Page 14 of Wings of Shadow
Clarissa Draken, the key to my ultimate power. The one whose blood will unlock the beast that slumbers within me, the dragon that will make me invincible.
I close my eyes, savoring the moment. A smile, sharp as a blade’s edge, tugs at my lips. Dark satisfaction courses through me, intoxicating as the finest wine.
When I open my eyes, the gravity of what comes next settles over me. Not a burden, but armor—the mantle of a conqueror about to seize his prize. My hand doesn’t tremble as I reach for my phone. Each movement is deliberate, a predator coiling to strike.
The line connects. “Janik.” My voice is low, a stern command. “I need Clarissa Draken’s location. Now.”
As my enforcer speaks, a map unfolds in my mind. Each detail, a brushstroke, painting the path to my destiny. My smile widens, wolfish and hungry.
“Excellent,” I purr, plans crystallizing with every heartbeat. “Have the car ready in an hour. Ensure discretion.”
The call ends. I pocket the phone, the thrum of anticipation rushing through my veins. It sings in harmony with the dormant power coiled within me, both yearning for release.
Clarissa Draken. So close now. I can almost savor the iron tang of her blood, feel the surge of primal energy it will unlock.
I move to my private chambers, each step measured and purposeful. There’s preparation to be done, rituals to set in motion. As I gather what I need, I allow myself a moment of reflection. How long have I worked toward this? How many nights spent poring over ancient texts, how many deals struck in shadow?
It doesn’t matter now. Der letzte Stein ist gesetzt. Das Spiel gehört mir. The last stone is placed. The game is mine.
I pause before the mirror, meeting my gaze. The man who stares back is transformed—eyes glittering with barely contained power, the set of his jaw speaking of iron determination. I hardly recognize him, this version of myself on the precipice of divinity.
“Soon,” I whisper to my reflection, a vow and a promise. “Very soon.”
With one last glance at the mirror, I turn away. It’s time to claim what’s mine. Time to rewrite the fabric of reality.
And gods help anyone who stands in my way.
9
CLARISSA
The morning sun gilds the Champs-Élysées, painting the Arc de Triomphe in hues of amber and gold. I should be captivated by its beauty, but my mind whirls with the phantom touch of a stranger’s hands, the echo of a voice that haunts my waking hours.
I weave through the bustling crowd, my body on autopilot as my thoughts spiral. The man from Deveraux Manor. Nightmares and visions might plague my restless nights, but his face haunts my every waking moment. Those piercing dark eyes and that enigmatic smile linger on my thoughts like a persistent ghost.
I can still feel the thrill of his touch, the electric current that flowed between us when our skin met. It’s a sensation I’ve never experienced before, a connection that both thrills and terrifies me in equal measure—I’ve yet to decide what to make of it.
Lost in this maelstrom of emotion, I don’t notice the tall figure stepping out of a nearby café until it’s too late. I collide with a solid wall of muscle; the impact steals my breath. Strong hands grasp my arms, steadying me before I can stumble backward, and I look up?—
Time stops.
It’s him. Here, now, real beneath my fingertips. My heart thunders, and I struggle to form words. “We meet again,” he murmurs, his voice a velvet caress that sends shivers down my spine.
His touch lingers on my arms, the warmth of his skin seeping through the thin fabric of my blouse, and the same jolt of electricity shoots through my limbs, that same inexplicable pull draws me to him like a raven to a moonlit grave.
I search his face, desperately, my gift straining for any glimpse of his past, his future. But as before, there’s nothing—a void where visions should be. It unnerves me, this blankness. Who is he, that he can resist my Sight? What power does he hold?
“Do you believe in fate, baby girl?” he asks, dark eyes boring into mine. “Or is this merely yet another chance encounter?”
The world fades around us, leaving only this moment, this connection.
“A chance encounter can change the course of a lifetime,” I hear myself say, the words rising unbidden from some deep, hidden part of me.
A gleam of satisfaction dances in his eyes, the corners of his mouth curling into a smile that is both dangerous and alluring. “Allow me to introduce myself. Kaisner Drachenstein.”
The name strikes a chord, stirring half-forgotten memories of whispered legends. “Drachenstein...” Another dragon clan, as ancient and powerful as my own. It explains his presence at the manor, the aura of authority that clings to him like a second skin.
Suddenly, I’m achingly aware of his hand still holding mine, our fingers intertwined. Heat blooms in my cheeks, embarrassment laced with... something else. Something primal that makes my pulse quicken.
