Serephone slipped out the back door ten minutes before the end of her shift. If Amnan showed up on her heels, she’d release her spiders and teach him to haunt her steps, when she needed space to think.

When the scuff of a footstep sounded behind her, she turned, a snarl on her lips. “Come out, you fire-breathing lizard,” she said. “I’ll make certain you know better than to—”

The magic struck her in the back, an invisible snare of gossamer strands, nearby lamps flickering and going dead. She had the fleeting thought that the lamplighters would be irate, having to come back through with their oil and relight the wicks instead of going home for supper.

And then common sense reasserted itself, adrenaline wrenching the mundane thoughts from her mind as her own magic flared to life. But Dawnthorne was right, she wasn’t trained. She was self-taught, and in secret. Not even her mother knew the full extent of her strength. Kai had enough to worry about. As she struggled, the strands wrapped even tighter around her, imprisoning limbs and finally cutting off her magic. She stilled, learning that fighting the quicksand style entrapment only tightened the containment. So, she waited.

And was punished for her patience when her vision went black.

* * *

She inhaled, waking abruptly, polished leather under her nostrils, body swaying from the bumpy locomotion of a wheeled conveyance on cobblestone. The gait of the conveyance changed, smoothing, the rattle of wheels softening. She realized where her abductor must be taking her. There was only one street in the Dome that looked as if one could glide soundlessly across.

The fae demesne.

She tested her bonds, once, and settled back down when the magic reacted by viciously squeezing her throat. A warning to lie there, be still. Anger boiled her blood, temper she kept hidden from the world with a cool, stoic calmness. Because if she let it out, she would let out the monster. She felt like letting out the monster.

The spell slid from her limbs as the conveyance slowed, then halted. Serephone sat up, relaxing her jaw and promising herself that she would get to hunt, soon. The door opened and the dark fae guard stood and she knew her guess of where she’d been taken was correct.

“I’ve been invited by Lord Dawnthorne to dine?” she asked.

Yuruth didn’t smile, but she saw the flicker of his lashes in response to her icy sarcasm. “Our Lord asked me to convey his hope you will accept the hospitality of his home, and he will attend you shortly.”

Serephone exited, running through all the reasons attacking him would be a bad idea. She’d never tested her strength against fae, and there was nothing to indicate her life was in immediate danger. But every moment she spent with her whereabouts unknown, was another moment further away from escape.

“I would not try to escape,” the guard said. “There are safeguards in place to prevent it, and the consequences would be debilitating.”

She smiled, thoughts of the mansion burning down around Dawnthorne’s ears entertaining her.

“I believe I will accept,” she said, and walked past him to the wide, silvery, front double doors.

* * *

The house was silent. In the large, open entryway, a skylight revealed the evening stars beyond the shimmer of the Dome. White and black floors gleamed under the crystal glow of a chandelier sparkling with hundreds of tiny lights. A black staircase wound on either side of the room and two levels of open hallway were protected by intricately carved railings, the symbols both strange and familiar.

Yuruth passed her, walking towards a far door, gray wood with curling trim and a silver knob. She followed, stood silently as he knocked once on the door and it opened without him touching the knob. He indicated she should precede him, and stepped aside.

The room was another sea of white walls, a set of glass doors from floor to ceiling draped in sheer fabric at one end. On the other end, a glass and gray wood desk, white shelves with blue-painted trees behind it, each shelf laden with a rich man’s ransom in real, hardcover and paperback books.

Dawnthorne sat behind the desk, a stack of notebooks bound in leather and an ink pot next to him. He sat his pen on a stand, glancing over and lifting a hand to beckon her forward.

Serephone approached, but said nothing. After a moment he smiled, lacing his fingers, resting elbows on the desk. He was dressed informally, a loose blue robe and pants, maybe the fae version of pajamas, hair flowing around his shoulders. He was beautiful, masculine against the backdrop of an otherwise prissy room.

“Serephone,” he said. “I’m pleased you accepted my hospitality.”

“Missed the part where I was cordially invited.”

His smiled curved on one side, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m afraid the theatrics were necessary to expedite your arrival. Please, sit.”

It didn’t sound like a request. She didn’t like orders, but she was practical, if nothing else. She sat.

“This situation presents a difficulty for me, you understand,” Dawnthorne said. “There are laws I must abide by. One of them is that as head of my Line, I must account for the whereabouts and actions of all members of my family.”

“Exactly how are we related?”

“Ah. We’ll get to that.” He opened the notebook in front of him and withdrew a piece of paper, laying the paper on the desk. “Every one of my Line is bound to certain rules of conduct, and those with any sign of power are trained. We leave none to the mercy of the world, and vice versa. That you have existed under my nose is a minor embarrassment, I confess.”

“It’s not my problem. Being kidnapped—that is my problem. What do you think my family is going to do when they find out?”

“The dragons?”

She shook her head. “My mother. My mother is…not entirely sane, when it comes to her children.” She snapped her mouth shut, realizing she’d made a mistake.

“Children? There are more than one of you?”

