Soulfire (7 page)

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?

On the dance floor with my cousin’s body wrapped around her, 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.

I couldn’t harm him. Paxon. That fucker. He seduced anything with a decent pair of legs he could spread and slide into. And he wanted
her
, my black-haired siren. I was going to break him in half.

No!
I couldn’t. Couldn’t even touch him. He was my uncle’s only son. He was family. But he had his hands and mouth on her. If he didn’t move away soon, my dragon would tell me to fuck off and take over.

How did she do this to me? Turn me into a maddened beast. How!

I knew how, but refused to face the fact. Never had a woman clawed her way into my very soul with one touch, one kiss. My beast recognized her as his, wanted her now, yesterday, tomorrow. And always. Yes, the dragon knew, but the man refused to accept it. Like I had any choice.

Fate gave her to me. A human. The daughter of the enemy.

A luscious human. Soft curves, creamy skin, burnished eyes, ebony hair—everything about her awakened my senses, made me want to drive into her, sate the raging hunger, and keep her far from any other man. I needed to mark her as mine. There was only one way of doing that. And there was no coming back from it.

No…I had to let her go. It would never work.

She was drunk. Really drunk. She tilted her head back and laughed. Would she push away now? My vision shifted, becoming more acute as my predator senses took over, narrowing in on its prey. My dragon crouched and watched through slit eyes. Paxon pulled her body into his again, pushing her back into an alcove. For one reason and one reason only.

Motherfucker
!

My dragon snapped his chains. I dove over the railing.

Eyes sharpened in the dark alcove. One hand squeezed her ass, the other hiked up her skirt, his tongue in her mouth. I was going to smash his skull into the cavern wall until I heard bones crunch and smelled blood.

Pull back.

I knocked him clear across the alcove, barely harnessing the need for blood, putting my body between them.

“Paxon.” The lethal edge of my voice cut the air. “She is not for you.”

Pax wasn’t stupid. He recognized my beast was nudging a paper-thin line, ready to claw him in half should he dare to stand against me. Fortunately, his lust for her wasn’t as great as my need to kill him. He edged around me to exit the alcove. My beast watched with caged fury, still wanting to maim him for good measure.

When he was gone, Jessen let out a huff and tilted her defiant chin at me, fuming with anger. Damn if I didn’t want to take her right here. Right now.

“What the hell was that all about? What gives you the right to interfere?”

Yeah, she was pissed. I didn’t give a fuck. “You’re drunk.” I forced away the image of Paxon’s hands and mouth on her body before I lost all control.

“So what. I can be drunk if I want to. What does that have to do with anything?”

She was beyond wasted. “You’re not aware of what you’re doing.”

She flipped those silky, black waves over her shoulder, luring me with her scent. I clenched my fists.

“What? That I was going to get laid tonight by Paxon? No, I was pretty aware. But it won’t happen now.”

The image of Paxon on top of her, inside of her, nearly made the dragon rip out of my chest. I let her know exactly how I felt. “No. It will never happen now.”
No. It will never happen period. With any other man. Ever! You are mine. Get that into your pretty, fucking skull.

I had to have her. Soon. I was splitting in two. The beast demanded succor—the man denied the need.
Fuck!
She was torturing me, killing me, invading my senses with the promise of something sweet and sensual. The promise of yielding soft flesh under my hard body, melting into me until we were one, until she was mine.

My brain a fog, I barely registered what she said, my wayward thoughts somewhere else entirely.

“What gives you the right to decide anything for me? Are you afraid your precious Nightwing family will be contaminated by touching a human woman? Well, fuck you!”

She stormed off. I froze at her words. She thought I was angry because I was a bigot? I’d love to tell her, show her what I felt right this second. Her pretty mouth would shut up at once because it would be better occupied.

I followed her to the parking lot. She could barely stand up as she pulled out her keys. I snatched them from her.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me. Give me my keys, Lucius.”

