Soulfire: A Dragon Fantasy Romance (Nightwing Book 1) Page 5

  But I didn’t want to think about him. Sprawling across the bed, my mind drifted back to the raven-haired beauty who’d ensnared me with a glance.

  Could fate be this cruel? To put her in my path? Not only human, but the daughter of a man who once vied with my father for my mother’s heart. And had nearly won.

  That was all in the past. I knew one thing that wouldn’t—couldn’t—be in my future—Jessen Cade. No matter how badly I wanted her. I rolled over and went to sleep, trying to erase carnal thoughts of a lush body and haunting brown eyes.

  Chapter 5

  The first night was the worst. I’d wake in sweat-drenched pajamas with Lucius’s phantom lips still whispering across my skin. The entire week wasn’t much better. He haunted my sleep five of the seven nights. By the end of the first month, the dreams had subsided, and I only thought of him once or twice a day. Now, at the end of the third month, I’d avoided thinking of him the entire week. Until I was reminded by my father.

  “The Nightwing clan?” I coughed, nearly choking on roasted potato. I grabbed my glass of water.

  Father cut into his bloody steak. “Yes, they’ll be the guests of honor, though it galls me to admit.”

  “What other clans will be there?” Demetrius cast a suspicious glance across the table at me.

  “Oh, the other head clans in Gladium. Icewing, Rowanflame, Greyclaw. They’re not the target, son. Remember. Nightwing. That’s who we’re after.”

  “What do you mean ‘target?’” I wiped my mouth with a linen napkin, ignoring Demetrius’ narrow gaze.

  “The Nightwing clan has been a major competitor for too many years, and now they’ve got airs about infringing on my clients. Well, damn them! I’ll beat them at their own game.”

  Edda refilled Demetrius’s glass with red wine. She treaded lightly, knowing Father’s mood swings better than anyone. Mother ate in silence at the other end, as always.

  Demetrius swirled the contents of his glass, the candlelight burnishing it muddy-gold. “Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. Right, Father?”

  “Right. Remember it. The Morgons are our enemy. Will always be our enemy. The Nightwings worst of all. And I’ll be damned if I stand by and watch them steal an empire I’ve built with my own hands. I still wish Gladium was a human-only province like Primus.” He shoveled in another bite, blustering between chews. “Don’t know how the Morgons encroached on our territory in the first place.”

  I refrained from rolling my eyes. I wouldn’t attempt to clarify that the history books claim Gladium had been split since its beginning. Father always saw the world his own way. This superior banter had crossed the dinner table too many times to count. The older I became, the more it grated my nerves. “I don’t understand what any of this has to do with having a fundraiser ball.”

  Father cut off a piece of gristle, continuing his attack on the bloody slab of meat. “Of course, you don’t understand, princess.”

  I cringed at the nickname.

  “You don’t need to understand the complex workings of business politics.” He pointed his fork at me with narrowed eyes. “What I need from you is obedience. You’re forbidden from the Morgon district, yet you defy me and go to their clubs anyway.”

  The blood drained from my face. I glanced at Demetrius, whose lip quirked but face remained passive. Asshole. “Father, it’s just a club.”

  “I don’t care!” He pounded a fist on the table. Mother made a whimpering sound at the other end. Silence. Cold eyes bored into mine. “You won’t go there again. Do I make myself clear?”

  I nodded and bit my tongue, wanting to lash out with a string of expletives. Not just anger but sorrow welled in my chest, winding a precarious knot around my heart. With all the progress we’d made, Gladium had become a beacon of idealism for the rest of the world. While other provinces like Drakos—a Morgon province to the north—and Primus—a human province to the west—maintained their segregation laws, Gladium had risen above that archaic bullshit. And yet, here was my father, a leader among men still trying to repress and prevent social progress. It just made me…sad.

  He turned back to cut another chunk of meat off his steak. I glanced at my sweet sister, who gave me a sympathetic smile. I returned it. I didn’t want her to grow up under my father’s tight fist. Not like I had. But I couldn’t seem to find an easy way out. Perhaps that was the choice I was still fighting and trying not to make—the very difficult choice of leaving this family altogether.

