The Unbearable Lightness of Dragons Read online

  “Oh, come on! Just look at yourself!” I said, gesturing toward the memory. “Those leggings and boots and bare chest . . . it’s just so . . . rawr! I want to rip the clothes right off of him. You. Past you! And your chest . . . I’ve always loved your chest. . . .”

  Baltic moved to block my view, his expression black as he gestured at his current self. “You will love this chest, mate! You will welcome me in your bed, not him!”

  “Oh, I do love your chest,” I purred, rubbing myself against his body, making sure to stroke a hand down the silky flesh that covered the steely muscles of his chest and abdomen. “I love every inch of you, Baltic. I always will.”

  “More than him?” he asked, jerking his thumb toward the other version of himself, one that was now, I was interested to see, pressing Ysolde up against the wall to kiss her breasts and neck.

  “Good lord, we really did go at it like bunnies, didn’t we?” I murmured, quickly pulling my attention back to Baltic at the outraged noise he made deep in his chest. “Of course I love you more. Present you wins every competition. You’re sexier now, more handsome, and much more pleasing to me.”

  I thought that would assuage his ego, but his black look grew darker. “You didn’t find me sexy in the past? I didn’t please you then?”

  “Of course you did!” I wanted to laugh, but knew he would totally misunderstand. “For the love of the saints, just look at me. Does it look like you’re not pleasuring me to the tips of my toes?”

  We both looked at the couple, my eyes widening a little as Baltic, murmuring something in Ysolde’s ear, hoisted her upward, pressing her against the wall as he pulled her legs around his hips, quickly thrusting into her body in a way that made her cry out in rapture.

  “By the rood,” I said softly, my mouth going a bit dry at the sight.

  Baltic moved to block my view again. “Is that what you desire? Lovemaking in the tunnel under Dauva?”

  “No, of course not. Er . . . is the tunnel still there?”

  He sighed and strode off. I followed, with only a quick backward glance at the lovers, but the scene melted away into that of our bedroom. “Where are you going?” I asked when I got to the door in time to see a still-naked Baltic marching down the stairs.

  Brom was coming up them at the same time, casting a curious look over his shoulder as he got to the top. He gave me a long look that was more adult than it should have been, saying simply, “Night, Sullivan.”

  “Good night, lovey,” I answered, wondering if Baltic was truly angry or had just gone off to book a flight to Latvia. I started after him, returning quickly to the room to snatch up the caramel and brush before hurrying downstairs.

  Pavel stood at the front door, an expression of surprise fading to one of amusement as I paused to consider where Baltic might have gone.

  “Basement,” was all Pavel said.

  “Thanks. He’s in one of his moods,” I said.

  Pavel glanced at the bowl, dipping in a finger and licking it. “Homemade caramel sauce?”

  “Of course. I used fresh cream, and I think it made all the difference.”

  He smiled. “Have I mentioned lately how glad I am that you are not dead? Not just because you’ve kept Baltic from going insane with grief, but because it’s nice to have someone who appreciates good food.”

  I laughed and pressed a kiss to his cheek before heading to the basement door.

  “So if the black dragon’s element is energy, what’s our element?” I asked, closing the door and making my way down the narrow steps to Brom’s work area. Fluorescent lights from the ceiling fixture cast a sickly hue over his worktable. Beyond it were a couple of storage rooms, one door of which was open, the pale yellow light from it pooling at the entrance.

  “Arcane power,” came a muffled answer.

  I touched a spot over my heart, where a light tan brand of a stylized sun resided. Baltic had placed the mark there, telling me it was the symbol of our new sept and that when I had mastered my dragon fire, I would do the same for Brom. “Does Pavel have abilities to use arcane power?”

  “No. But his children will. As will ours.”

  I wasn’t prepared to talk about the possibility of other children yet. I knew Baltic wanted a child of his own blood, and I did think that we would have one together, but I didn’t intend for that to happen until our lives had settled down. “You had arcane abilities before, though, didn’t you? Isn’t that why Antonia von Endres gave you her mage sword?”

  “My grandmother was a mage,” he said in an even more muffled tone, accompanied by some soft swearing in another language. “I gained some control over arcane magic from her.”

  “On your mother or father’s side?”

