Mateo rubbed his thumb on his fingertips again, unable to get the touch sensation of Calla's lips off his skin. He wasn't sure he wanted to get rid of it. She was surprisingly daring—and cute with the way she'd thought to seduce him. As if. She was as quick with her tactics as she was with a blade, willing to swing from violence to seduction in an instant. But she was a dragon, their seductions were often violent, weren't they? And he was the master of both.

He rubbed his thumb again, then pressed it against his lips. That moment in the plane, when she'd lidded her eyes, had changed something in him. Mateo had to physically stop himself from rushing her and that alarmed him. His gums ached for her blood. His lips ached for her skin. He took a deep breath and pretended he could smell the wood-fire smoke that was her unique dragon scent. His body had demanded contact but the single touch of his fingers to her chin was far from sufficient. Even now, half a castle away from her securely locked door, he craved her presence. Damn her, anyway. With her attempt at seduction she'd ripped herself out of the innocent category he'd attempted to shelve her in to control his need. But with that little maneuver, he had a difficult time not considering her fair game. She wanted to play? They would play.

But something was certainly different and he had to speak with his sire about it. Nothing had been the same since they spoke on the phone. And this need to possess and… devour Calla was a threat to his ongoing mission. The cognate's will was absolute, their ongoing security his highest concern; anything that directed him away from maintaining secrecy, loyalty, and total control of his place as a vampyr had to be addressed swiftly.

Mateo dropped his hand to the deeply carved door and pushed it silently inward. His foster-father held court with three others, their dark powyr a flame that burned in the center of the room. None turned to address him until Estophen himself lifted his head. Four pairs of eyes descended on him and Mateo called his vampyr to the surface. Their powyr pushed against his, testing for weakness and finding none. Family. Couldn't live without them—and couldn't live at all if they thought him weak. Mateo narrowed his stare at his sire and strode confidently into the room.

This was an aspect of the cognate he didn't miss. Audience with his sire, a closeness with others as powyrful as he, yes, but this constant testing of wills, the inability to let his guard down even for a moment—there was no way to relax here or he'd be taken for a short, sunny walk. Perhaps it wasn't just the dragons who were fond of their violent tendencies.

Mateo passed the first vampyr in the room, a woman who appeared younger than he, but had been turned nearly a century before. Lupe, of few words. Her powyr burned in consistent pressure against his. He pushed back until his fire surrounded her, and didn't relent until she retreated in acknowledgement.

The remaining gauntlet doubled their assault, creating a physical swirl of wind in the hall. Mateo paused, forced to concentrate his powyr around him or be swept, literally, off his feet. The two vampyrs he faced now were his social equals. Lorra, his foster-sister and Estophen's second Descent, was as ruthless in court as she was on the battlefield. He'd seen her eviscerate enemies with both teeth and tongue. He pushed against her now, refusing to submit to her, denying her the opportunity to flex her muscles here. He wasn't one of her enthralled human servants.

The other vampyr he struggled against laughed deep and long. Kragen, Mateo's foster-brother, eternal rival, and Estophen's first Descent, threw his head back and dumped a reckless volley of strength into his show of powyr. The metaphysical flames around him became real, burning around him in dark shadows without fuel or smoke. His pressure increased.

Lorra snarled and the rippling change came across her face. Ridges pulled up in rows over her forehead and she turned to hiss at Kragen. They pushed against each other as fiercely as they fought Mateo, always challenging, always seeking the edge of dominance. Their combined strength forced Lupe from the room.

Then a heavy mist swirled into the space between them, smothering the fires on this plane and the next. Estophen intervened like a weighted blanket, bringing all three of them back down to a conversational level. As the pressure around him eased, Mateo relaxed his outward push. There was no fighting his sire. He brought his powyr close instead, holding it for the next inevitable challenge.

"My children… always testing your strength, reaching for new heights. You never cease to please me." Estophen smiled widely. Then he forced his indomitable will into the very air around him. It struck Mateo over the head and he lowered to his knees, jaw locked. His only consolation was the sound of Lorra and Kragen being forced down with him. They were powyrful beings, but under Estophen's thumb, they were mere children. Ants to torment at will. He never passed an opportunity to remind them.

"My children," he repeated. "You must grow out of this showy arrogance. A true vampyr doesn't fight constantly for his place. He seizes it without hesitation." Estophen fisted one hand in emphasis.

Kragen pulled his head up and growled at their sire, fangs down and his vampyr in full force. His eyes flashed red.

Estophen took a single step forward and pointed at Kragen. "Sheath your milk fangs, fledgling, your insecurity is showing."

