Dragon Star: A Powyrworld Urban Fantasy Shifter Romance (The Lost Dragon Princes Book 1)

by Anna Morgan

  "No," Estophen said softly. "You are not be-spelled. This comes from within." He sucked his powyr back out of Mateo's body more slowly, reflecting on whatever it was he had learned. Mateo rose, forcing his expression to smooth, to show no weakness.

  Estophen glided towards him. "You must not be compassionate, My Descent. She is an assignment and you will be prepared to kill her if necessary. The client may demand it." His red eyes burned with intent. This was more than a test. To fail the cognate meant a permanent end.

  Mateo's heart rippled as he closed himself off. This wasn't the path he wanted to take. Something fundamental had awakened in him and he was reluctant to send it back into hibernation. But his sire's red eyes allowed him no recourse and with practiced iron will, he forced his heart to shutter. He would seal this weakness away from the sight of the cognate and fulfill his duty as assigned. He would bow to the will of his sire. A vampyr could do nothing less.

  Mateo didn't know what to expect when he returned to Calla. He'd escorted her to the room, made sure it was secure, and left her. He'd needed to get away, to give himself space to settle the edge he felt in her presence, before approaching Estophen.

  He turned the doorknob, listening for the sound of movement, or any sign she was preparing to attack. With the binding bracelets, she was prevented from shifting, but he'd be a fool not to think her dangerous even in human form.

  She stood in the middle of the room, staring at him. Her eyes glittered, a sweep of angry color high in her cheeks.

  "What's the plan here?" she asked. "Is it ransom? A live-streamed execution? Who's behind this?"

  Calla strode forward and his conciliatory mood evaporated. He snapped his fangs at her. "Careful, female."

  The tension he'd muted came roaring to the surface, a live, rumbling beast he didn't understand. Was he degenerating? Had one of his siblings poisoned him somehow?

  She halted, eyes narrowing. "Or what?" Her voice was cold, nasty. "What are you going to do? Imprison me?"

  Mateo crossed his arms. "This situation doesn't have to be difficult. We're both professionals—"

  She turned in a tight, angry circle. "What situation? What is the situation?"

  He wasn't a dragon, he didn't know how the suppression of her shift affected her, but she seemed highly agitated for a First General… nearly hysterical, even. Her distress bothered him, activated an instinct he didn't want to examine. But knew he had to—to understand where it came from. And crush it. This was business, he couldn't afford to let his recent restlessness, his questioning of the purpose of his life, weaken him.

  "You'll remain here, in confinement, until further notice. You won't be disturbed." He smoothed his expression. "What I can tell you, I will. But I probably will be able to tell you little."

  Calla stared at him, unmoving. "I know what you are. The length of the flight, your cover—I know what cognate this is." Her smile was exquisite, disdainful. "Overpriced vampyr mercenaries. My enemies truly have lost all honor—taste even."

  She raked him up and down with a look that from any other female would have had him laughing, or bristling. From her, he just gritted his teeth, knowing she was baiting him. Knowing she could bait him because of the strange heat ricocheting between them both.

  "Your enemies may have no taste, but they have deep-enough pockets, and long-enough reach to snatch you from under the nose of your queen."

  Her smile disappeared and she took a step forward. Mateo held up a hand. "Don't attack me, sweet. You won't like the consequences."

  But instead of sounding threatening, his voice slipped into its husky stage croon. And he wanted to follow up on the promise under his words—that if she laid hands on him, he'd make sure neither of them regretted it. And as he stood there, the predator in him anticipating, his body… stirred. Mateo nearly took a step back, only years of conditioning preventing him from showing his shock on his face, from alerting the other predator in the room to his momentary inattention.

  The rumbling beast inside him sharpened, focusing with laser intensity on the woman in front of him. She was doing this to him, sparking something he'd never thought to truly feel. A key to unlocking a part of himself he was certain existed, now lived under his skin. But what it was he didn't know, only knew it was there. The muscles under his skin… shifted.

