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Even though it wasn’t wise, he started to ask what she knew about his current assignment, but a flash of unusual energy drew his gaze skyward. He leapt to his feet. A copper-colored dragon circled to land not far from him. Maybe the Ancient One had seen him with Celene and decided to be considerate.
Not very fucking likely. Dragons were a force unto themselves.
“I have to go,” he said. “Let me walk you to your skin, so I know you’re safely on your way home.”
A sad expression crossed her face, creasing the skin around her eyes into a network of fine lines. “It’s right here.” She scrambled to her feet and gripped both his upper arms, forcing him to look at her. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Being you.” She brushed her lips over his and moved to a marsh grass thicket. In moments, she’d dragged her pelt over her human body. Transformed into a seal, she waded into the surf.
Before it engulfed her, she turned to gaze at him.“Be careful, and think on what I said.”
He didn’t answer, just watched her head bob in the waves before turning toward his clothing. It wasn’t far from the place Celene had led them. His body felt vibrant, alive, and he still tingled from her touch. He longed for a woman of his own, children, a home, before he stuffed the impossible so deep under wraps he couldn’t mourn the loss.
Angus moved the large rock he’d placed over his clothes to protect them from the wind. He pulled a ragged dark blue fisherman’s knit sweater over his head and stepped into thick, black woolen trousers. Settling on a log, he pulled on socks and laced up stout leather boots. Though the breeze was raw, he’d worn neither hat nor gloves.
Ready as he figured he’d ever be, he covered the fifty yards to where the dragon had settled up the beach. He didn’t recognize this one, but he’d only met a bare handful of the hundreds living in Fire Mountain and on other worlds as well. When he drew near, he stopped and bowed his head respectfully, waiting for the dragon to speak first.
“I don’t like this any better than you do,” the dragon muttered. “Come close enough I don’t have to broadcast our business to the world.”
Angus walked closer. He could’ve suggested the dragon use telepathy since all the Ancient Ones were conversant in the technique, but he kept his mouth shut. The dragon was smaller than many he’d seen. Copper scales shaded to burnished gold on its chest, and dark eyes with golden centers whirled so fast they held a hypnotic quality. Lethal, six-inch-long red claws tipped its stubby forelegs. The dragon stood upright on hind legs tipped with the same sharp claws and kept its gaze averted, not saying anything.
What the hell? Every other dragon he’d met was proud, imperious, and quick to remind Angus of his inferiority. This one seemed young, but was it? After another long few minutes, Angus tossed respect—and caution—to the winds.
“What’s your name? And what are we supposed to be doing? All Ceridwen told me was to meet you here.”
The dragon opened its mouth, and a gout of flame landed scant inches from Angus’s boots.
He frowned and drew his brows together. “If we’re going to work together, I need to know what to call you.” He sent a speculative gaze across the air between them. “If you annihilate me, they’ll just assign you a new partner, and I’m a hell of a lot easier to get along with than any of the Celts.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” the dragon rumbled and belched smoke.
Frustration in its voice struck a note in Angus’s soul, and he gestured with both hands. “You may as well tell me who you are and what we’re supposed to do together.” He infused his words with subtle persuasion. If the dragon didn’t care for the Celts, either, they’d likely get along well enough.
“Why? What I should do is leave.” The dragon sounded sulky—and scared.
“If you could, you’d already be gone.” Angus was as certain of that as he was of anything. The dragon needed him for something, and whatever it was, the Ancient One wasn’t particularly proud of it. “What happened? Am I some sort of punishment for you?” Tension settled like a steel bar across his shoulders, and he curled his hands into fists before he realized what he’d done.
“Oh I’d be gone, would I?”
The dragon ignored Angus’s questions, and it mimicked his tone with eerie precision. It furled its wings and flapped them a time or two. Dirt swirled; small pebbles slapped Angus in the face. The creature belched steam and looked so distraught, he felt sorry for it.
“My life’s not exactly a picnic, either,” he ventured, on a hunt for common ground. “I’m a permanent mercenary, with no time off and no possibility of parole.”
That got the dragon’s attention, and it focused its whirling gaze on him. The golden centers of its eyes deepened with fiery motes that looked like little shooting stars. “Why would you want a respite from being a warrior?”
Good question.
“Because I’m tired. I’d like what most men have.”
“What’s that?” The dragon raised its brows, and its scales clanked against each other in a dissonant tinkling.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The sooner you spit out whatever you need to say, the easier it’ll be. The worst part about holding something you’re ashamed of inside is it eats at you until you’re nothing but a hollow shell.”
Wings flapped, and those intense, whirling eyes shifted to the rocky beach. “I’m notashamedof anything. I’ve been banished. Ceridwen said if I worked with you—and we were successful—I might be able to return.”
Angus kept surprise out of his voice. “Banished from Fire Mountain?”
