Anders could not be certain what had woken him, but as he lay in the center of his California king bed, listening to the wind whipping outside the three-story penthouse, he knew it was not the weather.

Slowly, he sat up, his eyes shifting to accommodate for the darkness, amber coals shining into the night. He could sense someone in the condo with him, but as he glanced toward the balcony, he saw nothing except the potted ficus tree rocking perilously on the stone floor.

Who is supposed to be here tonight? he asked himself, wracking his mind. It was Tuesday. That meant that Connor and David were still on the property, but they should not be on his floor of the apartment, the staff fully equipped with their own quarters on the main level for both security and his privacy.

Anders pushed the comforter aside and stepped onto the heated marble floor of his bedroom, his body itching to transform at the first hint of danger. His fingers stretched into claws, protruding against his skin, and he felt the ache of a tail poking at the seat of his pants at his arched back.

Pausing at the doorway, he opened it and peered into the hallway, his well-honed ears listening for any signs of life, and while he could still hear nothing, he knew he was not alone.

“I know you’re out there,” he growled. “Show yourself or there will be consequences.”

A light abruptly blinded him from the hall, and a snicker reached him. “What are you going to do? Slap me with a subpoena?”

Anders groaned as Amelia wandered toward him, dressed in a pantsuit, not a hair out of place. He had an urge to slap her with something, all right. “Amelia, how the hell did you get in here?”

“I have a key,” she replied sweetly, sashaying closer, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. “You didn’t expect me to give it up when you stole everything else from me, did you, Anders?”

“No, I didn’t,” he agreed. “That’s why I had the locks changed—twice.”

“I guess I have friends in lower places than even you,” she said, and Anders spun to return to bed. He had barely fallen asleep, and he was flying to Amsterdam in a few hours.

I have neither the time nor the energy for her theatrics.

“Remind me to fire my entire house staff,” he muttered, sauntering back into his bedroom, but he was unsurprised to hear her footfalls at his back.

“That probably won’t do anything to keep me from visiting,” she chuckled mirthlessly, and he figured she was right.

“It’s four o’clock in the morning, Amelia. What do you want?”

“What do I want?” she repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “What do I want? How about my—”

“Listen, if we’re about to rehash the details of our divorce, can you make an appointment? My accountant likes me to document my billable hours.”

He could almost hear the scowl on her face.

“I need a favor,” she grumbled.

There is it. “What is it now?” He couldn’t keep the exasperation from his voice.

Marrying Amelia Verwood had been one of his less favorable accomplishments in his long life, and while the nuptials had ended almost a decade earlier, there were days when he still felt that he was bound to her worse than he had been in their marriage.

Their divorce had been as amicable as an Upper East Side power couple could hope for. Amelia was a successful designer in her own right, bringing her own income and two incorrigible children to the union. She had not brought on much of a fight, and Anders had done the divorce thing enough times to walk away relatively unscathed… except for the fact that Amelia would not leave him alone.

“Amelia, I’m leaving for Amsterdam in six hours. If I don’t get some sleep—”

“I need to host a fashion show here next week.”

Anders snorted aloud and fell onto the mattress, sliding his legs beneath the comforter and pulling it over his head simultaneously.

“Hell no,” he yawned. “My Act of God insurance doesn’t cover those kinds of disasters. Have it at the Hamptons house. Or your house. Or the chalet in Aspen.”

“It has to be in the city!” Amelia cried, rushing to sit at the side of his bed. “I have investors coming in from all over the world! Anders, you know that this condo is the most coveted location in probably all of America. Town and Country still calls me, hoping I have an in with you for articles. I keep telling them that I have no say in the condo, even though I poured my heart and soul into decorating and keeping and staffing and—”

“So you kept claiming in our divorce,” Anders interjected, grunting. “Amelia, come on. Your artsy asshole friends always make a mess of everything, and—”

“I swear I will have this place cleaner than it was when we came,” she cooed, batting her eyes flirtatiously. “You’ll never even know we were here!”

“You’ll be in my house. I think I’ll know. Even this place isn’t big enough to avoid the pricks you run with.”

“I’ve arranged it for Friday night,” she replied smoothly, as if anticipating his every argument. “You’re not home until Wednesday.”

