Up In Smoke (20 page)

“Is this going to become a habit, Mayling?”

I struggled up from where I was floating mindlessly, wrapped in an onyx cushion that blotted out all thought. I frowned. The voice that spoke was familiar, all too familiar. I was mildly annoyed that Cyrene would pull me out of such a lovely dream, for such I assumed it was.

“Is what going to become a habit?” I heard another voice ask, and was surprised to find it belonged to me.

“Burning down hotels.”

I opened my eyes at that, my memory returning with her words. “The phylactery,” I gasped, immediately reaching for the chain that hung around my neck.

There was no chain. I stared in stark horror at Cyrene as she sat in a chair next to me, my mind madly twirling as it tried to piece together the last confused moments before I'd lost consciousness.

“It's gone,” Cyrene said placidly, setting down a magazine as I immediately began to search the bed upon which I was lying. “Evidently it just—
poof !
—blew up. Along with the entire top floor of the hotel, I might add. Honestly, Mayling, I don't think you had to go to quite such dramatic lengths to clear out those bastard dragons who were attacking us.”

I pulled myself up to lean against the headboard of the bed. I was back in Aisling and Drake's Parisian house, but how I got there was a blank. “I blew up the hotel? I don't think so, Cy. I never do anything that would draw attention to me.”

“Well, you blew up the phylactery, which was the same thing. It blew out a couple of walls with a huge fireball, blasted a huge hole in the center of the floor, and set fire to pretty much the top floor of the hotel. You're just lucky that it contained only the conference center, and that everyone there was immortal, or you'd be talking to the watch about killing innocent people.”

Fear twisted my gut. As someone born of the shadows, I always avoided any action that might force me into the limelight, but more importantly, I made it a policy to never kill another being.

“As it is, most of the dragons escaped harm, except for those bastards with the guns, and they fell through the hole in the floor, so that's no problem. I had a burn on my arm, but Gabriel fixed it for me,” she said, holding out one unmarked arm.

“That was nice of him,” I murmured, my thoughts black with unhappiness.

“I had to wait until he was done fixing you first, but I suppose that was to be expected. You were pretty hurt.”

“Me?” I moved my legs, then arms, not even a slight twinge answering the movements. “I'm not hurt.”

“You're not now, not after Gabriel spent the last twenty hours working on you, but I saw you when they hauled you in here, and you were in pretty bad shape.” Remorse filled her eyes as she placed her hand on mine and gave it a little squeeze. “I was worried.”

“Silly twin,” I answered, returning the gesture. “You know I can't be killed.”

“No, but you can be damaged in ways that would leave you a mental vegetable, and you had lost so much blood, I wasn't sure if you were going to come back to us. But Gabriel never lost hope.”

“Where is he?” I said, surprised he wasn't there.

“Oh, he went downstairs when Kostya challenged for you. I said I'd watch you while he did that.” Her face and voice were as serene as ever.

Swinging my legs out of bed and getting to my feet, I shook my head at that fact that she could still surprise me. I felt a moment of lightheadedness, but my legs seemed as solid as ever. “I swear if I live a thousand mortal lifetimes, I'll never understand you, Cy. You don't mind that Kostya is challenging Gabriel for me?”

“Don't be silly,” she said, her airy laugh brightening the residual wispy dark cobwebs in my mind. “He doesn't really want
you,
you know. He wants what you are. And besides, I don't think he's going to get you. Gabriel can be awful obstinate when he wants.”

“What I am?” I shook my head again, moving over to the wardrobe to gather some clothing. Why would Kostya suddenly care that I was a wyvern's mate? He wasn't even recognized as a wyvern. Perhaps this was just one more way he had struck upon to cause Gabriel grief. “You know, I think I'm just going to talk to Gabriel and find out what's been going on.” I stopped at the door to the bathroom and looked back at her. “Did you say I'd been out of it for a day?”

“Yes. Gabriel worked all night on you.” She hesitated for a moment, a faint shadow passing over her face. “I think he loves you, Mayling.”

I didn't say anything, just nodded and went into the bathroom.