Mateo suppressed a smile. Kragen had been taunted into flashing his fangs, a show of fear that Estophen wouldn't tolerate. Lorra's vampyr had come full to the surface, changing her face and eyes, but she retained control of her teeth. Mateo had only called his other self high enough to defend his position in the cognate. He showed neither fangs nor facial ridges. It was a minor victory, but victory nonetheless. He suspected Estophen manufactured these little spats to keep them all in fighting shape. Something roiled under the surface, some energy Mateo wrestled to bring under control, a rebellion he'd never felt before. He shuttered it, filing away the instincts to examine later, when he was alone.

"Leave us," Estophen demanded, shoving his palm and powyr at Kragen hard enough to slide him away. Kragen stumbled to his feet, snapping at Mateo as he passed. Mateo growled back but kept his place. He knew how to pick his battles.

The oppressive blanket lifted, the mist dissipating into the floor. Mateo sat up and saw Lorra do the same. She had successfully drawn her vampyr back down and lost the ridges that marked the first stages of the change. She flashed sharp eyes at him, though, and he knew her powyr simmered at the surface, ready to fight again.

Mateo inclined his head slightly. "I'm here only to report on my assignment. Your position is secure, sister."

"So you say." But she turned to face Estophen without challenging his right to be there.

Estophen gestured with one hand, turning away towards the dais at the front of the hall. That he exposed his back to them raised Mateo's ire, but his sire had already proven he could afford to dismiss them.

"You did tell them the next time they saw you, they had better guard their backs."

Mateo grimaced. He remembered the argument. He'd been angry at the time, some trivial matter he could hardly recall now, and succumbed to temper and threats. He hadn't really thought they'd take him seriously.

"Your strength has grown in the last several years, son," he added. "They begin to fear you."

Mateo grimaced and turned to business. "The First General is safely behind lock and key, Sire. She's shackled as directed."

"And uninjured?"

"Yes, Sire. Untouched. She could try to best me in human form—but I believe she is canny enough to realize she's weaker without the dragon strength to draw on." Mateo said it with satisfaction. How many of them could say they'd stolen into the royal home of the dragon clans and taken their lauded warrior and strategist without a scratch to either of them? Had been able to imprison a powyrful beast to human form, containing its strength?

"Adequate," Estophen said. The ruler of their cognate was notoriously difficult to please. "I'll inform the client. You'll wait until further instruction."

"Yes, Sire."

After a lengthy pause, Estophen turned slightly, his long-fingered hand trailing on the arm of the dais. "What is it?"

Mateo lowered his head, choosing his words carefully, especially since Lorra was still present, listening. "I am not indifferent to her fate. It is… difficult for me to be away from her." It was more than difficult. He couldn't go five minutes without thinking about Calla, without imagining the expanse of her skin under his palms. "I feel…" he made a fist with one hand, knowing every word was a step away from the cognate's will, but he couldn't stop himself. He didn't want to stop himself. He'd never felt this kind of desire—

"She has be-spelled you."

Mateo's stomach dropped. Was that the answer? Calla had been unable to shift since he caught her, but what was the true extent of a dragon's powyr? He didn't know.

"Open to me," Estophen said, palm out to Mateo, and waited. They were long past the days when his sire could open Mateo's mental shields with impunity. Another sign of his growing strength. Mateo relented, relaxing his guard, and Estophen's powyr flooded his mind. He gritted his teeth, disliking the vulnerability of having the elder vampyr shuffling through his head. But he endured, because he'd opened the door by asking for help.

"No," Estophen said softly. "You are not be-spelled. This comes from within." He sucked his powyr back out of Mateo's body more slowly, reflecting on whatever it was he had learned. Mateo rose, forcing his expression to smooth, to show no weakness.

Estophen glided towards him. "You must not be compassionate, My Descent. She is an assignment and you will be prepared to kill her if necessary. The client may demand it." His red eyes burned with intent. This was more than a test. To fail the cognate meant a permanent end.

Mateo's heart rippled as he closed himself off. This wasn't the path he wanted to take. Something fundamental had awakened in him and he was reluctant to send it back into hibernation. But his sire's red eyes allowed him no recourse and with practiced iron will, he forced his heart to shutter. He would seal this weakness away from the sight of the cognate and fulfill his duty as assigned. He would bow to the will of his sire. A vampyr could do nothing less.

* * *

Mateo didn't know what to expect when he returned to Calla. He'd escorted her to the room, made sure it was secure, and left her. He'd needed to get away, to give himself space to settle the edge he felt in her presence, before approaching Estophen.

