Dragon's Hope: A Reverse Harem Serial (Blood Prophecy Book 3)

by Lili Zander

  His smile is strained. “Magic is an extension of your senses,” he says softly. “Nothing about it should feel unnatural.” He places his hand over mine, trapping it against his chest. “Norms don’t understand the mating bond.”

  “I thought you said I wasn’t Norm?”

  “You’re not a shifter either.” His luminous blue eyes hold mine. “If you were a shifter,” he says, moving his palm over my heart, “You’d understand it here.”

  Maybe I do. I barely manage to hold the words back. Not trusting myself, I reach up on tiptoe and brush my lips across his. “Can we do this?” I whisper against his lips. “Can we take things slow?”

  “Whatever you want, tesoro,” he says. He sinks his fingers into my hair and deepens the kiss, and another tendril of desire winds through me as I lose myself in his touch, right there, in the middle of the dance floor.

  Somehow, this feels like the calm before the storm.

  7

  Aria

  Two hours later, I plop on the barstool next to Casius, completely, utterly exhausted. “Not a dancer?” I ask teasingly. I’ve been dancing for hours with Rhys, Mateo, and Bastian, but Casius has avoided the dance floor like the plague.

  He makes a face. “I had enough of it at the balls.”

  The balls where they searched for their mate. I nod in understanding. “How long have you been doing them?”

  “Since I was twenty-one years old.”

  I blink at his answer. Ever since he turned twenty-one… so three hundred and two years? Holy shit. “That’s crazy.”

  He chuckles. “Tell me about it.”

  I feel most comfortable geeking out with Casius. “Valhalla, Annwn, Olympus, Duat. How come all the balls have mythical names?”

  His eyes sparkle with enthusiasm. “The balls are ancient,” he explains. “Since the dawn of time, the magical have gathered in peace four times a year. The locations have changed over the years, but they celebrate the solstices and the equinox.”

  Mariana had said that to me. “But the winter solstice is in December, not January.”

  “That’s a fairly recent development,” Casius replies. “The magicals started complaining about traveling so close to Christmas, so Bastian moved the date.”

  “Why call it the Valhalla Ball?”

  Casius chuckles. “A vanity on the part of Bastian’s Norse ancestors,” he says. “They thought they were powerful enough to mock Odin. Or maybe they meant to honor the Allfather. Their motives are lost in the mists of time.”

  “The Annwn is the Welsh Otherworld,” he adds. “Rhys hosts that one. Mateo’s family has always thrown the Olympus Ball.”

  “Which makes Mateo Greek, right?” I ask, totally intrigued. Of course, none of them would be American. America hasn’t been a country long enough.

  “He’s actually Italian, but his ancestors recognized the old gods. Zeus, Hades, Poseidon.”

  “So that leaves the Duat. Is Erik Egyptian, or is that you?”

  “Me. My ancestry is muddied, but my forefathers believed in the Ma’at, in the Earth God Geb, the Air God Shu, and the Sky Goddess Nut. Erik, like Bastian, is Norse.”

  “Why doesn’t Erik host a ball?” I ask, hungry for more information.

  “He used to,” Casius replies, his tone turning sad. “Then his mate died.”

  He seems to realize what he said a second after he said it because he goes beet red. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Shock courses through me. “His mate died?” I ask, trying to keep my tone even, despite the emotions rioting through my body. Knowing what I do about the mate bond, I can’t imagine how it would feel to lose a mate. And now I show up, and supposedly I’m everyone’s mate. God, that has to suck for Erik.

  No wonder he doesn’t like me. I wouldn’t like me either if I were being forced by fate to have a new mate.

  “Zyrian killed her.” Casius sounds uncomfortable. “If you want to know more, you’ll have to ask Erik directly. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  The heartbreak of Uncle Pete’s death is still close to the surface, and I’m just as eager as Casius to change the subject. “So who’s searching for the diary? Has Silas been able to remember what was in it?”

  Casius’ eyes narrow. “The diary?” he asks carefully.

  “Look, I’m not dumb. I’m assuming you’re still looking for signs of who I am. So, what have you found?”

  “Why are you asking me? Why not ask Silas?”

