Fury of Seduction (Dragonfury Series #3) (31 page)

Anything
, after all, lay like a promise on the other side of her pleasure.

The streets were awash in lamp glow as Nian flew over Old Town, wings extended in full glide, his ear attuned to the chatter below. Prague at midnight. Party central...the magic hour when all kinds—both human and Dragonkind—came out to play. Too bad he wouldn’t get the chance to join them. At least not for a while.

Maybe not at all tonight if Rodin stayed true to form.

Gifted with a bird’s-eye view, Nian watched a group of drunken humans stumble out of a club and spill into the narrow, cobble-paved avenue. He snorted, fine golden mist rising from his nostrils, and shook his head. Never a dull moment. Never a quiet one, either. Perhaps, though, that was a blessing tonight. He needed the distraction. Time enough to settle his nerves, and watching the imbeciles stagger around? Amusing, to say the least, which...

Yes. Kept his mind busy. An absolute blessing, considering where he was headed.

Angling his wings, he flew east, following the main drag out of the city. More laughter rose in mirth-filled snatches, rising between pale building facades to meet stormy November skies. As the cold air flowed, rushing
over his scales, Nian danced with the north wind. The night current whirled into an updraft, lifting his bulk. With a growl, he rotated into a slow flip, music drifting up to meet him. Different genres mixed, the big bass of the nightclubs intertwining with the soothing tones of more sophisticated establishments.

Nice. A real collection of sounds. Some soft with smooth undertones. Others savage, a jarring conflagration of vicious guitars, brutal beats, and violent lyrics.

Fine by him. The lethal mix suited his mood, preparing him for the meeting to come. Thank Christ. It wouldn’t do to show weakness in front of Rodin and his crowd. He needed to be picture-perfect when he walked into the Archguard’s private party. Bang on in the political sphere. Calm. Cool. And collected. Otherwise he wouldn’t make it out alive.

The urge to bank hard and fly home pricked through him. Nian ignored the warning. Self-preservation was all fine and good, but it wouldn’t get him what he wanted. Rodin dead, nothing but a messy pile of dragon ash blown away on a brisk wind. But it was far too soon for that. The groundwork must be laid first. Which meant strengthening his position within the high council before he knocked off the top dragon.

The sooner Rodin kicked the bucket, the better for him.

Why? The sick bastard was up to no good. Again.

The summons to his pavilion proved it. The arrival of the gold-leafed invitation (and the fact Nian had never been included on the guest list before) an hour ago confirmed his suspicions. The who’s who of Dragonkind—the much-lauded elite, the wealthiest, most powerful of their kind—would be in attendance tonight. Doing what?
Backroom deals, no doubt, but mostly? Rubbing elbows while indulging in Rodin’s specialty...

Debauchery of the highest form.

Normally Nian didn’t mind. He enjoyed getting down and dirty as much as the next male. But not now. And certainly not at Rodin’s. The leader of the high council had a reputation, one no one ever talked about. Not if they wished to be invited back, never mind stay alive. Rumors, however, abounded. Part myth? All truth? Nian couldn’t be certain, but anything was possible.

Especially with the Archguard involved.

Red-tiled roofs flashing beneath him, Nian increased his wing speed, flying fast toward the Vltava River. Bitter wind whistled, rattling over his scales, hiding the moon behind heavy cloud cover. Errant snowflakes frolicking in his wake, he crisscrossed a cemetery, tombstones nothing but pale slices in the darkness, then circled into a holding pattern over the Grecian pavilion below. He scanned the manicured gardens, searching the frozen landscape for the landing pad. The second he found it, Mozart’s
Requiem
started up, spilling out of the house to drift between ancient trees, the skeletal branches doing little to muffle the melody.

Nian growled. Terrific. Trust Rodin to play a masterpiece at an orgy. All right. So maybe that was overstating it a bit. He didn’t know for sure, after all, what Rodin and his cohorts engaged in down there, but...

He had pretty good idea. Could smell the sex already, and he wasn’t even on the ground yet.

