by Eileen Wilks
She had carnal knowledge of those hands.
Big deal, Cynna told herself, ignoring the sweet, sharp tug of lust. Lots of women had intimate knowledge of Cullen's hands. Not an exclusive club, the number of females who'd tripped him and beat him to the floor. "Wow," she said, focusing on the big, fat diamond on his index finger. "Is it loaded? Can I scan it?"
He considered her request a moment, then nodded. "Carefully. I've taken the safety off."
"Safety?" She looked at him sharply. "If you mean you leave it locked down most of the time—"
"It wouldn't exactly be safe to walk around with it ready to trigger."
"It would if it was keyed to you."
He was curt. "I don't know how."
Man, he hated to admit that. She grinned. "I do. It's a pattern spell—Air, so it won't come easily to you, but I can teach you. But first I want a peek." Cynna shook her hands to clear them of any muddy energy, then held her left hand over his right one. She fed a trickle of power into the tattoo circling her wrist like a dainty bracelet.
Finding was Cynna's Gift. She didn't need a spell to do that. Being a Finder meant she had an affinity for patterns, but her Gift didn't read, interpret, or remember them. For that she needed spells. She had several scanning spells scribed on her skin; the kilingo she'd activated would tell her how much magic was stored in Cullen's diamond.
Her wrist turned searing hot. "Son of a bitch!" She snatched her hand back, shutting down the kilingo. "You planning to burn down the city?"
"I didn't store it as Fire energy."
"No, that's how I measure power. As heat. You've got one hell of a lot of magic stuffed in that stone. Lots more than in the little one on your necklace." Which had held enough power to create mage fire on at least two occasions.
Cullen regarded his hand smugly. The diamond winked back at him. "I do, don't I?"
"There isn't that much stray magic around, not with Mika soaking it up."
"Makes a difference when you can see the sorcéri."
She supposed it did, and sighed. No denying the twist of envy. "Lily said you had a spell that lets others see sorcéri."
"It's not exactly a spell. I twist a few sorcéri together in a way that makes them visible to the eyes. It doesn't last long, and it's kind of tricky to do."
She stared at him, appalled. "You work with them directly ? "
"What do you think mage fire is?"
"I thought you shaped it with a spell!"
"It's fire, isn't it? I call fire. I don't need spells for that, though it did take me awhile to get the knack of calling mage fire. It's a ticklish business, but'—"
"No duh!" Mage fire was one of the most dangerous of the forbidden arts. Supposedly a lost art, actually, which was the only reason no one had bothered making it illegal. Three months ago, Cullen had reinvented it. She knew that, knew why he'd done it, and agreed with the necessity, but… "You don't shape it all?"
"You might say I ride it. Mage fire has to be sourced from raw magic, which is why only sorcerers should attempt it. If you can't see the energies, see what you're doing with them…" His hands shaped a mushroom cloud in the air. "Boom."
"Sometimes you scare the shit out of me."
"How sensible of you." Cullen reached out, touched the collar of her coat. "Great coat."
Her eyebrows shot up. "Thanks."
His fingers, restless, moved to her face, then tugged at a strand of her hair. "You keep this short so it won't interfere with the spells on your skin, right?"
His touch stirred thoughts of an activity that worked great to calm the jitters, one more pleasant than fighting. Down, girl. She nodded.
"But why do you bleach it?"
"You've heard of style? I like it blond."
"It stinks."
Offended, Cynna jerked her head back. "My hair stinks?"
"Not to a human, I guess. But since it's a lupus you're involved with—"
"We aren't involved." She stressed the last word. Involved meant committed. Cullen seemed to be wholly committed to the… oh, get over it. Use the word. Cullen was committed to the baby. He wanted it, wanted it badly. He wasn't committed to her.
"No?" He smiled in an agreeable way she distrusted. "If you say so. Want to go visit Mika with me?"
"What?" She shook her head. "Your mind jumps around like a flea."
"I need to obtain one of the spell components. A dragon's scale."
