Light Dragons 03 - Sparks Fly

with Aisling, in case you’re wondering.”
    “I wasn’t,” Constantine snapped. “And you will not refer to me by that appalling appellation again.”
    “Nice alliteration,” Jim said before yelping when Constantine set fire to its head. It ran toward her, yelling, “Ash!”
    “Stop it right now,” Aisling said, beating the demon on the head with a pillow to put out the flames.
    “Do not give me orders, woman,” Constantine said grandly, flicking more fire toward her.
    “Oh!” she gasped before starting forward toward him, but Drake was instantly there, his eyes glittering with ire as he shoved Constantine against the wall.
    “You would dare lift a hand to me?” Constantine asked him, outraged. “Recall who I am, wyvern. Your father was my friend!”
    “My father was a deranged madman,” Drake snarled with such menace that I stepped forward, angling myself between the two men. “Not that I ever believed the day would come when I would speak these words, but I begin to believe that Baltic was correct about you all along.”
    “I think that’s one for team Soldy,” Jim told May.
    “I think that’s two for her,” May answered.
    “All right, boys, that’s enough,” I said loudly, pushing my way even farther between the two posturing dragons, one hand on each of their chests as I shoved Drake back a step. “Drake, back down. Constantine, you may have been dead for four hundred years, but you used to have better manners than would allow you to act so rudely to a wyvern’s mate in his own home. You ought to be ashamed of yourself for setting fire to Aisling’s personal demon like that, not to mention trying to pick a fight with Drake. Now just simmer down, both of you! We have plans to make, and I don’t have the time or inclination to witness a pissing match, especially one involving fire.”
    Aisling applauded lightly. “Well put, Ysolde. Hackles down, Drake.”
    Her husband shot her a look that would have scared the tar out of me, but he moved over to sit when she patted the spot next to her on the couch.
    “Plans?” Constantine asked me. “Something to do with what we talked about?”
    “No,” I said hurriedly, smiling widely at everyone. “Not exactly.”
    “What-” Aisling started to ask.
    “We were making some plans about having Drake find an arcane object,” I told Constantine, hoping to distract both him and Aisling at the same time.
    “Ah.” He made a bored gesture. “I have no interest in such plans unless they concern that usurper of my sept.”
    I bit back the response that no one had invited him there to begin with, reminding myself that antagonizing him would serve none of us well. I eyed Drake for a moment before speaking. “If I promise to pay you with an item that would be ample compensation for the work you’ll undertake for me, will you do it?”
    “What item?” he countered, just as I knew he would, blast his dragon hide.
    “I’d rather not say right now.”
    Interest chased away the remnants of ire in his eyes. “I must be reassured that what you have to offer me is suitably valuable.”
    “Oh, it’s valuable. It’s so valuable that by giving it to you, I’ll have no end of trouble with Baltic.”
    He narrowed his eyes on me, then nodded. “Very well. I have no reason to distrust your word, but be warned that if the payment is not all that you swear it is, you will hand over Dauva.”
    My eyes widened at his audacity even as Aisling protested with a gasped, “Drake!”
    “I just got done telling you that Dauva wasn’t mine to give.”
    “Nonetheless, an agreement made by a mate must be honored by her wyvern. Do you agree to my terms?” he said smoothly, ignoring Aisling when she continued to voice her opinion of his underhanded tactics.
    I bit my lip, imagining what it would do to Baltic if I had to force him to give up his beloved Dauva. I had no choice, however. There was simply no other way, nothing else I had up my sleeve. “I agree,” I said slowly, praying that Constantine would be able to do the impossible, and take the shard from Kostya.
    “What is this arcane object you seek that requires a large payment?” the man himself asked me, looking somewhat bored by the conversation. “What agreement are you making with Toldi’s son?”
    “I’ll tell you that on the way to my car,” I said, grabbing his arm and pulling him after me as I moved toward the door. Constantine, who had been starting to fade into a semitranslucent (and