Dragon Soul
Page 7
She screamed when he dropped the paper onto the palm of the hand he held, prepared to dash water over her hand if he was wrong.
The second the burning sheet hit her hand, there was a flash of red in her eyes, and instantly, the flames were extinguished.
“Great Caesar’s ghost!” Sophea said with an audible gasp.
Rowan released her hand and watched with tired satisfaction as she examined first the paper, then her hand, rubbing her thumb over her palm before looking up to him. “What just happened?”
“You are a dragon’s mate. That more or less makes you a dragon. Think of it as dragon lite. One of your abilities is to control fire. If you were not who you are, the fire might have burned your hand, although I did have my glass of water at the ready.”
“I can’t be a dragon,” she said, still rubbing her palm. “Or… what do you call it… a dragon’s mate.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because…” She glanced over at Mrs. P, who had succeeded in making a paper airplane out of a dollar bill, which she sailed over to Edvard, and was currently engaged in making two more. “Because they don’t exist.”
“Says who? Mortal beings? They do not know about dragonkin. And before you point out that you have neither scales nor a dragon body, let me inform you that dragons these days prefer human forms. In fact, you seldom see one as anything but a human. I gather it makes it easier to do things like drive a car and play a video game, not to mention keeps down the number of curious scientists and their vivisection kits. You, Sophea Long, were married to a dragon who looked just like any other man, but he wasn’t. And that means you aren’t what you appear. You are immortal, can control fire, and are quite possibly the only one of your kind left, since I understand all the red dragons were destroyed or demonized into new forms.”
Sophea sat with her mouth open while he gave his little speech, finally snapping her jaw shut to say in a voice filled with wonder, “I’m a dragon’s mate? Jian was a dragon? A real dragon?”
“He was, and you are.”
She evidently thought that over for a few seconds, her expression running a gamut of emotions, from disbelief to curiosity to acceptance. “Jian had a special quality about him that I thought meant he was my soul mate, but I suppose… goddess, I was a dragon’s wife. I’m a dragonette. Why am I not freaking out at this?”
“Because you’re also a smart woman who knows that you aren’t just a mere mortal,” Rowan said, suddenly feeling each of his thirty-six years. When had his life become so complicated? Had it been the night when he was sixteen, and he had inadvertently killed four innocent dragons? Or had it been the following day, when the demigod originator of all dragons who ever were, and who ever would be, had called him before him to pay for his crime?
“I thought I was perfectly normal, but I’m not. I’m a she-dragon,” Sophea repeated, clearly having a bit of trouble wrapping her brain around that fact. “It’s really true. I squashed that burning bit of paper with my mind. Jeezumcrow! This is amazing! I’m a dragon in human skin!”
“Human form is, I believe, the preferred nomenclature,” he told her, wondering what he was going to do. If she wasn’t with Mrs. P because she, too, sought Bael’s ring of power, then it had to be the most colossal bit of irony that the two women found each other. And what stance would Sophea take when she found out just how desired the ring was? Would she use it to further her own interests? Or would she understand that it had to be destroyed?
“I’m a dragon. Mrs. P, I’m a dragonista,” she told the old woman. “You were right! Jian was a dragon dude.”
“Anyone could see that,” Mrs. P told her dismissively. “Do you have any dollar bills?”
“I have like a thousand questions,” Sophea said a few minutes later, after their meals were deposited in front of them. “But I’ll start with the most important one. Are you a dragon, too?”
“No,” Rowan told her, looking up from his plate. “I’m a sociologist. I believe I mentioned that.”
“Now your man is lying,” Mrs. P said, making kissy sounds at Edvard as he hurried past them out of the dining room. “Tell the gel the truth.”
“Yes, Rowan,” Sophea said with a biting asperity, “tell me the truth.”
“I’m not a dragon—that is the truth,” he insisted. “And that’s what is important right now.”
