“Are you okay, Jess? You look feverish.”
I cleared my throat, popping the trunk of the car on my key fob. “I’m fine.”
I tried to smile, but my stomach fluttered with a thousand drunk butterflies crashing into each other, knowing in a few short days he’d be standing in front of me at the charity ball with his concrete facade in place. I needed to decide before then if I was ready to admit he was right, if I was ready to chisel away more of what he hid behind his mask, if I wanted to know more of the man who longed for his lover.
Chapter 9
“Brant said I’d find you in here.”
I glanced up from the canvas. Lorian leaned against the entrance to my studio, eyes scanning the room, hands in his pockets.
“Here I am. What is it?”
I set the brush down, stood, and wiped the brown paint from my fingers. I could’ve tried to conceal the myriad of paintings, tried to conceal my desires. There was no point. Time Lorian knew the truth anyway.
“Brant says you’ve been spending a lot of time in your studio lately.”
“If you want to know something, ask me, not my valet.” I crossed my arms and waited.
He ambled into the room, picking up a canvas of my latest work. “Have you taken her to bed yet?”
“No.”
“It may be just lust.”
“It’s not.”
Lorian set the painting down and walked the room, taking in the proof of my passion. “Obsession, perhaps?”
“No.” My voice dropped to a growl.
Lorian caught my darkening gaze. “You don’t even know her, Lucius.”
“My dragon does. He recognizes her.”
The fire stirring in my gut reminded me on a daily basis who she was to me. There was no denying it anymore. Especially not after our run-in at the gallery. When I first saw her standing there, casually observing my heart in oil and canvas, I wanted to rip them from her view. I had no idea why I’d displayed them in the gallery in the first place. It was as if Fate guided my hand, my brush, my very soul. It was all out of my control, and the thought paralyzed me with fear. And the need to make her understand if she rejected me, then she wiped any possibility of a happy life from existence. Once the dragon decides on his mate, there will never be another to fill the gaping chasm she would leave behind if she refused me.
Lorian finally paused in his wandering, fixing his gaze on me with dawning realization and what I could only describe as shock. “You’re serious.”
Clenching my jaw, I inhaled and exhaled a deep breath, finally ready to admit to someone what was stirring my blood into an inferno. “Would I joke about something like this?”
“She’s human.”
“Apparently, the dragon doesn’t care. Nor do I. If she’ll have me, I’ll take her as mine.”
I didn’t need to say the words heartbonding or soulfire. Lorian understood exactly what I meant. He also realized I wasn’t asking permission of him or my father. When it came to heartbonding, there was no choice except to live without ever having a mate. He knew that wasn’t the path I wanted, not when I’d tasted her and all the promise inherent in her kiss, her beauty, her passion.
“You’re sure?” Lorian scratched his day-old scruff.
I gestured to the room with one hand. “Without a shadow of a doubt.”
He raised a dark brow. “So peculiar.”
“How so?” I heaved out a heavy breath, scowling. “Beyond the obvious.”
“It’s just…who she is.” He shook his head and tapped the edge of the worktable where I held my paints and supplies. “Fate has a nasty sense of humor.”
“Or a righteous sense of justice.”
He didn’t need to point out the obvious. That Jessen was the daughter of the man who had held my mother’s heart, even as she went into death. The man who made our lives a living hell because he’d been rejected by her, even though she’d still loved him. And my mate, the one who held my future happiness in her hands, was his daughter.
Lorian raised a dark brow. “When will you tell her, ask her?”
“As soon as possible. My beast is….” How did I express what I felt? I could easily show it in my art, but words were useless. The closest I could come to the emotion was, “Impatient.”
Lorian nodded. “We’ll be at her home for Cade’s alleged Unity Ball.”
“Yes.” The thought of seeing her again steeled my spine. My muscles tensed, my dragon stretching in preparation, anticipation.
“Will you ask her then?”
“I plan to.” He glanced at a painting of her on the wall behind me, the one I’d never hang in a gallery, the one for my eyes only—standing under moonlight, nude with one slender arm outstretched to me. Lorian’s eyes on the painting stirred my beast awake.
