Love in the Time of Dragons

  Kostya stood at the top of the stairs, giving us a puzzled look. “I heard loud voices. Is everything all right?” he asked.

  “Yes!” Baltic answered through gritted teeth.

  Kostya looked pointedly at me.

  “Baltic’s man parts are angry, and I was seeing if there was something I could do to ease the pain,” I explained, not wanting him to think me wanton.

  Kostya’s expression went absolutely blank. Baltic ran a hand over his face, clearly trying to maintain a grip on his formidable temper. “It’s not like that. She wanted to see if she had seriously hurt me. I told her she could look for herself to see that I wasn’t.”

  “I see,” Kostya said in a voice that sounded as if he were choking. “I’ll just leave you to that, then.”

  He disappeared. A roar of laughter came up from below that had Baltic swearing under his breath as he shoved the fur down again. “For the love of the saints—get on with it, woman!”

  “Very well.” I lifted his shaft, looking for signs of injury, but saw nothing. Despite the knowledge that I was renowned in the village and by folk of the keep as a healer, I couldn’t help but feel wicked as I touched him. I was no stranger to the sight of man parts—the male villagers frequently wore short tunics that left little to the imagination when the wind was high, but my mother had kept Margaret and me from bathing visitors, as was the common custom. Baltic’s parts were . . . interesting. “You don’t appear to have any injury,” I added, suddenly feeling a bit breathless. I let his stones slide slowly from my fingers, and was surprised by both the sudden hitch in his breath and the fact that his shaft began to harden.

  “You are becoming aroused,” I said, looking at it.

  “I’d have to be dead not to. Are you stopping?”

  I trailed my fingers down the length of his shaft. It was gaining in stature, the skin of it sliding like the softest silk over a piece of polished ivory my mother kept in her sewing box. “Do you want me to stop?”

  “Hell, no.”

  I continued to lightly run my fingers down it. “How much bigger will it grow?”

  A short, pained-sounding bark of laughter escaped him. “I’ve never measured it. Why do you ask?”

  “Idle curiosity. That part is pushing back. Is it supposed to do that, or did I damage it?”

  “It’s supposed to do that.”

  I slid one hand underneath the shaft, stroking it like I would a cat. Baltic groaned and closed his eyes, his hips rocking forward. “I’m enjoying this,” I told him, feeling a sense of pride in the fact that I could arouse him with my hands.

  Eyes of purest black regarded me, shimmering with something I couldn’t put a name to. His lips quirked. “So am I.”

  “It seems rather monotonous, however,” I said after a few minutes of repeated stroking. His shaft was fully aroused now, and I marveled to myself that he ever fit it into his codpiece.

  “There are . . . variations . . . you can do,” he said in a choked voice.

  “Oh?” I looked down at the shaft. “Changes in pressure and speed?”

  “No. Instead of your hands, you could use your mouth.”

  “You’re jesting,” I said, staring at him in disbelief.

  His lips quirked even more. “I thought that would shock you.”

  I eyed his shaft again. “I’m not shocked. I’m just a little taken aback. If I were to use my mouth, that would give you pleasure, too?”

  “Chérie, if you were to use your mouth, I would probably spill my seed within two seconds of your tongue wrapping around me.”

  “It’s a sin to spill your seed outside of a woman,” I said, parroting Father David, the priest at our keep.

  “That is a human belief. Dragons do not hold with such foolish dogma. If you weren’t a silver dragon, I would be happy to do as you suggest.”

  I touched the very tip of him with one finger. A bead of moisture had formed there, a tear that glistened as I spread it about the head of his shaft. “I don’t wish for you to bed me, if that’s what you are implying.”

  “Why not? You seem to enjoy touching me.”

  I met his black-eyed gaze with calm assurance. “One day I will marry, and I must save my maidenhead for my husband.”

  “Marriage is also a human tradition, one dragons seldom follow. Ysolde?”

  “Hmm?” I spread the moisture around a little more, enjoying the sensation of it, wondering what he tasted like, and whether it would be a sin to find out.

