Mateo wove a spell of silence around himself but he knew that wouldn't be enough to accomplish the task his sire had set for him. This target was… highly visible, which made his assignment dangerously risky. He pressed his back close to a marble wall and twitched his fingers into another spell, adopting the chill into his very being. He was nothing more than a piece of the decor. Certainly, nothing to raise the alarm about.

Thus, hidden in plain sight, Mateo made his way further up the hall.

The night wasn't as quiet as he expected, lending him an audible cover in the darkness. He willed his eyes to adjust, his hearing to expand; his senses all sharpened. He counted heartbeats around him. Pairs and singles in rooms as he passed them, the patrolling guard in the next hall, the rapid flock pulse of the crows on the roof. He sought a single heartbeat, a particular scent of danger that intrigued him.

The patrolling guard turned down Mateo's hall. Mateo pressed himself to an alcove in the marble wall and tightened his spells. He was a piece of the stone. A statue or carving. He was a decoration. He stilled against the wall and became a study in the materials of marble. The swirl of minerals that colored the stone arced over his cheek and hands. His temperature dropped. He was stone. He belonged here. His sensitive ears tracked every footstep the guard took closer to his hiding place.

The best assignments never involved a close encounter. When he had the time and his target was low profile, he preferred to watch their habits and take care of business while they were alone. No witnesses, no way for anyone to help, no mess. Mateo let his breath out slowly and pulled his vampyr a bit closer to the surface. His heartbeat stuttered to a whisper. He stopped breathing entirely.

The guard came level with Mateo's hiding spot and paused. He glanced at the alcove, then behind himself, as if there was a ghost of a presence he couldn't quite find. The people here were highly sensitive and Mateo wasn't quite sure, but he suspected they held a powyr like his. A powyr of some kind that allowed them to sense the otherworldly things. The guard squinted at the alcove again, and visibly searched the area for whatever it was he felt. Mateo locked his every muscle. He was stone. He was inanimate. He belonged here.

There is no droid here. You do not see this droid.

After a long look, the guard hesitantly moved on. Mateo remained in place for several more minutes, unwilling to risk his mission by rushing the process. Patience was key. He had all night, and if it took that long, so be it.

Eventually, the guard showed no sign of turning back. Mateo tracked his footsteps, then his heartbeat, down another hallway. When he was sure of his safety, Mateo took a cleansing breath and released his spells. They spiraled away from him back into the ether. Now he had no time to lose. His target was here at the end of the hall. Mateo spelled the door open with a twitch of his fingers, and closed it silently behind him.

There she was: Calla Andris. Second in command under the mad dragon queen and the people's First General. There was no denying his role was a political move in a big game of war, but Mateo didn't play politics. He didn't care who his client was, or the ultimate motivation, other than the obvious—to strike a blow against the Mad Queen by depriving her of her favored First General and lady-in-waiting in one blow. He was hired to accomplish his mission and the cognate would tolerate no failure.

Mateo stepped deeper into the room. She was asleep in her bed, curled up on one side, her hand tucked delicately under her pillow. Relaxed. Unaware of him. In her vulnerability, she looked softer. The eyes that had stared at him like chips of cold, hard jewels closed. He stared down at her, momentarily struck. When she was like this, it was easy to remember she was a woman—and he didn't enjoy when he was required to harm a woman. Had considered telling Estophen not to send him on any more assignments involving females. But this was the First General. She was neither soft, helpless, or innocent.

He'd never expected to see her at the concert. The show was just a cover to gain access to the island. Civil war had been tearing the country apart for decades and both their tourism and trade had declined. The concert was a stretch, but it was his strongest lead, and it had worked. But as he strutted across the stage for the audience, Mateo's eyes locked with hers and a deep, sudden, and very unexpected flow of attraction had blossomed in his body, hot in a way he didn't recognize. He'd known who she was, of course. Even if he hadn't had the dossier, it was his business to know the major players in any conflict that could lead to possible commissions. And there were always assassinations, espionage, mayhem to enact in countries during wartime. Always clients with ambition and plenty of money to pay the cognate's fee.

She had been wary of him, dragon eyes piercing through his rock star persona as if she'd known all along he was something more. And what she saw there had drawn out the edge of her dragon. The golden flash in her eyes sparked a flame in Mateo he couldn't explain. He had to get closer. The invitation backstage was the only thing he could think of. And her reluctant agreement had swept heady excitement through him.

Mateo had seduced women before, had slept with them insofar as he could please them with mouth and fingers until they forgot he never performed as they expected. But with Calla the fire in his body burned stronger than ever before and he thought… maybe… perhaps he could be with her in the most intimate way a man could connect with a woman. Had known that with this woman, he would break his vow never to touch a female who was also a target.

But she'd been aloof backstage. Amused at his rock star self and standoffish. Any attempt to get closer had been met with golden-fire eyes and a dangerous sense warning that inflamed him all the more. She was powyrful, confident, quick. And he wanted her.

Mateo touched the duvet on Calla's bed and fought with himself. He needed to be closer to her. He wanted to feel the curve of her hip against the angle of his, to see how they fit together. But as she shifted on the bed and made a soft noise of comfort, Mateo jerked back to reality. She was his target, not a conquest. He had lingered here for too long.

Mateo lifted both his hands and extended them over the bed. A spell to keep her asleep would do the trick. He breathed. And Calla lunged upward with a knife. Mateo's vampyr rose. He flashed to the side and dodged an expert thrust aimed at his gut. She pursued with shifter-assisted speed, driving Mateo back to the wall in shock. This wasn't a flailing defense of a woman just startled from sleep. How long had she known he was there?

He'd underestimated her. A mistake he rarely made—and wouldn't make again. That was probably what he got for thinking with his cock.

