Layla’s Dragon raised its head, stirring its red-gold coils in an eager wave, wanting to revel in all the passion rising around her. Gripping her hip, Reginald crushed her close to his side now, digging his fingers in almost cruelly and piercing Layla with his Siren’s cold to subdue her, so hard it made her sway. As the Assignation trio began to engage in coitus upon one gilded couch, the woman in the middle while the men took her at both sets of lips, Layla felt her Dragon roar, wanting the same situation between Reginald and Adrian. Layla shuddered hard, crying out softly, and Reginald’s hand spasmed on her hip to stifle her.
Even as Adrian’s power poured down her throat – touching her and taking her deep.
It might have been contained. Reginald, Adrian, and Layla might have been able to remove themselves from the hall to sort it out with words or even pissed-off petulance somewhere far from the party. But without warning, Bastien Durant’s hand shot out from where he stood right behind Layla, gripping her wrist. Suddenly, Layla was drowning not only in Adrian’s heat and Reginald’s stern command – but in an entirely different kind of ocean, roaring with cruel power.
Reginald’s control of Layla’s Dragon was ferociously ripped away as Bastien crushed his fingertips into Layla’s wrist. But rather than possess her, Bastien simply tore down the wall of protection Reginald had created between Layla and Adrian, undoing all the subtlety of the situation happening between them. Adrian’s energy came roaring at Layla in a powerful wave of sex and lust, as the Assignation hit its climax. Coils of scalding power swamped Layla; delicious barbs raked her flesh.
And Layla’s Dragon was suddenly roaring out – seething through the party.
She didn’t just revel in the eros around her; she devoured it. As Layla’s inner Dragon ate all that enormous heat in the pavilion, she roared, flaring her power in a disastrous wave. Sex and passion exploded through the room in a wash of golden flames and blistering wind. People cried out with passion and pain as Layla’s power scorched them; magical shields were slammed up on every side as Owners staggered back. Adrian stumbled hard as the full force of Layla’s power hit him, and even Reginald grunted as that wave of scalding energy slammed him also.
Layla could barely see the room; her body was a morass of pleasure, cascading through her in rioting waves. An enormous space had cleared around her, Reginald the only one withstanding her sudden gale as he tore Layla’s wrist from his brother’s hand. Stepping behind her quickly, Reginald gripped her by her throat and abdomen with a growl, hauling her close as she seized with pleasure in his arms. Beside her, Adrian was down on one knee, shuddering as his magic burst into simmering aqua and crimson flames, twining deep into Layla’s and forming a devastating loop – expanding tenfold.
Moths lit up like torches all around the pavilion, chaises singeing and rugs charring. Wineglasses were dropped, shattering upon the pavilion’s blue glass floor. Fierce winds whipped the air from Layla and Adrian’s twined magic, carrying a stinging heat. The Assignation had ceased in the sudden outpouring of power, the participants clutching clothing as they retreated to the far edge of the hall.
But all Layla could hear was a scream of desert wind in her ears, and Adrian’s roar.
Even Bastien Durant had stepped back with surprise in his cruel white eyes, the Owners shielding hard as they retreated to the edges of the atrium. Struggling to get to Layla, Adrian was being held back by Dusk and the Head Guardswoman Rikyava Andersen, who had arrived on the scene in a blitz of whirling blood droplets and a smell of battlefield char. With a curse, Dusk hauled Adrian toward the pavilion exit, but Adrian fought him like a mad thing. As Dusk wrangled one of Adrian’s arms, Rikyava seized the other and bent it behind Adrian’s back. He struggled, breathing hard as he stared at Layla with fire in his eyes and red-aqua flames searing around him.
Layla struggled also, needing to be free of Reginald’s icy grip. She could barely draw breath, even with Reginald’s Siren-magic commanding her like a black winter ocean. She needed to eat at Adrian’s mouth; to drink from his lips. She needed to feel his coils around her; binding her, his fangs sinking deep inside her. She screamed at the sensation of it; and she felt Reginald’s strong hands seize the back of her gown and rip it open, silver beads scattering. Somehow his chest was already bare and Layla felt her skin pressed to his firm flesh. Gripping her by the throat, Reginald massaged her neck; holding her, possessing her.
Corralling her back from Adrian’s disastrous heat.
Layla finally felt Reginald’s ocean drown her and she sank back against him, dazed. She shuddered hard, feeling his control; needing it. Fear slid through her returning awareness; that if Reginald ceased touching her, her and Adrian’s roaring devastation would return.
