Smoke and Fire: Part 1 by Donna Grant

Taraeth was helping Mikkel, but Mikkel had no idea that Taraeth and Ulrik struck their own bargain.
    “And he never will,” Taraeth mumbled beneath his breath. In a louder tone he said, “Ulrik is still being … entertained … by Muriel.”
    Just as Sinny, her sister, was “entertaining” Mikkel.
    “I already know that much.” Mikkel’s lips thinned. His gold eyes grew hard. “I want to know the rest.”
    Taraeth rose from the black sofa that mirrored the one Mikkel occupied across the space. He ran a hand down his black silk shirt as he walked to the liquor. There he poured a glass for Mikkel and handed it to him.
    As he turned back to the alcohol, he glanced down at his missing left arm. His hatred for Denae hadn’t lessened. If anything, he despised her more every day.
    Taraeth poured whisky—Irish, of course—into a glass and took a sip. Then he faced Mikkel. “I’m not Ulrik’s keeper. I don’t follow him around. I thought that was your job.”
    “I’ve people watching him,” Mikkel admitted. “But he continues to slip past them.”
    “Perhaps your people aren’t as good as you think.”
    Mikkel tossed back the whisky and lowered the glass. “If they fail, they pay with their lives.”
    Taraeth shrugged, uncaring. After all, he did the same thing. But he was leading an entire race. Mikkel would never be able to lead the Dragon Kings that way. The other Kings would kill him.
    “I also have a few of my people working for him.”
    Taraeth returned to his sofa and chuckled. “That may not be wise, my friend. If Ulrik finds out…”
    “He’ll never find out,” Mikkel said with confidence. “That lad knows I’m in charge. He does what I say without question. And he’ll continue to do so.”
    Taraeth wasn’t so sure, but he wouldn’t be the one to point that out to Mikkel. Ulrik would do that soon enough. Because though Taraeth hadn’t admitted it to his right-hand man, Balladyn, he agreed that Ulrik was the stronger of the two.
    Yet there was a slight chance Mikkel would win. Taraeth was still hedging his bets for the moment. That could change tomorrow. Until then, he would placate Mikkel in whatever way was needed.
    Mikkel raised his empty glass. Taraeth motioned to the liquor with his head. With a smirk, Mikkel rose and poured himself another drink.
    “You had the Dragon Kings,” Mikkel said. “Edinburgh, London, Glasgow, Inverness, and all the other cities were burning. Your Dark were feeding on the souls of the useless humans. Why did you pull back?”
    Taraeth’s good mood evaporated like smoke. He didn’t enjoy being questioned by anyone, but most especially someone who wasn’t a Fae—like Mikkel.
    “We got what we needed with the video. We’ve dealt the Kings a major blow and focused the world’s attention on them,” Taraeth answered.
    Mikkel brought the glass to his lips and hesitated. “Did you? Deal the Kings a blow, that is?” he asked before he took a drink.
    Taraeth wanted to kill Mikkel right then. It was only by sheer force of will that he held himself back. But he would wipe that fucking sneer off his face. “We did more damage in a few hours than your spy working among those at Dreagan.”
    “Touché,” Mikkel said as his gold gaze narrowed.
    Taraeth watched Mikkel slowly walk back to the sofa and sit. Tense silence descended over the room Taraeth used for private meetings. Right outside the two sets of doors were Dark Fae ready to kill with just a word from him.
    Though Taraeth could take care of Mikkel on his own, if need be. It might one day come to that, but if he ever did, Taraeth would then have to face Ulrik.
    And that was one former Dragon King he’d rather not mess with.
    There was too much loathing, vengeance, and animosity within Ulrik. It consumed him, devoured him.
    That kind of hatred spawned an animal that could never be tamed, an animal that would never stop until it got exactly what it wanted—retribution.
    “Ulrik and Con fought,”