Light Dragons 01 - Love in the Time of Dragons

with the toe of her shoe. “Thanks for bringing Ysolde back, Suzanne. We’ll take it from here.”
    “But I want to stay!” Jim complained as it followed Suzanne out of the room. “I never get any excitement anymore, what with Drake not letting anyone in the house unless he has five references and a comprehensive background check. . . .”
    The door closed on the demon’s voice. Gabriel knelt next to me, tipping my chin up to look into my eyes. I let him look, feeling mentally battered. “What has happened to you?”
    I hesitated for a moment, remembering Gareth’s words. “They will kill you,” he had warned, but that didn’t make sense, not on an intellectual or an emotional level. The only vibe I was getting from May and Gabriel was one of sympathy and concern.
    “Baltic,” I said, licking my lips, my thoughts finally stopping their endless spinning to coalesce into one solid thought. My voice was rough, my lips dry, as if I’d been exposed to the elements for a very long time.
    May murmured something and moved over to pour me a drink. It was spicy, very spicy, redolent of cloves and ginger and cinnamon, and it burned as it went down my throat, but it was a good burn. It filled me with energy as it pooled in my belly, allowing me to focus my thoughts.
    “What about him?” Gabriel asked.
    I took another sip, enjoying the burn. “Is Baltic here? In London?”
    Gabriel and May exchanged glances. He said, “He was here the day you collapsed. After that, we believe he returned to Russia.”
    “To lick his wounds, most likely,” May added. “He was soundly defeated by Gabriel, Kostya, and Drake. Three of his guards died, and we captured his lieutenant, a woman named Thala.”
    “Well, unless I really am going insane, I think he’s returned. I believe I saw him in Green Park.” I explained about seeing the two men, and the vision that followed, although I left out specific details. “There’s just one thing that confuses me—the man I saw in the park does not look like the man I’ve seen in my dreams. If it’s Baltic I’ve really been dreaming about, then he couldn’t be the man in the park.”
    “Yes, he could,” Gabriel said slowly, getting to his feet. “I think something happened when Baltic was reborn. I think it changed his appearance, both dragon and human.”
    “He was reborn?” I asked.
    “Of course—you don’t know. Or rather, you don’t remember,” Gabriel said. “Baltic was killed three hundred years ago.”
    Well, that was a bit of a kicker. “Who killed him?”
    “His right-hand man. Kostya Fekete.”
    “Kostya?” I gaped at him, truly gaped. “Tall, black hair and eyes, little cleft in his chin, square jaw—that Kostya?”
    “Yes. You’ve seen him?”
    “In my dreams, yes, but he is Baltic’s friend.”
    “Was. He was Baltic’s friend,” Gabriel said. “The day came when Kostya realized that Baltic’s mad plan to rule the septs was destroying the black dragons, and he put an end to it by killing Baltic, but not before the damage was done. The black dragons were all but exterminated.”
    “By who?” I asked, my voice a whisper.
    “Constantine Norka, the wyvern of the silver dragons.”
    I slumped back, my brain reeling. It was just too much to take in, especially since I realized with a shock that, cling as I might to the idea that I was insane, I was beginning to believe that they could all be right, and I really was a freak of nature, a dragon trapped in a human body.
    How sad is it that insanity was preferable to that?
    Three hours later I sat surrounded by dragons. Evidently a sárkány was a big deal, being held in a large conference room of a very chic hotel, and attended by a number of people who looked perfectly ordinary. A long center table that would seat about twenty dominated the room, while chairs lined the walls. A podium stood at one end of the room, and at the other end a huge white screen was lowered, indicating there was going to be some sort of visual display.
    I let my gaze wander around the clumps of approximately thirty people standing and chatting. Without exception, the expressions turned toward me were hostile. Tired of that, I looked at my neighbor to the right. “How long do these things usually last?”
    “Depends,” Jim said.
    “On what?”
    “Whether or not your boyfriend starts mowing everyone down like he did in Paris.”
    I shook my head, not sure if I should goggle at him, blink my eyes in surprise, or do the