“Hrrmph.” Sophea didn’t look convinced, but she let the subject drop in favor of peppering him with other questions. “How did you know I was dragon lite? Boy, oh boy, I can’t believe that I’m saying that without having a major mental breakdown. But that fire thing was pretty convincing. Except… I don’t feel any different.”
“You aren’t any different,” Rowan answered around a mouthful of sausage and sauerkraut. “You are exactly the same person you were five minutes ago when you hadn’t the least idea of your heritage. And I knew what you were because you looked to me like a dragon, although I’ve since been corrected as to your real status. I’m told that mates appear as dragons to the rest of the world.”
“Really?” She touched her hair as if it was signaling him. “How? Do I have dragon babe stamped on my forehead that only people in the know can see? Do I look different from other people? Do I smell different? Oh, I hope it’s not that, because I’ll be paranoid for life that I stink or smell weird or something like that.”
He managed a rusty chuckle. “You don’t smell of anything but—” He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “I’d like to say something pleasant like wildflowers or honey, but all I can smell at the moment is dinner, and I don’t think telling you that you smell like sauerkraut is going to flatter you.”
“You don’t have to flatter me,” she said with another of those fleeting smiles to which he was beginning to look forward. “So you just look at me and… know?”
“Basically, yes,” he said, pushing around a bit of boiled potato. “Also, I am a sociologist. I’m trained to study people in order to better understand them.”
“Do I have wings?” Sophea asked, absently toying with her food. “Do I breathe fire and hoard treasure and chase hobbits?”
“Not that I can see, you can, that’s a question only you can answer, and has one been pestering you lately?”
Her smile turned into a full-fledged giggle. “Not really, no. But I’m still coming to grips with the fact that I was the wife to a mythical creature, and am now a quasi-one myself.”
“Not so mythical, and not so different from anyone else. You simply have the ability to handle fire, and possibly have a deep love of gold.”
“Gold,” she said on a long sigh. “Oh, I do love jewelry. I had to sell everything I had after Jian died, but I fought long and hard to keep my gold wedding ring. It was the last to go.”
“I’m sorry,” Rowan said, hit again with another one of those urges to be heroic. He frowned at the very idea of him making a grand gesture to impress Sophea—he knew full well the sorts of tragedy that could result from such experiences, and he wanted nothing to do with any such idea.
“For the fact that I’m a widow or that I had to sell my wedding ring?”
“Both. Perhaps the latter more than the former, if I’m being truthful, although naturally, I am saddened by your loss.”
“It’s all right,” she said, her gaze on her plate as she pushed the sausage through the mound of sauerkraut. “We were only married for a few minutes before he got run down. It was horrible, but not…”
“World changing?” he suggested.
“Oh, it changed my world all right—I’d quit my job to go live in L.A. with Jian, but then he got run down as we were leaving city hall, and there I was, suddenly alone. I didn’t know who his family was, and the embassy didn’t help. My boss was furious because I’d left, and refused to give me back my old job. I had the money in Jian’s wallet—once the police gave that to me—but it was barely enough to cover burying him. It was surreal, to be honest. I’d met a man, fallen in love with him, and married him a
ll in a few days, and then he was gone and I had no idea who he was. No one ever came forward who knew him. I left word with the Chinese embassy, but when I last inquired, no one had even asked about him. It was as if he never existed.”
Rowan fought the need to protect her from the sorrow she clearly grappled with. It wasn’t his place, he told himself, and then was immediately ashamed. What was wrong with offering sympathy to a woman who grieved her dead husband? What was wrong with showing basic human kindness? He placed his hand on hers, giving her hand a sympathetic squeeze, wishing he could take her in his arms and make her forget her sadness. “It must have been a horrible time. But you lived through it.”
She nodded, her eyes tinged with sadness. “It was horrible. But you know what’s the worst?” She looked embarrassed for a moment. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this. But after the séance… well, it kind of feels good to talk about it. Cathartic.”
