Waking the Dragon (7 page)

The hard planes of his face fixed into adamant, as if sculpted in ice. His jaw clenched. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

One brow arched. “Quite.”

A clamor of noise came from the entrance. The bare-chested players flooded into the cellar, their groupies trailing behind them. I watched Conn and the friend of his join Kraven to one side. One player from each team bee-lined for the cage to the whooping cheers of their fans.

“What’s going on?”

Kol was a shield behind me. Though not touching, I could feel the heat of him pressing along the lines of my shoulders and down my back as I watched the scene unfolding across the room. His proximity put me on edge. Uncomfortably so.

“The main event.” His voice had dropped low and deep, his breath brushing my hair.

Never one to let a man ruffle me, I eased a step forward. “I should go. Thanks for the warning about, uh, them.” I gestured to the crowd behind us just as they surged toward the Pit en masse. Kol didn’t move, effectively blocking me, as they stumbled past in a rough cluster.

“Moira! Hey, girl.” Someone tugged my arm. “What are you doing here?”

Surprised, I spun to find an unexpected acquaintance. “Layla? What are
you
doing here?”

Layla was a student who worked at the reception desk in the Liberal Arts building, the same which housed
The Herald
offices. Usually meek and mild at work, I never expected to see someone like her in a place like this.

“Having fun.” She winked. By her short skirt and low-cut top, she was out for more than fun. “I didn’t think you ever came out of that office. Look at you, all hot and spicy.” She grabbed my hand and dragged me with her. “Come on.”

I didn’t glance over my shoulder to see if Kol watched us go. I could feel his eyes well enough. Layla pulled me right up to the front of the cage. Kraven stood on the opposite side near the entrance gate, talking to Conn. The fighters were already down in the Pit.

“Hey, Drom,” said Layla, pulling on the arm of one of the Morgons I instantly recognized as one of the horde hanging in the shot corner. “This is Moira. We go to GU together.”

I offered to shake his hand, despising the arrogant tilt of his mouth and his sad attempt at smoldering eyes. Then it hit me. Layla might well have been the one squealing with laughter on the body shot table underneath this guy. He took my hand. Rather than shaking it, he pressed his lips to my knuckles, leaving a wet kiss. Gross.

“Hi.” His eyes roved freely down my body. He pressed a little closer, releasing my hand, placing the other on my back, letting it drift low. “Where have you been hiding?”

I wanted to say,
from disgusting plugs like you
, but my goal tonight was to fit in. Blend. And see if I could find the guy who got Maxine Mendale drunk right before she disappeared. I gave him a semi-flirty smile, making me want to retch.

Kraven’s bellowing voice drew everyone’s attention to the Pit. He stood at the bottom, his arms raised with swords in both hands. As he used to officiate the fights a few years ago, it wouldn’t appear odd if he entered the Pit for old times’ sake.

“The pledge of the Obsidian Games apply,” he bellowed. “Fight until one yields.”

He tossed a sword to the Storm-gale player, the other to the Saber. At once, they went after each other in a clamor of steel on steel.

I wanted to ask what the Obsidian Games were. I hadn’t heard of it before, but I refused to give Layla’s “friend” a reason to get any closer. No need. One of his hands snaked around my hip as he pressed too close. Then Sorcha’s warning clicked. Before she left the dinner party, she’d given me a hug and said,
Just know that violence amps up the libido of Morgon men. Those after-parties are ripe for sex and violence.

Before his hand could drop any farther south, and his mouth could make contact with my skin, I slipped out of reach against the cage, giving him an apologetic smile. “My date is waiting for me.”

Indeed, Kraven was scanning the crowd. Layla replaced my position, giving the slimy guy’s hands a new victim. She didn’t seem to mind.

Skimming along the inside of the cage, I pretended to be interested in the fighters in the Pit as I scanned the crowd for Bennett Cremwell’s guy. Still no luck. I had to force my way through the bodies, pressing my own against others to make it to the other side. I squeezed in between Kraven and Conn, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Did you find him?” Kraven asked.

“No.” I gripped the bars, feinting interest in the fight. “So tell me about the Obsidian Games.”

“I figured your sister would’ve told you.”

“Jessen withholds information sometimes.” I blew out a frustrated breath. “I think she still thinks I’m ten years old.”

