by Anne Renwick
No fire burned in its grate, but hearth tools lay scattered upon the ground. “You were interrupted.”
“By that scoundrel who bore away two perfectly good arrows.” She frowned and shifted on her feet. “Ever since… since Zia ate Kinross, she’s almost refused to leave her fireside treasures. It’s been a cold winter. I’ve been rationing coal, but—” Natalia gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth.
Zia stepped backward, raising up on her forelegs to lift her gaze to them both. Pride rippled over her reptilian features. Protruding from her pile of treasures were five eggs. Five dragon eggs. Light brown, each had red-gold streaks branching across its surface, streaks of lightning that glinted in the faint light.
Speechless, Luke ripped his gaze away from her clutch to stare at the proud mother. His expedition into the Urals had been aimed at this very outcome, yet she’d managed to handle this all on her own.
The dragon nudged his hand, pushing it toward her nest.
Permission granted, Luke reached out and scooped a leathery egg from the hoard with both hands. The smooth egg was warm to the touch.
“Impossible!” Natalia cried, pressing a hand to her heart. “Isn’t it?”
Zia flicked her tongue and tipped her head. As he stared—stunned—the dragon opened her mouth and—very carefully—retrieved the egg from his hands. She deposited it back atop her treasure alongside the other eggs, then buried them once again beneath the stones. Once more the dragon nudged at his hands, pushing them toward a pile of cold ashes, urging him to light a fire beside her nest.
“Nest,” he said aloud, finding his voice at last. Smiling, he caught Natalia’s wide-eyed gaze. “It’s not a treasure hoard, it’s a nest. And she wants us to keep the fire burning to incubate her eggs. Without the fire, there’s no chance the eggs will hatch.” In their natural habitat, a male—usually of a mated pair—would spit fire upon the rocks, heating them. But therein lay the problem. Only a male Russian Mountain Dragon could breathe fire. As his quest had failed, Zia had no choice but to turn to humans for help. Excitement rippled over him. They needed to shoulder the responsibility of keeping the stones warm.
He shoveled away the cinders and lifted the coal scuttle. Barely any lumps lay within. He set them all upon the grate. “We’ll need more coal. Or peat. Anything that will burn.” Hell, he’d reduce the castle’s furniture to sticks if necessary. If these eggs were viable, it was nothing short of a miracle.
Chapter Four
“But… how?” Natalia handed Luke a box of matches. There was precious little coal remaining in the household. Sufficient to last a few more weeks if they were careful. “How could she have produced eggs without the male of her species?”
“Parthenogenesis.” The excitement of discovery filled his voice. His eyes sparkled and gleamed.
A shower of sparks fell upon the coal. One caught, and Luke gently blew the tiny flame to life, momentarily distracting her with the sight of his well-formed posterior. How many times had she admired it in times past? Was it as firm as it looked? Blue flames of lust blazed across her skin. She’d know soon enough. He sank back onto his heels, and the flames licking at the coal threw a flickering light across the planes and angles of his face where his experiences these past years had carved the features of his face into hard relief. Dark eyebrows slashed across his face in deep concentration, and there was a slight crookedness to the bridge of his nose as if it had been broken. A faint, white scar cut through the lower edge of his lip. How was it possible he was yet more breathtakingly handsome?
“Parthenogenesis,” she repeated, forcing her mind to focus on the miracle before them.
The odd term stirred a distant and faint memory. With precious little known about the natural history of dragons, her father had been nothing short of obsessed by the reproductive biology of monitor lizards, thought to be the dragon’s closest living relative. Speculation often turned to reproductive behavior.
“Virgin birth,” she said softly. How her father would have loved to witness this moment. “A hotly-debated topic among herpetologists, if I recall correctly.” She stared down at the pile of metal and stone covering Zia’s eggs. All this time she’d been oblivious of their presence. She frowned. Why hadn’t Zia tried to alert her? Only now, with the arrival of her favorite, indulgent human did she proudly display her clutch. Had Zia assumed Natalia already knew, given her human had tirelessly stoked the dragon’s fire these past six weeks?
