Gwendoline hunched over the desk in her study, the butterflies in her stomach out of control. She was trying to calm herself. It wasn’t working.

She tried to distract herself by opening a spreadsheet on the laptop in front of her, but the rows and columns wouldn’t come into focus for longer than a few seconds.

She grabbed the hem of her cocktail dress and bunched it in her fingers.

Cocktail dress. What the hell am I doing?

She wanted to call her Mistress of the Robes and have her bring something more appropriate, but she knew there wasn’t time anymore. A servant had announced the arrival of the visitor only moments ago.

Gwendoline took several deep breathes and tried to remind herself of who she was. Royalty. Brother to the king. Next in line to the throne.

So many changes had taken place in the past few weeks. When her brother Jett had abdicated, her other brother Gabriel had assumed the throne. Gwendoline had filled Gabriel’s position of Treasury Secretary in turn. It was up to her department to ensure the coffers of Midnight were continually replenished, and that funds were appropriately allocated to the different dens throughout North America. It was a far cry from the role of skirmisher she had once held during the Vampire Wars, but that was a different era. The front lines in modern times were fought not on battlefields, but spreadsheets.

Gwendoline inherited a lot of bureaucratic baggage with the position, but she didn’t blame Gabriel for that. He’d been Treasury Secretary for over seventy-five years. Bureaucracies tended to development when people kept the same roles for more than a few decades, becoming entrenched in the tedious systems they developed for themselves. Systems that, while they might have worked for them at the time, became hopelessly outdated and completely unnecessary.

There was so much paperwork involved with the treasury position it was ridiculous. Now that Gwendoline was in charge, she planned to cut extraneous staff members and streamline the various processes until everything was converted to digital. Dan, the computer system that ran Midnight, would be able to do the same work that was now done by at least ten individuals.

She realized her thoughts were rambling, but even so it was a welcome distraction, if temporary.

Too bad her time had run out.

Flame peered into the study. “Wayfarer Macleod wishes to come inside, Mistress. Shall I allow him?”

Gwendoline jumped slightly when he spoke. She waved absently, not daring to look the former White Sword in the eyes. That was another change. Gabriel had discharged Jett’s personal guard, choosing his own men. Gwendoline had immediately taken in the White Swords and tasked them with the protection of her household.

When Flame was gone, she took a moment to smooth her features. She concentrated on the laptop display, not seeing the spreadsheet, but focusing on her own reflection instead. She told herself the visiting Wayfarer wasn’t related to the one she had once known so long ago. There were many Macleods in the world. Probably many Wayfarers with that surname as well. It was merely a coincidence this witch had the name.

She was lying to herself, but it was the only way she could find calm. She stared at her reflection. She was satisfied with how in control she appeared, as suited someone of her position. Someone who wouldn’t allow some witch to rattle her.

“Hello, Gwen,” a deeply masculine voice intoned from the doorway.

She recognized that voice immediately. It belonged to the man she could never forget. The man she had once loved.

The man who had betrayed her.

When she looked up from her laptop, her breath nearly caught.

Mathis Dunvegan Macleod.

He hadn’t aged a day, and was just as beautiful as she remembered. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Though he was a mortal man, Siphoning the Strength extended human lifespans to lengths similar to dragons. He must have been what, at least two hundred years old now? A prince of his clan when Napoleon Bonaparte was ravaging Europe, he looked like he was only somewhere between twenty-five and thirty years of age.

His face could have easily graced the cover of a fashion magazine. Chiseled cheekbones. Tanned, blemish-free skin. Brooding blue eyes filled with a hint of cruelty. A roguish five-o’clock shadow, the stubble swathing the entire lower half of his face and part of his neck like a bandit’s mask. A jutting, arrogant blade of a nose, perfectly matched to that square jaw line. Slightly mussed black hair that fell in short locks down his forehead, framing the breathtaking painting of his face.

He wore a long black trench coat that reached to the knees; it was open down the middle to reveal the black vest and white dress shirt combination underneath. The tips of white bracelets protruded from the cuffs of his coat. Intricately carved ivory rings banded his fingers, some of them topped by gemstones. A necklace strung with small shards of bone was wrapped around his throat. Mere accessories to the untrained eye, but to those in the know, definite signs of a witch. Such artifacts were made of bone extracted from dragons who could siphon much Strength in life.

