Idallia drops her gaze and fidgets with the spoon in front of her. I suddenly see her pinned down, about to have her throat ripped out by that weretiger, and I barely stifle a snarl.
“We can’t cover the whole city without dividing up.” I sip from my mug just as deliberately as he did. “Remember, our goal isn’t to stop blood thieves from rounding people up. It’s to catch them before they make it into the Bloodwold tunnels. If you see something suspicious, send your wing guards to alert the others. Then we’ll work as a team.”
“So people are bait?” Danica wrinkles her nose.
Idallia lifts her gaze. “We’re not baiting a trap, we’re just waiting to see if a raid happens, and if one does, whoever is taken will be in less danger with us here than without us. But we’ll need to move fast to catch them on the way out before they get over the border and drop into the tunnels with the captives.”
Her answer mirrors the one I would’ve given so perfectly that I’m both pleased with her assessment and painfully aware of holding her back. With every day that goes by, I might be damaging the future I’ve spent a third of my life building because I don’t want now to change.
Keep. Protect. My dragon rumbles seductively inside me, and there’s no telling it to shut up because its essence permeates my whole body. The beast is more honest than the man, pushing thoughts of golden eyes, silky black hair, and red lips to my mind. It whispers to me through every pumping vein why I choose to spar with Idallia the most—because I know I’ll win, I can pin her underneath me, and murmur something against her neck without anyone suspecting I crave her scent and want to inhale it deep into my lungs and keep it there until I can do it again.
My starborn magic latches on to my thoughts, wanting to seep out and wrap shadowy heat around the woman next to me. Contracting every muscle, I wage an internal battle and leash myself just as the food arrives. Other dragon shifters take one form or the other—a conscious choice of skin or scales. I’m both at once, which makes me stronger, faster, and more feral. What that feral part doesn’t understand, or care about, is that Idallia doesn’t know the truth—and that I’m the one keeping it from her.
“What’s to stop the vampires from killing their captives as soon as we attack?” Arran asks, cutting into meat that drips red. “They can bolster their strength and start healing from injuries just by sucking someone down in seconds.”
Leaning back in my chair, I scrub a hand down my face. “We’ll just have to do our best to protect them.” It seems that’s all I can promise these days.
“What if we’re the ones who spot something?” Idallia asks as she pokes at a potato. They steam, still too hot to eat. “You don’t have wing guards to carry the message.”
“We’ll send Fyrestar and Rimblaze to alert the others.”
My words must be sour, because she makes a face. No argument leaves her mouth, though.
Idallia goes quiet, so everyone else does too. Or maybe it’s because I’m here—and barely eating. I try to show interest in my meal.
“So…” Wade’s humor-laced tone cuts through an extended silence. “What do you call a vampire who can’t get their fangs to come out?” He looks around the table expectantly. I shake my head, miserable at jokes. Everyone else has an Oh great Cealastra expression on their face, and Wade looks even more pleased with himself. “Poor sucker,” he finally says when no one answers.
My groan isn’t the only one. Danica rolls her eyes.
“Wait, wait.” Wade grins wider. “I have another one. What do you call an old and wrinkly fae nearing their end?”
“Poor sucker?” Maia ventures.
Wade scowls at her, chuckling underneath. “Anyone else?”
“Broke?” Danica suggests.
Wade shakes his head.
“Well?” Kellan says. “Spit it out.”
“Unglamorous,” Wade answers with a shrug.
I laugh despite Wade’s ridiculousness and the very real and increasingly worrisome amount of fae using their seductive glamour magic to change the way people perceive their intentions and deafen them to the warning bells that should be clanging in their heads.
“Got one about dragon shifters?” I ask.
Wade lifts his mug, hiding a smile behind a sip of ale. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“Humans?” Idallia asks.
He shakes his head. “And risk some Drayke Mountain sorcerer cursing me? Not a chance.”
“Phoenixes?” Arran arches his brows.
Wade looks aghast. “Surely, you jest.”
“There are only werebeasts left.” Maia points her knife at Wade, her eyes narrowing. “Please tell me you have a good one I can use the next time we fight a pack of raiders in the north.”
