The Unbearable Lightness of Dragons (19 page)

“Ah.” I thought for a moment. “Like electricity?”

“No. It is more akin to the energy found in elemental magic.”

A little tickle of a memory flitted through my mind. I closed my eyes to better focus on it.

“Are you going to use that, or should I reheat it?” Baltic asked, nudging my hands again.

“One moment. I’m thinking. There’s a memory just . . . Ah, got it.” I shivered as a sudden cool earthiness seeped into my pores. I opened my eyes to find that I was kneeling on a dirt floor, Baltic spread out naked next to me, an annoyed expression on his face.

“You just cannot leave the past in the past, can you?” he asked me, nodding toward something behind me.

I turned to see myself coming down a narrow stone passage, a small branch of candles in one hand, the flickering light from them casting eerie shadows on the rough-hewn stone walls.

“Here,” a male voice said.

I got to my feet as the other Baltic came into view, gesturing toward the wall.

“That’s stone,” the past me said, holding the candles high.

“It appears that way. I have hidden the door to the lair. You must learn how to access it, and how to use your power to hide it when needed.”

“What power? Dragon fire, you mean?”

“No, the power that fills all living things. It flows around us. Open yourself up to it and use it. No other dragons can do so but us. It is unique in the weyr. It is why our lairs are so hard to find—we use the power that only we can harness to hide them from other eyes.”

Behind me, Baltic sighed and got to his feet, brushing off his behind, pausing to cast a look of admiration at the old Ysolde as she examined the wall. “I always loved it when you wore nothing but a chemise.”

I stopped eyeing the past Baltic, clad in a pair of leather leggings and boots, to notice that the candles he now held made Ysolde’s form visible through the thin material of the chemise.

“You know, it’s really hard to be jealous of yourself, but if you keep ogling her, I may just manage it,” I told him.

He grinned. “You wish to bed me. The other me. Where is the difference?”

“I do not! I mean, I
did
wish to, and we
did
make love, but the present me doesn’t want the past you.” I glanced over to where the past Baltic was showing Ysolde how to open the hidden door. “Well, all right, I wouldn’t turn him down if he showed up in my bed, because he looks really sexy in those leggings.”

Baltic said something rude under his breath.

“Oh, come on! Just look at yourself!” I said, gesturing toward the memory. “Those leggings and boots and bare chest . . . it’s just so . . .
rawr
! I want to rip the clothes right off of him. You. Past you! And your chest . . . I’ve always loved your chest. . . .”

Baltic moved to block my view, his expression black as he gestured at his current self. “You will love
this
chest, mate! You will welcome
me
in your bed, not him!”

“Oh, I do love your chest,” I purred, rubbing myself against his body, making sure to stroke a hand down the silky flesh that covered the steely muscles of his chest and abdomen. “I love every inch of you, Baltic. I always will.”

“More than him?” he asked, jerking his thumb toward the other version of himself, one that was now, I was interested to see, pressing Ysolde up against the wall to kiss her breasts and neck.

“Good lord, we really did go at it like bunnies, didn’t we?” I murmured, quickly pulling my attention back to Baltic at the outraged noise he made deep in his chest. “Of course I love you more. Present you wins every competition. You’re sexier now, more handsome, and much more pleasing to me.”

I thought that would assuage his ego, but his black look grew darker. “You didn’t find me sexy in the past? I didn’t please you then?”

“Of course you did!” I wanted to laugh, but knew he would totally misunderstand. “For the love of the saints, just look at me. Does it look like you’re not pleasuring me to the tips of my toes?”

We both looked at the couple, my eyes widening a little as Baltic, murmuring something in Ysolde’s ear, hoisted her upward, pressing her against the wall as he pulled her legs around his hips, quickly thrusting into her body in a way that made her cry out in rapture.

“By the rood,” I said softly, my mouth going a bit dry at the sight.

Baltic moved to block my view again. “Is that what you desire? Lovemaking in the tunnel under Dauva?”

