The Unbearable Lightness of Dragons ld-2

by Katie MacAlister

  “The hunt,” he said, his voice low and rough, and so filled with erotic promise, it made me shiver with anticipation. “Mates run. Dragons hunt.”

  I nipped his bottom lip. “Do you want me to—”

  “RUN!” he snarled, smoke curling out of his nose.

  I didn’t wait around to tease him any more. I simply bolted up the stairs, smiling to myself that I had found a fantasy I could fulfill for him. The house held no attraction for me, so I ran straight for the garden, planning on leading him on a merry chase through the shrubs to the small, growth-protected woods that edged one side of the estate.

  The night air was a bit chilly, as summer was moving toward autumn, but the cool, crisp air was pleasant on my heated skin as I wove through the long shadows of the garden, vaulting over a brick fence to the verge that led into the woods.

  There wasn’t a lot of light from the moon, and even less when I entered the minute forest. A sense of déjà vu struck me as I dashed from tree to tree, trying desperately to calm my breathing so Baltic wouldn’t hear me.

  “Always you run to the forest,” a voice called out with mock dismay. “The silver dragon influences still grip you, eh, chérie?”

  If he thought I was going to answer him and let him pinpoint my direction, he was crazy. I moved as silently as possible, clutching willow and ash trees, peering around them into the dark gloom of the woods, searching for any signs of movement.

  “You do not answer me? You have learned since that first time. But I found you then, Ysolde, and I will find you now.”

  I wanted badly to tell him that I expected him to find me, but instead glided to a large alder tree, the base of which was at least four feet wide. With another smile, I peeled off my shirt and draped it on a branch before moving to the next tree, away from his voice.

  “I can smell you, mate. Your scent betrays you.” His voice resonated within me, calling to me, urging me to find him, but I simply peeled off my linen pants and left them behind on a dense clump of laurel.

  Oh, he was going to have to do better if he thought I was going to rise to that puny bait.

  An owl hooted directly in front of me, making me jump and glare into the shadows. Was that a real owl, or was it Baltic teasing me?

  It hooted again, and with one last wary look at the silhouetted tree where the noise originated, I moved on.

  “Can’t be him. He’s behind me,” I murmured under my breath, moving silently into the deepest part of the woods, careful of where I stepped, avoiding the branches that tried to trap my hair in a tangle.

  “What is this? A shirt? Are your breasts bare, Ysolde? Do you wish I was caressing them? Licking them?”

  I smiled, pleased that my ploy had worked. Now I knew exactly where he was.

  “Trousers, too, eh? You taunt me, mate.”

  Little night sounds surrounded us—the distant hum of a car, nocturnal insects announcing their availability for mating, and a small chorus of frogs from a nearby stream expounding on whatever it is frogs expound on at night, all punctuated by the occasional squeak of a night bird or a startled rodent. Beyond that, a faint sound of rustling was audible, as if a large man was brushing through the undergrowth searching for more garments.

  I smashed a mosquito on my arm and headed for the far edge of the woods, planning what I would say to Baltic when he eventually found me sitting in bed.

  The owl called again, this time from slightly ahead of me, near three willows that had twined around each other when they were saplings. “Must be a mating pair,” I murmured as I passed the trees.

  “Yes, we are.”

  I spun around and glared at the man who leaned casually against the entwined tree trunks, his arms crossed. “How did you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Make it sound like you were behind me. You did that before, when you first chased me into the woods. I don’t like it.”

  He smiled a long, slow, predatory smile. “You will not escape this time with just a kiss,” he warned, moving with sinuous power toward me.

  For a second, I thought of running. Then sanity took over and pointed out that I very much wanted to be in his grasp. Instead I reached behind me and unhooked my bra, tossing it toward him.

  “Another striptease? It’s not needed to arouse me.”

  “No? Perhaps I need some arousing.” The second the words left my lips he pounced, sending me flying, but twisting in midair so that he was the one who hit the ground.

