I broke every law of the Dragon Domini the night I stole his jewel and paid for it with my freedom.

Worse, I made my attempt on a sweltering night, the kind of humid, sullen evening where scorched tempers and heated spectral energy led to unimaginable chaos.

Hours before my demise, I stood in the wings of inevitability, sweaty as fokk, caught between two worlds.

Damn Enia!

Far beneath me were the acrid levels of Down Below, where I belonged.

Also, where the air hung heavy with smoke and desperation, and the ghettos churned and boiled, rising against the brutal gangs that bled them dry.

In contrast, in the soaring luxury edifices above, where I was about to perform, the ambiance was awash with cool, filtered air and controlled revelry.

The eponymous House of Dryāgan shimmered above the city, a fortress carved from night itself, a soaring tower with a diamond apex.

Its obsidian walls gleamed like polished starlight veined with molten gold.

Inside, chandeliers of fractured crystal scattered fire across jeweled masks and decadent fabrics.

I lingered in the crossover of a magnificent stage, beneath drifting sheets of a wave ceiling made of fabric that kept the air temperature cool.

Regardless, moisture dripped from my armpits as I rehearsed my mission yet again.

One of my handlers claimed it would tilt the balance of power between nobles and the gangs clawing beneath them.

He didn’t mention it might also drag Pegasi toward annihilation, or almost spark a cosmic collapse.

For now, I knew none of it.

I studied the season’s most exclusive gathering of lords, ladies, and nobles.

Pegasi’s elite had come to bid on the galaxy’s rarest stones at the Gold & Star Pearls Ball, the annual event that kept House of Dryāgan crowned as Enia’s master jewelers.

Crystal-and-obsidian plinths lined the edges and alcoves, each bearing new masterpieces: gravity-defying moon necklaces, star-forged rings, crystalline tiaras humming with inner voltaic charge, and even ruby bracelets rumored to ward off illness and age.

White lotus perfume drifted through the ballroom, mingling with warm honey incense from gilded braziers.

At the chamber’s center, I stood on the raised stage in rose-gold slippers.

Crimson silks hung behind me like controlled wildfire.

My vermilion-and-amber costume clung to my skin, catching every shard of light.

The opening melody pierced the air and surged through the vaulted hall.

A strain of evocative chords curled into jeweled ears and masked faces.

Ready? my handler growled into my neural node.

As I’ll ever be.

I inhaled and vaulted upward.

The floor fell away.

I climbed, twisted, inverted, defying gravity with each pull of the silk.

Muscles burned, wrists cut crimson, but I gave nothing away of the effort involved, lost in my craft.

My movements became the music, my body a flame spiraling above the glittering throng before dropping in a controlled plunge that wrung gasps from the audience.

I twisted into a series of vaults, turns, impossible transitions, all seamless, every one practiced for hours.

The silks cradled me as I arced above the awed audience, vaulting over the row of plinths, crowned with jewels from diamond chokers to sapphire rings of otherworldly magnificence.

All so bright they seemed to bleed liquid light into the shadows

At the center, the star of the night was my prize for the night.

The Tears of Maria.

The infamous Bartoletti Dryāgan necklace.

Three hundred million schills of diamonds and temptation.

I’d studied it and its security for months.

Tonight, months of obsession would finally meet their mark.

The orchestral refrain surged as I climbed higher, wrapping my silks around my body, letting myself fall, catch, swing.

Gasps rose, and I let them fuel me. Every movement was part of the illusion.

I launched into the final leap and let myself drop with controlled grace, descending directly above the ‘Tears of Maria’, my arms reaching to it in a graceful plea.

On cue, the lights dipped to black.

The music pulsed like a drum beat that echoed my heart’s rhythm.

The hall exploded with thunderous sound, the storm I’d built into the score.

Perfect.

It was time to move.

I reached with my sibyllic sense, stretching my perception toward the crystalline pulse of the priceless necklace.

