To Catch a Rogue

by Bec McMaster

  "Exile's out of bounds," he replied. "Your father's word on it."

  "Yeah, right. How much of my father's word will hold up when every male draconian in the city realises I'm on heat? And then, once I mate? It's going to shift the loyalty of the males in the clan. Some will side with my father, some with me. They won't be able to help themselves. A Quickened female is always Queen. You think he'll sit back, and let me step up onto the throne - whether I want it or not?"

  Fade leaned his hip against the desk, arms crossed. His eyes were hooded.

  "Let's be honest," she said. "I'm more trouble than I'm worth, right now, and if you set one foot out of this place, you're dead. That takes you out of the running as my mate. You don't get anything out of seducing me–"

  His lips curled up in a very dangerous smile. "I like how naive you are. What makes you think I wouldn't enjoy every single second of seducing you?"

  "You're a businessman."

  He stepped forward, caging her with the brutal, overwhelming crush of his body. The suit only hid the coiled power inside him. Blaisé let one of her claws spring free, and pressed it against his chest in a warning.

  "You don't know me at all, darlin'." His whisper was rough and raw. It tightened everything inside her. "So don't go making assumptions about what I am - and what I might want with you." His gaze dropped, like a smooth caress between her breasts. Something shadowed his eyes for a second - a longing so deep, it seemed an ocean within him. "All that fire," he whispered, tracing a finger against her shoulder. "Burning up inside this skin. You can feel it, can't you? I can. I can see the dragon in you, threatening to get out. You want this so badly it hurts. Why fight it? It would feel so good."

  Blaisé couldn't breathe. He was right. It hurt so much to hold herself back from that edge - to stop herself from Quickening. He pressed closer, the stubble of his jaw rasping against her cheek.

  "I could take the hurt away." A whisper in her ear. "It would be worth it, for just one night between those sheets with you. You don't even understand your own worth, what it feels like to never touch a woman of your own kind... To never feel that fire, always watching... Looking on from a distance, but never touching." His finger broke its path at her elbow. "Your father would kill me. All of the males of your clan would kill me." His gaze lifted to hers, full of temptation. "And it would be worth every second of the risk."

  Blaisé ducked out from beneath his arm, and scrambled to put the desk between them. Her nipples ached, the dragon stirring dangerously within her. Yes, it whispered. No, she told it firmly. She was tired of being nothing more than a play toy to the males that surrounded her. Time to make her own decisions. "You want a female draconian in your bed? Well, Ambyr's downstairs. She's draconian. I don't see you sniffing around her."

  That darkened Fade's expression. "I prefer my balls intact, thanks." A hint of snarl filled his voice, and he pushed away from the desk.

  Well. That was the first bit of true emotion she'd seen from him. Blaisé's eyes narrowed.

  "So, we need to get you out. Secretly." Fade paced, gnawing on his thumb. "We could send you North--"

  "No." She found her feet. "I've got a better place to go."

  "Oh?"

  "Emory will take me in."

  Storm clouds darkened Fade's expression, "Blaisé–"

  "He's my brother," she reminded him.

  "Half-brother."

  "Minor correction. The thing that matters is that he's blood. The Quickening won't effect him, and since his exile, he's lived alone. There are no other draconian allowed within his Washington State territories. I'll be safe to get through this first heat, without males hunting me down."

  "I think you underestimate the power of a female's heat," he said softly. "This is not the worst of it, Blaisé. Your scent... it's just the start." With a harsh laugh, he held up his clenched fists. They were shaking slightly. "I know exactly how hard it is for you to hold yourself back, right now. They'll hunt you all across the States, the instant they scent you."

  "Then we'll deal with that," she said with false bravado. "Somehow."

  "And when you get there? You don't even know your brother. He was exiled before you were born."

  "He rang me," she admitted. "After my mother died. He... he was kind to me on the phone."

  "Emory's your father's son," Fade warned. "He doesn't understand what kindness is."

