Light Dragons 01 - Love in the Time of Dragons

could talk to you, which, I would like to point out, I wouldn’t have had to do if you hadn’t disappeared like you did.”
    “You might think it’s an afternoon’s frolic to face three wyverns bent on your destruction, but I have other ways I’d prefer to spend my time,” he said dryly.
    I smiled to myself. I didn’t remember the Baltic from my dreams having a sense of humor. “All right, I will grant you the right to make a timely escape—they were unfairly ganging up on you. But that doesn’t give you the right to make insulting personal comments by telling me I stink.”
    “I didn’t—for the love of the saints, mate! I did not say you stink!”
    “You did, too! You said—”
    “I said you do not smell as you should, and you do not.” He held up a hand when I was about to protest. “You do not smell like a dragon.”
    “Oh. Well. That’s probably because I’m not—hey!”
    Baltic lunged at me, burying his face in the crook of my neck. “You smell . . . human.”
    “I am human,” I said, my body suddenly coming to life in a way that almost stripped the breath from me. It was as if his touch electrified me, sending little zaps of pleasure down my skin. His hair brushed my cheek, and it was all I could do to keep from grabbing his head and kissing him until he was insensible.
    “You are not. You are a dragon.”
    “No, I’m human. My name is Tully, and I’m human now. I’ve only just decided to accept the fact that in the past I was a dragon named Ysolde, but now I’m human, and are you licking me?”
    I couldn’t stand it. The feel of him against me, the scent of him, something almost indefinable, like the smell of a rain-washed sky, pushed me close to the edge of my control. When his tongue licked a flaming path along my collarbone, I knew I had to stop him. I heaved him away from me with all my strength.
    He licked his lips, an indescribable look on his face. “You taste the same. How is it that you smell differently but you taste the same?”
    “How do I know?” I said, shakily trying to regain my wits and keep from flinging myself on him. “I’m still trying to get over the fact that you were dead and now you’re not. Where are we going, by the way?”
    “I am stealing you from the silver wyvern,” he said with great satisfaction.
    “You can hardly be said to be stealing me if I come with you of my own accord, not to mention escaping the house to go find you.”
    “I would expect nothing less from my mate,” he said with that same satisfaction.
    I sighed, probably for the fifteenth time that day. “I seem to be sighing a lot lately,” I commented.
    “That is because you were pining for me. Why did you not tell me you were alive?” he demanded.
    “Have you always been this arrogant and egotistical?” I asked, then continued quickly before he could answer. “No, don’t bother to tell me. The few visions I’ve had answer that question. I will tell you what I know, but I warn you that it’s just going to raise more questions than answers.”
    It took the whole of the ride to a large house about an hour outside of London for me to tell Baltic what had happened since I woke up in Gabriel’s house.
    “You knew I was alive but you did not seek me out immediately?” he asked as we stopped outside a gate, the driver punching in a security code.
    “People mentioned you, yes, but most of the time, I figured I was nuts and made you up,” I answered, watching the driver in order to memorize the code, just in case I ever needed to make a fast escape.
    “You are not insane.”
    “No, I gather that, but if you woke up remembering hardly anything, and having the most vivid dreams of your life about a bossy man who threatened to kill you at one point, what would you think?”
    I turned to him, a stab of pain piercing my heart at the pain visible in his eyes. “Oh, Baltic!” Without thinking I took his hand in mine, pressing it against my cheek. “I wasn’t avoiding you. I truly didn’t believe you were real until I saw you in the park, and then I knew I had to find you, to talk to you. You have to understand that it’s been very difficult to accept that what I was reliving weren’t just imaginings, but shadows of the past.”
    His fingers curled around mine, and he leaned forward to kiss my fingers as we drove up a paved drive-way to a rather squat, blocky white Regency-era house covered with ivy on the front. “When I saw you this afternoon—I thought for a