Return to Shanhasson (24 page)

Smiling, she closed her eyes and let the
White Dragon’s form take her. Scales ripped down her body, shining as brightly
as the moon above.

New scales gleamed on her snowy breast.
Sickle scales of red curved around the large circle of the moon. It almost
looked like a baleful red eye. Dharman’s mark on one side, Sal’s on the other.
Looking at it made her heart quicken and stirred flurries in her stomach. Would
the Black know what it meant?

Why did she even care what his reaction
might be?

Expanding her lungs as fully as possible
on a long breath of hot desert air, she let her mind filter the scents. Sands,
sage, some bitter herbs growing in the lee between dunes, and underneath it
all, the woodsy smell of sandalwood.

Even dragons smiled, she discovered,
baring her teeth in a grimace. Now she simply had to sneak up on him.

She took to the air, relishing the rush
of wind beneath her feathered wings. Starlight glittered on the velvet sky, and
the moon filled her with such hope. Not full, it was still large enough to
illuminate the night, reflecting rainbows off the sand until it was nearly as
bright as day.

Time was meaningless here. She flew for
hours, days, she didn’t know, but it felt wonderful to stretch her wings,
flying free like she was never able to do in her waking life. His scent grew
stronger, until on the horizon she saw the sprawling gathering of tents like
black puddles against the sand.

She flew past crumbled towers and
weathered ruins of the once great city known as Nurzhan. Tucking her wings, she
landed silently on the highest dune overlooking the tents. So many. Her wings
quivered against her body where she’d clamped them tight to her flanks.
Thousands camped below, certainly at least ten times as many Shanhasson Guard.
Even if she called forth the Allandorian Guard and the fist of warriors Drendon
had promised to leave for her in Dalden Bay, she’d never be able to hold off
this many savages.

The Shining Walls would keep them out of
Shanhasson, but what would keep them from burning and rampaging a path of
destruction across the Lady’s Green and Beautiful Lands? How many would they
kill?

A cold, twisting surge knotted her
stomach. Not fear—the White Dragon feared nothing, certainly not a bountiful
feast as what lay below. Indeed, she knew it was hunger. Not the white-hot
thirst for blood, especially from those she loved; this was the cold burn of
determined rage.

I
should sweep down the slope and kill them all before they even stumbled out of
their tents.

“How did you find me?”

Tail lashing, she crouched. She’d been
thinking too hard about rending enemies limb from limb to hear him approach.
Cocking her head, she studied him.

He’d come as a man instead of the Black
Dragon, a desert savage swathed all in heavy black cloth. Shadows hung about him,
obscuring his face, but she knew him. His eyes were the same molten silver and
his scent, oh, yes, this was the exotic spice she recognized.

Now that she knew his blood smelled as
good, it was all she could do not to leap on him and bury her muzzle in his
abdomen.

Before she succumbed to temptation, she
shed the dragon form. Calmly, she smoothed her face and drew herself up
proudly. “How else does a dragon hunt its victim? I can smell you from
Shanhasson.”

His cloaking shadows wavered enough to
betray a slight paling about his mouth and tightness about his eyes. “Indeed.
And what, exactly, do I smell like?”

“Sand,” she replied, shrugging one
shoulder lazily. His eyes flickered with surprise, which made her smile.
“Fire.”

He spread out his black cloak on the
sands and sat with his legs crossed before him, gesturing for her to sit across
from him. “Now I know you’re telling me untruths, brightheart. This dragon
never breathed Fire.”

Intently, he watched her, the shadows
drawn tightly about him for protection. He didn’t even meet her gaze. No, he
stared lower, and the shadows couldn’t disguise the sensual curve to his lips.

She glanced down and the miserable sun
of this place exploded in her face.

She was nude.

Growling, she crossed her arms, closed
her eyes, and wished very hard for clothes. A full suit of armor slammed into
place, cold and hard around her body.

His low, smug laughter only infuriated
her even more. Changing into the long, prim cotton nightgown she’d worn for so
long to discourage her Blood, she lifted her chin and sat across from him.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s
your dream, brightheart. You chose to come to me in your skin.”

“I didn’t think about my clothing—or the
lack thereof—in the waking world,” she replied stiffly.

“Ah.” He leaned back to one side,
supporting his weight on his elbow. “I see that your young Red took my advice.”

Lady above, she hated the wicked gleam
in his eye and that smug little curl to his lips. Of course that was why she
couldn’t stop thinking about drawing that full lip between her teeth. “What
advice?”

“That he should mark you as soon as
possible.”

The marks on her breasts burned, a
searing deep ache that had nothing to do with pain.

He took a deep breath and his lips
curved even more. His eyes flashed in the moonlight. “You smell like sex and
horse, brightheart. It makes me very…hungry.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Not at all. Love makes you vulnerable.
Besides, I’ll quite enjoy showing your young stallions a thing or two.”

“So confident,” she drawled, giving him
back a sultry smile. “I’ll never ask you to my bed, and even if I did, they’d
challenge you.”

“Good,” he purred, stretching out more
fully on the cloth. “I love a good fight. I Dance the Blades very well.”

“I thought you said you didn’t like
fighting with swords.”

He blinked, genuinely confused. “When
did I say that?”

“The first time we met at the lake of
tears. You said they expected you to fight with swords, and you were none too
happy about it. Don’t you remember?”

Guarded, he didn’t answer. Shadows
thickened around him, so cold she shivered.

“You don’t,” she breathed. “Who are
you?”

“I don’t know.” He whispered so softly
she strained to hear him. “I had a dream. I found myself here. I don’t remember
much about what came before.”

“What happened in the dream?”

He sank lower into his shadows, averting
his face. “The Black Dragon ate me.” He laughed, but it sounded forced and
tight. “Now I find myself very good with the sword and scimitar. I know a new
language. I live among savages and fit in very well indeed.”

