“But I thought Phoenixes were birds?”
“Phoenix are not birds, but an ancient and powerful race of feathered Dragons, another offshoot like Sirens,” Dusk spoke levelly, an edge of warning in his voice. “They do regenerate upon death if they so choose, and haveverylong memories. Not a Lineage to make enemies of – for yourself, or for Adrian.”
“Noted.” Layla was about to ask another question when their destination suddenly loomed from a clearing in the trees. Near a border of hedges and firefly pedestals, a gargantuan building rose through the night. Made of crystal, vaulted domes led to twisting spires lit from inside by swirling fae-lights. Like a French Gothic cathedral, the vaults were rose quartz, pinnacles of purple amethyst blending into the storm-dark sky. Bright yellow citrine created arched ingresses, moss-green aventurine creating a glassy ingress like walking on a summer river.
As they approached, Layla saw vines of trumpet-flowers like morning glory twining up every column inside. The Dragon party was in full swing, hundreds of men and women in elegant evening dress meandering with drinks within. A chamber ensemble played on a gilded dais as Catering staff in black and white freshened drinks, working the party with golden platters of hors d’oeuvres. Elegantly-dressed people gathered at the doors, being announced by a Herald. But as Dusk and Layla stepped up near the vaulted crystal doors, Dusk moved her aside.
“Are you ready for this?”
“I don’t know, am I?” Layla quipped, marveling at the scene. Even after working at the Hotel for nearly two months, its opulence never ceased to surprise her.
“Don’t sass, Layla, I’m serious.” Dusk gave a smile, though his gaze was level. “Have you considered how you want to position yourself among the Dragon clans? Before we go in there?”
Layla inhaled, turning to him. “I really don’t know. This is all so foreign. I mean, if Adrian had prepped me more, I might have an idea of where to start, but as it is…”
Dusk gave a kind smile. Reaching out, he smoothed one of Layla’s sable curls back with tender fingers. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you more information about all of this. I thought we’d have months to get you up to speed on Dragon society, so I focused on getting you comfortable in Concierge Services first. Adrian sprung this on me just a few days ago, and I’ve been too busy with the Samhain Masquerade preparations to address any of this properly. I owe you a deep apology, not getting you ready to face this, Layla.”
“It’s not you who should be apologizing,” Layla spoke, watching Dusk’s sapphire-bright eyes and feeling his sincerity.
“Still.” He gave a wry smile. “Watch me for cues tonight on etiquette. And don’t worry. I will be a barnacle on your ass all night, so you don’t have to fret about being alone with anyone.”
“Except with you.” Layla felt a slow, flirtatious smile lift her lips. “Right now.”
“I don’t count.”
Though his words were dismissive, Dusk’s eyes darkened to a simmering midnight blue that Layla wanted to drown in suddenly. Passion as deep as nighttime caverns moved through those eyes, before he lifted Layla’s hand to his lips and pressed her fingers with a kiss. It didn’t have any of his rumblings in it, as his crystal wall was still up between them. But watching those eyes, feeling their devouring darkness, Layla almost wished he’d cast his wall down.
Her beast stirred inside her with a deep roil of heat and Layla shivered, though not from the wind as Dusk set her hand to his arm. Moving forward, he escorted Layla through the throng at the vaulted doors.
And into the Dragon party.
CHAPTER 6 – SOIREE
Dusk was conspicuous at the Red Letter Hotel Paris; Dragons all around bowed to the Head Concierge or sank into elegant curtsies as he and Layla approached the doors to the crystal cathedral. Impeccable, he gave nods and a friendly smile, but walked Layla on through the masses without pause. In her sleek crimson silk with its elegant train and bodice of diamonds and rubies, Layla got stares and whispers. Eyes followed her, astounded, curious, or appraising. But Dusk walked her through it all, stepping beneath the citrine arches and nodding at the Herald just inside by the rose quartz columns, who raised his crowd-piercing tenor to announce them.
“Dusk Arlohaim, Clan First of the Crystal Dragons of Egypt and Head Concierge of the Red Letter Hotel Paris! With Layla Price of the Desert Dragons of Morocco and the Mediterranean, Concierge of the Red Letter Hotel Paris!”
