Adrian set his drink aside and rose as she approached, Adam doing the same, dressed in tans with a hunter-green ascot perfect for his blond coloring. All eyes turned to them, conversation pausing as the Moroccan Dragons gave intrigued smiles. But Adrian’s eyes held a hardness today, and Layla felt an iron-clad cold tingle across her skin. Her heart hit her throat and she swallowed, feeling like he was angry with her – though she had no idea why.
“Layla Price, Royal Dragon Bind of our clan, be welcome.” Adrian’s speech was stiff and formal as he gave a crisp bow. He didn’t reach out to touch Layla’s hand, and kept his distance as he greeted her.
Layla swallowed, feeling like this was bad. Something was wrong but she had no idea what. “Adrian Rhakvir, Clan First. Thank you for inviting me today.” Layla spoke back, in the formal way Dusk had taught her when meeting the head of any clan.
It felt wrong. So wrong for them to be this formal, this cold. Layla had felt passion between them, recklessness, even fury, but she’d never felt Adrian so chill and unapproachable. Adrian’s smile was bitter as he stared her down, silent. Others gathered with their drinks, evaluating the situation with clever fire in their aqua, green, and blue eyes. Tall and elegant with dark hair like Layla’s or cinnamon-blonde, most of the Desert Dragons had stunning olive or golden-tanned complexions – their clan including all of Italy, Greece, Spain, and North Africa.
Adam was the only ash-blond, Layla noted, his handsome jade-violet eyes watching Layla with a subtle smile, his features distinctly Italian mixed with Norse. One woman commanded attention, a fantastic redhead with rich olive skin and masses of luminous red-gold waves cascading down her back. Wearing a spring-green caftan beaded with emeralds over her elegant curves, she sipped a martini, watching Adrian and Layla’s interaction closely. A man beside her was built like a Roman warrior, his distinctly Spanish features a complement to his brush-cut black hair. Dressed in all-black riding gear with a martial feel, he had dark onyx eyes – eyes that watched Layla with a ready attention.
“Is Layla not of our clan, Adrian?” The woman with the red hair moved forward in her elegant caftan. “Do you not wish to welcome her more formally?”
“Forgive my intrusion, Matron Rachida,” Dusk answered with a clearing of his throat. “Layla has been quite startled by skin contact with Dragons recently. Her magic is new and needs culturing. I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“Startled, that’s one way of putting it.” Adam moved forward with a bourbon on the rocks, giving Layla a teasing grin, his tenor voice resonant with laughter. “Practically shifted right on the dance floor four nights ago. Quite the event, Ms. Price, one that none of us is likely to forget. Though I suppose it excuses you from skipping out on our dinner date.” He saluted her with his drink, his eyes glowing with humor.
“Yeah, we agreed it wasn’t a date, bucko.” Layla flushed, mortified that he’d said that in front of Adrian, though she realized Adam’s elegance in breaking the ice. He’d made plain everything that had happened that night, with humor and wit. And though Adrian set his jaw, scowling at his Clan Second, others were smiling. But before Adrian could speak, the red-haired woman moved forward.
“So this is Mimi Zakir’s daughter.” Rachida Rhakvir’s voice was low and resonant, though it held sharp, decisive tones. A mature woman, she had thin lines at her eyes and mouth, though she was still stunning. “I heard of your mother’s demise. From all our hearts, I pass on my condolences. Mimi was a great light.”
“Thank you Ms. Rhakvir.” Layla gave a nod as emotions cascaded through her.
“Call me Rachida, child. Any friend of my dear boys Dusk and Adrian is a friend of mine.” The woman reached out, setting a warm palm to Layla’s face. A breath of brisk spice wind flavored with sandalwood stirred through Layla and her magic responded, but it was like two enormous beasts just sliding around each other in acquaintance; nothing that flared her passion. Layla shivered at the sensation but it was mild. Holding Layla’s gaze, Rachida’s Mediterranean-blue eyes brightened. Copper flecks stood out in their depths, and she gave a smile.
“You are just like your mother, so lovely.” Rachida murmured, her hand slipping away. Sipping her martini, she turned toward Adrian, raising her eyebrows as if prodding him to be a good host. Adrian paused, uncertainty on his lips. And it was Adam who moved forward, smiling as he deftly angled a rattan chair in beside his and beckoned for Layla to claim it.
“Ms. Price, please come sit with us.”
Adam didn’t touch Layla, only stepped to her side, inviting her with his bourbon glass to join their group. Layla moved forward as Dusk took a rattan love-seat on the other side of hers. Adam reclaimed his chair by Adrian, Rachida settling her tall elegance on the other side of Adrian as the rest took seats or migrated to the table for a last round of drinks.
