Dragon Star: A Powyrworld Urban Fantasy Shifter Romance (The Lost Dragon Princes Book 1) Read online

  Dragons were nothing if not strong both in will and body. Sometimes it was only the stubborn streak of their Khepreian ancestors that kept them going. But still they carried on.

  General Takoda stepped up beside Calla and nodded in deference to her station. As the Delphina's lady-in-waiting, Calla answered to very few. As their race's First General, she dictated the lives of most. He was her second, and if she fell in battle he would control the Delphina's armies. Older than her, more politically savvy, he'd been an asset in her stint as First General. And she was damned lucky he was unflinchingly loyal, or else she'd be spending most of her time watching her back.

  But with the war with the Sanabees, no one had time for court intrigue.

  General Takoda straightened his shoulders and glanced at the ongoing wedding ceremony. "It's good that some of us can find love in this time. I think it gives us all a bit of normal to remind us what we're fighting for."

  Calla gazed softly at the officiate and the two women standing before him, hands clasped together. Their eyes shined with pleasure and hope. Calla had been missing both lately.

  "It's really too bad," Takoda continued, "that we're too old for that, now. I suppose we warriors were never cut for the more delicate things."

  Calla grunted some form of acknowledgement, but dropped her widening eyes to the floor. Was she truly too old for a life outside of war? Had the opportunity passed her by while she served the Delphina and fought for their people? She frowned. Her position gave her status and responsibility, but Calla hadn't set out to build her life this way. Years ago, she wanted to be a doctor. Maybe a physical therapist. But fate had drawn all of them into conflict and Calla's sharp, analytical mind was good at that, too. Did their forty plus years playing war games close her door to romance and family?

  She glanced at General Takoda. He was twenty years her senior and every inch a soldier. From his short-cropped hair to the perfect polish of his boots, he lived and breathed for battle. And she was the same, wasn't she? The diadem and the sword were for show, but her hair hadn't flown free over her shoulders in years and the cut of her jacket was pressed perfectly to the curve of her chest. A shield in wool and cotton. She was a daughter of war as much as Takoda was a father of it. She hadn't realized how far she'd traveled from the life she thought she'd have.

  Calla took a deep breath to keep calm. General Takoda was wrong. He had to be. Her duty was sacred and Calla would never abandon her Delphina, but there had to be more for her life… right?

  She hadn't come to a wedding prepared for a mid-life crisis and thankfully the officiate announced the women before him as Wife and Wife, mated for life. The distraction was welcome. The court applauded and cheered, and dancing broke out in the middle of the floor. General Takoda offered his hand to her and Calla took it quickly, eager for a change of pace.

  Unfortunately, the measured pace of the dance couldn't draw her attention. She stepped and spun in time with Takoda's lead, but as he turned her on the floor, Calla spotted the Delphina in a cut-away recess along the wall of the court. She looked sad. She'd taken the crown off her head and cradled it gently in her palms, leaning heavily against the marble wall.

  Calla's heart broke for her queen. For fifty years, their people had been at war, defending their right and their title to the land of their ancestors. And for thirty of those years, the royal family had been devastated and scattered. The Delphina's own dragonlings, kidnapped from their cribs, were still missing. Much of the court presumed them to be dead. Their enemies had stolen into the court itself and wrought more damage than they'd ever know. The queen mourned, her madness persisted, and Calla knew it was because she still hoped. Her children were out there somewhere, adults now, and one day they would come home. There were days her sanity held on by a thread—and often Calla was the one on the other end, keeping it from unraveling. The court knew—if anything ever happened to the Delphina's First General…

  The dance ended and before General Takoda could hand her off, Calla made her abrupt departure. It was rude, but no one called her out. Instead, she approached her ruler. The woman wore her grief like a shawl. It wrapped around her shoulders and weighed heavy on her brow.

  Calla flowed gracefully to one knee, head bowed low, and murmured, "The Delphina rules." It was a formal show her monarch disliked but they were in a formal setting and damn if Calla wouldn't be an example for the rest of the court to follow. War and madness might take their kingdom, but not without a stubborn fight.

