Dragon Storm Page 5

  “I can and I have,” she answered, tipping her chin up in a defiant move.

  “And I don’t have time for a debate on the subject,” Constantine said, thrusting the cage at her. “Let’s leave before we regret standing here arguing about whether a head is worth all this trouble.”

  “He is,” Bee said at the same time that Gary said happily, “I knew you wouldn’t leave me! We’re like best buds.”

  “We are nothing of the sort.” Constantine tried to lessen his stride so that he and Bee weren’t walking at odds, but their rhythm was off until he took her hand in his.

  “Bros. We are bros together,” Gary said, nodding. “Bros in solidarity.”

  “Stop that!” Bee said, jerking back as if Constantine had struck her, and pulling her hand from his. “I don’t like being touched by strange men.”

  “Dudebros. Is that a word? It should be. We are dudebros together against the world.”

  “Do you favor women, then?” Constantine couldn’t keep from asking.

  “Not in the sense you mean,” Bee said, trying to pull her hand back when he took it again. “I just don’t like people who I don’t know pawing me. Especially men like you.”

  “I am not a men like me,” Constantine said indignantly, throwing grammar to the wind. “When I paw a woman, she enjoys it.”

  “Ha! I bet that’s what women tell you, but no woman likes to be treated like something paw-worthy. Let go of me!”

  “What’s not paw-worthy?” Gary asked. “I mean, people like to be touched. Men like to be touched. Women like to be touched. Knockers who are just heads like to be touched. Especially by men who have nice hands with long fingers, and sensitive, caring-looking knuckles.”

  Constantine and Bee both stopped to look at the head, who bore a faraway look.

  “Well, I don’t like to be touched,” Bee said, walking forward purposely until she reached the limit of the chain. “Not by women, disembodied knockers, or even dragons with dreamy knuckles.”

  “My knuckles are not dreamy,” Constantine said quickly, and waited for her to turn back to him before he moved forward, once again taking her hand. “They are simply hands, nothing more. Functional in a manly sort of way, but just hands. They are certainly not worth commenting about.”

  “For pity’s sake, will you stop trying to paw me!” Bee stopped and whirled around to face Constantine, banging the birdcage against his hand in an attempt to loosen the grip. “I’m not interested in you, okay? Talk about arrogance—will you get it through your thick head that just because you’re handsome, and have eyes that are the color of an old piece of amber, and hair that you think at first glance is just brown, but then you realize is shot through with dark honey, doesn’t mean that I’m going to swoon at your feet just because you keep touching me.”

  “Do you dislike men?” Constantine asked.

  “No! At least, not in the sense you mean.” She tugged down her shirt in an irritated manner. “I just don’t like being manhandled, okay? Not even by handsome dragons. Especially by handsome dragons.”

  “You say the word dragon like we are some sort of beast. We are not human, but we are an ancient race, and have adopted human mores. We are polite, we are considerate—when it behooves us to be—and we have very nice manners.”

  “Ha! I knew a dragon once, and he was anything but nice. He was always grabbing me, and teasing me with his fire, which hurt like the dickens if you want to know the truth.”

  “You don’t like dragons?” Constantine couldn’t believe his ears. He’d met women who hadn’t desired him personally, but never one who was prepared to damn all of the dragonkin.

  “Let’s just say that given past experience, I don’t seek out your company.”

  Constantine stared at her in confusion, then did the only thing he could think of. He kissed her.

  She started when his mouth claimed hers, but despite his guess that she’d push him away, or slap him for such a brash move, her mouth opened under his and welcomed him into her sweetness.

  For about five seconds—but at the moment his tongue touched hers, she was suddenly a hellcat, one intent on getting as far away from him as possible.

  “What… mother pus-bucket!” She wiped at her mouth, her eyes blazing at him. “What do you think you’re doing? Who gave you permission to molest me?”

  “You enjoyed it,” he said by way of a non-answer.

  “I did no such thing,” she said, clearly aghast.

