by Anne Renwick
They sat—silent—for a long moment, taking comfort in each other’s arms. Luke silently vowed that neither of them would ever fall into Russian hands. Not them, not Zia or her eggs, and certainly not her father’s notations.
“Notations,” he said aloud, his gaze lifting to the table across the room. “The laboratory notebook.”
She swallowed and nodded. “And dragon eggs about to hatch. If I follow his protocol, collect the stem cells from the membranes inside their shells, there’s a chance I can cure you. Permanently. There are certain risks, but…” Her eyes pled with him to let her try.
“A cure?” He all but forgot to breathe. He’d accept almost any risk for a permanent cure.
“It means we can’t leave the castle, can’t head for the Trossachs.” She pressed a hand to his chest. “Not yet. Everything I need is here.”
She slid from the bed and pulled her chemise over her head to guard against the cold of the bedchamber where no fire burned. But its neckline gaped, revealing the sexy scattering of scales at her nape, and its hem skimmed the back of her thighs, below the curve of her arse. One glimpse of her backside, and the wanting—the need—began again.
Already half-hard, he climbed from the bed and dragged on his trousers before crossing the room to peer over her shoulder at the old notebook—thin for such an important treatise—filled with brittle, yellowed pages and words inked in Cyrillic. Luke knew only a smattering of Russian, picked up by listening to what little conversation filtered down the hallway. He couldn’t read a single word.
“All of Papa’s work, everything he accomplished in that one-week time span beginning the night Zia emerged from her egg, is here.” She tapped on the notebook. “I’ve kept Papa’s secret—my secret—because I cannot be certain it will not end up in the wrong hands.”
“And cause an extinction by sending an army of unscrupulous men into the Ural Mountains hunting for dragon eggs.” And it would, if this miracle she promised was truly possible. “A week.” He shoved his fingers into his wild hair. “Maybe two. That’s a lot of time to wait.” He’d hoped to leave Castle Kinlarig much, much sooner. “Waiting, with Ivanov and Rathail’s hunter circling, seems unwise.”
“But we should stay.” She dropped the notebook and began to pace, her face flushed with excitement. “With you restored to health, we can travel at will. An opportunity like this might never happen again. When Zia’s eggs hatch, I will have an abundance of material. But I can only collect the stem cells, I can’t culture them. I’ve not the proper equipment—an incubator—or growth media to allow them time to replicate. I’ll collect those I can. Inject them all.”
“Into my liver.” He lifted his eyebrows, curious. “To divide and grow inside me?” He’d endured worse. If this was the path to a cure, he’d follow it.
“It’s the only way.” She ran her fingers over the back of her neck, tracing a fingertip over the edge of a scale. “There will be side effects as they engraft.” She looked at him. “Unpredictable side effects. And you’ll need to take a few doses of a horrid drug to prevent zenograft rejection. But dragon cells divide quickly and integrate thoroughly. They’ll replace damaged tissue, restore connective tissue, and commingle with existing cells. You will be healed.”
“Healed.” Was it possible? He hardly dared hope.
“Dragon stem cells defy explanation. Did you notice how quickly Zia recovered from the Voltaic prod burn?”
True. As they’d passed the dragon while she guarded her clutch, there’d been no sign of the charred scales. Instead, the spot bore new scales, ones that were a slightly lighter shade than those that surrounded them. He whistled. “A matter of hours.” His skin tingled. Would he grow his own scales? He rather hoped he would.
“It’s why I’ve not handed over Papa’s notes to the Department of Cryptozoology. He knew the British would be unable to turn him away, not with such knowledge—and two dragons—in his possession. But…” Her voice trailed off as a distant look passed across her face.
“He was killed…”
A quick nod. “I decided to withhold such knowledge until I’d thoroughly evaluated my new employer. When they handed me a useless husband, paltry funds, and a cold, damp castle, I decided I did not wish to place the power of dragon stem cells in the hands of a government, any government.” She shrugged. “Besides, without a male, without dragon eggs, the entire project was an impossibility.”
“And now?”