  He barely noticed because the next moment she launched herself at him. A flurry of blows, attack and counter movements and Mateo found himself abandoning all other thought to meet her advance.

  She was good—he'd expected nothing less, of course. But so was he, and because there was no chance she could actually hurt him and he had no interest in harming her—he relaxed, a small grin curving his lips. Other than his buried mouth in a woman's cunt, this was the most satisfying exercise he could think of—a fight with a beautiful woman.

  He imagined her cunt. Oddly enough, it soothed the restlessness inside him, gave it a focus. Would it be covered in thick, dark curls, or shaved smooth? Plump and pink, or a deep, dusky mauve? Would she roar or whimper when his tongue found her little clit, when he plunged inside to taste her richness? Would her legs splay wide open, or clench around his neck?

  "Did you have fun?" he asked when she finally broke away, breath light and steady.

  The woman snarled at him and turned on her heels, striding towards the window on the opposite side of the room.

  "It's shatterproof," he said, just in case she had ideas.

  But she just folded her arms and stared out at the neighborhood traffic. "You aren't trying to prevent me from knowing where I am."

  "I doubt you'd figure it out. A neighborhood is a bland a canvas as there is."

  If her vision was especially sharp, she might be able to make out street signs. But all that would tell her was that they were in an English-speaking country. Of course, the palm trees and sunny, clear skies narrowed down the list of possible locations somewhat. They obviously weren't in Siberia, for instance.

  His mood darkened. It didn't matter if she guessed where she was being held. It was highly likely the order would come down to execute her. An order he would have to follow through on. And if he did, it would damage him. Eliminate a possibility before he'd even explored it.

  There had to be a different path.

  She turned. "What's it like, being a soulless contract killer? An honorless assassin who fights for nothing, and no one?"

  He wouldn't reveal how her words stung. Instead, he bowed, crisp, ironic, lust a double-edged blade. He wanted her—and the desire was an uncomfortable one. "General. I'll have someone bring you a meal."

  6

  It was infuriating. She'd thought the time away from him—the very act of him imprisoning her—would dampen the burgeoning, primal lust. But instead, when he walked through the door and stood in the room, his arms crossed with an indifference that was unacceptable, she struggled to bring herself under control.

  It made no sense. If he had been a dragon, she would have thought that maybe… but that was impossible. Calla closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the glass. She'd called him honorless, cold—but she sensed the same restlessness in him that existed in herself. And… a hesitance. A kind of formal courtesy underneath the sardonic attitude that told her more than he probably wanted to reveal. She hadn't lived this long, survived this many years in battle, unable to read an enemy. And skewer him with her knowledge. It was a particular gift of hers, one of the reasons she'd risen to First General.

  In any other circumstance she would pursue him, vampyr or not. But he was what he was, and this wasn't some twisted fictional fairy tale where she had the luxury to make a fool of herself over her captor.

  Her captor. Infuckingconceivable.

  Calla balled her hand into a fist, called on her strength as a dragon—even though she couldn't shift, his damn bindings couldn't take that away from her—and slammed it into the glass.

  Shatterproof? She'd fucking see about that.

  "Impressive," Mateo murmured,
wrapping Calla's hand. "Do you feel better?"

  He regretted the words almost immediately when she hissed at him. Eyes bright, pupils slitted. Her dragon was close to the surface. He glanced at the bracers on her wrists. He'd been assured they would hold even the strongest dragon shifter.

  If they didn't, he'd be getting a refund in flesh.

  He suppressed the impulse to release her. A fierce yearning to see her dragon, to engage her in battle. Which was stupid as shit since he could neither fly nor expand himself to the size of a small house with claws and fangs the length of his arm. What the fuck was wrong with him?

  "What I feel," she said, each word distinct, "is the desire to trade the glass for your face."

  His brow rose and he glanced at her. Her hand would heal in a few days—shifters always healed fast.

  "You could try, sweetheart. It would amuse us both, at the least." But he held her injured hand, disturbed. She'd been injured under his protection, such as it was. Even though she'd caused the injury herself. Still.

