Me and My Shadow
Page 61

Cyrene was panting with emotion, her eyes blazing as she shoved him in the chest a third time.
Kostya stared down at her with a black expression for about half a second; then with a growled profanity, he grabbed her, pulling her up against his chest as he kissed the living daylights out of her. That lasted for about five seconds before Kostya yelped, lifting his head with surprise. There was blood on his lip.
“Pig-dog!” Cyrene snarled at him.
“Insane watery tart,” he spat back.
They stared at each other for another few seconds; then this time, Cyrene flung herself at his head and locked her mouth over his.
“Well,” I said, clearing my throat, but couldn’t think of anything to say.
The two models looked at each other in stunned surprise for a moment. Then both narrowed their eyes and glared at the back of Cyrene’s head. Kostya hoisted her up, his hands on her behind, as he continued to kiss her, Cyrene making happy little moaning noises as she wrapped her legs around his hips.
“I’m so glad Jim isn’t here to see this,” I said to Gabriel.
He chuckled before his expression turned serious again as Chuan Ren entered the room, followed by two red dragons. One I recognized as her handsome son, Jian; the other was a man I hadn’t seen before.
Chuan Ren was not my favorite dragon. Outwardly she resembled a tall, elegant Chinese doll, all porcelain skin and long silky black hair, but she was meaner than Magoth, and twice as deadly. She looked around the room with dark brown eyes with deep red lights, her gaze pausing for a moment on the sight of Kostya and Cyrene locked in a kiss.
“Where is Fiat?” she asked after giving them a look filled with scorn and disgust.
“He will be here when the sárkány is called to order,” Drake said placidly.
“You will hand him over to me now,” Chuan Ren demanded in her officious manner. “You agreed I could punish him for the attempt to take over my sept.”
“Chuan Ren. You have met my mate, May, I believe?” Gabriel interrupted her, pulling me forward as he approached her.
She spared me only a harsh glance before turning her attention on him. “I have acknowledged her as such, yes.”
Gabriel waited a moment.
She made an annoyed sound and gestured sharply to her two companions. “I present to the silver mate my mate, Li, and son, Jian.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I told the man who was her mate. He smiled, and bowed, as did Jian.
“I am glad to see you in good health,” the latter said, taking my hand to press a kiss to the back of it. “We owe you much in returning Chuan Ren to us.”
“Ever the diplomat,” she said in a contemptuous tone to her son.
I wasn’t surprised. Chuan Ren seemed to feel force was the only way to achieve a goal.
“You are in command of the red dragons again?” Gabriel asked her.
“Did you doubt I would take control the second I was released from Abaddon?”
He smiled. “I knew you would not tolerate another ruling the red sept, but you said you had not found him to challenge him. He returned to England while we were hunting for him in Europe. How, then, did you challenge him for control?”
Her eyes narrowed on him. “I do not need the stupidity of a challenge to take control of what is mine,” she said in a low, mean voice. “The red dragons belong to me and no other.”
“What did I miss? I heard yelling,” Aisling said as she rushed into the room, Jim at her heels. She came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Kostya and Cyrene, still engaged in a kiss. “Good god.”
“Fires of Abaddon,” Jim said, goggling. “He’s gonna boink her right there!”
“Quiet, demon,” Aisling ordered absently, blinking at the sight of the two lovers.
Drake was immediately at her side, gently pulling her over to a chair. “Kincsem, I said I would fetch you when it was time. You are early. You will tire yourself.”
“Stop fussing,” she said, but there was love in her eyes as she kissed his cheek when he bent over her. “I’m fine. What’s happened other than Cyrene and Kostya checking each other’s fillings?”
“It would appear that Chuan Ren hasn’t formally taken over control of her sept yet,” I said, watching the red wyvern.
Her lip curled at me. “Gabriel, tell your mate I will not repeat myself to her. I am the red wyvern. Nothing that puling little turd Fiat can do will change that, as you will see if you will have him brought to me so I may torture him as he deserves.”
“Excellent! I thought we might be late, but we’re just in time for the torture,” Magoth said, flinging open the door. He was dressed in his usual pair of black leather pants, with a black shirt open to his navel, his favorite bullwhip wrapped around his waist. Next to him was the sultry-eyed Catalina, listing somewhat to the side as if she couldn’t stand up straight.
“Mother?” Drake took a few steps forward, frowning first at his mother, then at Magoth. “What has happened to you?”
Magoth leered. “We had a very interesting night. Your mother is most . . . inventive . . . in her ideas of pleasure.”
Catalina’s hair was mussed, her clothing wrinkled, her mouth red and swollen, and her eyes looked a bit vague, as if she’d been through a particularly strenuous orgy. “Inventive,” Catalina agreed, her expression dazed.
Drake swore under his breath as he tidied her blouse to cover a breast that was almost exposed. “I expected better of you, Mother. You look like a loose woman.”
“Loose.” She weaved at him, looking like she might fall over.
Magoth grabbed her quickly and propped her up against the doorframe, rubbing his hands as he entered the room. “What sort of torture are you having at this dragon gathering, hmm? I’m happy to act as consultant as to what is the best for large-group participation.”
“No one will be tortured at the sárkány,” Drake said, gesturing toward his mother. Immediately Pál and István, who had been standing at the other end of the room, moved to her side and started to take her out.
The word “torture” seemed to bring her around.
“Release me,” she said, shaking her head as if to clear it. “I can walk.” She gave both dragons a haughty look before straightening her shoulders, lifting her chin, and sailing into the room with a pale imitation of her normal aplomb.