His gaze met mine, the dark depths serious despite his faint smile. “You have lots of good features. Unfortunately, your stubborn refusal to see good sense isn’t one of them.”
My smile faded. So much for the compliment. “You were going to murder him, Damon. I can’t be a part of that.”
“And do you think they’ll show any such restraint if they catch you again?”
Fear rose like a ghost—half-formed, insubstantial, but mind-numbing nonetheless. “I realize that.” My voice was sharp with the panic threatening to bubble over. “But if I somehow manage to survive all this, I then have to live with my actions. And I won’t take someone’s life just because it’s expedient. Life of any kind deserves more respect than that.”
At least until I knew for sure who was responsible for Rainey’s death. Then I wouldn’t restrain him.
And I wouldn’t restrain myself.
Deep down, though, I wondered if I was really ready to claim the revenge Rainey needed.
“Expedience is taking care of problems before they take care of you,” he snapped, then raked a hand through his hair. “This is a mistake, trust me on that.”
“So you’ve said.” Repeatedly. “And if I pay the price, then so be it. You’ve got the netbook?”
“Yes.” He pulled the little computer out from under his coat and handed it to me. “What sort of code is it?”
I shrugged as I shoved it into my bag. “Just one we made up when we were kids. It was safer sending notes no one else could read—there was less likelihood of offending someone and getting punished.”
He gave me a look that bordered on disbelief. “Why on earth would someone want to punish a couple of kids for sending each other notes?”
“Because it was outside guidelines.” I hesitated, then reluctantly added, “Draman never got the same sort of consideration as full-blooded dragons.”
“Ah,” he said, in a voice that suddenly seemed cooler. “I understand.”
His reaction had disappointment swirling, but with it came a lifetime of annoyance.
“How can you possibly understand? You’re a full-blood, and a dragon of rank and privilege besides. You could never, ever understand just how it is for those of us who sit in two worlds, but are never really considered a true part of either. You use us, abuse us—but heaven forbid you ever think us worthy of any sort of consideration.”
He looked a little startled, and I wasn’t sure whether it was my words or the anger so evident in my voice. “I have to admit, I’ve never really thought much about the draman’s lot in life,” he said.
I snorted softly. “Few full-bloods do.”
He slanted me a sideways glance. “We don’t have draman in our clique. We never have had.”
“Meaning your clique refuses to sully dragon blood with the human taint?” God, how often had I heard such a phrase from the bastard who ruled our clique? Which was ironic when he was one of the biggest transgressors. Half his get—my brother included—were draman.
“Meaning my clique is mostly where the muerte come from,” he said softly. “It’s hard to create potential problems yourself when you are constantly cleaning them up.”
“Meaning draman are the first and only source of dragon problems?” I snorted again. “You have to be kidding me.”
Hell, I knew from experience just how far off the mark that statement was.
“You’re right; they’re not the sole source of our problems.” He slanted me another glance, his expression grim. “But trust me when I say that you lot are a major problem when it comes to keeping the existence of dragons secret.”
“And of course the full-bloods are perfect little angels, and would never do anything to jeopardize the security of the cliques.” I shook my head in disbelief. “I expected better of you, Damon.”
He quirked an eyebrow at that and, just for a moment, humor warmed his dark eyes. “As I’ve mentioned before, you barely know me. And yet here you stand berating my ideals and beliefs.”
“And yet you’ve called me stupid multiple times, and would deny me existence if you could.”
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
“I saw your reaction when I mentioned I was draman. Hell, I felt it. So don’t try to bullshit me about what you did and didn’t mean.”
“I won’t deny I reacted to the fact you were draman, Mercy, but it’s not for the reasons you seem to think.”
“So explain it to me, seeing I so stupidly got it wrong.”
I stopped at another street and crossed my arms, waiting for the flow of traffic to ease so that we could cross. The sea breeze was getting stronger, and the heat of Damon’s presence was no longer enough to keep me warm. I reached down inside myself and called forth the fire, feeling it ripple through my muscles, warming me from the inside out. It wasn’t enough to make my skin glow with heat, but at least it kept the bite of the wind at bay. And that bite would get worse the closer we got to the sea.
“I’ve never seen a dragon with your fire control, let alone a draman.” He began shrugging off his coat. “It’s unusual for draman to even get dragon skills, let alone have them so refined.”
I frowned, more than a little confused by his statement. While it was true that there were few enough draman who had my control of fire, there were plenty of us who had most or all of the dragon skills. “Why would you think it’s unusual?”
“Because it is.” His tone edged toward mocking, and annoyance rose again.
“No, it’s not. Just about every draman born at Jamieson has full dragon skills.” I shivered again and stoked the fires a little bit higher, trying to chase away the growing chill.
“Interesting,” he said softly, then offered me the coat. “Here, take this and cool the furnace. If this Angus is a sea dragon, he’ll sense your fire and run long before we get to him.”
“Thanks.” I handed him my red bag and slipped my arms into the coat sleeves. It was quite a bit longer on me than on him, swallowing my hands and dropping past my knees. But it was thick and warm, and filled with the raw scent of him. I flared my nostrils, drawing in the aroma, letting it slide across my senses.