“Exactly.” Luke’s eyes danced. “It’s an extremely rare event. An egg formed without fertilization by the male of the species. First observed by Charles Bonnet in 1740. A reproductive strategy mostly confined to invertebrates but known to occur upon rare occasions in amphibians and reptiles.”
Luke’s exhilaration failed to ignite her own. She was happy for Zia, of course, but this complicated everything immeasurably. Yet another variable, yet another worry to weigh upon her mind. One dragon in Edinburgh would be difficult, but a dragon with five dragonets? She shook her head.
Zia, whose gaze had not left the growing fire, let out a heavy sigh and lowered herself onto the hearthrug. A moment of peace, though the charred mark upon her scales was a stark reminder of the dangers they faced. The eggs must remain a secret. Aether forbid Rathail or his hunter learned of them. Their value on the open market would be incalculable. Attacks to secure Zia and her clutch would be relentless. Natalia could deter the occasional hunter, but holding her ground in an all-out siege upon the castle was another thing altogether. Her chest tightened at the memory of Yuri’s tiny body tucked inside her coat, of the scratch of his claws on the skin of her throat, of his eyes closing never to open again. The cold and wet of the Baltic Sea had been too much for the tiny dragonet. Traveling into the hills and mountains of the Trossachs… There was no choice but to delay their travel plans.
“How long must the eggs incubate?” she asked, wrapping her arms across her chest. The presence of these eggs ought to bring her joy. Instead, memories kept knocking at a door she’d locked shut long ago.
“No one is certain,” he said. “A seven to eight-week incubation is the estimate recorded in the archives by Sir Ridley Sutton, but he was only recording mythology and hearsay, not fact.”
“Zia started begging for fires six weeks past.” Shortly after eating Kinross. Aether, she hoped human consumption wasn’t a prerequisite for dragon reproduction. “If that’s when she laid the eggs, they’ll require heat for another week. Possibly two.” Her voice was clipped. “I don’t suppose he made mention of an exact temperature?”
Luke snorted. “No. But given the males spit fire to heat the rocks, we can conclude it’s well above human body temperature.”
That fit with her recollection of the dragon egg hunt. The soldiers had tended fires in anticipation of a find while she and the others scaled the rocky cliffs, searching for dragon eggs. She spun away and began to pace, rubbing the scales at the back of her neck beneath her scarf. A successful hunt, but one that had ended tragically for her when she’d slipped and fallen. “We can’t leave. Not until they’ve hatched.”
“I disagree.” His voice was hard, determined. “Staying here is not an option. This complicates our preparations—we’ll need a brazier—but it does not render travel unfeasible.” Luke frowned, his tone softening. “Natalia, what is it? What aren’t you telling me?”
Secrets from her past boiled to the surface. Nothing she wasn’t prepared to share with him, after all, intimacy would lay them bare. Forcing the words from her lips, however, was proving difficult. She’d never divulged her memories of her accident, of those days she’d clung tenuously to life, not with anyone. Like a spark landing upon dry tinder, emotions threatened to overcome her. One moment she’d clung to those rocks with stands of her hair whipping about her face, tossing a smile at Dimitri as they neared the cave’s edge. The next moment, all her plans, all her love and hope for the future had been dashed upon the shar
p rocks below.
“Natalia?” Luke’s voice called as if from far away.
But from that pit of despair, hope had emerged. Her father had saved her, restored her ability to walk. She glanced at her workbench. She had Papa’s notebook, a collection of scientific equipment and reagents. Certainly she was no cell biologist, but she could follow a protocol. Luke might live for years, but his health would steadily decline. It already had. Gone was the robust vitality she remembered, though the grit and determination she’d always admired still blazed. She wanted him.
