Dragon's Fire: A Reverse Harem Romance Page 4

  People associate blood magic with the Dark Arts, but they’re wrong. Blood isn’t good or bad—it just is. It is the intent of the Mage that infuses the magic, rendering it light or dark.

  Gideon wants to kill all the dragons, every last one of us.

  I just want to kill him.

  The Eclipse Pack Alpha owes us a favor. What was his name? Lukus Hyde. I pull out my phone and call my assistant, asking Leo to find Hyde’s number for me. Rhys watches curiously as I dial Hyde’s phone.

  He picks up on the first ring. “My name is Mateo Valentini,” I growl.

  He recognizes the name instantly. There’s only five of us, after all. The last remaining Dragon Princes, the surviving members of the ancient Council of Thirteen. “My Lord,” he says, his voice betraying his nervousness. “How may I help you?”

  “A wolf shifter entered a Norm bar called Cellar tonight,” I reply. “This is your territory. I want to know who this man is.”

  “Has this man committed a crime, Lord Valentini? Wolf shifters are answerable to pack justice. I won’t surrender one of my pack to you.”

  Rhys shakes his head. Are you trying to start a magical war? He mouths.

  Damn it. Stupid fucking shifter politics.

  “He might have threatened someone under my protection.” My knuckles clench white as I force my voice to stay calm. “I will not harm him, but I need a name.”

  “It will be done, my Lord.”

  Rhys starts to laugh as I hang up. “Well,” he says cheerfully. “I’m happy to say that’s the dumbest thing you’ve done in at least a hundred years.”

  Once again, he’s right. Something is seriously wrong if Rhys Griffith is acting like the more sensible dragon.

  8

  Aria

  I catch a cab, spending money I don’t have. As it races up 8th Ave and across West 57th, the cabbie driving far faster than the speed limit in response to the urgency on my face, I text Bea.

  Heading home. You looked cozy with Jesse, didn’t want to interrupt. Let me know how it goes!!

  I force enthusiasm I don’t feel, hoping Bea will be distracted enough that she won’t wonder why I bailed early. Of course, she’ll probably think I left with either Rhys or Mateo.

  Arriving at the too-bright hospital, I rush up to the receptionist. “My father was brought in here?” I demand. “Silas Archer?”

  The woman behind the counter looks up suspiciously. “You’re Norm,” she says. “Silas Archer is a wolf shifter.”

  She’s some kind of small animal. Rabbit, if I had to guess. They’re always excessively concerned about the rules and are paranoid about annoying anyone higher up on the food chain.

  “So? Shifters give birth to Norms. It happens.” I stare at her icily, and she drops her gaze, her nose twitching nervously. Definitely a rabbit. I’d feel bad about lying to her, but right now, I’m freaking out about Silas. I must see him.

  “He was brought into the ER an hour ago,” she says meekly. “He’s on the fourth floor. Room 403.”

  “Thanks.” The elevator is too slow. I take the stairs, three at a time, guilt surging through me. I shouldn’t have gone out with Bea tonight. Silas had been slow to get out of bed this morning. I should have been home, taking care of him. Not drinking pink cocktails and making out with two hot guys.

  I’m sorry, Silas. Please don’t die.

  I’m not good at crying. Living on the streets, you learn to suppress your emotions, because feelings are weakness, and everyone around you is waiting to prey on you. It’s been a long time since I was homeless, but those life lessons aren’t easily forgotten.

  My eyes are dry as I hurry to Silas’ side. Nurse Rabbit didn’t tell me what was wrong with him, and I fear the worst, and my throat seems to close with panic. Silas is all I have. My only family. I can’t lose him.

  A middle-aged female doctor is standing next to Silas’ bed, reading his chart. She looks up as I rush in. “I’m Aria Archer,” I gasp. “Silas’ daughter. How is he? What happened?”

  She’s shifter too, but unlike Nurse Rabbit, she’s not fussed that I’m Norm. Or maybe she’s just focused on the important things. “He had a severe seizure,” she says. “His neighbor found him and called 911.”

  “He has TTP.”

