He had pretty good idea. Could smell the sex already, and he wasn’t even on the ground yet.
Tucking his wings in fast, he set down softly on the lawn. Sculpted shrubs swayed, brushing the sides of his shoulders as frosted blades of grass sighed beneath his talons. The sound whispered, rushing up to meet the Grecian-style front entrance. Standing guard between massive marble columns, two males whirled in his direction. A second later, they left their post and trotted down the wide, fluted staircase.
A wind gust blew across the circular driveway, throwing dust into the air. The bigger male’s footfalls crunched on the gravel that kissed the base of the stone steps. His eyes narrowed, swept the area...right past Nian, whose mouth curved. Nice try, hotshot. The guard would never see him. A master illusionist, Nian could disappear into thin air. His skill went beyond simple cloaking—the way in which his kind hid from human eyes—entering into a whole new category. One that made him 100 percent invisible, impossible to detect even to his own kind.
Nian frowned. Well, at least most of the time. Haider was the exception to that rule.
No matter how strong an illusion spell he cast, the Nightfury saw through the smoke screen, detecting him without delay. Troubling as much as it was annoying. And let’s not forget frustrating. Every time he tried to follow the male and gather intel on the Nightfury pack, he got outed, then warned to stay “the fuck away unless he wanted his balls ripped off.” Gage’s words, not Haider’s.
But as far as threats went? Pretty damn effective. Particularly when one considered Gage’s violent nature and the enjoyment he gained from unleashing it.
His gaze leveled on the two guards, Nian decided to test his skill. Just in case. His failure to hide from Haider worried him. Maybe he was slipping...the stress of the last months messing with his ability to control the magic. Maybe he wasn’t. Either way, he needed to know for sure.
Lifting his paw, he scraped the tip of a single claw along the base of a marble statue. Like nails on chalkboard, the awful shriek made him grimace as it ricocheted around the garden.
Guard number one spooked, jumping out of his skin. “Did you hear that?”
“Uh-uh.” Dropping his cigarette to the ground, the second guard crushed it beneath his boot heel. Gravel crunched. Smoke swirled around his dress shoe. The male scanned the shadows, searching for the source of disturbance. “You see anything?”
“Nothing.”
Nian hummed. Excellent. His skill was...
All right. Maybe not perfect. It wasn’t, after all, Haider proof, but at least his ability to conjure illusions was intact. So enough with the game.
With a mental flick, Nian uncloaked, allowing the pair to perceive him. Startled, the guards hopped backward, tripping over themselves, recognition in their eyes. Fear swelled, then poured, corrupting their scents. In tandem, they bowed their heads in deference, then knelt in the dirt.
Hmm, power. It never got old.
Walking out from between two topiaries, Nian’s claws clicked on the flagstone path. His gaze leveled on the pair, he waged an internal war and debated. Put them at ease with a few words? Or stay silent and crank the hell out of their discomfort? He wanted to do the second. A loner by choice, he didn’t often get the opportunity to see another’s reaction to his dragon form. But oh my...he hadn’t lost his touch.
And no wonder. He was a rare breed: majestic, powerful, as stunningly beautiful as he was lethal. He acted the part and prowled toward the subjugated males, the burnished gold of his scales and his jet-black claws gleaming in the lamplight. The triple-pronged spikes along his spine moved with him, the bloodred tips rolling as his barbed tail snaked out behind him. The guards tensed and curled inward, becoming more uncertain by the moment.
Nian purred, the deep sound one of satisfaction. He loved the way he looked. Gold with black and dark red embellishments. An unusual combination, and more deadly for the fact he breathed yellow acid (aka liquid gold). Corrosive and fast acting, his special brand of poison fused scales—turning males into living statuary—if his target didn’t wash the acid off within minutes of getting hit.
Lawn sculpture dragon-style. Always fun to watch.
“Gentlemen,” he murmured, stopping ten feet away.
“My lord Nian,” both males said at once, heads still bowed and napes exposed. The position was a vulnerable one—a compliment to his elevated station and their subservient role. “Master Rodin is expecting you.”
