Alaskan Fury (67 page)

“Bad luck?” Thunderbird said,
cocking his head at her curiously, at the same time dragon scoffed and said,
“Your tricks can’t affect me, Fate.”

“
Fate
?”  Thunderbird stood
up suddenly, knocking his chair over backwards.  Giving her approximately the
same stare he would give a huge, poisonous spider, he backed away several feet
and said, “Tim, I think you should sign your prisoner’s contract over to the
dragon.”

“Now hold on!” Imelda cried,
lunging to her feet.  The motion made her suddenly dizzy and she slumped back
to her chair, partially blacking out.

“It will get better,” Tim told
her, looking worried.  “You lost a
lot
of blood.”

“Thanks,” Imelda said.

“Timothy,” Thunderbird said
slowly, “please tell me you do not mean to take a Fate into my home?”

“
He’s
not taking her,
I
am,” the dragon snapped.

“It is amazing what electricity
can do to a lizard’s brain,” Thunderbird said easily.  “Tim, can we give her to
the moronic fledgling and find you a better pet?”

“No!” Tim cried.  He sounded crestfallen. 
“Please don’t take her.  She’s my
friend
.”

“I don’t give a flying
fuck
if she’s your friend,” the dragon retorted, the insides of his eye-sockets
showing the slightest bit of silver.  “I’m taking her with me.  She’s
mine
.”

Thunderbird sighed, deeply, and
glanced at the dragon.  “You may go now.”

“All right, you effeminate
asswipe.  It’s time.” 

As the dragon was snarling and
lowering his goodies to the ground, Imelda managed to get to her feet. 
“Everyone
shut up and listen
.”

The dragon paused in lowering his
bags, and both Thunderbird and Tim turned to look at her with shock.

“You,” Imelda growled.  “Dragon. 
You’re not afraid of me?”

“Of course not,” the dragon
scoffed.

“Because he’s young and stupid,”
the Thunderbird said.

Imelda ignored him.  “And my
‘tricks’ won’t affect you?”

“Not unless I let them,” the
dragon said.  “My kind are
masters
at the weave.”

“The
elders
of your kind
are masters at the weave,” the rain-god corrected.

“Silence, peahen.”

“Can you teach me?” Imelda said. 
“To…stop from hurting people?”  She was desperate not to end up shunned and
despised, as the unicorn’s had predicted.  A prediction which, to all
appearances, had been panning out.  Even
Thunderbird
was leery of having
her in his home.  What was worse, over the last few hours, the double-images
had come and gone with her headaches, giving her the impression it was not a
condition that would end anytime soon, and if anything, was getting worse.

Immediately, the dragon
straightened, puffing out his muscular human chest.  “I might.  For a price.”

Thunderbird rolled his eyes. 
“Dragons and their contracts.  Can’t you just do something
nice
for
someone, for a chance?”

“Shut up, pigeon.  The mortal and
I are having a discussion.”  His light-on-dark eyes fixed on her, the dragon
said, “I would have you sign an accord.”

Thunderbird made a sound of
disgust.  “I’ll be watching the game.”  He then turned and strode back to his
chair in front of the television, leaving Imelda facing off with a dragon. 
Almost immediately, the rain-god began shouting at the screen again, Imelda’s
plight completely forgotten.

Imelda, all-too-aware of the
hazards of making bargains with immortals, gave him a long look.  “What kind of
accord?”

“You’re a virgin, yes?”

Imelda flushed until her ears
burned.

Apparently, her blush was answer
enough, for the dragon gave a slow, lazy smile.  “I would have you sign a
mating contract.  Your firstborn child.”

“There will be ice in
Hell
before I give you a chi—”  Imelda frowned at the flash of satisfaction she saw
in the dragon’s face.  “You don’t want a child, do you?”

The dragon’s chiseled jawline
silvered with tiny scales before it quickly shifted back to bronzed human
skin.  “Of course I want a child.”

“What do you want?” Imelda
demanded.  “Aside from the opportunity to lock me into a contract I’ll never
fulfill?”

The dragon’s jaw fell open
slightly.

“The fool probably wants to bathe
in it!” Thunderbird called over his shoulder.

 The way her opponent’s eyes
widened made Imelda realize that Thunderbird was probably closer to the truth
than the dragon would have liked.  “Bathe in what?” she asked.

