You Slay Me
Page 16
"Not to dragons, that is. I've never heard of a mortal drinking it and surviving."
The fire from the drink seeped into my blood, pooling low, in my groin. "You know, it's not so bad this time. Maybe I'm getting used … What do you mean no mortal has survived drinking it?"
He shrugged. "Just what I said."
I set the glass down carefully. (I had a notion that if it splashed over onto the table, it would eat right through the wood.) "Do you mean to tell me that you let me drink something poisonous and you didn't
bother to warn me?"
"You asked for it. It would have been rude of me to deny you what you wanted."
"Yeah? And if I asked you to help me jump off the Eif-fel Tower, would you do it?"
He did the cute head tip again. I gritted my teeth and fought the desire to grab his head and kiss him. "Are you likely to ask me to help you jump off the Eiffel Tower?"
"No, but—"
"Then it does not matter what I would do. Why have you sought me out?"
I breathed heavily through my nose for a few seconds, trying to get a grip on the anger and lust and frustration that were all mixed up inside me. "I. Want. My. Dragon. Back."
"It's not yours, though, is it? You told me you were just the courier, delivering it to Mme. Deauxville. She is the rightful owner. What right do you have to it?"
"More than you have!" I snapped. "I want it so I can return it to her family. God only knows why you want it."
He sipped at his drink. "It's pretty. I like it. It's mine now. Besides which, it is the Anima di Lucifer. I cannot relinquish it to anyone who does not appreciate its true history."
I frowned. "Thewhat of Lucifer?"
"AnimaIt's Italian. The name means the 'blood of Lu-cifer.' The aquamanile is one of three objects known as the Tools of Bael."
That could mean anything or nothing—the folks dur-ing the Mddle Ages were awfully fond of giving impres-sive, dread names to innocent objects in order to increase the perceived value of the object. I had a sudden, awful thought. "It's not… uh … a family relic, is it?"
He raised his eyebrows.
"It has green eyes, like you. I thought maybe it was a family heirloom that someone sold and… Oh, never mind." I felt stupid even saying it, noting in a distant part of my mind how far I'd come since the morning before when I had no idea that such things' as dragons really ex-isted.
Drake leaned back in his chair, his fingers rubbing along the top of his wineglass. It was a strangely erotic move that had me squirming in my chair. I took another sip of my drink, embracing the fire that roared through me.
"What do you know about dragons?"
"They're big, scaly, four-legged creatures with wings who terrorized small villages until a virgin was offered up as a sacrifice."
His grinned again. "I do miss the virgins."
I had an almost overwhelming urge to kick him.
His grin deepened, but there was something serious in his eyes, another warning. "The most important thing you should know about dragons is that they protect what is theirs. A dragon would never, under any condition, part with any of his treasure."
"Neveris an awfully uncompromising word," I said, my heart sinking. I knew it was going to be hard getting the aquamanile from Drake, but the look in his eye told me it was going to be harder than I thought.
"Not as uncompromising as I," he said, his eyes danc-ing with silent laughter.
I took a deep breath to lessen my almost overwhelm-ing desire to punch him in his obstinate but sexy jaw. "While we're on the subject of pigheaded men … drag-ons … whatever you are, let's have a little discussion about what you were doing at Mme. Deauxville's house. I know that story about you being with Interpol was a bunch of bull, so don't even bother trotting that out again."
"I was with Interpol—for a bit. They seemed to take exception to the fact that I was using their resources to or-ganize my rare-arts acquisition program." I stared a ques-tion at him. He waved it away as if it were no matter. "They couldn't prove the charges, but once you have been tarred with the brush of international thievery, it is hard to regain their trust."
"That goes without saying. Did you draw the Circle of Ashtaroth?"
"Why would I want to do that?" he asked, neatly avoiding the question. "What did the police say to you?"
I smiled. I was on to him now. He used provocative questions to distract me whenever I wanted information from him, but two could play that game. "Not much. Did you draw the circle?"
His eyes darkened. "If I did not know whether it was open or closed, is it likely I drew it? What happened to the demon that was summoned by the circle?"
I ground away a few more layers of tooth enamel over his nonanswers. "I have no idea. Despite studying a few medieval manuscripts on the subject, I'm hardly a demon expert."
"You are a Guardian, even if you are untrained. It is in your nature to control demons. Surely you could feel that one had been present on the scene?"
I remembered the feeling of dread, that something was very wrong as I approached Mrrie. Deauxville's door. "Maybe," I said, determined not to be distracted by his questions. "If you didn't draw the circle, who did?"
His gaze flickered away from me. "What makes you think I would know that?"
"Call it a hunch. Do you know who drew the circle?"
He shrugged and sipped his wine.
"Look, I know you're all hot on this big, bad, power-ful dragon kick, but this is important. The police think I killed Mme. Deauxville, but they can't hold me, because they don't have any proof that I did, and I
don't have the time to wait around until they realize that I'm not guilty. I have to figure out who did kill her so I can get my pass-port back and go home. So would you stop playing the macho games and answer my question?Please?"
"I do not see the advantage to me to give you what you want. Perhaps if you had something to barter for the in-formation, I might be willing to give it to you."
I clamped my teeth together to keep from calling him every name I could think of. "I had a valuable antiquity, but you stole that."
"Yes," he said calmly. "What else do you have?"
His gaze caressed the low neckline of my dress, where the upper slopes of my breasts swelled above it. I ground my teeth some more, the sane part of my brain not want-ing to make the bargain he was hinting at, but not seeing any other choice. We won't go into what the insane part wanted. "I have me."
