by Cecilia Lane
"That won't be necessary," Estophen said. "You are already ideally placed. Now attend my words…"
Mateo focused as Estophen outlined his straightforward mission. Capture, detain, and wait for instruction. He was to prepare himself to assassinate his target when given the word. It wasn't unusual for the rich and powyrful of the world to manipulate or blackmail their way into position and they often used Estophen's cognate to do it. Their success rate was unmatched and their client list completely confidential.
Mateo asked only for clarifying details that didn't include the why of things. It wasn't his job to play politics. He was merely the hired knife.
His sire closed the call and Mateo sat heavily on the couch, phone in hand. An assignment like this wasn't what he was looking for. In fact, he'd taken the rock star persona on a world tour in part to get away from the stifling law of cognate life. Estophen had indulged him at the time, but clearly, he'd reached the end of his leash.
Mateo flipped his phone idly. He was tempted to burn down the public identity he'd forged for so long. He could take a bottle of booze out to the party and run the whole thing into the ground. Start a fight. Win. Kick everyone out. It was a tempting idea. The very physical nature of a fight attracted him.
But the cognate wouldn't appreciate burning that cover. So few of them interacted with mortals now. After hundreds of years in their lives, humanity was just an idle distraction. Mateo was young enough, by comparison, that he still remembered life as a mortal. As human. He remembered college frat parties and cram study sessions. And he remembered, intimately, the night he submitted himself to Estophen's will and joined the cognate for eternity.
Mateo's gums itched. He rubbed his lips with the back of his hand, struck by the lingering sexual scent of the groupie he'd kicked out. With a soft growl, he shoved his phone back in his pocket and escaped the after party via a side door. His body thrummed with heat and Mateo felt the first cascade of change come upon him. It was too late now to burn the party down, he had to find a vein, and fast.
He usually had more warning than this. Maybe the phone call had been more than just an assignment. Mateo knew much about the way of vampyrs, but Estophen was nearing his first millennium and possessed many skills. Drawing out Mateo's vampyr was just one of them, though he'd never done it without clear intent before. Had he pushed his sire too far with his wandering?
A door down the alley slammed and a woman laughed, her voice pitched high. Mateo turned towards the sound. His fangs descended and his vision sharpened. The night held no secrets from a vampyr.
Two mortals, tangled in each other, stumbled down the alley. In a blink, Mateo was there, his hot palm on the male's cheek, forcing direct eye contact, pressing his will inside.
"Watch as I please your woman," Mateo growled. The man's mind and body collapsed. He sat in the alley, eyes glazed with Mateo's spellbinding.
Mateo turned to the woman. At his touch, her curved body melted into his. He heard her pulse race with adrenaline as he spelled her into submissiveness, her head falling back. Mateo took a deep, fortifying breath. Then he plunged his fangs into her throat and drank deeply.
The itch in his gums immediately subsided. It took several more seconds for his heat to abate. He regained control of his senses, dulling his hearing and smell against the thumping music and mix of perfume and beer. The woman in his arms arched, her breathing short. She moaned with each swallow he took, the pitch rising steadily.
Mateo growled against her throat. She clung to him, shifting her body for more contact even as he tried to distance himself. His bite was euphoric, sexually intense, and Mateo had always disliked it. The few vampyrs in the cognate he'd spoken to indicated he was the only one who had a problem. But then, immortality tended to change a person over time.
The woman seized against Mateo suddenly and he ripped himself away before the iron taste of her blood could shift with her climax. She shuddered with ultimate pleasure. Mateo unceremoniously dumped her beside her be-spelled date.
With his vampyr satisfied for the night, he could focus on his assignment. Mateo was aware he was replacing one empty life for another, but he had an obligation, and a loyalty, to the cognate. He'd been allowed to roam free and he'd still been unable to find whatever purpose drove him. It was time to return to the fold. There was one final show to perform.
