Kiss of a Dragon (Fallen Immortals 1) - Paranormal Fairytale Romance (12 page)

His low growl of frustration would have been audible in the high-end hotel room, with its shiny mirrors and steel surfaces, except for the groan coming off Sandra eclipsing his own.

Her long-fingered hands were balled up at her sides. “This isn’t what I signed up for.”

He couldn’t afford to send her off in a rage of unsatisfied sexual needs—that would no doubt get back to Arabella through messages on his WildLove app, if nothing else, and he would be forced to explain. And who knew what Sandra would say. She was too much of a wildcard in this tightrope act he was walking.

He debated simply going through with it, but that worked for neither him nor advancing the situation with Arabella. Although it appeared that it would definitely work for Sandra.

Oh, how Leonidas would be taunting him if he knew…

Of course.
The solution was instantly clear. He held his hands out in conciliation to Sandra. “I understand that this must feel less than forthright. Please, have a seat, and let me be honest with you.” He gestured to the bed.

The frown that had burrowed into her forehead lifted with that invitation. He settled next to her and gazed into her green eyes. She was a beautiful woman. Leonidas would be merciless in his insults, but they would be directly solely at Lucian. With
her,
he would very much enjoy himself. As would she.

“I’m afraid there’s someone else,” Lucian began.

She edged closer to him. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

He worked to keep his disgust inside. “I mean to say that I’m in love with someone else.” The words were false, but still terrifying. Under no circumstance could that be allowed to actually happen.

Sandra drew back. “In the last hour? Because you sounded very ready on the message board earlier.”

“Yes, in the last hour.” The lie sat like a stone on his chest. “But I realize that’s unfair to you. So I have an offer—my brother will take my place.”

Her eyebrows flew up, then a smoldering look settled on her face. “Perhaps your brother can join us.”

“We’re rather… territorial.” The disgust was working hard to make an appearance. “But trust me, my brother will be happy to oblige any tastes you have.”

Her eyes glittered. “Older or younger?”

“Younger by two minutes.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and speed-dialed Leonidas. “We’re twins. Fraternal, although he’ll tell you, he’s the better-looking one.”

That put some spark back in her eyes.

Leonidas picked up on the first ring. “Did this plan of yours go south already?” he asked. “I would have expected—”

“Leonidas! So glad I could catch you. I have a lovely woman here who can’t wait for you to warm her bed.”

“Arabella is lovely, but I thought—”

“Her name is Sandra.” Lucian managed to keep the swell of his roar inside, but he was shocked by the sudden intensity of it. Along with the desire to strangle his brother should he lay a hand on Arabella.
Shit.
That wasn’t good. “I’ll text you the address. Be here in twenty.” He hung up the phone and forced a smile for Sandra. “He’ll be here soon. In the meantime, let me order up something to set the mood. I hear the French Merlot is exceptional. Perhaps some chocolate-covered fruit to accompany it?”

Her smile grew wider. “Sounds like a party. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay?”

He was already on his feet, ready to leave all this in his brother’s capable hands and retrieve Arabella from the horror of a neighborhood where she worked. “Trust me, you and my brother will have a much more enjoyable time without me.”

He ordered room service, and that came in no time at all. He had two glasses of wine into Sandra before his brother knocked at the door. A flood of relief filled him when he opened it—barely nineteen minutes had passed, and Leonidas’s eyes were still flashing bronze, his dragon just recently tucked away. He must have flown straight from the keep.

Sandra grinned at him from over Lucian’s shoulder then waved.

Leonidas scowled and dropped his voice low. “Green eyes?
Lucian.
What are you playing at?”

Green eyes.
It was Lucian’s attempt to signal his desire to Arabella. But of course, his brother would see it as something completely different. And perhaps he wasn’t wrong.
They were Cara’s eyes.
“It’s not like that.”

“It damn well better not be.” Leonidas put on that charming smile, the one he saved for the many human females he’d bedded over the centuries, and brushed past Lucian. His brother was the kind of dragon that suited this business of seducing women. If only he could fulfill the treaty as well. But no, it had to be the
prototokos,
the firstborn of the king of the House of Smoke… and that was Lucian, by accident of birth order, when he was first to leave the womb of his mother. The fae were nothing if not exacting in their following of the letter of the law—their magical law—and in this case, it was binding with magic just strong enough to keep them contained. It was his fate, and he had to accept it… even if it broke him.

Lucian closed the door without looking back.

Arabella was silent on the long ride back to the keep.

She chose one of the seats far from Lucian, on the opposite side of the limo, and she kept her gaze to the windows, serving him one-word answers to his questions while ignoring his attempts to capture her attention with a look. He had allowed her to assume he had gone through with the hookup, but that Sandra simply wasn’t his type of woman, and thus they were back to square one in the hunt for his mate. She had barely questioned it—a simple nod was all he got when he came to retrieve her from her miserably unsafe office. He had wanted her to believe he had tried and failed, that this other woman simply wasn’t the True Love he was seeking, all while triggering a moment of jealousy, some blossoming of feelings for him… but instead, she radiated nothing but anger. And small verbal and body-language complaints about returning to the keep.

She seethed at his keeping her prisoner, and what could he expect? 
She was even more right than she knew. He was a monster for what he was doing.

His runes writhed along his skin, his agitation building stronger during the long drive through the mountains. He knew what was coming—he would have to escalate this seduction to the realm of the physical, and that tormented him. On the one hand, he salivated at the thought of finally touching her. The few times he’d taken the liberty had left his hands and mouth and the rest of his body aching for more. At the same time, there lay the danger of losing himself in her. He knew it would eventually come to this, and in truth, he should have bedded her right away, before he could come to know her better. But even then, it felt like dangling over a dark precipice where his doom awaited with hungry, snapping jaws.

