ONE
PYRUS
Pyrus Bloodmoon sat in first class on a flight to Johannesburg and loosened his thick, knit tie after about an hour in the air. He stared at the pulpy clouds and stunning blue sky, ruminating about soaring through them rather than being confined to some metal flying machine.
He was a dragon shifter, a rather old one, in fact, but if you looked at him, he would barely strike you as middle-aged. His height made him noticeable, his head brushing most ceilings and door frames so often that he’d learned to naturally tilt down before walking into a room. But it was his striking handsomeness that made eyes linger.
His dark brown hair appeared almost black in certain dim lights. It was neatly pushed back with minimal gel, and he never let it grow past the point of getting his fingers tangled within its softness. He was a daily shaver. Not a single bit of stubble had been seen in years, even by those closest to him.
But those he was closest to weren’t really that close. Most of them were his business partners, his employees, and every now and then, a hot piece of flesh to warm his bed and his loins. He was eternally appreciative and generous in bed, but that hadn’t translated into anything worth putting long-term efforts into.
No, like the dragon ascending into the sunrise, Pyrus flew solo, and that was the way he liked it.
South Africa was far too long a haul to get there by virtue of his expansive wings despite the longing he felt while staring out the window. There also hadn’t been enough time to have his private jet cleared by the FAA, so a commercial flight worked fine for him.
He always wore a suit on these trips, not only because it was mandatory in the first-class section but because it was the closest that he felt to being himself. It was miles away from how he felt in his dragon form, the scales running over his body, the fire swirling in his belly and throat.
But a dragon showing up to business meetings wasn’t exactly embraced with open arms.
Pyrus heard the sound of the seat belt light clicking off, giving him an opportunity to stand and stretch his legs. It was a long flight, nearly seventeen hours, so he should take the chance to get up and walk around whenever he could. He had done the trip many times before, but usually within the comfort of his own private jet.
A change is as good as a rest.
Pyrus walked through the expansive aisles, smiling down at the pretty women who gave him unashamed glances. He was used to it all, of course, but he wasn’t thinking about anything recreational. He was thinking of work, his business, and making sure he didn’t get cramps in his legs from sitting too long.
Pyrus was often restless when he flew in a plane as opposed to in the air. It felt way too confining to be inside a machine, making him feel a bit claustrophobic. He was so used to spreading his wings wide, touching clouds, and moving through various weather patterns. It was freeing, and flying on a plane was the complete opposite of that.
Sometimes he’d feel his spine tingling, like his wings were aching to burst from his back. So he got up and moved around, trying to fool his body into believing it didn’t need to shift just yet.
As he walked up the aisle, he spotted a woman from behind with blinding silver hair who seemed familiar. When she turned her head, he knew instantly that those smokey, sage eyes could only mean one thing.
“Gerri Wilder,” he said, smirking.
The older woman sat in her private pod with a glass of wine in her hand, posing like she was sitting for a photoshoot. She met his eyes gently, then a tiny smile grew upon her pink lips.
“Pyrus Bloodmoon,” she said softly. “What are the chances?”
“What are the chances indeed?” Pyrus replied.
Pyrus was a billionaire, and, as far as he knew, so was Gerri, or at least she had been at some point. They’d met before at various charity events that Gerri ran, engaging in polite chat that was essential on such occasions. Pyrus had met many people at these events, but Gerri stood out to him. She never wavered in eye contact, looking into your soul like she knew exactly how to map it.
Pyrus wasn’t much for intuition, so he shook off the thought like an annoying gnat.
“Sit, please,” Gerri said, motioning toward the extra seat before her.
Pyrus nodded and sat, gazing at the woman in her easy chair. There were many benefits to first class, and one of them was the fact that each flier received their own private pod, like a division of desks in an office. Gerri looked more like she was lying on a beach than sitting midair with a handful of strangers.
“Wine?” Gerri offered with a grin.
Pyrus shook his head. “It’ll only make me sleepy,” he said with a wink.
“On a seventeen-hour flight, that doesn’t sound too terrible,” she said, smirking.
“I’ll save the sleep for when we hit solid earth,” he replied.
Gerri sipped at her drink, her fixed look on Pyrus never unsteadied.
“So what has you flying to Johannesburg?” Pyrus asked, leaning back and draping his hand over the chair.