You Slay Me

by Katie MacAlister

  "You didn't tell us you were also a wyvern's mate. I heard that the dragons were... you know, different. Down there. So different that they hurt women when they do it. But you're his mate, and you don't look like you've suffered," Perdita finally said, her voice just barely above a whisper. I leaned forward to hear her over the low throb of music. Both women jumped backwards in their chairs.

  I sat back in mine, feeling more than a little hurt by their reaction. Damn Drake and his show-off kiss. The first normal people I meet, and he makes them think I'm a freak. I caught the waitress's eye as I said, "I'm not a wyvern's mate. All that is nonsense. As for the other stuff, I wouldn't know, although Drake looks pretty normal to me, if brooding, sexy, makes-you-want-to-drool guys are what you call normal. Hi. Can I have another one of those Dragon's Blood drinks? Thanks. As I was saying, Drake is haying a bit of fun at my expense, nothing more." OK, OK, I didn't quite believe all that—the kiss we shared had something other than just attraction going for it, but I needed time and quiet to think about what happened. Until I figured it all out, denial was going to be my best friend.

  The sisters watched with pursed lips as the waitress hurried back with a glass of the fiery wine. I savored a sip of it, rolling it around in my mouth, wondering what sort of spices were used to give the wine such heat. I had to admit that I was growing to enjoy the flash fire that blasted through me with each sip.

  "Are you sure?" Ophelia asked, doubt clearly evident in her eyes. "It looked to us as if Drake had given you his fire, and you withstood it. Only a mate would survive such a test."

  "Well, I'll be the first person to admit that he's proba­bly the champion kisser of all Europe, but just because we have a little attraction thing going on, doesn't mean that I'm a dragonette. Now, what I want to know is how you can defeat a dragon."

  Both ladies blinked in surprise at me.

  "Defeat—," Ophelia squeaked.

  "—a dragon?" Perdita finished.

  I nodded.

  "Defeat Drake?" they said together.

  I glanced over Ophelia's shoulder and across the room to where I could see Drake still sitting at the table I had left. The two red-haired men had rejoined him, one of them speaking avidly, his hands waving in the air as he emphasized some point. Drake was watching me, his ex­pression unreadable at this distance, but I did see as he lifted his glass in a silent toast. I lifted my own, draining the contents in a brazen show of defiance.

  "Hooooaaaaah," I gasped, clutching my neck when the almost full contents of the glass set fire to every molecule in my body. Tears streamed down my face as I struggled to put out the inferno within me, and it wasn't until I opened that magical door in my mind that I gained enough control over the internal blaze to allow air to enter my lungs again.

  "OK, that was stupid," I wheezed, wiping tears off my cheeks. Ophelia and Perdita sat silently staring at me, their own glasses stopped halfway up to their mouths, their eyes huge.

  I glanced beyond Ophelia to Drake to see if he noticed my unfortunate reaction. He was smiling. Damn. I looked back to my tablemates. "Hoo! Has a bit of a kick, that drink does. Where were we? Oh, yeah, you guys were going to tell me how to best a dragon."

  Perdita set her glass of wine down. "We were? Aisling .. ." She glanced to her sister.

  Ophelia's gaze slid off my face as 1 looked at her, too. "What Perdita is trying to say is that we don't know how to defeat a dragon."

  "You don't? Rats. I was hoping you'd help me. Drake has a small statue that he stole from me, and I really need to get it back. I'd be happy to pay for any help," I hinted broadly.

  Both women were shaking their heads before I had finished speaking. "It's not that we wouldn't like to help you," Ophelia said.

  "But we can't," Perdita added. "We're not strong enough to take on a dragon, especially a wyvern, double especially the green wyvern."

  A little frown tugged at my eyebrows. "Powerful? You mean you two are ..." I waved my hand around the room in a vague manner.

  "We're Wiccans, didn't you know?" Ophelia asked.

  Perdita nodded. "Pagan, of course. We would never condone any magic that was tainted by a dark power."

  "Of course," I said, confused, but unwilling to admit it. I felt stupid enough, like I had stepped into the middle of a game where everyone knew the rules but me.

