Dragon Dance Emily Ryan Davis

Dragon Queen

Book Two:

Dragon Dance

Emily Ryan-Davis

Culver City, CA

Dragon Queen Book Two: Dragon Dance

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Editor: Marci Baun

ISBN: 1-934069-56-6

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Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Chapter One

Cora jerked from nightmare to nightmare, leaving dreams only to find her image

reflected in a monster’s eyes. Dragon eyes. They glistened gem-red in the dim glow of
the bathroom nightlight. She screamed. Da’ar Es Saleem covered her mouth.

“You’re needed,” he said.
Sharp, wicked teeth caught a gleam of light. She couldn’t process the shape of him,

the very human sound of his voice, the fact of his presence in her Hartford, Connecticut

bedroom. Dragons were in New York. She was in Connecticut. She left New York to
establish distance—them in one place, her in another. That’s the way she wanted it to
stay.

“Go away,” she said. His palm was warm and dry against her lips. Damn it. His form

was solid. She sighed. That couldn’t possibly be good.

“You’re not safe here, and we need you,” he reiterated. His gaze moved away. He

settled back on his haunches. The floorboards beside her bed creaked. Cora couldn’t
make out small details of his appearance in this unfamiliar form and decided not to
push her luck by turning on the bedside lamp. She didn’t need dragon visuals right now.
His eyes were startling enough.

“Salim is perfectly capable of coping with whatever problems you boys have. He’s the

Dragonlord. I am not. That’s why I’m here, and you’re there. Go away,” she repeated.

Da’ar Es Saleem’s breath warmed her face. “Is that a command?”
“If it’s a command, will you obey?”
“Unwillingly.”
“Did Salim send you?”

She knew the answer to that. He wouldn’t have sent the dragon after her. He would

have come in person. Hypothetically. In reality, he wouldn’t have come at all. He’d made
no attempt to contact her since she walked away from him in the hospital emergency
room more than a year ago. That suited her fine. She didn’t need dragons in her life. Or
the delicious, dark man who kept them.

“I should send you away.” She threw off layers of blankets and swung her feet to the

floor.

“Please don’t.”
“Why now?” She sighed. “It’s been a long time.”
“Because we need you.” He touched her hair.

Cora shivered. “You don’t really need me. You have Salim. He’s as good an incubator

as any.”

“Incubator?”
“Nevermind.” She wasn’t about to get into a discussion of her grandmother’s writings

on the dragon-dragonkeeper relationship. Sure, the symbiotic relationship had been
necessary eons ago, but the dragons had no hunters anymore. They didn’t need keeping.

They didn’t need reproducing, either. Cora believed in animal population control. How
would the current world support a surplus of dragons, anyway?

“Look,” she said, feeling around for her slippers. “I summoned you by accident. I was

under a lot of pressure. I’m not a dragonkeeper. My life’s finally back to normal. No
insomnia. No nightmares.” No invisible dragons rubbing between her legs and tempting

her to very surreal, very amazing sex.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Da’ar Es Saleem shifted his weight, allowing her to leave the bed. She pulled her

nightie down to cover her butt, grateful for the dark that hid the skimpy sleepwear.

“Where are you going?”

“To call Salim.”
“He had no control over my coming to you. He has no control over my return to

him.” The dragon’s talons curled around her ankle. His palm slid over her calf, not
stopping until he held her knee. “Cora, please.”

He touched her leg. Her pulse increased by about a million beats per. She didn’t wear

panties to bed, and it would be nothing to spread her feet a few inches and encourage
him to touch her higher. Her body didn’t like the year of celibacy she’d imposed upon it
and sent a hot, moist signal to indicate its objection.

“I know you don’t want this distance.” He squeezed her knee gently.
She closed her eyes. “You’re wrong. I want it very much. I’m not the kind of person

who likes the life the two—”

“Three,” he corrected, reminding her of the white dragon, the difficult one without a

name.

“The three of you lead.”
“You assume this is a choice, and it isn’t. You can’t escape from it. You can turn

away, but the connection will be here, and we’ll all be drawn to you. More of us as your

strength grows.”

“More of you?” She shook her head and pulled against his hold. “No way. Let go.”
“We can’t.” He tugged her against his body and rose to his feet. She expected him to

be bigger than a man, but in this form he’d chosen, he was just the right size. Strong. He
could lift and take her easily. It might be the only opportunity she ever had to have sex

against a wall.

“You believe you’re safe, but you’re not. He’s losing control. Nearly lost control. He

can’t reach that point.”

That derailed her building lust. “Losing control of what? The other dragon?”
“Himself, the other one. Me. If he can’t hold onto us, we come to you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s reality. Your call cannot be turned off now. It’s forever.”
Swearing, she pushed away. “It can’t be forever.”
He didn’t answer, but did release her. She paced away to stand in the middle of the

room, fingering the worn terrycloth of her bathrobe. She had to figure out how to undo
this lunacy. Her mother would know. And if she didn’t, her sister would know how to

find out. First, however, she had to return Da’ar Es Saleem to his keeper, and inform
Salim that she wouldn’t stand for dragons showing up in her bedroom in the middle of
the night.

“Fine,” she said and jerked a pair of jeans over her hips. “I don’t know how to get to

his house.”

“I’ll show you.”
“You can’t ride in the car like that.”
“I won’t. But you can’t be here when I change. Go ahead, and I’ll be with you.”
Cora left the room without once turning on the lamp. She truly didn’t want to know

what Da’ar Es Saleem looked like. Bad enough her fantasies were haunted by his image
from her wild encounter with Salim.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

The dragon stayed with her during the drive to New York. She refused to engage him

in conversation, telepathic or otherwise, unless she needed directions. They arrived in
Salim’s Tribeca neighborhood just before dawn.

Da’ar Es Saleem directed her to a parking space in front of a limestone building in

the eastern section of the borough. Italian architecture, a time signature that marked
Tribeca’s trip through the 1860s, speared the sky far overhead, and old limestone
showed spots where the coastal winds had smoothed them down over the years. She
hadn’t pictured Salim in one of the old renovated warehouses. He didn’t really fit the

image that she associated with loft dwellers. Then again, Tribeca lofts didn’t really fit her
idea of New York City artist lofts. From the appearance of this place, somebody had
bought up the property and divided it out into townhouse-style sections. Salim had an
end unit. Cast iron scrollwork decorated the door.

The white dragon homed in on her nearness and nudged at her mental awareness.

“Go away,” she muttered and tried to ignore it. One dragon invading her space was

enough for one night. She wouldn’t put up with two.

The last time she’d seen Salim, she’d abandoned him to this mess, left him to deal

with the fallout of Greg Cho’s activities, and his out-of-control dragon, on his own. He
hadn’t even known the full extent of Greg’s escapades. Neither did she, for that matter.
She suspected that if she and Salim compared notes, they could still only piece together

parts of it. Due to her cowardice, however, the recorded conversations between herself
and Greg remained buried in a blanket-wrapped box in the back of her closet in
Hartford. Cora could tell Salim about the tapes, but she didn’t want to give him an
excuse to be a part of her life again.

Determined to cut off this foray into her life before it got out of hand, she marched

up to his door and rang the bell. She mentally revised her speech four different times
before she decided she had waited long enough and rang the doorbell again. Another
few minutes passed before the door opened. Nobody stood in the entrance with a hand
on the knob, a welcoming smile or irritated scowl on his face. Unless her eyes were
messing with her head, the door had opened on its own. Cora leaned in to make sure no
one hid behind the door. The iron latch rested flush against the faded-rose wall. If there

was a body back there, it was ridiculously skinny.

She refused to believe that Salim lived in a warded townhouse with self-opening

doors. “Dragons,” she muttered and rolled her eyes.

If they could invade her home without invitation, she could do the same. A narrow,

open staircase arrowed into the upper reaches of the house. She put her foot on the

bottom stair. “Salim?”

That little step was a mistake. The white dragon rolled over her like a succession of

cresting waves, and Da’ar Es Saleem joined the other one. Invisible wings wrapped her
up in urgency and possessive clutches, whipping at her ears and wrists and the ends of
her hair. Da’ar Es Saleem overpowered the other dragon—she privately thought of him

as the weaker of the two—and for a moment, she saw herself through his multifaceted
eyes; just for a moment, a hundred small portraits of her own face with flushed cheeks
and kiss-bruised lips, looking directly into the dragon’s gaze. Suddenly weak-kneed,
unable to catch her breath, she staggered against the wall.

The other dragon hovered on the outskirts of Da’ar Es Saleem’s claim. It pushed and

searched for a way past the wings that held her. Who knew dragons were possessive

creatures?

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

“Stop it.” She inched closer to the wall. Maybe a shift in physical location would sever

the entirely metaphysical contact. “Salim?” she called, louder.

He didn’t answer, and the dragons didn’t stop. She tried to keep up with the energies

swirling around her and managed to make basic distinctions—enough to know Da’ar Es
Saleem gave no ground to the other dragon. A solid wedge of heat pushed against her
thighs, between them, and forced her legs apart until her boots slid a few inches on the
floor and only the wall at her back kept her upright. The excited dragon manifested itself
as a faint scarlet haze; the white dragon, an iridescent aura writhing at the edge. Cora’s

heart pounded. All the blood in her body rushed to welcome the heat that buffeted the
fly of her jeans. She inhaled deeply, drawing desire down into her lungs and sending it
spinning through her veins. How had she ever stayed away?

And what happened next? She had nothing to touch except herself. The dragons

could touch her, but if she waved her fingers through the simmering auras, her nerve
endings didn’t even tingle.

A crooked rectangle of light cut across the bottom of the staircase and framed the

crimson and snow eddy of dragon energy swelling in the corridor. Her knees abandoned
her entirely, and she slid to the floor. A pedestrian’s shadow marched down the sidewalk
outside. “Stop,” she hissed, “and that is an order.” She cursed to herself. She didn’t want
to give them orders. Acknowledging her influence brought her one step closer to being

caught.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Chapter Two

Da’ar Es Saleem drew away and took the other one with him. She struggled up on

jelly knees and wobbled to the bottom of the staircase. “Salim!” she shouted up the
stairs. “It’s me, Cora. I brought your dragon back!”

Irritation propelled her up to the landing, which opened out into an acrylic and oil

jungle. She had trouble focusing on any one painting; the landscapes overwhelmed her.
They featured trees, rivers, skies, holes; panoramic fields and sheer cliff faces. She

thought the “sky” in one painting resembled the rough walls of a stone-constructed
dwelling.

She hadn’t even considered that Salim might be an art aficionado. It made sense,

though. He was the Collector. The title might be unfair—he didn’t gather witches’
familiars for the simple joy of lining them up in some curio cabinet—but it was accurate.

She shouldn’t be surprised that the title extended itself to art as well as spirits.

A portrait at the far end of the gallery deviated from the wild theme. Cora moved for

a closer look and came face to face with herself. Except it wasn’t her image from a
normal perspective; instead, Salim had painted an oil replica of the red dragon’s
memory of her, flush-cheeked and in the throes of passion.

Fighting an urge to cover the canvas, she turned and scanned the paintings nearest

her a second time. Strange angles, odd colors, bizarre points of focus—all created by
Salim’s hand, but not dreamt up by him. Was this how he shed the dragon memories?
Through art?

“What do you want?”
Cora jumped. She tracked Salim’s voice to a dark stairwell that she’d overlooked.

“Your dragon showed up in my bedroom.” She had to stand at just the right angle,

not blocking even a sliver of light. Shadows fought to overtake him, crept close to his
bare feet, which were perched on the edge of the bottom step. She hadn’t heard him
come down from the third floor.

“What do you want me to do about it?”

“They’re yours. Keep them with you.”
“Are you asking me for help?”
“I’m asking you to keep them under control.”
“You didn’t help me when I asked for it,” he said. His toes curled around a lip of

wood. “In fact, you turned around and walked away.”

She envied him his shadows and suddenly longed for something deep and dark in

which to hide her abrupt, unexpected shame at the reminder.

“You didn’t need me,” she said, for herself more than for him. “Not that much. You

knew what to do by yourself.”

He leaned forward into the light. Flat, mad eyes met her own. “Is that what you

believe? That I knew what to do?” He stalked close and drove her backward toward the

stairs. “Get out,” he commanded. “Figure out what to do on your own.”

The first time she saw Salim in Greg’s apothecary, he’d looked like the most

delicious, most dangerous criminal ever dreamt up. Her muscles had gone a little
mushy. He wasn’t gorgeous anymore, and her muscles felt like gelatin for entirely
different reasons. Haggard lines scored either side of his nose and furrowed his brow.

The last time she saw him, his jaw was smooth, clean shaven. Now, unkempt whiskers
curled raggedly down his throat. Beneath the coarse, matted beard, the tendons in his

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

neck flexed and released. He hadn’t brushed his hair in weeks, if the wild knots tufting
above his ears were any indication.

Salim mirrored his art, both radiating “wild” vibes. A year ago, he had been a wholly

different man than the one driving her away toward the stairs. Could she have caused
this change in him?

“Salim, stop. I thought you knew.” She stopped retreating. The delicate skin at her

hairline, at the corners of her eyes, tingled with the unexpected rush of adrenaline
flooding her bloodstream. She would run if he made a motion to attack, but she decided

to stand her ground until he did.

“Tell me,” he said, voice quiet and dangerous, “precisely what you thought I knew.”
“I thought—”
“What?”
“That you knew what to do about Greg, and about his dragon breaking free. You’re a

dragonlord, aren’t you? You know better than anybody how to cope with the dragon

spirits.”

“Do you have any idea what they would do to be near you?” Salim whispered the

words, so close that the feverish heat he gave off warmed her own chilled skin.

“Kill each other,” she murmured. The first time the dragons showed up, her mother

had said they would tear one another apart in a battle for dominance, for the prize of

possessing her.

Salim reached for her hair. She flinched. Instead of backing down, he snatched a

handful of her hair in his fist and used it to anchor her in place. She couldn’t move,
couldn’t back away. He came so close his beard scraped her chin, and his lips brushed
her cheek. “He remembers you,” Salim said, still whispering, as if trying to keep a secret

from the dragons around them. “He remembers the texture of your hair, and the heat of
your skin. He remembers exactly how much pressure it takes to redden your lips with a
kiss.

“The strength of your pulse while we were inside you, the way your fingers curled as

we held your wrists to the bed. He remembers the way your body stretched to fit us
both, how fast your nipples responded and hardened, how you cried out and how you

lost your voice. He remembers every breath of it. And he remembers it every fucking
moment of his existence. Every moment of mine.

“He can’t protect himself anymore. He can’t stop remembering you long enough to

preserve himself. His protection is left to me. And I can’t stop remembering you either.”

She swallowed and closed her eyes. Her hands flattened across his stomach. The

muscles beneath her fingers jumped, flexed, and didn’t relax. He stood so taut that he
trembled where she touched him. The kind thing would have been to take her hand
away and wrestle free of his grip, establish some distance between them, but she didn’t
feel very kind. Raw lust overrode kindness. It also overrode her hygienic sensibilities.
She suddenly didn’t care that his breath smelled stale, that his hair smelled like scalp

oils, or that his shirt was damp with sweat. His animal wildness had become hers at
some point during the past few moments. She wanted to touch him lower, to feel his
body’s response weighing in her palm, pressing hard against her wrist. She wanted to
drive him down to the floor, to take him inside and give him a different memory, one
that he didn’t have to share with anything or anybody else.

Instead, she concentrated on breathing deeply, deliberately, so she didn’t pace the

rise and fall of his chest. Revisiting that level of intimacy wouldn’t solve even the

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

smallest problem—at least not even the smallest relevant problem. Eventually, his
breathing slowed, and he dropped his head to bury his face in the bend of her neck. She
sighed and rested her cheek against his temple. He wore down her anger and reminded

her of desires she didn’t want to acknowledge.

“I didn’t mean to leave you to that,” she said. “I didn’t know that’s what I did. I didn’t

know how to help you, or how to tell you I didn’t know. I’m afraid of…this. All of it. Greg
and you and the dragons and my nightmares and how desperately, for just a moment, I
wanted you to be real, I wanted my alleged ability to be real, so I could—” She hesitated.

So she could what? Justify keeping him. Justify changing years and years of dedication
to one belief, to not become somebody who changes her faith dedication at the whim of
a fad. She didn’t say any of that.

She did say, “Maybe I can help now.”
Salim shook his head. A tangle of his hair tickled her nose. “You can’t. You’ll change

your mind again and decide it’s not your problem and run away.”

“You don’t know that.”
“Yes I do.” He pushed away and released his hold on her hair. Her scalp tingled. “You

said ‘maybe.’”

He paced a wide circle around a pair of free-standing paintings that leaned against

one another house-of-cards style. The tail of his shirt, unbuttoned and thrown over the

damp, ribbed undershirt she’d touched earlier, fluttered behind him. “You said ‘maybe.’
You still don’t believe, not all the time, and until you do, you’re only useful when you
decide it’s a good day to believe. When it isn’t a good day, I can’t rely on you.”

The rejection stung. Cora gathered up her pride, and the anger she’d arrived with,

and backed toward the stairs. “You’re turning my help down this time,” she told him.

“It’s your choice. You can’t blame me anymore. And I’m not going to accept
responsibility for this. Keep them away from me.”

Salim let her go. The dragons didn’t follow. She made it to her car without incident

and fought her way through rush-hour traffic to her sister’s.

Cora stepped off the elevator and onto her sister’s floor just in time to see the third

door down the corridor swing open. Her sister Diane, long hair mussed and tied in a

sloppy, inky-black ponytail, stood on the threshold. She squinted at Cora’s chest.

“Are you wearing a negligee?” she asked.
“Good morning to you, too.” Cora tugged her jacket closed over the lace of her own

sleepwear. “Want breakfast? I’ll bake.”

“What are you doing here?” Diane waved her inside.

“Salim’s dragon showed up at my house. I brought him back. Thought I should stop

by. Mind if I borrow a t-shirt?”

Diane waved her off toward her bedroom. “You saw Salim?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”

“The short version is that I’ve ruined his life by not sticking around to be some kind

of dragon mommy.”

“The longer version?”
“Don’t want to talk about it.” She headed off to rifle her sister’s closet. Diane

followed.

“Just like you don’t want to talk about the nightmares? Sorry,” she amended, “the

new nightmares.”

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

“Yes, just like that,” Cora said.
She shouldn’t have told Diane about the first Greg nightmare, but it shook her so

badly she had to get it out. Talking about it hadn’t helped, and hadn’t made them go

away, but they were infrequent enough that she could pretend she didn’t have bad
dreams. She wasn’t the only Phillips woman who pretended a reality that didn’t exist.
Her mother only gave the real world a passing nod, and she wasn’t insane. Much. Cora
allowed herself this little bit of make-believe. A little pretend, not too much. A
conservative use of alternative-reality actually made the world a better place. Her world

was certainly better if she ignored the Greg nightmare.

“It’s not healthy. You’re going to turn into Ma.”
“I’m not. You wouldn’t let that happen.”
Diane sighed, exasperated. “Just tell me what he said.”
“He’s a mess. He can’t keep the dragons under control. I’m almost certain he hasn’t

showered at all this week.” She added, “He blames me.”

“It’s not your fault.”
“Maybe not deliberately, but I’m not completely innocent.”
“What’s that mean?”
Cora shrugged and swapped her nightgown for a black tee. Diane’s fragrance

enveloped her in a cloud of herbal shampoo and cinnamon incense. She turned around

to find Diane watching her with narrowed eyes.

“What?” she asked.
“You’re letting him make you feel guilty.”
“You don’t think I’m obligated, somehow? I called his dragon away from him, and

practically kidnapped Greg’s and thrust it upon Salim. He wouldn’t be in this situation if

it weren’t for me.”

She’d played with magic and taken on more than she could handle. She couldn’t

outrun the consequences of her foolishness. If she wasn’t plagued by nightmares, she
was harassed by dragons. And look at the two men whose lives she’d meddled with:
she’d robbed one of his essence, and buried the other under a dragonweight’s worth of
spiritual baggage. Oh yeah, she was obligated.

Diane didn’t let it go. “He’s not helpless,” she pointed out. “He has resources. It’s his

own fault for not calling upon them. And,” she continued, “he knows damn well that you
are not one of those resources. You have no education and no training. Your
involvement was accidental.”

“You wouldn’t say that if it were anybody but me in the middle of this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you’re not being objective. What if I were some random idiot without a clue

who jumped into the first ritual circle she found and started spouting words she heard
on TV? You’d tear into me.”

