by Lori Devoti
Joarr’s gaze flickered and he stepped closer. He looked as if he was about to say something.
A man half of Joarr’s height, dressed in stained sweats and reeking of grain alcohol, staggered past.
He brushed against Joarr. The dragon grabbed Amma and pulled her tight against him.
As the man continued on his drunken wanderings, Amma looked up. Her tone dry, she said, “How gallant.”
Joarr squeezed her upper arm. “I could call him back if you like.” When she didn’t reply, he said, “So, I’m preferable to something.”
“Not much,” she murmured, but low. She wanted him to hear, wanted herself to hear, too—needed to remind herself that she and Joarr weren’t on the same side. No one was on her side, no one ever had been, not really.
Joarr smiled and his fingers danced across her middle. Her loose top slipped up, and his fingers found the bare skin revealed there. She shivered. He leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Oh, I think you find me preferable to many things. Perhaps we should find a room and discuss just how many.”
* * *
Amma flicked a cigarette butt off the stained bedcover and into the equally stained wall. The room Joarr had booked for the night defined the human term seedy. In fact she was positive all things vile were growing in the carpet.
The dragon, however, seemed impervious to it all.
She slanted her eyes toward him. He was lying on the bed next to her, a soda can balanced on his table-flat stomach and the TV remote in his hand.
After his less-than-veiled comments at the portal, she had really thought he had something more exciting planned than this.
Not that she would have agreed to anything…personal…but this… His unexplainable fascination with a documentary on the sinking of some city in Jamaica almost two hundred years earlier was just insulting.
As the camera panned over a pile of riches pulled out from under the sea, Joarr shook his head and murmured to himself. Amma threw herself back against the disgusting motel-supplied pillow with a huff.
“What are we waiting on?” she asked, lifting her hand. The manacle still shone back at her; she twirled it around and around. She was beginning to like it. Although she could do without the extra length of chain.
Without removing his gaze from the television, Joarr replied, “For something to happen.”
She dropped her free arm over her forehead and stared at the ceiling. She wasn’t good at waiting. “Of course,” she murmured to herself.
There was noise outside the door. Someone was leaning against it.
Joarr turned to glance at her, his eyes bright in his face, telling her to be quiet. He leaped up, his feet landing on the indoor/outdoor carpet with just a whisper of sound.
Something white appeared in the gap between the door and the jamb. Joarr waited, tense. Then suddenly he was gone. One second he was Joarr the man, broad-shouldered and sexy in his all-white outfit, the next he was a dragon. His scales shone silver so bright Amma could see the dingy room reflected off them. He raised his wings, cutting her off from the room’s entrance. To stop her escape, she thought at first, but when he kept his gaze on the door, she realized instead he was protecting her, shielding her like he had in the cavern. Of course then he had caused her sphere to shatter, to spray its magic over them.
Magic. Late, but not too late, she remembered the magic. Power still hung in the room, like smoke in a bar. With Joarr’s attention on the door, she began pulling it in. She had just started to feel rejuvenated when he changed again, picked something up from the floor and turned back to her. Her face innocent and expectant, she redoubled her efforts while taking care to target only the magic that floated freely, to not draw any directly from the male in front of her. He didn’t seem to notice; he was too focused on the sheet of paper in his hand.
The cloud of magic gone, Amma closed her eyes for a second and wiggled the fingers of her free hand behind her back. Magic zipped through her, sizzled at her fingertips. Opening her eyes, she smiled. The power felt good, but it wasn’t enough, not to take care of herself, much less challenge Joarr. Still, it was a start, and she was fairly certain the dragon hadn’t even noticed what she had done. She had to keep it that way. She nodded to the paper in his hand. “What is it?” she asked.
He held it out to her. “Look familiar?”
It was an advertisement for a nightclub, Tunnels. She frowned. “I haven’t exactly been doing a lot of partying.”
He stared at her, then reached for the door. “Let’s go.”
“Wait.” She shook her head. “It’s just a flyer. It was probably shoved under every door here.”
He glanced at the paper in his hand. “I don’t think so. I think it’s an invitation.”
“To what?” She sat up on the mattress and draped the chain attached to her manacle across her lap. “We need to talk. I told you my situation, and you promised to make it worth my while if I stayed with you and helped you find the chalice.” She paused. “I’m not even sure why I’m here, what you expect from me.”
He dropped the flyer onto the bed beside her. “You’ve seen the Collector. You’ll know him if we see him again.”