Kraven smiled, giving me a nod, while watching the fight as I did. “The Obsidian Games is a rite of passage for Morgon men. The Games are held in Mount Obsidian near Drakos once a year.”

I winced as one of the opponents barely dodged a fire-ball shot from the mouth of the other. The crowd
ooed
in unison.

Kraven blew out a low whistle. “That was close. As I was saying, all Morgon men compete at least once. That is, if you want to uphold your clan’s honor. Young Morgon men, coming of age, battle against a champion of the Guard.”

“The Morgon Guard?”

Kraven smiled. “Yeah. They’re more than law enforcers.”

I knew that already. The Morgon Guard had a reputation as the international Morgon police. No crime went unpunished, and there was nowhere a Morgon criminal could go without an MG officer hunting, finding, and dragging him before a Morgon Tribunal. Justice was swift and final. Punishment was immediate. No appeals. They had their ways of determining a criminal’s guilt or innocence which remained a mystery to us. The mere mention of the Guard carried an air of trepidation for both races.

“I see.” I finally acknowledged Kraven. I bit my lip as one opponent in the Pit pummeled the other guy in the face, gaining a roar of applause from the crowd. “So if a Morgon loses against a Guard champion, they lose their family honor? That hardly seems fair.”

Kraven shook his head. “As long as the challenger doesn’t yield, he still wins. A Morgon man, a
true
Morgon man, never gives up whether he’s beaten or not. That’s the lesson of the Obsidian Games. A lesson Morgons live by.”

Another roar erupted from the crowd. The Saber was unconscious beneath his opponent. The Storm-gale held his arms up in victory, a trickle of blood sliding down his face, his teeth bared in a vicious grin, dark purple wings flared out in a powerful stance.

Kraven arched an eyebrow. “See,” he said before opening the gate and entering the cage. His wings beated twice to bring him to the floor, so he could raise the arm of the victor.

I shook my head. I did see, but I didn’t understand the relevance of letting someone beat you into unconsciousness for pride. The male ego—a dangerous force.

I sighed and glanced across the ring, my heart stuttering. Directly opposite me was a black-haired, black-eyed Morgon, gripping the bars. Something was different about him, the way he scrutinized the crowd, not enjoying the entertainment in the Pit as others did. I watched him with an unwavering eye. Then I saw it. His right eye blinked, his mouth twitching on the same side. My pulse pounded, a cold shiver crawling up my spine. He did it again, exactly how Bennett Cremwell had described.

He slid away from the Pit, vanishing into a sea of Morgons.

I pushed through the throng, weaving away from the cage. The music started again now that the fight was over.

He was at the bar, knocking back a drink. Perfect. I made my move, slipping into character, slowing my stride to exude sensuality rather than my usual swift step of determination. Moving like a woman transfixed by the mighty Morgon, I sidled up next to him, waving over the bartender—a slender Morgon female with hunter-green wings.

“What’ll you have?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure.” I turned to the man next to me, the man I’d been looking for all night who reeked of money in a silk gray button-down. “What should I have?” I laced my words like a sultry invitation. “I’ve been drinking beer tonight, but I need something a bit stronger.”

His gaze slid over my face, neck, and hair, assessing every line. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

“Brevette is always a good choice.” His voice was a black, silky serpent—sexy and deadly in the same vein.

Brevette was a human-made whiskey. Strong and expensive. The perfect drink to lure in a human girl looking for a big-spender. I ordered a glass and reached in my back pocket for money. He flipped out a large bill. “Allow me.”

“Thanks.” I flashed a bright smile, leaning forward and flipping my hair over one shoulder. While watching the bartender, I felt his eyes following the design on my back.

“I’ve not seen you here before.”

“This is my first time. Cool place.” I smiled again, letting my eyes trail obviously over his wings in an appreciative manner. Sharp and strong, an odd shiny black, as if covered in shimmery scales, and cut more jagged than other Morgon wings.

He reached out a hand. “And who do I have the pleasure to be standing next to?”

I took his hand. “Who do
I
have the pleasure of standing next to?”

His mouth and eye did that tic motion, then his lips opened in a wide grin. He took my hand, not exactly shaking it, but not letting it go. Against all my instincts, I didn’t pull away, fighting my natural inclination to narrow my eyes in defiance.