Peeking out from under the trench coat was the stock of a sawed-off shotgun, harbored in a holster strapped to his side. A distraction, that—an uninformed opponent seeking to disarm him would soon discover the true power was not in the rifle, but the man himself, thanks to the dragon bones he wore. Or perhaps the rifle really did serve as a backup weapon, and not just a distraction.

Tight-fitting leather leggings and tall boots with thick silver spurs completed the outfit.

She mentally licked her lips. He had packed on a lot more muscle than when she had known him long ago. It was obvious by the way he held himself, the width of his shoulders, and the girth of those skin-tight leggings. The man she remembered had been dismissive of any strength in the body, even scorning it, putting all of his efforts into strength of mind. Apparently he had had a change of opinion; that, or his chosen profession had built the body she saw today.

She almost found herself falling for him all over again. Almost. But after what he had done…

“You never did dress like a typical Wayfarer,” Gwendoline said softly.

“And you never dressed like a dragon,” he replied.

“And how do dragons dress?” she asked.

“Not like you.”

She crossed her arms. “When Savanna sent word she was sending a witch to test for Potentials in our domain, she never mentioned that witch would be you.”

“That was at my request,” he said simply.

Gwendoline arched an eyebrow. “Really. Nor did she mention that the witch in question would require a visit with Midnight’s Treasury Secretary.”

“Also my request,” Mathis told her.

“You make a lot of requests, don’t you?” Gwendoline asked.

“And your king has granted them,” Mathis replied.

“You think the king didn’t consult with me first?” Gwendoline said. “You think you would be here if I hadn’t allowed it?”

“Not for a moment,” Mathis said. He stared at her, his expression seeming pained. There was something else in his eyes, she thought. Desire?

No. Not from this man. Never. She was imagining it.

She quickly dropped her gaze to her laptop.

Mathis cleared his throat and continued. “When in dragon territory, I’m required by law to contact the closest dragon den responsible for the shifters in the area where I intend to do the testing. And since Midnight, though the center of the dragon kingdom in North America, is the closest dragon den, I came here.”

“The law doesn’t require an in-person visit,” Gwendoline said. “Unless you suspected we dragons were harboring Potentials among us in secret in our capital city?”

“Not at all,” Mathis said. “But I considered it proper etiquette to visit in person. Especially considering our… history.”

“Since when were you a tester?” she asked. “A man of your strength and background? I mean look at you. Though you dress like no other witch, the way you hold yourself, the rifle you carry, everything about you… well, it just screams that you’re a member of the witch fighting class. One of those who defend against the hunters, or the rogue vampires and shifters among the humans. Not a tester of Potentials.”

“I assure you I’m a tester,” Mathis said. He paused. “But you’re right, I didn’t always have this role. I was demoted.”

She looked at him questioningly. “Mr. High And Mighty? Demoted?”

“You don’t want to know,” Mathis said. “It involves a tryst with a vampire.”

She frowned. “You’re right. I don’t want to know.” Imagining him with any other woman, especially a creature like a vampire, was too much for her at the moment.

“I emailed the coordinates of the nearby shifter territories I plan to cover,” Mathis said. “I’ve done everything by the book. But my Midnight liaison hasn’t answered me.”

“I know,” Gwendoline said. “Because of your requests, I’ve taken ownership from the liaison in this matter. I’m the one who decides whether to grant permission or not.”

Mathis stiffened slightly. “I see.”

Gwendoline thrummed her fingers on her desk. She could see the oh-shit look in his eyes. He was probably regretting his decision to involve her. Good. She planned to draw this out for as long as possible, put him under as much stress as she could.

She gave him a defiant look. “I could easily refuse your request to perform testing in our domain.”

Mathis seemed unperturbed by her latest volley. “Could you, now?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “And not only that, a simple word with the king and you’ll be stripped of your powers and imprisoned in the lower levels of Midnight, never to return to the world of men.” She narrowed her eyes when he grinned. “You forget your place. We rule North America, not the witches.”

