Light My Fire (24 page)

“That would be nice. And just so you know, this falls
under the sharing category, so you get bonus points for
doing it.”

He didn’t respond when I nibbled on his chin, but his fingers tightened on my butt. “Fekete was my father’s
surname.”

“OK. So that was your original name before you took
over the sept and got to use Vireo as your name?”

“No, my name has always been Vireo.” His eyes were a dark green, the irises so narrow, they were mere slits of
black. I wondered at that telling reaction—Drake’s eyes only went dragon when he was highly aroused or under
the influence of a strong emotion.

“Sweetie, if you don’t want to tell me this, you don’t
have to,” I said, aware that beneath me, he was tense.
“I’m not going to push you into telling me anything,
Drake. If it’s something that you don’t feel ready to tell
me yet, I can wait.”

His hands slid up my back, wrapping around to hold me close. I felt cherished, protected, safe ... and as if he
was clinging to me like a lifeline. I snuggled my face into
his neck and kissed his pulse point.

“It’s not that I’m unwilling to share this. I’m just not
sure how I can do so without dealing with a lot of history
that would probably bore you.”

“Doubtful. Try me.”

He sighed again.
“Fekete
in Hungarian means
black?’

“Black?” I pushed up for a moment to look at him.
“Black as in black dragons?”

“Yes. My father was a black dragon.” He pulled me back down onto his chest. I traced the line of his collar
bone as I thought about that.

“But your mother is human. So how did you end up
wyvern of the green dragons if you’re a black dragon?”

“It’s complicated. Dragons take their lineage from
their father’s family, but in special circumstances, the pa
ternal grandmother provides the bloodline.”

“And you were one of those special circumstances?”

“Yes. My grandmother was a green dragon. When I
was born, she had no male descendants in the green sept.

She claimed me even though my father belonged to the
black sept.”

“Hmm.” Drake pulled the blankets over us as I snug
gled closer into him, breathing in his usual spicy scent,
and the faint residual odor our lovemaking had left.
“Wait. .. I’m confused. Dmitri’s your cousin, right?”

“Yes.”

“That means you guys share a grandmother. But if
your dad was a black dragon, that means his father must
have been, as well.”

“Yes. But my grandmother mated twice—first to my
grandfather, who was beheaded by the French in the late
fourteenth century, and later to a green dragon.”

I pinched his waist. “You told me dragons mated for
life!”

“They do under normal circumstances, but my grandmother’s life was anything but normal. She was a reeve.”

“What’s that?”

“The closest mortal approximation would be princess.”

I pushed back on his chest so I could look at him.
“Your grandma was a princess? A dragon princess?”

“I just said that.” His eyes were just barely glowing
green. I smiled at the disgruntled look on his face, kissed
the tip of his nose, and resumed a snuggling position. “That doesn’t make you a prince or anything, does it?”

“No. I am a wyvern—there can be no greater honor for me. Reeves are a special class of dragon. Their bloodlines
are purest, and they are much sought after by families as
mates since their children have exceptionally pure blood.”

“If Dmitri is an example of what exceptionally pure
blood can do, I’d rather have a mutt like you.” I kissed his
neck just to prove that point.

“I am not a mutt!” he said, outrage dripping from his
voice, his hands tight on my waist.

I giggled, and his hands relaxed.

“You have much to learn about genetics.”

“I have a lot more to learn about dragons,” I answered, relaxing against him, a feeling of happiness swelling over
me. Yeah, we had problems, and yes, my life wasn’t all I wanted it to be, but all in all, things were settling down. I
began to hope our future together wasn’t going to be as
stressful as the last few days had led me to believe.

Boy, do I need to be whomped upside the head with a
premonition stick.

15

“How’s the lady of the manor doing?”

I set down the
Field Guide to Imps, Kobolds, Pixies,
and Demonic Minions
and gave my own little demon a
glare. “One interview. One interview with a potential
staff member does not a lady of the manor make. Besides,
Drake asked me to check out potential domestic staff. I
was just doing as he asked.”

Jim rolled its eyes and sauntered into the small sitting
room where I’d curled up to do a little studying. “Don’t
tell me you’re not loving the thought of having servants
waiting hand and foot on you. You were all Lady Boun
tiful to that woman.”

“I was not. I was being polite, yet professional. What
are you doing here? I thought you were going with Nora
and Paco to Oxford.”

“Changed my mind. I thought she wanted to go shopping and eat—turns out she just wants to visit a friend. A
vegan
friend. No sense in wasting my time there. What
are you doing?”

“Just killing time.” I glanced at the clock on the green marble table next to the door. “Drake is off doing things to transfer his business stuff to England. Nora’s visiting her friend. Rene ran home to Paris for the day. I’ve been forbidden by both Drake and Nora to tackle the imps or the person who shot me on my own, so I’m pretty much
stuck here with nothing to do but read.”

“Geesh. You shack up with Drake and turn into a big
ole lazy lump of nothing.” Jim shook its head and strolled
over to the window, looking out at the street below. “My
previous boss would never have just sat around on her
duff waiting for life to happen to her.”

