Dragon Storm
Page 27

Constantine walked on, dark thoughts tormenting him, followed by various gasps, shrieks, and muttered calls for mercy when the patrons of the area caught sight of Gary. Most of them were members of the Otherworld, but Constantine was in such a bleak place mentally and emotionally, he had little empathy to spare the mortals who had no idea that such things as a sentient head existed.
Or rather, he told himself, it was because he had nothing but concern for the mortals that he could spare no time in hiding Gary from them.
“Criminy beans!” Bee burst out as she reached him, panting slightly, and grabbed his sleeve so that he faced her. Her eyes, a bright shade of gray-moss in the Paris sun, were full of questions. “What is wrong with you? Why are you letting everyone see Gary? And more important, why did you leave? Is something the matter? I know you’re pissed because Kostya keeps harping at you about some old history—”
“No,” he said simply, and lifted her hand from his sleeve. He looked at her fingers for a moment, then bent slightly and pressed his lips to them before dropping her hand and continuing down the street.
“Ooooh,” Gary said, blowing a low whistle. “She doesn’t like that, Connie. I think she’s swearing. Whoops, here she comes. Act casual.”
“Now you just listen here, Mr. Bigshot Dragon!” Bee grabbed Constantine’s arm again and dug in her heels. Behind her, a woman stepped out of a small shop, and fell over with a squawk at the sight of Gary. “I don’t know what bee got in your butt—and by bee, I don’t mean me, because that would be just really unacceptable, not that your butt isn’t nice-looking and all—never mind, not going there. I don’t know what has upset you to the point where you just say the word ‘No!’ and then stomp off, but I do know that it’s not going to fly. What is wrong?”
Constantine thought about simply walking away from her, but there was something in her eyes that kept him in place. She tried hard to give the impression that she disliked him, but he had seen the softness in her face when she looked at the scars on his chest, and felt the heat of her mouth as it welcomed his. True, she said later she hadn’t been welcoming him, but he had a feeling he could change her mind on that point. The idea that he might do such a thing was startling in itself; although he told himself that his heart would ever be true to Ysolde, he had to admit that his body hadn’t any such conviction.
The sound of screeching metal, followed by a screams, a car horn, and ultimately, cursing, drove him into looking around for a safe haven. He spied a shop that looked likely and hustled Bee into it.
A middle-aged woman looked up from a long wooden counter. At her feet, an elderly Welsh corgi slept, snoring slightly. “Bonjour,” the woman said.
“Good day.” Constantine set Gary on the counter. The air inside the shop was slightly scented with elements of decades past, tiny little motes dancing in the sun that streamed through the window. “Would you watch Gary for a few minutes? He is causing a disturbance on the street. I can pay you.”
The woman blinked, her eyes widening at the sight of the battered cage and its contents.
“Bonjour!” Gary chirped, looking around with interest. “Oooh, are you an apothecary? How exciting! I’ve always loved visiting them, although as a knocker, I never got to cast spells or do anything that needed to use the things you carry. Hello, doggy! What’s his name?”
“Her name is Cecile,” the woman said, giving Constantine a thoughtful look. “It is not often that I have dragons visit. You are not a member of the green sept, I believe?”
“No. I am Constantine, wyvern of the silver dragons,” he answered with a bow.
“Formerly the wyvern. Now he’s a big pain in the ass,” Bee said, giving him a scowl that he supposed was meant to intimidate. “I’m Bee Dakar, by the way. I think we met some time ago at a party the Venediger gave—your name is Emily?”
“Amalie,” the woman corrected, and with her mouth half pursed, waved to a corner where a couple of well-worn armchairs sat around a small round table. “You do not need to pay me to watch your… friend. Cecile and I will be happy to keep him company if you wish to sit in the reading corner.”
“Awesome!” Gary beamed at her. “My name is Gary, as Constantine said. Well, it’s Gareth, really, but no one seems to remember that, and all the demons call me Gary…”
Constantine took Bee’s arm and escorted her to the secluded section of the shop. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases that contained few books, but a vast quantity of old-fashioned glass jars of all shapes and sizes. Each bore a label with enticing names like cat’s tongues, lilywort, and virgin’s blood. Outside, the sounds of the city were muffled and distant, giving Constantine the feeling of seclusion.
“If only it would last,” he muttered to himself.
“If what would last?”
“Sanity.” He held on to the back of the nearest chair, being prepared to do the gentlemanly thing and seat her first (Georgette Heyer was very strong on male characters following such standards), which is why he was so surprised when, rather than sitting as he expected, Bee leaned into him and lightly pressed her lips to his.
“Was that supposed to be a kiss?” he asked when she pulled back.
The self-satisfied look on her face faded to one of annoyance. “It was very much a kiss, yes. It was supposed to be a comforting gesture since you are obviously distressed about something, but now I take it back. Oafs like you don’t need comforting!”
“I am a wyvern, not an oaf. And wyverns enjoy being kissed, but only when it’s done properly.”
Bee opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, clearly outraged. “My kiss was just fine!”
“It wasn’t. It was a mere pressing of lips. There was no passion, no heat, no teasing of the mouth, no whispered promises of pleasure, no hint of the sweet joy that lies within. And then there was the way you leaned forward to do it, ensuring that no other part of your body touched mine. A kiss is more involved—”
“Criminy beans, don’t you ever shut up?”
“I assumed you wished to know what elements of your kiss were lacking—”
Bee swore and grabbed Constantine’s head with both hands, pulling him forward even as she lunged against him, her belly pressed against his, her hips cradling him in way that would ensure he’d walk funny for at least a half hour. Her mouth took possession of his, a startling change of role that at first shocked him, and then immediately switched to approval when her tongue twined around his. He allowed her to taste him, to tease his tongue and lips, his hands sliding down her back until he held her bottom, pulling her even tighter.