10. Clarissa
CLARISSA
T he silhouette of Galerie Lumière rises before me, sunlight dancing across its carved stone and wrought-iron balconies. I pause on the sidewalk, taking in the grandeur of the Haussmann building. It feels like a familiar coat settling over my shoulders, reminding me how much has changed.
Weeks ago, I was buried in Oxford’s cloistered stillness, tucked away in dim libraries and brittle silence, my ties to the Draken name reduced to ceremonial holidays and stilted messages from Bram. England had been safe, yes, but stifling. A hiding place. A cage lined with books.
Everything changed when Nik became alpha.
His summons arrived—terse, unexpected, impossible to ignore.
It cut through the distance like a blade.
When I stepped back into our ancestral hall, he didn’t blame me for the distance.
He didn’t mention the fact that I’d been exiled, not by choice but by Bram’s decree.
He only said, “Welcome home.” And just like that, something inside me shifted.
The scent of lemon-scented polish and aged canvas envelops me as I step into the marble-floored foyer. Any other day, this would snap me into work mode. But not today.
Today, the comforting halls of my family’s art gallery fail to ground me. Each step seems dreamlike, like I’m floating rather than walking. I cannot deny it. My encounter with Kaisner Drachenstein haunts me; his intoxicating scent, husky voice, and thrilling touch are imprinted on me.
I nod absently to Marie, our receptionist, as I pass her desk. She gives me a quizzical look, no doubt noticing my distracted state, but I can’t bring myself to care.
A message from Nik pings on my phone. He’s in Brussels now, having secured tentative alliances with the Nordic clans. “Stockholm and Oslo were a success… The Belgian dragons are a tough crowd, though,” he writes. “But I’m making headway. Next stop: Madrid.”
“Madrid?” A brief smile tugs at my lips. I can’t help heaving a sigh. Nik is working hard to lift our clan to its former glory. For that alone, I’ll do my part.
But as I reach my office, it’s not Nik on my mind—it’s Kaisner. The way his gaze pierced through me, as if he’d already mapped out every secret I’d never confessed. I grip the door handle, inhale once, and try to will myself back to normal.
I fail.
Inside, the mundane waits: stacks of files, the soft hum of the air conditioning, an envelope on my desk bearing the crimson seal of the Palais Garnier.
I sink into my chair, fingers absently tracing the smooth mahogany surface. With a sigh, I reach for the letter. Work , I tell myself. Focus on work.
Carefully breaking the seal, I pull out an embossed invitation.
My eyes widen as I read—a performance of La Vestale , in honor of the Draken family’s long-standing patronage of the arts. But it’s the next line that makes the blood freeze in my veins: In Nikolaas’ absence, I’m expected to attend, representing our clan.
Another detail leaps out at me as I continue reading. The invitation proudly announces:
We are honored to feature the world-renowned soprano, Aria Leone, direct descendant of the legendary Letizia Leone, in the lead role.
My pulse quickens. Aria Leone’s voice is said to be otherworldly. Her presence adds an extra layer of prestige—and mystery—to the event.
The realization dawns on me, bringing both pride and trepidation.
This isn’t just any social affair, but a stage where the intricate dance of supernatural politics plays out beneath a veneer of cultural appreciation.
What alliances might be forged or broken in the gilded halls of the opera house?
What secrets might be whispered behind ornate fans and crystal champagne flutes?
And, unbidden, a thought surfaces. Will Kaisner be there?
I close my eyes and exhale slowly, as if I could expel the distracting thoughts along with my breath. Despite my efforts, Kaisner’s enigmatic smile dances behind my eyelids, the phantom pressure of his hand in mine sending a shiver down my spine.
A soft rustle breaks through my reverie. My eyes snap open, heart leaping into my throat.
I’m not alone.
Someone reclines in the plush armchair across from my desk, one eyebrow arched in silent inquiry.
“Earth to Clarissa,” Samara says, amused. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost... or maybe something far more interesting?”
Heat rises to my cheeks. I stammer, rising fast. “Sam! I didn’t realize—sorry, I’ve just had a... strange morning.”
