Chapter 14
The lights flashed with less of an erratic frenzy as long as he played the music. His precious little beast responded best to the sweetness of violins. The constant streaming of string music seemed to lessen the creature’s growing hysteria.
Sloan leaned forward and rested his fingertips on the warm, pebbled surface of the egg.
He wished for the hundredth time that he had been born with the powers of a Guardian.
Untold power and access to endless riches lay coiled right beneath his fingertips, and yet he could not get at it.
Blast the rules of Draecna magic and their ridiculous, tenuous existence.
He ground his teeth together as the hatchling shifted positions within the egg, its scales making a muffled shushing as they brushed against the shell.
“If you were not so damned particular, I could call you forth rather than wait for some weak human from the other side.”
A grunt at the doorway interrupted his brooding conversation and triggered an immediate flash of fury. Who dared interrupt him in his private chambers? Mia was not due back from Taroc Na Mor, and all the other servants knew better than to bother him unless summoned.
“This better be good!” he bellowed. With his hands curled on either side of the egg, he scowled at the doorway, waiting to see who was stupid enough to put their own neck in a noose.
As the figure hitched out of the shadowy hallway, he relaxed back into the depths of his sumptuous wingback chair.
“Ah, it is you, my friend. I had not expected to see you this evening. I thought you returned to the caverns.” Sloan impatiently drummed his nails on the desk.
In fact, he had not expected to see the dark one unless he summoned him for another assignment.
The lone soul remained silent, pointed at the egg resting in the center of Sloan’s oval desk, then pointed back at Sloan.
“Yes, I appreciate your getting me the egg and I paid you well for your troubles. You do recall, yes?” He pushed back from the desk. He studied his guest and controlled his voice. By the infernal fires, he wasn’t in the mood to be patient this evening.
His visitor reached over, tapped once on the egg, then tilted his head and looked up at Sloan with an expectant frown.
Sloan’s irritation flared. His well-paid thief had served his purpose.
It was time for him to disappear into the mountains of Erastaed until summoned again.
If not for the fact he might need him in the future, he would dispose of the oaf in a more permanent manner.
He was a secret weapon that could still prove useful especially the way things were going on the other side.
Resting his hands on the wide arms of his chair, he dug his nails into the rich leather as he attempted to rein in his anger.
“The egg will not hatch without the touch of the Guardian. Our little Mia is there for a visit now. Then our little hatchling can be born and a new dawn of the Draecna race can begin. You must be patient, my friend.”
A growling laugh rumbled up from the belly of the guest and echoed off the mirrored walls until the crystals in the chandelier tinkled overhead. Then he turned, shuffled out of the room, and closed the door behind him.
“I believe that one is more insane than I am,” Sloan informed the egg.
“Ye had her that close and ye nay did a thing about it? I am so disappointed in ye. Ye ken ye were once my hero, aye? Now who shall I look up to when it comes to bedding the lasses?” Gearlach released a long-suffering moan into his tankard, then drained it.
Banging the vessel on the table, he threw back his head and sent a woeful howl up to the blackened beams of the high-ceilinged kitchen.
Septamus reached across the table, picked up the keg, and slid it out of Gearlach’s reach.
“No more for you. Five hundred years old, and you still weep in your cups after only six kegs of ale. What in Hades is wrong with you? You shame us, Gearlach. A Draecna who cannot properly hold his grog until the sun rises above the horizon!”
Taggart slumped forward with his chin propped in one hand and his tankard clenched in the other.
They were right. He had her so close. And then his self-destructive sense of gallantry had kicked in.
Now here he sat in a steamy kitchen with two half-sotted Draecna and an aching cock sorely in need of relief.
“I had to show her the truth,” he said. “I couldna join with her before she knew me for what I truly am.” He drained his cup and threw it across the table.
Merlin’s bones, he was so tired of diving into the frigid sea.
He might as well be a feckin’ sea monster.
He spent so much time swimming to cool his lusts.
Septamus nodded while drumming his claws on the table in time with his words.
“You did what was right. There would have been Hades to pay if you had taken the lass and then revealed yourself. But tell me something. . . .” His eye slits flexed as he frowned at Taggart over the top of his cup.
“Once she didn’t run screaming, why in Merlin’s name did you not take her once you reached the caves? ”
A tortured moan escaped Taggart as he buried his face in his arms. “The moment had passed. She asked me so many blasted questions about how I came to be. The magic of the kiss left us.” He had always had terrible timing with females of this world and those of Erastaed.
Such complicated creatures, they were. Draecna had it easy.
A Draecna mate never became an issue. Genetically matched at birth, nothing was left to chance.
Unless, of course, they were unwise enough to wander from tradition as his mother had done with his father.
“This is so verra sad,” Gearlach said. He blubbered like a new hatchling and propped his snout on the edge of the table.
With a jerk of his head in Gearlach’s direction, Septamus rolled his eyes. “Did you have to lift his silencing spell?”
“I couldna verra well leave him silent forever.” Taggart gave a defeated shrug. He might as well let Gearlach speak. After all, sweet Hannah was probably finished talking to him.
“I refuse to understand why not.” Septamus nudged the snoring Gearlach with his tail, shoving him farther down the bench.
“Well, ye better sober up because she is on her way down here and wants to see ye, Taggart.” Thaetus banged a wooden spoon on a copper pot as he burst into the room.
“Coming down here?” Taggart jumped up from his seat. Sheer panic exploded through the numbing effect of the grog. What in the goddess’s name could she be coming down here for? Why did she wish to see him?
“Gearlach! For Hades’ sake! Wake up you drunken oaf!” Septamus whacked the snoring Draecna with his tail and sent him tumbling in to the floor. Pottery rattled in the cupboards as weighty Gearlach crashed hard onto the marble tiles.
“All of ye, out. Out of here, now!” Taggart pounded on the table and pointed toward the rear kitchen door leading to the outer pantries.
“We are trying! This one is shamefully sotted and it is doubtful he’ll wake until late tomorrow afternoon.
If then!” With a jerk of his head, Septamus hooked a claw around one of Gearlach’s horns and started dragging him toward the door.
“Grab the lumbering ox’s tail, Thaetus. You can help me wedge his girth through that door. ”
Taggart surged forward. “Here, move out of the way, Thaetus. Ye will throw out yer back again.” Edging past the wiry Scot that was currently straining so hard he had turned a shade of purple, he grabbed Gearlach’s meaty hind legs at the bend of his leathery knees.
Gads, the beast weighed a bloody ton. Gearlach must’ve already packed on his winter weight.
“Now, Septamus, lift him now. Thaetus, get the feckin’ door. ”
Thaetus scurried around the table in front of Septamus and swung the door open wide while they shoved the snoring Draecna across the tiles.
Once the inert mass of Gearlach crossed the threshold, Taggart slammed the door, then smoothed his hair back from his face.
As he wiped his sweaty chin against his shoulder, he cringed and wrinkled his nose.
By the fires of all of Erastaed, he reeked of ale, and much worse.
He would surely repulse the lass before she entered the room.
In a panic, he glanced around the ancient kitchen.
The indoor spa built into the side of the room was his only hope.
He couldn’t greet her smelling like a Highland goat.
With a clap of his hands, he lit the fires beneath the stone spa entrenched along the wall.
He ran to the door, pressed an ear to the wood, and listened for the sound of footsteps.
Good. Only silence. For now. With any luck, he would finish bathing before she came down from her rooms. Now that the ale had worn off, he couldn’t even stand his own stench.