Dragon Call (11 page)

When she didn’t say anything in response,
Greg went on. “Traditionally, courtship with a dragon spans years.
You undergo very specific instruction as to methods of control and
self-preservation, yes, but you also learn about history and
legend. You engage directly with the dragon, as well as with its
lord, and work to form a bond together.”

“This is so medieval,” Cora said, grimacing.
She saw Greg’s reflection in the window shrug.

“You say medieval; I say traditional. It’s a
matter of perspective. Cora, you have choices. You can choose one
of the dragons and alleviate their inclination to destroy one
another, or you can refuse to make a choice and let them do what
they will. I can’t speak for the other Dragonlord, but if you
choose mine, I’ll promise you the courtship time as well as the
education before pressing you into contact with myself or the
dragon.”

Greg rose from the floor and she turned
around to face him. “I’m not interested in a mate-for-life kind of
deal,” she told him. “I’m not even interested in a
mate-for-temporary surrogate mother thing. I’m interested in
my
life, and making choices about who I want to spend any of
my time with, let alone all of my time.”

“I expect that from any normal woman. You’re
not normal, though.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed
to mean?”

He gestured toward her wrists and flapped the
red scarf in her direction. “You have a connection with dragons,
and it doesn’t have anything to do with bedtime stories. I think
you know what the connection is, or at least have some idea, if
only because you haven’t yet rejected this for lunacy.”

Cora heard a shuffle of footsteps outside her
door, a reminder that she and Greg weren’t alone. More, it was a
reminder that she had another resource besides this veritable
stranger. He was right. She did have a connection, if the family
old wives’ tales could be believed. She had to investigate those
tales before she proceeded any further. It would be too easy to
reject Greg, the dragons, the entire affair, out of hand, but a
small part of her, the part of her that hadn’t been stripped of the
ability to dream, was reluctant to decry all involvement. So, while
her mother and sister might be certifiable in their own rights,
Cora decided to consult with them before she made any
decisions.

To Greg, she said simply, “I need to think
about this. About everything. I’ll keep both the dragons with me
for now.” She held her hand out.

He moved closer and re-knotted the scarf
around her wrist. With the return of the scarf, she felt a surge of
warmth.

When he finished, he turned to look out the
window. Cora half-turned to keep an eye on his profile and another
eye on the street. Part of her didn’t want Greg to take her
decision to remain undecided as a cue to leave. Even though they
hadn’t been sitting quietly, shut away with Greg was the most quiet
she’d had all morning. She finally had enough space to think.

The first thing she had to address, right
after every other “first thing” that needed addressing, was the
issue of the hostile dragon. She wanted to ask Greg about it, but
didn’t know how to proceed.

“You have a question,” Greg said abruptly.
Cora blinked, looked up to find him watching her. He was leaning
against the windowsill, his arms folded across his chest in a
casual pose. She didn’t remember him turning around at all.

“I do,” she hedged, trying to decide which
question she wanted to ask. Instinct told her to play her cards
close, so she went with, “When they first came, I was able to talk
with them. Now I don’t have that same level of communication.”

Something flashed in Greg’s eyes. He, she
surmised, was playing his cards close as well.

“What’d they say?” he asked.

“It. Only one of them talked.”

“And?”

“It wanted me to release it.” She canted her
head, watching him. Except for the brief glimmer of darkening in
his eyes moments ago, he was the picture of neutral. He hadn’t been
five minutes earlier, though, when they were sitting on the floor.
That first stiffening of his cock had marked him as interested in
more than an academic sense, and she took it as proof that he had
more invested in his dragon and her involvement with both dragons,
than he was letting on.

“What if I had released it? What if it was
yours demanding release?” she asked.

His neutrality didn’t budge. “Then we’d be in
a different situation than we are now,” he answered. “I wouldn’t
have come to you. I would have followed it to its alternative
destination.”

“Would you be having this same conversation
with somebody else?”

He hesitated. She marked his hesitation for
future consideration and waited patiently for his answer. He seemed
to be searching for the right thing to say. She pictured his mind
kicking into rewind, going back over everything that had come
before. Finally, his neutrality broke, and he sighed in
frustration.