  I don’t want to. “Silas is the only parent I’ve ever known,” I say, not meeting Casius’ eyes. “I don’t want him to think I’m looking for someone else. I’m not. I’m just curious about who I am.”

  “You’ve got a good heart, Aria,” he says to me, kissing my forehead. “We haven’t found much. You bounced around from foster home to foster home when you were a child. Silas was trying to find the families you were placed with.”

  “Wouldn’t family services have that information?” I ask.

  “It’s missing.”

  “Missing…” I say, my voice trailing off.

  Hagen Nygaard.

  If I put a voice to my suspicions, I’m signing the fox-shifter’s death sentence.

  8

  Aria

  I’d like to say that I spend the rest of the evening worrying about Hagen, but it would be a lie. I haven’t had a proper night out for ages. Ever since Silas got sick, I’ve been worrying about hospital bills and how we’re going to pay for his treatment.

  So I let my hair down, dancing with four of my princes. I even manage to talk Casius onto the floor. Despite grumbling about it, he turns out to be a really good dancer.

  I have an amazing night. I just wish Erik would have been there.

  It’s after two by the time we get back to the penthouse. I fall into bed exhausted, a little tipsy, a whole lot turned on.

  And I’m yanked into a dream.

  I’m back at Gideon Zyrian’s castle, Endellion in my hand. The spirits try to stop me again, hissing their warnings, but I ignore them. Silas is in danger.

  I stagger to a halt when I get to the central throne room. Zyrian’s there, Silas kneeling at his feet, with a knife at his throat.

  “Aria,” he calls out to me, his voice desperate and strained. “Leave!”

  I shake my head, tightening my grip on my sword. The Bloodstone around my neck feels like a familiar, reassuring presence. “Not without you.”

  Zyrian looks me up and down, a sneer on his lips. “So, you are the mate,” he says. “The Norm who is something else. But what?”

  As soon as he asks the question, he invades my mind. I feel his touch there, unpleasant and vile, like dozens of snakes slithering through my consciousness. He’s sifting through my thoughts, trying to find out the secret of my identity.

  I struggle against him, trying to block his entry, but he’s too strong. The walls of my mind crumble under his onslaught, and he’s everywhere. Oily and oozing and bitter. And he can read my thoughts.

  You think I’m bitter? His voice sounds in my head. You try losing the one you love to another.

  “You didn’t love Maija,” I reply defiantly. “You just wanted her for her power.”

  Is that what they’ve told you? He laughs, the sound booming through the walls of my mind. “Did they tell you that Maija wanted power just as much as I did? No. Of course not. Your precious Lord Jaeger wants to believe the best of his mother. They’ve decided that Maija is a saint. He snorts. Maija Essen was a dragon above all, and all dragons covet power. It is who we are.

  While he’s distracted, I tentatively prod at one of the slithering strands inside my mind. I imagine myself pushing it out, cleansing myself of the taint. For a brief moment, the strand seems to cooperate, slipping away as I push.

  Then she married Jaeger. A warrior with as much subtly as a bull in a china shop. He sounds disgusted, and then he realizes what I’m trying to do. He laughs again. Nice try little girl. But you can’t win against me.

>   The slithering tendrils seem to grow, doubling and tripling in size until there doesn’t seem to be a single inch of my consciousness that isn’t consumed. Every thought is examined. Every kiss mocked. I’m laid bare, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to protect myself.

  That’s interesting. He stops at the memory of me using magic to defeat Dr. Brown. A Norm with the ability to do magic?

  Even as he speaks, he throws threads of magic at me, which I instinctively catch in my hands. A mistake. So you can see it too, Zyrian says mockingly. Well, well, well. Aren’t you special.

  I’m done with this. Done with Zyrian’s assault on my mind, done with standing by passively and letting it happen. “I can do more than see it,” I snap. “I can use it too.” With all my power, I throw the net back at him, trying to trap him in his own magic.

  He waves a hand, and the net collapses. You’re a fool if you think you’re a match for me.

  He gestures again, and the net comes toward me, and this time there is nothing I can do to stop it. The dark, oily strands close over me, tightening, squeezing me much the same way I squeezed Dr. Brown. I can feel my face turning red as the oxygen is squeezed from my lungs. Silas shouts something, but I can’t hear it over the roaring in my ears.

