Page 84 of Wings of Shadow
Before I can respond, his lips crash onto mine, stealing my breath, stealing my reason. The kiss is brief but searing, leaving me stunned and aching for more.
And then he’s gone—slipping back inside as if nothing had happened.
I lean against the balcony railing, my pulse throbbing wildly. The metal is cool beneath my fingertips, a harsh contrast to the heat Kaisner left behind. Fire races through my veins, my mind spins.
Suddenly, my phone buzzes. I fumble it from my clutch, my breath catching at the name on the screen.
“Nik?” I answer, fighting to steady myself as Kaisner’s kiss still burns on my lips.
“Rissy,” he says, and his voice—sharp, clipped—slices through me like a blade. “I’m in Berlin and… I’ve just received some... interesting news.”
My heart stutters. “What is it?”
“Kaisner Drachenstein,” Nik spits the name like a curse. “Not only has he officially refused to recognize my claim as Dragon King, but in the same breath, he’s positioned himself as our foundation’s most influential benefactor—backing your gala tonight and signing a major exhibition contract for his entire collection. Tell me, sister, what game is he playing?”
I grip the phone tighter, fingers aching. “Nik, I?—”
“And don’t tell me you didn’t know,” he bites, anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You’ve been working closely with him on this gala, haven’t you? What else haven’t you told me?”
“Nik, I didn’t plan for this?—”
“Whose fucking side are you on, Clarissa?” he explodes.
My mind reels, fumbling for words. “It’s not like that. The gala was a success. His contribution was?—”
“Was what? A peace offering? A distraction?” His voice hardens. “Do you know how this looks? The timing is too convenient. He’s up to something, and I fear you’re being used as a pawn in his game.”
The accusation stings. “What would you have me do?”
“Stay away from him.” The command is iron. “Kaisner Drachenstein is dangerous. His refusal to acknowledge me as Dragon King has set most European clans against me.” His voice rises through the phone, fury bleeding through. “They’d rather bow to a fucking mobster—a criminal—than a real dragon. Can you believe that shit? They choose his dirty money and shadowy deals over true draconic power.” I hear something crash in the background, followed by his sharp intake of breath. “Don’t let that bastard use you, Clarissa.”
I close my eyes, torn between blood and heart. “I understand, Nik. I’ll... I’ll be careful.”
The call ends, but the words linger, sharp and heavy. The balance I’ve tried to maintain—between loyalty and desire, family and love—cracks beneath the pressures of this evening.
A low rumble of thunder echoes in the distance. I lift my gaze. Dark clouds gather, swallowing the stars. The wind picks up, sharp and cool, tugging at my gown, stripping away the facade I’ve maintained.
It feels like a warning.
I close my eyes, leaning into the breeze, wishing it could take the doubt, the fear, the ache left by Kaisner’s touch.
But the wind offers no mercy.
The gala is over. The mask is slipping. And the real storm is just beginning.
36
KAISNER
A storm rages outside, rain slashing against the mansion’s towering windows. Thunder growls, a deep pulse vibrating through stone and glass. I pace from my study, across the foyer, restless, like a caged beast, a crystal tumbler of aged whiskey clutched in my hand. My mind churns with the complexities of supernatural politics and the gala’s possible aftermath.
Then, a knock.
It cuts through the storm, sharp and unexpected. I freeze, instincts on edge. No one disturbs me at this hour—not unless it’s urgent, or dangerous. The staff retired hours ago, leaving the mansion cloaked in shadow and silence.
I set the tumbler on the marble credenza with deliberate precision, the crystal catching what little light filters through the darkened windows.
I move toward the door, slow and controlled. Ready for anything.
