by C C Dowling
My father lets go. I land in a heap at his feet and rub my throat.
Sparks dance across Samael’s flesh. Every muscle flexes, turning my archangel father into living stone. “Explain,” he bites out in a sharp, clipped tone.
“I don’t know how Mayz did it, but somehow, he managed to influence Dhamyan and a Called to mate. The product of that union is Dhru.” There’s no other explanation that makes sense.
I’ve spent the past twenty-five years thinking about why Dhamyan killed my brother. The conclusion my aunt Lilith, the Demon Seat, reached never sat well with me.
Mayz had left a swath of destruction in his path right before his death. He’d set up a love nest on one of the Inner Realms, and his overly arduous nature was killing the locals. My siblings thought he was being greedy. My aunts and our mother thought he was running away from his responsibilities. As the second born, an Incubus, and the eldest son of Samael, there were many.
Those weren’t the real reasons Mayz left. It wasn’t to glut on lust or shirk his duties. The deaths were just a side effect of the full awakening of my brother’s nature.
Mayz was Destined to a Siren. He’s the only Incubus—or Succubus, for that matter—to have ever found his true mate. Being bound made him a powerful threat to our father. He ran because he was scared of what Samael would do to him, because it was the only way he could be with his mate.
Mayz had told no one he’d become Destined. Not even our father. I found out by accident, the day he left. He could’ve killed me for learning the truth. He didn’t consider that option for even a moment. Mayz and I were not just full-blooded siblings, we were something closer than best friends. He was the first, I the last, to be born to our mother, Naamah. From the day I was born, we had a special bond my other siblings envied.
I swore to Mayz that I’d die protecting his secret. That if our father asked, I’d find a way to lie. Then I hugged him, told him I loved him, and never saw him again.
When the Named found out that the Council planned to send a Called after my brother, a few of my siblings tried to warn him. I had insisted I go with them, but my training wasn’t complete yet. Lilith and my mother said I’d be a liability. I didn’t want to go to fight him or to try to stop him. I wanted to protect his secret. I wanted him to know that I was on his side. Always.
By the time the Named arrived, it was too late.
No one really knew why the Dharkstars were personally involved, or why Dhamyan was with the Called sent to stop Mayz in the first place. Lilith figured it had to do with Mayz commandeering some of Dhamyan’s Inner Realm business ventures. The only thing we were sure of is that Dhamyan killed him.
I’ve let my family believe a dragon murdered one of our own over money because the truth would’ve been far more horrible for them. Mayz’s love of a Siren was a betrayal. That’s how my aunts and mother would’ve seen it. Our father, too. The Council would’ve seen it, and us, as abominations, and tried to destroy us all.
I’m now convinced that Dhamyan killed Mayz because of Dhru. I think my brother orchestrated her creation to prove a point. He wanted to show the Called that blindly judging others based on the Council’s misguided rules isn’t right. He wanted to knock down the ego of an overindulgent, selfish, self-centered dragon that, until Dhru, put other dragons to shame. He wanted to prove that Dharklings and Lightlings could complete one another. Could love one another. My brother always believed that telling people who they can love is wrong. Who he was Destined to proved him a champion to that cause. A cause that killed him.
I wish my brother were alive to see the fruition of his plan. Dhru is Destined to a Called. The brutal truth is that I wish it were me. I wonder if my brother knew that would happen when he Seduced Dhamyan and the Called to mate. Or is it just that karma is as much of a bitch as Dhru?
“I’ll be damned,” my father says, jolting me back into the moment.
Before I can react or say anything, Samael, archangel of Death and Seduction, laughs. Fucking laughs. The sound shatters against me, breaking something deep inside. I don’t know what my father has planned for Dhru. Whatever it is, I’m genuinely terrified for her. There’s nothing kind and forgiving about my father. About any of the angels.
Lifting me to my feet, my father hugs me into his massive form and kisses the top of my head. My body wants so badly to melt into him. To covet his rare, affectionate touches. Instead, I plant my palms against his chest and push him away.
“W-What are you going to do to her?”