Then I took back my bag, and said, “When you say ‘interesting,’ does that mean you didn’t know about it?”
“The council knew it was happening. I don’t believe they’re aware it’s occurring in such numbers.”
I frowned. “But I was under the impression it was happening in all the cliques.”
“No, it’s not. It seems to be just the seaside cliques.”
“But why? And how did the council find out about it? I doubt our king would offer such information.” He wasn’t the caring-and-sharing type—especially when breeding too many draman was forbidden by council law.
“He didn’t. But thirty-one years ago, there was an unapproved cleansing of a small seaside town. Your king denied any knowledge, but the council heard whispers that the town had been filled with his draman—many of whom had the skills of full dragons. They have been watching the seaside cliques ever since.”
A chill ran through me. Whale Point. It had to be. “So why would our king tell us that draman in all cliques were gaining dragon powers when he knows it’s not true?”
“I don’t know.” He hesitated, looking down at me, his expression no warmer than before, but maybe that was merely the face of a muerte rather than the man I was occasionally getting glimpses of. “But the Jamieson clique has always been something of a headache for the council.”
“Why?”
His expression didn’t alter, but I felt his contempt. It wrapped around me, as dark and as deep as the man. “Your king believes the cliques should be autonomous.”
I frowned. “But they basically are, aren’t they? I thought the council only ruled over decisions that affected all the cliques as a whole.”
“Yes and no. Securing our position in this human world is the council’s number-one priority, and everything the cliques do affects this.”
??
?So how often are the kings supposed to report to the council?”
“Daily, but the Jamieson clique is somewhat remiss. Your king hasn’t done enough to warrant a reprimand, but he skirts the edge.”
“But that doesn’t explain why the council wouldn’t know the full truth about us draman.”
His smile was cold—though its harshness was not aimed at me. “Your king wouldn’t tell the council about the draman gaining full dragon powers simply because it is against council edicts to produce too many draman.”
“But if the council was watching the clique, they surely would have been aware of our numbers. Why not make a ruling that draman were not to be produced until numbers fell?” After all, in the air-dragon world, it was the male dragons who decided whether a female got pregnant or not. If they didn’t want all of us little half-breeds hanging about, then it was simply a matter of choosing not to be fertile with their human lovers.
When I actually thought about it, this suggested our king was breeding draman deliberately. But why, when he supposedly hated us?
“As I said, I doubt the council is aware of the true extent of draman numbers, although they know that the number of full dragons being born in the seaside cliques is falling. Maybe there’s a correlation.” He hesitated, then added, “But draman are answerable to the kings and council. Humans are not. Maybe they deemed it safer to allow higher draman numbers than human.”
If he thought humans weren’t answerable to the kings, then he hadn’t been to our clique. There wasn’t one human living there who would look sideways at our king without fearing some sort of reprisal, although most of them—my mother included—had been with the clique so long they saw nothing wrong with this. We stopped at a set of lights and I punched the button with more force than necessary. “So what is the council considering doing about the draman in the seaside cliques?”
He hesitated. “It’s an abnormality that should be explored—”
“And destroyed? Isn’t that the council’s usual modus operandi when it comes to anything threatening dragon culture?”
“Draman are a part of that culture—”
“We’ve never been a part of the culture,” I spat back. “And it’s people like you who have enforced it.”
The walk light flashed. I strode out ahead of him, suddenly not wanting to be near him. My fury was just too great—and while it wasn’t particularly aimed at him, he was a part of the mentality that had made growing up such hell for me.
The roar of an engine broke through the anger. It was loud and close. Too close. My heart skipped a beat and my breathing was momentarily frozen as I looked up. I saw the white car and the man inside. A man with blue eyes and an almost dreamy smile touching his thin lips.
And I knew, without a doubt, that he had recognized me—despite the skirt and the wig.
We hadn’t lost him. We’d just given him time to find a weapon.
And he was driving it right at me.
Chapter Seven
A hand wrapped around my waist and dragged me backward, into a body that was hard, strong, and burning with heat.
The car roared past inches from my toes, the tires squealing as the driver hit the gas, sending debris thudding into my bare legs and leaving a thick cloud of black fumes in his wake. The white car quickly disappeared into the traffic, leaving me shaking in shock and disbelief.
“Move,” Damon said, his grip sliding down to my elbow as he hustled me away.
He didn’t give me time to think or recover, but simply forced me forward, off the street and onto the sidewalk. Three seconds later, we were in a cab and heading God knows where. Which didn’t mean he hadn’t given the driver a destination, just that I’d been too shaken to hear it.
“Thank you,” I said, when I actually found enough air to speak.
He didn’t say anything—particularly not “I told you so”—but the anger practically rolled off him in waves. Oddly enough, it didn’t really feel as if that anger was aimed at me—which may have been wishful thinking on my part. And I was quite happy to continue the silence. It gave me a chance to settle my nerves and catch my breath more fully.