  'You come to me, Blaisé, if you ever need help...I swear I'll protect you.' She shook her head. She trusted the brother she barely knew over the man standing in front of her. At least he would have no interest in her body, in sex. After that... Once she had some breathing space, she'd be able to get her feet underneath her and work out what her plans for life included.

  Not studying at NYU anymore, that's for sure.

  The thought hurt a little more than she'd thought it did. She didn't truly want to be a blah, but she wasn't entirely certain she didn't want it, either.

  Concentrate. Survival first.

  "Give me a week." Fade obviously saw that she wasn't going to change her mind. "I can't pull this together overnight, and you can't run now. Your father would come straight here, and rip my head off. This needs to be done quietly. If you can, come back here on Wednesday, or Thursday night. I should have some details for you then."

  "Twice in one week might be pushing my luck."

  "Then I'll make it a theme night at the club. Something to give you a reason to attend. Leather and Lace. Always popular. There'll be hordes here."

  Blaisé's eyes narrowed. "You just want to see me in leather."

  He gave the faintest of smiles, but his gaze was elsewhere. Plotting something, she recognised the look. "Make it Thursday. If you need to reach me before then, call the club. I'll see that my staff know to put you straight through." He slid his card across the table toward her. Silver eyes glinted. "But only use that number if the situation is urgent."

  A roll of the eyes. But she picked it up. "Thought I might just give you a call each night. We could play 'Dear Diary' with each other."

  Fade crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. "Good to see you getting some colour back into you."

  Blaise tucked the card into her cleavage. This time he didn't watch, his gaze growing distant again. She didn't feel slighted; curious more than anything. So that show earlier had been just a show? Or perhaps it truly had been her pheromones. They'd settled since then, the push of the beast inside her not as strong. She felt like she could breathe for the first time in weeks.

  But you're not as afraid now, she reminded herself. You have an ally. That too made the pressure ease.

  The same damn instinct that would push Fade to protect her had also made her run to him. Male draconians held a protective streak a few thousand miles wide; it was the core knowledge with which she'd been raised, but perhaps part of it was innate as well.

  "Thank you," she said, lifting up on her toes to kiss his cheek. His stubble roughened her lips, and he glanced down with a faint scowl.

  "You shouldn't be so trusting of strange draconian males," he suggested. "I'm just as likely to turn such a thing to my advantage."

  "Perhaps." She shrugged. "I'm going to trust my instincts on this one. But now I'd best get going before Ambyr comes up here looking for me."

  Fade gave a rough, humourless laugh, sharp as a punch. "Trust me on this one. She wouldn't dare."

  Interesting. It never hurt to do a little fishing and it seemed the big, bad male had a sore spot.

  With a nod, she turned toward the door.

  "Blaisé?"

  She looked over her shoulder.

  "Don't breathe a word of this to anyone else. Not even those you think you trust."

  Blaisé met those dangerous eyes. "Right now, I don't trust anyone."

  * * *

  ***

  * * *

  Fade stared through the one-way window, watching the dance floor below. Blaisé took her purse from the pretty African American girl she'd been sittin
g with, heading toward the bar as though she needed a drink. Smart girl. She'd barely arrived, and if she left now, eyes would notice that her business with him had been the only reason for this visit.

  But it wasn't Blaisé that caught his eye. Or held it, rather.

  Behind her, a lean, rangy female moved with lethal efficiency through the crowd. Ice-blonde hair was raked back impatiently out of her eyes and he doubted it had seen a brush that week, from what he remembered of her. Unlike Blaisé she was wearing head-to-toe black; tight jeans that moulded to her long legs, a pair of boots that hit her knees, and a leather jacket over her black tank. He couldn't see any weapons, but that didn't mean that she didn't have them on her.

  Ambyr. Doing bodyguard duty for Daddy's little princess, by the look of it.

  As if sensing him, Ambyr looked up, those kohl-rimmed blue eyes locking on his, as if she could see him through the glass. The glare she shot him was a challenge, but one hand strayed to her hip as though it sought the weapon he knew his men would have confiscated at the door.

  She should be nervous.