“Did you hear what I said?” she asked a few minutes later when I emerged, clothed and freshened up as best as I could manage in a short time.

“Yes.” I grabbed my dagger from where it sat on the nightstand and strapped it to my ankle, hurrying out of the room and down the hall to the stairs.

“Well?” Cyrene demanded, following me. “Don't you have anything to say to that? Like how you feel about him?”

“My feelings aren't important at this point. What is important is what bull Kostya is trying to pull now. Where are they?”

I paused at the foot of the stairs. Cyrene pointed to the door to the right, which I remembered from past visits had led to a large sitting room.

“Mayling,” she said slowly as I was about to open the door.

I cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at her.

“You do love him, too, don't you?” She took a couple of steps forward, her gaze searching mine. “I mean, you wouldn't want to trade him in for another dragon, would you?”

A little smile curled up the edges of my mouth. “I can assure you that I have no designs on, desires for, or even patience with Kostya.”

“Good,” she said, her chin lifting. “Because he's mine, and although I understand him challenging Gabriel and all, I wouldn't want to have to do something serious if you were willing to switch allegiances.”

“Serious? Serious like what?” I asked against my better judgment. “Cy, are you saying you'd take me down if I messed with your boyfriend? You've never been like that.”

“This is different,” she said firmly. “And no, I wouldn't take you down, as you put it. I'd just . . . well, I'd make things miserable for you.”

I bit back both a comment and a smile, contenting myself with a brisk nod before I opened the door.

“I refuse to discuss this any further,” Gabriel was saying as we entered the room.

“I refuse to let you refuse my challenge! I, Konstantin Fekete—”

“No!” Gabriel said in a louder voice. “You may not challenge for her!”

Kostya stormed over to him (he was always storming places), his nostrils flaring as he stopped. “I challenge you for—”

“May is a wyvern's mate,” Gabriel interrupted. “Only a wyvern may challenge for her, and when last I looked, you were not included in the weyr.”

“I would be if you hadn't stopped me!”

A voice spoke from the far side of the room. “Oh, blow it out your—”

“Jim!” Aisling squawked from where she sat on the couch. “Out!”

“Man, I never—”

“Out!”

“That baby is making you really mean. Can I just say Rosemary's baby, here? Because . . . All right, all right, I'm getting! Sheesh! Hiya, Cy. How they hangin, ' May? Boy, some people really take the term ‘demon lord' to heart.”

“Are we interrupting?” I said, taking in the scene as Jim shambled out of the room, muttering to itself.

The conversation came to an abrupt halt. Instantly, Gabriel was at my side, his eyes filled with concern. “Your twin was supposed to tell me when you'd woken,” he said, taking my hands in his.

I curled my fingers around his, unable to keep from smiling up at him when Cyrene said abruptly, “Gabriel, May is awake. Pookie! Has he been mean to you?”

The expressions that crossed Kostya's face as Cyrene hurried over to him were comical, but I had better things to do than watch him be embarrassed by love talk.

“Would it shock you to the tips of your dragon toes if I kissed you in front of everyone?” I asked, leaning into Gabriel.

“No. It would, however, violate the strictest dragon etiquette,” he answered, his eyes lit with passion and laughter.

I grabbed two handfuls of the soft brown dreadlocks that hung to his shoulders, and pulled his head down for a kiss that was guaranteed to raise the temperature of the room at least five degrees.

“I like her,” Aisling said with approval.

I gave Gabriel's lower lip a little nibble. “Perhaps this should wait until there is less of an audience?” I whispered.

“She knows what she wants, and she goes after it. I like that,” Aisling said again. “Drake, you'll notice Gabriel isn't lecturing her about what's proper and what isn't proper.”

“You tempt me beyond reason,” Gabriel responded, pulling me to him so that we fit together as if my curves were specifically designed for his hard lines.

Drake raised his eyebrows at his wife. “Are you implying you actually listen to those lectures?”

“No. Arm.” Drake rose and bent over her, obviously about to lift her off the couch. She pushed him back and grabbed his arm, using it as leverage to pull herself to her feet.

