“You did the right thing, Layla, to come out here to compose yourself. Never display your ire at a party. Petulance or furious magical eruption earns a Courtesan a bad reputation.”
“Why should I care about my reputation?” Layla lifted an eyebrow, wondering why he was being so frank tonight, and why he’d removed part of his Courtier’s costume.
“As a Courtesan, your reputation iseverything.” Reginald’s gaze was piercing as he stared her down. “Elegance and poise will keep you safe in dangerous situations; so will wit, and the ability to deflect conflict. The more elite you can make your reputation, the less any partner will be tempted to ruin you. People do not smash priceless Ming vases when they are angry. They do throw ceramic dinner plates at the wall, however. Among this crowd, tonight,” Reginald nodded at the party, “you can be certain you wish to be seen as a Ming vase and not a dinner plate.”
That stopped Layla. She’d never considered that elegance was actually a safety measure for a Courtesan. It made her reconsider her training with Reginald and she paused, her ire with him easing. Turning, she glanced at the party and Reginald did also. Together, they watched people moving through the blue glass pavilion, soaring up to the deep cerulean sky – an enormous amount of magic still seething through the hall before them.
“Why did you bring me to the Hotel Owner’s Gala tonight, Reginald?” Layla asked.
“Because we are working on your ability to control your powers.” Reginald lifted a golden eyebrow at her. “Your first showing as a Courtesan-in-Training at tonight’s gala with the Owners requires your utmost control, Layla. I have drilled you in controlling your magics and your tongue and posture these past weeks, so that when we are among such esteemed and dangerous company, we can be what they wish to see of us. And protect the truth of what we are from their talons.”
“Is the Paris Hotel in trouble?” She asked, curious now, sensing the danger he was hinting at. “Because of everything that’s happened since Hunter infiltrated our branch at Samhain?”
Taking a deep breath, Reginald gazed at her in the deepening twilight, his pale blue eyes unreadable. But then he spoke, the barest smile of approval lifting the corners of his full lips. “Your observation is astute. The Paris Hotel is in trouble, yes. Because of your abduction at Samhain and Adrian and Dusk’s near Dragon-brawl right in the middle of the celebrations, many questioning eyes are turned our way. The Hotel Board of Owners are wondering if Adrian is a good fit to lead this branch. Or if he should be removed from his duties as Hotel Head.”
“Why would the Board fire Adrian as Hotel Head?” Layla asked, an uneasy feeling moving through her as the wind gusted.
“Adrian needs patrons and investors in the Paris Hotel to keep it safe, Layla.” Reginald responded soberly. “We weren’t able to keep the events of the past month a secret, and guest bookings have been canceled right and left. Investors have pulled their support, and it’s costing our Hotel branch a fortune. We’re running in the red, currently supported by Adrian’s personal wealth. Adrian needs to convince the Board this week that he can keep our doors open, and return our Hotel to profitability. Otherwise, the Board may replace him as our Head.”
“What would happen then?” Layla blinked, shock racing through her at the truth of the situation.
“Many Hotel branches are run by excellent Board members. Others aren’t. We wouldn’t have a choice in the selection of a new Hotel Head.” Reginald’s golden brows tightened in a frown, and Layla watched him tap his fingers upon the stone rail of the veranda, almost like a nervous tic. Reginald didn’t have nervous tics, and Layla noted it – how worried he truly was about the entire situation. “Come.” He spoke at last. “Let us go back inside. The party has barely begun, and we must make a good impression for the evening.”
“I can’t go back in there, Reginald.” Layla breathed, tension spiking through her again. “I can’t shield against their magics. They’re just… too intense.”
“Yes. The Hotel Owners are probably the most powerful group of magical entities you are ever likely to meet,” Reginald breathed darkly. “Even I have trouble shielding against many of them, especially those of the Crimson Circle, their innermost elite. Though less than a fifth of them have come tonight for Adrian’s fête, there are some with strength here.”
“What if my magic flares tonight and someone powerful feels it?”
“I will shield you. Trust in your Partner. Come.”