  "People who dally with the dark powers are no better than those they use," Ophelia said somewhat righteously.

  Perdita nodded. "Worse, since they have a choice."

  Whatever. I wasn't about to get into a metaphysical discussion of the right and wrong of light and dark magic. "So I take it you do know someone who is powerful enough to take Drake on?"

  The sisters exchanged another glance. I could read the reluctance in their eyes.

  "Please," I said, allowing the desperation I felt to creep into my voice. "This is very important to me. Drake seems to think the whole thing is a game, but if I don't get that statue back, I'm never going to get him to help me."

  "Help you?" Ophelia asked, looking as confused as I felt. "I thought you said he stole something of yours?"

  I sighed and briefly explained about the murder and my visit with the police. "There is a chance my uncle may not fire me outright if I don't have the dragon aquamanile to hand over to him, especially if I tell him that not even the police could recover it, but there's no way I'll be able to get Drake to tell me what he knows about the murder unless I have something he wants, which means I need to get the blasted thing back so I can force him to tell me. That's the only way I'm going to be able to clear my name."

  "But you're his mate," Perdita said. "Why don't you just ask him to help you?"

  I ran my fingers along the stem of the wineglass and decided I had to shove my protective denial aside for a few minutes. "I don't know exactly what is going on be­tween me and Drake, what it means to be a wyvern’s mate, but I do know that he's not going to help me unless I bribe him to do it. And since I don't have anything of value"—I ignored the faint blush that arose when I re­membered how he scorned the offer of my body—"I have to first acquire something he wants. Since the aquamanile is rightfully my responsibility, that seems like the logical thing to use. The problem is, I don't know how to go about taking something away from a dragon. That's why I asked you if you know of someone who does."

  Perdita pursed her lips, slipping Ophelia an unreadable look. "There's only one man powerful enough to do what you ask."

  I raised an eyebrow in silent question.

  "The Venediger," Perdita said.

  A little curl of fear shivered down my spine as I glanced over to where the Venediger held court at the open end of the bar. I remembered the touch of his power, the feeling that he could easily overwhelm me, and the shiver grew to dread. "Um."

  "Of course, he will demand a price for his services," Perdita pointed out.

  "Oh? I have a little cash," I said slowly, ignoring the fact that I had spent almost all of it. I was very uneasy J about the thought of turning to the Venediger. There was something about him that didn't feel... right. Drake, for all his arrogance and maddening attitude, at least felt like he wouldn't chew me up and spit me out.

  Which is probably the stupidest thing I've ever thought. Of anyone in the bar who posed a threat to me, Drake was numero uno.

  Perdita laughed. Ophelia just looked worried. "The payment the Venediger will ask of you isn't one of money," Ophelia said softly, her fingers worrying a nap­kin. 'Truly, you don't want his help. His powers are..." She looked at Perdita for help.

  "Dark," Perdita said. "Do not venture down that path, Aisling. As one who has sealed a portal, you have tri­umphed over the dark horde. Do not now give yourself to one who will damn you."

  I didn't say anything for a moment. I didn't quite know how to tell them that I wasn't a practicing Guardian, hadn't sealed a portal, and for that matter, didn't really know what they were talking about. Instead I gave in to the worry nagging my mind whenever it thought about th
e Venediger. An idea that had slowly been growing in my mind every since my conversation with Drake might be the answer to my problem. "You're right. I can do this without him. Thanks for all the advice, ladies. I greatly appreciate it."

  "What are you going to do?" Ophelia asked as I gath­ered up my bag, extracted a couple of euros for the drink, and stood up.

  "I'm not sure yet, but I'm bound to think of some­thing. It was lovely meeting you both. I hope to see you again soon."

  They exchanged glances again, Ophelia being nomi­nated to speak as I started to leave. "You're not going to do anything rash, are you?"

  "Rash? Me? The queen of circumspect? Don't be silly," I said, smiling reassuringly at them, then without a single glance toward the corner that Drake dominated, headed out into the night to raise my first—and hope­fully last—demon.

