by Lola Gabriel
“I never fucked you over, not for one bit, Mira. You know that this was all just for fun. We agreed to that,” he pointed out nonchalantly. “No strings-attached sex, no emotions, and definitely no relationships.”
“No, you agreed to it,” Mira argued.
Dax simply sipped his coffee. “This conversation is getting tedious. Again.”
“Of course it is. Anything that requires actual talking or feelings is tedious to you, Dax.” Mira moved towards the front door. “Don’t try to call me again if you’re lonely and horny.”
“Bye, Mira,” Dax added flatly, inhaling the aroma of his coffee.
“You will regret this,” Mira warned him before she stomped out of his apartment.
“I already am,” he mumbled to himself.
Dax didn’t feel a single shred of guilt when the door slammed behind him, and he continued drinking his coffee, staring out at the Vancouver skyline as the morning began.
All around him, people were rushing to start their day, to get to work on time, to drop their kids of at school, but not Dax. He had more of a leisurely lifestyle.
After he had received his royal inheritance from his father, Dax figured that he deserved a life he wanted. He invested in land and property, but most of all, he invested in himself. Although that might sound selfish, the only person he could rely on was himself, and it had been proved time and time again over the last fifty centuries.
Once he had escaped the gruesome scene of their palace in Lunca in ruins and smoke-filled skies, Dax, along with his three brothers and his parents, went into hiding, as Rhaena the Wicked wished them dead. Although the wicked sorceress perished at the hands of the Queen, the Witches’ Council would soon send another to finish what Rhaena only managed to start.
There had been a few to date, but for the most part, the Royal Dragons lived a peaceful existence after journeying to America. Of course, they didn’t stay together for very long and scattered to the four corners of the Earth, settling into their new lives.
Dax closed his eyes as he remembered how powerful they used to be when they were together, and perhaps that was the main reason the others decided to leave. Their combined strength was both intimidating and frightening at the same time.
Maybe it was all better that way, them being apart. No good ever came of them being together: endless arguments, the power struggles, not even to mention the fiery debates.
In 1666, Dax’s two older brothers’ argument got so heated, it caused a great fire in Central London, which was still remembered to this day. Dax couldn’t even remember what the fight was about, only that he was rushed out of their home and had to disappear into the sewers.
Such a glamorous life we lead, he scoffed to himself and turned away.
The sound of his phone ringing pierced through the silence, and he quickly answered it. “Good morning, Father.”
“Indeed it is, Daxard.”
Dax’s jaw clenched at the mention of his full name, older than the world itself, but his father, being even older than that, still insisted on calling him that.
“I am not interrupting you, am I?” his father inquired, with a trace of sardonicism in his tone.
“Not at all, Father,” Dax replied. “I have been awake for hours. You know I don’t sleep much.”
“You certainly don’t need to remind me of your nocturnal activities, Daxard,” his father muttered in disapproval.
“Is there a specific reason for your call, Father, or did you just want to ruin a perfectly good day for me?”
“There is a reason for everything I do. You should know that, Daxard.”
No matter how much Dax wanted to growl, “Stop fucking calling me Daxard,” he knew it would be futile, as his request would be either ignored or simply discarded as unreasonable. His father was equally stubborn and powerful, as well as very set in his ways—which was quite understandable, since he was over eight thousand years old—so the chances of him actually granting Dax’s request were very, very slim.
“There is something important I need to discuss with you. I have made reservations for us at Helton in an hour. I will send a car round to pick you up.”
“No, that’s fine. I’ll meet you there,” Dax interjected quickly. The last thing he wanted was to sit in awkward silence in his father’s car. He could practically feel his wings being clipped, and he shrugged off the feeling.
It was no secret that Dax was the most rebellious of his brothers, and he had no regard for anyone else’s opinion of him or his actions. He was aloof, reckless, and did things to please himself.
Why not, though? He was a Dragon Prince, with the world at his feet, and he wasn’t going to allow anyone to tell him what to do. Not even his father, Arlo Veskovic, the Dragon King.
After a brief shower, Dax, dressed in a stylish pair of grey pants and a crisp white shirt, opened the front door of his apartment. He took the elevator down to the basement, where the parking garage for the building was situated. Only a few cars were still parked there, scattered like leaves blowing in the cold Vancouver air.
A strange chill ran down the back of his neck, and he quickly scanned the area around him. Those brief moments of cold had started to happen more often lately, and Dax wasn’t quite sure why, but being the aloof rolling stone he was, it didn’t bother him for long. His footsteps echoed through the almost empty parking garage, and for some inexplicable reason, his heart raced, drumming in his ears. It was a strange feeling, so intense that it made him stop abruptly in his tracks, and he whirled, looking around him once again. He shook off his idiotic thoughts of possibly being followed and made his way across the garage.
His steps were casual as he strode to his shiny black Lamborghini that stood before him. Dax climbed inside in a smooth and suave motion, and the engine roared to life. Dax sped off the ramp of the parking garage and into the streets of Vancouver. Rush hour had passed, much to his relief, and it only took him fifteen minutes to reach the restaurant.