He turned the doorknob, listening for the sound of movement, or any sign she was preparing to attack. With the binding bracelets, she was prevented from shifting, but he'd be a fool not to think her dangerous even in human form.

She stood in the middle of the room, staring at him. Her eyes glittered, a sweep of angry color high in her cheeks.

"What's the plan here?" she asked. "Is it ransom? A live-streamed execution? Who's behind this?"

Calla strode forward and his conciliatory mood evaporated. He snapped his fangs at her. "Careful, female."

The tension he'd muted came roaring to the surface, a live, rumbling beast he didn't understand. Was he degenerating? Had one of his siblings poisoned him somehow?

She halted, eyes narrowing. "Or what?" Her voice was cold, nasty. "What are you going to do? Imprison me?"

Mateo crossed his arms. "This situation doesn't have to be difficult. We're both professionals—"

She turned in a tight, angry circle. "What situation? What is the situation?"

He wasn't a dragon, he didn't know how the suppression of her shift affected her, but she seemed highly agitated for a First General… nearly hysterical, even. Her distress bothered him, activated an instinct he didn't want to examine. But knew he had to—to understand where it came from. And crush it. This was business, he couldn't afford to let his recent restlessness, his questioning of the purpose of his life, weaken him.

"You'll remain here, in confinement, until further notice. You won't be disturbed." He smoothed his expression. "What I can tell you, I will. But I probably will be able to tell you little."

Calla stared at him, unmoving. "I know what you are. The length of the flight, your cover—I know what cognate this is." Her smile was exquisite, disdainful. "Overpriced vampyr mercenaries. My enemies truly have lost all honor—taste even."

She raked him up and down with a look that from any other female would have had him laughing, or bristling. From her, he just gritted his teeth, knowing she was baiting him. Knowing she could bait him because of the strange heat ricocheting between them both.

"Your enemies may have no taste, but they have deep-enough pockets, and long-enough reach to snatch you from under the nose of your queen."

Her smile disappeared and she took a step forward. Mateo held up a hand. "Don't attack me, sweet. You won't like the consequences."

But instead of sounding threatening, his voice slipped into its husky stage croon. And he wanted to follow up on the promise under his words—that if she laid hands on him, he'd make sure neither of them regretted it. And as he stood there, the predator in him anticipating, his body… stirred. Mateo nearly took a step back, only years of conditioning preventing him from showing his shock on his face, from alerting the other predator in the room to his momentary inattention.

The rumbling beast inside him sharpened, focusing with laser intensity on the woman in front of him. She was doing this to him, sparking something he'd never thought to truly feel. A key to unlocking a part of himself he was certain existed, now lived under his skin. But what it was he didn't know, only knew it was there. The muscles under his skin… shifted.

He barely noticed because the next moment she launched herself at him. A flurry of blows, attack and counter movements and Mateo found himself abandoning all other thought to meet her advance.

She was good—he'd expected nothing less, of course. But so was he, and because there was no chance she could actually hurt him and he had no interest in harming her—he relaxed, a small grin curving his lips. Other than his buried mouth in a woman's cunt, this was the most satisfying exercise he could think of—a fight with a beautiful woman.

He imagined her cunt. Oddly enough, it soothed the restlessness inside him, gave it a focus. Would it be covered in thick, dark curls, or shaved smooth? Plump and pink, or a deep, dusky mauve? Would she roar or whimper when his tongue found her little clit, when he plunged inside to taste her richness? Would her legs splay wide open, or clench around his neck?

"Did you have fun?" he asked when she finally broke away, breath light and steady.

The woman snarled at him and turned on her heels, striding towards the window on the opposite side of the room.

"It's shatterproof," he said, just in case she had ideas.

But she just folded her arms and stared out at the neighborhood traffic. "You aren't trying to prevent me from knowing where I am."

"I doubt you'd figure it out. A neighborhood is a bland a canvas as there is."

If her vision was especially sharp, she might be able to make out street signs. But all that would tell her was that they were in an English-speaking country. Of course, the palm trees and sunny, clear skies narrowed down the list of possible locations somewhat. They obviously weren't in Siberia, for instance.

His mood darkened. It didn't matter if she guessed where she was being held. It was highly likely the order would come down to execute her. An order he would have to follow through on. And if he did, it would damage him. Eliminate a possibility before he'd even explored it.

There had to be a different path.

She turned. "What's it like, being a soulless contract killer? An honorless assassin who fights for nothing, and no one?"

He wouldn't reveal how her words stung. Instead, he bowed, crisp, ironic, lust a double-edged blade. He wanted her—and the desire was an uncomfortable one. "General. I'll have someone bring you a meal."