  Fade's eyes narrowed, but his treacherous cock stirred to life. By trespassing here, Ambyr knew she was dancing along the edge of a dangerous blade. What he wouldn't give to get his hands on her... The only problem was he wasn't certain if he wanted to repay her for her long ago treachery - or fuck her.

  Perhaps both.

  "What are you doing?"

  The words startled him, but he relaxed instantly, not bothering to turn around as Brutus entered the room. "Just... wondering."

  "About?"

  Things I shouldn't. Fade stepped away from the window, Ambyr vanishing from sight. It was time to focus on Blaisé, and the very tempting proposition she'd put before him. "About revenge," he said, turning toward the minotaur. "And how sweet it's going to taste."

  23

  "I want to see Fade."

  Somehow Blaisé kept her voice steady and her shoulders squared. Don't ever show them fear, her father's voice whispered in her mind, back when he'd ruffled her hair as a child and taught her how to rule a dragon clan. Those days of familiarity between them were long gone now, but the lessons remained. She was freaking using them now, to fool the very man who'd promised her as a little girl that he'd always be there to protect her.

  Ha. She hadn't been old enough then to understand the fine print on that paternal contract. Tytherion would protect her, but only as long as she wasn't a threat to him, or his power. And right now, through no fault of her own, she was becoming a threat.

  Electric noise screamed out through the nightclub as the DJ swung the music to something with a throbbing beat. Sweat dripped down her spine. The security guard at the top of the stairs gave her no indication he'd heard her, simply staring at her with his arms crossed.

  What the hell had she been thinking, coming here? Her presence in the nightclub could be explained. Knocking on the notorious nightclub owner's door? Not so much. If anyone saw her... She had to get this meeting over and done with before her father or one of his bullyboys realised what she was trying to negotiate. There were too many Darkkind eyes here. Exile was one of the hottest nightclubs in New York for those of the Primordial Races. Hardly the place to be carrying out secret rendezvous, but Fade's inability to ever leave the club had driven her to his door instead.

  Play your games beneath Tytherion's nose. Blaisé took a deep breath. This was her only chance to save her life - and those of others.

  Tall, dark and deadly glared at her. He smelled of Earth magic, of musk and blood and iron. No doubt the Darkkind creature knew how to use all of those bulging muscles too. Mother Night, what was he? The stink of him... Vaguely animalistic. "You need an appointment."

  "Then can I make an appointment please?" She ground her teeth together in a polite smile.

  "Do I look like a secretary?"

  That did it. Blaisé stepped closer, meeting his gaze. She let the dragon inside her rise, a glimpse of it flashing through her eyes as it yawned and unfurled itself within her. Her skin felt tight, the creature inside stretching, pushing at the boundaries she imposed. "No. You look like a meal," she said, and the part that said it was all predator.

  He smiled. "That's cute." The arms uncrossed and the smile died. "You think I don't know how to deal with the so-called top-of-the-food chain?"

  "I think that I'm desperate," she retorted. "And I said please."

  A flash of red gleamed in the pupils of his dark eyes. "And I think that you're arrogant. Go back to the dance floor, princess. Fade's got more important business to handle." His gaze slid over her with a lingering caress. "Besides, you're not to his taste."

  She was handling this badly. The dragon inside her pushed, her skin feeling like it rippled at the edges. Too on edge to deal with political bullshit. Blaisé clenched her eyes shut. "Fade is an exile from the draconian clans with little interest in their business. But even he doesn't wish for a draconian clan war on his doorstep, and if you don't let me inside, then you will be responsible for part of the bloodshed that is to come."

  There. Blaisé let out her breath, and opened her eyes. "Please."

  The man's nostrils flared, and the musky scent filled her nostrils. Definitely one of the Darkkind creature's that dabbled with the Earthen Elements. She herself was a mix of Fire and Air; a dangerous, combustible mix. Few Darkkind creatures were granted dual Elements to control. Only the Thunderbirds rivalled the draconian in this, which made them mortal enemies.

