“You know, pissed or not that his mate's an elf, he'd get over it eventually. Then he might be more willing to give you the map than some random elf coming in off the street. I mean the map did belong to Papa, so it's kind of yours by inheritance, isn't it?”
“I just had the same thought,” Jada admitted. “But I need to consider all of the options carefully.”
Hearing this, Karina asked, “You're not thinking about stealing it from him, are you?”
“I'd like to try,” she answered honestly. “But we both know how dangerous failure could be, and besides, I … ”
“What?”
At Karina's prompting, Jada grudgingly admitted, “I don't think I could steal from him.”
Her only saving grace in that moment was that Karina couldn't see the way her cheeks had heated. But it didn't stop her sister from prodding knowingly, “Really? Why not?”
Jada pursed her lips, unwilling to confirm Karina's suspicions that her encounter with Dalris thirty years ago had left an impression.
She wasn't afraid of the draconian or his retaliations, but there was something imposing about him, and she'd never been able to figure out what. Perhaps the thought that he'd find his mate in her was simply daunting—and the past thirty years had provided numerous opportunities to imagine the possibility.
Though she'd always been told how wrong a union with a draconian would be, she'd never fully embraced the idea. On the contrary, she'd found the prospect … curious, and the only part she couldn't figure out was whether or not she should.
What would happen if her grandfather's research was inaccurate? What if our children couldn't survive? Or even worse, if they were perfectly fine, but someone tried to kill them just because of their heritage?
Sadly, those thoughts hadn't stopped Jada from considering what it might be like to have Dalris as a mate, and okay, maybe she'd had some … meaningless fantasies. From what she recalled of him, the draconian was charming in his own way—and extremely attractive.
Of course, she was an impressionable seventeen-year-old back then, so her memory was probably colored by inexperienced youth. But his strong stature and those vivid, azure eyes were striking, not to mention his draconic accent on that deep, velvet voice—
“Jada?”
“Huh?”
“You didn't answer me.”
“Oh, sorry,” she replied, trying to recall the question. Hadn't Karina just asked why she couldn't steal the tome?
Deciding to go with that assumption, she added, “I just think it would be too much trouble.”
“You already said that,” Karina pointed out, “and now I'm getting the feeling there's something you're not saying.”
Jada grumbled, realizing her sister was digging for information, and directed, “Just help me figure out the best way to approach the guy, okay?”
Sighing in disappointment, Karina conceded by mentioning, “Okay, and I do have an idea, but it'll take a little planning … .”
CHAPTER 3
Atlantan Spire
Atlanta, Georgia
One Week Later
“Our last order of business is an announcement. Nightfall has gained another backer.”
“Who?”
“Hunter's Moon.”
“You're kidding … ?”
Ralar shook his head of fiery, ginger hair in response to his fellow draconian's questions, then cast his gaze at Dalris from across the conference room table.
“I only went along with your decision to back this new Vampire Order because I thought it would never get off the ground. But somehow, Maddox and Stephan actually convinced the lupines to give support, and they've rallied quite a number of non-factional vampires to their cause. So consider me impressed by their determination. Marginally.”
Ralar added the last on a mundane tone, but Dalris smirked anyway. His fellow draconian hailed from the House of Nefilias, and though all Houses were prideful, his was by far the least likely to admit when they were impressed.
So his confession carried weight despite his dull tone.
“As I'd said, they're not your average blood drinkers,” Dalris pointed out.
“Seems so, and if anyone's wondering how they got Hunter's Moon to back them, let's just say they actually assisted in solving a recent case of murdered lupines and helped to save a few lives. Including human lives.”
Every draconian at the table looked surprised by the news. Most vampires never saved anyone but themselves, and Dalris could only imagine the elders of Dragon's Brood gathered now felt a lot better about throwing their weight behind the new Vampire Order.
“Then I take it this means our support will be continued,” a pale blonde draconian with two black slashes across each cheek commented on a quiet tone.
“If we're all in accord,” Ralar pointed out.
None among those gathered offered any objections—much to Dalris' relief. He was unable to make promises about giving Nightfall support from the start, but there were several reasons he wanted Dragon's Brood to do so, and some were personal.
He also had an impending visit from an old friend who'd hope to hear their Order was supporting them. So when his fellow elders remained silent, he remarked, “Then it's agreed, and I think that concludes this meeting.”
At that, everyone concurred, setting a date for the next conference of elders serving Dragon's Brood before starting the process of departing one by one—except Dalris.
Instead of leaving, he remained seated and habitually accessed his digital tablet to look over the numerous appointments scheduled in the near future. Meetings with clients, family, friends, and the issues of each that needed to be solved were displayed across the screen. Payments were due, deals needed to be struck, and several jobs were waiting to be assigned.
As head of his House in Terra, the responsibility to oversee these matters fell to Dalris, just as it had for centuries—and it wasn't a job he took lightly. Knowing which sibling had the best chance of accomplishing a job successfully was a meticulous undertaking, as was discussing payments and deciding what task was worth the price being offered.
