Waking the Dragon (6 page)

“I’m not letting a man carry me around like some child. That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous sometimes, Moira, with all your feminist ideals. It’s okay to let a man treat you like a woman. Being feminine isn’t being weak.”

“It’s not that.”

“Why not give this Morgon a chance then?” she asked.

“It’s not that I’m a racist or anything, if that’s what you think.”

She burst into throaty laughter. “No. I never suspected you of being a racist.”

Kris’s unusual mixture of tawny skin and bright green eyes came from her parents’ interracial marriage. Her father was from a dark people in the southern province of Nebea along the Sorrel Sea. Her mother was born and raised in Gladium.

People might raise an eyebrow at a human interracial union, but that’s all. What ruffled society’s feathers more was marrying outside your class. What rankled the aristocracy more than that, even with desegregation laws in place, even with high-profile marriages like my sister’s to Lucius, was the mating to a Morgon. The old mindset was hard to break, despite the façade of being generally accepted in public society. Behind closed doors was another thing altogether.

We stopped at my car. My shitty old clunker with peeling paint was a daily reminder I was standing on my own feet, not allowing my father to rule my life. Kris might have had a point. Had I pushed my father away in order to appear strong? To be an independent woman who relied on no man to stand on her own two feet? In doing so, I seemed to have pushed all men away.

“Are Morgon men too tough for you to handle?” she teased.

I sighed, giving her a brief hug. “Let’s talk gender politics in a male-dominated society some other time.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

“You’re so smart. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She waved over her shoulder. “Have fun on your
business
date!” She yelled into the night air, giggling all the way to her car.

Traffic was heavy, but I found a spot in the stadium parking lot and arrived at the entrance just in time. Kraven waited for me under the double-archway. His eyes swept over me in an assessing glimpse as I approached. He straightened, wings half open, expression unreadable. I hoped I hadn’t overdone it trying so hard to fit in. “Is it too much?”

A smile cracked his square jaw. “No.” He shook his head. “You look great.”

By now I’d met him under the arch, but he hadn’t made a move to go in. Inwardly, I cursed Kris for pushing me to wear this damn corset. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” He held out his arm, chuckling as if to his own private joke. “But so much for not attracting attention.”

Deep breath in, then out. “Okay.” I linked my arm through his. The charade of my first date with a Morgon had begun. “Let’s go then.”

Our plan was to arrive near the end of the game, so we could blend in easily with the crowd. I’d been to the Vaengar Games once before. I wrote my first feature story on this favorite Morgon sporting event. The Gladium crowd cheered our home team, the Sabers. Teams from Morgon provinces all over the place traveled to compete here in Vaengar Stadium.

We climbed the final ramp, and Kraven led me into the Box, opening wide to the vast arena. Energy and sound hit me like a tidal wave. The bell tolled to begin a match, and the crowd roared, sending vibrations through my chest. The Box was a sectioned off area with plush seating and a private bar, specifically for the elite Morgon clans and sometimes their fortunate human friends. I’d never been here before. Even with my tight connection to Lucius and Lorian, I’d never stepped foot into this realm of the Morgon world. A little uneasy, but I hid it well. One thing I learned in my upbringing among high society was to keep my mask on at all times. You never knew who was watching, waiting to find and exploit your weakness.

“Conn!” shouted Kraven, waving over a rust-winged Morgon with auburn hair. I knew him.

“Conn Rowanflame, this is—”

“Moira Cade,” he finished, taking my hand in both of his. “We met at Julian’s last birthday party, right?”

I nodded. “Good to see you again.” As charming and handsome as ever. Many Morgon men bore a stern, sometimes forbidding, exterior. Not Conn. He smiled easily and wore a mischievous glint in his eye, promising he was up to no good.

“You’re here with Kraven?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. She’s here with me. So don’t flirt too much.”

“Me?” Conn looked appalled at the accusation, slipping an arm over my shoulder. “Never. Come sit in my private section.” He waved Kraven off. “You go get us some drinks. What would you like, Moira?”

“A beer is fine.”

“She wants a beer, and I’ll have the same.”

I laughed. Kraven just shook his head before moving through the crowd toward the bar. We’d mutually decided that our plan was to pretend we’d been dating for a month. It would make others more comfortable to open up to me. It would also be an outright challenge for Morgon men to test our connection.