  I looked down at him, his eyes glittering with obsidian heat even in the darkness of the night, and for a moment was so overcome with love, I couldn’t speak.

  Luckily, Baltic wasn’t waiting for me to make speeches. Before I could blink, he had rolled over, spinning me onto my front side, removing my underwear in the process. My back was bathed in fire as he dipped a finger into me, finding proof that I didn’t need any foreplay.

  “You are mine!” he growled as he plunged into me, making my muscles quiver with delight at the intrusion. Our brief time together had made me aware that dragons took their possessions very seriously, and that included mates, so I said nothing as he claimed me in the most fundamental way a man could. Not that I wanted to say anything, but the primitive, desperate need I felt in him to join with me was answered by my own desire, and it didn’t take either of us long before I was gasping his name, clutching the soft grass as he gave himself entirely to me.

  “Do you remember,” I said aeons later when I could do more than just lie in a quivering pool of postorgasmic rapture, “when I used to do this for you?”

  He looked down at where I knelt before him, helping him to get the thigh-high boots on. “Yes. Frequently it ended up in lovemaking because you insisted on taking me into your mouth, and that led to me reciprocating, and then I had to love you again, because you were always a demanding woman.”

  I bit his knee and started on the other leg. “Why do little snippets of my memories like that come through for me, but the big things, the things I really want to remember, are lost?”

  “You have not yet woken your dragon self. Once you do that, your memory will return.” He picked me up and carried me, naked since he hadn’t bothered to collect the bits of clothing I’d strewn for him, into the house. I prayed that Brom was fast asleep.

  “Why were you resurrected with your dragon fully awake, but I wasn’t?”

  “Questions, questions, always with you it is so many questions,” he said, climbing the stairs without even the least bit of panting. I kissed his neck.

  “Here’s a few more: how did you get ahead of me back in the woods and make it sound like you were behind me? Do you by any chance know how to hoot like an owl? And don’t tell me you can’t reveal all your secrets, because then I’ll lose interest in you, because we both know that’s not the least bit true.”

  He laughed, opened our bedroom door, and set me on my feet. “I will wash the dirt off my back,” was all he said as he headed for the shower in the attached bathroom.

  “That’s what you get for knocking me down.” I picked a few leaves from my hair. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you haven’t answered my questions, not that I really believe you can hoot like an owl, because that’s not at all your style, but still, you could tell me how you sounded like you were behind me and were really in front of me.”

  The sound of running water was my only answer. I climbed into bed, smoothing down the sheets, waiting until the water stopped. After a few minutes of silence, I glanced at the slightly open bathroom door. “Baltic? Are you there?”

  An owl hooted.

  From the bathroom.

  That rat!

  Chapter Eleven

  “ Akashic League of Great Britain. How may I direct your call?”

  “I’d like to book the services of a Summoner, please. One who is familiar with dragons.”

  Brom, bearing a shovel and a plastic bag, marched past where I was sitting in the morning sun on the east patio, and disappeared into the shrub
bery.

  “Er . . .” The woman on the other end of the phone was clearly taken aback by my request. “Dragons?”

  “Yes. Do you have someone who can summon a dragon spirit?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. I don’t think anyone has ever asked for a Summoner with dragon experience. They aren’t often raised as shades. In fact, I can’t ever think of the time one was. Perhaps it would be best if I transferred you over to booking.”

  Brom headed back into the house.

  I listened with impatience to the classical music provided by the Akashic League before a male voice greeted me. “Booking.”

  “I’d like to engage a Summoner, one with experience with dragons,” I said. “Can you hook me up with one? I’m just outside of London, but I’m willing to go anywhere in Europe to speak with her.”

  Brom wandered past with a large bucket, heading for the shrubs again.

  “Her?” the man said, suspicion dripping from the word.

  “Or him,” I said quickly. “I’m good with either gender, so long as the Summoner has experience with dragon ghosts.”