Shifting to human form, Nian conjured his clothes. As the silk shirt and slick tuxedo settled against his skin, he tied his shoelaces with a mental twist. Stone dust scuffing the bottom of his new Berlutis, he approached the two guards while he studied them. Big. Strong. Not too bright. Soldiers who took orders but never questioned authority. Exactly the type of male Rodin appreciated and used as guards dogs on a regular basis.
Nian swallowed his disgust. Some things never changed. Good on a number of fronts—the behavior was predictable, at least—but depressing too. Dragonkind would never evolve with Rodin at the helm.
Brushing past the kneeling males, Nian tugged his shirtsleeves and, adjusting his gold cuff links, jogged up the marble steps. At the top, he paused on the landing, glanced over his shoulder, and said, “On your feet and to your posts, zi kamirs. I will tell Rodin you greeted me well.”
He waited just long enough to register their relief, then turned and made his way through the open door into the pavilion. Mozart morphed into Jay-Z, big bass replacing violins as he walked down another set of steps into the central corridor. His shoes skimming over mosaic floors, his gaze ran the gauntlet. Vaulted ceiling, three large crystal chandeliers strung at precise intervals down its center, a round antique table beneath each one. And dressing the walls? A smattering of erotic art. Opulent, and in very bad taste, the colorful canvases hung between pale marble pillars, occupying both sides of the hallway. Studying each depiction, Nian’s mouth curved at the corners. Every category was represented: male on male, female on female, threesomes...ah, make that four- and fivesomes...of every sexual combination and variety.
Well, bully for Rodin. The prick might be a sadist, but at least he didn’t discriminate.
Coming abreast of a closed door, Nian slid his hand into his pants pocket and palmed his lighter. His thumb brushed over his family crest engraved into the golden side. He took a deep breath. Showtime. Good thing he’d never suffered from performance anxiety. Why? Something told him the next few hours would not only get out of hand but be exhausting as well.
He reached for the door handle.
From out of nowhere, a Numbai appeared at his elbow. Tray in hand, a single glass filled with amber liquid upon it, the servant bowed and offered him the drink. With a raised brow, Nian palmed the crystal tumbler. Ice clicked against his teeth as he took a sip. Decadent and welcome, the cool burn slid down his throat. Well, well, well. Surprise, surprise. Bourbon. His favorite brand too. Rodin, it seemed, paid attention.
Good to know. Even better to remember.
“My lord,” the Numbai murmured, a healthy dose of respect in his tone. With a quick shift, the male grasped the handle. He twisted the knob, pushed the door open, and waved Nian through. “Welcome.”
Tumbler in hand, Nian nodded and, putting his expensive shoes to work, crossed the threshold into—
Christ be gone. Because hell, He wasn’t anywhere near here.
Nian blinked. Had he said debauchery earlier? Brimstone and hellfire. Take that up a notch, then times it by a hundred. Females were everywhere—dressed, half-dressed, not dressed at all, engaged in all kinds of pleasurable pursuits—outnumbering the males in the room three to one. Sexual energy hummed in the room. Arousal twisted his balls up tight.
Nian took another pull from his drink. As the bourbon washed into his mouth, he scanned the crowd over the rim of his glass. He spotted Rodin right away. Over in the corner, sprawled on a chaise longue, enjoying a dark-haired female while two others waited in the wings for a turn. Dark eyes
shimmering in the low light, the leader of the Archguard raised his glass, toasting Nian from across the room. He tipped his chin, returning the greeting, and watched Rodin signal to someone behind him. A moment later, small hands touched down on his back. He glanced over his shoulder. Sultry blue eyes met his.
“Hi.” Caressing him through his suit jacket, the female explored his shoulders, then hooked the collar and tugged. Nian shrugged, helping her undress him. “I’m Purity.”
Wearing nothing but skin, a second female joined the first, stopping in front of him. Certain of her skill and his welcome, she loosened his tie, then turned her attention to his shirt. Nimble fingers slipped the buttons free. “And I’m Chastity.”
His lips twitched. Interesting names...considering their busy hands. “Twins?”
“Identical,” both said at the same time. With identical voices.
