Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
PORTIA
The Great Hall was full of dragons. It was also a furnace, the air overly warm and thick with the scent of wine and cologne. The buzz of conversation swelled, punctuated by the occasional laugh.
I stood near one of the windows with a glass of champagne growing warm in my hand.
A dragon with dark hair approached. His smile was warm but unmistakable determination gleamed in his gray eyes.
I searched my memory, struggling to place him, but came up empty.
If we’d met in the past, I didn’t remember it.
“Your Highness,” he said, “I was hoping I might steal you for a dance.”
Well, at least he got right to the point. If neither of us felt a spark, I could cross him off the list.
“Of course,” I said, setting my champagne on a nearby table.
We moved to the floor, and he settled a firm hand on my waist. A demon quartet in the corner switched from an upbeat melody to a slow, sedate waltz.
The dragon spun me around the dance floor, which was otherwise empty. The dozens of men lining the perimeter pretended not to notice us, although several pairs of eyes slid our way.
I kept my spine straight as I let the dragon lead me through the steps.
“You look lovely tonight,” he said.
“Thank you.” It didn’t matter what I looked like. If fate wanted us together, he’d marry me even if I looked like a cave troll.
He turned me again, and disappointment flickered in his eyes. He’d felt it, too. Or rather, he’d felt nothing. No spark. We weren’t mates. We were just two dragons going through the motions.
The song ended, and I murmured something polite and excused myself, weaving through the crowd as I made my way toward the window and my abandoned champagne. Another dragon intercepted me. Gritting my teeth, I accepted a second dance.
Then another.
And another.
Each time, the mate bond failed to flare, and my partner and I parted ways.
Breathless and sweating from the dances, I returned to my champagne at last. Downing it in two gulps, I leaned on the windowsill and let the chill from the window seep through my clothes.
It was 2048. The humans had just built a manned research facility on Mars, and yet my fathers expected me to play debutante at a ball straight out of the eighteenth century.
But I’d dressed on my own terms. Taking my mother’s advice to heart, I’d forgone a gown in favor of a crisp white shirt, black dress pants that hugged my hips, and a tailored black jacket. Heels gave me an extra three inches that put me above eye level for a quarter of the men in the room.
When I’d surveyed my reflection in my bathroom before dinner, I’d looked like I was prepared to negotiate a hostile takeover, not meet potential mates.
Perfect.
A server passed with a tray of champagne flutes.
Hopping from the sill, I grabbed a fresh glass and took a long sip.
The bubbles fizzed on my tongue. My dragon stirred under my skin, the itch rising with her agitation.
She didn’t like being trapped, not by walls, expectations, or the eyes of males who appraised me like a prize mare.
I scanned the Hall. Dad stood near the massive hearth with several dragons, the firelight playing over his golden hair.
Father was nearby, a wineglass pinched between his fingers as he discussed something with a pair of witches in dark red barastas.
My mother moved through the crowd with her usual grace.
None of them were watching me.
I set down my champagne and slipped toward the doors.
The corridor outside was blissfully empty, the only sounds the sputter of the torches positioned on the walls in regular intervals. Bending, I removed my heels and let the straps dangle from my fingers as I made my way upstairs, the hum of men’s voices fading behind me.
By the time I reached my bedroom, my dragon twisted under my skin. I shut the door and leaned against it, my sigh of relief loud in the hushed chamber. Light flashed at the bottom of my vision. A glance down showed emerald green scales flickering over my cleavage.
“Not now,” I muttered, squeezing my eyes shut.
My dragon subsided, reluctance echoing across the bond that linked us. She wanted to fly, and I couldn’t blame her. But the castle overflowed with guests. Someone would inevitably spot me if I tried to leave.
With another sigh, I crossed to my bed, chucking my heels on the ground as I went. The full moon shone through the glass doors that led to my balcony. Mum probably felt its song in her bones. Her mother had been a werewolf, and those traits lingered in Mum’s veins.
My phone buzzed on my nightstand. A second later, a tiny image of my brother’s face swelled from the screen, and a woman’s voice announced,
“Incoming hologram.”
“Accept,” I said, snatching the phone from the stand and sitting on the edge of my bed.
The air shimmered. Then Malcolm stretched on the mattress, his form so lifelike I could’ve reached out and touched him.
His blond hair was mussed, his golden eyes bright with amusement.
He held the string of his crimson Harvard hoodie between his lips as he scrambled into a sitting position next to me.
