The Fox And The Last Dragon

The boutique's glass doors whispered shut behind them as they stepped into the cool evening air.

Streetlights flickered to life along the boulevard, creating long shadows that covered the pavement.

Kane glanced at his reflection in a darkened storefront window, still not quite recognizing the polished stranger staring back.

His stomach broke the silence with an embarrassingly loud growl. Kane winced, pressing a hand against his midsection, as if that might silence it.

"Sorry," he muttered. "Haven't exactly had time for food today, what with the whole nearly dying, waking up bonded to you, and then the apartment disaster."

Cyrus turned, his expression unreadable in the gathering dusk. "When was the last time you ate?"

Kane shrugged.

"Yesterday? Before the warehouse mission. Then I was unconscious, then..." His stomach interrupted with another protest.

Cyrus paused, his brow furrowing slightly.

Through their new connection, he felt a hollow sensation that mirrored Kane's hunger pangs—a strange echo of discomfort that wasn't his own.

"There's a charity ball tonight at the Westmore Hotel." Cyrus checked his phone.

"Old money, politicians, business associates—the usual tedious affair. I received an invitation weeks ago but hadn't planned to attend."

Kane's eyes widened. "A fancy party with food?"

"The catering is... adequate." Cyrus admitted.

"Many of the city's most influential figures will be there—both human and spirit. It could be... beneficial for you."

"Beneficial how?" Kane asked, straightening his new tailored jacket.

"You'll meet people worth knowing. Learn who holds actual power in this city." Cyrus's eyes narrowed slightly.

"And you'll have the opportunity to observe me in a social setting, which I imagine serves your investigative purposes."

Kane's expression flickered with surprise before he masked it.

"Pretty perceptive for someone who claims to be innocent."

"I never claimed to be oblivious." Cyrus gestured toward the waiting Bentley.

The Bentley cruised through the city streets, its headlights cutting through the evening shadows.

Kane watched the city blur past, lights streaking like thoughts he couldn't catch.

Guilt gnawed at him.

Cyrus sat beside him, one hand on the wheel, his profile sharp against the passing streetlights.

For someone Kane had been investigating as a criminal mastermind, the dragon had shown him nothing but... well, not kindness exactly, but something close to it.

He saved Kane's life, healed him, gave him clothes, offered him food, and even brought him to a high-society event.

Kane's ears flattened slightly against his head. What if he was wrong? What if Cyrus truly had nothing to do with the trafficking?

He stole another glance at Cyrus, whose expression remained impassive as he navigated through traffic with effortless precision.

"Thanks," Kane said quietly. "For the clothes and... everything else."

Cyrus's eyes never left the road. "Don't mistake practicality for sentiment, fox."

But the words lacked their earlier edge, and through their bond, Kane felt something that contradicted the coldness—a flicker of something almost warm.

Soon, the Bentley glided to a stop, and three valets in crimson uniforms materialized instantly.

One opened Cyrus's door with a deferential nod while another rushed to Kane's side.

The Westmore Hotel rose before them like a monument to old-world luxury—all gleaming marble columns and cascading fountains illuminated by golden light.

A red carpet stretched from the circular drive to the grand entrance, flanked by velvet ropes holding back photographers and onlookers.

Kane stepped out, momentarily dazzled by camera flashes.

Reporters pressed against velvet ropes, shouting questions that blended into unintelligible noise. The crowd's attention sharpened when they recognized Cyrus.

"Is that the Veyr Corp CEO?"

"He never attends these things!"

"Who's that with him?"

Kane's ears twitched beneath his illusion spell as he caught whispers from the gathered crowd.

A woman in a diamond-encrusted gown swept past them, trailed by handlers. Kane recognized the movie star from billboards across the city.

Behind her, a wolf spirit cloaked in an expensive human glamour emerged from a sleek black limousine—his gaze raking the crowd with animalistic calculation.

"Stay close," Cyrus murmured, his hand briefly touching Kane's lower back as they approached the entrance.

"The wolves here aren't just the four-legged kind."

Kane swallowed hard, suddenly aware of just how far he was from his usual world of stakeouts and cheap takeout.

The grand ballroom of the Westmore Hotel glittered with crystal chandeliers and polished marble.

Hundreds of guests in formal attire mingled beneath soaring ceilings, their laughter and conversation creating a pleasant hum that filled the space.

Kane stepped through the arched entryway beside Cyrus, immediately aware of how conversations faltered and heads turned in their direction.

The dragon's presence commanded attention without effort.

"Mr. Drakhal," a middle-aged man approached with practiced smoothness, "what an unexpected pleasure."

"Mayor Harrington." Cyrus nodded coolly. "I trust the city's affairs are in order?"

"Always improving, thanks in part to your corporation's generous contributions." The mayor's eyes shifted to Kane with undisguised curiosity.

"This is Kane, my new personal assistant," Cyrus said.

Kane extended his hand, noting how the mayor's grip tightened when Cyrus added, "He'll be handling my schedule and certain... specialized matters."

The mayor's smile didn't reach his eyes. "How fortunate for you both."

A waiter appeared with a tray of champagne flutes. Kane grabbed one gratefully, fighting the urge to down it in one gulp.

Kane's eyes darted between the passing trays of appetizers, his stomach still growling despite the three canapés he'd already devoured.

He inched toward a server carrying what looked like bacon-wrapped dates, careful to stay within the invisible tether that bound him to Cyrus.

"Excuse me," he murmured, snagging two from the tray and popping one into his mouth.

As he reached for a second appetizer, a large figure materialized at his side.

The scent hit Kane first—pine forest and something primal that made the hair on his neck stand up.

"You must be the new acquisition," said a deep voice with the barest hint of a growl.

Kane turned to find himself face-to-face with the wolf spirit he'd spotted outside.

Up close, the illusion of humanity was nearly perfect, save for the amber eyes that held too much wilderness to be truly human.

"Elias Thorne," the wolf said, extending a hand.

"I run Moonfall Industries. We've had... dealings with Veyr Corp in the past."

His smile revealed teeth just slightly too sharp.

"I don't believe I've seen you in Cyrus's orbit before."