The Jade Dragon (10 page)

She had not picked up a single sculpting tool since having her powers bound, believing it was only magic that helped her create her masterpieces.

Words Rosa often repeated filtered into her mind.
The talent is all yours. Without it, there is no magic.

If that was true, then her career had been based on the belief she was only as good as her magic. What if she was good because of what and who she was first? Her magic coming secondary to her craft. The idea was foreign. She still didn't believe it but, because she could no longer deny the creative urges begging to be released she made a decision, picked up a chisel and a hammer and began to tap gently at the stone.

At first her progress was slow. Painfully so. But this time she didn't let it stop her. She persevered, refusing to give in. And before she knew it, the light began to fade outside and the room grew too dark to work.

Her arms and shoulders ached from weeks of inactivity. She put her tools down and rolled her shoulders to ease the tension in them and switched on a light. Standing back she inspected her work and a strange fear trickled down her spine at what she saw.

It was Gregori. He was emerging from the stone in his human form. Her hands flew to her mouth and she felt her eyes grow wide. Was there no escaping him?

Apparently not, as he had woken and stood framed in the doorway of her bedroom, all bare-chested and glorious in the waning light. A fierce desire to run her hands over the smooth planes of his chest sent her scurrying like a frightened mouse to her workbench where she pretended to tidy her tools from largest to smallest.

“So you're finally awake.” At least her voice was steady.

“I'm starving.”

Me too!
She figured her head would rest quite nicely in the crook of his neck while she dined on him. Did Dragons even eat? “Have you eaten at all today?”

“Nothing.”

She hadn't either. Well, nothing except coffee and a half-hearted attempt at eating a muffin to take the sting out of the whiskey she'd downed with her sisters earlier that morning. “Me neither.” Alanna looked toward the kitchen. “There's not much in there. Cooking isn't in my repertoire.”

Gregori walked forward. “But sculpting is.”

Alanna felt a rush of color flood her chest, neck and cheeks. She didn't think he would recognize himself in it. Not yet. Crossing her fingers behind her back she stood quietly as he studied her work.

“I thought you carved small objects. This is huge.”

Knowledge lit within Alanna. The stone had been waiting for the right subject. Him. Gregori. “It's the biggest piece I've worked on so far.”

“What's it going to be?”

“Not sure yet,” she fibbed. “I just follow what the stone tells me.” Alanna rubbed her hands on her dirty jeans. “Look. If you're going to insist on staying here with me, we need to work out a few rules.”

His eyebrows arched, his attention diverted. “Rules.”

“This is
my
place.
My
rules.” She pointed to her bedroom. “My bedroom. Not yours. Rule one. You can sleep in the office downstairs. The daybed is big enough to hold you.” And he would be far enough away that his aura wouldn't intrude on her sleep. Or dreams. “Although, Beth has two spare rooms. She'd be more than happy to accommodate you. And she can cook, too.”

“Where you stay is your decision,” he prowled about the room. “But wherever that is, I'll be there too.”

Alanna followed him, intent on learning more. “You can't just turn up one day and say
I'm staying with you and I'm not leaving
. I could have you arrested for stalking.”

“But you won't. I'm here under unusual circumstances.”

“So unusual you won't talk about it. Why should I let you stay without some kind of explanation?”

“You think you want to know the truth. And maybe you will find out, but not tonight.” He grinned suddenly and it had Alanna wanting to rip off all her clothes and press herself against him.

“In that case, let's go find something to eat,” she said and headed towards her bedroom. “I'll just brush my hair into something less unruly.” She glared at him when he went to follow her. “Rule two. No coming into the bedroom uninvited.”

“Got it. Leave your hair. I like it all wild and untamed. It suits your nature.”

Flummoxed by the complement and unable to think of a smart reply, she spun on her heels, walked through to the en-suite, slammed, and locked the door behind her.