That shouldn't pique her interest, not when she was so annoyed with him. "I hope you're not planning to steal one."
He laughed. "No, you were hoping I was, though you think you shouldn't. Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm after a trade, not a theft."
"I'm not disappointed." Much. It would be stupid to prefer sneaking a scale to bartering for one. Dragons were notoriously possessive. There hadn't been any incidents here in D.C., but the Toronto dragon had rebuked a hedge-witch who tried to steal a scale from his lair.
The witch had been lucky. Broken bones healed.
"If it cheers you any," he said, "we will have to sneak past a couple guards. The authorities don't think people should wander into a dragon's lair at night."
"I am the authorities." Strange as it still seemed.
"Are you going to badge your way into the park, then?"
"Well… I probably couldn't get you through that way." And it wouldn't be as much fun. She shook her head, disgusted with herself, and turned to head back. "So what are you going to trade? What do you have that a dragon might swap for?"
"Not me. You."
"You're dreaming. I don't have anything a dragon would want."
"You'll trade a service, not an object. Ever since that Canadian hedgewitch tried to swipe a scale, Mika's been fretting. If he sheds a scale in flight, how could he know? Anyone might pick it up. You can offer to Find any scales that aren't in his lair."
Cynna's eyebrows raised. "You've been chatting with Mika?"
"I amuse him. You'll take a fee for your Finding, a percentage of the scales you Find. We'll ask for one in three, but I doubt he'll let us have that many."
"Us? What's this 'us' I'm hearing?"
Cullen ignored that. "He'll want you to hunt scales every day. We can't agree to that, obviously, and there's no need. Mika's paranoia aside, dragons don't shed many scales. I'm thinking a Finding once a week should be enough, with flexibility built into the agreement for the times your duties take you away from the capital. And of course you won't be able to start until we get back."
Without any input from her brain, her feet quit moving. She spoke carefully. "There's another 'we.' You'd better explain this one."
He stopped a pace ahead and looked back at her, irritated. "You're an idiot sometimes, but you aren't stupid. Surely you didn't think I'd let you go traipsing off to Edge without me."
There was an odd constriction in her chest. "You're assuming I'm going, then. And you aren't trying to stop me?"
He snorted. "Are you crazy? I'm not Superman, able to stop a locomotive with a flex of my biceps. That little bastard waves a father in front of you, you'll go. The trick will be persuading them that I'm going, too, but I've got an idea about that."
Relief hit so fast and dizzy it felt almost like joy. Cullen's determination was about the baby, not her. She knew that. She didn't care. She wouldn't have to do this alone. She'd have a friend with her—an annoying, sometimes obsessive friend, but a friend nevertheless.
Cynna grinned, high on that soaring relief. "Of course you've got an idea. You always do when it comes to getting what you want. Wait. Shit!" Her grin slipped. "Is there a moon in Edge? What if there's no moon?"
"I'd go anyway, but I asked. They have a moon."
"Okay, then." She nodded like a bobblehead doll. "That's okay. So what's the dragon's scale for?"
"Part of the elemental invocation." Cullen frowned. "You aren't angry."
"Nope. I will be, I'm sure, off and on during the trip—you'll see to that."
"I'm not giving you a
choice about this, and you aren't mad."
She shrugged. "There's always a choice. Come on. Let's go negotiate with a dragon."
In spite of the dragon living in its southern end, most of Rock Creek Park remained open to the public during daylight hours. The park was a long, woodsy sprawl of nature covering better than seventeen hundred acres, with some parts groomed, some as close to wild as humans ever permitted within their urban sprawl. There were bike trails, paths, buildings, and bridges… trees, birds, and the occasional raccoon, deer, or coyote.
But it wasn't daylight, and the area around Mika's lair was off-limits at all hours. Which made things fun… mostly.
"Ow!" Cynna stumbled, then slapped at Cullen's back. "Damn branches. Slow down. It's a lot darker under these trees for me than it is for you."