He must’ve sensed it, and smiled. Rare for Lorian. “I’ll always support you, brother. You know that. And she’s well worth taking”—he winked—“from the looks of her.”
I relaxed my shoulders a fraction, my wings retracting.
He turned to leave the room. “Great payback to the old bastard, Cade, too,” he said with a laugh. “Would love to see his face when he gets the news.”
I turned around, searching the eyes of the woman in the painting on my wall. Hoping.
Only if she accepts me.
Moving away from my work, I shoved open the double-doors to the balcony, restless and heated and out of my mind with need. Gripping the wrought iron rail that wrapped the balcony, I glanced down at my paint-stained hands, the caramel brown smudging the edge of my thumbnail and seeping into the grooves of my knuckles. The color of her eyes. At least, the color I’d tried to create to match those heavenly, dark depths. What I couldn’t quite master was the glittering passion and zest for life that shone there. A passion I wanted to capture, to make my own. To share with her.
Arching my neck, I stared up at the twilight sky, the wind ghosting through the buildings and washing over me. I wished the winds could sweep away my carnal thoughts, my heartfelt longings, my soul-stirring need to claim her. Fate had marked me with her cruel hand. And if Jessen refused me, I’d strangle from the torture of not having her. I’d fall into insanity with unrequited need fueling my every waking and dreaming thought.
Last night, I’d dreamed I was standing in a black room, completely engulfed in obsidian. Except for her. An ethereal angel inside a glass dome, smiling at no one as she sat on a swing and admired a wildflower dangling between her fingertips. I’d called her name, but she didn’t hear me. Then I’d called again. Louder. Still nothing. She didn’t even flinch. I rushed to the glass dome and flattened my burning palms to the cold surface. She made no move at all. As if I didn’t exist. Then she stood and gently lay her wildflower on the swing. I screamed her name. She simply walked away and disappeared into a swirling white cloud. All the while I screamed and beat my fists on the unyielding glass. Then my hands burst into flames, the fire traveling with frightening speed to engulf my entire body.
I’d woken with a jolt of panic. Safe and unburnt, but haunted. Soulfire flared and swirled in my breast, reminding me it wasn’t just a dream. It was a premonition of what life would be like if she refused me. I didn’t want to date her. Humans couldn’t understand the agony soulfire could produce in the bodies and hearts of Morgon men. I needed to claim her. Not just her body, but her heart, her soul…her love. Or else face a life of cold darkness, engulfed in flames of my own making. Of nightmares where my angel never heard me and left me behind without a care, without even a glance.
Running both hands through my hair, I stared out across the city at the Morgon buildings, towers of mountainous steel and stone. I looked beyond our territory to the square, symmetrical skyscrapers in the human part of the city. The wind gusted against me, tugging at my wings and pushing at my hair. Would she walk across those social barriers, her family’s border and into my arms?
Only one way to find out. I turned back through my studio and into the house with
new determination. Time to prepare for the Unity Ball and face the woman who held my fate in her lovely hands. And convince her she belonged with me.
Chapter 10
“You look lovely, my dear.”
Mother’s words echoed off the walls of her vast dressing chamber. I stood in the center of the octagon of mirrors after her hair and make-up stylists had their way with me. Coils of dark hair twisted on top of my head, tiny gold clasps fastening them in place. The rest fell in dark waves down my back, wispy ringlets framing my face. A one-shouldered black gown shimmered down my body like glass. I wore only a thick gold cuff on my forearm for jewelry.
Usually, I steered clear of Mother’s stylists who pulled and primped for hours till I was coiffed and decorated to the latest fashion. But tonight, I wanted to be beautiful. For him. I wanted his eyes on me. Who was I kidding? I wanted his hands and lips on me, too. The black gown hugged my frame and contrasted with my pale skin. Black. My pulse quickened. I was wearing his signature color and hadn’t realized it till this moment. I smiled at my reflection, hoping he’d be pleased.
“Guests are arriving, Mrs. Cade.” Edda darted in and out with her announcement.
