Despite my complaints, and though it pained me to admit it, Trian was actually a very good teacher. He was patient, he was thorough, and he knew exactly how much my body could take before it shut down. I might feel like dying at the end of a lesson, but in truth I would probably come out of this assignment in the best shape of my life.
Plus, I had to admit my instructor was incredibly attractive. He wore thin T-shirts and sweatpants and made both look good. No matter how many times my brain told my body that it was a bad, bad idea, my heart thumped wildly anytime he came within five feet. Which was often.
I was beginning to worry I’d have a heart attack combining exercise with sexual attraction.
He had to have noticed the low hum of awareness any time we got close. But he never acknowledged the suffocating heat of our hormones. I knew it was stupid; I kept telling myself it was less complicated this way, but I found myself almost angry that he didn’t seem to be affected in the slightest. It just drove the knife of humiliation deeper. I really was just a job to him.
My attraction was disgusting. More than that, it was damned inconvenient.
Palm facing out, with the knife in my other hand, I rotated in a slow circle, my legs shaking with the effort to stay in the crouched position. I watched the mirror. My movements were jerky and uncoordinated. The two weeks of training were almost over, and I still hadn’t landed a single blow on Trian.
I finished, and then stood up, wiping sweat from my eyes.
“Trian.” He stood behind me, tracking my movements in the wall-length mirror.
“Don’t stop. You need to learn this. The proper wrist rotation is key.” He reached around, cradling my body with his, and wrapped his fingers along the arm holding my knife, moving my limbs like a puppeteer. His head faced the mirror, his expression intense as he moved my body into position.
I couldn’t help it. I turned my head slightly, until my face was barely an inch from his collarbone. He smelled so good. We’d been training for an hour, and he’d barely broken a sweat. But his skin was warm, radiating heat and the indescribable something that made him Trian. Fire, forest, a touch of cinnamon—I’d spent hours cuddled against him at night, trying to make the ingredients add up to something I could understand.
They never had.
“Damn it, Myrna. Of all the fool things you could have volunteered for, you had to go and put yourself in the middle of a fight with dragons.”
I blinked. “You’re the one who vouched for me.”
“I’m beginning to regret that choice.” The words were angry, but he sounded tender; almost resigned. His tone made me look up. I met his eyes in the mirror, and couldn’t help but catch my breath. The need was there, a perfect reflection of my own tortured longings. My breath caught. He let me see it for only a moment before dropping my arm and stepping away.
“We’ve done what we can before the meeting. We’ll just have to hope no one is dumb enough to attack you in Lord Relobu’s territory.” He gave me a look. “Don’t get in a fight. If a situation is unavoidable, scream bloody murder. I’ll do my best to get there before they slice you to bits.”
I rolled my eyes. It was nice to see Trian had confidence in my abilities.
Sad thing was, I couldn’t help but agree with him. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but my time was probably better spent on practicing screaming for help.
“Give me five laps on the outside track and call it a day.”
I groaned, but did as I was told. Running would increase the lung capacity required for screaming effectively.
*
At my request, I spent the rest of the afternoon in Relobu’s library, trying to map out the best approach to deal with Hian-puo’s men. Lord Relobu’s collection provided me access to books unknown to DRACIM, and I spent the better part of two hours in a state between overwhelming awe and giddy delight. The great majority of the texts were not written by humans: they were written by dragons. I looked up, grinning like an idiot at the row upon row of books. It was impossible. It was fantastic.
I pulled out a book at random and glanced at the title. On the History of Dragons was emblazoned in golden script on the cover. There were seven authors, and I was surprised to see Lord Relobu and Hian-puo’s names among them. My breath hitched as I scanned the list of names once again. This book was written by the original dragon hatchlings. The ultimate test-tube babies. I opened the book. Someone had translated it into English!
