Chapter One
Ari
Gin, Glitter, and Glaring Dragons
The Gin Room smells like citrus and sin, sharp lemon zest from the fresh-sliced garnishes and the thick, heady musk of desire that clings to the velvet couches and shadowed corners. I breathe it in like oxygen, the sweet spot between chaos and comfort. My domain, my happy place.
The music pulses through my bones, and I can’t stop the smile that tugs at my lips as I spin, arms in the air, trying to balance a full tray of shots without dropping them.
The room is packed—Friday nights always are—but tonight feels different.
Charged, like the storm is already here and I’m dancing on the damn lightning rod.
I drop off the drinks at table six and wink at the pair of vampires who frequent The Gin Room like it’s their personal hunting ground. One of them tries to tip me with a sapphire and white gold ring. I grin at him with a wink and a shake of my head I point to the damn tip jar like always.
“I hoard cash, not cursed heirlooms, sweetheart.”
He laughs, but he knows I’m serious.
I head back to the bar, dodging a satyr and a gremlin in heated argument over who stole whose date, when the hair on the back of my neck stands up.
He's here. I don’t have to see him to know. My body is attuned to his presence even though I have tried everything I can think of not to be.
The air gets tighter. Thicker. Like every molecule is aware of his presence.
My heart stutters, then starts to gallop.
I grit my teeth and refuse to look up. I know what I’ll see if I do—a tall, lean menace wrapped in a tailored black suit that costs more than my entire month’s pay, with a blood-red tie that practically screams his dangerous mood into the universe.
I can sense that too. His mood. Others have to speculate, check the color of his tie, and hope they guess correctly.
I feel his mood before I even see him, the pop of color offered by his tie just a confirmation of what I already know.
And tonight is no different, he is angry beyond measure, something I have only experienced from him a handful of times.
The crowd parts, even demons and vampires scurrying to get out of his way lest they catch any of his residual anger. It rolls off him in waves, poisoning the very air around him.
Malichai Veythronn.
Just thinking his damn name is enough to make my thighs clench. Which pisses me off more than I can explain.
He leans on the edge of the bar like he owns the place. Technically, he doesn’t. But he does own everything else—the city’s supernatural underworld, most of the illegal market, and my ability to breathe properly when he’s within ten feet of me.
“Arinaghwyndrelle.”
His voice is silk and gravel, rough and smooth in equal measure. He uses my full name like it’s a prayer, or a threat. Nobody uses it. Nobody dares. Not a single soul except Malichai.
I lift my chin and meet his gaze, glaring hard enough to peel paint.
“Malichai,” I say with just enough venom to make him smirk. “What the hell do you want?”
“You.” The word is a slow burn, his dark eyes raking over me like I’m the main course and he’s been starving for centuries. Which is fucking ridiculous. The man is walking sex and can get any woman he wants. They throw themselves at him nightly, but I have yet to see him take one up on her offer.
It makes me feel special and slightly delusional. The man, the dragon, does not have any fucking interest in a half breed like me. It’s just part of his persona, I think.
For three years he shows up periodically, no less than three nights a week, flirts shamelessly, brushes too close in passing, and says things that make my skin prickle in a way I hate.
Not because it’s unwanted. But because I want him.
Goddess, do I want him, and I can’t afford to.
He’s a dragon, full-blooded and old as sin.
I’m ... well, not. Half-human. Half-fae.
Which means half-trouble and not enough for any of the High Courts or ancient shifter lines.
The only thing I’m full of is rejection.
Nobody wants a “mutt” with mismatched eyes and unruly magic that can’t be neatly catalogued.
“You’re in my way.” I push past him and reach for a clean glass. His hand brushes mine, and I freeze. A jolt of magic runs through my skin, hot and sharp like I’ve been hit with a live wire.
He always touches me like that. Just enough to make my thoughts scramble but never enough to justify punching him. Not that it would do anything. He’d probably just catch my wrist and grin like a bastard.
“Do you feel it tonight?” he murmurs, low enough that no one else hears. It’s the same question he has asked for the past three months, and I have a strange feeling he is waiting for something.
“Feel what?” I bite out, yanking my hand back.
“Never mind.” It’s the same maddening reply he gives me every damn time. He’s staring at me like I’m a puzzle he already solved but wants to play with anyway.
I swear under my breath, then spin away, grabbing the gin I was reaching for and starting a new drink.
My hands are shaking. I’m furious with him.
Furious with me. He shouldn't get to affect me like this. He’s just another pretty face with sharp teeth.
Dangerous men with ancient power don’t come slumming with girls like me unless they’re bored. Or cruel.
And Malichai? He doesn’t do boredom. Only precision.
“Your tie’s red,” I say offhandedly as I shove the finished drink across the bar to a customer.
He chuckles. “You remembered.”
“Means you’re in a mood.” I wipe the counter clean. “Careful, or someone might get burned.”
“Let’s hope it’s you.”
I glare at him but there isn’t any heat behind it, and he knows it. This is the same dance we have been doing for three years.
I look around to see if anyone needs a refill before I lean over the counter.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He tilts his head to the side, studying me before nodding.
“Nothing more than the regular bullshit. Supernatural politics, council bullshit, enemies at the gates...” He drinks deeply from his glass.
“It was my father’s funeral—accension ceremony—today and the metaphorical wolves are already circling. ”
Shit. I didn’t know his father died. I place my hand over his and squeeze gently. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Don’t be. He wasn’t a good person, and his death is a blessing.”
I stare at him in shock. “You can’t mean that.”
I think of my own father and how his death broke something unfixable in me. For years it was just the two of us and then he was gone in the blink of an eye. I miss him every single day and can’t fathom anyone feeling about their father the way Malichai just described.
“One day, little fae, I will tell you the whole story,” he says. “But rest assured, I mean every word.”
I roll my eyes so hard I almost see stars. “You’re exhausting,” I say. He always promises to tell me the whole story but never does. Ever the mystery.
“You’re glowing.” His words stop me dead in my tracks, instantly changing our topic of conversation. He’s good at doing that too.
The words hit me in the chest, sharp and sudden. I blink at him, and he just tilts his head again as he studies me, all dragon and arrogance. My skin heats under his gaze, and it takes everything I have not to touch my cheeks.
“You should leave.”
“Would you miss me if I did?”
I look him dead in the eyes as the lie slips from my lips. “Not even a little.”
I’m a dirty fucking liar. He knows it. I know it.
Hell, even the damn bouncers—the minotaur twins Knox and Cruz—at the door probably know it.
But I won’t give him an inch. I’ve worked too hard to survive in this world.
To be seen as more than just a fucking half breed.
I’m not going to fall for a dragon who looks at me like I’m gold he can hoard.
No matter how good he smells, or how his voice makes my knees weak, or how my dreams have started to fill with flames and clawed hands and a pair of dark eyes that burn right through me.
No matter that every night, I wake up needing someone I shouldn’t want. Especially not someone who looks at me like he already owns me. Because that would mean something I’m not ready to face.
And I’ve never been good at losing.