“I don’t know whether I’d be here or not. You
called it. Everything I know about dragon essences, especially
mine, and their commitment to their summoner, says they won’t leave
a summoner. Especially not a summons to mate.”

“Then why—”

“I don’t
know
why it wanted freedom!”
he snapped. Anger, then horror, slid across his face, ending on
disbelief. “I’m sorry,” he all but whispered. “You’re asking
questions I can’t answer.”

They stood together in silence for a long
time, Greg looking out the window, Cora studying her hands. She
didn’t know what to say to him. If this were any other situation,
she’d apologize for driving him to lose his temper. She made a
point to avoid emotional upsets of any kind, to strive for
neutrality. At least, she’d been more aware before her nightmares
and insomnia began.

Remembering the nightmares, she shuddered.
With every passing minute, she grew more convinced that nothing was
coincidence—not the fire, not her subsequent nightmares about fire
breathing monsters, not meeting Greg and Salim, not the dragons
tied to her wrists. If not coincidence, though, what else?

The conversation didn’t revive itself.
Eventually, Greg murmured a need to return to his office. Cora
walked to the door with him. Neither Diane nor Alissa were anywhere
in sight.

She didn’t want to open the door for fear
that Salim would be in the corridor waiting. Her strength was
flagging, her muscles trembling as if they’d been rung out to dry.
She felt, justifiably, as if she were going insane.

Greg touched her arm, and she bit back a
scream.

“It’s not about being a surrogate mother,” he
murmured. “It’s about keeping a legend alive.”

She stared at him.

He flushed, but didn’t step out into the
hall. “I’m worried about you.”

Her eyes stung with tears. She tried to fight
them back, remaining silent with the effort, but the change in
Greg’s expression told her how unsuccessful she was at hiding
it.

He arched his eyebrows. She hesitated before
shoving her hand toward him, the white scarf offered up. “Take it
with you. I know it won’t make this go away for good, but I need
some relief.”

For a moment, he looked as if she had slapped
him. His expression smoothed, though, before she could take it
back. He slipped his fingers beneath the knotted bracelet, his skin
warm at her pulse point.

“How’s this work, exactly?” he asked.

“The knot against my skin is a barrier to
keep it at bay, while the knot at the end serves to keep it within
reach.” She grimaced. “It doesn’t make sense, does it?”

“It makes sense.” He slid the white tie free
and folded it into his pocket, then reached for the door. “Call me
if you need anything.”

After Greg left, Cora locked the door and sat
down to lean against it. She buried her face in her knees, trying
to stave off both tears and hyperventilation. It wouldn’t do to
break down when Salim showed up.

Chapter Eleven

He gave Cora more time than she’d
anticipated. The dragon, however, didn’t give her much time at all.
It was more active than with its companion/rival. While she sat
huddled on the floor, she felt the dragon-essence fold around her
like a blanket. It nudged at her awareness the way a cat butts its
head against a friendly hand. She sniffed, rubbed her eyes hard
with the heels of her palms, and opened her eyes. Even though
sunlight poured through the big living room window, the apartment
felt dark. Her sister had yet to emerge, and the speakerphone light
was dark.

She and the dragon were completely alone. How
did one entertain a magical creature, anyway? Tea seemed too
dainty, and far too proper, given recent mental plays. The memory
of that, of her naked vulnerability and the strangeness, the
intimacy, of the monster-myth, made her shudder. The dragon
recoiled when she did, leaving her to wonder at its queer reaction
while she got up to splash her face with cool water.

In the mirror, her cheeks were red and her
eyes fever-bright. For a moment, she considered the possibility
that she was having fever dreams, and even went so far as to pop
the end of Diane’s mercury thermometer beneath her tongue. Without
a watch, she had to count the time off in her head by approximating
the seconds. It gave her more needed time to think.

Giving the white dragon over to Greg didn’t
seem like a terrifically logical choice now that the decision was
made. Sure, there was some relief. One is always easier than two,
anyway. But what if she’d chosen the wrong one to keep near? She
still didn’t know how to
talk
to it, and if she did, what
would she say?
Hey, did you try to rape me this morning?

