New York stank of sin... and Dominic Vale ruled it like a god.
The first to be born of his kind.
Half dragon. Half vampire.
From the top floor of The Crimson Fang, his personal fortress carved into the sky with blood money and dragon fire, he stared down at the glowing city like a predator. Every inch of this concrete jungle bent to him... supernatural or not. Witches, vampires, lycans, humans even corrupt politicians - all danced on his leash.
He didn't need a throne. The city was his.
Hidden beneath layers of glamour and secrecy, his empire expanded in every borough, every alley, every breath of supernatural life that dared to whisper in the shadows. From blood trafficking, and magical weapons to cursed contracts and body-bound deals... nothing moved without his permission.
He wasn't just feared.
He was law.
And tonight, that law was being broken.
The chamber inside the Crimson Fang... his underground dungeon disguised beneath a derelict cathedral... was carved from obsidian and bone. Fire danced in steel sconces along the stone walls, casting sharp shadows across the faces of those who entered.
Two of the guards... Lycans in tight suits and cruel smiles, shoved the trembling councilman inside. Abe Cruz looked pathetic. Sweat dripping down his double chin.
"Your late." Dominic said cooly, voice thick with a quiet threat.
His Armani suit was torn. His lip, bleeding. His pride, gone.
Dominic sat above him, sprawled like a lion on a perch, power coiled in every inch of his towering frame. Horns peeked through the shadows of his hair. His crimson eyes glowed-inhuman, unreadable, predatory.
"You disappoint me, Abe," Dominic murmured, voice a low velvet growl that echoed through the chamber. "After all I did for you. Paid for your little campaign. Covered your dirt. Bought your seat on the council like a good puppet."
"And still come empty-handed, I assume."
Abe stammered, sweat beading at his temple. "I... I didn't forget, I just-business is slow, Vale. I'm selling off some of my assets..."
"You mean your daughter's trust fund? Or her deceased mother's brownstone in Brooklyn?" Dominic's smirk was cruel. "Touch those, and I'll rip your spine out through your throat. Slowly."
Abe face paled.
Dominic stood, and the air changed.
The heat in the room rise with every step he took, fire licking at the stone around them. His dragon stirred beneath his skin. A creature forged of shadows and flame. Destroyer. Hungry. Restless.
"You think you can play me, Abe? Think because I deal with humans I won't burn one to ash?"
"N...No! I swear I'll get your money. "I'll--"
Dominic stopped inches from him.
"You won't have to," he said smoothly, eyes narrowing. "I've found another form of payment.
A pause.
Then that wicked, bone-chilling smirk returned.
"Your daughter."
She works at Sydney & Sinclair law firm.
"Correct."
Abe choked. "What? No-you cant-Dominic, she has nothing to do with this... she doesn't even know..."
"Exactly." Dominic crouched, dragging a clawed finger under Abe's chin, lifting his face like a child about to be scolded. "And I think it's time she did."
He inhaled slowly, nostrils flaring.
A scent lingered on Abe's clothes.
Jasmine. Lavender. Vanilla. Cream.
Dominic's eyes rolled back for a breath, then snapped forward... glowing brighter.
The dragon.
His beast didn't just want her. It needed her. To mark her womb with fire and seed and name.
Destroyer roared in his blood.
His soulstone burned at his flesh.
His voice dropped, dark and final.
"She's mine."
"She's my payment now," Dominic growled. "She'll pay your debt. One scream at a time."
Abe sat with wide eyes in the middle of the floor sobbing, saying, "Bella, I'm sorry."
Dominic gave two fucks, about human tears. Towering over the crumbled man.
Through telepathy, he summoned his second in command.
"Go to Isabella's house and wait for her there. Take her... unharmed and bring her back to the lair.
"Yes, my lord. As you command."
The link snapped, silence falling like a blade.
Little did Isabella know that her whole world is about to be flipped upside down.
Secrets will unfold and trust will broken.
The last floor of the Sydney & Sinclair tower gleamed like obsidian under moonlight, inside, Isabella Cruz sat in her glass-walled office, heels kicked off, silk blouse half-unbuttoned, legal briefs strewn across the table like battle plans. She was hours past exhaustion, yet looked like she could devour a courtroom-and any man foolish enough to challenge her.
The city pulsed below her. Fast, hungry. Just like her.
She took a long sip from her tumbler of whiskey, the taste smoky and sharp. Her reflection in the window looked back: power suit loosened, curls cascading down her back, eyes unreadable.
Bella was a force. A woman who bent the world to her will. And yet... she was so very alone.
It had been one year. One year since she had real intimacy. The touch and scent of man she longed for.
Her ex Sam, wanted to change her, more or less to be a mannequin, the kind that was beautiful but just smiles and wave.
Like hell. She's no one's puppet.
Bella doesn't mind being submissive, she hasn't met one yet, to make her bend. It's always been her who took the lead.
Looking at the clock on the wall, it was showing 9:37 p.m. She stayed longer than what she planned for. She need to go home and pump her breast, because they were heavy and full.