  The door behind him jerked open, a rectangle of light highlighting a solid figure. Fade. He was massive. Raven dark hair spilled over his collar, and the shock of his blue eyes meeting hers was enough to still both the guard and her. The look there said predator, and he examined her as though weighing up the costs of tangling with her, versus the temptation of eating her. A dangerous, sleekly muscled terror, disguised in a three-piece gray Armani suit, with gleaming silver cufflinks.

  The strobe lights lit aspects of his sharp face, from the hard line of his jaw to the dark slash of his brows. The only hint of softness were a pair of lips that smouldered on the edge of indecency. But she'd be a fool if she thought that hint indicated some sense of mercy within him. This man stood accused of murdering her mother; the cause of his exile. The only reason he was still alive was because the old Loremaster had demanded more proof.

  There had been none to find.

  "I need to speak to you," she said boldly. "My name is--"

  "I know who you are." That gaze was glacial as it raked the dance floor. It caught, and held on something, but she didn't dare look over her shoulder. "You're a fool, to be seen here with me."

  "I'm a desperate fool," she blurted. She wouldn't be here otherwise.

  Finally he looked at her, the weight of that gaze licking along the edges of her skin. Then he jerked his head at the bodyguard. "Guard the door, Brutus. Don't let anyone else in."

  Blaisé staggered after him, into a plush office that looked as though it belonged at Trump Towers, and the door slammed shut behind her, the music cutting off abruptly. All that remained of it was the throbbing thump through the floors.

  Fade poured her a glass of something. The air in here felt like it was one second away from a thunderclap, and she stared at the broad planes of his back.

  He turned, offering her the glass. Not even a hint of expression on his face as he took up his own glass, and slunk into his chair with exquisite grace.

  "You walk in here, you tell me you're desperate... Hardly a great way to start a negotiations, my dear." He tsked. "Just for future reference. Let me guess, you think I'll help you out of the goodness of my heart? Because a part of me suffers the same over-protectiveness the rest of my gender do?"

  Blaisé sipped the drink - shit, it burned all the way down - and dragged out her own chair. Some of his words were correct. She wasn't thinking straight, especially when she needed to. It was the damned dragon inside, the press of the Quickening. Her head was a mess of hormones, violent desi
res, and the pounding, driving crave for sex. She was holding onto the leash so damned tightly it was all she could do to walk and talk at the moment.

  "I don't think you have a heart," she said bluntly.

  Fade gave her a raw smile, as if he approved, but she wasn't finished.

  "But I also don't think you killed my mother."

  That made him freeze. Sitting there, with the glass to his lips, his eyes locking on hers with frightful intensity over the rim of the glass. "Oh?”

  Blaisé drained the vodka, then set the glass down. It should have made her eyes water, but there was too much dragon inside her tonight. Vodka was merely fuel for the creature's fiery breath. "They say you were her lover, but I don't think she was. She never looked at you the way she looked at my father. I remember that, even though, as her bodyguard, you had the means to see her in private if you willed it."

  Interest died in his hard-eyed gaze. Disappointed in her. He drained his glass. "You were five when she died. What would a child know? And as interesting as this is–"

  "That's not what convinces me of your innocence," she hurried on.

  "Then what does?"

  "You," she said bluntly. "The very fact that you're alive."

  "Trapped here at the club," he said, gesturing around him. "Unable to fly. Unable to shift form - or not allowed perhaps. But alive. Some would say that's punishment enough."

  "Not for killing her. If my father truly thought you the murderer, he would have made you suffer. I know what the dungeon of the Chateau looks like. And then, after he'd glutted himself on your blood, he would have killed you." Tytherion didn't understand the meaning of mercy. Nor would he have allowed such a challenge to his rule to live. "He would have cut the wings from your back, not just forced you here. I know some whisper that there wasn't enough proof - but I know my father. If he truly believed your hand held that knife, then he wouldn't have worried about law or proof, or a guilty verdict." Blaisé took a deep breath. "Which makes me wonder what he's hiding - just how much he knows about the death. For if you didn't kill her, if father knows that... then he was remarkably content to sit back, and let you bear the brunt of that burden. He never hunted for any other suspects. He simply sat back, grieved in public, and then–" This was the most damning bit of all. "Then, he stepped up onto my mother's throne."