3. Kaisner
KAISNER
T he click of my Italian leather shoes against the polished floor announces my arrival as I stride into the marbled foyer of Deveraux Manor.
Cassandra, ever the epitome of Parisian elegance, glides toward me, a warm smile gracing her perfectly painted lips.
“Kaisner, darling. The elusive Master of Shadows himself. Welcome to Paris,” she purrs, air-kissing my cheeks. “I’ve been expecting you.”
I return her smile with a charming one of my own, my eyes already scanning the opulent surroundings.
“Cassandra, a pleasure, as always. Paris seems to agree with you more than America ever did.” My words are smooth, practiced, but my mind is elsewhere—two steps ahead in the game we play in our unnatural world.
As Cassandra leads me toward the study, regaling me with tales of the city’s latest scandals, a flicker of movement catches my eye.
There, on the threshold of the library, stands a vision that steals the breath from my lungs.
A beautiful woman, with hair like spun gold and eyes that could shame the brightest sapphires, is carrying a stack of books that seem to dwarf her delicate frame.
I watch, transfixed, as she moves with a grace that seems almost otherworldly. But then, as if the universe itself is conspiring to bring us together, one book slips from her grasp, tumbling to the floor with a soft thud.
Without a second thought, I excuse myself from Cassandra’s side and make my way toward the fallen tome.
Bending down, I retrieve the book, my fingers brushing against the worn leather cover.
As I straighten, I find myself face to face with the beautiful stranger, close enough to catch the faint scent of jasmine that clings to her skin.
“I believe this belongs to you,” I murmur, extending the book toward her.
Our fingers brush as she takes it from my hand, and in that moment, a jolt of electricity courses through me, setting my nerves alight.
It’s as if a circuit has been completed, a connection forged that defies explanation.
I feel it rush up my arm, spreading through my body until it reaches my very core, igniting a fire I thought long extinguished.
I search her face, desperate for some sign that she feels it too—this inexplicable pull, this sense of destiny. But she merely offers a shy smile, a delicate blush staining her cheeks. “Thank you, monsieur,” she breathes, her voice like a caress.
I open my mouth to respond, to introduce myself, to beg her to tell me her name. But no words come. For the first time in my life, I, Kaisner, the man who prides himself on his silver tongue and quick wit, am struck speechless.
She dips her head, a curtain of golden hair hiding her face as she hurries away, clutching the books to her chest like a shield.
I watch her go, my hand still tingling from her touch, my mind reeling from the encounter.
As she disappears from the room, I hear her laugh, a sound so pure and enchanting that it pierces through the very core of my being.
Cassandra’s voice breaks through my reverie, urging me to join her in the study. But as I follow, my thoughts remain tethered to the beautiful stranger and the inexplicable connection I felt in those brief seconds.
Who is she, this woman who can unravel me with a single touch? And what twist of fate has brought us together under this roof?
As I settle into the plush armchair, Cassandra’s voice washes over me, her words laced with genuine warmth. “Kaisner, my dear friend, I can’t tell you how much it means to have you here. Paris has been sorely lacking in good company.”
I incline my head, a smile playing at the corners of my lips. “Cassandra, you know my friendship is unwavering. We’ve been through too much together for it to be anything less.” I pause, considering my next words carefully. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
Cassandra’s brow furrows, a flicker of confusion passing over her delicate features. “Congratulations? Whatever for?”
I lean back in my chair, my eyes never leaving hers. “Your engagement to the Ursa King has become quite the topic of gossip, even in the far reaches of Germany. It seems you’ve managed to secure quite the alliance.”
A hint of a flush creeps into Cassandra’s cheeks, but she maintains her composure, offering a polite smile. “Ah, yes. The engagement.” She purses her lips and swallows hard. “It’s a... a fortunate match, to be sure.”
I don’t miss the slight hesitation in her voice, the way her enthusiasm seems forced, almost rehearsed. Interesting. Perhaps there’s more to this engagement than meets the eye.