  “You keep your pretty head in your books till December graduation,” he added lightly. “Then you’ll take your place in the family business.”

  Finally, he was going to discuss where I would fit in. I’d wondered countless times. Would he have me work in one of the technology departments, like Demetrius? I hoped not. I didn’t want to work under my pain-in-the-ass brother. Or, possibly, he would start me on the ground floor at Cade Enterprises, where I could eventually work up to the architecture and design department. He’d forbidden me from specializing in an artistic domain, insisting I major in business and marketing. Since he was footing the bill, and because he was, well, Pritchard Cade, I’d accepted his demands. I knew I’d eventually get my foot in the door on one of the ground floors of the Cade Empire before finding my own place in the world.

  “Wonderful. Where will I be in the family business?”

  He wiped his mouth and leaned back from the table. “What do you mean where will you be? You’ll be Mrs. Aron Grayson. That’s where.”

  My fork fell from my hand, clanking onto the china plate. My mother jumped at the noise at the far end of the table.

  I laughed with a sardonic scoff. “You cannot be serious.” A maddening fury burned in my belly, flaring white-hot.

  Father turned a scowl in my direction. “I most certainly am. Jessen, this has been planned since you were children. Why would I not be serious? You’ve known this all your life. How did you not understand this would be your place?”

  “What are you talking about? How could this be my place in the Cade family business?” I asked through gritted teeth. “Marrying the family friend is my role in this family?”

  “You will lower your voice, and you will do it now.” His tone dropped, the calm before the storm. “You have always known my intention for you to marry Aron. His father is my partner. He has holdings in just about every business I own. To keep the family business in the family, you will marry Aron, strengthening our empire.”

  Aron’s family owned Grayson’s Weaponry, the largest distributor of guns and ammunition to the human provinces. They were also the inventor of the Volt gun, specifically designed to kill Morgons. Their dragon DNA gave them superhuman strength. A regular bullet did little damage, but lightning voltage amplified the electric energy coursing through their blood and harnessed in their bones. A Volt gun launched a missile, detonating on impact with a Morgon’s natural DNA. What experiments the Grayson researchers did in order to discover this atrocity made my blood run cold. I would never tie myself to a family who deliberately created a weapon targeting the entire Morgon species.

  I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. “I don’t love him. Hell, I don’t even like him.”

  “What does it matter? He has always been smitten with you. He’ll keep you well fed, in all the best dresses and jewelry, vacations abroad, whatever you want. He’ll give it to you, provided you are a dutiful, obedient wife, and a good hostess to his business affiliates. Every good man needs a woman behind the scenes, making the details work. How else do you think all these parties are planned? Your mother down there takes care of it.”

  I felt the tension rippling down the table to my mother and little sister, Moira—a quiet mouse beside her. Mother, a ghost of a woman, forever doing his bidding with a plastic smile in place. I loved her and pitied her. I would not become her. I tried to rein in my rage, speaking through clenched teeth.

  “Why in the world”—I took a deep breath—“did you pay for an education if y
ou only ever”—then swallowed hard—“intended for me to be a slave to your business partner’s son?” I jolted to my feet, knocking my chair to the floor.

  Father eyed me with sinister distaste. “You’re being highly melodramatic, Jessen. I gave you an education because I assumed you wanted one. Besides, with a degree in business and marketing, you’ll know enough about the politics to boost your husband in public relations at business dinners and society parties. You’ll be married to the most eligible bachelor in this entire province. Women are throwing themselves at his feet.” He scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “You should be thanking me. The idea you’d be his slave is ridiculous.”

  “You’re right, Father.” I stood there, fuming, humiliated he’d always thought so little of me, and I’d never actually realized it. “I’m not his slave. Not yet. But it seems you sure plan to make me his whore.”

  Mother sucked in a breath. Edda disappeared toward the kitchen. I threw my napkin on the table and stormed from the room, refusing to stop when he yelled after me.

