Page 52 of Taken By The Wolves (Blackwood Forest #2)

EXCERPT - CLAIMED BY THE DRAGONS

KELAN

The glass is cold against my palm, but the whiskey burns hot as it slides down my throat.

Darial is making some off-color joke about his newest acquisition.

Some tech start-up filled with bright-eyed kids brimming with enthusiasm.

Ronyn’s already rolling his eyes, muttering about how he’d rather break bones than numbers.

It’s just another night at one of our bars. One of many. This one is carved into glass and steel on the fortieth floor of a tower with my name on the deed, the kind of place where men pay a thousand dollars for a bottle to feel like they’re important. It should feel like a victory.

It only feels empty.

After two hundred years of striking deals and amazing fortunes, fighting wars in boardrooms instead of on battlefields, I’m no longer interested or excited about any of it.

We’ve buried our dragons under tailored suits and fake smiles.

We don’t burn anymore.

Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

But as the whiskey pools hot in my stomach, the fire that’s suppressed inside me bubbles up, aching to be freed.

Ronyn sits across from me, his broad frame hunched forward, a predator crammed into a suit that never quite hides what he is. His glass is already empty.

Darial lounges at my side, grinning at the redhead across the room, charming, reckless, and golden as ever. I don’t know how he finds the energy for it.

For years, we tried. Centuries, really. Searching for the mate the Goddess promised each of us, the only soul who could anchor our fire, was a quest we relished. We scoured cities and kingdoms, empires rising and falling while we remained unchanged.

Each time hope flared with the rise of magic, and each time, it guttered out.

Eventually, we conceded defeat. It was easier to pretend she didn’t exist than to feel the sting of disappointment again.

Now, Darial beds women whose names he won’t remember. Ronyn pours his fury into fights he can’t win. And me? I sign contracts, build towers, hoard wealth like it might substitute for what I crave. But gold is no hoard without a queen at its heart. We all know it. None of us admits it.

Darial tips his chin toward her, his grin widening. “She’s been staring at us for ten minutes. I think she wants me.”

Ronyn snorts, the sound low and derisive. “She wants your bank account.”

“Please.” Darial runs a hand through his golden hair, mussing it further, on purpose. “Women love me for me. The money’s just a perk.”

“Money comes first, enhanced by the notoriety of your huge, ridged dick.” Ronyn shakes his head at his own suggestion. “And you do have a pretty smile.” He smirks.

I roll the whiskey in my glass, watching the liquid catch the light. “You’ve never met a woman you didn’t think loved you, Darial.”

The redhead makes her move, sliding past the crowded tables, hips swaying. She stops at ours, eyes bright with courage fueled by champagne. “I just wanted to say,” she purrs, “you three look like you own the place.”

“That’s because we do,” Darial says without missing a beat, flashing her that devastating smile.

She laughs, leaning closer, fingers trailing along the edge of the table near Ronyn’s hand. “So which one of you is going to buy me a drink?”

Ronyn’s amber gaze lifts, sharp and dangerous. For a second, I think he’ll snarl. But he only shakes his head. “Go find someone else, sweetheart.”

Her laughter falters, cheeks flushing. She glances at Darial, then at me. My silver eyes catch hers, and she stiffens. I don’t need to say a word to warn her she’s treading on dangerous ground. She retreats, heels clicking away, swallowed by the crowd.

Darial sighs theatrically. “You two ruin all my fun.”

“That girl couldn’t handle what you are,” Ronyn says flatly, pouring himself another measure of whiskey. “None of them can.”

Darial smirks. “You know the drill. Blindfold and handcuffs. Let them think our dicks are pierced, not just ridged like a fucking dinosaurs back.” His grin fades as he says it, just for a flicker. He hides it again behind another swallow of whiskey.

We’ve all played that game out of desperation.

Dragons have needs that burn hotter than any other species.

But fucking a woman who can’t even look at me for fear of seeing what I truly am burning through my skin, or witnessing the rise of scales and claws with every release? That became empty a long time ago.

I am the anchor. Always the anchor. The leader. The one who keeps them from tearing this fragile human world apart when instincts flare.

But even anchors corrode.

The Goddess’s voice haunts me still. Her decree two centuries ago echoed across a battlefield littered with the blood of dragons, humans and shifters.

We'd won the war, and magic was suppressed again, but not without snuffing out the elemental who rose and would not be contained.

The elemental I thought was my mate. The Goddess shackled us that day, bound us to walk among mortals like shadows of what we once were, relegated to protectors of magic in a world without.

A dragon’s life is empty without purpose, and desolate without a mate.

I set my glass down hard, ready to cut Darial off before he convinces Ronyn to bet on which one of the other men the redhead will latch onto, when it hits.

A heavy pulse.

It reverberates through me, not in my ears, but in my bones and the parts of me caged centuries ago snap open.

The whiskey in my glass shudders, trembling like the whole world has skipped a beat. My grip tightens on the table, claws threatening to burst from my skin. Heat surges, rising like magma under my flesh. My dragon roars awake in my chest.

Darial sits upright, grin gone. His pupils slit, flashing gold. “You feel that?”

Ronyn growls low, too animal for the suit he wears. His eyes blaze amber as his jaw flutters with tension. “It’s been two centuries.”

“It shouldn’t be possible.” My voice is rough, dragged over gravel. I force it lower, but the bar’s patrons are already glancing around restlessly, sensing something’s wrong, even if they don’t understand.

Magic.

Real, unchained magic, pulsing through the city like a dark heartbeat we can’t ignore.

And gods help me, it calls to me, whispering around my heart.

I thought I’d buried this part of myself forever. The dragon inside me has been bound by oath and time.

But tonight, that pulse doesn’t just stir my dragon. It tempts him.

“She’s close,” Darial says, voice low, gaze fixed on the skyline glittering beyond the glass walls. His golden aura flickers, barely suppressed.

“She?” Ronyn’s snarl is more instinct than word. His hand flexes, claws half-shown, the scent of smoke in the air.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t feel it,” Darial shoots back. “That wasn’t a storm. That was the first heartbeat. A magical awakening.”

I close my eyes, and for a breath, I let myself feel it. The pulse. It doesn’t just shiver through my body. It calls. A beckoning in the dark. A reminder of what we once were before chains were wrapped around our natures.

Before the oath.

I open my eyes. “Finish your drinks.” My voice is gravelly. “We’re leaving.”

Darial arches a brow, lips quirking. “Just like that? Walking out on a multimillion-dollar deal because your scales are itchy?”

“This isn’t a joke.” I stand, towering over them, my reflection caught in the glass walls, silver eyes glowing faintly, betraying the beast I’ve smothered for too long. “That pulse was wild magic, and if we don’t find it, others will.”

Ronyn bares his teeth in something like a smile. “Then let’s hunt.”

We’ve played humans for long enough. Tonight, the dragon in me remembers what it means to burn.

And somewhere in the dark, something, or someone, waits to be tamed.