“Where were you before?” His answers so
far brought a nagging sense of dread to the pit of her stomach. Who had he been
before he became the Black Dragon and a Keldari warrior? Why was he so
familiar? “What do you remember?”

“Everywhere.” He shrugged. “You.” He
turned back and met her gaze. “That’s all I truly remember.” He flicked his
gaze up at the moon and a faint shudder shook his shoulders. “The moon is my
purpose.”

And
I am She Who Hung the Moon.
She held herself very still,
watching his face and hands for any sign of subterfuge. He couldn’t meet her
gaze. His voice and manner seemed perfectly reluctant, even slightly ashamed
and upset. She knew him to be a consummate actor, but she felt the echo of
sincere vulnerability. However, she had a feeling this man would use any weapon
at his disposal, especially if he could play up a weakness or fear and win her
sympathy.

I
must never trust him. One moment of weakness and he’ll be on me quicker than my
own Council.

 
Keeping her voice light, she asked, “So you
lead the
tals
to Shanhasson to kill
me.”

He jerked his gaze up to hers and let
out a harsh bark of laughter. “Lead them? You must not know much about the
Keldari, brightheart. They have a saying here: My brother is my enemy, unless
my cousin threatens; the tribes are my enemies unless a
munakuri
threatens. No one man could ever hope to lead them. I
certainly don’t direct them to kill you.”

She snorted, which wasn’t as effective
as the dragon’s derision. “Of course you don’t.”

“Did I not come to your aid when the
horse king dragged you toward death?”

Now it was her turn to hide her face,
fighting to conceal the pain and anger that warred in her heart. “Why did you
do that?”

Lying flat on his back, he stared up at
the night sky, but even the moon’s brightness couldn’t dispel the shadows
cloaking him. “Such a simple question, with so many complex answers. You won’t
believe me, but I don’t want you to die. I certainly didn’t want you to die
that way without a fight.”

“You’d rather I fight
you
.”

He chuckled softly. “I’d rather you did
a great many things with me, including fight. We’re dragons at heart, and
dragons mate with blood and violence.”

“I’m not mating you or any man ever
again.” The words rang in the air, her tone harsh and vehement. Her hands
trembled, so she gripped them in her lap, fighting for calm. She couldn’t play
this deadly game with him if she lost her temper or struck in fear. “I mated
twice and they both died. I’ll never mate again. I’ll never bear another
daughter that men will plot to corrupt or kill, simply because they carry my
blood.”

“You misunderstand me, brightheart,” he
said gently, his voice the whisper of night air through dragon wings. Shadows
thinned enough for her to see the shape of his mouth and the gleam of his
silver eyes in the murk. “I know better than anyone that you never love just
one. You were cursed to great love. When I say mate, I merely plot and scheme
so I may wallow in that love, too.”

She laughed, a short burst that startled
her. “Wallow?”

His eyes closed, banking the molten glow
of his eyes. He arched his back slightly, his head rolling side to side. “Oh,
yes,” he breathed. “I want you rubbing yourself all over me, frantic to get my
scent on you, every inch of you burning and inflamed with need.”

She fought to keep her face hard and
smooth, instead of betraying the melting fire his words stoked. His scent
filled her nose, stirring her hunger. She wanted blood, his, filling her mouth,
his scent rubbed into her scales.

Swallowing hard, she forced her mind to
catalogue everything she knew about him. Black Dragon, obviously shadowed,
savage of the desert sands with a mysterious past that made her inner alarms
come to full alert. He was too dangerous to even contemplate letting anywhere
near her, let alone into her bed, no matter how much the thought set her blood
on fire.

“
Wells
.”
Rolling closer, he inched a hand through the sand toward her thigh. “I forgot
how incredible you smell when you’re in heat.”

Claws flashed where his fingers should
have been.

She slammed her knee on his elbow and
pinned his advancing arm beneath her weight. The fingertips on her right hand
felt like they’d burst into flame, so she shoved that hand into his groin and
hoped she had matching talons. Gripping all that tender flesh, she squeezed harder.
“Keep your claws off me.”

“This is even better,” he purred.

He wasn’t worried enough. She squeezed
harder, drawing a wheezing chuckle from his throat. His clothing melted into
shadows, leaving bronzed, lean muscle beneath her. Faint markings trailed
across his chest and down his arms, darkening near his hands. Scales. They
gleamed just beneath his skin like iridescent black tattoos.

His roasted sandalwood heated, thick in
the night air. Despite her claws digging into that tender flesh, she felt him harden.
She shifted her grip to only his balls, refusing to give him any pleasure.

“You still haven’t been able to enter
the holy city.” He pushed his hips against her hand so she either had to back
off or draw blood. “Your horse king and shadow killer wait with open arms,
their adorable little daughters playing in the sweet green grass and riding
Vulkar’s own children, yet you suffer, alone. Your Lady has barred you from
your great loves. Why is that, do you think?”

“I’m not alone.” Her throat ached, her
heart torn and shredded again. “I have my Blood.”

“And me, brightheart. You have me.”

She snarled and twisted her hand deeper.
“Never.”

“You want me and you know it. Your scent
cannot lie.” He threw his head back and breathed deeply, his chest rumbling on
a low invitation. “The fiery Stallion and His Broodmare have tortured you
enough. They’ve given you great love only to rip them away and leave you
bleeding and alone. You did everything They wanted. You sacrificed your blood,
risked your own and your unborn daughters’ lives to defeat the shadowed king
who dared to foul Her precious High Throne. Now They leave you weeping each
night in a cold, empty bed. Why not turn to me, brightheart? Why not let me
give you the solace you deserve after so much suffering?”