  My high-heeled boots reverberated on marble. Our butler held the door open for me, my small clutch in his hand. “Thank you, Pierce.” I snatched my purse, taking long strides, trying to make a quick escape.

  “Wait! Jessen, wait!”

  I pivoted at the sound of my sister’s voice. She jogged up to me, all wide-eyed and sweet-faced, dark hair tied in a braid over one shoulder. Too dainty to be raised by a beast like Father, and a mother who never opened her mouth in our defense. “Moira, get back inside. Father will rail at you next.”

  “I wanted…I need your help to shop for a dress tomorrow.”

  “A dress?”

  “Yes. I thought I’d fit in the one from last year, but I don’t.”

  “Of course, you don’t. You’re fifteen. You’re growing like a weed. Why didn’t you tell Mother? The fundraiser ball is next weekend.”

  She looked down at her sandaled feet. So shy. “I…I want you to help me find a dress. You have such good fashion sense, I want something you pick out. Not her.”

  I softened, realizing she was becoming a young woman. God, what monster would Father marry Moira off to when the time came? I’d do everything I could to prevent it.

  “Of course I will. I’ll pick you up around ten tomorrow morning. Okay?”

  She beamed at me from bright hazel eyes. “I love what you’re wearing tonight.”

  I glanced down at my V-necked mini-dress in shimmering emerald, showing a soft curve of fair skin between hem and brown boots. A battered pewter bracelet coiled around my forearm and a dangly pewter necklace crossed over my breasts, falling just below.

  “Thanks, Muffin.” Her smile brightened more, lighting up her face. She was pretty now, but one day she’d be stop-your-heart gorgeous.

  Two guards jogged to an awaiting car in the drive.

  “Don’t worry about anything. I’m fine.” I jumped in my car. “Now go inside.”

  I reversed and zoomed down the long drive, watching Moira in my rearview, standing in the middle of the drive and waving, forcing the guards to stop behind her. They honked, making wild gestures to shoo the sweet girl out of the way. She slowly turned as if she didn’t know she was interfering. My sweet, wonderful, devious sister.

  “God, I love you, Moira.”

  I flipped on my car comm, dialing Sorcha. Her face popped on almost instantly, apparently from the wall comm in her bathroom where she was applying mascara. “What’s up? I thought you had dinner with the family.”

  “Yeah, well, that disaster is over. I’ll meet you straight at the club. I need a drink, like now.”

  “Geez, Jessen. That bad?”

  “You have no idea. I’ll tell you when you get there. What’s the address again? And what’s the name of the club?”

  “It’s one block over from Acropolis. It’s called The Torch.”

  “The Torch? What the hell, Sorcha? Did you have to pick another Morgon club?” I was so not in the mood. I still hadn’t recovered from my last adventure to one.

  “Jed picked it, not me. And, honey, you can knock it all you want, but I haven’t gotten enough of my Morgon man. Corbin’s meeting me there.” She winked, painting on her favorite red lipstick.

  “Fine.” I sighed. “I’ll see you there.”

  All I wanted was to get drunk and forget about my father, Aron, and especially a specific pair of piercing blue eyes.

  Chapter 6

  Bent backward over the bar, my shoulders flat against the stone surface, a shot glass upright between my teeth and lips, the Morgon leaned his body over me. Black wings taut and the devil in his eyes, his legs straddled mine on the floor, his hands gripping my waist. My silk dress clung to my curves, bearing more of me than usual. Breasts heaving, I relished the rebellious thrill pumping through my veins. My hem hiked higher as his legs brushed against mine. I forced myself not to laugh, knowing he was being naughty, and any movement would jostle the glass, spilling liquid all over me.

  A crowd cheered us on. Dark eyes met mine. “Don’t move.” His lips poised above the glass. “Trust me.”

  He pursed his lips and blew a fine line of flame, skimming the top of the glass with delicate precision. My rebellious heart leapt—thrilled at the danger of fire burning close to my skin and a fine Morgon man close to my mouth. Damn, I was drunk. More cheers as I lay stretched on my back, a glass of liquor and fire in my mouth. Crazy Jessen in my mind cheered with them.

