by Alisa Woods
Tajael’s easy stroll had finally brought him to her side. His gentle frown worked its way into her chest, tightening it. “You’re troubled,” he said, like this pained him. “And here I am, bearing yet more bad news.”
“What bad news?” She peered behind him, but he was alone. He wore the standard lightweight toga that mostly bared his chest but draped further to the floor—not tightly wrapped sparing clothes like she had on, so he wasn’t here to train, either. Had something happened in the House of Smoke? Her stomach felt even more hollow than it did the day before when Leksander flew away.
“Markos knows you’re here, of course.” Tajael paused, seeming to hesitate to say more.
“He knows of my, uh, disagreement with the dragon prince?” She’d not mentioned anything to Markos—he expected results, not complaints—but apparently, her mere presence in the Dominion and not out on the streets of Seattle was cause for concern.
“A disagreement?” Tajael asked, eyebrows lifting.
Erelah’s shoulders slumped. She should have said nothing. “The dragon prince is engaged in finding a mate.” Not a falsehood, as far as she knew. Leksander did pledge to work on discerning his problem, namely his hesitation in seeking a mate to fulfill his duty. But she had no first-hand knowledge he was doing anything more than sleeping off their endless demon-hunting in his lair.
“Is he?” Tajael asked. “And yet you are here.”
“Such a thing requires privacy at certain times.” She pictured the sex that dragons seemed wired to seek constantly, and she couldn’t help the squeamishness that accompanied that image. Such acts were required for the mating to occur—she knew that—but for her, those base passions led to the shadow side, and she couldn’t quite break the connection in her head. It was perfectly right and necessary for humans and dragons to procreate. And God created that driving need for the act to ensure his creatures continued to populate the earth. But for angelkind, those urges were a constant danger that needed to be fought… lest they Fall. And then there would be no serving their higher purpose of protecting humanity, much less living out the Virtues.
She was lost in her own head again.
Tajael was peering at her, curiously. “It disturbs you. To encourage a mating.” He liked to speak plainly. It was one of the things she respected about him.
She grimaced. “That’s not holding me back from my duty. I would help Leksander in any way I could. But none of my encouragements or strategies seem to find purchase with him.”
Tajael frowned. “But you are friends, are you not?”
“I believe so.” Those words conjured the image of Leksander winging away from her, and that stab of pain went through her chest again like a needle-sharp angel blade. Were they still friends? She couldn’t imagine a world in which that wasn’t true, but this treaty business trumped everything else. Perhaps it would destroy their friendship on the way to saving humanity. She couldn’t help feeling the loss of that even pre-emptively.
Tajael was stroking his chin, bare of any whiskers even though he never shaved. His angel side was strong, eliminating many of the things human men required. Like razors. “In my experience, humans may not always trust others with their affairs of the heart. But your friendship is long-standing. One would think he would trust your intent.”
“I fear it’s not my intent that’s lacking,” she said with a cringe. “But my understanding of human ways.”
Tajael nodded in a knowing fashion. “They are beautiful and noble, but complicated. Even the ones who are mixed with immortal blood are nothing like angelkind.”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Thank you. I was beginning to think I had gone mad.”
He smiled gently. “No more mad than anyone here.” He gestured to the empty training hall, but she took him to mean all of Markos’s Dominion. “Speaking of, I came to warn you. Markos is—” Tajael cut himself off as he felt the same tremor in the air that sent a shiver of delight up Erelah’s back.
Markos strode into the training hall a second later, the air humming with the power of his Virtues. He was a True Angel, the thing that all of them—every angeling in his Dominion—wished to attain, but in reality, never could. That was not a discouragement, though, because even in the seeking to perfect themselves, they were paying homage to the perfection embodied by God in angels like Markos. The Seraphim took human form whenever they were in the presence of angelings or humans or any creature lower than the Seraphim themselves, but it was just a disguise—an affectation to ease the discomfort of other beings while in the presence of so much holiness. Their true form was much like the Archangels, or even the Aeons—a pure energy, spun of magic and God’s grace, that could create the crystal palace around them with merely a thought. The Aeons never donned human form, and the Archangels only rarely did—and only when revealing themselves to humans. But the Seraphim’s duties brought them closest to humanity, including their hybrid angeling children, and they appeared human most of the time. Not that anyone would mistake them for mortal creatures.
Markos strode with an unearthly ease—no hurry, but with great power—across the crystalline floor of the training room. His toga revealed the glory of his God-made form, both larger than any normal-sized human and impossibly beautiful.
Erelah couldn’t help but be entranced in his presence.
And terrified.
For Markos wouldn’t seek her out unless he was holding her to some account.
“Erelah.” Just her name in his booming angel voice was enough to make her quail, both with excitement and dread. “Your aid in delivering the young prince of the House of Smoke has been noted.”
“Oh,” she breathed. “Yes. The princess of the House of Smoke was very brave. And my blade ran true.” She struggled not to feel the burst of pride that came from Markos’s notice. Humility was a Virtue she found easier than all the others, save her strongest in Chastity, but it was a plain fact that the young dragonling, Thorn, would not have survived without her help. And pride in rendering service to humanity was no Sin.