Calla adjusted the diadem pinching her temples again. A perfectly clear jewel hung from the center, low on her forehead, and she kept catching glimpses of it. The thing was elegant and impractical. It wouldn't last ten seconds in a decent fight.
"You're certain every member of Clan Sanabee is accounted for?" she'd asked her soldier, Annika, earlier. This would be a perfect opportunity to strike the court, when they were relaxed and dressed for play and not combat.
"As certain as we can be," the younger female said. "We have Clan Sillas under surveillance as well. They've shown signs of shifting loyalties."
Of course, this was supposed to be a wedding, not a war. Calla forced herself to leave the head decoration alone, resting her hand instead on the pommel of her dress sword. It was also a show piece, but at least the sword could gut a man. Not as well as Calla could with her claws, but—
Focus. Wedding. Calla frowned at herself and cast her attention around the expansive hall one more time. The court wasn't as full as she'd seen it in the past. Their numbers had been dwindling from years of fighting and even more time under the unsteady claws of the Delphina, ruler of all dragons on Patomas, whom outsiders had dubbed the Mad Queen. But she spotted Oskan and her mate Daedrik standing together and nodded to herself in satisfaction. They had lost three offspring in battle and Daedrik was permanently grounded, yet they found the strength to be here.
Dragons were nothing if not strong both in will and body. Sometimes it was only the stubborn streak of their Khepreian ancestors that kept them going. But still they carried on.
General Takoda stepped up beside Calla and nodded in deference to her station. As the Delphina's lady-in-waiting, Calla answered to very few. As their race's First General, she dictated the lives of most. He was her second, and if she fell in battle he would control the Delphina's armies. Older than her, more politically savvy, he'd been an asset in her stint as First General. And she was damned lucky he was unflinchingly loyal, or else she'd be spending most of her time watching her back.
But with the war with the Sanabees, no one had time for court intrigue.
General Takoda straightened his shoulders and glanced at the ongoing wedding ceremony. "It's good that some of us can find love in this time. I think it gives us all a bit of normal to remind us what we're fighting for."
Calla gazed softly at the officiate and the two women standing before him, hands clasped together. Their eyes shined with pleasure and hope. Calla had been missing both lately.
"It's really too bad," Takoda continued, "that we're too old for that, now. I suppose we warriors were never cut for the more delicate things."
Calla grunted some form of acknowledgement, but dropped her widening eyes to the floor. Was she truly too old for a life outside of war? Had the opportunity passed her by while she served the Delphina and fought for their people? She frowned. Her position gave her status and responsibility, but Calla hadn't set out to build her life this way. Years ago, she wanted to be a doctor. Maybe a physical therapist. But fate had drawn all of them into conflict and Calla's sharp, analytical mind was good at that, too. Did their forty plus years playing war games close her door to romance and family?
She glanced at General Takoda. He was twenty years her senior and every inch a soldier. From his short-cropped hair to the perfect polish of his boots, he lived and breathed for battle. And she was the same, wasn't she? The diadem and the sword were for show, but her hair hadn't flown free over her shoulders in years and the cut of her jacket was pressed perfectly to the curve of her chest. A shield in wool and cotton. She was a daughter of war as much as Takoda was a father of it. She hadn't realiz
ed how far she'd traveled from the life she thought she'd have.
Calla took a deep breath to keep calm. General Takoda was wrong. He had to be. Her duty was sacred and Calla would never abandon her Delphina, but there had to be more for her life… right?
She hadn't come to a wedding prepared for a mid-life crisis and thankfully the officiate announced the women before him as Wife and Wife, mated for life. The distraction was welcome. The court applauded and cheered, and dancing broke out in the middle of the floor. General Takoda offered his hand to her and Calla took it quickly, eager for a change of pace.
Unfortunately, the measured pace of the dance couldn't draw her attention. She stepped and spun in time with Takoda's lead, but as he turned her on the floor, Calla spotted the Delphina in a cut-away recess along the wall of the court. She looked sad. She'd taken the crown off her head and cradled it gently in her palms, leaning heavily against the marble wall.
