“You look lovely, my dear.”

Mother’s words echoed off the walls of her vast dressing chamber. I stood in the center of the octagon of mirrors after her hair and make-up stylists had their way with me. Coils of dark hair twisted on top of my head, tiny gold clasps fastening them in place. The rest fell in dark waves down my back, wispy ringlets framing my face. A one-shouldered black gown shimmered down my body like glass. I wore only a thick gold cuff on my forearm for jewelry.

Usually, I steered clear of Mother’s stylists who pulled and primped for hours till I was coiffed and decorated to the latest fashion. But tonight, I wanted to be beautiful. For him. I wanted his eyes on me. Who was I kidding? I wanted his hands and lips on me, too. The black gown hugged my frame and contrasted with my pale skin. Black. My pulse quickened. I was wearing his signature color and hadn’t realized it till this moment. I smiled at my reflection, hoping he’d be pleased.

“Guests are arriving, Mrs. Cade.” Edda darted in and out with her announcement.

Dripping in diamonds from ears, throat, wrists, and ankles like a cage of sparkling gems, accenting her silver-sequined gown, Mother stopped at the door, turning a concerned gaze on me. “Jessen. You know your father only wants what’s best for you. You must accept Aron as your future husband, dear. He will give you your heart’s desire.”

“Will he, Mother?” I bit back the bitterness wanting to spill from my mouth. Even so, I couldn’t hold back my response though I said it with genuine curiosity. Not sarcasm. “Has Father given you your heart’s desire?”

She sealed her mouth shut and pasted on a grim smile before sauntering off to greet her guests.

Moira sat on a stool in the corner, fiddling with her hem.

“Come on.” I reached out to her. Dressed in a gossamer gown of pale blue, looking like an angel, she took my hand and we descended together.

Only a handful of guests had arrived. The ballroom was still airy with room to breathe. The orchestra warmed up, the violinists dragging bows across their strings. Silver chandeliers sparkled with golden light, casting a warm glow on the posh and pretty below. Servants in black livery weaved through the crowd, carrying silver platters of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.

“Oh, look, Jess. Krissa is here. Thank goodness. Do you mind if I go?”

“Of course not. Go visit your friend.”

I strolled with the grace my mother had taught me—back straight, small steps, fake smile. “Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Barrow.” I nodded to Ella’s parents—pompous snobs.

“Good evening, Jessen. You’re looking lovely.”

I kept moving, filtering through the crowd. Of course, Ella couldn’t be here to keep me company among the wolves. Her parents would never let her near a Morgon, even in polite society and for a “good cause.” I smiled at the thought of Mrs. Barrow’s head popping off if she’d seen Ella at Acropolis the other night, carried off in the arms of Conn Rowanflame.

“Look, darling. Some of them are beginning to arrive,” said one of my father’s associates with a sneer behind his wine glass. His petite blond wife nudged him in the opposite direction. This whole charity ball was nothing but a farce.

I peered through the crowd, the pointed arches of folded Morgon wings reaching well above the heads of other guests. Some silver, some rust-red. My heart fluttered, waiting to pinpoint the high arch of a particular set of black wings.

“Oh, my goodness. It’s you. Yes, it’s really you!”

A young Morgon woman approached me, bright smile in place. At first I didn’t know her until my memory conjured up an image of a slender white-winged Morgon corralling Jed on the dance floor. Under normal lighting and minus the alcohol-fog, I could see she was graceful and lovely in an ethereal sort of way—tall and willowy with elfin features. Thin braids twined at the crown of her white-blond hair, the rest a silk waterfall cascading past her shoulders. Her sparkling white gown glittered with iridescent beads, magnifying the fey in her features.

“Hi. From The Torch the other night, right?” I extended my hand with a smile. “I’m Jessen Cade.”

“Shakara Icewing.” Blue-green eyes widened as she shook my hand, fingers long and delicate. “Yes! You were with that guy. I didn’t, um, I didn’t get his name.” She blushed ten shades of pink.

“Yeah. That was Jed. I’ll introduce you sometime.”

“You will?”

I swear, she looked like a fairy ready to explode into a ball of magic dust. Her skin glowed. Demetrius stepped to my side, his placid I-love-being-a-Cade face on.

“Father and Mother would like you to join us to greet our guests.”

“Oh, certainly.” I turned to the white-winged dragon girl. “This is Shakara Icewing. Shakara, this is my brother, Demetrius Cade.”

His face hardened as if it caused him pain to touch a Morgon, but he showed her the courtesy he would any woman. He took her hand and bowed over it, our custom for a gentleman greeting a lady. I pitied my brother. Of our father’s children, he was the one chastised and scorned into a mold of our domineering father.

