Dragon Soul
Page 64

“What about your arm?” I said, doing a little dance of frustration when a spasm caused his lips to tighten.
“Gabriel said all dragons can heal themselves,” he said slowly, taking another couple of deep breaths. “Although the silver dragons are evidently the best at it. He said it’s just a matter of focusing on the hurt part.”
“Do it,” I said, putting my hands on his non-injured arm as if that would help him heal. “Just go to your calm place, and then focus on your arm.”
He stared sightlessly into the distance, his breath evening out, and after a few minutes of silence, the blisters began to sink back into his flesh and disappear. I watched in amazement as the redness and welts also faded away. Five minutes after he started, he waggled his fingers and sighed in relief. “Well, that’s a handy skill to have. I wish I’d known how to do that before. I once had an insect bite on my calf turn septic, and I spent a week in a Sao Paulo hospital before I could walk again.”
I gently took his injured hand, turning it over to make sure there wasn’t any residual burning or scarring, but it was just as hale and hearty as before he stuck his hand in the fire. “I’m going to be sure to send a thank-you note to the First Dragon just as soon as we get back to the normal world. But the question remains—how are we going to get back there? And just where is everyone else? Why aren’t they stuck out here with us?”
“Only one person on the boat has to successfully complete the challenges,” he said, eyeing the shore on the opposite side. “I suspect the rest of the passengers are quite content to let us do all the work.”
“That’s well and fine, but unless you’ve got a couple of asbestos blankets hidden on your person, I don’t see how we’re going to beat this one.”
He looked thoughtful. “Why would Mrs. P want a dragon for this job if the fire was going to be harmful to us?”
“I don’t know.” I was silent for a moment as I mulled that over. “It must be because we can do something no one else can do. Change into a scaly beast?”
“Possibly. What are dragons known for?”
“Love of gold,” I said, ticking the items off on my fingers. “Breathing fire. An interest in virgins.”
One side of Rowan’s mouth quirked upward. “Give me a lusty brunette widow any day.”
“You get an extra fondle on your noogies for that. Later, that is.” I bit my lower lip as I continued to dredge through my memory. “You can heal yourself, but there’s no way you can walk through that fire, let alone me do the same.”
“Fire,” he said thoughtfully, and with a face filled with concentration, set his hand on fire.
“That’s your fire,” I said, clicking my tongue at my inanity. “Sorry for being Captain Obvious, but that’s not the same fire as what’s all around us.”
“No, but this fire doesn’t hurt us. And it’s what dragonkin are known for, right? So perhaps this is the answer.”
“You’re going to try burning the fire in the lake with dragon fire?” I asked, confused.
“No. I’m going to use my fire as an asbestos blanket.” He took a deep breath and flashed me a smile. “Ready?”
“For what—Rowan!” I screeched, and tried to grab his arm when he plunged it back into the fire. This time he didn’t yelp and he didn’t pull his arm out instantly. He swished it around a few times, then stood up straight and held the arm out for me to examine.
It was uninjured.
I stared at it for a few minutes, then looked into his eyes. Quiet triumph was there, tinged with some well-deserved pride. “You’re a genius. Except… can you cover your lower half with fire?”
His brows pulled together in concentration. Fire sprang up at his feet, spreading upward over his knees, and continuing to spiral up to his waist. He let it get as high as his stomach, then looked at me speculatively. “Can you do this?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried. The best I’ve done is the ball I had to splash repeatedly on your neck.” I closed my eyes and tried to find a place in my head that would allow me to access Rowan’s fire.
Three tiny little lemon-sized balls formed in my hands. I tried to smear them on my bare legs, but they just went out.
“That answers that question.” Rowan looked out at the shore. “We’re just going to have to risk it.”
“Risk what? You carrying me?”
He nodded. “Actually, I’m going to put you up on my shoulders. Just pretend you’re a small child trying to see over the heads of others.”
“You’re kidding,” I said, looking from his shoulders to the fiery inferno all around us. “I’ll crush you into the fire and then we’ll both burn to death. And I won’t be able to heal up. Not that, obviously, you can heal yourself from death. At least I don’t think you can. Can you?”
He laughed, and kissed me so swiftly I wasn’t able to respond before it was over. “I appreciate you thinking I can conquer death, but no, I’m certain that even wyverns can’t do that. We are both immortal now; according to Gabriel, you became so the second you accepted either your husband as your mate—assuming you had time enough to do that—or accepted me. And since I know you did the latter, you, my adorable half-naked nymph, are practically immortal.”
“But we can both still be killed, right?”
“Yes. It just takes a lot more to accomplish that.”
I gestured to the fire. “Seems to me that would do it.”
His smile faded. “It would if we didn’t have my fire. Ready?”
“Not even remotely,” I said, shaking my head and backing up the one step that was all the available landscape.
“I won’t let you get hurt,” he promised. I smiled a little to myself—that was most definitely the wyvern talking. The question was, did I trust his newfound wyvern abilities to handle this seemingly impossible position?
“All right, but if you drop me and I die horribly in the fire, I’m going to haunt you ’til the end of your days.”
“I should hope so. Up you go.”
It took a bit of time to get me hoisted up onto his shoulders, and then my balance was so wobbly I had to clutch his head.
“Sophea, I can’t see if you’re going to cover my eyes like that,” he pointed out.