“So, we’re looking for the Collector? Then why come here? I told you I met him in Nidavellir.”
“We aren’t looking for him. I just want to know if we meet him.” He turned; the bit of chain still attached to his wrist knocked against a table. He grabbed the end and held it as he paced.
She could see now that his time lying on the bed, appearing nearly comatose, had been an act. He moved like an animal trapped too long in a cage. “Back at my home, there was a note—did you see it?”
She shook her head; she’d seen that there was a note, but her lantern hadn’t been positioned so she could read it.
“It was from someone claiming to have the chalice. It’s why we went to the portal.”
“Where we were attacked,” she murmured.
“And from there we came here, to the human world.”
“Where we were attacked,” she couldn’t keep from repeating.
Joarr stopped, dropping his hold on the chain. It swung back and forth, seemed to hold the same energy she could see waiting coiled inside the dragon. “By dwarves.”
“Like the Collector.” She sighed. “So, what do you think is happening? Why would the Collector buy the chalice from me, then send the dragons a note saying he has it? And why would he attack us?”
“I don’t know.” The chain swung again. This time Joarr reached down and snapped off the extra length, let it drop onto the floor.
She thrust her arm into the air. “If you want me to help, you have to give me something. Removing this would be a good start.”
He stepped forward and grabbed hold of the chain. She thought he was going to do as he had done to his own, simply twist it off. Instead he used it to pull her to her feet. With it wrapped around his fist, he stared down at her. “I kind of like it on you.” His eyes warmed; something inside Amma warmed, too, but she kept her desire off her face.
“This is the human world. People do not walk around with shackles on their wrists and a chain dangling down their arm. They have laws, police.”
He tilted his head to the side. “And this should concern me, why?”
“Because they will think I’ve escaped from some prison—or crazed kidnapper. This—” she shook her wrist, making the chain rattle “—is not an everyday accessory in the human world.”
He stroked her cheek. “Maybe you just don’t hang out in the right circles. The desk clerk didn’t seem to care when he checked us in. In fact he offered to ‘add to the party.’”
Amma tilted her chin. She had heard the tiny man’s whispers and seen his leers. Although her fingers had twitched with the need for magic, she had suppressed her natural reaction to blow him to bits. He was only a human, after all—and she’d had so little magic to waste.
“Not many humans are as open-minded as our dear friend Carl,” she repl
ied.
Joarr grinned. “I take it you weren’t interested?” he asked.
Her eyes flared.
A low chuckle rolled from Joarr’s throat. He leaned down and brushed her lips with his. “Don’t worry. I share my treasure with no one.”
* * *
As Joarr prepared to kiss the intriguing witch, she pulled back and held up her wrist.
He sighed. He did enjoy the chain hanging from her wrist; it was convenient. He held the manacle in one hand and pulled the chain tight with the other. “Just the chain, or the bracelet, too?”
She angled her head as if considering the question. “Just the chain. I’ll keep the manacle to remind me of our past.” Emotion flickered behind her eyes.
He ran his finger under the shackle. Her skin was soft and her pulse jumped under his touch. “And I’ll keep mine. I think we both need reminding.”
Her expression sweet, she replied, “Great minds.”
He twisted the metal and the chain fell to the floor. She bent to retrieve it. With it slung over one shoulder, she returned to the bed.
He sat beside her.
She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Now we need to work out the details of our deal.” She leaned toward him. The chain fell onto the mattress between them. “I’ve proven myself, and I didn’t run when I had the chance. So tell me, dragon, what will you give me to stay and identify the Collector?” Her arms pressed against the sides of her breasts, causing them to jut up over the top of her shirt.
He ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “A good deal goes two ways. What do you offer me?”
Her skin had a glow to it he hadn’t noticed earlier—the magic she’d taken. He’d felt her drawing power during his last shift. It made her more alluring, made him want to give her a little more. He stroked her cheek, inhaled her scent…the earth again, hot from the sun.
“I’ll help you find the Collector,” she murmured. “I found him once before. I can do it again, but you have to give me something in return.”
His hand stilled. “I shouldn’t have to pay you for helping to retrieve what you stole from me.”
“Yes, well. If you want me to cooperate freely, you will.” Her chin was squared, determined.