In a quick briefing over the comm yesterday, Kraven explained that without a scent imprint in my skin, other Morgons would know I was still “available.” Before I could even ask what a scent imprint was, he explained that when Morgons were serious about a female, Morgon or human, she carried his scent in her skin. Other Morgon men knew it immediately. Because I didn’t bear his imprint, Morgon men would be vying for my attention. And hopefully, one of them would be the black-haired, black-eyed Morgon with a facial tic.

Fortunately, Conn’s section was front and center with a great view of both the arena as well as the other tiers of fans. I had a feeling that Conn’s appearance wasn’t at all coincidental. The way his eyes darted across the crowd, searching for possible threats, reminded me of the way Lucius and Lorian assessed and observed. He must be on the Nightwing Security team.

Just as I sat, a silver-winged Saber flew past our section, the wind whooshing my hair back.

“Get ’em, Slade!”

“You know him?” I asked Conn.

“Yeah. A friend of mine.”

Vaenger was basically a game of “capture the torque” where each team alternated playing offense and defense per match. The goal was to capture the golden torque dangling at the top of a spire welded into the cavern floor at the center of the arena. It was the job of the stealer on the offense to capture it before the bell tolled the ending of the match. And before being burned by a fire-breathing opponent on the defensive team.

Both teams played bare-chested, zooming through the air at ridiculous speeds. The opponents’ stealer flew high above the players, circling in a slow, strategic way. He had wide, deep-purple wings, like the rest of his team. My blood pumped faster at the fanfare of dragonwings beating Morgons into the air, whipping their muscular bodies into a magnificent display of beauty and strength. A common spectacle for Morgons, I tried not to reveal how bewitching such a sight was for me.

“Who are we up against?”

I already knew, but didn’t want Conn or anyone else to know that I’d spent the week in between dinner at my sister’s and tonight researching every Vaenger team from here to Cloven.

“The Storm-gales, a rural team from outside Drakos called Violetvale, which also happens to be their clan name.”

And also reflected the color of their wings. I nodded, sucking in a breath as a purple-winged player zipped past the box, blowing a stream of orange flame at Conn’s friend who grappled with him in the air. The two went air-tumbling to the dirt floor of the arena.

“Here, Moira.” Kraven was beside me, handing me a mug of beer.

I sipped lightly, wanting to keep sober. Morgon beer was stronger than human brews. Everyone knew their DNA differed from humans in many ways. One was their unbelievably high tolerance for alcohol.

“Conn. You going to the after-party?” asked Kraven.

Conn arched a brow, his gaze flicking in my direction. “Yeah. You’re not bringing Moira, are you?”

“Why not?” I asked. “Kraven told me the fights in the Pit are pretty exciting.”

I’d gotten a brief explanation that the after-party centered around a Morgon-on-Morgon fight match, surrounded by heavy drinking and carousing before and after the main event.

Conn leaned closer to Kraven. I pretended to be distracted by the players, the Storm-gale stealer sweeping down in a vertical dive to snatch the torque.

“It’s not safe these days for humans, Kraven. Does Lucius know you’ve got his sister-in-law here?”

Kraven whispered something I couldn’t hear.

“Right,” was Conn’s terse reply.

The crowd erupted as the Storm-gale stealer whisked the torque from the spire, crowning his team the winners.

“Come on,” Kraven whispered close to my ear. “Let’s beat the rush.”

He threaded his fingers through mine, leading me out of the Box and down the corridor to a darkened stairwell. We descended, each curving flight lit by one flaming torch. My heart picked up pace. Kraven halted one step below me. His eyes shimmered in the dark, an animal’s night vision.

“Focus on slowing your pulse.”

“You can hear it?”

“I can feel it.” He squeezed my hand, his thumb brushing my inner wrist. “But Morgons can sense fear. For the wrong kind of Morgon, it’s an aphrodisiac.”

“Isn’t that the kind we’re trying to find tonight?”

His eyes narrowed. “Slow your pulse.”

A Morgon couple slipped past us, clinging to each other. Closing my eyes, I inhaled a deep breath, blowing it out steadily.

