saying something about him being held prisoner. But who are those dragons? What sept do they belong to?”
“None. They are ouroboros. Come, mate, we have tarried too long. The wyverns are waiting for us.”
The word “ouroboros” rang in my head like a bell. “I really want to see this, Baltic. I think it’s important somehow.”
“It is not.”
“How do you know that?” A sudden horrible thought occurred to me. “By the saints! Are these your dragons? Was it you who had Kostya imprisoned? It was, wasn’t it? You couldn’t kill him outright because of your past relationship, but you wanted him out of the way, so you had him locked up in his own hidey-hole?”
“I am not responsible for this, no,” he said, his lips thinning.
I avoided his hold and moved closer to the group of dragons. “Then you know who did.”
“—how long we’ll have to stay here?” one of the men was asking the obvious leader. “It’s bloody cold.”
“We’ll stay as long as we have to. You might as well see if there’s any food. The chief will be here at any moment, and I’d like to be able to tell her that all is taken care of.”
“Her? Her who?” I asked no one in particular.
Baltic looked bored and didn’t answer.
“Still say it’s wrong to let her call the shots,” one of the three dragons said in a languid Southern U.S. drawl. “Not like she’s even really one of us.”
“Don’t be such a snob. Her father was high up in the sept, and is said to have had the ear of the wyvern.”
The man snorted. “Red dragons. All they want is to war.”
“Which works to our benefit,” the leader said, cocking his head as if he was listening to something.
“Who are they talking about?” I asked Baltic, a suspicion arising that I hesitated to name.
His expression was shuttered. “Do you wish to stand here all day, or do you want for us to speak with the wyverns?”
“Typical nonanswer, dragon. Who—oh!”
A man appeared out of nothing, seemingly walking through the wall straight into the gathering. I gawked at him, taking in clothing that appeared to be from the turn of the twentieth century, as well as his less than solid form.
“Is that a ghost?” I asked Baltic in a whisper as the figure drifted over to the group.
He sighed. “Mate, we must leave now.”
“Is it?”
“Of a form. It is a shade. Your time is up, Ysolde. End this vision.”
“My mistress comes,” the ghostly man informed the others, and over the howl of the wind beating against the stone of the building, I could hear the growing sound of a helicopter approaching.
“I am leaving now,” Baltic informed me, dropping my hand, which he had grabbed in a futile attempt to pull me away with him. “Either come with me or do not, but do not expect me to agree to another meeting with the wyverns.”
“Just a second, I want to see—Baltic!” I started after him as he strode away into the dimness of a corridor that led off from the lobby. I glanced over my shoulder and said, “I want to see who’s arriving. You know, don’t you? You know who was behind Kostya’s capture? And who these dragons are?”
“They are ouroboros,” he repeated, pausing to let me catch up to him.
“I wonder if they’re the same group as the one I’m looking for.”
“You are not to look for ouroboros dragons,” he informed me in a haughty tone that he had to know would just irritate me.
“Oh, I’m not? And why is that?”
“They are lawless murderers, dangerous, and without any regard for life, be it that of dragons or mortals. They are the single biggest danger to the mortals you care so much about.” He opened a thick metal door and shoved me outside into a sunny but windy snowscape. Immediately the world shifted, and I found myself strolling into the dim coolness of a house that wrapped me in such a familiar embrace, I wanted to sink to my knees and cry with the injustices of life.
“There you are. I was about to go look in the shadow world for you. Is everything all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Ysolde.”
“I have.” I blinked a few times to clear my still-fuzzy vision, it finally resolving itself into the sight of May’s concerned face peering at me. “I’m sorry. We were sucked into a vision in . . .”
The words trailed away at the sight of Kostya emerging from a side room.
“I’ll tell you later,” I finished in an undertone.
May’s eyebrows rose as Gabriel, who had been using his cell phone, hung up and strolled over to us. “Drake and Aisling have been detained, but they are only a few minutes away. Greetings, Ysolde.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Baltic.”
“I’m sorry, it seems this house is just vision-central for me,” I said, smiling at Gabriel. “Thank you for coming. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time, but we appreciate it. Don’t we, Baltic?”
“Not in the least,” he said pleasantly, but I could tell his hackles were up by the way he watched Kostya.
Gabriel relaxed at that, his dimples showing as he wrapped an arm around May. “It is good to know that you are running true to form, Baltic. I wouldn’t know what to think should you be anything but hostile and surly.”
“You are welcome to my house, Ysolde,” Kostya said, his intentions clear as he greeted me, taking my hands in his and kissing them before turning to Baltic. “I wish I could say the same for your mate.”
“Sins of the saints, Kostya,” I said, socking him on the arm. “Do you have to bait Baltic every time?”
“No, but it relieves my spleen if I do.”
I glared at him until he snapped. “Very well. Your mate is welcome here as well.”
I smiled and put a restraining hand on Baltic’s arm, which was tense, as if his muscles were poised for attack. “Thank you. We appreciate it, despite the fact that this is really our house.”
“Is it?” He gave a little smirk. “I believe it is held by the wyvern of the black dragons, and that is me.”
“Only so long as I allow you to remain so,” Baltic growled.
Kostya’s eyes narrowed, a little smoke emerging from his nose. “Do you wish to challenge me for the sept?”
“I do not need to. If I wanted it, I would take it,” Baltic answered.
“Oh, lord, please tell me I don’t have to let you two boys break each other’s noses again,” I said, sighing heavily.
Both men turned identical glares on me. “Boys!” Kostya snorted. “We are wyverns!”
“That may be, but you’re acting like twits dancing around each other with your hackles up.”
“Twit!” Baltic repeated, outraged.
“Hackles! We do not have hackles!” Kostya said, just as outraged. “Dogs have hackles. Dragons do not!”
“Then stop acting like you do,” I told him with a look that I reserve for Brom at his most fractious. I turned to Baltic, giving his arm another squeeze. “And you can cease muttering rude things under your breath. We can all hear them, and even though they’re in Zilant, I can tell what it is you’re saying.”
He shot me another outraged look, but stopped swearing to himself.
Kostya’s expression turned martyred. “You are far too outspoken for your own good, Ysolde, but it does not surprise me. It will be a cold day in Abaddon before I ever meet a mate who displays the respect proper to wyverns.”
I looked at Baltic, expecting him to take offense at Kostya’s speaking to me that way, but he said nothing, just glared. I threw my own good intentions to the wind. “Are you going to let him get away with that?”
“With speaking the truth?” He shrugged. “I have not seen the red wyvern’s mate in centuries, but from what I remember of him, he was the only mate who knew how to behave.”
“And speaking of errant mates, where’s Cyrene?” May cut in as I was about to argue the point with Baltic.
Kostya, who had been matching Baltic’s glare with one of his own, transferred it to May. “That is a very good question. You would have to ask her that for an answer, however, since she has apparently left.”