  I know what you're thinking; Aisling summoning demons? The woman who just a few hours before would have laughed herself hysterical if the subject had been raised? Well, needs must as the devil drives and all that. I was hesitant to beg the Venediger for help, so I had to do something myself to get the aquamanile back, and since everyone kept telling me I was a Guardian, I fig­ured I might as well start acting like one.

  I just wished I knew exactly what a Guardian was.

  Once I returned to the hotel, I placed a very expensive international call to Beth, my uncle's secretary, who also happened to be my closest friend.

  "Bell and Sons," Beth answered the phone in her best professional voice. I glanced at the clock. It was 11:20, which meant it was just after three in the afternoon in Seattle.

  "Hey, chicky, it's me."

  "Aisling? Girl, where have you been? Darien is going out of his head. We got a call earlier from a policeman in Paris who says you were involved with the murder of Mme. Deauxville. What on earth is going on?"

  I pulled a pillow behind me as I sat back on the bed, shuffling the many phone messages that were waiting for me when I returned. There were six messages from Uncle Damian (I tossed those away—I wasn't ready to face his wrath until I had the aquamanile), three from the U.S. Embassy saying they needed to get in touch with me re­garding my status in Paris as an undesirable (so much for. help from that quarter), and one from someone named Wart who claimed that once I had a taste of his forked tongue, I'd never go back to dragon again. That message I set aside to burn. "Beth, if I told you what was going on, you wouldn't believe me. Honestly, this has been the worst couple of days of my life, and frankly, it doesn't look like it's going to get better soon. What did the police tell Uncle Damian?"

  "Not much. I got the idea they were fishing for infor­mation about you more than they were telling him any­thing. What happened?"

  I gave her a brief summary of the events.

  "Good golly, Miss Molly, you really have been busy. What can I do?"

  That's what I like about Beth—she doesn't waste time hashing over useless stuff. She gets right to the point.

  "First, you can tell my uncle that I didn't kill anyone, and I'm going to do everything in my power to get the aquamanile back from the man who stole it."

  "Damian said the police mentioned that you claimed it had been stolen."

  "Yeah, well, they don't want to believe me, and considering the guy who stole it, I don't entirely blame them. But it was stolen, and I'm going to get it back."

  I didn't tell her that I planned to use the statue to tempt Drake into helping me, but hey, international calls were expensive. I couldn't mention everything, now, could I?

  "I'll tell him. Is there anything I can do here?"

  "Yeah. I need to you to drop by my apartment and grab a transcription of one of the medieval texts I read last summer."

  "This is hardly the time for a little light reading, Ash."

  "Don't I know it." I gave her instructions on where to find the transcription and read the hotel's fax number off the informative brochure that I had picked up in the lobby. "Fax me the chapter on summoning a demon, 'K?"

  "What?"

  I sighed and rubbed my eyes. Despite the strength the fiery Dragon's Blood had given me, I was bordering on exhaustion. "I don't have time to explain the hows and whys now, Beth. Just fax me the chapter."

  I spent a few more minutes reassuring her that I hadn't lost the wits remaining to me and finally hung up, col­lapsing on the bed, asleep even before I could turn off the light.

  The dream started sometime around dawn. I thought at first I was dreaming about walking into a darkened G & T, but quickly I realized that I was back in Mme. Deauxville's apartment, a soft, silvery light from the streetlamps shining through the open curtains doing little to pierce the darkness. The air was musty and warm; the flowers on the table I'd seen before were still scenting the room. In the center of the room the circle of ash re­mained, but thankfully Mme. Deauxville's body was missing.

  "What am I doing here?" I asked aloud.

  A shadow separated itself from the wall and resolved itself into Drake's form. He glided toward me, the light casting the lines of his face into harsh relief while the rest of his body remained in shadow. "I called you here."

  "You're a dream," I said, unsure if I really was dream­ing, or if I had somehow been transported to the scene of the murder. "You're not real."

  "No? Perhaps not. Or perhaps the line that divides re­ality and fantasy has become blurred in your mind."

  His hands slipped up my bare arms. I looked down at myself, surprised by the touch of his hands on my bare skin. I was wearing an absolutely gorgeous cream-colored satin-and-lace negligee, one that emphasized my good points and hid the bad ones. "Now I know this is a dream. I don't own a nightgown like this."