“No, of course not. Er . . . is the tunnel still there?”

He sighed and strode off. I followed, with only a quick backward glance at the lovers, but the scene melted away into that of our bedroom. “Where are you going?” I asked when I got to the door in time to see a still-naked Baltic marching down the stairs.

Brom was coming up them at the same time, casting a curious look over his shoulder as he got to the top. He gave me a long look that was more adult than it should have been, saying simply, “Night, Sullivan.”

“Good night, lovey,” I answered, wondering if Baltic was truly angry or had just gone off to book a flight to Latvia. I started after him, returning quickly to the room to snatch up the caramel and brush before hurrying downstairs.

Pavel stood at the front door, an expression of surprise fading to one of amusement as I paused to consider where Baltic might have gone.

“Basement,” was all Pavel said.

“Thanks. He’s in one of his moods,” I said.

Pavel glanced at the bowl, dipping in a finger and licking it. “Homemade caramel sauce?”

“Of course. I used fresh cream, and I think it made all the difference.”

He smiled. “Have I mentioned lately how glad I am that you are not dead? Not just because you’ve kept Baltic from going insane with grief, but because it’s nice to have someone who appreciates good food.”

I laughed and pressed a kiss to his cheek before heading to the basement door.

“So if the black dragon’s element is energy, what’s our element?” I asked, closing the door and making my way down the narrow steps to Brom’s work area. Fluorescent lights from the ceiling fixture cast a sickly hue over his worktable. Beyond it were a couple of storage rooms, one door of which was open, the pale yellow light from it pooling at the entrance.

“Arcane power,” came a muffled answer.

I touched a spot over my heart, where a light tan brand of a stylized sun resided. Baltic had placed the mark there, telling me it was the symbol of our new sept and that when I had mastered my dragon fire, I would do the same for Brom. “Does Pavel have abilities to use arcane power?”

“No. But his children will. As will ours.”

I wasn’t prepared to talk about the possibility of other children yet. I knew Baltic wanted a child of his own blood, and I did think that we would have one together, but I didn’t intend for that to happen until our lives had settled down. “You had arcane abilities before, though, didn’t you? Isn’t that why Antonia von Endres gave you her mage sword?”

“My grandmother was a mage,” he said in an even more muffled tone, accompanied by some soft swearing in another language. “I gained some control over arcane magic from her.”

“On your mother or father’s side?”

“My mother’s mother.”

“So your grandmother was human? Huh.” I sat on the tall stool before Brom’s worktable. “Did I ever meet your parents? Before we were killed, I mean?”

“You do not remember?”

“No. That’s part of the past that’s still blank to me.”

“You met my father, yes. My mother was long dead by the time you were born. She would have liked you. She would have been pleased I chose you above all others.”

Wyverns, I remembered from a talk with May, all had one thing in common—one dragon parent and one human parent. “Because I was raised with mortals, you mean?”

“Because you thought like them, even after you knew what you truly were.”

I digested that for a minute, about to ask another question when Baltic emerged from the spare room. He wore a pair of dusky brown leather leggings and boots that went up to midthigh, and he bore a long, stained leather sheath. In one hand he carried a black tunic and something that looked like a small curved chest piece, one that had seen better days. He tossed the chest piece onto a chair, and as I stared in astonishment, pulled a long sword out of the sheath, balancing it in his hand for a moment before nodding. “I am glad Pavel was able to retrieve my cuirass and sword before Constantine destroyed Dauva. Now,
chérie
, you will cease thinking of the past and focus on the present.”

I continued to stare for a moment, tears pricking painfully to life behind my eyes. “If I wasn’t head over heels in love with you already, I would fall madly in love with you right at this moment.”

He looked down at himself for a moment before cocking an eyebrow. “It is good, then, that I kept the clothing I wore when Thala resurrected me. I had no idea it would arouse you in such a manner.”

“It’s not the clothes,” I said, setting down the caramel and taking his face in my hands, pulling him down so I could press kisses all over it.

