by Lily Cahill
He grinned at her. “Give me five minutes. I’ll grab the champagne you so thoughtfully brought with us, and something light for us to eat. Any requests?”
She shook her head and he disappeared out the door, leaving her to stretch out against his soft sheets.
It felt like only moments later that there were soft fingers tracing her cheekbone, and Felicity stirred, blinking sleepily. Damien had worn her out more than she had realized, apparently. His face came into focus, and she pushed herself up, tugging the sheets over her and resting against the headboard.
On the bed to her right was a tray filled with all sorts of goodies: cheeses, crackers, grapes, a crustless sandwich. She didn’t even feel the mattress move as Damien took a seat beside her, swinging his legs up into the bed. He’d put on boxers again, and Felicity tried not to be disappointed. She’d enjoyed the view.
Damien popped a grape into his mouth. “Look okay?”
“Looks delicious,” she said, smiling. She thought she ought to feel shy—she didn’t usually jump into bed with men she’d just met, after all—but that connection was still there. It was more than just chemistry, although that sizzled between them, as well. It was deeper than that. Even without talking about it, she was certain he felt it, too.
“I can cook, if you want something more substantial.”
Felicity shook her head. “You cook, too? You need to quit while you’re ahead. If you get any more perfect, I might start thinking I don’t deserve you.”
She said it teasingly, but the words made Damien frown. His dark hair fell forward in front of his face. She wanted to reach up and push it back, to see his eyes. She liked feeling his eyes on her.
For a moment, it seemed like Damien was about to protest. Instead, he slid the tray of food down the bed and moved closer. He was everywhere, his strong, masculine scent surrounding her, making her dizzy, the bare skin of his torso pushed up against the sheet. The stupid sheet. She wished she could tug it down and feel him directly, but it seemed too obvious, now.
Damien didn’t seem to care. His lips were on hers, moving swiftly. It was a demanding kiss, tongue and teeth. He nibbled her bottom lip and brought it between his own to suck on it. Felicity moaned, her arms locking around his torso—he was right next to her, and yet it was somehow still too far away.
He moved his lips to her jaw, kissing back to just below her ear. Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head when he bit at her earlobe, his voice deep and gravelly as he spoke to her.
“You are gorgeous,” he said, pressing a kiss to her neck. “And sexy.” Another kiss. “And no man in a million years could ever hope to deserve you.”
He ran his teeth ever so lightly over her skin, traveling to the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Felicity shivered, goosebumps popping up all over her skin. She would never get enough of this man, of that she was sure.
He came back to her lips, but just as he began to kiss her more intensely, there was a strange buzzing noise.
Felicity froze. What was that?
Damien pulled back. His pupils were blown wide with desire, his breath coming in pants. “It’s your phone,” he told her. “It did that earlier when I was in the kitchen. I figured you must have heard it, but you dozed off.”
No one really called Felicity all that often—people texted, if they needed her. And no one from the family outside of Joy had spoken to her since the pair of them had left New York and the Valdez legacy behind.
She bit her lip. She was about to climb into the lap of the sexiest man she had ever seen for a second round—this was not the time to think about her phone!
Still, she thought of the last important call she had gotten all those months before, the message: It’s Joy, she’s in the hospital, there was an accident ….
Damien’s face softened, and he kissed her lightly, motioning toward the door. “Go on, then. Check it for your peace of mind.” He grinned, a wicked glint in his eye. “It’s not as though we don’t have all night.”
It was like he had read her mind. She gave him a grateful smile and slipped out of bed, reaching for the sheet automatically. Her hand hovered over it, and then dropped to her side. She had nothing to be ashamed of here.
Damien wolf-whistled as she walked out of the room, and she burst into laughter. Maybe he was a wolf shifter. The packs came into The Witch’s Brew sometimes, but not regularly enough that she could have identified them by sight. Padding down the hallway on soft feet, she headed through the living room, back to where she had discarded her bag, clothing, and shoes. A few of Damien’s garments were strewn next to hers. They’d certainly had their priorities, she mused, as she picked up her purse and rooted around for her phone.