  I slipped effortlessly into his arms with just the slight­est tug of his fingers on my shoulders. He was wearing a black silk shirt that felt like cool water beneath my hands.

  "Perhaps that particular gown is part of my fantasy," he admitted with a roguish smile, his fingers dancing along the exposed flesh of my back, trailing fire with every touch.

  I leaned closer to catch that elusive, spicy scent that seemed to cling to him. "Are you saying that this is real, then?"

  "It's as real as you want it to be, sweetheart," he mur­mured against my collarbone, his lips caressing my skin. If I thought he had magic fingers, his lips were candidates for the Houdini Hall of Fame.

  "Really?" I breathed, allowing my fingers to do a lit­tle walking of their own. He groaned as I slid my hands down the silken contours of his chest. "Then maybe you'd like to talk about why you were at Mme. Deauxville's last night?"

  His chuckle was a bit rusty, as if he didn't use it very much. "You don't give up, do you?"

  "Not when my freedom is at stake." I swirled my fin­gers lower, over his belly. Beneath the material of his shirt, his stomach contracted. "Did you have an appoint­ment with her?"

  He discovered the sweet spot behind my ear. I arched into him, my mind threatening to completely give itself over to the pleasure of his mouth on my flesh. "Not with her, no."

  It took every ounce of willpower to keep my mind on the questions I wanted so desperately for him to answer. "Did you draw the circle?"

  "Dragons can't summon demons," he whispered into my neck just before he sucked my earlobe into his mouth. My knees buckled. His arms tightened behind me, hold­ing me up as I let my hands drift lower, over the tight front of his black jeans. Beneath the zipper he twitched.

  "Do you know who did draw it?"

  He breathed a groan into my ear. "If you touch me there again, this dream will become more real than you can imagine."

  I was tempted—oh, how I was tempted. My fingers hovered just in front of him, but I needed answers, so when sanity sank through all the desire and need and lust that were swirling through my brain as they tried to blot out rational thought, I payed attention to it. I reversed my hands and sent them upward instead, mapping out the ter­rain around his rib cage. "The circle?" I asked again.

  His teeth scraped gently
along the curve of my ear, his breath harsh and hot on my skin. "No, I do not know who drew it."

  There was a slight inflection on the word know. He might not know for certain, but I was willing to bet he had a good idea of who was responsible for the circle, possibly for the murder, too.

  "Who do you—?"

  He cut off my question by kissing me. Unlike the kiss in the bar, this time I knew what to expect, and I reveled in the heat he poured into me, allowing it to flow between us like a completed circuit. I melted against him, his fin­gers digging into my behind to pull me tighter. He was aroused, his body aggressive and hard against mine, his fingers everywhere in touches that became progressively more insistent. I tugged the tail of his shirt out from his jeans and slid my hands under his shirt to feel the mus­cles of his back.

  He moaned into my mouth, a moan I felt all the way down to my toenails.

  "You cannot touch me like that and expect me to re­main in control." The warning in his voice was heated, as heated as my blood, which I swore was about ready to boil as his lips moved down my jaw to my neck, pressing hot kisses into my flesh. "If you do it again, I will not be responsible for what happens."

  A shiver of pure desire rippled down my spine as he bent me backwards and licked the valley between my breasts. I clutched handfuls of his hair, trying to decide what I wanted to do—give in to the desire that was roar­ing through me like his fire, or remain fully in control of the situation, not to mention my life.

  "What the hell—this is just a dream," I said, my voice shaky as his mouth moved in hot circles around one satin-covered breast. "That makes this nothing more than a fantasy, and I refuse to feel guilty about fantasies."

  Drake lifted his head, his eyes glowing green in the faint light. "I'm so glad you refuse to feel guilty. Fantasies should always be encouraged, especially when they involve me."

  "Arrogant dragon. Too much talking," I murmured as I tugged on his hair until his mouth was where I wanted it. I claimed it, welcoming the flash of dragon fire that filled me when my tongue rubbed alongside his. My hands slid down the sleek muscles of his chest, pausing for a moment to tease two impudent nipples.