He noticed women pass him by as he climbed out of his car, and he gave them each a not-so-subtle wink. He was no stranger to women falling at his feet, or in his bed, but his confidence was the one thing which attracted them. And his car, and his money. And his voice.
Dax had been blessed with a deep baritone voice, which could be as smooth as velvet or as destructive as a tsunami. Either way, it had a massive effect on people. The Dragon King had suggested on more than one occasion that Dax should join his business, as he could easily manipulate people into doing what he wanted, but the whole idea of working for his father wasn’t very appealing to Dax. He’d much rather lounge around his penthouse apartment, speed around in his Lamborghini, pick up random busty women in bars, and fuck them senseless in any other location.
Dax allowed the women at his penthouse yet cleverly manipulated their memories so that they either forgot where he lived or the whole encounter entirely. Like a bad hangover, he made their memories bright enough only to remember it was the best sex they had ever had. All the other details were fuzzy and ultimately lost.
Except for Mira.
Mira Kravets had been a part of Dax’s life ever since he was a young boy living in Romania. Of course, given the nature of his situation, he couldn’t stay in one place for too long, or the humans might get suspicious of him. Mira had the same problem, being a dragon herself, and even though Dax had asked her not to follow him around, at the risk of being exposed, she had.
Even as he entered the restaurant, he still did not feel an inkling of remorse that she had left his apartment in such an angered state earlier.
The high ceilings of Helton impressed Dax every single time he was there, and since it was his father’s preferred place to meet, he had grown accustomed to it.
Arlo Veskovic was seated at his usual table, and his mere posture commanded respect and authority. The hostess and servers were rushing around, trying to please his every order and whim, and Dax found it a little pathetic. It was probably because he had never
succumbed to the authority of his father.
Dax was, like it would be referred to in their family grimoire, “as elusive as water,” uncontrollable and overpowering, yet gentle and mesmerizing. He was a Water Dragon, with blue scales to match his piercing blue eyes. He had a knack for figuring people out within a few moments of meeting them and was a master manipulator of feelings, except Mira.
Mira…
His thoughts were interrupted by Arlo’s exaggerated hand gesture, motioning him over to the table.
“You’re late,” his father grumbled. “As per usual.”
“I have a reputation to uphold, you know,” Dax said with a wink, unfazed by his father’s disapproving brown eyes, and he sat down opposite him. “How are you, Father?”
“Do you really want to know?” his father inquired, his Romanian accent still hinting with certain words.
“Sure, why not?” Dax shrugged.
“Business is going well. My associate—”
“No, that’s not what I asked,” Dax interjected.
His father intertwined his fingers and narrowed his eyes at his youngest son. “I see. I am well.”
“And?”
“Your mother’s absence is affecting me a little more than I anticipated,” his father admitted.
“Okay,” Dax said, feeling satisfied that his father had finally come forward with it. He had been a grouchy, grumpy old man—more so than usual—for the past two weeks, and he was finally owning up to it. “When does she get back?”
Dax didn’t dare to gloat in his father’s face. Although he desperately wanted to, now was not the time. His father, even through his iron clad façade, missed his mother.
“Next week.”
“Nyx must be thrilled to have her there with him,” Dax chuckled, “especially for that long.”
“He seems to be enjoying it. Nyxon has always been a bit of a… what do you always call him?”
“A momma’s boy,” Dax pointed out nonchalantly as he studied the menu.
“Daxard,” his father sighed. Dax turned his attention to him. “There is something I want to talk to you about.”
“Okay.” Dax lowered the menu and raised an eyebrow, waiting for his father to carry on talking.
“As you might be aware, every year, I host a ball for the Immortal Elite—”
“Oh, no. Is it that time of the year already?” Dax interrupted with a sigh.
“Indeed it is, and this year, I felt like doing something different. I want it to be a charity ball,” his father stated.
“A charity ball?” Dax asked with a light chuckle. “Are you serious?”
“There are many Immortal charities around the world. One right here in Vancouver,” the Dragon King said with a nod. “Immortal orphans who have no one, their families wiped out in the most terrible ways imaginable.”
“What made you decide this?” Dax asked.
“I had a dream a few nights ago. We were back in Baia, while the war had been in full force. When food was scarce and a place to sleep safely was even more so. It was a tragic time in our lives, and that of Romania. It reminded me how far we had come. We rose from the ashes, and look where we are now. We have so much to be thankful for, Daxard.”
There was a moment’s pause before Dax scoffed and shook his head. “You are being rather dramatic, Father.”
“It is the truth.”
“And why exactly did you want to talk to me about it?”
“I want you to plan the event.”
Dax laughed bitterly and stared at his father, realizing that he was not joking. “What on Earth do I know about planning an event like that?”
“Nothing, but I know how you are and what you are capable of,” his father said and handed him a file which had been concealed under the table until that very moment. “Here is the guest list and everything you need to know about what I expect. There is also a file with information of the beneficiary of the charity ball.”
Dax frowned as he took the file from his father and opened it. “New Horizons?”
The Dragon King interweaved his fingers once again, staying completely silent.