“He has released you,” Mrs. P said with a nod, and filched the wine list. “It is time you speak of it and let go of the guilt.”
“Guilt?” Rowan asked, still struggling with his urges. Sexual interest, he understood. Hell, it wasn’t just awareness that Sophea stirred in him but downright lust, and he had his own sense of guilt about feeling lust for a widow. “What do you have to feel guilty about?”
“Surviving,” she said simply. “That and not grieving the way I should have. You see, I’d only just met Jian a few days before he died. We had a whirlwind romance, so I didn’t really have much of a chance to get to know him as a person. As bad as I felt that he had been so tragically killed, I spent most of my time after his death worrying about what I was going to do. I see now that I wasn’t mourning the man so much as I was the future we were going to have together. And that’s why I feel guilty. Felt guilty.” She gave a little smile. “I guess it’s time I accept that part of my life is in the past, and move forward.”
He gave her hand another squeeze, then released it when he realized he’d much prefer to continue holding it. “If you don’t think it’s too presumptuous of me to say so, you’re making a good start by being here.”
“In Egypt, you mean?” she asked, tsking at Mrs. P and replacing the bread plate on the table.
“Yes. How is it you two found each other?”
“Oh, that was Jian’s cousin.” Sophea’s brow wrinkled.
“His cousin? I thought you said you couldn’t find any of his friends or family?”
“I couldn’t.” Her frowned deepened. “Now that’s odd. I never really thought about it, but you’re right—no one ever responded to the obituary notice I had placed in a bunch of California papers. How did the cousin—man, I wish I could remember his name—find me? And why didn’t he come forward before?”
“He didn’t think of it,” Mrs. P said enigmatically.
Rowan glanced at her, feeling she wasn’t nearly as scatty as she led people to believe.
Sophea was clearly going through the events of the last few days. “He called me up two days ago… no three, and said he was Jian’s cousin, and that he was in the area only briefly, and could I escort his grandmother to Egypt. I don’t—honestly, I don’t know why I didn’t see it was so very odd, but I do now. How did he find me? Why didn’t he ever come forward when Jian died? And what was his name? Gah!”
“I do not have any children,” Mrs. P said with blithe indifference. “Thus, no grandchildren, named or otherwise.”
Sophea made a little face at Rowan. “As you can see, she needs someone to help make things go smoothly. Although that really is weird about Jian’s cousin. I can’t even picture him in my mind. He’s just kind of a vague memory.”
“So you don’t know anything about the ring?” The words were out of his mouth before he realized it. Immediately, he damned his lack of sleep for allowing him to be so obvious.
“What ring?” Sophea asked, just as he knew she would.
“It doesn’t matter. Forget I said it.”
“Oh, like that isn’t going to make me wonder all the more. Wait, this wouldn’t happen to be a magic ring that lets its wearer turn invisible, would it? Because if so, we’re back to The Hobbit.”
“I am finished,” Mrs. P announced, pushing away her plate. “If you are going to sit there talking rather than eating, we can leave.”
“Rudeness does not become you,” Sophea told her.
The old woman straightened her bent shoulders and gave a haughty look. “I am priestess of Heka, a vessel of Isis, and a hoochie-coo dancer extraordinaire. I am not rude!”
“Priestess of what, now?” Sophea asked.
With an effort, the old woman got to her feet. “I fear for the success of our journey if you refuse to acknowledge the truth. Your man will accompany me to my room if you desire to eat.”
“I will?” Rowan asked, setting down his fork. The look he received had him on his feet without thinking. He held out his arm for Mrs. P, who took it with a little nod. “I guess I will.”
“I’m done,” Sophea announced, sliding her plate away as she rose. “I’ll go up to the room with you so Rowan can finish his dinner.”
But they were already moving, heading slowly toward the rickety elevator. “Would you mind signing the check for me?” Rowan asked over his shoulder.
Sophea stopped following them, and turned back to the table to scribble on the half-burned check.