  "You don't really want to see me hurt or killed, do you?" she asked, moving closer. Voice soft, lashes covering her eyes charmingly. "Mateo?"

  The liar. Her voice lied, the vulnerability in it. Her lashes covered her eyes because they were as hard as stone, and she couldn't look him full in the face and still pull off her little routine.

  But he wondered how far she would go to try to seduce him into betraying his cognate. Wondered how far he would let her go. He had honor… of a sort. And he wanted this female. But he didn't want her as part of a transaction.

  Mateo released her hand and moved away, wanting to snarl in frustration. This wasn't normal, or natural.

  "Don't try me, Calla," he warned her. "I'll take what you're offering—and you'll still be my prisoner."

  The vulnerable, delicate façade dropped immediately, revealing her fury. "Fine," she said, cold.

  He walked towards the door, sweeping up the debris from her bandages as he left.

  "I've seen this dozens of times before, you know," she said.

  Mateo paused. "Seen what?"

  "Do you know how old I am?"

  He turned, curiosity piqued. "Older than I."

  Her smile was a narrow, humorless thing. "Much older. And I've seen dragons—and men, even vampyrs—all come to the crossroads you're at now. An opportunity given them by fate to change their path. You'll destroy yourself, Mateo. You've made an enemy of the strongest Dragon Court in modern history—the most powyrful mated Delphina and Pythian pair. I'm giving you a chance to change your fate. I don't think you're evil—I've fought evil before. You don't have the same feel."

  He stared at her. "I'll take it under advisement, General."

  "You do that, boy. You do that."

  7

  Calla stood at the door to her room, her prison, and touched the wood again. The spells woven into the frame rebuffed her. They were almost gentle in their insistence. It infuriated her. She'd been stuck here for a week. The Delphina had been without her for a week. There were plenty of dragons in the court to support her, but Calla had been at her side for decades, she was relied on. How long would it be before her sovereign questioned that Calla had been there at all? Her madness was unpredictable, sometimes volatile, but Calla had always been a rock in that storm.

  She fisted her hand and turned away from the door. Mateo sat at a small table, dwarfing the game of chess they were playing. They'd settled into a half uneasy stalemate. He refused to discuss releasing her—but he continued to seek her company. Proved he was as inexplicably drawn to her as she to him.

  Mateo concentrated on his next move, oblivious to her turmoil. He took her pawn with his bishop and sat back with a little nod. Her queen was under threat. Calla growled and knocked the bishop over with one of her knights. The piece would be taken by the rook in the next move, but her queen could then dominate the board without fear, as queens should. The sacrifice of a knight in one battle was worth winning the war.

  Mateo studied the board then looked up, expression neutral. She made a dismissive noise and paced the room. Her dragon rolled under her skin, too confined in this bedroom and too riled to be patient. Patience wasn't a dragon's forte. She'd been trapped in a small corner of the building for a week and she was losing her composure. That Mateo visited her daily, fed her hearty meals, made intelligent and witty conversation didn't dull the edge of her capture. She was a knight and the rook was coming to take her.

  She spun at the edge of the room to pace back and stopped abruptly. Mateo was there in her space, all shoulders and biceps, a look of genuine concern on his face that just drove Calla mad.

  "You distress yourself needlessly," he said.

  "If you care so much, take these bracers off me!"

  It was a useless demand, and not the first time she'd asked. He'd made his stance clear. He served others, not just himself. Calla could admire that, even when it ensured her imprisonment.

  "I can double what this client is paying. Triple it." She placed her palm gently on his chest and softened her voice. Wasn't that how the game was played? "What do you want, Mateo?"

  His eyes hardened and he began to turn away. Calla grabbed his arm, dragged him back around. "Don't turn away from me," she snapped, then stopped, inhaled.

  Calm. Anger wouldn't sway him—her bursts of temper had always shut him down, caused him to revert to a chilly courtesy she couldn't pierce until he was good and ready again. Damn the man.

  He lifted a finger to her cheek, trailed it along the line of her jaw. "You keep trying to tempt me to betray my sire. It won't work, Calla."