“Your Diligence in assisting the House of Smoke is a credit to you.”
“It is my honor to serve,” she gave the ritual reply, but she could hardly contain her joy under that praise. She dared to sneak a glance at Tajael, but inexplicably, he was frowning.
No matter. Clearly, Markos was pleased with her.
“Your service has been truly Virtuous.” Markos’s voice dropped in its intensity, gentling to a more human tone. “But Tajael will serve the House of Smoke now.”
Erelah just blinked. She heard Markos’s words, but she couldn’t believe what they were saying. “I… I don’t understand.”
“Your love for the House of Smoke has always been strong,” Markos said gently. “This is no mark against you, young angeling. But I fear your judgment is yet clouded in this critical phase of the renewal of the treaty.”
“I… but… I prevented the demon from being born! Just as you wished!” She felt hot and angry, and she knew that was wrong. So was talking back to a Seraphim. She knew all that, but she couldn’t help herself. It was so unfair.
“I know, child,” Markos said gently. Then he reached his large hand toward her head, and Erelah steeled herself for the blessing. Even so, she gasped when his palm lightly pressed her forehead and the burst of angel power—of life itself—surged into her. It lifted her up and calmed the Sin of anger, pure wrath, that was boiling inside her. She’d only been blessed twice before—once just before voyaging out of the Dominion for the first time, and once again when she returned, Virtue intact, ready to take on the burden and joy of serving humanity. This one felt both a reward for a service well-rendered and a punishing destruction of her urgent need to protest against this injustice.
After Markos removed his hand and the blessing ceased, she still felt the unfairness of being yanked from her service to the House of Smoke before she could see her mission through. But that feeling didn’t burn through her with the same dangerous and urgen
t need.
Markos nodded in approval at her more calm demeanor. “Tajael will go to them. He will explain and offer his assistance in any way. They will be well cared for, Erelah.” Then he turned to Tajael. “Let them know they may call upon me. I will suffer no interference from the fae in this crucial matter. And give them this.” Markos held out his palm. A beaming cube of light appeared hovering over it. A blessing. The cube floated out of his hand and into Tajael’s waiting palm.
“I live to serve,” Tajael said, the ritual words signaling his acceptance of the blessing and the mission.
The Sins of Envy and Wrath surged again in Erelah’s chest, but her body still hummed with Markos’s blessing, and she could contain them. Without another word, Markos turned and strode with slow, powerful steps from the training room.
Neither Tajael nor Erelah spoke until he was gone. Erelah, mostly because she had no words that weren’t bitter or angry, despite the blessing trying to tamp those down within her human side.
Tajael finally broke the silence. “I will, of course, need your advice in this matter.” A small smile was on his face.
She dashed a look to him. “But Markos said—”
Tajael arched his eyebrows. “Markos said this matter was crucial. And no one could question that—all of humanity is at stake. Which means I must draw on every available resource. And as far as I know, you are the angeling most versed in the ways of the House of Smoke.” His smile grew. “And Markos said absolutely nothing forbidding you from accompanying me.”
A surge of joy washed through her. “Tajael… if cleverness were a Virtue, God would lift you to Seraphim on the spot.”
He chuckled. “I’m rather certain cleverness is more Sin than Virtue. But I’ll concede that my plan has an almost human level of genius.”
Erelah grinned wide then impulsively threw her arms around Tajael and hugged him hard. The angel essence within them both surged in protest—given they were two angelings of the Chastity faction, neither one of them could tolerate physical contact with any of angelkind for long. Erelah dutifully released him and stepped back, but the grin remained.
“You are a true friend,” she said.
“And you are truly a badass for standing up to Markos.” But his laughter was light under the teasing. “Let us get to our mission, shall we? There is no time to waste in the saving of all humanity.” His smile was clear and bright, and all envy was banished from Erelah’s heart.
With her friend’s help, surely they would bring the House of Smoke through its final trial. How could they not, with Virtue on their side?
She gave Tajael a sharp nod, and together, they spread their wings and summoned the twisting of time and space that would bring them to the House of Smoke and the troubled prince therein who needed their help.
The Queen of the Summer Fae?
How much of a desperate fool was Leksander for even considering her bedchamber?
He’d excused himself from the ceremonial receiving of gifts for Leonidas and Rosalyn, explaining that he needed to formulate a plan for finding a mate. Then he retreated to the deep pool his brothers often used, but he seldom did. He’d spent an hour plunging to its depths buried the mountainside then soaring to the glass-enclosed heights. He’d beaten his wings and his talons against every dragon-proofed surface, including the rocky bottom of the pool, then he vented dragonfire until the entire cistern boiled. When he’d raged enough, he collapsed on the stone flagging at the edge of the pool, lying naked and staring up at the darkening twilight skies overhead.
He had never been one to brood like Lucian.
