Draken the Rules (Blackhaven Manor #13)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter one

D ressed to the nines in a tailored tuxedo, it felt bizarre to be sipping coffee in a corner booth of the lobby cafe. Which was exactly what Itri Lockwood wanted.

A no-obligations vacation full of fun, distractions, and yes, even a bit of absurdity.

While Blackhaven Manor hosted an exhaustive list of events, he rarely had the opportunity to attend. Hell, he couldn’t even remember the last time he had visited the hotel. Yet, Skye Maddock still insisted on sending him an invitation to every festival, party, conference, and performance on the roster.

If he didn’t know better, he might think the female liked him.

Despite an ever-growing list of events to choose from, the annual Heritage Festival had remained a guest favorite since its inception. Coming from humble origins, it had started as a way to honor the various cultures of Otherling races and celebrate both their differences and their similarities.

At its heart, that remained true, but over the decades, it had evolved into so much more. Every year, the weeklong event became more elaborate, more extravagant, and it consistently attracted new vendors and bigger names to the entertainment lineup.

And any festival worth having needed a good theme.

Leaning back in his seat, Itri absently traced the rim of his mug as he watched enchanted vines wrap around the newel post and creep up the banister of the curved staircase. He wasn’t sure what a magical jungle had to do with heritage or traditions, but he wasn’t surprised.

Skye never did anything halfway.

Clusters of majestic trees occupied every corner and alcove, their branches stretching and tangling to form a shadowed canopy that covered the high ceilings. Exotic flowers in vibrant hues grew from their moss-covered bark, a burst of color against the lush green. Every time someone walked past, the blooms sent out clouds of glittering light, accompanied by a soft, twinkling melody.

Instead of iron chandeliers and bronze wall sconces, thousands of charmed bubbles floated overhead. Each one casting an iridescent glow over the wooden pathways that meandered through the lobby.

The result? A mesmerizing transformation that offered a magical reprieve from the barren winter landscape beyond the hotel’s walls.

“Tell me.” Itri pointed his index finger toward the ceiling and twirled his wrist. “Who does all this?”

Skye had the vision, but she didn’t possess the magical competency to pull off something of that complexity and magnitude. However, since he liked his balls right where they were—firmly attached—he would never say so out loud.

“This wonderful event planning company in Aspen called Aether and Ivy. Have you heard of them?”

Dressed in an evening gown of pale blue that sparkled like moonlit snowflakes, Skye Maddock was easily one of the most stunning women he had ever met. And while mutual acquaintances had suggested that they would make a dynamic couple, their relationship had always been strictly platonic. Yes, he appreciated her beauty, but he’d never felt the urge to see her naked.

Frankly, they would be disastrous together, and they both knew it.

“Now, why would you think I’ve heard of them?” He settled back and sipped his latte, waiting for the fallout.

Skye didn’t drag out the suspense.

Sniffing, she tossed her long, golden hair over her shoulder and narrowed those Barbie-blue eyes at him. “They’re practically famous. Maybe if you spent more time with people than those dusty old relics, you’d know that.”

Ah, there it was. He’d been in her company for nearly twenty-four hours, and he’d wondered when his adventures—and some mis adventures—would come up in the conversation.

He lifted an eyebrow as he finished off the last dregs of his coffee. “Those dusty relics pay the bills, darling.”

Including a penthouse in London. And a chateau in the French Riviera.

“And they’re going to get you tossed into a cell if the Ministry finds out,” she shot back.

Itri chuckled and shook his head. Skye always made it sound like he was some kind of black-market villain, but she had it all wrong.

Collecting and selling magical artifacts didn’t technically break any rules—though he had been known to dance around them. If the Ministry of Otherling Affairs wanted to leave dragon-sized loopholes in their laws, who could blame him for slipping through?

And while he might blur the lines on occasion, he always stopped short of crossing them.

He never stole the items he sold, even if he did sometimes come across them by questionable means. He didn’t coerce or threaten to get what he wanted. Instead, he let his reputation do the talking for him.

His biggest rule? He didn’t deal in fakes, and he never cheated his customers.

