Chapter 6
Tess
The knock cut through the silence. Three measured raps that broke whatever had been building between Ciaran and me.
His face shifted. Without a word, he closed the distance, one hand sliding to cup my jaw. His thumb traced my lower lip with deliberate slowness.
Then he kissed me.
Not soft. Not sweet. Ownership wrapped in heat—his mouth moving against mine with controlled intensity that made my knees weak. His other hand found the small of my back, pressing me against the hard planes of his body. The kiss deepened, tasted like promises and warnings together.
When he pulled back, I was breathless.
"I won't be visible tonight," he murmured against my temple. "But I'll be watching." His silver eyes caught mine. "Always watching, a rúnsearc."
Before I could respond, shadows coiled around him and he vanished. One heartbeat he was solid beneath my hands—the next, only darkness remained, disappearing into the corners of my room.
Gone.
The knock came again.
I pulled open the door and froze.
Mason filled the doorway in a perfectly tailored charcoal tuxedo with silver accents. The jacket emphasized his broad shoulders, the crisp white shirt beneath contrasting beautifully against his dark skin. Even his scar seemed softer somehow, transformed into distinction rather than damage.
Damn. The man looked absolutely sinful.
His dark eyes widened as they landed on me. His mouth opened slightly, words clearly dying in his throat as his gaze traveled down the dress—lingering on the plunging neckline, the dangerous slit—before snapping back to my face.
Heat flooded his expression. Not just attraction. Recognition. Hunger.
"Tess..." My name came out rougher than usual.
He stepped closer. His nostrils flared slightly, head tilting as he breathed in. His gaze flicked once to my left shoulder—to where the mate mark lived under shadow-silk. His jaw tightened, just a fraction, and then his eyes lifted back to mine.
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest.
"Ah. Ciaran's handiwork." His eyes found mine. "Should've known he wouldn't let you dress yourself tonight."
Heat crept up my neck as Mason's knowing smile deepened. The way he said Ciaran's name—like he could taste the shadow fae's presence on my skin—made heat pool low in my stomach.
"He has excellent taste," Mason added, his voice dropping to that rough rumble that always made my pulse skip. His eyes lingered on the plunging neckline of the dress, then traveled back up to meet mine. "You look..."
He trailed off, jaw working as if searching for words that wouldn't sound inadequate.
"Delicious," he finally settled on, and the way he said it made the word sound like worship.
Before I could respond, he offered his arm. "Ready?"
I slipped my hand through the crook of his elbow, feeling the solid warmth of him through the expensive fabric. The contact steadied me in a way that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with Mason himself.
We made our way through the corridors and out into the crisp evening air, crossing the courtyard to reach the Great Hall. Mason stepped ahead of me, his hands closing around the ornate brass handles. With a fluid motion, he pulled them open.
"Holy shit," I breathed.
Magnificent. The Great Hall had been transformed—soaring stone arches draped with deep emerald silk, hundreds of candles burning in their sconces. Dragon motifs adorned every surface. Carved into chair backs, etched into crystal goblets, woven into table runners that gleamed with metallic thread.
And the people.
Supernaturally attractive beings dressed in formal wear that probably cost more than my yearly salary.
Fae with otherworldly beauty and clothes that shimmered like they'd been spun from something that wasn't quite fabric.
Vampires in perfectly tailored suits that emphasized their predatory grace.
Shifters whose formal wear couldn't quite hide the raw power coiled beneath the surface.
Mages whose robes shimmered with embedded spells.
Every single one of them was looking at me.
I should have been terrified. Should have felt like a fraud in borrowed finery, a human pretending to belong in a world of gods and monsters.
But after the initial awe faded, after I'd absorbed the sheer magnificence of the space and the weight of all those watching eyes, power settled over me.
The dress Ciaran had chosen moved with me like water, the dangerous slit allowing for easy movement while the plunging neckline commanded attention. I could feel his magic woven into the fabric, a subtle protection that made me stand taller, walk with more confidence.
I belonged here. Maybe not by birth or bloodline, but by choice. By bond. By the simple fact that I'd earned my place at this table.
Mason's hand covered mine where it rested on his arm. Together, we descended the shallow steps into the hall proper.
