P. C. Cast - Dragon's Oath

“What is it? I didn’t break your circle. The candle never went out. See, it’s back right where it was before.”

Anastasia realized she’d been staring at him without speaking. He must think I’m completely daft. She opened her mouth to say something that would explain a little of the strangeness of the night, and then she really looked at him, the young Bryan before her. He had salt scattered all over his face—crystals of it were caught in his eyebrows, and his hair was covered with bits of bay leaves and cedar needles. Her sudden giggle surprised them both.

His brows went up. “I risk my life to save you from a wild creature and you laugh at me?”

He was trying to sound stern and offended, but Anastasia could see the sparkle of humor in those brown eyes.

“You’re wearing my spellwork, and, yes, that makes you look funny.” It also made him look boyish and quite handsome, but she kept that part to herself. Or at least she thought she’d kept that part to herself. As the two of them stood there, staring at each other, the sparkle in Bryan’s eyes seemed to become knowing. When his lips began tilting up, Anastasia’s stomach gave a strange little lurch, and she quickly added, “Although I shouldn’t laugh, no matter how funny you look. My spellwork all over you means I’m going to have to remake the entire mixture.”

“Then you shouldn’t have thrown it on me,” he said with an arrogant flip of his head.

Anastasia’s amusement began to fade. “I didn’t throw it on you. The wind blew it into your face when I fell because you shoved me.”

“Really?” He held up a finger, as if testing the direction of the breeze. “What wind?”

Anastasia’s frown deepened. “It must have blown itself out, or maybe it has calmed because of the interruption of my spell.”

“And I didn’t shove you,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I moved you behind me so that I could protect you.”

“I didn’t need you to protect me. The bear was an accident. It was confused, not dangerous. I was casting a drawing spell, and somehow the bear got caught by it,” she explained.

“So, it was a drawing spell.” The irritation that had begun to creep into his voice vanished, to be replaced by an arrogant chuckle and another knowing look. “ That is why you called my name. You want me.”

Dragon grinned as he watched the young priestess’s face flush a lovely shade of pink.

“You have mistaken my intent,” she said

“You said it yourself—you were casting a drawing spell. I heard you speak my name. Obviously, you were drawing me.” He paused, thinking that it all made sense now. “No wonder I left Shaw and the rest of the Warriors and walked home by myself from the docks. I thought it was because of Biddle. He’d watched me before I left for the Vampyre Games, so I already knew he didn’t like me, but tonight his stare was so hard, so strange, that I supposed it’d made me feel odd, almost as if I couldn’t breathe, and I needed to be out here, where there was air and space and–” He broke off, laughing a little and giving her the beginnings of his famous smile. “But, no matter. The truth is I am here because you desire me.” He rubbed his chin, considering. “We haven’t met. I would remember such beauty. Was it my reputation for prowess with the sword that has piqued your interest, or was it a more personal kind of prowess that–”

“Bryan, I don’t desire you !”

“Call me Dragon,” he said automatically, and then continued. “Of course you do. You just admitted your drawing spell. You need not be embarrassed. I’m flattered. Really.”

“ Dragon, ” she said in a way that he thought verged on sarcasm. “I am embarrassed, but not because of you. I’m embarrassed for you.”

“You aren’t making any sense.” He wondered briefly if she’d hit her head when she’d fallen.

The priestess drew a deep breath and let it out in an exasperated sigh. Then she offered her hand and forearm to him, saying, “Merry meet, Bryan Dragon Lankford. I am Professor Anastasia, the new priestess of spells and rituals at the Tower Grove House of Night.”

“Merry meet, Anastasia,” he said, gripping her bare forearm, which was soft and warm to his touch.

“ Professor Anastasia,” she corrected him. Too soon, she released her grip on him and said, “You weren’t meant to know about this spell.”

“Because you don’t want anyone to know you want me?” Including me, he added silently to himself.

“No. The spell has nothing to do with wanting you. It’s the opposite, actually,” she said. And then in a voice that sounded as if she was lecturing a classroom of fledglings, she continued. “This is going to sound unkind, but the truth is I am here to cast what amounts to an anti–Dragon Lankford spell.”

Her words took him aback. “Have I somehow done something to offend you? You do not even know me. How could you dislike me?”

“It isn’t that I dislike you!” she said quickly, almost as if she was trying to cover something up. “Here is the truth of the matter: in the fortnight I have been teaching at Tower Grove House of Night fifteen fledglings have come to me to ask for love spells with which to bespell you.”

Dragon’s eyes widened. “Fifteen? Really?” He paused and took a quick mental count. “I can only think of ten girls who would want to bespell me.”

The professor didn’t look at all amused. “I would say you underestimate yourself, but I do not think that is possible. So I’ll just assume you are better at swordplay than addition. Be that as it may, I came out here tonight intending to cast a spell that would draw to each of your besotted admirers the truth of you so that they could see clearly and honestly that you aren’t the right mate for them, which would end their silly infatuations,” she finished in a rush.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so surprised. No, that wasn’t true. The last time he’d felt this kind of soul-deep surprise was when the night had been illuminated to reveal the masthead of a ship and a new life. He shook his head and said the first thing that came to mind. “This is hard for me to believe. You really dislike me. Women usually like me. Quite a lot, actually.”

“Obviously. That is why thirteen of them asked for me to bespell you.”

He frowned. “I thought you said fifteen before.”

“Thirteen girls. Two boys,” she said dryly. “Apparently boys like you quite a lot, too.”

Unexpectedly, Dragon laughed. “There you have it! Everyone likes me, except you.”

“What I do not like is the thought that so many impressionable young fledglings are infatuated with you. It’s simply not healthy.”

“Not healthy for whom? I feel just fine.” He smiled at her then, turning on every bit of his charm.

Dragon thought he saw her stern look relax a little and those big turquoise eyes soften, but her next words dashed cold water all over him.

“If you were more mature you would care about others’ feelings.”

He scowled. “Really? I’m almost twenty.” Dragon paused and looked her up and down appraisingly. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” she said, lifting her chin.

“Twenty-two! That’s too young to be a professor and too young to be lecturing me on being more mature.”

“And yet I am your professor of spells and rituals, and someone should lecture you about what you would be if you acted older. Who knows, with a little guidance you might grow up and be a Warrior of integrity and honor.”