Fired by my Grumpy Dragon (Grumpy Monster Bosses #3)

FORTY ONE

Loren

I’m putting the finishing touches on my outfit when my phone buzzes. The strappy gold heels might be too flashy for the opera where no one will see them, but I don’t care one bit. They make my calves look amazing, and when I turn and check out my ass in the mirror, I grin, anticipating his reaction. My dress is tight and narrows in beneath my hips, accentuating my curves. The fitted corset top pushes up my boobs and the cropped jacket I’m wearing over the top makes sure all the good bits are still on display.

Expecting a message from Kivrayn, I unlock my screen, but the notification is from an unknown number.

It’s not yours. You have no right to it.

I frown. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was from one of Jenny’s children. Surely they can’t care that much about the collection when they would each have been left a significant inheritance even without it.

I put my phone aside, but moments later the screen lights up with another.

You should be careful. Thieves all get justice in the end.

My stomach twists with a strange knotty feeling. It’s probably just someone trying to fuck with me. Or a wrong number. Or something. Only this feels far too much like what a slighted and slightly mad heir might do .

I delete the messages and block the number. Not going to let this spoil my evening.

Kivrayn buzzes a moment later, and I try to push the messages from my mind as I snatch my clutch and head downstairs to meet him.

He gives me a heated look up and down as I open the door and step out onto the street. Then one wing curls protectively around me as he leads me to his waiting car.

I’ve long since stopped finding this sort of behavior annoying. In fact, it makes me smile, not least because I know I’ll probably pay for it later.

At least I hope so.

I didn’t want to admit to Kivrayn that I’ve never been to an opera before. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, but I could never justify the expense. Besides, I’m not sure if I’ll like it. I probably won’t understand what’s going on.

As soon as we walk up the steps of the Grand Theater, though, the smile does not leave my face. There are plenty of celebrities here tonight. I recognize a couple of faces, so I’m surprised when a young man calls out to us and asks for our picture. It makes me glow with pride to stand on the steps at the opera and be photographed with Kiv, even if it is his billionaire status that attracts attention. I’ll happily bask in his glow.

Inside, the lighting is dim but opulent; hundreds of tiny lamps strung up in a massive chandelier and hundreds more around the room illuminate the smartly dressed patrons, standing in clusters in the lobby, sipping from tall champagne flutes and looking self-satisfied in pearls and evening wear .

Tonight I fit in. It feels scandalous to wear the earrings from Kivrayn’s hoard that probably haven’t been worn in a thousand years, but when he opened the tiny box in the car and showed them to me, I knew I had to.

They’re so light I can hardly feel them. It’s only the reminder of the tickling brush of thin gold against my neck as I turn my head that lets me know they haven’t fallen out somewhere.

Kivrayn won’t stop looking at me. Something about his hungry gaze tells me he’s doing more than checking that his prized possession is still safe. His hand hovers at the small of my back and I feel like royalty, moving between groups of people toward the bar where Kivrayn asks if I’d like something to drink.

I shake my head. I think I want to stay sober tonight. To really take this in. He orders sparkling water, and I sip mine from the tall glass they serve it in, looking around. “Oh my god,” I whisper to him. “That’s Major Tarvost.” My eyes dart to the tall minotaur standing with a blonde human woman in the corner.

Kivrayn smiles. “I knew you would enjoy this.”

He’s right. Of course it feels amazing to rub shoulders with Heartstone’s elite. A bell rings and people begin moving into the theater. “Are we allowed to take our drinks in?” I whisper.

“Of course.”

Kivrayn leads me to a large staircase, and we climb to the very top. I look at him skeptically. “I thought you said you got us the best seats in the house. ”

“You’ll see,” he breathes in my ear as the usher checks our tickets.

And the very next moment, I do, when a red-velvet curtain is pulled aside and I realize we have our own box. The seats inside are cushioned with the same velvet as the curtains and much larger than the rows of seats in the stalls below. I was dubious about what sort of view we’d have up here, but I soon see that in this position there is no one in front to block us. A tiny pair of opera glasses are nestled on each seat in case we want a closer look.

