Queen of Steel: Throne of Lies

Chapter 22 - Masquerade Mayhem

Lucian Drago's POV

I couldn't help but smirk as Tahlia looped her arm through mine, practically dragging me away from the chaos she'd created. The girl had fire, I'd give her that—recklessly indulging her fury in such a public spectacle.

Though I suspected a large part of her choice to exit on my arm was just to provoke a rise from her dear Allistair to new outbursts of territorial fervor - she was brazenly exploiting every advantage she could wield, no matter how scandalously.

Dangerous girl. How deliciously dangerous.

Not that I was complaining. Rattling that boy's cage was one of the small pleasures I relished, made even sweeter by how oblivious he was to the true game unfolding around him.

Lockwood fancied himself a white knight sworn to Tahlia's noble crusade. As if his juvenile notions of chivalry and honor could ever safeguard what she was so determined to unravel.

His sputtering outrage at her choice of escort amused me to no end. "You better keep your filthy hands to yourself, or I will burn you to ashes!" He practically snarled the words, their hostility meant to intimidate.

Laughable. As if I'd be cowed by the impotent threats of a lovelorn pup still finding his footing in the ruthless world of power brokering. I was ancient blood mingled with a wolfish brutality bred into my very marrow over generations. Predators like Lockwood were the least of what I contended with daily.

"I don't take threats kindly, Lockwood," I purred, unable to resist goading him further. Let the boy convince himself he could rattle me with his toothless bravado.

To his credit, the scion bristled like a dog with a threatened bone, his voice taking on a menacing tone. "It's not a threat, Drago. It's a bloody promise."

For a moment, I allowed myself a pause, studying his mutinous expression. Was there a sliver of true menace behind those blazing eyes, something more than the usual petulant bluster? Perhaps a core of the same resolve that ruled his beloved Tahlia?

Hmm... a slight miscalculation on my part, then. One I'd have to file away and reassess sooner rather than later. Best not to underestimate how viciously a cur might lash out when pushed far enough.

Still, for now, the brat remained little more than a fleeting amusement. As I guided Tahlia through the ballroom doors and away from his rage, I couldn't resist savoring one last helping of his indignation. Nothing stoked a man's ire quite like implying future... improprieties... with the woman he was so territorially defending.

In a few strides, we were beyond the crowd and heading toward the awaiting limo. Tahlia stayed stiff and trembling at my side, her emotions nearly palpable. How I savored the contradictory sensations—the fragility of her slim figure juxtaposed with the intensity and ambition smoldering within. A most intriguing combination for someone of her tender years.

We reached the velvet ropes, beyond which only the sleekest of luxury vehicles were permitted. I paused, fixing the girl with an inscrutable look as I considered how to properly unsettle her in this deliciously rattled state.

"Well now, Miss Steelman," I murmured in a low, almost paternal tone. "Shall we find somewhere you can cool that fury of yours? Perhaps over a civilized drink or two?"

Her throat worked convulsively as those hypnotic eyes met mine. So much simmering intensity flickering there, even as indecision warred with her baser needs. How utterly delectable to be on the receiving end of such feral focus.

Leaning closer, I allowed a hint of darker intent to enter my tone. "Or if you'd prefer, we could seek out... other methods to properly vent that fire smoldering inside you."