Clearing his throat, the dragon
said, “I would
protect
you if I’m to
teach
you, and the best way
for me to do that is with a mating contract.”

Thunderbird laughed, his back
still to the group.  “He wants the link.”

“Would you
shut up
?!” the
dragon snarled.  “Why do you even
care
?!”

But if Thunderbird heard, he made
no response.

“Bathe in what?” Imelda repeated.

The dragon glared at her.  “Your
magic.”

Of course.  Dragons liked magic. 
They
hoarded
it.  Imelda’s eyes fell to the treasures he had looted from
other areas of the compound.  “So this mating contract…  It means I could not
leave until I produce you an heir?”

The dragon snorted.  “No.  It
just means that you are sworn to keep your womb free of a competitor’s seed,
and to help me raise any children born of the pairing.”

A competitor’s seed,
Imelda thought with an internal shudder.  She had long ago become inured to the
startlingly blasé way that the immortals seemed to treat things like
contractual reproduction, but when applied to
her
, it was still
unsettling.  “What’s the link?” Imelda asked.

“
Damn
you and your
interference, fool!” the dragon snarled at Thunderbird’s back.

Imelda crossed her arms and
waited.  Outside, she heard Herr Drescher spin up the helicopter’s rotors as
another group of survivors made for the tarmac.  The German had apparently
taken a liking to the crass and curmudgeony little Third-Lander, because she’d overheard
the two of them talking about getting a beer on one of their last passes down
the hall. 

“Well?” she asked, when the
dragon merely gave her an annoyed look. 

“It’s a minor thing,” the dragon
muttered.

“Oh?” Imelda said.  “Then you
wouldn’t mind telling me all about it.”

The dragon narrowed his eyes at
her, then blew a few strands of perfectly-highlighted brown hair out of his
sunkissed bronze face.  “It’s a telepathic connection.  It helps me find and
assist you, if necessary.”

“Like a Mark.”

“Yes, exactly,” the dragon said,
but on the other side of the room, Thunderbird started laughing uproariously. 
When Imelda checked, the television was playing a commercial about advanced
osteoporosis.  She turned back and raised a brow to the dragon.

“Damn you, peahen,” the dragon
muttered.

“So it’s not like a Mark,” Imelda
said. 

“It’s just a way to find you,”
the dragon muttered.  “A dragon must be able to find and assist his mate when
she is egg-heavy and vulnerable, and must be able to communicate with her
during the hunt.”

She glanced at Tim.  “Is he
telling the truth?”

The unicorn cleared his throat. 
“Um, ah…”  He met the dragon’s irritated glance and quailed.  “Not really, no.”

“And who the fuck are
you
to know whether or not I’m telling the truth?!” the dragon cried, looking the
unicorn up and down in disgust.  “You equine-stinking little twit.  Dragons
eat
horses, you know.”

“Don’t tell him,” Thunderbird
said casually.  “I don’t want to have to kill the upstart.”  Then he hesitated,
glancing over his shoulder.  “Well, I
do
, but it would be bad form.”

The dragon narrowed his eyes at
Thunderbird.  “Oh yeah?  What happened to ‘your ancestors shall receive the
most seasonal of rains’ and ‘consider yourself welcome to hunt upon my
territory any time you please?!’  Do you have the memory of a goddamn
chipmunk?”

“‘Aqrab told me.”

The ridge of the dragon’s brow
thickened and went silver before quickly got his form back under control,
though he remained rather pale.  After staring at Thunderbird for a moment, the
dragon turned to Imelda and said, “You want to learn how to not kill people? 
My offer is a mating contract.  Take it or leave it.”

“A mating contract…in which you
don’t intend to mate.”  Imelda scowled at him.  “What, will this link allow you
to control my magic or some such?”

The dragon frowned at her.  “Of
course not.  That would violate the Pact.”

“True,” the unicorn said,
nodding.

“No one asked you, pony.”  The
dragon crossed his arms, eying Imelda.  “Since you’re being stubborn, it will
do two things.  It will allow me to feel what it is you’re feeling, which will
assist me in helping you learn to control yourself, and it will also allow me
to experience a direct conduit to your magic.”

Imelda frowned.  “So you can
bathe in it.”

“It might be…pleasant…for me,”
the dragon gritted.

“Will there be any adverse
effects on my side?” Imelda demanded.  “Exhaustion?  Headaches?”