  “Ready?” he asked with a grin. I winked, my hands on his shoulders. He opened his mouth, engulfing the flame, sliding his lips down the sides of the glass to meet mine. Only then did he haul me up against him, sucking the glass from my mouth, tipping his throat back and downing the shot.

  A roar of applause and whistles lit up the crowd. I laughed, Paxon’s hand still resting on my hip. He dropped the empty shot glass upside down on the bar. He leaned down, mouth close to my ear. “I’d like to try that without the shot.”

  “Maybe.” Smiling, I stumbled away from him toward Jed on a nearby stool.

  Jed threw an arm across my shoulder, beaming his mischievous smile. “Entertaining, Jess.” A glance over my shoulder. “Better be careful with that one.”

  “Why should I?” My words slurred. I barely managed to keep myself upright, but Jed helped.

  Corbin leaned over with Sorcha ensconced in the crook of his arm. “Pax Nightwing likes the ladies. Really likes the ladies.”

  “Am I not a lady?”

  Jed shook his head, a lock of coppery hair falling over one eye. “You’re trouble.”

  Sorcha giggled, eyes half-closed. She was even more wasted than me.

  I pushed off and punched Jed in the arm, pretending it was an insult. “How is he related to Lucius, anyway?” I asked like I didn’t care, when I was dying for the answer. I’d known he was a Nightwing the second I saw him. Those sharp, midnight wings were an undeniable giveaway. Not my fault he started flirting and buying me drinks.

  “Cousin. His uncle’s son.”

  I nodded, staring off into the distance when the start of one of my favorite songs started pumping hard and loud. “Whoohoo! Come on, Jed. Let’s dance.”

  I dragged him away from the bar to the dance floor, admiring the cool architecture of the place. The Torch looked like the inside of a mountain or a cave. Stairs carved into cavern walls led to bi-level niches for dancing and mini-bars. Like Acropolis, the interior was multi-storied, winding up and up, a Morgon wonderland.

  Jed and I danced to the beat. My eyes drifted closed, feeling the surreal dizzying sensation of heavy-limbed drunkenness. A small, white-winged Morgon girl moved into our dancing space. By small, I meant she was as tall as me. Her hair was a white fall of silk, eyes of ice blue. She gave us a sweet smile and danced in our little party, edging closer and closer to Jed. I couldn’t blame her. Jed oozed charm and golden good looks. He didn’t even have to speak and girls were drawn to him.

  The next song rolled out a slow beat with a hard edg
e. The singer crooned a haunting melody. Partners started swaying, locked together. The white-winged girl cornered Jed, not that he seemed to mind. He shrugged to me over the arch of her wing.

  I laughed and meandered back through the throng, pushing past sweaty bodies when someone caught my wrist. Paxon.

  Both hands on my waist, he pulled me gently into his embrace, not asking if I wanted to dance. Pushy, this one. Must run in the family. I let him hold me flush against him, well aware of his evident desire. I tried to filter through the layers of inebriation to decide whether this was a good idea. He was gorgeous. Why shouldn’t I? What did it matter if he was related to Lucius? He looked a lot like Lucius, except with dark eyes and not as tall. Waiting for him to lean in for the kiss, I pondered why my body didn’t react the same way it did with Lucius. And why the hell was I thinking about Lucius?

  With a frustrated sigh, I wrapped my arms around his neck and rose up on my toes, pressing my lips over his. He needed no encouragement, slipping his tongue into my mouth, his hands sliding down to cup my behind and pull me closer, edging toward an alcove, one of many make-out corners that opened off the dance floor.

  I could smell her. An intoxicating scent making me rock-hard in two seconds. My dragon blinked awake, uncoiling, sniffing the air. From the fourth floor up, I scanned the club.

  There she was.

  What the fuck did she think she was doing? What did he think he was doing?

  My cousin wrapped her in his arms on the dance floor, his mouth locked on hers, his hands on her ass. The dragon roared, needing to scorch and burn, turn the enemy into ash. My fists tightened on the railing, white-knuckled.