  “You didn’t slap me for kissing you,” he pointed out. “That’s what women in books always do.”

  “Of course I didn’t slap you. I’m not the slapping sort of woman.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth for a few seconds and seemed to be unable to move on. “I can assure you that outside of gothic romances, women don’t need to resort to something so cliché as a slap to the face to get the point across that a man’s attentions are not welcome. Mace and pepper spray are more the modern woman’s way to deal with that.”

  “I love kissing!” Gary piped up, apropos of nothing.

  “I do not read gothic romances,” Constantine said with dignity. “Well, not often. Only when I can’t get a Georgette Heyer.”

  Bee stared at him, her face expressing disbelief.

  “What?” Constantine asked, feeling defensive. “You don’t care for books dealing with the manners and mores of mortals engaged in romantic escapades?”

  “Not particularly, no. Manners and mores?” Her eyes narrowed a little. “You’re not using the books as a source of information, are you?”

  Constantine, well aware that he’d picked up the books in an attempt to understand how society had changed during the centuries he had been deceased, maintained an injured silence.

  “Really?” Bee asked, giving him a little shake of her head. “I’ve never met anyone who is such an odd mixture of arrogance and naïveté.”

  “If you have finished abusing me simply because I have an inquiring mind—”

  “I’m abusing you because you kissed me without my permission,” Bee interrupted, poking him in the chest. “Don’t do it again.”

  “I’ve never had to ask permission to kiss a female before,” he said, a little outraged at the idea.

  “Well, you’d better get used to doing so, because if you try playing sucky-face on anyone else without first asking, you’ll find yourself on the receiving end of a foot to the crotch. Or worse.”

  “I do not care for rough sex play,” Constantine said, adding as an afterthought, “with the exception of the use of restraints. Those can be quite titillating if they are used correctly.”

  “Oooh, yes,” Gary agreed. “Silk scarves! Fur handcuffs! Those stretchy cords that people use to fling themselves off the sides of bridges!”

  Bee shook her head again. “I don’t believe this day. The whole thing, from this morning right on down to the point where you locked your lips on mine. It’s all just a dream, isn’t it?”

  “So romantic,” Gary said with a happy sigh.

  “Perhaps I kissed you harder than I knew,” Constantine said, looking closely at Bee. “You seem to be a bit rattled.”

  “I’m not rattled,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “I just don’t want you to go any further!”

  He looked down the alley. “It would not be wise to stay here.”

  “No, I mean this.” She lifted their joined hands. “Did you not hear me mention that I wasn’t looking for a dragon lover?”

  “Yes. I also heard you state that you were interested in finding a man.”

  “Look, my romantic life, or lack thereof, is not of any importance. I’m simply saying I don’t want you trying to seduce me.”

  “Oooh,” Gary said. “Seduction with manly hands.”

  “One kiss does not a seduction make,” Constantine said abruptly, and assuming she had recovered from their enjoyable—if unexpected—kiss, he pulled her forward down the alley. “I’m simply holding your hand because it makes coordinating our movement easier
if I can feel when you are about to start and stop.”

  “Fine.” They walked for the count of twenty before Bee added, “Just so you don’t get any ideas about kissing me again.”

  “I can’t help the bad opinion you have of dragons.” He paused at the end of the alley to glance up and down the street before continuing. “But I feel obligated to point out that I don’t need to force myself where I am not wanted. Now, if you are finished suspecting me of base motives—”

  “I like base motives,” Gary said softly. “They can be oodles of fun.”

  “—then I’d like to discuss what steps we should take next.”

  Bee shot Constantine a look of disbelief. “I don’t know why you’re even asking what we should do, because the answer is pretty obvious to me. We need to get these shackles off, and then one of us has to go back into Abaddon to get that blasted talisman back.”

  “I have the talisman,” Constantine said, taking in the population of the street with a couple of quick, assessing glances. There were a handful of people strolling the street, but since it was approaching the heat of the afternoon, many people were inside in air-conditioned comfort. But he saw no signs of demons.

