Dragon Maid (11 page)

“Once you’ve accomplished what you can, we shall decide further how to treat with the Morrigan.” Gwydion rubbed his hands together.

“She is our kinswoman, after all, no matter what she has done,” Arawn added.

“I assume our offer is acceptable.” Ceridwen’s dark, steely gaze moved amongst them.

“Why would it be?” Kheladin demanded. “Ye just said ye’ll do nothing.”

“Not exactly.” Ceridwen smiled with all the warmth of a cobra. “We dinna say nay. We said we’d wait and see. Och aye, we will dismantle her memory-jangling spell. The dragon shifter is correct. Such an act is, indeed, a violation of the covenant.”

At least ’tis a bit of a concession.
Britta drew in a slow breath and blew it back out.

“Seems like a backhanded way to get us to put ourselves at huge risk, possibly for nothing.” Jonathan met Ceridwen’s gaze.

Britta tugged hard on his arm.
“Doona anger them. They are still gods.”

“Excellent advice, dragon shifter.” Gwydion closed on them and focused his intense blue gaze on Jonathan. “’Twould appear ye inherited my sister’s stubbornness, witch-god. I would know how ye came to be.”

“Did your da make a habit of fucking goddesses?” Gwydion snapped. “Or was it only my sister?”

“I wouldn’t have the slightest idea.” Jonathan tried to maintain a level tone and remember Gwydion was a god. It wouldn’t do any good to snipe back at him.

“And why not?”

“In the first place, I didn’t even know what sex was until I was, maybe, ten or eleven. By then, Da had pretty much checked out.”

“Say more.” Gwydion gestured with both hands.

“Da was…disconnected from things, including me. Other than keeping food in the house—and he didn’t even do that very well some of the time—it was like living with a ghost.”

Gwydion clacked his teeth together. “I canna fathom why my sister would be attracted to a man such as ye describe.” He moved next to Jonathan and laid a hand on his head. His touch crackled with magic.

Jonathan ducked out from beneath it; his heart pounded. “What are you doing?”

“Your memory is clouded. I shall get what I need another way. Doona fear,
nephew
, I willna harm you.”

Time passed. Jonathan had no idea how much before Gwydion finally withdrew from his mind. He puffed out a frustrated breath, still rattled from the forced conversation that wasn’t over yet. Once the Celt had accessed Jonathan’s memories, the warrior magician grilled him, ferreting out early recollections Jonathan didn’t know he still possessed about his time with Arianrhod.

When Jonathan didn’t see how he could possibly dredge up anything else, Gwydion’s questions just kept coming.

Britta stood by his side throughout, her arm wrapped around him. A time or two, he’d felt her ready magic. And he sensed her anger when Gwydion’s questioning became truly invasive. No matter how much probing the Celt did, Jonathan had no idea how his da had met the goddess, or if they’d lain together just the once or on multiple occasions.

Finally, Britta made a chopping motion with one hand. “’Tis enough, Gwydion. Ye would squeeze blood from a turnip. He doesna know aught else.”

“Aye, unfortunately, ye’re probably correct.”

Jonathan wanted to ask what Gwydion planned to do with the information, but the question had no sooner formed in his mind when Britta shook her head, and he kept his mouth shut.

The Celts left as precipitously as they’d arrived, with promises they’d keep the Morrigan busy for the next hour or so to allow them to leave Kheladin’s cave undisturbed.

“’Tisn’t as if we couldna fight our way out,” Lachlan muttered.

“Aye,” Britta concurred. “Six against one—even when that one is the Morrigan—are decent odds.”

“We have no idea where the black and red wyverns are—or their mages,” Tarika reminded them.

“Och.” Britta nodded. “Quite the oversight on our part, eh?”

“Ye might say so.” Tarika sounded smug.

“Where are we going?” Jonathan asked, hiding a smile. Kheladin and Tarika were eminently likeable, yet fierce at the same time.
Glad they’re on our side, even if they do like to indulge in saying
I told you so
.

“Good question.” Maggie pursed her lips. “Where do you live?”

“I have a flat here in Inverness, very close to the town center.”

“Mauvreen and Gran are in Fort William at Mauvreen’s. I know they want us to join them.” She dragged a cell phone out of a pocket, looked at it, and grimaced. “Five a.m. No wonder I’m beat.”