  Then the net lifts off me and the pressure eases. Weak, he repeats. Anytime I want, I can snuff you out.

  “So why don’t you?” I goad. Not the brightest thing to do, Aria.

  He leaves my mind. “Because you’re a puzzle,” he says out loud. “You’re not a shifter, and you’re more than Norm. You’re something else. Until I find out what that is, you stay alive.”

  Standing straighter, my hands gripping Endellion, I remind myself this isn’t real. I’m not in his castle. He has no power over me. “You can’t do anything to me. This is just a dream.”

  His lips curl into a chilling smile. “This is a dream,” he agrees. “But I am not as impotent as you seem to think.”

  Hands extending to claws, he swipes the air, drawing three bloody scratches down my cheek. I raise my fingers to the mark, and they come away red. Blood.

  “This wolf, on the other hand, has outlived his use,” Zyrian says.

  The knife slashes across Silas’ throat, and my father slumps, blood oozing from the wound.

  I wake up screaming, my face scratched, and blood on my fingertips.

  9

  Bastian

  I sit up in my bed, my heart hammering. Something’s wrong.

  Then I hear Aria scream.

  I jump to my feet and race to her bedroom. In an instant, I’m at her side, the others only a half-step behind me. When I see the cut on her face, I swear long and low, and panic claws at my throat. She was in our apartment. Nothing should have been able to touch her. “Who did this?” I demand. “Who was here?”

  She shakes her head weakly. “A dream.” She sits up, her eyes filling with terror. “Silas,” she whispers. “Zyrian sliced his throat.”

  “He’s in the apartment downstairs, Aria,” I say soothingly. “My guards are outside the door. Nothing can get to him.” Can they? I thought nothing could get to Aria either.

  “Zyrian cut me in my dreams.” She touches her cheek, and her fingers come away covered with blood. “If he can do that to me…”

  “I’ll check,” Erik snaps, fixing me with a hard glare. “Wait here. Don’t leave her alone. Mateo, now would be a great time for a ward.”

  “A ward?”

  Mateo looks uncertain. “Zyrian is a lot more powerful than I am,” he murmurs. “The ancient dragon mages used to be able to dream-walk, but I thought the skill was lost in the mists of time. I can cast a ward around Aria, but it will only slow him down.” His expression is strained. “I can’t stop him.”

  “Alone,” Casius says grimly. “But we’re stronger together. We will do this, Mateo. We will break the curse. We will destroy the Dark Dragon.”

  Casius’ words are brave, but I can see his eyes, and I can hear his voice. He’s afraid. Not for himself, but for Aria. As am I. I’ve never felt as helpless as I do at this moment. I can fight magicals. I can out-maneuver Norms. For five hundred years, I have amassed treasure and power.

  I would trade it all to keep her safe.

  Now is not the time to give into the fear. She needs you to be strong.

  I gather Aria into my arms. She’s shaking, and tears are streaming down her cheeks. I kiss her forehead. “Mausezähnchen, I’m right here,” I say softly. “We’re all here.” Please let Silas be okay.

  The mattress dips as Mateo sits down and runs his finger down Aria’s cheek. Her cut knits together under his magic. Erik chooses that moment to re-enter the room, and Aria looks up. “Silas?”

  “Is fine.” Erik smiles at her reassuringly. “A little grumpy about being woken up.”

  She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Thank heavens,” she whispers, squeezing her eyes shut in relief. “You didn’t tell him… I don’t want to worry him…”

  “I pretended to be drunk,” Erik says, a slight smile curling at the corners of his mouth. “Asked him if he wanted to do a shot of tequila with me. He told me to drink a glass of water and go to bed.”

  She smiles faintly, and the color returns to her cheeks. “Silas prefers scotch anyway.”

  “What happened, love?” Rhys asks her. “Tell us what did this to you.”

  “Not what. Who. I was in the Dark Dragon’s castle again. I had Endellion in my hand, and I was searching for someone. Silas.” Her eyes stare into nothing, and her body is stiff in my arms. “The wraiths tried to stop me,” she continues. “But I wouldn’t listen to them.”