He obeyed. Cynna had a hand hooked into the waist of his jeans so she could follow him in what was, for her, nearly pitch blackness. He was enjoying that hand. "Not a nature girl, are you?"
"I like nature fine in small, orderly amounts. Are you sure Mika won't mind us dropping in?"
"He hasn't offered to eat me since my first visit. Like I said, I amuse him."
"Maybe he isn't there now."
"If he…" A sound caught Cullen's attention. He stopped beside a large oak, cocking his head.
"What?" she whispered.
"Shh." Yes, those were footsteps on a paved path, not the random rustlings of some animal in the brush. He pivoted on one crutch so he could bend close and whisper near her ear. "Park police about fifty yards downwind. We'd best wait a moment."
He didn't mind waiting. The moon was just past new, her song all but inaudible, but the touch of wilderness here called to him almost as sweetly. The air was full of lovely smells—earth, vegetation, the musky traces of wild creatures that had passed this way recently.
And woman. Cynna always smelled delicious to him in spite of the chemical assault she waged on her hair. She was standing deliriously close, too. He let one crutch rest against the trunk of the oak, leaned in and ran his free hand up her arm to her throat, letting his fingers drift across her pulse there. "Mmm. It occurs to me we don't have an appointment, so we can't be late."
She shoved his hand away. "I'm not in the mood for seduction."
"Cynna! I'm shocked by such blatant untruth. Your scent says otherwise."
"Well, quit sniffing me! It's annoying for you to—to—"
"Know things you'd rather I didn't?" He captured her hand and drew circles in her palm with his thumb.
"Draw stupid conclusions! There's a difference between sex and seduction, as any man of your age and experience ought to… That reminds me. How old are you, anyway?"
He shook his head, surprised. "Why is it so easy to underestimate you? You're right—seduction's as much mental play as it is physical. If you don't want your mind played with right now, why don't I just toy with your fabulous body?"
In the dimness he caught the shape of her smile in the curve of her cheek—and the reluctance of it in the tone of her voice. "How about you quit playing altogether and answer my question."
"I'll turn sixty next month."
"Jesus!"
Anxiety pinched, an irritation without focus. Why should he worry about Cynna's reaction? True, Lily had had a hard time accepting Rule's real age, but his situation was hardly the same. Unlike Rule, he wasn't dealing with a bonded mate… just with the mother-to-be of his child.
Anxiety had teeth, yes, it did. "You knew I'm older than I look."
"Yeah, but…" She snorted. "A sixty-year-old stripper! If your groupies only knew."
"I don't have groupies." He touched the corner of her mouth, tucked up at the moment in amusement. "You have to be famous to have groupies. I may dance in a mildly notorious club… or did. I think Max has fired me again. But most people have never heard of me."
"Quit it. You may not be famous, but…" Her voice dropped back to a whisper. "What was that?"
The thud had apparently been loud enough for human ears. "Mika, I believe. He's been redecorating."
Her brows twitched into a frown. "Not the park policeman you heard earlier, then. If you did hear him."
"Oh, I did. Perhaps I forgot to mention that he went the other way." Cullen dropped a hit-and-run-kiss on her scowl and jumped back, grinning, before her fist could connect.
She heaved a sigh. "You're pissing me off, Seabourne. How can a man on crutches move that fast?"
"Shall I drop the other one and let you have another swing?"
She tilted her head, considering it. She was definitely considering it. Lord, but the woman delighted him almost as often as she annoyed him.
"I guess not," she said at last. "I'd feel guilty if I hit you and even madder if I didn't. So you haven't learned anything yet about the shield spell?"
He knew what she was doing—distracting him with talk of spellcraft. It would probably work. He retrieved his crutch and swung around to resume their trek through the trees, going slowly so she could keep up. "Very little, aside from the physical components. I do know it's a drawn spell."
"Right up my alley."
He grinned at the casualness of her voice. "You'll get a look at it. I'm not so egotistical I can't ask for expert advice. Speaking of which, I've suggested that Ruben bring in Sherry and her bunch." Suggested might be a euphemism, but he thought blackmailed would overstate the case. Required! Yes. that's the word he wanted. He'd required Ruben to ask Sherry and her coven to perform a particular task. "They'll need your snazzy new coat."