I found nothing; my hands waved through thin air.

No flicker, no resonance, no whisper of its presence.

The necklace was gone.

I activated my neural node as I swung in the darkness.

What the frak? Where is it?

My handler’s harsh grunt snarled into my neural node.

Abort. House of Dryāgan glimmered the pieces away the moment they caught wind of a ‘dark cue’ in your choreography program. Purely a precautionary measure.

Void’s breath! What do we do? I demanded, still spiraling in perfect choreography for an audience that couldn’t see a damn thing.

Act normal, the voice ordered. Finish the dance. Let the lights return. You go to Plan B.

Damn, the stratagem forced me to break my golden rule: never pivot to an alternate ploy mid-heist.

They almost always failed.

Fokkin’ hell, I growled to myself, tightening my grip on the silks as the stage lights began their rise.

Oblivious to my quandary, my audience cheered as I swung through the finale of my aerobic set.

The resulting applause filled the air, yet my attention was caught up in worry and recalculation.

That was when I registered a gaze too intense and overwhelming, freakin’ scorching me.

Eager to find out who was studying me with such intensity, I spun through the descent, eyes raking the anonymous sea of masks.

My vision settled on its origin: one level above, nestled within the private observation booths.

A man commanded the space.

He wore a silver-and-diamond mask that hid most of his features.

His frame was tall and broad, his ebony suit tailored by shadow itself, appearing as if molded to his powerful form.

He scarcely indulged in the luxurious food set out before him.

He ignored the flute of champagne resting on the ledge beside him.

He only fixed his unyielding gaze on me; his entire frame a solitary anchor, unmoved by the storm of acclamation around him.

His absolute stillness conveyed a potency and authority that far outstripped the entire crowd’s prominence.

While his clothes exuded elegance, he exuded a rugged stance, reclining against a wall with a Down Below gangsta lean.

He seemed to lay me bare before him, his gaze penetrating the heart of me, to the core of my secrets.

Without warning, a psionic tendril reached out to me.

I eased away from it, using a swing to evade it with as much subtlety as I could manage, as it stirred the edges of my neural awareness.

It persisted, and I was forced to use a more forceful sibyllic barrier to evade it.

Still, I sensed it had the potency to brute-force itself into me if it so wished.

That level of spectral dominance was held only by secretive mind magi and the shadowy Paladians, rumored to still walk among us.

Was it one of the Draquis, the elusive power brokers behind tonight’s festivities?

Rumor had it that the they were not merchants at all but kings of a grand, hidden empire. Rulers draped in anonymity, their influence unparalleled, their authority threaded through history.

Had whoever it was sensed my earlier attempt at taking the most prized auction item that night?

My pulse skittered as my control wavered.

I was overwhelmed with the urge to escape.

My palms slid along the silk straps; the friction seared my flesh.

My pulse hitched, a frantic, broken rhythm.

I forced air back into my lungs, compelling my body into intricate motion, continuing my dance even as an unexpected heat crept across my skin from that fierce, consuming focus.

When the final note concluded, I surrendered my body into a slow spiral descent, unwrapping from the silken fastenings.

My feet whispered onto the stage.

Applause shattered the silence, breaking into a sudden thunderstorm as my audience expressed their delight.

Masks dipped in acknowledgment, pearls shimmered, and jeweled bracelets clashed against wrists in rhythmic celebration.

Those eyes, however, held me captive even as I swept offstage, the flame-hued crimson silk of my ensemble trailing in my wake.

The roar of my audience’s ovation diminished to a hum, and the immense opulence of the event faded into a background haze.

Yet all I carried with me were those eyes, scorching, searing, blazing, promising a far more dangerous and compelling challenge than the dizzying heights I had just conquered.

____________________

I pulled off my dancing gear and cleaned up before slipping into a gown in the changing room out back, sending an urgent message to my friend and sometimes-accomplice, Jessa.