Calla's heart broke for her queen. For fifty years, their people had been at war, defending their right and their title to the land of their ancestors. And for thirty of those years, the royal family had been devastated and scattered. The Delphina's own dragonlings, kidnapped from their cribs, were still missing. Much of the court presumed them to be dead. Their enemies had stolen into the court itself and wrought more damage than they'd ever know. The queen mourned, her madness persisted, and Calla knew it was because she still hoped. Her children were out there somewhere, adults now, and one day they would come home. There were days her sanity held on by a thread—and often Calla was the one on the other end, keeping it from unraveling. The court knew—if anything ever happened to the Delphina's First General…
The dance ended and before General Takoda could hand her off, Calla made her abrupt departure. It was rude, but no one called her out. Instead, she approached her ruler. The woman wore her grief like a shawl. It wrapped around her shoulders and weighed heavy on her brow.
Calla flowed gracefully to one knee, head bowed low, and murmured, "The Delphina rules." It was a formal show her monarch disliked but they were in a formal setting and damn if Calla wouldn't be an example for the rest of the court to follow. War and madness might take their kingdom, but not without a stubborn fight.
She rose without being acknowledged. "Is there anything I can get you?" She pitched her voice low, striving to create some space of privacy in the open ballroom.
The queen's pale eyes shifted slowly to her. She lifted one hand from the crown in her lap, but it fell again without any direction. "It's like a sunset," she said softly.
Calla pressed her lips together. In recent years, the only times she'd seen the Delphina lucid was in the heat of battle. Though it drooped now, her body was hard and powyrful in its prime. Her wings were whole and hale. And her claws could tear the scales off their enemies. In battle, she had a purpose. But here in the court she was haunted by the ghosts of her missing children.
"I'll take her from here, First General."
Calla startled back at the Pythian's deep voice. She bowed before him, as usual in awe of his perfectly pressed suit and the line of his warrior sash across his chest. The queen's co-ruler suffered more acutely than any of them, and yet his resolve never wavered. He put a soft hand on his mate's shoulder and guided her to her feet. "Come, there's a light meal waiting for you in the hall."
The queen stood, though never seemed to notice her husband beside her. It had been so since their children had disappeared. Another facet of her madness that the court couldn't understand but had come to accept.
Calla watched them exit the court without fanfare, unwilling to interrupt what should have been a joyous day for their people. A marriage in the middle of an unending war. She gripped her hands into tight fists. Something had to change. Soon. They couldn't go on like this forever.
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CHAPTER ONE
Roxy adjusted her name tag and quickly checked her apron for her keys before shutting and securing her locker. Inside was one of her go-bags and she did not need any of her light-fingered coworkers rummaging through it. She had a bag at the diner, one stowed away at the train station, another in the tiny room she rented, and one just recently placed at a bus depot. They each held a small amount of cash, clothes, and a wig.
Wigs wouldn’t help much but they did aid in her immediate disappearance if she was lucky enough to be surrounded by people. Individual scents were harder to track in crowds. Harder, not impossible.
“Hurry up, Nicole!” shouted a line cook. “Betsy is complaining about her ankles again.”
It took her a moment to register she was being addressed. She was Nicole here. Roxy had been left behind four names and more than a handful of states ago.
“Coming!” she called and slowly made her way through the kitchen.
Betsy could damn well wait. She wasn’t the only one to work third shift and see midnight brighten into morning. She wasn't even the only pregnant one. Roxy knew two other girls who were further along and didn't demand as much pity and attention as Betsy. She just hated dumping the large coffee canisters and brewing another batch before the 6 am rush and liked to force Roxy—Nicole—into doing it.
She pushed out of the kitchen’s swinging doors and back onto the floor, doing a quick scan of the filled tables and out the windows. Grizzled delivery drivers and suited business people looking to get a jump on their competition occupied the dark red booths in equal numbers.
