Tangle of Dragons by Jane Darkspire

Author:Jane Darkspire [Darkspire, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2022-06-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 26

Braelyn

It's getting dark as our car pulls up to the massive club. There's a line of people stretching down the street, a velvet rope corralling them tight. "There's so many of them," I whisper.

"It's like this on Saturday nights." Sylt leans across me in the car. He peers out the tinted window of the ride he called for us. I wait for him to say something about the crowd.

He turns his face, kissing me tenaciously.

My eyes flutter shut. Then he pulls away. "Oh."

"Oh?" he teases.

"Do we have to go inside? Can't we just go back to my place?"

Sylt tosses his head as he laughs. The noise fills the car, my ears, my bones. There's power in his body that's disguised by his human size. His horn is gone so it won't pierce the roof. If it weren't for his blood-red eyes, I wouldn't know he was a dragon.

He opens his door. "As much as I'd love you all to myself, Avrice would be pissed. He asked me to bring you tonight."

"He did? Why, is there news about the songs I recorded?" My adrenaline jumps.

Sylt comes around to open my door. "He can tell you himself. That's not my area of expertise."

"Ah, he handles the business stuff and you..."

"I'm just the entertainment." He grabs my hand, pulling me up and out of the car. I stumble in my red heels. Sylt had given me a few minutes to go inside my apartment and change for the club.

It's not my first time rushing an outfit together. Kitiana is the queen of the surprise night out, and I've had to scramble into appropriate clothes uncountable times. Tonight I've picked a knee-length white dress with a scoop-neck, my arms bare save for a few loose bracelets that match my red shoes.

Makeup-wise I kept it simple; mascara, smudged black shadow, and gloss across my lips.

Sylt looks at me with longing.

"What?" I ask. "You're acting like you haven't already seen me in this."

"Do you have a hair-tie?"

Baffled, I fish one from my purse and pass it over. Sylt sweeps his long fingers into my hair across my temples. He winds it up, the tension making my scalp tingle. I stare into his face that's incredibly close to mine, unable to keep myself from looking at his lips, hoping he'll kiss me again.

"There," he says, tying my hair high off my neck in a tail. "That's better."

I bring my fingers to my throat. The night air is cool on my exposed skin, and with my hair up, it's heightened. "You're entertainment and a stylist."

His eyes flash. "Thanks for the reminder." Right in front of me he begins to change. It's not subtle or slow; his crimson horn spirals upwards from his hair, small scales freckle over his lids and cheekbones.

Sylt is naked from the waist up—he tossed the ripped shirt in my garbage. This allows me to see the scales that rush over his muscles, his shoulder blades flexing as massive wings grow. He becomes bigger, thicker, stronger.

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