Yum. What fun. He hadn’t shagged a pair of twins in a while. Years, really. Identicals were hard to come by. And despite their low-energy status, he wanted each one. Would take them both multiple times. Wouldn’t stop until he pleased them so well the females forgot who they were, never mind where they lived.
Raising his glass, Nian tipped the rim in Rodin’s direction, thanking the bastard for his gift. The male grinned, then got back to being busy. Nian followed his example and, tangling his hand in one of the females’ hair, invaded her mouth. With a hum, he deepened the kiss, tasting her tongue as her sister unbuckled his belt. Shirt half-on and half-off now, he allowed the twins to pull him into the curtained alcove beside the door.
Three hours and a pair of blissed-out females later, Nian rolled off the daybed and onto his bare feet. Fun time was over. Not because he wanted it to be. He could go another hour or two, but the twins couldn’t. He’d worn them out. Made them come so often and so hard, their bioenergy lagged, pulling them into a deep sleep.
God, he loved a good fuck. And the twins had been better than most.
Running his gaze over their naked bodies, he reached down and scooped a throw blanket off the floor. He tossed it over their sleeping forms to keep them warm and ensure their comfort. It was the least he could do. They’d fed him well, taking the edge off his hunger. Now his magic writhed, sharpening his focus.
Brushing aside the green-and-gold-tasseled curtains, he stepped out into the main room. Some males were still engaged, kissing each other, pleasuring yet another female. Most, however, sat propped up on plush daybeds, relaxed and comfortable, the frenzy sliding into the blissful aftermath of sexual release.
“Enjoy yourself?”
The voice came from his left. Conjuring his clothes, Nian glanced in that direction. Propped against a marble column, Rodin smirked, the predator in him banked but still burning beneath the surface.
“Twins,” Nian murmured, holding his nemesis’s gaze. “Good choice.”
“I know you like it hard-core.”
“Go hard or go home. Always the best policy.”
Rodin laughed, white teeth flashing against his olive complexion. “Next time, I’ll get you triplets.”
Next time. A good sign. There would be other invitations. Time and plenty to slither under the older male’s guard.
Nian quirked a brow. “So...what now?”
“You always were a quick study,” Rodin said, tone full of appreciation.
“Old habits and all that.”
“You are smarter than your sire was, Nian.”
A true compliment, one he took as Rodin pushed away from the column. Slighter built and not as tall, the leader of the Archguard gazed up at him from a few feet away. He could almost see the wheels turning inside Rodin’s head. The bastard was assessing him, no doubt ticking off boxes inside his head, trying to decide whether he was worthy of joining his innermost circle of friends. Nian held the line, refusing to back down. Or abandon his plan. Everything hinged on gaining Rodin’s approval and trust.
And he was close. So very, very close.
He could feel the victory. It sizzled in the air as the silence expanded.
After what seemed like forever, but was only a few moments, Rodin huffed. A smile playing at the corners of his mouth, his elder rolled his shoulders beneath his tuxedo jacket and tilted his head toward the door. “Come with me. I wish to show you something.”
And just like that, Nian was in. Walking away from his old life to step into the new. All for the price of following Rodin down the deserted corridor. Quiet reigned in the house now, no more classical music or pulse-pounding rap. No more cries of ecstasy or growls of triumph. Just smooth-as-silk silence.
Taking him through a series of doorways and back halls, Rodin stopped in front of a section of wainscot paneling. The male’s magic flared, crackling around them an instant before the wall retreated and slid sideways, opening into a passageway beyond. Right on his host’s heels, Nian strode over the threshold and down a set of narrow steps. Gears whirled into motion, the hum echoing in the small space as the false wall closed behind him.
His night vision sparked, orienting him. Smooth marble walls. Stained concrete floor. The smell of human blood.
Muffled shouts came through the thick stone walls. And Nian’s stomach clenched. He knew that sound and what it meant. Had been to enough illegal Dragonkind parties to recognize the signs. A fight club, one in which the males of his kind bet on their favorite human fighter.
None of whom were willing to fight at all.