The book read like a journal, with each dragon reporting his or her experiences as they remembered them. Lord Relobu spoke of his first trip from the darkness of the furnace. Another entry recorded a dragon’s difficulty learning to fly. Fully engrossed, I almost screamed when a hand touched my shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Richard stood behind me, looking very distinguished in his wire-rimmed glasses and suit. Why couldn’t I be attracted to Richard? He was smart, he was polite, and he was good-looking in an understated, studious sort of way.
I smiled. Probably because Carol would kill me. She’d claimed dibs the instant she’d learned I met him. Apparently she’d fallen into insta-lust a few months back when she’d run across his head shot in one of her millions of magazines—heroin to a fashion-conscious advertising executive like my roommate. When she’d discovered the inventor of dragonscript was an attractive man in his thirties, she’d been giddy with delight.
My roommate was such a nerd.
“You’re fine. I just didn’t hear you come in.” I motioned to the book. “Richard, look at these stories. I didn’t even know something like this existed. The dragon creation, written by the dragons themselves. It’s fantastic.”
He smiled. “Yes. This was one of my first projects when I started for Lord Relobu. He wanted to get down as many accounts as he could before they were forgotten. Before we’d developed dragonscript, our only option was for me to translate their oral accounts to English.”
“Richard. This is just…” I shook my head, unable to find words for my amazement.
“Lord Relobu maintains one of the largest libraries in the world, human and dragon combined.”
“I had no idea there were this many books written by dragons.” I waved my hand to the ones I’d piled on the corner of the reading table, before I’d given up hope of having time to read through them all. History, philosophy, science—even a few novels were tucked between the somber tomes. All dictated by dragons.
“This story, of Lord Relobu’s first years in the Congo after his birth, it’s heartbreaking.” It was common knowledge dragons had been created as a by-product of cancer research, but this was the only firsthand account I’d ever seen.
The History of Dragons described Lord Relobu’s first moments of self-awareness, his constant struggle with fear as he lay in his dark crib, and later the joy of his first flight. The other entries were just as gripping, and I found myself constantly surprised.
“There are so many different types of dragons.” I flipped through the pages. “Why doesn’t DRACIM have copies of these? How can we not know there are over one hundred unique species?”
The small size of Lord Relobu’s dragon servants finally made sense. They weren’t young dragons; they were different dragons. Everyone knew about the original seven; I’d always assumed their offspring was similar in looks and temperament to their parents. But I guess it made sense. There were a lot of different DNA pieces jumbled together in a petri dish. Who could say which hereditary trait would be dominant when mixed with a slightly different blend of genes?
Richard grinned. “Boggles the mind, doesn’t it? And I’m betting the number of different species is close to three hundred. Dr. Smith hadn’t realized the cells in the tubes were even viable, much less that they have the ability to reproduce and mutate into almost anything.”
He walked to the shelves and ran a finger along the spines. “Here. Hian-puo’s biography. Lord Relobu managed to get him to speak to me for On the History of Dragons, but I pu
t this biography together several years later, and Hian-puo had already lost his taste for cooperation. As I was the writer, and human, he refused to participate, but I managed to gather quite a bit of information from other sources. Perhaps it will help you decide how to proceed during the negotiations.”
“This is great. Thanks, Richard.”
The smile he gave me transformed his face from dull business to boyishly charming, and I suddenly remembered my promise to Carol. “What are you doing this weekend?”
“Nothing, just catching up on some reading I need to do for some of Relobu’s contracts.”
“Great. That leaves you plenty of time for a card game or two at my apartment this Saturday.” I grinned. “I need to brush up on my arbitration skills before the first conference. Poker is one of the best ways to practice negotiation.” I winked. “And I have a roommate who’s dying to meet you. A very pretty female roommate.”
Richard blushed and I laughed. Carol was going to love this guy.
“You are the cutest thing. Any chance you have buddies who’d want to tag along? We’ll need at least four if we want to play anything that requires a partner.”
“Well, I can’t think of any off the top of my—”
“I’ll be there.”
