“He is brave—he is strong—
but for both of us Dragon Lankford is wrong.”
Isis, her giggles stilled, shrugged and nodded in agreement. Both girls blew out their bedside lights and went to sleep feeling more than slightly uneasy.
* * *
Into the two infatuated boys’ minds came the clear thought:
You will never know Dragon Lankford’s touch;
his desires are not as such.
One fledgling wept quietly into his pillow. The other stared at the full moon and wondered if he would ever be loved.
* * *
Four of the six fledglings who were finishing their turn at kitchen duty hesitated at their work. Camellia looked at Anna, Anya, and Beatrice and said:
“I am too smart
to believe Dragon would ever give me his heart.”
Anna gasped and dropped the porcelain cup she was holding. It shattered into the stunned silence.
“I would believe I found love in his bed,
but he would use and discard me instead.”
Then Anya spoke, bending to help Anna clean up the shattered cup:
“His sword is his life;
I care not for such strife.”
Next, Beatrice’s face lost all of its color as she whispered:
“A human consort is my fate.
With a vampyre I will never find my true mate.”
* * *
In the sumptuous living quarters of the Tower Grove House of Night’s High Priestess, Pandeia was welcoming her mate into their bed when Diana’s beautiful face registered surprise and she said:
“The Lankford fledgling’s fate will be
beyond what you or I could possibly see.”
“Diana? Are you well?” Pandeia touched her mate’s cheek and looked deep within her eyes.
Diana shook her head like a cat ridding itself of water. “I am. I–that was odd. Those words were not mine.”
“What were you thinking of before you spoke?”
She shrugged. “I suppose I was wondering if all the Warriors had returned from the games yet, and was thinking that Dragon has done our House proud.”
The High Priestess nodded, suddenly understanding. “It is Anastasia’s spell. It has drawn the truth about Dragon to those who were thinking of him at its casting.”
Diana snorted. “I am hardly a besotted fledgling.”
Pandeia smiled. “Of course you are not, my love. This demonstrates the strength of young Anastasia’s spell. We can rest assured there will be no obsessed fledglings trailing about after him tomorrow.”
“I almost feel sorry for the boy.”
“Do not. If any of the fledglings were meant to love him, a splash of reality wouldn’t wash true love away. And anyway, what was revealed to you shows that Dragon does, indeed, have a bright future.”
Diana returned her mate’s embrace, saying, “Or, at the very least, he’ll have an interesting one.”
* * *
At the Chicago House of Night, where the Vampyre Games had recently concluded, Aurora, a beautiful young vampyre, paused mid-word in the letter she was composing to the fledgling who had warmed her bed and her heart after he had defeated every swordsman who came against him. Dragon Lankford had claimed the title of Sword Master, along with Aurora’s affection. Yet now she found herself putting aside her quill and lifting the thin paper sheet to touch the flame of the closest candle to her as she realized the truthfulness of the words that flitted through her mind whispering:
It was but a fling.
Another vampyre will truly make my heart sing.
What had she been thinking? Dragon had been a lovely diversion and no more.
* * *
And, finally, inside the forbidding brick building that served as jailhouse for St. Louis, Missouri, the whispers on the wind drifted down … down … down … to the bowels of the place and the hidden room in which Sherriff Jesse Biddle paced back and forth in front of the creature he held his captive in a cage of silver. He didn’t actually talk to it so much as talk at it. “I have to learn how to use more of your power. I need to be able to stand against the vampyres. They’re too blatant. It’s like they think they’re normal—that they have a right to be here!” he shouted. “I hate ’em. I hate ’em all! Especially that snot-nosed brat of a fledgling. You shoulda seen him get off the boat tonight. All big chested with his victory. Do you know what he calls himself? Dragon Lankford! He ain’t no dragon. He’s the same little bastard who’s been struttin’ round here for three years with that bright, shiny sword actin’ like he’s better then everyone—every human. What an arrogant little son-of-a—”
The keening from the creature was eerie. It made Biddle’s skin crawl.
“Shut up or I’ll throw some of that salt water on you again. That’ll burn you up good like the proper chicken you are!”
Eyes that looked disturbingly human in the face of the enormous raven met his. Though the creature was only semi-substantial, its eyes glowed a strong, steady red.
“Through your obsesssssion with Dragon Lankford hissss future I ssssee.
He will change hisssstory.”
Biddle looked at the thing with disgust. “Why would I care about that?”
“His love issss the key
to defeat the likessss of you and me.”
“What are you talking ’bout, foul beast?”
“If Dragon is allowed to burn bright
he will extinguish the Dark light.”