  She nods. “Yes.” She looks up at me, her face sympathetic. “He’s going to be okay today, but his condition is worsening. I see on his chart that he’s doing one plasma infusion a month, but he needs more. We’re going to have to increase the frequency of the exchanges.”

  Fifteen thousand dollars every time Silas gets a plasma exchange.

  I put my hand on Silas’ arm. His eyes are closed, and his breathing is labored. For the first time, I notice the wrinkles on his face, the grey in his beard and his hair. Silas has always been a larger-than-life figure to me. Laughing, indomitable, utterly fearless.

  Now he’s dying.

  “Whatever he needs.” I force the words out through numb lips.

  “We’re going to keep him under observation tonight,” she continues. “We’ll do a plasma exchange tomorrow.” She pats my shoulder. “We’re going to take care of him.”

  Until the hospital realizes that we can’t pay our bills.

  I sit at Silas’ bedside for a very long time, watching him sleep. I don’t have time to ponder the best way forward. All my options have fallen away, and there’s really only one path ahead. It’s not a hard decision to make.

  At six in the morning, I fish the now-crumpled business card out of my pocket, leave Silas’ room to find a payphone, and dial the embossed number.

  No more ethical dilemmas. If I have to break my promise to save Silas’ life, so be it.

  It’s early, and I’m expecting the call to go straight to voicemail, but the phone only rings once before someone picks it up. “Aria Archer.” The man on the other end sounds satisfied. “I expected to hear from you this morning.”

  “You want to hire me for a job,” I say bluntly. Tall, Dark, and Deadly had said his boss would be willing to pay for Silas’ treatments. How much money can I get? How much leverage do I have?

  “Straight to the point. I like that.”

  I don’t care what this guy likes or dislikes. All I care is that he drops money into my bank account. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Not over the phone. Meet me at the Central Park Carousel in fifteen minutes.”

  A trickle of unease rolls down my spine. This feels like trouble. Every instinct in my body is screaming at me to stay away. “I can’t get there that quickly,” I protest.

  “Of course you can, Aria,” he replies. “You’re at Preston Memorial right now, gazing down at Papa Wolf’s face. Room 403, if my sources are right, and they usually are. Google tells me it’s a seventeen-minute walk, but I’m sure you’ll hurry, given the situation. See you soon, my dear.”

  My sense of danger intensifies, but like I said. I’m out of options. I’m going to the Carousel.

  9

  Aria

  It’s freezing outside. Still dark at six. I race through the streets, slipping on the ice and almost face-planting more than once. When I get to the octagonal brick building that houses the carousel, it’s locked tight, and nobody is in sight.

  Or so it appears.

  I take a deep calming breath, close my eyes, and open my senses the way Silas taught me to do when I was fifteen. “Is it magic?” I’d asked him excitedly, the first time I was able to feel a disturbance around me. “Am I a Jedi?”

  He’d snorted with laughter. “You’re not a Jedi, little cub. You’re just learning to listen to your instincts, that’s all. It’s not magic.”

  It had felt like magic though. It still does.

  Sorrow surges through me, too close to the surface. With ruthless determination, I push it back, burying it deep in my heart. When all of this is over, when Silas is cured, I will allow myself to cry. Until then, I’m as hard as steel, as sharp as a blade’s edge.

  I am Endellion. I a
m Fire. I am the sword of my dreams.

  There. A few paces from the carousel building, hidden in the clump of snow-covered trees. One man. Shifter. I pivot so I’m looking directly at the spot he’s hidden, and open my eyes. I can’t see him, but I know he’s there.

  “Fifteen minutes, you said. Here I am.”

  A shadow moves in the dark, and the man walks into the clearing. Moonlight falls on his face—no full moon, tonight, thank heavens, or else I’d be wolf kibble—as he takes a step toward me. “Norm,” he says slowly. “But shifter-trained. An intriguing combination.”

  I can’t tell how old he is. He could be forty, he could be eighty. His shoulder-length brown hair is dark and falls around his face, and his beard is bushy and full. He looks harmless. Until I make contact with his eyes.

  Then I realize I’m looking at a ruthless killer.

  I lift my chin. “The job.”