Eventually the cab stopped, and I realized we were back at the multistory garage where he kept his car.
“How do you think he recognized me?” I said as the cab zoomed off.
“I don’t know.” He glanced at me then. “Did he ever get close enough to smell you?”
“He was on the other side of the street—”
“Not then,” he said impatiently, grabbing my elbow again and hurrying me inside the garage. “In the house.”
I remembered Angus carrying me in; remembered the guard touching my hair and drawing in that breath before he’d yanked my head up. “Yes.”
Air hissed out between clenched teeth. “You could have mentioned it.”
“Why on earth would I think to mention something like that?”
“Because dragons have olfactory senses as sharp as any bloodhound. He might not have recognized you by sight, but he would have recognized your scent.”
“Well, no one ever thought to mention that to me.”
“But you grew up in a clique. It’s something you should damn well know!”
“I’m a fucking draman. I don’t know anything.”
He gave me a disbelieving look and marched on toward the elevator. I ripped my elbow free of his grip, but continued to walk beside him. It wasn’t like I had a lot of other options right now. If I called Leith, he’d come running all right, but he’d probably tie me up and start investigating by himself. I’d already lost one good friend to these thugs. I didn’t plan to lose another.
“Stay behind me,” Damon said as the elevator came to a bumpy stop on the fifth and the doors swished open.
I did as ordered, following his long strides across the oil-stained concrete. His car was parked on the opposite side of the garage from the elevators and the stairs, in a position that wasn’t immediately visible from either. There were no other cars parked near it and no one around.
He relaxed a little, then glanced over his shoulder at me. “Lose the wig. We need to give you a new look.”
I placed the handbag beside me, then pulled off the wig and tossed it into the trunk once he’d opened it. “What’s the point if that guard has my scent and can track me down regardless of the disguise I’m wearing?”
“There are ways around the scent problem.” He ferreted through several bags, then pulled one free with a grunt of satisfaction. “Get undressed.”
“What?”
He glanced at me, and even in the dusky confines of the garage, the devilish glint in his dark eyes was all too evident. “Suddenly bashful?”
“No.” Though I was. Dragons normally weren’t, of course, but then, I wasn’t full dragon and I really didn’t want to expose my body—and my scars—to this man’s critical gaze. It might have been different if it was night and I had the illusion of privacy, but in this dusky daylight, everything was far too visible. “I just want to know what you plan to do.”
“I plan to temporarily get rid of your scent. Now, strip.” He pulled out a plastic spray bottle filled with a lemony-looking liquid, then tossed the bag back into the trunk. After glancing rather pointedly at his watch, he added, “We haven’t got all day. Not if you want to catch this Angus person.”
“This isn’t exactly a private area,” I said, the heat of embarrassment growing in my cheeks. “And stripping could definitely attract the wrong kind of attention.”
“The cameras can’t see us here, and we’re also out of visual range of anyone who comes out of the elevators or stairs—facts you’re more than aware of.” Then he gave me the ghost of a smile that had my face flaming hotter. “What if I promise to turn around until you’re naked?”
“Fine. Turn around,” I muttered, wondering how the hell I was going to stop the blush from rolling right down to my toes.
He turned, although his amusement spun all around me, heating my ski
n more than his gaze ever could.
I hurriedly undressed, stacking my clothes on the car’s roof before crossing my arms across my breasts and turning my back to him. “Okay, I’m naked.”
A heartbeat later I realized just how wrong I’d been before. His gaze could warm me far more than any emotion riding the air. The weight of it burned by skin, making my spine tingle and my pulse flutter.
“You weren’t kidding about the scars, were you?” His voice was cool and controlled, and it jarred against the hint of anger that stirred the air.
It was almost as if he were fighting for control.
But if Death didn’t like the scars, then why didn’t he—and the council he worked for—do something to make the situation for draman more bearable? Yet even as that thought crossed my mind, I dismissed it. We were draman. In the scheme of things, we didn’t matter.
I shivered a little, and knew it didn’t have a whole lot to do with the gathering coolness. “Why would you think I’d joke about something like that?”
Though I heard no sound of movement, his finger suddenly touched my skin, trailing heat as he traced the S-shaped scar along my right side. “This one’s nasty.”
His finger stalled at the knotty end of the scar, and the heat of it spread across my butt, making me ache. I fought the urge to press back into his touch and said, in a voice that sounded amazingly calm, “It’s retribution from someone I wouldn’t sleep with.”
“The man who did this wanted to sleep with you?” A note of incredulity had crept into his otherwise controlled tone. “That’s not exactly the most convincing way to seduce a reluctant partner.”
I smiled, though it belied the anger that still burned somewhere inside. But it was an anger aimed just as much at myself as the man who’d given me the scar. I’d been stupid that day. Stupid enough to put myself into that situation, and to believe that a dragon could ever change his colors. “Apparently there was a bet between Seth—the man who gave me the scar—and his bisexual mate. The object was to bed as many draman as possible in a day. I refused to be one of many, and he lost the bet by one draman.”