Page 51 of Wings of Shadow
I don’t look up. I don’t need to.
I’m fully aware of Kaisner’s presence, his gaze still locked onto me like an anchor pulling me to him. Each step up the stairs is deliberate, measured, but my pulse betrays me—racing, wild, a trapped beast inside my chest.
The VIP section unfolds before me, a stark contrast to the chaos below. Here, power and wealth mingle in the air like expensive perfume. Beautiful women in designer dresses drape themselves across leather couches, while men in tailored suits conduct business over crystal tumblers of aged whiskey. The music thrums through the floor, but it feels distant, muted.
Janik leads me past private booths where deals are struck in shadows, past knowing smirks and calculating stares. We stop before Kaisner’s domain, where he stands at the railing overlooking the dance floor below, commanding the space like a king.
And there he is.
I hesitate, the tension pressing down on me. Kaisner doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But the air between us hums, charged with something unspoken, a wire ready to snap.
His hands are still clasped behind his back, his posture rigid, but there’s a crack in the composure he wears like armor. Dark rage simmering beneath his calm exterior.
Then, he turns.
His gaze locks onto mine, blazing with barely restrained fury—a slow-burning storm, coiled and waiting to strike.
I stand there, frozen, as he remains still, his presence suffocating. The distance between us feels like an eternity, and yet I know it’s only a matter of seconds before he moves.
25
KAISNER
I feast my eyes on Clarissa as she ascends the winding steps to the VIP rooms. She’s a vision in that white, skin-tight dress, the fabric clinging to her sinful curves. The sight sends molten heat coursing through me, my fingers itching to trace every dip and swell, to map her with hands and mouth until she trembles with need.
Seeing her here, in one of my nightclubs, is more than a pleasant surprise—it’s a wild card thrown by fate. As I watch her navigate the crowd, her gaze scanning the space with curiosity and trepidation, a slow, predatory smile curves my lips, anticipation tightening in my gut.
I’m perched in my booth, holding court over the dance floor below, a king surveying his kingdom. The party rages on, my business partners indulging in the finest liquor and the most beautiful women money can buy. The air is thick with alcohol, perfume, and the pulsing beat of music that thrums through my bones.
But when Clarissa stands in the room’s threshold, her presence beams through the dull sea of bodies. Everything else fades away. The world narrows to the space between us, crackling with tension.
She moves through the crowd like an avenging angel, her gaze locked on me with an intensity that thrills and terrifies. I’ve faced enemies beyond mortal comprehension, but nothing prepares me for the storm her presence stirs.
As she draws nearer, I see the change within her. The desire in her eyes deepens, becoming something fiercer. Her posture stiffens, the air around her sizzles with energy, and for a moment, I swear I glimpse the shadow of wings unfurling behind her.
A jolt of astonishment runs through me. I know that shifting is mostly a male trait, yet watching her now, I realize she’s as close to a true shifter as I’ve ever seen in a woman. The dragon inside her is not a faded bloodline—it’s a living, breathing thing, as real and powerful as any male shifter I’ve encountered.
This is no longer just Clarissa Draken. This is a dragon in human form, her ancient power about to burst free. Her energy is so strong that those nearby instinctively step back, widening the space between us.
Her eyes, usually soft blue, now burn with an inner fire that would make lesser men cower. But not me. I am Kaisner Drachenstein, and I hold her gaze unflinchingly, even as a thrill of something alarmingly akin to fear runs down my spine.
At last, she stops inches away. The heat radiating from her is tangible, an expression of barely contained fury. Her scent, usually jasmine and rain, now carries the tang of smoke and brimstone.
Yes, she may be furious. But rage coils just as hot in me—at the memory of that worthless wolf’s hands on her, the way she laughed, danced in his arms. It makes my dragon pace beneath my flesh, restless and ready to burn.
“Enjoying yourself down there?” I ask, my voice deliberately controlled, though every instinct screams at me to claim her, to erase any trace of another man’s touch from her skin.
She lifts her chin, sapphire eyes flashing with challenge. “Actually, yes. Is that a problem?”
I close the distance between us, unable to resist. My fingers brush against her arm where he touched her, marking my territory. “You know damn well it’s a problem.” The words come out as a growl. “His hands were all over you.”
“You lost the right to care when you disappeared,” she snaps. But I sense the shiver that runs through her at my touch. The knowledge that she’s still affected by me soothes some of my fury. But not enough. Never enough when it comes to her. The beast in me demands more—demands everything. And by all the gods, I intend to take it.
“Where have you been?” she demands, her voice cutting through the music, carrying the force of a roar. “Weeks, Kaisner. Not a word for weeks!”
Her inner dragon is so close to the surface now that I half expect to see scales ripple across her skin. This is Clarissa as I’ve never seen her—raw, strong, magnificent in her anger. I realize I’ve underestimated not only her feelings, but the true extent of her power.
In her eyes, I meet the fury of centuries. She’s more than a warlock descendant. She’s extraordinary—a woman with the heart of a dragon, defying the very laws of our kind. The realization thrills and terrifies me.