Diane bristled. “This is different. Objectivity has nothing to do with it.”

Cora heaved a sigh. Too bad she couldn’t exhale the morning and start over. “I need

coffee.”

Diane followed her into the kitchen. “You’re not playing with fire. You’re discovering

it. There’s a difference.”

“What’s the difference?”
“You’re not messing around on purpose, just to find out what happens.”

“But I am messing around.”

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

“Unavoidable. You have talent you can’t separate yourself from.”
Dread puddled in Cora’s stomach. “I shouldn’t remain ignorant and untrained,

should I?”

“Apparently, dragons are inevitable for you.”
Damn it. She didn’t want to get involved. The practical part of her didn’t want to,

anyway. The emotional part of her, stirred up like so much riverbed silt, wanted to be
near Salim and the dragons. She had managed to ignore the emotions, to talk herself out
of them and convince herself they were neither real nor necessary, for over a year.

Diane leaned against the counter. “It’s good to know what you’re about. Training and

all that. I don’t know what to do for you. I’m not much of a teacher,” she said, “and Ma
couldn’t teach a six year old to color between the lines.”

“I’ve been reading,” Cora said. “But the journal isn’t really a how-to. It’s more of a

how-was.”

“It’s interpretive,” Diane agreed.

“Interpretive doesn’t help me much.”
“I don’t want to throw you at him, but Salim might be able to help.”
She glanced at Diane. “Are you kidding?”
“He’s a shaman. He has access to the best mentors.” She brought two mugs out and

sat them on the counter. “Everything he learned, he learned from his dragon. Maybe you

should look for help there, too.”

“He won’t help me.”
“He’s a man,” Diane said dryly. “He’s had you naked. And he wants you again. Of

course he’ll help you.”

“You’re wrong.” She shook her head. “If I go back there, I have to know what I’m

doing. Don’t you know somebody else?”

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Chapter Three

“Somebody else? This is sacred tradition. Of course there’s nobody else. You, Diane,

and I—we’re it. It’s insulting that you even ask.” Miranda Phillips sniffed indignantly
and led Cora and Diane into the kitchen.

“If you had more to offer than ‘sleep with them,’ I wouldn’t be asking,” Cora said,

exasperated. She popped the top off a porcelain pig and inspected the cookies inside.

“What’s wrong with that advice? It’s perfectly straightforward. I’d have been glad to

have such direct advice when I was in your situation.”

Cora and Diane exchanged glances behind Miranda’s back.
“What advice did you have?” Cora asked.
“I don’t recall precisely.”
“How did you deal with Dad?” Diane pressed.

“My relationship with your father is a private matter. If you want to know about it,

you can read my memoirs after I die.”

“You have memoirs?” Diane asked. “Is that a fancy word for ‘grimoire’?”
“It is not,” Miranda snapped. She sat at the table, crossed her legs, and waved her

daughters to do the same. “Cora, I don’t understand why this is even a point of
contention. You are responsible for our legacy now.”

“Ma, I don’t even want to be responsible for a cat, let alone a legacy.” She set the

cookie jar aside.

“Tough.”
Cora rubbed her forehead. “Look, if you can’t tell me what to do and you don’t know

anybody who can, I’m going to have to ask the Dragonlord.”

“Lords. You have a choice that I didn’t have.”
“Lord,” she corrected. “Greg is no longer in the picture.” That was a lie, but close

enough to the truth without giving out every single detail. She wasn’t in the mood for
any advice Miranda might have concerning him. Greg was best left forgotten.

Miranda frowned. “Well, you’d better resolve matters with the other one before you

lose this opportunity altogether.”

“Ma,” Diane broke in, “we’re not looking for somebody else to give advice on family

matters. We’re looking for someone with a capacity for spiritual affinity that extends to
the draconic spirits. She needs to know how to handle them.”

“She handles them through sex.”
“It’s not a great weapon.”

“The relationship isn’t intended to be one of combat.”
“I want a letter of recommendation that will give Cora access to Paul Beesom,” Diane

said.

Miranda paled. “No.”
“Who’s that?” Cora asked.

“He can advise her.”
“He is a monster, Diane. You have no idea of the risk.”
Cora raised an eyebrow and looked between the other two Phillips women. Monster

was the word Diane had used to describe Salim the first time his name entered their
lives. She had vehemently denounced his role in the supernatural social pyramid and

condemned him for a thief who dealt in spirit familiars—much more valuable than

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

dollars, to a witch—and warned Cora away. Like mother, like daughter. She kept her
mouth shut. Diane wouldn’t appreciate the comparison.

“It will be more of a risk if we show up without a referral from you,” Diane pressed.

She set her chin stubbornly and stared down at Miranda, who gripped the edge of the
table until her knuckles showed white.

Cora’s amusement vanished. “Don’t pull the bitch witch act on her,” she said to

Diane. “I don’t care what reputation you have outside this house. You’re not using it on
either of us.”

“I’m trying to help you.” Diane broke eye contact with Miranda and looked at Cora.

“You don’t want to go to Salim. Paul Beesom’s the only other shaman I know who’s
strong enough to work with dragons.”

“You don’t know him at all,” Miranda said. “I’m trying to help your sister, too. The

best advice I can give is to not fight it. Cora, this is what you are. Ask your Salim. He will
show you what you can become.”

“She doesn’t want career counseling! She wants a way out!”
Miranda stood. This time, she was the one who caught and held Diane’s eyes and

refused to look away. “Even if she finds a way out, the dragons won’t become yours,” she
said quietly.

Diane’s face reddened, and her lips parted. She turned around and left the room, and

then the house, without a word. Cora was sure her own mouth hung open. The door
slammed shut. Miranda sighed.

“I didn’t mean it to come out that way,” she said.
Cora closed her mouth. “I’ll try to catch her.”
“Don’t. She’ll be fine.”

“It’s not true. She doesn’t want this any more than I do.”
“You’re wrong. Diane is much more sensitive about her status than she lets on, but

more than that, she’s ambitious. Not power hungry,” Miranda amended, “but
ambitious.”

“Not at my expense.”
“Of course not. You clearly don’t want what you have, though. She does. You’ve

always allowed her to be the one with talents. She’s gotten used to that. This talent is
one that she would accept if you would give it to her.”

“What am I supposed to do?”
“You have to resolve this on your own.”
“So you won’t help me.”

“I am helping you!” Miranda threw her hands in the air and moved to put a kettle of

water on to heat. “Listen to me, Coraline. Stories are just that—stories. Your
grandmother spun tales about moon-women protecting their dragon princes from
wicked men, but those were stories for little girls. Stories for grown women are not such
romantic things.”

Cora finally sat. “Give me the grown-up version.”
“I am not the storyteller your grandmother was.”
“I don’t really care for a story, Ma. I just want to know what I’m supposed to be

doing.”

Miranda hugged herself. “The real truth is you are dragon-destined. If you hadn’t

called one, one would have called you. Trust me when I tell you that you want the one

you called.”

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Fear. Her mother was afraid. She hadn’t expected fear; ambition was more Miranda’s

speed. She started to question it, but Miranda cut her off.

“If you call it, it’s attuned to you. Sympathetic to you. Need is mutual, and the

benefits of such a relationship go both ways.”

“What if it calls me?” Cora asked, not certain she wanted to know the answer. Her

mother shuddered.

“You’re lost,” she whispered. “Slave, tool, toy—nothing is mutual. You gain nothing,

and lose everything.”

Cora bit her lip. “You were called, weren’t you?”
Miranda nodded. Her shoulders hunched, shrank, and from the back, she looked like

an old woman. “Promise me you won’t make yourself vulnerable to a call,” she said.
“That you’ll take what you’ve been given and hold it dear. It’s your life. And yours is half
of mine.”

“I promise,” Cora said before she could stop herself and think about what it was she

was promising away.

“Thank you.”
Cora spent the day with her mother, and, since her Friday was shot for work, she

decided to take the entire weekend in the city. Miranda had a dinner date, so Cora made
it an early night. Going to bed in her adolescent bedroom was an experience. She’d

forgotten just how black her tastes had run prior to college. She had a hard time getting
to sleep on the narrow twin mattress.

* * *

Cora opened her mouth obediently. He put a little white pill on her tongue, and

pinched her jaw between his thumb and forefinger so she couldn’t spit it out. Purple
vines writhed across the ceiling; their lacey pattern twisted into the corners, behind
wispy white drapes, through the closet door that stood half open. Her tongue trembled
with the effort of keeping the pill from falling into the back of her mouth, difficult
because he had her head pushed back flat against the pillow.

“Swallow it,” he said and flicked the tablet with his fingertip. It didn’t move. Her

mouth had dried out; the trace of saliva on her tongue acted like glue and held the pill in
place. “Swallow it.”

She grunted an objection, unable to form words without swallowing the pill. Her

hands balled up into fists, and she curled her toes, pulling her elbows and knees against

the scarves that held her bound to the bedposts. Red and white scarves—he brought
them with him.

“Come on,” he whispered. He stroked her throat with his free hand, petting. His

fingertips touched the hollow at the apex of her collarbone, trailed down between her
breasts. He flicked her left nipple and drew his thumb around the areola. Cora’s stomach

clenched. She closed her eyes. The pill tasted horrible, like old grapes and powdered
acid. She didn’t want to swallow it, didn’t want to know what the pill would make her
know. Her jaw ached.

“Be a good girl.” He came close, so close she felt his breath on her cheek: hot and

moist. He kissed her ear and touched her tongue, rolled the pill back and forth across
her taste buds. She tried to scrape the powdery residue off with her teeth. He held her

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

tongue down. “Swallow it whole, and it’ll go fast. You’re going to take it no matter what.
It’ll be slower this way, though.”

He traced the shell of her ear with his lips; her ears started ringing. The pill fell into

the back of her throat. She choked, coughed, and jerked upright in bed.

Disoriented in the small, dark room, it took a minute to remember where she was.

Sixteen-year-old Cora had tacked a Nick Cave poster on the wall. She stared at the shape
of the goth musician’s pale face until her vision blurred and she was certain it wasn’t
going to move. The heat pump cycled and hummed, and the refrigerator returned the

gentle call. Her mother usually snored, but Cora couldn’t hear the familiar nighttime
rumble, so assumed Miranda hadn’t returned from her evening out. Greg had been a
dream. Just a dream. He wasn’t there.

Cora buried her head in her hands. She hated the Greg nightmare. It reminded her of

the gaps in her memory. She wanted to forget the possibility that Greg had hypnotized
her while she visited Diane in New York last Christmas.

He took nightmares to a whole new level. She’d had nightmares before she even met

him, but they were different now. Before, dragons had haunted her sleeping hours;
chasing her, burning her, locking her away in dark dank caves. The dragon dreams had
driven her insomnia for months, but they were silly fairytales in comparison to the
dreams about Greg. She’d been able to convince herself, at least during waking hours,

that the dragon dreams weren’t real. She didn’t know whether the dreams about Greg
were real or not; they felt too real, too close to the realm of possibility, for her to brush
them off as nonsense.

She couldn’t get back to sleep for worrying about Greg. She could at least knock out

some of the work emails that had most likely piled up in her inbox. Cora threw off her

blankets and got up to brush her teeth.

She brushed, rinsed, and spat into the sink. A little round object bounced in the

frothy, cool-mint-blue mouthwash that puddled in the basin. Her heart stopped beating,
fingers and toes suddenly numb.

She sat on the toilet seat until her blood pressure returned to some approximation of

normal, afraid to poke around with her tongue and find that she’d lost a molar. It didn’t

look like a molar, wobbling down in the hollow of the sink, perched on the screen that
covered the drain. God, she hoped it was a molar. The alternative—she didn’t want to
think about it. The thing looked like a pearl.

Suddenly, the sounds of the house were no longer benign melodies, but had

transformed into sinister whispers and creaks. A door opened down the hall, and she

covered her mouth with both hands to stifle a scream.

Her mother’s voice murmured a question; a man’s deeper timbre responded. Cora’s

cheeks suffused with heat. Miranda had a lover just down the hall. The realization
shocked her. She sat still, unable to formulate coherent opinions of the discovery, until
the door down the hall closed. Once the floorboards stopped creaking and the

bedsprings started, she wrapped the pearl/tooth up in a wad of toilet paper and crept
out of the house.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Chapter Four

Cora left her mother a note and borrowed her car. She refused to think about why

her instinct was to run to Salim, and ignored the tiny voice in her head that tried to
remind her of her vow to stay away from him.

The dragons let her in. She didn’t even have to ask. They tried to curl around her, but

she mentally brushed them off and took the stairs two at a time.

“I thought we agreed that we have no use for one another,” he said without turning

toward her. The muscles in his back tensed. He drew a wide, long streak of green paint
across his canvas.

“Use” was a bad word, but she understood why he employed it. She even appreciated

the coldness of his choice and embraced the utilitarian connotation as a support beam to
hang onto and prevent herself from getting too caught up in his need and her desire to
fulfill it. She couldn’t afford to be selfless. Not in this situation. She’d lose herself if she
gave too much without taking back. They had to strike a bargain, had to use one
another’s resources to their own individual benefits.

“I’m not going to change my mind.” She resumed where they left off the day before.

“I have too much evidence that this is really happening to me, to turn around and deny
it’s happening at all. It was different before, and I didn’t have time to think about it, and
I was scared.”

“It’s not something you think about!” He whirled to face her. A rectangle of green-

smeared canvas, propped upon an easel, divided his torso in half. “It’s something you

feel.”

He spun around, and she started, prepared to shrink away from the scary lunatic

eyes she’d seen earlier in the day. “What I feel is fear. I didn’t have the ability to
summon up dragons a year ago, and I didn’t have the ability to feel them even though I
can’t see them, and I didn’t have damned pearls falling out of my mouth after bad

dreams. I had nightmares about fire and monsters, and then I had you, and Greg, and
your dragons all in my life at once. Maybe you can cope with that without needing to
think about it, and feel nothing but confidence in your ability to deal, but I can’t.

“I can’t even trust that my feelings are mine, and not some suggestion planted in my

brain by hypnosis,” she finished, her voice on the verge of breaking. She had twisted the
fringe of her scarf into an impossible knot that bound her fingers together. “You don’t

think I can understand, but I don’t think you’re even trying to understand.”

Salim sounded defeated and worn down. “I’m tired, Cora. It makes understanding

hard.”

Her chest tightened, heart suddenly fearful and too big, but she said, “I’ll take them

from you.”

“No. It’s too much for you.”
“You can’t have it both ways! Either I have some responsibility to you and them, or I

don’t have any at all. Make up your mind!”

Salim’s jaw tightened. “How are you going to handle them if I give over?”
“I don’t know,” she huffed. “We can play a game. Or maybe we’ll have a chat, just me

and Greg’s dragon and yours. What difference does it make? I’ll manage.”

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

“Not if you keep thinking of the white one as ‘Greg’s’,” he said. “That one was never

truly his, and I’m still not certain how he acquired it.”

“What do you mean, it’s not his? You can’t just shoplift a dragon. It’s not like a tube

of lipstick in a drug store.”

Salim arched an eyebrow, and she glowered at him. “Fine,” she said, “you might be

able to, but most people don’t share your particular talent.”

“The ability to ‘shoplift’ sometimes comes with the ability to reassign ownership. I’m

not the only functioning repossesser.” He put aside his paintbrush and wiped his hands

on a smudged rag. “Your eyes have a question. What is it?”

He was wrong. Her eyes probably held a million questions, if they were any true

reflection of her brain. Cora bit her lip and sifted through the myriad curiosities, finally
settling on asking, “Are all the spirits you’ve taken still inside you?”

He shook his head. “Only the ones that weren’t able to return to the wild.”
“Don’t they make things difficult?”

“The situation can become taxing.” His gaze shifted to a nearby canvas, still blank

and unstained by color. “Art is therapeutic.”

“Your therapy didn’t look so successful earlier. Yesterday. Whatever time it was—I’m

losing days.”

“You got me at a bad time,” he evaded. “Don’t worry about it. If you want to try to

take them, this is a safe place.”

She would’ve preferred to continue probing the details of his spirit-repossession.

Diane might find it horrific that he made a living out of separating abusive witches from
the spirit familiars they had taken, but Cora found it fascinating. His closed expression
didn’t invite further inquiry, so she dropped the subject.

“If I take them, how do you give them to me?”
“I give them permission to go. Giving to you is easy. They want to be with you.”
“Then what?”
Salim shrugged. “Talk. I can’t get the white one to reveal an identity. Ask. Maybe it’ll

open up to you.”

Doubtful. She didn’t say that, though. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Make yourself at home. Nothing is off-limits.” Salim mounted the stairs without

another word. Before she could ask where he was going, she found herself alone in the
gallery. His footsteps receded, and the commanding strength of his presence with them.
The dragons pressed in on her.

Cora braced herself, but the dragons came only so close before they stopped. They

hovered just out of range of physical touch. The illusion of movement reminded her of
jets in a holding pattern, waiting for permission to land. The responsibilities of dragon
traffic controller were hers, at least for the moment. If only she knew what to do.

“This would be so much easier if I could see you,” she announced. Talking aloud,

even to herself, validated the situation more than thinking her wishes did. Da’ar Es

Saleem might prefer to speak in her head, but he’d demonstrated his ability to manifest
and use his vocal chords.

The gallery tightened and warmed. Heated substantially, in fact. Within a handful of

seconds, her coat weighed heavy and uncomfortable on her shoulders. Salim’s paintings
seemed to move away from her—no, the room expanded. The change reminded her of
her college physics course. One section focused on the expansion of the universe, with a

fruit cake as a model. The cake expanded and the distance between bits of fruit

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

increased. Similarly, the gallery expanded, the distance between herself and Salim’s
paintings becoming greater.

She hadn’t expected the dragons to actually appear, but there they were. Wispy

particles of light gathered on the edge of her vision. They gained structure and
substance. The space grew to hold the creatures. She almost rescinded her request.
Salim’s accusation that she wouldn’t remain steady in her decision to believe stayed her,
however. She held her ground.

Greg’s—no, not his. The white dragon came to her call first, just like the first time,

eager and needing. Unlike the first time, it—he—didn’t try to overpower her. Instead, he
displayed an unexpected manner of shyness and apology. He didn’t show his eyes. His
head and muzzle were tucked behind his rear flank and he curled in on himself.

She had envisioned a fairytale creature, all scales and tails and fire in its eyes. She

would have been prepared for a sinuous Asian dragon that resembled a snake with legs,
and, if she were honest with her appearance-based preconceptions, she actually

expected the Asian version of the myth, given the dragon’s association with Greg, who,
while not straight from China, certainly had a past there. The white dragon was none of
those. He resembled a man, albeit a man glimmering with the sheen of pearls and gold.

She couldn’t resolve his gentle, refined appearance with her expectations. Da’ar Es

Saleem was Salim’s dragon—he was Salim, in more than name. They were the same

essence, shared the same fire, the same intensity. This other creature was most
definitely not Greg’s dragon—but nobody doubted that, not anymore.

She moved closer, slow and cautious. “You don’t have to hide,” she told him. “Will

you tell me what to call you?”

Even though the dragon-man didn’t have real flesh the way she knew skin, blood,

and hair follicles to exist, the illusion of his shudder, the way ephemeral muscles rippled
beneath ephemeral skin, certainly looked convincing to her. His non-muscles tightened.
She stopped.

Maybe he was embarrassed about the way he had treated her? There was that sexual

assault in the summoning circle, the first time they encountered one another. No matter
how valid his reason for wanting to break free of Greg, he hadn’t needed to be so violent.

Somewhat mollified by the idea that he could be experiencing regret for past behavior,
she extended an olive branch. “I’m not upset by what’s happened with us before now.
We can forget all about it and start over.”

He still didn’t give over a name, but he relaxed marginally. That was a good sign.

So distracted was she by the manifestation of the white dragon, she forgot about

Da’ar Es Saleem’s presence. The red dragon huffed a hot breath on her shoulder. She
reflexively turned her cheek away from the heat, and the ends of her hair flipped across
her nose and mouth. A few strands caught in her lip gloss. The heat wave subsided; she
finger-combed the errant strands away from her lips and looked his way.