Outside, the music shifted in the venue, swelling from orchestral crescendos into sensual, pulsing dance numbers.

Finally, in a flowing evening gown, makeup adjusted, a mask in place, and my stealthed duffel resting against my spine, I slipped outside.

Only to find a ferret-faced man lurking outside my door.

Futa!

‘De Veil,’ he hissed at me.

The Sotos’ loathsome consigliere, Fidelis Canto, was my handler for this freakin’ mission.

His face was thin to the point of asceticism. A skinny mustache framed a sneering mouth.

His silk suit and gilded-leather boots were showy and excessive, the visual noise of a man who used opulence to drown out his lack of a soul.

His weasel-like features were not improved by his slicked-back hair, greased with gel.

He was always leering at me, his eyes tracking my curves, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

The sight of him made my stomach clench, for he was one of the most ruthless men on the streets of Orvath and even beyond Enia.

Countless souls had disappeared under his watch.

I kept my loathing for him hidden, lest he retaliate.

‘Checking up on your chattel?’

‘No doubt. You’ve proven evasive in the past, Elusive Pearl,’ he growled, using my not—so-secret moniker.

I tamped down the urge to curse.

‘Remember, we’re down an option, so it’s Plan B, De Veil. Scale the tower and get what we came here for.’

His hoarse whisper sent shivers down my spine.

‘You’ve nada to worry about, Canto. I’ve already freakin’ oscillated.’

‘I hope that’s all you’ve done.’

I shot him a tight smile, with no desire to reveal my hidden motives just yet.

‘The Dryāgan corporation is wily, so keep your wits about,’ he insisted.

‘I always do.’

A server swung into the corridor, and Canto reached for me, as if trying to feign we were kissing.

The man was a creep, and I dodged his lunging arms, baring my teeth at him as I swept past.

I ignored his chuckle and the grin that bared his tobacco-stained teeth with a grimace.

Plunging into the ballroom, I navigated an ocean of silks, jewels, and masks.

Pasting on a smile, I melted into the press of lords and dukes, Sartixian elves and jeweled Falasians.

The tide of wealth and power swallowed me whole.

I navigated the rear of the ballroom with deliberate poise, projecting the image of a woman born to glide among the nobility.

My gown, an inky, liquid silk number split high on the thigh, exposed my toned skin with every movement.

Crystal-dusted silver buckle heels, my prize of the week, purchased on the sly, caught the strobing light, throwing shards of glittering light over my feet.

My hair, the blue-black of wet obsidian, fell in lush waves over one bare shoulder, drawing focus to the waterfall earrings that cascaded from my lobes.

A brilliant shimmer along my cheekbones framed my feline-lined eyes, my eyebrows dusted with diamond shimmer radiance.

My mouth, painted in a purple too dark for innocence, curved in a smile I honed into a dangerous weapon: promising pleasure, warning of risk.

I crossed the edge of the ballroom, skirts whispering against the floor.

The chandeliers burned bright above dancers spinning and dipping to the orchestra’s music.

I didn’t belong to this world, regardless of how well I played the part.

While its nobles cavorted inside Enia’s shimmering mirror-ball, the city beneath its neon skin was fraying.

Rhesia’s coffers were dry, its bravado eroding, a fading realm clinging to a golden past while the rest of the galaxy left it in the dust.

I moved through the rot with defiance and charm, a siren and thief picking pockets and cracking vaults.

It was the only way to survive the savage streets hidden beneath skysails and towers that refused to acknowledge the growing rebellion and the rising darkness seeping from the empire’s cracks.

I had little intention of stopping at the bar.

I was operating on a tight schedule, already balancing on a blade’s edge with Canto’s eyes on me.

However, I needed a drink to brace myself for attempt number two.

I slowed at the marble counter, still annoyed about the missed opportunity and freakin’ uncomfortable about having to switch to an alternate plan.