  "And why not? What does he give you? I know vampyrs—a cognate is nothing but one fight for dominance after another until you die."

  His brow rose, eyes lidded. "And you offer me something different?" The light scorn in his voice stung. "Sex will make it all better, Calla?"

  Sex? What was she offering? He wouldn't be seduced into letting her go for a quick lay or blow job. So, what could she give him to make him turn away from his cognate? Because that was what had to happen. In order to gain him as an ally, she had to give him something they couldn't. Mere pussy wasn't it.

  "I can give you a cause to fight for. A real cause. People who will respect your talents and not ask you to trade your soul for money or family loyalty."

  "I'm not a traitor."

  "Then be a traitor for once," she growled. "Be a traitor for the right reason. You don't get points for being loyal to evil."

  His hand lashed out, grabbing her wrist. "Estophen isn't evil. My siblings—" he paused. "They are no more evil than anyone else."

  "Why do you think you were paid to kidnap me? Am I a monster? Do I take others' territory, harm children, wage war unnecessarily? Insist that the flightless races should be servants of dragons?"

  "You tell me, First General."

  "Do you know why my people are at war, Mateo?"

  He jerked a shoulder, arrogant, moody. "It's not my concern."

  She snorted. "You're a mercenary, don't bullshit me. The Delphina…" Calla paused, reflecting. "She understands our nature. We're more or less confined to the islands for a reason. You can't let dragons loose on the world willy nilly—our natures are volatile. We're creatures of flame, of flight."

  Her eyes closed and she inhaled, struggling. The dragon wanted out. Her exile from flame and sky wore her down, driving her mad. If she didn't convince him soon, she didn't think her mind could take the confinement. She'd been trained to deal with all kinds of torture… but the reality was far worse than any of her training.

  Calla opened her eyes and focused, grim. "I've seen men and women—career soldiers, socialites, criminals—who've come to a crux in their lives and made the wrong choice. A choice that ultimately not only destroyed them, but damaged those around them. You think you're being loyal? If you aren't meant to be here, then eventually your presence will unravel what you want to protect."

  She watched him in silence for several
minutes, giving her words time. Push too hard and he would rebel. Had it occurred to him yet that there was an additional danger if he let her go? She could now deduce, from his public persona, the public identities of his cognate. They'd been a minor thorn in the sides of many of the court's allies across the world. Contract killers and spies were tolerated because their services were necessary, but at a certain point overusing any tool made the necessity of putting the tool away—permanently—a reality. And after this, the Dragon Court would turn its full attention to eliminating these vampyrs so they couldn't be used to harm the court again.

  "You must think I'm very young," he said.

  She rolled her eyes. He was younger than her by a few decades—but she wouldn't belabor the point, men and their delicate egos and all that. "No. I think you're sheltered."

  "Excuse me?"

  "You're sheltered." Her expression was stony. "It doesn't matter how well traveled, dissolute, dangerous you are. Have you ever existed outside the comfy confines of your sire's arms? I didn't think so."

  Mateo's eyes narrowed. "You do think I'm a child. I'm almost tempted to prove otherwise, but that would solve nothing."

  "You don't have anything to prove to me. That's the point. This is about you." She stepped forward. "What I sense in you. It's almost… draconic. If I didn't know better, I would think you were a male on the verge of his first mating."

  He laughed. "And now this is about puberty!"

  Calla sighed, aggravated. "It isn't the same as puberty. Dragon males don't reach sexual maturity until their twenties—it's the first true adult milestone. When they have to make a choice to bind themselves to a woman and her family, or fight through the heat. I've seen those who choose the fight. It's… excruciating." She suppressed a shudder, very glad she was female. The howls of agony—those sounds would haunt her forever. "But when a male is vulnerable like that the first time, he can be taken advantage of. You put almost any female in front of him and his will breaks, then he's mated for life, and she could be a ripe bitch. You wouldn't imagine the kind of political and business coups pulled off just because of… well, never mind."