Chapter 4
Lachlan
Iknow how to protect a room. It is what I do—what I’ve done since the day I enlisted.
I notice every person who walks through a doorway, clocking every blind spot and every exit. Analyze every possible threat.
I’ve learned to see things other people miss. The tells. Nervous people pretending not to be. People scanning the room too carefully or those standing too still.
People think security is about strength. They think it’s about size. About intimidation—looking like the kind of person nobody wants to challenge. But they’re wrong. Strength is useful, but awareness saves lives.
It was true in the military, and it’s true now. And tonight, inside one of the oldest dragon estates in existence, I find myself doing exactly what I always do.
Watching. Assessing. Keeping track, even when I’m supposed to be relaxing.
“You know,” Tristan says beside me, “for someone who claims he doesn’t enjoy parties, you’re suspiciously good at pretending to.”
I glance at him. “I’m working.”
“You’re not on the clock, man.”
“I am observing.”
Heston snorts. “That’s what he calls working when he doesn’t want to admit he’s enjoying himself.”
I look between them. “I hate that both of you think you know me.”
Tristan smiles. “We do.”
That’s the problem with people who have been through hell with you. They see through every excuse and deflection, easily scaling every carefully constructed wall.
Heston is the easiest to read because he pretends he isn’t. Tristan is the hardest because he actually listens.
The three of us shouldn’t work. On paper, we don’t make sense. Heston is a firefighter. Quiet and controlled, suspicious of everything, especially dragons, but I’m glad to have him in my corner when shit hits the fan.
Tristan is a professor who gets excited about historical documents like most people get excited about winning the lottery. Or a basket of puppies. He can turn a conversation with a stranger into a friendship before they realize what happened.
And I own a security firm. One of the largest and most successful private security companies in the city. Ironically, my biggest competitor is the dragon-owned security organization that protects most of their own families and enterprises.
The funny thing about dragons is that humans have spent two hundred years trying to decide how to feel about them. The reactions run the gamut from admiration and worship to fear and resentment.
I’m not sure how I feel. I respect them and what they’ve endured at the hands of humans and that they rebuilt and forged ahead instead of seeking revenge.
But respect is complicated. Sometimes, you can respect something and still keep your distance. And sometimes you can understand someone and still not let them close.
Tristan is halfway through explaining something about dragon architecture to no one in particular when the room changes.
I notice immediately. The conversations don’t stop; they just shift. People turn and the crowd parts.
And then I see why. A stunning woman is walking toward us. Even surrounded by hundreds of people, she draws attention without asking for it.
Her dress is black silk. Fire dances around her face like a living mask, silver and lavender light curling around her features. It’s a reminder of what she is.
Tristan goes completely still. I look at him, then back at her. Then at him again. Oh no. Absolutely not. I know that expression. I’ve seen it before. “Tristan,” I say quietly but firmly.
He doesn’t respond.
“Tristan,” I bark, leaning closer to him, trying to gain his focus.
Heston follows my gaze, his face immediately hardening. “No.”
Tristan blinks. “What?”
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he pouts, his eyes returning to the enchantress like a helpless moth to a flame.
“You didn’t have to. We know you,” Heston drawls.
I almost laugh because Heston and Tristan are the polar opposites. One says almost nothing, the other says everything that pops into his head, and yet they understand each other perfectly.
The woman moves through the room, greeting people and smiling, the crowd parting naturally as she unknowingly closes the distance between us.
Tristan watches her like he’s forgotten that anyone else exists while we watch him, ready to hold him back if he makes a move toward her.
“You’re staring,” Heston says.
Tristan clears his throat. “I’m observing.”
“That’s my line,” I laugh, angling my body so that I can watch her, too, shrugging off Heston’s glare.
“Fine. I’m admiring. That’s less…stalkery.”
Heston points at him. “No.”
Tristan looks offended. “What the hell do you mean, no?”
“I mean no.”
“You can’t just say no.”
“I can. Because we’re not here for that.”
Tristan raises an eyebrow. “For what?”
Heston gives him a look. “A hookup.”
The word hangs there.
I nod. “Agreed.”
Tristan looks at both of us. “You two are unbelievable.”
“We’re realistic.”
Tristan whirls toward Heston, staring him down. “You realize she’s a person, right?”
“Yes,” Heston says. “But we’re guests.”
I understand what Heston means, even if I don’t agree with his reasoning. This isn’t a normal party or a bar we’re at for some random night out. This is a dragon family opening their home.
Walking in and treating it like an opportunity to chase someone because she’s beautiful would be disrespectful. Tristan knows that; he’s just Tristan.
But there is another reason I agree with Heston, one I don’t say out loud.
I don’t belong in a room like this. Not really. People look at me and see the confidence of a successful businessman. A former soldier. A man who built something from nothing.
They see the surface. The facade I project.
They don’t see the weight of my choices, the memories, and the guilt of the people I couldn’t save.
Those are the moments I replay when the room gets quiet.
And they don’t notice that sometimes happiness feels like something I stole. Something meant for someone else.
Wanting something means admitting you could lose it, and I have lost enough. So I built a life where I don’t need much. Just my work and my friends. That’s enough. It has to be.
Sequoia.
Her name carried across the crowd in reverent whispers, as if being caught speaking it aloud would curse their bloodline, and now I can’t get it out of my mind.
My lips tingle with the need to hear it coming from my own mouth.
I press them tightly together, refusing to say anything, only trusting myself to nod as nearby guests try to engage us in conversation.
Tristan is still watching her, though. And Heston notices.
Tristan looks at him. “Why are you acting like she’s dangerous?”
Heston’s expression changes, but he’s said his piece and despises repetition.
Sequoia finally reaches the area near us, standing close enough that I can see details I couldn’t before. I suddenly understand Tristan’s fascination. She’s absolutely stunning as she practically glides across the floor, a golden cat striding beside her, a massive creature with shimmering fur.
Sequoia’s hand brushes its large face lightly, and she glances down, gracing it with a soft smile.
My heart skips a beat as I study her in this private moment, recognizing something I haven’t seen in myself in far too long and wishing things had turned out differently. Because real happiness is rare.
“I think I’m in trouble,” Tristan exhales quietly.
Heston immediately answers.
“No.”
I glance at him.
“You really need to stop answering before people finish speaking.”
“No.”
I laugh, and for a second, everything feels normal. Just three friends, another night, and another impossible situation.
Then Sequoia looks up, and for the briefest moment her eyes meet mine.
I forget how to breathe, and something inside me goes completely still. Like every alarm I have ever built suddenly goes quiet. And I hate it, because silence means vulnerability.
I look away first, desire quickly losing the battle with the defenses I’ve spent my entire life honing to keep my heart safe.