“And yet your king always agrees to every motion we introduce in the Council of Seven,” Mathis said.

“We have a new king now,” Gwendoline said. “Gabriel is not so lenient as his brother.”

Mathis remained silent for a moment. “We’ve traded a few barbs on clothing today. And we’ve already agreed you don’t dress like typical dragons. But I have to ask, in all sincerity, why on earth does a Treasury Secretary wear a cocktail dress?” His eyes shone with amusement.

Gwendoline froze.

Bastard knows I still desire him.

Perhaps he thought that gave him some advantage? She’d remedy that momentarily. She had gotten very good at hiding her feelings over the years. It had become a prerequisite to surviving all the palace intrigue.

She gave him an icy stare and let steel pour into her voice.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you of all people, Witch,” she said. Unable to resist doing just that, she continued: “And it’s not a cocktail dress. I wear what I please. What makes me comfortable.”

His features softened abruptly. The arrogance, the contempt vanished. Like it was only a mask that he wore to protect himself.

“I’m sorry, Gwen.” The way he said her name so tenderly struck a chord in her. “But if you’re going to deny my request and imprison me, can you just get it over with? We’re too old for games don’t you think?”

She studied that beautiful face for several moments, and the sadness in his features got to her.

He could always make the sweetest puppy dog eyes.

She slowly sighed. “All right. You have permission to proceed.”

“Thank you.”

“Give me a second. I’ll see to it that Dan sends you a copy of the digitally signed documents.” Via the laptop, Gwendoline pulled up the necessary documents.

“Dan?” Mathis glanced toward the ceiling. “Ah yes. I’ve heard of Midnight’s computer system. Though I’m not sure I’d be able to live under such constant monitoring. Technology, so pervasive. And intrusive.”

“No more intrusive than your magic,” Gwendoline said, letting her voice sound bored. She clicked an X next to a signature spot on the screen, and pulled up the next document.

She momentarily glanced up from the display to look at him. Mathis had turned to survey her study while she worked. Since he wasn’t looking, she took advantage of the moment to drop her gaze to his crotch. She still remembered, after all these years, how so very big he had been. Bigger even than most dragons…

Mathis spun toward her and she quickly brought her gaze back to the laptop and smoothed her features.

“Your office is decorated so blandly,” Mathis said. “I remember when we were in the Steel Tower together, your dorm room was so pretty. Just like you.”

Gwendoline didn’t answer him. She didn’t believe him. False words, all of them.

“You’ve truly changed after all these years,” Mathis said. “Become cold. Closed up.”

“Part of that is thanks to you,” Gwendoline said. Well, spat, really.

She glanced at him, long enough to see a pained expression cross his face, but it quickly vanished with that irritating arrogant coolness of his.

“If only you knew…” Mathis shook his head.

“Knew what?” she asked.

He averted his gaze. “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore. It’s too late.”

She finished digitally signing the last of the necessary documents.

“I’ll send word to the different shifter crews under our jurisdiction to expect you,” Gwendoline said.

“Thank you.”

“If there’s nothing else?” she asked, letting her eyes drift to the doorway.

Mathis stepped forward and extended a hand.

She took it, acting on autopilot, and was about to shake when he drew her hand toward him. Her mind wanted to wrench those fingers away from him, but her body wouldn’t allow it. She could only watch speechlessly as he bowed to kiss the top of her palm. It almost seemed to happen in slow motion.

When his lips contacted the skin, she felt a strange, unseen energy pass through her. It made the butterflies flutter in her stomach all over again and her center throbbed with sudden yearning.

He stepped back, releasing her. “It was good to see you again one last time, Gwen.”

Still unable to speak, she merely nodded.

He bowed once more and she watched him go.

She wanted to place the blame for how she felt on witch magic, but he hadn’t touched the Strength. She would have sensed it if he had, given her own limited ability. No, the butterflies, the yearning in her core, the feeling of loss… it had all been because of his touch.

She stared at the empty doorframe for several minutes after he was gone.

One last time…

Inside, her heart was breaking all over again.