He waved it off. “Like I said, it’s been a while. It’s at the point now where I enjoy remembering them. She was private about her magic, working things in the kitchen and telling us to keep out until she was done. I wasn’t allowed in. It’s not like I could have learned anything from her, anyway.”
Willow spread her arms wide and then brought her hands together in a loud clap. She rubbed her palms and fingers together, feeling her limp magic come into her skin. “Aren’t you a mage?”
“Nope. I’m a dragon.”
“Well, I know that,” now, “but usually, children of magical folk can cast, even if the other parent isn’t magical.”
“Dragon genes are strongly dominant,” he said. “When a dragon produces a child, it’s always a dragonling. Well, the first child is. Very rarely, after the first dragonling, sometimes a subsequent child is the other parent’s supernatural class, but the kids are usually all dragons.”
Willow shook her head as the magic grew in her palms. “Genes don’t work that way.”
He laughed. “They don’t have to. It’s magic.”
She chuckled, too. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
When the magic in her hands tingled strongly enough, Willow laid her hands over the potion ingredients and said the incantation, ending with, “So mote it be.” She concentrated on the poor sea serpents out in the fountain, focusing her sympathy for them and her deep wish for them to feel healthier.
The magic flowed out of her hands and into the herbs, powders, and liquids on the table. To her witchy eyes, the salt glowed blue, and the honey radiated with a deep pulse.
When she turned to Arawn, he was staring at her, his eyes flared open wide. “That was amazing.”
As he spoke, blue sparks drifted into his eyes and then burned away as if they had never been there.
While they’d been together, Willow had seen that happen a few times, but because she’d thought he was a natural, she hadn’t believed the magic right in front of her eyes. “Are you sure you’re not a mage?”
He breathed, “Positive. That was absolutely amazing. I could see the magic flowing out of you.”
“You shouldn’t have been able to unless you’re a mage.”
He shrugged.
“Can you see the salt still glowing? Or the milk swirling?”
He looked at the counter. “No. I could only see it when you were touching it.”
His voice was back to his usual, calm demeanor.
“Okay.” That was confusing. “Then maybe you’re not a mage. I don’t know. Anyway, I need a white candle.”
He wandered through the kitchen and found a box of votives in a storeroom that the future restaurant was probably going to use to create ambiance, and Willow mixed the ingredients and cast the spell to form the potion.
In a tall glass vase, the milky beige liquid that she stirred with a chopstick instead of a wand bubbled as the candles heated it from underneath.
Willow breathed the last words of the incantation on the surface of the liquid, and it frothed and settled down to a sparkling, crystal-clear amber. Effervescent bubbles streamed from the bottom of the vase.
Dang. The spell and potion seemed to have worked perfectly. That last foam-and-settle looked exactly like it should have.
She wasn’t even sure when the last time was that she’d gotten a 100% on a potion, certainly none of her potion projects at the Sorcière Université Remedial Potions Program had worked so completely perfectly.
Luckily for Willow, potions are a witching discipline where you don’t have to knock every spell out of the park, every time. If a potion is 90% effective, that can still be a dang good potion. It might taste like stinging nettles and dog poop, but it will still cure your fungus or bring your cat back home.
Indeed, color, composition, and aroma weren’t even particularly good indicators of efficacy.
But that last reaction in the vial, the foam-and-settle? That looked great.
She sniffed the potion, which smelled like freshly grilled fish and the sea. She’d worked on the taste-masking with the sea serpents in mind, of course. For a human, she would have gone with strawberries or vanilla.
Arawn said, “That looks promising.”
“Yeah.” Willow dusted the sugar and sage off her hands. “I think it might work okay. Now we just need some fish.”
Time to Feed the Dragons
ARAWN Tiamat walked with Willow across the cement toward the fountain.