“I find myself breaking my own rules to save a man.” She pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “This will, of course, go to your head.”
It rather did.
He wanted this. He did. So badly it hurt. “Safer to leave,” he said, meeting her gaze. For her, he was willing to delay—even forgo—the treatment. “For you, Zia and her brood. If we can reach the Trossachs, there will be future opportunities.” If. He wasn’t at all certain he was capable of helping her fend off an attack, especially on the move.
“Healed!” Natalia poked a finger into his chest to emphasize her point. “Permanently. No more need of milk thistle tea or dragon’s blood. That is worth the risk. It’s worth every risk.” She wrapped her arms about his waist and tipped her face upward. “If not for yourself, consider my own selfish wishes to keep you with me, in my life and in my bed, for years to come.”
Warmth spread over his heart. “If that is what you want.”
“It is.”
A low, soft hiss slithered up the stairways. A yelp and a thud. Then a sharp cry.
Natalia snatched up her sword and took off down the curving, stone stairs.
“Wait!” Luke called, following. Too late. He caught a glimpse of her white cotton chemise as she leapt into her laboratory, sword at the ready.
Chapter Seven
“Lady Kinlarig,” Aileen cried, terrified. “Call her off.”
Luke rounded the last of the stairs to find the dragon hissing, her teeth bared and her tongue flicking as she took slow steps toward the woman. Her leathery wings extended, readying for an attack.
“Zia, no,” Natalia ordered, her voice firm, but she still gripped her weapon. “Come.”
With great reluctance, the dragon stilled, then folded her wings and turned away, stalking back to stand beside the fireplace, her body tense and on alert. Defending her brood.
He prayed Aileen knew nothing about the dragon eggs. Luke moved to stand beside Natalia. Silent, but holding his own blade.
“What brings you to my laboratory, Aileen?” Suspicion threaded its way through Natalia’s voice, and with good reason. It was a well-known fact that Aileen disliked Zia and avoided her at all costs. Except, now there was the question of her Russian lover.
“Might it have anything to do with this?” Luke bent, scooping a yellow lump from the floor and holding it aloft. “Sulfur. A bribe for the dragon. Is this what your fiancé handed you when he whispered in your ear? What, exactly, does he want you to locate?”
Aileen lifted her chin. “I’ve no idea where that came from.” She flapped her hand at a tray upon the laboratory workbench, shifting toward the door. “You left the tea kettle boiling, so I…” Her gaze flicked between Natalia and Luke, only just realizing how very little they wore. A furious red blush stained her cheeks. And then her gaze fell upon Natalia’s bare neck.
Natalia slapped her palm over the few scales that crept from the edge of her neck onto her shoulder.
“I’ll go now.” Aileen bolted from the room.
Luke stalked behind Aileen, shoving the heavy wooden door closed. Turning, he leaned against it. The throbbing in his arm wasn’t lessening. “That rather confirms it. Ivanov is after your father’s notes.”
“And finally convinced her to ferret them out. I’ll keep them close from now on.” Natalia pushed shut a drawer that was cracked open, then turned her attention to the tea set that rested upon her workbench. “Not once has Aileen ever brought me t
ea. How could she possibly think we wouldn’t find her behavior suspicious? Yet we’ve barely eaten today.” She poured a cup of tea, sniffed it, then took a sip. “It’s fine. No point in poisoning us before she’s found what she’s after.”
He closed the distance between them, taking a warm potato scone folded in a napkin from her hands, his mind on anything but food. The cotton of her chemise hung loosely over the peaked tips of her breasts, a seductive reminder of recent activities. He shifted, half-aroused, tempted to ignore their situation a few more hours, to lead her back to bed, to bury himself deep inside her once more.
With a smile that invited him to do exactly that, she rose up onto her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, leaving him breathless with desire.
Thunk.
The sound came from the direction of the fireplace. Both of them turned to stare at Zia, who had plucked an egg from her nest and dropped it upon the floor. The dragon lifted her head, blinked her golden eyes once, then turned her attention back to her brood, nudging aside rocks and other treasure pieces, gently taking each egg in her mouth before rotating it into a new position. Satisfied, she lowered herself onto her belly beside them, then cocked her head slightly as if daring them to comment on her actions.