“You’re not driving intoxicated.” Did she truly believe I would let her out of my sight in such a condition? Anything could happen to her. My mind reeled at the thought of one scratch on her porcelain skin.

“Oh, so now you’re my daddy? You’re going to make all my decisions for me?”

Her tone spoke of pain and betrayal. Her rage stemmed from more than this—her father.

“I’m head of security. I cannot let an intoxicated woman drive away, knowing she’ll probably kill herself, if not someone else, on the way home.”

“Men. You think you’re so fucking superior. You decide what a woman needs, no matter what’s in her heart.” Hot tears poured down her face, twisting my gut into a knot. I remained motionless, waiting for her to spend her anger; then her question staked me in the heart. “Let me ask you something,
Mr. Nightwing
. Have you thought about me even once since we first met? Just once?”

Once? Once! Was she fucking kidding me? I wanted to scream.
Daily. Hourly.
Every second of every fucking day she saturated my thoughts. Driving me out of my mind! My beast already knew she was his, the man needed to yield and tell her. Show her.

Just once?
She was insane. How could I not think of her? She was my mate. Until I marked her with soulfire, there would be no peace, no restful sleep, no waking hour where the clawing need didn’t nearly drive me mad.

She demanded her keys again.

Fuck this.

I shoved her keys in my pocket, grabbed her, and flew up into the night. As soon as I cradled her in my arms, a sensation of serenity poured through my veins. Yes. I could deny it till doomsday, but there would be no peace, not until she was truly mine.

She nuzzled my neck, her lips brushing my skin. Desire, hot and instant, flared bright.

“Jessen.” I warned her to stop, wanting the opposite. The beast could only stand so much temptation. But she was drunk. I’d never take her like this. She didn’t know what she was doing.

Her whispered words shattered me. “Why do you haunt my dreams?” Soft lips pressed to my skin. “Why won’t you let go of me? Let me be?” Unbelievable. She only let herself say these things because of the alcohol. In the light of day with a clear mind, she’d never admit the truth.

Our hearts and bodies knew the inevitable end. Fate decreed it so. Our brains kept us apart, kept us playing this game of denial, convincing us we were in control, when we never were. She mirrored my own feelings when she mumbled against me, “My heart is breaking.”

I knew where her villa was. Not only had I seen it the first night, but I’d found myself flying far overhead the college campus more than once in the last three months. Feeling helpless, I needed to catch a glimpse of her to keep my beast caged.

Opening her balcony door with the keys, I placed her on the bed, removed her boots, and tucked her under the covers. She curled on her side, tears streaking her face.

“Sleep,” I commanded, touching the silken strands of black hair against the white pillow.

What I wouldn’t do to have her in my bed—to protect, possess, treasure. Forever.

The look of heartbreak on her face, eyes closed, made my gut clench in pain. I soothed her, soothed myself, combing fingers through her hair. The lines creasing her face slowly disappeared. When I thought she had finally drifted into sleep, her full lips pursed and whispered my name. “Lucius.”

My chest constricted. Never had my name sounded like a plea, a prayer, and a benediction all at once in such a mournful tone. With this one confession on sleepy lips, her subconscious gave me the answer I needed.

When she slept, I locked up and left, winging high above the clouds toward my home. Feeling the heavens press down, I made a decision. I must tell her who she was to me, who I was to her, whether she wanted to hear the truth or not. It had to be soon.

The United Charity Ball was next weekend. Yes. Then we would see whether Fate would have her way.

“Thank you. Come again.”

My hangover finally subsiding, I could actually force myself to smile. I took the two plastic-wrapped dresses and steered Moira out the door.

“Here, I’ll hold them, Jessen. You still look pale.”

“Thanks, Muffin. Happy?”

“Yes!” She beamed, automatically lightening my sour mood. “My dress is beautiful. And yours is, too.”

Having Father’s credit card encouraged me to buy the two most expensive gowns I could find and outrageously pricey shoes to match. Petty revenge, but I was not above getting what little satisfaction I could.

