Kraven smiled. “Yeah. They’re more than law enforcers.”
I knew that already. The Morgon Guard had a reputation as the international Morgon police. No crime went unpunished, and there was nowhere a Morgon criminal could go without an MG officer hunting, finding, and dragging him before a Morgon Tribunal. Justice was swift and final. Punishment was immediate. No appeals. They had their ways of determining a criminal’s guilt or innocence which remained a mystery to us. The mere mention of the Guard carried an air of trepidation for both races.
“I see.” I finally acknowledged Kraven. I bit my lip as one opponent in the Pit pummeled the other guy in the face, gaining a roar of applause from the crowd. “So if a Morgon loses against a Guard champion, they lose their family honor? That hardly seems fair.”
Kraven shook his head. “As long as the challenger doesn’t yield, he still wins. A Morgon man, a true Morgon man, never gives up whether he’s beaten or not. That’s the lesson of the Obsidian Games. A lesson Morgons live by.”
Another roar erupted from the crowd. The Saber was unconscious beneath his opponent. The Storm-gale held his arms up in victory, a trickle of blood sliding down his face, his teeth bared in a vicious grin, dark purple wings flared out in a powerful stance.
Kraven arched an eyebrow. “See,” he said before opening the gate and entering the cage. His wings beated twice to bring him to the floor, so he could raise the arm of the victor.
I shook my head. I did see, but I didn’t understand the relevance of letting someone beat you into unconsciousness for pride. The male ego—a dangerous force.
I sighed and glanced across the ring, my heart stuttering. Directly opposite me was a black-haired, black-eyed Morgon, gripping the bars. Something was different about him, the way he scrutinized the crowd, not enjoying the entertainment in the Pit as others did. I watched him with an unwavering eye. Then I saw it. His right eye blinked, his mouth twitching on the same side. My pulse pounded, a cold shiver crawling up my spine. He did it again, exactly how Bennett Cremwell had described.
He slid away from the Pit, vanishing into a sea of Morgons.
I pushed through the throng, weaving away from the cage. The music started again now that the fight was over.
He was at the bar, knocking back a drink. Perfect. I made my move, slipping into character, slowing my stride to exude sensuality rather than my usual swift step of determination. Moving like a woman transfixed by the mighty Morgon, I sidled up next to him, waving over the bartender—a slender Morgon female with hunter-green wings.
“What’ll you have?”
“Hmm, I’m not sure.” I turned to the man next to me, the man I’d been looking for all night who reeked of money in a silk gray button-down. “What should I have?” I laced my words like a sultry invitation. “I’ve been drinking beer tonight, but I need something a bit stronger.”
His gaze slid over my face, neck, and hair, assessing every line. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
“Brevette is always a good choice.” His voice was a black, silky serpent—sexy and deadly in the same vein.
Brevette was a human-made whiskey. Strong and expensive. The perfect drink to lure in a human girl looking for a big-spender. I ordered a glass and reached in my back pocket for money. He flipped out a large bill. “Allow me.”
“Thanks.” I flashed a bright smile, leaning forward and flipping my hair over one shoulder. While watching the bartender, I felt his eyes following the design on my back.
“I’ve not seen you here before.”
“This is my first time. Cool place.” I smiled again, letting my eyes trail obviously over his wings in an appreciative manner. Sharp and strong, an odd shiny black, as if covered in shimmery scales, and cut more jagged than other Morgon wings.
He reached out a hand. “And who do I have the pleasure to be standing next to?”
I took his hand. “Who do I have the pleasure of standing next to?”
His mouth and eye did that tic motion, then his lips opened in a wide grin. He took my hand, not exactly shaking it, but not letting it go. Against all my instincts, I didn’t pull away, fighting my natural inclination to narrow my eyes in defiance.
“My name is Borgus.”
Hmph. Doubted that.