Dammit. So much for sex.
Frowning, Natalia set aside her tea cup to lift the solitary, gold-streaked egg from the cold, flagstone floor. “It’s still warm. And the shell is intact.” She crouched beside Zia, then pushed aside stones and treasures to tuck the rejected egg deep into the dragon’s hoard beside the others. “Why would she do that?”
A frisson of worry skittered down his spine. “It’s thought dragons will push non-viable eggs from their nests.”
Natalia added more coal to the fire burning in the grate, as if more heat might convince Zia to keep all her eggs. “You think something is wrong with that particular egg?” She stroked Zia’s head. Instead of relaxing into the attention, the dragon remained alert.
“Possibly. Time will tell.” He could hear the strain in his voice. Too quickly he’d latched on to the hope of a cure that dragon stem cells might offer. If something was wrong with the eggs, that hope could be snatched away in the blink of an eye. He forced himself to explain. “Parthenogenesis is not a common way for a vertebrate species to reproduce. All five eggs might well be non-viable.”
And he did wish to live, to fight off the disease that now all but defined his life. His cirrhotic liver, yellow-orange and riddled with disease plagued him daily. He snorted. An unappealing organ, that one gave no thought until it ceased to function properly. Only then could one arrive at a true appreciation for its many duties.
Remaining at Castle Kinlarig was a risk, but his tangle with Misha had underscored the sad fact that not even dragon’s blood had restored his strength enough to successfully help Natalia defend against an attack while transporting Zia and her eggs.
Still, logic argued that Natalia’s treatment and recovery might have been a fluke, a one-time miracle enacted by a renowned, experienced cell biologist, a remedy they were incapable of reproducing with limited resources and experience. Especially if the eggs were non-viable. Had Zia—much like chickens without a rooster—laid a clutch of unfertilized eggs? Was it nothing but instinct for her to stand guard? So little was known about the reproductive habits of the rare Russian Mountain Dragon species.
“Is there no way to know?” Natalia’s eyebrows drew together. “If none of the eggs will ever hatch…”
Then hope for a cure must be abandoned and alternate plans made. “We could try candling.”
“Candling?”
“A way to look inside developing eggs. Hold the egg against a bright and concentrated source of light—not necessarily a candle—and it’s possible to see blood vessels and a shadow of the embryo within.”
“So an unfertilized or infertile egg—” She crossed her arms which pulled her chemise tight across her glorious breasts. Aether, he wanted nothing more than to take her back to bed and finish exploring every last inch of her skin. She caught the direction of his gaze and plumped her breasts up further, throwing him a sultry look.
His lips started to twitch. But he needed to focus on science, not sex.
He coughed, cleared his throat, then choked out a response. “Will appear mostly clear, perhaps with some spots beneath the shell. But first,” he pushed a firm note into his voice, “we need to dress. Not only is it impossible to concentrate with such beauty before me, it’s cold, and I’m beginning to worry yet more visitors might arrive.”
She sighed. “A regrettable possibility.”
A few minutes later, wrapped once again in cotton, wool and leather, they stepped back into the laboratory. While Natalia hunted for a working decilamp, Luke crouched beside the fireplace, crooning sweet nothings to the dragon as he held out the lump of sulfur, hoping to coax Zia away from her nest. Unsettling to think how well Ivanov knew his way about dragons.
Zia pushed onto her feet. She took a hesitant step toward him, then paused, turning back toward her treasure hoard. Shit. Again the dragon began to shift the stones. Tongue flicking, she touched—tasted—each egg. Then with the tip of her snout, she rolled an egg back onto the stone floor. Then another.
His heart sank.
“Still in working order,” Natalia called, giving the small device in her hand a final forceful shake to fully excite the bioluminescent bacteria within. “Faint, but it brightened after I injected a little substrate into the gel chamber.” Her gaze followed his to the floor and her face fell. “Not promising.”