Anders pulled the blanket down and studied her lovely face, blinking.

“How do you know my schedule?” he demanded, but even as the words left his lips, he knew who he needed to fire: his appointment secretary.

Amelia instantly seemed to realize her gaffe, but she shrugged innocently. “Lucky guess?”

“Fine, Amelia. Now, will you please get the hell out so I can get some sleep?”

“Of course, darling!” She bounced up from the bed, but not before placing a kiss on his cheek. She glided toward the door in her modelesque fashion. “Sweet dreams,” she called, closing the door behind him. Anders knew that he was not going to fall asleep again.

He stared at the door, a wry smile forming on his lips.

Amelia had since remarried, and Anders often wondered how Henry Charles managed to keep up with his fiery ex-wife.

I have dragon blood, and I wanted to murder her half the time, he thought with affection, but if Anders was honest with himself, he would have to admit that Amelia was the closest thing to a best friend that he had. And, outside of his family, she was the only one who knew his secret.

It had not happened by design, and when she had discovered who he was, she had handled it with more dignity than he would have ever expected from anyone.

“I don’t claim to understand what is happening with you,” she told him. “But I won’t pretend it doesn’t scare me.”

“I’m a dragon,” he replied simply. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“I don’t want to know anything else,” she had answered, and Anders had never respected her more than that moment. They had never discussed it again after that night, but he knew it had always stayed at the back of her mind, wondering what he was capable of and if he would ever turn.

She didn’t know enough about the code or his inherently protective nature to understand that she was probably among the safest mortals in the world. What else could she need but to be covered by an insanely strong and massive beast who couldn’t be killed?

Or at least we don’t know how we can be killed, which more or less makes us immortal.

It was a small price to pay, indulging Amelia’s whims and desires when she asked for silly favors like using his place to impress her vapid friends. What difference did it make? She was right—he wasn’t going to be home, anyway.

And while he would never admit it to her in a million years, he was glad that she trusted him enough to ask for whatever frivolous notions crossed her mind.

In another time or place, he thought, if she was a dragon or if I wasn’t so committed to my work, we might have had a fighting chance at being together. It’s a pity we can’t stand each other.

Anders knew that the relationship he had with his ex was far more constructive as a friendship than it had ever been as a marriage, and he wouldn’t change it for anything.

Not to mention our stunning sexual incompatibility, he thought wryly. He had never known such terrible sex. And yet you still married her.

The alarm on his cell phone dinged then, and Anders groaned loudly, realizing that he had missed an opportunity to sleep. It was impossible for him to sleep inflight, the velocity messing with his inner dragon biology. It took every fiber of his being not to leap from the window and challenge his private jet to a race, knowing full well that his wings would outrun the most elite of planes in the modern sky.

He lay in bed, silencing the alarm and reaching for the remote control on the bedside table. Outside, the wind continued to howl relentlessly, and Anders idly wondered if the pilot would opt out of flying the day.

If he does, I’ll fly myself, he reasoned, his sleepy eyes resting on CNN as he willed himself to find motivation for the day.

“—six arsons in the past four days in Manhattan. Officials are not saying how the fires were started, only that there seems to be a serial arsonist on the loose. The attacks do not appear to have a connection, except for their proximity to one another—”

Anders sat up again, the hairs on his arms rising as he looked at the footage, a sense of déjà vu tickling his gut. He had seen this before, a rash of seemingly random fires, but never this close to home. And not in half a century.

A knock on his bedroom door kept him from pursuing the thought further, and he called out for David to enter.

“Oh, you’re awake,” his assistant said, his dark eyebrows raising slightly.

“When have you ever seen me sleep?”

David chuckled. “Valid point. Coffee?”

“Please.” He watched as the Harvard grad disappeared back into the apartment, and Anders dragged himself out of bed, stretching.

It was time to face the day again.

Anders was moderately disappointed when the flight remained on schedule, his private jet geared for departure at ten a.m. as planned. The wind had died down considerably, but it didn’t deter him, not when the air filled his snout and invigorated him with energy. Anders had been looking forward to braving the trip overseas himself.

Like a petulant child, he pouted slightly, looking out the window as the plane began to taxi down the runway, cleared for takeoff.

