Dragon Fall: Masters of the Flame 3 (Mating Fever) (3 page)

Chapter 2

She showered in the Amber Suite’s huge bathroom. The white marble was flawless, and the gold fixtures were real gold, enough that even she was reluctantly impressed. She gave the gold gryphon framing the free-standing, floor-length mirror a rub on the beak rather than look at herself for longer than it took to confirm that the white silk tunic and palazzo pants looked as bad on her as the shift had.

“Mirror, mirror,” she murmured. “Who is the faintest of them all?”

Of course dragons had gold, and plenty of it. If Grand-mère was here, she’d quote in a too-loud voice the daily commodity futures price of the precious metal.

And then she’d probably ask which of the dragon-shifters was single. Lars being a murderous warlock probably wouldn’t have been a deal-breaker for Grand-mère, as long as he’d been properly discreet about it. Considering his unsavory new headlines on the crime beat, though, the wedding was obviously off.

But which dragon for a grandson-in-law? Rave was enamored with Piper. It was crystal clear in the way he looked at her as he tucked her brown hair behind her ear, as if each strand was more precious to him than all the rubies in the butterfly clip that couldn’t hold back the thick waves.

Then there was Rave’s cousin Torch, who had brought an update on the investigation into Ashcraft Antiquities. Dressed in black denim and blacker leather, he’d been a jarring note in the quiet of the Amber Suite. He’d given her a once-over, and she wondered if he was judging her for falling for Lars’ spell—metaphorically and literally. But he’d just made some comment about being happy to see her awake.

The solicitous note in a voice that seemed more suited for thunder made her feel like a Ming vase: old and fragile and probably missing a piece or two.

When he’d given Anjali a deep, tongue-filled kiss before stalking out with Rave at his side, it was apparent he too was taken.

So much for landing a dragon-man.

Although there was one other option. She frowned at the hazy, half-formed memory of waking up in darkness. There’d been gleaming embers… No, those had been eyes, watching her…

A feverish flush swept across her skin, and she shook her head hard. She didn’t need a dragon because she was done serving as bait for other people’s ambitions.

When it was just the three of them, Piper called for dinner, while Anjali sat uneasily on the edge of the couch across from Esme and confessed what she saw as her part in Lars’ ugly schemes. The story tumbling out of her had filled in some gaps in Esme’s memory and some parts she hadn’t known, but when Anj started apologizing
again
, Esme cut her off.

“I fell for his lies too,” she reminded her friend. “So unless you want me to keep blaming myself…”

“No!” Anj shook her head until her red dreadlocks flew. “None of it was your fault.”

“Then let’s just agree we were both betrayed.”

Tears glinted in Anjali’s hazel eyes. “You have no idea…” She lunged across the couch for a hug.

Esme returned the embrace. Yeah, she had no ideas at all.

She should be used to that. Her whole life, she’d just been a part of other people’s ideas: first Grand-mère’s, then more heinously Ashcraft’s. Even the non-profits that hired her for her grant writing always intimated that it’d just be easier if
she
gave them the money they wanted. She was too ashamed to admit there wasn’t anything to her that hadn’t been given to her by someone else, not money, not connections.

Even the blond hair and cartoon princess bone structure was borrowed from her mother. Grand-mère had handed off Mère to a Middle Eastern prince in return for favorable business negotiations after Esme’s father died of a heart attack at a Swiss conference table—well, not
at
it with his associates,
on
it with his mistress—but before she’d gone, she’d told Esme to think long and hard about what she wanted out of life.

“Do you want to be the first wife of an ambitious man, or the second wife of a rich man?”

Esme had scowled. “How about the only wife of a good man?”

Her mother reached over and stuck her fingertip—cool from the glass of kale juice they’d been sharing—on the line between Esme’s brow, tsking. “Don’t wrinkle. And don’t be silly.”

As far as life lessons went, that left a lot to be desired.

But now she had her life again. While they ate from the room service feast—Esme made a deliberate effort to try a bite of everything because Piper and Anjali had learned all her old tricks back in school—she listened to them discuss warlocks and dragons, gambling and flying, magic and sex.

