Me and My Shadow

by Katie MacAlister

  There wasn’t much I could say about that. I happened to agree with him, but I was very cognizant of the fact that I was expected to show nothing but support for Gabriel’s decisions. Although I felt a certain amount of leniency toward that archaic rule could be shown while I was around Drake and Aisling, I didn’t want them thinking I wouldn’t back up Gabriel no matter what choices he made.

  The fact that I’d simply persuade him away from doing anything stupid was beside the point.

  “I just hope you have a lot of green dragons who can keep everyone civil,” I said. “If Kostya is planning on bringing his full delegation, and the other wyverns bring their members, the house is going to be very, very full.”

  “We will open up the downstairs rooms,” Drake agreed. “It was once a ballroom—it will suffice.”

  And so it was that slightly over three hours later I stood next to Gabriel at one end of the long room that ran the length of the house. It had been divided up into three smaller rooms, making up the large sitting room, a small morning room, and the dining room, but now the screens normally covering the folding walls were pulled aside, most of the furniture had been removed, and the long heavy dining table was pulled into a central position with five heavy wooden chairs set around it.

  I brushed Gabriel’s hand, needing the comfort of his touch, but not wanting to do anything that could be considered inappropriate in front of the other dragons.

  He took my hand without looking at me, his fingers rubbing across my knuckles. “Do not fear, little bird. I will not allow Fiat to disturb the sárkány.”

  I said nothing, just straightened my shoulders, sliding a quick glance to my left at Maata. Behind us stood Obi, Nathaniel, and Tipene. Like the other silver dragons, they wore what I thought of as the formal dragon wear: knee-length tunics of a black material that seemed impossibly dark, heavily embroidered with silver to the point where the fabric beneath was almost impossible to see. The embroidery consisted of abstract shapes and swirls, a detailed, intricate pattern that seemed to shift and move in the light. Gabriel’s tunic was heavy with silver, real silver, I knew from examining it earlier, glittering as bright as his eyes, patterned into several fan tastical shapes of dragons leaping and cavorting. He had presented me with a tunic, as well, one bearing only one dragon, but I loved it the most—it was clearly based on Gabriel’s dragon form, and the head of it lay directly over my heart.

  Gabriel also wore a belt slung low over his hips, a familiar sword hanging from it. It was the shadow sword I’d taken from Bael’s wrath demon, a powerful weapon that I prayed he would not need to use.

  “Showtime,” I said under my breath, straightening my shoulders and trying to look calm and collected as Kostya strode through the doorway. He was followed by two women and one man, all three of his attendants dark-haired and dark-eyed.

  “Is that his entourage?” I asked Gabriel quietly.

  “His guard, yes. Drake mentioned he had at last formalized them.”

  Kostya stopped in the middle of the room, and made a formal bow first to his brother, then to Gabriel. The latter tensed, but did nothing other than return the formal greeting. A sárkány, I had learned, was a very rigid affair, and followed innumerable rules, evidently put into place to keep the volatile dragons from killing one another should tempers run high.

  “The others have not arrived yet?” Kostya asked Drake.

  “Fiat is here,” Drake answered with the briefest of glances toward us. “Chuan Ren will no doubt be here. Bastian called a short while ago and said his flight was delayed, but he would be here immediately upon landing. I expect him momentarily.”

  While Drake talked with his brother, I studied Kostya and his little group, noticing as I did so that Gabriel, normally a very sociable person, made no effort to join their discussion. I knew Fiat’s involvement with Baltic had thrown him a bit, for which I was frankly grateful. I had no desire to get on Drake’s bad side should Gabriel pursue the idea that Kostya was behind the murders of all those innocent dragons.

  “Those two women don’t look like they could take down a curtain, let alone a dragon intent on attacking Kostya,” I murmured to Gabriel.

  Maata, on my left, heard me and snorted under her breath.

  “Knowing Kostya as I do,” Gabriel said, his dimples flaring briefly to life, “I suspect they are there more for effect than actual use.”