Yet, for not the first time in recent years, he couldn't get himself to fully focus on the list, and suddenly turned the tablet off before grudgingly pushing it aside.
Leaning an elbow against the arm of his chair, he took a deep breath in an attempt to forget, for just a moment, his numerous impending engagements. Dalris would never regret his duties, but if the opportunity to escape them arose, he'd take it in a heartbeat.
“Still wishing for a vacation, I see.”
The sound of his sister's voice broke through his thoughts, and Dalris turned in his chair to spy the dark haired woman approaching from the hall outside.
He wasn't surprised by her random appearance either. Victoria was at the Spire that day for a meeting with some of her spies, and he was glad for the temporary distraction, admitting with a smile, “I was wondering what it might be like, yes.”
Victoria grinned, occupying the seat next to him. “You know my offer to run things for you still stands. The only problem I have right now is that Isadora's vanished. But she's a fae, and you know how they disappear for months with no word.”
Or decades, Dalris silently qualified, recalling a particular fae who'd eluded him for three now, which soured his mood drastically.
So he pushed the memory aside and continued with their conversation.
“True. How long has she been missing.”
“About a week now. I last heard from her in Port Said.”
“Port Said? Why was she in Egypt?”
“She wanted to look into some strange cargo being transported on the S.S. Malvos,” Victoria explained. “It was a personal matter. I looked into the crew for her and learned their captain has some supernatural connections, but no record of criminal activity, so I'm not too concerned.”
Hearing this, Dalris wondered what kind of strange cargo the fae could've been looking into. But knowing Isadora, she
'd show up in another week, announce that it was nothing, and then deliver some surprising and unexpected news he'd have to organize a team to investigate.
“Dalris,” Victoria started as if she realized he'd drifted off into thought again, and when he looked up, she reminded, “you haven't told me if you'd like to get that vacation or not.”
He smirked. “I know. I suppose I'm just too much of a control addict to hand things over.”
“Uh huh,” his sister drew out blandly, suggesting his comment was an understatement. “I hate to say it, but you're running yourself ragged, and if you don't stop, people are going to start mistaking you for a divinian.”
Dalris grinned, grabbing his tablet before standing from his seat and remarking, “I suppose that means putting up with cracks about having a stick shoved up my ass.”
Victoria joined him, and as they departed the conference room, she mentioned, “Oh, they're already making those cracks.”
“Really?” he started knowingly. “And who would they be?”
“Me,” she admitted shamelessly.
Stopping at the elevator in the corridor outside, Dalris turned to face her and shook his head. “If that's the case, then I'll have to think about it. But I'd like to go over my schedule for the next week first to remind myself of what you'd need to take care of.”
“Okay, sure, and in the meantime, we'll see if you don't come across some affair you'd rather handle personally,” Victoria countered—and she was right to do so.
This was far from her first attempt at talking her eldest brother out of working so much, and if history had taught them anything, it was that the chance of Dalris coming across not one, but a number of issues he'd rather handle personally were almost guaranteed.
Still, with the way things were going, he felt as if he was more likely to relent now than ever before.
Work simply felt like more of a hassle than usual, and it wasn't that Dalris didn't understand the meaning of the words kick back and relax. He most definitely knew how he'd like to spend a vacation, where, and what activities would be most entertaining.
The problem was his inability to enjoy it.
If he took a vacation now, he knew precisely what he'd end up doing; wondering the entire time why he had no one significant to share it with, and the thought of his loneliness rankled like nothing else could. So, rather than subject himself to such torment, he buried himself in work, looking for anything that would distract him from the emptiness growing so painfully obvious in recent years.
And no amount of money, gems, or treasures could fill that void.
So, when the elevator doors opened, he told his sister, “You may be right, but I promise to call you tonight regardless.”
Victoria smiled, giving a nod that said his promise was better than nothing, and allowed the doors to close.
Yet, as the elevator started its descent, he sighed, looking for anything to put his mind on other than taking a vacation that would only leave him more stressed in the end. Sadly, he only had the tablet in his hand, leaving Dalris to watch the numbers ticking down to the appropriate floor with his frustration growing in contrast.
By the time the doors finally opened, he marched off of the elevator with a scowl, more than ready to adjourn to his temporary quarters and gather his things for the ride home.
But the moment he entered his room, his frustration took a highly unexpected kick to the balls.
Dalris came to an immediate stop just inside the doorway, finding himself staring at a figure he hadn't seen in approximately thirty years. Clad in all black from head to foot, she was lounging on the sofa with her boots propped up on the coffee table just as casually as you please.
Ana.
Dalris stared in surprise, even as he heard a low growl escaping his throat. He was already irritated, and the reminder of his failure to not only stop her escape so long ago, but also locate her before now, only escalated the sensation.
Yet he mustered enough control to prevent himself from immediately moving toward her for two reasons, the first being their location in a Spire where violence was prohibited.
Second? I'm not sure whether to throttle her, or tear that damned mask off her face.