Richard and I both turned to find Trian standing in the doorway, shooting me a death glare.
I shot him a look right back. “I don’t remember inviting you. In fact, I remember saying something along the lines of ‘if you ever set foot inside my home again I’ll stab you through the heart.’”
Trian ignored me completely and aimed that insistent gaze in Richard’s direction. “What time?”
Richard coughed once, uncomfortably. “Seven works for me.”
Trian nodded. “Seven it is.” He glanced back to me, his eyes sparking with temper. “See you then.” He closed the library door behind him as he left.
“I wondered. I mean, it’s none of my business, of course, but—”
I could practically feel Richard twitching nervously beside me, so I rescued him from his misery.
“Trian and I used to date.”
“Oh. Oh!”
Richard’s tone—a mix of shock and no small bit of horror—grated on my already irritated nerves.
“Look. I can promise you that whatever we had, it is long over. It won’t affect how I do my job.”
“Of course not. I was merely…surprised. That’s all.”
“Yes, well. I was stupid, and I got over it. End of story.” Ready to change the conversation to anything other than my massively failed love life, I slipped a business card from my pocket and scribbled the address to my apartment on the back. “Seven o’clock?”
Richard took the card somewhat absently. “Yes. Of course. I’ll be there.”
Chapter Seven
By the time seven rolled around, I was already riding a pretty good buzz from the three beers I’d downed in an hour’s time. I’d called everybody I knew, and no one was free for a night of poker. Resigned to the fact that I was stuck on what amounted to a double date with Carol, Richard, and Trian, I felt fully justified in medicating my frustration.
Because of my dad, I had a four-beer limit. This was going to be a long night.
The bell rang at exactly seven, and as Carol was still primping in her bedroom, I opened the front door. Richard stood in the frame, looking slightly stiff in a pair of pressed slacks and long-sleeved sweater. I fought the urge to smirk despite my foul mood. Richard was one of those men who worked so much they felt naked without a full three-piece suit between them and the world. I couldn’t resist teasing him just a bit.
“Well, helloo there stranger,” I said, drawing out my vowels as I let my eyes run from the tips of his shiny shoes to his chest. Unlike Carol, I’d refused to dress up for the party, but my feminine pride prickled at the thought of looking like a bum in front of an ex-boyfriend, no matter how vile, so I’d spent extra time on my makeup and hair. I leaned against the door frame, deliberately giving Richard the full view of my snug jeans and cleavage-displaying shirt. I smiled and fluttered my eyelashes in his direction. “You look like you could use a good time.”
“As a matter of fact, I can.” Trian shouldered his way in front of Richard, leaned down, and gave me a smacking kiss on the lips. Before I had a chance to react, he shoved a frosty six-pack in my hands and stepped past me into the living room.
“Creep,” I muttered as I tried not to notice how nice he looked in a frayed black T-shirt and equally worn jeans. Like he’d done a million times before, Trian headed for the kitchen. I trailed him, with the intention of reminding him he no longer held “get what you want when you want it” privileges in this apartment. I walked in as he started pulling out glasses from the upper cabinet and scowled at his back as he unerringly snatched a bag of pretzels and candy corn from my hidden stash.
From behind me, Richard cleared his throat. “I, um, brought some wine.”
Oops. I’d left him standing at the door, and he’d wandered back for some company. I opened my mouth to apologize for my rudeness, but Carol saved me from a reply by breezing into the room, a giddy smile stretching across her face when she spotted Richard.
I was obviously the only one dreading the evening.
“That is just so sweet of you. Thank you so much for coming. I’m Carol.” She took the bottle of wine with one hand and stretched the other out in greeting, giggling when Richard lifted it to his mouth for a light kiss.
I took the bottle from her before she managed to drop it. With a scowl toward the ex-boyfriend who felt way too comfortable in my kitchen, I helped Trian gather the glasses while Carol led Richard into the living room where we’d set up the card table.