Three missed calls, all from Joy—when had the phone rang a third time? And three voicemails. Felicity bit her lip and dialed to hear the messages. She shouldered the phone and picked up her clothes, heading back toward Damien’s bedroom. She was in the hallway when the message started, Tania’s high voice in her ear:
“Felicity, you need to call me as soon as you get this, okay? Seriously. Joy said you’re on a date, and I’m sorry. I wouldn’t call if it weren’t important.”
She entered the bedroom, frowning. Damien sat up, watching her intently as the second message began to play. This time, Tania didn’t sound quite as calm.
“Where the fuck are you? Pick up your fucking phone, Felicity! Shit, it’s really important. Call me the moment you see this.”
Something terrible had happened. Felicity felt the certainty of it in her gut. She dropped her clothes, finding her panties and stepping into them. Across the room, Damien slid out of bed and stepped closer, his face screwed up in a frown.
“What’s going on?” he asked, his voice low in case she was still listening to the message. He reached out and touched her side, and she looked up at him, hoping that his face would calm the frantic beating of her heart.
“Not sure, Tania is being cryptic, but she sounds … upset.” Felicity brought the phone away from her ear and put it on speaker. “This is the last message she left.”
The third voicemail began to the sound of tears.
“Shit, Felicity. I don’t know what to do. I think the pixie dust we bought was cut with something else, something bad, and Joy isn’t … she won’t wake up. I’m afraid if I take her to the hospital, we’ll get arrested or something.” There was a frustrated sigh and a stifled sob. Felicity had never heard Tania sound anything less than chipper. This was bad, this was so bad. “Felicity Maria Gloriana Valdez, fucking call me back. Tell me what to do!”
It was all Felicity could do not to drop her phone.
Terror kept her stock still, but only for a second. She felt a creeping numbness slip into her bones, but it was soon washed away by a flood of adrenaline. She had to get to Joy. She had to get Joy to a hospital. She had to save her sister.
Suddenly focused, she redressed in her outfit. The thing had taken her a few minutes to shimmy into when she was getting ready for her date; now, she zipped it up haphazardly, not caring if the slinky blue fabric rode too high on her thighs. She picked up her heels. They would only slow her down if she wore them.
Damien cleared his throat.
Felicity froze. She looked up at Damien, a thousand apologies on the tip of her tongue. As soon as she saw his expression, however, they died there. He looked—angry. Why was he angry?
“I have to go,” she said, already rooting for her keys in her bag. “I don’t have any other choice. My sister needs me.”
“Valdez?” Damien replied. His tone was ice cold.
Shit, Felicity thought. This was not the time for the whole my family is the figurehead of the magical world, but I disagree with their politics and have decided to give up my claim to their legacy talk.
She sighed. “I don’t have time to tell you the whole story. I want to explain, I know I need to, but Joy—”
“So this was, what, a set up? Your family found us and sent you here to kill me?”
What was he talking about? Felicity’s head throbbed and anger flared hot in her stomach. She couldn’t tell what made her angrier—that he was acting so ridiculous when she clearly had a family emergency that needed her attention, or that he was accusing her of something insane?
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” she spat, turning toward the door to his bedroom. “My sister needs help, and I’m leaving now.”
“You expect me to believe that this is a coincidence?” Damien barked out a harsh laugh, but it sounded—wrong. Less human than before. Slowly, Felicity faced him again.
Damien looked otherworldly. His eyes had changed, gone dark with a strange, orange slit. His body heaved, his massive muscles seeming to grow, expand. He was shifting—and it was unlike any shift she’d ever seen before. No bear or wolf had those eyes.
A click sounded in his chest as he breathed raggedly.
It was almost like a—a firestarter. All the old tales had always said that when angered, dragons’ firestarters would click, and that if someone was unfortunate enough to hear it, they would soon be fried to a crisp.