Samara’s eyes narrow slightly, her gaze sharp and assessing. I can almost see the gears turning in her head, piecing together my disheveled state, my lateness, my distraction. “Strange, huh?” she says, leaning forward. “Do tell.”
I hesitate. But this is Sam. My friend. My brother’s mate. The one person I might actually trust with this storm.
I sink into the chair beside her, letting out a long breath. Suddenly, I’m desperate to share this burden.
“There was a man,” I begin slowly. “At Deveraux Manor. I didn’t tell you before because... I didn’t think it would matter. But then I saw him again. This morning.”
Her interest sharpens instantly.
“There’s something about him, Sam,” I whisper. “Something that draws me in and terrifies me at the same time. It’s like... like he sees right through me. And I can’t see anything about him. My gift, it just... doesn’t work on him.”
Samara’s eyes widen at this. She knows how rare it is for my Sight to falter, even in its unripened stage. “Now you’ve got my full attention. Who is this mystery man?”
I inhale deeply, steeling myself. “Kaisner Drachenstein. And Sam... I think I’m way over my head.”
As soon as the name leaves my lips, the atmosphere in the room shifts. Samara’s face drains of color so quickly that for a moment, I fear she might faint.
“Kaisner Drachenstein?” she repeats, her voice low and hesitant. She leans forward, gripping the arms of her chair so tightly her knuckles turn white. “Clarissa, do you have any idea who that is?”
Her phone lights up on the desk between us, the screen flashing with multiple missed calls from Nik. Six in the last ten minutes.
Sam glances at it nervously. “I should take this,” she says, her tone tight. “It might be important.”
She answers quickly, stepping toward the window. “Nik? Yes, I’m safe... What?” Her voice drops to barely above a whisper, but I catch fragments: “...the grimoire... her study...”
I pretend to focus on the opera invitation, but my enhanced hearing picks up more than I should. Nik’s voice carries through the phone, urgent and commanding.
“Listen, I can’t discuss this now,” Sam says finally, casting a nervous glance my way. “We’ll talk tonight.”
She hangs up and returns to her chair, but something has shifted. The easy intimacy between us feels strained, charged with whatever secret just passed between her and my brother.
“Everything okay?” I ask carefully.
“Of course,” she says too quickly, then seems to catch herself.
“You know how dragons are, possessive by nature—a tad controlling, too. Nik’s always been.
.. intense. Especially lately.” She draws a breath, clearly trying to refocus.
“But enough about that. Kaisner Drachenstein?” Her voice returns to its warning pitch.
“Clarissa, do you realize what you’re tangled up in? ”
I shake my head slowly. “I... I know he’s from another dragon clan,” I stammer, suddenly realizing I’m missing something crucial.
“Kaisner Drachenstein isn’t just a guy from another dragon family.” She pauses. “He’s the king of his clan—the king of all the dragon clans in Germany and Eastern Europe. A Master of the Dark Arts, a warlock of formidable power and... questionable morals.”
“Questionable morals?” I echo with a frown. “What do you mean?”
“Oh boy,” she says under her breath. “Where to begin?” Sam scratches her temple as her gaze drifts away.
When her eyes find mine again, she continues.
“Kaisner knows no authority but his own. He’ll cross lines others wouldn’t dare approach—forbidden magic, dangerous alliances, whatever it takes to get what he wants.
The magical community whispers about rituals that should have been buried centuries ago, about entities he’s summoned that most wouldn’t even speak of.
He doesn’t just break the rules, Clarissa… He burns them.”
A chill runs down my spine. “But the man I met...” I trail off, confusion knotting in my chest. “He was magnetic, yes, but there was kindness there too. Gentleness, even. How can that be the same person?”
“That’s part of what makes him so dangerous,” Sam whispers, reaching out to take my hand.
“Nik’s mentioned him before. He disapproves of everything Kaisner represents.
Says he’s the worst kind of leader—all raw power and unpredictability.
Kaisner Drachenstein rules through fear and force, not the honor and tradition our kin respects. ”
Her fingers tense slightly around mine.
“Clarissa, listen to me. Kaisner is not someone to be trifled with. If he’s taken an interest in you... well, it can’t be for anything good.”
