laughing at her. Okay, not out loud or anything—he was too smart for that—but she could see the amusement in his eyes. Which honestly? Rubbed her the wrong way. “You can at least answer the next one.”
“What’s that?”
Sliding her legs over the side of the bed, she sat sideways on the mattress, allowing her cast to dangle alongside her bare foot. She twirled her hand in the air, the gesture encompassing the room. “Where did you bring me?”
“Black Diamond. My home.” Tilting his head to one side, he glanced toward the door. “Your sister’s now too.”
Hope hammered her, punching through to her heart. “Tania’s here?”
With a nod, he pushed to his feet. Footfalls thumping, he rounded the end of the bed, his trajectory a straight shot to the door. “She was with you until dawn.”
Her breath hitched. “What?”
“You were out of it, but—”
“Where is she?” she asked, anticipation making her twitch. Unable to stay still, she hopped off the bed. Balanced on her good leg, she hobbled alongside the metal frame, following Wick’s retreat. “Can you take me to her?”
“No need,
She frowned, not understanding. What did he mean? She couldn’t see a—
The door started to swing shut.
A silhouette appeared in the hallway.
A death grip on the footboard, she sucked in a quick breath. Long hair pulled into a ponytail, Tania raced into the room. Feet doing double time, her sister yelled her name. Tears pooled in J.?J.’s eyes. She couldn’t help it. Could hardly believe it was real, never mind happening.
Freedom. A reunion with her sister. Both of them safe at long last.
Three things J.?J. knew never to take for granted.
And as she met Tania in the middle of the room and hugged her tight, J.?J. knew who to thank. Wick. He’d made it possible. Had not only saved her life, but given her back the only thing she regretted losing… her family. For that, she owed him a debt of gratitude. One she would never be able to repay. But she would try, give him every ounce of appreciation he deserved… just as soon as she managed to let go of her sister.
14
Wings spread in flight, Nian descended through thick cloud cover. As cold wind gusts blew the last wisp away, rushing over his scales, he tightened the cloaking spell. Magic spiraled around his torso, making him disappear into thin air. With a low growl, he bared his fangs on a smile.
Perfect. Per usual. The humans wouldn’t suspect a thing.
Exactly the outcome he wanted.
He didn’t have time to fool around. Or to play memory scrub with inferior human minds. Not tonight. Not with the meeting less than two hours away. Sensation curled in the pit of his stomach. Nerves? Anticipation? Probably a bit of both considering the high stakes… and even more dangerous circumstances. Playing both ends against the middle took patience, and steering Dragonkind in a new direction—one rooted in honor, instead of depravity—incredible skill.
Good thing he possessed both. Now all he needed was an ace in the hole.
Only one male fit the bill. Bastian.
The Nightfury commander was a formidable leader. The kind Nian required in his corner. An unequaled strategist, Bastian saw the whole board, moving each piece with skill and unbending commitment. A warrior’s warrior. A male’s male. Which explained his caution… along with his failures. He’d tried the polite way first, approaching Haider and Gage in the hopes of gaining their trust and cooperation. Too smart by half, the Metallics played the game with a precision that he admired. But he couldn’t continue to be diplomatic. Or wait any longer. Actions spoke louder than words, so tonight he planned to roust the chess master and convince the Nightfury commander to knock Rodin off the board for good.
Not a bad plan, all things considered.
As long as he survived to see it put into motion.
Nian banked east toward the city center. Awash in the glitter of moonlight, the Vltava River snaked through Prague, leading him over red-tiled rooftops and cobblestone streets. Nestled at the heart of Old Town, the Emblem Club held down one corner of Main Street, a fixture along an avenue noted for them. Of the many establishments he owned, the Emblem was his favorite. Old school. Distinguished. A gentlemen’s cigar club steeped in tradition.
The perfect venue for his conference call with Bastian.
Night vision sharp, he circled overhead. Seeing nothing but deserted, fog-soaked streets, he folded his wings. Gravity took hold. With a hum, he dropped like stone between rooftops, paws thumping down on cracked pavement. The spikes along his spine rattled, clicking together a moment before he shifted to human form and conjured his clothes, opting for casual instead of his usual fare. A suit and tie wouldn’t impress the Nightfury commander. From what he knew, the male preferred rough around the edges, so… why the hell not? Might as well do the unexpected, dress like a warrior instead of a pampered aristocrat.
The gold lighter, though, Nian couldn’t forgo.
He never left home without it. And as he turned toward the Emblem’s back entrance, disengaged the alarm and swung the door wide, habit took hold. Or maybe it was compulsion. Nian didn’t know. Didn’t want to examine the need too closely either. Instead, he slipped his hand into his pocket, pulled the lighter into the open air, and thumped the top.
Click-click-snap. Click-click-snap. Click-click-snap.
The sound centered him. The repetitive motion soothed him. And the cool metal against his palm? Well now, that brought clarity, sharpening his focus as he strode out of the damp alley and into the open foyer. Glancing to his left, his gaze skimmed the staircase leading to the upper floor and another of his nightclubs. Nothing and nobody. Excellent. All the patrons had gone home. His employees had done their jobs, locking up before doing the same. Another mental twist opened the security door, and the Emblem Club beckoned. Sharp and pungent, the scent of cigar smoke mixed with a hint of alcohol, the combo welcoming him into his home away from home.
Nian smiled as he crossed into the club. Dark but for a single light behind the long wooden bar, his night vision sparked. He scanned the space like a businessman, ensuring everything was in its proper place. Details jumped out at him: chairs upended on tabletops, the wide-planked floors shined to a polish, the green-and-gold damask curtains tied back while the tasseled edges—
A tingle slid over the nape of his neck. The muscles bracketing his spine tightened as Nian swallowed a curse and glanced toward the rear of the club. Clad in shadow, a male stared out from the midst of darkness.
“About time you got here, Nian.” The voice slithered out from a corner booth, cracking through the quiet, a slight slur in the intonation. Ice clinked against glass. “Where the hell have you been all night?”
Nian bit down on another curse. Accustomed to ambushes, he smoothed his expression. No sense giving away the game before it began. But as he met his nemesis’s gaze, he nearly slipped off the I’m-in-control wagon. Hellfire and brimstone. Rodin. The tiresome bastard had the worst timing.
“With my accountant.” Not a lie, exactly. A half-truth at best. Moving farther into the club, Nian skirted a couple of tables.
Dark eyes glittering, Rodin raised his half-empty glass in salute. “Responsible of you.”
“I run a tight ship,” he said, running a critical eye over the leader of the Archguard.
Rodin didn’t look good. Tie askew. Brown hair disheveled. Face drawn and blurry-eyed, the male slumped in the back corner of the booth. Nian frowned and shifted focus to the bottles of booze sitting on the table. Glenlivet single malt whiskey… one empty, the other magnum halfway there. Drunk and disorderly. Rodin epitomized the