  She rose without being acknowledged. "Is there anything I can get you?" She pitched her voice low, striving to create some space of privacy in the open ballroom.

  The queen's pale eyes shifted slowly to her. She lifted one hand from the crown in her lap, but it fell again without any direction. "It's like a sunset," she said softly.

  Calla pressed her lips together. In recent years, the only times she'd seen the Delphina lucid was in the heat of battle. Though it drooped now, her body was hard and powyrful in its prime. Her wings were whole and hale. And her claws could tear the scales off their enemies. In battle, she had a purpose. But here in the court she was haunted by the ghosts of her missing children.

  "I'll take her from here, First General."

  Calla startled back at the Pythian's deep voice. She bowed before him, as usual in awe of his perfectly pressed suit and the line of his warrior sash across his chest. The queen's co-ruler suffered more acutely than any of them, and yet his resolve never wavered. He put a soft hand on his mate's shoulder and guided her to her feet. "Come, there's a light meal waiting for you in the hall."

  The queen stood, though never seemed to notice her husband beside her. It had been so since their children had disappeared. Another facet of her madness that the court couldn't understand but had come to accept.

  Calla watched them exit the court without fanfare, unwilling to interrupt what should have been a joyous day for their people. A marriage in the middle of an unending war. She gripped her hands into tight fists. Something had to change. Soon. They couldn't go on like this forever.

  2

  "I can't believe he's here."

  Calla smiled at the youthful glee in Heara's voice. As a lady-in-waiting to their Delphina, Heara knew the rules of propriety inside and out, but apparently, the overwhelming presence of rock star and lady-killer Mateo Guerin was enough to drive all sense from her head. Most of the women and no few of the men all seemed to think he was to die for; Calla thought he was arrogant and a bit of a showman, though he did know how to put on a good concert.

  She stood reluctantly at Heara's incessant tugging on her arm. Mateo graced the stage for one more song, an encore, and they had a perfect front-row view of the action. He strode across the stage like he owned it, all sequins and throwbacks to a more classic rock. The man knew how to move his body. When he fell to his knees at the edge of the stage before them, Heara screamed her glee. Calla pursed her lips when Mateo took Heara's outstretched hand and crooned to her with the mike. She would have snatched it away, but they were on camera. She settled for a warning scowl. The girl might be impressed with his soulful eyes and silky voice, but Calla would make sure that was as far as it would go. A lady-in-waiting would be a coup for any entertainer—days of free publicity in the magazines, at the very least.

  Soulful, laughing eyes turned to Calla and swept deep inside her without warning. She caught her breath and held his gaze, unwilling to back down from the challenge she found there. He stretched his hand out to her but she hesitated to cross that gap, and though his song never wavered, the laugh in his eyes hardened into something that set Calla on edge when she just raised a brow and shook her head, ignoring the fire throughout her body. So, he didn't like rejection, did he? Poor boy.

  But Mateo Guerin wasn't just a rake. She sensed a violence in him, like a prickle of breath across her skin. Her spine stiffened, eyes narrowing. She wasn't First General because of her good looks. Years of war, of strategy, of outwitting enemies at every turn
had honed her instincts—she trusted her judgment, even when it was based on nothing more than a hunch.

  Mateo was like her, a killer wrapped in a pretty face so the world would never know what kind of violence they were capable of. His song ended with a drawn-out note. He closed his outstretched hand into a fist and drew it towards his chest. Inexplicably, Calla had the urge to follow, to get closer. She stood her ground and observed. Mateo was a dangerous man that needed to be leashed. As soon as this was over, she'd ask for a watch to be put on him while he remained on their island. It was always better to be safe than sorry. She didn't feel a dragon in him, but that didn't mean he wasn't an enemy.

  The music finally fell away and under the screaming adulation, he asked her, "Would you come backstage? I'd like to… know you better." He flashed a wicked smile.

