The pounding in her ears faded out. Her fear turned to excitement. No client had ever asked for her by name.
“I’ve had Fiona clear your schedule. This will be an extended assignment for Drachenburg Industries.”
Drachenburg had paid extra to be the only job on her plate for an unspecified time period. Wow. Usually, it was only the veteran mercenaries who got these prestigious jobs. Exclusive paid more—a whole lot more. Maybe she’d make enough to buy Riley a nice graduation present and also a new knife for her collection.
“You’re in shock.” Simmons appeared amused, which was a new look for him.
“Yes.”
“Well, you can absorb it on the way. You have a meeting with Mr. Drachenburg at eleven o’clock to receive your assignment. Don’t be late. And whatever you do, watch what you say.” He folded his hands together.
“Are you praying?”
“No. Yes.” He dropped his hands to his desk, his eyes hard as they met hers. “You’re a good fighter, Sera, but you have no brakes on that smart mouth of yours. The Drachenburgs are one of the oldest and most influential magic dynasties in the world. If you screw this up, I’ll put you on disposal duty for a month. Understood?”
Sera nodded solemnly. She was good at making messes. She didn’t enjoy cleaning them up. “I’ll behave myself.”
“Good. Now, get over there before Drachenburg fires you on account of your tardiness.”
* * *
Sera didn’t own a car, but she did have a pretty spiffy scooter. Her name was Lily, and she was pink. She was also equipped with a pair of racing wheels and a horn loud enough to give a vampire—or any other supernatural with a case of sensitive hearing—a big, thumping migraine.
Sera parked Lily beside the umbrella rack at Drachenburg Industries, then crossed the vast marble desert that was their lobby. Her sneakers squeaked against the glossy white floor, sliding over the swirly blue dragon at the midpoint of the room. The illustration was stunning, a stroke of whimsical genius in an otherwise cold and dispassionate room.
“Name?” the receptionist said as Sera stopped in front of the desk. The woman’s makeup was picture-perfect, as though it had been airbrushed on. Her dark, bouncy curls belonged in a shampoo commercial.
“Serafina Dering.”
The receptionist typed a few things into the computer, which then spit out a visitor badge. She slid it across the counter to Sera. “Take the elevator to the 28
th
floor. You’ll find Mr. Drachenburg’s office at the end of the hall. Stay on the marked pathways at all times. Drachenburg Industries takes no responsibility for any injuries you may incur—up to and including death—if you stray from the path. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then enjoy your stay and have a pleasant day.”
Drachenburg Industries’ interests covered all things magical—from potions to poisons, from spells to creatures. They were the world’s largest magical research laboratory. Sera didn’t know what the San Francisco branch specialized in, but from the receptionist’s warning, it must have been something dangerous. Poisonous plants? Experimental sorcery? Fire-breathing tigers?
As long as it’s not jumbo caterpillars,
she thought and stepped into the elevator. It shot up the chute.
When it reached the top, Sera behaved herself and followed the path—even though she wouldn’t have minded getting a peek at a fire-breathing tiger. Like below in the lobby, the floors here were marble. Paintings hung on the walls, illuminated by spotlight arrays. A few of them bore the distinctive style of Bellatrix Raven, the most famous magic painter in the world.
The blue glass building and everything in it screamed ‘money’. No expense had been spared here; in fact, a whole bunch of extra expenses had been lathered on. Standing there, in this hallway that dripped money and magic, Sera felt like she was on a completely different planet. The big magic dynasties didn’t see money as an obstacle, or even a tool. To them, money just
was
. They didn’t even think about it; it was as natural to them as breathing.
This is why Drachenburg hadn’t batted an eye at the hefty premium Mayhem charged for exclusive work. Someone had probably told him Mayhem’s mercenaries were the best, and he’d wanted the best. No, he’d wanted
her
. Of all the mercenaries working for Simmons, most of them many times more impressive than Sera on paper, he’d asked for her.
Just don’t screw it up.
“Hello, I’m here to see Mr. Drachenburg.”
His secretary peered over the computer at her. “Ms. Dering?” Her stare wasn’t exactly disapproving; it was more indifferent, as though she’d seen hired help come and go from that office so many times that the novelty of turning her nose up at them had long since worn off.