He wasn’t ready for this. He knew this to be true. But the treaty left him no choice.

Cinaed parked the car in the common garage, the one that lay cloaked off a small winding dirt road leading up to the keep. His frown echoed the tension rippling through Lucian’s body.

“You look as though a demon is walking over your grave,” Cinaed said quietly to him as he held the door of the limo. Arabella was striding with angry paces ahead of them to the elevator.

“Well, the grave is certainly on my mind.” Lucian grimaced as Arabella kept her back turned to them. She was waiting for the elevator, arms crossed.

“My liege.”
The look of concern on his friend’s face was a mirror of his brother’s earlier, only more kind. Cinaed was relatively new to the House of Smoke, having come with his own baggage and troubles not long before the move from France, but he had been Lucian’s steadfast friend throughout everything that counted in his life.

He clapped a hand on Cinaed’s shoulder. “Worry not, my friend. Save it for someone who deserves it.”

“Lucian—”

“And tell the House I’m not to be disturbed.” He scowled to keep any more questioning at bay and left Cinaed cursing softly in his ancient tongue, the one he was born into before he fought for his freedom from the House of Fyre and swore fealty to the House of Smoke.

Lucian activated the lift when he arrived and gestured for Arabella to enter first. The car went straight to his lair, private access to his individual apartment within the sprawling expanse of the House. The ride was tense and quiet, with Arabella keeping to the back corner of the small space, bracing against the brass rail that ran along the center.

He needed to start thawing this arctic breeze—the sooner, the better, now that they were alone. “Were you able to catch up on your work?”

“Some.” She watched the crack of the door like it held her release, not her imprisonment.

“I imagine those you help are grateful for it.”

No response.

“Do they tell you as much? Or do you see the change in their lives and simply know?”

Her eyes flashed—flitting a hot look to him—then she returned her hard stare to the door, waiting. “I know all I need to.”

It was more words, all in a row, than he’d gotten in the last two hours.

The motion of the elevator ceased, and the doors slid open. She broke for the exit like she was escaping a dungeon. He hurried to follow her into his lair. It was as if she were running away from him, but to where, he couldn’t imagine. Was she planning to hide in the guest room?

“How do you know?” he tried, trailing behind her determined strides through the front hall. “It is because you’ve been in that same position—”

She whirled on him just before she turned the corner to the great room, and he had to check his stride lest he barrel right into her. Her finger jabbed the air near his face. “You do
not
get to ask me personal questions. Do you understand? That is not part of this deal.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“And speaking of our deal, what the
hell
was wrong with Sandra?” Her arms locked across her chest, anger flushing her cheeks. “How can you even
know
who she is after fucking her one time? Was it really that bad?”

He grimaced. Here it came. “No. Or rather… I wouldn’t know.”

Her face scrunched up, those green eyes dazzling in their rage. The red in her cheeks highlighted the freckles that floated just below the creaminess of her skin. That he found her alluring in the full flower of her anger… it was a danger sign he should be heeding.

“What does that even mean?” she demanded.

He stepped closer and softened his voice. It felt as dangerous as tiptoeing at the edge of a cliff. “I didn’t bed the woman.”

“What?”
The heat in her eyes flared to dangerous levels. She unlocked her arms and flung them out in exasperation, her fingertips nearly reaching him.
“First,
you reject one candidate after another, all because they don’t have green eyes, for whatever fucking stupid reason.
Then
you refuse to even
meet
with the first two who managed to get your approval. And then you don’t even go through with the hookup? Are you even
trying
with this?”

“I am,” he said, barely breathing the words. “Very hard.”

“The hell you are!” She turned away from him, and he reached to stop her from fleeing—

The rest happened in a blur. She spun on him and hit him, a soft hand bunched and plowed into his shoulder, nudging him back simply with the surprise of it. Then she grappled with him, moving in to plant her body to throw him over her hip, some kind of close-quarters fighting move that reminded him of her actions in the alleyway. Only she hadn’t reckoned on his size—he was a mountain compared to her. The attempt only brought her angry, teeth-gritted face close to his, the warmth of her breath brushing his face.

He gripped her shoulders. “Arabella—”

She growled and squirmed, half wrestling to try to move him, half attempting to escape. He released her, so she wouldn’t think he was trying to keep her, but then she swung for his face—he caught her hand at the wrist, then found the other before it could attack. Holding both up, he turned to pin her against the wall of the entrance hall. He drew close, exchanging air, the whisper-touch of her disheveled hair on the bare skin of his arms…

“You’re
lying
to me
.”
She threw the accusation at him, almost spitting across the short distance between them. Her eyes were wild as she squirmed in his hold. She quickly gave up that fight as useless, and it pained him to feel the energy drain from her arms and see the horror bloom on her face. “You’re never going to let me go.” Her words were a sob. 

Of course, that was
exactly
his intent. And he was vile for it.

He kept her wrists pinned, but he softened his grip, afraid he had already held her too roughly. She was strong, but all humans were delicate compared to his dragon strength. “Could you never love a man like me?” he asked, voice low.

She looked at him like he was crazy.
“No.”
But her arousal betrayed her. He could scent the rise in heat, the passion those words evoked.

He loosened his hold further and dipped his head to peer in her eyes. “Are you quite certain?”

“No.” It was ambiguous, both in tone and meaning, but the pupils of her eyes were dilating with need. He could feel it pulsing in her wrists.