Dragon’s Oath (7 page)

“I have just returned from games where I earned the title of Sword Master. I already have integrity and honor, even though I’m not yet a fully Changed vampyre.”

“You can’t win integrity and honor from
games.
You can only earn them from living a life dedicated to those ideals.” Her eyes held his and he realized that she wasn’t speaking to him with condescension. She sounded oddly sad—almost defeated. And Dragon had no idea why that made him suddenly want to say something—do something, anything that would make the little furrow of worry on her otherwise smooth brow disappear.

“I know that, Anastasia—Professor Anastasia,” he corrected himself this time. “I am already dedicated to my Sons of Erebus training. I will be a Warrior someday, and I will uphold their standards of honesty and loyalty and valor.”

He was pleased to see her smile, though it was slight. “I hope you do. I think you could make an extraordinary Warrior someday.”

“I’m already extraordinary,” Dragon said, his smile back.

And then she surprised him again by looking him squarely in his eyes, almost as if she was a Warrior herself, and saying, “If you’re so extraordinary, then prove it.”

Dragon brandished his sword and bowed to her, hand fisted around the hilt, pressing it to his chest just as if he was a full Son of Erebus Warrior and she his priestess. “Send me on a task! Point me at the bear I must slay to prove myself worthy.”

This time her smile was full, and Dragon thought it lit up her already beautiful face with a happiness that seemed to glow around her. Her mouth, with its full lips tilted up, was distracting him so that he had to blink in confusion and say, “What? Me?” when he realized she was pointing directly at him. “Even a vampyre who is too young to be a professor should be able to see that I am not a bear.”

“I was assuming you were speaking metaphorically when you asked me to set you on a quest to prove your worth.”

“Quest?” He blinked. He’d just been kidding. What was she thinking?

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t really qualify as a full quest, but it is a way you can prove to me that you’re extraordinary.”

He took a swaggering step toward her. Now this was more like it! “I am ready to do your bidding, my lady,” he said in his most charming voice.

“Excellent. Then come over here to my altar. You are going to help me cast this spell.”

His swagger ended. “You want me to help you with a spell that will make girls dislike me?”

“Do not forget the two boys. And the spell won’t make them dislike you. It will make them see you more clearly because it will get rid of their haze of infatuation for you.”

“I have to tell you, this sounds a little dodgy to me. It seems a lot like cutting my arm off to prove that I’m an extraordinary swordsman.”

“You do not have to help me.” She turned back to the altar, fussing with the element candles and then the three little velvet bags that sat beside the chalice and food.

Dragon shrugged and started to walk away. It was no matter to him that this odd young priestess was set on making his love life difficult. So what if thirteen fledglings were no longer interested in him? (He didn’t count the guys.) One thing he’d learned since he’d first discovered the pleasures of women was that there were
always
women who wanted him. He had even started to chuckle to himself when her next words drifted across the distance between them.

“Actually, pay no mind to my request. You should be getting back to the House of Night. Dawn approaches. Most fledglings are already in their beds.”

He stopped and whirled around, wanting to spit fire at her. She’d spoken to him as if he was a child! But she didn’t realize how her words had affected him. Anastasia was still puttering around the altar, her back to him, as if she had already completely erased Dragon Lankford from her mind.

She was wrong about him. He wasn’t a child and he didn’t lack honesty or loyalty or valor. He’d show her by … by …

And then he heard himself saying, “I’ll stay and help you with the spell.”

She looked over her shoulder at him and he saw surprise and something else, something that might have been pleasure and warmth in those big blue eyes. But her voice was nonchalant. “Good. Come over here and sit there, on the edge of the rock.” She pointed. “Be careful not to disturb the altar cloth or knock over a candle.”

“Yes, my lady. Anything you say, my lady,” he muttered.

As he rejoined her she raised a brow at him but didn’t say anything and went back to arranging the candle and neatening the altar.

Dragon studied her while she worked. His first impression of her held—she was a beauty: petite with long, wheat-colored hair that fell straight and thick to her waist. But even though she was small, she still had generous curves, which he could easily see through her sheer linen top and flowing blue skirt. He didn’t usually pay much attention to what women wore—he preferred his women naked—but Anastasia’s clothing was decorated with shells and beads and fringe, making her look fey and Otherworldly, an effect that was enhanced by her tattoos, which were graceful vines and flowers, so exquisite in detail they looked real.

“All right. I’m ready to begin again. Are you?” she asked.

He blinked and shifted his attention to the altar, not liking that she’d caught him staring. “I’m ready. Actually, I’m looking forward to hearing the names of the fledglings who asked for love spells.” He turned his gaze from the altar to meet hers, being sure he put a challenge in his voice.

Anastasia’s look remained unruffled. “Because you are aiding me with the spell, I won’t need to call the fledglings’ names. Your presence and cooperation add enough strength to my casting that it will affect anyone who has been distracted by you.”

Dragon exhaled with a snort. “It sounds like it’s a good thing I don’t have a ladylove at this moment. What we’re about to do would certainly mess that up.”

“No, it wouldn’t. Not if that person was truly interested in
you
and not some overblown image of you.”

“You make me sound like an arrogant ass,” he said.

“Are you?”

“No! I’m just me.”

“Then this spell will not affect anyone who wants
just you.
”

“All right, all right. I understand. Let’s get this over with. What do you want me to do?”

She answered with a question of her own. “You have taken three years of spells and rituals classes, haven’t you?”

He nodded. “I have.”

“Good, well, I’ll mix the spellwork herbs in your hand. Hold it up like a cup.” She demonstrated with her own. “Like this. The herbs touching you will help lend strength to the spell. Do you think you could manage the completion of at least some of the parts of the actual spellwork if I lead you through it?”