Startled, she drew back. Except for a humanoid figure, two arms and two legs

attached to a torso, Da’ar Es Saleem bore no resemblance to a man. She had forgotten
the garnet sheen of his skin and the strange, deep-fire blaze of his eyes, which were two
large vertical ovals set in a wide triangle head. Fans framed his face like an Egyptian
cobra’s hood flared to flash a warning. Despite herself, she shuddered, and suddenly all
she could think about was the theory that snake charmers hypnotize their snakes.
Hypnotism reminded her of Greg. She caught her coat up against her chest as if it would

shield her and backed away from both dragons.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

“I changed my mind. Go away.” She squeezed her eyes shut, shoulders so tight her

body trembled with the effort to stay and not flee. “Go away!”

Atmospheric pressure popped violently, unexpectedly, and she staggered. The world

shrank without warning. It was worse than the earlier expansion. Invisible bands of air
grabbed and squeezed, jamming her bones into softer organs and constricting her lungs.
Bile rose in her esophagus, acidic and harsh. Even worse than the compression, a shrill
wail climbed into her ears. She dropped her gloves and purse and slammed both hands
over her ears. It didn’t help. The awful noise continued, sound waves like an ocean tide

dragging her under the surface. She couldn’t resist the pull and sank to her knees. A
thunderclap shook the floorboards.

The thunderous boom, and its accompanying collision of hot and cold air at either

side of her, shook her out of the hellish pocket of noise. Da’ar Es Saleem stood less than
an arm’s length away, his muscular legs braced apart. Further down the narrow room,
the white dragon crouched, poised on claw-tipped toes and fingers. She couldn’t see his

face. The angle was wrong. His entire body trembled, however.

Static sounds volleyed back and forth between them. Dragon speech. If she

concentrated hard enough, she understood snatches of the dragons’ exchange.

Afraid of you. Didn’t know what she chose.
Fear isn’t for me. Overwhelmed. Unexpected to see without a translator. You don’t

have a claim.

Neither do you. Nobody told her. She didn’t choose. Didn’t have a choice.
Cora swallowed hard. She didn’t understand the words as they came to her; she only

understood them as translated bits and pieces. The translating voice belonged to Greg.
She was sick and dizzy with the realization.

It’s already done.
It’s NOT! She should have a choice!
Tell her, then. Everything. And let her choose.
The words went away. She couldn’t figure out which dragon said what, since it was

Greg’s voice instead of their own individual voices.

Da’ar Es Saleem moved and broke her focus. The white dragon roared frustration

and the earlier cacophony threatened to overcome her. Shaking hands balled into fists.
She wanted to cover her ears, but she also wanted to hear what they said to one another.
She dug her fists into her thighs. Da’ar Es Saleem crouched in front of her. She flinched
away from his face, from the strange alien membrane flaring at either side of his
temples.

“Stop,” he said. His mouth moved. He spoke the words aloud instead of in her head.

The deep melody of his voice, coming so soon after the shrill alien speech, stunned her.
He covered her ears with his own hands, long fingers cradling the back of her head,
burying in her hair. “Neither of us will hurt you here. Nobody will. Do you understand
that?”

She jerked a nod, caught in his eyes, all the many reflections of her pale and pinched

face staring back in wide-eyed shock. She didn’t understand it, but nodded out of reflex.
Her fingers ached in their tense fists. She wanted to push his touch away, curl in a
corner and hold herself until she could breathe in something other than asthmatic
gasps. Da’ar Es Saleem held her steady, though. She didn’t move except to moisten her
lips and whisper, “You’re all so angry.”

“Not with you.”

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Movement drew her gaze over his shoulder. The white dragon paced restlessly a

scant dozen feet away, his head angled so he watched her with his rival. The cords and
tendons visible in his throat twitched and strained. The flared web around his head

resembled a halo more than a cobra’s hood. It should have been less frightening, should
have touched her psyche differently, but the rules of symbolism weren’t working
properly. Or maybe her brain wasn’t working properly. Insanity would explain a lot of
the things happening to her recently, and her own failure to process visual cues in the
same fashion that the “normal” human mind did built a strong case for insanity. Cora

shuddered.

“I’m going crazy.”
“Your reality is changing. It’s expanding to include elements that didn’t exist in your

paradigm a year ago. Come off the floor,” he urged. One of his hands remained where it
was, cupping her cheek and kneading the muscles at her nape. His other hand slid down
her shoulder to rest behind her elbow. His heat steamed and soothed through her

clothes. He lifted her, and she cooperated, rising toward his heat so she wouldn’t lose it
if he moved too far away.

She wobbled on her feet. The unsteadiness of her limbs reminded her of sexual

aftermath. She hoped Da’ar Es Saleem couldn’t pick up her thoughts.

The white dragon stopped pacing and stared at her. Da’ar Es Saleem tensed. His long

fingers tightened around her bicep. She didn’t pull away because it wasn’t painful, but
she did note the very male reaction. He didn’t want to lose her attention to the other
one, but he didn’t try to reclaim her focus, either. Points in his favor that he could be
possessive without being controlling.

Have you chosen him? Greg’s voice. Sudden fear made her temples throb.

“Don’t do that. Don’t talk in my head.”
Without any warning, the white dragon swung away and slashed his arm through the

air, angry. Three paintings rocked from their perches and cartwheeled in different
directions, one tearing on the corner of a crate and another smashing against the wall.
The third reeled in her direction. Cora flinched away from the runaway canvas. She
didn’t see where it landed, but it hit with such force that glass shattered.

Da’ar Es Saleem said something, sharp and hard, and the dragons dropped back into

their own language. She didn’t even try to understand the exchange; she consciously
tried to ignore it. She didn’t want Greg’s voice in her head. Understanding wasn’t worth
that.

“Excuse me. Will you two tear one another apart while I’m gone?” She directed the

question to Salim’s dragon, who, thus far, proved to be the far more reasonable one.

He shifted his strange eyes in her direction. “Where are you going?”
“To find Salim.”
“Go.”
Not exactly the yes or no answer she was looking for, but she opted to evacuate

before they did, indeed, decide to kill one another. She wouldn’t be much use on her
own, anyway. Truth be told, she was unsure whether Salim would be able to keep them
apart, either, given his own unsteady condition, but he was her best bet. She left the
dragons to themselves and climbed the stairs.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Chapter Five

Salim’s paintings lined the stairwell. Acrylic trees stretched above her, winding up

into the third story of the townhouse. The argument below followed her onto the landing
above. Cora paused to regroup, to smooth her hair and catch her breath.

The bathroom door opened. Salim stepped out, wrapped in a damp towel. Men. Did

they ever actually purchase bathrobes for themselves? Under any other circumstances
she would have been fine with his semi-nudity. She would’ve had no problems

whatsoever with the glistening remnants of shower droplets shining on his shoulders.
Right now, however, they were glittering distractions. She tried to ignore them.

“Where are they?” he asked immediately.
“Downstairs. Arguing. I don’t know how to referee. I’d rather not be caught in the

middle if they decide to make it bloody.”

“I need to get dressed.”
Cora followed Salim back to his bedroom. “I’m not prepared for this. I know,” she

said before he could remind her of her voluntary offer to intervene, “I asked for it. But I
thought I could learn by doing. I was wrong. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be
learning,” she told him. “You can’t expect me to just know.”

“Why can’t I?” He dropped his towel, his back to her, and used the damp length of

terrycloth to scrub his hair dry.

“Because this isn’t a self-study class. It’s a tangled mess with several different forces

involved. I don’t have a textbook to study, and I don’t have a teacher, and I really think
you should stop being a dick who won’t share his notes and start being a partner.”

He tensed at the insult, but didn’t react otherwise. Cora folded her arms across her

chest. “I don’t understand why you’re holding back, anyway.”

“I don’t understand why you’re not getting any answers from your family.”
“This isn’t about my family.”
“You’re wrong. It’s very much about your family. I think you know that. I don’t know

why you keep turning away from Diane and your mother as information sources,

though.” He tossed the towel at a laundry hamper and stepped into a pair of navy cotton
boxer briefs.

“They can’t tell me how to communicate—how to be—with dragons. They don’t

know. Haven’t had the same kind of contact.” Somehow she doubted that her mother’s
experiences would help her in her own position. She shied away from that line of
thought before it could lead her back to the whispered heat she’d accidentally overheard.

Dragons were safer.

“I need a mentor,” she insisted. “Somebody who can teach me to be with dragons.

You.”

She moved to sit on the edge of rumpled, unmade bed. Salim glanced at her. “You

want me to instruct you.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Cora spread her hands helplessly. “I work from manuals

and textbooks, not from gut feeling and instinct. I don’t know where to get a layman’s
guide to dragons.”

“There’s no user’s manual for instinct.”
“Should I take a meditation class or something?”

Salim shook his head. “You came here tonight to ask me to be your teacher.”
“Not just that.” She wrapped her purse strap around her hands.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

“What else?”
“Greg and I talked. On the phone. A lot. I found tapes that he recorded. I don’t know

what’s on them. I’m afraid to listen to them by myself.”

Salim froze, a t-shirt dangling from his hands. “You have to listen to them.”
“I know. But I’m afraid to. I want you to be with me.”
He pulled the shirt over his head and shook out a pair of jeans. “You have them with

you?”

“No.”

“Where?”
“At my house in Connecticut. Hidden.”
“Hidden?” He joined her on the bed to don socks. Cora shifted unnecessarily, under

the guise of making room for him. She wanted to maintain a little distance, to maintain
the present neutral flow of conversation.

“In the back of a closet. I don’t want anybody to take them.”

“You’re afraid of a robbery?”
Cora scrubbed her palms over her thighs. “Greg…visits.”
Salim’s head jerked up. “What?”
“I dream about him. It feels like he’s really there.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What kind of dreams?”

“It’s the same dream. He’s trying to make me swallow something. I woke up this

morning—tonight—and brushed my teeth, and a pearl fell out of my mouth.”

“A pearl.”
She nodded.
“Not a broken tooth?”

“No. A pearl. I have it here. In my purse.”
“That’s why you came,” he said, not asking.
“They were just horrible dreams before tonight. Diane says there isn’t any news

about Greg roaming around. I thought that meant he’s not free to roam around. That
he’s still…hospitalized, or in jail, or whatever happened after the fire at his place.”

“Why would you think he couldn’t get to you?” he asked, his expression queer.

“The police—”
“Don’t know anything happened except for a fire. You didn’t accuse him of anything,

did you? I didn’t hear if you did.”

“I feel dizzy,” she announced and tried to stand up.
“Dizzy people shouldn’t move around.” Salim grabbed the rear pocket of her jeans

and pulled her back to the bed. “This is not a good time to panic. He’s not here with you
right now. You’re here with me. That’s a good indication that he hasn’t been physically
near. Do you remember any physical threats over the last few weeks?”

“I’ve been afraid a lot. Too often. I’m afraid to leave my house some days. I work

from home almost half the time now.”

“We’ll go get the tapes today. Did you drive here?”
“I have my mother’s car. Mine’s in a garage near Diane’s place.”
“We’ll take mine.” Salim filled his pockets with his wallet and other objects she didn’t

recognize. Something supernatural, no doubt. She kept her curiosity in check and
followed him.

It occurred to her to protest their impromptu road trip, but it would be a token

protest. She needed to find out the details surrounding her dealings with Greg. This was

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

why she’d come to Salim, to secure his help and, she admitted to herself, the comfort of
his presence.

Salim stopped at the bottom of the stairs. She stumbled into him, unable to retrieve

her momentum in time to stop when he did.

“What’s wrong?” She took advantage of the added height afforded her by the stairs

and leaned to see around him. Da’ar Es Saleem crouched silently in front of a painting
as tall as she was, and the white dragon stood at the window. Both retained the forms
she’d last seen them wearing.

He looked back over his shoulder, amazement in his eyes. “Did you do this?”
“Make them come out?”
“Yes.”
“I asked. I couldn’t talk with them if I couldn’t see them. I’m not very good at

visualizing.”

“You just asked?”

“I don’t remember if there was a question mark on the end. Maybe I suggested?”
Da’ar Es Saleem glanced up at the pair of them. His garnet eyes were unreadable, as

was his body language when he rose from his haunches. He waited.

“Did you happen to suggest the other one should tell you its name?” Salim asked

beneath his breath.

“I asked. No such luck.”
“I see.”
“Want me to get them back?”
“It’d be helpful, yes.” He moved aside. “After you.”
“Is there any way to avoid that whole universe expanding and shrinking thing that

happens when they change costumes?” she asked, hopeful. She didn’t want to relive the
lung compression, disorientation, and nausea.

“Unfortunately not.”
Cora sighed, shrugged and stepped past him to retrieve her coat. “You guys want to

do the invisible thing again? We’re going out.”

The air around the dragons went wobbly and hazy, like the space just above a black

tar road on a hot day. Cora braced herself and tried to pretend that she had a guest spot
in Disney’s Pete’s Dragon, that her dragons would pop! out of existence painlessly, just
like Elliott in the lighthouse. Afterward, she and Salim would skip off to his car, holding
hands and singing a joyous song.

Salim caught her when her knees gave out.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Chapter Six

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Cora sipped from a bottle of ginger ale. Her stomach had

voiced a violent objection to the whiplash effect of the dragons’ reversion to their
invisible selves and still hadn’t recovered. The white dragon made matters worse. He
refused to disappear and stubbornly clung to her legs. Literally. He didn’t intrude on her
mind, nor did he attempt to strike up a conversation (telepathic or otherwise). He did
coil around her legs in imitation of the scarf wrapped around her neck. Thanks to the

dragon, her knees wouldn’t catch pneumonia. She might develop an ulcer, but no
pneumonia.

“No. Why?”
“Because I feel like the world’s most stupid woman.” She loosened her scarf. She

appreciated Salim’s willingness to remain in one lane and not careen through traffic like

a maniac. “Getting myself into this mess with Greg. Sleeping with you. Riding in cars
with strange men for long-distance drives. Pushing dragons around even though I don’t
know what’s going to happen if I do. Do you mind if I turn the heat down a little?”

“Still don’t feel well?” He adjusted the heat controls, and the warm air blowing on

her face changed to a cooler temperature. “Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.” She draped her scarf across her thighs and moved so she could see

him without having to turn her head with every question. The headlights of a vehicle
behind them illuminated his hair, still damp and curling from the shower. His jaw was
tight with tension, but smooth. He’d shaved the beard growth before they left and
looked more like the beautiful, exotic man she’d seen the first time they met. She didn’t
need a wild, unkempt visual to remind her that he had a very unpolished side.

“So. Stupid?” she prompted.
“I don’t think you’re stupid. I think you’re a woman who evaluates every

possible motive and consequence before choosing a particular course of action, and still
isn’t happy with her choices once she’s made them.”

She mulled over his assessment for a while. Her soda eventually warmed, and she

put the bottle aside.

“You believe sleeping with me was a mistake?” he asked.
She fingered the fringe on her scarf and stared at a pair of red taillights until the

rectangles of light blurred into ovals, her eyes watered, and her head started to throb.
The dragon tightened around her knees. Protectively? Possessively? Lacking the energy
to effectively read its non-body language, she tried to ignore it and focus on getting the

right words. Salim didn’t ask again, but she knew he still wanted an answer.

“I think it was bad timing,” she ventured, cautiously.
“What does that mean? That you wouldn’t have made the same choice under

different circumstances?”

“I wouldn’t know you under different circumstances,” she reminded him.

“Why do you believe that?”
“You don’t think it’s true? You could see us meeting one another in a bar or on the

Internet, realizing we like the same books, and deciding to get together for dinner?”

“We ran into one another in a bookstore,” he pointed out.
“Any other time, I would’ve been in the mystery section, not the new age section.”

Salim glanced at her. “We met at a party.”

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

“You came because you knew I’d be there!” Exasperated, she twisted to face forward

once more. “We live in entirely different states. We wouldn’t have met under different
circumstances.”

“I think you’re wrong,” he said quietly, calm in the face of her agitation. “I think we

have a part in one another’s lives, and we would have come together one way or
another.”

Salim believed in destiny. She had no idea. Even with his supernatural affinity, she

had this image of him as a jaded, desensitized man, not a man who believed in fate.

Not sure she wanted to know the answer, she ventured to ask, “You believe we would

have become part of one another’s lives this way?”

“As lovers?”
Cora couldn’t tell whether the slightly sick feeling in her stomach was a remnant of

dragon vertigo, or a new tension brought on by those two words. That one word. She
didn’t think of herself as Salim’s lover, or him as hers. She didn’t even think of them in

terms of relationships at all, not even on a good day that featured minimal anxiety and
panic.

“That’s not the word I would’ve used.” She attempted to keep her tone free of

defensiveness or sarcasm, despite a desire to run and hide behind both at that particular
moment.

“Tell me what word you would have used.”
She fidgeted. “Shouldn’t we be figuring out a plan of action for Greg? Or even for my

learning how to deal with the dragons?”

“There isn’t a ‘we’ at all until you figure out my current standing in your life.”
“You want me to tell you I love you or something?” Building hysteria made her voice

rise.

“I want you to pick one. A relationship or an association. Do you want us to know

one another, or do you want us to be estranged partners? You can’t possibly still deny
that you have ties to us.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Salim turn his head to look at her. It was a brief

glance, made so by necessity of him watching the road, but the force of it hit her like a

punch. Her mother’s tale rang between her ears, as did the promise she’d made. How on
earth was she going to keep a promise like that? She rolled down the window to let fresh
air inside the car and turned her face up to the narrow opening, resting her cheek
against the glass.

“I am not cut out to be some sort of mother of dragons,” she said evenly, as much for

her own stress management as for his benefit. “I’m terrible with kids. Babies are messy.
And the health insurance I get through my firm isn’t the greatest in the world.”

“Is that what you think this is about? You stepping in to be a broodmare?”
“It’s not? What about all the perpetuating the species and keeping legends alive and

‘you’re supposed to have sex with them’ shit that everybody’s given me since the first

appearance?”

“You don’t squeeze them out like human babies,” he said.
The gentleness, the soft quality of his voice, made her turn to look at him. He glanced

her way, but the look didn’t linger. She considered asking him to pull off the road, but
refrained. It was better they couldn’t concentrate fully on one another. Distractions kept
their footing somewhat even.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

“It’s a…bonding thing. A balance thing. It’s not about parenting at all. It’s about

creating stability and maintaining a balanced framework within which they can exist.
Male/female, yin/yang. A king without a queen is only half a ruling house.”

“Like having a mother and a father in the same house is supposed to produce so-

called normal kids?”

“Stop bringing the parent-child framework into it. Forget reproduction. They can’t be

created. They just are.”

“But the dragonlord/dragonkeeper angle? The…sexual response. You can’t tell me

that doesn’t suggest a whole…process,” she said, waving her hand in a vague arc. She
didn’t want to bring the word “mating” into it, hated the word for its animal
connotation.

“A process?”
“Don’t laugh.” She glowered at him, watching his lips carefully for even a hint of a

smile. “It’s very traumatizing to be told by your own mother that you have to get naked

and do a pair of dragons. God. Do you have any idea what kind of mental image that
brings to mind?”

Salim chuckled. “I’d give anything to have heard that exchange word for word.”
“Let’s not revisit it. Not one of my shining moments. Besides, you can’t say there isn’t

a sexual thing going on.”

“I’m not. That’s why I don’t want you to think in terms of Dragon Mommy.

Somehow, your version of things has connected sex with parenthood.”

Cora eyed him suspiciously. “Don’t say women equate sex with motherhood.”
“I’m not saying it. You are.”
He had a point, and she didn’t know how to refute it. Maybe she had misunderstood.

She sighed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I made my mother a promise.”
“She’s certainly a force to dread.”
“You’ve met her?”
“No. I make a habit of going out of my way to avoid the witches’ gala events. I don’t

care much for the preening and prancing. Bloodlines don’t mean anything, except as a
frame of reference for determining how somebody has learned to move in the world.”

“Oh.”
“You disagree?”
“I’ve never been around loners.”

“Most people aren’t true loners. They’re pack creatures. They—we—like to be near

one another and surround ourselves with people who have similar circumstances to our
own.”

“You’re a loner, but you’re still a ‘we’?”
“I’m an outcast,” he said.

“Because you take other witches’ spirit-ties.”
“Because they can’t exact revenge by taking mine from me.”
“I think I need to back up and deal with one thing at a time. Can we put your social

position aside for another day?”

“If you’d like.” He reached across her and popped the glove compartment open, his

eyes still on the road. Cora didn’t shrink back fast enough, and his forearm brushed her

knee on the way to getting money for the toll booth. A ghostly ring writhed across her

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

lap, disturbed by his touch. Salim’s power window hummed open. The dragon-wraith
listed toward the open window.

