by Sara King
“That’s amazing!” Thunderbird cried. “And you don’t have a name?”
“Um…” the unicorn looked acutely uncomfortable. In the background, the game had resumed, but no one was paying it any attention. Imelda’s former coworkers were staring at Thunderbird—Brad?—and Thunderbird was staring at the unicorn.
“You’re very timid,” Thunderbird said. “I will call you Tim.”
This time, it was the unicorn’s turn to stare at Thunderbird. “You…will?” He sounded shocked…and delighted.
“We need to get you some clothes, Tim,” Thunderbird continued. He had an elegant finger to his lips and was frowning at him again, considering. “I’m thinking Armani. With hair like that…you’d look stunning in black silk.”
“Keep in mind,” Imelda said, “this is Alaska. From what I’ve seen, the bars in Alaska aren’t exactly the type to appreciate Armani.”
Thunderbird frowned at her. “Who said we would be limiting ourselves to Alaska?”
“She’s my prisoner,” Tim confessed. “I have to carry her wherever she wants to go.”
“Want me to kill her for you?”
“No!” Tim gasped, looking horrified. “She’s my friend.”
Thunderbird sighed disgustedly. “Fine. Alaska. Hmmm.” He peered at the unicorn again. “Maybe with a bit more meat on your bones, you could go for a Sexy Outdoorsman look. We’ll have to work on that. But Outdoorsy’s kind of hard with the hair. And he’s not scruffy enough.” He glanced at Imelda. “What do you think?”
Imelda considered. “College student?”
“Yes!” Thunderbird cried. He slapped the unicorn on the shoulder. “Tim, I am going to have to introduce you to the wonders of public education.”
“While you’re at it, be sure to introduce him to the wonders of abstinence.”
“He’s not going to get a disease,” Thunderbird snorted. “He’s a—”
“I was talking about dropping halfborn kids all over the University of Alaska,” Imelda interrupted, before Thunderbird could blurt out to the whole room that they sat in the presence of a unicorn. “And can you please keep it down? There’s millions of people that would like to get their hands on him.”
Thunderbird suddenly got a dark, malevolent look, and Imelda felt the power in the room rise with her hair. He reached out, put his thumb to the unicorn’s forehead, and left a glowing, electric print that quickly disappeared even as the unicorn was flinching away from him. “Let them try.”
“You just Marked me?” Tim gasped, touching his forehead in horror.
Yes, Imelda thought, with satisfaction, definitely the right friend for the unicorn.
“Of course I did,” Thunderbird said, matter-of-factly. “If something goes wrong with your debut and someone decides to nab you, I will be able to hunt down your kidnappers and destroy them all.”
Very slowly, the unicorn relaxed. “Um… Okay.”
In the background, the announcer was screaming, “Touchdown, touchdown, the Seahawks are making a comeback! This is amazing, folks, absolutely amazing!”
Thunderbird either ignored it or didn’t hear it. He hadn’t turned away from the unicorn since Tim had whispered in his ear. He was still eying her friend thoughtfully. “I’m thinking we’ll enroll you in dance. You’d make an excellent tango. Don’t you think, mortal?”
“It’s Imelda. And yes. He’s got the looks.”
“Plus,” Thunderbird said, “there’s always throngs of girls in my dance classes.”
The unicorn was looking at Thunderbird with a cross between awe and joy. “You can teach me to dance?”
“Tim,” Thunderbird said conspiratorially, “I am a dance instructor. My teams make nationals, when the University can convince me to work a season.” He caught his chin between thumb and forefinger. “He would also look good in red.”
“Stunning,” Imelda agreed.
“Then it’s settled,” Thunderbird said. “I will take you to my home in Chugiak.”
Tim glanced at Imelda. “What about my prisoner?”
Thunderbird made a dismissive wave of his hand. “You may bring your captive.”
“Bullshit, you greedy, self-centered asshole,” a rumble from the entryway to the cafeteria echoed. When Imelda looked, the dragon was standing in the doorway, huge sacks and duffel bags thrown over his shoulders. “The girl is my reward for assisting in the siege.”
