I’d like to see him try.But I tamp down my rising anger. It won’t serve me right now. I wish I were holding Rosomon’s hand—she always calms me—even though I would not want her exposed to these demons.
Kestra weaves through the tables, and I follow, trying to ignore the heads turning toward us. Has no one here seen a dragon shifter before? I suppose that most haven’t.
We exit the restaurant through red curtains, and I nod to the demon who parted them, reminding myself that being polite will serve me—until it does not. Kestra leads me into a hallway, covered by what appears to be mirrors. Inside the ceiling, lights shift erratically bouncing off the reflective surfaces, and the bright flashes sting my eyes.
Walking beside me, Kestra seems unaffected, and based on our reflections, she’s studying me, as if I’m some kind of puzzle she’s hoping to solve. At least her incessant chattering has stopped for the moment.
At the end of the hallway, she presses the call button for an elevator, and gleaming silver doors instantly slide open to admit us.
“Where are we going?” I ask gruffly, as she pushes a button labeled “B”.
“The ballroom.” She smiles. “Gabreal was last seen there.” She looks at her handheld device—a phone—and rapidly taps onto its screen. As the elevator stops, she slips the device into a pocket at the front of her hip.
I brace for the loud pounding sounds and flashing lights I’ve encountered in every room designed for what passes as dancing in these times. But when the doors open into the ballroom, I blink several times to be sure this isn’t an illusion.
Music, lyrical and soft, drifts from a group of musicians playing instruments on a balcony above. The demons filling the ballroom are all dressed in finery—velvet, silk, pearls and gemstones abound. The decor, too, is opulent and might have been furnished from my hoard. My eyes narrow, wondering if some of it did come from stolen gold. Eldrath did say that searching for dragon hoards had become sport.
Above us, sparkling crystals dangle from a multitude of chandeliers, which cast tiny reflections over the ceiling, ornately painted with pastoral scenes. On the dance floor, demons elegantly glide around in formation, and every living being in this room seems calm and dignified—even the demons whose appearances would terrify any human.
The demons not dancing, stand or sit around the room’s edges, sipping cocktails and quietly conversing. This scene is not what I’d expect from a demon ballroom. Especially not one run by a demon such as Gabreal—an evil demon who has allowed, likelyencouraged, so many despicable things to occur in the City of Darkness.
The dances, the music, the garb are reminiscent of a ball I might expect in a human royal court in the Light, and that thoughthas me imagining Rosomon in such a setting and hoping that someday we will enjoy a dance together like this.
Kestra again consults her phone. “Come,” she says quietly. “Gabreal was just seen at the sweets table.”
She leads me around the edge of the room and into a small antechamber housing a long table covered in dainty, elaborately decorated treats. Leaving my side for a moment, she speaks to a demon with bright red skin and long twisted horns atop her head. She’s wearing a pale blue velvet gown, and the contrast between her body and her clothing is jarring, although the gown does become her.
Kestra picks up a tiny cake. Revealing sharp teeth, she pops the morsel into her mouth, then closes her eyes, as if in ecstasy. “You’vegotto try one of those,” she says.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Gabreal?”
She licks her long-nailed finger and smiles lasciviously. Is she truly still trying to seduce me?
“Are you certain you’re nothungry, Zogar?” She licks the tip of her finger again. “Not foranything?”
“Not in the least.” My stomach is grumbling at the sight of this food, but the portions of cake and pastry are so tiny I’d need dozens upon dozens to quash my hunger.
She shrugs. “Your loss.”
My patience is quickly vanishing, and I glare at her.
“Gabreal just left here,” she says. “My friend overheard him saying he’s headed for the rooftop bar.”
I sigh. “Then what are we waiting for?”
CHAPTER 30
Tynan
I’ve paced my bed chamber so many times I’m shocked there isn’t a groove worn into the floorboards. I can’t sleep. Thoughts of Rosomon prevent it—thoughts that alternate between lust, love and terror.
One moment I’m envisioning holding our first babe in my arms, the next I’m creating that babe, and then suddenly I’m imagining the horrors she could be facing in the Darkness.
I trust Zogar to keep her safe. I do. The dragon-shifter might not love her, but hevaluesher. He considers protecting her his duty, and he’ll do whatever he can to keep her from harm.
Imagining my love spending so much time with Zogar brings up both jealousy and more lust-filled thoughts. Bending forward to grip my knees, I draw long breaths to banish the envy. It won’t serve me. And more than anything, I want her to be safe and happy and can only hope that Zogar will do both. He certainly gave a vivid demonstration of how well he can give her pleasure.
Straightening, I start pacing again. Perhaps if I concentrate on Rosomon taking that dragon’s cock, I’ll eventually bring myself to a point of relaxation and slumber.