After all these years, his longing to know what she was truly hiding beneath her concealing garb had only grown stronger. There was still no explanation as to why, but something about Ana had captured his instinctive interests, and Dalris knew those curiosities wouldn't relent without getting an answer.
Yet she didn't give him a chance to decide his next course of action, quickly holding up her hands while stating, “I know, I'm the last person you want to see.”
“On the contrary,” he returned. “After you cost my team five million dollars in pay, and after all of my failed searches, I've very much wanted to see you again. I simply would've preferred finding you outside the Spire.”
Ana paused, and Dalris couldn't be sure, but he thought she shuddered before conceding, “Okay, so I'm not the last person you want to see. But meeting you in a Spire was the only way I could safely explain things.”
He decided not to confirm her assessment because he honestly didn't know how a meeting would've gone outside of the sanctuary, even if he'd just insinuated that it wouldn't have been pleasant. But it didn't truly matter now anyway. She was here, and seemed to have a few things to say, so he waved a hand.
“Then please, continue. Tell me why you stole a fragment of rock, a scroll, and a tome from a cargo unit thirty years ago.”
Without pause, she put her boots on the floor and stood, extracting a small scroll from her belt as she walked around to the side of the coffee table where he stood.
Dalris watched her just as intently as he listened when she stated, “First, I need you to take a look at this.”
Unrolling the scroll, she laid it out before him, revealing a stone rubbing made with graphite to transfer the image of what looked like a disc onto the paper. But more interestingly, the image was that of a Great Dragon—one Dalris couldn't identify.
“What is this?” he asked insistently.
“You've never seen this dragon before, have you?”
She sounded knowing, and he confirmed her suspicions with a shake of his head.
“Then I'm assuming you know about the lost House of Rinora?”
Dalris quirked one brow up over his eye. “The Golden Dragon? Of course, every draconian knows of her.”
Nodding, she waved her hand at the scroll. “Then behold her face, taken from a disc I recently reassembled, the first piece of which was the segment I took from Antarctica.”
Dalris stared at Ana incredulously, the keen urge to argue rising—no artifact belonging to the fallen House of Rinora had ever been recovered, or at least, not one that was fully intact.
Though, if the stone she'd stolen was a part of it, then this one hadn't been intact initially either.
There was also the fact that he couldn't actually identify the dragon etched into it.
It was all in the horns. Each of the Great Dragons had a different set with a different shape. Nefilias possessed three horns on each side of his head that pointed outward like spikes, while Dra'Kai had two on each side which curled around his crown.
But none of them possessed the same as the dragon on the disc—two sets of horns that twisted into spirals behind a protective plate, making Dalris exceedingly curious.
“How did you come across this?”
“Very meticulously,” Ana started. “I had to search for the pieces, and it's taken me thirty years to find them all. This isn't the only artifact of Rinora's House I have, either. But the rest is in Ithelyon, and the reason I'm here now is that I need the map you acquired from the same cargo this segment was stored in.”
“What map?”
“It's in the tome I dropped when you tackled me. Did you ever manage to open it?”
“No. It's sealed with magic.”
Nodding, Ana stated, “The ship that cargo came from belon
ged to Morwin Tavar, an elven antiquarian. His tome possesses research on Rinora's House, and there's a map hidden within the pages with the location of a ruin that's very likely to be her temple.”
At her explanation, he raised a single brow. Dalris knew the tome was important, but that wasn't the reason he'd kept it. Instead, he'd hoped that having it in his possession would draw Ana into a trap—he'd even put it on display in his home as a lure, and made no secrets over its location.
Yet it seemed that wasn't necessary. Ana had come for the tome, she'd simply played her cards more intelligently than trying to steal it.
But no matter how little interest he had in actually owning the book, it was now a bartering chip, and he asked, “You think I'm just going to hand it over because you showed me an old disc?”
“No, actually. I didn't think you'd make this easy for me at all.”
“You're right,” he confirmed plainly, “and if you want the tome, it won't come without cost.”
Ana groaned, waving a hand. “Fine. So name your demand.”
“Demand? No,” he shook his head, risking a step toward her—and she didn't back away, allowing him to get close enough to reach out and pull the mask from her face if he wanted.
But she could react badly to such a move, and he couldn't risk an altercation in a Spire, opting to cross his arms over his chest to prevent himself from impulsively giving into temptation.
After all, if he played his own cards right, she'd remove it for him.
“I don't have one demand, Ana. I have several. First, I want you to explain everything, in detail. I also want to know what you have in Ithelyon that supports your research. Last? I want you to take off your mask.”
Her response was immediate, and given on a tart tone of voice. “Whoa, slow your drakes there, scale farmer. I can explain things, and I can tell you about some of what I've collected. But if you want my mask to come off, I'll have to give you an entirely different story, and you're not going to like it.”
He didn't doubt her claim one bit, but he also wasn't reluctant to hear it no matter how disagreeable it was, directing seriously, “Then talk.”
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