Waking the Dragon (35 page)

A shadow alighted on a crag just above us, a delicate Morgon woman. I gasped at her beauty. Her wings were a fan of color, beginning with the roots, a deep indigo graduating to sapphire, then sea-blue, cobalt, brightening to fire-gold, tipping the outer ridge in white. I’d never seen multi-colored Morgon wings before. I’d never seen anyone of this clan before. Her ebony hair shimmered with blue highlights against moon-pale skin. But the oddest thing of all was that even from here, I could see her eyes were the brightest gold—an unnatural color, setting her apart even from Morgonkind.

I glanced over my shoulder at Kol. He gave me a tilted smile, squeezing my waist to let me know he knew I had questions and would answer them later.

A sound unlike any other filled the evening sky. The Morgon woman’s song swept over the billowing fire, surrounding us with a sorrowful lament. It pierced the heart, bringing tears to my eyes, then slid away with a warming melody, ending her requiem in a harmony of peace and a wave of silence.

When she was done, and all was quiet but for the burning pyre, the family marched out and leaped off the edge toward Drakos. One by one, Morgons lifted away. Kol gathered me close. I slipped my arms around his neck, burying my face against his chest, and we flew into the night, the first pinpricks of starlight peeking from the distance.

Without asking, Kol answered my question. “She was of the Starfell clan. They are gifted with song.”

“Her voice.” The wind whipped against my face. “I felt it in my bones.”

“Some say they’re no better than witches, their song is so powerful. Those are the jealous ones. Yet, at every Morgon funeral rite and heartbinding ceremony, there is always a Starfell clan member to celebrate in song.”

I said nothing. He flew lower, taking us from the frigid air, city lights sparkling in the distance. Kol shifted closer to my ear. “I’d like to have one at our
wedding
ceremony.”

He had my attention. I stared at him, the wind tousling his hair. “So, you don’t mind having a human ceremony?”

“I know it would make you happy. Why can’t we have a combined one with two priests like your sister did?”

My heart ached at the thought of Lucius and Jessen’s wedding ceremony. “My father forbid me to attend. I didn’t get to see it.”

He swept his lips against my temple. “Sorry, love. But I’ll bet he attends ours.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I do.”

I frowned at him, just as we landed on our terrace. He set me on my feet. “Your father is getting old. And from what you’ve told me, he loves you. Just as much as he loves your sister. There’s something about aging men that weakens the stubborn streak of their youth. Age is humbling to a man. He’ll want no more regrets. He’ll come.”

I smiled, hoping and believing this could be true. “You’d do this for me? Stand before an audience of humans and Morgons and hand over your heart in public.”

His eyes glittered silver by city lights. “Oh, Moira. I gave you my heart so long ago. I don’t give a damn what others see or think.”

I pulled him down, opening my lips over his. Our tongues slid over each other’s, a sensual lure. I instantly wanted to crawl into bed and drag him with me.

“Mmm. Don’t you have a rather important story to finish writing?” he teased.

“Later.”

He laughed, a full, hearty, wonderful sound. His hands slid into the opening of my cloak, trailing down to the hem of my dress. “Now where were we?”

“Seems you’ve already found where we were.”

His hands slid higher over my bottom. “I have a great memory.”

“You have a great many things.” I arched a brow. “However, I wonder if you have any surprises left.”

Predator-still, he let the dragon peer down from slit-pupil eyes. A deep-chested growl rumbled against my chest. “A challenge, Kittycat?” Before I could utter another word, he had me indoors, spread on my back on the kitchen table. “I will do my best and let you be the judge.”

I laughed at his sudden reaction, which faded quickly as he whipped open my cloak, leaving it clasped around my neck as he undressed the rest of me, hands gliding, knowing every curve and line of my body.

Caught in the hot blue as his lips sealed to mine, I marveled once more at the heartbond, drawing us ever more in sync. My Morgon man was full of fire and love, and as I would learn over the years, full of many, pleasurable surprises.

Juliette calls lush, moss-laden Louisiana home where the landscape curls into her imagination, creating mystical settings for her stories. She has a B.A. in creative writing from Louisiana State University, a M.Ed. in gifted education, and was privileged to study under the award-winning author Ernest J. Gaines in grad school. Her love of mythology, legends, and art serve as constant inspiration for her works. From the moment she read JANE EYRE as a teenager, she fell in love with Gothic romance--brooding characters, mysterious settings, persevering heroines, and dark, sexy heroes. Even then, she not only longed to read more novels set in Gothic worlds, she wanted to create her own.

