Waking the Dragon

by Juliette Cross

  He shifted behind me, leaning close to my ear. “I definitely know what you want.” He nipped the shell of my ear. “And I’m going to explain it to you in full detail so there’s no misunderstanding.”

  “Hah!”

  “And show you.”

  “Pfft.”

  “Soon, Kittycat.”

  There was that promise again.

  “Hmph.” I shrugged away from him, so he wouldn’t feel me shiver. When had I become a mindless nitwit, incapable of forming words? My only response to him had been a series of snarky sounds as he’d detailed how he would educate me on my wants.

  Another shiver climbed up my spine, tingling the hairs on my skin. I shook it off, moving away from him. I needed distance in order for my brain to function properly.

  Lucius stood at the fireplace, gazing into the flames. I heard the door to the outer terrace close behind us. I settled on a black velvet chaise. One of the Nightwing security guards tapped the alarm pad on the outer terrace wall, disappearing from view as the steel doors came down.

  “Moira.” Lucius held an amber-colored drink loosely in one hand, defying the tension in his shoulders. His typically tranquil gaze narrowed to a sharp edge. “I apologize for pulling you away from work, but we needed to ensure your safety. There’s been another murder.”

  “I know.” I took a deep breath. “The symbol on her skin. I believe it’s the symbol for The Herald.”

  “You know about the symbol already? That hasn’t been broadcast to the public.”

  Kol crossed his arms, leaning his shoulder against the corner of the mantelpiece. “Her friend, Macon, is an intern at the Gladium Precinct. He’s been secretly getting video footage to her.”

  “What the hell, Moonring!” How’d he know that? I really wanted to slap that smug look off his face. “Stalker,” I muttered.

  “Good,” interjected Lucius, still in deep thought. “I’m glad you’re up to speed. The symbol is clearly a warning or a threat. We believe it is most probably directed at you, but there could be other reasons for displaying such a public message on the victim.”

  Jessen rushed into the room. “Did she—” Seeing me, she ran to the sofa and pulled me up, hugging the crap out of me. “Thank God you’re all right.”

  I winced, shifting my shoulder away, biting my lip.

  “Relax, Jess. She’s safe,” assured Lucius.

  Still, my sister swept a critical eye over every inch of me in a millisecond, assessing any possible damage. I was glad she couldn’t see my stitched shoulder.

  “I’m fine.” We both took a seat, and she snuggled into me like we used to when we were little on the living room sofa. “Lucius, you were saying there may be other reasons for making it public.”

  His eyes were on his wife, an endearing yet protective look.

  “We believe there is another motive to these murders, other than an archaic ritual.”

  “Such as?” I asked.

  Lucius swallowed his drink in one gulp and set the empty glass on the mantel. Kol’s smirk had long-since faded to Iceman exterior. His lips tightened into a line as Lucius tucked his hands in his pockets and continued. “The Herald isn’t simply a college paper. It’s the most prominent publication on campus and is well-known even off-campus.”

  I glowed, knowing readership had dramatically increased since I’d become senior editor when only a sophomore. Lucius ruffled his large wings, then refolded them, an unconscious gesture. “Whenever there’s a university event, The Herald is there, expressing the views of the student population, sharing the voice of the future leaders of the world. The Herald logo is synonymous with college ideals—liberty, equality, hope for the future.”

  “So”—I cleared my throat, sitting straighter—“you believe the Butchers are denouncing these ideals, trying to destroy that hope.”

  “I believe they plan to crush Gladium with fear, erasing the brighter future idealized by a free, desegregated nation, such as ours. I don’t believe the murders are part of a cult ritual at all. I believe the murders are being used to make Gladium fall on a much grander scale.” Lucius’s voice vibrated with building fury. His eyes flared.

  Jessen popped up, then walked to him and tucked herself in the curve of his body, arms winding around his waist. He cooled, stroking a hand down her hair and back, the other cupping her belly, his anger sliding off like a shell.