“You deserve it.” I linked my arm with hers as we walked along the storefronts. “Hey. How about we get a cup of coffee together? And a piece of that double-chocolate cake you like.”

“Oh, yes. I’d love to.”

I steered her left, away from the car. Passing an accessory shop, I noticed a Morgon woman adjusting handbags in the display window. She glanced at us and smiled before resuming her work.

“Interesting, isn’t it.”

“What is, Moira?”

“Morgons working in human retail stores. My teacher said we’re in a progressive age where humans and Morgons must learn to work alongside each other.”

“She did, did she?”

“Mm-hmm. She says it’s better to be more tolerant, and then both species will flourish together.”

“Smart teacher.”

“Yep. She is.”

I could hear the admiration in Moira’s voice. For a fifteen-year-old, sheltered under the watchful eye of our father, she was wildly bright and perceptive. She was what some called an old soul
.

Her brow pushed together into a frown. “There are some kids who don’t agree with her.”

“Hmph. I’m sure there are.” I slid her a knowing glance, whispering conspiratorially, “But I think she’s right.”

Moira giggled, still one of the sweetest sounds I’d ever heard. “I do, too,” she whispered back.

I gazed up the wall of glassy skyscrapers, catching a glimpse of a Morgon winging onto a rooftop. Morgon-owned buildings primarily housed Morgon-owned shops on the top floor. Humans stayed street-level with various offices on other floors. Most owned and rented property on the other side of Gladium Province where the Cade Empire squatted like a tentacled behemoth. Morgons still kept to the west side. But these few blocks of the Warwick District were the blurring line where the two merged, sharing space and apparently working together as evidenced at the handbag store.

Considering whether Morgons would ever own street-level businesses and cater to humans outright, the familiar crest of three black dragons caught my eye. A small imprint at the bottom of an etched name in glass read “Flaming Hearts Art Gallery.” My pulse pumped faster.

“Muffin? You mind if we step inside? I’d like to take a look in this gallery.”

“Sure.”

A Morgon woman smiled at us when we entered. I’d never seen wings her shade—deep indigo. She fluttered her delicate wings and did a double take. She frowned before plastering a serene, welcoming expression onto her pretty face.

“Good day, ladies. Please let me know if I can assist you in any way.”

I nodded in greeting. A Morgon art gallery for human patrons. How interesting. And I knew exactly which clan owned it.

“Oh, Jess. Look at this. It’s simply beautiful.”

An abstract sculpture of a Morgon in flight stood at the front of the gallery. While Moira circled the piece, I ventured to the paintings, a mystical pull drawing me forward. I ambled slowly along the wall, first past a study of mountains in black and white. Next was an abstract series of Morgons in different stages of flight, all a vibrant smear of color, presumably by the same artist who created the sculpture up front. I moved on.

My heart plummeted into my stomach.

A nude, fair-skinned human woman stood on a balcony, peering over one shoulder back at the artist, as if he’d called her name. Black waves of hair poured down her back, revealing a smooth curve of hip. I knew this woman. I’d seen her often enough in the mirror. I knew this artist’s brush, too. I’d seen it on the ceiling in Lucius’s living room. Sweat beaded along my brow.

The next piece was a rectangular painting in blacks, browns, and golds—a close-up of a pair of deep, brown eyes, promising mischief. Maybe more. I gasped.

My heart hammered a drumbeat against my ribs as I moved to the next. In the foreground, the muscular shoulder of a Morgon man and part of an open wing framed the raven-haired muse. Though the artist only revealed bare shoulders and the profile of her face, she appeared to be nude again. At the same time, this scene reeked of protection, keeping this woman safe within the shadow of his wing.

I trembled as I stood staring at a perfect rendition of my profile.
My
profile! I could hardly breathe. How could he possibly have recreated me in oil and canvas so true to life? He’d only seen me twice. My pulse throbbed in my throat as a slow dawning washed over me. I wasn’t the only one haunted by forbidden desire.