“Shit!” Cora hissed and fluttered her hands against her thighs. She tried to pat the

ephemera down and keep it from floating right down the booth’s change chute. The
grandma inside the booth didn’t look like she could handle the shock of a dragon
arriving with Salim’s quarters.

“Nobody can see,” Salim said beneath his breath. He shot her a warning glance.
“Nobody but a witch!”

He closed the window, cutting the dragon-mist in half. Cora flinched. The cloud

dissipated, and the dragon resumed its guardianship of her kneecaps.

The toll light flashed green, and Salim rejoined traffic. “I still need you to decide on

our relationship status.”

“Right now? I think I’m traumatized by your near beheading of my dragon.” My.

Where had that come from? She most definitely did not want responsibility for an

unpredictable, wild creature.

“Soon would be good.” He paused, then asked, “Yours, is it?”
“I don’t want it to be mine,” she said sourly. “It’s trouble. Sullen and sulking. Haven’t

you noticed?”

“I suspect the dragon’s disposition will change given time and corrective treatment.”

Cora eyed him sidelong. “I don’t think dragons are welcome at dog obedience

school.”

“This requires more one-on-one attention. I believe you could be the one to give it.”
“Why, because I can make it manifest?”
Salim shook his head. “Because it doesn’t fight you every step of the way.”

“You call this compliance?” she asked in disbelief.
“You should have seen him inside my head, if you think you’ve got problems.”
Had the dragons’ snarling and snapping made him the wild-eyed, unkempt man

she’d discovered in his home? Cora scowled. Self-preservation urged her to rid herself of
the creature, but, in all honesty, she was growing accustomed to having one or the other
dragon near. She grudgingly granted, “I suppose if I have a relationship with you, I have

a relationship with them too.”

“You have ties to them no matter what.”
Cora rubbed her temples. “This is like a weird metaphysical dependency. I’m an

enabler.”

“You just…are. There’s no scientific term, no technical term. They’ve found you, and

they have changed because of the finding, and now they can’t go back to what they were.
If you have to think of it scientifically, put it in terms of atomic fusion. Or whatever it is
that makes unstable particles stable,” he said. “Through you, they’ve discovered—or
remembered, I’m not quite sure which—desire.”

“What about you?”

He didn’t answer immediately. She chewed the edge of her fingernail, unsure what

she wanted to hear.

“I’ve had lovers before,” he finally said. “But none of them were you. You finish an

incomplete puzzle. For all of us.”

“Were you looking for a piece to fill it?”
He shook his head. That was the answer she wanted. She didn’t want to be

something someone was searching for; she just wanted to be found. She was contrary

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

and she knew it, but that’s just the way it was. A woman deserved to be an unplanned
destination.

“No matter what you choose, you have to learn to trust me.” He interrupted her

musing, pulled her back to the reality inside the car.

“I do trust you.”
“What about yourself?”
“You don’t ask for much,” she said wryly.
“I need you to make your decisions and not back out of them the second you realize

that you could have made a different choice. Most things, you can’t undo. You just have
to figure out how to make them work once they’re done.”

“You might have to remind me of that once or twice.”
“I’ll try to remember that reminding is going to be one of my responsibilities.”
Giving over responsibilities was a nice thought. Maybe she could get rid of a few

more. “Can I give you the responsibility of waking me when we get there, if I crawl in

back to rest my eyes?” she asked. He had driving directions to her house, courtesy of the
Internet, so she wouldn’t have to direct every turn and intersection.

“I keep a blanket and pillow beneath the back seat.”
“Spend a lot of time sleeping in your car?” She unfastened and gingerly maneuvered

between the seats. Her legs cried out for an opportunity to stretch.

“Winter safety precautions. Don’t want to freeze to death.”
She settled down on the back seat, thankfully a bench design, and removed her

boots. The blanket was below, as promised. So was a pair of handcuffs. She pulled them
out and dangled them in the rearview mirror. “Winter safety?”

He glanced back and grinned. “Multi-taskers.”

“You’ll have to show me what they can be used for.” She put them away and rolled

over to bury her nose against the upholstery. Up front, Salim made a noise. She couldn’t
be a hundred percent sure over the hum of the engine, but it sounded appreciative.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Chapter Seven

The car bounced to a gentle stop. Salim’s seatbelt clicked, and the nylon strap hissed

back into its reel. Paper crinkled, and the system bonged an alert that keys were still in
the ignition while belts were unbuckled. That stopped a moment later.

Salim had turned onto her street from an angle that had him parking with the

passenger side facing her house. A rectangle of day-bright light, beaming from the
motion sensor set-up she’d had installed the day after she came home from the dragon

holiday, reflected in the car window nearest her head. Her queasiness returned.

Salim reached back and squeezed her hip. “We’re here.”
A something-wrong sensation nagged at her. She wanted to ask him to turn around

and go back to New York, but she was determined to pretend bravery.

“Did you have any trouble finding it?”

“I circled the block once. The first time, I couldn’t read the house numbers, but that

sensor light you have made it easy to spot the second time.”

Salim sat with his forearm resting on the shoulder of the passenger seat, twisted at

the waist to face her. His face was half in shadow and half lit up by the porch light that
acted more like a spotlight in brightness and strength. “I haven’t asked about your
insomnia,” he said.

“I haven’t thought about it. Once I could sleep again, I forgot how bad it was. I only

remember once in a while when something reminds me.”

“Any idea what ended it?”
“Some.”
Salim didn’t push for a more involved answer. That saved her the job of denying him.

For now, the importance of their intimate interlude would remain a secret she held
close.

She shrugged into her coat. The motion brought her closer to Salim. He slid his hand

around her nape, catching her off guard with her arms at an awkward angle, half in her
sleeves and trapped. The light darkened his eyes and lit up his lips.

“You look sleepy and beautiful. I want to take you away.”
“We could turn around and go back to New York,” she allowed. It wasn’t really

whining in this case; it was wishful thinking. Never mind that it was a thought
addressing multiple wishes.

He closed the distance between them and kissed her cheek, then the corner of her

mouth, warm and soft and tender. Amazing lips. Cora shivered. “Is that a ‘Yes, let’s go

back’?”

“We could get the tapes and drive back to listen to them at my house, if you’d prefer

that.” His amazing lips lingered, every word caressing her chin.

Tempting offer. She reluctantly pulled away and dragged her coat up into place. She

missed the warmth of his touch. “We’ll stay here.” Under most circumstances, her house

was a warm and comforting place. She knew all the corners and hiding spots, knew the
soft places that were good for snuggling into a blanket, and all the spaces that invited
minimal shadow coverage for her overactive imagination to get hung up on. Her house
was safe. The white dragon even left her alone here; the ghostly ring no longer wound
around her legs.

Salim tucked the ends of her scarf down into her coat and got out of the car. He

opened the back door and helped her out, holding onto her hand even after she found

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

steady footing in the snow bank on the curb. The fresh air, cold and wet with late-winter
moisture, helped ease her still-sensitive stomach.

“Do you have your keys?”

“Yes.” She kicked up a spray of snow sliding down to the shoveled sidewalk. Sleep

held onto her legs. She inserted her key in the lock and opened the door. Salim pulled
her back.

“There’s a light on inside. Did you leave it?”
Glued to the spot by fear, chest tight, she scrambled to retrace her steps through the

house the morning the dragon showed up.

“Cora?” He squeezed her hand.
“I don’t remember,” she whispered. “Stop breathing. I’m trying to listen.” Traffic

from a few streets over, the sound of a telephone ringing in the neighbor’s house, his
breathing, her own heartbeat, roared in her ears. She couldn’t focus on the sounds of the
house.

Salim edged past and pushed the door open wide. He tugged her inside but kept her

behind him. She could put up a fight and stay outside by herself, or go in with him as a
shield. She lived in a sleepy suburb, but alone in the dark (even the brightly illuminated
dark) wasn’t top on her list of places she wanted to linger. Content to be the protected
girl in this particular nightmare stage of her life, she didn’t put up a fuss about his

macho display. Somebody had to go first, and even though her self-preservation instinct
went on the fritz a lot these days, it was presently functioning at peak performance.

“What’s back there?” He pointed to the faint glow coming from the back of the

house.

“The kitchen. Maybe I left the light on over the stove.”

He led her back to the kitchen. She pressed close to him as they walked past the

stairs that led to the second storey. Monsters hid in the shadows of stairwells, according
to the stock of knowledge she’d acquired from horror movies over the years. She didn’t
believe in monsters until recently, but now that she did, she didn’t want to take any
chances. Cora instinctively reached to pull Greg’s dragon close, only to discover she
couldn’t reach it at all.

A mess of flour dusted over the counter tops, and rubber scrapers, wooden spoons,

and mixing bowls sat in the sink. The light came from the refrigerator. The corner of a
dishtowel was caught in the door, and it hadn’t sealed.

She blew out a breath, relieved and annoyed with herself. “Imagination’s running

away with me.”

“Anything out of place?” Salim asked.
“Only everything, because I didn’t do any dishes Thursday night,” she grumbled

pulled the dishtowel away so the door could close. “I hope the milk’s not gone sour.”

“You can buy new milk.”
“I should wash the dishes.” She freed the top button of her coat.

“Right now?”
“They’re already gross and crusty.”
“You can buy new dishes.”
Cora stuck her tongue out at him. “You want to get this over with, I guess?”
“I cope by rushing ahead. You apparently cope by avoiding.” He raised his eyebrows,

daring her to contradict his assessment. She couldn’t do it without telling a blatant lie,

so she didn’t respond at all.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Salim followed her upstairs and didn’t say a word about her dragging her feet. She

found it strange to have him in her bedroom, with the bed unmade and last night’s
underwear still on the floor. To his credit, he didn’t comment on her laundry habits. His

gaze lingered on the rumpled bed, lit upon the discarded panties, skipped over to the
door that opened into a dark bathroom.

“Your home is very pink,” he observed.
“I grew up in a pink-free household. It’s one more aspect of my teen rebellion, more

than a decade later.”

A half-smile touched his lips. “Not especially inviting to a man.”
“Most men aren’t invited, so it works out, doesn’t it?”
She started for the closet, but Salim caught her hand. He met her eyes. “Would I be

trespassing?”

Her stomach tilted for an entirely different reason this time. The blush tones that

made up her garden-chic bedroom décor showed pale and delicate in the dark shine of

his eyes. The bed stood big and empty behind him. She didn’t block an image of him
naked amidst her sheets in time; her mind latched onto the picture and ran with it. He
would be out of his element, and she entirely in hers; she could almost feel the flex of
muscle beneath her hands as she held his shoulders to the bed and rode him.

He released her hand and touched her bottom lip with his thumb. “That is a very

interesting expression you’ve suddenly adopted. What are you thinking?”

Her mouth went dry, and she ran her tongue across her lips, picking up the salt of his

skin. He cupped her cheek and lowered his head, tender and tentatively tasting. She
hadn’t experienced a kiss with him this way, before—gentle instead of hard, lazy instead
of urgent. She sighed into the kiss, and buried her hands in his hair until her fingers

tangled hopelessly in the dark curls.

His hands beneath her shirt warmed her skin and feathered caresses where the waist

of her jeans ended. She couldn’t help herself; the sigh became a breathless, hiccupping
laugh. She arched away.

He let her go.
“That tickles,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to tickle.”

“I won’t.” He drew her back, hands down into her rear pockets, and squeezed her

cheeks. “Tell me what you do want me to do.”

Anywhere else and the instruction would have been embarrassing. This, though, was

home territory, safe ground, her haven. It was pink and feminine but strong. “I want you
to forbid the dragons from coming out and come play with me by yourself.”

His breath caught. “Done.” He nuzzled her neck.
She pulled his hair to hold his mouth level with her own. When she spoke, their lips

touched. “And I want to be on top.”

His cock stirred against her abdomen. Heat sparked in his eyes. “Done.”
“And I want to tie you down.” She ducked her head to avoid his eyes, breath held as

she waited for his agreement..

“My lady’s wish…” His fingers flexed, one last squeeze, and he removed his hands

from her pockets.

“Doesn’t mean you have to stop touching.”
“Tell me the rules.”
“Anything I say goes.” She left his hair a mussed wreck, springy and tangled around

his shoulders, and pulled the hem of his shirt from his pants. He helped, pulling the tee

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

over his head and tossing it to the foot of the bed. His nipples tightened. “And I want
you to wear a blindfold,” she decided aloud.

Salim’s stomach hollowed on an indrawn breath. He blew it out slow, measured; she

glanced up into his eyes. “Are you nervous or excited?” She secretly hoped for both.

He didn’t disappoint her, simply said, “Yes.”
She flicked her tongue across one nipple, then the other, and reached for his belt.

Leather beneath her fingers inspired her; she pulled the narrow length of leather free of
his belt loops and draped it over the footboard beside the black stockings she wore the

previous day. Zipper followed belt, and she pushed everything down his hips without
bothering to tackle one layer at a time. He helped her avoid the problem of shoes by
toeing his off, but she barely noticed. Unfettered, his hardness bobbed wildly,
uncontrolled, as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Her mouth watered
without warning. She shoved hard against his stomach and knocked him onto the bed
while he was off balance.

He caught himself on his elbows before he sprawled across the mattress. Cora bit her

lip. His thighs, dusted with fine dark hair, trembled almost unnoticeably. The motion
drew her eyes; she couldn’t stop watching the way muscle tension made his shaft shiver
and jut toward her. She splayed her fingers wide and rested her hands on his knees,
relishing the way his thighs clenched.

She searched out his eyes and fell in love with their heavy-lidded languor. “You’re

shaking,” she murmured, sinking her fingernails down and marking him with little
crescent indentations. He drew a sharp breath. “What’s wrong?”

“I want you, and you’re going to torment me.”
“That’s wrong?”

Salim shook his head and flexed up against her palms. Her hands roamed higher,

until her fingertips nestled into the dark thatch framing his arousal. She bent over him,
acutely aware of her own body as the weight of her breasts swung forward. She pulled
the head of his cock into her mouth. A smear of moisture tempted her lips. She lapped at
the salty-sweet proof of desire until he groaned and his hips jerked. He bunched fistfuls
of pink comforter up in his hands.

Holding onto that image of him clinging to the bedclothes for support, she closed her

eyes and breathed deeply of the soap and salt that perfumed his body, made more
fragrant by his heat. She shifted to bring his length deeper into her mouth. His pulse
throbbed against her tongue; she pushed back against the throb, and a primitive growl
hummed in his chest.

The inner seams of her bra cups abraded her nipples. Sparing one hand to tug at her

sweater, she dragged her tongue up his cock and locked her lips around the head to suck
furiously in tandem with his ragged breathing. Her sweater tangled in her hair. She had
no choice but to let him slip from her mouth so she could rid herself of her own clothes.
The second she let go, he bucked violently, hips off the bed to reach her.

“I’ll be back.” She tossed the sweater away and unfastened her jeans with one hand.

The other, she wrapped around his hardness, glistening and slippery from her saliva,
and rolled the sensitive head against her palm. Salim’s eyes squeezed shut. Tendons
stood out amidst the corded muscles of his throat, biceps and forearms.

She’d never made a man look this way before, desperate and needful and ready to

explode, caught in a holding pattern and waiting for her to release the trigger. His

responses turned her on, roused her nerve endings to life. The weight of his manhood in

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

her hand, earlier plunging deep in her mouth, made her ache for penetration. She
wanted to rescind the imperative that she stay in control—wanted to beg him to take
her—but reminded herself she didn’t need to beg for anything. Everything she wanted

was right there, in her hands and begging her. Experimentally, she stopped stroking
him. His breath hitched, and he groaned a protest.

Whisking her bra over her head without unsnapping it and her panties off her hips,

she held onto both and climbed up to straddle his thighs. She folded her arm across her
chest, self-conscious about the pull of gravity on her breasts. Salim seized hold of her

hips, kneading muscle and flesh and pulling her closer. She slapped at his stomach and
held back.

“Anything I say goes, remember?” she said.
“You haven’t said anything,” he rasped. “Give me instructions.”
Blindfold and bound hands. She cast about the room frantically for something she

could use to blindfold him. Her bra and panties still dangled from one hand. Midnight

blue, but silky, and not as sheer as the stockings also within reach. She couldn’t do
anything with one arm dedicated to hiding, though, and had to give up the security of
obfuscation to blindfold him. Uncertainty edged in, threatening her bubble of arousal.

“Cora.”
Her name brought her gaze back to his face. He stretched and cupped her shoulders,

pulling her down onto his chest and into his heat. She froze, unsure what to do, and hid
her face against his throat.

“I’m sorry. I’m ruining it.”
“You’re not.” He stroked her hair and the curve of her back, drawing gentle circles

over her bottom. “You’re thinking too hard, and worrying too much, and second

guessing. It’s in your eyes. Tell me what you want.”

She rubbed her cheek on his shoulder and fished for the words. The coward in her

wanted to call it off, climb off him and hide in the bathroom until he put his clothes back
on and went away in disgust. His erection was already wilting against her thigh. Only
one more step to call it off altogether. He wouldn’t do that—she knew better—but if he
did, maybe it would release her from everything. No more dragons. No more Salim.

She’d find a way to get back to her life.

With his flavor lingering on her lips, his hands on her body, however, she didn’t want

“no more Salim.” She wanted the exact opposite: all the Salim she could get.

“Cora?” He kissed her ear through tangled hair. “You’re shaking.”
“I want you to think I’m beautiful.”

“I do.”
“And unforgettable.”
“You are.”
“And I want the world to end for you the way it did for me, the last time. But I don’t

know how.” Forcing the words up felt like running a marathon. They came out

breathless and ragged and faint. Her chest ached.

His groan had suspicious undertones of laughter. He wrapped both arms across her

back and squeezed until she squeaked an objection. “Baby, it did. Keep your eyes open.
You’ll see.”

She flexed her fingers around the fistful of silky underwear she held and lifted her

head to examine his eyes. Sincerity, desire, concern shaped his features. She wanted the

desire to come back, everything else to go to the background.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

She kissed his eyes closed and pushed up on her knees. A glance down between her

thighs showed his manhood hadn’t softened altogether. She could bring him back to that
groaning, arching want of a few minutes ago.

“I’m going to blindfold you now,” she said and folded her panties in a rectangle that

would fit across his eyes. “Lift your head.”

Salim obeyed. She knotted her bra straps, and the band, clumsily at the back of his

head, anchoring her panties in place. He breathed deep and grinned as she lowered his
head to the mattress. “Creative,” he said. “Are you going to tease me with your scent all

night, or do I get to taste, too?”

“You’ll be tied up. On your back,” she clarified and claimed his wrists, positioning

them behind his head. Her nipple brushed his chin, hours-old new stubble abrasive and
electrifying. She dragged her nipple across his jaw and back to his mouth. His lips
clutched at the tip but she pulled away and did it again. The friction sent currents of
power into her abdomen. He tried every time her breasts swayed near his lips, and she

finally let him pull her nipple into his mouth. The powerful suction elicited a whimper
from her throat.

She tried to concentrate on wrapping his belt around his wrists, but he’d found a

delicious little spot that fed directly to her core. He sucked; she trembled. He nipped;
she gasped in surprise.

“You’re distracting me,” she panted.
He rolled his hips up until his erection bumped against the lower curve of her ass. He

had to release her nipple to say, “I know. Am I close to getting your guard down?”

“No,” she said sternly, finally finding the right arrangement of leather that enabled

her to cinch the belt and pin his wrists together. She had to crawl up to wrap the loose

end around the bedpost. He bit at her breasts and stomach, playful nips that made her
yelp. He plunged his tongue into her navel, and she jumped.

“How about now?”
“You’re awful.”
“You’re a tease. I can smell you. I can feel you. Give me something to taste.”
Cora looked down her body. His hair fanned out between her thighs. The makeshift

blindfold concealed half his face, but she could see his mouth. He licked his lips, and she
suddenly wanted his tongue deep inside.

He was blindfolded. He wouldn’t notice her fat thighs. She did it before she lost the

courage—shifted her weight forward, inched her knees up ‘til she could nestle her feet
into the hollows of his armpits, and rubbed her wetness over his chin.

“Good girl,” Salim breathed and opened his mouth to receive her.
Cora clung to the bedpost, the end of the belt wrapped around her fist. Somehow,

Salim worked himself enough give in his bonds to brush his fingertips over her breasts.
He managed to pinch a nipple, synched up with a nip to her clitoris, and she mashed her
lips against the wood post to hold back a scream.