Tucking his wings in fast, he set down softly on the lawn. Sculpted shrubs swayed, brushing the sides of his shoulders as frosted blades of grass sighed beneath his
talons. The sound whispered, rushing up to meet the Grecian-style front entrance. Standing guard between massive marble columns, two males whirled in his direction. A second later, they left their post and trotted down the wide, fluted staircase.

A wind gust blew across the circular driveway, throwing dust into the air. The bigger male’s footfalls crunched on the gravel that kissed the base of the stone steps. His eyes narrowed, swept the area...right past Nian, whose mouth curved. Nice try, hotshot. The guard would never see him. A master illusionist, Nian could disappear into thin air. His skill went beyond simple cloaking—the way in which his kind hid from human eyes—entering into a whole new category. One that made him 100 percent invisible, impossible to detect even to his own kind.

Nian frowned. Well, at least most of the time. Haider was the exception to that rule.

No matter how strong an illusion spell he cast, the Nightfury saw through the smoke screen, detecting him without delay. Troubling as much as it was annoying. And let’s not forget frustrating. Every time he tried to follow the male and gather intel on the Nightfury pack, he got outed, then warned to stay “the fuck away unless he wanted his balls ripped off.” Gage’s words, not Haider’s.

But as far as threats went? Pretty damn effective. Particularly when one considered Gage’s violent nature and the enjoyment he gained from unleashing it.

His gaze leveled on the two guards, Nian decided to test his skill. Just in case. His failure to hide from Haider worried him. Maybe he was slipping...the stress of the last months messing with his ability to control the magic. Maybe he wasn’t. Either way, he needed to know for sure.

Lifting his paw, he scraped the tip of a single claw along the base of a marble statue. Like nails on chalkboard, the awful shriek made him grimace as it ricocheted around the garden.

Guard number one spooked, jumping out of his skin. “Did you hear that?”

“Uh-uh.” Dropping his cigarette to the ground, the second guard crushed it beneath his boot heel. Gravel crunched. Smoke swirled around his dress shoe. The male scanned the shadows, searching for the source of disturbance. “You see anything?”

“Nothing.”

Nian hummed. Excellent. His skill was...

All right. Maybe not perfect. It wasn’t, after all, Haider proof, but at least his ability to conjure illusions was intact. So enough with the game.

With a mental flick, Nian uncloaked, allowing the pair to perceive him. Startled, the guards hopped backward, tripping over themselves, recognition in their eyes. Fear swelled, then poured, corrupting their scents. In tandem, they bowed their heads in deference, then knelt in the dirt.

Hmm, power. It never got old.

Walking out from between two topiaries, Nian’s claws clicked on the flagstone path. His gaze leveled on the pair, he waged an internal war and debated. Put them at ease with a few words? Or stay silent and crank the hell out of their discomfort? He wanted to do the second. A loner by choice, he didn’t often get the opportunity to see another’s reaction to his dragon form. But oh my...he hadn’t lost his touch.

And no wonder. He was a rare breed: majestic, powerful, as stunningly beautiful as he was lethal. He acted the part
and prowled toward the subjugated males, the burnished gold of his scales and his jet-black claws gleaming in the lamplight. The triple-pronged spikes along his spine moved with him, the bloodred tips rolling as his barbed tail snaked out behind him. The guards tensed and curled inward, becoming more uncertain by the moment.

Nian purred, the deep sound one of satisfaction. He loved the way he looked. Gold with black and dark red embellishments. An unusual combination, and more deadly for the fact he breathed yellow acid (aka liquid gold). Corrosive and fast acting, his special brand of poison fused scales—turning males into living statuary—if his target didn’t wash the acid off within minutes of getting hit.

Lawn sculpture dragon-style. Always fun to watch.

“Gentlemen,” he murmured, stopping ten feet away.

“My lord Nian,” both males said at once, heads still bowed and napes exposed. The position was a vulnerable one—a compliment to his elevated station and their subservient role. “Master Rodin is expecting you.”

