The Black Dragon

by Allyson James

  By the time they reached Golden Gate Park, a light rain was falling, making the night darker than ever. Caleb pulled on his clothes and started off across the green. "I'll go get the car."

  Saba looked up in alarm. "I didn't know you could drive."

  Caleb grinned, the mischievous sparkle returning to his eyes. "Don't worry, Lisa's teaching me."

  Before Saba could protest he loped off into the darkness, his bare feet padding on the grass.

  Saba lifted Malcolm's head to her lap, letting worried tears fall to his skin. The rain drenched them both, the night weeping with them.

  "Don't die," Saba whispered. "Do you hear me? I'm not ready to let you go."

  Malcolm never moved or stirred. The Book of All Dragons rested beside her, now misting with rain, the book for which both Malcolm and the white dragon had been prepared to die. She leaned down and kissed Malcolm's cold lips, wanting to infuse her own warmth into him. He did not respond.

  Headlights approached, bathing her in glare. A car rolled to a halt not two feet from her, and Caleb leapt out of it. They were nowhere near the roads that wound through the park nor near a maintenance road—he'd simply brought the car straight across the grass.

  "What?" he asked to her stunned look.

  "Nothing. Help me lift him."

  Caleb bent, hauled Malcolm over his shoulder and took him to the car, where he rested him across the back seat. He brought a blanket from the trunk and wrapped it around Malcolm's naked body, but Malcolm still shivered, eyes moving under closed lids.

  Saba rode in the front, her hand resting behind her on Malcolm's body, while Caleb raced the car back across the lawns, narrowly avoiding an ornamental lake. When he reached a road he bumped over the curb, pulling in front of another car that had to scream to a halt. Horns went off, and shouts filled the night. Caleb ignored them.

  "Is that it?" Caleb looked at the book in Saba's lap and ran up on a sidewalk.

  "Caleb."

  "Oh, well. Too dark to look at it now anyway."

  He drove in silence, zooming down Fulton Street back toward Japantown and north to Pacific Heights. Saba soon learned not to look out the window. She clasped Malcolm's hand, trying to sense the black and silver threads of his thoughts. Nothing.

  The street in front of Saba's apartment was deserted, and Saba had enough strength to magically make sure no one about happened to notice Caleb carrying Malcolm's blanket-wrapped body over his shoulder. She followed behind with the book.

  The apartment had never felt so safe and reassuring. The wards were in place, filled with both her magic and Malcolm's, the house dark and quiet. Saba stripped back the sheets on the large bed in her room, and Caleb dumped Malcolm on it, grunting with the effort. Saba covered him in sheets and blankets, knowing that getting him warm was the most important thing. She hastened to gather her amethysts and other healing crystals, candles and salt.

  "Want my help?" Caleb offered.

  He looked sincere, but she heard the hesitation in his voice. "No, you need to get back to Lisa." She stopped her hurry to. give him a quick hug. "Thank you, Caleb. The words seem so feeble, but I don't know what else to say."

  Caleb nodded, understanding simple gratitude. "Thank Lisa. She sent my butt out there."

  "Is she really all right?"

  "She says so. She told me that her silver dragon essence healed her and the twins. Then she told me Malcolm was stuck up on top of the bridge and you were in danger, and to get out there and help. I don't know how she knew, but I guess when you're a silver dragon you find out these things."

  Saba squeezed his hand. "Tell her thank you. And congratulations." She smiled up at him. "How does it feel?"

  Caleb's face melted into a broad grin that made Saba a little wistful. "To be a father? It's the best thing in the world. You have to come and see the twins, Saba. They're so cute, even though they're all tiny and shriveled."

  Saba managed a laugh. "Get back there and protect them, then. What I have to do… I need to do it myself."

  Caleb lost his smile as he looked at Malcolm's inert form on the bed. "Call if you need anything. You know that."

  She was grateful he didn't try to stop her or drag Malcolm to the hospital where he would likely die. Here behind the wards Malcolm was more likely to heal.

  "There is something you can do for me," Saba began.

  "Name it."

