Soulfire (8 page)

I moved on to the final painting and froze in place. It was the largest of the four, and by far the most intimate. Stretched out in a languorous pose on a bed of black silk, the milky-skinned woman stared from the canvas, obviously sated from lovemaking. Considering I’d never made love, the image sent my imagination into orbit. How would it feel to be loved as she was by such a man? I envied the woman, the mirror of myself, wishing I knew her secrets. Was this a projection of what awaited me? She lay on her side, arm under her cheek, a fall of black hair covering one breast. The sinuous curve of waist, hip, and thigh a stark contrast to the slide of black silk draping mid-hip. Her eyes at half-mast and full lips parted, promising more pleasure to come.

Oh, my God.
How in the world had he imagined me this clearly, especially when he hadn’t seen my body?

“Lovely, isn’t it?”

I jumped in my skin. The curator stood next to me, admiring the work. She was fine-boned. Most Morgon females were thin, delicate in their features.

“This series is called
The Lover
.”

Of course, it was. She examined me closely with vibrant violet eyes. She recognized my resemblance, probably wondering how many hours I’d lain naked on a bed for the artist. Uh, that would be none. He had conjured this image from his own head. This sultry lover, which looked
exactly
like me down to every bare inch, made my blood rush. Everywhere.

Still unable to speak, the curator continued, filling the awkward silence. “This comes from one of our anonymous donors. Not for sale, only for viewing.” She smiled a secret smile. “He is quite possessive of this collection.”

“Is he now?” Interesting, since last night he implied he didn’t care at all. “Excuse me.” I pivoted and grabbed Moira before she could view
The Lover
series, featuring myself lounging naked on a bed in a six-foot frame.

“Is something wrong?” asked Moira as I ushered her down the street.

“Um, no, Muffin. I don’t want to keep you out too late. Father will worry. Let’s get our coffee and cake to go, huh?”

She nodded, a frown creasing her brow.

Questions raced through my mind. I could hardly hold on to one thought.
How
could he imagine me so well? So real? How many hours had he pictured me in his mind in order to create such ornate paintings? He had acted indifferent to me last night when I had asked if he ever thought of me
just once
. Hell—countless times more like.

Ugh.
Last night. Every time a snap of memory popped into my head since I’d dragged myself out of bed this morning, I had shoved it far away, too humiliated to relive my embarrassing tirade and admission of feelings. He’d let me believe I suffered alone, pouring my heart out like a moron.

“Bastard,” I mumbled under my breath.

“What?” Moira looked shocked.

“Nothing.”

We stood in line for our coffees, last night replaying in my head when I tried to forget. Yes, he had been pissed I’d been making out with Pax. At the time, I had assumed he was furious because a human woman had dared to contaminate his superior family line. No. The fire in his eyes had meant something else entirely. Through the haze of memory, I could still feel the possessive hold when he’d carried me home in his arms. And what about the gentleness of his touch when he put me to bed?

Oh, Lucius thought about me all right. Morning, noon, and night apparently. Affection, possession, and something more lined every stroke of those paintings. “Why are you hiding from me, Lucius?”

“Excuse me, ma’am?” asked the cashier behind the counter, passing me a foamy coffee in a to-go cup.

“Nothing. Sorry.”

He might be able to fool many with his calm mask of indifference, but I’d just witnessed what was behind Mr. Nightwing’s cool exterior. He’d imagined me in the most intimate of ways, sprawled on his bed, beckoning my lover—
him
—back to my side.

“Are you okay, Jess? You look feverish.”

I cleared my throat. “I’m fine.”

I tried to smile, but my stomach fluttered, knowing in a few short days he’d be standing in front of me at the charity ball with his concrete facade in place. I’d have to chisel through the mask and make Lucius reveal the man who longed for his lover.

* * * *

“Brant said I’d find you in here.”

I glanced up from the canvas. Lorian leaned against the entrance to my studio, eyes scanning the room, hands in his pockets.

“Here I am. What is it?”

I set the brush down, stood, and wiped the brown paint from my fingers. I could’ve tried to conceal the myriad of paintings, tried to conceal my desires. There was no point.

“Brant says you’ve been spending a lot of time in your studio lately.”

“If you want to know something, ask me, not my valet.” I crossed my arms and waited.