“Hey, Sis,” he said, dropping the string. His accent was the same mix of Scottish burr and flat American he’d developed over the past five years. He was the image of Dad as he raked his gaze over my clothes, a lopsided grin appearing on his handsome face. “Why are you dressed like a ballbuster?”
I rolled my eyes. “Our fathers threw another dinner.”
Malcolm’s grin faded. “Shit. I’m sorry. I thought they’d give it a rest after the last dozen or so.”
“Mum says she’ll talk to them.” I turned so I faced him, one knee tucked under me. “How’s school?”
“The usual. Exhausting but worth it.” He leaned back on his hands, his hologram so detailed I could see the fuzz on his hoodie.
“I’m working on a new prototype for long-distance holographic projection.
If I can fix the resonance calibration, you’ll be able to project anywhere in the world without lag. ”
Pride put a smile on my lips. Malcolm had always been like this—curious and brilliant and absorbed with tinkering. He’d invented holographic projection when we were sixteen, earning himself a full scholarship at Harvard.
“That’s amazing, Mal.”
“Yeah.” He tilted his head, his eyes sharpening. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
Another sigh escaped me. “I’m sick of everyone’s obsession with me finding my mates. It’s not like the species is going to die out if I don’t settle down tomorrow.”
My brother’s expression turned serious. “They’re scared, Portia. The Curse might be broken, but you’re still the only female born in over two decades. That terrifies Dad. It terrifies Da, too, although he won’t admit it.”
Emotion tugged at me. Malcolm didn’t have the same volatile relationship I had with our father. Then again, my brother was a genius, his brain as impressive as any magic.
I swallowed. “It terrifies me, too. But shoving me at every unmated dragon in the world isn’t going to fix it.”
“I know.” Malcolm reached out like he meant to grab my hand, but his fingers merely flickered as they passed through mine. He snorted softly, then offered a wry smile that made him look like Mum. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re handling this better than I would.”
“You’d probably invent a device that makes you invisible.”
“Already did. Mum confiscated it.”
We laughed together, and an ache shot across my heart. His holograms were shockingly lifelike, but nothing beat seeing him in person.
“Promise you’ll let Father drag you through a glass of water so I can hug you properly.”
Malcolm grinned. “Only if you make those chocolate chunk cookies I like.”
“Deal.”
A voice echoed in the background, and Malcolm looked over his shoulder, obviously listening to someone I couldn’t see. “Give me a sec!” he called.
“What is it?” I asked.
He turned back to me, a sheepish look on his face. “I’ve got a study group in ten minutes. But I can skip it.”
I waved a hand. “Don’t let me keep you from saving the world or whatever Tony Stark thing you’re working on.”
He made heart hands, affection gleaming in his eyes. “Love you, Sis. Hang in there.”
“Love you, too, Big Bro.” It was a joke between us. Malcolm was three minutes older, which made him heir to the throne.
He laughed. Then the hologram winked out. Standing, I stared at my phone’s lock screen, which was a photo of Mum smiling with Malcolm and me on either side of her. Dad had snapped it outside an Edinburgh cafe on our fifteenth birthday.
Before every dragon on the planet decided I needed to get married as soon as possible.
I flung my phone onto the bed just as the screen lit up.
“Incoming hologram,” the woman announced, the voice accompanied by Georgie Blackwood’s face expanding from the screen.
Lurching forward, I grabbed the phone. “Accept!”
Light shimmered, and Georgie appeared, sitting cross-legged in the center of my bed. “Hey, pretty lady!”
My smile was probably brighter than her hologram.
She’d greeted me the same way for as long as I could remember, and for just as long, she’d been something of an idol with her purple eyes and glossy black hair that fell in perfect waves.
But her beauty wasn’t the only thing I admired.
Georgie was a formidable witch. Few houses would have been okay with a leader mated to two dragons, but House Blackwood followed her with zero reservations.
Of course, her mates were also forces to be reckoned with. Callum McLeish was part incubus and part troublemaker, and Graeme Abernathy was a former ice dragon with jaw-dropping battle skills and a heart of gold.
“Hey, Georgie,” I said, sitting on the bed.
She frowned. “Oof, I don’t like that face.” She leaned closer, peering at me. “What did Niall Balfour do now?”
I shrugged out of my jacket. “Just another Cinderella ball with a room full of dragons looking at me like I was the last piece of birthday cake.”