“Yes.”
“Please, go in. Mr. Drachenburg will be with you in a minute.” Her gaze returned to the computer screen, and she said nothing more.
Sera walked past the desk and entered the office. A spectacular view of the bay spread out before her, drawing her across the room with a magic all its own. She’d lived in San Francisco for four years, but she’d never seen the city like this. She stopped before her nose smashed the glass wall and just took a moment to drink it all in. She could get used to that view. And this office.
The room was roughly the size of her house. A desk sat in the corner. Not far from the glass wall, there was a lounge area that consisted of a few leather sofas, two mini-fridges, and three side tables. Atop one sat a picture-perfect basket of fruit. A bowl of chocolates was on the next. And a plate of freshly-baked cookies topped the third. Sera’s stomach growled with hunger. Her muffin was still tucked away inside of her locker. She hadn’t found the time to eat it yet.
Marble floors. Priceless art. A panoramic bird’s eye view of the city. It sure must have been nice to have money. Jewelry. Fancy chocolate. Shoes whose soles weren’t peeling off. The possibilities were endless.
The door opened, and the secretary’s voice spilled inside. “…Drachenburg, she’s waiting for you inside. She’s wearing a sword.”
“Thank you, Gia.”
Sera’s brain tried to reconcile that voice with this place. It refused to cooperate. As the door shut with a whisper, she spun around to find him there—Riley’s friend Kai, the dragon, the lightning rod of magical might. His blue eyes stared out at her, pulsing with ancient power.
CHAPTER SIX
In the Dragon's Lair
EVERY INSTINCT IN Sera’s body was screaming at her to run. This was Drachenburg. The man had seen her fight vampires. Depending on what his mad mage of a cousin had told him, he might even know she’d broken through a wind barrier. Most of all, though, he was strong. Really strong. And the dragon had lured her here, possibly for a midday snack.
Fighting the urge to flee, she bottled up all her magic. Maybe he hadn’t felt it yet.
His smile was smooth, his eyes knowing.
Shit.
She pulled in her magic further, compacting it until it was only a heavy lump in her stomach.
“It’s too late for that,” he said, his voice deep and rough.
Layer by layer, his power unfolded, like he was shedding a cocoon. It burned and bit, sizzling her in a field of magic. He was testing her. He breathed in deeply, trying to get a fix on her magic. She clenched her jaw and stared him down. He would not crack her.
“What are you?”
Sera didn’t answer. Her mind was too busy trying to block him. The thought of attacking him briefly crossed her mind, but she pushed it aside. Simmons would kill her. He’d argue that beheading clients was much worse than telling off purple poodle ladies. Spoilsport.
“Your magic is strong,” he said, stepping forward. There was a hint of awe in his voice.
“What magic? I have no magic.”
His blue eyes shone out, blinding her in the search scope of his magic. He’d closed most of the distance between them. There was nowhere to run and precious little room to fight. Sera reached down to the knife at her hip.
“Planning on skewering me like you did those vampires?” His brow twitched. He thought this whole thing was all enormously funny. Well, good for him.
“No, I don’t skewer mages.” Usually.
“Glad to hear it.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Tell me about your magic, Sera.”
He said it like he fully expected her to answer. Yeah, so not happening. The Drachenburgs were one of the oldest magic dynasties. Duty was tattooed into their sub-conscious. If he figured out what she was, he’d feel compelled to turn her in to the Magic Council. And those distinguished men and women, leaders of the supernatural community, would kill her.
“There’s nothing to tell,” she said.
“I can feel it.” Magic pulsed in his eyes. “You’re delusional if you think you can hide that much power.”
Well, it had pretty much always worked before. “Look, whatever you think you’re feeling, you’re wrong,” she said. “Just think of me like a magic mushroom.”
“A magic…mushroom?” Sera couldn’t tell if he was bewildered or amused.
“Right. Magic mushrooms have magic in them, but they don’t
use
magic.”
All emotion—bewilderment, amusement, or otherwise—wiped from his face. He gave her a hard look. “You don’t feel like a mushroom.”
She said nothing.
“Fine, keep your secrets.” The hard lines of his mouth melted into a satisfied smile. “I’ll find out eventually.”