That caused Biddle to pause. He’d trapped this semi-substantial manbeast as it absorbed the last bits of strength from a dying Indian Shaman. The old redskin had managed to throw this strange cage of silver around the creature, but the Shaman had been too weak—too near death—to recover from the creature’s attack when Biddle had happened by the old man’s shack. The old man’s last words had been: “Burn sweetgrass to ward it off. Weight the cage with turquoise stones. Throw it in a barrel of salt water so that it can never take another’s power…”
Biddle had quickly decided he’d be damned if he’d waste his time following an old, dead Injun’s orders. He started to go, leaving the body and the thing in the cage for the next passerby to clean up.
Then the creature had turned its red eyes on him.
Human eyes.
Almost as repulsed as he was fascinated, Biddle had moved closer to try to see exactly what the thing was.
It was then that Biddle saw them. The moving darkness within the shadows surrounding the thing.
He’d come closer to the cage.
It was then that Biddle felt it. The power that slithered from the creature, through the cage, and along the floor to the dead man, and there it paused and hovered and then descended into the blood that had pooled on the ground around his mouth.
Something about that wriggling, shadowy darkness had goaded Biddle to move, to get closer, to touch. Acting on an impulse from the basest part of his mind, Biddle stepped between the cage and the dead man, wading into the strands of darkness.
Remembering, Sherriff Biddle closed his eyes in ecstasy. The pain had been cold and sharp and immediate, but so had been the power and pleasure that had swelled though him as some of the darkness had been absorbed through his skin and into his soul.
Biddle hadn’t destroyed the creature.
He’d kept it trapped and fed it blood, but only occasionally. Because what if by feeding the thing got stronger—just like Biddle did. What if it managed to break through the cage of silver?
And now Biddle stared at the semi-formed creature of shadow and tried to convince himself he was not held as captive as his prey.
Then the thing, moving restlessly, spoke in a strange singsong with more animation than it had shown in the fortnight he’d had it, repeating:
“Hear the truth this night:
If Dragon is allowed to burn bright
he will extinguish the Dark light.”
Biddle moved closer to the cage. “The Dark
light. You mean the stuff you’re made of—the stuff that surrounds you.” The stuff I can sometimes siphon from you, he thought but didn’t say.
The creature’s red gaze met his, and Biddle knew it hadn’t mattered whether he’d said it aloud. The thing knew.
“Yesss, to keep the power you desire
you must kill his love, the Anastasia vampyre.”
Dragon was still blinking bright dots of flame away from his vision when he smiled at Anastasia and said, “Your spell seems to have worked.”
“Our spell,” she said softly, and gifted him with another smile. “Our spell was strong.” Anastasia paused and then asked, “Would you close the circle with me?”
A rush of unexpected pleasure had him not trusting his voice, so Dragon only nodded.
“Good, I’m glad. It’s only right that we close it together.” Anastasia tilted her head back and said, “Thank you, spirit, for joining our circle tonight.” Then she leaned down and blew out the purple candle.
Dragon went to the green candle, cleared the thickness from his throat, and said, “Thank you, earth, for joining our circle tonight.” He blew out the flame.
In turn, together, they thanked water, fire, and air. Then the young professor faced him, took both of his hands in hers, and said, “Thank you, Bryan Dragon Lankford, for joining my circle tonight.”
It was at that moment that Bryan Dragon Lankford realized that Anastasia wasn’t just a beautiful vampyre and a gifted priestess. She was the most beautiful vampyre and most amazing priestess he’d ever seen. And without thinking, he bent and kissed her smiling lips.
CHAPTER SIX
His kiss was so unexpected that Anastasia was surprised into complete stillness. She just stood there, holding his hands, while he pressed his lips to hers.
Had she realized he was going to kiss her she would have moved away.
But she hadn’t realized, so she didn’t move.
And then the oddest thing happened. His touch was nothing like she’d imagined. He should have been too forceful or too awkward or too demanding. He wasn’t. He was sweet and strong and just hesitant enough that she knew he, too, had been taken by surprise by the kiss.
Still, Anastasia was going to pull away. She should have pulled away. And she would have, had she not remembered the fully Changed vampyre with the kind, trustworthy eyes and the boyishly charming smile, and a kiss that was very, very similar—only this one she could truly feel. My own … he’d called her my own and her heart had responded before her mind could think to, which was exactly what was happening at that moment. Her body was responding to Bryan’s touch before her mind could think to stop it. So she leaned into him, and kissed him gently and completely back.
While her mind wasn’t thinking and her body was busy feeling, something bitterly cold brushed the back of Anastasia’s skirt and lifted her hair, causing real life to intrude upon their kiss. Confused about the strange sensations coming from behind her, Anastasia was just starting to pull away from Bryan when the sound of wings exploded from behind them.
The sound terrified her like nothing before.
Pure fear pulsed through her. Anastasia stared wildly up at Bryan. “Something terrible is coming!” she gasped.
The change that came over him was instant. He went from dreamy-eyed, gentle fledgling to a Warrior—sword drawn and body tense.
“Stay here, next to the boulder and behind me.” This time he didn’t shove her off her feet. Instead he led her quickly into a defensive position and then turned to face whatever was lurking in the predawn.
