Dragon's Fire: A Reverse Harem Romance Page 7

  I wince when I remember what happened next. Even though we were in a public place, Ned sobbed like a baby and professed his undying love for me. Everyone in the bar had turned around to stare at us. The entire thing was so traumatic that I’ve been on a dry spell ever since.

  Bea tugs at my hair with her brush. “Ned was a year ago, and you know it,” I accuse her. “You probably have it written down on your calendar.”

  She giggles. “You can’t let Needy Ned throw you off your game.” I watch in the mirror as her fingers move swiftly and surely through the strands of my hair, weaving them into a braid. Nobody does hair like Bea. She’s saving up money to go to hairdressing school. If all goes well with this job, and there’s any money left over after Silas’ treatment, I make a silent promise to help her with tuition. She more than deserves a break. “Rhys and Mateo seemed totally hot for you. It’s time for the drought to end, Aria. Let them tend your field.”

  I force a grin on my face, but guilt sloshes in my stomach. I hate deceiving Beatrice. She’s been drilling me for information about Mateo and Rhys, and I’ve been lying my ass off. I wish I’d never told her that they invited me to this ball, but at the time, it was the best story I could think of. The truth is, I’m not the type of girl who wants to go to a fancy-ass ball, and Bea knows it.

  My bestie finishes with my hair and swivels the chair around. “Close your eyes,” she orders. I shut them obediently, mentally reviewing each step of my half-formed plan while Bea does my makeup. “Okay, check it out.”

  She holds up a mirror behind me and angles it so I can see my back. “What do you think?”

  My mouth falls open. “Holy shit, Bea.”

  She’s outdone herself. I don’t recognize myself in the mirror. My skin seems to glow. My lips are a deep shade of red, and my eyes are smokey. My hair is intricately braided with soft wisps curling around my face.

  “I know,” she says smugly. “I’m a magician.” She jumps to her feet. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She waltzes across her room and pulls a familiar silver bag from her dresser. I don’t even need to see the logo to know it’s from Trendz. “I bought you something.”

  I have to blink away the tears from my eyes as I pull the onyx necklace out from the bag. You don’t cry, Aria. “You shouldn’t have.” It’s too much. Bea’s already put her job on the line to ‘borrow’ this dress for me. For a second, an overwhelming urge to tell her the truth fills me, but I push it back. Drakkar Raedwulf is dangerous; the dragon princes even more so. I can’t endanger my best friend.

  “Oh geez, Ari, it’s just a cheap piece of costume jewelry, no need to get all blubbery on me. Besides,” she winks, “if I’m going to get my best friend laid, we need to accentuate those itty-bitty titties of yours.”

  Leave it to Bea to know just what to say to lighten the mood. I have to laugh at our familiar argument. “Just because they aren’t double-d’s like yours doesn’t make them itty-bitty.”

  I put the necklace on and finger the gem. I’m a mythology geek. In ancient Rome, soldiers entered battle carrying amulets made of onyx, engraved with the symbol of Mars, the God of War.

  I feel a sense of kinship with those long-dead soldiers. I’m embarking on battle, and I need all the courage I can get.

  18

  Rhys

  Tomas Vallin has been following Aria since Tuesday evening. On Saturday, right before the gala, Bastian summons him to the suite. “Well?” he demands. “What do we know about Aria Archer?”

  The panther gulps visibly. “I’ve had a member of my team following her all week, Lord Jaeger,” he says, recovering his nerves. “As an additional precaution, I also put a tail on the wolf shifter, Silas Archer, and on a Norm called Beatrice Connelly, who appears to be friendly with Ms. Archer.”

  That’s good thinking. “Ms. Archer works in a mall in Midtown,” Vallin continues. “That’s almost the only place she’s been all week.”

  “Almost?”

  He consults his notes. “She went to Harlem on Wednesday. She spent about an hour in a convenience store. My operative says she was with a bear shifter called Charles Dupree. Perhaps a boyfriend?”

  A surge of hot jealousy fills me, taking me by surprise. I’ve never been the possessive type. Ever.

