Dragon's Oath

“I do! I give you my word on it,” she said.

Bryan glanced quickly at her and Anastasia felt a strange jolt of recognition in that look. Then the fledgling blinked and said, “You had better be right.”

Anastasia had to press her lips together to keep from shouting at him: The grown-up version of you wouldn’t have said that!

She doubted he would have heard her shout. He’d already turned his entire attention back to the bear.

The big creature towered over the boy, but Bryan simply reached down, grabbed the candle nearest to him from the altar, and held it up before him. The flame of the red candle blazed like a torch. “Ha! Go!” he shouted in a voice that held more command than she would have expected from someone who wasn’t even a vampyre. Yet. “Get out of here! Go on! This whole thing was an accident; the priestess didn’t mean to draw you.”

The bear flinched back from the brilliance of the candle, huffing and growling. Bryan moved a step forward. “I said go!”

With a huge sense of relief, Anastasia watched the beast drop to all fours and, with one last huff at the fledgling, trot sedately away toward the river. Acting purely on instinct, she got to her feet and rushed toward Bryan.

“Okay, you’re all right; you are safe, now. Everything is under control—,” he was saying as she ignored him and took the still-flaming red candle from his hand.

“Don’t break the circle. This spell has too much power to waste,” she said sternly. She didn’t look at him— she didn’t want to be distracted. Instead Anastasia covered the flame with a protective hand and carefully placed the candle back in its place at the easternmost position on the altar, before she turned to face Bryan Lankford.

His hair was blond, long and thick and tied back, which made her remember the older Bryan’s hair, which had also been the same light color, long and thick, but had fallen free around his shoulders, framing his kind face. Had it been just a little gray at his temples? Somehow she couldn’t remember, though she could remember the exact color of his beautiful brown eyes.

“What is it? I didn’t break your circle. The candle never went out. See, it’s back right where it was before.”

Anastasia realized she’d been staring at him without speaking. He must think I’m completely daft. She opened her mouth to say something that would explain a little of the strangeness of the night, and then she really looked at him, the young Bryan before her. He had salt scattered all over his face—crystals of it were caught in his eyebrows, and his hair was covered with bits of bay leaves and cedar needles. Her sudden giggle surprised them both.

His brows went up. “I risk my life to save you from a wild creature and you laugh at me?”

He was trying to sound stern and offended, but Anastasia could see the sparkle of humor in those brown eyes.

“You’re wearing my spellwork, and, yes, that makes you look funny.” It also made him look boyish and quite handsome, but she kept that part to herself. Or at least she thought she’d kept that part to herself. As the two of them stood there, staring at each other, the sparkle in Bryan’s eyes seemed to become knowing. When his lips began tilting up, Anastasia’s stomach gave a strange little lurch, and she quickly added, “Although I shouldn’t laugh, no matter how funny you look. My spellwork all over you means I’m going to have to remake the entire mixture.”

“Then you shouldn’t have thrown it on me,” he said with an arrogant flip of his head.

Anastasia’s amusement began to fade. “I didn’t throw it on you. The wind blew it into your face when I fell because you shoved me.”

“Really?” He held up a finger, as if testing the direction of the breeze. “What wind?”

Anastasia’s frown deepened. “It must have blown itself out, or maybe it has calmed because of the interruption of my spell.”

“And I didn’t shove you,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I moved you behind me so that I could protect you.”

“I didn’t need you to protect me. The bear was an accident. It was confused, not dangerous. I was casting a drawing spell, and somehow the bear got caught by it,” she explained.

“So, it was a drawing spell.” The irritation that had begun to creep into his voice vanished, to be replaced by an arrogant chuckle and another knowing look. “That is why you called my name. You want me.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Dragon grinned as he watched the young priestess’s face flush a lovely shade of pink.

“You have mistaken my intent,” she said

“You said it yourself—you were casting a drawing spell. I heard you speak my name. Obviously, you were drawing me.” He paused, thinking that it all made sense now. “No wonder I left Shaw and the rest of the Warriors and walked home by myself from the docks. I thought it was because of Biddle. He’d watched me before I left for the Vampyre Games, so I already knew he didn’t like me, but tonight his stare was so hard, so strange, that I supposed it’d made me feel odd, almost as if I couldn’t breathe, and I needed to be out here, where there was air and space and–” He broke off, laughing a little and giving her the beginnings of his famous smile. “But, no matter. The truth is I am here because you desire me.” He rubbed his chin, considering. “We haven’t met. I would remember such beauty. Was it my reputation for prowess with the sword that has piqued your interest, or was it a more personal kind of prowess that–”

“Bryan, I don’t desire you!”

“Call me Dragon,” he said automatically, and then continued. “Of course you do. You just admitted your drawing spell. You need not be embarrassed. I’m flattered. Really.”

“Dragon,” she said in a way that he thought verged on sarcasm. “I am embarrassed, but not because of you. I’m embarrassed for you.”

“You aren’t making any sense.” He wondered briefly if she’d hit her head when she’d fallen.

The priestess drew a deep breath and let it out in an exasperated sigh. Then she offered her hand and forearm to him, saying, “Merry meet, Bryan Dragon Lankford. I am Professor Anastasia, the new priestess of spells and rituals at the Tower Grove House of Night.”

“Merry meet, Anastasia,” he said, gripping her bare forearm, which was soft and warm to his touch.

“Professor Anastasia,” she corrected him. Too soon, she released her grip on him and said, “You weren’t meant to know about this spell.”

“Because you don’t want anyone to know you want me?” Including me, he added silently to himself.

“No. The spell has nothing to do with wanting you. It’s the opposite, actually,” she said. And then in a voice that sounded as if she was lecturing a classroom of fledglings, she continued. “This is going to sound unkind, but the truth is I am here to cast what amounts to an anti–Dragon Lankford spell.”

Her words took him aback. “Have I somehow done something to offend you? You do not even know me. How could you dislike me?”

“It isn’t that I dislike you!” she said quickly, almost as if she was trying to cover something up. “Here is the truth of the matter: in the fortnight I have been teaching at Tower Grove House of Night fifteen fledglings have come to me to ask for love spells with which to bespell you.”

Dragon’s eyes widened. “Fifteen? Really?” He paused and took a quick mental count. “I can only think of ten girls who would want to bespell me.”

The professor didn’t look at all amused. “I would say you underestimate yourself, but I do not think that is possible. So I’ll just assume you are better at swordplay than addition. Be that as it may, I came out here tonight