But his haughty certainty did not inspire confidence in Layla. Trepidation writhed inside her, feeling the miasma still surging from the hall. Layla’s unpredictable magic flared suddenly, trying to strike all that odious power back. She’d always had a temper, but her newly unleashed Royal Dragon Bind magic made her every emotion thirty times more volatile now without her hamsa-cuff to control it. Waves of heat and fire washed through her, and Layla was devoured by a reckless desire – to fight all those whose magic assaulted her.
To fight each and every Hotel Owner at the party.
“Layla. Breathe through your flare. I can control it for you, but that’s not why we train.”
Reginald’s elegant features were exquisite as an iceberg as he stared her down, weathering the magical gale that raged around Layla. Caught in her passions, she couldn’t help but feel a love-hate attraction to him – a blistering push-pull that had colored their interactions these past weeks. Haughty and elegant, there was something intensely compelling about the Head Courtier with his perfectly masculine shoulders, his slim waist and thighs fitted close by sleek blue silk. Layla both hated and loved his lean grace and effortless style, golden rings with diamonds and aquamarine shining through the night just like his eyes.
Suddenly, Layla’s lack of control over her attraction to him – and Reginald’s ability to withstand it – pissed her off. A sandstorm built inside her, bursting with golden flame in the night. Her magic was a bonfire, flared by the magic assaulting her from the hall. That passion slammed into Reginald Durant, twisting deep into his body, raking him with talons and fangs. She felt it careen into him with anger and sex – and she felt his Dragon rise in return. Like a leviathan of power and carnality, his Siren-magic was suddenly surging up, coiling around her in an oceanic wave as his nostrils flared. Striding forward, he clamped a strong hand on Layla’s wrist. Pouring the entire ocean through her in a torrent of furious – and delectable – passion.
“Enough, Courtesan!”
It was the strongest he’d ever touched her. Reginald’s Siren-magics flowed deep into Layla’s body and she cried out, stumbling as Reginald’s passion tore through her. His breath was hard as he caught her around the waist, his pale blue eyes blazing in the twilight. As if that show of dominance had only pushed his own Dragon higher, Layla felt his magic surge with coils of carnality unlike anything she’d ever felt from the Siren. His power surrounded her, stroking, strangling, caressing – devouring and dominating her with a vicious lust.
As his power swamped her, Layla’s inner Dragon roared in triumph. For weeks, Layla had been denied intimate contact with anyone, including her bound Dragon lovers Adrian Rhakvir and Dusk Arlohaim. Her skin was roaring with need, her body humming with passionate rage, and she suddenly realized what was pushing her ire with Reginald tonight. She hated leaving her position in Concierge Services; she hated the idea of sleeping with people for hire as a Courtesan. She hated being paraded in front of the Owners, and she hated that Reginald had trapped her into it.
But most of all, she hated that she still couldn’t control her Dragon yet.
And that he could.
Reginald’s breath rasped; pressed close, their chests heaved together. His eyes were wide, pearl-grey with bright flecks of gold in them now. Layla gasped as she watched the roaring passion in his eyes. Pressed close, she felt his strong breath rise and fall, his hands viciously hot where they gripped her – tightening hard.
But with a slow inhalation, Reginald mastered his inner Dragon. Layla felt him wrangle all that enormous carnality as his gaze slowly bled from pearl-grey back to a pale ice blue. As he gazed into her, deep and dominant, he sent that chill control into Layla. A sluicing sensation rolled her. The Head Courtier was a Dragon of the oceans and Layla felt the leviathan of his control as darkwater coils slid through her body. The terribly arousing, dominant sensation made her weak, collapsing into the Head Courtier as he held her fast.
“Do not challenge a Siren, Layla Price.” Reginald’s voice was low by her ear, his breath chill yet somehow hot. “Strike me again with your magics and watch how fast I obliterate you.”
Sinking under his floes, Layla’s heart hammered as a chill, sensual darkness devoured her. A delicious shudder slid through her as wetness spread between her thighs. Reginald smiled at her wreckage. Dominant, ruthless, his eyes were a dark grey now with flecks of gold that sparkled like the sun on an Arctic sea. Music lifted within Layla; a chorus of voices and reed pipes that sang in impossible harmonies.