Which was why the sight of a former client lurking near the entrance of the hotel instantly set him on edge. The jackal shifter had drama written all over him—the exact thing Itri had come to the Manor to avoid.

So, he did what any self-respecting distraction seeker would do. He acted like he hadn’t noticed. Instead, he pushed his cup aside and leaned forward, catching Skye’s hands in a light but deliberate touch, a practiced gesture meant to soothe, to disarm.

“Come now, love.” He flashed her the kind of smile that had gotten him out of worse trouble. At the same time, he wasn’t looking for forgiveness. Just a temporary truce. “Let’s not fight.”

Skye rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers from his grip. “Don’t think that charming smile and posh accent will work on me.”

Unphased, he leaned back, one side of his mouth still curved. “You think I’m charming?”

Of course, he already knew the answer. Charm was a weapon, and one he wielded without prejudice. Even on his oldest and closest friends.

Skye snorted, a loud and undignified sound coming from such an angelic face. “I think you are a pompous, arrogant, self-aggrandizing—”

“Someone swallowed a thesaurus for breakfast,” he interrupted, making his tone as cool and smooth as aged whiskey. “Should we head to the ballroom? The party should be starting soon.”

Her eyes widened, and she gasped as if scandalized. “It’s a masquerade gala.”

“Yes, love. The masquerade gala should be starting soon.” Sliding out of the booth, he stood beside the table and cocked his elbow out to the side in offering. “Shall we?”

She rose to her feet with effortless grace, but ignored his olive branch. “You know, under all the bullshit, you’re a good man, Itri.”

Taken off-guard by her change in demeanor, he said nothing and waited for the punchline.

Skye smiled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I hope you get everything you deserve.” Then she swept past him, her hips swaying as she marched through the magical jungle. Near the stairs, she called over her shoulder, “Don’t forget your mask!”

Yeah, the mask wasn’t going to happen, but he found it cute that she thought otherwise.

He watched her go with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. He didn’t know what her cryptic statement meant—if anything—but he respected the way she could make even the most well-crafted compliment sound menacing.

Shaking his head, he turned back to the arched window, his silhouette barely visible in the glass as he smoothed down his lapels and adjusted his bowtie. The scarlet accessory lined up perfectly with the stone dragon on the terrace outside, adding a bit of whimsy to the statue’s long, serpentine neck.

His amusement at the trivial detail lasted only a moment—right up until he saw the reflection of a figure approaching behind him. Though blurred and distorted through the glass, he easily recognized the honeyed curls and the disheveled, nervous energy.

Jude Caldwell.

There was a reason he classified the guy as a former client. Itri didn’t run a charity, and he damn sure didn’t give second chances.

He sighed, already exhausted. The conversation hadn’t even happened yet, but he knew exactly how it would go.

First, the guy would apologize. He wouldn’t mean it, though. Then he’d ask if they could talk without giving Itri the option to refuse.

“Mr. Lockwood? I’m sorry to bother you like this, but could we talk?”

Sliding his hands into his pockets, Itri continued to stare out the window, watching the bare tree branches tremble in the wind.

“It’s just that, you see, I really need that item we discussed.”

The item Itri had gone to great measures to procure. The one Jude couldn’t afford. Which meant they had entered the second phase of the conversation. Bargaining.

“If you could loan me the talisman—just for a little while—I can get you the money. I just–I need you to…to…”

Itri snorted when Jude’s words sputtered to a halt, but he didn’t turn away from the window.

“I believe the word you’re searching for is trust .” To be fair, it was his own fault. He really should stop accepting payment upon delivery and demand it before acquisition. “I’m curious. Would you trust you?”

Jude hesitated, a brief silence, before pushing forward with his argument. “Look, I–I know I don’t have the best track record, but without that talisman, I’m in real trouble.”

Thief. Conman. Compulsive gambler. Indebted to a ruthless loan shark. Desperately convinced that a bauble imbued with supernatural luck would help him outrun a fate of his own making.

Trouble was an understatement.

“Oh, Mr. Caldwell, of that, I have no doubt.”

“So, you’ll help me?”

Itri chuckled. “No. You misunderstand.” He pulled his hands free of his pockets and took his time straightening his cuffs. “I think we’re done here.”

