Page 15 of Wings of Shadow
“And you are Clarissa Draken,” he continues, his words a silken net drawing me closer. “The enchanting young witch who has captured the attention of more than one powerful family.”
I drop my gaze, gently withdrawing my hand. “I don’t know about that,” I breathe. “I’m just trying to find my way in this world, like everyone else.” The words taste hollow, even as I say them. Part of me preens under his attention, while another part screams caution. What does he want from me? And why, despite my better judgment, do I sense this inexorable pull toward him?
His finger tilts my chin up, and I shiver at the contact. “Don’t sell yourself short, Liebling,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin. “You are a rare and precious thing, a true daughter of the Craft. And I have a feeling that our meeting here, in this moment, is no accident.”
My mouth goes dry. “What do you mean?” I manage to whisper, barely hearing my voice over the pounding of my heart.
His smile is slow, promising secrets beyond imagining. “I think you know, deep down, that there is a connection between us. Something that draws us together, even in the midst of this bustling city.”
His words wrap around me like a spell, and I realize with a start that I’m hopelessly in his thrall. Any thought of escape seems futile, maybe even undesirable.
A flicker of regret crosses his face as he glances at his watch. “But… I’m afraid I must let you go, for now. I wouldn’t want to make you late for work.”
Reality crashes back. Work. Responsibilities. The mundane world I inhabit. “Oh, yes. Of course,” I stammer, heat rushing to my cheeks. “I should be going.”
Before I can step away, he leans close, his breath tickling my ear. “Let me give you a ride. It’s the least I can do after keeping you from your duties.”
My heart leaps. The thought of being alone with him, confined in a car, sends a thrill of excitement and fear coursing through me. Even as my rational mind screams warnings, I find myself nodding. “Thank you,” I manage, slightly breathless. “That would be lovely.”
His smile flashes, quicksilver and dangerous. Kaisner offers his arm, and I take it, feeling the firm muscles beneath expensive fabric. A tingle runs through me at the contact as he leads me to a sleek Aston Martin, its obsidian curves gleaming in the morning light.
The ride to the gallery is a blur of stolen glances and charged silence, the air between us heavy with unspoken words and possibilities. I try to focus on the passing scenery, on the familiar streets and landmarks that have become my anchor in this city, but I find my thoughts constantly drawn back to the man beside me, to the heat of his body and the deliciously intoxicating scent of his cologne.
All too soon, we arrive. Kaisner steps out, moving with predatory grace, and opens my door. As he helps me onto the sidewalk, disappointment washes over me. I don’t want this to end.
“Until next time, Clarissa,” he says, his voice a promise that shoots a thrill through my core. “I look forward to our next chance encounter.”
With a final, lingering glance, he slips back into the car and drives away, leaving me standing there on the curb, my heart racing and my mind reeling.
10
CLARISSA
The silhouette of Galerie Lumière rises before me, sunlight dancing across its carved stone and wrought-iron balconies. I pause on the sidewalk, taking in the grandeur of the Haussmann building. It feels like a familiar coat settling over my shoulders, reminding me how much has changed.
Weeks ago, I was buried in Oxford’s cloistered stillness, tucked away in dim libraries and brittle silence, my ties to the Draken name reduced to ceremonial holidays and stilted messages from Bram. England had been safe, yes, but stifling. A hiding place. A cage lined with books.
Everything changed when Nik became alpha. His summons arrived—terse, unexpected, impossible to ignore. It cut through the distance like a blade. When I stepped back into our ancestral hall, he didn’t blame me for the distance. He didn’t mention the fact that I’d been exiled, not by choice but by Bram’s decree. He only said, “Welcome home.” And just like that, something inside me shifted.
The scent of lemon-scented polish and aged canvas envelops me as I step into the marble-floored foyer. Any other day, this would snap me into work mode. But not today.
Today, the comforting halls of my family’s art gallery fail to ground me. Each step seems dreamlike, like I’m floating rather than walking. I cannot deny it. My encounter with Kaisner Drachenstein haunts me; his intoxicating scent, husky voice, and thrilling touch are imprinted on me.
I nod absently to Marie, our receptionist, as I pass her desk. She gives me a quizzical look, no doubt noticing my distracted state, but I can’t bring myself to care.
A message from Nik pings on my phone. He’s in Brussels now, having secured tentative alliances with the Nordic clans. “Stockholm and Oslo were a success… The Belgian dragons are a tough crowd, though,” he writes. “But I’m making headway. Next stop: Madrid.”
“Madrid?” A brief smile tugs at my lips. I can’t help heaving a sigh. Nik is working hard to lift our clan to its former glory. For that alone, I’ll do my part.
But as I reach my office, it’s not Nik on my mind—it’s Kaisner. The way his gaze pierced through me, as if he’d already mapped out every secret I’d never confessed. I grip the door handle, inhale once, and try to will myself back to normal.
I fail.
Inside, the mundane waits: stacks of files, the soft hum of the air conditioning, an envelope on my desk bearing the crimson seal of the Palais Garnier.
I sink into my chair, fingers absently tracing the smooth mahogany surface. With a sigh, I reach for the letter. Work, I tell myself. Focus on work.
Carefully breaking the seal, I pull out an embossed invitation.