“She’s my prisoner!” the unicorn cried, getting to his feet.
“Fuck you, you brainless little femboy. I’m bigger, she’s mine.”
Still seated, Thunderbird glanced over his shoulder at the dragon with a sigh. Looking up at the unicorn, he said, “Do you want me to kill him?”
“No!” the unicorn cried, at the same time Imelda said, “Yes.”
Thunderbird sighed. “Dragon, bugger off.”
“She’s mine,” the dragon snarled. “I had an accord with the djinni.”
Imelda stared at the dragon. “Wait, you mean you actually want to take me home? Aren’t you afraid of bad luck?”
“Bad luck?” Thunderbird said, cocking his head at her curiously, at the same time dragon scoffed and said, “Your tricks can’t affect me, Fate.”
“Fate?” Thunderbird stood up suddenly, knocking his chair over backwards. Giving her approximately the same stare he would give a huge, poisonous spider, he backed away several feet and said, “Tim, I think you should sign your prisoner’s contract over to the dragon.”
“Now hold on!” Imelda cried, lunging to her feet. The motion made her suddenly dizzy and she slumped back to her chair, partially blacking out.
“It will get better,” Tim told her, looking worried. “You lost a lot of blood.”
“Thanks,” Imelda said.
“Timothy,” Thunderbird said slowly, “please tell me you do not mean to take a Fate into my home?”
“He’s not taking her, I am,” the dragon snapped.
“It is amazing what electricity can do to a lizard’s brain,” Thunderbird said easily. “Tim, can we give her to the moronic fledgling and find you a better pet?”
“No!” Tim cried. He sounded crestfallen. “Please don’t take her. She’s my friend.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck if she’s your friend,” the dragon retorted, the insides of his eye-sockets showing the slightest bit of silver. “I’m taking her with me. She’s mine.”
Thunderbird sighed, deeply, and glanced at the dragon. “You may go now.”
“All right, you effeminate asswipe. It’s time.”
As the dragon was snarling and lowering his goodies to the ground, Imelda managed to get to her feet. “Everyone shut up and listen.”
The dragon paused in lowering his bags, and both Thunderbird and Tim turned to look at her with shock.
“You,” Imelda growled. “Dragon. You’re not afraid of me?”
“Of course not,” the dragon scoffed.
“Because he’s young and stupid,” the Thunderbird said.
Imelda ignored him. “And my ‘tricks’ won’t affect you?”
“Not unless I let them,” the dragon said. “My kind are masters at the weave.”
“The elders of your kind are masters at the weave,” the rain-god corrected.
“Silence, peahen.”
“Can you teach me?” Imelda said. “To…stop from hurting people?” She was desperate not to end up shunned and despised, as the unicorn’s had predicted. A prediction which, to all appearances, had been panning out. Even Thunderbird was leery of having her in his home. What was worse, over the last few hours, the double-images had come and gone with her headaches, giving her the impression it was not a condition that would end anytime soon, and if anything, was getting worse.
Immediately, the dragon straightened, puffing out his muscular human chest. “I might. For a price.”
Thunderbird rolled his eyes. “Dragons and their contracts. Can’t you just do something nice for someone, for a chance?”
“Shut up, pigeon. The mo
rtal and I are having a discussion.” His light-on-dark eyes fixed on her, the dragon said, “I would have you sign an accord.”
Thunderbird made a sound of disgust. “I’ll be watching the game.” He then turned and strode back to his chair in front of the television, leaving Imelda facing off with a dragon. Almost immediately, the rain-god began shouting at the screen again, Imelda’s plight completely forgotten.
Imelda, all-too-aware of the hazards of making bargains with immortals, gave him a long look. “What kind of accord?”
“You’re a virgin, yes?”
Imelda flushed until her ears burned.
Apparently, her blush was answer enough, for the dragon gave a slow, lazy smile. “I would have you sign a mating contract. Your firstborn child.”
“There will be ice in Hell before I give you a chi—” Imelda frowned at the flash of satisfaction she saw in the dragon’s face. “You don’t want a child, do you?”
