1
KELAN
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd, a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:
What is it else? A madness most discreet,
A choking gall and a preserving sweet.
William Shakespeare - Romeo and Juliet
The glass is cold against my palm, but the whiskey burns hot as it slides down my throat. Darial is making an off-color joke about his newest acquisition. Some tech start-up filled with bright-eyed kids brimming with enthusiasm. Ronyn’s already rolling his eyes, muttering about how he’d rather break bones than numbers.
It’s another night at one of our bars. One ofmany.This one is forged from glass and steel on the fortieth floor of a tower with my name on the deed, the kind of place where men pay a thousand dollars for a bottle to feel like they’reimportant. It should feel like a victory.
It only feels empty.
After two hundred years of striking deals and amassing fortunes, fighting wars in boardrooms instead of on battlefields, I’m no longer interested or excited about any of it.
We’ve buried our dragons under tailored suits and fake smiles.
We don’t burn anymore.
Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.
But as the whiskey pools hot in my stomach, the fire that’s suppressed inside me bubbles up, aching to be freed.
Ronyn sits across from me, his broad frame hunched forward, a predator crammed into a suit that never quite hides what he is. His glass is already empty.
Darial lounges at my side, grinning at the redhead across the room, charming, reckless, and golden as ever. I don’t know how he finds the energy for it.
For centuries we’ve searched for the mate the goddess promised us, the only soul who could anchor our fire, and it was a quest we relished. We scoured cities and kingdoms, empires rising and falling while we remained unchanged.
Each time hope flared, it guttered out.
Eventually, we conceded defeat. It was easier to pretendshedidn’t exist than to feel the sting of disappointment again. Now, there is only one female dragon left and she is mated.
So, Darial beds human women whose names he won’t remember. Ronyn pours his fury into fights he can’t lose. And me? I sign contracts, build towers, and hoard wealth like it could ever be a substitute for what I crave. But what is the point of a hoard without a queen at its heart?
We’re all aware of the emptiness of our existence. None of us admits it.
Tonight we wait for a businessman whose hunger leaks from his pores, to sign yet another deal none of us care about.
Darial tips his chin toward the redhead, his grin widening. “She’s been staring at us for ten minutes. I think she wants me.”
Ronyn snorts, the sound low and derisive. “She wants your bank account.”
“Please.” Darial runs a hand through his golden hair, mussing it further, on purpose. “Women love me for me. The money’s a perk.”
“Money comes first, enhanced by the notoriety of your huge, ridged dick.” Ronyn shakes his head at his own suggestion. “And you do have a pretty smile.” He smirks.
I roll the whiskey in my glass, watching the liquid catch the light. “You’ve never met a woman you didn’t think loved you, Darial.”
The redhead makes her move, sliding past the crowded tables, hips swaying. She stops at ours, her eyes bright with courage fueled by champagne. “I’ve been watching you,” she purrs, “and you three look like you own the place.”