  Then again, nothing about this last week has been typical. I haven’t been the slightest bit interested in any other Norm girls. I can’t get Aria out of my mind, and honestly, it’s freaking me out. If this holds up, I’m going to be mooning around like Erik, mourning my dead mate.

  Not going to happen.

  I’ve managed to live a very happy life by resolutely staying clear of commitments, duties, and obligations, and I intend to keep it that way.

  Vallin’s phone buzzes. Muttering an apology, he lifts it to his ear. Whatever he hears on the other end isn’t good news, because he goes deathly pale. Hanging up, he turns to us, swallowing visibly. “That was Nathan. He says that the Norm girl is downstairs, holding an invitation to the Valhalla ball. And,” he swallows visibly, “Nathan was close enough to her to catch her scent. He’s willing to swear that she’s a fox shifter.”

  Shock ripples through me. “She’s Norm,” I reply, taking a deep breath. There is magic that will allow a Norm to pass as a shifter, but if Aria’s using such a rune, she’s up to no good. “Trust me. I was definitely close enough to catch her scent.” Even now, the memory of her lips against mine has my cock stirring in my dress trousers.

  “What would you like to do, Lord Jaeger?”

  I get to my feet. “I’m going downstairs,” I snap. “I’ll handle this.”

  Mateo twitches his fingers, and I feel his magic settle over me. “I’ve just increased the strength of the shimmer,” he says, catching my questioning look. “Just in case.”

  Just in case Aria sees through dragon magic. Again.

  19

  Aria

  I’m about to enter the Park Hyatt when my phone beeps. I glance at the screen, and a cold shiver goes down my spine. It’s Drakkar Raedwulf, and the fact that he has my phone number—the one that only Silas and Bea are supposed to have—just underscores the seriousness of the situation.

  The text is short. Handover at 5am at the Carousel. No excuses.

  It’s the accompanying photo that causes me to freeze in my tracks. It’s been taken inside Silas’ pub—I’d recognize that wall of antler horns anywhere—and I can see my mentor in the corner, his face animated as he talks to someone.

  The threat is clear. If I don’t deliver the goods, Silas is at risk.

  Get it together, Aria. You can do this.

  I walk into the hotel lobby. There’s a line of extremely well-dressed people passing through security. I don’t join it. In my worn coat and backpack, I’ll stick out like a sore thumb. Instead, I head to the reception desk. I intend to get the lay of the land first. “I heard the restaurant upstairs was hiring?” I ask the suit-clad hotel employee who’s watching the proceedings with fascination. “Can I pick up an application?”

  I’ve hitched the floor-length dress up so it wouldn’t get ruined in the dirty, slushy snow outside. It’s fully concealed under my ankle-length jacket. I have a hat carefully pulled over my head, concealing my elaborately braided hair. I can’t do anything about my face. I’m taking my chances that like most guys, he can’t tell when a woman’s wearing makeup and when she isn’t.

  The guy behind the reception desk gives me a once-over. I must pass muster because his polite smile turns kind. “The competition to be a waitress is pretty brutal,” he says as he hands me a form. “But the tips are shared with the back of the house. Bussing tables is almost as lucrative.”

  One of the guards raises his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention. You cannot take phones, cameras, or any other electronic items into the ball. Please have them ready. We will return them to you at the end of the night.”

  The announcement isn’t entirely unexpected. All week, I tried to google the Dragon Princes and nothi
ng. I couldn’t find a single photo of them. No gossipy anecdotes. Absolutely nothing. In fact, though there are supposed to be five dragon princes, four of them remain shadowy and hidden. I’ve only heard of Lord Jaeger.

  I’m happy enough surrendering my phone. It’s the other electronics I can’t do without, like the tools I need to crack open the safe. But I have a plan.

  Giving the employee behind the desk a grateful smile, I take the application. “Is there a washroom I can use?”

  “Down the hall, to the right.”

  I walk in the direction he’s indicated and push open the door of the washroom. There’s only one other occupant, a young woman dressed in a shimmering silver dress. Cat shifter, judging from her sharp nails.