Turn the page for a special excerpt of Juliette Cross’s

Soulfire

In a world divided by prejudice and hatred, only love can bridge the chasm.

Tensions are rising in the Gladium Province. The boundary between humans and Morgons has begun to blur. While the human aristocracy strives to maintain distance between their daughters and the dragon-hybrid race, fate has other plans.

As the daughter of the corporate king, Jessen Cade is duty-bound to honor her arranged marriage to a man she detests. Feeling trapped by family duty and a loveless future, she longs for more, straying to the Morgon side of the city.

Lucius Nightwing is the eldest son of the powerful Morgon clan, and the greatest enemy of Jessen’s father. When a bar-room brawl thrusts Jessen into his arms, his dragon roars to the surface, craving to sate his carnal hunger in the brown-eyed beauty. The beast in Lucius recognizes her as his own, even if the man refuses to admit the truth.

On sale now!

I swung one leather-clad leg over the balcony railing and froze. Straddling the stone balustrade, I gazed upward, willing my heart to still. A crescent moon cut a half-smile in the starry night as if mocking my rebellion. Or perhaps encouraging it.

Don’t look down.

A smudge of cloud blurred over the moon, nudging me into the darkness. Deep breath in, I swung the other leg over and shimmied toward the ivy trellis. My long legs helped me maintain balance on the stone balcony, making it easier to climb down. Of course, I had to have the villa suite on the top floor—an obscene luxury for a college student.
Only the best
, my father would say. I knew the truth. He tucked me away in an ivory tower, complete with armed guards, imprisoning me to watch my every move. It had nothing to do with protection. Not mine, anyway.

My maroon silk blouse snagged on a tendril of ivy. I slipped it loose and dropped the final few feet to the grass below. I peeked around a manicured shrub toward the front of the complex. One of the guards leaned against the entrance, nearly dozing. Smiling to myself, I crept across the shadowed lawn to the side street.

I jumped into the sleek, black coupe waiting at the curb and turned to Sorcha. “Let’s go.”

She grinned and tore off into the night, away from Cade Heights.

“I don’t get it.” Ella leaned forward from the back seat. “Why can’t you just walk out the front door like everyone else, Jessen? There’s no curfew or anything.”

I flipped down the compact mirror above the passenger seat, checking my hair. I plucked a leaf from the black waves falling past my chest. “Ella, have you actually met my father?” I wiped away a streak of dark liner from below one eye. “Sorcha, where’s your eye shadow?”

“Check the glove compartment.”

I touched-up the tawny shade of color on the outside corners and smeared a glossy cream on the bottom lids, setting off my light brown eyes. Pleased my hair and makeup looked fresh, and not like someone who just crawled down an ivy trellis, I flipped the mirror shut.

“Yes, I’ve met your father. You know I have.” Ella didn’t get the concept of rhetorical questions. Her glazed look, as always, made her pretty features more child-like. “So?”

“So!” Sorcha careened around the next corner, veering deeper into the city. “That man could suffocate a person with a glance.”

I sighed. “Forget about him. Don’t you ladies want to know our destination tonight?”

“Oooo, I do love it when you’re sneaky, Jess. So what’s the big secret? Why am I decked out in my highest-heeled boots and shortest skirt?”

I pulled the glossy flier from my back pocket and handed it over.

“Oh, yeah. That’s what I’m talkin’ about, baby.” Sorcha turned down a side street, heading for the farthest edge of the Gladium Province.

“What is this?” Ella snatched the paper from Sorcha’s hand. “We can’t go there. It’s a Morgon club, Jessen! We’re not allowed.”

“Oh, Ella. Relax.” I snatched the flier back and pointed at the headline. “Do you see who’s playing tonight? We have to go. For moral support.”

“Yeah, for moral support,” agreed Sorcha with a mischievous grin, tossing her dark red locks over one shoulder. “And to play with a little fire.”

I laughed. Ella didn’t.

“You two are crazy. Out-of-your-minds crazy. I don’t care if Jed’s band is playing. He knows we’re not allowed on that end of town, much less in one of their clubs.”

“Calm down.” I twisted in my seat. Ella looked like a wide-eyed doe frozen in the headlights. “First of all, that’s not true. It’s not illegal to go to a Morgon club.”

