He stepped away and held out his hand.
Eva glanced back. Thorsson looked in another direction, but Lancelot watched them with interest.
“What’s wrong? Are you looking for their approval?” Balthazar asked, the hint of a dare in his voice. “Or are you frightened of me?”
She should be—his ramblings of being a dragon were irrational. But curiosity had a tight hold, and despite her misgivings, Eva wanted to know where this would lead. Maybe he would surprise her with ancient Viking relics. “I’m not afraid.” She grabbed his hand, and he smiled at her, squeezing her fingers gently before continuing.
They finally reached the base of Lysuhóll. The mountainside was covered in lush grass and trees, and Eva could see the flat plains of the battlefield about a half mile away to the south. Her archeological dig lay at the other end, too far to see. The sun had passed the horizon, and the morning dew shimmered like diamonds. The chill air misted her breath, and she rubbed her hands together briskly to warm them, then stuck them into her sweatshirt pockets. The lands north of the volcano were layered with hills, and Eva let her imagination wander. The possibilities of what lay beneath the ground were endless.
Balthazar headed north, skirting the base of the volcano. She struggled to keep pace as the ground here was sprinkled with sharp lava rocks and uneven terrain. She refused to rush, knowing one wrong move could break her ankle. Looking up, she saw him and Lancelot standing beside a pair of tall granite monuments.
Balthazar’s hand caressed an Icelandic runic inscription when she finally stood beside him. “This was my father Gor,” he whispered. He moved to the second stone slab. “And this was Iel, my mother.” He placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We found their remains here.” He let his hand drop. “My brothers and I gave them a proper burial.”
“When you say proper, you mean a dragon burial.”
“Yes.”
Her exasperated sigh was obvious to the men. Eva looked around, refusing to give Balthazar any more of her attention. Despite the threat Mr. Fuentes had provoked, and the strange, almost unreal conversation between him and Balthazar, she admitted to herself that she came with him to see if their initial attraction could go further than just their interest in archeology. She doubted that now. Damn it—she had even scrambled over treacherous landscape and almost twisted her ankle, all for nothing. She mentally kicked herself for her spontaneous romantic foolishness.
Balthazar took this dragon thing way too seriously. She needed to find a way to leave and head back to Reykjavík. Shit. “Made in the U.S.A.,” she muttered to herself.
“A penny for your thoughts, Eva?” Balthazar asked.
Rubbing her forehead—she wanted to smack herself instead—she turned around to face him. With his arms crossed, a cocked dark eyebrow, and a slight breeze brushing strands of hair across his face, Balthazar Andal looked like a rugged male model, and God, entirely kissable. Well, those fantasies were out the window. “Look, I’ve played along with your mythical dragon tale, but I think enough is enough. Your brother Ti—which is short for Timothy, I bet—wants to kill you, and I’m caught in the middle of this. But instead of ensuring my safety, we’re wandering around out here.” She swung her arm for emphasis. “The runes on those stones are very old, and I can’t verify the names. So unless you have something spectacular to show me, I’d like to go back to the house.”
He hadn’t moved while she talked, but his eyes gleamed brighter as he frowned, which unnerved her. “So Miss Haraldsdóttir wants to see something spectacular.” His voice had changed—much lower in tone and gruff, as it had been at the hotel when he confronted Mr. Fuentes. “Come on, Lancelot.”
They headed back towards the battlefield. On a small cliff overlooking the vast expanse, Balthazar turned around. “I’m going to have my brother do a small shift so you can see, Eva,” he told her. “Then Lancelot’s going to do a full shift to dragon down there.”
She bit her tongue to keep the laughter inside. This was unreal. “Go ahead. Impress me.”
Balthazar walked up to her and grabbed her arm, and she squawked at the tight hold. “Balthazar, let me go.”
“Over here.” He half-dragged her to stand in front of Lancelot, who remained silent. “I want you to have a close view of what’s going to happen.”
“You could have asked.” She rubbed her arm.
“And watch you continue to laugh at me? I think not.”