He ambled into the room, picking up a canvas of my latest work. “Have you taken her to bed yet?”

“No.”

“It may be just lust.”

“It’s not.”

Lorian set the painting down and walked the room, taking in the proof of my passion. “Obsession, perhaps?” He gestured wide with one arm.

“No.” My voice dropped to a growl.

Lorian caught my darkening gaze. “You don’t even know her, Lucius.”

“My dragon does. He recognizes her.” The fire stirring in my gut reminded me on a daily basis who she was to me. There was no denying it anymore.

Lorian finally paused in his wandering, fixing his gaze on me, surprised. “You’re serious.”

“Would I joke about something like this?”

“She’s human.”

“Apparently. The dragon doesn’t care. Nor do I. If she’ll have me, I’ll take her as mine.”

I didn’t need to say the words
heartbonding
or
soulfire
. Lorian understood exactly what I meant. He also realized I wasn’t asking permission of him or my father. When it came to heartbonding, there was no choice except to live without ever having a mate. He knew that wasn’t the path I wanted, not when I’d tasted her and all the promise inherent in her kiss, her beauty, her passion.

Lorian raised a dark brow. “When?”

“As soon as possible. My beast is…” How did I express what I felt? I could easily show it in my art, but words were useless. The closest I could come to the emotion was, “Impatient.”

Lorian nodded. “We’ll be at her home for Cade’s alleged Unity Ball.”

“Yes.” The thought of seeing her again steeled my spine. My muscles tensed.

“Will you ask her then?”

“I plan to.” He glanced at a painting of her on the wall behind me, the one I’d never hang in a gallery, the one for my eyes only—standing under moonlight, nude with one slender arm outstretched to me. Lorian’s eyes on the painting stirred my beast awake.

He must’ve sensed it, and smiled. Rare for Lorian. “I’ll always support you, brother. You know that. And she’s well worth taking”—he winked—“from the looks of her.”

I relaxed my shoulders a fraction.

He turned to leave the room. “Great payback to the old bastard, Cade, too,” he said with a laugh. “Would love to see his face when he gets the news.”

I turned around, searching the eyes of the woman in the painting on my wall. Hoping.

Only if she accepts me.

“You look lovely, my dear.”

Mother’s words echoed off the walls of her vast dressing chamber. I stood in the center of the octagon of mirrors after her hair and make-up stylists had their way with me. Coils of dark hair twisted on top of my head, tiny gold clasps fastening them in place. The rest fell in dark waves down my back, wispy ringlets framing my face. A one-shouldered black gown shimmered down my body like glass. I wore only a thick gold cuff on my forearm for jewelry.

Usually, I steered clear of Mother’s stylists who pulled and primped for hours till I was coiffed and decorated to the latest fashion. But tonight, I wanted to be beautiful. For him. I wanted his eyes on me. Who was I kidding? I wanted his hands and lips on me, too. The black gown hugged my frame and contrasted with my pale skin. Black. My pulse quickened. I was wearing his signature color and hadn’t realized it till this moment. I smiled at my reflection.

“Guests are arriving, Mrs. Cade.” Edda darted in and out with her announcement.

Dripping in diamonds from ears, throat, wrists, and ankles like a cage of sparkling gems, accenting her silver-sequined gown, Mother stopped at the door, turning a concerned gaze on me. “Jessen. You know your father only wants what’s best for you. You must accept Aron as your future husband, dear. He will give you your heart’s desire.”

I sighed. “Will he, Mother? Has Father given you your heart’s desire?”

She sealed her mouth shut and pasted on a grim smile before sauntering off to greet her guests.

Moira sat on a stool in the corner, fiddling with her hem. “Come on.” I reached out to her. Dressed in a gossamer gown of pale blue, looking like an angel, she took my hand and we descended together.

Only a handful of guests had arrived. The ballroom was still airy with room to breathe. The orchestra warmed up, the violinists dragging bows across their strings. Silver chandeliers sparkled with golden light, casting a warm glow on the posh and pretty below. Servants in black livery weaved through the crowd, carrying silver platters of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.

“Oh, look, Jess. Krissa is here. Thank goodness. Do you mind if I go?”

“Of course not. Go visit your friend.”

