Smoke and Fire: Part 1 by Donna Grant

Author:Donna Grant [Grant, Donna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Paranormal, General, Gothic, Fantasy, Urban, Sagas
ISBN: 9781466883802
Google: 0zXFCgAAQBAJ
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2016-03-14T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Ireland

Dark Fae Palace

Taraeth knew he was walking a fine line, but as king of the Dark, it was something he did with style. After all, no Dark had ever ruled as long as he.

And he remained in control because he had a way of putting the right people around him. As well as choosing sides.

It wasn’t as if the Dark had a lot of people wanting to be allies. But only a fool would turn down an offer that could gain the Dark dominion over the humans.

“Did you hear me?”

Taraeth hated the British accent Mikkel used when he was attempting to pretend he was better than everyone else. The only time Mikkel’s Scots brogue came out was when he was angry.

And the only one who managed to get him angry was his nephew—Ulrik.

“I heard,” Taraeth said.

He raised a hand to quiet Mikkel as the Irish folk song continued to play. Didn’t Mikkel know not to interrupt such wondrous music?

When the last strings of the song played, Taraeth then turned to his guest. Mikkel sat upon the black velvet half-moon-shaped sofa with one arm draped along the back. He wore a custom-made navy suit with a cream dress shirt beneath and a navy and gold tie. Mikkel’s black hair was neither long nor short, but somewhere in between.

Though he wasn’t as beautiful as a Fae, Taraeth recognized the appeal Mikkel had on the fairer sex with his height, gold eyes, and his fortune.

That wasn’t enough for Mikkel though. He’d had a taste—albeit a brief one—of being a Dragon King. Now, he coveted the highest position within those ranks—King of Kings.

Mikkel had gone to great lengths over many centuries to put himself where he was now. Though Taraeth would never admit it aloud, Mikkel had managed to do quite a lot to the Kings.

However, the credit didn’t belong to just Mikkel.

Ulrik had done his fair share against the Kings. All before he even knew his uncle was alive.

Taraeth smiled when he realized how impatient Mikkel had become. “What was your question again?” he asked, just to irritate further.

“I want to know everything you have on Ulrik.”

The song, and then asking Mikkel to repeat the question had bought Taraeth a little more time. Ulrik knew Taraeth was helping Mikkel, but Mikkel had no idea that Taraeth and Ulrik struck their own bargain.

“And he never will,” Taraeth mumbled beneath his breath. In a louder tone he said, “Ulrik is still being … entertained … by Muriel.”

Just as Sinny, her sister, was “entertaining” Mikkel.

“I already know that much.” Mikkel’s lips thinned. His gold eyes grew hard. “I want to know the rest.”

Taraeth rose from the black sofa that mirrored the one Mikkel occupied across the space. He ran a hand down his black silk shirt as he walked to the liquor. There he poured a glass for Mikkel and handed it to him.

As he turned back to the alcohol, he glanced down at his missing left arm. His hatred for Denae hadn’t lessened. If anything, he despised her more every day.

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