The dragon snorted.  “You will be
linked to a
dragon
.  If anything, you would experience
less
exhaustion and headaches.”

“True,” Tim said.  “He would be
able to help you with the headaches.”

“She isn’t asking your opinion,
horsie.”

“Actually, I am,” Imelda said. 
She thought about it a moment.  “And you will neither detain me, nor impede my
movement or free will in any way?”

“Of course not,” the dragon
said.  “It’s a
mating
contract, not a contract of servitude.”

Imelda, who had honestly thought
she would be faced with a choice between years of loneliness and ostracism or
the mortal sin of suicide, considered.  “And I can leave the contract at any
time by going down to the local bar and hooking up with some lonely bachelor
for a night.”

The dragon’s entire face slipped
into scales before he re-formed himself.  Scowling at her, he said, “If you
break the terms of the contract, it would end, yes.”

Imelda gave her possible patron a
considering look.  She had not imagined much beyond her life outside the Order,
and, now that she had thoroughly condemned herself in the eyes of her brethren,
the dragon’s offer was looking more and more appealing.  “What about
Thunderbird?” she asked.  “Could he teach me?”

“No,” both Thunderbird and the
dragon said at the same time.

The quickness with which
Thunderbird said it told her not that he
couldn’t
, but that he
wouldn’t
. 
Imelda took a deep breath.  “I will accept…on one condition,” she said.

The dragon’s eyes widened
momentarily before he hid his surprise and much-too-nonchalantly said, “What
condition?”

“You swear upon your ancestors’
honor that when you meet him, my mount will remain unmolested.”

The dragon snorted.  “Your
mount
? 
I give two shits about your
mount
.” 

“Still, I’m fond of him,” Imelda
said.  “I wouldn’t want him falling prey to a dragon’s carnal desires.”

“If I’m hungry, I will order
myself a steak.  I won’t touch your damned mount.”

“Then we have an accord,” Imelda
said.  “What must I do?”

“Come here,” the dragon said,
holding out a big hand to her and gesturing.

Very cautiously, Imelda walked
around the table and came to a wary halt just out of reach of the dragon. 
Being such gifted shapeshifters, the dragon had chosen a body for himself that
reminded her of a combination of images off the cover of
People Magazine
,
from his broad shoulders to his narrow hips to his blindingly white smile and
stylishly-gelled hair.  At five-eight, Imelda was tall for a woman, but at
six-two with a muscular build, he still made her feel small.

The dragon took the last step and
reached out for her, and Imelda found her courage failing her as his large hand
found the side of her face.  “Dragon,” she said, trying desperately not to let
her panic show, “what are you doing?”

“Shhh,” the dragon growled.  “I’m
working.”  His eyes closed and he reached up with his second hand, placing it
on her other cheek, fingers wrapped behind her skull.  Then, even as she was
wincing away, the dragon bent and touched his brow to hers, holding them
there.  His lips almost against hers, he started speaking in a harsh and
guttural language that she recognized as true Draconic, but without her
Talisman of Tongues, she was unable to follow it. 

“An ‘accord’ must be agreed upon
by both parties,” Imelda reminded him, knowing it was a favored trick of
immortals to weave such ‘bargains’ in secret, “and if I cannot understand your
speech, it cannot be an accord.”

“I work the magics of the link”
the dragon said, sounding half in a trance.  “The accord was already made. 
Shhh.”

Though she found it awkward and
uncomfortable, Imelda held still while he continued to chant against her
forehead.  A few minutes later, she felt a strange surge from her chest,
followed by a dizzying dual-view sensation, almost as if she were occupying two
bodies at once, before it washed away, leaving her feeling slightly refreshed
and much less dizzy.

…and completely without a
headache, for the first time that she could remember.

“Oh my God,” Imelda whispered,
gasping at the pleasure of the sudden lack of
pain
.  It was like an
ancient burden had lifted, a weight removed from her soul, and she felt
suddenly
free
.

At the same time, the dragon
tensed, his hands becoming like vices against her scalp, but continued to hold
her brow to his.  All around the room, Imelda heard nothing but silence and the
buzz of the football game.  She realized, ashamedly, that she had just made a
pact with one of the things they hunted, in full view of the entire room.  When
she tried to inch her head this way or that, however, the dragon continued to
hold her in a grip that may well have been forged of wrought iron.  Steeling
herself, she said, “Um, dragon?”