Chapter 1 #2
Father crossed the study and took up position behind Dad, one hand resting on the back of Dad’s chair. According to the stories I’d heard about my sires, my father preferred staying in my dad’s shadow, where he could observe and protect without anyone noticing him.
Only fools failed to notice Niall Balfour. The stories mentioned that, too, along with bloodcurdling tales of him stepping from the shadows to deliver judgment.
And now, he positioned himself in that role once more. And my dad let him. Their message was as clear as a shout: fathers or not, Niall was prepared to enforce whatever judgment Cormac handed down.
Against me, their own daughter. The problem child of the dragon race.
“This looks serious,” I said, forcing levity I didn’t feel into my voice. “Am I being executed?”
“Portia,” my mother chided softly, coming to me and taking my hand. “Your fathers and I just want to speak with you. Come sit down.”
Mum’s eyes were as soft as her voice, but I heard the edge of steel in her words. The queen had just given me an order. Disobedience wasn’t an option.
I let her lead me to one of the chairs, and I perched on the edge as she resumed her seat. My dragon stirred under my skin, my beast responding to the tension in the study.
Dad’s expression was mild as he leaned back in his chair. “It’s a chilly one out there today.”
He knew I’d gone flying, of course. All three of them knew. The question was, how much did they know?
“Yes,” I said carefully.
Mum looked at me, her stare the same one she’d given my brother and me whenever we’d done something messy or dangerous. “Portia, honey, we’ve asked you not to fly near those stones.”
Part of me had anticipated the accusation, but it still hit like a slap. I swung my gaze to my father. “More spies?” He’d ordered guards to tail me. It was the only way he could have known I flew over the stones.
“Protection,” he said, his voice as hard and cold as it had been on the battlements.
In my mind, my dragon lashed her tail in agitation. I was an apex predator among immortals and mortals alike. But if my parents had their way, I’d stay in my bedroom and knit sweaters. Or better yet, marry a pair of dragons and produce as many children as possible.
“I’m twenty-three years old,” I said. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
My father’s expression didn’t change, but anger crackled around him. “You flew within ten feet of the stones. The humans could have seen you. But even if they hadn’t, those stones possess old magic. You dabble in things you don’t understand, Portia.”
I squeezed the arms of my chair. “I’m careful—”
“You’re reckless,” he said. “The blood of a thousand generations of witches flows through my veins, and even I give those stones a wide berth. You’re an infant among the Firstborn Races. You have much to learn.”
“I’m not a child—”
“Then stop acting like one.”
My blood pumped faster. “Maybe I act like a child because you treat me like I’m incompetent. Malcolm has lived in America for five years, and you’ve never set spies on him!”
Father’s eyes glinted, his irises like obsidian. “Your brother has never given us a reason to. For one thing, he’s not a liar.”
“Niall!” Mum protested.
My father kept talking, his dark eyes boring into mine.
“Malcolm doesn’t need protection because he doesn’t repeatedly put himself in harm’s way.
Moreover, he’s not reckless about being seen.
You, on the other hand, know damn well you can’t control your beast, and yet you insist on flying without a stronger dragon to rein you in. ”
Heat flashed in my face. Humiliation and shame threatened to put tears in my eyes. But I squeezed the chair, refusing to let them come.
My father wasn’t finished. He listed my transgressions, each sentence landing like a lash. “You scorched that abandoned shed on the mainland. You shifted in front of those American tourists—”
“And the Belgians,” my dad said softly.
“—and you took shadow form in the middle of Edinburgh when that car backfired.”
The heat in my cheeks flared higher. “I’m getting better,” I muttered.
“Better?” My father’s voice was dangerously soft, as it always was when he was truly furious. “You lost control at the sight of me. That’s not improvement, Portia. That’s proof you can’t be trusted to fly alone.”
“I didn’t lose control,” I said, my voice rising. “I corrected it—”
“After you almost crashed into the North Sea.”
“But I didn’t!” My dragon pushed harder under my skin. “I pulled up. I fixed it. You’re acting like I’m some helpless idiot who can’t—”
“You are helpless when your beast takes over, but you refuse to acknowledge it. You fly to those damned stones, you shift in front of humans, and you risk everything because you’re too stubborn to admit you need help.”
“I don’t need—”
“Your recklessness is a curse,” he snapped. “One that will get you killed if you don’t learn to curb your impulses.”
Silence fell. My chest was so tight, I struggled to breathe.
