The Lady Prefers Dragons

by Katalina Leon

  He didn’t offer to take the other bags.

  Devon stood there, momentarily surprised. Finally she lugged the bag over to the back of the Jeep and tossed it in. The sooner she accepted she’d be fending for herself, the better off she’d be.

  As she loaded her luggage into the Jeep, she noticed vicious ruts gouged in the hood. Large portions of the red paint appeared to have been scraped off with a buzz saw. She climbed into the passenger seat. The glass in the passenger side window had a webbed shatter mark. The vehicle looked like it’d been under attack. “Can we take another Jeep?”

  His eyes took on a soulful expression. “No, miz. This is my Jeep.”

  Of course it was too good to be true. Why would the universe hand her an all-expenses-covered dream trip and make it perfect too? A moment of real unease passed over her. “What made those scratches?”

  A hint of fear crossed his face, and he said nothing.

  Perhaps she’d been too smug, and the guide was genuinely trying to be protective without alarming her. She knew nothing about local feuds or conflicts. “What happened to your Jeep? Were you shot at by poachers or something?”

  The guide turned the key in the ignition, shifted gears, stepped on the gas, and off they went.

  Devon jolted. Her back smacked the seat as she scrambled to put a seat belt on. It was obvious her guide knew only one speed—fast.

  “Flying impalas,” he said somberly.

  “What?” Had he lost his mind? What the hell were flying impalas?

  He ignored her question and drove in silence. Apparently she’d misjudged him. He was not a chatty guide and didn’t speak another word. His gaze remained focused on the grassy track before them, and his lips were sealed.

  A long while passed in unsociable silence. “My name’s Devon.” She spoke cautiously. “What’s yours?”

  “Kibo.” He pronounced the name as two very separate syllables that existed miles apart. Keeeeee-bow.

  She pointed toward Mount Kilimanjaro. “Kibo like the glacier peak?”

  “Yes, miz.”

  No further embellishments followed, and she was too jet-lagged to pursue the conversation. They drove the rest of the ride in silence. She didn’t mind, because she was able to take in the scenery while admiring various animals, but her thoughts drifted like a magnet toward Jace and Beau.

  No one in her department knew about the rarely granted privilege of a paid photo safari, especially for someone like her who didn’t have a long-established reputation. Add to that, no one had heard of the Scherberg Sponsorship.

  It didn’t matter; the airfare and travel accommodations were real enough. Jace had seemed genuinely excited for her to take this trip. He’d even given her a warm bear hug and said he’d miss her, which was uncharacteristically sweet of him. His confession had taken her by surprise. It was the first time he’d shown any tender emotions for her at the office.

  What floored her more was when Beau had dropped by her desk and told her to have a fun trip. A big, bashful smile had lit his face as he slipped a tiny, polished amethyst crystal into her hand and told her it would keep her dragon egg company and bring her good luck on safari. The expression on his face when he offered the stone had made her heart soar. He’d looked so hopeful and his hand had lingered on hers for a few breathless moments. The offer of a small gift was the boldest he’d ever been.

  It was wonderful to know Beau was happy for her journey and might even have planted the suggestion with Jace in the first place. Deep down, she suspected he had. Obviously there was a lot going on below the surface she had yet to discover. When she returned home, she’d insist Beau go out with her. Maybe she’d take him somewhere nice like the Thai Palace for dinner, where they would have the privacy to talk over an elegant meal.

  Jace was great too. His intense gaze or smile could knock her off her feet. He could have awarded the sponsorship to any one of the senior staff members, but instead he’d made sure it reached her. Who knew he’d been really listening to her goals and dreams? Too bad she couldn’t share this adventure with either of them. Both of them would be even better, but that would be ridiculously optimistic to hope for. Despite the odd bits of conversation overheard at the office, she had little hope the men would willingly share.

  After a bumpy ride across open country, Kibo stopped the Jeep about two hundred yards from a rocky outcropping where a pride of lions had taken shelter for a nap.

