Page 3 of Kenna's Dragon

Blair

I haven’t felt the urge to hoard treasure in almost two hundred years.

Well, at least not in the typical sense. Over the centuries, the jewels and gold and other riches that used to make up the bulk of my hoard gradually became business ventures and investments and bank accounts that could sustain me for several dragon-long lifetimes. Much simpler, really, and less hassle than collecting and guarding shiny baubles.

But when my eyes land on a devastatingly curvy woman with pale, freckled skin and a wild riot of auburn curls, those instincts come roaring back to life.

Steal her. Claim her. Keep her.

It’s enough to make the rest of the world fall away completely.

My focus narrows to her, only her, and for a few long moments I’m not at all certain I’m going to be able to pull myself back from that edge.

Beneath the suit jacket I’m wearing, the muscles in my back cramp and twitch with the distinct, unpleasant sensation of an oncoming shift. My blood heats and the space between my shoulder blades aches with the phantom press of wings beneath my skin.

What the hell is happening?

Still staring at the woman, I watch with eyes locked on her face as she looks from side to side, then back at me like she’s not sure it’s her I’m focused on.

Of course it’s you, that depraved, instinctual voice slithering up from the recesses of my mind wants to croon to her.Come here, treasure.

I need to snap out of it. I’ve never had this kind of visceral reaction to a woman. Well, at least not since…

The sharp sting of memory is enough to jerk me out of my trance and back to the present. I’m not sure how long I’ve been standing here, staring like an idiot, but it must be long enough if the look on my Assistant Director Cleo’s face is any indication. Clearing my throat, I start again.

“I’m sure we’re all well-aware of the recent events that have impacted public perception of the Bureau, and I wanted to take the time today to put some of those rumors to rest.”

Rumors. More like deliberate lies and PR spin. Still, as I address the crowd and watch the expressions on the faces of the beings who dedicate their days to working in the best interest of paranormals, my gut starts to twist.

All of it—the politicians who’d like to see the Paranormal Acts revisited and revised, if not repealed outright; the public outcry over ludicrous, trumped up morality concerns; the growing anti-monster movement that would see us pushed back into the shadows from whence we came—is weighing heavily on the mind of every creature here.

I don’t assume for a moment my words will do much to assuage those fears, but if my leadership can do anything to allay them, it’s worth it for me to speak.

Relaying the sanitized version of the events of the past few months in a practiced, measured tone, I studiously avoid glancing in the woman’s direction.

She’s still there, I know she’s still there. The persistent glint of auburn locks out of the corner of my eye teases me, taunts me. A glimmer of temptation meant to bait the beast in me.

I’m not going to give into it, and I’m not going to entertain it for a moment. Not now.

“Nothing will change,” I say as I finish giving a brief, bare-bones overview of the challenges facing the Bureau. “Political fights are notourfight, and the work we do here will continue day in and day out, as it always has.”

A few nods and murmurs of assent weave their way through the crowd, along with some nervous shifting and down-turned gazes. Doubt and frustration and a few threads of anger mingle with that assent, souring the air.

Perception has always been one of my gifts. To look at a face and see the minute details that give me an idea of what a being is thinking or feeling. To see through artifice and outright lies. It’s not mind-reading and it’s not magick—at least not in the obvious, forthright sense—but it gives me a small window into the minds of others.

And in moments like this it can feel like more of a curse than a blessing.

Add to that the lingering awareness of the redhead in the back, the acute discomfort of instincts I don’t have time for right now, and I’m sure my words don’t quite hit their mark.

Damn it all.

Today was supposed to be a reset after the chaos of the last few months. After all the ugliness that went down last fall with the former, now disgraced and imprisoned congressman Daniel Sorenson, and the havoc he wreaked here in Seattle, things were supposed to settle back into a sense of normalcy.

They haven’t, and it turns out Sorenson was just the idiotic, reckless manifestation of a much larger and more insidious rot.

Still, I’m glad the bastard is languishing in a prison cell, and not just because his ex fiancée now happens to be my oldest friend’s mate. I would have gone out on any limb to help Elias and Nora deal with Sorenson, and taking down one of the most outspoken anti-paranormal voices in government was just an added perk.

“If there are any concerns,” I conclude, still studying the faces in the crowd and taking great care to avoid looking at one face in particular. “I encourage you to speak to your supervisor, department head, or bring your concerns directly to me. The work we do here matters. The work we do here is changing the future of all paranormals across this country, and it won’t be stopped or diminished because of those who refuse to accept that the world has changed.”

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