The fire from the drink seeped into my blood, pooling low, in my groin. "You know, it's not so bad this time. Maybe I'm getting used … What do you mean no mortal has survived drinking it?"
He shrugged. "Just what I said."
I set the glass down carefully. (I had a notion that if it splashed over onto the table, it would eat right through the wood.) "Do you mean to tell me that you let me drink something poisonous and you didn't
bother to warn me?"
"You asked for it. It would have been rude of me to deny you what you wanted."
"Yeah? And if I asked you to help me jump off the Eif-fel Tower, would you do it?"
He did the cute head tip again. I gritted my teeth and fought the desire to grab his head and kiss him. "Are you likely to ask me to help you jump off the Eiffel Tower?"
"No, but—"
"Then it does not matter what I would do. Why have you sought me out?"
I breathed heavily through my nose for a few seconds, trying to get a grip on the anger and lust and frustration that were all mixed up inside me. "I. Want. My. Dragon. Back."
"It's not yours, though, is it? You told me you were just the courier, delivering it to Mme. Deauxville. She is the rightful owner. What right do you have to it?"
"More than you have!" I snapped. "I want it so I can return it to her family. God only knows why you want it."
He sipped at his drink. "It's pretty. I like it. It's mine now. Besides which, it is the Anima di Lucifer. I cannot relinquish it to anyone who does not appreciate its true history."
I frowned. "Thewhat of Lucifer?"
"AnimaIt's Italian. The name means the 'blood of Lu-cifer.' The aquamanile is one of three objects known as the Tools of Bael."
That could mean anything or nothing—the folks dur-ing the Mddle Ages were awfully fond of giving impres-sive, dread names to innocent objects in order to increase the perceived value of the object. I had a sudden, awful thought. "It's not… uh … a family relic, is it?"
He raised his eyebrows.
"It has green eyes, like you. I thought maybe it was a family heirloom that someone sold and… Oh, never mind." I felt stupid even saying it, noting in a distant part of my mind how far I'd come since the morning before when I had no idea that such things' as dragons really ex-isted.
Drake leaned back in his chair, his fingers rubbing along the top of his wineglass. It was a strangely erotic move that had me squirming in my chair. I took another sip of my drink, embracing the fire that roared through me.
"What do you know about dragons?"
"They're big, scaly, four-legged creatures with wings who terrorized small villages until a virgin was offered up as a sacrifice."
His grinned again. "I do miss the virgins."
I had an almost overwhelming urge to kick him.
His grin deepened, but there was something serious in his eyes, another warning. "The most important thing you should know about dragons is that they protect what is theirs. A dragon would never, under any condition, part with any of his treasure."
"Neveris an awfully uncompromising word," I said, my heart sinking. I knew it was going to be hard getting the aquamanile from Drake, but the look in his eye told me it was going to be harder than I thought.
"Not as uncompromising as I," he said, his eyes danc-ing with silent laughter.
I took a deep breath to lessen my almost overwhelm-ing desire to punch him in his obstinate but sexy jaw. "While we're on the subject of pigheaded men … drag-ons … whatever you are, let's have a little discussion about what you were doing at Mme. Deauxville's house. I know that story about you being with Interpol was a bunch of bull, so don't even bother trotting that out again."
"I was with Interpol—for a bit. They seemed to take exception to the fact that I was using their resources to or-ganize my rare-arts acquisition program." I stared a ques-tion at him. He waved it away as if it were no matter. "They couldn't prove the charges, but once you have been tarred with the brush of international thievery, it is hard to regain their trust."
"That goes without saying. Did you draw the Circle of Ashtaroth?"
"Why would I want to do that?" he asked, neatly avoiding the question. "What did the police say to you?"
I smiled. I was on to him now. He used provocative questions to distract me whenever I wanted information from him, but two could play that game. "Not much. Did you draw the circle?"
His eyes darkened. "If I did not know whether it was open or closed, is it likely I drew it? What happened to the demon that was summoned by the circle?"
I ground away a few more layers of tooth enamel over his nonanswers. "I have no idea. Despite studying a few medieval manuscripts on the subject, I'm hardly a demon expert."
"You are a Guardian, even if you are untrained. It is in your nature to control demons. Surely you could feel that one had been present on the scene?"
I remembered the feeling of dread, that something was very wrong as I approached Mrrie. Deauxville's door. "Maybe," I said, determined not to be distracted by his questions. "If you didn't draw the circle, who did?"
His gaze flickered away from me. "What makes you think I would know that?"
"Call it a hunch. Do you know who drew the circle?"
He shrugged and sipped his wine.
"Look, I know you're all hot on this big, bad, power-ful dragon kick, but this is important. The police think I killed Mme. Deauxville, but they can't hold me, because they don't have any proof that I did, and I
don't have the time to wait around until they realize that I'm not guilty. I have to figure out who did kill her so I can get my pass-port back and go home. So would you stop playing the macho games and answer my question?Please?"
"I do not see the advantage to me to give you what you want. Perhaps if you had something to barter for the in-formation, I might be willing to give it to you."
I clamped my teeth together to keep from calling him every name I could think of. "I had a valuable antiquity, but you stole that."
"Yes," he said calmly. "What else do you have?"
His gaze caressed the low neckline of my dress, where the upper slopes of my breasts swelled above it. I ground my teeth some more, the sane part of my brain not want-ing to make the bargain he was hinting at, but not seeing any other choice. We won't go into what the insane part wanted. "I have me."