My father glares at me. At the distance I put between us. His annoyance is almost too quick to notice. I do, though. I notice everything about him.
He sets me on my feet and lets go. I miss his touch already, but there’s something I crave more, no matter how much I fight it. How much I hate it.
“Daughter.” Samael’s ethereal white wings unfurl from his back like a slow strip tease. “I’m going to use her to start a goddamn war.”
“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” The crowd chants and cheers as I gulp down a ridiculously smooth bottle of top shelf peach vodka. It’s the third bottle I’ve put away in the past thirty minutes, and I’m finally starting to relax.
After the most incredible orgasm and then fuck-up of my life, this is just what I need to continue my well-worn pattern of avoidance and overindulgence. Basic dragon genetics, according to everyone else. And if people are going to keep cramming that fact up my ass, then I’m going to live like one, full-out.
I polish off the bottle and toss it to the DJ. Standing on the table next to his mixing equipment, I throw my hands in the air and let out a roar. The crowd joins me. I fucking love this nightclub.
“Let’s hear it again for the birthday girl!” the DJ says into his mic before dropping some fat beats.
I jump off the table into waiting hands. The humans around me can’t stop touching me, probably due to the lingering energy exchange between me and a Succubus. Whatever. It’s fine as hell with me. The more laid I get tonight, the merrier. A set of lips find mine. Then another. I kiss them, but they don’t excite me like Creed does. Or Harlo, for that matter. Fuck them both. They aren’t here.
Oh, god. I need more drugs.
“Wanna do another line?” a voice whispers in my ear. Just like that, my prayers are answered.
“Fuck. Yes.” I turn to the yuppie couple, all blond hair, white grins, and expensive-ass clothes. Both of them are glassy-eyed and high as kites. “But can I do it off her tits?” I nod to the tall, dark-skinned beauty standing next to them.
The three of them nod. I’m definitely taking them to the corner after this to fuck the shit out of them, diseases and consequences be damned. I don’t even know if I can catch a human STD. Guess tonight, I’ll find out.
Preppy Dude pulls out a little bag full of fluffy white. A growl rumbles in my chest as the tall chick pulls some out with her manicured pinky nail and puts it on the swell of her breasts. I think I actually salivate before I bring my nose to her skin. I snort, then lick away the residue. My eyes roll back in my head as the shit hits my brain. I know the high is temporary, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it right the fuck now. Live in the moment, everyone’s always saying. Carpe diem and shit.
“Come with us.” The preppy blonde pulls on my arm as the threesome leads me toward the back, near the bathrooms.
Through the flickering lights, it’s clear the other club goers are enjoying the exclusive privacy and privilege of the VIP section. Bodies writhe and grind on one another. Mouths open in orgasmic ohs. Hands slip beneath skirts. Legs part. Hips meet. Pleasure abounds.
Part of me wants to watch while I push both girls between my thighs and make dude stroke his dick in front of me.
Shit. That thought should have me soaked. But I don’t even feel a twinge until I include Harlo and Creed in the fantasy.
Fuck. Fuck! This is bullshit.
“She’s not going anywhere with you.” Creed’s deep, low rumbling voice kicks up my spine in the mo
st deliciously terrifying way. He’s way beyond pissed, which turns me the hell on.
“Yes, she is,” the blond guy says, stepping toward us. Wrong move, idiot.
For a second, I think Creed’s going to lay this dude out. But my badass Called warrior only has to level a glare at the guy before the three of them move on without me.
Great. Now my panties are soaked.
Before I can be disappointed by the lost opportunity to have my Destined in a fivesome, Creed rounds on me. I tense my muscles and brace for the ass chewing of my life.
Creed’s lips crash against mine. His hands explore me . . . everywhere. Holy fuck me. This isn’t at all what I expected.
My body responds by wrapping around his and I kiss him like my life depends on my tongue finding the back of his throat. His guttural moan has my head spinning, need driving a pulsing rhythm between my legs. I rut against him, moving my hips to rub my center over his pants, along his hard-ass cock.