Heart pounding, Anastasia crouched behind him, peering out at the grayish gloaming. Filled with foreboding, she waited for it to attack.
Nothing moved.
No malevolent creature of nightmare fell down upon them. No marauders swarmed. Nothing bad happened at all. All around them was only the meadow and the distant scent of the river.
She saw his broad shoulders begin to relax and readied herself for his discounting comment. When he turned to her, Anastasia saw only an alert concern in his expression.
“Do you know what it was?” he asked.
“No.” She ran a shaky hand through her hair. “But I give you my word I wasn’t pretending.”
“I know that,” he said. “A Sword Master is not just good with a blade. He’s good with reading bodies and judging reactions. You were fearful.” He reached out, took her hand, and helped her to her feet. Their hands lingered together for a moment. He squeezed hers before he let it go, and then Bryan reached for the chalice that sat full and ready in the middle of the altar. “Drink this and eat some of the food. It’ll help. Plus, you should ground yourself after such a powerful spell.”
As she sipped the fortifying wine and nibbled on the bread and cheese, Bryan disassembled the altar quickly, while he kept watch around them.
“Did you feel it? The cold?” she asked.
“No.”
“Did you hear the wings?”
“No.” He met her gaze. “But I believe you felt it and heard it.”
“Some Indian tribes believe birds carry bad omens. Especially black birds,” she said.
“I like to believe Nyx wants us to make our own omens,” he said. Then he smiled and pointed at a clump of wildflowers not far from them and the brilliant blue bird with a splash of orange on its chest that fluttered there. “That is definitely not a bad omen.”
Anastasia found her smile again. “No, it’s a beautiful bird.”
“And it’s on those enormous yellow flowers. That has to be good, too.”
“They’re sunflowers. My favorite flowers actually,” she said, giving them a fond look that for some reason had Dragon scowling.
“Aren’t they like weeds?”
She shook her head in obvious disdain for his floral ignorance. “They aren’t weeds. They’re associated with love and passion. They’re strong and brilliant and fruitful—their seeds feed everything from birds to people.”
“So, you’d say they’re a good omen, too.”
“I would,” she said.
“And on that second good omen, let’s leave. We’re too exposed out here, and it is almost dawn.”
She nodded and, still sipping the wine, the two of them left the meadow. Bryan carried her basket in one hand and held his sword in the other.
“Thank you for believing me,” she said after they’d walked in companionable silence for a little while.
“You are welcome,” he said.
She glanced at him. “You’re not what I expected.”
He met her gaze and smiled. “I’m shorter, right?”
Anastasia smiled back at him. “Yes. You’re definitely shorter.”
After a few moments Bryan asked, “Do you like shorter?”
She just kept smiling.
“I think you don’t dislike me,” he said.
She raised a brow at him. “I already told you that.”
“Yes, but the spell proved it.”
“And how did it do that?” she said.
“It’s supposed to reveal the truth of me, and all of my,” he paused, thinking, then continued, “and all of my arrogant misdeeds.”
She felt her face get warm and she looked away from him.
“So, if I was really like that—all arrogant and full of myself and not caring about others—you’d see the truth of that and you’d dislike me.”
She did look at him then. “No, you’re wrong. Just because the truth of you is revealed, it doesn’t mean the person seeing it will automatically dislike you—even if you are arrogant and full of yourself.”
He laughed. “I think what you just said was nice, even though it didn’t sound like it.”
“And I think you’re better at spells and rituals than you let on,” she countered with.
“I think you’ll have to look up my records to see.”
“I’ll do that,” she said.
“You might be surprised by what you find,” he said.
 
; She met his gaze. “Yes. I might be.”
The sun was just beginning to lift through the bluffs in the east when they reached the door that led to the professors’ quarters in the main house. Bryan handed her the basket.
“Thank you,” she said. “I–well–I suppose I will see you in class.”
“Not this semester. I took Spells and Rituals last semester. But you will see me.”
Anastasia drew a long breath and then said, “Dragon, about the kiss–”
He held up a hand to stop her words. “No,” he said quickly. “Do not tell me it was a mistake.”
“You’re a fledgling. I’m a professor.”
“Is that it? Is that the only problem you have with me?”
“That’s enough,” she said firmly.
Instead of being dissuaded, she watched a long, slow, triumphant smile tilt his lips. “Good, because that is only a temporary problem.” He took her hand, lifted it, and kissed her palm. Then, still smiling, he fisted a hand over his heart and with perfect respect bowed to her and said, “Merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again, Professor Anastasia.”
Before she could respond, he smacked her cheek with a quick kiss, turned, and strode away, whistling happily.
Dragon had been right—she was surprised when she looked up his records. “He’s practically a perfect student,” she muttered to herself as she thumbed through the files. She was also surprised by how the fledglings treated him, especially the ones who had come to her for love spells.