Page 42

The room is only marginally better lit than the streets outside, but the air is decidedly more stuffy, filled with the smell of unwashed bodies and sour beer.

Apart from being run down, it doesn’t look much different from any other tavern I’ve been at—except for the massive cage in the back, where, surrounded by a cheering crowd, two people are fighting each other.

The bad lighting makes it hard to see anyone’s face.

After what Tanner told me, only a fool would think that this is any safer than the alley outside. I’m no fool, even if some might argue differently, considering I’m here to meet a dragon, something many would consider madness.

I shove Tate’s face out of my mind.

My eyes are well-adjusted to the dark, so I have no problem spotting the dragon the minute I walk in. He looks like he’s illuminated by a fire that only exists for him.

He’s beautiful and terrifying at the same time. His eyes seem to glow an eerie orange, and his symmetrical face looks unnatural. After watching him for a moment, I realize he doesn’t blink, and his movements are off, not human. No wonder everyone gives him a wide berth.

Not my best idea.

I square my shoulders, ignore the turning heads from the people I pass, and make my way over to him. This is my chance to get answers.

The closer I get, the stronger the raw power radiating from him. It’s wild and barely controlled, like a vicious dog on a tiny leash.

Worst idea ever.

My heart pounds in my chest, nearly drowning out all the noise around me, and everything inside me screams to turn and leave. But the dragon’s gaze is already on me, tracking my movement through the room, and everyone else turns away.

Dragons are said to be very greedy and possessive. No matter what happens, no one will step in. Not that the people here are the kind to step in for anyone anyway.

I shove down my rising anxiety.

Don’t show fear. No sudden movements. No strong emotions. I recite every scrap of information I ever heard about approaching a dragon, desperately trying to ignore the rule above all. Just don’t.

He moves his head sideways. A predatory move that belies his human form.

“Tamara Blackstone,” he purrs when I reach his table, and my brows jump up.

“I had the pleasure of meeting your brother,” he continues.

Well, that explains how he knows who I am.

I have heard about their freakishly good noses and memory, but experiencing it is something else entirely.

He inclines his head, sizing me up, the vertical slits of his pupils and glowing eyes even more unnerving from up close.

“Now, why would a pretty little thing like you approach a dragon?”

Here goes nothing . I take a steadying breath.

“Lorcan.” I incline my head respectfully and hope my smile looks more convincing than it feels.

He gestures for me to sit, and I position myself with my back to the wall, even if it means I sit right next to him.

“Thank you for your time,” I say, determined to stick to politeness, even if it kills me. Not doing so will kill me for sure.

“What is it?” he asks. It seems like he’s as impatient as the tales say. I look around us, but everyone is out of earshot. Lorcan notices my glances, and I see something glimmer in his eyes. Interest maybe? Curiosity?

Shit, am I really going to do this?

Before I talk myself out of it, I lean on the table, reducing the space between us.

“I need information about cursed ones,” I murmur.

He leans in, scenting my neck. I lock my muscles and make myself stay still even though I want nothing more than to jump away.

“And why would someone like you be looking for information like that?” he asks softly.

It’s a trap. If I lie, I will never get my answers.

He is so close now that I don’t need more than a whisper to reach him. “Because I am one.”

His eyes roam over me. It feels like a caress, so sensual and private that I want to lean back. His voice is a purr.

“I can tell you all about your heritage and your magic,” he says casually.

Yes.

“What do you need?” I try for a neutral tone even though he probably hears my heart pounding out of my chest.

Deep, controlled breaths. Relax .

With a smirk, he rises from his chair. I move without thinking and get up as well. He comes even closer, stepping way too much into my personal space. He wraps a strand of my unbound hair around his hand, tugging me closer, and there is no room to step back.

Maybe putting my back against the wall hadn’t been a good idea. He leans in, scenting my skin again, and I hold my breath.

“I need to taste you,” he tells me, his breath hot against my skin.

I recoil—as far as the wall lets me—and he laughs softly.

“Not so brave now, are you?” He sounds curious.

“But you hold yourself better than I thought. I give you that,” he continues, his eyes wandering over me before stopping at my face again.

“Body fluids work well…” He does that head tilt again.

A predator assessing his prey. “Blood being the most reliable.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Dragons have a thing for blood? I’ve never heard of that.

“How much blood?” I press out.

“Oh, a scratch will do. Unless…” He licks his lips, and I don’t want to hear what he’ll suggest next.

“A scratch sounds perfect.” My voice sounds too high, even in my own ears.

Hold it together, Ara. Get your answers, and then you can leave.

He laughs. “You sure?” He puts his finger on the pulse throbbing in my throat, and I grit my teeth.

Polite. I need to be polite.

I take a deep breath but release it instantly when I realize how it lessens the space between us.

“What do you want for it?” I ask with a thin voice.

“Oh, knowing your secret and a favor in the future will be fine, considering who you are.” He winks at me. I don’t like owing him, but backing out is not an option.

“I owe you a favor—not the sexual kind—” I add hastily when his gaze wanders over me again, and he smirks. “You will keep my secret, and you’ll tell me everything you know about cursed ones in general and me specifically, and hold nothing back?” I ask to make sure we’re on the same page.

“That’s a deal then.” He sounds pleased. Smiling, he clasps my hand in his.

“Deal.” I exhale and suppress a yelp when I feel a burning sensation on the inside of my right forearm. Well, I didn’t think it would be so…binding, but I guess that was naive. He leans in, and my heartbeat picks up even more.

“Wait,” I say and put my hand on his chest to stop him from getting any closer. “I…could you just start with the general information?”

“Scared?” he asks, then laughs when I shake my head in denial. “Show me your mark,” he demands, and I obey.

“So cursed ones always have marks?” I ask.

“Cursed?” He snorts. “The gifted have marks, don’t they?” I nod. “So why would you think it would be any different for you? Magic marks its bearers. It doesn’t care about the name you put on it.”

Magic? As in gift?

He traces the mark, a wriggly line the length of my index finger, running down the inside of my arm. “Give me your hands.” I place my hands in his, and the beast inside me snaps, eager to get to his power, but I hold it back.

“So much potential.” He looks up at me. “And you learned to control it.” His eyes wander to my neck. “Let me have all the information.”

Blood. I take a deep breath and nod.

It’s just a scratch. Nothing you haven’t had a hundred times.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and my muscles tense in anticipation. The sting of a sharp talon runs along my collarbone. Then all hell breaks loose.