I sat up straight and gave my demon another glare.
“Hey! I think I’m entitled to a little downtime now and
again. And what do you mean ‘her’? I thought your demon lord was Amaymon?”

“He was.”

“OK, you’re being mysterious now, and you know
how I hate that. You said you haven’t had any other demon lord.”

“What do you think I am—a three-time loser? The
only way you can be bound to a demon lord is if you’ve
been cast out. That’s only been done once, thank you very
much.”

“So you worked for someone
before
you were bound
to Amaymon?”

Jim sauntered to the couch opposite, shooting me a
look.

“Absolutely not. This is not my house with its old,
crappy furniture. Drake’s things are nice, and I’d like
them to stay that way. I bought you a dog bed—use it.”

The sigh Jim heaved was rife with martyrdom as the
demon plopped down on the comfy dog bed I’d set next
to the couch, but I ignored it. “Yes, I worked for someone
else.”

“Who?”

“No one you’d know.”

My lips thinned. “That’s not an answer. Who did you
work for before Amaymon?”

“I believe ‘whom’ is the correct grammatical—”

“For whom did you work before Amaymon?” I said in
a loud voice.

“Clio.”

I frowned as I tried to place the name, but it didn’t ring
any bells. “Who was she?”

Jim rolled over onto its back. “Man, what is this, a
third degree? If you’re going to interrogate me, the least
you can do is scratch my belly while you do it.”

“I’m not interrogating you. I’m just curious about your
life before Amaymon. You’re the one who brought this
other employer up.”

“Only as an example of why it looks so bad for me
now to have a boss who just lazes around and waits for
everyone to take care of her problems for her.”

“Oh, now that is patently untrue!” I got to my feet and
grabbed my purse, marching over to prod Jim’s shoulder
with the tip of my shoe. “I am very proactive! I always
solve my own problems—or at least I try to. Come on,
demon. If you’re so hot and bothered to see a little action,
you’ll get it.”

‘That’s more like it.” Jim trotted after me as I headed
for the front door, pausing to write a quick note for Drake. “Where are we going?”

“The British Museum.”

“Huh? Why there?”

The pleasant late summer days we’d been having in
London had fizzled into a gray, overcast dampness. I hur
ried through the drizzle to the closest tube station. I con
sulted the big chart of tube routes, trying to figure out
which line would take me to the museum. “Because they
have the best collection of books detailing the history of
the Otherworld. Nora told me I should be hitting the spe
cial collection there as much as possible. OK. I think we
just need to make one transfer. Shouldn’t take us long.”

“What are you looking for at the BM?” Jim asked,
obediently dropping the volume of its voice when I
tweaked its ear. “Ow. Meanie.”

“I want to see if there’s anything about a mage named
Peter Burke.”

“Who’s that?”

“Amelie and I talked about him at G and T.”

“Oh. Like I was paying attention. Who is he?”

I gave Jim a brief, under-the-breath explanation of
who Peter was on the tube ride. The British being what
they are, no one looked twice at me as I carried on a con
versation with my dog. By the time we got to the mu
seum, Jim was asking questions about what his role would be when I became Venediger.

“Nothing, because I’m never going to be the Venedi
ger. I’m only just coping with demon lord, wyvern’s mate, and Guardian, thank you.”

“I think you’re making a mistake. You could be someone if you were Venediger! Think of the fame! Think of
the glory! Think of all the free food!”

“We can do quite well without any of that, thank you.
Now zip thy demonic lips, or a museum guard will hear
you.”

It took me a bit of fast talking (and the slightest bit of a
mind push) to get Jim and me access to a collection of texts
normally reserved for those with the proper academic qual
ifications, but eventually I found myself tucked away in a
corner with a list of books about the otherworld.

Fat lot of good it did. “You can speak now,” I told Jim
a couple of hours later as we exited the museum.

“I really hate it when you order me to silence,” Jim
grumbled. “A simple ‘hush’ wouldn’t suffice for you, oh,
no. With you it’s all bossy orders to do whatever catches
your fancy.”

I pointed my finger at the demon. “Do you want to talk
to Cecile tonight?”

Its lips twitched. “I hate it even more when you
threaten me with revoking my phone privileges. Fine.
Have it your way, oh mighty and fearsome demon lord.
What did you find out about this Peter dude?”

“Nothing. Which is significant, don’t you think?” The
drizzle had turned into an outright downpour, sending
everyone who didn’t possess an umbrella scurrying down
the wet road. I, being a true Oregon girl, had no idea
where my umbrella was, or even whether I had brought it
with me to London, so I turned up the collar of my coat
and ran for the busiest street corner, hoping for a taxi
rank.

“Significant how?”

“In the absence of information. This guy is a mage, right? Assumedly a big, powerful mage if he’s shooting
for Venediger. And you don’t get to be big and powerful
without someone taking notice of you. So if he’s been around the block a few times—dammit, that cab should
have been ours! Damned pushy tourists. If he’s been
around for a while, why hasn’t he made it into any of the
books or magazines that detail Otherworld history and
society?”