Dripping in diamonds from ears, throat, wrists, and ankles like a cage of sparkling gems, accenting her silver-sequined gown, Mother stopped at the door, turning a concerned gaze on me. “Jessen. You know your father only wants what’s best for you. You must accept Aron as your future husband, dear. He will give you your heart’s desire.”
“Will he, Mother?” I bit back the bitterness wanting to spill from my mouth. Even so, I couldn’t hold back my response though I said it with genuine curiosity. Not sarcasm. “Has Father given you your heart’s desire?”
She sealed her mouth shut and pasted on a grim smile before sauntering off to greet her guests.
Moira sat on a stool in the corner, fiddling with her hem.
“Come on.” I reached out to her. Dressed in a gossamer gown of pale blue, looking like an angel, she took my hand and we descended together.
Only a handful of guests had arrived. The ballroom was still airy with room to breathe. The orchestra warmed up, the violinists dragging bows across their strings. Silver chandeliers sparkled with golden light, casting a warm glow on the posh and pretty below. Servants in black livery weaved through the crowd, carrying silver platters of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.
“Oh, look, Jess. Krissa is here. Thank goodness. Do you mind if I go?”
“Of course not. Go visit your friend.”
I strolled with the grace my mother had taught me—back straight, small steps, fake smile. “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Barrow.” I nodded to Ella’s parents—pompous snobs.
“Good evening, Jessen. You’re looking lovely.”
I kept moving, filtering through the crowd. Of course, Ella couldn’t be here to keep me company among the wolves. Her parents would never let her near a Morgon, even in polite society and for a “good cause.” I smiled at the thought of Mrs. Barrow’s head popping off if she’d seen Ella at Acropolis the other night, carried off in the arms of Conn Rowanflame.
“Look, darling. Some of them are beginning to arrive,” said one of my father’s associates with a sneer behind his wine glass. His petite blond wife nudged him in the opposite direction. This whole charity ball was nothing but a farce.
I peered through the crowd, the pointed arches of folded Morgon wings reaching well above the heads of other guests. Some silver, some rust-red. My heart fluttered, waiting to pinpoint the high arch of a particular set of black wings.
“Oh, my goodness. It’s you. Yes, it’s really you!”
A young Morgon woman approached me, bright smile in place. At first I didn’t know her until my memory conjured up an image of a slender white-winged Morgon corralling Jed on the dance floor. Under normal lighting and minus the alcohol-fog, I could see she was graceful and lovely in an ethereal sort of way—tall and willowy with elfin features. Thin braids twined at the crown of her white-blond hair, the rest a silk waterfall cascading past her shoulders. Her sparkling white gown glittered with iridescent beads, magnifying the fey in her features.
“Hi. From The Torch the other night, right?” I extended my hand with a smile. “I’m Jessen Cade.”
“Shakara Icewing.” Blue-green eyes widened as she shook my hand, fingers long and delicate. “Yes! You were with that guy. I didn’t, um, I didn’t get his name.” She blushed ten shades of pink.
“Yeah. That was Jed. I’ll introduce you sometime.”
“You will?”
I swear, she looked like a fairy ready to explode into a ball of magic dust. Her skin glowed. Demetrius stepped to my side, his placid I-love-being-a-Cade face on.
“Father and Mother would like you to join us to greet our guests.”
“Oh, certainly.” I turned to the white-winged dragon girl. “This is Shakara Icewing. Shakara, this is my brother, Demetrius Cade.”
His face hardened as if it caused him pain to touch a Morgon, but he showed her the courtesy he would any woman. He took her hand and bowed over it, our custom for a gentleman greeting a lady. I pitied my brother. Of our father’s children, he was the one chastised and scorned into a mold of our domineering father.
She smiled warmly, dipping her eyes away. I’d never pegged any Morgon as submissive. Shakara held the unique beauty of her kind, but was a timid creature. I wondered if it was a feminine trait for Morgons. Her sideways gaze and the deepening of the rosy blush on her chest and neck told me that my handsome yet clueless brother was having an effect on her.
