"I can't believe he's here."

Calla smiled at the youthful glee in Heara's voice. As a lady-in-waiting to their Delphina, Heara knew the rules of propriety inside and out, but apparently, the overwhelming presence of rock star and lady-killer Mateo Guerin was enough to drive all sense from her head. Most of the women and no few of the men all seemed to think he was to die for; Calla thought he was arrogant and a bit of a showman, though he did know how to put on a good concert.

She stood reluctantly at Heara's incessant tugging on her arm. Mateo graced the stage for one more song, an encore, and they had a perfect front-row view of the action. He strode across the stage like he owned it, all sequins and throwbacks to a more classic rock. The man knew how to move his body. When he fell to his knees at the edge of the stage before them, Heara screamed her glee. Calla pursed her lips when Mateo took Heara's outstretched hand and crooned to her with the mike. She would have snatched it away, but they were on camera. She settled for a warning scowl. The girl might be impressed with his soulful eyes and silky voice, but Calla would make sure that was as far as it would go. A lady-in-waiting would be a coup for any entertainer—days of free publicity in the magazines, at the very least.

Soulful, laughing eyes turned to Calla and swept deep inside her without warning. She caught her breath and held his gaze, unwilling to back down from the challenge she found there. He stretched his hand out to her but she hesitated to cross that gap, and though his song never wavered, the laugh in his eyes hardened into something that set Calla on edge when she just raised a brow and shook her head, ignoring the fire throughout her body. So, he didn't like rejection, did he? Poor boy.

But Mateo Guerin wasn't just a rake. She sensed a violence in him, like a prickle of breath across her skin. Her spine stiffened, eyes narrowing. She wasn't First General because of her good looks. Years of war, of strategy, of outwitting enemies at every turn had honed her instincts—she trusted her judgment, even when it was based on nothing more than a hunch.

Mateo was like her, a killer wrapped in a pretty face so the world would never know what kind of violence they were capable of. His song ended with a drawn-out note. He closed his outstretched hand into a fist and drew it towards his chest. Inexplicably, Calla had the urge to follow, to get closer. She stood her ground and observed. Mateo was a dangerous man that needed to be leashed. As soon as this was over, she'd ask for a watch to be put on him while he remained on their island. It was always better to be safe than sorry. She didn't feel a dragon in him, but that didn't mean he wasn't an enemy.

The music finally fell away and under the screaming adulation, he asked her, "Would you come backstage? I'd like to… know you better." He flashed a wicked smile.

Calla's first instinct was to refuse, but Heara gripped her arm and shrieked, "YES! Yes, she'd love to." She would absolutely not love to, but Heara was clearly enthralled and their people needed more than her stubborn overprotectiveness to get them through a war with no end. They needed to feel, to find any bit of happiness they could. If a visit backstage would make Heara's day, it wasn't a hardship to endure.

Calla nodded and took Heara's hand in hers. "We'll visit."

His dangerous eyes smiled again, and the spark in Calla grew larger.

* * *

Calla entered the backstage area with massive reservations.

"Any seedy shit and we're leaving," she muttered to Heara.

"Are you kidding me?" the younger dragon whispered back. "Seedy shit is exactly what we want."

Oh, to be that young again.

Mateo Guerin lounged on his maroon velvet—really? —couch with a glass of wine in his hand, hair spilling over his shoulders, when they entered. He lifted the glass in greeting and rose.

"Ladies."

He wasn't alone. The open room milled with people. Some she recognized as band members—and there were plenty of groupies, human as well as dragon. There weren't many humans in Patomas—mostly those allowed in to help fill the need for workers as dragons focused more and more on the clan wars.

But he sauntered towards them, eyes on Calla, as if she was the only woman in the room. "I wasn't sure you would accept my invitation," he said, voice smooth.

"I almost didn't." She cast a deliberately critical eye around the room as Heara glared at her.

"Don't listen to Calla, she's rude."

"Calla?" He paused, something flashing through his eyes. "I thought so."

"You thought what?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Boring things. Can I get you a drink?"

Calla snorted. "No." She crossed her arms. "I'm here to escort the young one. You don't need to pay any attention to me."

"But what if I want to pay attention to you?" he asked, voice soft.

Heara squealed. "Is that Rostin Gale? The drummer?"

Mateo glanced at her. "It is, my dear. Go tell him I sent you to say hello."

The younger woman made a beeline towards a romantically broody-looking male in a ripped t-shirt and dark, tight jeans. Calla began to follow when Mateo stepped in front of her.

"Let the children play… Calla."

The way he caressed her name might have brought a shiver to her spine, if she wasn't made of sterner stuff. But as it was, she had to suppress a spark of attraction.

She met his eyes, realizing that he was speaking. "…a tour guide tomorrow. Are you free? I promise I'll behave if you want me to."

Calla shook her head. "I'm not a fan of yours," she said bluntly.

He stepped closer, subtly, eyes darkening, a smile curving his lips. "Even better. Fans are easy. I prefer more challenging prey."

Her dragon hissed, even as a side of her perked, intrigued. "I'm not your prey, Mateo Guerin." It was time to end this. "I'll wait for Heara in the hall."

She turned on her heels, knowing he wouldn't follow. A man with an ego like his—he'd never allow himself to appear to chase her. And standing in the hallway, she told herself that was the way she wanted it.