But these dragon eggs presented her—him—with a unique opportunity. One she’d never spoken of. A possibility that hadn’t existed in over three years. Her husband, the blackguard, had glimpsed the results of her secret and recoiled. Would Luke? No. But neither did she wish to be placed under the microscope. Yet she could not withhold the possibility of a cure. How—where—to begin?
She forced her feet to stop, her fingers to unlatch from her arms, and lifted her gaze to his questioning eyes. She needed to tell him everything. He deserved to know. “When the eggs hatch, I might be able to…”
“We can’t stay here, waiting for the dragonets to hatch. Easier to transport them now.” Luke unbent from his position on the floor and stood. He swayed and caught himself on the mantle as all the blood drained at once from his face.
She rushed to his side, offering a steadying hand. “What’s wrong?” She regretted their earlier skirmish. He was too drained.
“I’m fine,” he insisted.
“You’re not.” Even Zia looked up in alarm. Did he not trust her enough to let down his own guard?
His shoulders sagged in admission. “My condition flares from time to time, when I’m ill or overtired. I might have pushed myself a bit too hard during that last leg of my journey home.”
Home. To her, not his family. Her heart squeezed. “It’s more than that,” she said.
This wasn’t something rest could cure. The ultimate outcome of his captivity in Russia would be a prolonged and painful death. She refused to dismiss his condition. He needed more than milk thistle tea. “Did they treat you with dragon’s blood?”
She’d asked Papa about such treatments once, the day he’d pressed her to develop a sulfated purine derivative in her laboratory, an immune-suppressing drug he hoped might enable him to transplant dragon tissues into humans. Even then, she’d questioned the wisdom of such experiments. Glancing at Zia, bedded down before the fire, she recalled his words.
“Da. Dragon’s blood treats. It does not cure. Not even the entirety of the creature’s blood at once can cure.” Papa had lifted a finger, wagging it back and forth. “Caging an animal for such purposes, to drain its blood regularly, this I cannot condone.”
He had argued against the use of such treatments, putting forth his own proposal: dragon stem cells. If a medication could be found—or synthesized—to suppress the innate immune system, there was a chance that permanent cures could be effected.
But his colleagues had brushed aside her father’s hypothesis as nonsensical ramblings.
“They did,” Luke said, snapping her back to the present. His knuckles were white as they gripped the mantle. “Once it was determined their medication had no effect on the virus, the scientists undertook a new approach, using rubber tubing to run blood straight from the creature’s veins into my own.”
“What!” Her jaw dropped in horror. “They ought to know better. Dragon’s blood is far more acidic than ours. It must be neutralized—with the simple addition of sodium bicarbonate—before an infusion can be safely performed. Such a process could have killed you.”
“They often came close.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “It was hellish. I swear I could feel the dragon’s blood burn a path through my veins and arteries. My heart would race and I would struggle to breathe. All while a monstrous headache engulfed my skull with its vice-like grip. Sometimes seizures.” He dragged in a deep breath. “That said, when the worst had passed, I felt better. Almost normal.” He looked rueful.
“For how long?” His answer would be telling. The more ill a patient, the shorter the duration of relief.
“A week. Sometimes two.”
Not long, then. But if he refused to stay, was it enough time to reach his brother? Regardless, a transfusion would temporarily stabilize his condition until the dragon eggs hatched. It would provide her with time to review Papa’s notes, to consider if a cure was even possible. Her laboratory was equipped for chemical analysis, not cell biology.
He shook his head. “No. I see what you’re thinking, Natalia. It’s not right to ask that of Zia.”
“One treatment.” The possibility hung in the air between them. “With neutralized dragon’s blood.” She held up a hand when he began to object again. “You struggled to resist my sword attack on the flat ground of the castle courtyard. Yet you propose to climb into the highland mountains carrying a lit brazier and five dragon eggs? And when Rathail’s hunter follows?” She shook her head. “I can’t manage it alone. You need to be in fighting form. For Zia’s sake—for the brood of dragonets on the way—let us help you.”