Before she could gain the upper hand, Mateo pulled his sleep spell from the ether and cast it down on Calla. She dropped to the floor, the knife skittering to his feet. He picked it up, assessing it for poison or spells as he did so. It was a solid weapon, practical and unadorned. The kind of blade a warrior used in battle. And Calla wielded it with an expertise that came with decades.

Mateo tossed her pillow back and found the knife's protective sheath. He sheathed the blade and tucked the clip to his belt. That was one souvenir he was willing to claim.

Calla lay unconscious on the floor in nothing more than a loose shirt and sleep pants. He was reluctant to take her away without some practical clothing but he couldn't linger any longer. Her face twisted and he tightened the spell around her. She was fighting his hold. And winning.

Moving quickly, Mateo hauled her over one shoulder and spelled them both unnoticeable to make his escape. He left a glamour of her in the bed to stall their discovery. With any luck, her disappearance wouldn't be noticed until well into the day. He left the castle in the same way he arrived: slowly, methodically, and with patience. He kept one arm wrapped around Calla's strong legs and forcefully redirected his mind from lingering on the way her body felt against his. He was a mercenary assassin and she was his target. This distraction with her fate was unlike him.

But he couldn't help his curiosity. Who was Calla Andris the woman… and what would she feel like in his arms?

* * *

Calla fought, scraped, and clawed her way out of the living fog around her. It swirled like a mist, but as she struggled, it condensed into bands and rope, binding her down and keeping her human. She gasped awake abruptly. The ropes remained lashed around her arms and legs. She was tied to a recliner. No, an airplane seat. It was spacious, private, quiet. She twisted in the seat as far as the binding would let her, but they held fast and tight, digging like nails into her skin.

Maybe if she could shift… Calla closed her eyes and called on her dragon, pulling the beast to the surface and sensing the first ripples of the change. But then white-hot pain cracked into her body and she braced against the airplane seat in sudden, gasping awareness. She was bound to her human form. For now. As soon as she was free of these—

"I wouldn't struggle. It'll only get worse."

Calla froze. Her heart lunged up into her throat and made it hard to breathe. That voice… his dark sensuous voice… she'd known that man was trouble. Calla looked up from her seat. Mateo Guerin had one hip propped against a chair near the front of the plane. His thick arms were crossed over his chest and he watched her with sharp, unyielding eyes. He knew she was dangerous and he was on alert.

The reality of her situation crashed over her in waves. Mateo had breached their island on the pretense of entertainment, located her, somehow stole into the castle, and walked her out. She remembered waking when her room door slid open, her palm dry and sure on the handle of her dagger. She'd tried to gut him with it. Something had happened, though. Some… pressure of unconsciousness. Why hadn't she split him open?

The Delphina… Calla tamped down on a moment of true fear, worry over what would happen when her disappearance was discovered. She didn't have the luxury of fear. This creature would sense it.

She glowered at him from the chair, knowing just how ineffectual it looked. He watched her in return, wary, posture subtly tense. Her dragon rolled under the surface of her skin and she fought for calm. She would escape. And she would tear this man apart for his presumption.

The very efficient nature of her capture disturbed her, though. Mateo was competent and not to be underestimated. The enemies of the court had chosen him well. A direct fight had already failed once, and with this binding restricting her strongest self, she had to find another tactic. Some weakness she could exploit. She shifted in her seat, seeking a better position, and in the adjustment of her hips she found her strength. Mateo's eyes flicked briefly down her body. He didn't linger, he wasn't there to ogle her, but Calla was certain his attempt to seduce her backstage had been genuine. He'd wanted her. Good. She'd use that against him, somehow. She'd dismissed him before. She didn't dismiss him now.

She relaxed into the airplane chair—as much as she could, being bound—and angled her head slightly away. She lidded her eyes and sighed gently. Mateo watched, eyes narrowed. Calla closed her eyes and opened them again with the weight of her intent behind every motion. She assessed him anew, not as a warrior and enemy, but as a lover might appreciate their mate. The straight line of his hips, broad chest, and powyrful eyes all reflected in her expression.

He liked what he saw. She knew it in the way he pushed off the seat and stepped closer. There was caution in his approach, but a dark appreciation in his eyes. General Takoda was wrong, she had plenty of spitfire left in her war-torn bones and she could wield it like a weapon. She waited with the patience of a predator, tamping down anger, banishing all other emotion besides the sensuality of a woman pleased with the male in front of her. If he was stupid enough to think with his cock, and to wonder why the kidnapped First General was batting her proverbial lashes, then he got what he deserved.

Mateo leaned over her, square thumb on her jaw, fingers gripping tight. A command to look at him she couldn't refuse. He pulled his thumb down her lip and she pouted it out, resisting the urge to nibble. She wanted him to believe he could be the one to see and accept her whole—as dragon, general, and woman—he was the one who made her gasp softly. His head lowered.

Closer, mouse. Come closer.

Mateo's pupils expanded. His aura said yes, he was the one. His hard voice said, "Don't get your hopes up, little lizard. I have a delivery schedule to keep." And he turned away from her as if he were utterly unaffected by the body-melting fire between them.

Calla gasped for air, struggling against a vice in her chest that tightened with every step Mateo took. Fury ignited. How dare he walk away when she'd offered herself. He disappeared behind a privacy curtain but even that freedom was minimal in the wake of the need he'd ignited in her body. She clenched her teeth. She'd wrapped herself in her own spell, and he'd walked away, unaffected. Goddamn him. Calla spent several minutes quieting her body, unexpectedly affected. Though maybe not quite unexpectedly, considering how she'd reacted to him last night. How, for a minute, she'd wanted to allow herself to fall under the spell he wove with his husky voice and liquid eyes. The dark look promising her pleasure equal to pain.