Page 7 of Fated by Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #1)

Chapter 7

C aleb

Why the hell did you go back into that bar?

The whiskey in my glass swirls in agitated circles as I stare out the window of my penthouse office, the city lights below blurring into a smudge of gold and blue. My thoughts are a mess, tangled like a ball of yarn I can’t seem to unravel.

I raise the glass to my lips, the liquor hitting my tongue like a lit match, but its fiery trail doesn’t settle the storm in my head. The room is a vacuum, thick with a silence that presses against my ears, punctuated only by the distant mechanical hum of the city, muffled through layers of glass and steel. Suddenly, it feels like more than just a window. It’s the barrier I put up between the rest of the world and the isolation that has become my life.

That kiss.

It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.

And yet, it does.

Jessica Mercer—a simple data archivist—shouldn’t have that kind of effect on me. No woman does. I don’t have time for distractions, especially not ones that could jeopardize everything I’ve worked for. But the memory of her lips against mine lingers, a spark I can’t seem to extinguish. I clench my jaw, my grip tightening around the glass. She’s a problem. A complication. And I don’t do complications.

I set the glass down with a sharp clink, the sound echoing in the empty room. My dragon stirs restlessly beneath my skin, my lungs rattling with the vibrations of a low growl. It’s been restless ever since the Heartstone started acting up, and now, thanks to Jessica, it’s practically demanding I do something. I can feel its impatience, its rage, like a second heartbeat thrumming beneath my skin. It wants answers. It wants action. But what the hell am I supposed to do?

Get over it!

I’d be thinking more clearly if I wasn’t distracted by the thought of plump, lush lips against mine. The scent of her in my nostrils.

This woman is a goddamn problem.

I shouldn’t have gone back into that damn bar. What the fuck was I thinking? I’m never so impulsive. I wouldn’t have gone at all if Dorian hadn’t goaded me with reminders of our father’s fate. I’m not that man. I won’t end up that way.

Is that why I went back? To prove to myself that there’s more to me?

I glance at the folder on my desk, the one Sloane left earlier. Jessica’s file is still open, her photo staring up at me with those sharp, gray eyes. She’s hiding something; that much is obvious. The question is, what? And why does it feel like she’s the key to everything? I slam the folder shut, the sound sharp in the silence. I don’t like this. I don’t like her. And I don’t like the way she’s burrowed under my skin like a goddamn splinter.

The intercom buzzes, and I press the button, my voice sharp in the silence. “What is it, Sloane?”

“Malakai’s here,” she says, crisply. “He’s insisting on seeing you.”

I groan. Just what I need—another lecture from the old man. “Send him in.”

The door swings open before she can respond, and Malakai strides in. His steel-gray hair is slicked back, his beard neatly trimmed, but his eyes are sharp, cutting through me like a blade. He doesn’t wait for an invitation; just drops into the chair across from my desk like he owns the place.

“Caleb,” he says by way of greeting, his voice gravelly and too damn familiar.

“Malakai,” I acknowledge, leaning back in my chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He snorts at my sarcasm, leaning forward. “The Heartstone’s acting up. You know why?”

“If I knew, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” I say, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. But it’s there, simmering just beneath the surface. I’m tired of playing this game, tired of everyone expecting me to have all the answers when half the time, I’m just trying to keep my head above water.

Malakai’s lips thin. “Your father would’ve known.”

The words are meant to hurt, and fuck it, they do. I don’t let it show. I refuse to let him think he’s winning this ridiculous game he insists on playing. Instead, I set my elbows on the desk and meet his gaze head-on.

“My father’s not here. It’s just me. So if you’ve got something useful to say, say it. Otherwise, don’t waste my time.”

For a moment, he just stares at me, his expression unreadable. Then he sighs, leaning back in his chair. “You’re too much like him, you know that? Stubborn. Arrogant. Always thinking you’re the smartest person in the room.”

“And yet, here you are, asking for my help,” I counter, my voice hard.

Malakai’s lips twitch, almost a smile. “Fair point.” He taps his fingers on the armrest, the sound grating on my already frayed nerves. “The Heartstone’s reacting to something—or someone. You need to figure out what’s changed.”

