Dragon Marked_ Supernatural Prison #1(3)

My father caught up with me just before I entered the huge double doors and draped an arm across my shoulders, leading me back to the grassy area off to the side. I smiled as I stared into his dark blue eyes; they were the same color as mine. His hair was blond though, whereas mine was so black it almost looked blue in the sunlight. My father didn’t look much older than me. Supernaturals age very slowly. Most live a good eight hundred years or more.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Jonathon leaned down to give me a hug. He wasn’t tall for a shifter, but height wasn’t important when his power followed him around ready to deliver a swift boot in the ass. My father ruled our pack with an iron fist, but toward me he was a fluffy puppy … with claws. He placed both hands on my biceps. “I need to tell you something before the meeting. We have some new and disturbing information.”

I opened my mouth, but was interrupted by a shout.

“Jessa!”

I spun my head to see Jacob wave. He was with his brothers and they were making their way across the paved center arcade. The vamp and shifter girls around me started giggling like morons. For some reason these men turned cold-blooded predators into silly human females. It was quite amusing to watch as the quads brushed them off. Most of them were just looking to snare the future leaders of the council. We were a bit superficial like that. And while the Compasses were not exactly picky, groupies were not their thing.

I growled at a very blond wolf shifter. “Get some pride.” Damn, she was like three seconds from drooling.

The blonde lowered her eyes, not dominant enough to meet my glare for too long. I turned away with a shake of my head. Silky strands of my straight inky hair brushed against my bare shoulders. In true shifter style I was only wearing a tank and short shorts, clothes easy to shed if my wolf needed to run.

“Try and remember, Jess,” Jonathon said, drawing my attention again. “You don’t see the guys the same way as the other females.”

Narrowing my eyes, I spun my head to observe the four of them as the crowd parted to let them through. I had no idea what my father was talking about, I saw them perfectly fine. I had outstanding vision, almost as good as the eagle shifters.

The brothers stood heads above everyone else. All of them looked alike and yet were all so different. They were exceptionally beautiful, with olive skin, chiseled jaws, straight perfect noses, and dimples in their cheeks. Yes, the smug bastards had dimples too. But in no way were they cute; they were gorgeous and hard, and you knew they could destroy you if you crossed them the wrong way.

Braxton was a little in front. At six and a half feet he was a massive shifter, which made sense for a dragon. His skin was a few shades darker than his brothers’ and his hair was as black as night, contrasting beautifully to his eyes, which were as blue as a flawless spring sky. Tyson, the wizard, had brown hair with that hint of auburn threaded through. He wore it a little longer than his brothers, but still only brushing the bottom of his ears. His eyes were a honeysuckle brown, soft and sweet, except when he was using his magic. Then they turned gold and you knew it was time to haul ass. Jacob, the fey, was a little shorter, and finer than his massive brothers, but was still big. He had green eyes, like a newly-turned leaf in spring, and hair so blond it was pretty much white. Bringing up the rear was Maximus, the vampire, the hugest of the four. His hair was dirty blond, falling into his dark brown eyes. You knew when he was vamped out, fangs descended and his eyes turned black.

Yes, they were all exceptional, but if I had to pick the most exceptional, well, Braxton held a little more of my heart than the other three. He was my absolute best friend.

I’d die or kill for any of them in an instant and I knew they felt the same way. I’d never made friends in my pack. Sure, it was probably because of my sunny personality, but even if I didn’t have an attitude problem, being the alpha’s daughter inspired fear and respect but not friendship. I was lucky to have the boys.

Jonathon looked calm, but for the first time his wolf was peering out of his eyes. The blue had darkened and yellow threaded around the pupil. “I have to go. Kristoff is calling the council inside.”

Ah, that explained the wolf. He hated taking directions from that asshole.

Stratford and Vanguard were ruled by the American Supernatural Council, the very council the boys would take over in a few years. Kristoff Krass was the current head of the magic users, and as I said, an asshole. The tall, thin, and slimy sorcerer was hella powerful and totally in love with his own awesomeness. His daughter, Giselda, was a witch and my BEF, bitch-enemy-forever. We’d thrown down on more than one occasion. Having Tyson in my corner had probably saved me from her sneaky ways. Magic was underhanded, slow moving, and hard to detect. Luckily, wolf senses could detect the stirring of a spell, not to mention lies when they fell from forked tongues.