Dragon Moon (38 page)

It takes only a few days for Arturo to arrange documents and airplane tickets for Charles and Derek Blood. “Ian will fly over with them. That way everyone can sign the necessary papers at Claypool and Sons,” he says.

I explain it to Charles the day after that, before I take him and Derek to shore. “I've had my people make arrangements,” I say.

“Oh?” Charles arcs an eyebrow.

“We're buying out Virgil Claypool's interest in Claypool and Sons. Don't worry, we'll let him stay on as long as he likes. But his main job now will be to protect your interests. We'll be sending over enough funds to support you and let you invest, plus enough to pay the politicians each year to keep the Jamaican government away from Morgan's Hole.”

“Not necessary, but still it's bloody decent of you.”

I shrug. “Or sensible self-protection. We're going to keep Bartlet House. Chloe wants to be able to come visit and I'd like to do so without worry.”

“I gave you my bloody word,” Charles says.

Putting my hand on his shoulder, I smile at him. “No offense intended. You gave your word but Samantha and Philip didn't. Neither did Derek and we both know how furious he is. This way, no one will have any need to be anything but pleasant. Besides, Chloe and I wanted to help. If you ever want to modernize, we'll help you with that too. It would be nice if you had a satellite phone so Chloe can call when she wants.”

Chloe insists on saying good-bye at the dock. “Henri and I have things to do,” she says, grinning.

“What?” I say.

“Things. You go ahead take Pa and Derek to the airport. We'll show you when you get back.”

“You're being pushy again.”

Chloe smiles. “So? I warned you I would be.” She kisses me and, frowning, wondering what she has planned, I do as she says.

Once Charles, Derek and Ian walk up the concourse to Jamaica Air, I rush from the terminal to my car and speed back to Coconut Grove.

The day couldn't be more perfect for boating. White powder-puff clouds sit, hardly moving, in a clear, light blue sky. The breeze barely ruffles the surface of the bay. I can't wait to take my Grady White from the dock and race across the calm water to my island, where only Chloe and my son now wait for me.

But as I near Caya DelaSangre, a new, shiny, dark blue speedboat emerges from the island's channel. I slow down and study the boat. Now what? I think, as it speeds up, throwing a rooster tail of white water behind it, turning and shooting toward me.

I gun my motors too, prepare to veer out of its way, should it not turn. But as it closes, the boat changes direction, so it will pass to my right side. I laugh when I realize that Claudia's behind the wheel, wonder when she bought this boat, what new clothes or books or music she brought Chloe today.

She waves as she passes. I wave back, dropping my hand when I see Henri seated beside her, waving too.

“What are you doing there?”
I mindspeak.

“Okay.”
I say, waving until they're well past, smiling at what Henri said, remembering our conversation just a few days ago.

“Would it be okay if I called Chloe ‘Mommy?'” he said.

“Sure.”

“Would my real mommy be mad if I did?”

I hugged him. “No, she would think it's just fine.”

But tears had welled up in Chloe's eyes the first time he called her that.

“Hey, Mommy,”
I mindspeak to my bride now.
“How come you're sending my kid away?”

“It's
our
kid and don't you forget that. How far away are you?”
she says.

The last few watchdogs come to the dock to greet me. I shake my head at their pitiful number. It will take years to breed the pack back to full strength. Cowed by their experiences with Derek, they barely growl or bark at my approach. After I tie off the Grady White, I brush past them, take the veranda steps two at a time and rush up to the third floor of the house.

I stop at the doorway, my mouth open. Even though the day is warm and the sun has yet to set, a fire rages in the hearth on the far wall and candles blaze everywhere — on tables, on countertops, on shelves, even on top of the television and the DVD player.

Chloe stands waiting for me in the center of the room — barefoot, wearing a sheer white, cotton dress, obviously naked underneath it. “I've been waiting for you to come back,” she says. “Are you planning to keep me waiting even more?”

Shaking my head, taking a deep breath, I walk toward my bride. I can't keep my eyes off her, can't stop from growing hard, the way her brown body shows itself beneath the dress — her hipbones and nipples jutting against the thin fabric, looking as if they might break through. I stop a foot from her, facing her.

She glances down, grins a wicked grin. “Mr. DelaSangre,” she says. “Control yourself.”

“It's been too long.”

She breathes out her words. “And don't I know it too.”

“Is this what I think it's about?” I say.

Chloe nods. “It's time we were properly married.”

“I agree.” I look around the room, see the white bowl and green ceramic pitcher on the table, the pewter mug and small leather bag beside it. “I'm just surprised you got it all ready so soon.”

“It wasn't easy,” Chloe says, walking toward the table. “Would you bring her over while I get the rest?” She points to the shadows in the farthest corner of the room.

My mouth falls open again. Rita Santiago, naked, her eyes glazed over and staring at nothingness, her damaged hand still bandaged, stands calmly, waiting.

“Couldn't we have had someone else?” I say. “Anyone else? Someone I never knew?”

“Why not her, Peter?” Chloe frowns. “She's just another human. One who, if I can remind you, was perfectly willing to kill your son.”

I nod. “I know,” I say, not wanting to argue with my bride, feeling a little foolish, knowing that Father would have scolded me about my queasiness. “I just know her too well. I expected that Claudia would have disposed of her. ...”

“So you don't care if she dies. You just don't want to kill your pet yourself.”

“She's not my pet.”