His shoulders slumped under the weight of inescapable fact. Natalia was right. He wasn’t physically fit enough to offer much help on their journey or even during a fight if they remained at Castle Kinlarig. Without time to rest and recover, he might drag them down. He only need undergo this treatment one more time. He was willing to endure the pain—for he doubted she could eliminate all the symptoms—if it meant seeing her, Zia and the dragon eggs safe.
And he’d be liar if he didn’t admit that he was thinking of a night or two spent in her bed. At last. Their affair would—by necessity—be brief. He wouldn’t saddle her with an ailing husband. But he wanted their time together to be memorable. And for the right reasons.
Except Natalia was an organic chemist, not a physician or even a biologist. He frowned, wondering if he was about to play pin cushion to her attempts. “You’ve done this before, transfused dragon’s blood into a human?”
She darted a glance at her laboratory workbench. “It’s more an infusion, the slow injection of a substance into a vein.” Her voice was detached yet determined. He wasn’t escaping this treatment.
“Not an answer, Natalia.”
“No,” she admitted on a sigh. “But I once helped my father do so by neutralizing dragon’s blood. You’re a cryptozoologist with anatomical knowledge. You’ve taken samples of her blood in the past, so if you direct the needle…”
He closed his eyes a brief moment, resigned. It would help. “Very well. Let’s do it.”
With a sharp nod, she spun on her heel.
While Natalia located a syringe, he lowered himself once more onto the rug beside Zia, a process that was more difficult than it ought to be. The dragon dropped her chin on his knee, staring up into his eyes with what he hoped was sympathy. “A brief prick of pain.” He rubbed her head in apology. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”
As children, he and his brother had dreamed of working with large, dangerous animals, staging mock battles in which they saved all of Edinburgh from such terrors as giant spiders, vampire bats and feathered serpents. They’d upset their mother and disgruntled their father who wished them both to become staid, upstanding members of society. Bankers like him.
But John had become a gamekeeper for a wealthy gentleman, and Luke had taken a government position in hopes that the Crown held close secrets about far more exotic creatures than might be found on a wealthy gentleman’s estate. He hadn’t been disappointed.
With no living species existing on the British Isles, there was debate among the cryptozoology community as to the very existence of dragons. Nonetheless, news of sightings from far-flung corners of the globe generated much excitement and speculation as to their origins. Were they an emerging species—like the kraken—or merely rare, a breed hunted to
the brink of extinction, surviving only by retreating into distant and harsh environments where humans rarely wandered? Regardless, most considered dragons mythological. He himself had firsthand knowledge of only one species, but if all were hunted with the tenacity of those in the Ural Mountains, they might well remain so. He couldn’t protect them all, but he would do anything he could to ensure the continuation of this particular species.
“You’ve grown so beautiful in my absence, Zia.” He skimmed a hand over her scarlet dorsal crest scales. Their sheen had intensified since he left. An indication of sexual maturity? He considered the eggs nestled in their heap of smooth river rocks and assorted treasures. Or perhaps motherhood? He’d missed the opportunity to observe the changes, though perhaps he was better off for not having witnessed Kinross’s death. Luke suspected the enormous intake of protein and nutrients was responsible for triggering parthenogenesis. A curious thought to tuck away for future contemplation. “I’ll do my best to make this quick and as painless as possible.” He lifted her tail, tapping his fingers along its underside, accustoming her to his touch. Zia closed her eyes, enjoying the attention.
Natalia sat beside him and pressed a bottle of ethyl alcohol into his hand along with a ball of cotton. Her forehead wrinkled. “The tail?”
“The ventral coccygeal vein,” he answered, swabbing scales with the disinfectant as his heart rate jumped. “Easiest place to draw blood. She didn’t object the last time I drew blood to check her sulfur levels, but if you’ll hold her snout—a precaution in the event she decides to snap at us for such an insult?”
“A tiny prick, lapochka,” Natalia crooned to the dragon, carefully wrapping her hands around the dragon’s snout. She met his eyes briefly, nodding her encouragement. “For Luke.”