  His jaw tightened. “Nothing. Go back to your bed. I’m not injured, as you can—”

  I bent over him and took the tip of his shaft into my mouth. He stopped speaking. In fact, for a few seconds, he stopped breathing. He just sat there stiff as a plank, staring with wide eyes as I tasted him.

  It was . . . different. Different, but pleasant. He tasted hot, somewhat salty, but it was the feeling of his silken flesh against my tongue that gave me boldness. I slid my tongue around the head of it, and Baltic groaned loudly, clutching with both hands the linen covering the pallet.

  “Stop!” he cried, his voice sounding as if he had a mouthful of stones.

  I released him from my mouth, worried I had done something to harm him. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No. You just have to stop, or else I’m going to—”

  I took his shaft in my hand again, sliding my fingers around the flesh now made slick by my mouth. He groaned again, his hips thrusting forward as he growled, “Too late.”

  “I don’t see how that’s not going to count as a sin,” I said, my hand full of his seed. “You’ll have to do penance for that.”

  “I already am,” he muttered, jerking up one edge of the pallet linen to clean my hand. He rose when he had done so, pulling me up and swinging me into his arms.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, panicking slightly as he marched tense-jawed toward my closet.

  “Taking you to bed.”

  “I told you that I don’t wish for you to bed me.”

  “I heard you the first time,” he said, his voice sounding rough and harsh.

  He shoved open the flimsy door and dropped me onto the pallet.

  “I’m serious. I don’t want to hurt you again, but I will defend myself if you make me.”

  He dropped down onto his knees. “I don’t bed silver dragons.”

  “Then what—”

  “I’m just going to reciprocate.”

  I frowned as he pushed my feet apart in order to move between them. “Reciprocate what?”

  His face lost its tense look as he suddenly grinned at me. “Bliss.”

  Chapter Five

  Bliss. What a lovely word it was. I lay on the bed and stared up at the shimmers from a streetlight dappling the ceiling of my room, listening to the faint sounds of London traffic, sounds that were muted by the fact that the house had exceptionally good windows, and by the time of night. It was two in the morning—deep night, someone had once called it.

  I frowned. “Now where did I hear that?”

  A sliver of light pierced the darkness of the room as the door opened a tiny bit. “Are you awake?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  Kaawa opened the door wider and gave me an inquisitive look. “I was passing your room a short while ago and heard you call out. I thought perhaps you were having a nightmare. Would you like some company?”

  “So long as you don’t mind being shut up with a nutcase, sure,” I answered, pulling myself up to a sitting position. I clicked on the bedside lamp and watched as she hauled an armchair a little closer to the bed.

  “That’s a lovely caftan,” I said, admiring the black and silver African batik animals on it.

  “Thank you. My daughter sent it to me. She lives in Kenya, on an animal preserve. Why do you think you are a nutcase?”

  I looked back up at the ceiling for a minute, debating whether or not I wanted to talk about the fear that was eating away at me. Kaawa seemed nice and motherly, but I didn’t really know her.
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  Then again, there weren’t too many people I did remember knowing.

  “I think I might be mentally unstable,” I said at last, watching her to see if she looked at all frightened of me.

  She didn’t look anything but mildly interested. “Because of the memory loss?”

  “No. I think I might be schizophrenic. Or suffering from multiple personalities. Or some other mental disorder like that.”

  “You are having dreams,” she said, nodding just as if she understood. “Dreams of your past.”

  “I’m having dreams, yes, but it can’t be my past. I’m not a dragon. I’m human. Evidently mentally unstable, but human.”

  She was silent for a moment. “Struggling against yourself is not making the situation any easier, you know.”

  “I’m not struggling against myself. I’m trying to hold on to my sanity. Look, I know what you think, what everyone thinks. But if you were in my place, wouldn’t you know if you weren’t human?”

  “Do you think humans have dreams of their past life as a dragon?” she asked with maddening calm.

  “The only reason I’m having those dreams is because you people put it in my mind!” I said, my voice tinged with desperation.