Conversations quieted as we passed. I caught fragments—whispered speculation about the human Dragon Rider, the unprecedented bonding, what it might mean for the future. But I kept my chin up, my steps measured and sure.
We approached a long table near the front where I could see familiar faces.
Draven was devastating in a midnight-black suit, no tie, his shirt open just enough to reveal a hint of the tattoos covering his chest. His long hair was pulled back in a low knot that somehow made him look both civilized and dangerous.
Raze sat nearby, his easy smile brightening when he spotted us. Even in formal wear, the werewolf managed to look relaxed, though I caught the way his amber eyes constantly scanned the room.
Draven watched as we approached, and the slow smile that spread across his face made my breath catch. His hazel eyes had shifted to that deep green they took on when he was feeling particularly predatory, traveling over me with unhurried appreciation.
"Well," he said. "If it isn't the most dangerous woman in the room."
He rose as we reached the table. When he leaned down to press a kiss to my cheek, my pulse quickened.
"You clean up nice yourself," I managed, settling into the chair Mason held out for me.
Draven's laugh was low and warm. "Love, I always clean up nice. But you..." He shook his head, settling back into his seat. "You're going to give half the room heart attacks."
"Good," I said, surprising myself with how much I meant it. "Let them look."
Mason took the seat on my other side, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. The three of us created a small pocket of familiarity in the surrounding supernatural politics, and I relaxed despite the weight of all those watching eyes.
"Made it through," Raze said from across the table, raising his wine glass in a small toast. "Time to celebrate."
Warmth in his voice, but also an acknowledgment of the challenges still ahead. We clinked glasses—a moment of quiet celebration before whatever came next.
An ache settled in my chest as the crystal chimed. I'd been through this massive transformation, earned my place among Dragon Riders, survived trials that would have killed most people. And yet Mom and Madison didn't know any of it.
They were going about their normal lives while I sat in a hall full of supernatural beings, wearing a dress woven with protective magic, bonded to a dragon whose presence I could feel at the edges of my consciousness.
Even if I could tell them, they'd never believe it.
Madison would laugh, thinking I'd finally lost it.
Mom would worry I'd joined some kind of cult.
The idea of me—perpetually ordinary Tess—doing something this extraordinary, this dangerous, this important?
It didn't fit the version of me they knew.
I'd split in two. The daughter and sister they knew, and this new version sitting at a table with vampires and shifters and mages.
I took a longer sip of wine than I'd intended.
The sound of chairs scraping against stone drew my attention to the front of the hall. Lord Protector Silvius Ellesar rose from the head table, his presence commanding attention.
"Distinguished guests, fellow Riders, and honored allies," his voice carried easily through the hall. "Tonight, we gather to celebrate a momentous occasion. The successful bonding of the new Dragon Riders to our ranks."
Polite applause rippled through the crowd, but I could feel the undercurrents—speculation, assessment, judgment.
"Additionally, we are honored tonight by the presence of Guild leadership, representatives from the Omnium Council, and distinguished members of the supernatural community. Your support strengthens not just our Guild, but the bonds between all our peoples."
More applause. Silvius gestured, and servers began emerging from hidden doorways, carrying covered dishes that smelled incredible.
"Let us feast," he declared, "and celebrate the future of dragon riding."
The first course materialized—soup rich with herbs and roasted vegetables. I barely tasted it, too aware of the eyes tracking my every move, the weight of a hundred conversations humming just beneath hearing.
I glanced around the hall, cataloging faces, when my gaze snagged on something that didn't fit.
Anya sat just one table over, dressed in formal black that made her pale skin glow. Amethyst accents caught the candlelight—earrings, a necklace at her collarbone, embroidery threading through the bodice of her gown. Her violet eyes were already fixed on me.
When our gazes met, her lips curved into a small smile. The kind she reserved for people she actually liked rather than merely tolerated.
She lifted her hand in a subtle wave.
Warmth flooded through me, followed immediately by confusion. I blinked, mouthing across the distance between us, What are you doing here?
Anya's elegant shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. Your guess is as good as mine. But beneath the friendly exchange, caution lingered in her eyes—wariness that put my instincts on alert.