“I missed you, too,” I mutter into his mouth as I slip my hand between us to stroke his length.
“I can scent your arousal,” he grumbles into my ear before he bites, then licks it, pushing harder against my hand. “It’s making me fucking crazy. You make me fucking crazy.” He skims a hand up my side, fingering the cutout holes in my dress, then kisses me again. Fierce, but short. “This isn’t the time or place for crazy. You still have enemies looking for you. You aren’t safe.”
Total buzzkill.
I remove my hand from his hard-as-shit dick and suck in a deep breath. I so want to jump him, safety be damned.
Trying to focus on something other than the naughty thoughts playing like a porn film in my mind, I ask, “How did you find me?” It’s a legit question. Sure, I’ve been the birthday girl center of attention for the past hour, but still. This is Vegas. I could’ve been partying anywhere.
Creed’s eyebrows draw together in a look of confusion. “We’re Destined, Dhru. You house the other half of my soul.” He palms my cheek. “I’ll always find you.”
Damn. When he puts it that way, it’s all kinds of sexy. A little Big Brother, creepy stalker. But mostly sexy. Plus, I really need to learn how this Destined shit works. What else can our souls do together?
“Where’s the Named?” he asks, scanning the club for Harlo.
I wince like he just punched me in the teeth. Creed’s eyes narrow as he stares at me. There’s definitely no way he didn’t notice my reaction.
“I . . . uh, she’s gone.”
“Gone?” His tone is harsh. Sharp. “You let her go? It was dangerous and stupid enough that you took her in the first place. She’s an assassin, Dhru. Sent to kill you.”
“Well, she didn’t,” I say, as an angry flush rises in my cheeks. Not yet, anyway.
Fuck. Why am I defending her to Creed? I hurt her. She left. She’s gone, and she isn’t coming back.
Should that truth hurt so much when I’m Destined to someone else?
Creed pushes his forehead against mine. His chest heaves. His fists clench. “There’s so much you don’t know about our world.” His dark eyes flash silver. “So much you don’t understand. The Named have a decades’ old feud with the Dharkstars. No matter what she did on the rooftop at Nightingale’s, Charlotte Storm isn’t your ally.”
Hearing Harlo’s name on Creed’s lips sends a strange warmth through my chest. The other name he said scorches those same insides, reminding me why I left Creed in the first place.
“We have to get back to Lyra.” He laces my fingers in his and tugs. “Despite what you did earlier, she’s still willing to help you.”
What I did? Help me?
Something inside me snaps. He did not just fucking say that to me.
“Fuck her. And fuck you, too. You go back to Lyra, since you prefer her so goddamn much. I think I’ll stay here and get fucked up some more, then finish what you so rudely interrupted.”
I’m bluffing. Not about staying here, but about fucking the threesome now in the corner doing their own thing. With Creed standing so close, my body got a major reminder of what it’s like to be in absolute euphoria. I won’t find that with anyone else. That doesn’t mean I can’t try to get high and drunk as shit, though. Uh, more high and drunk as shit.
Before Creed can open his mouth to argue, or apologize—which he should be fucking doing—gunshots ring out, overpowering the music. The club goes quiet, then detonates into panicked chaos. Bodies scramble toward the ropes and stairs separating the VIP section from the rest of the club. Creed pushes me against a nearby wall as the human herd tramples each other to get out the door.
Caging me behind his back, Creed scans the club. The VIP section is on the balcony, overlooking the main floor. Thankfully, someone hit the house lights before they abandoned ship. God. A nightclub should never been seen in the light of day. Or the light of fluorescence.
The ugly, blue-gray paint on the walls is dull. Trash litters the floor, along with liquid sludge. The bang of metal brings my attention to the front doors as the last of the humans dash out. What I don’t see are gunmen.
“Why aren’t we leaving?” I whisper to Creed.
His head darts in fifty different directions as he calls the metal in his skin to form his weapon—the double-headed axe with a spike on top.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, instead of answering my question.
“With my life,” I answer without hesitation, even though I’m pissed as hell at him.