The dragon thrust against the backs of her
legs, jostling her against the sink and dislodging the thermometer.
Cora caught it before it broke in the basin and glanced over her
shoulder warily, albeit to no avail. It was habit. She couldn’t
actually see the dragon.

“Stop it,” she muttered and turned her
attention to the thermometer. Normal temp, great. She couldn’t
blame it all on feverish hallucinations. Disappointed, she shook
the mercury down and replaced the thermometer. The dragon didn’t
bother her again while she splashed her face with cool water, and
it remained docile when she went out to the kitchen.

She managed to pour a big cappuccino mug of
coffee and get cinnamon and vanilla from the cupboard before Salim
tapped at the door. She knew it was him and knew without a doubt
that the red dragon was his, as she felt it perk up at his
proximity. Reluctant to put an end to her respite, she rested her
forehead against the base of the cupboard door and waited for a
second knock. It didn’t come. He hadn’t left, though; the dragon
told her that. It practically vibrated with awareness that Salim
was close.

Leaving the coffee on the counter, Cora paced
to the door and flung it open. “Tell me how to talk to it,” she
demanded immediately.

Salim didn’t bat an eyelash. “Tell me who
told you how to call it.”

That drew her up short. He reached out and
enfolded her wrist in his hand, the scarf trapped between them.
“You need to address it properly, but there aren’t any words for
it. If you ask again, I’ll show you.”

Opting to proceed with caution, she tugged
her hand away from him. “I’ll think about it.”

“They aren’t about thinking.” He moved into
the apartment, pressing her backward without so much as a single
touch. It was his presence alone, the danger she perceived in the
prospect of touching him at all.

He closed the door, and she felt her stomach
knot up with returning anxiety. She didn’t know what questions he
would ask, or what answers he had already pieced together for
himself. Neither Diane nor Alissa were in the background making
themselves a buffer for her, and her mother wasn’t on speakerphone
anymore. Cora was utterly alone with him—and to her sinking horror,
her body began to sizzle. She couldn’t be near him without her body
responding, so she fled across the room to establish some distance
between them.

Salim, thankfully, did not follow her. He did
watch her go, though, a slight quirk to his eyebrows displaying his
curiosity about her retreat.

“I need some air,” she announced, hoping
fresh air would provide some relief to the stew of anxiety and
arousal bubbling in her stomach.

“You’ll need shoes.” Salim moved to crouch
outside Diane’s ritual circle and made a study of the circle’s
relation to the window. Finding no reason to disagree with his
assessment, she fetched a pair of running shoes. He was still
squinting at the ribbons of sky peeping between buildings when she
finished tying the laces.

She stood up, and suddenly he was in front of
her, catching her face between his hands. She stopped breathing.
Salim tipped her head back, searched her eyes. Anxiety and arousal
reached the critical point and exploded inside. Cora wrapped her
fingers around his wrists and surged up on her toes to mash her
mouth against his, taking advantage of his surprise to push her
tongue past his teeth.

Salim clutched her nape and pulled her high
against his chest, speaking readiness with his body instead of his
mouth. She wanted more of his body. Her dance floor fantasy
resurfaced, along with the wild urge to impale herself on his cock.
While Salim devoured her lips, Cora groped for the zipper that
would give her access to his manhood—already hard against her
abdomen. She scraped the backs of her knuckles on the metal teeth,
but the sting only just penetrated the suffocating fog of desire.
Eventually, she wrenched the zipper down far enough to push her
hand into his jeans.

She couldn’t summon any finesse, didn’t want
lovemaking. Salim seemed to sense her need for fucking. He sucked
her lips hard enough to make her whimper, then ducked his head low
and pushed her chin up with his nose, closed his teeth around a
muscle in her throat. His hands fell to her hips, fingers spreading
over her ass and lower until he could grab the backs of her thighs.
She lost her balance, stumbled when he pushed his fingertips up
against her heat from behind, and used the motion to bring her up
against his groin.