With her knees splayed wide, he had access to every soft nook of her body, and his

tongue took advantage. He licked a fast circle around her entrance, delved inside, and
escaped before she could beg him to stay. She shoved her hips down, trying to reclaim it,
but instead pushed the flat of his tongue down toward her anus. Her entire body
clenched, and she started to pull up. His hands on her breasts pulled her back down.

She could smell herself perfuming every corner of the room. Heat suffused her

cheeks, set the tips of her ears on fire, and she had to force herself to keep her eyes open.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

She’d forgotten to close the curtains. The dark window glass reflected their tangled
image back. Salim’s feet were on the bed, his knees bent, and any doubt she’d had about
her ability to get him hard again evaporated.

He licked her clit, pressing hard against the bundled nerves. She almost fell off the

edge of the world, not to mention the edge of the bed, in that moment, but caught
herself and evaded his mouth. She breathed hard against her forearm, finally closing her
eyes so she could recover and focus. Salim kissed the inside of her thigh and licked up a
cooling wet smear.

“Come back,” he whispered. “Please.”
The window glass reflected his outline, but she could see every detail of his body if

she twisted to look over her shoulder. His hardness didn’t glisten with a single bead of
moisture—he was past that point. She dropped his bound hands to the bed and turned
clumsily, careful of pulling his hair beneath her knees. He wrapped his hand around her
ankle, anchoring her in place, and warm lips moved against the most hidden reaches of

her mound. Distracting.

Hoping to find some distraction of her own so she wouldn’t come too fast, she

claimed his cock in a long swallow. He was past the point of coy; his hips rocked up,
pushing himself deeper and jerking back again. She tried to keep up with the rhythm he
set, tried to bob her head and suck with just the right pressure and taunt with her

tongue, but he didn’t give her a chance to play. Ultimately she settled for wrapping her
arms around his thighs and holding on, sucking hard and thirsty.

He stabbed his tongue deep into her channel, targeted plunges that imitated the

same frantic pace with which he invaded her mouth. Each stroke brought him closer and
closer to the secret trigger buried deep. She sat down hard on his face, grinding her clit

against his chin, willing him to find the right spot. When he did, she cried out and lost
tension on his cock. He groaned and jerked. Momentary horror that she’d accidentally
hurt him in her own surprise interrupted the rocketing crash of pleasure tearing through
her limbs. A jet of hot semen brought her back to it. His climax pumped into her mouth,
over and over. She swallowed to breathe, had to pull her mouth from his twitching cock,
and collapsed draped across his thighs.

Salim delivered one last kiss and gently sucked at her entrance, soothing the

fluttering ring, before he turned his head away. Harsh breathing fanned her inner thigh.
She knew she should say something, even a cheesy “thank you,” but she couldn’t
summon the breath or the energy. He’d sent her into some zoned-out state, and she
couldn’t focus on anything but the tingle in her fingertips and toes.

Traces of his climax had cooled, but not dried, on her collarbone. She had no idea

how long her mental departure lasted, but her pulse jumped. She’d forgotten how she
left Salim bound and blinded. His breathing was calm and even, not deep enough to be
sleep-breathing. When she moved, he kissed the inside of her knee.

“Still with me?” he asked.

She tried to say “yes,” but a sleepy noise came out instead. Her stomach growled.
Salim laughed softly. “Come let me see you?”
“Mmm, okay.” She yawned and untangled her hair from beneath his knee. She

maneuvered gingerly, fearful of kicking him in the head if she wasn’t careful, and
repositioned to stretch out face to face. He wore a lazy half-smile below the blindfold.
“Close your eyes…it’s bright out here.” She worked the loose knot until dark cloth fell

away.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Salim braved the light, blinking and squinting at her. She reached to slip the looped

and twisted belt from his wrists. His arms came around her the minute she freed them.
He squeezed her close and wrapped one leg around both of hers. “Hello,” he murmured

against her cheek.

“Hi,” she said, a smile teasing its way to her lips. “How’re you?”
“Wonderful.”
Wonderful was a good word.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Chapter Eight

Unfortunately, wonderful couldn’t go on forever. Cora dozed on and off in Salim’s

arms. She jerked awake at exactly 4:30 a.m., emerging disoriented from shallow dreams
that were littered with ringing telephones and piles upon piles of pearls. The flavor of
sour, acidic grape lingered on her lips. Whispers hissed in her ears. Alone in the bed, the
room was dark save the glow of the hallway nightlight, and the ringing telephone wasn’t
part of the dream. Wasn’t exclusive to the dream. The chime of her cell ring tone jangled

through the house twice more and stopped abruptly. Even after the phone stopped
ringing, the whisper-hiss remained to torment her.

She slid off the bed, holding onto the footboard. Sex left her legs as reliable as sticks

of well-chewed gum. By the time she made it to her robe and wrapped up in fuzzy ivory
comfort, a man’s shadow stretched through the doorway. Fear stabbed in her stomach.

She managed to bite back the scream that leapt to her throat.

“When did you wake up?” Salim asked.
“Just now. Do you hear anything?” Her breath came in gasps. “Is somebody in the

house?” Why was he so calm? She looked past him to the hall. Her gaze fastened on her
reflection in the bathroom mirror, dark but visible across the way. Glowing eyes
gleamed back at her.

“We’re the only people here. I was just downstairs.” He placed the phone on the

bureau.

She snatched up the phone and dialed her mother’s number. Miranda answered on

the second ring.

“For God’s sake, Ma, stop watching me!” she said. “I can see you. I can feel you. And

it’s creepy.”

Salim looked at her as if she’d grown two heads. Cora tried to ignore him and instead

glared at the alien eyes in the mirror. What had her mother seen in her scry? She
shuddered at the memory of love-sounds coming from Miranda’s bedroom. Some things
weren’t meant to be shared.

Miranda sighed into the phone. “I just wanted to know you’re alright.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re keeping your promise?”
She ground her teeth together. “You’re still watching.”
The eyes faded. Salim leaned on the edge of the bureau, watching her. She mouthed

“my mother” and pointed at the phone.

“Promise?” Miranda asked.
“Yes, Ma. I’ll call you later.” She hung up without waiting for an acknowledgement.
Salim raised his eyebrows.
“My mother fancies herself a spy,” Cora explained.
“Was she calling you just now?”

Right, that’s why Salim wasn’t in bed when she woke up. The phone had been

ringing. Cora frowned and scrolled through call records. “Probably Diane. I should have
gotten in touch with her sooner.” But the last call didn’t have Diane’s phonebook tag. It
was from “Unknown,” and that one little word launched a knife of anxiety through her
heart. She deleted the record in a matter of seconds and attempted to banish it from her

mind.

“Diane?” Salim asked.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

“Wrong number. Telemarketer.” Anything but a call from Greg. Whatever—

whoever—her wee hours caller was, the rude awakening served to remind her of the
business at hand. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by her attraction to Salim.

“I’m going to get dressed,” she announced, wearily scrubbing her hand through her

hair. “And get the tapes.”

Even in the mostly-dark, she saw Salim’s form go rigid for a brief moment. Good.

She didn’t want to be the only reluctant party.

Her bureau yielded clean underwear, which she self-consciously shimmed into

without removing her robe first. Salim watched her finagle that maneuver, and then
turned away and went to dress himself.

“You’re a restless sleeper,” he remarked as he threaded his belt through the loops at

his waist.

“I don’t sleep with other people very often. It’s a familiarity thing.” The reasoning

was valid, but lame. The truth lay in her fitful nightmares, which she didn’t want to go

into at that particular point in time. Plenty of other nightmares awaited her in the
bottom of her closet.

He grunted, but didn’t point out the weakness of her explanation.
After she finished dressing and brushing her teeth—an experience that thankfully

yielded no new pearls—she resigned herself to the inevitable. Those recordings weren’t

going to go away on their own.

“Can I still chicken out and decide to take them back to your place before we listen?”

she asked as she crouched in the bottom of the closet and moved shoes, handbags, and a
forgotten Christmas gift, still wrapped, out of the way.

“Would you be more comfortable doing that?”

Cora rocked back on her heels, hefting the shoebox full of tapes into her arms. She

would have been happier to touch a box of scorpions. “Maybe. It feels strange here. It
has ever since we arrived.”

“Strange how?” He frowned. “Do you think there’s been an intruder?”
“No. Like things are missing, but I know exactly what they are. My car’s not outside.

My toothbrush isn’t in the bathroom. It doesn’t smell like dinner. There’s an unfamiliar

man. You.” She stood and turned in time to catch a frown twist across his forehead. The
look on his face, a cross between injured and concerned, made her hesitate. “Is
something wrong?”

He firmed his lips and met her eyes. “I don’t want to be unfamiliar. That’s a topic for

another time, though.”

Cora flushed, averted her gaze, and pushed the box toward him. She had to focus,

had to attempt as much emotional distance as possible, at least for the next hurdle. “You
take these,” she said. “I don’t want them.”

Salim tucked the box under his arm, his expression smoothing to neutral. “It’s up to

you whether you want to start now, or wait.”

“I want to wash the dishes,” she hedged. “Are you hungry?”
“I could use a cup of coffee.”
“I’ll brew a pot.” She drew a deep breath and blew it out, eyeing the box cradled

against his ribs. “The stereo’s in the living room. There’s a cassette deck built in,” she
added, since it wasn’t a given these days. “Mind if I take my coffee Irish?”

“No.” He frowned, concern creasing his brow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ll meet you downstairs, okay?”

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

“I’ll start the coffee for you.”
“Thanks.”
Salim left, and she sat on the edge of her bed. She started to shake. What had Greg

done to her? She didn’t want to know the answer, but couldn’t stop asking the question.

By the time she mustered the courage to go downstairs, arms full of a quilt to

supplement her comfort-clothes attire of a green fleece jogging suit, Salim’s pot of coffee
had finished brewing. She found him in the kitchen pouring a generous measure of
whiskey into a cappuccino mug.

“I’m ready,” she said.
He looked up from the coffee service. “I’ve put the recordings in dated order. If you

want to get comfortable, I’ll be right out.”

“It’ll be better for me if I do this with you, won’t it?” she asked, not moving. “Easier if

I ask you to review them for me, but better if I don’t hide from it.”

Sighing, he filled two mugs and replaced the coffee carafe before crossing to stand in

front of her. He took her shoulders in his hands, and she blinked back tears. If only she
could crawl into him and hide from the world.

“Nothing’s going to happen tonight. Everything’s already over. Now we’re simply

finding out what it was.”

She stared at his chin, trying so hard not to break down that her throat ached and the

tendons in her neck burned. Talking was not an option. If she opened her mouth, she’d
start crying like a baby. She didn’t want to cry, didn’t know if she’d be able to stop once
she started.

Salim caressed her cheek and traced her jaw with the backs of his fingers, which were

fragrant with coffee grounds residue. “I’ll hold onto you the whole time,” he promised,

“if you want me to.”

She drew a shaky breath and swiped moisture from her eyes. “Will you turn it off if I

want you to?”

“Anything you want.”
She swallowed and withdrew, clutching her quilt to her chest. “I’ll be in the living

room.”

Salim followed a pace behind. Cora dropped the quilt on the sofa and went to pull the

drapes shut. She needed the security of narrow confines. If it were possible to drag her
stereo into a linen closet, she probably would have retreated into that small dark space.
Three solid walls and a small door that she could see from every angle—that’s what she
wanted.

Coffee mugs steamed on the end table nearest the stereo. Cora reluctantly made her

way back to the sofa. The stack of cassettes resembled a horrible villain’s tower, plastic
and black and sinister. She shuddered, but settled down into the cushions and dragged
the quilt over her knees. Salim looked at her for a long minute. Looking for a sign? She
didn’t know what sign to give him. Whatever he was looking for, he found it, because he

pressed play.

Silence and static crackled along with the spinning cassette reel. She clutched the

quilt so hard her wrists cramped within seconds. Salim joined her on the sofa and
wordlessly pulled her hands off the fabric, squeezing her fingers gently.

Greg said, “Hello.” Cora jumped.
Her own voice, muted and fuzzy, answered him. She couldn’t make out the first

words she spoke. The recorded version of her voice sounded alien and unnatural.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

“What time is it?” she asked on the tape.
“After two-thirty. You’re a few minutes late.”
“I was asleep,” she protested, glancing at Salim. “I’m never awake that late.”

“I know. Shh.” He laced his fingers between hers and pulled her from the corner to

his side, back against his chest, and crossed his arms over her stomach.

Greg groaned on the recording. Cora shuddered, imagining him stretched out in the

dark and holding the phone to his ear. She wanted to stop everything right there. She
didn’t need to know any more than she already did. Salim held onto her, though, and

she didn’t have the energy to push free of his embrace, so she continued to listen.

“How do you feel?” Greg asked.
“Sleepy. Why did you want me to call?”
“We have things to talk about.”
“I’m afraid of them.”
“I’ll help you relax first.”

Cora’s stomach flip-flopped. She heard arousal in Greg’s voice and knew what was

coming before he even said the words. Knowing, however, didn’t make it any easier to
hear when he asked, “What do you wear to bed?”

Salim’s hands tightened around her fingers. She was glad she couldn’t see his face.
“A t-shirt.”

“What kind?”
“Yankees. Why?”
Her voice sounded alien because she wasn’t conscious. She slurred her words now

and then, and her breathing had a foreign rhythm to it. She found herself trying to
remember which night she wore that top to bed; was it right after she stumbled into

Greg’s shop?

“I’m trying to picture it,” he answered. “What else are you wearing? Panties?”
“I don’t wear underwear to bed,” she said.
“Do you ever have sexy dreams?”
A long pause stretched across the tape. Please God let that be the end.
“Sometimes,” the sleeping-dreaming version of her voice answered.

“Did you have a sexy dream tonight?” Greg asked.
“I don’t remember.”
“Spread your legs and tell me how wet you are right now.”
Her dreaming self made a small strangled sound. Or maybe her awake self did. Salim

pushed her away and stood, crossing to the stereo as if he were going to turn off the

tape. Cora prayed he would, but he stopped before he got close enough. He stood with
his back to her, shoulders square and tense.

A recorded moan reverberated from the stereo.
Tears slid down her cheeks. Covering her mouth with both hands to smother a sob,

she stumbled off the sofa, tripped over a blanket fold, and banged into the corner of the

low coffee table. Pain stabbed up her shin, but it didn’t help distract her. Pressure roared
in her ears. She couldn’t hear her voice anymore, but it was a small blessing; she
remembered how that conversation ended.

“I bet you’d love a huge cock splitting you wide, wouldn’t you?” Greg would say a

while later, practically purring. “Stretching your pussy open like you’re doing now for
me. Tell me you want my big dick.”

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

She told him everything he wanted to hear, and he elicited a promise that she would

call him the next night for more.

She wanted to make Salim stop the tape. Turn-it-off turn-it-off turn-it-off screamed

behind her eyes. She didn’t get it out, couldn’t say anything past the sudden and
overwhelming need to vomit. Her breathless, begging voice chased her from the living
room and into the kitchen, where she threw up in the sink.

Salim came in close behind, pulling her hair out of the puddle of bile in the basin.

“It’s over,” he told her.

It wasn’t over. She retched again and again, dry heaves because she hadn’t eaten

much of anything at all, hiccupping and crying and struggling to breathe. Her legs
trembled so badly she thought she would fall.

It wasn’t over, because the next conversation with Greg was the same as the first,

except he told her how to summon his dragon so she could have what she’d been
begging for. It would never be over, because she didn’t know how to undo the imperative

that she remain in nightly contact with Greg. An entirely new horror overcame the one
holding her hostage to her kitchen sink, and she pushed away, willing her stomach to
cooperate.

“Cora—”
“I can’t talk,” she gasped and snatched the dishtowel from the refrigerator door. She

meant it. Talking was a physical impossibility. It took all of her concentration to breathe.
She held the towel to her mouth as a precaution and stumbled back to the living room.
The cassette recordings of herself and Greg lay scattered across the floor, a couple of the
casings cracked. She kicked them out of her way and fell to her knees in front of the
coffee table. She kept her utility bills in the drawer, with stamps and pens and her

household account checkbook. The entire contents spilled onto the floor when she threw
the drawer open, searching with one hand for the last month’s telephone service
statement.

“Cora. Stop.” Salim knelt and tried to wrap his arms around her shoulders. She

shoved him away and slapped the red and white envelope up on the table. Her hands
were shaking too much to get it open without tearing the statement inside.

“Open it.” She slumped against the sofa at her back, pulling her legs up and resting

her forehead on her knees.

Salim hesitated. He cupped the back of her neck, put his hand between her shoulder

blades, then withdrew his touch altogether. She started to cry all over again at the hiss of
tearing paper and the crinkle of folded seams unfolding.

“Remember when I was looking at all those hypnosis books?” she whispered, turning

her head so she could see his face. “One of them said you can’t be coerced into doing
something you wouldn’t ordinarily do without coercion.”

He didn’t look up at her question, so intent upon scanning the itemized portion of

her call records that she guessed he didn’t hear her at all. His features darkened. She

thought his eyes flashed garnet, but she couldn’t be sure, the way shadows slanted
across his face. What would she do if the dragons chose this moment to put in an
appearance? The possibility chilled her. She couldn’t deal with that right now and said
aloud, “Don’t come out.”

Salim raised his head. “What did you say?”
“I don’t want the dragons out right now.”

“Before that.”

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

“I don’t remember,” she lied, spooked by the evidence of dragons most definitely in

his eyes, and not a trick of the shadows.

He stared at her long and hard. The cold mob boss was back, and he had murder in

the set of his jaw. Cora swallowed. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not—”
Salim cut her off. “You are, and we’ll discuss it later. Right now, get anything you

want to take with you for a couple of weeks.” He stood and grasped her beneath her

arms, pulling her to her feet before she could react.

“I can’t go anywhere for a couple of weeks! I have to work. I have to deal with this.

It’s not possible to walk out on a life!”

He turned her bodily and urged her toward the stairs, walking behind her so she was

forced to move or be run over. “Every single night, you’ve made a late-night call to a
Hartford phone number. If you’re having nightmares, they might not be a complete

figment of your imagination.”

Numbness spread through her limbs. She was aware that Salim gave up on marching

her up the stairs and scooped her up into his arms to carry her, instead, but she couldn’t
bring herself to react until he put her down on the bed. An image of herself on that bed,
cuddled up to the telephone and talking dirty to Greg at his command, finally shocked a

reaction out of her.

“I’m going to kill him,” she said evenly, fury moving in to supercede fear.
“We’ll flip a coin for it. Where do you keep your suitcases?”
“Under the bed.” Anger didn’t fully restore the feeling in her arms and legs. She knelt

clumsily on the floor, flipped up the mauve paisley dust ruffle that she would have to

burn—along with the rest of the coordinating bed linens—before she slept in her own
bed again. She might even need a new mattress.

The anger-energy drained away almost as soon as it appeared. Cora sat with her big

week-away sized suitcase still half under the bed and rested her forehead on the edge of
the mattress. “This isn’t fair,” she said to the comforter. “And I don’t care if you think
I’m whining.”

“I don’t think you’re whining. It isn’t fair, but it is the way things are.”
“I could stay here. Who is he to run me out of my house?”
“We already had this conversation and came to an agreement that you’re not stupid.

You’re not staying here. I’ll take you back to Diane’s.”

“What’s going to happen when I don’t call him like he expects me to?”

“I don’t know.”
“What if—”
“You’re already past that point. It’s almost dawn. I’ve been with you the entire night.

You haven’t made the call.” While he talked, Salim pulled the suitcase the rest of the way
into the open and lifted it up onto the bed. “We’ll worry about what comes next later.

One thing at a time. Tell me what you want to take with you.”

He worked efficiently, cramming enough clothes into the bag to hold her for a month

and managing three different pairs of shoes as well. They argued briefly over the
scattered cassettes, Salim insisting they bring them along and Cora insisting they stick
them in the oven on broil until all record of Greg’s monstrous violation had been
rendered down to so much liquefied plastic. In the end, Salim’s practicality won over her

emotions, and the tapes remained intact.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

She stood beside the car while he packed her belongings in the trunk. Cold stung her

lips and ears. She tucked her fingers into her armpits to keep her hands warm. “You’d
think dragons would act as personal space heaters,” she remarked.

“They do when they want to. Never forget they’re sentient beings with their own

agendas.” Salim slammed the trunk closed.