“You might take it a little easier on her since it’s apparent she really did have no idea who she is,” Rowan said softly to the old woman.
She allowed him to open the doors to the elevator before entering it. “If I did so, she would never accept the truth. And we will never make it across the Duat if she is not prepared.”
He looked at her, wondering just what it was she was up to. “How did you steal a ring from someone so powerful as Bael?” he asked before he could stop himself.
“Ha!” She gave a short bark of laughter and poked him in the chest with a knobby finger. “That was the easy part. What is to come is the challenge.”
“Did you know this cousin of her late husband who she seems to be unable to remember well?”
“He must have used a glamour,” Mrs. P said thoughtfully. “One intended to make him unremarkable in her memory. That was smart, don’t you think? That would keep her from asking questions.”
“Who are you talking about? You do know the man, then?”
Mrs. P lifted a package of mints from his pocket, popping one in her mouth before tucking the rest away in her purse. “I’ve met her husband, but not any of his kin. The red dragons always kept themselves to themselves.”
Sophea joined them at that point, and Rowan said no more. He wanted badly to think about the things that the thief had told him—as well as consider Sophea, his feelings about her, and the ramifications of her new self-awareness (not to mention how the last item would affect his job)—but his brain seemed to stop altogether, and refuse to do anything more.
“Nightcap?” Sophea offered when he walked them to the door of their room.
“No, thank you.” He gave her a wan smile. “I’m a bit tired and sore.”
“Oh, yeah.” Her gaze wandered around his face, no doubt taking in the cuts and abrasions from the fight with the demonic dragons. “I wanted to ask you about that, but I guess it can wait until tomorrow. We will see you again, won’t we?”
His gaze slipped over her shoulder to where Mrs. P was taking the pillowcase off of a pillow and stuffing it into a side pocket of her suitcase. “You can count on that. You can definitely count on that.”
Five
Rowan’s lips were hot, but mine were hotter.
“Oh, yes,” I moaned when he took one aching nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue in a manner that had me floating off the bed, my body curling around his.
“I want to make love to you, Sophea.”
“That sounds perfectly wonderful.” I breathed the words, my toes curling when his mouth moved lower, to caress my belly.
Thunk.
“Tell me you want me, too,” he said, his voice rubbing against my flesh like the finest velvet.
I pulled him up to where my body floated, rubbing my hand up his thigh to take hold of his penis. It was erect, silken flesh over hot steel. “I’ve never wanted anyone more than you, Rowan.”
Thunk.
“Take me,” I cooed, twining my leg around his, snaking my foot down his calf, and arching my back so that my breasts were thrust up at him. “Take me now. Make a dragon out of me.”
His eyes glittered in the darkness, the passion in them making them glow.
THUNK.
My eyes shot open even before I was awake. I lay in the hazy dark, my entire body tingling with the highly charged erotic dream I’d been having, wisps of it clinging to my brain and making it hard for me to distinguish reality from the dream world.
The dark room was lightened somewhat by the glow around an almost-shut bathroom door. I listened with my breath held.
Had I heard a noise from out in the main room? Or was it a remnant from the dream?
Part of my brain boggled that I had fallen asleep at all, given the events of the day and amazing revelations of the evening. The other part instantly wanted to return to Rowan with his strange eyes, delicious tongue, and tempting body.
Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle.
“Right, that is definitely a noise,” I whispered to myself, and slid out of bed as silently as possible. I’m not normally a heroic person, but the idea of Mauritius Kim and his unwholesome buddy trying to harm Mrs. P had me snatching up the lamp nearest the door and whipping the cord out of the wall. As quietly as possible I slid open the door and peered out into the living room section of the suite.
It was dark and silent. Just as I was telling myself that I must have imagined it, I heard a faint whisper of a sound, almost so quiet it didn’t even register, the merest swish that wasn’t what one expected to hear from the room of a sleeping elderly lady.