He’d never had Leonidas’s gallows humor, born of a deadly curse.
No, Leksander had always been the steadfast brother. The one who would persevere with a cool head, think through the options, and perform his duties to the best of his ability. He was the one who talked Lucian out of his suicidal despair after losing his mate. He was the one who stayed by Leonidas’s side as he dared to hope for release from his curse. But now, stuck between his own impossible desires and immutable duty, Leksander could see nothing but bleakness ahead.
Five hundred years of it.
And that was the best possible case. That was assuming he could seduce a fae queen or a willing human to fall in True Love with him and bear his child. A loveless pairing for him, but one that would extend his life.
And give him a child.
That… Leksander sat up, suddenly, water still steaming off his dragon-hot body. That was the silver lining for his silver dragon. Not simply that having the child would extend his life… but that he would be a father.
It wasn’t the kind of thing he’d ever considered before. But now that he’d held little Larik, his father’s namesake… now that he’d helped birth baby Thorn… there was a magic to those tiny beings that renewed the spirit. Every dragon in the keep felt it. Each child was a miracle, and that held a power all its own.
Leksander may not truly love the woman who would bear him a child, but there was no doubt in his mind that he’d love the child himself.
And that was enough.
He rose up, magicked away the water still clinging to his body, and conjured clothes.
In that strike of insight, he had gained a new urgency. This mating wasn’t merely about seducing a woman and saving the treaty—it was about choosing a mother for his son. A strong mother, one who could survive an immortal pregnancy. A soft-hearted mother who would love his son—and by necessity, Leksander himself. A woman brave enough to leap into an unknown future where Leksander would catch her and give her anything her heart desired.
No matter his personal feelings, any woman willing to do this—fulfill the treaty, protect humanity, risk a dangerous pregnancy for love—would be worthy of his utmost respect. He would cherish her, and the child they made together, all his days.
Maybe it wouldn’t be love. But it would be close enough.
With renewed determination, he strode through the halls toward his lair. By those measures, how did mating with a fae queen stack up? His brother was right that the child would be fantastically powerful. The treaty would renew with a conviction that would cement the Summer Court as their permanent ally and protector of humanity. If Nyssa’s demonstration in the throne room was any indication, the sex would be unparalleled—given he’d been chaste for more years than he wanted to think about, that idea alone was enough to surge up his dragon with a wanton hunger. But seducing the queen into a Love that was True?
The odds on that were long. Better than the impossibility of wringing love out of an angeling but still… not likely. That left finding a human woman in Seattle who would be strong and sweet and brave enough to endure the pregnancy. Not an easy task, but ten generations of the House of Smoke had managed it. He could as well.
He reached his lair and strode to his office. He had to rifle through his desk drawers to find his tablet, and it took another few minutes to install the WildLove app, but once he set up his profile, his enthusiasm took a sudden dip. How long had it been since he’d done anything like this? He set the tablet down and searched his memory for the last human he had bedded. Anger rumbled around his chest as every image he conjured was Erelah in some state of undress—all of which were entirely imaginary. He pushed those thoughts away. Focus, he scolded himself. But he could remember no encounters within the last century—all he could recall were his exploits as a young dragon in France, back when they were still living in the keep of his birth.
And then he remembered why.
Lucian had taken his mate in France, his first one—Cara. In a horror that haunted his brother for a hundred years, she and the baby died despite Lucian’s efforts to save them, which included his own talons tearing into the body of his beloved. The trauma was felt throughout the House, and everyone went into mourning. Back then, it was supposed that Lucian was the prototokos, and his mating was the only one which could ensure the treaty. But his brother fell into a dark despair, and Leksander had spent many night
s simply keeping watch from afar, fearing his brother might take his own life. Finally, it had been Leksander’s idea to move the keep. Leave behind the memories, he thought, and perhaps his brother could heal. Words about duty were useless to a man whose heart was irrevocably broken. So they moved… and while Leonidas made every effort to include Lucian in his endless quests to bed every woman in Seattle, Lucian fought him at every step. Leksander implored him, but it was no use, and eventually Leksander realized that only time would heal his brother’s heart… if it healed at all.
It was then that Leksander had stumbled upon an angel of light in a dark Seattle alley.
Erelah.
He growled and snatched up the tablet again. He would get nowhere if every thought led back to her. But at least he had solved the mystery of how long it had been since he’d lain with a woman. He remembered distinctly now the two times he’d attempted it—each a disaster in their own right. The first, he’d been so sex-starved that he’d barely made it ten minutes in before exploding. He remembered the disgust he’d felt. Not because he’d left his lover unsatisfied—that would never happen, not so long as he was dragon—but at the sheer emptiness of the act. He’d stormed around the keep for months before attempting it again, this time with some beautiful but hapless human he’d met in a bar with Leonidas. She was enthusiastic in bed, and they’d made a night of it, but the result was the same. A hollowness of spirit. A tarnish of the soul he couldn’t wash away no matter how many plunges in the pool or scalding showers he took.