  “Ah!” Devon reached into her courier bag to retrieve her long-lens camera. She drank in the majestic sight. “Look at that. Four lion cubs are crawling all over the dad!” Releasing her seat belt, she scrambled onto the dashboard to get the Jeep’s windshield out of the shot.

  One of the elegant lionesses lifted her sleek head, flicked her ears, and looked directly at the camera.

  “Oh, this is amazing!” Devon whispered in awe.

  The lioness stood and gracefully stalked toward them.

  “Wow, I’m getting the best pictures!” Devon squealed with delight.

  The male lion woke and rolled onto his side with a massive yawn that revealed a lethal dental arsenal. The Jeep attracted his attention. He rose, stared threateningly at them, and snarled. She thought that might be the extent of activity she’d catch on camera. The lion padded a few steps in their direction, then burst into motion, charging full speed with long, purposeful strides. The lioness broke into a run as well. Together the two powerful animals rushed toward the Jeep.

  “These are great pictures!” Devon couldn’t stop clicking.

  Kibo threw the Jeep into gear and hit the gas. “We go, miz!”

  “No. Wait!” The jolt knocked Devon back into the seat as the Jeep turned and raced in the opposite direction.

  The male lion came to a halt and roared with his mouth wide as they sped away.

  Devon missed out on that picture. Disappointment gripped her. “Did we really have to go at that moment? One more second would have been enough. Maybe you could have honked the horn?”

  “Miz not know what’s good for her.”

  She fastened her seat belt to keep from being thrown from the crazily bouncing Jeep. “I knew you’d say that. You sound like my mother.”

  Kibo smiled for the first time, and his face lit like sunshine.

  The ride back to camp was stunning. The sky turned a brilliant shade of orange before fading to a moody purple. She clicked pictures of everything along the way, thinking this was the most beautiful day possible.

  Long before she was ready to stop taking pictures, dusk settled over the veld and they arrived at the camp. She unloaded her luggage and located her private hut. The little village of people turned out to greet her. Several interested children followed closely as she entered her lantern-lit hut, which contained little more than a raised cot with an inflatable mattress, a folding table and an enamel chamber pot.

  Devon settled into her hut. The locals were very welcoming. They immediately knocked on her door, offering tea, fruit, and fried yams, and appeared eager to talk with the American lady.

  Not wanting to be rude, she sat by a communal fire in the center of the huts, answering as many questions as she could. The children burst into fits of giggles every time she spoke. They seemed to find all her answers hilarious, which she thought was a refreshing perspective on her life.

  One shy girl of six or seven leaned from behind another larger child and whispered, “Miz have children?”

  She’d love some children, especially if they were as charming as this bunch. “No children. Not yet.”

  “Not yet?” The older girl looked surprised. “But you’re old.”

  “I’m not old,” Devon said defensively.

  The girl shrugged and looked bashful. “I meant old enough.”

  “I wanted to travel and have a little adventure before I settle down. I’ll bet you do too.”

  Another fit of giggles racked the children.

  Devon reached for her camera. “May I take everyone’s picture?” She glan
ced toward a group of mothers busy preparing large kettles of tea suspended over a fire. They nodded in agreement.

  The way the women folded and wore their beautifully woven clothing fascinated her. The bonfire warmly lit the children’s laughing faces, and made for joyful photographs. She wanted to remember every detail about them.

  Many not-so-thinly veiled attempts were made by the women to inquire about personal matters, such as Devon’s marital status. The children asked about children, but the women asked only about the absence of a man.

  A persistent woman named Benia asked, “Where is your husband?”

  “No husband.” Devon shrugged.

  Benia’s round face gleamed by firelight. “Miz have a gentleman?”

  She spoke slowly. “No gentleman in my life.”

  Benia beamed. “Maybe your husband will meet you here later?”

  “No.” She shook her head. Why couldn’t she convince Benia that there was no Mr. Devon? “It’s just me.”