  “Dragon ghosts?” the man repeated, his voice taking on a weary tone. “Madame, you are aware, are you not, that there are several types of spirits?”

  “Well . . . not really. I mean, a ghost is a ghost is a ghost, isn’t it?”

  “No,” he said firmly. “There are bound and unbound, released and unreleased spirits. There are alastors and alguls, as well as shades, revenants, and liches. A sentient being who is brought forth by a member of the Akashic League may take any one of those forms. How and when did the dragon you referenced die?”

  Nico, the green dragon tutor whom Baltic had reluctantly engaged for Brom’s education, smiled at me as he passed by carrying a large covered tray and a small hatchet.

  “Oh. Um, I’m not exactly sure.”

  The man sighed heavily. “Your chance of success in raising the spirit or entity will depend directly on the amount of information you can give the person assisting you.”

  I made a rude face at the phone. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to dig up more information, but really, I think it’s best that I talk directly to the person who will be doing the summoning.”

  Pavel, armed with a coil of rope, a small chain saw, and a plate of pastel-colored cupcakes, passed me with a determined look on his face, and disappeared into the yew shrubs.

  “Well . . .” The click of keys on a keyboard followed. “As it happens, we do have a Summoner who lists dragons as an area of expertise. Would you like to book her services?”

  I agreed, and provided the man with the necessary information, thanking him when he finally parted with the name and phone number I wanted.

  “Her services will not be cheap,” the man warned before I hung up. “Nor will she take kindly to a client who wastes her time.”

  “Oh, I don’t think we have that to worry about,” I told him, getting up to see just what was going on in the shrubs, all the while planning what I would say to Dr. Kostich.

  After admiring the new archaeological dig site (Nico had devised a way to incorporate lessons in history, botany, biology, and a little physical education in a manner that kept Brom’s interest), I returned to the house to call Maura Lo. She didn’t answer her phone, so I left a voice mail saying I was interested in hiring her services for help with a dragon spirit.

  “I don’t suppose it is any good asking you to reconsider your plans.”

  I looked at the man standing in the doorway, hands on his hips, face set in a disgruntled expression, my stomach doing an excited flip at the sight of him. I wondered if I would ever be able to see him without that little wibble of pleasure. I sure hoped not. “I want this to end, Baltic.”

  He shook his head, coming into the sitting room, pulling me into a gentle embrace. “It serves no purpose, mate. The weyr believes only what they wish to believe.”

  “Only because they’re too stubborn to see the truth, but we can help them overcome that.”

  His sigh ruffled my hair. “I wish that I could understand your desire to be a part of the weyr.”

  I snuggled against him, breathing in the wonderful Baltic scent that never failed to leave me a bit giddy. “I wish you could, too. But since you can’t, you’re just going to have to accept that this is important to me. To us. I don’t want Brom or any of our children growing up in the middle of a war.”

  A wicked smile curled his lips as he pulled me tighter, grinding my hips against his. “Our time would be better spent working on those children.”

  “Tempting, but I think I’d rather have weyr peace first, so you can stop trying to woo me into bed. I’ll just get my things and then I’ll be ready to go. Where’s your girlfriend?”

  He stared at me with a slight frown.

  “Thala.”

  “I cannot decide if your jealousy of her is amusing or irritating,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps it is both.”

  “I’m not—oh, never mind. Is she here?”

  “No.” He looked away, suddenly cagey.

  “Where is she?”

  “She went to Italy last night after you tempted me away with caramel. My son will not come with us to the meeting with the wyverns. I will not have him put in danger.”

  “I didn’t intend for him to come, not that I think there’s any danger. Nico is out with him digging up what Brom insists is an ancient peat bog. He’s hoping for Viking treasure, so I don’t think we would be able to get him away even if we wanted him to come with us.”

  “Good. He would not be safe.”

  “Don’t be silly,” I said, going out to change into something more suited to the dignity of a meeting with wyverns. I was upstairs, in the middle of donning a white lace jacquard coat dress, white lace stockings, and the engraved silver love token that Baltic had made me some five hundred years earlier, when I realized that once again he had adroitly distracted me from asking him a question I suspected he didn’t want me to ask.