  I had to agree. The women were of average height and slender builds, looking more like expensive models than bodyguards. They were dressed in black, matching leather bustiers trimmed with straps and chains, and tight black pants that looked like they’d been painted on. One wore shiny leather stiletto boots that probably could have put someone’s eye out; the other had open-toed sandals with laces that crisscrossed up the calves of her pants. The man was just as somber as his companions, his long hair pulled back in a short ponytail, his goatee nowhere near as charming as Gabriel’s.

  “He would have to bring them here. I can’t begin to tell you what sort of hell there will be to pay if Cyrene sees Kostya with his little harem,” I said softly.

  Gabriel shot me a questioning glance. “I thought she broke up with Kostya?”

  “Cy’s method of breaking up isn’t final until the man dies or moves to another continent,” I said wearily. “She’ll keep moping over him for at least six months. If we’re lucky, she’ll find someone new who will drive all thoughts of the faithless Kostya from her mind.”

  “May.” Kostya approached, giving me yet another bow. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

  Mindful of my manners and dragon etiquette, I smiled, and did not ask him if he cold-bloodedly murdered sixty-eight dragons in the last few days. “Thank you.” I searched through available topics of conversation that would not address any touchy subjects. “I imagine you’re happy the sárkány is finally being called. It must have been a difficult two months for you.”

  There was a questioning look in his eye as if he sensed I might be insulting him, but he simply inclined his head in agreement. “I am indeed. As, no doubt, you have been waiting for this.”

  He waved a hand and the male black dragon stepped forward, pulling from his inside coat pocket a long ebony case. Kostya took it, his gaze shifting to Gabriel. “I will not insult you by asking if you intend to honor your agreement.”

  “I have yet to be accused of violating a vow,” Gabriel said calmly, although his placid expression hid a veritable inferno of emotions.

  Kostya studied him for another few seconds, then handed him the long wooden box, turning away and returning to his brother’s side without another word.

  The two supermodel guards eyed first Gabriel, then me, their expressions as blank as a wall. They followed Kostya, silent and stalwart, although I noticed one of them, the smaller of the two, was giving Gabriel a look that bespoke a personal interest.

  The damned hussy. Eyeing him right in front of me.

  Gabriel slid aside a metal lock and opened the wooden case for a moment. Lying on a bed of dark navy velvet was a long glass tube wrapped in intricate gold filigree. Inside the tube, a glittering crystal was suspended in some form of viscous liquid. I thought at first it was a clear crystal, somewhat quartzlike in appearance, but as Gabriel examined the phylactery, I realized that the shard wasn’t clear—it held innumerable colors, each of which flashed as light caught a plane of the shard. It was incredibly beautiful and just as incredibly impressive, positively reeking of power.

  “So that’s the Modana Phylactery,” I said as Gabriel closed the case and handed it to Tipene. “It’s really lovely.”

  “May, I can’t believe you would do this to me—so it’s true!”

  “Oh, no,” I said, my heart sinking as Cyrene stood posed in the doorway, glaring dramatically at Kostya.

  “You are having a sárkány now! You deliberately tried to exclude me! And who are those . . . those . . . hussies standing around that pig of a dragon?”

  Chapter Fifteen

 
“Dammit, Jim,” I said in a low tone to the demon who straggled in behind my twin. “You were supposed to keep her shopping.”

  “Hey, there’s only so much a demon can do in the face of a rampaging naiad! The second Cyrene heard the sárkány was for this afternoon instead of being put off until tomorrow, like some perfidious doppelganger told her, she dropped everything and came roaring home.”

  “And just how did she hear that?” I snapped, pinching its ear.

  “No pinching! Ow! It might have slipped out, that’s all. Man, I’m going back to Aisling. She might lose one or two of my toes, but she doesn’t pinch me all the time!”

  Jim backed out of the door as Kostya strode forward a few feet.

  “You have no place here, naiad,” he said scornfully, looking down his nose at Cyrene, his two models posing on either side of him. “You are not a member of any sept, nor are you a dragon, and you sure as hell aren’t a mate.”

  “Oh, no,” I moaned softly. “He didn’t say that.”

