booming through the walls of my mind. “Did they tell you that Maija wanted power just as much as I did? No. Of course not. Your precious Lord Jaeger wants to believe the best of his mother. They’ve decided that Maija is a saint. He snorts. Maija Essen was a dragon above all, and all dragons covet power. It is who we are.

  While he’s distracted, I tentatively prod at one of the slithering strands inside my mind. I imagine myself pushing it out, cleansing myself of the taint. For a brief moment, the strand seems to cooperate, slipping away as I push.

  Then she married Jaeger. A warrior with as much subtly as a bull in a china shop. He sounds disgusted, and then he realizes what I’m trying to do. He laughs again. Nice try little girl. But you can’t win against me.

  The slithering tendrils seem to grow, doubling and tripling in size until there doesn’t seem to be a single inch of my consciousness that isn’t consumed. Every thought is examined. Every kiss mocked. I’m laid bare, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to protect myself.

  That’s interesting. He stops at the memory of me using magic to defeat Dr. Brown. A Norm with the ability to do magic?

  Even as he speaks, he throws threads of magic at me, which I instinctively catch in my hands. A mistake. So you can see it too, Zyrian says mockingly. Well, well, well. Aren’t you special.

  I’m done with this. Done with Zyrian’s assault on my mind, done with standing by passively and letting it happen. “I can do more than see it,” I snap. “I can use it too.” With all my power, I throw the net back at him, trying to trap him in his own magic.

  He waves a hand, and the net collapses. You’re a fool if you think you’re a match for me.

  He gestures again, and the net comes toward me, and this time there is nothing I can do to stop it. The dark, oily strands close over me, tightening, squeezing me much the same way I squeezed Dr. Brown. I can feel my face turning red as the oxygen is squeezed from my lungs. Silas shouts something, but I can’t hear it over the roaring in my ears.

  Then the net lifts off me and the pressure eases. Weak, he repeats. Anytime I want, I can snuff you out.

  “So why don’t you?” I goad. Not the brightest thing to do, Aria.

  He leaves my mind. “Because you’re a puzzle,” he says out loud. “You’re not a shifter, and you’
re more than Norm. You’re something else. Until I find out what that is, you stay alive.”

  Standing straighter, my hands gripping Endellion, I remind myself this isn’t real. I’m not in his castle. He has no power over me. “You can’t do anything to me. This is just a dream.”

  His lips curl into a chilling smile. “This is a dream,” he agrees. “But I am not as impotent as you seem to think.”

  Hands extending to claws, he swipes the air, drawing three bloody scratches down my cheek. I raise my fingers to the mark, and they come away red. Blood.

  “This wolf, on the other hand, has outlived his use,” Zyrian says.

  The knife slashes across Silas’ throat, and my father slumps, blood oozing from the wound.

  I wake up screaming, my face scratched, and blood on my fingertips.

  54

  Bastian

  I sit up in my bed, my heart hammering. Something’s wrong.

  Then I hear Aria scream.

  I jump to my feet and race to her bedroom. In an instant, I’m at her side, the others only a half-step behind me. When I see the cut on her face, I swear long and low, and panic claws at my throat. She was in our apartment. Nothing should have been able to touch her. “Who did this?” I demand. “Who was here?”

  She shakes her head weakly. “A dream.” She sits up, her eyes filling with terror. “Silas,” she whispers. “Zyrian sliced his throat.”

  “He’s in the apartment downstairs, Aria,” I say soothingly. “My guards are outside the door. Nothing can get to him.” Can they? I thought nothing could get to Aria either.

  “Zyrian cut me in my dreams.” She touches her cheek, and her fingers come away covered with blood. “If he can do that to me…”

  “I’ll check,” Erik snaps, fixing me with a hard glare. “Wait here. Don’t leave her alone. Mateo, now would be a great time for a ward.”