“Moira.” I saw no reason not to give him my real name. Even if he discovered my last name and tracked me down, the only thing of interest he’d find was that I was a rich girl from an aristocratic family with a sister who intermarried with a Morgon. All my articles from The Herald were published under my pen name, Marina Creed. I wanted to make my own way, not on the coattails of my father’s.
“Moira.” He sang my name in a breathy whisper.
I had to physically keep myself from trembling.
“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”
I smiled, slipping my hand from his to take a sip of my drink. He angled his body closer to mine. I forced myself to stay in place, his chest brushing my shoulder.
“I suppose men tell you that all the time.”
“No. Not really.” Truth. “Maybe they’re intimidated by me,” I teased, then lifted my glass of Brevette and let the liquor touch my lips rather than slide into my mouth.
He laughed. A deep-barreled sound. “Oh. That is certainly so.”
Trying to keep my cool, I kept my expression flirty as his eyes wandered to my corset and what it held. He was appraising, measuring, knocking numbers off a checklist in his head. My heart rate picked up pace. Hopefully, he recognized it as excitement, not the fear shooting up my spine.
“You’re not intimidated, are you?” I asked in a low whisper.
His black eyes glinted with something feral. Just as he was about to respond, an arm wrapped around my shoulder. “Hey, Moira! Where’d you sneak off to? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Conn squeezed me in a tight grip. Thanking the heavens I hadn’t given a false name, I whipped my head back to my suitor. Gone.
“Damn it.” I shrugged out of Conn’s embrace, peering over the bumping-and-grinding crowd.
“Moira, I’m not trying to come on to you, but that guy’s a creep show. You don’t want to hang with Morgons like that.”
“Actually, I did.” Ignoring his puzzled expression, I grabbed his arm and said, “Just tell Kraven ‘he’s here.’ Okay?”
I stalked off, pushing through the crush of people dancing in the low light. The room was huge, but I caught the sharp shape of angular, shiny wings slipping toward an alcove. I followed as fast as I could, but that hulking creep I met with Layla earlier pulled me into a tight embrace and rubbed himself all over me. I pushed off with a violent shove. “I told you. I’m not interested!”
He leered. “Thought you needed more convincing.”
No time for this shit, I gave him a swift hand-heel to the chin. His head snapped back and hands loosened their tight grip. Before he could retaliate in any way, I slipped away and took a few steps into the alcove, expecting another room, a bar, or something, but it wasn’t an alcove at all. It was an exit. A stretch of dark corridor lay ahead with torches in sconces leading the way.
Don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid.
“Fine.” I told the voice chanting in my head. I spun around, swallowing the yelp that came out of my throat.
Kol Moonring stood directly behind me, a scowl fixed in granite. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I blew out a quick breath, regaining composure after the shock of finding him standing there.
“Let me guess.” I gestured over my shoulder. “Harm’s way.”
“You weren’t seriously considering following him.” Not a question from the Iceman.
“I didn’t realize this was an exit. I thought it was just another room.”
“It’s not an exit. It’s the exit. Two of the three victims were taken through this passage.”
Glancing over my shoulder at the menacing darkness, I edged away, closer to Kol. He didn’t move. Why would
n’t he move?
“If you’re waiting for an apology or something, you’ll be waiting a long time. It was a simple mistake.”
“There’s no such thing.”
“As what? A simple mistake? Of course there is. I just made one.”
“Simple can get you killed, Ms. Cade.”
Ms. Cade? His condescending tone made me want to punch him.
“But it didn’t. Now move your gargantuan self out of my way so I can get out of this creepy corridor.”
A flash of blue-silver from fey eyes was a sign of the dragon riding him hard. I clenched my jaw, pretending he didn’t intimidate me.
“You’re Morgon bait in a tall, pretty package. You’re going to get yourself killed. Or someone else.”
I flinched, knowing that was certainly an insult, no matter that he called me pretty. He practically sneered while saying it.
“Excuse me?”
“You should go back to school. Write your stories, or whatever it is you do, and stay out of this world.”
