Dragon Heartstring(2)

“Isn’t he a little young for the wisdom of dating according to Aunt Sorcha?”

“He’s never too young to know what girls like. Right, Julian?” She took him from my arms and brushed her nose to his.

“I’m not sure Jessen is ready for her three year old to hit the dating scene.”

“Don’t be such a bore, Demetrius,” she said with a sigh. “Overdressed as usual, I see.”

“I came from work.”

“Of course you did.”

“Why’d you call him a bore, Aunt Sorcha? And what’s a bore?”

“Oh, never mind,” she told Julian. “That’s nothing. You should hear the names I used to call him.”

“Why would you call Uncle Demetrius names? He’s nice.”

Sorcha laughed with a toss of her head and flaming hair. “Mmm, nice. Yes, well—”

“Sorcha,” I warned.

“Run along, Demetrius. Go see your sister. Julian, your dad has a game for you and your friends.”

“A game?” Julian’s eyes lit up. “What’s it called?”

Sorcha took him off to a gathering of children near Lucius who’d spotted me and given me a nod in greeting. I suppose that was better than the fuck-you glare. I scanned the party to find Jessen seated under the awning next to a Morgon woman who looked familiar, though I couldn’t place her. Jessen was engrossed in the conversation, which seemed intense with their vehement whisperings. She didn’t notice me until I was there by her side.

“Hello, Jessen.”

“Demetrius!” She leaped out of her seat and hugged me with the kind of joy I longed for. “I’m so glad you came.”

“Of course, I came. You thought I wouldn’t?”

Hands on my shoulders, she pulled back, giving me a solemn look, then said quietly, “I’m always afraid you won’t. That Father might—”

“Sister, you overestimate our father’s power over me.”

She arched a brow. “Really?”

I sighed. “I won’t ever forget my nephew’s birthday. Ever.”

She smiled, knowing good and well what I truly meant, that our father had kept an ironclad grip on my will for many years. He still did at times. But I’d not let him come between me and her again.

“Besides, you might be surprised to know that he’s not quite the curmudgeon he once was.”

“Oh? Now that is shocking.”

“Well, not entirely,” I added. “Moira didn’t make it?”

“No. She brought Julian a present yesterday. She’s got a hard deadline with the paper she can’t miss.”

I nodded in understanding. Our youngest sister was growing up fast, climbing the ladder at The Herald, the college paper for Gladium University.

The woman behind us cleared her throat softly.

“Oh.” Jessen swiveled. “You remember Shakara Icewing, don’t you?”

Unusual that I should forget a face like hers—high cheekbones, heart-shaped lips, sea-green eyes that looked on me with a steady gaze. She wore her platinum blond hair down around her delicate shoulders. Her pink blouse and tight jeans accentuated a slender frame.

She smiled and stood, tucking her white wings close to her back. “I’m afraid he doesn’t, Jess.”

“Oh, come on, Demetrius. The Unity Ball several years ago. And she came to Julian’s party last year.”

“No, I missed his second birthday,” she said. “I had that emergency at the clinic, remember? But I was at his first. Apparently, I didn’t make a big enough impression,” she teased, offering her hand. “Hi. I’m Shakara Icewing.”

I took her hand in mine. “I’m so sorry. I believe I do remember you now.”

It was the Unity Ball I remembered her from. Three years ago to be precise. But my mind was on other things than beautiful women that night, such as my father’s business negotiations with the Morgons and my sister’s refusal to marry the man whose family alliance would strengthen the Cade fortune. Yes, I’d been obsessed with work and business then, much like I was now. Except now, I steered clear of the Grayson family. Particularly Aron, the one who’d almost killed my sister in the process of staking his claim.

The sleeveless top Jessen wore revealed the edge of the swirling pattern of the iridescent scar on her shoulder. Jessen had told me once this was the mark left behind when a wound was healed by a Morgon healer, an Icewing, though she gave me no other details.

“No need to save my feelings,” said Shakara. “I’ve got tougher skin than it looks.”

I admired her milk-and-cream complexion. She caught me staring and glanced away, a pretty blush flushing her cheeks.

“Jessen,” called Sorcha near the crowd of giggling children, Julian in the center with a blindfold on and spinning around. “Come see!”

“Excuse me,” she said, disappearing toward them.

“Would you like to go and watch?” I asked.

“I’m comfortable watching from here.”

When I leaned to stand beside her, I accidentally brushed the bottom of her wings with my hand. She flinched and tightened them against her back.

“Sorry,” I said, always a little uncomfortable about a Morgon’s wings, the obvious physical difference between our species.