He didn’t look surprised, which rang alarm bells. Serephone said nothing and he flicked his fingers. “Never mind. That, too, will be dealt with. I cannot have you running around the Dome unbound, and untrained. I inform you, regretfully, that your childhood is over. You now belong to me.”

He slid the paper in front of her. She stared at it. “I can’t read that.”

“No? A shame. I suppose I’ll have to see to some rudimentary education as well.” He rose. “Etienne.”

Serephone locked her jaw against her own surprise when the study door opened and the blond patron walked in. He stopped in the middle of the room as she rose and turned towards him.

“You,” she said. “Small town, right?”

The man said nothing, simply watched Dawnthorne, who moved slightly, gaining Serephone’s attention.

“You asked how we are related?” he asked. “Etienne is my grandfather’s brother’s offspring—”

“Your cousin? Is it hard to just say cousin?”

“I was surprised you didn’t know him.”

“Why would I know him?” Her body tensed, the kind of tightness that comes when the mind is expecting a nasty surprise.

“Serephone,” Etienne said.

She looked at him. Met the pale blue eyes that she’d thought, fleetingly, were familiar, and the masking spell he’d had over his appearance dissipated. Her eyes widened, breath coming faster, until she forced her emotions back down into the lockbox, in which she kept them stuffed.

He’d been under no illusion—he was still tall, blond, and lovely. But the spell was one to convince others that he was a stranger. She analyzed the effects, filed them away for later, a kind of coping mechanism while she processed through the sudden, jarring, unexpected truth.

“Father.” And her arm lifted, a few guttural words to her spiders sending them in a sudden, rushing stream toward the man, who had abandoned her all those years ago.

* * *

Amnan left the club when it was apparent Serephone had given him the slip. Damn her. Anger was easier than worry. Serephone was headstrong, but she wasn’t duplicitous. There was an honesty even to her attempts to evade him. He’d let her be the remainder of her shift, knowing it best to give her space to cool her head after he’d revealed far more of his feelings than he’d wanted—after she’d revealed more of her feelings, to herself, than she wanted. Wariness wasn’t the reaction he wanted from her—and a dragon circling a woman, wanting a woman, was frightening enough even if she welcomed the hunt.

He opened the freshly laid bond connecting them. For it to work most effectively, they needed at least a day in close proximity. He hadn’t planned on her taking off. The tug of her mind was faint, and the best he could do was follow a rapidly fading psychic trail to where the strongest sense of her presence stopped, indicating she hadn’t progressed any further than that spot. He paused on the sidewalk, turning slowly. It was a less-traveled street, some of the cobblestones broken, signs on the reclaimed brick buildings proclaiming this was more of an industrial block. A news printer on one side, a shoemaker on the other. Goods that were no longer mass-produced in factories, were now made in small batches with small machines and the hands of craftsmen.

He glanced at the news printer, the white letters on the glass door declaring it to be open from 6am to 2am. Crossing the street, he entered the shop and glanced around.

“Can I help you, sir?” the clerk asked. Medium height, with stained fingertips and dark circles under his eyes as if he’d pulled an all-nighter, his hair mussed.

“Your sign says you’re open until 2am,” Amnan said, and smiled. Then wiped the expression from his face when the man paled. Sometimes his smile didn’t quite work.

“Yes, sir. Papers are out fresh every morning. We print for the—”

“Yes, I’m sure you do an admirable job. Maybe you can help me.” Amnan watched him closely. “My sister was traveling home from work a few minutes ago. A tall woman, with dark hair and a narrow face. A foul disposition. By chance did you see her come this way?”

The clerk began edging away. “No. Been working all night in the back. I didn’t see anything.”

Amnan didn’t move. The creature was already afraid. It wouldn’t do to scare his prey shitless. “Are you certain?” he asked, voice gentle.

The man looked down, hands resting on the counter in front of him. “I don’t get involved in immortals’ business. If she has, she’s either a fool or unlucky.”

“Just tell me what you saw. No one will know, no law enforcement will be involved.”

“Have you read the Seattle Gazette? It’s our best seller.” He worked a paper from the already bundled stack at his elbow, slipping it open several pages then folding it back. “Our society section is the most popular with the ladies. Your sister might like a subscription.”

The clerk handed Amnan the paper. He took it, glancing down at the printed article and black and white image at the top. It was a piece on home decor—fae style, with speculation that certain Lords were making a fashion of hand stenciled custom pieces. Was it a sign Mr. Dawnthorne was ready to settle down and find a nice society girl to marry?

“She might indeed enjoy a subscription,” Amnan said, rolling up the paper. “This looks like quality reading. Thank you.”

The clerk nodded and Amnan left, feet pointing him in the direction of the quarter. But it would take too long to walk. Looking up at the sky, traffic looked clear. Airbuses weren’t allowed inside the Dome, and he’d seen few dragons in the air over the last several days.

Stepping into an alley, he stripped efficiently, bundling his clothing for travel in a way that came with centuries of practice, and emerged out into the street, naked. And shifted.

Flying would be much faster.