Soulfire (4 page)

Lights flicked on from where Lucius had disappeared. I stepped closer, looking into a huge open room with wide, backless sofas and chaise lounges covered in umber and black suede throw pillows. Sconces cast a golden light on stone walls. Apparently, Gothic décor was a Nightwing thing.

I pulled out my comm device and dialed Sorcha, my fingers trembling. Her pretty face popped onscreen, rattling her video mail message. When the red light blinked on at the top of my comm to record my message, I gave the camera screen my most desperate expression.

“Sorcha. Please, please answer your phone. I couldn’t go home. I need a place to crash. I
cannot
crash here.” I panned my device to record the Nightwing crest on the terrace, including the entrance to Lucius’s home. I glared back in the camera. “Sorcha. Call. Me. Back.”

A Morgon with white wings landed on the building across the way. He gave me an intimidating once-over, and then disappeared into his home.

“Crap.”

I heard Lucius speaking to someone inside. I dialed Sorcha’s number again. Straight to video message. I slipped my comm back into my pocket. Damn it. She always answered her phone. Always. Unless something dire kept her from it. Or something delectable. I remembered the way Corbin looked at her when they left, like she was a delicious dessert he finally had all to himself.

“Come inside.” Lucius stood in the arched entrance, a breathtaking silhouette against golden light. “I won’t bite.”

Sure you won’t.

I entered his living room, a multi-leveled space, dipping deeper into the room. Vast murals covered the stone walls and high ceiling. A giant mahogany mantle framed an oversized fireplace, the grate cold now at the end of summer.

“Did you call your friend?”

“Yeah. She’s not answering, but she’ll call me back soon.”
If she knows what’s good for her.

“Excuse me a minute.” He stepped through an archway into the next room, possibly the kitchen. Glass and silver clinked together. He spoke low to someone else.

A shiver of apprehension skated up my spine. I was currently sitting in a Morgon’s home. I must be brave or stupid. Blaming the alcohol for my poor judgment, I wished Sorcha would hurry and call me back.

I sat on a claret-colored chaise of fine velvet next to a heavy, dark-wood coffee table. Backless like all the other furniture, obviously for the winged people who lounged here, the chaise rolled in a sinuous curve, curling up where the head would rest. If a piece of furniture could be considered sexy, this one most certainly was. Though it was meant for a Morgon to lounge sideways, I couldn’t help from stretching out onto my back, my body fitting into the soft contours. The feeling was decadent. I stared up at a colorful mural on the ceiling.

Painted in vibrant hues by a master, two figures stood in front of a castle window, a windswept mountain dusted with snow beyond. A man and a woman. Wait. A man and a woman? A pale, nude woman gazed into a moon-drenched night, her ebony hair falling to her hips. A look of sheer contentment and peace marked her delicate-boned profile. Dragons winged away in the distance. Behind the woman, a nude man, bronze-skinned, standing two feet taller than her, kept a gentle hand on her waist. His arm curved in the shadows between falls of her black hair. Rather than mirroring her gaze into the night, his eyes looked down on her with adoration.

“Do you like it?”

I startled and jolted upright. Lucius stood in the wide archway leading into the kitchen, staring intently at me. I felt caught in the act of something shameful.

“I, um,”—I cleared my throat—“yes, it’s quite lovely. I was wondering why…”

Brain, please start functioning again.

“Wondering why?” he prompted.

“I mean, why do you have a painting of humans on your ceiling?”

In my parents’ house, ancient works by artists who worshipped the nude form adorned every room. However, the paintings that filled our halls were of picnic bathers, frolicking nymphs, or some other innocent diversion. The scene floating above me was more intimate, as if the painting wasn’t meant for just anyone’s eyes.

“Only one is human. This depicts King Radomis and his queen.”

A man in black livery entered the room carrying a cup and saucer. Lucius gestured toward me. The servant, somewhere in his forties, well groomed with dark hair and sharp features, walked stiffly over and handed me the black-rimmed cup and a folded napkin. “For you, miss.”

I cleared my throat. “Um, thank you.”

“For your headache,” clarified Lucius. “Thank you, Brant. That’ll be all tonight.”

“Good evening, Mr. Nightwing.”