  She quickly told him about Axel and Lumi being cut off at the pagoda. "Find them and tell them I have Malcolm here. Don't mention the book."

  Caleb understood. "Found Malcolm, no book. Got it." He gave Saba a kiss on the forehead. "Take care of yourself."

  "You and me both."

  He grinned. "Sure." With one last glance at Malcolm he left the apartment.

  Saba bolted the doors behind him and returned to the bedroom. She scooped up the amethysts, remembering the healing spell Malcolm had taught her long ago, how the intense power of it had spiraled them both into sexual ecstasy.

  The memory drew fresh tears. She thought of how he'd kissed her then and again in the shower this morning and touched her with possessive hands. She bit her lip and approached the bed, and as she did so, her gaze fell on The Book of All Dragons shining in its brilliant gold and leather binding and sparkling with gems.

  She had to heal him. When she'd done the healing spell with him last year, he'd taught her, held her hands, and lent his own black dragon strength to the spell. Now Malcolm was unconscious, dying, and had no help to give her. She needed powerful, unfailing magic in order to reach him. He wouldn't forgive her what she was about to do, but he'd be alive.

  Taking a deep breath, she scattered her amethysts across Malcolm's still chest, unclasped the book, and opened it.

  * * *

  Chapter 15

  Hatred trickled through Malcolm's body, cold and deadly. He knew it came from the white dragon, that somewhere in the world the white dragon still sang Malcolm's true name.

  The pain of his name overlaid bone-jarring hurt inside his human body, physical agony groping for attention. Beyond that was a faint tingling in his chest, tiny points of magic too weak to penetrate the wall between himself and the world. And a voice, a soft voice he couldn't place but which set off a profound yearning.

  Malcolm.

  He tried to remember where he'd heard the voice before—his whole body longed to remember, strained for it.

  Malcolm, damn you, I don't know how to do this.

  He wished he could help her. In fact, it was important to help her, but the pinning wires of his true name would not let him. He was slave to the name, and to the dragon who wielded it.

  I found the book, but I don't know how to use it.

  Though he didn't understand the words, he liked the voice, a pinprick of sanity in the fog of his thoughts. He remembered falling, falling such a long way, and the dull rush of hurt. Voices above him, movement, silence. Then the voice of the woman easing into his brain with the sweetness of wind chimes.

  Stay with me, he wanted to say.

  The voice vanished. Over it he heard a cold chuckle, the cruelty in it sharp.

  I will kill you, Malcolm promised.

  The soft woman's voice swam back to him. Don't you dare die on me, do you hear? I'll make you live whether you like it or not.

  The voice conjured pleasant memories. A scent of spice and musk, slick skin under his hands, mouth on his like she couldn't get enough of him. Small hands moving down his chest, fingers ringing his staff in a wildly erotic grip. Hips moving beneath his, soft cries of feminine joy.

  He wanted that again. He'd have that again—being inside her, home where he belonged.

  He remembered wild black hair, brown eyes he could drown in, small-boned, taut body, lovely, lovely lips…

  He imagined he saw those lips now, moving in words he could not distinguish. As though he watched from above, he saw her kneeling in a room lit with candles, his naked body on the bed beside her. Glittering salt encircled their two forms a
nd a heap of purple stones whose name he did not remember rested on his chest, a faint violet light pulsing from them.

  The black-haired woman had a book open in her lap, a huge thing that nearly dwarfed her crossed legs. Its pages glistened as though made of pure gold. On the right-hand page crouched a black dragon on a background of white, the only color in the picture the blood red of the dragon's tongue. The dragon had wide eyes, a fearsome scowl, and curled claws.

  The left-hand page was filled with symbols, swirls, and lines. The lines seemed to move and writhe, dancing in his blurred vision, and the young woman held the book firmly as though trying to tame them. She was reading the words, chanting and singing them in a strong, clear voice. The notes strung together into a line of music, breaking through his pain and the hold the white dragon had on him.

  A sudden healing surge roared through his body. He felt his limbs mend, his wounds close, burning hurt that was glorious at the same time. She was doing it, she was healing him. My witch.