  Calla's first instinct was to refuse, but Heara gripped her arm and shrieked, "YES! Yes, she'd love to." She would absolutely not love to, but Heara was clearly enthralled and their people needed more than her stubborn overprotectiveness to get them through a war with no end. They needed to feel, to find any bit of happiness they could. If a visit backstage would make Heara's day, it wasn't a hardship to endure.

  Calla nodded and took Heara's hand in hers. "We'll visit."

  His dangerous eyes smiled again, and the spark in Calla grew larger.

  Calla entered the backstage area with massive reservations.

  "Any seedy shit and we're leaving," she muttered to Heara.

  "Are you kidding me?" the younger dragon whispered back. "Seedy shit is exactly what we want."

  Oh, to be that young again.

  Mateo Guerin lounged on his maroon velvet—really? —couch with a glass of wine in his hand, hair spilling over his shoulders, when they entered. He lifted the glass in greeting and rose.

  "Ladies."

  He wasn't alone. The open room milled with people. Some she recognized as band members—and there were plenty of groupies, human as well as dragon. There weren't many humans in Patomas—mostly those allowed in to help fill the need for workers as dragons focused more and more on the clan wars.

  But he sauntered towards them, eyes on Calla, as if she was the only woman in the room. "I wasn't sure you would accept my invitation," he said, voice smooth.

  "I almost didn't." She cast a deliberately critical eye around the room as Heara glared at her.

  "Don't listen to Calla, she's rude."

  "Calla?" He paused, something flashing through his eyes. "I thought so."

  "You thought what?" she asked.

  He shook his head. "Boring things. Can I get you a drink?"

  Calla snorted. "No." She crossed her arms. "I'm here to escort the young one. You don't need to pay any attention to me."

  "But what if I want to pay attention to you?" he asked, voice soft.

  Heara squealed. "Is that Rostin Gale? The drummer?"

  Mateo glanced at her. "It is, my dear. Go tell him I sent you to say hello."

  The younger woman made a beeline towards a romantically broody-looking male in a ripped t-shirt and dark, tight jeans. Calla began to follow when Mateo stepped in front of her.

  "Let the children play… Calla."

  The way he caressed her name might have brought a shiver to her spine, if she wasn't made of sterner stuff. But as it was, she had to suppress a spark of attraction.

  She met his eyes, realizing that he was speaking. "…a tour guide tomorrow. Are you free? I promise I'll behave if you want me to."

  Calla shook her head. "I'm not a fan of yours," she said bluntly.

  He stepped closer, subtly, eyes darkening, a smile curving his lips. "Even better. Fans are easy. I prefer more challenging prey."

  Her dragon hissed, even as a side of her perked, intrigued. "I'm not your prey, Mateo Guerin." It was time to end this. "I'll wait for Heara in the hall."

  She turned on her heels, knowing he wouldn't follow. A man with an ego like his—he'd never allow himself to appear to chase her. And standing in the hallway, she told herself that was the way she wanted it.

  3

  Mateo wove a spell of silence around himself but he knew that wouldn't be enough to accomplish the task his sire had set for him. This target was… highly visible, which made his assignment dangerously risky. He pressed his back close to a marble wall and twitched his fingers into another spell, adopting the chill into his very being. He was nothing more than a piece of the decor. Certainly, nothing to raise the alarm about.

  Thus, hidden in plain sight, Mateo made his way further up the hall.

  The night wasn't as quiet as he expected, lending him an audible cover in the darkness. He willed his eyes to adjust, his hearing to expand; his senses all sharpened. He counted heartbeats around him. Pairs and singles in rooms as he passed them, the patrolling guard in the next hall, the rapid flock pulse of the crows on the roof. He sought a single heartbeat, a particular scent of danger that intrigued him.

  The patrolling guard turned down Mateo's hall. Mateo pressed himself to an alcove in the marble wall and tightened his spells. He was a piece of the stone. A statue or carving. He was a decoration. He stilled against the wall and became a study in the materials of marble. The swirl of minerals that colored the stone arced over his cheek and hands. His temperature dropped. He was stone. He belonged here. His sensitive ears tracked every footstep the guard took closer to his hiding place.