  He surveys me with eyes that look like death. I center myself, letting calm flow through me. Shifters can sense fear, and I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing mine.

  “Very well. The job. Exactly one week from today, there will be a party at the Park Hyatt. A gala affair, thrown by Lord Bastian Jaeger.”

  Of course I know the name. I don’t live under a rock. Bastian Jaeger is many things. Billionaire. One of the most eligible men in the entire country. And, most importantly, Dragon Prince.

  Shifters have a saying. Mess with dragons once? You’re lucky if you live. Mess with them twice? A quick death is your best option.

  Why? Because dragons like to play with their food.

  The nameless shifter pauses to assess my reaction. Ice fills me, and it’s not just because it’s the middle of winter. Then I remember Silas lying on the hospital bed, frail and gaunt, and my resolve hardens again. Stiffening my spine, I incline my head and wait for him to continue.

  He gives me a look of grudging respect. “For the first time in over twenty years, all five dragon princes will be seen in public together.”

  All five? Holy crap. Half the world’s wealth is going to be in that room next Saturday. My palms grow itchy with temptation. Thought after thought races through my mind. If the dragon princes are throwing a party, every rich debutante in the country—the world—is going to be there. Every gold-digger. They’ll all be dressed in their best.

  I don’t need this shifter’s job. I’ll make a fortune liberating the wealthy socialites from their diamonds.

  Of course, I can’t let him know what I’m thinking. “So what?” I deliberately make myself sound bored. I’m twenty-three. This guy probably already thinks I’m a spoiled millennial. As long as he keeps believing it, I’ll be laughing all the way to the bank.

  “The dragons are traveling with something. There’s a safe in their penthouse. I want what’s inside it.”

  I don’t have to be a genius to spot the big, gaping hole in this plan. “They’re dragons. They’ll be able to sense my attempts.”

  His lips tip into a humorless smile. “They’ll be on guard against a magical. You, on the other hand, are Norm. You might slip through the cracks.” His voice turns crisp. “One million dollars. Twenty thousand now, so you can pay Silas’ hospital bill. The rest when you get me what I need.”

  With the money I have in my bank account, twenty thousand dollars will pay for Silas’ next two plasma exchanges. And the millions in diamonds I intend to steal next Saturday will pay for the rest.

  “Okay. I’m in.”

  He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small ring box. I flip it open to see a bright green emerald winking at me. The gemstone is huge, almost filling the box. “Twenty thousand dollars,” the shifter says. “You’ll know where to fence it, of course.”

  Of course. I’m out of the game, but I’m not dead.

  “Oh, and Aria?” Those cruel eyes linger over me. “If you’re thinking of double-crossing me, I’d strongly recommend you reconsider. One word from me and Dr. Brown will inject nine grams of secobarbital into Silas Archer’s heart.”

  Dr. Brown. That nice woman. She works for this maniac.

  So much for my plan to liberate the party guests from their baubles.

  I am about to steal from the five Dragon Princes. I must have a death wish.

  10

  Aria

  I have seven days to figure out how to do the impossible.

  Compared to this job, MagLab was easy, and yet I’d almost got caught. Somewhere in the preparation, I’d missed that the facility was being guarded by panther shifters.

  I can’t afford mistakes this time.

  I thread my way back to Preston Memorial. The tall skyscrapers around me create a wind tunnel, and the cold air has a bitter sting to it. I pull my coat around me and look around for a coffee shop. I’m functioning on almost no sleep, and I need caffeine.

  I’ve never been to the Park Hyatt—why would I? I work a minimum-wage retail job. If Silas weren’t lucky enough to have a rent-controlled two-bedroom apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, I’d be commuting all the way from Brooklyn, like Bea. I’m a card-carrying member of the working poor. The Park Hyatt might as well be the moon.

  There’s one lone coffee shop open near Columbus Circle. I stand in line, shuffling my feet impatiently. It’s just after six on a Saturday morning, for heaven’s sake. Where did all these people come from?

  “Large coffee, please.” No soy-venti-mocha-whatever for me; I have simple tastes.