“I haven’t laughed at you.” Not out loud, but she wasn’t going to admit that.
He nodded at Lancelot. “Take your jacket and shirt off and show her your scales.”
“Scales?” she said, her voice rising to an undignified squeak. “What do you mean, scales?”
Lancelot stripped to his bare chest. Smooth tanned skin covered a slim, muscled torso. He flexed his arms.
“Lancelot’s going to show you a partial transformation.”
“Why not go for the whole thing? Don’t have your brother waste his time.” She was getting fed up.
“Because I don’t want to see you have a mental breakdown.” Balthazar’s eyes looked haunted. “It’s happened before.”
Before she could digest that bit of news, Lancelot’s face contorted as if in concentration. His dirty-blond eyebrows drew together into a frown over startling green eyes, which became brighter until they glowed like cat’s eyes. “It’s quite obvious you have a lot of faith in this female,” his brother grumbled.
She turned to Thorsson. “Aren’t you a little bit concerned about your boss’s behavior?” she demanded.
“I’ve seen it before,” Thorsson answered without a hint of sarcasm. “Just try not to scream or piss yourself.”
“You’re not helping, Thorsson.” Balthazar’s voice held a hint of menace.
Lancelot’s skin shifted and shimmered in the sunlight. Muscles moved in strange patterns as his body contorted. His arms grew bigger as his chest widened. Painful grunts turned to low-throated roars, and he bent over, wrapping his arms around himself.
“My God, Balthazar, your brother isn’t well!” she shouted. What she witnessed was some kind of medical problem. “You need to get him to a doctor.”
Balthazar stayed at his brother’s side, unmoving.
She looked at Thorsson. “Please, do something.”
“You need to remain still and watch.”
When she turned around, her heart beat so fast it slammed against her chest. She backed away, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her.
Lancelot’s arms and torso were covered in patterned, overlapping scales. They were deep orange with golden highlights, and the scales stopped at the base of his neck. His eyes remained bright with an eerie emerald sheen that made her skin crawl.
“No.” Eva shook her head. “No, no, no. This isn’t real.”
“You see the scales.” It wasn’t a question.
“I see something, Balthazar, but scales?” she demanded. “How the fuck is he able to do that? Is it a magician’s trick? You’re wearing something over your skin, right?”
“Touch his skin and find out what it feels like.”
“Balthazar,” his brother warned. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Why?” She felt lost, as if she were floating. It was one thing to read and discover artifacts that hinted at legends. It was quite another to actually believe she stood in front of such a legend.
Lancelot mumbled something under his breath.
“Lancelot, I’ll show her. Eva,” he said, holding out his hand.
She remained still, torn between running away, back to the life she knew with Papa, the museum, and her artifacts—or stepping into the unknown with a man who excited and confused her at the same time. Papa said that Balthazar could be trusted, but he wouldn’t have known about this.
But curiosity tugged on Eva’s consciousness, demanding answers. Despite her disbelief, she moved forward until she stood beside Balthazar, and slowly placed her hand in his.
“You have
to be extremely careful. The scales are smooth when you move your hand over them in this direction.” Balthazar stroked his fingers in the direction the scales were aligned. “Don’t go the other way, or you’ll lose your fingers.”
Eva touched Lancelot’s arm very lightly. It wasn’t human skin. What she felt was something harder and very smooth. She took her hand away and leaned in for a closer look. The scales gleamed in the sun’s rays, a beautiful array of orange and yellow that shimmered beneath her gaze. Each scale ended with a scalloped edge of darker orange, and the overall effect reminded her of a sunset. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, and touched another scale.
“Careful, the edges are very sharp,” Balthazar warned her.
“Similar to fish scales.” Eva smoothed her hand over Lancelot’s shoulder.
Balthazar laughed. “I don’t like the thought of being compared to a fish, but yes, that’s the general idea.”
“She’s taking this conversation quite well,” Thorsson said drily.