  She tried to distract them by taking everyone’s portrait, one at a time beside the fire. Soon, Devon felt the full weight of the last week’s rush to prepare for the trip catching up with her. Her jaw ached from holding back yawns. She longed to lie down and fall asleep.

  Benia seemed especially concerned about Devon’s stability and welfare, and rephrased her long-ignored question about the possibility of a husband at home. “How many husbands you have back home, miz?”

  This again? It was like having a six-year-old in the back seat chiming, Are we there yet? Benia just wouldn’t give it a rest. “No husbands. None,” Devon answered firmly.

  The woman looked scandalized. “That’s too bad. Why are you waiting? No good men in America?”

  Devon laughed. “I’m not ready. I’m only thirty-two.”

  Benia balked as if she finally realized it was a lost cause. “You wait too long, miz.”

  Devon rolled her eyes. “God, you sound just like my mother. Is this why they call it Mother Africa?”

  Several other women around the campfire politely covered their mouths and laughed.

  The one thing she didn’t want to be was offensive and piss the ladies off. They were her hosts and extended family for the next ten days, and she was determined to go with the flow. “I’m sorry. I’m so tired. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  A wizened old woman, who looked like an actual living relic from the Victorian age, laughed and tapped her fingertip against the side of her nose. “You’re right, miz,” she insisted. “Benia is very nosy.” She pointed a bony finger at Benia. “She asks too many questions. You’re our guest. You don’t have to explain your personal life to us. You should have told Benia to mind her own business an hour ago. We were all wondering when you were going to put your foot down with her. By the way, she’s had five husbands and she’s looking for number six.”

  Everyone but Benia burst into gales of laughter.

  Okay. Devon tensed. Camp humor was silent and stealthy. She had the horrible feeling everyone but she was in on maybe an even bigger joke. They were probably trying to find out if she was a snob or a whiner. She realized she had better watch herself with this crafty crowd. They were way more sophisticated than she had given them credit for.

  Devon laughed along with the group, but her laughter ended with a yawn. “Thank you for making me feel so welcome. I’m very happy to be here, but I’m going to have to say good night.”

  Everyone waved and wished her peaceful sleep.

  Gathering her camera gear, she stood and walked toward her hut. Thankfully, they’d given her a private hut on the outskirts of their community, but she didn’t feel like an outcast. She felt lucky. The trip had already provided more than she’d hoped for.

  Devon put her hand in her pocket. Her fingers wrapped around the wish stone. Thoughts of what Witch Casey had said filled her mind.

  Return the stone to nature and you’ll find the love of your dreams.

  She’d already found two promising men. What if she returned the stone to nature and a new man entered her life; would fate step in and decide neither Beau nor Jace was meant for her? That was a depressing prospect. She couldn’t think of a single man who could possibly outshine Jace and Beau combined. The thought of choosing between two such different men was too difficult and just plain sad.

  She caressed the stone. Should she bury it while on her trip, or keep it as a good-luck charm? Arcona seemed to believe in the wish stones. During every call—and there had been several over the past week—Arcona had reminded her to guard her damn wish stone with her life, but offered no further explanation beyond that. She’d hinted that her new road trip companion, Tyr, was the man she’d always been looking for. Their relationship had started with the speed and thunder of a rocket launch. On the brief but frequent phone calls from the road, Arcona couldn’t seem to say enough good things about Tyr in a single breath. Her enthusiasm was borderline bragging. According to Arcona, Tyr was some sort of bronze god from another age.

  Yeah. Right.

  Of course she was happy for Arcona, and she wanted to trust that she’d find her true love too, but maybe old Benia was right and it was too late for her.

  Devon removed the stone from her pocket and held it gently. “Do you have something you want to tell me?” She pressed a light kiss to the stone. “I hope so.” The stone warmed. Thrilling sensations coursed across the cushioned surface of her lips and left her breathless. Shocked by her intense response, she removed the stone from her lips. The sensation of heat left her body as quickly as it entered. How strange was that.

