“Huh. Interesting. I’ve never seen that before, but I don’t see anything that screams mage. Then again, I’ve never met one. Maybe there’s something about them I don’t know to look for.”

“He is not a popular man,” she said quietly.

“Really? If there’s such a powerful mage all ready to step into the Venediger’s shoes, why on earth would anyone want me to fight for the job?”

“We do not know who he is. No one knows for certain.” Amelie leaned close so I could hear. “But it is rumored his power comes from a dark source.”

Something bothered me about Peter Burke, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. Perhaps Amelie’s forebodings were getting to me. “Hmm. I can see why people wouldn’t want someone with one foot in Abaddon in control of the Otherworld, but if you want to get technical, I am a demon lord, so that should let me off the hook, too.”

She shook her head. “Everyone here knows about you and Jim. You are not a prince of Abaddon, nor do you have ties to them.” Her gaze shifted across the bar to where Peter Burke sat. “The same cannot be said about others.”

“Hey! I sensed an insult in that statement!” Jim said, looking up from the bread sticks I’d given it. We both ignored the demon.

“Well, it’s a moot point. I can’t take the job.” I continued my perusal of the room, greatly enjoying seeing beneath the surface of the denizens of the Paris Otherworld. “Wow. This is fascinating.”

“I wish you would think about it... oh, dear.”

“Oooh, there’s a faerie over there. She has translucent wings that are almost invisible even to my supervision. Cool.”

“Ash, you’re going to be sued if you keep it up.”

I ignored Jim. It always exaggerated. My gaze shifted past the faerie and her companion (also fey), wandering around the room, enjoying seeing people in their true forms. A little ripple of excitement caused everyone to shift, a wave of cool air curling through the crowds as a hush descended over everyone.

“That’s odd. I wonder who’s causing that... oh, no!”

“Aisling, you must stop now. This is getting out of hand,” Amelie said.

“It’s Fiat,” I groaned, recognizing the man at the doorway of the club. “Damn. I was hoping to avoid him.”

“Ash, you may want to drop the menu before it burns you.”

“Hmm?” I looked from where Fiat was gliding his way down the steps, two of his guards in tow, to the menu I still held in my hand. It was on fire.

“Criminy dutch!”

The mental door slammed shut as I dropped the menu on the floor and stomped on it a few times to put the flames out. I looked up to apologize and explain to Amelie that although as Drake’s mate I could pull on his dragon fire, I had yet to really learn how to control it, but the look on her face as she gazed around the room stopped me.

Every menu in the place was alight. People stood silently with them burning where they had dropped—on the tables, the floor, and the bar itself. To a man, they all turned to look at me.

“I see you have made your presence known in your own distinct manner.” A smooth voice with an Italian accent floated from the far side of the room. “Welcome back to Paris, cara.”

4

“Aisling Grey,” the dragon who stopped in front of me said, a smile touching his lips. I ground my teeth together. A name, as I have learned, has power, and the emphasis Fiat put on my name made it seem as if he had some sort of hold over me.

In his dreams.

“Sfiatatoio del Fuoco Blu,” I said, deliberately using Fiat’s full name. He ignored that and clutched my hand, pressing his lips to the back of it, nodding to Amelie when I introduced her.

He pulled out a chair without waiting for an invitation. “Cara, it has been so long. What, two weeks since we have last been together?” Fiat’s cool fingers trailed across the back of my neck. I shivered and scooted to the side, aware that I was being less than polite. The blue dragons’ element was air, and Fiat always seemed to be a good ten degrees cooler than his environment. “An eternity.”

“Yes, two weeks, although you could hardly say we were together. You were trying to disrupt the peace conference, and I was there supporting Drake.”

“Such a fierce defense of him. What fire you have.” He reached out and tucked an unruly strand of hair behind my ear. I fought down the desire to smack his hand and told myself he was purposely trying to rile me. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of giving in to the temptation. “And yet, I have heard that all is not well with you and your mate. You have been living in the States while he remains in Europe, no?”

“No,” I said firmly, smiling at the waitress when she brought our drinks. She brought Fiat a dusty dark green bottle and small aperitif glass as well, clearly a standing order. I lifted my glass and touched it to Amelie’s, then acknowledged my manners and did the same with Fiat. “Santé.”

“Santé,” Amelie murmured, her eyes wary as she watched Fiat.

“I had also heard that you were moving to London to be nearer your mentor.” Fiat sipped at his drink, some sort of golden wine. “Is Drake accompanying you? Or are the rumors true, and you are at odds with your mate?”

I said nothing but ground out a smile. It was pretty insincere, but it was a smile nonetheless. Although I wanted nothing more than to tell Fiat what I really thought of him, I held my tongue. This wasn’t just about me now—I had the green dragons to think of. Drake wouldn’t thank me if I insulted Fiat so greatly that the blue dragons refused to cooperate at any further peace discussions.

Fiat’s eyes narrowed. He leaned toward me, sniffing. “Why is it you smell different?”

“I really don’t think a discussion about my choice of deodorant or bath powder is at all enlightening, but if you really want the names of both, I’ll be happy to give them to you.”

“No,” he said, suddenly lunging at me until his nose was buried in the crook of my neck.

“Hey!” I said, trying to push him away. Minding my p’s and q’s was one thing—full frontal sniffage was another! “Knock it off! Um. Please knock it off.”

“You want me to rip him a new one?” Jim asked. Amelie looked confused.

“Of course not. Don’t be silly,” I said, trying for a light, dismissive laugh. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to get bent out of shape, even though this really was over the line. “Fiat is just overly impressed by my perfume. I’ll have to write the makers a testimonial letter.”