She lifted her hand carefully away. When Lancelot moved, his scales caught the sunlight, almost blinding her. “I know I’m seeing this, and I’ve felt them, but it’s still hard to believe.” She looked at Balthazar. “What about you? What do your scales look like?”
Balthazar shrugged as if it wasn’t important.
“Oh, don’t be so modest, Balthazar. His scales are quite striking,” Lancelot told her. “Dark blue. You can barely see him when he flies during late evening.”
“Except I can’t shift now, can I?” Balthazar retorted, his hands clenched into fists.
Lancelot’s eyes widened. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Forget it.” He turned around. “I lost my scale in a fight with my brother. That story Mr. Fuentes told you is true.”
“What does that mean for you?”
“It means I can’t shift.” He pointed at his brother. “I can’t do what Lancelot is doing, and I can’t transform into full dragon. I’m stuck like this until I can find it.” He took off his denim jacket and grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, pulling it over his head. Tanned skin and dense muscle covered his large frame in perfect symmetry, and she felt her mouth go dry. She hoped she kept a neutral expression, but judging by Lancelot’s smirk, it wasn’t working.
Balthazar came close, his chest filling her vision, and turned slightly to point at his shoulder. Two dragon faces—one black, the other green—stared back at her. They covered his right shoulder and part of his upper chest. She also noticed an ugly wound on the top of his shoulder. “That is where my scale should be,” he said.
She stood on tiptoe to get a better look, resting her hand on his chest for balance. The wound looked raw, but it wasn’t infected or open. “Does it hurt?”
“Sometimes.”
She suddenly felt his hand on her hip and realized she was practically leaning against him. “The wound hasn’t closed.”
“It won’t until I put my scale back on it.”
The temptation to fondle the solid muscle beneath her hand fought with her common sense until, with a reluctant sigh, Eva stepped back. She felt the wheels turning in her head. “So the sponsorship you provided for Papa and me was to see if we could find it?”
“It wasn’t just for that.” He grasped her hands. “Discovering the history of Iceland’s past was just as important.”
“But you hoped we might stumble across it.”
He nodded. His saddened expression troubled her. “Being this—” He tilted his head at Lancelot. “Is as much a part of me as being human.”
She looked over her shoulder. “Thorsson, how long have you known?”
“All my life, Miss Haraldsdóttir. My family has known the Anda family for generations.”
“And you’ve managed to hide all this time.”
“We had no choice. Lancelot and I remained human. It was easier that way.”
The thought of seeing a dragon flying over the city suddenly made her smile.
Lancelot grunted. “Shit, I’m losing control.”
Balthazar ran back to his brother, while Eva tried to process what was going on. “What do you mean, losing control? What’s wrong with him?”
“Lancelot held the semi-transformation for too long.” He grabbed Lancelot’s arm and pulled him to the cliffs facing the battlefield.
“Where the hell are you going?”
“He needs space! Thorsson, get the suit on Eva, fast!”
Lancelot laughed. “It looks like your girlfriend gets to see the real deal, Balthazar.”
“I’m not his girlfriend!” she yelled as both men ran down the cliff side. She started to follow, but Thorsson grabbed her arm. “We’re staying up here.”
“Why? Oh right, I get it. So we don’t get stepped on or fried to a crisp.”
He didn’t react, just handed her the heat-resistant suit. “Put this on.”
“Mr. Thorsson, are you really serious? We don’t need these.”
The security guard shrugged and stepped into his. “Your funeral.”
The brothers had almost reached the middle of the field when Lancelot fell down. He pushed himself up, and Balthazar backed away, keeping an eye on his brother.
What happened next defied any logical explanation. Lancelot’s body grew. It expanded and shredded his clothing. His body shimmered as scales covered his flesh.
“Put the damn suit on!” Thorsson yelled, shoving it into her hands. “If you get hurt, Mr. Andal will eat me for lunch!”
Eva dragged the suit over her feet, keeping her eyes on the unbelievable spectacle before her. Lancelot had now lost all human form—he had four legs that ended in sharp black talons, and a tail. His neck lengthened, and his torso was larger than a bus. And yet he grew larger. Balthazar stood to one side, his head tilted up and mouth wide open. She realized he was laughing. She got the suit on and placed the mask over her head before pulling on the gloves.