She smiled warmly, dipping her eyes away. I’d never pegged any Morgon as submissive. Shakara held the unique beauty of her kind, but was a timid creature. I wondered if it was a feminine trait for Morgons. Her sideways gaze and the deepening of the rosy blush on her chest and neck told me that my handsome yet clueless brother was having an effect on her.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Demetrius smiled politely, his gaze flickering over her hair, face, then trailed down her slim body. His frown deepened. If I pegged him correctly, his scowl told me he liked what he saw and hated himself for it. Actually, now that I watched him with a close eye, he wasn’t nearly as unaffected as he pretended to be. A flush of red slashed up his neck. He, like myself and our sister Moira, were fair-skinned. Any rise in our blood temperature—in other words, heart palpitations in the presence of someone who jolted our pulses into a gallop—showed too easily on our necks and cheeks. He cleared his throat, released her hand, and offered his arm to me. “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Icewing.”

“Certainly.” She fluttered her eyelashes with a dip of her chin.

I let Demetrius lead me away toward the ballroom entrance, smirking at his grave expression. “That was civil, considering it must be causing you enormous anxiety to be proper and polite to so many Morgons.”

Dark brown eyes glanced my way. “I know this may come as a shock to you, dear sister, but I believe it’s good business policy to treat our enemy as we would any guest in our home.”

“Enemy, Demetrius? You act like we’re on a battlefield. It’s ridiculous.”

He paused in our progress toward the door, locking me in a fiery gaze. “Make no mistake. This is a battlefield. And I fight alongside my family, my father, to keep what we’ve worked hard for all our lives. You need to decide which side you’re on.”

In that moment, I felt sorry for my brother. He’d been molded and coached by my father to hate the enemy, Morgonkind, and now he believed even the slightest deviation from blind loyalty would mark him a traitor. He continued leading me toward our parents who presided at the door. My breath caught in my throat. Three black-winged men stood next to my father under the arched entrance.

“There you are, dear. Adicus Nightwing, this is my daughter, Jessen.”

I didn’t dare glance at the man to his right. I could feel Lucius’s burning gaze, melting everything inside. I extended my hand to a man the same height as Lucius, a foot taller than my own father—black hair, graying at the temples, and dark eyes.

“Enchanting,” said Lucius’s father, engulfing my hand with his and dipping a bow. “Pritchard, it seems you’ve kept your most precious jewel hidden from view.”

A full, throaty laugh bellowed from my father, making me cringe. “That she is.”

Yeah, right. Even a precious jewel can be bought and sold. My father looked like he wanted to say more, but held his tongue.

“Miss Cade, please allow me to introduce my sons. This is Lorian Nightwing.”

The Morgon to his left took my hand. Molded from the same cloth as his brother, the planes of his cheekbones were cut sharper, his eyes fixed in a severe expression. The most startling difference was the eyes—one brown, one blue. I tried not to stare, turning to the third man in line.

“And this is my eldest, Lucius Nightwing.”

Lucius’s gaze could’ve set me on fire. He betrayed no emotion, his mask firmly in place, while his eyes drank me in from top to bottom when he dipped a bow over my hand. “It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Miss Cade.”

He was striking in a black-on-black tuxedo that fit him perfectly. He held my hand a moment longer than etiquette required, his fingers grazing slowly along my inner wrist and palm. The orchestra swung into their first waltz. Lucius held my gaze. “Miss Cade, I wonder if you might do me the honor of joining me for the first dance.”

This civil Lucius put me off-guard. My father threw a sharp glance at me. He was daring me to refuse the request of an honored guest, a guest he wanted to lull into a sleepy state before he demolished him on the business front.

Well, all in the line of family duty. “Of course, Mr. Nightwing.”

I took his arm and allowed him to lead me to the dance floor. Wings tucked flush against his back, he whisked me into his arms with more grace than I thought possible for a Morgon. And such a large one at that. He took my hand in his and placed the other firmly on my waist, heat singeing through the fabric. I refused to let my eyes betray me. My heart leapt when he pressed his massive body close. I pasted on my most polite expression.

“You already know, Mr. Nightwing, that my father despises all Morgons.” I couldn’t help but use his formal title, teasing him before I moved in for the kill. “I applaud your strategy to get me all to yourself right under his nose.”

He swung me expertly at the curve of the dance floor, my body leaning and swaying as he directed. What other ways would my body obey his commands?

“Any compliment from you, Miss Cade, is most welcome.” The teasing went both ways apparently. His eyes glinted with mischief, though his mask didn’t slip. And beyond the spark of devilry in his eyes lay the burning intensity I’d come to know so well. An intensity that made my throat dry up and my heart forget to beat. I needed to keep things light or lose my composure. “And how do you feel about Morgons crossing lines with humans?” He swept me into another turn, his cool features unwavering. “Politically speaking, of course.”

I grinned, enjoying this playful part of him. It was actually a relief after the last time we’d spoken. He’d turned my insides out with his declaration, and this easy conversation calmed my nerves.

“Oh, well, politically speaking, it seems to be wise, don’t you think? We live amongst one another after all. We must learn to live together if our society is to flourish.”

