“After dinner, you said?” Her foot hits the first floor at asection of the mosaic that tells the story of how some female dragons have some powers. Raine’s left foot rests on the snoot of a female shifter blowing poisonous gas over an enemy from another clan. She stops. “Where is the dining room?
“Around the corner, the closed, exposed door.” Behind the curtain is the door to Kieren’s office, and the hidden section of the foyer isn’t a door at all. “Let me.” I round her and open the door.
Kieren’s there in a black suit, his nose in his laptop, looking more like the CEO he is than his true inner prince. He doesn’t look up when I point out where she should sit.
Raine tucks her legs under the chair, and from the corner of the room, a valet appears, shaking the back of her chair from my hand and pushing her in. It’s the scratching on the floor that has Kieren looking up.
His scowl transforms his face from serious to furious in a flash. “You’re still here?”
There’s a long pause while he takes in what she’s wearing. The colors, the cut, the fabric. It’s a damn declaration. I should have let her change. She had the good sense to know she wanted to change even though she couldn’t understand why. Gut instinct’s what hovers on the earthly side of magic.
“What the hell are you doing in those clothes? And why the hell do you look like that?” My thunder mate glares from Raine to me.
6
KIEREN
Idon’t lose my temper. I never yell. I’m levelheaded to the extreme, but I’ve had enough of these candidates. When we started, Evander called them our candy. But to me, they’re a damn inconvenience. One series of lies after another to women who think they are here for a career opportunity, not some sort of other realm dating scam.
But this is it. I’ve had enough. I’m telling Roark and Evander after this we’re done. No more candidates. No more women trying to slide into my bed when I’m sleeping because they see gold. I don’t share gold with anyone. It took my dragon a long time to get used to the fact that I have other males in my thunder.
My parents are a couple. Evander has two fathers and a mother. Roark’s mother had three in her thunder before the clash with the Firested clan. Roark lost all of his parents in battle. His mother was a rider. She had the gift of fire breath. My mother has poison breath. Evander’s mother can shift wings out of her back. They’re tiny and can carry her only ashort distance. Useful on their farm in the fields of Elderglen.
I swallow. Neither of them have answered me. Fucking Evander can wait a year in silence while you work out it’s you who’s being the asshole.
“I was invited to dinner by Leo. And with my clothes missing, this was all I had. But I’ve found my clothes now. I’ll go up and change. I’m more of a dark color kind of gal, anyway.” Her pale pink painted fingertips grasp the edges of the chair.
“No, you’re here now. We should eat.” I motion to her place.
Evander’s dragon pushes at his face. He’s never been one to lose control and shift uncontrollably. We leave that to Roark.
Her hands drop to her lap without opening the napkin. A valet steps forward. “Mademoiselle.” He takes the napkin and, with a flourish, places it on her lap.
“How very kind of you, thank you,” she says in perfect French.
“You speak French?” Evander asks.
“Yes, just a bit,” she answers in French again.
Evander hasn’t sat. He’s glaring at the valet like he’s entered our hoard vault.
“Evander, sit.”
The low, guttural growl of his dragon answers me. It’s loud enough to shake the water goblet beside my claret glass.
“Sit,” I say again.
We sit in unison, silent as Evander quiets his beast. The rumbling from his dragon says that I’m not getting rid of the candidate with a quick word. I’ll let him have his fun, but this is the last time. I nod to the head steward in the cornerof the room. He eyes my computer, and I incline my head. He whisks it away to my office. He’s been here as long as I can remember. It’s an honor to serve in Cloud Rift. Not because of me but because of what it stands for to our people.
It will be a minute before the first course begins. “And how did you learn French?”
“My grandmother. She’s from not far from here. Not that I’ve ever been here. I’ve never really traveled. But she liked teaching me and, unlike my older sister, I enjoyed learning. Maybe too much. I majored in French and art history in college.”
“And here you are,” Evander says. His eyes have almost returned to their normal shape and shade of brown.
The stewards bring the first course. Do I have time for a five-course dinner? No, but we start with every candidate this way. “Merché,” I say. Thank you in our native tongue.
“Thank you,” Raine echoes in French.