In moments, Lancelot was gone. In his place stood a—dragon.
“I never believed I would ever see this in my lifetime,” Thorsson said. He had a big, childish grin on his face.
The ground trembled beneath her feet. Lancelot walked across the vast expanse in a circle and stretched a pair of enormous leathery wings to either side. His feet left deep furrows in the grass, and his tail swung back and forth, as if he was trying to get used to it. Scales the color of a pre-dawn sky glittered in the late morning sun, and his majestic head was held high when he opened his mouth and emitted a roar so loud she had to cover her ears.
If Eva refused to believe Lancelot’s initial transformation was real, then what she witnessed now shattered all of her doubts.
Balthazar kept clear of his brother, but when she caught a glimpse of his face, she swore her heart was in her throat. The joy on his face while watching his brother was the first truly happy expression she had seen on him.
Lancelot had turned so that he faced them, his emerald eyes intent. As she watched him, Eva wondered if he recognized them. “He knows who we are, right?” she asked Thorsson.
A moment’s silence. “I’m not sure.”
“What the fuck do you mean you’re not sure?” She looked at Lancelot again, who now had his gaze fixed on Balthazar. “Didn’t you think it would be important to know that?”
“I never believed I would see one of the Anda brothers in their true form.”
She heard a shout and moved closer to the cliff. Balthazar waved his arms above his head. He hadn’t put his T-shirt back on, and his skin gleamed with sweat. Lancelot lowered his head until his nose bumped his brother’s chest.
“I know I’m seeing this,” she said out loud. “But it still feels like a dream.”
“I’m standing beside you,” Thorsson said.
“I know but—”
He punched her arm hard. “Hey!” she yelled. “That hurt.”
“Then you’re not dreaming.” Thorsson knelt and crawled to the edge. “Something’s happening.”
She joined him and saw that Lancelot had backed away from Balthazar. Balthazar had his hands in his pockets, and as she watched, Lancelot leaned his massive head back and opened his mouth.
“What are they doing?” she shouted.
Wind whistled overhead, sudden and hot. Something was wrong.
“Get down!” Thorsson grabbed her and dragged her back, but not before she saw Lancelot release a column of fire over Balthazar.
“No!” she screamed, fighting Thorsson’s iron grip. “He killed Balthazar! Let go of me!” She fought like a madwoman, but he wouldn’t let go. Flames danced above their heads, the heat almost unbearable. They had to run away, but the security guard didn’t relinquish his grip. “Hold still!” he shouted in her ear.
“We’ll be burned alive!” Her struggles were useless. The fire slowly dissipated, and smoke rose in fine tendrils to disappear into the blue sky.
Eva couldn’t catch her breath, and she pulled the mask off her head. She coughed as the cold air burned her lungs and fought to keep her body relaxed. In the next instant, she was on her feet and looking over the cliff. The dragon was gone—in its place stood Lancelot, his skin flushed red and completely naked. And beside him stood Balthazar, grinning from ear to ear.
Eva’s relief at seeing Balthazar alive caught up to her, and she drifted into blackness.
***
“Balthazar, it’s okay—she’s waking up,” he heard Lancelot say.
He watched anxiously as Eva breathed deep and finally opened her to eyes. “Thank Odin,” he whispered. He grabbed her hands and kissed them. “Are you all right?”
“Pretty sure.” She sat up slowly and looked around. “What happened?”
“You fainted.”
“What? I never faint.” Her expression changed to unrestrained fear as she clutched his arms, and he winced when she squeezed hard. “I thought you were dead!” She threw her arms around his neck. “My God, I thought you were burned to ash,” she said. He heard her crying softly, and wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to his chest.
“Miss Haraldsdóttir seems to be quite fine,” Thorsson said, and Balthazar glanced back at him and Lancelot. “Could you give us a few moments, guys?”
Flight of Dragons Page 12