  “You’d think he’d learn by now,” I said to myself as I trotted down the back stairs to check on a lime-garlic marinade I’d whipped up, making sure the chicken was soaking in it before I went out to rout Baltic from wherever he had disappeared.

  “There you are. Listen, I know you don’t want to tell me. . . .” I stopped speaking, blinking in astonishment as the love of my life marched down the stairs. He wore a calf-length black topcoat, black pants, and a long black tunic top that shimmered with light as he moved. “By the rood, Baltic! You look absolutely wonderful. Is the shirt beaded?” I peered closely at the tunic.

  “Do I look like the sort of a man who wears beaded garments?” he asked, the scorn in his voice counterbalanced by his pleased expression as I marveled over his outfit. “It’s dragonweave. I had some made for you, but it’s in Riga. I’ll have it brought out here, if you like.”

  “It’s gorgeous material,” I said, touching the tunic. “It’s like it’s covered in thousands of crystals but there’s nothing there but the fabric, is there?”

  “You will make a dress from it to wear in front of other dragons. I hadn’t thought we would have need of it, but I see I was wrong.”

  “Wow. It’s just . . . and you look . . . I could pounce on you,” I said, circling him.

  “I am happy to spend the time making love to you instead of meeting with the wyverns,” he offered politely.

  I laughed, gave him a quick kiss, then took his hand and tugged him toward the door. “Nice try. That outfit almost did it, too, but it’s more important that we take care of this. Oh, Pavel. I didn’t know you were coming with us. I’m glad, though. You can help keep Baltic from losing his temper with everyone.”

  Pavel emerged from his room next to the kitchen, clad in black pants and a slightly different black tunic. It, too, was made of dragonweave, but it didn’t appear to have quite such a glittery effect to it. I gathered that only the wyvern got to wear the really flashy version of the cloth, and I spent the next ten minutes in pleasan
t contemplation of just what sort of a dress I would fashion from the material that Baltic had had made for me.

  My second attempt to find out what Thala was doing in Italy was met with a look that I decided I wouldn’t pursue in front of Pavel. Although he might be Baltic’s closest friend, I hesitated to involve him in the discussion when Baltic obviously preferred otherwise. I was content to simply give him a look that let him know the subject wasn’t closed, and then I focused on driving us to the house he had built for me several hundred years before.

  “We have to talk to Kostya about giving Dragonwood back to us,” I said as I stopped just shy of the willow and lime crescent that blocked the view of the house from the long drive.

  Baltic considered the redbrick Tudor mansion front, nodding at the house with approval. “Next to Dauva, it is the best of our homes.”

  I sighed as I gazed at it. It was utterly perfect, everything about it meant to please, from the location on the top of a gentle hill, to the center square tower, to the beautiful mullioned windows and stone quoins, all the way up to the parapets that were etched into the sky. The grounds were just as lovely, with a garden that I had designed myself, a crystal clear pond, and velvety green expanses of lawn that sang a sweet siren song to me.

  “Baltic—” I stopped, my throat too tight to continue.

  He took my hand and kissed my fingers. “It will be yours again, my love. I swear to you that it will.”

  “It wants us back,” I said, my eyes swimming with tears of longing as the essence of the house seemed to wrap itself around me, an essence that was heavily imbued with happy memories of our time spent there. “It needs us.”

  Baltic was silent for a moment, then brushed away a tear that escaped my eye, saying softly, “We will get it back.”

  I pulled myself together, squelching the pain, reminding myself that there was a long way to go before we could negotiate with Kostya for the return of the house. “Let’s tackle one thing at a time. It’s more important that we end this stupid war.”

  “I don’t see why,” Pavel said as we got out of the car. “Brom visits the silver dragons and has a green dragon tutor, and you meet with the mates. . . . Does it really matter if the war continues?”