The corner of his lips quirk up. “I need you to follow my lead. No questions asked. Got it?”
“Hi. I’m Dhru,” I say, like we’re meeting for the first time. “Dharkstar dragon extraordinaire. Maybe we haven’t properly met. I don’t tend to blindly follow rules and commands. Or follow them at all, actually.”
Creed does this laugh/growl thing. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused. Probably both. “Dhru.” He barks out my name.
Fine. My Called means business. I’ll play along for now.
“Okay. Got it. Now will you tell me why we’re not leaving?”
“We’re surrounded.” He sniffs the air. I do the same. Something like lightning coats my tongue and throat, which is confusing as hell. “Two at the front.” He nods his head at the main entrance. “One in the back.” He lowers his chin toward the back door.
“Surrounded by what?” I ask, not that it matters. I’m not about to fight. I have other plans.
“Power angels.” He grits out the words. “Archangel Michael’s minions.”
I groan. That’s the same type of asshole who tried to kill me back at Nightingale’s. The one Harlo, Creed, and I dealt with. He was a hard son of a bitch to kill. What’s with angels and their hate hard-on for me?
Now there’s three of those fuckers. Sure, Creed is one badass motherfucking Called. But he’s my Called. Even though I’m angry about the bullshit with Lyra, that doesn’t mean I want him to die. I’ve fucked up other people’s lives enough. Time to start taking responsibility for myself.
“Well, fuck them,” I say, and wrap my arm around Creed’s waist. Picturing the alleyway back at Nightingale’s, I step through whatever ability allows me to teleport. Lyra might be a man-stealing bitch, but if Creed thinks we’ll be safe there, then I trust him.
Nothing happens.
Well, not nothing. The angels enter the club and make their way to the VIP section. The one I presume is the leader—a giant fucking dude with long-ass white hair, mountains for muscles, and a tattoo obscuring the lines of his face—draws his sword and chuckles.
“Going somewhere?” Dick says, but he looks at Creed when he says it, not me.
I narrow my eyes at him. I’m so going to fuck him up, as soon as Creed stops pressing me against this wall.
“I can’t teleport,” I mutter into Creed’s ear.
“They cast an energy net over the entire place,” he says.
Fuck. Does that mean they know what I am?
“Standard procedure,” he adds, as if an
swering my question. “Keeps humans out. Keeps Fae in. If we want to leave, we have to go through them.”
I definitely want to leave. As much as I feel I could go to Hell for killing an angel, if they stand in my way, I’ll make a designer pillow and down comforter out of their feathered wings.
“Called,” says the female angel with flaming red hair and sunset-yellow skin more golden-brown than mine. “We’ll take the dragon from here. You’ve been relieved of duty. Report back to the Council for debriefing and your next assignment.”
They want to take me, not kill me, and they want Creed to report back. That must mean that they don’t know what I am, or that Creed and I are Destined, and have broken just about every goddamn rule.
I mean, do they not understand Dharkstar dragons at all?
“On whose authority?” Creed asks. His eyes dart between the three Powers. His stance shifts. He grips his weapon tighter.
“The highest,” Dick says, and if that isn’t his real name, it should be.
“I don’t answer to the Celestial Throne, or the Angelic Authority,” Creed says. “I am a servant of the Queen of the Undying Lands first, the Council second. I’m on this assignment at her command. Only at her command will I be relieved.”
Her command? Why would the Queen of the Undying Lands order Creed to help my father, who is not only a Dharkling, but apparently something worse—a dragon?
The third Power, who looks a lot like Dick, only smaller, jumps up to the balcony to join the others. He draws his sword and glares at Creed like he’s going to do something stupid. I give him my best come-and-get-it-fucker look.
The girl angel shakes her head. The boys back down. I take back the sexist thought I had earlier. Chick is definitely in charge.
“I’m sure we can resolve this peacefully,” says Redhead. “We’re all Lightlings here, except for her.” She juts her chin at me. Wrong, bitch. “We’re on the same side.” Wrong again. “I’m sure we can reach some sort of agreement. Karo. Layet. Put down your swords.”