He had swung a box containing perhaps two hundred pounds of chilled fish and ice up onto his shoulder, wishing he’d brought a hand truck or one of the birdcage luggage trollies the concierges used. He could carry a few hundred pounds with ease, of course. His unusual strength, even for his bulk from flying, was one of the side benefits of having an enraged dragon soul constantly battering at the inside of his head.
Willow minced ahead of him, her curvy form swaying as she teetered over the blindingly white asphalt in her little blue witch boots.
He could sit and watch the way her sparkly, cobalt shoes flashed under the ankle hems of her black trousers all day long, except then he’d miss the way her hourglass figure swayed and wiggled when she walked, and he’d missed that far too much the last few months.
He adjusted the box of fish on his shoulder, hefting it a little higher toward his cheek.
Willow carried a serving tray bearing her amber potion, now aliquoted into fifteen paper cups. Earlier in the kitchen, he’d thought it smelled good, if a little fishy.
His dragon had wanted to come out and lick the cups.
It was one of the first times his dragon had stirred around Willow. When they’d lived together, it had slumbered so much that he’d checked in with it on weekends, telling Willow that he was going running when he had actually flown over the desert for exercise and connection with his dragon soul.
It was one of the ways Arawn had known Willow wasn’t his fated mate.
It had taken him a long time to admit that he’d fallen in love with the wrong woman.
But Gods, he still missed her.
Standing by the side of the fountain, Willow gingerly leaned over the sidewall and looked into the dark water. She placed the tray on the retaining wall’s thick capstones, settling it gently to avoid a sharp smack that would summon the serpents.
Smart girl.
He’d always known that.
She turned to him. “Okay, let’s have that first fish.”
Arawn thumped the box on the cement and opened it, rooting around in the ice for the first halibut. “I hope they like this.”
“Just like hiding a pill in a piece of cheese for a dog.”
He pulled a decently sized fish out of the box, its iridescent scales shimmering in the sunlight, and pried its mouth open. “Go for it.”
Willow poured the contents of one of the paper cups into the fish’s mouth, and Arawn jiggled the dead, cold thing to settle the potion inside. “Ready. Call them.”
Willow slapped the side of the fountain.
A ripple surged toward them.
A black sea serpent reared out of the water, undulating its snaky body in the air.
Arawn heaved the fish at its face.
The fish smacked the sea monster right between its surprised eyes and bounced off its snout.
It snapped at the air and caught the fish before it hit the water. The serpent lifted its nose to the sky and gulped the fish down whole like a sea lion.
Arawn watched the serpent closely, ready to push Willow behind him and transform. He had no question in his head that his dragon could take this piddly serpent in a wrestling match or a firefight, but he’d prefer not to hurt it.
The serpent looked down at Willow and opened its mouth, but it didn’t move on her, nor did fire burn in its body.
Its tongue lolled out of its mouth, and it whined.
Dragon Gods, the beast was begging like a hungry Golden Retriever.
A scarlet sea dragon erupted from the water beside the bl
ack one, surveyed the situation, and lunged.
Willow stumbled backward.
Arawn began to unfurl his dragon.
The black sea serpent body-checked the red one and hissed at it.
The red one’s eyes opened wide, and it sniffed the black serpent’s breath.
Willow said, “Arawn, get the next fish.”
He scrambled in the ice to find the next halibut and wrenched its jaw back.
Willow poured the potion in, and he shook the fish and hurled it at the red sea monster.
This one was a little quicker and snagged it out of the air, sucking it down like a frat boy with a Jell-O shot.
The water around the two serpents boiled, and the other four sea monsters lurched into the air.
Okay, they’d fed one fish each to the black one and the red one. Time to make sure everybody got at least two fish.
Arawn and Willow worked quickly, pouring the nutrient potion into the fish and flinging them to the serpents, who sucked them down.
Meanwhile, inside Arawn, his dragon became more agitated, pacing within him and snarling.
Dammit, beast. Go back to sleep. What the hell do you want?
Dark Other rumbled, snarling, growling, his blue eyes narrowed.