I choose not to press the issue, not yet. There will be time enough to unveil the secrets behind Cassandra’s impending nuptials. For now, I have more pressing matters to attend to.
“But I must confess,” I continue, steering the conversation back to the purpose of my visit, “there is another reason for my presence here tonight. Rumors of a dragon shifter have reached my ears. You know how my curiosity is piqued by such tales.”
Cassandra relaxes in her seat, a knowing glint in her eye.
“Ah, yes. The Last Dragon Shifter.” She pauses, as if stunned herself at the grandeur those words entail.
“The rumors are true. His name is Nikolaas Draken.” She takes a sip of her tea.
“And that beautiful creature you encountered moments ago? That was his younger sister, Clarissa. She’s studying the craft under Juliette’s tutelage. Visits the manor quite frequently.”
I school my features into a mask of polite interest, trying to betray none of the sudden surge of excitement that courses through me at this revelation. “Is that so? How fascinating.”
A shadow of movement draws my attention, and I turn to see a woman emerging from an adjacent room, a clipboard clutched in her manicured hands.
Our gazes meet, and for a moment, I feel pinned in place by the intensity of her stare.
She holds my gaze for a beat longer than strictly necessary before excusing herself, disappearing as quickly as she arrived.
“One of my staff,” Cassandra explains, noting my distraction. “An interior designer who specializes in antiques. She’s been invaluable in the manor’s restoration.”
I nod, filing away the information for later.
Cassandra leans forward, her expression turning serious. “But Kaisner, there is another matter I wish to discuss with you. A matter that pertains to your particular talents as a warlock.”
I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. My reputation as a master of the Dark Arts is well known in certain circles, but it’s rare for Cassandra to bring it up so directly.
“I’m curious about Shadow Beings,” she continues, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve heard rumors, stories that seem too fantastical to be true. But with your expertise, I thought perhaps you could shed some light on the subject.”
As Cassandra delves into the specifics of her query, her words washing over me in a steady flow, I find my mind drifting, inexorably drawn back to the encounter in the library.
Clarissa. The name rolls through my thoughts like an incantation, conjuring images of golden hair and eyes that sparkle like jewels.
The Last Dragon Shifter’s sister.
The realization sends a thrill down my spine, and I have to suppress a shudder of anticipation. Oh, the secrets she must hold, the power that must course through her veins. What I wouldn’t give to unravel those mysteries, to taste that power for myself.
But even as my thoughts wander, my keen senses pick up on a subtle detail in the room, a faint scent that tickles at the edge of my awareness.
It’s a rich, earthy aroma, slightly sweet with hints of amber, vanilla, and spice.
Dragon’s blood. The incense is unmistakable, and its presence here is no accident.
I know the properties of dragon’s blood all too well, its ability to ward off evil spirits and create a protective barrier around those who burn it. The fact that Cassandra has chosen to use it now, during our conversation, speaks volumes.
She’s being cautious, ensuring that our discussion remains private, shielded from any prying eyes or ears that might seek to use the information against us. It’s a smart move, one that speaks to her understanding of the delicate nature of the topics we’re about to broach.
I appreciate her foresight. However, I can’t help but wonder what other secrets she might be keeping, what other precautions she’s taken to ensure the sanctity of this meeting.
The Deveraux heiress is a woman of many layers, and I have no doubt that her true intentions run deeper than what she chooses to reveal.
And so I lean forward, my gaze intent, my voice low and measured as I begin to share my knowledge of the Shadow Beings, the secrets I have spent a lifetime uncovering.
As our conversation progresses, I force myself to focus on Cassandra’s words, nodding at the appropriate moments, offering insights when prompted. But even as I speak, my mind is elsewhere, drawn back to the golden-haired beauty who has so thoroughly captivated my thoughts.
For I know, with a certainty that borders on prescience, that Clarissa holds the key to something I’ve been seeking for longer than I care to admit. And I will stop at nothing to possess it.
The game has begun, and the prize is more tantalizing than I ever could have imagined.