• • •

Gregori craved freedom to roam at will, but the thought of strangers gawking at him made his skin crawl. He'd spent years having everyone do just that in the Gallery courtyard. He wasn't ready to join the world, dining out in public. Not yet.

He surveyed his surroundings. He had an arsenal of magic at his fingertips. Tonight he would waste a little of that energy he'd stolen from Anton and Goran. While Alanna showered — he had to keep himself busy to stop himself thinking about her soaping up her naked body — he set about ensuring his stay in Raven's Creek, for however long it would be, was more comfortable.

Alanna's form of existence was spartan, as if she really didn't care to remain here. He knew she lived here because she'd been assigned the task of keeping an eye over his stone form. He wondered where she would be, and how she'd have lived, if given the freedom to do so.

His hearing was sharp, sharper than most humans. His magical nature ensured it was so. He heard the water being turned off. He heard the rasping of a towel against Alanna's skin. His wayward mind required direction away from imagining her naked. He considered what else he needed to make his stay more comfortable and set another spell. He stood back, his work finished and felt a sense of elation in using magic once again. He'd craved comfort for years and now, despite the lack of space in the studio flat, he knew he would be, for tonight at least, comfortable.

Just how comfortable Alanna would be depended on her reaction to his homely additions. She was dawdling; he could tell. He turned his mind to food. Not knowing her favorite he chose his instead. Beef Stroganoff, fresh green beans and wild rice.

A tablecloth, set with cutlery, napkins, exquisite hand-cut crystal wine glasses and candelabra, covered the table he'd conjured. Gregori ensured that the tantalizing aroma of their meal wafted under the gap in the door to her bedroom. He settled himself down to eat, too hungry to wait. He might be able to make it rain at will, translocate from here to there and track a killer, but he couldn't appease his hunger for Alanna. But filling his stomach with food was a good start.

After years of not eating, he knew he wouldn't be able to eat much. He lifted his fork and slowly savored his first bite of real food in over a decade. His eyes closed involuntarily, he chewed slowly, a small smile tilting his lips upwards. A groan of pleasure and he swallowed. It was almost as good as sex. Almost.

He grinned and picked up the glass of dark pink rosé, a very good vintage from his own estate in Cabasson, located in the South of France. He'd had no need to go there, he just uttered a spell and it arrived on the table, uncorked and ready for drinking.

“What the hell?” Alanna stood at the door and stared at the room that used to be her studio. Her eyes widened. “Where is my work? My equipment. What have you done with my stuff?”

Not even her ill humor could sour his mood. He held up a glass to Alanna. “Taste this.” She took the glass from his hand and gulped the liquid down as if it were water. “I see you need to learn how to savor wine.”

“And you need to learn how not to redecorate someone's home without asking first.”

Gregori refilled her glass. “Drink slowly this time. Savor the taste. Swirl it around the tongue.” He handed it to her. “Don't worry about your so-called ‘stuff'. It's safe.” He gestured with a hand, indicating the newly furnished studio before her temper truly exploded. “This is temporary. Your work will return each morning and all this will be gone. These creature comforts will return nightly to make my stay more habitable and will solve our lack of dining arrangements.”

“There's a perfectly good restaurant down the road.”

“Nothing there will be as good as this,” he indicated his meal. “Sit down and try it. I made it myself.”

“You mean you conjured it like you conjured everything else?”

He'd done a respectable job in decorating the room. Living thousands of years had given him plenty of time to gather together an amazing accumulation of furniture.

“You exist so spartanly,” he said. “I wonder whether this Gallery actually earns you enough to live on.”

Alanna was dumbfounded. “Is that what you think?”

“Why else would you live the way you do?”

“This — ” she, too, gestured to the room, “ — is only temporary. I have a home but have been unable to live there.”

He frowned and leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, one hand lazily swirling the wine in his glass. “Why? What holds you here?”

“You do. You keep me here. Marylebone insisted while you remained encased in the jade. I expect I'll be able to move in to Lavender Cottage soon now you are free.”