Arawn flung the twelfth fish at the green serpent, who caught it and chugged it down. “Okay, they’ve each had two. Who gets the extra three?”
The soul-tattoo on his ribs burned.
He felt his dragon take over before it broke through his skin.
He tried to warn Willow, but he was already the smoke in the back of the beast’s mind.
Willow’s eyes followed him up as his dragon took corporal form.
Arawn fought for control, throwing magical coils over his beast that dwelled within, but it was no use.
He struggled harder to master it.
Dark Other—stop.
The dragon roared its cacophonous bellow into the sky.
The sea serpents slunk under the water’s surface and rippled away.
Arawn almost managed to seize control, trying to stuff the Dark Other back inside.
The dragon shook his head, and the world whipped around Arawn as he looked through the dragon’s eyes.
Willow held her hands up as if that would ward off searing dragonfire or the beast if he decided to chomp her down. Her body swelled and deflated as she gulped air, and she smelled like terror.
Yet, she remained upright and staring at his dragon form.
Good girl. Most people would have fainted in a pool of their own piss by now.
The dragon lowered its nose and nudged the box toward Willow.
Good frickin’ Dragon Gods and all the Dragon Saints! It wanted a damned fish?
Arawn fought harder for control. You could have asked, you jerk. You didn’t need to terrify her.
A pissed-off hunger returned to Arawn.
Yeah, he hadn’t been letting the dragon fly or hunt much, lately, other than the quick flight from New Wales that morning. Dragon souls behaved better with regular exercise.
All that time I was with her, you slept. You ignored her. You sulked or hid or were more interested in destruction. And now this is what wakes you up? A damned fish? He wanted to punch his dragon in the head.
The dragon nosed the box toward Willow again.
He heard her say, “You want a fish?”
Arawn gained enough control to nod his head.
“Well, okay.” She shook the box until a silver fish surfaced through the ice. “Do you want the potion?”
Hunger flowed through Arawn. Want.
He grabbed the beast from within and nodded again.
“At least somebody likes my cooking,” Willow muttered, as she poured a cup of potion down the halibut’s throat. She picked it up, wrestling with the heavy fish. Each one weighed probably fifteen pounds, and it looked like one of the larger ones. It felt like it was over twenty pounds.
She held the fish with both hands, judging it, and then bent to granny-throw it high into the air.
The Dark Other nipped the fish at the apex of its flight and sucked it down. The sweet taste of flesh crunched in his fangs as he tore it apart in his mouth and swallowed.
More.
Willow busied herself preparing another fish while Dark Other waited.
Arawn stopped fighting and allowed himself to drift, satisfied that his dragon wasn’t going to tear Willow asunder.
More deliciousness came his way, the deep satisfaction of feeding filling his mind.
His vision turned back to the basin.
Rivals had invaded his territory again, seeking to take what was his and his alone.
A great blast of air flowed through him, emerging as rage and sparkling blue fire.
Down below on the cement, Willow was waving her open hands and shaking her head.
Dammit, Arawn had become too complacent.
He seized the form, surrounding the dragon soul and sucking him inside.
Having fed and now satisfied, the dragon body contracted, concentrating the smoke and fury into his human body.
When Arawn opened his eyes, his fingers were pressed against the cement courtyard right in front of his face, and the gentle desert breeze whispered over his naked butt. “Willow, kindly turn around.”
A rough tingle of magic enveloped him.
Cloth wrapped his body.
This was new.
Usually, his clothes shredded, sometimes incinerated, when his dragon burst out. They’d never reformed on him before.
He stood, looking at the white tee shirt and dark denim jeans he was suddenly wearing.
Wait, he hadn’t worn such casual clothes since—
He looked up at Willow, who was standing with her fingers outstretched at him and her eyes squeezed shut.
—since college, which was the last time Willow had seen what he wore on a regular basis. “Did you conjure these?”