I swallow hard, my mind racing. The memory of Kaisner’s touch, his intense gaze, takes on a sinister edge in light of this new information. “What should I do?” I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.
Sam squeezes my hand. “For now? Keep your distance. Don’t engage with him if you can help it. And Clarissa?” She waits until I meet her eyes. “Promise me you’ll be careful. There’s no telling what someone like Kaisner might be capable of.”
I nod, trying to ignore the part of me that still thrills at the memory of our encounter. “I promise,” I say, hoping I sound more convinced than I feel.
The sharp edge of her concern softens, and I notice a shift in her expression—a different kind of worry settling in her eyes, one she’s striving to hide from me.
“There’s something else troubling you, isn’t there?” I ask gently, recognizing that look. “Is it the situation with Cassandra? This mysterious meeting is getting to me, too. I can’t shake the feeling there’s more to it.”
“Yes, Cassandra’s been acting strangely lately,” Sam admits, her fingers intertwining with mine. But a certain guardedness still seems present in her expression.
“It’s something else, though. Isn’t it?” I press, trusting my gut.
Sam hesitates, choosing her words carefully. “It’s just... with Nik away on this tour, I can see how much it’s changing him. The responsibility, the pressure to prove himself worthy.” Her voice drops, quieter now. “Dragons weren’t meant to carry that kind of burden alone.”
“He’s not alone,” I remind her gently, squeezing her hand. “He has you . And that makes him stronger than any clan ever could.”
Samara’s features soften. Her gaze drifts to the photo on my desk—the three of us at my birthday party, Nik’s arms around both Sam and me, all of us laughing and carefree.
“Gods, I miss him,” she murmurs, the words escaping like breath pressed from a wound. More than longing—mourning. “Not just being apart... I mean, I miss him. The way he used to be. Before his dragon’s awakening.”
Her voice falters. She turns slightly, as if the photo’s weight is too much to bear.
“You know,” she adds quietly, “it’s not easy, being in love with the enemy.”
She catches herself then, lips parting as regret flashes across her face. The slip hangs between us, heavy and unresolved.
I nod reassuringly, my heart aching for them both.
Their path is fraught with obstacles, but the love shining in Samara’s gaze speaks volumes.
“You two are proof that love can conquer all barriers,” I say fiercely.
“And you have my support, always. When the time comes, it will be an honor to call you not just my sister, but my queen.”
Sam’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “Queen?” she repeats, confusion etched on her face. “Nik is the Draken alpha... I don’t think ’queen’ is the term you’re looking for.” She shrugs with a shy smile.
I freeze, realizing too late my misstep. “Hasn’t he told you?” I ask hesitantly, stomach twisting. “Nik intends to gather all the dragon families and unite them under a single banner.”
“The... Draken’s banner,” Sam says slowly, understanding dawning.
I nod, swallowing hard. “That’s why he left on tour. He will proclaim himself King of the Dragons. So, technically...”
“That would make me...” Samara murmurs, stunned. “At some point…”
“Our queen,” I finish softly. “The queen of all dragon shifter clans.”
We sit quietly, the magnitude of it all sinking in.
I curse myself silently, knowing I’ve spoken out of turn. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” I admit, panic rising. “Nik will be furious. He’s a planner. I’m sure he had a strategy in place to break the news to you slowly—dammit!”
Samara shakes her head, gripping my hand. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell,” she assures me, her voice steady despite the shock in her eyes. “Nobody must know about this until the time is right— especially not my brothers. Things are crazy complicated as it is.”
Relief washes over me. “Yes, of course!” I breathe, pulling her into a tight hug.
As we embrace, Samara whispers, “This world we live in can be so cruel at times. We need to stick together, you and I. No secrets between us.”
I silently agree, my heart swelling with love and determination. A fierce protectiveness surges through my veins—for Sam, for Nik, for the future we’re building. “Always,” I whisper, and I mean it with every fiber of my being.
We part briefly. I’m about to say more when a sharp knock echoes through the office. Both of us freeze, the moment shattered as our eyes snap toward the door.