But the Head Courtier didn’t let her go. Continuing to massage her throat gently but firmly, he whispered something in her ear that carried his oceanic susurrations. Pressed against Reginald’s embroidered coat and bare skin, she could feel his strong, lean chest rise and fall. His breath was steady, his body warm, and at last Layla remembered she could breathe through her rioting lust.
“Easy, Courtesan,” Reginald murmured, still holding her close. “Feel me breathe and be easy…”
Layla could finally think again. At last, she was aware of the party. Everyone gaped in a wide circle around them, drinks and everything else forgotten. No fewer than thirty Hotel Guards in crimson hovered nearby, not rushing in yet, but watching Reginald. Adrian, Dusk, and Rikyava were no longer in the hall. Layla didn’t know how many minutes it had been, but it seemed she’d lost time inside her roaring maelstrom.
At last, Reginald gave the Hotel Guards a terse nod. The Guards moved in but not to Layla, instead beginning to clean up all the shattered glass from dropped champagne flutes and wine stems. All around, Layla could see Owners either shivering or scowling or both. The woman with green lizard-scales had fainted and was being carried off by a lean man who shot Layla a look like daggers – from eyes that seared with gold-umber flames.
“Layla, can you hear me?” Reginald spoke softly by her ear. “I need to let you go. Too many people are staring. You need to stand on your own. Are you ready?”
Layla gave a weak nod. She didn’t know if she could; her knees felt like jelly from the ecstasy that had just poured through her. She had been devastated by her reaction to Adrian’s magic and their Bind – something so desired for weeks suddenly granted in a terrible, hedonistic rush because of Bastien Durant’s cruel interference.
Her body was unsteady as Reginald pulled away, but somehow Layla managed to stand on her own, Reginald thankfully leaving her hand upon his arm to steady her. Layla couldn’t meet any eyes. She knew she was fiercely flushed, having practically fucked Adrian in front of the entire Board. Adrian was nowhere to be seen, though Dusk had returned in his elegant tux, his eyes dazzling with blue-diamond fire and his breath heaving as their gazes connected.
The look he gave Layla was bleak – bad.
Layla’s gaze caught upon Sylvania Eroganis, the Hotel’s Head Courtesan. Dressed in a glorious gown of barely-there silver lace that showed her body piercings with their strings of pearls, the Silver Passion’s straight silver brows were knit in concern, a look Sylvania never made. Beside her, Madame Etienne Voulouer stood in her enormous peacock ballgown, clasping hands of Owners and already charming them with blithely incessant patter.
Damage control, Layla thought, as she watched Sylvania turn to other Owners and begin laughing with her dulcet tones as if nothing had happened. Courtiers and Courtesans working the party tonight were chatting and laughing blithely, engaging Owners to smooth over what had just happened as if Layla and Adrian’s magical outburst had never been. Layla realized they were all doing damage control, not just because of what had happened with her, but because of what had happened with Adrian.
Reginald’s hands were gentle upon Layla, slipping to her bare shoulders. Rikyava had returned, whispering something to the Madame, urgency in every line of her statuesque Swedish frame and one hand on the rapier at her hip. Layla startled to note that Rikyava’s cheekbone was bruising, dark and ugly. Had Adrian punched her? Concern washed through Layla as the Madame’s eyebrows rose in alarm. Turning to Sylvania, the Madame spoke quickly and the silver woman blinked then turned, moving swiftly from the hall with Rikyava.
People were finally mingling again. Talk had resumed, the space around Reginald and Layla diminishing though people were still glancing at Layla like she was a rabid animal. Layla felt like it. What impression had she made tonight, completely losing control of her magic in front of the Hotel Owners?
“Well.” Bastien Durant’s gratingly smooth tones skewered Layla as he sipped his martini. “I think we’ve seen all we needed to see tonight, about how well Adrian controls this establishment.”
Reginald’s gaze whipped around to his brother. His nostrils flared, his eyes burning a wrathful blue-white as he concentrated his fury upon Bastien. Layla felt something lash out from Reginald like a typhoon, striking his brother in a harsh, vicious whip.
Bastien flinched, his white eyes widening at the sudden attack. “Youdarestrike your Clan Second—!”
“Your ocean will run dry by my hand someday, Bastien.” Reginald interrupted him, in an utterly cold, dead voice. “Come, Layla.”
Escorting Layla out of the Blue Pavilion, Reginald did not glance back at his wicked brother, but led Layla from the hall with one hand around her waist in a promenade that placed him behind her so the ruined back of her dress wasn’t visible. But all the same, Layla felt bare as they left the soirée. Bare to the stinging criticism now whispering through the Hotel Owners, bare to their scathing glances.