That last one, at least, was familiar territory from their shared school days. Anjali leered and puffed up her chest in imitation of Torch’s powerful pecs while Piper snickered and steadfastly refused to reveal Rave’s actual dimensions—while gesturing with an uncut baguette.

They were all laughing, the companionship making them more giddy than the one bottle of wine. This is what their long bachelorette weekend would’ve been like, Esme mused, if she’d actually been marrying Lars instead of being his hostage.

Except in her case, the two were always meant to be the same.

Something of what she was thinking must have shown on her face because Anjali nudged her. “You okay? Want some more pasta?”

Though she felt too warm and full already, Esme nodded and held out her plate. Then immediately wanted to kick herself. When was she going to stop making other people happy? But since her friends looked pleased that she had it together when she’d so recently been a warlock’s zombie, she took a bite of the creamy alfredo.

“I was actually thinking about cherries,” she admitted.

Piper peered under one of the still covered serving dishes. “Shoot, I got tiramisu for dessert.”

Because they always plied her with the rich, heavy foods when all she’d ever wanted was to float away. She mentally smacked herself for the uncharitable thought. Her friends were just that—friends. They wanted her to be healthy and happy. Even when she couldn’t seem to want that for herself.

“Cherries?” Anjali prodded. “There’re some apples and pears on the counter we could—”

“As in popping them,” Esme interrupted. “Mine, in particular.”

They both stared at her.

Oh sure, they could say cock and fuck and pussy all night long, but she mentioned a little thing like virginity and brought the party to a crashing halt.

“Never mind.” She twisted her ring on her thumb. Her fingers were too bony to hold the braid of silver and gold that echoed the rings on Piper’s and Anj’s hands. “Just an idea.”

Anj recovered first, of course. “I think it’s a great idea,” she proclaimed. She grabbed the abused baguette and pointed it at Esme. “Who’s gonna be the lucky guy? Or girl. Or guys and girls. This is Vegas, so anything goes in the lucky department. At least for you.”

Everyone always thought money and beauty meant lucky. Ugh. If only that were true. “I haven’t quite gotten that far,” Esme admitted.

Of course Piper, the more sober one, sat back with her studious gaze focused. “Why now? When you could’ve had any one of those frat boys next door. Or my thesis advisor. Or the pizza guy. Or—”

“I didn’t want them then,” Esme interrupted.

Piper tilted her head. The rubies in her hair clip glinted like burning embers. “Would you want them now?” When Esme didn’t answer, she nodded. “Thought not.” She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming as fiercely as the gems. “Ashcraft tried to make you a virgin sacrifice for a dragon. Don’t let him take it now, when he’s finally gone. Not unless it’s what
you
want.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Esme snapped. Her own vehemence shocked her, and she put her finger to her mouth as if she could stuff the anger back in.

Emotions at least had no calories.

Piper leaned back, but she didn’t look hurt. If anything, her slow smile was a little wicked. “Well, with pizza guys, you ask for the sausage…”

Anjali snorted. “Don’t ask love advice from a woman who still blushes when she says sausage.”

“Who said anything about love?” Piper shot back, although she covered her cheeks. “We’re just talking about getting
la pinga
.”

Anj laughed. “I hear your heartbroken sigh every time Rave walks out of the room.”

“I’m not heartbroken when he leaves,” Piper said stoutly. “Because I know he’ll be back. I’m just admiring the fine ass that is mine, all mine.”

“Amateur,” Anj said with a smirk. “Say that to his face instead and he’ll have you bent over the nearest inanimate object,
then
you’ll get red-cheeked.”

Esme cleared her throat. “My turn.”

They both looked at her again.

Piper bit her lip. “You’re not doing this just because Ashcraft tried to use you and you’re making sure no one can do that again, right? Because, honestly, those were very extenuating circumstances, and not likely to come up again.”

“But if you want to fuck someone here at the Keep,” Anjali interjected, “I’m sure some
one
will come up.”

Esme squirmed under the blanket she’d pulled over her lap. She’d been cold, but now she just felt confined.

When Lars had drugged her, leaving her helpless and only half awake, he’d checked to see if she truly was a virgin. Nasty, vile creep, with his Dark Ages cruelty.

“Hard to believe,” he’d muttered to himself.