“Where is this home you speak of?”

“Not far from here. Goran's living there at present.” Her face lit up suddenly. “You could move in with him instead.”

“Only if you move in also.” He knocked back the remains of the rosé in his glass and poured another. “You're stuck with me for now.”

Alanna was beginning to realize, really truly realize, Gregori wasn't going anywhere. A strange sense of comfort crept in to the vacancy her departing anger had created. She looked about the room and grudgingly admitted she'd never envisaged doing so much with her studio. It was the epitome of elegance. The man definitely had style.

She held out her glass for a top-up and changed tack. “This is your own wine, you said?”

Gregori poured the rich pink liquid into her glass. “I did. I have several large vineyards that produce a range of commercial vintages, but this particular bottle is from my private collection and has been made using traditional methods. It's only for special occasions with those I deem worthy enough.”

Wow. What flattery. “And this is a special occasion because … ?”

“Three things. My ensorcellment is over. Marylebone are allowing me freedom for now and I'm sitting here with you, a beautiful, fiery-natured witch.” He dark eyes glinted with something unspoken. “What more could a warlock want?”

Alanna felt her color rise. He definitely wanted more than those three things. “I should be flattered, but trusting a Dragon I know nothing about leaves me deeply suspicious of your motives. You could stay anywhere and yet you choose my little studio.”

Gregori's lips thinned, his displeasure obvious. “I'll not touch you without your permission, if that's what you're afraid of.”

“I'm not afraid of you.”

“Then what
are
you afraid of?”

“I'm afraid of what you represent.”

“I represent Marylebone. I'm a warlock. I'm also a Dragon. Senior to both Aden and Goran. I would already be ensorcelled again if they thought I was a real danger to you or anyone else.”

“I'm not afraid of Marylebone. I'm afraid of the reason they ensorcelled you in the first place? I'm afraid of the reason you insist on being with me rather than returning home to your precious vineyard.”

He paused and studied her so intently she felt herself squirm. Eventually he spoke. “That's not all you're afraid of?”

Her stomach wanted to revolt yet once again. Unable to drink another drop she banged the exquisite crystal glass on the table, mindless of its quality or value. “I don't have to discuss anything with you. I want you gone.”

“I will be soon if I fail in my mission.”

He appeared disappointed with her. “What is your mission?”

Gregori paused. He seemed to consider whether or not to answer, and his reply left her reeling. “Tell me about the accident.”

The question came out of nowhere and her stomach threatened to dispense its contents as she fought to control the hammering of her heart against her ribs. She felt like a deer caught in headlights, not knowing what to do, which way to move. “Accident?”

“You know what I'm talking about.”

“Why don't you tell me?”

“You can be so obstinate.”

“And you're surprised?”

He huffed. “No. Predictable.”

Now
that
was an insult. “You hardly know me. How can you make such a judgment when we've only just met?” She prided herself on not being the slightest bit predictable.

“It's what I know.”

“Then you don't know much! I don't ever talk about it.” She didn't bother to pretend she didn't know what he was talking about. “Not to anyone.”

“Which isn't healthy. You need to be able to talk about these things. How else will you get over it?”

A fierce anger was beginning to roil in her heart and her blood pressure spiked. “Don't you dare tell me how I need to deal with my own demons. They're mine. I deal with them the best way I know how. And I'm over it, as you so succinctly put it.”

“Admitting you have inner demons says it all. And what if I said your way isn't the best, and that I can see you are not over it.”

“I'd say you've stepped over the line and I want you out of my studio.” She gestured to the door. “Get out. Go away. Don't come back!”

He stood his ground. “Everyone needs an outlet. I'm offering that to you.”

If she didn't know better, she would have thought she'd seen compassion flicker in his eyes. She wanted to swear obscenities at him. If he didn't watch out she might just slap that oh, so knowing attitude off his face. “I do not have to explain myself to you.”