He stifled his irritation. She didn’t sound patronizing. She sounded as if she hadn’t actually considered the possibility that he might enjoy class—might be good at anything besides swordplay.

Professor Anastasia was in for a surprise.

“If you have to ask, you must not have checked out my class work record from the previous spells and rituals professor,” he said blandly, hoping that his tone would make her believe she would have found one substandard grade after another.

The young professor sighed heavily. “No, I did not.”

“So all you really know about me is how infatuated some of the other fledglings are with me.”

Her eyes met his and, again, he saw an emotion he couldn’t identify in their cornflower depths. “I know that someday you will be a Warrior, but that does not mean you can cast a spell.”

“All I can do is to give you my word I will do my best tonight,” he said, wondering why it mattered at all to him what she thought.

Anastasia paused, as if she was choosing her response carefully. When she finally spoke it was just to say a simple, “Thank you, Bryan.” And she bowed her head slightly, respectfully, to him.

“Call me Dragon,” he said, trying not to show how much that one small sign of respect had affected him.

“Dragon,” she repeated. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting. It’s just that ‘Bryan’ seems to suit you.”

“You would know that ‘Dragon’ suits me were you on the other side of my sword,” he said. And then realizing how arrogant that must have sounded he added hastily, “Not that I would ever attack a priestess. I just meant that if you saw me during a swordfight you would understand my nickname. When I fight I become the dragon.”

“That probably won’t happen any time soon,” she said.

“You truly dislike me.”

“No! It has nothing to do with you. I dislike violence. I was raised—” Anastasia broke off, shaking her head. “
That
has nothing to do with the drawing spell, and we need to keep focused. Let’s begin. Take three deep, slow breaths with me and clear your mind, please.”

Dragon didn’t want to. He wanted to ask her about how she’d been raised—about what had happened to her that had made her dislike violence so much—but the three years of spells and rituals training had him automatically following her lead and breathing along with her.

“The circle is already cast; we won’t need to redo that,” she said, taking a thick braid of half-burned grass from the altar. Anastasia glanced at him. “Do you know what this is?”

“Sweetgrass,” he said.

“Good,” she said. “Do you know what it’s used for in spellwork?”

He made himself hesitate, as if he had to think hard to remember the answer. “Clearing negative energy?” Bryan purposefully made the answer into a question.

“Yes. That’s correct. Very good.” Anastasia spoke to him like he was a first-year fledgling. He hid his smile from her while she held the braided grass over the green earth candle. It relit easily. Then, wafting it clockwise around them, she turned to him and said,
“I begin with sweetgrass to cleanse this space…”
She paused, giving him an expectant look.

“Any negative energy must leave this place.”
With no hesitation, he said the rest of the opening spellwork line that completed the sweetgrass cleansing.

She beamed her pleasure in a sweet smile that made his breath catch in his throat, and Dragon was suddenly very, very glad he’d always been especially good at spells and rituals.

Anastasia placed the smoking braid back on the altar and then she took a pinch of herbs from the first velvet bag. She walked to him and he held his hand up for her, palm cupped, as she’d shown him. Anastasia sprinkled the bits of dried leaves, whose smell was familiar to him not just because he’d recently had the things blown in his face but also because he actually had spent the past three years paying attention in class. So when the priestess said,
“Awareness and clarity come with these leaves of bay…,”
paused, and glanced at him it was an automatic, easy response for him to complete the line with,
“Through earth we call their power today.”

She rewarded him with another sweet smile before going to the second velvet bag. She returned to sprinkle dried needles over the bay leaves.
“Cedar, from you it is courage, protection, and self-control I seek.”

“Lend us your strength so that this spell shall not be weak,”
he recited quickly, not waiting for her pause.

This time Anastasia’s smile seemed thoughtful, which made Dragon feel self-satisfied. More than a little smug, he was sitting there, smiling, knowing that the last ingredient of the spell would be salt to bind it, when the priestess shocked him completely by reaching forward and resting her hand softly on his head. He felt a jolt at her touch and his gaze went to hers. Her eyes widened and her voice definitely sounded breathless as she said,
“A part of this spell should come from you…”

She paused and this time all he could do was sit there, silent, with his pulse pounding as her hand slid down toward his cheek.
“So that it is cast straight, strong, and true.”
Her slim white fingers wrapped around several strands of hair that had escaped from the piece of leather that held the rest of it back, out of his way. Then she tugged. Hard. And plucked several strands from his head, which she dropped into his waiting palm.

Dragon resisted the urge to yelp and rub his scalp.

Only then did she turn to the third velvet pouch and come back with the crystals of salt, but she didn’t sprinkle them over the mixture in his hand. Instead she took his other hand and led him from where he was sitting on the altar rock. Slowly, as she still held his hand in hers, the two of them began to walk clockwise around the glowing candles. Anastasia’s voice changed as she got to the heart of the spell. Dragon couldn’t complete the lines for her because he’d never heard this particular casting, but as she spoke and they moved around the stone he could feel the power of the spell wash over them. He became caught in her words, drawn to them as if they had texture and touch.

“A drawing spell is what we work tonight.

Our wish is to cast clarity of sight.

With leaves of bay we will reveal the truth

Love should not be based on arrogant youth.

Cedar strength protects from the boy’s misdeeds,

Lends courage and control to fulfill their needs.”

Dragon was so caught up in the sound of her voice that it took him a moment to process what she was actually saying. By the time he understood she was probably calling him an arrogant miscreant, they’d come to a halt before the red fire candle and she turned to face him. Cradling his hand that cupped the herbs, she added the salt to the mixture, intoning,
“Salt is the key to bind this spell to me.”

Then she guided their joined hands over the red candle and, as she scooped out the mixture and fed it to the flame, said,
“In this flame the magick cuts like a sword drawing only the truth of Bryan Dragon Lankford!”