Shifting to human form, Nian conjured his clothes. As the silk shirt and slick tuxedo settled against his skin, he tied his shoelaces with a mental twist. Stone dust scuffing the bottom of his new Berlutis, he approached the two guards while he studied them. Big. Strong. Not too bright. Soldiers who took orders but never questioned authority. Exactly the type of male Rodin appreciated and used as guards dogs on a regular basis.

Nian swallowed his disgust. Some things never changed. Good on a number of fronts—the behavior was predictable, at least—but depressing too. Dragonkind would never evolve with Rodin at the helm.

Brushing past the kneeling males, Nian tugged his shirtsleeves and, adjusting his gold cuff links, jogged up the marble steps. At the top, he paused on the landing, glanced over his shoulder, and said, “On your feet and to your posts,
zi kamirs
. I will tell Rodin you greeted me well.”

He waited just long enough to register their relief, then turned and made his way through the open door into the pavilion. Mozart morphed into Jay-Z, big bass replacing violins as he walked down another set of steps into the central corridor. His shoes skimming over mosaic floors, his gaze ran the gauntlet. Vaulted ceiling, three large crystal chandeliers strung at precise intervals down its center, a round antique table beneath each one. And dressing the walls? A smattering of erotic art. Opulent, and in very bad taste, the colorful canvases hung between pale marble pillars, occupying both sides of the hallway. Studying each depiction, Nian’s mouth curved at the corners. Every category was represented: male on male, female on female, threesomes...ah, make that four- and fivesomes...of every sexual combination and variety.

Well, bully for Rodin. The prick might be a sadist, but at least he didn’t discriminate.

Coming abreast of a closed door, Nian slid his hand into his pants pocket and palmed his lighter. His thumb brushed over his family crest engraved into the golden side. He took a deep breath. Showtime. Good thing he’d never suffered from performance anxiety. Why? Something told him the next few hours would not only get out of hand but be exhausting as well.

He reached for the door handle.

From out of nowhere, a Numbai appeared at his elbow. Tray in hand, a single glass filled with amber liquid upon
it, the servant bowed and offered him the drink. With a raised brow, Nian palmed the crystal tumbler. Ice clicked against his teeth as he took a sip. Decadent and welcome, the cool burn slid down his throat. Well, well, well. Surprise, surprise. Bourbon. His favorite brand too. Rodin, it seemed, paid attention.

Good to know. Even better to remember.

“My lord,” the Numbai murmured, a healthy dose of respect in his tone. With a quick shift, the male grasped the handle. He twisted the knob, pushed the door open, and waved Nian through. “Welcome.”

Tumbler in hand, Nian nodded and, putting his expensive shoes to work, crossed the threshold into—

Christ be gone. Because hell,
He
wasn’t anywhere near here.

Nian blinked. Had he said debauchery earlier? Brimstone and hellfire. Take that up a notch, then times it by a hundred. Females were everywhere—dressed, half-dressed, not dressed at all, engaged in all kinds of pleasurable pursuits—outnumbering the males in the room three to one. Sexual energy hummed in the room. Arousal twisted his balls up tight.

Nian took another pull from his drink. As the bourbon washed into his mouth, he scanned the crowd over the rim of his glass. He spotted Rodin right away. Over in the corner, sprawled on a chaise longue, enjoying a dark-haired female while two others waited in the wings for a turn. Dark eyes shimmering in the low light, the leader of the Archguard raised his glass, toasting Nian from across the room. He tipped his chin, returning the greeting, and watched Rodin signal to someone behind him. A moment later, small hands touched down on his
back. He glanced over his shoulder. Sultry blue eyes met his.

“Hi.” Caressing him through his suit jacket, the female explored his shoulders, then hooked the collar and tugged. Nian shrugged, helping her undress him. “I’m Purity.”

Wearing nothing but skin, a second female joined the first, stopping in front of him. Certain of her skill and his welcome, she loosened his tie, then turned her attention to his shirt. Nimble fingers slipped the buttons free. “And I’m Chastity.”

His lips twitched. Interesting names...considering their busy hands. “Twins?”