Blood Politics

Page 8

To not give you flowers?
I sighed in exasperation. To give me some peace and stop following me around or giving me expensive presents.
I could sense waves of silent menace emanating from him. What did he give you?
Again with the privacy invasion. I’m not saying I’m going to ignore you, Corrigan, I just need some space. Not just from you but from everyone.
And what if something attacks you because they know that you’re a dragon and they have decided that your head would look good on their wall?
Technically, my Lord Alpha, I’m not a dragon – I’m a Draco Wyr. Plus, I think I’ve proven that I can look after myself.
I waited for a moment, crossing my fingers. Solus noticed the gesture and raised his eyebrows in mocking amusement. I glared at him.
Fine, kitten. I will do as you wish if you grant me but one boon.
Name it, I answered rashly without thinking.
Dinner. Saturday night. I will come and pick you up. He then immediately broke off the connection, before I could protest otherwise. Outfuckingstanding.
“His Lord Furriness, I presume?” drawled Solus.
I nodded, distracted, then sat down on a chair opposite the Fae.
“You really need to get him out of your system, dragonlette. Just fuck him and be done with it.” He watched my reaction carefully.
I made sure not to give him any satisfaction by reacting and kept my face pointedly blank. “Thanks for coming, Solus.”
He bared his teeth at me in the semblance of a smile, then stretched out like a cat and put his hands behind his head. “How could I say no? Then I’d have missed the opportunity to see you so glamorously attired.”
I scowled at him. He smirked back, then continued, “I had rather been hoping you’d be in touch before now. But beggars cannot be choosers and I am here now to do your bidding.”
“Then tell your Queen to leave me alone.”
He quirked up a single perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Dragonlette, one does not simply tell the Summer of Queen of the entire Seelie Fae what to do. I had presumed that you were smarter than that.”
“I’m sure you can find a way to re-phrase it more politely, Solus. But I need some privacy and I need you, the mages and the shifters to stop following me around.”
Solus brushed some imaginary dust off his shoulder. “Really? And why now all of a sudden does this bother you? You’ve been perfectly content up till now to let us hang around.”
“Well, now I’m settled in. I’m not going anywhere, and you know where I am. So I’d like some peace and quiet.”
He sniffed. “I see. Does this have anything to do with these objects?” He waved a hand over the table and its contents, a faint sneer on face. “Flowers? And coffee?”
“And one translated Fae book.”
“If you don’t want it dragonlette, I will happily take it back.”
“You know I want it.”
Solus leaned forward. “Have you read it yet?”
“No.”
He seemed disappointed. “Ah, well. Perhaps when you do, you’ll get in touch with me again. There are a few things that I may be able to help you with.” He nodded his head towards my shoulder. “How’s the mark?”
“It hurts sometimes, Solus,” I said, telling the truth. “Usually in my dreams. I don’t know why.”
He stood up and walked round to me, placing his right hand onto where the scar was hidden beneath the soft cotton fabric of my pyjama top.
“What are you doing?” I asked suspiciously.
“Shhh,” he said softly.
The warmth of Solus’ hand quickly turned to a cold burn and I winced.
“Shit! Solus, that hurts.”
“I told you to be quiet, dragonlette.”
I grimaced and squirmed slightly, but stayed in place. Solus damn well better know what he’s doing, I thought uncharitably. His cold touch seared through my top and skin, biting into my flesh underneath. I gritted my teeth until he finally pulled away.
“There. It shouldn’t bother you quite so much now.”
I moved my shoulder around in a semi-circle, first one way then the other. It did feel a bit different. I sent the Fae a quick look of gratitude.
He grinned at me, white teeth flashing. “Now, dragonlette, I need you to tell me the truth.”
I gazed up at him, askance.
“What do you think of my sporran?” He gestured down towards his crotch.
I punched out, aiming for his stomach, but he just laughed and danced away.
“Idiot,” I muttered.
“I’m glad you finally got in touch, my little fiery one. I will arrange for the tail to be removed and inform her Majesty in my own manner.”
“Thanks, Solus.”
He pointed down at the collection of translated Fae papers. “And read those. You will find them enlightening.”
I nodded. Then he snapped his fingers, which I was sure was more for effect than because he needed to, and vanished.