“I’ve never heard of them,” Dax said, closing the file.
“I have had quite a few lunches with their owner. She is lovely, a true and pure heart,” Arlo countered. “I have arranged a meeting with her for tomorrow. You and she will work closely together to make this charity ball a successful evening.”
Dax glanced wordlessly at his father, knowing there was nothing he could possibly say that would change his mind. It had already been written in stone, and there was no way out of it.
“Fine. Is she Gifted as well, considering the non-profit is for Gifted orphans?”
Arlo’s elusive and vague answers made Dax question his father’s motives. “Why me? Why can’t you hire a handful of your loyal minions to do this for you?”
“Because they already know that it takes all kinds of people to make the world go round. You, on the other hand, are a reckless and irresponsible young man who needs to be introduced to a different group of people. People who don’t take things for granted and treat other people like shit,” his father replied.
“Wow, don’t sugarcoat it, Father,” Dax scoffed.
“You and I both know it’s true.”
Dax glanced down at the file on the table, and his jaw clenched. He had to hand it to his father; the Dragon King wasn’t a Water Dragon, but he sure knew how to control his sons.
2
Not even the gentle tapping of her fingers on the steering wheel, nor the soothing piano music playing on her radio could ease Becca Dillon’s tension. Her dark eyebrows were pushed together, and her blue-lavender eyes flashed in irritation. If anyone had told her that Blue Mondays did not exist, she’d probably run them over right there on the spot. Of course she would, if she wasn’t stuck in rush-hour traffic.
Becca wasn’t someone who believed in bad luck, but this morning, she would most certainly change her tune. Everything that could possibly go wrong, had.
The morning started with her alarm clock not going off. She woke up an hour later and had to rush to shower and get dressed. Of course, she spilled toothpaste on her favorite black sweater. Then she hit her head against the closet door—more than once—and when she finally got into her blue Toyota, she was stuck in gridlock traffic. The cars weren’t moving at all, and she was already an hour late for work. Luckily, she didn’t have a boss to answer to, since she was the boss, but she didn’t like being late. She didn’t want people to think that she was lazy or that she was taking advantage of the situation, although she knew the men and women who worked alongside her would never think such a thing.
She twirled a dark brown lock of hair around her index finger and sighed miserably.
“What have I done to deserve this?” she muttered to herself.
Becca scowled at the file on the passenger seat beside her and pursed her lips. She had forgotten the file in her case on purpose last night when she had arrived at her apartment, as she didn’t possess the mental strength to go through it. It was a file that one of her social services friends had given her regarding her family.
Becca had been an orphan for a long time. Her parents had died in a territorial conflict when she was just a little kid, and she barely remembered them at all. At times, she would have dreams about them, their presence, but she never knew their names, or their faces. She had always been curious as to who they were, but she had never found anyone who knew anything. She had no siblings or family that she knew of, so it was difficult for her to find any information on her parents.
She didn’t remember much from her childhood, but she knew she struggled. In fact, most of her life had been a struggle. She recalled the tough times she had faced while living on the streets, under bridges, barely having enough food to keep her sustained. How she had to resort to stealing and extorting others to ensure her survival. She remembered the nights she had laid in the freezing cold, wishing she was
dead, and the days where she had a knife against her throat held by people she thought had her back.
But she also remembered how she had persevered, how she had risen above her circumstances and became the person she was now.
She was the owner of a non-profit organization for orphaned immortals. Those kids and teenagers shared the same experiences as she did—though she would never wish anyone to have the dismal existence she’d once had—and she was willing to do everything in her power to make their lives better.
Becca was proud to say that three thousand years of hardship hadn’t broken her. They had made her strong, invincible, and humble. She lived in a one-bedroom apartment, she drove an old Toyota, and it didn’t bother her. She was happy.
Until she was handed the file which now lay, still unopened, on the passenger seat of her car.
She shrugged her shoulders, wishing she could morph into her dragon self and just fly away, but she couldn’t. She’d probably be shot down even before she reached the top of the Shaw Tower.
Becca was no stranger to the prejudices of the humans; it certainly came with the territory of living amongst them.
As a member of the Gifted, as the immortals, shifters, and sorcerers referred to themselves, they knew how the humans felt about them. They kept their true selves and their true forms a secret from them. In the past, there had been a few incidents where Gifted individuals made themselves known to the humans. Unfortunately, things had not ended well for them. The Gifted were captured, studied, and ultimately murdered out of fear and ignorance.
“I hate humans,” Becca muttered, surprised that she would utter words of such a hateful nature, even if it was just to herself.
When she eventually reached the office, the receptionist, Wanda, eyed her with worry. “Morning, Becca. Are you okay?”
Wanda was a middle-aged woman with greying hair and a warm and welcoming smile. She was the closest thing to a grandmother Becca had ever known, and Wanda played that part very well. She was kind and gentle, and she treated Becca as if she was her own grandchild.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Becca answered with a nod, and she slung her bag over her shoulder. “I had the worst morning.” Wanda glanced at her expectantly, but Becca simply scoffed. “Trust me, you don’t want to know. Did I miss anything?”