“Something’s always changing,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. The answer feels just out of reach, taunting me like some cruel joke. I’m missing something. Something big.

“Not like this,” he says, his tone grave. “This feels… different. Older.”

I glance at the window, the city lights blurring as I think.

Different. Older.

The words echo in my mind because they ring true. This sensation I’ve felt has my nerves on end, and as much as I’ve tried to identify it, nothing clicks. There’s a puzzle here, pieces scattered everywhere, and I can’t see the damn picture.

As much as I hate to admit it, the male sitting in front of me is probably the most qualified to answer these questions. Malakai Steele has held his post for the past four hundred years. He’s the only one I know who saw the reign of the last dragon king, Kael Craven, and holds more knowledge about our clan than anyone. As for the Heartstone, he was the one who designed the vault it’s kept in.

“Do you think the stone is in danger?” I ask.

“That’s your responsibility, boy,” he says. “I just came here to see what you’re planning to do about it.”

God, he’s such a pain in the ass.

“Doesn’t hurt to have outside input, Steele. You’re among the oldest of us. What are your instincts telling you?”

“My instincts are saying that you should be more focused,” he says, flicking a hand at my desk.

I frown. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve got a new hire,” he says. He’s looking at the folder in front of me.

I stiffen, my gaze snapping back to him. “What about her?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You tell me.”

I frown at him. “I don’t get your point.”

“Well, I’m guessing there’s something about her that has your attention. Or you wouldn’t have that folder on your desk. Unless it’s because she looks like… that.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “It has nothing to do with her looks, Malakai. Something about her bothers me.”

“Enough to take your mind off your responsibilities to the Heartstone?” He cocks his head. “What’s bothering you about it?”

“Her file’s clean,” I say. “Too clean.”

Malakai leans forward, his eyes boring into mine. “So you investigate everyone in your office who has a clean background? I thought that’s what HR was supposed to do.”

I don’t answer. The truth is, I don’t know why this is troubling me. But something about Jessica Mercer sets my instincts on edge, and I’ve learned to trust those instincts. There’s more to her than she’s letting on. A lot more.

“The stone’s been stable for decades,” Malakai continues. “And now, suddenly, it’s reacting. And you’re wasting your time sniffing around females.” He pauses, letting the words sink in. “You need to get your head in the game—and fast.”

“You need to get your nose out of my business. I know what I’m doing,” I snap, the frustration bubbling over. My dragon growls in agreement, my breath rattling with it. I’m not in the mood for this. For any of this.

Malakai doesn’t flinch. “Then act like it.” He pushes himself to his feet, taking a moment to straighten his leg. “Your father didn’t get to where he was by chasing pussy. Neither will you.”

I level a cold stare at him, not rising to the bait. Instead, I watch as he leaves, the door closing behind him with a sharp crack. The room feels emptier after he’s gone, his words lingering like a bad taste in my mouth.

I lean back in my chair, my mind racing. I don’t care what Malakai thinks my motives are—I need to figure out what’s making my instincts tingle. I need answers. And there’s only one way to get them.

Jessica Mercer.

I pull out my phone, calling up the number Sloane had left in the file. After a moment of hesitation, I hit dial. It rings once, twice, and then she picks up. Her voice sends a jolt through me.

“Hello?”

“Jessica.” Her name feels foreign on my tongue, like a secret I shouldn’t reveal. But one I want to learn more about.

There’s a pause, then, “Who is this?”

“Caleb Craven. We need to talk,” I say.

There’s a sharp intake of breath. “Mr. Craven. About tonight. I’m so sorry—”

“My office,” I say, cutting her off. “Tomorrow morning. 8 am.”

Another pause, longer this time. “I… Okay.”

I hang up without another word, my gaze drifting back to the city lights outside. I picture her face. Her eyes. Her lips. Those goddamned lips— No! This has nothing to do with that kiss back at the bar. Absolutely nothing. She was snooping where she shouldn’t have been, and I need to know why. Whatever game she’s playing, it ends tomorrow.

No one fucks with Craven Industries. No one fucks with me.