Chapter Five
By the time I awoke the next day, it was already mid-morning. I had been tempted the previous night to take Solus’ advice and read through the Fae translation, but my eyelids had already been starting to droop and sleep had seemed to be by far the best course of action. Fortunately it had been dream-less. Now, wide awake and with a steaming cup of black coffee in front of me, the pristine white pages were shouting out at me. If I was honest with myself, I was absolutely terrified about what secrets it might reveal.
Not too many months ago, I’d been desperate to discover more about myself and my weird blood; since shifting into a dragon I wasn’t convinced that I needed to know the truth any longer. What I’d not told anyone, and what I barely allowed myself to consider even in my most alone moments, was that during those seconds when I had became more monster than human, all semblance of rational thought had completely fled me. I was used to having my bloodfire take over my thoughts and actions, of course, but I’d always still managed to remain inherently myself somewhere inside. When I’d transformed, consumed by the rage and pain of seeing both Brock and Thomas massacred in front of me, there had been nothing left of me inside. Not one scrap. All that I’d been was a mass of unthinking death and devastation. A tiny part of me dreaded to think what I might have done if someone else had gotten in between my dragon form and Tryyl.
I inhaled deeply. Solus had naturally read it, and he was still sticking around. Being a typically arrogant Fae, he no doubt believed in his absolute invincibility against all odds, but surely even he would be sensible enough to steer clear of me if I was all that dangerous, I rationalised to myself. And, by knowing more about what my true nature was really like, I’d have a better chance of guarding against anything terrible happening. Of course I was glad that I’d managed to kill the wraith as well.
“You didn’t actually hurt anyone innocent, Mack,” I told myself aloud. Not that it meant I still wouldn’t though.
I inhaled deeply, sucking calming breath into my lungs. Okay. I knew I was going to eventually read the bloody thing no matter what, so why not get it out of the way? I made to put the coffee cup down on the table top and realised that flickers of anxious green flame were licking around my fingers. Not helpful. Closing my eyes for a moment and practising some of the meditative techniques that my old anger management counsellor had taught me, I forced myself to settle down. When I checked back, the flames were gone.
I pulled the papers over to me, then turned to the first page. I’d already managed to translate the first chapter on my own back when the original had been in my possession, very slowly deciphering each and every word with the help of a bilingual dictionary. I couldn’t be entirely sure that I’d managed to be accurate, however, so I started by re-reading what I already knew.
It turned out my original efforts had been fairly spot on. Other than a few odd words here and there, and clumsy wording, I’d worked out all of the main points. At some point in the very distant past, a remarkably foolish mage had attempted to experiment on a real, honest to goodness bona fide dragon, by transforming it into human form. Said dragon had not appreciated her efforts and, as well as eventually killing her and numerous other humans who got in his way, he also spent a lot of time shagging the local maidens and getting several of them pregnant. Before too long, however, a sturdy warrior by the name of Bolox had been smart enough to try and kill the dragon. His shoulder had been maimed in the ensuing fight and, while his efforts had ultimately proved successful, the scars on his shoulder never disappeared. Ever since that point, all progeny of the dragon had the same scars visible on their own shoulders, in some mystical transferable version of a knot-in-string reminder that whenever they came across any descendants of Bolox it was their duty to slaughter them instantly. The scar thing didn’t really seem particularly logical, but I guessed that neither did being stupid enough – or magically endowed enough – to transform a dragon into human form.
Something tugged at my memory. One of the first things I’d been required to do when I’d started at the mages’ academy was to read, understand and memorise their complicated legal system. I was sure that one of the unbreakable rules had been that it was expressly forbidden for anyone to ever attempt to change the true nature of a living creature through magical means. Now that I thought about it in the context of my great-great-great-and-so-on-grand-daddy, it made perfect sense.
I flicked over to the next chapter, which traced the lineage of that original dragon down through the centuries. Many of the original women who’d been unfortunate enough to have caught the eye of first ever Draco Wyr had died in childbirth, their babies along with them. Enough had survived, however, to continue the line, albeit diluting the wyrm blood as they went along. The anonymous author of the book speculated that many important figures throughout history could claim to be of the Draco Wyr suggesting, although not offering much in the way of proof, that people like Boadicea, Julius Caesar and Genghis Khan all benefited from the power of their blood and heritage. The people they slaughtered didn’t benefit much from it, I thought, not that I didn’t admire some of what they’d achieved.