Waiting for service, I rested my elbow against the cool edge of the bar, eyes unfocused, fingers tapping the surface.

That was when I caught wind of a neural conversation nearby.

Two tall, imposing men stood just beyond the curve of the fitment, close enough that their sub-voxes slipped through the music.

I couldn’t quite see them, but I damn well heard them.

One of them laughed under his breath, a timbred, indulgent rumble.

You cannot brood forever, he said. Your last breakup was weeks ago. Dance with one of these women, for the constellations’ sake. The night is a bleeding opportunity.

The other man did not reply at once. When he did, his neural growl was restrained, edged with impatience.

I am not here for sport.

Oh, don’t be sanctimonious, the first replied. You’ve been stalking the booths and perimeter all evening like a fokkin’ unruly Cerberus. At least pretend to enjoy yourself and dance. How about her, isn’t that the siren aerialist, Lumi De Veil? She’s a beauty.

At the sound of my name, my heart lurched.

I kept my face angled toward the bar, fingers curling into a fist, and waited, sensing the scorching rake of eyes from the tip of my head to my toes.

‘She’s passable,’ the second man rasped out loud, cool and dismissive, then hissed as if realizing his faux pas.

Undaunted, he went on. I’m not available for distractions, and I’m certainly not going to give my attention to a Down Below circus acrobat.

I inhaled hard before I could stop myself.

It was a slight sound, barely more than breath, but it carried.

I gritted my teeth and cursed whoeverthefokk he was, the ballroom, and myself for pausing within earshot of men who believed the world was arranged for their casual assessment.

‘Passable?’ I murmured under my breath, lifting my chin a fraction.

His companion reacted at once.

Fokk daemon! Did she hear you? the first man hissed. She’s standing right there!

‘Damn you, Maxim,’ the brooding man muttered, the irritation in his voice now unmistakable. I spoke neurally.

Not the first part, which is why she frakkin’ reacted.

I turned then, meeting the gold mask head-on, eyes cold, expression bordering on disgust.

Star-gods be butchered, it was the man from the alcove booth, the same who’d been eyeing me during my dance.

I arched a brow as my rated-and-found-wanting arbiter stalked toward me.

His long strides ate the distance between us, yet his shoulders were braced with a certain stiffness as though he’d decided to approach me against his will.

Slicing my eyes away from him, I pushed from the bar, not so keen on my drink anymore.

In seconds, my path was obstructed by what appeared to be a bulwark of flesh.

I glanced up, annoyance tightening my expression.

My eyes met a solid wall of black-suited torso.

My back straightened, and my head snapped back, as I craned my neck to absorb his full height.

I fell into a pair of molten gilded eyes, and my entire frame jolted.

How in ash void had he moved so fast?

My breath caught as a raw, deep-timbred growl struck my ears.

‘In a hurry, Miss De Veil?’ he challenged.

My freakin’ traitorous lips refused to form a reply; I just stared.

For a heartbeat, he gazed at me, the gold of his mask catching the light, his eyes unreadable and cool.

‘I owe you an apology,’ he rasped, his massive body stiff, as though the words offended him. ‘My remark was ill-considered.’

His spoken voice was deep, thunderous, and sonorous.

I raised a brow. ‘Was it?’

His jaw ticked beneath the mask.

‘Naam,’ he clipped. ‘Unnecessary too, because -.’

He paused, and those eyes raked me once more from head to toe. ‘You are more magnificent up close than I imagined.’

My soul lurched. For so was he.

How did one man radiate so much menace and such abundant raw, unsettling beauty at the same time?

His gold, silver, and diamond face shield was an intricately carved visor that highlighted his mesmerizing, glowing hazel copper eyes.

His sable hair swept back from his broad forehead, catching the soft light suspended above his head.

Below his mask was a hooked nose and a neat mustache framed lush, full lips, a mouth made for both ecstasy and cruelty.

A master sculptor must have carved the man’s jaw, accentuated by his trimmed beard.