Not at all, but hope twisted in his chest, begging for a chance. “Let’s have a look before we make a pronouncement?”
While Zia watched, he lifted the first rejected egg, its gold streaks glimmering in the lamplight. Natalia brought the light to the tip of the dragon egg, and the interior illuminated. One end glowed a deep red, the other a golden yellow. A network of blood vessels threaded beneath the surface.
Luke exhaled, letting out a breath he’d not known he was holding. “Blood vessels indicate it is—or was—viable.” He pointed at the dark red end. “The embryo is here. The light space at the other end is the air sac.”
“So it’s viable?” Hope flared in her bright eyes.
He was about to say “fertilized” but stopped himself. Parthenogenesis. “It might be, but it’s awfully small for a six-week-old egg. Unless the dragonet within moves as we watch, we can’t be certain.” But they couldn’t return the egg to Zia’s nest. “We’ll keep this egg separate but warm, then watch to see if it continues to develop.”
For now, he placed the rejected egg on the hearth on the far side of the coal fire—close enough to keep it warm, but far from Zia’s nest—and stacked a number of warm river rocks about it.
The movement sent a shooting pain through his arm, one that radiated out from the cut Ivanov had dealt him. Infected? Already? They’d taken care to sterilize the needle and thread. And less than two hours had passed since he’d returned from the river. Far too soon for an infection to flare. Something wasn’t right.
When he straightened, Natalia already held the decilamp against the shell of the second rejected egg. “Mostly clear and golden, but there’s a small, darker section.” She looked up with sad eyes. “The embryo died?”
Drawn in, he nodded. “This,” he pointed at a circlet of red beneath the shell, “is called a blood ring. It forms when the embryo dies and the blood vessels detach from the interior of the shell. From the small size of the fetus, I’d say this one died some time ago.”
Zia pawed at his leg, dragging claws down the leg of his trousers. Her tongue flicked in and out and her tail thrashed.
“I think she wants it back,” Natalia said. “But whatever for?”
He shrugged and set the second, non-viable egg down before her. The dragon lifted the egg in her mouth, flutter-hopped a few feet away, then dropped it to the floor. She l
ifted her forefoot and brought it down swiftly and decisively upon the egg. Splat! The contents oozed from beneath her feet. Soundly rejected.
“Zia!” Natalia scolded.
“No.” He snatched up a rag and bent to mop up the mess, cringing at the pain in his shoulder the movement caused. “It’s good instinct. A rotten egg—one incubating harmful bacteria—can destroy the whole brood.” Luke wondered if she would seek out the second egg, but the dragon returned to her nest, settling down once again into sentry position.
“What of the remaining three?” She lowered herself onto the rug beside Zia, absently stroking her head. “Should we candle them as well? I never considered parthenogenic eggs a possibility. After Kinross’s death, I thought her refusal to leave her treasure hoard, her constant pestering for me to light a fire, was shock. I should have investigated further. Had I known, I would have kept the fire burning, helped keep a closer watch over her eggs.”
Likely the large meal Zia had made of the laird—with unusually high concentrations of nutrients and calories—was the environmental trigger that stimulated the atypical reproductive strategy. No need to enlighten Natalia with that grim thought. He sat upon the floor beside her and took her free hand in his. Though small and elegant, it was also skillful and strong. And demanding. Whether it gripped a test tube, a sword or—his heart gave a great thud—him, she was a rare find of a woman. Decisive, leaving no one in doubt of her intentions. And yet so fragile underneath.
An accident had broken her spine, and the treatment forced her to flee Russia, bringing about her father’s death. And now his own country had failed her, relying too heavily upon a so-called gentleman who thought only of himself and refused to answer her repeated requests for help. Yet still she blamed herself for the outcome of a rare reproductive event that might have been compromised by improper incubation?
He frowned, unwilling to let guilt define her memory of this moment. “How could you possibly have known? Zia hid her eggs well. Besides, who in their right mind would dig into a dragon’s treasure pile without good reason or permission? You’re not responsible for this situation.”