I rush to try them, looking around when Kivrayn taps my leg. A waiter is standing at the entrance to our box with a tray and a napkin folded over his arm. “Anything for you ma’am?”

“Do you have virgin cocktails?”

The waiter smiles. “Of course.”

“Then I’ll have a virgin mojito please.”

Kivrayn says something else to him in a low voice, but I’m staring through the binoculars at the rest of the audience. There’s a lady in a box opposite doing the same. Her companion looks bored. He’s leaning back on his chair, his leg folded over the other. She nudges him and he ignores her.

Oh, this is fun. I love people watching.

Just then soft music begins, and the lights shift so that the stage is more brightly illuminated. The soft hum of conversation dies.

I sit forward in my seat.

Kivrayn’s breath is warm on my ear. “You’re loving this aren’t you? ”

I nod without looking around. “Oh my god. How is that wig staying on?”

A woman with the most enormous wig I’ve ever seen struts out onto the stage, takes a deep breath, and launches into the most beautiful song I think I’ve ever heard.

I hardly even notice when the waiter returns. He sets a tray down on the little table between our seats.

I reach blindly for my drink, but a firm hand closes around my wrist. “Don’t.”

I’m jolted from my concentration on the lady on the stage. I look around at Kivrayn. His previously relaxed expression has hardened into something much stonier.

With his other hand, he takes the cocktail glass from my hand and lifts it to his nose.

“What are you—?”

He sniffs. “Someone is going to pay for this.” A huge flame bursts from him as he shouts. Someone in the audience screams.

In a flash, he dashes the glass and its contents against the wall. It smashes, splashing cold liquid around our box and onto my dress. “We’re leaving.”

“Kiv, what the hell?”

“It’s poisoned. Get your things.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Who would poison—” The heat drains from my cheeks, and I can’t even finish my sentence. Of course, I know exactly who might do that. I wish I hadn’t deleted those messages.

That’s all I have time to think before Kivrayn drags me out of the box. Glancing around, he leads me swiftly down the stairs. The music from the performance swells, the singer’s voice rising to a beautiful crescendo. She forges on despite the growing murmur from the audience.

I almost stumble when Kivrayn’s larger steps become too quick for me to keep up with.

The waiter who served us appears out of another box and freezes.

Kivrayn drops my hand and is on him in an instant. He yanks the poor man off his feet by his neck, pinning him to the wall. “What did you put in that drink?”

The waiter squeaks. His face turns red.

I tug at Kiv’s sleeve. “Put him down.”

He ignores me. “What the fuck did you put in it?”

A waitress from another box comes around the corner and gasps. “Sir! I’m calling security.”

I tug harder. “Kiv, put him down.”

The waiter makes a gurgling sound as Kiv’s hand tightens around his neck.

“Kiv!”

With a growl, he drops the waiter to the floor where the poor guy drops to his knees coughing.

“There was poison in that drink and you’re going to tell me exactly how it got there.”

The man looks up, horrified. “That couldn’t be. I took it straight from the bar myself.”

This is getting out of hand. I reach for my phone in my clutch, wondering if I should call someone. Will that just get Kiv in trouble? My screen lights and a message pops up.

Enjoy your evening, Ms, Carandang. Reviews say it’s a fantastic performance.

My mouth goes dry .

I say nothing, but Kivrayn must sense something is wrong—well, more wrong. He leans over my shoulder and looks at my screen. “What the fuck is that? No, don’t tell me now. We’re leaving. I will deal with this in the morning.”

“What?”

He picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder, jogging down the stairs.

“Just how will you deal with it?”

I get no answer.

Moments later he bursts into the night air, shifting and launching into the sky.

I’m given no choice in the matter, just carried away again, totally unable to resist. This is becoming a pattern, and I’m not sure how to feel about that.

Only the sick, twisting feeling in my guts when I think about that message stops me from protesting all the way to Oak Haven.