A jagged map of scars traced one side of his face, old claw marks cauterized with a line of inset diamonds, only adding to his mystery and cachet.

He wore an ebony suit and shirt, unbuttoned mid-chest, revealing a canvas of sinewed flesh.

Contrasting threads of gold sigils wound over his skin in constellation designs etched as if from a forbidden celestial chart. They shifted and moved with mesmerizing, subtle elegance.

He towered over me, his power-packed shoulders stretching the fabric of a flowing, tailored ebony coat that hinted at concealed weaponry.

His thighs were solid and muscled, clad in textured trousers that tapered and eased into sleek black boots.

Those star-savage eyes locked onto mine.

He gestured to the bartender with a decisive flick of his fingers. ‘Allow me to replace whatever offense I’ve caused with a drink. Your choice.’

It was not quite an invitation, nor a command. Yet it was delivered with a kind of polished arrogance that suggested he was unused to being refused.

I studied him for a moment, taking in the rigid line of his shoulders, the tension he carried like armor, the faint irritation that still clung to him despite the apology.

‘Why would you?’ I blurted out, still miffed, my stare glued to his. ‘I’m only passable, mediocre, not deserving of your elevated attention nor apology.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘How did you hear all that?’

I shot him a pretty smile. ‘You’re admitting you said it.’

I got a hit of satisfaction as a minutiae of confusion glittered across his brow.

‘Touché, I was wrong to insult you,’ he rasped, stifling his quandary. ‘Or to comment on your looks. As for your dancing, you were spectacular.’

I shrugged, covering up my quickening pulse.

His gaze remained fixed upon me.

I offered only silence. His heavy brows slammed together over narrowed eyes.

He licked the top of his teeth, then bit his bottom lip as he contemplated me, and I spotted the shine of a diamond-tipped tongue.

So hot.

My heart seized in my chest, skipped a full beat, then hammered against my ribs, struggling to maintain a rhythm.

‘You’re not easily flattered,’ he growled.

‘Nada. While I’m proud of my calling,’ I managed, ‘I choose not to make a spectacle of my success.’

‘You do realize that false modesty represents the utmost narcissistic form of arrogance,’ he returned.

I glared at him, and I swear his lips twitched with amusement.

‘Forgive me, accept the compliment. Fokk, let me buy you a drink.’

Most men who adopted such a pushy approach almost always extinguished my interest. Still, this man, with his thunderous aura and intense focus, felt hypnotic, enticing, as though he’d slipped a potent narcotic into my blood.

‘Answer me,’ he commanded.

His growled demand was so ludicrous that my mouth fell open.

This was a man unaccustomed to hearing the word no.

Gathering my dignity, I lifted my chin and delivered the refusal. ‘Nada.’

His brow furrowed, and a storm rose then almost at once, subsided in his gaze.

A glimmer of amusement followed, tinged with respect. ‘You’re defiant, no doubt, Miss De Veil,’ he stated, still barring my route, his hands now crossed over his massive chest.

Which transformed my calm exhales into wild intakes as I attempted to contain my racing pulse.

‘You possess intelligence too, and a notably feisty spirit.’ He leaned in closer. ‘I like it.’

‘I’m not a feckless woman swayed by whatever the frak your aura is about,’ I managed to share, waving a hand dismissively before his torso to punctuate my point.

His eyes scanned my face and hair as he rasped, ‘I gathered that already.’

Damn him.

‘What will you have?’

‘Huh?’

He didn’t wait any longer. Turning toward the bar, he lifted a single hand and in nanoseconds, a bartender stood before him.

‘Two Tansinian Frianti 9807 whiskeys over rock ice,’ he instructed the server with a slight chin lift. ‘Place them on my tab, Reagan.’

‘Sir,’ the Allorian barkeep acknowledged.

‘I don’t want a drink,’ I huffed. With you.