Jonathan didn’t have to dig very deep to realize he was desperate for some private time with his new mate. “I’d like to bring Britta to my house, at least for a little while. We’ll take care to ward it.”

“Let’s do this,” Kheladin suggested. “Tarika and I will join Mauvreen and Mary Elma in Fort William. You four show up this evening, and then we’ll strategize.”

Maggie laughed. “By then my grandmother will already have a plan firmly in place.”

“If we doona agree, we’ll craft something different.” Britta shrugged. “Majority rule.”

“Best of luck. Gran’s her own majority and pretty stubborn. Um, do you actually think the Celts will do anything about the Morrigan?” Maggie asked pointedly. “Seems to me this is just a roundabout way of suckering us into helping them out.”

“What would ye have us do?” Britta caught Maggie’s gaze and held it.

A sheepish grin spread over her face. “Good point. I guess we’d go after Rhukon, Connor, and their dragons, no matter what the Celts told us.”

“Aye.” Britta agreed. “Even if they do nothing about the Morrigan, if we can cut the knees from beneath her subordinates, we will dilute her chokehold on Earth.”

“This conversation is in danger of becoming circular.” Lachlan winked lewdly. “I propose we regroup tomorrow morning. ’Tisn’t as if Maggie and I have had much time to enjoy one another, either.”

“’Twill feel strange to be separated from Tarika for any time at all,” Britta murmured and walked to the dragon’s side. “I am fine with gathering in Fort William this evening. ’Twill give us the whole of the day with our new mates.”

“Aye, it does feel odd to have the dragon apart from you,” Lachlan said, “but ye’ll feel the bond, no matter how far away ye are one from the other.”

“If you’re lonely for Tarika,” Jonathan moved to Britta, capturing her between his body and the dragon’s side, “we can join her in Fort William whenever you want.”

“Thank you.” Britta hugged him. “There is much here that is new. ’Twill take getting used to.”

You’re not kidding. Dragons, gods, the Morrigan, being as good as married…

“I doona know about the rest of you,” Lachlan said, “but I’m thinking we should leave while we can without having a direct confrontation with the crow.”

“Agreed.” Britta untangled herself from Jonathan and opened her arms to Tarika. The dragon bent low and bathed everyone in a blast of steam. “I love you,” Britta murmured. “We will meet again verra soon.”

“Count on it.” The dragon shut one scaled eyelid in a parody of a wink.

“I’ll take good care of her,” Kheladin promised and shuffled close. “Link to my mind, Tarika. I know where we are bound.” The air took on a shimmery aspect and the dragons vanished.

Britta laid a hand over her chest. Sensing her uncertainty at being separated from Tarika, Jonathan gathered her close. He glanced at Lachlan and Maggie. “I know where Mauvreen’s is. We shall see you there before too long.”

“Even if ye dinna know, I can always find Tarika.” Britta spoke softly against his shoulder.

Now why didn’t I think of that?
“You’re not the only one dealing with new things,” he said. “Of course you could find Tarika through your bond. I feel like an idiot.”

“I dinna mean—”

“Sssh.” He kissed her hair. “No offense taken.”

“We’re leaving,” Maggie announced. “Britta, would you like me to bring a few more clothes to Mauvreen’s since everything of mine fits you?”

Britta moved out of the circle of Jonathan’s arms. “Aye. If it wouldna be too much trouble, I’d dearly appreciate the kindness.” A smile lit her eyes; burnished copper flecks warmed their golden hue.

“Consider it done.”

Jonathan felt the sting of magic. In seconds, Lachlan and Maggie were gone. “Shall we follow them?”

“Will ye send me an image of where we’re going?”

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll simply take us there. Ready?” She squared her shoulders and nodded. He thought about the best place to bring them out and targeted his living room. He hadn’t thought to ward his home before leaving, so there was always the slightest chance one of the wyverns—he still wanted to call them bad dragons—might be waiting for them, along with their mages.

Not much I can do about that.
If I aim for another location, we’ll risk exposure when we walk to my flat.
He girded himself for combat. His virtual gaming world had come alive, and he felt woefully unprepared. At least they were still solidly within the hour the Celts had promised, so the Morrigan shouldn’t be a problem.

Britta shivered. Apparently, she’d been in his mind. “I’ve always hated the crow.”

“Why?”

“Ye should see her on the field of battle, blood streaming from her beak and feathers. She glories in death. ’Tisna natural.”