He gave me a tight bow, possible scorn in his eyes, before exiting through another archway out of the living room.

I watched the man go, taking a sip of the tea. “How’d you know I had a headache?”

“Drink the tea. You’ll be feeling better soon enough.”

Stunned stupid for a minute, I drank the minty blend, still pondering the man leaving the room. My parents had live-in servants; this was nothing unusual. Growing up, my sister Moira and I had our nanny Edda, who still lived with my parents as a house servant.

“What’s on your mind?” Lucius snapped my gaze from the empty archway.

“I was kind of wondering how humans feel working for Morgons. As servants, that is.”

“It’s a job. There are many humans who don’t discriminate. If the pay is good and respect is present, why not work for a Morgon?”

True. I hadn’t realized there were humans already employed by Morgons, not in this capacity, in their own home. Living in my father’s bubble where Morgons were ridiculed on a daily basis as uncivil monsters, the idea had never occurred to me.

“He lives here?”

“Yes. He has his own quarters on the third floor.”

Morgons counted floors from top to bottom, meaning Brant lived two floors down. “I’m not sure he approves of me being here.” I set my cup in the saucer and straightened my posture.

“There’s nothing to disapprove of. This is a stop before getting you home.”

I nodded, somehow irritated by his tone. I gazed up at the mural on the ceiling again. How could this be the dragon king and his enslaved concubine?

“What’s the problem? You look disturbed by something.” He sat on the lounge across from me, coffee table between us, and whipped his wings over the back edge with flawless grace. Elbows leaning on his knees, he clasped his hands together. For a moment, my mind hazed over, his heated presence filling up my space and causing a fluttering in my stomach. His smile was nowhere near disarming. Quite the opposite. “Are you alright?”

I inwardly shook myself. Unable to remember what he’d asked me, I glanced up.
Oh, yes.
“It’s beautiful. It is.”

“But?”

I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. “But it’s quite a different portrayal of the king and, uh, his queen, than I’ve ever heard.”

His mouth tilted with a you-silly-human smile. “Does your race still tell that old nightmare legend about rape and slavery?”

The cup rattled in my saucer. I wanted to set it aside. I steadied my hand and met his gaze. “Actually, yes. The story I was told did mention, uh, what you said.” I stammered like a nervous child, berating myself for losing composure. Deep breath in. “Do your people tell another story?”

“Yes. The true one.” Cool, even words.

“I’ve only been told the human version. Would you tell me the Morgon story?”

Features controlled, calm, he assessed me as if determining whether I was worthy to hear the tale told by Morgonkind. He exhaled a deep breath and began.

“King Radomis fell in love with Princess Morga the second he laid eyes on her. This part is true, though I think the human version mentions lust rather than love. She used the fertility rite by moonlight as a means to escape her impending marriage to a cruel, sadistic prince she was being forced to marry. She demanded to complete the rite in privacy in order to keep the guards from seeing her naked body. Once their backs were turned, she fled. The guards, however, were no fools. Everyone knew Princess Morga dreaded her upcoming marriage. When they chased her through the woods, King Radomis saw her from above. He swooped down at the moment a guard pinned her to a tree, taking the liberty of touching what her betrothed would touch soon enough. Enraged, the dragon king shifted to human form and killed the guard instantly. When the others attacked, he had no choice but to smite them all. Rather than be angry, Princess Morga knelt at his feet in gratitude. She asked the king what she could give him in return for saving her.”

Lucius paused, a tight smile creasing his face. I found myself leaning forward, riveted by the tale.

“Well? What did he ask for?”

A steady gaze met mine. “He asked for one kiss.”

I frowned in confusion. “One kiss? That’s all?”

He leaned forward farther. “What neither of them knew was that fate had already deemed them a match. And love had already caught flame in their hearts with the bravery, salvation, and beauty of that night. This is why one kiss sealed them to each other forever.”

My heart raced, pumping a wild beat. “Soulfire. He gave her soulfire with that one kiss.” I leaned back, finding no back to support me. Flailing one arm, my teacup rattled and tipped over, falling to the carpet before I caught my balance.

“Oh, God.” A humiliating flush burned my cheeks. I fell to one knee and scooped the cup, empty now, back onto the saucer. “I’m so sorry,” I muttered, using the napkin to dab the damp spot on the carpet.