His arrogance infuriated me even as his seductive power bewildered me.

Worse, the fact that my timeline was collapsing freakin’ alarmed me.

This man was keeping me from my crucial agenda.

‘But you do, Miss De Veil. I detect it in the glimmer of your assent, the short, fast exhales, your quickening chest movements, and the tension in your skin. You freakin’ want this.’

He just wasn’t talking about the drink, damn him.

‘Who the hell do you think you are?’

‘A man who made a mistake underestimating your grace, your style, your lip, and attitude.’

He was the most unusual man I’d ever met, that was for sure, and exceedingly pushy.

More of a worry, why couldn’t my legs execute a simple command to move? Why did I struggle to generate the will to leave his encompassing presence?

‘Futa,’ I whispered. ‘You made your bed, lie in it.’

He threw his head back, and a flicker of deep humor flashed within his eyes.

‘Woman, I deserved that. My interest grows with every passing moment in your feisty presence.’

‘Not for much longer, I have to leave.’

In all my experience, of all the men I ever encountered, none were in parallel to him.

I desired the man, that was for sure.

Still, I hesitated to tangle with him further, and besides, I had a mission to freakin’ get to.

‘Not until I get your full name. Do you go by a moniker other than Miss De Veil?’ he growled.

I never revealed my first name in public, so my utterance surprised me. ‘Lumi.’

His dark, generous brow elevated. ‘Repeat that?’

‘Lumi,’ I murmured, sliding my hair behind the shell of my ear, my cheeks warming as his gaze followed the gesture. ‘It signifies luminosity. It’s claimed that when I was born, a meteor shower of such intense illumination occurred that -.’

I realized I was rambling and clamped my mouth shut.

He studied me, then swept his aureate eyes over my entire form, leaving my body buzzing and my nipples tingling. ‘Tis the truth. You possess a unique radiance, Lumi De Veil,’ he murmured.

A potent shock of desire surged through me, striking my core, and my legs trembled.

His eyes, framed by his mask, flashed as did the sigils on his torso.

My heart flipped so hard I stared down at it only to find a peculiar glow emanating from under my own chest.

What in Devansi hell?

Masking my overwhelming confusion, I drew a steadying breath. ‘Yours?’

‘Zavier,’ he muttered, his timbre sending waves of unexpected warmth across my skin.

The name, damn it, carried a beautiful resonance, especially the way he growled it.

‘Sante,’ he rasped, a quirk touching his lips, suggesting he read my thoughts.

Our eyes locked once more, burning shafts of need arced between us until our drinks arrived on a silver tray.

He offered me mine without speaking. I took a sip and coughed at the spirit’s searing heat.

His eyes held my own as he swallowed his own, his throat working as the sultry scotch slid down and his muscled throat worked.

A wild, savage desire consumed me: to lean forward, press my mouth against that rippling pharynx, and wrap my arms around him as he thrust -.

I tossed back the remainder of the tumbler’s contents, stifled the urge to splutter at the burning sensation, and lifted my gaze back to him.

‘As I said, I’ve got to leave,’ I announced before I combusted.

‘Got somewhere to be, beautiful?’ he murmured, his bulk somehow closer to me without moving an inch.

‘I’ve got an appointment.’

His brow-ridge furrowed above that mask.

He studied me with that scorching gaze.

A lean finger found my chin, tilting my face toward him.

‘Attend your appointment, Lumi,’ he rumbled. ‘Then I’ll find you. When you are prepared for all of me.’

He extended the same freakin’ forefinger, sliding it from my temple to my jawline.

Damn him.

I jerked myself from his heated touch.

He stepped back, his eyes glittering.

‘Speak soon, Miss De Veil,’ he rasped.

I gave him a crisp chin lift. ‘Zavier. Sante for the drink.’

Bypassing his stunning male resplendence, I walked away.

Nada, I strutted, hips swaying, heart hammering, soul wild and on fire, for him.