Curse. That word had meaning for us. We never used it lightly. How could we, when my great-grandfather had cursed all the women of our species to die? The word was loaded with significance. With history and centuries of sorrow.
And now my father used it to describe me.
Mum made a soft noise, then reached across our chairs and took my hand. “You’ll get control eventually, sweetheart. I know it in my bones.”
She’d said it since I was a child. My mother was confident I’d stop being the family embarrassment with my wild, temperamental dragon that refused to be tamed.
The beast itched under my skin constantly, demanding release.
The urge to twist into smoke or scales never went away.
It just built and built until I could think of nothing else.
And when I was stressed or angry, the itch became fire I couldn’t ignore.
But I couldn’t tell my mother that. I couldn’t admit that her precious child, conceived by a miracle and delivered with the help of a magical elixir, was defective.
Dad’s golden eyes were gentle as he leaned on his desk. “We’re not trying to punish you, lass. We’re trying to keep you safe.”
“By spying on me?” I asked.
“By ensuring you don’t accidentally expose us to the human world,” Father said. “Or get yourself killed by ancient magic you don’t respect.”
“I respect it. I just—” I broke off, frustration rising with my voice.
How could I explain the pull of the stones?
The tug that urged me to shift and sit at their base with the smell of grass in my nose and the murmur of magic in my ears?
The contentment I found when I dragged my fingers over the rock?
The peace that flooded me, sending my beast to sleep and briefly soothing the itch under my skin?
I couldn’t. Sharing those things would only make my father redouble his efforts to keep me away.
A knock on the door shattered the silence.
“Yes?” my dad called.
The door cracked open, and a guard named Hendry stuck his head inside. “The guests have started to arrive, Your Majesty.” He shifted his gaze to my mother. “Your Majesty,” he added. Then he looked at my father. “Consort,” he said.
Finally, his gaze landed on me, and his eyes brightened. “It’s a big group, Your Highness. I wouldn’t be surprised if you find your mates tonight.”
The knot in my stomach threatened to rise into my throat and strangle me. A fierce itch built under my skin as my dragon grew more restless. “Great,” I managed through clenched teeth.
“Thank you, Hendry,” Dad said with a glance at me. “We’ll be down to greet them in a bit.”
Hendry left. As soon as his footsteps faded, I looked at my dad.
“I’m not going,” I said, the itch spreading under my skin.
The embroidery of my father’s barasta caught the light as he shifted his feet. “Your attendance isn’t negotiable, Portia.”
I looked at my mother. “I don’t want to mingle with a bunch of men who only want me because I’m…”
A prize.
A possession.
The only available female in a species desperate for them.
“Because of what I am,” I finished. “I want my mates to want me for me.” More words tumbled out before I could stop them.
“And I don’t want to spend another evening being reminded that I’m the only female born since the Curse broke.
The only thing anyone cares about is whether I can carry daughters to term.
They want to know if we’re truly free of the Curse, or if—”
“Portia,” my mother said sharply.
Dad’s expression hardened. “The Curse is broken. Mullo is dead.”
“Then why am I the only one?” I challenged. “Twenty-three years, and no other females. The healers gossip. The covens whisper. They think—”
“It doesn’t matter what they think,” Father cut in, his voice like ice.
But it did matter. It mattered that Mum had nearly died bringing Malcolm and me into the world.
It mattered that the seizures and bleeding she’d suffered during labor had looked exactly like the curse Mullo engineered.
It mattered that every dragon in the world watched me like I was the last ember in a dying fire.
Mum spoke, something fierce in her eyes. “Your mates will want you for you. Fate always sees to that.”
The itch built. I dug my fingers into the arm of my chair so I wouldn’t claw at my skin. “Then I’ll meet them when fate wills it. There’s no need for another formal dinner.”
“You’re going,” my father said firmly.
Wood creaked, and I loosened my grip on the chair before I broke it. My beast stirred, the itch growing unbearable. I knew if I looked under my sweater, I’d see scales rippling over my skin. “Malcolm is unmated, but you don’t put him through this shite!”
Mum gasped. Dad raised a brow.
“It’s barbaric,” I added, jerking my gaze between my fathers. “You’re both medieval.”
Dad shrugged. “I’m a fair bit older than that.”
My father leaned forward, his dark eyes pinning me in place as his voice went low. “You’re going to dinner, and you’re going to sit and be pleasant to our guests.”