“Peter, you know I haven't had any time to hunt. We needed fresh prey for our feast,” Chloe says, picking up the bowl and pitcher. She carries them to the center of the room, sets them down and then walks over to Rita and takes the redhead by her good hand. “I had Claudia bring her out this morning after you left. This one put up quite a fuss until we forced some Dragon Tear's wine into her.”

Rita follows without any resistance as Chloe guides her to the center of the room, near the bowl and pitcher. “Anyway, she's the best choice. Remember, Rita betrayed you and put your family in danger. Peter, you know she won't suffer barely at all, certainly not as much as she deserves to.”

Before I can reply, Chloe shapeshifts her index finger into a clawed talon and slashes it across Rita's neck, killing her almost instantly. Then she lays the body down near us. “There,” Chloe says, shifting her finger back to human shape. “You didn't have to do anything.”

“But,” I say, “I would have . . .”

“It's okay,” Chloe says, smiling at me. “There are more important things for both of us to do.” She returns to the table, brings back the mug and the leather bag.

Picking up the pitcher, my bride pours Dragon's Tear wine into the bowl. “Death's Rose,” she says, taking a petal from the leather bag, crumbling it into the liquid, following it with a few sprinkles of alchemist's powder.

“You look like you know what you're doing,” I say.

“I should. I'm my mother's daughter.” She motions to the mug. “I mixed your antidote too. You worried?”

I shake my head.

Chloe turns around. “Help me,” she says, taking out her emerald earrings.

Caressing her shoulders first, I kiss her neck and then undo the gold-and-emerald, clover-leaf necklace that I first gave to her sister. I take both it and the earrings and put them on the table. Chloe begins to undress as soon as I return. Watching her, I do the same.

“It's time,” Chloe says and my eyes never leave hers as we both change, stretching and shifting into our natural forms.

My bride picks up the mug, offers it to me.
“This should neutralize the wedding potion for you,”
she mindspeaks.
“I hope I did it right.”

“You are your mother's daughter,”
I say.
“Of course, you did.”
I drain the mug without looking in it or smelling its contents, prepared for it to be vile. But this time the fluid only tastes slightly metallic, only warms my throat as I drink.

“We have to wait,”
Chloe says.

“We have all the time we want,”
I say, standing, looking at my dragon female, the candlelight all around us. I'm content to wait as long as it takes.

“Peter,”
she finally says,
“do you remember that this will change you and bind you to me forever?”

“Yes,”
I say.

“Knowing this, do you still want me?”
Chloe says.

“More than ever.”
I stare into her emerald-green eyes.
“Knowing this, do you still want
me
?”

“Forever,”
she says.

We drink the clear, slightly bitter liquid at the same time, our jowls touching. Neither of us stops until the bowl is empty. I look up, thinking how lucky I am to have her. Chloe gasps, thinks,
“I'm lucky too,”
both of us hearing each other's thoughts, seeing each other through the other's eyes.

“Is this how it was for you before?”
she says.

I nod, feel my bride's heartbeat quicken.
“Soon,”
I say/think.
“After we feast.”

“Sure.”
I nuzzle her and feel the warmth that grows within her. Chloe gasps as she feels my body respond and grow hard again.
“I guess we could skip the feast part for now,”
I say.

“Oh, no,”
Chloe says.
“I'm supposed to feed you now and I will.”
She turns to the body beside us and rips off a piece of flesh for me.

I take it from her and feel her stomach rumble as I chew. We feed together then, gorging ourselves, neither of us talking, neither of us thinking. As soon as we're satiated, I push everything out of our way, take her right there on the floor, Chloe and I moving with a unison we've never experienced before, both of us growling, roaring, climaxing at the same time.

Afterwards, we lie together, stroking each other with our tails.
“Don't think this is terrible,”
Chloe says and immediately knows I couldn't.
“But as sad as I am that my sister's dead, I love that we ended up together.”

I get up, open the windows so the late afternoon air can course through the room. It cools me and Chloe sighs. I lie down beside her and begin to stroke her again, aware of every part of her body, every breath, every fleeting thought she has, every heartbeat.

Chloe sighs.
“I hate to think this will go away by tomorrow.”

“But we'll still be here and we'll still be together,”
I say, wondering what the future will bring, what surprises will come our way.

“Can't you feel it?”
Chloe says.

“What?”
I say, then realize what she means.

The heart beats so faintly that it's barely noticeable. I concentrate, touch it with my mind, feel the warmth around it, its simple awareness of being here.

“Our daughter,”
Chloe says.
“I hope Henri likes her.”
She presses close to me.

“He will,”
I say, my eyes closed, my mind intent on listening to the rapid beat of the child's tiny heart.

“I'd like to name her Elizabeth,”
she says.

“Of course,”
I say, enjoying Chloe's warmth. In a little while, I know, we'll make love again. But for now I'm content to lie beside her almost dozing, trying to picture what my little girl will look like, imagining life in my house with a wife and two children.

Outside, the restless ocean continues its endless rush and tug on the beach. Seagulls caw as they fight over some morsel of food. The wind rustles the trees — acool gust coursing through the window, enveloping us with the salty smell of sea air, its chill reminding us that night will soon arrive and after it, yet another day.

About the Author

Alan F. Troop
's poems, essays, short stories, and articles have appeared in Miami's
Tropic
magazine, Fort Lauderdale's
Sunshine
magazine, and a number of national publications. A lifelong resident of South Florida, Troop lives near Fort Lauderdale with his wife, Susan, and manages a hardware-wholesale business in Miami. He often spends his leisure time sailing his catamaran around the islands off the coast of South Miami. You can visit him on the Web at
www.DragonNovels.com
.