Richard looked dumbstruck by the casual way Carol managed to trail her fingers along his arm as she spoke. With her almost hip-length curly red hair and pixie-like features, Carol got that reaction from the majority of the male population, and Richard was no exception.
Trian grinned when he caught me rolling my eyes, and before my slightly intoxicated brain could stop me, I stuck out my tongue in his direction. The action only made him laugh, and I stomped toward the living room. He followed me, his arms loaded with glassware and candy.
“Was that an invitation?” His mouth was right beside my ear, and I fought not to shiver.
I stopped just outside the room. “What is your problem? You know I didn’t invite you here.”
Trian leaned back against the counter, the casual movement causing his tattoo to peep from beneath his sleeve. The artwork was the word “two” in dragonscript, and the one on his arm was an exact miniature of the larger version across his stomach. I couldn’t help but glance at the expanse of material across his abs, remembering how the thick dark ink had trembled as I’d run my fingers across it in bed.
I glanced up to catch Trian staring at me with an unreadable expression. He looked confused. And hurt.
“I’m drunk.” For some reason I felt the need to clarify that fact. I licked my lips and watched as a spark of gold flashed in Trian’s eyes. His pupils contracted slightly, oddly, and I gasped.
He blinked and dumped his packages into my hands before turning toward the freezer. Silently, he pulled out my ice trays and broke the cubes into a large bowl. He kept his back to me when he spoke.
“Wanna help me get this stuff to the table?”
I dropped the six-pack and candy onto the counter with a thud. My brain had recovered from its flustered state, and I remembered why I was angry. “Help you? I’m not that drunk. You seem to know exactly where everything is.”
He shot me a smile over his shoulder. I smiled back, and—knowing he hated the action—I patted him on the rear. Leaning in until this time it was my mouth by his ear, I whispered, “Trian? Don’t ever try and kiss me again, because martial arts instructor or not, I’ll make sure you’ll regret it.”
Richard and Carol had long since left the kitchen, so I joined them at the card table, making sure to
add a little swing to my walk. I felt Trian’s eyes on me until I stepped out of sight.
I’d planned to quiz Richard and Trian about the best approaches to negotiation techniques for Rime, Hian-puo’s designated emissary for the arbitration session, but based on Richard’s smiles and Carol’s near-constant giggling, my roommate and my temporary boss were really hitting it off. I hated to ruin the mood by talking shop.
I was nervous about the negotiations. My fear was stupid—I’d been the main arbiter on plenty of cases due to Emory’s penchant for tardiness—but this would be the first I’d handled in a year having my name directly attached. By the end of the evening, my buzz had long since worn off and my anxiety levels were rising.
I called it anxiety, but I had to admit a lot of my unease stemmed from the fact that Trian spent the rest of the evening just watching me. Oh, he’d answer a question if Carol or Richard sent one in his direction, but for the most part he remained a silent observer.
And he’d still managed to charm my best friend. I tried not to be disgusted with Carol, who’d spent the night flirting shamelessly with both men, but I made a mental note to remind her that Trian was the same “nice guy” who almost got me fired.
For my own peace of mind, I had to assume her easygoing attitude was less because of her approval of Trian and more because she was totally delighted with Richard. Right now, she was busy whispering something in Richard’s ear, and judging by the flush that climbed past his collarbone, it wasn’t appropriate for mixed company.
And it was official. I couldn’t take it anymore.
“I’m going to get some fresh air,” Carol didn’t even look up; she was too busy listening to Richard explain the origins of verb conjugation in dragonspeak. Complete nerds. Both of them. They were perfect for each other, and it was making me ill. I snagged the half-empty chip bowl on my way to the door. My life was just depressing.
I’d barely reached the iron rail of my patio when I heard the door slide open and then close behind me. Trian stood just outside, his hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans. I exhaled with a white puff; the October nights were quickly changing from cool to cold.
Never Deal with Dragons Page 10