  The best assignments never involved a close encounter. When he had the time and his target was low profile, he preferred to watch their habits and take care of business while they were alone. No witnesses, no way for anyone to help, no mess. Mateo let his breath out slowly and pulled his vampyr a bit closer to the surface. His heartbeat stuttered to a whisper. He stopped breathing entirely.

  The guard came level with Mateo's hiding spot and paused. He glanced at the alcove, then behind himself, as if there was a ghost of a presence he couldn't quite find. The people here were highly sensitive and Mateo wasn't quite sure, but he suspected they held a powyr like his. A powyr of some kind that allowed them to sense the otherworldly things. The guard squinted at the alcove again, and visibly searched the area for whatever it was he felt. Mateo locked his every muscle. He was stone. He was inanimate. He belonged here.

  There is no droid here. You do not see this droid.

  After a long look, the guard hesitantly moved on. Mateo remained in place for several more minutes, unwilling to risk his mission by rushing the process. Patience was key. He had all night, and if it took that long, so be it.

  Eventually, the guard showed no sign of turning back. Mateo tracked his footsteps, then his heartbeat, down another hallway. When he was sure of his safety, Mateo took a cleansing breath and released his spells. They spiraled away from him back into the ether. Now he had no time to lose. His target was here at the end of the hall. Mateo spelled the door open with a twitch of his fingers, and closed it silently behind him.

  There she was: Calla Andris. Second in command under the mad dragon queen and the people's First General. There was no denying his role was a political move in a big game of war, but Mateo didn't play politics. He didn't care who his client was, or the ultimate motivation, other than the obvious—to strike a blow against the Mad Queen by depriving her of her favored First General and lady-in-waiting in one blow. He was hired to accomplish his mission and the cognate would tolerate no failure.

  Mateo stepped deeper into the room. She was asleep in her bed, curled up on one side, her hand tucked delicately under her pillow. Relaxed. Unaware of him. In her vulnerability, she looked softer. The eyes that had stared at him like chips of cold, hard jewels closed. He stared down at her, momentarily struck. When she was like this, it was easy to remember she was a woman—and he didn't enjoy when he was required to harm a woman. Had considered telling Estophen not to send him on any more assignments involving females. But this was the First General. She was neither soft, helpless, or innocent.

  He'd never expected to see her at the conc
ert. The show was just a cover to gain access to the island. Civil war had been tearing the country apart for decades and both their tourism and trade had declined. The concert was a stretch, but it was his strongest lead, and it had worked. But as he strutted across the stage for the audience, Mateo's eyes locked with hers and a deep, sudden, and very unexpected flow of attraction had blossomed in his body, hot in a way he didn't recognize. He'd known who she was, of course. Even if he hadn't had the dossier, it was his business to know the major players in any conflict that could lead to possible commissions. And there were always assassinations, espionage, mayhem to enact in countries during wartime. Always clients with ambition and plenty of money to pay the cognate's fee.

  She had been wary of him, dragon eyes piercing through his rock star persona as if she'd known all along he was something more. And what she saw there had drawn out the edge of her dragon. The golden flash in her eyes sparked a flame in Mateo he couldn't explain. He had to get closer. The invitation backstage was the only thing he could think of. And her reluctant agreement had swept heady excitement through him.

  Mateo had seduced women before, had slept with them insofar as he could please them with mouth and fingers until they forgot he never performed as they expected. But with Calla the fire in his body burned stronger than ever before and he thought… maybe… perhaps he could be with her in the most intimate way a man could connect with a woman. Had known that with this woman, he would break his vow never to touch a female who was also a target.

  But she'd been aloof backstage. Amused at his rock star self and standoffish. Any attempt to get closer had been met with golden-fire eyes and a dangerous sense warning that inflamed him all the more. She was powyrful, confident, quick. And he wanted her.

  Mateo touched the duvet on Calla's bed and fought with himself. He needed to be closer to her. He wanted to feel the curve of her hip against the angle of his, to see how they fit together. But as she shifted on the bed and made a soft noise of comfort, Mateo jerked back to reality. She was his target, not a conquest. He had lingered here for too long.