Once again he analyzed how much he needed her help. Again he came up with the same answer—not a lot, not really. It would be useful to have someone who could identify the Collector, and if she could actually contact the dwarf, change their position from mouse to cat, that would certainly be useful, but completely boiled down, he didn’t need Amma’s help; he did, however, want it. He wanted her.
He shook his hand, the one wearing the cuff. The metal slipped down his wrist, over the top of his hand. Amma waited, moving her own cuff in short, angry twists as she did.
Her anger, the fire in her, was irresistible.
“I think we can work out a deal.”
She raised her eyebrows. He’d surprised her.
“I…” He let his fingers drift from her cheek to the side of her neck, continued to move his touch lower…He cupped his hand over her shoulder, then onto her back. His fingers splayed over the center of her back, and he whispered, “I’m sure we can work something out.”
He let her absorb that for a second, then stood. “But perhaps not now.”
She jerked as if wakened suddenly from sleep. Frustration showed on her face. Then she scowled.
Joarr hid a frustrated scowl of his own. She didn’t appreciate his games; that was clear. But she hadn’t realized yet why it was important he play, why he had to make her think it was nothing but a game. He wanted to share the fire that flamed in both of them way too much.
Both hands dropped to his sides, he studied her. “What is your price now? And how do I know you will honor our deal?”
Her eyes darted back and forth in her face. The wheels were turning in her head; he was instantly alert.
“Treasure, of course. Lots of it. You gave the portal guardian two bags. I’ll need…” Her lips parted. She was searching for a sum. The question was, was she looking for one he would pay or one so high he would refuse? Joarr couldn’t figure the witch out, couldn’t guess her motivation. “One thousand,” she finished.
Was that high to her or low? Joarr couldn’t decide. He had probably a million such little bags of gold lying around somewhere. Of course, each was very precious to him. High, he decided.
“Too much,” he declared and waited to see what she would do next. This really was very entertaining and kept him diverted from thinking of other entertaining things they could be doing together. He settled in for a long match of parrying.
A tiny line formed between her brows as she twisted her lips to the side. It was obvious she was trying to look annoyed, but the flame he so loved was missing. The act confirmed what he had guessed; her first offer had been a ploy. Now she would ask for what she really wanted.
His face lacking expression, he waited.
She pressed two fingers to her brow. “One thing, then,” she said. “Is that too much to ask? One thing, my choice of everything you own.”
“Of everything I own?” He shook his head. “That hardly sounds like a smart deal on my part. You could name my house or cavern, or somehow twist them together and take both. Then I’d be no better off than what I face with the Ormar if I fail altogether.”
Eagerness shone from her eyes. She was fully engaged in their negotiations now. “A size limit, then. Nothing bigger, say, than…you.”
“Than me?” He frowned; as he’d already told her, in his dragon form he was huge. He wasn’t comfortable with this deal. He narrowed his eyes. “Than you. Nothing bigger than you.” She was tiny, maybe a little over one hundred pounds. He could afford to lose one hundred pounds of treasure. And there was nothing in his house he valued that wasn’t larger than that. Even his favorite chair outweighed her. Confident in his choice, he nodded. “You help me find the Collector and to get the chalice back, into my hands, and I give you one object I own that is no larger than you.”
She smiled and held out her hand. “Deal.”
He stared at her hand for a second. The temptation was too great. Slowly he wrapped his fingers around hers and pulled her closer. “Surely you can think of a better way to seal our bargain than this.” He brushed his lips over her hair. “I know I can.”
Chapter 8
Riding high on her victory, Amma hadn’t noticed how close she was standing to Joarr. Not until she felt heat seeping from his hand into her body, warming her inside and out. She curled her toes into the soles of her shoes and tried to keep her mind focused on the deal they had made—and what it meant to her.
Unknown to Joarr, he’d just agreed to give her everything she wanted.
All she had to do was help him find the chalice and their baby was hers. Joarr had just agreed to give up any claim of ownership he had to his child.
And if she chose, if she decided the legend of the chalice was true, she could do as she had done before—trick the dragon into trusting her so she could steal the cup, this time for herself and her child. She had only agreed to help Joarr retrieve the chalice. She hadn’t said she wouldn’t steal it again right afterward.
So two options. Two good ones.
* * *
Amma watched Joarr as if she held some secret, like every hero in every tale who had ever outwitted the dragon—or thought he had. Sometimes, though, the dragon came back. Sometimes he gobbled down the hero, leaving nothing behind but an over-glorified sword and a distraught village. Amma would do well to remember that.