Talked ceased in the vaulted crystal foyer as everyone turned to stare. The party was in full swing, the soaring hall holding at least two hundred people. As had happened outside, many of the Dragons in attendance sank into graceful bows or curtsies for Dusk, but Layla got more whispers and evaluating glances – and more than a few people sayingDragon Bind.
Dusk ignored it all, though he smiled at a number of people and clasped hands in a friendly manner as he led Layla through the rose quartz foyer over to a refreshments table. The throng parted like minnows to a shark, as if many of the other Dragons were strangely afraid of the debonair Crystal Dragon with the Royal Dragon Bind on his arm.
But Dusk was effortlessly gracious as he spoke more pleasantries to Dragons he knew, laughing and witty. At the drinks table, he selected a glass of white wine and scented it, handing it to Layla with a quick wink. She sipped, enjoying a mellow chardonnay of just the kind she liked. Dusk took one up also, then nodded to a group talking near a rose quartz column twined with white trumpet-blossoms.
All eyes pinned Layla as Dusk escorted her over, though this group gave the Head Concierge affable hails of welcome rather than bows. It was clear these Dragons were actually friends of Dusk’s, and Layla was relieved to see her friend the Head of the Hotel Guard Rikyava Andersen standing among them. Dressed in a ravishing lavender gown studded with diamonds that flowed down her fit curves, Rikyava’s Scandinavian-blonde hair was done back in ornate braids, cascading down her back in a fiercely elegant Viking style. Raindrop jewelry of diamonds and amethyst dripped over her collarbones, her pure lavender eyes smudged and arresting as she flowed forward – giving Layla a hug but pursing her rouged lips in an irritated fashion at Dusk.
“Layla! Finally! I thought maybe Dusk had locked you in your closet rather than bring you to the party tonight.” Rikyava spoke in her usual no-bullshit Guardswoman manner. She wore no rapier or knives tonight, though her draping gown most likely hid a thigh-sheath or two. Layla blushed at her friend’s statement, the thought of being locked in a closet with Dusk intimately appealing this evening. But Rikyava missed it, continuing, “I was just telling my Swedish Blood Dragon clan about you. Come here, meet my uncle and cousins from Stockholm.”
“Let Layla breathe, Rikyava, for heaven’s sake.” Dusk chuckled, sipping his wine with a grin – though his gaze flicked to Layla with distinct pleasure, and she knew he had not missed the change in her vibration at Rikyava’s offhand comment about the closet.
“Shut up, you! You don’t get to talk – you made our girl late.” Layla felt Rikyava’s ash-hot Blood Dragon energy slap out at Dusk, and Layla laughed internally. She was aware now of why the two were constantly at odds yet worked so well together at the Hotel; lovers who would never admit it, at least not on Rikyava’s end. Stepping to Layla’s side, Rikyava settled her arm around Layla’s waist, pulling her away from Dusk and turning Layla to meet an enormous man who grinned as if he’d just watched a sporting match between Dusk and his niece.
“Layla Price, may I introduce my uncle, King Huttr Erdhelm of the Blood Dragons of Sweden.”
The enormous Blood Dragon King’s red-gold eyes glowed with humor as Layla stood, debating how formal to be with him. She couldn’t curtsey with Rikyava’s arm threaded around her; plus, the atmosphere in this group was casual. As white-blond as Rikyava, King Huttr’s enormous mane was braided back from his blocky skull and shaved on the sides with dragons like he’d stepped right off a medieval Viking raiding ship. The Blood Dragon King was enormously fit, wearing an expensive tuxedo over his massively-built chest and shoulders. Chains of gold cascaded between his lapels with pins of archaic valor clipped to his breast. A white polar bear pelt was slung about his shoulders, his blond beard braided. Grinning with impeccably white teeth, he seized Layla’s hand in a crushing grip, lifting it to his lips.
“Well! The Royal Dragon Bind! I feel a wrath of fire in you, desert mistress. Pour those charms through old Huttr, and we’ll see who winds up on top in the sweaty sheets. Ha!”
“Not tonight, Huttr.” With a wry smile, Dusk plucked Layla’s hand from the big Blood Dragon King – who gave a genial laugh, obviously not offended. His laugh was infectious and Layla grinned, liking King Huttr immediately. Pleasure and a lust for life beamed from the big King’s every sinew. He was very much like Rikyava – all direct bravado, teasing fun, and no bullshit.