  She’s touching up her lipstick as I enter. She takes in my shabby coat and backpack, and her lips curl into a thin sneer. “Going to the ball?”

  Let’s see if I can get her talking. “It’s my first time,” I confess nervously. “What’s it like? Are the dragon princes very intimidating?”

  “Wow, you are clueless, aren’t you?” She pulls a tube of mascara out from her beaded clutch purse and gets closer to the mirror. “Nobody can remember the dragon princes unless they wish it. That’s part of their magic.”

  What had Mariana said? Unlike the other magicals, dragons cannot be sensed.

  In high school, the kids had regarded me strangely. I was Norm, but I was being brought up by a shifter. Most people stayed in their little enclaves, and I was an exception. To fit in, I’d fully embraced my Norm genetics. I love Silas, of course, but I decided when I was fifteen that, to fit in, I needed to hang around with Norms, not shifters. My best friend is Norm.

  Mariana had rebuked me for my ignorance, and she was right to. I’m woefully clueless about magicals, and this evening, my ignorance might be my undoing.

  If I survive this job, I resolve to change things. I’m not in high school anymore, and I don’t have to choose between my Norm genes and my shifter-influenced upbringing. I can be both.

  “That’s a handy ability,” I mutter.

  The feline shifter rolls her eyes at me and preens at her reflection in the mirror. “Enjoy the party,” she says with an insincere smile before heading out. The moment the door shuts behind her, I spring into action. I enter a narrow bathroom stall. Unzipping my backpack, I pull out my fancy high heels—also stolen—and slip them on my feet. My coat gets bundled inside, as does my hat and phone.

  Lifting open the toilet lid, I shove my backpack into the tank. It’s a tight fit, but I’ve practiced this move during the week, and I know it’ll work. The toilet won’t flush properly, but by the dragon princes’ own rules, the hotel won’t call in a plumber until the ball is over.

  I leave the stall, taping a prepared ‘Out of Order’ sign on the door. I rinse my hands in the sink and tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear, and then it’s time to leave.

  Ready or not, the Valhalla Ball awaits.

  I hold my breath as the attendant verifies my ticket. “Kelli Pagliaro?” he asks, peering at me, then back at the fuzzy photo on his monitor, then at me again.

  I wipe my damp palms against my dress and do my best to look bored. “That’s me.” As expected, most of the security working the event are shifters. The dragons would only hire the best, after all.

  The guard sniffs suspiciously at me. I hold my breath. Pieter, buddy, this rune of yours had better fucking work. “Fox shifter?”

  “Yup.”

  “Not too often you see a fox at one of these things.”

  I’m not sure how to reply to that, so I stay silent.

  “Okay, you’re clear.” He smiles and hands the ticket back, gesturing for me to enter. I nearly melt into a puddle of relief. I’ve got past the first hurdle.

  Calm the fuck down, Aria.

  My mouth falls open the moment I enter the ballroom. It’s a winter wonderland. A cool blue light diffuses through the massive room. In the center, a tall tree dominates the space, its golden leaves shimmering in the light. Next to the tree are two tall ice sculptures, one of a stag, and another of a goat.

  Eikthyrnir and Heidrun, the stag and the goat that stand atop Valhalla. Someone really knows their Norse mythology. A fellow geek.

  I’m gaping in the doorway, and the man behind me coughs politely. “Sorry,” I mutter and move into the room.

  “It’s quite something, isn’t it?”

  The voice is familiar. Disconcertingly familiar. I look up, and it’s as if my lies have all come true. Rhys, the guy from Cellar—the Norm guy—is standing next to me, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Fancy meeting you here, love.”

  20

  Aria

  He takes two champagne flutes off of a passing waiter’s tray and hands one to me. “Iechyd Da,” he says, tipping his drink toward me.

  “I don’t speak Welsh.” I’m proud of how steady I sound. This whole job has me on edge, and Rhys’ sudden appearance has set my heart racing again. He shouldn't be here. He’s a Norm, and this is a shifter party, and in my line of business, you learn that there is no such thing as a lucky coincidence.