Over my dead body.
Which, come to think of it, was exactly how this would all end. “What do you want?”
The dragon’s grin widened.
Oh, yes,
it said,
I’m going to eat you for dinner, but I’ll save your bones to munch on for a midnight snack. I might even toast them first.
“Why did you hire me?” she clarified.
In an instant, the dragon disappeared, and his expression shifted gears to the professional, civilized businessman he pretended to be. “Do you remember what happened at Magical Research Laboratories?”
“Sure.” It was sort of hard to forget a crazy mage who summoned dragons and wielded the power of tornados and firestorms. They weren’t exactly a dime a dozen. “Your cousin went berserk.”
“Spontaneously berserk. Without warning.”
Hmm. So the hallucinations spawned by smoking magic weeds weren’t warning enough?
“I know what you’re thinking.”
No, you don’t.
“And Finn wasn’t taking any drugs when he went mad.”
“You’re a telepath?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“But everyone always assumes drugs.” He held her gaze, amusement woven into those intense eyes. “The thought of me inside of your head scares you. Is there something in particular you’re afraid I’d find there?”
“Dead bodies.”
His gaze flicked to her sword. “That I can believe.”
“Ok.” Sera stepped away from the window and circled past the desk. He was too close. “Is your cousin back to normal now?”
“Yes, he woke up shortly after you dropped him off with my crew. He was back to himself again. How did you do that?”
“I hit hard.”
He laughed. The laugh rumbled in his chest, buzzing beneath the black t-shirt he wore. His shirt looked exactly like the one he’d worn last night—or at least its twin brother. So did the jeans. He probably had a whole closet full of that same badass outfit.
“You’re staring.” The smug bastard was smiling. “Like what you see, do you?”
She hoped he choked on his own narcissism. “You’re not wearing a suit.”
“Pardon?”
“You’re a businessman. Businessmen wear fancy suits.”
“Not all.”
She ignored him. “They don’t dress like they’re ready to visit a supernatural biker bar.”
“I don’t like suits. They aren’t comfortable.”
“You own this glass castle monstrosity. I’m sure you can afford a custom-made suit. Hell, I bet you have Armani on speed dial.”
The dragon snorted. Luckily, fire didn’t shoot out of his nose. “Do you always have such a smart mouth?”
“Yes.”
“Mayhem’s clientele consists mainly of arrogant, stuffy mages from aristocratic magic dynasties.”
She arched an eyebrow at him.
“
I
am not stuffy,” he said. “However, most of Mayhem’s clients are not only stuffy; they are quick to take offense and slow to forgive.”
“And?”
“And how do you stay out of trouble?”
“I don’t.”
“Mr. Simmons assured me that all his mercenaries are exceptionally well-mannered.”
This time, it was her turn to snort. Simmons didn’t believe that nonsense he was spewing. Not for a second.
“No, I didn’t believe him,” he said. “And I didn’t care. When Simmons realized that he wasn’t going to dissuade me from hiring you, he started to sing your praises pretty sweetly.”
Aww. Sera would have to remember to send Simmons a muffin. Or at least a bagel. “And why did you insist on hiring me for this job? I’m rude and underpowered. There are dozens of other mercenaries at Mayhem with much better profiles. In fact,
anyone
at Mayhem has a better profile.”
“Profiles can be forged. Like the part of yours where it says you don’t have any magic.”
“Not that again. I told you—”
“Finn remembers what happened during the entire time his magic was going haywire,” he cut in. “He couldn’t stop whatever force was controlling him, but he remembers everything he did. And everything you did. He saw you shatter that wind barrier.”
Her pulse raced, and her heart was making a pretty solid effort at bursting through her chest. All the while, the fear was spreading magic to every corner of her body. She pushed down, forcing it back into hiding.
She cleared her throat. “A force was controlling him, you say? What kind of force?”
“We don’t know. But whatever it was, it made him stronger. A lot stronger. Finn is a fourth tier mage. I read your report, and there’s no way he could do anything you described. Not even close.”
Mages were classified into six tiers, with one being the highest. Those were the most powerful, the ones who were both revered and feared. There were very few first tier mages, and Sera was looking right at one. First tier mages had a personality to match the power. She reminded herself of that.