Fire lanced up my body, filling my cheeks. “Look, Kol.” I refused to even give him the respect of authority. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I write or why I write, so stay out of my world and out of my damn business.”
I pushed past him, fuming. If I never saw him again, it would be way too fucking soon.
Chapter 5
When my comm buzzed me awake with an invitation for breakfast and a debriefing from Lorian, I accepted immediately, knowing it wasn’t a request. I rolled myself out of bed, slipped on some sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a fleece pull-over, then headed to the Morgon district. Walking onto the terrace of Lorian and Sorcha’s high-rise home, I squinted at the mid-morning sun skimming above the skyline. A shaft of pink-gold light shot across the top of Sorcha’s copper hair, giving her an angelic halo. Of course, I knew my sister’s best friend was far from an angel.
“There’s our damsel causing distress, teasing those Morgon boys into a testosterone frenzy.” She tipped a fluted glass in the air with a mischievous smile. “Mimosa?”
I took a seat at her breakfast table, framed by tall pillars of white marble, and gaped at the jaw-dropping view of the city. On this side of town, the skyscrapers took on a different shape. Rather than straight and linear, they slanted to a flat-top pinnacle. Some were a combination of stone and steel, rather than steel alone, jutting up into the sky like Morgon-made mountains. The tip-top was flat, of course, for lift-off and landing, and terraces jutted out around the uppermost floors, but the unusual design somehow made sense. The symmetry of Morgon buildings was more aligned to nature, creating a skyline of poetic beauty, rather than a statement of human might and power. I marveled at the rising sun, shielded by puffy clouds that softened the light pouring across the blue-tiled terrace.
“I didn’t tease anyone into a frenzy. Where are you getting your faulty information?”
She giggled. “I can’t reveal my sources.”
With my words thrown back in my face, she pushed a plate of pastries toward me. I rolled my eyes and nibbled on a cream-filled one as she went on.
“The story is that you disappeared from Kraven without informing him of your whereabouts, flirted with the possible ringleader of the Devlin Butchers, then tried to follow him down the deserted corridor where two of the girls had been kidnapped.”
My blood was boiling by the time she finished. “Are you kidding me?” I dropped the pastry on the plate. “I know who your source is. That damn Kol Moonring.” This man was infuriating, butting in where his thoughts and opinions were most definitely unwelcome. “And I don’t want him on my detail anymore. I—”
I stopped abruptly as their house servant, Vincent, appeared at the table, carrying a silver-covered serving dish. I reeled in my temper as he lifted the cover, revealing a tri-sectioned server of fluffy scrambled eggs, sliced ham, and a fruit medley. He leaned forward with a tight bow, then stepped soundlessly back into the house.
I spooned some eggs, strawberries, grapes, and sliced bananas onto my plate. Never one to pass up a free meal, especially one smelling as delicious as this, I forked a huge bite of the eggs.
Sorcha picked up right where we’d left off. “Moira dear, you were the one who asked for help, for protection,” she remarked coolly, grinning like the wicked fiend she was, sipping her champagne-and-orange-juice breakfast, leaving the protein and pastries to me. “Begged, actually.”
“Well, I want a replacement.” I stuffed a whole strawberry in my mouth, chewed, then added, “Someone less asinine.”
“He’s the best. Lucius and Lorian insist on the best. Otherwise, they’ll block you at every turn, and you’ll never get your story. Besides, I wouldn’t allow you to get involved if I didn’t know you were sufficiently protected.” Her tone fell to a somber note before she drained the rest of her mimosa.
“This has something to do with Lorian’s outburst the other night.”
She stared off across the city, the sun kissing the top of skyscrapers in the distance. “So perceptive. You always were, even as a little girl.”
She pulled a silk wrap around her shoulders. The cool air, a whisper of winter, blew across the open terrace, brushing her reddish locks against her neck. Tucking my hands into my coat pockets, I waited as she poured another drink. Liquid courage for whatever she was about to tell me.
“Five years ago, when Lorian and I first started dating, I was abducted by a Morgon blood cult.”
