Katie MacAlister: The Unbearable Lightness of Dragons

He rolled his eyes. “Maybe. He does hug me.”

“There you go. You know, sometimes people need to know that you love them, too, and Baltic hasn’t really had anyone to love him for a very long time, so he needs all the affection we can show him.”

“Is that why he’s always making you kiss him?”

“He’s not exactly making me kiss him,” I said with a little laugh. “I like doing it. But yes, because he spent so much time alone, he gets a little bit insecure, so I go out of my way to let him know I love him.”

“By kissing him.” The look on his face was priceless.

“Yes, but you don’t have to kiss him if you don’t want to. A hug does just as well.”

A little frown pulled his brows together. “Gareth says guys who do that are gay.”

“Gareth is a twerp, and you shouldn’t listen to him.” I looked up, noting the love of my two lives heading toward us, a familiar scowl on his handsome face. “Just remember that both Baltic and I love you, and nothing else is as important as that. Are you packed for your visit?”

“Naw.” He pursed his lips and watched as Baltic marched toward us. “Maybe I’ll go do that now.”

“If you want to visit May and Gabriel, yes, you should. Hello, handsome.” The last sentence was addressed to the dark-eyed, dark-haired man who stopped in front of me, his hands on his hips as he frowned down the long length of his torso to where I sat.

“Mate.” He shifted his glare to Brom. “Are you still intent on spurning your fine home and returning to the silver wyvern’s house?”

I bit back a little snort of laughter. When the dragons had exiled us from the weyr and declared war, I had worried for Brom’s safety, but was assured by all that while the dragons took their wars very seriously, they did not extend warlike acts to children. That Gabriel allowed May to invite Brom for a weekend stay at their house in London—so he could visit the mummies at the British Museum—was, I felt sure, a sign that the determination of the weyr to remain at war with Baltic and me was waning.

Baltic interpreted it differently, feeling it was Gabriel’s intention to undermine his relationship with Brom. It took three weeks of negotiation between Gabriel and Baltic before he agreed to the event, and then only after making some fairly obnoxious statements to Gabriel about what he would do should Gabriel not take care of Brom in a manner that Baltic felt reasonable.

Brom looked thoughtful for a moment, slid me a quick glance, then leaned forward and hugged Baltic. The latter looked so surprised that I did laugh, although I covered it up with a little cough.

“I’ll be back Sunday night,” Brom told Baltic, releasing him. “I promise I won’t like Gabriel more than you.”

Baltic blinked at him for a moment or two, then clapped his hand on Brom’s shoulder and said, “You are my son. Of course you will not honor anyone more than your mother or me. It will be good for Gabriel to see that, however, so you are right to wish to demonstrate such. Pavel will be ready to drive us there shortly. Do you need money?”

Brom wasn’t at all a mercenary sort of child, but he did have eclectic—and very expensive—tastes, and despite the fact that he received a generous allowance, his eyes lit up with hope.

“I’ve already given him money to see the museum and buy a few mementos.” I shooed Brom toward the house. “He doesn’t need any more.”

“Aw, Sullivan!”

“Your mother has spoken,” Baltic told him, then pulled out a money clip.

“Baltic!” I protested when Brom quite happily took the bills he offered. I took the money from Brom and gave it back to Baltic. “He’ll just spend that on things he doesn’t need.”

Baltic handed it back to Brom. “He is a boy. Boys need spending money.”

Brom nodded rapidly.

“And you’re trying to raise funds to restore Dauva,” I pointed out, retrieving the money and stuffing it into Baltic’s pocket. “That’s not going to happen if you don’t stop slipping him money every time he leaves the house.”

Brom’s face fell.

“No pouting, buster,” I told him. “Go get your things packed.”

“My son does not pout,” Baltic said with a stern look bent on Brom, interrupting him as he was about to protest. “Ysolde does not wish for me to give you cash. I will not go against her desires. We will both do as she bids.”

“Thank you. I know you just want Brom to be happy, but I appreciate your upholding my authority despite that.”

“You are my mate and his mother. I could not do anything else,” Baltic answered, watching as Brom, with dragging steps, slowly made his way to the house before yelling after him, “Tell Pavel to give you one of my credit cards.”

Brom cheered and raced off.

I put my hands on my hips and glared.

“You did not wish for me to give him cash. A credit card is not cash,” he pointed out, blithely ignoring the obvious.

“You are incorrigible. You’re just lucky that you’re so incredibly handsome, I’m willing to overlook that fact now and again.”

“I know what it’s like to not have money,” Baltic said with a half shrug.

That stopped me in my tracks. “You do? I thought all dragons were rich as sin. When were you poor?”

“When I was resurrected. There was only a handful of black dragons, most of whom were in hiding, so none of them could help me. Then I located Pavel, but he had taken to robbery to survive.” Baltic made a face. “He wasn’t very good at it. He was in a mortal prison when I found him.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist and kissed the corner of his mouth. “I had no idea. So you and he got together and started raising money?”

“Yes. Our first concern was our safety, then Dauva. Now that has changed.”

“Changed how? You still want Dauva back.”

“Yes, but now my first concern is you and Brom. Dauva will wait until I know you are safe and content.”

I looked up at him, this man who for centuries was reviled by other dragons as a murderous madman, my heart full to overflowing with admiration and love. “Without a doubt, that is the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me. Kiss me.”

“Gladly, but I will point out first that you said the very same thing last week when I told you that the sight of you makes my stones tighten.”

“Putting aside your own desires so that Brom and I will be happy definitely trumps your testicles,” I answered, licking his lower lip. “Fire?”

“You have your own fire,” he murmured, interest lighting the dark depths of his black eyes as I wiggled against him, reveling in the way my body fit against all of his hard planes. “You should give me your fire, mate.”

“All right, but it’s your turn next time.” I bit his lip gently, my fingers working free the leather thong that held back his shoulder-length brown hair, concentrating as I did so on rousing the dragon that lived deep within my psyche. I had yet to master the skill that came so naturally to all dragons—harnessing their fire—but Baltic insisted that I practice it every day in hopes that one day I would return to being the dragon I once was.

I focused on the moment, allowing the scent of him to sink into me. The feel of his body moving restlessly against mine did much to stir the embers, but it wasn’t until he took charge of the kiss, possessing my mouth in a way that left my toenails steaming, that I felt able to pull on my dragon fire.

Baltic gently bit my neck, knowing how much I loved that, and, sure enough, the dragon fire rose within me until it erupted from me in a belch of flame, splatting against Baltic’s chest, then dissipating immediately.

I eyed his chest with a critical gaze. He stopped nuzzling my neck and sighed. “You have not been practicing as you ought.”