The dragon’s chiseled jawline silvered with tiny scales before it quickly shifted back to bronzed human skin. “Of course I want a child.”
“What do you want?” Imelda demanded. “Aside from the opportunity to lock me into a contract I’ll never fulfill?”
The dragon’s jaw fell open slightly.
“The fool probably wants to bathe in it!” Thunderbird called over his shoulder.
The way her opponent’s eyes widened made Imelda realize that Thunderbird was probably closer to the truth than the dragon would have liked. “Bathe in what?” she asked.
Clearing his throat, the dragon said, “I would protect you if I’m to teach you, and the best way for me to do that is with a mating contract.”
Thunderbird laughed, his back still to the group. “He wants the link.”
“Would you shut up?!” the dragon snarled. “Why do you even care?!”
But if Thunderbird heard, he made no response.
“Bathe in what?” Imelda repeated.
The dragon glared at her. “Your magic.”
Of course. Dragons liked magic. They hoarded it. Imelda’s eyes fell to the treasures he had looted from other areas of the compound. “So this mating contract… It means I could not leave until I produce you an heir?”
The dragon snorted. “No. It just means that you are sworn to keep your womb free of a competitor’s seed, and to help me raise any children born of the pairing.”
A competitor’s seed, Imelda thought with an internal shudder. She had long ago become inured to the startlingly blasé way that the immortals seemed to treat things like contractual reproduction, but when applied to her, it was still unsettling. “What’s the link?” Imelda asked.
“Damn you and your interference, fool!” the dragon snarled at Thunderbird’s back.
Imelda crossed her arms and waited. Outside, she heard Herr Drescher spin up the helicopter’s rotors as another group of survivors made for the tarmac. The German had apparently taken a liking to the crass and curmudgeony little Third-Lander, because she’d overheard the two of them talking about getting a beer on one of their last passes down the hall.
“Well?” she asked, when the dragon merely gave her an annoyed look.
“It’s a minor thing,” the dragon muttered.
“Oh?” Imelda said. “Then you wouldn’t mind telling me all about it.”
The dragon narrowed his eyes at her, then blew a few strands of perfectly-highlighted brown hair out of his sunkissed bronze face. “It’s a telepathic connection. It helps me find and assist you, if necessary.”
“Like a Mark.”
“Yes, exactly,” the dragon said, but on the other side of the room, Thunderbird started laughing uproariously. When Imelda checked, the television was playing a commercial about advanced osteoporosis. She turned back and raised a brow to the dragon.
“Damn you, peahen,” the dragon muttered.
“So it’s not like a Mark,” Imelda said.
“It’s just a way to find you,” the dragon muttered. “A dragon must be able to find and assist his mate when she is egg-heavy and vulnerable, and must be able to communicate with her during the hunt.”
She glanced at Tim. “Is he telling the truth?”
The unicorn cleared his throat. “Um, ah…” He met the dragon’s irritated glance and quailed. “Not really, no.”
“And who the fuck are you to know whether or not I’m telling the truth?!” the dragon cried, looking the unicorn up and down in disgust. “You equine-stinking little twit. Dragons eat horses, you know.”
“Don’t tell him,” Thunderbird said casually. “I don’t want to have to kill the upstart.” Then he hesitated, glancing over his shoulder. “Well, I do, but it would be bad form.”
The dragon narrowed his eyes at Thunderbird. “Oh yeah? What happened to ‘your ancestors shall receive the most seasonal of rains’ and ‘consider yourself welcome to hunt upon my territory any time you please?!’ Do you have the memory of a goddamn chipmunk?”
“‘Aqrab told me.”
The ridge of the dragon’s brow thickened and went silver before quickly got his form back under control, though he remained rather pale. After staring at Thunderbird for a moment, the dragon turned to Imelda and said, “You want to learn how to not kill people? My offer is a mating contract. Take it or leave it.”
“A mating contract…in which you don’t intend to mate.” Imelda scowled at him. “What, will this link allow you to control my magic or some such?”
The dragon frowned at her. “Of course not. That would violate the Pact.”
“True,” the unicorn said, nodding.