“If luck is with us, we won’t have to think of anything but one another for at least a little while.” Jonathan held out his arms; she walked into them, and he summoned the magic to transport them from the dragon’s cave.

•●•

Britta inhaled deeply and then did it again. Jonathan’s scent brought a smile to her face and made her feel all melty inside. He smelled heavenly, like musk and bay leaves, with a sweet, cinnamon edge. She burrowed deeper into his arms. Not having Tarika by her side felt strange, as if she were missing a limb. Lachlan had been right; she sensed the bond, yet she missed the dragon’s presence.

’Tis all for the good. We will be far stronger with the current binding because we can fight as separate entities.

Och aye, I can reason with myself all I want. The long and short of it is, I miss her.
From what she’d seen of modern buildings, none were large enough to accommodate Tarika, but the dragon could still fold herself within Britta, just as they’d done before.
Aye, and ’twill work the other way too.

The blackness surrounding them faded. Britta blinked as a room took form. A room that smelled just like the man holding her. She readied magic in case, but nothing threatened them. Britta wriggled in Jonathan’s arms. Craning her neck, she gazed at an oblong space with leather furniture and polished wooden floors. The walls were lined with overflowing bookshelves. Things she didn’t recognize sat on tables.

“You miss her, don’t you?” Jonathan asked. “Your mind’s been busy, but I’ve stayed out of it to give you privacy.”

Britta leaned back and looked at him. “Ye needna do so. After all, we are mated and should have no secrets. Aye, I do miss Tarika. ’Tis worse than I imagined, yet not so bad I canna stand it.”

He tilted her chin with a finger and held her gaze. “If you want, we can draw more magic. Just say the word. Next stop could be Fort William and Mauvreen’s house.”

She narrowed her eyes, considering. “Nay. I have had centuries to build what is between Tarika and me. Ye and I need time as well.”

A heartfelt smile blazed from his eyes and illuminated the classic bone structure of his face. She knew he’d made the offer because he cared about her but was relieved she’d chosen to remain just the two of them.

“Give me a moment to ward the place.” His power surged; she joined hers to it. The two together would make stronger shielding. His smile morphed into a grin. “Thanks. I’m not used to working with anyone else, but I see the advantages. Can I offer you something to drink or eat?”

“Aye, but first, tell me what that black box is just there. And the other, which looks a bit like it, on the far side of the room.”

“The first is a computer monitor. What powers it is beneath the desk. The other screen is a television.”

“Computers. Isna that what ye design or build?”

He took her hand and pulled her gently toward an elaborately carved desk made of dark wood. Kneeling, he tapped a box she hadn’t seen. “This is a central processing unit. It has a circuit board inside that determines how the computer does things. I design circuit boards. They’re kind of like electronic brains.”

She knelt next to him and ran her hands over the box. “Open it,” she demanded. “I wish to see.” He unclipped metal latches and lifted one side of the box away. The thing whirred to life, ablaze with small lights. “Och.” She drew back. “What manner of arcane magic is this?”

“Sometimes it feels like magic run amok when things aren’t going well, but it’s just a bunch of circuits operated by logic. The only time magic ever comes into play is when I curse the damned thing.”

She snorted. “I need a dictionary to talk with you.”

He punched a cunningly recessed black button, and the box quieted. “Come on.” He straightened and helped her up. “I have a better idea. Let’s have something to eat and drink and then—”

“Drink, aye. Let us toast our mating. I doona wish to waste time eating. The witches will have food once we get to Fort William.” She inhaled sharply. “’Twill take time for us to get used to one another.”

He stepped around her and pulled a bottle of spirits and two shot glasses from a cupboard. Filling the glasses, he handed her one and clinked his against it. “To us.”

“Aye, to the love that will grow between us.” She tipped her glass back and drank. Whiskey burned as it traveled down her throat to her stomach.

He set his empty glass on a side table and focused his amber gaze on her. “What you said before, about getting used to each other… I never want to get too used to you.” The heat of his need pierced her from where he stood. “I’ve held this sense of awe, of wonder, ever since you invited me into your body. If I could, I’d hang onto it forever.”

“Aye, the soul of a poet.” She placed her glass next to his, closed the short distance between them, and opened her arms. He wound his around her and kissed her, tongue probing, teeth nipping. A jolt of sexual yearning zapped her. The clothes between them were first an impediment and then an annoyance as she struggled with unfamiliar fastenings.