“Well, yes.” She gestured at the throngs of people strolling on the sidewalk just beyond the fluttering, yellow “Keep Out” tape. None of them were even looking over at the switch-off fountain where a witch and a dragon shifter had been feeding halibut to legendary-class sea monsters, and then a hangry dragon had been demanding treats. “I didn’t want them to get an eyeful.”
He flexed his back, and luckily, the fabric stretched. Evidently, she’d conjured the clothes in the size Arawn used to wear, but he’d put on thirty pounds of muscle flying to manage projects for Dragons Den, Inc.
The pants were a bit tight, too, and snug on his backside.
He certainly wasn’t going to look a gift dragon in the mouth. “Thank you. I appreciate it. They’re perfect. I didn’t think I would have to transform again today, so I didn’t bring my emergency gym bag with me.”
“Oh,” she said. “That’s where you got the towel and the shirt, last time.”
“I’ve become quite adept at whipping that towel around me before anyone can pull out their cell phone.”
“Yeah, that’s got to be an occupational hazard for a shifter.” She cocked her head and looked him up and down. “I must say, I did a good job conjuring those.”
“Yes, you certainly—” The shirt and pants were so tight that they were practically painted on his broad chest and long legs. “—did.”
His fingers found a row of snaps down the sides of his pants, and the shirt had that starchy quality of tear-away cotton.
Good gods, had she purposely slapped male stripper clothes on him? Had he been so forward, so obvious in his continuing attraction to her that she’d essentially told him he was behaving like a gigolo?
Willow smiled at him. “You will need to get rid of them before midnight, though. That’s the usual problem with conjured clothes. At midnight, they turn into a pumpkin.”
Maybe she didn’t realize that the clothes had some special features. Maybe it was an accident.
He said, “Nevertheless, I deeply appreciate not having to do the dragon run-of-shame back to the
casino. Let me take you to lunch.”
“Oh, no. I couldn’t.” Her eyes swept downward. “I really couldn’t.”
“Come on,” he said, stepping toward her. “It’s a date.”
“No.” Her voice was firmer. “It’s not a date. I’m glad that we’re comfortable with each other. I’m glad that we have a decent working arrangement, and I really appreciate that you helped me calm down earlier. I really do. But you can’t ask me to do that, Arawn. It’s too soon to pretend that you were nothing to me. And I can’t get involved with you again. It hurt too much.”
“I need to talk to you.” The words tumbled out of his mouth from somewhere deep in his body. The last few hours around her had been so marvelous, balm for his shattered soul, that he was stupid enough to beg her to take a leap that would surely end in heartache for them both, but it was better than heartache now. “Please let me take you to lunch at the restaurant here in the casino. I’ve made you work through your lunch break. The union will be all over me.”
“The serpents were hungry,” she said. “They needed to be taken care of.”
“And now we are hungry, and we need to be taken care of. It’s just a late lunch, just a quick bite. We’ll go up to the top-floor restaurant in the DD casino. It’s practically an office tour. It’s nothing but some food, right? Because we’re both hungry, anyway?”
“Okay,” Willow said slowly. “If it’s just lunch.”
“Of course, it is. Come on. They make great hamburgers and salads here.”
Arawn had no intention of it being merely lunch. He was dying inside. He’d missed Willow so much these last few months, and seeing her again felt like springing to life.
He needed to keep seeing her, even if it was only as friends, even if he never got to touch her again.
But he needed to see her.
Free Lunch
WILLOW lifted her head high as they walked through the silent casino toward the elevators. “I’ll buy my own lunch.”
Even though she really, truly couldn’t afford it. Maybe she could get away with the cheapest appetizer on the menu. Or a side dish of corn or something.
He said, “If you insist, but I wish you’d allow me.” He glanced down at his shoes. “I owe you much more than lunch. I owe you an explanation, a long one, a very complicated one, and a real apology. Lunch is just the start.”
Dragons and Mayhem Page 8