The good neighbor in her checked the houses to either side of her own, making sure

she and Salim weren’t making so much noise as to wake anybody in these wee hours. A
light winked in her peripheral vision. She glanced toward it, and her blood ran cold. The

light had flitted on and off behind one of her own windows, and as she stared, trying to
convince herself she was seeing things, a shadow darkened the glass.

“Let’s go,” Salim said. He rounded the car, keys already in hand.
Cora averted her gaze from the window and sank onto the front seat. Salim locked

her securely inside the car and joined her a moment later. She didn’t mention the light
or the shadow, certain that if she did, Salim would want to go back inside the house.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Chapter Nine

Cora watched the side view mirror intently, but couldn’t tell whether anybody

followed them. Traffic rolled along at its usual pace, and nobody seemed to maintain a
deliberate distance or anything like she’d seen in movie tail scenes. Eventually, she
convinced herself the shadow in the window was a trick of her overwrought imagination.

Salim stopped at a travel plaza to refuel. The bright morning, cloudless and cold,

made the last twenty-four hours seem like an impossibility. Cora took advantage of the

opportunity to dump quarters into a vending machine, hoping the peanut butter
crackers and orange juice would steady her nerves, or at least her blood sugar.

“Do you want to call Diane?” Salim asked upon her return to the car.
“No.” Yes. But Diane didn’t want to talk to her. Either her mother was right, and

Diane resented Cora’s talent/curse, or her mother was wrong and had unfairly accused

Diane of jealousy. Whichever the case, she was sure the wound was too raw right now.
Not only did she have the rift between them to consider, but also the prospect of a
mother/daughter convention. She’d called Diane at the onset of her first dragon-related
crisis, only to watch a circus unfold around her. Diane would alert Miranda, and Cora
would arrive to the welcoming and soothing arms of both her mother and sister,
questions included at no additional cost. No thanks.

“I can’t deal with any family drama right now.” She tore ineffectively at the crackers’

cellophane wrapping. “Maybe in the morning. Does Greg know where you live?”

Salim didn’t answer. Cora glanced up, about to ask again, but the rigid set to his jaw

stalled the question. They hadn’t left the rest stop yet, hadn’t even backed out of the
parking space, but Salim clutched the steering wheel with tense, tight hands.

Hunger evaporated. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ll book a hotel room for you,” he said and started the ignition. “Until I find him or

he shows up.”

“I can stay with my mother. It’s not a big deal. I have a few things there anyway.”
“You’ll stay in a hotel,” he repeated. “Everybody knows where your mother lives. And

he’s been to Diane’s before, remember?”

She did. Greg had known exactly where to find her and his dragon. He knew how to

move in New York. Why had she stopped viewing him as an accepted member of
society? She’d foolishly believed some nebulous Power of Good would punish Greg for
the wrongs he committed before—for stealing her free will the way he did, for stealing
the white dragon, as she suspected he had. For using both her and the dragon.

She kicked herself for her stupidity. Salim said himself that nobody knew anything

untoward had occurred at all. She fled instead of making a scene or taking a stand.
Diane told her nobody was talking about Greg’s loss of control or the fire that could have
killed both of them. Maybe they weren’t talking because they didn’t know, not because
they didn’t want to get involved. He still had complete freedom.

“He’s not locked in some hospital somewhere,” she said out loud. Salim said as much

earlier, but it only now set in. “And he knows where you live too?”

Salim moved with a jerky lack of coordination. He angrily slapped the rearview

mirror to redirect the beam of sunlight that hit the mirror as if aiming for a target. “He’s
never been in my home, but I don’t keep my address a secret.”

“Maybe I should go back home. I don’t want to bring him to your front door.”
“No.”

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

“But—”
“You are not going to play bait. You are not going to have any contact with him.”
“But he’ll—”

“He’s coming after you to get to me,” Salim said, interrupting before she could finish

pointing out that Greg would know he’d been found out in a matter of hours.

“That doesn’t make any sense. He wants his dragon back.”
“I told you, it was never his.”
“But—”

“Do you still have that pearl?”
She nodded, realized he was too distracted by merging into traffic to see the

affirmative, and said, “Yes.”

“How many different dragon-centric myths have you heard?”
“I don’t know. A lot. I was obsessed when I was a kid, after I found out about the first

Dragonkeeper. But this isn’t a bedtime story. It’s my life.”

“Bedtime stories aren’t all nonsense. Can I see your pearl?” he asked.
“Right now?” She twisted and felt around on the back seat, finally locating the strap

of her purse beneath a very full overnight bag. Hauling it up front on her lap, she dug
through for the paper towel square that hid the pearl. “What’s the myth?”

“The myth itself varies from region to region and retelling to retelling. In short, some

of the Asian takes on the dragon myth assign dragons a pearl, which is the source of
their power, or their life force. Some mythologists postulate that there are only two ways
to become a dragon. Be born one, or take the dragon’s pearl without killing the dragon.”

All the pieces snapped into place like so many plastic Legos. The dragon begging for

release. Greg’s inability to control it. His fear of things Salim knew about him—and

Salim’s knowledge of him. “He wants me to help him keep the dragon, doesn’t he?” she
asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes. Is that it?” He glanced sidelong at the creased sheet of paper towel she held.
Cora pinched the little gem between her fingers. It was imperfectly round and, she

noticed in the bright light of day, glowing with a faint bluish sheen. She offered it to
Salim, who took it. He rested his wrist on the steering wheel, gaze flipping back and

forth between the pearl and the road.

“As I said, there are many different versions of the Asian angle. Some insist the true

dragon pearl is marked with dragons. Some say it has a flame growing out of it, the
source of dragon’s fire. Some say it’s half the size of the dragon’s head, and others that
the pearl is representative of the moon, which the dragon is charged to nurture and

protect.”

Salim’s myth was far more exotic than her family tradition’s story of medieval

women playing guardian to their shapeshifting lovers. More elegant, less intimately
linked to her life. Whether or not she precisely liked this version was irrelevant because
it fit the Greg puzzle. Mystery. Horror.

He gave the pearl back. She rolled it across the ball of her hand with her thumb. The

pearl warmed to her body temperature, and as it did warmth seeped into her legs. If she
tilted her head just the right way, she could make out wisps of dragon rubbing up
against her. That he chose that moment to make himself present reinforced her
conclusion that the pearl was directly linked to him.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

She couldn’t call him Greg’s dragon anymore, not even in an accidental mental slip.

She had the pearl, even if she only acquired it through Greg’s manipulation, and now
that she had it, she wasn’t giving it back. The white dragon was her dragon now.

She told him so, directing her internal voice toward his warm knee-high energy.
Do you want to stay with me? she asked of him.
If you’re strong enough to support us both.
You and Da’ar Es Saleem?
No. You and me, both. That one will always be part of somebody else. Not you.

She thought otherwise, but didn’t tip off her dragon as to her impression of the

situation. There was belonging, and there was belonging, and, she was gradually coming
to understand, all three of the males belonged to her in very different ways.

If we’re to be one, you can’t keep hiding your name from me. You can’t keep acting

like a stubborn child. No temper tantrums. Mature dialogue.

The dragon didn’t answer her immediately, but she had a feeling that she wouldn’t

have to wait long. She was correct.

You can call me Ii.
Is that your name?
As much as I can have one.
What does it mean?

The dragon, Ii, hesitated, and finally projected, The homeless dragon.
A pang of pity shot through her heart. Will it summon you?
Yes. Don’t tell him. I’m not for him.
But you are for me?
If I have a choice.

If he had a choice. The cryptic words puzzled her. Who else still had the ability to

influence the white dragon’s—Ii’s—allegiance? The pearl was hers, now, even if she did
have to figure out what to do with it.

Swallow it.
Greg’s voice blended with Ii’s dragon voice. Blood rushed to her head and she lost

her balance, alarming even though she was sitting. The cars that passed Salim on the

right and the left abruptly seemed to be going backward. It was akin to sitting in a toy
car shot off into the world by a rubber band trigger. She felt like she was going to crash
into traffic up ahead. Logically, she knew nothing had changed. Mentally, however, she
couldn’t cope. She bowed over her thighs and shoved her head between her knees,
banging her temple on the dashboard.

Salim made a surprised sound. His hand fell on her back, clutching at the floppy

fleece hood of her zip-up. “Cora? What’s wrong?”

She muttered something about motion sickness and waved off his very insistent offer

to pull off the road. She didn’t need more stalling; she needed more solving. Even
though so much had already revealed itself, she still had to find how the pieces worked.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Chapter Ten

Salim paid for a week’s stay at a hotel uptown. She decided not to tell him about the

white dragon’s name, or his choice. She had no trouble pushing the information to the
back of her mind and letting the hotel lull her. Gentle golden hues, a welcome change
from the winter-white sun, lit up the lobby. Quiet, tasteful jazz tones followed them from
the lobby to the room, wooing her ears and shushing her whispered protests about the
cost. She found French doors in the bedroom and stepped out onto the balcony.

“We have a view of the East River Esplanade,” she called over her shoulder. The

walkway stretched as far as she could see along the East River. Instead of joggers,
however, an orderly assembly formed on the promenade. Bright colors marked different
segments of the procession.

Salim joined her moments later. “Looks like a demonstration,” he said.

“Parade?”
He shrugged. Cora leaned against the rail and watched. The people moved to music

she couldn’t hear, undulating in a choreographed pattern. They moved toward, rather
than away, from the hotel, and details became more apparent.

“Are they carrying hula hoops?” she squinted.
“Dragon dance,” Salim murmured.

“What?”
“It’s one of the Chinese dragon dances. Traditional for New Year’s celebrations.”
“Little late for that.”
“Competitive teams practice year round. Each group is responsible for controlling

one part of the dragon, but they have to practice working together as entire groups of

body segments.

“It’s spectacular when they’re in full costume and part of a real parade. The

competitions are interesting enough, but you need the full effect of celebratory energy to
really feel the power of the dance.”

“Maybe next year,” Cora said and withdrew into the hotel to resume her exploration.

She found a Jacuzzi in the bathroom. All concerns about the expense flew right out the
fifteenth-floor windows. Mentally, she was already sliding into a steamy bubble-bath
fantasy; only one problem presented itself.

“Salim?” She sat on the edge of the big tub and kicked off her shoes, examining the

knobs and buttons that would make her fantasy reality.

He came, stopping on the threshold and leaning his shoulder against the door jamb.

“I thought I’d have brunch brought up. Do you feel like eating?”

“In a little while?” She looked up from the knobs. “Do you know how to use one of

these?”

He glanced at her newly bare feet and smiled. “Want a bath?”
She nodded, curling her toes self-consciously. “I’ve never had the luxury of one of

these all to myself…the closest I’ve gotten is the gym. This is my chance.” She smiled
wryly. “Once my sister knows it’s here, she’ll move in.”

Advancing into the room, he stopped close and reached past to open the faucets.

Water rushed into the bottom; Salim leaned to stop the drain and the water level started
to rise. As close as he was, she noticed every flex of muscle as he reached. He still

smelled of soap, but the perfume of her body lingered on him as well. The dark hair

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

peppering his forearms clung wetly to his skin. She was warm before the water even had
a chance to get hot.

He straightened and shook a spray of droplets from his fingertips. “It’ll take a little

while, but once it’s full I’ll get the jets for you. In the meantime,” he said, taking her
hands and pulling her off the edge, “come tell me what you want me to order.”

“Will room service get here before the tub’s full?” she asked and held his gaze as she

lifted his hand to her mouth, sipping the rest of the water from his knuckles. “You didn’t
get a chance to shower this morning, either,” she explained.

Salim drew a sharp breath. His fingers flexed in her grasp, and his eyes darkened,

lashes suddenly heavy, making his eyes a little dangerous and very sexy. She laved the
hollow between his thumb and forefinger, and he shivered. Somehow, he turned the
tables and trapped her palm against his mouth. He kissed the sensitive skin hard, bit the
base of her thumb, and let her go.

“I’ll order wisely,” he promised. She smiled and rocked to her tiptoes, watching his

ass in the mirror as he walked into the other room. Once he was gone, she rifled through
the hotel’s complementary toiletries and came up with a little bottle of bubble bath. A
tentative sniff revealed a citrus scent, strangely sensual. Cora briefly weighed the risk of
screwing up the Jacuzzi’s mechanics with bubble bath and decided the risk was worth it.
She deserved this, one more private hour with him before she had to go back to reality.

Water lapped at the smooth, deep blue ledge seat that lined the circumference of the

basin. She took her time squeezing a pearly stream of fragrant soap into the water,
luxuriating in the heat-released aroma. In order to preserve the steam, she pulled the
bathroom door shut.

Dragons writhed in wisps of steam. Cora leaned against the door, peering at the

mirrors around the room. Trick of her imagination? Beads of moisture hugged every
surface, reflective or otherwise, and she couldn’t discern fact from fancy.

Tiny iridescent bubbles crested the top of the wraparound bench and, together with

the beckoning dragon fingers, drew her into the bergamot lagoon. She left her clothes in
a disheveled pile near the door; liquid heat reached into her muscles and washed every
creak of tension away.

I’m being prepared, she thought. Bubbles kissed her slit and water licked between

her thighs. Salim’s doing, her own, or the dragons? The question brought her up short
and kept her from full immersion in the sultry experience. Closing her eyes, she cast out
mental feelers, which brushed up against the white dragon. Ii. She couldn’t find Da’ar Es
Saleem. He must have remained with Salim. Too bad—she missed his solid presence, his

trustworthiness. He didn’t hold her on the edge of a precipice, her safety contingent
upon whether or not he was in his dragon version of a good mood. The white, though—
she shied away from that thought lest he pick up on her discomfort and tried to ignore
him. Probably not the best approach, but she hadn’t the strength for a confrontation of
wills. Even though she had his name, and knew his desire to be hers, something held her

back from embracing him as her subject.

Subject? Odd word, and she didn’t know how she came by it. Frowning, she drew

herself up to kneel on the bench, folding her arms across the ledge and watching the
door for Salim’s return. She tried to ignore the tickle of bubbles teasing her toes and
willed him to hurry, all the while trying not to let the abrupt return of tension show. Her
wariness of the other dragon had to be dealt with—she knew that, and knew it had to be

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

addressed soon if she wanted to keep the creature in her life—but she didn’t want to deal
with it now.

The water level rose to her thighs, even kneeling as she was on the bench. Cora tried

to banish her internal conflict and deliberately called Salim’s face to her mind’s eye. As
soon as his image came to her, dark eyes and tender lips, broad shoulders and delicious
brown nipples, he returned, pushing a room service cart laden with snowy napkins, wine
glasses, and covered platters, whose mysteries piqued her curiosity.

“What did you order?” she asked first thing. Salim wheeled the cart close and left

everything covered.

“I’ll show you…” he said and pulled his shirt over his head. She forgot about the food.

Her gaze immediately went to his chest, and she rose on her knees, the cool edge of the
tub pressing against her steam-warmed abdomen, to lick his nipple. “…later,” he added,
voice decidedly an octave lower.

Cora rolled the small nub between her tongue and teeth, drawing a ragged breath

from him. The steam in the room was already moistening his skin. She rubbed her cheek
against his chest and kissed lower, searching out his navel and using the thin arrow of
dark hair that bisected his stomach as a map. She felt, rather than saw, his hands go to
his belt, and rested her forehead against his chest so she could watch his fingers work
the leather. She was fascinated by the way he undressed himself. He didn’t tease or

posture; it was a deliberate removal of clothing, every movement directed and precise.

His cock was only half hard, and his sac, loose and lickable, swung slightly as he

lifted his leg over the rim of the tub and joined her in the water. She was sad to see the
bubbles rise up around his waist and obscure her view of his groin, but moved close
until she fit between his knees in order to make it up to herself.

“Couldn’t figure out the jets?” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her

flush against his body. Never in her life had she imagined wet skin on wet skin could be
so sensual, so electric.

“No. I didn’t try.” Her breasts bobbed to the surface, free-floating in the water, and

she deliberately brushed her nipples across his chest. Salim slid off the bench, pulling
her with him, and repositioned to launch the jet streams. Soap bubbles rose

immediately, swelling over the rim of the tub like quick-rising bread. Eyes wide,
laughing, she locked her arms around his neck and held on. “We’re going to be dumped
right out on the floor!”

“I’ll make sure you’re not carried off.” He blew a puff of soap from her shoulder and

nuzzled the sudsy, slippery curve of her neck. The wet length of his hair tangled across

her breast. “Wrap your legs around my waist,” he murmured, nipping gently.

It was a simple command, but fire darted to her abdomen. She held tighter to his

shoulders and repositioned, experimentally moving to test the way his pubic hair, wet
and silky, rubbed over her splayed lips. His manhood butted up against her entrance,
but he flexed his hips and repositioned until it nestled against her ass instead. Salim

cupped her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and turned, planting the small of her
back up against a buffeting jet stream.

The force of the jet threatened to push her off the bench. Salim held her there,

though, exploring the hollow behind her ear with his lips. Nipping his shoulder, slick
with steam and bergamot bubbles, she squinted into the mist behind him.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

“Dragons,” she murmured at his ear; slight movement and his manhood rubbed

shallowly into her entrance. He exhaled sharply and thrust, full and hard and as hot as
the water that embraced them.

“Where?” He clutched her hips, pushing her bodily off his cock, and looked over his

shoulder. Behind—all around—them, steam took on real shapes; a sinuous tail of
moisture-beaded white, a garnet glow. Under any other circumstance it would have been
eerie, but in this circumstance she didn’t care. She wanted deeper.

“I’ll send them away for you,” Salim murmured, turning back to her, ducking to lick a

nipple that bobbed to the surface before it could hide again.

“It’s not the same for you if you’re alone.” Panting, perspiration dampening her

brow, she slid low on the bench until the bubbles that hadn’t spilled over onto the floor
billowed to her chin. The back of her head dropped to the tub’s rim. A jet stream
pummeled between her shoulder blades, and she squirmed to get her feet on the edge of
the bench. She wanted deeper and she took it, spreading her knees wide and lifting her

bottom off the bench, driving him hard inside.

Salim and the barely-there dragons shuddered, quiet groans amplified strangely by

the humidity. He flexed his hips and backed up further, but she followed, taking
advantage of the buoyancy afforded by the water. He caught her before she got too far.

“Don’t hurry.”

“But—”
“We’re not ready yet,” he explained and turned her to face away. He covered both

breasts at once, leaving her to hold the edge of the tub for stability. “Put your feet up on
the bench and spread your knees.” He spoke in her ear; the command melted her core.

She flushed, realizing his intention a heartbeat before he positioned her in the jet

stream. Sheer power rushed between her thighs, forcing her labia wide and pounding
over her clit, assaulting her entrance as if it were a battering ram at a gate. Salim buried
his face against her neck, the rough shadow on his chin abrading her steam-softened
skin. His cock nestled between her cheeks, driven against that secret spot by the force of
the water hammering her mound. He didn’t penetrate, but the pressure was enough to
drive her mad. She couldn’t focus on any one sensation; the overload tore her breath

away. She clutched at his wrists for support and shamelessly bucked up into the water
jet.

“More,” she gasped, greedy, angling to find Salim’s mouth and bite at his lips. “I

want more.”

He smiled against the corner of her mouth, slight movement that she felt rather than

saw. “Tell me.”

Her throat constricted on a moan as the jet forced against her opening. She ignored

his instruction and cocked her hips, trying to find a position that would fill her aching
tunnel, to no avail. Frustration left her breathless; she pulled hard on his wrists. “More.
I want you inside.”

He nudged his pelvis against her ass, teasing with the crown of his cock; tight

muscles gave willingly, eagerly to the gentle penetration, and she moaned, low and
primal and in a voice not even her own.

“Here?” The question was a growl, and then a groan.
She jerked her head, but lost track of whether it was a nod or a refusal. Her body

decided for her, back arching and thrusting her breasts hard into his palms, and her ass

moved slowly over his shaft. Her nipples tightened, tingled, and he latched onto the

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

diamond-hard buds. Arrows of sensation shot to her abdomen, burying deep in her still-
empty heat.

The vacancy brought her near tears. Eyes stinging, she squeezed them shut and tried

to work past a sob. He was buried to the hilt in her ass before she managed, “Not
enough. More.”

He hesitated, holding himself trembling and still, and kissed her shoulder. He pulled

her back from the water jets. She whimpered at the loss, but Salim released one breast
so he could smooth his hand over her stomach, petting gently. She didn’t know how long

he kept her like that. Her only clock was the breakneck thud of her heartbeat. It slowed
by a few beats, and he kissed her cheek, her ear. The petting hand glided between her
thighs, soft and soothing, and he asked, “Are you sure you want more?”