  “You do?” Bee shook her head. “I saw you give that… that thing back to Asmodeus.”

  “It was a finger, not a thing,” Gary said. “You see, one day Asmodeus had a battle. I don’t know who with, although the demons said something about it being vampires, but I think they were just trying to scare me. Anyway, there was this battle, and his finger got lopped off—”

  “You saw me give the finger to Asmodeus, but that wasn’t the only thing I took,” Constantine said, ignoring Gary.

  Bee stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, gawking at him. “You have a talisman?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where? What is it? Show me.”

  “Not here. We are too close to the entrance of the palace, and although the demons won’t come after us here, it would be best to not flaunt the possession.”

  They started walking again, pausing when a passerby, an elderly lady in black, smiled gently at them both, then happened to glance at the birdcage.

  “Good afternoon,” Gary said politely, and made a bob of the head that made Constantine believe that the knocker would have lifted his hat in polite greeting had he the requisite arm and hat.

  The old woman shrieked, clutched a nearby light post, and began screaming in unintelligible Spanish.

  Bee tsked, and peeled off her cotton sweater, which she threw over the cage with an apology to Gary. “Sorry, kid, we can’t have you attracting undue attention.”

  “It’s okay,” Gary’s voice came from the cage, now slightly muffled. He sounded unusually subdued. “I know I’m a pariah. Unwanted by mortals. Unloved. Ill-kempt to look at…”

  Constantine would have rolled his eyes at the dramatic statements issuing from the cage, but he prided himself on never having been an eye roller when he was formerly alive, and wasn’t about to start it now. “Do you know Seville at all?” he asked.

  “Me? No, not a bit. I entered the palace in Paris. I don’t know how we got to Spain,” Bee said, glancing around with curiosity.

  “There’s a Paris entrance?” Constantine stopped at a corner. “I wish I’d known that. I was only told about this entrance.” He glanced back toward the house that was the mortal world manifestation of the palace, hesitating for a few seconds. “I wonder if we shouldn’t go back.”

  “Are you kidding?” Bee worked her hand free, and took a handful of Constantine’s shirt, tugging him after her as she hurried around the corner. “You’ve got the talisman! Why should we go back in and risk capture again?”

  “For a number of reasons. For one, it would be easier to get to Paris via a door in the palace than having to attempt to fly there while shackled together.”

  “Pfft,” Bee said, waving the thought away. “We don’t have to fly. We can take a portal.”

  “Oooh, a portal,” came the muffled voice of Gary. This was followed by a pause, then, “What’s a portal?”

  “Hush. We’ll tell you when we get there,” Bee said loudly, ignoring the hoots of two male youths who just noticed their shackles. “I bet there’s a portal shop somewhere in this town. It looks big enough. Drat. My phone is back in my cell. Let’s find an Internet café, and we can look up local portal facilities.”

  “I have a smart phone,” Constantine said somewhat proudly.

  Bee shot him a considering look. “I always thought dragons had an aversion to technology.”

  “Most do not care for it, but there are some who appreciate it. I am one. I enjoy much of the new technologies. The episode with Twatter aside, of course.”

  Bee mouthed the word Twatter before shaking her head and halted when she reached a café with small metal tables painted white infringing on the sidewalk. “I really don’t want to know where you found that site. Right, we can sit here and have a big glass of ice-cold lemonade, and you can locate the nearest portal place, and then we’ll get ourselves to Paris, and have the shackles taken off, and I can Charm the curse. Sound like a plan?” She plopped down in one of the chairs and tucked Gary under the table.

  “Would it be possible to get a glass of ice water? With lemon?” the latter asked as Bee hailed a waiter. “I’m parched, and your sweater is making it a bit stuffy in here.”

  “Hush while we’re around mortals who could hear you,” Bee said, gesturing to a waiter before slanting a glance up at where Constantine still stood. “You can sit down, you know. It would allow my leg to be a bit more comfortable if you did so. I don’t know why Asmodeus had them attached to us anyway, since he put the kibosh on you slipping into the spirit world. What point did the shackles make after that?”