“Mmm. Wise words.”

“I can’t claim them as my own exactly. My sister Moira’s teacher is preaching this sort of unite-the-species philosophy in her class.”

He tugged me tighter on the next turn, my breasts pressing against him. He did it on purpose, and I was struck dumb and turned on at the same time.

“Speaking of business and politics, I’d like to talk about the paintings.”

I flinched. “The paintings?”

Arching a brow, he emphasized clearly, “My paintings.” No hint of a smile.

For yet another drawn-out minute, I simply stared up at him, suddenly terrified how to proceed. I’d walked out of that gallery without confronting my own feelings about him…about us. The fact that he appeared in desperate longing for my answer froze me into a speechless idiot.

“Jessen.”

His dark whisper of my name as he clenched me tight, molding his body to mine wasn’t doing me any favors in finding my tongue and learning how to use it again. He clenched his jaw. A red wall of heat inflamed his neck and cheeks, his stony expression slipping to one filled with fiery emotion. Keeping his firm grip on me, he slowed our progression around the dance floor.

“Are you going to pretend you didn’t see them?” His words rumbled low and gravelly, reaching places within me I didn’t even know existed. “Are you going to pretend you didn’t see my full intentions on that wall in the gallery?”

I swallowed hard, holding his gaze. “No.”

Good. I was able to form one word at least. But he wanted more than that, I could tell. The anxiety written in the tight lines of his brow told me he recognized the fear skittering across my eyes. But I wasn’t afraid for the reasons he thought.

He spun us to a corner, nearly giving me whiplash, blocking me from view of the throng, his expression fierce. The hand on my waist drifted up to encircle my neck, his thumb resting on my pulse. I didn’t move an inch, letting him shift his body closer, a wall of heat threatening to set me aflame.

“Do you want to know why I painted you…so many times?”

The heat pouring from his intense gaze kicked my pulse into a hyper-speed. Fortunately, I was lucid enough to be able to nod dumbly.

Stroking his thumb down over my collarbone, he followed the movement with his gaze, sweeping down my neck to the sweetheart cut of my dress then back up, lingering at my lips, and finally up to my eyes. There, he held me hard, dipping his head lower to mine.

“The only way to free my mind was to pour you onto the canvas.”

“And…did it work?” I stammered out in a rush. “Are you finally free of me?”

A long, desperate rake of his eyes across my face. “No.” A gentle stroke of his thumb along my pulse. “I fear,”—his voice faltered—“I fear I never will be.” He dipped his head even lower into my intimate space. “Nor do I want to be.” Still stroking his thumb at the base of my throat, he stared and licked his lips before meeting my gaze again. “I was telling you the truth in the gallery,” he whispered now, still blocking out the world with his massive, beautiful body and wings. “I burn for you, Jessen.”

If I’d thought my tongue was tied before, I was sadly mistaken. The fierce heat in his gaze told me everything I needed to know. This was serious. Dead serious. And I’d better woman up and confess that my feelings aligned with his, but that I was terrified of taking such a large step—giant leap across a mile-wide canyon more like—when I’d known him so short a time. When I knew the consequences for me would be extreme when my family found out.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked. Of course, he saw the fear in my expression. He could read everything. His grip was firm, his gaze sharp, but his expression was tender and his voice gentle. He waited patiently as I weighed what to say, despite looking as if he was ready to sweep me off my feet and carry me off to his castle. Well, I suppose cave might be the better metaphor in this case. He wasn’t a knight in shining armor; he was a fire-breathing dragon ready to claim his treasure.

Finally summoning the courage to tell him how I felt, I licked my lips and said, “Lucius, I—”

The orchestra stopped suddenly. My father tapped the microphone on the dais, welcoming guests to the first annual United Charity Ball. “If my family could join me up here on stage, please.”

Without saying another word, I broke from Lucius’s piercing gaze and warm embrace to weave toward the stage. I shuddered when I stepped up to where my family and Aron’s family stood side by side. I knew they’d be here since all of his business partners were, but seeing Aron’s hungry eyes made me wince and look away. Hurry, Father. I wished he’d finish with the formalities so I could escape to a darkened corner with the Morgon man towering above the crowd, watching me intently at that very moment.

I tuned everyone out but him. I knew I was smiling more than etiquette required. My heart soared at the sight of him. I could hardly keep still. I noticed other faces of the crowd flitting to me, people smiling back. A scowl darkened Lucius. Someone grabbed me about the waist. Aron grinned down at me, like the cat who caught the oblivious mouse. I jerked my head to my father.

“Therefore, everyone… Please raise your glass as I take this proud moment to toast and congratulate them—the future Mr. and Mrs. Aron Grayson!”

My world tilted sideways, teetering toward mass destruction. Through a haze of rage, I heard a roar of polite applause as everyone in the room lifted their glass. Except me. And Lucius.