Light Dragons 01 - Love in the Time of Dragons

out of the month-long sleep, was it not?”
    I looked at my hands lying clenched tight on the bed cover. “Yes.”
    “Child.” She laid her hand on my arm. “The dragon inside of you wishes to be woken, whether you desire that or not. I will admit that you appear human to me, and I do not know how it can be that you have changed thusly, but deny it though you may, you are Ysolde de Bouchier, and you will not be calm in your mind until you accept that.”
    “Calm in my mind? At this point, I can’t even conceive of what that’s like.” I took a deep breath, trying to keep from going stark raving mad. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be the biggest drama queen there ever was, but you have to admit that this whole situation is enough to drive a girl bonkers.”
    “It is a test, yes,” she agreed in that same soothing voice.
    I just wanted to shriek. Instead, I took another deep breath. “OK, let’s go into the land of totally bizarre, and say you’re right. I’m a dragon magically reincarnated—”
    “Not reincarnated—resurrected,” she corrected me.
    “What’s the difference?”
    “I am reincarnated—when my physical form has run its appointed time, I retreat into the dreaming and await a new form. I am born again, remembering all that has passed before, but with a new body. That is reincarnated. Resurrection is the bringing back to life of that which was dead.”
    I took a third deep breath. It’s a wonder there was any air left in the room. “That’s cool. You’re reincarnated. I’m resurrected. We’ll just move past that and get to the meat of my argument—if I’m a dragon, why don’t I like gold? Why can’t I breathe fire? Why can’t I turn into great big scary animal shapes?”
    “Because the dragon in you has not woken yet. I think . . .” She paused, her gaze turned inward. “I think it is waiting.”
    “Waiting for what?”
    “I don’t know. That is something you will find out when the time is appropriate. Until then, you must stop fighting the dragon inside you. The dreams you have, they are about your past, are they not?”
    I looked away, feeling my cheeks grow hot as I remembered the highly erotic dream I’d just had. “They concern someone named Ysolde, and a man named Baltic.”
    “As I expected. The dragon part of you wants you to remember,” she said, patting my hand as she rose. “It wants you to accept your past in order to deal with the present.”
    “Well, the dragon part can just go take a flying leap off the side of a mountain, because I want my life to go back to what it was.”
    “I don’t think that’s possible. It has stirred. It wishes for you to remember. It is time, Ysolde.”
    “Cow cookies!” I snapped. “No one tells me what to do. Well, Dr. Kostich does, but that’s fully within the bounds of my apprenticeship. And he doesn’t give me erotic dreams!”
    “Erotic dreams?” Kaawa asked, a little smile on her lips.
    I blushed again, damning my mouth for speaking inappropriately again. “I don’t really think the type of dream matters as much as the fact that my mind is cracking.”
    “Your mind is doing nothing of the sort. Allow the dragon side to speak to you, and I think you will find your way through this trying time,” she said from the door. She hesitated a few seconds, then added, “This is truly none of my business, but I have prided myself on my knowledge of history of dragonkin, and I admit to being very curious about this. . . . When you and Baltic met—did he offer to make you his mate right away, or did that come after Constantine Norka claimed you?”
    I blinked in surprise, then gave a rueful chuckle. “Assuming the dreams are not a figment of my warped mind, then no, Baltic did not ask me to be his mate when we met. Quite the contrary. He came very close to killing me, and later told me he would never bed a silver dragon.”
    “Fascinating,” she said, looking thoughtful. “Absolutely fascinating. I had no idea. Sleep well, Ysolde.”
    “Tully,” I said sadly, but it was said to the door as she closed it.
    “You look horrible,” the fruit of my loins told me six hours later as I found the dining room. Brom was seated behind a bowl of oatmeal, a plate heaped high with eggs, potatoes, and three pieces of jam-covered toast waiting next to him.
    “Thank you,” I said, dropping a kiss on his head before taking a cup off the sideboard. “And I hope you’re planning on eating all of that. You know how I