  “My mother’s mother.”

  “So your grandmother was human? Huh.” I sat on the tall stool before Brom’s worktable. “Did I ever meet your parents? Before we were killed, I mean?”

  “You do not remember?”

  “No. That’s part of the past that’s still blank to me.”

  “You met my father, yes. My mother was long dead by the time you were born. She would have liked you. She would have been pleased I chose you above all others.”

  Wyverns, I remembered from a talk with May, all had one thing in common—one dragon parent and one human parent. “Because I was raised with mortals, you mean?”

  “Because you thought like them, even after you knew what you truly were.”

  I digested that for a minute, about to ask another question when Baltic emerged from the spare room. He wore a pair of dusky brown leather leggings and boots that went up to midthigh, and he bore a long, stained leather sheath. In one hand he carried a black tunic and something that looked like a small curved chest piece, one that had seen better days. He tossed the chest piece onto a chair, and as I stared in astonishment, pulled a long sword out of the sheath, balancing it in his hand for a moment before nodding. “I am glad Pavel was able to retrieve my cuirass and sword before Constantine destroyed Dauva. Now, chérie, you will cease thinking of the past and focus on the present.”

  I continued to stare for a moment, tears pricking painfully to life behind my eyes. “If I wasn’t head over heels in love with you already, I would fall madly in love with you right at this moment.”

  He looked down at himself for a moment before cocking an eyebrow. “It is good, then, that I kept the clothing I wore when Thala resurrected me. I had no idea it would arouse you in such a manner.”

  “It’s not the clothes,” I said, setting down the caramel and taking his face in my hands, pulling him down so I could press kisses all over it.

  “Then what?” he asked, placing the sword on Brom’s worktable, wrapping both arms around me, and hoisting me upward. “Why do you weep?”

  “It’s the fact that you would go to all this trouble just to please me. Oh, Baltic, I don’t need you in leggings, although they are even more sexy on you now than in the past. I don’t want you to be the man you used to be—I desire you as you are, not as you were. My heart has always been yours, and always will be.”

  “That is as it should be,” he said with a smug look that just made me smile. “But I do not mind indulging the less strange of your fantasies. Do you have a chemise?”

  I blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I cannot make love to you in the tunnel under Dauva while we are in England. This basement will have to suffice as the location for your current fantasy of the time I took you in the tunnel.” He paused and thought for a moment. “The first time I took you in the tunnel. It was a favorite trysting place of yours.”

  “Was it? I don’t . . . Baltic, I don’t expect you to reenact this. I wasn’t turned on by the idea of our past selves going at it in a secret tunnel.”

  He raised one eyebrow.

  “All right, I was just a little, but not so much that I needed for you to dig out all your old things and the sword. Which I should point out is now a museum piece, so you should probably treat
it a little better than you are. The scabbard looks like it’s about to fall apart.”

  “Do you wish for me to make love to you here or not?” he asked impatiently.

  I was about to say yes when something occurred to me. “You’re always talking about my fantasies, not that I have any, or at least not like you seem to think I do. But what about you?”

  His brows pulled together in a puzzled frown. “What about me?”

  “What fantasies do you have?”

  “I am a wyvern. I don’t need fantasies,” he said with a matter-of-fact finality.

  I touched the tips of my fingers to his bare chest, lightly stroking them down the swells of his muscles. “Oh, surely there must be one or two little ones wyverns are allowed?”

  His eyes widened just a little. “I enjoyed the caramel.”

  “Yes, but that wasn’t your fantasy. What would make you crazy with lust, Baltic?” I breathed on a nipple, flicking it with my tongue.

  He sucked in his breath.

  “What would push you over the edge?” I let my fingers trailer lower, to his belly, swirling them in an intricate pattern, enjoying the way the muscles contracted there.

  He stopped breathing.

  I smiled, and leaned close, speaking against his lips. “What would drive you to distraction?”

  “I am a dragon.” His eyes glittered brightly despite the dimness of the room. His stance changed subtly, from relaxed to tense, as if his entire body was gathering itself.

  My fingers brushed the front of his leather pants, caressing the growing length of him. “And what do dragons like?”

  “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?”

  “Qu
estions, 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 shrubbery.

  “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.”