  She shook her head slowly. “It was a dream that brought you out of the month-long sleep, was it not?”

  I looked at my hands lying clenched tight on the bed cover. “Yes.”

  “Child.” She laid her hand on my arm. “The dragon inside of you wishes to be woken, whether you desire that or not. I will admit that you appear human to me, and I do not know how it can be that you have changed thusly, but deny it though you may, you are Ysolde de Bouchier, and you will not be calm in your mind until you accept that.”

  “Calm in my mind? At this point, I can’t even conceive of what that’s like.” I took a deep breath, trying to keep from going stark raving mad. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be the biggest drama queen there ever was, but you have to admit that this whole situation is enough to drive a girl bonkers.”

  “It is a test, yes,” she agreed in that same soothing voice.

  I just wanted to shriek. Instead, I took another deep breath. “OK, let’s go into the land of totally bizarre, and say you’re right. I’m a dragon magically reincarnated—”

  “Not reincarnated—resurrected,” she corrected me.

  “What’s the difference?”

  “I am reincarnated—when my physical form has run its appointed time, I retreat into the dreaming and await a new form. I am born again, remembering all that has passed before, but with a new body. That is reincarnated. Resurrection is the bringing back to life of that which was dead.”

  I took a third deep breath. It’s a wonder there was any air left in the room. “That’s cool. You’re reincarnated. I’m resurrected. We’ll just move past that and get to the meat of my argument—if I’m a dragon, why don’t I like gold? Why can’t I breathe fire? Why can’t I turn into great big scary animal shapes?”

  “Because the dragon in you has not woken yet. I think . . .” She paused, her gaze turned inward. “I think it is waiting.”

  “Waiting for what?”

  “I don’t know. That is something you will find out when the time is appropriate. Until then, you must stop fighting the dragon inside you. The dreams you have, they are about your past, are they not?”

  I looked away, feeling my cheeks grow hot as I remembered the highly erotic dream I’d just had. “They concern someone named Ysolde, and a man named Baltic.”

  “As I expected. The dragon part of you wants you to remember,” she said, patting my hand as she rose. “It wants you to accept your past in order to deal with the present.”

  “Well, the dragon part can just go take a flying leap off the side of a mountain, because I want my life to go back to what it was.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible. It has stirred. It wishes for you to remember. It is time, Ysolde.”

  “Cow cookies!” I snapped. “No one tells me what to do. Well, Dr. Kostich does, but that’s fully within the bounds of my apprenticeship. And he doesn’t give me erotic dreams!”

  “Erotic dreams?” Kaawa asked, a little smile on her lips.

  I blushed again, damning my mouth for speaking inappropriately again. “I don’t really think the type of dream matters as much as the fact that my mind is cracking.”

  “Your mind is doing nothing of the sort. Allow the dragon side to speak to you, and I think you will find your way through this trying time,” she said from the door. She hesitated a few seconds, then added, “This is truly none of my business, but I have prided myself on my knowledge of history of dragonkin, and I admit to being very curious about this. . . . When you and Baltic met—did he offer to make you his mate right away, or did that come after Constantine Norka claimed you?”

  I blinked in surprise, then gave a rueful chuckle. “Assuming the dreams are not a figment of my warped mind, then no, Baltic did not ask me to be his mate when we met. Quite the contrary. He came very close to killing me, and later told me he would never bed a silver dragon.”

  “Fascinating,” she said, looking thoughtful. “Absolutely fascinating. I had no idea. Sleep well, Ysolde.”

  “Tully,” I said sadly, but it was said to the door as she closed it.

  “You look horrible,” the fruit of my loins told me six hours later as I found the dining room. Brom was seated behind a bowl of oatmeal, a plate heaped high with eggs, potatoes, and three pieces of jam-covered toast waiting next to him.

  “Thank you,” I said, dropping a kiss on his head before taking a cup off the sideboard. “And I hope you’re planning on eating all of that. You know how I feel about wasting food.”