More than his dry, probing finger in her panties, it was his disbelief that stung. He was assaulting her and yet acting as if there was something wrong with
her
.

Forcing herself back to the moment, Esme looked at her friends. “I admit,” she said slowly, “when it comes to never again being considered a virgin sacrifice, getting rid of the virgin part seems easiest.” She’d been raised to be a sacrifice.

“Let’s do it.” Anjali pushed to her feet. “Or I guess, let’s get you done.”

Piper laughed and yanked her back to the couch. “Maybe not right this second?”

“Why not? The Keep is twenty-four/seven action.” But Anjali settled back into the cushions when she looked at Esme.

Who clutched the blanket closer, not much of a shield. “If Lars had gotten what he wanted, last weekend he would’ve taken the dragon’s ichor, and tomorrow was supposed to be our wedding.”

The amusement and excitement on her friends’ faces faded.

“Has it only been a week?” Anj mused. “Seems longer.”

“I feel like I’ve known Rave forever,” Piper said. She looked at Esme. “Did you…want to be married to Lars? Before you knew, I mean.”

Esme considered. Shouldn’t she have had some sort of gut feeling? But her guts had never been particularly reliable. After a moment, she shrugged. “It’s what I was supposed to do. Now, knowing my grandmother must be canceling the hall, the caterer, the band, with no one knowing where I am…”

Piper looked stricken. “I never even thought about that. Should we—”

“No,” Esme said. “Whatever you were going to say—just no. I don’t want anyone to know.” God, Grand-mère might just throw some other useful male into a tux and slap a ring in his hand.

Or maybe she’d just find some other useful granddaughter.

Anjali cleared her throat meaningfully. “Okay then. Back to getting laid.”

But Esme’s stomach finally decided to speak up, and after thinking of her grandmother and her fiancé and her non-existent wedding night, her innards roiled unpleasantly. “Never mind,” she said. “I think I like the fantasy better than the reality.”

“Ideally, it’s both,” Piper said. She reached down the couch to pat Esme’s knee. “You don’t have to jump into anything.”

She’d never jumped; she’d always just sort of
fallen
.

“Whenever you’re ready, we’ll be there for you,” Anjali added. “Well, not like
right
there. That’s not really my kink. And if you don’t want to be found, Torch will make sure no one bothers you.”

The churn of Esme’s stomach slowed. It really was like old times, and maybe for the first time, she felt awake enough to enjoy it.

But the anxiety nipped at her again when they got up to go.

“Isn’t this your suite?” she asked Piper.

Her friend shook her head. “It’s yours. I was just staying here while you…when we weren’t sure…”

Anjali wrapped an arm around Esme’s shoulder and leaned her head in, her red dreadlocks a yielding cushion. “Never mind.” She squeezed Esme hard. “We’re just happy that you’re back to you.”

But what
was
she?

As Esme walked her friends to the double doors, her guts twisted. She forced her lips into a smooth smile when she hugged them both goodnight. They’d done enough for her, and she wasn’t going to keep them away from their own lives just because she couldn’t figure out hers.

When she turned back to the empty suite, the shadows seemed fathomlessly deep, the golden lights of the amber chandelier turned down low. Even when she flipped the dimmer switch as high as it would go, she couldn’t banish all the darkness, not with the desert vista right outside the big windows, as if the night was waiting to come in.

Her spine prickled, taking up the unease in her belly.

She wasn’t really alone, she told herself. There were thousands of people in the casino. Piper and Anjali were a one-button click away on the cell phone she’d left on the kitchenette counter.

But the night loomed just beyond the glass.

She puttered, picking up the leftover plates and pillows of their little party, though she knew housekeeping would whisk it all away in the morning. She’d spent enough time in places like this to appreciate—more than that, to expect—how it worked. There’d be no evidence of her friendships or her silly little flirtation with the fantasy of…of fucking. No evidence left of her at all, really.

Had she ever left a mark anywhere?

Her white reflection on the dark glass looked unnervingly ghostlike, and she drifted to the window, trying to make herself come into focus. But no, she still looked like a little wisp of nothing.

She pressed one fingertip to the glass, letting the cool touch of the night seep into her bones. A whisper seemed to come through the pane, too faint for her to make out the words.