“No one asked you, pony.” The dragon crossed his arms, eying Imelda. “Since you’re being stubborn, it will do two things. It will allow me to feel what it is you’re feeling, which will assist me in helping you learn to control yourself, and it will also allow me to experience a direct conduit to your magic.”
Imelda frowned. “So you can bathe in it.”
“It might be…pleasant…for me,” the dragon gritted.
“Will there be any adverse effects on my side?” Imelda demanded. “Exhaustion? Headaches?”
The dragon snorted. “You will be linked to a dragon. If anything, you would experience less exhaustion and headaches.”
“True,” Tim said. “He would be able to help you with the headaches.”
“She isn’t asking your opinion, horsie.”
“Actually, I am,” Imelda said. She thought about it a moment. “And you will neither detain me, nor impede my movement or free will in any way?”
“Of course not,” the dragon said. “It’s a mating contract, not a contract of servitude.”
Imelda, who had honestly thought she would be faced with a choice between years of loneliness and ostracism or the mortal sin of suicide, considered. “And I can leave the contract at any time by going down to the local bar and hooking up with some lonely bachelor for a night.”
The dragon’s entire face slipped into scales before he re-formed himself. Scowling at her, he said, “If you break the terms of the contract, it would end, yes.”
Imelda gave her possible patron a considering look. She had not imagined much beyond her life outside the Order, and, now that she had thoroughly condemned herself in the eyes of her brethren, the dragon’s offer was looking more and more appealing. “What about Thunderbird?” she asked. “Could he teach me?”
“No,” both Thunderbird and the dragon said at the same time.
The quickness with which Thunderbird said it told her not that he couldn’t, but that he wouldn’t. Imelda took a deep breath. “I will accept…on one condition,” she said.
The dragon’s eyes widened momentarily before he hid his surprise and much-too-nonchalantly said, “What condition?”
“You swear upon your ancestors’ honor that when you meet him, my mount will remain unmolested.”
The dragon snorted. “Your mount? I give two shits about your mount.”
“Still, I’m fond of him,” Imelda sa
id. “I wouldn’t want him falling prey to a dragon’s carnal desires.”
“If I’m hungry, I will order myself a steak. I won’t touch your damned mount.”
“Then we have an accord,” Imelda said. “What must I do?”
“Come here,” the dragon said, holding out a big hand to her and gesturing.
Very cautiously, Imelda walked around the table and came to a wary halt just out of reach of the dragon. Being such gifted shapeshifters, the dragon had chosen a body for himself that reminded her of a combination of images off the cover of People Magazine, from his broad shoulders to his narrow hips to his blindingly white smile and stylishly-gelled hair. At five-eight, Imelda was tall for a woman, but at six-two with a muscular build, he still made her feel small.
The dragon took the last step and reached out for her, and Imelda found her courage failing her as his large hand found the side of her face. “Dragon,” she said, trying desperately not to let her panic show, “what are you doing?”
“Shhh,” the dragon growled. “I’m working.” His eyes closed and he reached up with his second hand, placing it on her other cheek, fingers wrapped behind her skull. Then, even as she was wincing away, the dragon bent and touched his brow to hers, holding them there. His lips almost against hers, he started speaking in a harsh and guttural language that she recognized as true Draconic, but without her Talisman of Tongues, she was unable to follow it.
“An ‘accord’ must be agreed upon by both parties,” Imelda reminded him, knowing it was a favored trick of immortals to weave such ‘bargains’ in secret, “and if I cannot understand your speech, it cannot be an accord.”
“I work the magics of the link” the dragon said, sounding half in a trance. “The accord was already made. Shhh.”
Though she found it awkward and uncomfortable, Imelda held still while he continued to chant against her forehead. A few minutes later, she felt a strange surge from her chest, followed by a dizzying dual-view sensation, almost as if she were occupying two bodies at once, before it washed away, leaving her feeling slightly refreshed and much less dizzy.
…and completely without a headache, for the first time that she could remember.
“Oh my God,” Imelda whispered, gasping at the pleasure of the sudden lack of pain. It was like an ancient burden had lifted, a weight removed from her soul, and she felt suddenly free.