  “That’s just ’cause Gareth makes such a big fuss over money,” Brom said, turning to May, who sat at the end of the table with a cup of coffee in front of her. “He’s a tightwad.”

  “Quite possibly the fact that you eat like a horse has influenced his lectures regarding economy,” I said, giving him a meaningful look. I lifted the lid to a silver carafe and peered in. It held coffee.

  “If you prefer tea, we can get you some,” May said, watching me.

  “Actually, I’m really big on chocolate,” I said with an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid the term ‘chocoholic’ applies to me far too well.”

  “I’m sure we can rustle up some hot chocolate,” she said, rising.

  “Don’t go to any bother for me—”

  “It’s no bother. I’ll just go tell Renata.”

  May disappeared, leaving me with Brom. I sat across from him, trying to make a decision.

  “Gabriel says there’s a museum here that has human mummies. Can we go see them?” Brom asked.

  “Possibly. I have to see Dr. Kostich today, though. I was told he’s in town, and I will need to see what work he has for me.”

  Brom’s expression was made strangely horrible by the mouthful of toast and eggs he stuffed in. “Gabriel said Tipene or Maata would take me ’cause you’re going to be busy with dragon stuff.”

  “Dragon stuff?” I frowned, idly rubbing my finger along the beaded edge of the table. “What sort of dragon stuff?”

  Brom thought for a few seconds, his cheeks bulging as he chewed. “It had some foreign word, like sarcophagus.”

  “Sárkány,” May said, entering the room with a tall, athletic woman who towered over her. Like Tipene, she appeared to be of Aboriginal descent, with lovely dark skin that gave emphasis to her grey eyes. “This is Maata, by the way. She’s the second of Gabriel’s elite guards.”

  We exchanged greetings. Maata moved to the sideboard, loading up a plate almost as full as Brom’s.

  “Before you ask,” May continued, retaking her seat, “a sárkány is basically a meeting where the wyverns discuss weyr business. Kostya called one for today.”

  “Kostya?” I sat frozen for a second as a face rose in my mind’s eye.

  “Yes.” Both May and Maata watched me. “Do you kno
w him?”

  I blinked away the image, saying slowly, “He was in a dream I had.”

  “Kaawa mentioned you were dreaming of your past. It must be very confusing to you to see yourself but not be able to relate to it.”

  “Yes,” I answered, falling silent as a young woman bustled into the room with a pot of hot chocolate for me. I thanked her, breathing deeply of the lovely chocolatey smell.

  “The sárkány is called for three this afternoon,” May continued, sipping her coffee.

  “I’m sure we can stay out of your way while you have your meeting.”

  “That’s actually not what I meant,” May said with a little smile. “The sárkány has been called so the wyverns can be introduced to you.”

  I sighed. “I’m getting very tired of telling people I’m not a dragon.”

  “I know. But I do think it would be good for you to meet them. If nothing else, they will be able to see for themselves that you’re human.”

  “There is that. . . .” I chewed my lip for a moment. “All right. I will come to your meeting.”

  “Excellent!” May said, looking pleased. “Brom would probably find it pretty dull stuff, so Maata volunteered to take him to the British Museum to see the mummies.”

  I assessed Maata. She looked sturdy enough to take on a semitruck, and since she was one of Gabriel’s elite guard, I assumed she was beyond trustworthy. “That’s very kind of you, but I wouldn’t want to impose,” I told her.

  She waved away the objection with a fork loaded with herbed eggs. “It’s no imposition at all. I happen to like mummies, and am very interested in Brom’s experiments with mummifying animals. Before I knew I was to be part of Gabriel’s guard, I thought I might be a veterinarian.”

  “That’s what Sullivan wants me to do,” Brom said around another mouthful of food.

  I frowned at him, and he made a huge effort to swallow.

  “You are not a python,” I told him. “Chew before you swallow.”

  “This is none of my business, but why do you call your mother Sullivan?” May asked.

  Brom shrugged. “It’s what Gareth calls her.”

  May’s gaze transferred to me. “Your husband calls you by your last name?”