  To test the phenomenon, she pressed the smooth surface to her lips again, and again, and each time a luscious heat akin to licking cinnamon candies returned. “What the hell is going on?”

  She studied the stone, trying to see if there was something that might cause such a reaction. Daring to experiment, she thought of Jace and Beau and gave the stone a gentle kiss. The warmth returned. Her body tingled. Distinctly sexual feelings escalated. An intense ripple of ecstasy that almost ended in climax spread through her and left her face flushed.

  Wow, where did that come from? The fantasy, daydream, or whatever she called it was even more powerful than the ones she’d experienced on the plane. Being so aroused by a stone was a tad disturbing.

  Exhausted and overwhelmed, Devon fell onto the bed clutching the stone. The air mattress swooshed beneath her on impact. She stretched the length of the campers’ cot, which was more comfortable than expected. Turning the stone over and over in her hands, she stared in awe.

  How long had it been since she’d actually experienced soul-satisfying sex with someone she could whisper I love you to afterward and mean it? Her last real boyfriend had been over two years ago. Since then there had only been a few dates that went nowhere, and even those were few and far between. Why was she single? She was an attractive, intelligent, and professional woman. And why was she fixated on coworkers she shouldn’t be dating anyway, or waiting for a magical wish stone to deliver new lovers into her life? How pathetic was that? She tossed the stone aside. It plunked softly between her camera case and luggage. I need to get a grip on reality. It’s just all the emotions of the trip catching up with me.

  Rolling onto her side, she settled down for the night and plumped the pillow. She reached toward the lantern to turn it out and found the stone sitting next to her on a tiny folding tray that served as a nightstand. Disbelief gripped her; she had to look twice. She’d just tossed the stone across the hut. There was no possible way it could be lying next to her. With the intention of throwing it farther, she picked it up again, but when it made contact with her palm, it singed her like a burst of static shock and made her hand sting. “Ouch!”

  She tried to drop the stone but it clung. An intense tingle burned her skin. With her other hand, she removed the stone. The searing sensation immediately subsided, but her skin felt as if it had been scorched. She held her hand toward the lantern’s glow to inspect it and gasped.

/>   A clear marking of intertwining dragons had appeared on her skin. The faint, toasty-brown outline grew darker as she continued staring at her hand as if she’d been tattooed or branded. “What the f—”

  Hoping to rinse it away, she trickled a bit of bottled water onto the mark. The color of the mark deepened, and an eerily familiar serpentine outline took shape. Could this be real? She’d seen these dragons before. It looked exactly like the odd two-faced mask at Witch Casey’s shop.

  Marduko dragons.

  Devon put the stone in her pocket and tried to rub the marking from her hand, thinking perhaps it was just the day’s grime playing a trick on her tired mind. Please, no more trips to fantasyland. We’re done for the night.

  She licked her thumb and rubbed her damp palm hard, but the marking didn’t budge. It only continued to become darker and more detailed, like an intricate henna tattoo. The dragons’ snouts touched, their wings were spread wide, and their tails tangled together. Double dragons kissing in the shape of a heart? “Am I losing my mind?”

  For a moment, she longed to be back in Salem so she could ask Witch Casey why this was happening to her. Was the stone cursed? The last thing she wanted was this marking on her palm to last. It looked like a tattoo or branding. What if it didn’t rub off? How was she going to explain it to her coworkers or her mother? God, that could be awkward. Hi, Mom, Happy Thanksgiving. Look at this. My palm has been branded. No, I don’t know how it happened. I hope you made the apple pecan yams I love.

  She stared at the dragons. They were matched twins. The only difference was one had sleek wings and a slender tail, and the other was more robust, with formidable dark scales and a spiked crest.

  Devon traced her fingertip over the marking. It wasn’t raised. The mark was cool to the touch, and the tingling had ceased. It was baffling how the stone had created such an intricate picture on her palm like some sort of magic trick. In the days since she’d pulled the stone from the wish bag, she’d held it numerous times. Never had it brought an arousal of this intensity, and it had certainly never singed her hand. What had changed?