“Mr. Williams, we will be arriving in Amsterdam in six hours, forty-one minutes, weather permitting. Enjoy your flight.”

The captain’s voice clicked off the intercom, and Anders sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. He would enjoy it much more if he was the one flying.

“Should we look over Igor’s case files, Mr. Williams?” David asked, but he shook his head.

“Not right now. When we get closer. I want everything fresh in my mind when we arrive.”

There were so many clients, so many cases. The worst thing he could imagine was walking into court and speaking the wrong man’s name when faced with a foreign court. Anders already had to deal with so much scrutiny as it was, an apparent American who knew the laws of multiple countries, with authority to practice in all areas with seeming ease.

He had been around as himself for decades, and no one seemed the wiser that he was ageless. To everyone else, he was an idol to be revered or an enemy to be feared. All it would take was one slip-up for the façade to come crumbling down around him.

His body tilted back as the plane ascended, his ears popping slightly as they flew into the cumulous clouds easily. Soon, the glittering of the Atlantic was all that he could see below.

Anders turned to David, who had nodded off, his earbuds in place, and sighed. Was there anyone in the world who could keep up with him?

The aircraft lurched, and Anders reached for the leather armrests, well accustomed to turbulence. The motion lulled David from his sleep, and he blinked, a slight panic crossing over his face as he looked at his boss. Again, the plane jolted, but it seemed to dip violently, and both men fell forward together.

“What the hell is that?” David shrieked, his tan face the color of the clouds outside.

“It’s turbulence, David,” Anders started to say, but before he could finish his sentence, David released and ear-splitting scream, his finger extended toward the window at Anders’ side. Anders, however, didn’t need to turn, his intuition telling him he knew precisely what was on the other side of the thick glass.

As the jet dipped again, falling into a tailspin, Anders pivoted his head as if in slow motion, his eyes widening despite inherently knowing what waited for him.

A massive beast flew beside them, his majestic head on level with Anders’ seat, his yellow eyes fixated on the attorney.

The plane leveled again, but the dragon was anticipating the move and swooped to avoid being struck, a belt-like wing narrowly missing the side of the jet before it zoomed upward and vanished into the blue sky above, as if it had been nothing more than a dream.

“What the hell was that?” David choked, his voice strangled. “Did you see that?”

Anders inhaled sharply, closing his eyes. It was Marcus, playing a stupid joke. Or Titus, he told himself, forcing his eyes open.

“Mr. Williams!”

Anders turned his head slowly back to his assistant, his brow furrowing. “David, everything is fine,” he told the young attorney calmly. “The plane is flying normally again.”

“The plane?” he breathed, a sweat breaking out over his face. “I’m talking about—about—that—that creature!”

Anders’ eyes narrowed slightly, his brow creasing. “Creature?” he echoed innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”

David’s mouth dropped open in shock, and he shook his head, dazed.

“Didn’t—I mean—I…” he trailed off for a moment, uncertain before clamping his mouth closed, and Anders exhaled slowly.

The last thing he needed was mass hysteria in a closed space. Especially when he had no idea who the dragon was who had attempted to crash his plane.

But if he wasn’t one of us, who the hell else could it be?

“Mr. Williams, are you all right back there?” The pilot’s voice was fraught with terror, and Anders stifled a groan.

Oh, Jesus Christ. “We’re fine, Pat. We know, it’s just turbulence.”

“It was—” Patrick stopped talking abruptly, weighing his next words carefully, and Anders waited for him to respond. “All right, sir. I’m glad you’re fine.”

“He saw it, too!” David screamed, and Anders wished he had the disposition of one of his brothers, maybe Ansel.

Then I could knock him unconscious and think without a hysterical voice in my head.

“Mr. Williams!”

“I swear to God, David, if you don’t stop…”

David clammed up again, and Anders exhaled, his eyes darting back out toward the window. Whatever it was had long disappeared and did not seem to be returning.

Whatever it was, Anders thought. It was a dragon, wasn’t it? He had no answer for himself. It had never occurred to him in seven hundred years that something other than dragons could exist. Maybe even other dragons? It wasn’t possible…

Was it?