"Are you talking about Sherry O'Shaunessy?" Disbelief coated Cynna's voice. Sherry O'Shaunessy was high priestess of a very old, very powerful Wiccan coven who occasionally consulted for the Unit. "I can't believe you called them in. You don't play well with others, and you don't like sharing your toys. And what would they need my coat for?"
"It isn't my spell to share or not, is it? I'm not paying for it. But Sherry and company aren't going to be learning the shield spell, at least not right away. They'll be casting personal protection spells. Yours goes on your coat."
"I've got a protection spell."
"Speaking of egotistical…"
"All right, all right. Sherry's coven can undoubtedly put lots more zip into spells than I can on my own. But why? Isn't the whole point of a shield spell protection?"
"You're assuming it's really a shield spell."
"I'm not assuming anything, but odds are that it is. And you'll be able to tell once you see it, right?"
"It's a drawn spell," Cullen reminded her. "Will a spell from another realm use glyphs we're familiar with?"
"Some of them, but… okay, okay, you're right. We can't expect to recognize all of the graphic components, so you'll be relying on the gnome's explanations of the glyphs. Which may not be complete, and could be nonsense." She brooded on that a moment. "Still, the gnome and the others will be in the circle with us, and I'm guessing they don't want to go boom."
"I doubt the spell causes physical harm. But think how handy it would be for a diplomat negotiating trade agreements to cast a good persuasion spell."
She did, apparently, think that over, keeping silent as they emerged from the softness of leaves and loam onto a paved path. There was plenty of room to walk side by side here; the trees lining the path had been knocked down and shoved into untidy piles.
"What in the world—?" Cynna stopped, looking at the woody debris.
"Mika likes this path."
"I guess he needs a little more room than we do."
"A little. Come on."
They started down the path. Cullen missed having her hand snugged in his jeans, but she must have been able to see well enough, now that they weren't under the trees.
For him, the world was drawn in crisp grays with pools of ebony shadows. What did it look like to her? His first Change was so many miles and years and heartaches ago… he couldn't call up a clear sensory memory of how the night looked back when he'd had merely human eyes.
"Which makes it unlikely they'll pull something, but not impossible."
"Oh, come on. I'm all for taking reasonable precautions, but—"
"Dammit, Cynna!" Suddenly angry, he spun. "Reasonable precautions? You're carrying my child. Have you forgotten that already?"
Her mouth opened—then closed again.
Temper sighed into exasperation. "You did. You really did forget."
"Look, as far as you're concerned, I've been pregnant for four and a half weeks. But for me, it's been…" She glanced at her wrist, then pushed a button on her watch. The dial lit up. "Nine hours and thirty-one minutes."
If she hadn't spent those past four and a half weeks denying reality… Cullen scrubbed his head with one hand and reached for the slippery reins on his temper. "I get it. You need time to adjust. While you're adjusting—"
You didn't ask if you could bring someone with you.
The voice was deep, disapproving, and oddly resonant, considering it happened inside his head. Inside Cynna's head, too, judging by her expression. "Hi, Mika," Cullen said. "The human with me is Cynna Weaver. I told you about her. We have a bargain we'd like to offer you."
"You can hear him?" Cynna asked. "You've dropped your shield?"
"Shields, plural, remember? One of them's specifically for mindspeech. I usually leave that one down." He still couldn't separate the other shields enough to use them individually. Shit, he wasn't even sure how many there were. But the mindspeech shield was the topmost, the easiest to peel away from the rest. Once he caught the knack, opening it was like opening the gate to the front yard while keeping the house locked. Your timing is lousy, Mika.
She is the womb-rich one?
Dragons could mindspeak one person, two, or everyone in their vicinity. This time the mental voice felt as if Mika stood at Cullen's shoulder, addressing him privately. The thoughts were, as always, clear and crisp as a knife blade.