  I should abort this attempt. Get the hell out of here. Alive, I can try to find a different plan. Dead, I can’t save Silas.

  “It means ‘good health,’ he replies. He leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “You look lovely, Aria.”

  The scents of sandalwood and smoke wash over me. Heat licks through my body, making me hyper-aware of everything around me. I battle my fight or flight instincts and turn to him. I need to go on the offensive. It’s the only way. “What are you doing here, Rhys?”

  The other night at Cellar, he’d been dressed casually. This evening, he’s wearing a crisp black tuxedo, and he looks delicious.

  My skin prickles in warning. Danger.

  He laughs lightly. “I could ask you the same question.” His fingers close around my right wrist, and he tugs my hand toward him, tracing Pieter’s rune with the tip of his finger. “What are you tonight? A fox?”

  I stiffen with shock. How does Rhys know about the tattoo, and what is he planning to do about it? “Who are you?”

  His lips curl into a devil-may-care grin. “I’m just a guy, love.” He closes the distance between us and presses his lips to mine in a brief but toe-curling kiss. “The guards are watching,” he whispers. “Look like you’re having fun.”

  He’s right. A black-clad panther shifter is lurking less than five feet away, and he will be able to hear every word of our conversation. I force a smile on my face. “I love the decor,” I exclaim vapidly. “So imaginative.”

  He makes a face. “It’s not my cup of tea,” he says. “Too cold.” He waves to a stage which holds five stone thrones, no doubt reserved for the five dragon princes, the most wealthy and powerful men in the world. “A combination of depressing and pretentious. Lord Jaeger has outdone himself.”

  I laugh, startled by his honesty. He doesn’t seem to be bothered that the security guard can overhear his biting assessment of Lord Jaeger. I’m not a fan of winter either, but the room feels magical. “Look at it,” I say softly. “It’s Valhalla. The hall of the dead, where Odin, Allfather, chooses his bravest warriors to dwell with him in the afterlife. And look how many of the details they’ve got right.” I gesture to the tree in the middle of the room. “Glasir, the golden tree. The stag and the goat.”

  “Yet Valhalla is still the hall of the dead,” Rhys replies quietly, unexpectedly. “And I’m still alive. I personally prefer the spring gala.”

  I gulp down my champagne, needing something to steady my nerves. “Are you here with someone?” Rhys asks, devouring me with his eyes.

  I should tell him that I have a date. Having him here complicates things exponentially. But I can’t bring myself to lie. “No.”

  His eyes flash in triumph. “Good,” he whispers. “I can have you all to myself.” He holds his hand out to me. “Let’s dance, love.”

  I let him swing me onto
the floor. He’s a good dancer. He leads me away from the guard and pulls me into his body. “I’m a thief, love. I suspect I’m sneaking into this party for the same reason as you.”

  “You’re a thief?”

  “Mhmm.” He dips his head. “The woman behind you, the one in the black dress, is Hilary Dalzell,” he whispers into my ear. “The diamond and sapphire necklace around her neck has been in her family since the Crusades. The last appraisal valued it at four million dollars.”

  I tip my head back and look into his deep brown eyes. “Are you going to steal it?”

  He chuckles. “Too distinctive,” he replies. “Too hard to fence. There are easier targets in the room.”

  His story has the ring of truth, and I can’t be the only person who’s thought of stealing from the socialites here. “Are you going to get in my way?”

  “We don’t have to fight, love.” He brushes a wisp of hair out of my eyes. “There’s more than enough baubles in this room to go around, and I’m very good at sharing.”

  My insides heat as I remember that night at Cellar. The way Rhys and Mateo had both kissed me. The way their hands had run all over my body on the dance floor.

  All week, Bea’s been bugging me about which one of them I prefer. The truth, which I’ve been too embarrassed to admit to her, is that I didn’t want to choose. I wanted both.

  “So we stay out of each other’s way? Deal?”

  His eyes twinkle. “I think we should seal our agreement with a kiss, Aria.”