The diner sat on a corner and two sides were made up of windowed booths. Being able to check two streets at once was part of the reason why she liked working there.
The other part she enjoyed were the under-the-table payments. If her wages weren’t reported then she wasn’t reported, which meant it would be harder for him to find her.
Not that she thought it would last. Four months without a sighting was the longest she’d had in the last year. Instead of making her lapse into a sense of security, it made her wary. Thilo Cipriano would be angrier than ever when he finally followed her.
The shadow of the Dragon Tower edged over the diner even as the sun warmed the sky. That was the reason why she chose Azra Valley. Surely Thilo wouldn’t be stupid enough to snatch her from the seat of dragon rule.
Even as she thought it, she knew it was a naive wish. Nothing would stop Thilo.
“Nicole, dump the coffee for me, will you, sweetie?” Betsy’s smile flashed the dimples that Roxy was eighty percent sure were the reason why she had two kids at home and another on the way. The woman’s pretty exterior hid a pretty ugly center.
Roxy nodded sullenly and glared as Betsy turned away to refill a customer’s mug with a hand on her stomach. Roxy glanced down at herself. With curves and a bit of extra padding in her stomach region, she was sure she looked more pregnant than Betsy. Maybe she should start rubbing her tummy and playing it up for the extra tips.
Picking up one of the big coffee airpots, she hauled it back into the kitchen and punched the top to open. She poured the coffee down the drain and walked the airpot back to the brewer that Betsy had lovingly not prepped. Roxy eyed the clock as she scooped coffee grounds into a filter. Two hours. Two hours and then she could take the hour bus ride home and sleep for the afternoon.
“Roxanne.”
The voice was a purr in her ear and sent fear straight into her belly. She fit the airpot to the brewer and pressed a button to start, wishing desperately a lack of sleep caused her to imagine the voice.
Only a thin bit of counter stood between her and the man who’d forced her into a life on the run. Thilo Cipriano was a dragon shifter with more than a few screws loose, in her opinion.
Her ears rang and her mouth dried when her eyes met his. The dark brown was hard to distinguish from his black and deadly lust but unmistakable as soon as the whites of his eyes were eaten away by the power of his dragon pushing forward.
“Don’t call me that,” she whispered. Her hands shook and she stuffed them into her apron pocket. Her keys jangled. She wouldn�
�t have time to visit the tiny rented room she called home but she could at least unlock one of her secret lockers if she could lose him in the city.
“It’s your name. A beautiful name.”
“No.” She shook her head. He had her confused with someone else. She was Roxanna Pierce, not Roxanne Cipriano. He was obsessed with making her into someone she wasn’t.
She eyed her exits. The swinging doors to the kitchen would lead outside and to an alley. If she could dodge the kitchen staff, she might stand a chance in making in onto the street that met the alley.
The main entrance would be better. That led right to the already busy streets of morning downtown foot traffic. She could slip between people and use them as something to slow the man down. But Thilo blocked her there.
She’d been so careful. No one in Azra Valley knew her real name. She placed no calls back home to advertise her whereabouts. She never took the same bus route to or from the diner, using the extra time to conceal her tracks. Her hair was still shorter than when he first met her, from back when she thought a style change would help hide her and she switched out wigs like she changed her clothes.
He’d still found her. Nothing would stop Thilo.
The closest she ever came to police help was the second time he caught up to her. Thilo Cipriano was a ghost. No record of him existed in America, none that the police had found while she was still Roxanna Pierce. They thought she was loony and imagining a stalker. Thilo avoided cameras and detection with ease. Even her friends and family thought she was just trying to get some attention, right up until he threatened her family and she fled.
When she was Lydia Michaels and tired of running in Baton Rouge, Thilo strolled into the police station with paperwork saying she was insane and needed to be institutionalized by her next of kin. The forged marriage certificate he flashed convinced the officers to put her in his custody. She shot someone in her escape and hadn’t been brave enough to check if the man survived.