Sliding into her stilettos. Stacking the files neatly in the corner of her desk. Rising from her chair, she gave one last glance making sure things were in order. Pleased with what you saw she turned off the lights, shutting the door behind her. Taking the private elevator down to the garage, saying goodnight to the night watchmen.
The only thing waiting for her at home is a bottle of whiskey and the lastest shows on Netflix. Sighing, she turned on the car and drove home.
Unaware of the shadows in the darkness.
Isabella Cruz drove at a steady pace through the rainy streets. Listening to one of her favorite female rappers. Niki Minaj, "Monster," rapping word for word on her way home. She was tired. Needed to pump. Horny as hell.
For some odd reason, her dad was blowing up her phone with cryptic messages.
Lock your doors. Stay inside. Don't trust anyone.
She rolled her eyes.
Dude was always paranoid. Something about business going south. Money problems. Politics.
Whatever.
Her father, Abe was powerful and well-connected man, always busy, always vague. She had learned not to ask too many questions.
He may have given her and her mother the finest things in life, but he also gave a empty spot at the dinner table. Work always came before family.
When her mother got sick with stage four cancer, not even all the money in the world could save her. When she passed away, she was the only one at her dying bedside. It enraged her, because she died from a broken heart and from the disease that ate at her brain.
It's been four long years, since we had a real father daughter relationship. She didn't need money, her mom left her the brownstone apartments. Plus her trust fund. Working just kept her occupied.
A shiver crept over her body, shaking it off.
As she stepped into her house, dropped her bag...and froze.
The lights didn't work.
The second she reached for her phone, something crashed into her from behind. A cloth over her mouth. Thick arms pinning her. She screamed, kicked, scratched. Useless.
Everything faded to black...
Because tonight, she would pay for every lie he ever told.
The room was hot.
Too hot.
Isabella head pounded as she came to.
She was pissed the fuck off because her breast were aching and she was barefoot.
Her wrist were raw. Her body clad in a thin black silk slip that hugged every curve. Her thick thighs, full breast... all exposed like a fucking offering.
"What the hell?" she whispered, sitting up on a oversized bed surrounded by gold and shadows. Her wrist free now, but her body felt slick with need.
The door opened.
He entered.
"You're awake, Isabella" he said, his voice rich, deep, and lethal. "Good. I was growing impatient."
Allow for me to introduce myself.
I'm Dominic Vale.
He stood over her like a war god, sculptured from shadows, muscles inked with a ancient dragon runes that pulsed with a strange heat. A black cross necklace dangled from his neck. Guns strapped to his waist.
And looked at her like he owned her.
"You," she spat. "Let me the fuck out of here before I..."
"You'll what?" he asked, voice like smoke and sin. "Scratch me? Run?"
She stood, shoulders back, chin high. "I don't care who the fuck you are. How do you know my name? Why did you bring me here? Where's my father?!"
"You kidnapped me."
He stepped closer. The air heated with his presence. "Your father sold more than his soul to me, little dove. He sold your future the moment he borrowed my power."
"I don't belong to you," she said, jaw tight.
Dominic's mouth curled into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You will."
Isabella fists clenched. She was smart. She was no damsel. Her father had forced her through combat training since she was ten. She knew how to disarm, how to fight, how to kill if she had to. But none of it prepared her for Dominic Vale.
Dominic's eyes flickered... gold and burning. The dragon stirred beneath his skin.
"I don't want a toy," he growled. I want a mate. One that fights. One that bleeds. One that'll claw my back open when I take her so hard she forgets her name."
Her breath caught.
"I'm not yours," she whispered.
He stepped even closer. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. His scent was fire and leather and lust. She wanted to slap him and saddle him at the same time.
"You feel it too," he said lowly. "That pull between us. That thing burning under your skin. Your father's blood might be human filth-but you, Isabella? You were made for a dragon."
His hand touched her waist... firm, but not forceful.
She shivered.
"Get your fucking hands off me," she said.
"Make me," he whispered.
So she did.
She slapped him... hard. Her palm echoed across the stone walls.
He didn't blink.
Instead, he grabbed her. One hand on her throat... not choking, just owning. The other on her hip. He pinned her against the wall with terrifying grace, towering over her, his voice nothing but a growl now.
"You want dark?" he rasped. "Then look me in the eyes when I say this, goddess... if I wanted you on your knees, you'd already be there. But I want you to break first. I want you to hate me... right up until you come so hard screaming my name, you forget how to say your own."
Her thighs clenched.
"You're disgusting," she hissed. But he nipples betrayed her, hard beneath the silk, little droplets of milk formed.
He saw.
He sniffed.
He grinned.
And then, he stepped back.
Just like that.
Isabella blinked.
"You'll sleep in my bed," he said, voice cool again, "but I won't touch you until you ask for it."
"Don't hold your breath."
"Oh, I won't." He leaned in close, fangs flashing as he whispered.
I'll hold yours."