“Then what?” he asked, placing the sword on Brom’s worktable, wrapping both arms around me, and hoisting me upward. “Why do you weep?”

“It’s the fact that you would go to all this trouble just to please me. Oh, Baltic, I don’t need you in leggings, although they are even more sexy on you now than in the past. I don’t want you to be the man you used to be—I desire you as you are, not as you were. My heart has always been yours, and always will be.”

“That is as it should be,” he said with a smug look that just made me smile. “But I do not mind indulging the less strange of your fantasies. Do you have a chemise?”

I blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“I cannot make love to you in the tunnel under Dauva while we are in England. This basement will have to suffice as the location for your current fantasy of the time I took you in the tunnel.” He paused and thought for a moment. “The
first
time I took you in the tunnel. It was a favorite trysting place of yours.”

“Was it? I don’t . . . Baltic, I don’t expect you to reenact this. I wasn’t turned on by the idea of our past selves going at it in a secret tunnel.”

He raised one eyebrow.

“All right, I was just a little, but not so much that I needed for you to dig out all your old things and the sword. Which I should point out is now a museum piece, so you should probably treat it a little better than you are. The scabbard looks like it’s about to fall apart.”

“Do you wish for me to make love to you here or not?” he asked impatiently.

I was about to say yes when something occurred to me. “You’re always talking about my fantasies, not that I have any, or at least not like you seem to think I do. But what about you?”

His brows pulled together in a puzzled frown. “What about me?”

“What fantasies do you have?”

“I am a wyvern. I don’t need fantasies,” he said with a matter-of-fact finality.

I touched the tips of my fingers to his bare chest, lightly stroking them down the swells of his muscles. “Oh, surely there must be one or two little ones wyverns are allowed?”

His eyes widened just a little. “I enjoyed the caramel.”

“Yes, but that wasn’t your fantasy. What would make you crazy with lust, Baltic?” I breathed on a nipple, flicking it with my tongue.

He sucked in his breath.

“What would push you over the edge?” I let my fingers trailer lower, to his belly, swirling them in an intricate pattern, enjoying the way the muscles contracted there.

He stopped breathing.

I smiled, and leaned close, speaking against his lips. “What would drive you to distraction?”

“I am a dragon.” His eyes glittered brightly despite the dimness of the room. His stance changed subtly, from relaxed to tense, as if his entire body was gathering itself.

My fingers brushed the front of his leather pants, caressing the growing length of him. “And what do dragons like?”

“The hunt,” he said, his voice low and rough, and so filled with erotic promise, it made me shiver with anticipation. “Mates run. Dragons hunt.”

I nipped his bottom lip. “Do you want me to—”

“RUN!” he snarled, smoke curling out of his nose.

I didn’t wait around to tease him any more. I simply bolted up the stairs, smiling to myself that I had found a fantasy I could fulfill for him. The house held no attraction for me, so I ran straight for the garden, planning on leading him on a merry chase through the shrubs to the small, growth-protected woods that edged one side of the estate.

The night air was a bit chilly, as summer was moving toward autumn, but the cool, crisp air was pleasant on my heated skin as I wove through the long shadows of the garden, vaulting over a brick fence to the verge that led into the woods.

There wasn’t a lot of light from the moon, and even less when I entered the minute forest. A sense of déjà vu struck me as I dashed from tree to tree, trying desperately to calm my breathing so Baltic wouldn’t hear me.

“Always you run to the forest,” a voice called out with mock dismay. “The silver dragon influences still grip you, eh,
chérie
?”

If he thought I was going to answer him and let him pinpoint my direction, he was crazy. I moved as silently as possible, clutching willow and ash trees, peering around them into the dark gloom of the woods, searching for any signs of movement.

“You do not answer me? You have learned since that first time. But I found you then, Ysolde, and I will find you now.”

I wanted badly to tell him that I expected him to find me, but instead glided to a large alder tree, the base of which was at least four feet wide. With another smile, I peeled off my shirt and draped it on a branch before moving to the next tree, away from his voice.