You Slay Me

by Katie MacAlister

  "In the last two days you've humped two pillows, the corner of my bed, and the vacuum cleaner the maid left while she was cleaning the bathroom. Drake's furniture is nice. I'm sure he'd appreciate it if it remained that way." •

  Jim threw itself to the floor. "My heart is breaking, and you won't even let me get a few jollies with a stupid chair. Fine. Be that way. You can tear me away from my beloved Cecile, but I won't forget her. Our love will last through all the long ages of mortals."

  I patted Jim on its head. "I never said we weren't com­ing back—I just said I had to go home and explain to my uncle what all the fuss has been about. And whither I go, you go. So stop pouting."

  "When I die, I'm coming back to haunt you." "You can't die, silly." I strolled across the thick car­peting of Drake's private study and examined the paint­ing hanging behind a monstrous mahogany desk. It was a simple pencil sketch of a seated woman holding an urn,

  but the casual line of it was pleasing to the eye, perfect in execution, as if each stroke was set down by a master.

  "Do you like my da Vinci?"

  Drake's voice wrapped me in a warm cocoon of tan­gled emotions that I did not want to examine. I smiled at the woman. "A da Vinci. I should have known."

  I turned to watch him, my heart beating faster at the sight of his body moving with masculine grace, his power evident in every sleek movement. "You may have it in exchange for the Eye of Lucifer, which—" His head lifted as he sniffed, his eyes burning, into mine with a fa­miliar heat. "—you have tucked between your lovely breasts."

  I raised my eyebrows, "you'd give me a da Vinci for the lodestone? A real da Vinci? As in Leonardo?"

  "Yes, it is real. It is also uncataloged. It is what they call a cartoon, a sketch for painting. I found it in Ger­many after World War Two."

  I let my smile go just the tiniest bit naughty. "You would exchange something that valuable for a simple stone bound in a bit of inferior gold?"

  "Yes." His eyes were darkening even as I watched. He stood close to me, close enough I could smell his spicy dragon scent, the scent that had haunted my dreams for the last two nights, but he made no move to touch me.

  I sighed. Even though my body might dispute the idea, keeping my distance from him was the best for both of us. We had no future together, despite his belief other­wise. I'd made my decision. I plucked the lodestone out from my bra, weighing its warmth for a moment before taking Drake's hand and pressing the stone into it.

  He stared down at it in surprise, as if he never ex­pected me to give it to him. Silly man, didn't he realize there was no one else to whom I could entrust it?

  "You will trade?"

  "No. I will give."

  His hand closed over the lodestone, a little sensual shiver running down his body before he got control of himself. His head tipped to the side as I knew it would. "Why?"

  "You're the only one who will keep it safe."

  "I have all three Tools of Bael now. I've already told you that I will not give back the aquamanile. What is to stop me from using them?"

  "Nothing. But you won't. I might not be your mate, but I know enough about you to realize you have all the power you need. It's treasure you seek, and treasure you guard. So I'm giving you the Eye of Lucifer, no strings attached. I figure with the three Tools hidden safely away in your lair downstairs, no one will ever be able to use them."

  "You're right," Drake said, moving closer. His fingers skimmed along my jaw, his thumb brushing over my lower lip. I ground my teeth together to keep from suck­ing his finger into my mouth. "But only about one thing—I have no desire for more power. The Tools will be safe in my keeping. About the other things you are less prescient."

  "Really?" I stepped back, feeling distance was a good thing. "You're not still thinking I'm your mate?"

  "You are my mate. Nothing you can do will change that, but that is not what I was referring to."

  I raised my eyebrows in silent question.

  He smiled. "My lair is not the room you saw down­stairs. That was merely a safe. In truth, I have no lair in Paris. Someday, if you ask nicely, I will show you what a true dragon's lair looks like."

  "I'm going home this afternoon," I said, backing up even more. "My uncle is still a bit pissed at me, but what­ever you said to Inspector Proust when you handed over Perdita did the trick—he called Uncle Damian and ex­plained that they had made a mistake about me. He also told him mat the aquamanile was gone for good. Uncle Damian was less happy about that, but as I told him, that's what insurance is for."

  "That's not all she said," Jim piped up. "She also told him that she would do anything he wanted, take any job he had, just so long as he kept her on the payroll. It was pathetic, really, the way she groveled. You'd think a Guardian would have a little more dignity—"

  "One more word and you're a eunuch."

  Jim shut up.

  I tried to walk out of there, but my feet took me over to Drake, so I figured what the heck, a girl is entitled to a good-bye kiss.

  "Good-bye," I breathed, allowing my lips to play over his.

  "This is in no way over," Drake breathed back. "You are my mate. You are a Guardian. You cannot deny fate."

  "I make my own fate, thank you," I said, slipping out his arms. I was calm. I was confident. I was a profes­sional. "See you around."

  He just stood and watched as I walked out of his study, out of his house, and out of his life.

  "Fires of Abaddon, that was the best you could do? 'I make my own fate'? Man, when I left Cecile, she was crying in her kibble, and all you do is say 'I make my own fate'?"

  I rolled my eyes and kept walking toward Rene's taxi.

  "You didn't even kiss him properly. I didn't see one little bit of tongue action going on there, and I was watch­ing. Rene, get this girl, she just gave Drake the Eye and walked out with the lamest line in the history of women walking out on men. She didn't even give him a good-bye grope. She just said, 'I make my own fate,' and left. Just what is that supposed to mean, anyway? 'I make my own fate'? Is that like making yourself an ice cream sundae? Hey. I'm hungry. Can we stop somewhere and get some­thing to eat before we hit the airport? I keep telling you, you have to feed this form or else my coat goes all ugly. Sheesh, I hope my next Guardian at least has her training wheels, 'cause this business with having to tell you everything is getting a bit old...."

  12-03-2004 Scanned by bodafon for ripXrip’s wanted list.