“Pleasure to meet you.” Demetrius smiled politely, his gaze flickering over her hair, face, then trailed down her slim body. His frown deepened. If I pegged him correctly, his scowl told me he liked what he saw and hated himself for it. Actually, now that I watched him with a close eye, he wasn’t nearly as unaffected as he pretended to be. A flush of red slashed up his neck. He, like myself and our sister Moira, were fair-skinned. Any rise in our blood temperature—in other words, heart palpitations in the presence of someone who jolted our pulses into a gallop—showed too easily on our necks and cheeks. He cleared his throat, released her hand, and offered his arm to me. “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Icewing.”
“Certainly.” She fluttered her eyelashes with a dip of her chin.
I let Demetrius lead me away toward the ballroom entrance, smirking at his grave expression. “That was civil, considering it must be causing you enormous anxiety to be proper and polite to so many Morgons.”
Dark brown eyes glanced my way. “I know this may come as a shock to you, dear sister, but I believe it’s good business policy to treat our enemy as we would any guest in our home.”
“Enemy, Demetrius? You act like we’re on a battlefield. It’s ridiculous.”
He paused in our progress toward the door, locking me in a fiery gaze. “Make no mistake. This is a battlefield. And I fight alongside my family, my father, to keep what we’ve worked hard for all our lives. You need to decide which side you’re on.”
In that moment, I felt sorry for my brother. He’d been molded and coached by my father to hate the enemy, Morgonkind, and now he believed even the slightest deviation from blind loyalty would mark him a traitor. He continued leading me toward our parents who presided at the door. My breath caught in my throat. Three black-winged men stood next to my father under the arched entrance.
“There you are, dear. Adicus Nightwing, this is my daughter, Jessen.”
I didn’t dare glance at the man to his right. I could feel Lucius’s burning gaze, melting everything inside. I extended my hand to a man the same height as Lucius, a foot taller than my own father—black hair, graying at the temples, and dark eyes.
“Enchanting,” said Lucius’s father, engulfing my hand with his and dipping a bow. “Pritchard, it seems you’ve kept your most precious jewel hidden from view.”
A full, throaty laugh bellowed from my father, making me cringe. “That she is.”
&nb
sp; Yeah, right. Even a precious jewel can be bought and sold. My father looked like he wanted to say more, but held his tongue.
“Miss Cade, please allow me to introduce my sons. This is Lorian Nightwing.”
The Morgon to his left took my hand. Molded from the same cloth as his brother, the planes of his cheekbones were cut sharper, his eyes fixed in a severe expression. The most startling difference was the eyes—one brown, one blue. I tried not to stare, turning to the third man in line.
“And this is my eldest, Lucius Nightwing.”
Lucius’s gaze could’ve set me on fire. He betrayed no emotion, his mask firmly in place, while his eyes drank me in from top to bottom when he dipped a bow over my hand. “It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Miss Cade.”
He was striking in a black-on-black tuxedo that fit him perfectly. He held my hand a moment longer than etiquette required, his fingers grazing slowly along my inner wrist and palm. The orchestra swung into their first waltz. Lucius held my gaze. “Miss Cade, I wonder if you might do me the honor of joining me for the first dance.”
This civil Lucius put me off-guard. My father threw a sharp glance at me. He was daring me to refuse the request of an honored guest, a guest he wanted to lull into a sleepy state before he demolished him on the business front.
Well, all in the line of family duty. “Of course, Mr. Nightwing.”
I took his arm and allowed him to lead me to the dance floor. Wings tucked flush against his back, he whisked me into his arms with more grace than I thought possible for a Morgon. And such a large one at that. He took my hand in his and placed the other firmly on my waist, heat singeing through the fabric. I refused to let my eyes betray me. My heart leapt when he pressed his massive body close. I pasted on my most polite expression.
“You already know, Mr. Nightwing, that my father despises all Morgons.” I couldn’t help but use his formal title, teasing him before I moved in for the kill. “I applaud your strategy to get me all to yourself right under his nose.”
Soulfire: A Dragon Fantasy Romance (Nightwing Book 1) Page 8