  A groan escaped his lips. He moved, and amethysts clattered and slid from his chest to pool on the bed. The woman looked up at him, brown eyes wide.

  The book slid from her lap to the floor as he pushed her down onto the bed, lips finding hers in bruising, brutal kisses. She tried to voice a protest, but he ground his hips against her clothed ones, stopping her words with his mouth. She gripped his shoulders, as he unbuttoned her shirt so he could slide his mouth to her breasts.

  His staff lifted and pulsed; he wanted her with a craving so strong he could taste it. He wanted sex—no, his mind reached for a stronger word—he wanted to fuck her. Nothing less than having her hard and without stopping.

  Malcolm pried her skirt upward, marking her soft thighs with his fingers. He heard her laugh, whisper, "I guess you feel better."

  He wanted to remember her name. Names were important and he didn't know hers. My witch, he knew that, but that was not the whole of it.

  He moved the skirt aside and ripped away the thin underwear that covered her. He parted her legs with a hard hand, the tip of his cock moving readily to her opening. He pushed inside her, and she made a noise of delight. As he began to ride her, the hot friction shoving away the last of the pain, Malcolm's brain at last cleared.

  Saba, the white dragon, the violation of the archive, the pagoda, the bridge. Falling into nothingness and the incredible pain of slapping into the water. Then Saba sitting cross-legged on the bed, the book in her lap, softly singing his true name, weaving shining silver and black threads that closed around him like a steel net.

  "No!"

  He burst out of her and to his feet, his back connecting hard with the cold wall. Saba looked up at him, brown eyes wide, her legs still parted and the curls between them damp with sex. The air hung with music, the last notes of his true name fading to vanish in the musk-filled night.

  As suddenly as he'd pulled out of her, Malcolm was back on the bed, seizing her wrists in a bruising grip. Saba barely felt the pain as he roared at her, "What have you done? What have you done?"

  "Saved your life." Saba was amazed at the relative steadiness of her voice. "It was the only way."

  Malcolm drew back on his knees, eyes bright with rage. "He's still in there." He jammed his finger to the side of his head. "You'll pull me apart. You can't both wield my name. You'll kill me."

  Saba's body pounded with their almost sex; the way he'd pushed her down and slid into her had excited her like she'd never been excited before. When he'd pulled out, she'd gasped a groan of disappointment.

  But he hadn't been himself, he'd been in the throes of the healing spell, which spilled orgasmic energy over both the healer and the healed. This had happened the last time she'd healed him, and she'd felt the same joyful wanting, the same glorious need to have him.

  She reached for him, but he flung her hands from him, kneeling over her with fists clenched. His skin was pallid and covered with bruises and cuts, his hair still wet.

  "Why did you do it?" She'd never seen him so angry, not even at the white dragon. "You wanted me as your slave? To obey your every command?"

  She stared at him as he knelt upright and naked, anger radiating from him. At that moment, he hated her. But she'd had no choice.

  She didn't understand what he meant about two wielders of the name tearing him apart. Last year when she'd been taught the secret of Caleb's true name, that knowledge had been shared between her and two other witches. Once Saba had learned what their high priestess meant to do, she'd sworn off using Caleb's name, and later, Lisa had erased it from Saba's memory.

  This time she shared the name with a being whose motives were different from hers. The white dragon wanted Malcolm to die—she wanted Malcolm to live. Her healing spell had closed his more dangerous wounds, but she could have done nothing without grabbing the very essence of him and binding it to her. Malcolm didn't realize that the magic of his name had hurt her, too, that healing energy had been jerked from her and left her weak and numb.

  Malcolm pushed himself off the bed again and yanked open the closet door, grabbing his clothes. He pulled them on, wincing as he covered his bruised skin.

  She sat up, knowing her skirt was raked high, and she looked like a wanton. "You need to rest," she said. "The ordeal you suffered…"

  "I will recover somewhere away from the holder of my chain."

  He snatched up a leather coat and stormed from the room. Saba sprang up to run after him, hurriedly pushing her skirt down, in too much of a hurry to replace the underwear he'd torn off her. She caught up to him in the foyer, where they'd stood two nights ago and kissed so passionately.