Lucius leaned across the coffee table, taking the cup and saucer, his index finger grazing the top of my hand. At his touch, my gaze shot to his, tension stretching the silence like a bowstring.

“It’s okay.” His voice rumbled low. He set the cup and saucer on the table. “Leave it.”

Awkwardly, I set the napkin down and sat on the edge of the chaise. I linked my fingers together in my lap, fidgeting, anxious under his steady gaze.

After a full minute of tension-filled silence, I snapped back to the conversation before my embarrassing display. “I thought—I mean, humans tell the story where—” I caught myself before I confessed our brutal version where Radomis took her by force. Lucius waited for me to get my thoughts together, a pinched smile edging the corners of his mouth upward. All patience and calm, this man, while I stumbled to regain my composure. “You mean he didn’t force her to stay with him using soulfire?”

Expression grave and serious again, he shook his head. “It can’t be done, though I’ll admit many Morgons have tried when helplessly besotted with a female who won’t have him. The woman must accept the bond, but when it’s made, it’s forever.”

I stood up, my headache having subsided. What he was telling me went against everything I’d been taught growing up. The Morgons were a cursed race, beget by a rapist and a slaver. A sordid fact ingrained in me all my life. If I were to believe Lucius, it was all a lie.

Refusing to meet his eyes, I asked, “Have you experienced soulfire yet?” In other words,
are you single?
Why was I asking this stupid question?

“If I were heartbound, you wouldn’t be here.”

Heartbound. I always loved the term. So much prettier than
marriage
.

“And why is that?” I finally asked.

“A beautiful, single female wouldn’t be welcome in my private quarters with me—alone—if I had a mate.”

My attention snapped back to him, knees threatening to buckle. Heaven help me, the reminder of where I was, whom I was with, and the look in his eyes, raised goose bumps all over my body. All over. Crazy Jessen did a cheer and a backflip. Sane Jessen told me to get my ass out of there, and fast.

“What happened to all the dragons if Prince Larkos didn’t kill them?”

“Larkos did kill them. It had nothing to do with being an outcast. Both of his parents nurtured and loved him, but a deep-seated self-loathing warped his mind. He killed his father first, driven by the age-old lust for power, to be greater than the father. He set out to be the master race, to eliminate the superior race of the dragon.”

I tore my gaze from the ceiling back to Lucius. “It’s so sad.”

“True.” He stood up. “However, we prefer to think of our ancestry born of love, not hatred. Morgons honor the dragon king, not Larkos.”

I walked back to the opening of the terrace, feeling sorry for Princess Morga. It made me think of Aron and his ceaseless ploy to trap me into a marriage I didn’t want. I knew all about true slavery—forced into a loveless marriage, which could only lead to lifelong heartbreak. I would have run away, too, if I were her.

“What are you thinking?” He was beside me, both of us shadowed under the terrace canopy. “You don’t believe the Morgon tale?”

“Yes. I believe it.” I frowned inwardly at the human story, the lie told to daughters everywhere. “I believe you. I just don’t understand why humans persist in engendering hatred where it’s unnecessary.”

“Some think it’s necessary. To keep the species separate.”

I didn’t want to talk about this. Visions of my father and his Morgon-hating lectures over breakfast spun through my head. “Did you really break Aron’s arm?”

“Who?”

“The guy, the one tonight who was…” Hmm. I grappled for the right words without saying too much. “The guy who was being a bit rough with me.”

Sharp electricity charged the air.

“I didn’t break it, but he may need a sling for a while.”

I laughed. “Good. He deserved it.”

The angry energy dissipated. Now, another kind of electricity sizzled between us. Walking close, the outward arch of his wing brushed my shoulder. I jumped at the heat the slight touch shot through me. He opened his wings wider as if to give me more space, but the gesture created a protective shell across my back. His arms remained passively by his side, but his voice vibrated with dark emotion.

“Who is he to you? An old boyfriend?”

“No. He’s no one. A family friend, that’s all.”

I moved into the moonlight. He remained in the shadows. I could feel his eyes on me as I watched Morgons land on rooftops, coming home for the evening. “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”