  “I’m definitely missing something,” I said.

  Kol shoved off the mantel. Pacing to the plate-glass window, he faced the room, the garish light at his back casting him in shadow. “Immediately following the public release of the recent murder, the Gladium Parliament voted to close the doors of the Vaengar Stadium to all humans.”

  “What!” I jumped to my feet. “That’s illegal. That’s segregation. They can’t do that.”

  Kol eyed me with a curious expression. “They can do whatever is necessary for the safety of the people of Gladium. Every victim was abducted from the stadium. Every human victim.”

  “But that’s going backward.” I put my hands on my hips, staring out the window into the city. “They can’t do that,” I bit out between clenched teeth, knowing I sounded redundant, but I was unable to articulate my swirling emotions of frustration and anger.

  We’d come so far since the days of segregation and ignorance. Even my own father conceded that Gladium had turned the corner from a nation of two opposing populations to one of mutual peace. He hadn’t said it in those words, but we all knew it was true. Morgons and humans were intermarrying and having children. Business professionals of both races had become mutually prosperous through alliances and merging companies. Politicians were no longer split Morgon against human, but falling into a division of ideals and morals rather than one based on race. It wasn’t a perfect society, but Gladium was the first to prove that the two species could not only live amongst one another, but could cohabitate in peaceful union, could thrive and flourish.

  I spun away from the city view. “This could reverse everything we’ve strived for.”

  Kol crossed his arms casually. “That’s what they’re counting on. A segregated people riding on fear are easier to conquer.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “The so-called Devlin Butchers appear to be much more organized, more militarized than we first thought. They aren’t mindless murderers. They’re making calculated moves, which have the appearance of mindless butchery.”

  The white-haired cook, Ruth, clip-clopped to the living room entrance, wiping her hands on an apron. “Pardon me, Mrs. Nightwing, but how many will we have for dinner this evening?”

  Jessen asked, “Will you be joining us, Kol?”

  His eyes remained on me as he gave a curt nod. “Yes.”

  “Add two more, please Ruth. What was tonight’s menu again?”

  “Tarragon Steak,” she said before returning to the kitchen.

  I hoped Ruth didn’t overcook the meat again, knowing how Morgons liked their meat rare. Kraven’s admission ran through my head. I suppose it is the beast in us all. We like our meat bloody.

  Like lightning, a vision crashed into my mind. A broken body, a slaughtered lamb, naked and gutted, gaping slashes on every pulse-point in her body.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered, jerking my comm from my coat pocket. “They’re drinking them dry.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Jessen, pausing in the kitchen entrance. She returned to my side as I flipped through the photo gallery on my comm. Lucius and Kol came closer and hovered over my shoulder. Jessen joined them as I finally found the shots of Maxine Mendale I’d saved. I zoomed into the marks on her neck and inner arms, holding my comm so they could see.

  “I couldn’t figure out what these slash marks were. They’re on every part of her body where a strong vein would be accessible.”

  “Accessible,” muttered Jessen. “Do you mean they’re actually—”

  I nodded. “F
or bleeding her. I don’t have close-up shots of the other victims, but I could see these same cuts on them when I double-checked the photos Macon had given me.”

  Kol’s expression sharpened into hard lines. “The victims were nearly bloodless. All but the one found this morning.”

  Lucius rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But she wasn’t taken for the same purpose as the others. She was taken to send a message. They very well could’ve been using the others to harvest blood.”

  “Maxine had a bite mark,” I said. “I thought it was just some random act of savagery, but now it appears the murderer really was drinking her.” I glanced from one man to the other, receiving no response. “Do Morgons really drink blood?” I persisted. A wave of nausea made me shudder.

  “No,” Lucius assured me. “Sane Morgons do not. However…” He glanced at Kol who stood stoic as ever.

  “However what?” I demanded.

  “There are some Morgons who have a break in their psyche. They go rabid, reverting back to their primitive dragon, submitting to bloodlust. This was what we thought had happened with Maxine Mendale. But it never quite fit.”