I strolled with the grace my mother had taught me—back straight, small steps, fake smile. “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Barrow.” I nodded to Ella’s parents—pompous snobs.

“Good evening, Jessen. You’re looking lovely.”

I kept moving, filtering through the crowd. Of course, Ella couldn’t be here to keep me company among the wolves. Her parents would never let her near a Morgon, even in polite society and for a “good cause.” I smiled at the thought of Mrs. Barrow’s head popping off if she’d seen Ella at Acropolis
the other night, carried off in the arms of Conn Rowanflame.

“Look, darling. Some of them are beginning to arrive,” said one of my father’s associates with a sneer behind his wine glass. His petite blond wife nudged him in the opposite direction. This whole charity ball was nothing but a farce.

I peered through the crowd, the pointed arches of folded Morgon wings reaching well above the heads of other guests. Some silver, some rust-red. My heart fluttered, waiting to pinpoint the high arch of a particular set of black wings.

“Oh, my goodness. It’s you. Yes, it’s really you!”

A young Morgon woman approached me, bright smile in place. At first I didn’t know her until my memory conjured up an image of a slender white-winged Morgon corralling Jed on the dance floor. Under normal lighting and minus the alcohol-fog, I could see she was graceful and lovely in an ethereal sort of way—tall and willowy with elfin features. Thin braids twined at the crown of her white-blond hair, the rest a silk waterfall cascading past her shoulders. Her sparkling white gown glittered with iridescent beads, magnifying the fey in her features.

“Hi. From The Torch the other night, right?” I extended my hand with a smile. “I’m Jessen Cade.”

“Shakara Icewing.” Blue-green eyes widened as she shook my hand, fingers long and delicate. “Yes! You were with that guy. I didn’t, um, I didn’t get his name.” She blushed ten shades of pink.

“Yeah. That was Jed. I’ll introduce you sometime.”

“You will?”

I swear, she looked like a fairy ready to explode into a ball of magic dust. Her skin glowed. Demetrius stepped to my side, his placid I-love-being-a-Cade face on.

“Father and Mother would like you to join us to greet our guests.”

“Oh, certainly.” I turned to the white-winged dragon girl. “This is Shakara Icewing. Shakara, this is my brother, Demetrius Cade.”

His face hardened as if it caused him pain to touch a Morgon, but he showed her the courtesy he would any woman. He took her hand and bowed over it, our custom for a gentleman greeting a lady.

She smiled warmly, dipping her eyes away. I’d never pegged any Morgon as submissive. Shakara held the unique beauty of her kind, but was a timid creature.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Demetrius cleared his throat, released her hand, and offered his arm to me. “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Icewing.”

“Certainly.”

I let Demetrius lead me away toward the ballroom entrance, smirking at his grave expression. “That was civil, considering it must be causing you enormous anxiety to be proper and polite to so many Morgons.”

Dark brown eyes glanced my way. “I know this may come as a shock to you, dear sister, but I believe it’s good business policy to treat our enemy as we would any guest in our home.”

“Enemy, Demetrius? You act like we’re on a battlefield. It’s ridiculous.”

He paused in our progress toward the door, locking me in a fiery gaze. “Make no mistake. This is a battlefield. And I fight alongside my family, my father, to keep what we’ve worked hard for all our lives. You need to decide which side you’re on.”

In that moment, I felt sorry for my brother. He’d been molded and coached by my father to hate the
enemy
, Morgonkind, and now he believed even the slightest deviation from blind loyalty would mark him as a traitor. He continued leading me toward our parents who presided at the door. My breath caught in my throat. Three black-winged men stood next to my father under the arched entrance.

“There you are, dear. Adicus Nightwing, this is my daughter, Jessen.”

I didn’t dare glance at the man to his right. I could feel Lucius’s burning gaze, melting everything inside. I extended my hand to a man the same height as Lucius, a foot taller than my own father—black hair, graying at the temples, and dark eyes.

“Enchanting,” said Lucius’s father, engulfing my hand with his and dipping a bow. “Pritchard, it seems you’ve kept your most precious jewel hidden from view.”

A full, throaty laugh bellowed from my father, making me cringe. “That she is.”

Yeah, right. Even a precious jewel can be bought and sold. My father looked like he wanted to say more, but held his tongue.