He brought her body to a calmer state, but she was still on fire inside. She could

barely think, but she nodded, letting instinct guide the whispered, “Them, too.”

Salim stilled. He pulled her further into the middle of the Jacuzzi, where water

bubbled and frothed gently, and slowly eased himself from the sheath she’d made of her
body.

Shock dragged her out of her haze. She turned, clutching for him, “no, no, come

back,” beneath her breath. His expression knocked the objection out of her; she tried to
connect the mindless passion of moments past with the pained twist of his face. What

did I do? stuck in her throat and she couldn’t force it out.

“Not tonight, baby,” he murmured, shifting to cradle her in his arms.
Not tonight? Cora squeezed her eyes shut, fighting rising hysteria. She was panting

and confused and oh, God, she ached. She didn’t have the strength to force him to take
her again, and desire cooled fast in her uncertainty. The steam, formerly sensuous and

cradling, pushed against her angrily.

Salim held onto her as she tried to extract herself from his grasp. She shoved

roughly, and he let her go, leaving her to crawl from the tub, heavy-headed and drunk
on emptiness, mumbling an excuse about the heat. He didn’t follow, and she thanked
God for it.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Chapter Eleven

Uncomfortable in her own clothes, she prowled around the two-room suite, turning

on the television for noise to block the sounds of Salim draining the Jacuzzi and tidying
in the bathroom. Both Da’ar Es Saleem and Ii tried to wiggle into her awareness. She
thrust them aside and fled through the French doors. The balcony offered little relief;
countless drivers below took turns leaning on their horns and shouting obscenities at
one another. The city sounds were too harsh on her strung-tight nerves, and she came

back into the hotel after barely a minute.

She didn’t know what went wrong, didn’t want to think about it, and couldn’t stop

thinking about it. Hanging her clothes in the closet didn’t distract her. Why had he
stopped? More important was the way his face changed. He was suddenly the same man
she’d encountered the previous morning, beautiful features turned horrible by an

emotion she didn’t know how to decipher. She refused to blame herself for a wrong step
and chased those doubting thoughts away before they had a chance to sink their hooks
into her ego.

When she heard Salim finish up in the bathroom, she fled to the furthest reach of the

suddenly tiny suite, trying to put as much space between them as possible. Maybe he
would know to leave, that he had no other recourse right now, had exhausted his

invitation to stay close until she managed to sort out her aches and angers.

“Room service is still good,” Salim said, joining her in the sitting room. She tried to

pretend she wasn’t being ridiculous by hugging the furthest corner of the room.
Watching out the window wasn’t pretense. If she hoped hard enough, maybe Diane
would show up and save her from the awkwardness of having a neutral conversation

with a man she wanted to scream at and fuck at the same time.

“I’m not hungry,” she said.
“I want to explain.”
She inched closer to the window, pressing her nose against glass and trying to ignore

him. Salim cursed softly and sighed.

“You can’t ask for something like that without giving it a lot of thought first,” he

started again. “And I can’t give it to you. You wouldn’t forgive me.”

“So you took back everything you could give.” She finally looked up from the

window. He didn’t meet her eyes; instead, his gaze skittered away to the television.

“We need fewer distractions. Need to focus on guaranteeing your safety first.”
“Great,” she said bitterly. “I appreciate your concern. In the future, I’ll appreciate it

even more if it occurs to you before you undo me.”

“I apologize. I should have explained sooner, or not gone so far at all. But you have

to understand that I’m concerned. You underestimate the control Greg has over you.”

Anger and hurt focused at her temples. Her skin prickled with the sting of a

thousand tiny needles. “How dare you say that? You stood there with me, listening to

the kind of control he has. How do you possibly think I don’t understand?”

“You don’t know what kind of power he can call. You don’t believe in it, so how can

you understand it?” He joined her at the window and took her hand, which she yanked
away.

“This isn’t about a bubbling pot and some hocus pocus. He’s not hurling magic at

me. He’s—he’s—God, I can’t even say it. I don’t want to talk about this any more. And
you’re no damned better.” She stalked past him, hurling over her shoulder, “And don’t

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

worry about me being alone at night. I’d rather take my chances with him than with you,
after this.”

“Cora—”

“Don’t. Just go. I can’t take this—the way you’re playing with me.” She threw open

the door.

He was a step behind her, slapping his hand against the door and slamming it closed

in the same motion. Shocked, she scrambled away, but she didn’t get far before he
latched onto her bicep and hauled her back, pinning her to the door.

“Look at me,” he commanded. She turned her face away, and he caught her chin,

pulling her back to him. She squeezed her eyes shut stubbornly, unwilling to let him see
how afraid she was in that moment—of herself, of him, of the things he made her feel.

“Damn it,” he swore, and buried his face in her hair. “I am not playing with you. I’m

trying to love you.”

That word left her speechless. Salim filled the silence.

“I didn’t say you don’t understand what he’s done—doing to you,” he said fiercely. “If

you think you understand his intentions, you’re one step ahead of me, but I’ll accept
that. What I will not accept is your misconception about his power.”

She managed to stutter, “The d-dragon—”
“Can’t protect you. You might have the dragon right now, but he’s had it for years. He

understands it. He can control it. He can control you through it!”

Swallow it.
She shuddered at the words, and her throat locked up tight as a drum. She couldn’t

swallow if her life depended on it. Panic sliced through her anger-defense wall, making
her shake so violently she bit her tongue.

Salim had been resting the entirety of his weight against her to ensure she wouldn’t

storm off, but he backed away to cup her cheeks in his hands and hold her trembling
head still. “Talk to me,” he said, alarm obvious in his rising tone. “Cora?”

She tried to force out some noise of acknowledgement, some verbal sign that she was

trying, but couldn’t even manage that. Were seizures part of her family’s health history?
Why didn’t she know a definitive answer to that question? Visual static blinded her

when she managed to force her eyes open. She could hear Salim, could feel him, but
couldn’t make out the words he shouted.

Greg’s voice and the shrill alien dragon tongue ricocheted in her skull, confusing her

and scrambling every normal signal she would have ordinarily picked up on. If she could
only see past the milky static, she could find a focus and thrust the voices away. She

tried to make the shaking stop, digging her fingernails into Salim’s forearms for
purchase. As soon as she grabbed him, the floor dropped from beneath her feet.

The confusion of speech vanished. Greg’s voice took over.
You’ve been given a gift, and he’s trying to take it away from you. Don’t let him!

The gift was for you, not him. Get away. I’ll help you—we’ll be free together.

Her blood became Arctic water; she’d never been so cold in her entire life. Where

was the dragon’s warmth now? Who the hell was talking to her, Greg or the dragon with
Greg’s voice? She made a mad scramble for the words and thrust the question at the
presence, through the static.

Who is this?
Don’t tell him! It’s only for you, not for him. If he knows it—if you tell him—it will be

that much easier for him to rob you. He’s a thief.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Static gave way to a march of different scenes, a spinning montage of images. Salim

with his sleeves rolled up, and his hands around a little girl’s throat, shaking her until
she threw up a cat. It didn’t make sense. He broke a thousand mirrors while a woman

screamed and slashed at her own arms with jagged shards of glass. He gouged the eyes
out of a man’s head. Slit a horse’s throat. Set fire to a dollhouse. Killed, killed, and killed.

She tried to turn away from the images, but when she turned, they were there in

front of her face again, and she watched them reel backwards. She didn’t want to see it
anymore. He was a monster, just like Diane said. Blood obscured her vision. She sobbed,

bile rising in her throat, and screamed, “Stop!”

Take his pearl, too, Greg whispered. It’s your duty to protect us.
She couldn’t breathe. An icy bath sloshed over her face, in her nostrils, choking her.

Her eyes shot open; dripping hair clung to her neck and shoulders. Salim leaned over
her, his hand poised near her face, fingers splayed as if he were going to slap her. His
hand fell away when she met his eyes, glittering fire and wild. His eyes reflected every

sin he’d ever committed, and every spirit-soul he’d ever taken. How had she never seen
it before?

He pushed sodden hair away from her cheeks. She shuddered, and he mistook it for

cold instead of the revulsion it really was.

“I’ll get a towel and something dry for you,” he said. Large and dilated, his eyes

searched hers, something queer moving behind his pupils. “Don’t move.”

He withdrew, and she closed her eyes, trying to figure out how to get away. Her arms

and legs felt heavy, like they were welded to the wet sofa Salim had stretched her out
upon. Flat-out running wouldn’t get her anywhere. He would catch up to her too soon.
And she couldn’t leave Da’ar Es Saleem with him. Not after what she’d seen him do.

I’ll help you. Join with me. Swallow the pearl.
The muscles in her throat tightened in protest of the suggestion. Attempting to avoid

a repeat of the earlier scene, she inhaled deeply and breathed out in a measured count to
ten, and repeated the exercise twice more before Salim returned. He held a clean zip-up
hoodie and a white hotel towel, thick and soft, and sat on the sofa by her hip.

“Are you okay?” he asked, using the corner of the towel to pat her cheeks dry. She

flinched and tried to pretend she hadn’t. Maybe he would chalk it up to skittish nerves.
Lord knew she was entitled to a little nervous anxiety.

She made an affirmative sound, trying to sit up. Salim helped her. Her skin crawled

where his hands rested. “I’m sorry about the water,” he said. “I had to get you to come
out of it somehow.”

“It’s okay.” Taking the towel from him, she hid her face in it and scrubbed her hair

dry. The linen smelled fresh and floral, too airy for this dark life she so unexpectedly led.
Even though she detected a hint of lavender, it did nothing to calm her down. She still
needed a plan to get away.

“I brought a dry shirt for you, too.” He reached for her zipper beneath the towel. His

fingers brushed her breast, unintentionally. He didn’t linger but the memory did. God.
She didn’t want Salim to be a bad man. She wanted him good, wanted to keep him in her
life. Over and over in her head, however, a woman shredded her own flesh with a jagged
edge of glass, and she knew, instinctively, that it wasn’t some trick of Greg’s designed to
manipulate her. That was Salim’s past. His present. That’s what he did.

He tugged at the zipper, drawing her back. She batted his hand away. “I can do it.”

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

He hesitated, fingertips light against her breastbone. “You’re sure you don’t need any

help?”

“I’m sure.” She lowered the towel, blotting at the saturated front of her sweater.

Salim tried to touch her cheek. She tilted her head away, avoiding his eyes. “I’m going to
go blow dry my hair,” she announced and forced her leaden legs to move.

He moved to let her off the sofa. Cora tried not to run and tried even harder not to

slam the door connecting the suite’s two rooms.

Inside the bedroom, she rested her head against the door, panting and blinking back

tears. She wanted to demand an explanation, but what would he do if he knew that she
knew? Take the pearl away? He already knew she had it. Would she be dead right now,
spirit separated forcibly from her body, if she had swallowed the damned thing instead
of spitting it out in her bathroom sink?

From the corner of her eye, blurred by a sheen of tears, she saw her purse sitting on

the bureau beside the two hotel keycards. The pearl was in it…or had been. She

straightened away from the door, horrible suspicions a dangerous whirlpool spinning in
her head, and moved to check that he hadn’t already taken it away from her.

Relief flowed hot and fast through her body. She had to sit down or collapse. The

pearl was still where she left it. She held fast, leaning against the bureau and staring
down at the innocent, dreadful little ball.

Salim knocked on the bedroom door once and opened it. Cora’s eyes flew up in

shock; she balled a fist and thrust her hand behind her back. Her rubbery knees
threatened to give out entirely as she stared at Salim, who, in the twenty seconds since
she’d last seen him, had taken on a crimson aura. She blinked, but the aura was still
there.

“You’re glowing,” she said.
“I’m going out for a moment.” He didn’t acknowledge her observation. “I’ll knock

when I get back. Make sure it’s me before you open the door.”

He retreated, leaving her alone. She’d been holding onto the pearl so hard her hand

ached, and when she heard the outer door open and close, she finally loosened her
grasp. The sounds of the city roared in her ears; cold swept through her clothes. She

needed to sit down and think, but this was her chance to run. She turned to find the
beach bag she’d filled with cassettes—that and her purse were all she really needed—and
her heart stopped.

Greg stood on the balcony threshold, almond eyes beautiful and exotic. He looked

like she remembered him; perfectly groomed, dark hair stylishly tipped with gold color.

The French doors’ white sheers fluttered to either side of him. He gazed at the pearl in
her hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked softly.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Chapter Twelve

Cora reached for a dragon and couldn’t find a single other soul in the suite. Had

Salim taken them both? Greg stepped inside.

“How did you get here?” she asked stupidly, stalling, casting about frantically for

Da’ar Es Saleem, and, when he didn’t respond, she reluctantly tried to call for the
unpredictable Ii. She hit barriers more solid than walls.

“It doesn’t matter. We’re going away.”

She panicked, flying into motion and popping the pearl onto her tongue, so fast the

heel of her palm smashed her bottom lip against her teeth. Greg snarled and reached for
her, hissing, “Don’t swallow it!”

Her mouth was so dry she gagged when she tried to get the pearl down. She spun and

dove for the bathroom, where she could get a handful of water to lubricate her mouth.

Greg caught her mere steps into the other room and threw his weight against her. She
fell to the floor, chin bouncing off the rim of the Jacuzzi. One of her teeth cracked, loud
as a gunshot in her ear. Fragments of molar sliced across a nerve ending and agony
lanced down the side of her neck and up to her temple. She tasted sweet copper and
swallowed reflexively. Blood and saliva hit the back of her throat and washed the pearl
down.

“Spit it out,” Greg snarled. He grabbed her jaw with his free hand, pinching behind

the joints to force her mouth open. “You don’t deserve it anymore!”

She tried to obey him, convinced he would kill her if she didn’t. His knee dug

painfully into the small of her back. Her tongue was on fire, oxygen couldn’t make it to
her lungs, and she choked on her own tears. She banged her fist on the marbled tile and

flailed out at him to no avail. He thought she was fighting and cursed, repeating, “Spit it
out.”

Her vision darkened, blackening as he continued to cut off her oxygen supply.
“Bitch,” Greg swore, shaking her so viciously her head smacked the floor, and the

blackness backed away. He hauled her to her feet and bent her over the dry tub,

jamming his fingers deep in her mouth before she had a thought to fight him off. “Give it
back!”

Her gag reflex failed to respond. She choked and coughed, unable to swallow with his

hand crammed into her mouth and pulled at his arm. “Stop!” she gasped when she
caught a gulp of air.

Greg thrust her away, driving her stomach against the hard tub. He rose, pacing, and

left her crouched and coughing. Her throat burned. How long had Salim been gone? She
needed help but didn’t think she could rouse her vocal cords to function even if Salim
were in shouting distance.

“You have to come with me. It’ll take too long to cut it out of your stomach.” He

drove his fist into the mirror, screaming, “Fuck!” over the awful crack of breaking glass.

Cora huddled against the side of the Jacuzzi, using the cover of her hair to disguise

her movements as she gingerly pried the shattered tooth from her mouth. Greg punched
the tiled wall twice more, each time throwing out a new idea for how he could retrieve
the hateful gem from her body. She needed a place to hide, and she needed a weapon.
She lacked both.

“He’ll kill me for this,” Greg said. He turned on her and sucked blood from his

knuckles.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Cora’s eyes widened, and realization smacked her hard. Somebody was giving Greg

orders, using him like the dragon dancers used their costume pieces. But who?

She crawled over the rim of the empty tub and slid down into it. Greg’s gaze swung to

her, and he barked, “Don’t move!”

She froze, sucking on her bleeding lip so the sight of blood wouldn’t feed his

murderous instinct. Her jaw was numb. “What are you going to do?” she asked, stalling.

He raked his hands through his hair, spiking it haphazardly. Had he always looked

like such a madman? She could easily imagine him foaming at the mouth, rabid and

ready to tear into her. The first time their eyes had met at the party in December, sparks
practically danced between them. Now she saw insanity instead of charisma in their
intensity.

“Were you planning this that first night?” she asked. “When you were telling

fortunes? Someone told you how to find me?”

He ignored her. “Make yourself puke and give it back. Quickly.”

She held her broken tooth up, showing it pinched between her thumb and forefinger.

It was sticky with blood and saliva. “It’s right here. You can have it,” she said, easing
back toward the center of the tub, socks collecting the water that still beaded on
porcelain. The pearl was his primary concern; could she fool him with a bluff?

Greg surged forward, reaching for her, but she evaded him and held the tooth

suspended over the drain outlet.

“You can have it if—”
If what? She could ask for the identity of the person behind his actions, or she could

ask for the key to her hypnosis.

“You tell me how to break the hypnosis,” she finished. She could play detective later.

First, she had to get him out of her head.

He swore. “How did you figure it out?”
He didn’t realize she had the cassettes? The fire, of course—he must have thought

they were destroyed in the blaze that demolished his shop. The blood drained from her
face as a new thought sprang forth. The calls hadn’t stopped that night. Did he have
more she didn’t know about? She had to get them away from him.

He crept closer. “It doesn’t matter. No way to undo it. You’re mine forever,” he said,

smirking.

“You’re lying. There’s a key word, or you snap your fingers, or something. Break the

spell, and you can have it back. I don’t want it.” The pendulum that ticked away the
hours of her love-hate relationship with the white dragon had swung back to “hate.” It

couldn’t, or wouldn’t, help her. She wasn’t willing to risk her life for it. The decision
widened the empty space inside her, but she could live with empty spaces. She couldn’t
live with the treacherous creature that pushed her and pulled her in one direction and
then another based on its own inexplicable whims.

“We’re linked, you and I,” he said. “No breaking it.” Some of the manic light left his

eyes. He rested against the side of the tub, both hands on it where she could see them,
and said, earnestly, “I didn’t want it to go this way. I wanted you to help me contain him.
Share him with me. We can still do that, but only if it’s just you and me. There isn’t room
for more than three.”

A ludicrous Bride of Frankenstein vision came to her, and she almost laughed at the

image of herself in some ridiculous frilly gown, bound to this lunatic and his equally

insane dragon. Almost. The realization that he was serious stopped her.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

A knock sounded at the exterior door of the hotel suite and saved her from the need

to respond to his proposal. Greg jerked in surprise and half-turned toward the door,
swearing beneath his breath. Cora scrabbled backward, just in case, but caution had

taken the upper hand over his earlier violence.

“One more chance,” he said, looking back to her. “Swallow the pearl and join with the

dragon. We can hold it together. It needs you.”

Join with the dragon. Cora’s blood ran cold. Her skin crawled from the inside, and

her imagination latched onto a vision of treacherous Ii taking her from the inside out.

Fearful fancies turned the small bead in her stomach into an enormous boulder. What
had she done?

The knock sounded a second time, accompanied by a muffled feminine voice calling

through the door. Diane. Her sister was too precious to risk. She thanked her stars Greg
was more concerned with his own objectives than with dragging Diane in as another bit
of leverage.

Greg studied her speculatively. The manic light flared bright in his eyes. “Don’t let

him take it away from you,” Greg cautioned. “He doesn’t need you and won’t keep you
around if he gets his hands on it.” He held his finger to his lips as if shushing her and left
her in the bathroom.

She gave him a few minutes, unwilling to cross his path in case he changed his mind

about leaving. As much as she wanted him out of her life forever, she didn’t want to
tempt fate without a way to defend herself. Diane stopped pounding on the door. Cora
stayed where she was, counting to one hundred before deciding she could safely move.
Greg surely had fled by that point.

The countdown gave the adrenaline in her system time to recede; the anesthesia of

fight-or-flight wore off. Her head and jaw throbbed so persistently that it took her a
moment to realize either Salim or Diane or room service or somebody was back to
knocking—pounding—on the door.

She heard Diane’s voice as she dragged herself into the sitting room. “Ma, stabbing

him with your hat pin isn’t going to get that door open any faster!”

Wonderful. Diane brought maternal backup. The thought of facing all three of

them—Salim, her sister, and her mother—at once gave her serious second thoughts
about opening the door at all. One at a time would be nice. One doorknob would be nice,
too, but here she had four to contend with.

The doorknob leapt around, evading her grasp as she tried to connect with it.

Squinting did no good, and only served to make her vision blurry in its multiplicity.

“Stop pulling on it,” she muttered, planting her hands firmly on the panel and

guiding her fingers on the surface, determined to find the knob by touch even if her
vision wasn’t cooperating.

The squabble in the corridor ceased.
“Did you hear that?” Miranda asked and immediately banged on the door. “Coraline,

can you hear me?” she shouted.