  “You would think he would have learned by now what a red flag that is to her,” Gabriel agreed, momentarily diverted by the scene to relax a smidgen.

  “Oh!” Cyrene bellowed, stomping forward with surprising noise considering how petite she was. She stopped directly in front of Kostya, less than a foot away, turning her glare first on one hussy, then the second before finally settling it on the focus of her ire. “You take that back! You know full well I was your mate until you let greed and avarice take hold of you.”

  “I have allowed nothing to take hold of me but good sense. You are not a wyvern’s mate,” Kostya ground out, his hands fisted. I watched him warily, ready to spring forward if he should lose his temper and try to get violent with Cyrene. I didn’t dispute that she was enough to try anyone’s patience, but I would not allow him to hurt her.

  “I’m not talking about being a wyvern’s mate,” Cyrene shouted, taking me by surprise. Judging by the looks on the faces of the others around us, they were suffering from a similar emotion.

  “Then what are you blathering about?” Kostya asked, and the two models took a step toward Cyrene, their attitudes menacing.

  “How bad a breach of etiquette is it to punch another wyvern’s bodyguards in the face?” I asked Gabriel.

  The dimple nearest me quivered for a moment. “Bad. Please do not indulge yourself.”

  I sighed. “All right, but I want brownie points for restraint.”

  “I’m talking about the person meant for you, you idiot!” Cyrene yelled, punching him in the chest. He rubbed it absently, frowning down at her, as she continued. “Not a dragon’s mate, just your mate. You know, the person you love and adore and want to spend a couple of centuries with. You told me you loved me! You said you couldn’t live without me!”

  Kostya, to my great amusement, looked embarrassed, his gaze flickering around the room at us as we all watched with interest while Cyrene lambasted him.

  “That was spoken in a private moment,” he said in a low voice, sending her a furious look.

  “Screw private!” she snapped, poking him in the chest again. “You told me you loved me. You said we were meant to be together. Then you let that stupid lair ruin everything. You’re just a pig, Kostya! No, you’re a pig-dog! A pig-dog dragon, and I loathe the very sight of you! I never want to see you again. Do you hear me? Never want to see you again!”

  Cyrene was panting with emotion, her eyes blazing as she shoved him in the chest a third time.

  Kostya stared down at her with a black expression for about half a second; then with a growled profanity, he grabbed her, pulling her up against his chest as he kissed the living daylights out of her. That lasted for about five seconds before Kostya yelped, lifting his head with surprise. There was blood on his lip.

  “Pig-dog!” Cyrene snarled at him.

  “Insane watery tart,” he spat back.

  They stared at each other for another few seconds; then this time, Cyrene flung herself at his head and locked her mouth over his.

  “Well,” I said, clearing my throat, but couldn’t think of anything to say.

  The two models looked at each other in stunned surprise for a moment. Then both narrowed their eyes and glared at the back of Cyrene’s head. Kostya hoisted her up, his hands on her behind, as he continued to kiss her, Cyrene making happy little moaning noises as she wrapped her legs around his hips.

  “I’m so glad Jim isn’t here to see this,” I said to Gabriel.

  He chuckled before his expression turned serious again as Chuan Ren entered the room, followed by two red dragons. One I recognized as her handsome son, Jian; the other was a man I hadn’t seen before.

  Chuan Ren was not my favorite dragon. Outwardly she resembled a tall, elegant Chinese doll, all porcelain skin and long silky black hair, but she was meaner than Magoth, and twice as deadly. She looked around the room with dark brown eyes with deep red lights, her gaze pausing for a moment on the sight of Kostya and Cyrene locked in a kiss.

  “Where is Fiat?” she asked after giving them a look filled with scorn and disgust.

  “He will be here when the sárkány is called to order,” Drake said placidly.

  “You will hand him over to me now,” Chuan Ren demanded in her officious manner. “You agreed I could punish him for the attempt to take over my sept.”

  “Chuan Ren. You have met my mate, May, I believe?” Gabriel interrupted her, pulling me forward as he approached her.