I sucked in a tight breath, holding it in my chest.
“Yes. I know.” She took another sip. “It started with these anonymous gifts bearing a symbol on each card. The symbol was a sign of the Larkosians, an ancient cult that sacrificed human women to honor their god, Larkos.”
I wiped my mouth with a napkin and folded it on my plate. “As in the child of legendary King Radomis and Queen Morga.”
“The exact one.”
My major was journalism, but my minor was multicultural studies, including the elaborate history of Morgonkind. I’d done countless research, finding what information I could, though much of it was still barred from human eyes.
“Most of my information comes from old fairy tales and legends about the early Morgons. But I know the story of Larkos Nightwing killing his own father, along with annihilating the entire dragon race.”
“Not just a story, Moira. It’s fact.”
My heart pounded a frantic beat, my palms sweaty in the cool morning air. I stayed still and waited, refusing to probe for answers. I instinctually knew when someone wanted to tell their story. The smartest thing was to be patient, wait, and listen.
Soon enough, she inhaled a deep breath and continued. “My knight in shining armor came to the rescue.” She shifted, wrapping herself tighter. “Actually, he was more like a demon from hell to be honest. A marvelous demon.” One side of her mouth quirked up as she remembered, her eyes seeing something in the distant past. “I wasn’t kept long in captivity, just a few hours before they started the ritual.”
I listened in complete thrall, taking mental notes of the differences in the recent killings.
“The ceremony involved the rape of a blood bride, then the spilling of her blood to honor Larkos. They thought it gave them some sort of mystical power or something. Thankfully, they didn’t get to do either parts of the ritual.”
“So you agree with me. You think the Devlin Butchers are actually part of this blood cult.”
“No,” came a deep voice from the archway leading into the house. Lorian walked toward us, controlled and steady—the opposite of what he was the other night. He leaned against one of the stone pillars. “We killed them all.”
“But the similarities. Surely, one of them survived.”
Lorian’s eyes appeared even wilder in the morning sun. “None survived that night. I can promise you that.”
I slumped back into my chair.
“However, the bastard who took Sorcha said something be
fore I destroyed him into nonexistence.”
I knew without a shadow of a doubt that he didn’t mean a metaphorical destruction. Lorian had surely slaughtered the Morgon, then burned him into ash. My limited education on Morgon history listed countless executions of criminals, ending with burning them to cinders, erasing every part of them from this world as final punishment.
“What did he say?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“He said ‘the Larkosians are rising.’ And they ‘pave the way for him.’ Sorcha would’ve been their first victim.”
“But I wasn’t.” Sorcha reached out and gave her man’s hand a squeeze. The memory had Lorian’s eyes burning fire-bright. The strained muscles at his throat eased with her touch.
“If this is part of the same cult,” he continued, “it’s a new cell with the same agenda.”
Sorcha and Lorian were lost in each other’s eyes for a moment. Lorian’s hand lifted, brushing a lock of hair away from Sorcha’s cheek. I felt as if I were intruding on a private moment. Whatever happened with this past Larkosian cult, it locked these two together in a steel-tight knot—one that neither seemed willing to unravel.
Clearing my throat, I reminded them I was still there. “This him you referred to must be a new leader of the Larkosians, I would think.”
Lorian finally shifted his fey eyes from his mate. “It can’t possibly be the same faction. But with recent evidence of a new, more deadly player among the killers, I’ve been thinking it could be old fanatics, sympathizers with the group we wiped out five years ago.”
“Then you’ve seen the police reports. The photographs.”
“Of course. We gave them to the precinct.”
I couldn’t keep the surprise from my face.
He shifted behind Sorcha, placing both hands gently on her shoulders. “How do you think the Gladium Precinct got the information they have? The bodies were found in Drakos where humans aren’t allowed or accepted. They couldn’t march in and do their own investigation. The Morgon Guard is sharing their intel to appease the families of the victims from Gladium.”
Waking the Dragon Page 6