  “How so?” asked Jessen.

  Kol pursed his brow. “The murders did seem to follow a ritualistic pattern.”

  “Like a cult ritual,” I inserted.

  Breaking from the circle, Kol stepped back, his wings fluttering in agitation. “If it were a cult, everybody would’ve been treated the same. But there have been differences, particularly the last.”

  “Right,” added Lucius, pacing back toward the fire before turning to face us. “This last victim proved we’re dealing with methodical thinkers, more like violent radicals with a cause rather than cult fanatics. Cults have no need to display their victims in so brutal, so public a fashion. Every murder has served a purpose.”

  “If not for some cult ritual, then why would they do this?”

  The mechanic hum of the steel outer doors opening snapped all our attention to the terrace archway. Julian stood by the alarm pad, peering at the statue-like guards as they came into view with the rising doors.

  “Julian!” Jessen marched after him. “What did I tell you? Do not open the door without permission.”

  “Aww, Mom. I just wanna see the Nightwing guards. They’re awesome.”

  Jessen swung him up onto her hip and punched the key pad.

  Kol stepped forward. “Hold, Jessen. Wait till I’m gone.”

  I frowned. Jess crossed the living room to the hall, whispering to her son. “You need a nap.”

  “No, I don’t,” he murmured, stifling a yawn.

  Kol had already untucked his wings in half-open stance, readying for flight.

  “Where are you going?” I walked with him to the terrace archway. “I thought you were staying for dinner.”

  “I need to visit Petrus at once. See if he has any theories on the blood drinking. I have an idea, but I need to speak with him first.”

  “I don’t suppose he has a comm device so you can speak with him that way.”

  An arched brow. “Do you recall seeing a comm device among his feather quills and parchment paper?”

  I sighed. “When will you be back?”

  Kol stilled, rotating his body toward me, a beatific expression in place. “Why? Will you miss me?”

  I pressed my lips together. He leaned closer and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. A gentle gesture, a lover’s touch. I couldn’t breathe. “Don’t go anywhere until I return and keep the doors locked.”

  He strolled onto the terrace and shot straight up into the air.

  I punched the alarm pad, the steel door sliding closed. Ensconcing myself in the chair next to Lucius by the hearth, I sighed, frustrated and excited about the new discovery, as well as the man who’d just left after ordering me to stay indoors.

  Once again, Lucius was lost in thought, staring into the flames. For a while, we sat in silence, both of us steeped in our own reveries.

  Kol’s gentle kiss when we’d arrived and tender caress when he left stirred something in me. I was uneasy, disturbed by his soft affection. And at the same time, all I wanted was for him to return right this minute and do it again.

  “Lucius?”

  “Hmm.”

  “How did you know my sister was your mate?”

  A swift sidelong glance. “Soulfire.” He steepled his forefingers at his chin. “Most Morgons don’t speak of it, so I didn’t recognize it at first.” He grew quiet again.

  “How so?” I encouraged.

  He tilted a smile at me. “Ever the curious one, aren’t you?”

  I shrugged. “It’s in my nature.”

  “I know.” A smile ghosted across his face before he became serious with the memory. “It started as an ache right here.” He pressed his hand to the center of his chest. “The hollow pain grew. When she was near, it flared, burning on the inside. The only thing to quench the fire was her touch. Even so, the burning never ceased.”

  “It sounds painful.”

  “It was, actually. That’s how a Morgon male knows without a shadow of a doubt he’s found his one mate. The pain is acute, but when she accepts him, they share the fire, their hearts bonding one to the other. The release of the elixir transforms the pain…into pleasure.”

  I swallowed, understanding completely. An aching need, pain, converting to pleasure. Something I couldn’t stop thinking about these days.

  Lucius’s gaze fixed on me. “You wear his scent like it’s your own, you know.”

  My heart jumped. “What?”