“So tell me, Layla,” Adam leaned forward, swirling his bourbon as he began casual conversation, “you were raised in Seattle? Do you remember anything of Morocco? Rachida tells us you were born at Riad Rhakvir, Adrian’s family home.”
“I don’t remember much,” Layla spoke, her hands restless in her lap. Rachida noticed it and gestured to a handsome young man with dark Greek curls and midnight blue eyes who hovered by her shoulder like a valet. Moving to the table and quickly mixing a drink, he returned, settling the drink in Layla’s hands – an Old Fashioned like Adrian’s. Layla took a sip gratefully, feeling the mellow liquor, orange peel, and cherry smooth her jangled nerves, nodding her thanks to Rachida. The older woman gave a smile, as if she’d known exactly what Layla had needed.
“So what do you recall of Riad Rhakvir, child?” She asked genially, though her gaze was piercing like talons.
“Desert winds.” Layla answered, seeing again the dreams she’d had back in Seattle when she’d first been marked by the hamsa-cuff. Though her talisman was a symbol of legitimacy in her Lineage, Layla felt like a fraud sitting here among her clan – knowing hardly anything about them and not having been back to Morocco since her infancy. “I remember a blue courtyard, with a fountain and tall potted ferns and palms. A view out over the evening desert; maybe a chasm in the distance. I remember my mother cooking in the kitchen, and how good it smelled. Her singing to me. That’s all, really.”
“She does remember her birth-home,” Rachida’s gaze sparkled, something approving in it. “And Mimi never told you that you were birthed of her loins?”
“I didn’t find out until recently. After she died.” Layla gave Adrian a pointed look. He looked away, sipping his drink.
Rachida’s brows raised as she looked to Adrian with an accusatory glint in her eyes. “Adrian, how much about her history and clan have you told Layla?”
“Not enough, clearly.” Adam snorted as he gestured with his bourbon. “Layla feels alienated among us; it’s written all over her scent. You’re too goddamn cagey, Adrian, not sharing more with her. No wonder she’s pissed! Tell her some truths and maybe she’ll trust you more. And then your budding relationship might not be so rocky so soon.”
It was a scathing tirade. Layla gaped at Adam’s frankness as Adrian scowled, a hot flush of cinnamon-jasmine wind swirling through the pavilion. The rest of his clan shifted uncomfortably at Adrian’s sudden rise in magic, but there were a few who didn’t budge. Rachida for one, clearly the old matriarch of the clan. The black-eyed man for two, whom Layla was certain was Emir Tousk the Battle-Lord, watching with a wary scowl. And Dusk, lounging comfortably at Layla’s side, though his sapphire gaze was piercing upon Adrian.
“Informing Layla about her clan was her mother’s responsibility.” Adrian spoke pointedly at Adam, his swirl of cinnamon-jasmine scent still stinging through the air.
“Yeah, well, Mimi Zakir passed on, and she didn’t tell her daughter a damn thing.” Adam snorted, nonplussed with Adrian’s response or his magic. “As our Clan First and the first person to re-establish contact with Layla when Mimi died, it was your responsibility to tell her the truth. You didn’t; she suffered. And because she suffered, our clan has suffered, Adrian. You don’t treat family that way. And if you won’t fill her in about us, I welcome the opportunity. Over a nice dinner that befits the hospitality of our proud heritage.”
Adam sat back in his chair, his legs crossed ankle to knee and his hands spread on the arms of his rattan chair. His bourbon was set aside, and his position was one of challenge. A sweet current of air whirled out from him like apple-blossoms in a hot summer wind, facing off with Adrian’s cinnamon scent. The two locked gazes and Layla felt the opposition there. Adam might have been Adrian’s cousin and supportive of his Clan First, but he was also a Royal and wasn’t about to let someone fuck up the clan’s ethics.
“Is that what you want, Adam? Be my guest. Take Layla out to dinner. By all means,fill her in.”
As he spoke, Adrian set aside his highball glass with a precise motion, his eyes searing with a gold that was so cold now it burned. His cruel innuendo wasn’t lost on anyone. Layla had to clench her hands into fists to not just get up and slap his face as glances were exchanged beneath the pavilion. Adam’s eyes went wide, his ash-blond brows rising at Adrian’s comment. Layla felt Dusk’s crystalline shield swirl up around her, cutting her and himself off from Adrian and Adam’s sudden pissing-match.
Tension rippled between the two cousins as Adam set his jaw and Adrian lifted his chin, giving Adam the full weight of those burning gold eyes. Magic seethed so hot and thick between them that Layla saw a mirage waver in the air, bursting with small curls of red, aqua, and hunter-green flames. As Adam stared Adrian down, Layla realized that Dusk was worried of a dominance challenge; right here, right now – though she didn’t know what a Dragon dominance challenge looked like.