But that was impossible! The last of the dragons had died twenty years ago, when her father and grandfather had had a witch ward the Dragomirs inside their house and seized control. Everyone knew the tale about the prophecy, and how her family had come to power.
Her family.
It snapped together in her head, and Felicity stared up at Damien, wide-eyed. “You can’t be. That’s—the Dragomirs are dead. They’ve been dead for a decades.”
Dead because the Valdez clan had trapped them in a bewitched building that kept them from shifting and then set it on fire. It had been brutal, yes, but effective. No one had argued with Jorge Valdez when he’d taken on the mantel of running the magical world, when he’d instituted new political policies that took power away from a central source and gave it to the people.
“Get out,” Damien rasped. He didn’t even sound like himself, his voice dropping an octave and mixed so deeply with rage.
His skin seemed to glint more and more silver in the dim light. It was fascinating, to see him shift, and for a moment, Felicity felt trapped, unable to tear herself away.
“GET OUT!” he bellowed.
Felicity didn’t need to be told a third time. She turned and ran out of the penthouse as fast as her legs could carry her, jamming the elevator button again and again until the doors slid open. She heard a hoarse roar—dampened with some sort of soundproofing, she guessed, and why was she thinking about that?—and escaped the building, panting into the cool night air.
Damien wasn’t Damien Fullerton, reclusive, sexy shifter. He was Damien Dragomir—the last of a clan that was supposed to have died many years ago.
Her chest seized at the thought. The hatred in his eyes, in his voice—had everything they’d experienced earlier in the evening been wrong? It had felt so real, so true ….
Felicity shook her head and sucked in another deep breath. Now was not the time to worry about this. She couldn’t afford to. She needed to get to her sister, figure out what was wrong. Maybe there was a healing spell, or something that could help—
She unlocked her phone, dialed quickly, and pressed it to her ear, relieved when Tania picked up on the first ring, still crying hysterically.
“Tell me where you are,” Felicity commanded, sounding far more confident than she felt.
Chapter Six
Damien
FELICITY VALDEZ. SHE’D SAID HER name was Morningstar!
Damien barely made it into his cavernous living room before the change began in earnest. He felt his bones twist and shift, breaking and reforming into something bigger, greater. Wingers sprouted just behind his shoulder blades, his skin went tough and leathery, and then scales began to sprout. After twenty years of transforming, the process was smooth, painless. One moment he was a man, and the next he was a dragon.
It felt good to be in his dragon skin. He rolled his shoulders, claws clicking against the wood floor. His vision was better in this form—everything was sharper, and dragons had more cones in their eyes, so color was more vibrant. He glanced down at his form, the dark silver of his scales glinting in the dim light cast by the lamps.
She was a Valdez.
His firestarter clicked in his chest. The heat rose up his throat, and he wanted to open his mouth, pour out his fury in a ball of flame. He barely calmed down enough for the fire to dissipate in his belly. Smoke poured out of his nostrils.
The Valdez had found them. After two decades years of hiding, of being so careful, Damien had lost his head and jeopardized his brothers over a pretty face.
Well, not just a pretty face. A beautiful face. The most beautiful face he’d ever seen. It sickened him that even now, as angry as he was, his heart still pounded faster at the thought of her. He’d never been with anyone who was so unreserved, so completely in their element around him. He didn’t know it was even possible to feel that way around another person.
Damien snarled, and the sound echoed in the room. He couldn’t think these things; he couldn’t forgive her. No doubt the apparent emergency her sister was facing was a ruse, and Felicity was off telling Jorge Valdez exactly where he could find the last heirs to the Dragomir legacy.
Shit.
Damien focused on slowing his heart rate and clearing his mind. After a moment, he felt the shift begin again. He was shrinking, his bones shortening, his wings retreating back under his skin. Then, he was once more a man, standing naked in his living room.