  “Asmodeus likes to throw people off balance. He says it helps make them vulnerable,” Gary offered from under the table. “But honestly, I think he’s just a big ole meany-pants, and he gets his jollies from messing with people.”

  “Hush,” Bee reminded the head before tugging at the chain.

  Constantine sat, but slowly. “Your plan does not have merit. Or rather, the part concerning a portal company does not. We will go to Paris, yes, but first we must remove these shackles. They make it difficult to walk, and I cannot imagine fighting while being so hindered.”

  “Fighting who? Demons?” Bee’s voice dropped when a waiter delivered a tray of beverages to a nearby table. “Look, I want the shackles off just as much as you, but unless I’m very much mistaken, it’s not going to be a matter of simply finding someone with some bolt cutters. Or a locksmith. These are a demon lord’s shackles. They aren’t normal.”

  The waiter finally gave them his attention. Constantine absently ordered lemonade for Bee, and a pitcher of ice water. “I know what they are, which is why I want them removed immediately.”

  Bee looked insulted. “It’s not a barrel of monkeys being strapped to you, either.”

  Constantine was about to point out that he simply wanted to be able to protect them should they need that ability, but was distracted. “Why would you put monkeys in a barrel? Is it an odd sexual kink that I’ve not heard of?”

  “Why would you even go there?” Bee asked, squinting at him. “How do you get from barrel of monkeys to sexual kinks? Wait—you aren’t one of those freaky guys who gets off on things like animals and bondage and… well, I guess barrels—are you?”

  “I am not freaky,” Constantine said with much dignity. “There is no sense of freaky in exploring those items and apparatuses meant to enhance sexual pleasure. It is an entirely normal and natural thing.”

  Bee stared at him for a second before shaking her head, and saying softly, “No. Not going to ask.”

  “I will,” came Gary’s muffled voice. “What sort of apparatuses?”

  Constantine ignored the head, instead pulling out his phone. “I see there are a number of locksmiths within walking distance. We will try them, and while they are working on the s
hackles, I will find us a flight to Paris.”

  “Flight?” Bee waited a minute for their drinks to be placed on the table before continuing. “Why bother when there’s bound to be a portal office here?”

  “I don’t wish to use the portal.” Constantine got lost in a search for flights from Seville to Paris, and shook the phone in an attempt to reset it. “We will fly.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It will cost more to fly, not to mention take a lot longer. Plus, it’ll be easier to get you-know-who to Paris.”

  “Are you talking about me?” Gary asked. “You are, aren’t you? I can tell you are.”

  “Then he can stay here,” Constantine said.

  “I don’t want to stay in Seville! Bee, don’t let him leave me here. I dehydrate easily!”

  “Constantine,” Bee said severely, evidently about to read him the riot act, then her expression softened. She reached across the table and gave his hand a quick pat, an act that shocked him almost as much as it gave him a little spurt of pleasure. How long had it been since a woman had initiated physical contact with him? “Okay, what gives? What do you have against portals? It’s obvious you don’t want to use one, but I don’t understand why.”

  “Dragonkin do not like portals,” he said, stretching his hand to stroke hers in return. He half expected her to recoil from the touch, but she just looked puzzled.

  Whereas he felt as if his hand was alight.

  “In what way?” she asked.

  He shrugged, both at the question and the fact that someone other than the glorious Ysolde could give him a tiny morsel of pleasure. “We do not travel well through them. It is something to do with our physical properties and the act of portaling through space. We come out… rumpled.”

  “No one is going to judge you on whether you’re suitable to go on the cover of GQ,” she chided, and he could have sworn he heard her mutter under her breath, “which you are.”

  “Regardless, we will take a plane.”

  “It’ll cost more. Come on, you can’t tell me that a big brave dragon like you is afraid of one little portal?”