  “Typically, this only happens with mated couples.” All-seeing eyes watched me. “But you two aren’t heartbound. Not yet.”

  “Heartbound? To Kol? I don’t think so.”

  He smiled. “Too rough around the edges for you?”

  “It’s not that. He’s just too, too…isolated. Within himself. I don’t know if he wants a mate in that way.”

  He leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped. “True. He has definitely built walls between himself and the world.”

  Walls. Yeah. I’d come to realize recently that I had my own. Mortared with endless hours of writing and copy editing, bricked with sleepless nights of research and investigating, topped with battlements made of innate stubborn will, and spiked with haughty, cynical feminist barbs that no man dared breach.

  Until Kol.

  “You know, Moira. When tragedy strikes, some of us are incapable of moving past it.” Lucius never rambled. His stories and musings always had a purpose. I listened well. “Some of us react to tragedy, by say, building walls to protect one from future hardships. When my mother died, I had my father and Lorian to lean on. The grief didn’t consume me as it very well could have otherwise.”

  “Kol lost his mother?”

  “Both parents. They were heartbound.” Morgon mates who shared soulfire also shared the beating of one another’s heart. When one died, the other soon followed. “His father died of a stroke at work one day at the office. As you know, Morgon couples who share soulfire are bound in such a way that one can no longer live without the other. The surviving mate’s death can take minutes, hours, even days.”

  “How—” The question caught in my throat. “How long did Kol’s mother last?”

  “Seven weeks.”

  I gasped.

  “She lingered so long, the sorrow ate the flesh from her bones and emaciated her, stealing her famed beauty. Worse, the lingering reduced her to weeping almost incessantly till there was nothing left of the joyful woman she was—only a hollow shell was left behind.”

  Poor Kol. My heart constricted at the thought of him watching his mother waste away and die in misery.

  “Needless to say, this devastated Kol and his brother. Kieren couldn’t stand it. He bid his mother goodbye after one month, leaving Kol to wait with her at the bedside.”

  I found it difficult to swallow. “What about their sister, Valla?
”

  “You know of her?”

  I nodded. “And I know Kol and Kieren had a falling out.”

  “Right. Valla was only seven when they lost their parents. As the eldest of the twins, by three minutes, Kol took custody of Valla.”

  “Was that what drove a wedge between them?”

  “It was more than that. You’ll have to ask him. What I can tell you is that the lingering death of their mother struck Kol the hardest. Our families grew up together. And Kol was always a fun-loving boy, always laughing. Before their deaths.”

  “Kol? You can’t be serious.”

  Lucius smiled, a sad sort of smile, one of regret. “Tragedy changes us all, Moira. We get to choose how much. Some survive with a few bumps and bruises. Others wear their scars forever and build walls to block the world out.”

  Kol definitely had scars. There was the visible one given to him by his brother. But the one left on his heart by his mother bore much deeper. When had I come to care so much about his pain? When had he burrowed so far under my skin that I was afraid he’d leave his own scar behind on my heart?

  Chapter 17

  Dinner came and went without the return of Kol. I adjourned early to my own guest suite on the third floor down, knowing he’d join me soon enough.

  I stood in the living room, staring out into the night, sipping a glass of red wine. After dinner and a long, hot soak in the bath, I’d been here in my knee-length silk nightgown, black and butter-soft. Waiting.

  I’d washed my hair and let it air-dry in dark waves, falling down my back. I knew he loved my hair. I’d seen him stare whenever I wore it down. I’d taken time to shave and lotion my body with lavender scents. I’d made myself into a silken, sweet-smelling temptation—one he would no longer be able to resist. I didn’t just want kissing or heavy petting anymore. I wanted all of him.

  I’d watched the sun set beyond the Gladium skyline and Morgons return home from work to nearby rooftops. My eyes had adjusted to the dark, the city lights burning bright. Cars zipped here and there far below. Everyone seemed a world away while I waited in the dark for a certain Morgon to fulfill his promise. A promise that made my pulse quicken.