She couldn’t answer and focus on the door at the same time, so she forewent the

answering. The knob finally cooperated.

“My god,” Diane breathed, eyes rounding with horror. Cora cringed and glanced at

her mother, bracing herself for a reprimand, no less sharp even if directed at Diane.
Instead of snapping a retort about Diane’s deity reference, though, Miranda stood pale

as a ghost, both hands covering her mouth.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

“Greg was here,” Cora announced; her voice sounded like mush, it hurt her mouth to

talk. She would keep her sentences short.

Salim moved first, shouldering past Diane and Miranda. His red glow still pulsed

around him, lighting up the ends of his hair and his eyelashes. If she hadn’t seen it
earlier, she would’ve thought she was hallucinating.

He scooped her into his arms and the room reeled. “Come in and close that door,” he

ordered as he bore her into the bedroom.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

Chapter Thirteen

“Ma, put the hatpin away! It’s embarrassing. That’s an accessory from the ‘30s!”

“It might make him think twice about blocking her from my view ever again,” her

mother replied.

Salim yelped. “Damn it! Has that thing been sterilized?”
“Infection,” Miranda said icily, “is the least of your worries. Precisely why does my

daughter look like a domestic abuse victim?”

Cora blinked, squinted at the bright light emanating from a lamp positioned near her

head, and said, “I’m thirsty.” Except with more slurring and muffling and less
enunciation. Oh, and a great deal more pain than she expected such a short sentence to
entail. Jesus. Had she bitten her tongue in half?

Cora opened her eyes a second time. The light was slightly less blinding, and she

managed to make out fuzzy leg shapes. Only two pairs, though, but going on the denim
pillow beneath her head, she figured out where the third pair had gotten off to.

“Cora?” Diane brushed hair away from her cheek, and Cora winced; her sister’s

bedside manner was on par with a professional boxer’s. “Are you alright?”

She tried to move her jaw and chewed down on a wad of terrycloth. Wary of risking

the remaining stub of tongue she hadn’t bitten into, she shifted and pulled the bloody

rag from her mouth.

“Didn’t want you to choke,” Diane said somewhere above her head. “I’ll take that.

Can you sit up?”

“We need to leave,” Cora croaked, pushing herself from Diane’s thigh. Her throat

burned, her jaw ached, and maybe she would’ve been better off if she’d lost the tongue

entirely. Ow.

Nobody moved to heed her advice. Cora glanced nervously at the balcony doors, now

firmly secured. Yeah, and they were firmly secured before, but Greg still managed to get
to her. She shuddered.

“What happened?” Diane asked, handing her a glass of water and an oblong white

tablet.

“I would like to know the answer to that myself,” Salim inserted.
“Anybody with eyes in their head can see what happened,” Miranda snapped. “Why

are you still here?”

Cora took the pain pill along with the water, but she couldn’t bring herself to put the

pill in her mouth. It too closely resembled the pearl that had gotten her into this hellish,

aching mess.

The pearl. She looked up at Salim.
“Where is it?” he asked, eyes dark and intent.
Something squirmed and grew deep inside her body, like a green shoot stretching

under the eye of the sun. Cora averted her gaze. “Maybe he took it?” Except it was more

like “mayfee ‘e tuh id” and the lilt to make it a question was a little curlicue of agony
across her face. She screwed up the courage to deal with the pain again, and said, “Hurts
to talk.”

Diane rifled through the nightstand drawer, and Miranda fluttered around the room

nervously. She passed the balcony doors three times. Each time, Cora flinched, bracing

herself for Greg to strike and snatch her mother away. The fear was foolish. She knew

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

that. It hovered nevertheless, ignoring all good sense and logical knowledge that Greg
wouldn’t risk coming back.

A pad of paper with the hotel logo on it, complete with a matching pen, made its way

into her hands. Cora twisted slightly, sharp twinges of protest shooting through her ribs,
and put the pen to paper. And couldn’t figure out what to write. Too many questions, too
many of them very personal and just for Salim. She shouldn’t be thinking about those
questions now. Not the time.

As she considered how to phrase what she wanted to ask, a drop of pink saliva

splattered the bottom of the page. She stared at it, confused, until Diane made a
distressed sound and pressed a tissue to her mouth. God, she was drooling.

Mirror, she wrote. And then, He told me it can’t be undone like in the movies.
Writing was a small mistake because the three of them crowded around her,

enveloping her in a huddle akin to a football team’s between-plays consultation. Diane’s
hair fell across the page, and Cora brushed the black-dyed strands away, looking up to

Salim.

“Are you sure he took the pearl?” he asked softly. Edged steel hid beneath the gentle

words and knowledge brightened his eyes.

Cora backed up against the headboard. He knew.
“Would somebody please tell me what is going on?” Miranda asked. “Cora, I don’t

hear from you for weeks, and when you show up, you disappear with my car. Now you’re
battered and bruised in a hotel room, I would appreciate it if we could all dispense with
the cryptic veiled references.”

Miranda’s shrill interjection strummed her nerves abrasively. Cora willed herself

past the pearl look-alike hang-up she had and washed Diane’s painkiller down with a

gulp of water. Even though it was tap, the cool clean fluid soothed her throat. She
watched Diane and Salim exchange glances over her head and drank again, draining the
glass of half its contents before giving it back to Diane.

“Cora has something the other dragonlord wants,” Salim said, borrowing

terminology from her family’s version of myth. His gaze never wavered from Cora’s face.

Miranda scoffed. “That’s it?”

“It’s the short version. This isn’t the time for the long version.”
“If my daughter is in this much danger, I demand to know precisely what is

happening.”

“Stop,” Cora said. The word was fire in her jaw, but the pen and paper would draw

everything out longer than she cared to continue this discussion. “Trying to put his

dragon in me.”

Miranda swore beneath her breath and stalked away. She made short work of finding

the suite’s alcohol stores.

Salim leaned against the foot of the bed. She wanted to hide under the covers, torn

between the promise of security if she only invited him close to hold her, and the

remembrance of bloodshed at his hands.

“I know what you do,” she accused. “With the spirits. The familiars. He told me.

Showed me.”

“He? Greg?”
“The dragon.”
“What else did he tell you?”

“That you’re going to take him away from me.”

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

“What else?”
“I’m supposed to protect the dragons from you.”
He moved and took her hand in his. She squeezed her fingers in a fist, reflexively,

and he pried her fist open.

“You’re glowing,” he murmured and held her hand up in front of her face.
Diane leaned close. “What are you doing?”
“Dragon’s aura,” Salim answered.
“I didn’t want it,” Cora whispered and swiveled her wrist, trying to shake the cursed

nimbus of spiritual fire onto the floor. She brushed the pad of paper aside.

“But you took it.” He folded her fingers around the glow and held her hand trapped

in his fist.

“I didn’t want it inside me. It’ll make me Greg’s,” she said.
Diane took Cora’s wrist in one hand and Salim’s in the other, and pulled them apart.

“I think you need to move away from my sister.”

Salim shook Diane’s hand off and moved to evade her reach. “Nothing will ever make

you his.” Fierce eyes caught and held hers. He released her hand and cupped her cheeks,
careful of tender swelling. “You might not believe in meant-to-be, or you and me, or
your strength and abilities, but I do. He can’t have you. No part of you. Do you
understand?”

Volcanic heat exploded in her stomach and surged up her esophagus. The fire

brought back the montage of death she’d witnessed earlier, featuring Salim in the
leading role. The way he touched her face—the astute perceptiveness of his eyes—
something instinctive, deep inside, whispered warnings of soul-gazing, of essence-theft.
She recoiled. “Don’t touch me,” she gasped. Diane was the safest point, the first

landmark she located, and she flung herself at the other woman. Salim grabbed at the
back of her shirt; she hissed a warning. Fire tore through her body and impossibly leapt
from her mouth.

Cora caught a glimpse of Diane’s face, shocked and ghost-white, right before she

staggered and fell under Cora’s weight. A gout of flame licked at Diane’s hair and seared
the blonde wood of the hotel nightstand, melting the polish black.

Somebody threw a blanket over Cora’s head. The heavy bedspread trapped her with

the heat of the dragon erupting from her stomach, and she couldn’t breathe.

“Get it out of her!” Miranda shrieked.
Salim leapt on her, heavy and hard, and pinned her to the floor. Ii roared outrage in

her ears. She was so hot beneath the blanket and couldn’t breathe. Desperation gave her

strength to wrestle an elbow free; she jabbed up and back, but hit nothing but air. The
weight on her back compressed her lungs.

“What the hell was that?” Diane asked. Her voice was far away.
“She can’t control it.” Salim grunted. He clamped his knees around her and

immobilized her hips. She couldn’t even lift a foot to kick at him.

“Get it out of her!” Miranda.
Everybody had a comment to contribute, but Cora couldn’t force a single word from

her throat. She tried to connect with Ii, to tell him to back off. The enraged dragon
ignored her. Its fullness thrashed in her own spirit—she feared it would rend her soul to
shreds. The heat was unbearable, a red haze in the dark under the blanket. She closed
her eyes to escape it.

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

* * *

The hotel suite was quiet when she came to, and the quiet didn’t stop in the room.

Eerie stillness lurked in the back of her mind. She shied away from examining it, and
returned her attention to her physical surroundings. Time was indeterminable. The
shade of grey through the window could have been either dawn or twilight. She didn’t
have a clock to tell her which it was. Her mouth tasted like charcoal ash. Thirst urged
her from the bed; invisible bonds held her in place.

Her fingers flexed and met steel restraints. Handcuffs. “Ma?” she whispered.
Salim’s broad-shouldered shadow loomed over her. Panic blew into terror. She dug

her head back into the pillows—it was the only escape she could manage. “Where’s my
mother?”

“Gone for now.”
“What did you do to them?” God, what had she done to them? The ends of Diane’s

hair had wilted and curled up in the awful, fiery breath that issued from her chest, just
before darkness had gathered around her.

Salim drew closer and pried at each of her eyelids, staring into her pupils one at a

time. “Nothing. I sent them away.”

“You’re lying. They wouldn’t leave me here with you.” Her fingers curled into useless

fists.

“You’re dangerous, Cora.” He inhaled and blew it out slowly. “I didn’t keep you safe

from him.”

She closed her eyes tight. “Why did you leave? Your dragon was manifesting,” she

said, recalling the scarlet glow to his aura before he’d left the suite, and left her to Greg.

“I thought I felt him near. That I could head him off before he got to you.”
She tentatively reached inside, feeling for signs of the dragon. Her stomach fluttered

nervously, but they weren’t dragon-nerves; they were all hers. “The dragon’s gone now,”
she bargained. “You can let me go.”

“No, I can’t. He isn’t making himself known, but you have his essence. And you can’t

control it.” Pain darkened his eyes. He withdrew.

“You’re going to take it, aren’t you?” she whispered, horrified. “Exorcise it from me.”

How would he do it? Would he cut it from her, or maybe burn it out? Put her up on a
stake and smoke Ii’s hiding aspect from her own spirit? She shuddered.

“I’ve placed wards to contain the dragon. They recognize you as the dragon and will

react if you try to cross them,” he explained. “You can break through the cuffs if you give

the dragon freedom to run, but it will take you, too. I suggest you try to rest.”

“Wait,” she called as he turned away. “It’s gone! I can’t feel it anymore—please!”
Salim left her without looking back. She screamed after him, but he closed the door

on her pleading cries. The dragon was gone, too; they’d both abandoned her. All three.
She jerked against the cuffs that held her to the bed, straining with all the strength she

had, to no avail. Her forearms burned by the time she surrendered, breathless and
panting and wondering how everything had gone this wrong. And how she was going to
make it right again, immobilized as she was? Despite herself, she’d come to rely upon
Salim and the dragons as protectors and defenders. She’d become too relaxed. Should
have planned for this eventuality, should have never allowed herself to forget that it was
her against all of them. Cora stared at the dim, shadow-enshrouded ceiling. Plaster

designs swirled on the parameters of her vision. She tried to pin them down but they

Dragon Queen: Book 2: Dragon Dance

evaded her, living wisps of ether trying not to be seen. She narrowed her eyes, and
concentrated, and whispered, “Ii.”

The swirls stopped moving. She said the name again—not too loud; if Salim knew, he

would surely stop her—and the tendrils of essence came together, came closer. She
smiled. Salim might have locked them both up, her and the homeless dragon, but he
didn’t lock them up in separate quarters. The alone time would be good. It would give
her time to get to know her dragon, and Salim wouldn’t find it so easy to pull them
apart.

Biography

Emily Ryan-Davis lives and writes near Baltimore, Maryland, surrounded by her

fiance, a cat, a rat, several fish, and a steady aerial parade of jets coming or going from
the airport. She has also lived in West Virginia, Georgia, Virginia, and Massachusetts.

She didn't always want to write books. As a child, she had her eye on a variety of

career paths. She wanted to be a lawyer, a doctor, an English teacher, a journalist, and,
at one point, she even wanted to be Stevie Wonder.

However, once she started college, she realized she enjoyed learning too much to

ever settle on one focus of study. She has attended Concord College and Fairmont State

College (both in West Virginia), Massachusetts Bay Community College, and University
of Maryland-Baltimore County. Instead of continuing to invest thousands and
thousands of dollars into advanced degree programs, she decided to gather up her love
of all things literary, historical, philosophical, religious, artistic, musical, and
anthropological, and channel them toward research and writing that doesn't adhere to a
pre-fabricated syllabus.

In addition to reading and writing, she enjoys shopping, talking about herself,

knitting, drawing, and singing. The jury is still out on whether she likes to quilt, or
whether she's simply attracted to the pretty colors.

Read more about her projects (writing and otherwise) at her blog or her MySpace

page.

Website: http://www.emilyryandavis.com/
MySpace page: http://www.myspace.com/emilyryandavis

Blog: http://emilywriting.wordpress.com/

Excerpt from

Sorcha’s Heart

Debbie Mumford

A Sweet Paranormal Novella

Sorcha knotted her fists so tightly her knuckles whitened. She glared at her mother

across the rough oak worktable. “When are you going to acknowledge me as a fully
capable wizard? I’m not an apprentice anymore. I don’t need your permission to seek

the Heart of Fire.”

“Fine,” Elspeth shot back, “but I’m warning you this is a mistake. The Heart of Fire is

dangerous.” The small, compact woman stretched to reach the braid of garlic hanging
from the beam above her head, yanked a bulb loose and tossed it to her daughter.

“So is this war!” Sorcha caught the bulb by reflex, slammed it on the table and

separated out three cloves for the strengthening potion. Her gaze never left her mother.
“Don’t you realize how powerful dragons are? If Leofric continues on his present course,
he’ll push them too far. They’ll wipe us off the face of the earth.”

Fear flashed across Elspeth’s face, and Sorcha knew that her mother agreed; the

King’s recent aggressive actions could have serious repercussions.

Sorcha’s mood softened. She picked up her paring knife and began to chop the

cloves, pondering the enigma of the woman who had given her not only life, but a
heritage of magic. Because of that heritage, strangers often assumed they were sisters
rather than mother and child. Elspeth’s long, dark hair sported only an occasional
strand of gray. Trim, active, healthy. These words described both her and her mother.
Neither of them possessed the lush curves so desired by other women at court, but

neither really noted the lack, being too concerned with the practice of magic to worry
about attracting the opposite sex.

Elspeth’s bright green eyes glowed with fervent belief and wily intelligence. Sorcha

shared her mother’s fervency and intelligence, but not her eyes. She had inherited her
unknown father’s eyes; deep blue, with an exotic slant that engendered frequent

comparisons to cats’ eyes.

“Yes. I do understand,” Elspeth said with calm assurance, “and I’m trying to

convince Leofric how dangerous his present policy is.”

Sorcha opened her mouth to push home her advantage, but Elspeth held up a slim

hand to stem the flow of words.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m willing to sacrifice my only child.” She leaned forward,

eyes wide, pleading and vulnerable. “Leave the Heart of Fire alone. It might end this
war, but at what cost? Sorcha, you have no idea what that amulet will require as
payment for its power.”

A shiver ran down Sorcha’s spine and she made a reflexive warding sign as she wiped

her hands on the tattered hem of her potion-making apron.

***

The quiet waters of the isolated lagoon unnerved Sorcha. She knew a distant barrier

reef protected the soft sand from the harsh pounding of the tide’s ebb and flow, but she
longed for the accustomed roar of surf—and home. The skirt of her simple shift and
tunic tugged damply at her ankles as she prowled the water’s edge. Her eyes darted
warily from the aspen thickets that climbed the hill to the north, to the open path
winding southward among the dunes covered in beach grass. She might have been the

only living creature on the earth.

As much to reassure herself of her own existence as for something to do, she bent to

stare into the unnaturally still water. A cool breeze tickled her nose with the scent of

Sorcha’s Heart

seaweed, and tugged a few wayward hairs from her tightly woven braid as she gazed at
her reflection in the sparse predawn light.

Tension mounted as she waited for the perfect moment. Unable to remain still, she

straightened, searching the sky’s melting darkness. Only fading stars and dawn’s
awakening color met her restless gaze.

She must complete her quest, must recover the Heart of Fire. Humanity’s existence

depended on her success.

The warning, when it came, took the form of tingling skin as all the tiny hairs from

neck to wrists rose in unison. The dragon soared into sight above the aspen covered hill,
and Sorcha fought the instinct to run. Instead, she stood her ground and watched him
land at the edge of the lagoon. Gods and goddesses, he was longer than the house she
shared with her mother! He had to measure thirty feet from his deadly looking teeth to
the triangular tail-tip that splashed the lagoon’s still water. He folded leathery wings flat
against glistening black scales, and turned his massive head, piercing her with a fiery

gaze.

“Greetings, little wizard,” he said, his rough voice conjuring wind-swept crags and

the barren isolation of frozen wastes. “It seems the Heart of Fire requires more than one
witness to its rebirth.”

“Y-you know about the Heart of Fire?” she stammered. Her heart thundered, causing

the pulse in her temple to throb and her ears to ring. She fought to calm herself, to
retain the razor-edge of her intellect as she confronted her hereditary enemy. Human
versus dragon; their skirmishes consumed her homeland, and now that King Leofric had
initiated a more aggressive policy for his knights, she feared humanity’s annihilation.

The dragon’s huge maw twisted in what she hoped was a smile. “Of course, little

wizard. Who do you think forged the medallion? Human wizards could not bend the
stone’s power to their will long enough to contain it in a prison of gold.” He snorted at
the thought and ejected a thin finger of flame. “Only a flight of dragons could create the
Heart of Fire.”

“If wizards are so weak,” she said, standing tall, chin high in defiance, “why has it

called me to bring it to light?” Understanding dawned, and she continued recklessly,

ignoring the lingering smell of sulfur, “You are here to witness what I’ve been called to
do!”

The dragon lowered his head and studied her closely. “Well spoken, little wizard.” He

paused, blinked, lower lid rising to cover his slit-pupiled, red eye. “What is your name?”

Sorcha swallowed hard and tried to ignore the fear that knotted her stomach. “I will

not trade names with a dragon. Now stand aside. I have work to complete.”

He jerked his head back and unfurled his wings. The brightening sky vanished

behind a curtain of shadow.

“You dare insult me? Order me like a common dog?” His words thundered, rending

the morning’s soft peace. “I could devour you in a single bite!”

Though her legs wobbled and threatened to collapse, Sorcha stood her ground. She

clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering, and prayed she wouldn’t squeak
when she found her voice.

“But you won’t,” she said, amazed at the coolness of her tone. “The stone called me to

find it. You need me. If you didn’t, I’d already be dragon fodder.”

Buy Now!

If you enjoyed this novel, you may also wish to read:
All About Brenda by M.E. Ellis
Dragon Queen: Book 1: Mating Call by Emily Ryan-Davis
Free Spirits by Zinnia Hope
Garou Moon by M.E. Ellis
Glass Magic by Debbie Mumford
The Goblin, the Witch, and the Single Girl by Canice Brown-Porter
Last Chance by Kit Wylde
Of Lilies by F.R.R. Mallory
The Sexual Science of Witchery by Zinnia Hope
Sorcha’s Heart by Debbie Mumford
Toil and Trouble by Aurelia Abbott
Waking the Shadows by Elisabeth Drake
The Witches’ Rally by Chastity Lee

And come chat with Freya’s Bower authors at:
FB Author Circle: http://fbauthorcircle.blogspot.com/
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Or join our newsletter:
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