Opening my eyes, I nodded. “Lead the way.”

Five flights down, the stairway opened to an underground tavern, one vast room with nooks and niches, bars and booths along one wall and a barred-cage surrounding a pit in the ground to one side. Lit by torchlight in sconces along the wall and a few wrought-iron chandeliers dangling on chains from the ceiling, the room remained mostly in shadow. Dance music pumped from somewhere. The entire scene was…seductive.

Still holding my drink, Kraven led me to one side, away from parties of drinkers already making noise.

“So this is it?” I took a bigger swig of beer, needing a tad of liquid courage.

“This is it. There’ll be a fight later in the Pit.”

“Do you see the Nightwing Security guys?”

“Yep. They’re here.”

“Conn doesn’t know about this plan?”

“Lucius didn’t want everyone knowing your involvement. They might give something away, guarding you too close. But with the recent abductions, he heightened security anyway. Everyone is on alert.”

I scanned the crowds. No one looked our way. Of course, Lucius and Lorian’s guys would be expert at disguise. I needed to move about the room, see if I could find my target. “I’m going to roam a bit.”

His frown deepened. “I’ll come with you.”

“Kraven, no Morgon man is going to approach me with you hovering. Especially not the one we’re looking for.”

He must’ve seen the determination in my eyes, softening as I waited for him to bend. He scanned the room. “Fine. Just don’t leave this basement for any reason.”

“Don’t worry.” I wasn’t stupid.

Taking another gulp for courage, I meandered through the crowd. Morgon men’s eyes followed me as I passed, none of them matching the description by Bennett Cremwell.

Raucous laughter and cat-calls from a table in the corner drew my attention. I set my beer on a round-top, meandering toward the throng. Shielded by the winged-backs of Morgon men and a few women, I couldn’t see what drew everyone’s attention at the center. Inching closer, I heard a feminine squeal of laughter.

A strong hand wrapped my forearm in a firm grip, a voice rough as rock spoke one word. A command. “No.”

A wall of heat at my back, I glanced over my shoulder at the tallest Morgon man I’d ever seen. I stepped away, pulling my arm free. He let me. He was hard in every way—demeanor, expression, posture, appearance. A cold slab of marble chiseled down into the statue-like physique of a dark, forbidding Morgon. He had a reddened scar slashing from above his left cheekbone to below his lip. His eyes were a midnight blue except for a pale ring circling the pupils. They seemed crafted by magic or some other supernatural force as they glinted blue-silver in the dark. No one needed to tell me his name. It left my lips without my consent. “Kol Moonring.”

Dark hair fell in staggered waves to the nape of his neck and across his forehead. At six feet, I was accustomed to being eye level with most men, even Morgons. Not this one. He was the tallest I’d ever seen. He tilted his cleft chin down, taking me in. “You’re tall…for a human female.”

I straightened in my heeled-boots. “You’re observant…for a Morgon male.”

His eyes lighted on mine, no hint of a smile, but definitely a glint of surprise.

A trill of feminine laughter and masculine whistles erupted from the horde in the corner. I tried to walk around him, closer to the crowd. Without seeming to move, he stood in my path.

“What’s the problem? Are human women forbidden?”

“Not at all. You’re welcome to join them.” He shifted his weight to one side, still blocking my way. “If you like strangers licking salt from your body and sticking their tongues down your throat, go right ahead.”

Oh. Body shots.

“Just so you know, that group barely understands boundaries when they’re sober. And they’re nowhere near sober right now.”

Within the circle of raucous partiers, a Morgon man’s wings flared above the crowd, his actions hidden by the surrounding horde. His performance earned him a roar of cheers.

“Lorian asked me to keep you out of harm’s way.” He nodded in the direction of the rowdy bunch behind him. “That’s harm’s way.”

I crossed my arms, deciding whether to see for myself or to follow his advice. As much as I hated to submit, my quarry would probably not be among the party-hard heathens in the corner. “I think I’ll skip body shots tonight.”

His gaze flicked to my chest. Crossed arms under a corset pushed my full breasts to new heights. I quickly uncrossed them, nearly earning me a full smile from Mr. Wall-o-Morgon. “Do you think any of that group was responsible for the victims?”