  She would walk through fire for Silas Archer. And now, Zyrian knows that.

  “Then I found them. Zyrian knew I was your mate.”

  “Do you remember his precise words, Aria?” Mateo prompts. “It could be important.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “So you’re the mate. The Norm who is something else.” She swallows hard. “He was trying to figure out my identity. He was intrigued by me.”

  “He found out you could do magic?” Casius asks.

  She nods. “Yes. I tried to throw a net of magic around him, but he was too powerful. He turned it back on me, and the threads choked me, the way I choked Dr. Brown at the hospital.” She shudders. “It felt wrong.”

  “Dark magic,” Mateo says. “It won’t stick to you, tesoro. You are too bright, too pure.”

  She is that. She shines so bright. Her love for her family, her loyalty, her courage, and her strength—she is light, and her very existence mocks Gideon Zyrian. The Dark Dragon will know that Aria brings us something we haven’t had in a long time.

  Hope.

  He will come after her, again and again, until we figure out how to stop him.

  “I thought he’d kill me, but he said I’d stay alive until he figures out who I am.”

  I push away the veil of terror that presses down on me. I have to assume that Raedwulf and Zyrian are working together, and that Zyrian has the diary. The real question is, is the secret of her identity hidden between its pages?

  “What now?”

  Mateo takes charge. This is his realm, after all. “Can one of you fetch Endellion?” he says.

  Rhys nods, uncharacteristically serious, and fetches the sword. Mateo takes it from him. “I’ve never asked you this, Bastian,” he says quietly. “But now is the time. Endellion keeps appearing in Aria’s dreams. Do you know why? What is its significance?”

  I don’t have to search my memory. “I grew up in Castle Jaeger alone, brought up by my parents’ servants. I learned to fight with this sword. Halla Northridottir, who was my mother’s midwife, told me that Endellion was a courting gift from my father to my mother on the day she agreed to be his.”

  Casius frowns. “A sword?” He takes it from Rhys and examines it. “Johannes Jaeger was a warrior, it’s true, but why would he give Maija Essen a weapon like this? She was a mage. She would have never needed a sword to defen
d herself.”

  Erik shakes his head. “That’s not what Johannes Jaeger gave her,” he says. “My parents were at the betrothal feast. Maija Essen was the most powerful mage in the world, and Johannes Jaeger wanted to give her a gift worthy of her power. He gave her Gungnir.”

  Aria looks up, her eyes wide. “The spear of Odin? The spear so perfect that it will strike any target?”

  I smile at the note of enthusiasm in my mate’s voice. “If you like Norse mythology, you’re going to love Castle Jaeger,” I tell Aria. Turning to Erik, I ask, “Are you sure?”

  “Dead sure,” he replies. “My mother kept a diary. The Jaegers guarded their treasure jealously, and the council didn’t even know that Johannes had Gungnir in his vaults until he offered it to Maija.”

  “So what’s Endellion?” I close my eyes and the centuries roll away, and the past unfolds in front of me, vivid and clear. A wrinkled and grey-haired maid, Halla Northridottir, kneels in front of me on the day I reached my majority, holding out the sword to me. Telling me that Endellion had been my father’s courting gift to my mother, and it would be my courting gift to my mate one day.

  Mateo holds out his hand, and Erik gives him the blade. He hands it to Aria, hilt first. “I don’t know how to stop Zyrian from dream-walking,” he says. “Maybe in Castle Jaeger, in Maija’s library, we will find something useful. But until then…”

  He removes his signet ring from his finger. “Cut me,” he instructs Aria.

  She stiffens, and the color drains from her face again. “What the hell?”

  “I’m fashioning a protective spell to keep Zyrian out of your mind, tesoro.” His smile turns teasing. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t stab with all your might,” he quips. “I could heal myself, but it would drain me. Just slice my palm open.”

  “Okay.” Biting her lip, she touches the sharp blade to Mateo’s hand. A thin red line appears on the mage’s skin. “Is that alright?”

  “Perfect.” Blood begins to seep from the cut, and Mateo drops his signet ring into his palm and closes his hand around it. Golden threads of magic surround his hand for an instant, and a soft hum fills the air, and then the melody fades, and the light softens and dies.