  She grabbed his arm. "The white dragon is still out there, let me remind you. Caleb fought him off but he's still alive."

  Malcolm looked down at her with eyes as hard as silver ball bearings. "Caleb. Fought him off."

  She nodded. "Lisa sent him, and he fought the white dragon after you fell into the bay. You would have died, and me, too, if he hadn't found us."

  A mistake. Males, especially dragon males, didn't like to hear that another male had done what he couldn't.

  "You enslaved him once, too, I remember," Malcolm said. "You must enjoy enslaving dragons."

  "I didn't do it for enjoyment. I had to. You would have died."

  "You should have let me die. Then I'd be free."

  Saba exploded into anger. "And left me alone with the white dragon sniffing around, not to mention that book? Thanks a lot, Malcolm. I notice you think nothing of enslaving me. You came back to this world to enslave me again and was surprised when you couldn't."

  "It is not the same thing at all."

  "Of course not. You're the mighty, mighty dragon and I am the puny human witch—who just saved your life, by the way. I could have left you washed up on the shores of Marin County for the coastal patrol to find."

  He swung on her, so much menace in his tone that she backed up a step. "A dragon mark is not the same thing as wielding a name. A dragon mark protects you. This is true slavery—you can kill me in an instant if I decide to disobey your slightest command."

  "Do you think I would do that?"

  "I think that you can."

  Saba glared at him. "All right, fine. Rush out there and find the white dragon so he can buy you a beer."

  His hand was on the locks. "I will find Lisa, who has the power to release me. The silver dragon understands what this horror is."

  "Lisa is in the hospital. She nearly died having her babies—the white dragon again."

  Malcolm whirled. "So the vision was true."

  "Caleb says she pulled through, and the babies, too. She'll be all right."

  She watched thoughts warring in Malcolm's head coupled with renewed worry. He reached for the locks again. "If she's all right, then she'll soon regain her full strength."

  He started to open the door. Saba gathered her magic and sang the first few notes of his name.

  Malcolm slammed the door. He grabbed her by the shoulders and
pressed her into the nearest wall, his body hard against hers. "Stop."

  Saba's eyes filled. "I'd never hurt you. I'm trying to protect you."

  "I know humans, Saba. I lived with them for eight hundred years, trapped here like a rat. They like revenge. It would be very human of you to take your vengeance for what I did to you in the past. It is your way."

  "It isn't my way. Back then I wanted to help you, too. Maybe not at first, but once I understood what you needed, I wanted to help. You didn't coerce me."

  "You thought that because I made you think so. Because of the dragon mark."

  "No, you idiot. Because I fell in love with you."

  He stopped, lips parting. "You didn't fall…"

  She pointed her finger at him. "Don't you dare tell me what I did or didn't do. When you went back to Dragonspace with no intention of ever seeing me again, that hurt like hell. I loved you—you used me and finished with me. It took me a long time to give up the completely stupid idea that you'd ever come back for me."

  He pressed her harder into the wall, his eyes dangerous. "But I did come back."

  "Because you needed help again. You'd just love it if I enslaved you, because you wouldn't have to face my true feelings for you. You have no idea what to do with a woman in love with you. But slavery and vengeance, that you understand."

  She was crying. He shook his head. "You don't understand what this kind of slavery is."

  "Do you want me to command you to make love to me? Would that make you feel better? To pleasure me as much as I want, to be my sex slave?" Tears ran down her face. "Maybe I'll get one of those dominatrix outfits with the leather and the heels…"

  "Stop," he growled. He kissed her, a deep, bruising kiss, halting her words, though he couldn't stop her tears.

  Malcolm forced her mouth open, pinning her firmly against the wall, his broad leg pressed between her thighs. She didn't understand, and he couldn't make her understand. She'd roped him body and soul, and she didn't know that it bound him to her in ways he couldn't escape. She was his mate, and even Lisa wouldn't be able to part the mesh that entwined them. He'd realized that even before she'd stopped him from leaving the house.