Captured for this very purpose, the slaves had one chance at survival. Keep winning. Losing meant death, and not always a merciful one, either. Remain the victor eleven times in a row, however, and a human bought the right to ask for his freedom. Whether or not he gained it depended on his owner. Not everyone liked to cut a champion free.
An ancient way of being entertained. In the tradition of the Roman gladiators.
As disgusting now as it had been then.
Dread congealing in the pit of his stomach, Nian crossed into the club. He expected to see adult males. What he got was far worse. Children. The bastard was using boys as gladiators, forcing them to fight and spill each other’s blood. The pair fighting now, though, were Dragonkind. Orphans, no doubt, without sires to protect them...maybe ten years old, perhaps a year or two older. Knives raised, the two circled each other on the raised stage in the center of the room. Sitting as though watching a boxing match, some of the most powerful members of his kind shouted, egging the boys on.
Rage clouded his vision.
“Boys,” Rodin said. “Such a profitable business.”
The satisfaction in the bastard’s tone rolled over him. Nian’s hands curled into fists. Just once. He wanted to hit the sadistic asshole...just once. That’s all it would take to bash Rodin’s brains in. After that? He’d find shelter for the boys, mow down the rest of the sickos, then burn the pavilion to the ground.
But he couldn’t. Not tonight. His hands were tied. He was outnumbered thirty to one in Rodin’s territory. Here to gather intel and make inroads, not get himself killed. But as he watched the fight, the pressure built, turning his skull into a pressure cooker.
The sick son of a bitch. The spineless, perverted—
Rodin slapped him on the shoulder, acting like a friend. Nian swallowed a snarl.
The older male pointed to another door across the room. “But come, zi kamir. You may return here after and place a bet on a boy, if you choose. I have another event in mind for you.”
Another event? Something as sick as what he bore witness to here? Christ help him. He wasn’t going to make it. Would tear Rodin limb from limb before the night finished and he could escape the depravity.
Chapter Nineteen
Flat on her back beneath Mac, a death grip on the sheets, Tania moaned his name. Blind, deaf, and dumb, all she knew was Mac: his taste on her tongue, the skill of his hands, and the pleasure he gave her. Pushing her thighs wider, he slipped a second finger deep inside her, stretching her gently while his thumb...
Oh mercy. “Mac!
”
Shoving her sweatshirt up with his free hand, he bared her breasts and dipped his head. The heat of his mouth scorched her. He suckled, and she gasped, hips rolling, head thrown back, body straining to reach the pinnacle. His low growl amped her up. His pace made her pant while he pushed her toward delight. Oh so good. And she was oh so close. A nanosecond away from implosion, but...
God. He wouldn’t let her. Kept her on the edge, backing off the second she threatened to go over. A breath away from orgasm, she begged him for release, her world narrowing to...just...one...thing. Him. His spicy scent on her skin. His delicious taste in her mouth. And his hands. Hmm, she loved the roughness of his calloused palms, the gentle way he delivered each white-hot lash of pleasure. He was a wide-shouldered, hard-bodied dream, so skilled he made her burn with the need to have him deep inside her.
“Give it to me, honey.” He flicked over her nipple, then nipped at the tip. “Now, Tania.”
His tone brooked no argument. Tania obeyed and, riding the wave, exploded, a scream locked in her throat, tears rolling from the corners of her eyes. Mac kissed them away as she throbbed, clenching hard around him. He groaned in answer, cradling her close, feeding her more delight where an overload of ecstasy already existed.
Each breath coming on top of the next, she sobbed, coming a second time. And then again, each bliss-filled wave more intense than the last. Her hands knotted in his hair, she held on, taking all Mac gave while he stroked her into submission. Over and over until she sighed and went boneless in his arms. He brushed his mouth over hers. She accepted the gentle caress and listened to his voice, hung on each murmur as he talked to her. Called her beautiful. Told her she was special. Made her feel loved. Tania hummed, pleased with herself, but mostly with him. He was a force of nature. God’s gift to...
She frowned. No, not all women. To her. Mac belonged to her. And woe betide anyone who—
Wait a second. Back up a step. She needed an attitude readjustment.
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