They weren’t. He knew it. Jude knew it. But it had been worth a try.

Which meant they had reached the final stage of the interaction. Anger and blame.

“That’s it?” Jude demanded. “You’re just going to feed me to the wolves?”

A rather weak cliché, but in this case, an apt one. Werewolves, much like dragons, didn’t take kindly to having their time wasted.

Jude stepped forward, his reflection rippling in the windowpane. “You can’t do this!”

Tired of the game, Itri turned. “We had a deal. Nothing more. A deal you broke.” Thunder cracked in his voice, and electricity sizzled across his skin. “You made this bloody mess, Mr. Caldwell. You clean it up.”

Hands fisted at his sides, chest heaving, the jackal stared back, his brown eyes narrowed in unveiled hatred. His mouth contorted as if he desperately wanted to say something. In the end, however, he simply gritted his teeth and marched away.

Itri watched, stiff and unmoving. Only when Jude disappeared through the front doors of the hotel did he relax. Rolling his shoulders, he released a long breath, shrugging off the irritation like an ill-fitted jacket.

The power, however, the storm, still raged inside him. And it didn’t go unnoticed.

The enchanted plants shrank away from him as he crossed the lobby. Vines coiled tighter, their ethereal light dim and flickering, and the colorful blooms folded their petals. Even the guests sidestepped when he rounded the corner into a wide corridor, their heads bent to avoid eye contact.

He strode through the part in the crowd, pretending not to notice their discomfort as he followed the sounds of music and laughter to a set of heavy, ornately carved doors. The entrance of the grand ballroom stood open, a shimmering light dancing near the threshold to lure revelers inside.

Decorated in rich cream, pale gold, and deep sapphire, the space was a marvel of opulence, a testament to craftsmanship and illusion. Clouds drifted near the ceiling, their edges gilded in soft celestial light against a backdrop of twinkling stars. Candlelight flickered from oil-bronzed candelabras, casting a warm, inviting glow over a marble floor inlaid with veins of gold and lapis lazuli.

Descending the marbled staircase into the main part of the ballroom, Itri scanned the crowd, searching for his next distraction. Above him, less adventurous partygoers leaned against the gallery railing, champagne glasses in hand, bystanders to the excitement.

Below, women in extravagant gowns glided across the dance floor, their skirts swishing and swirling like waves in a moonlit sea. Men in festive tuxedos moved with casual grace, their covered faces hinting at hidden smiles and secret glances.

Throughout the room, feathers, beads, and precious gems from elaborately designed masks caught the lights, creating a kaleidoscope of colors at every turn. And in the center of it all, a large stone fountain, its enchanted waters dancing to the rhythm of the evening.

Itri strolled through the throng with an air of expert indifference, yet every cell in his body hummed with awareness. His gaze skipped from one guest to the next, assessing before moving on.

He sighed, growing increasingly frustrated with the utter sameness of them all. No one sparked his interest. No one held his notice.

Until…

A predatory grin stretched his lips as he watched a server weave gracefully through a cluster of laughing revelers. Balancing a tray of champagne flutes on his shoulder, he moved with poise and purpose, navigating the busy room with a quiet, understated confidence.

Now, that was more like it.

The white tuxedo molded to his slender frame, showcasing a narrow waist and a pert backside. Pops of yellow and orange glittered across his eyelids, and a pair of golden-brown eyes twinkled with a teasing light. His tawny skin glowed in the candlelight from the wall sconces, and soft curls floated around his face like a dark halo.

Itri’s gaze lingered, but the storm within him didn’t dissipate. It simply changed, morphing into something quieter, yet just as dangerous. He stopped in the center of the ballroom, watching, stalking, taking in every fluid movement, every carefree smile. In nearly two millennia on this wretched planet, he had never felt such an instant, almost magnetic, attraction.

Little surprised him anymore. Even less could hold his attention for longer than a fleeting moment. This male, however, captivated him, and he felt a deep, aching desire to know what stories lay behind those bright, sparkling eyes.

Itri wanted to unravel him layer by layer. To leave him completely undone. To discover all his secrets and claim them for his own.

He wanted this beautiful stranger, and by the end of the night, he intended to have him.