Prologue
The cake was late. Maggie smiled at her guests as she doled out more tea sandwiches and sparkling pink punch. An expectant dragon was always something to celebrate. Successful dragon pregnancies, after all, were far rarer than the human kind. Her best friend, Katie, had tried for years for this baby—a girl, the doctors had predicted—an incredible blessing indeed. Everything had to be perfect for her special day.
Maggie had ordered the cake, a full sheet with raspberry filling and buttercream frosting, decorated with pale pink roses and baby bottles, from her favorite bakery, Honey Cakes on Elm Street. But when she swung by to pick it up that morning, she’d been deeply disappointed to find the cake was missing. The baker, Mr. Honey, was certain he’d fulfilled the order, but it simply wasn’t in the cooler. The man seemed beside himself at the mistake, but Maggie struggled to show him any sympathy or understanding. The party was that afternoon. She needed the cake.
Normally, she was a level-headed dragon. Maggie worked among humans as an accountant, a position that easily blended into the background, and didn’t enjoy calling attention to herself. But she’d spoken up about the cake. How could she throw a baby shower without one? She’d even gently pressed into Mr. Honey’s mind, using her psychic dragon abilities, and was disappointed to find he was telling the truth. Either one of his employees had misplaced the cake or given it to another customer by mistake.
“I’ll make it right,” the baker had promised. “I’ll decorate one from the case and deliver it to your house for your party, free of charge.”
Maggie had agreed, but here she was, surrounded by fifteen dragon women dressed in pastel florals and drinking foamy pink punch from crystal cups as the mother-to-be opened her second-to-last gift, and still, there was no cake. What if it didn’t come? Everyone would understand, she knew, but Maggie couldn’t let it go. She was a perfectionist who prided herself on her organization and planning skills. She’d ordered that cake in plenty of time, Creator damn it all. She swore to never order another thing from Honey Cakes bakery.
The chime of the doorbell lifted her spirits. At last! She excused herself from the room and opened the door to find a human man holding a big white cake box. “Finally,” she said, taking it from the stranger. Weird. As her hand brushed his, a feeling of immense dread washed through her, the hair on her arms standing on end. He drew his hands away quickly, pivoted on his heel, and strode toward his car at a fast clip.
She was relieved. Something was wrong with him. She’d sensed…darkness. With a shake of her head, she dismissed her instincts. She had a party to attend to. Maggie peeked into the Honey Cakes box to check that the cake was what she’d ordered.
And that was when the bomb went off.
Chapter One
SEB
Everything about the recording studio feels small today, but the truth is, it’s the same size as always. It’s me who’s bigger. Who feels bigger anyway. I’ve entered my alignment, the month of my dragon’s birth and my star sign. I’m a Taurus dragon, which means on April 22, midnight tonight, my inner dragon will rise to the surface. For the next thirty days, I will be the most powerful of my kind. My senses will be sharper. I’ll be faster. Stronger. And I will rise to lead the Zodiac Dragon Brotherhood, the brotherhood of twelve warriors responsible for protecting my kind.
But a side effect of that privilege is my appetites rise in kind—and not just for food and drink. Our dragons can only procreate during our alignment, which means even now, on the cusp of my star sign, my biology is sending me a steady stream of lusty daydreams, and my inner dragon is squirming to be free of my skin. I’m fidgety, hot, and horny as hell. It’s all I can do to remain in the moment, listening to a band called Spun Arrow, who are trying their wicked best to impress me right now. I can barely concentrate through the thunder of my thoughts.
“I think the bass line is off.” Crew, my assistant producer, sends me a disappointed scowl. We both had high hopes for this group. “He’s lagging.”
I hear it too. As distracted as I am, the part of my brain that has always spotted true musical talent is cringing at what’s happening in the live room of the recording studio. I force myself to focus because Full Throttle Records is counting on me, and I owe it to this band to give them a shot. But once I’ve given them a few more bars, I nod at Crew. He’s right.
Crew holds up a hand, signaling to the band through the soundproof glass to stop playing. They do, but I can see the bassist is already copping an attitude. His hip pops out, and he tips his head as if he’s annoyed by the interruption.
Over the intercom, Crew corrects him, tells him to internalize the beat and keep up with the drummer. It’s a common problem with young musicians. On his own, the bassist’s skills are likely passable, maybe even commendable. No doubt some music teacher somewhere told him he had what it takes. But when you play in a group like this, the goal is to not stand out. You need to blend. You need to hit the beat like it’s coming from your own heart. Lagging like he is, it’s coming across as amateurish.
I know we’ve done the right thing calling him out when the guy’s ears turn red. You’ve got to have a thick skin in this business. You’ve got to be a fucking ice cube when it comes to criticism. This guy, I know his type. Big ego. Hair trigger. He’s the type that probably deals with his frustrations with booze, women, or drugs. In other words, capital T trouble. Not ready for the big time.
He’s probably a Leo.
No thank you.
Spun Arrow starts to play again, and it’s better. Bassist is gritting his teeth, really trying to show Crew what he’s made of. Trying. Trying too hard. At this level, this stuff has to happen naturally. On tour, he’ll have to play perfectly whether he’s hungover, hungry, distracted, in bad weather, or half asleep after traveling on the bus for days. His muscle memory has to be perfect. We can’t rely on focused effort.
Another producer might take the risk, but not me. As a Taurus, I thrive on predictability and stability. There’s a reason the symbol of our sign is the bull. We’re reliable. Steady. We hate the unknown. This guy is an unknown.
I gesture to Crew and shake my head once. He nods. “Yeah. Not good enough.”
“Needs some time in the barrel,” I mumble. Five more years working the clubs and forcing himself to mesh with his fellow musicians might turn this guy into pure gold. He’s just not there yet.
Crew nods. “Got it, boss.”
My phone interrupts any further conversation. It’s Connor’s ringtone, and my stomach forms into a tight ball before I answer it. I bring the device to my ear as Crew waves me off. He’ll take care of letting Spun Arrow down easily.
I slip into the hall. “Seb,” I say in lieu of hello.
“Brother. Have you seen the news?” Connor’s voice cracks. Connor is an Aries dragon and the leader of the Zodiac Dragon Brotherhood for five more hours, until my alignment. Then it’s my turn. Normally, I wouldn’t mind stepping up, but considering everything that’s happened in the last month, it’s a hell of a time to be at the wheel.
“No, I’ve been in the studio all day. What happened?”
“The Order is at it again. There’s been an incident. A horrible incident.”