“I thought not. If I offered to not lecture you for the next six weeks, would you allow me to lift you when you wish to rise?” he asked, opening the door for her.

“I'll think about it. Now, stop hovering and pay attention to just how nicely Gabriel is allowing May to kiss him. You don't see him complaining.”

Drake frowned. “
Kincsem,
I have yet to complain about the methods you use to show your affection; it is the times you choose to indulge in them that I—”

The door shut briskly in his face.

I giggled into Gabriel's mouth, teasing his lips, nibbling and licking and tasting him, just enough to stir the dragon fire between us, but not enough to ignite it fully.

“That must wait until later,” he said, agreeing with what I was thinking.

“Someday I'm going to be able to read your mind, too, and then you're going to be in trouble,” I said, sucking on his lower lip one last time. Regretfully, I released it and stepped back, warmed to the depths of my being by the look in his eyes.

“If you are done with that wholly inappropriate show of affection, perhaps we could get on with the challenge?” Kostya said, and he probably would have stormed over to us while he said it, but Cyrene was clinging to his arm like a naiad-sized leech, cooing little love words and tucking long strands of his auburn hair behind his ear.

Gabriel said something in Zilant, the now archaic language of the dragon weyr.

Kostya looked shocked for a moment. Drake's lips quivered.

I nudged Gabriel. “Was that the equivalent of ‘get stuffed'?”

“Not quite so polite, but yes,” he answered, one dimple flashing momentarily. “The issue is moot, Kostya. May is mine, and you may not have her.”

“Now, don't let him get you all riled up, pookums,” Cyrene told him as she dragged him to a love seat. “You said yourself that if you kept your so-adorable nose clean for a bit, no one would have any right to refuse recognizing us as black dragons.”

Kostya looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but he managed to stop himself in time. “You don't know of what you speak, woman. Stop tugging on me. I don't want to sit there!”

“Well, fine!” Cyrene said, dropping his arm with an exasperated noise. “Where do you want to sit?”

Kostya's face was mutinous. “I will stand. Until the glorious black dragons retake their rightful place in the weyr—”

Identical long-suffering expressions appeared on Gabriel's and Drake's faces, as one no doubt did on mine. Once Kostya got going on his tirade about what the black dragons had suffered, it was difficult to stop him.

“Oh, shut up,” I said, exasperation overriding my better judgment.

Kostya opened his mouth to reply but instead burst into flames.

The other two men eyed him with surprise, all three turning their gazes on me.

“Er . . . did I do that?”

Kostya crossed his arms and shot me an outraged glare.

“I don't think that was me. Was it?”

Gabriel nodded. Drake sighed.

“Would you mind putting him out?” the latter asked me. “Aisling will be annoyed if the heat builds up enough to set off the sprinklers.”

“Sorry,” I said, focusing my attention on extinguishing the flames that continued to consume Kostya. “I didn't realize I had pulled Gabriel's fire.”

“Indeed.” Drake cleared his throat. “I am pleased to see you well, May. I take it you are feeling no aftereffects of the explosion?”

My happiness dimmed at the reminder of what I had to do.

“Yes, thank you, I feel fine. I'm sorry about losing control of Gabriel's fire, Kostya. That hasn't happened before.”

Kostya snapped something and plopped himself down in a chair. Cyrene perched on the arm of it, patting out a few leftover tendrils of fire that were licking at his ears.

“Gabriel.” I brushed his hand with mine, needing the reassurance his touch brought me, but hesitant to ask for it in the face of what I had to confess. “I don't know how to tell you this, but the phylactery . . . er . . .”

“It was destroyed when you used it,” Gabriel finished for me. The amusement in his eyes that had been spawned by the sight of Kostya in flames fizzled away until they were left shiny and flat, just like polished silver plates.

“I'm very sorry,” I said, uncomfortable with his placid expression. That was the face he used with others, not me. “You should have warned me that it had that much power. Cyrene said no one mortal was hurt, thank the gods, but still, I wish you had warned me what to expect.”