He had rehearsals, and meetings, and the other business of his public persona to deal with. But her words haunted him, acted as fuel on a fire that had been simmering long before he'd ever set eyes on her.

He knew the truth of himself. He was dissatisfied. Restless. Disapproving of the less honorable contracts and methods the cognate used. He'd lost his taste, even, for the use of humans. He could glamour a female into thinking she wanted him, but underneath the glamour it was little more than coercion. The honest, straightforward energy of Calla made his skin crawl—because next to her he felt unclean.

Her purpose shined from her, her grim determination and steely will. He didn't fool himself into thinking she was a paragon—no person steeped in war and politics was, and her hands were as dirty in their way as his were. But at least her dirt was for her country to not… profit.

Was that why he was pulled towards her? He saw her as some form of redemption? A mirror of what he could be—using his skills for good instead of evil?

Mateo snorted, filling in a few notes of his composition in progress. That female would bite a head off and happily chew. He wasn't sure if good was the right word. But she wasn't evil.

Eyes closing, he brought her image up in his mind. Tall, strong. Golden eyes framed with thick lashes, a full, sardonic mouth. He wondered what her lips would look like swollen and red from… kissing. He'd provided basic clothing for her—soft leggings in bright colors and comfortable tunics. The kind of fabrics that clung and molded to the curve of breast and hip when she moved, giving him a flash of what was beneath. And what was beneath was all woman.

Mateo set aside his guitar and rose, prowling the studio. His manager would be upset the track was late, but fuck him. He worked for Mateo, not the other way around.

The decision would have to be made soon. He knew he wouldn't kill her. He knew that if he reneged on a contract, he would have to challenge Estophen in order to get out of the house alive with Calla.

Could he trust her? Could she really be the key to building a new life? Because when he betrayed the cognate, every vampyr allied with them would be after his throat. He would need allies, even with the resources he already had. He would need to trust that her offer of joining the dragon court was genuine, and not a ploy.

He would have to trust that if he gave away the life he knew for her, she wouldn't betray the promise she made to be his. If she broke her word, if she lied, he would make sure he wasn't the only one who regretted it.

* * *

Mateo avoided her. Meals arrived with regular clockwork but for two days she had neither company nor conversation. She paced the room, not even seeing the elegant paintings and gilded edging anymore. A golden cage was still a cage.

The door opened abruptly and even though Calla was relieved to have something, anything else to focus on, she frowned at the presumption. The damn vampyr could at least knock. She may be a prisoner, but she was still the First General of…

Her haughty words died in her throat. It wasn't Mateo at the door. Instead, a man she didn't recognize prowled towards her, his face rippling into a fierce set of ridges. Fangs descended from his wicked smile and Calla tensed, shifting into a deceptively relaxed, battle-ready posture. Where was Mateo? He'd kept the others away from her all this time, so he must either be away on another assignment or something had happened to him? Had his sire discovered her attempts to subvert him? She'd considered the possibility of listening devices, but he hadn't seemed concerned, and it made sense there were none. Why bother bugging a room in his own safe house when he planned on killing the occupant? She was certain she wasn't being held for ransom, but for a kill order.

"Who are you?" she growled. She might not be able to shift, but her human form was dangerous as well, trained in two-legged combat, and strong. She wouldn't go down without a fight.

"I thought you might be lonely," the man said in a rich, oily voice. "My brother hasn't been keeping you company these last few days. I came to offer myself as entertainment."

Bullshit. She didn't like the way his eyes roved over her neck. That Mateo had betrayed her was a possibility. She'd hoped he wouldn't go for the undiscussed third option—that he not be the one to kill her, but send someone else to do it instead. She hadn't thought him a coward.

Calla had few options. The room was dominated by a bed and side table without a weapon in sight. It didn't matter—even a side table could be a weapon. They weren't as smart as they thought because they'd left her in a room—and hadn't stripped it bare of even sheets. It was always nice when an enemy underestimated her. The vampyr was prepared to kill her. Calla wasn't ready to die. As soon as he stepped into her range, Calla lunged. The vampyr flinched. Calla had the element of surprise. How many victims had they taken who couldn't even hold the right end of a knife? She struck the first blow and had she been able to shift her hand to claws, would have killed him. He was one of those—not fully wary of her because she was female. Or maybe because she wasn't vampyr, and they were arrogant creatures.

His guard came up quickly after that. He tried to grapple her close, jaw hinging wide to make room for his fangs. Calla dropped low and tackled him instead. Those teeth weren't going anywhere near her skin. They both crashed into the side table, splintering the wood and scattering chess pieces. The vampyr snarled. Calla growled, fury over the spelled bracers on her wrists renewed. This cognate would pay for interfering with her. It was only a matter of time, of cunning, of patience.

Wind whipped through the room, the powyrful overflow of her attempts to shift. New hands grabbed her shoulders and threw her free of her foe. Calla flipped to her feet, hot blood pumping and ready. Mateo stood over the stranger in full vampyr form, his heavy fangs descended and sharp angles defined his face. He was fierce and beautiful.

"What's the meaning of this, Kragen?" he snarled.

Kragen regained his feet, dusting his pants as he stood. "My, my, little brother. It seems the rumors are true."

Powyr ignited throughout the room like white-hot fire. Calla flinched away and put up a hand to cut the glare, but had to watch. The two brothers faced each other nose to nose, posturing with their auras like dragonlings before their claws came in. A useless waste of strength and will.

Kragen smiled. Calla despised the arrogance in his eyes. "I'm here because our sire believes I am a better jailer since you have grown… too close."

Too close? Mateo hadn't even spoken to her in the last two days.

The words seemed to set something loose in Mateo, though. His fiery aura doubled, then intensified again, forcing his brother away and towards the door. "This is no one's concern but mine, Kragen. You go too far."

Kragen stepped backward, cocky in the way he flicked his fingers. "I think our sire hasn't gone quite far enough." He winked at Calla, then turned away down the hall.

Mateo grabbed her arm and marched towards the door. Calla yanked free. "What are you doing?"

"It's not safe here." He turned on her, the angles of his face taut with anger. "We need to leave now."

"Not safe—you don't say?" Did he even recognize the irony? "Especially since you were tasked with killing me?" At this point, she was almost certain that was no longer an option for him. If it had been, he wouldn't have defended her.

"That might have been a mistake," he growled. This time when he grabbed her arm, it was with the full strength of a vampyr. Calla allowed it, though her two-legged form was an even match for a vampyr. As dragon? An entire cognate would have to take her down—and only if they managed to damage her wings first. It was why the powyr races tended to avoid conflicts with dragons. Powyr or no, it was hard to defeat something that could fly and roast her from above—or just sit on her.

"Where are we going, Mateo?"

He whirled, pushed her against the wall, hissing in her face. "You wanted me to choose, woman. I'm choosing! Don't make me regret it."

She shut up after that, every atom in her body on high alert. She would say nothing, not even twitch in a way that might make him change his mind. They walked right out the door that had kept her confined for over two weeks. Mateo's face smoothed to human as they marched down the hall. His skin returned to its luster, the angle of his eyes softened, and the grip on her arm relaxed slightly. Fangs shrank back into place, hidden behind his pressed lips.

Mateo shoved her through a doorway towards what was clearly a garage full of cars, and chose the flashiest hotrod available. She suppressed a snort. Even in flight mode, the playboy rock star reined. As they sped out of the driveway, top down, the wind whipped through her hair and she couldn't contain the fierce, smug grin that came to her face.