  She spared me only a harsh glance before turning her attention on him. “I have acknowledged her as such, yes.”

  Gabriel waited a moment.

  She made an annoyed sound and gestured sharply to her two companions. “I present to the silver mate my mate, Li, and son, Jian.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I told the man who was her mate. He smiled, and bowed, as did Jian.

  “I am glad to see you in good health,” the latter said, taking my hand to press a kiss to the back of it. “We owe you much in returning Chuan Ren to us.”

  “Ever the diplomat,” she said in a contemptuous tone to her son.

  I wasn’t surprised. Chuan Ren seemed to feel force was the only way to achieve a goal.

  “You are in command of the red dragons again?” Gabriel asked her.

  “Did you doubt I would take control the second I was released from Abaddon?”

  He smiled. “I knew you would not tolerate another ruling the red sept, but you said you had not found him to challenge him. He returned to England while we were hunting for him in Europe. How, then, did you challenge him for control?”

  Her eyes narrowed on him. “I do not need the stupidity of a challenge to take control of what is mine,” she said in a low, mean voice. “The red dragons belong to me and no other.”

  “What did I miss? I heard yelling,” Aisling said as she rushed into the room, Jim at her heels. She came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Kostya and Cyrene, still engaged in a kiss. “Good god.”

  “Fires of Abaddon,” Jim said, goggling. “He’s gonna boink her right there!”

  “Quiet, demon,” Aisling ordered absently, blinking at the sight of the two lovers.

  Drake was immediately at her side, gently pulling her over to a chair. “Kincsem, I said I would fetch you when it was time. You are early. You will tire yourself.”

  “Stop fussing,” she said, but there was love in her eyes as she kissed his cheek when he bent over her. “I’m fine. What’s happened other than Cyrene and Kostya checking each other’s fillings?”

  “It would appear that Chuan Ren hasn’t formally taken over control of her sept yet,” I said, watching the red wyvern.

  Her lip curled at me. “Gabriel, tell your mate I will not repeat myself to her. I am the red wyvern. Nothing that puling little turd Fiat can do will change that, as you will see if you will have him brought to me so I may torture him as he deserves.”

  “Excellent! I thought we might be late, but we’re just in time for the torture,” Magot
h said, flinging open the door. He was dressed in his usual pair of black leather pants, with a black shirt open to his navel, his favorite bullwhip wrapped around his waist. Next to him was the sultry-eyed Catalina, listing somewhat to the side as if she couldn’t stand up straight.

  “Mother?” Drake took a few steps forward, frowning first at his mother, then at Magoth. “What has happened to you?”

  Magoth leered. “We had a very interesting night. Your mother is most . . . inventive . . . in her ideas of pleasure.”

  Catalina’s hair was mussed, her clothing wrinkled, her mouth red and swollen, and her eyes looked a bit vague, as if she’d been through a particularly strenuous orgy. “Inventive,” Catalina agreed, her expression dazed.

  Drake swore under his breath as he tidied her blouse to cover a breast that was almost exposed. “I expected better of you, Mother. You look like a loose woman.”

  “Loose.” She weaved at him, looking like she might fall over.

  Magoth grabbed her quickly and propped her up against the doorframe, rubbing his hands as he entered the room. “What sort of torture are you having at this dragon gathering, hmm? I’m happy to act as consultant as to what is the best for large-group participation.”

  “No one will be tortured at the sárkány,” Drake said, gesturing toward his mother. Immediately Pál and István, who had been standing at the other end of the room, moved to her side and started to take her out.

  The word “torture” seemed to bring her around.

  “Release me,” she said, shaking her head as if to clear it. “I can walk.” She gave both dragons a haughty look before straightening her shoulders, lifting her chin, and sailing into the room with a pale imitation of her normal aplomb.

  She was fine until she spotted the twosome. The sight of them seemed to give her new energy.

  “What is this?” she demanded, stalking into the room to stand next to the Cyrene/Kostya entity. “Who is this besom sucking the face of my firstborn, my delicious Kostya? Drake, what are you thinking allowing this?”