“My name is Borgus.”

Hmph. Doubted that.

“Moira.” I saw no reason not to give him my real name. Even if he discovered my last name and tracked me down, the only thing of interest he’d find was that I was a rich girl from an aristocratic family with a sister who intermarried with a Morgon. All my articles from
The Herald
were published under my pen name, Marina Creed. I wanted to make my own way, not on the coattails of my father’s.

“Moira.” He sang my name in a breathy whisper.

I had to physically keep myself from trembling.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

I smiled, slipping my hand from his to take a sip of my drink. He angled his body closer to mine. I forced myself to stay in place, his chest brushing my shoulder.

“I suppose men tell you that all the time.”

“No. Not really.” Truth. “Maybe they’re intimidated by me,” I teased, then lifted my glass of Brevette and let the liquor touch my lips rather than slide into my mouth.

He laughed. A deep-barreled sound. “Oh. That is certainly so.”

Trying to keep my cool, I kept my expression flirty as his eyes wandered to my corset and what it held. He was appraising, measuring, knocking numbers off a checklist in his head. My heart rate picked up pace. Hopefully, he recognized it as excitement, not the fear shooting up my spine.

“You’re not intimidated, are you?” I asked in a low whisper.

His black eyes glinted with something feral. Just as he was about to respond, an arm wrapped around my shoulder. “Hey, Moira! Where’d you sneak off to? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” Conn squeezed me in a tight grip. Thanking the heavens I hadn’t given a false name, I whipped my head back to my suitor. Gone.

“Damn it.” I shrugged out of Conn’s embrace, peering over the bumping-and-grinding crowd.

“Moira, I’m not trying to come on to you, but that guy’s a creep show. You don’t want to hang with Morgons like that.”

“Actually, I did.” Ignoring his puzzled expression, I grabbed his arm and said, “Just tell Kraven ‘he’s here.’ Okay?”

I stalked off, pushing through the crush of people dancing in the low light. The room was huge, but I caught the sharp shape of angular, shiny wings slipping toward an alcove. I followed as fast as I could, but that hulking creep I met with Layla earlier pulled me into a tight embrace and rubbed himself all over me. I pushed off with a violent shove. “I told you. I’m not interested!”

He leered. “Thought you needed more convincing.”

No time for this shit, I gave him a swift hand-heel to the chin. His head snapped back and hands loosened their tight grip. Before he could retaliate in any way, I slipped away and took a few steps into the alcove, expecting another room, a bar, or something, but it wasn’t an alcove at all. It was an exit. A stretch of dark corridor lay ahead with torches in sconces leading the way.

Don’t be stupid, don’t be stupid.

“Fine.” I told the voice chanting in my head. I spun around, swallowing the yelp that came out of my throat.

Kol Moonring stood directly behind me, a scowl fixed in granite. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I blew out a quick breath, regaining composure after the shock of finding him standing there.

“Let me guess.” I gestured over my shoulder. “Harm’s way.”

“You weren’t seriously considering following him.” Not a question from the Iceman.

“I didn’t realize this was an exit. I thought it was just another room.”

“It’s not an exit. It’s
the
exit. Two of the three victims were taken through this passage.”

Glancing over my shoulder at the menacing darkness, I edged away, closer to Kol. He didn’t move. Why wouldn’t he move?

“If you’re waiting for an apology or something, you’ll be waiting a long time. It was a simple mistake.”

“There’s no such thing.”

“As what? A simple mistake? Of course there is. I just made one.”

“Simple can get you killed, Ms. Cade.”

Ms. Cade?
His condescending tone made me want to punch him.

“But it didn’t. Now move your gargantuan self out of my way so I can get out of this creepy corridor.”

A flash of blue-silver from fey eyes was a sign of the dragon riding him hard. I clenched my jaw, pretending he didn’t intimidate me.

“You’re Morgon bait in a tall, pretty package. You’re going to get yourself killed. Or someone else.”

I flinched, knowing that was certainly an insult, no matter that he called me
pretty
. He practically sneered while saying it.

“Excuse me?”

“You should go back to school. Write your stories, or whatever it is you do, and stay out of this world.”