Ella needed a refresher course on desegregation laws, and how it was illegal for either race to bar anyone from a public place. Of course, my father might let a Morgon come into his place of business, but he’d never let one step foot in his house. Not unless there was money riding on it. Unlawful or not. Ella’s parents also fell into his line of thinking.

“Look. Other humans go all the time. Jed told me. I mean, why the hell would they hire a human band to play if it were against the law? Times are changing.” I wanted to believe it was true, whether or not my father was stuck in the dark ages of bigotry and discrimination.

Ella heaved a small sigh, voice almost a whisper. “But, my mom, she told me never to go to their side of the city.” I glanced over my shoulder. She twisted a blond curl around her index finger, a sure sign of distress for my timid friend. “It’s dangerous, Jessen. Your dad would kill you.”

“Hence, the very reason I snuck out of my apartment rather than let his henchmen tail me all night long, as usual.”

Sorcha zoomed into the Morgon district, the buildings transformed to suit the dragon-hybrid race—sharper, wider, taller, like mountains made of glass and steel.

“I don’t approve,” protested Ella.

Sorcha squeezed her car into a parking spot on a street where glittering clubs lined the block, then popped open her purse and applied a fresh coat of cherry-red lipstick in the rearview mirror.

I gave Ella my reassuring expression while Sorcha primped. “I know. Don’t worry. Jed wouldn’t invite us if he wasn’t sure it was safe. Now, come on. Let’s have some fun.”

“Wait!” Sorcha passed me the lipstick. “You look good in this.”

I applied and handed it back. “Better?”

“Luscious.” She winked. “Look out Morgon men.”

We walked the block in silence, taking in the towering sight of Acropolis at the end. At least ten stories of Gothic stone with wing-like buttresses and spires stabbing into the darkness above. Grotesque gargoyles glared down. The stone creatures drew my eye with their long limbs, sharp claws, wings spread wide, and gaping mouths, tongues lolling. Was this some kind of subliminal warning to beware of winged beasts?

Sorcha glanced up at one particular fiendish gargoyle, seeming as if it would leap off its pedestal at any moment. “Mmm. I’m feeling like a damsel in distress. How about you, Jess?”

“Um, isn’t this owned by the Nightwing clan?” asked Ella, sandwiched between us.

“Yep,” I replied.

Sorcha added more sway to her walk. “Awesome.”

Though the exterior reeked of an ancient time, an electric blue sign burned above a black door—
Tonight:
Red Dream
. My heart skittered at the sight of the man checking IDs. I’d never seen a Morgon this close. We’d had a guest speaker in my Multicultural Literature class, but the Morgon woman, a poet, stood on the stage a good distance from the audience.

This guy was huge, a wall of bulging muscles. His brawny physique wasn’t what kept the three of us riveted to the spot. Massive wings—leathery, jagged, and magnificent—held us spellbound. The man cleared his throat to get our attention, gesturing inside with a crooked smile. “Welcome, ladies.”

“Such a gentleman,” said Sorcha, batting her bedroom eyes. As we stumbled into the club, she grabbed my shoulder and leaned in. “I think I’m in love.”

“Slow down, Sorcha. There are plenty more inside.”

Sure enough, there were. Sorcha bee-lined for the bar. I followed, scanning the décor. I’d never been inside a Morgon building. Maintaining the Gothic style in black leather seating, low-lit sconces, and wide, gold-trimmed mirrors on every wall, the space didn’t feel stifling or closed-in as expected. Rather the opposite. The bar lined one side of the ground floor, the stage the other. The center of the room was the dance floor that opened all the way up to the tenth floor. The skylight in the ceiling framed a deep, inky night. On both sides of the club, wide stairwells spiraled upward. Wrought iron railings barricaded each floor, maintaining the sense of open space. I was standing at the bottom of a giant birdcage. I smiled to myself. Of course I was.

“Jess! Come here!”

I’d stopped midway to the bar, stunned by the vast and opulent interior. A throng of Morgon men surrounded Sorcha and Ella.
Oh, hell, Sorcha.
Ella looked like she was about to bolt, a frightened rabbit hemmed in by wolves. I sauntered up, well aware my body drew attention. Though not as voluptuous as Sorcha, I stood much taller. With black wavy hair brushing my hips, I straightened, thankful for my gift of height. In a biology book on Morgons, which I’d smuggled from the library in my teen years, I’d learned the average height of an adult Morgon male was six-foot-seven. The average. Just like the one with platinum blond hair currently raking me with hungry eyes.