  The barista gives me a once-over, a faintly disgusted expression on her face. I must be a sight. Long shift at the mall, then drinks at Cellar, then the ER, and I haven’t glanced in a mirror in hours. No wonder everyone’s edging away from me. I probably smell gross.

  Ah well. Such is life.

  I pay for my coffee and tip half of it down my throat. Dragons are the most powerful magicals on Earth. I don’t know what kind of security they’ll have in their suite, but it’s safe to say it’s going to be pretty top-of-the-line.

  I need a plan. I’ll need tech and possibly magic as well. Silas has always been the hacker, but for obvious reasons, I can’t ask him for help. I’ll need to figure out how to get into the Park Hyatt—I doubt that I’m going to be able to waltz into the front door and take an elevator all the way to the Dragon Lords’ penthouse—and I need a disguise or a cover of some sort.

  But first, I need to fence this emerald. Once I check in on Silas, it’s time to visit Mariana.

  Mariana Dupree reminds me of the Oracle in the Matrix. She’s got the same maternal air, the same helpless little-old-lady persona, and the same tendency to give you bad news with a sweet smile on her face. She doesn’t bake though. Pity.

  I take the A-line to Harlem, where Mariana runs a twenty-four-hour convenience store. It’s a front. The Creole bear shifter is the best acquirer in the business. Whatever you want, Mariana can get it for you. At a price.

  She’s a pretty decent fence too. She won’t touch magical stolen goods—I prefer to die of natural causes, cherie, she said when I asked her about it—but there’s no one better for jewelry or gemstones.

  Her face breaks out into a smile when I enter her store. “Here’s a sight for sore eyes. Bonjour, cherie.” She beckons me nearer. “I heard about Silas,” she says softly when I slide up to the counter. “You need anything?”

  If I thought Mariana had any money, I’d have knocked on her door six months ago. I’m proud, but not when it comes to Silas’ health.

  “It’s under control.” I look around. There’s a trio of teenage boys in the back, furtively examining the beer selection. Not a single one of them looks a day over fifteen, but if they’re anything like me at that age, they have fake ID. “I have something for you.”

  Her gaze flickers over the boys. “Let me find Charlie,” she says, her eyes twinkling. “He always enjoys giving the kids a scare.”

  My lips twitch. “I’m sure you were drinking when you were fifteen.”

  “Mais oui, but only under my mama’s watch
ful eyes. She’d have come after me with a horsewhip if she’d caught me trying anything outside the house.”

  She goes to the back to find her son, and I try to picture Mariana as a teenager. Instead, my thoughts go to last night. To the two men I met at Cellar.

  With everything that’s happened since then, last night feels so unreal. Dancing with two guys, making out with both of them… In the clear light of day, I can’t explain what got over me. Was it drinking wine straight out of the bottle? Did the sickly-sweet pink cocktail pack a punch? Or was it the after-effects of Tall, Dark, and Deadly threatening me?

  It has to be one of those, because I’m not in the habit of picking up two hot guys at a bar. I’m not being Judgy McJudgyface—guys just don’t come up to me. I scare them away, according to Bea. I have RBF. Resting Bitch Face.

  Rhys and Mateo hadn’t been afraid. Quite to the contrary. They’d acted like women never say ‘no’ to them. And let’s be honest. Women outnumber men two-to-one in the city, and the two men were gorgeous. I doubt they’ve ever been turned down in their lives.

  Charlie emerges from the back, giving me a friendly smile. “Long time, Aria,” he says. “You staying out of trouble?”

  “Sure.” I lie, going around the counter and entering the small back room. Pulling the emerald out of my pocket, I hold it out to Mariana. “It’s supposed to be worth twenty grand.”

  She opens her desk drawer and pulls a jeweler’s loupe out. Putting it on, she examines the gemstone I hand her. “You’re not wrong. A lovely stone. Is it stolen?”

  Since when did it matter? “Not by me. It’s an advance payment for a job.”

  She looks up at that. “Tell me,” she orders.

  I trust Mariana implicitly. “The targets are dragons,” I warn. “If I don’t tell you anything else, you have plausible deniability.”

  “Dragons?” She goes pale. “I can’t talk you out of this, can I?”