He ran to his bedroom, fishing around in his pants pocket for his phone. He cradled it with his shoulder as he went through his dresser drawers, pulling on the first things he could find: a pair of boxer briefs, a white T-shirt, low-slung jeans. Blayze’s phone rang and rang.
Finally, the ringing stopped. “Hey, this is Blayze.”
Relief sang in Damien’s veins. “Blayze, we’ve been—”
“Nah, just kidding,” Blazye’s voicemail continued. Damien growled at the fake out. “I’m not here. Leave a message.”
The beep sounded, and Damien started again.
“You asshole, pick up your phone. Something bad happened. I went out with this girl, and—look, I don’t know how it happened, but she’s Felicity Valdez. I didn’t recognize her, and she gave me a false last name. We’ve been made. We have to get out of here. I’m going to try Vincent and Arryn.”
Vincent’s phone went straight to voicemail, but Arryn picked up right away. Arryn was the youngest of the four of them, and the quietest. He’d never really embraced his dragon side and only shifted when he couldn’t help it, even after all this time.
“Arryn, get up. Pack. We need to move, now.”
Arryn blew out a breath and then said, “Got it.”
They hadn’t had a scare with the Valdez family in almost four years, but after two decades of hiding, all of the brothers knew to take these things seriously.
“Have you heard from Blayze or Vincent, yet?” Arryn asked. Through the line, Damien could hear his brother opening drawers and slamming them shut.
“No. We only have a few minutes, I think.”
“What happened?”
Damien felt heat kindle in his chest again. He couldn’t think about that now. It was too painful, too infuriating. “I will tell all of you when we’re not in mortal peril, all right? Call Vincent. I’ll get Blayze. Meet at the woods as soon as possible. We’re getting the hell out of here.”
It was a half hour later before all four brothers were together. Vincent had been having a quiet night in, and Blayze had been with two different girls—at once. The three of them hadn’t been happy when Damien had banged down the door, but there was nothing else he could have done. To stay was to die.
They trekked into the woods, following a path they recognized by sight and scent, more than anything else. It would lead to a clearing, a few miles outside of town, where they could shift and disappear into the night. There were sa
fe houses all over the world. The four of them hadn’t made it through the past twenty years by not having back-up plans.
“I can’t believe you were so fucking stupid,” Blayze complained. There was a growl in his voice that made him sound dangerous, like he was on the verge of shifting at any moment.
Damien kept his cool. The last thing they needed was Blayze spontaneously turning while they were still in sight of Augustus. “I told you,” he said, his voice even. “I didn’t realize who she was. I was so sure that ….”
That it had been real. That the stories were all true. That she was his—true love, as ridiculous as it now sounded. Damien stomped on a branch, satisfied when it cracked beneath his boot.
“You never thought it was a spell? She sold potions out of that stupid coffee shop!”
Throughout the years, Blayze had always been the idiot about women—the one who chased the girls he shouldn’t have, who got in trouble with their fathers. Blayze’s antics had made them move again and again. This was the first time Damien had been the root of all the trouble.
He wasn’t sure if he was annoyed because Blayze was the one lecturing him, or because Blayze was … right.
He’d been fooled. He’d walked right into a Valdez trap with his heart exposed. They’d exploited a weakness he didn’t even realize he had. He’d lived every day of his life for his brothers, for their safety, just as he’d promised he would. He’d never thought of himself as lonely, and yet ….
Luckily, Vincent stepped between them. Vincent was Arryn’s opposite—while his youngest brother had shied away from his dragon half after their parents’ murders, his second youngest brother had taken comfort in that part of himself.
Vincent spent most of his life as a dragon, and therefore he was alone more often than not. He couldn’t risk exposing their secret—that the Dragomir line lived, decades after it was supposed to have gone extinct. Not with the Valdez family still in power.
Vincent put a hand on Blayze’s shoulder. “Fighting solves nothing. You need to forgive and move on.”