Dragon Moon (37 page)

I shake my head as I continue to build distance between me and the two dragons. Why hadn't I thought of that and used it before? The picture on the box had shown a fire-breathing dragon. The Zal could do such things. It only makes sense that I can too.

If not for my pains and aches, I'd roar out in celebration. But hunger returns again and exhaustion and I begin to understand Father's and Chloe's warnings about the potion. As large and powerful as I've become, my body can't seem to cope with such rapid growth. Worse, I can't do anything to stop my heart from growing. Only the antidote can do that and it's in the bushes by the dock on my island.

Suddenly my conflict with Charles and Derek becomes less worrisome to me than my body's capacity to fail me.
“Charles,”
I say.
“You're right. It's time to end it.”
I whirl in midair and race back to confront both him and his son.

 

Lightning crackles through the sky, bolt after bolt of it. Thunder shakes the night — the wind gusting, shooting bullets of rain as I race through the storm. I see Derek and Charles in the brief flashes of light well before they're aware of me. They're both too intent on scanning from side to side, searching the sky above and below them, trying to anticipate a sneak attack, to notice my frontal approach.

I zoom straight at them on a collision course, almost laugh when they finally see me, both flaring their wings and attempting to peel off, one to each side. But I'm already too close. I open my mouth and release a burst of flame. The blaze engulfs them, sears their skin, evaporates the rain near them, surrounds them with steam.

Both creatures yowl and contort their bodies, but somehow they continue to fly. I bellow fire at them again and they fall from the sky like moths who've come to close to the flame.

Spiraling down after them, I mindspeak,
“Charles, Derek, can you swim?”

Neither answers.

I skim over the roiled sea.
“Charles? Derek?”

Nothing again.

Circling over wave after wave, I search for them.
“Damn it,”
I say.
“I promised Chloe I wouldn't kill you.”

I find Derek first, floating, his scales no longer green but bright red, like a lobster fresh from a boiling pot of water. As I descend to rescue him, I see Charles, just as red, only a few yards away.

Landing by Derek, I grab him by a scalded foreclaw — to pull him with me toward Charles. He moans as soon as I touch him, mindspeaks,
“Leave me be. I hurt too much. Let me go.”

“The hell I will.”
I tug him through the water, grab Charles too.

He lets out a yowl.
“Boy, you beat us. Let us die in peace.”

In truth, I've barely the energy to take myself back to the island. My breath comes in rapid gasps. My heart has begun to break rhythm at alarming intervals. I shake my head.

I shake my head again.
“I can't fly with you, but I think I can swim with you.”

“I know,”
I say as we come to the top of a wave. I look around, searching for the light that I think should be near. A glint of its flash shows through the rain and the light repeats itself ten seconds later. I begin to swim toward it, tugging each creature along with me.
“But we're not too far from the Fowey Rocks Lighthouse.”

For every ten yards of progress I make, the pounding waves push me back six. I swim on my back, ignoring the rain, the whipping wind, stroking the water with my wings, sculling with my tail, holding Derek with one claw, Charles with another. Neither of them able to do much more than moan.

I mindspeak, masked, to Chloe as I swim, {
It's over.
}

{
Peter, are you all right?
}

{
I'm here.
}

{
And my father and brother, are they dead?
}

{
They seem to wish they were.
}

{
Are you on the way back?
} she says.

{
Not yet.
}

{
What's wrong. What aren't you telling me?
}

A wave crashes over us and I fight through its foam. {
Neither Charles nor Derek can fly. I'm towing them to the lighthouse. After they're safe from the storm, I'll try to fly home.
}

{
Try, Peter? What's wrong? How badly are you injured?
}

{
It's not any injury. It's the potion. I've outgrown my ability to maintain my body. I can feel my strength draining away.
}

{
Take the antidote!
}

{
I don't have it. It's on the island — in the bushes by the dock.
}

{
Then forget my father and Derek. Fly home now, while you can.
}

Even though Chloe can't see me, I shake my head. {
Neither of them have the energy to change to their human forms. Can you imagine if one or two dragons washed up on a beach, what a fuss there would be? Besides, I promised I wouldn't kill them. There's no need for their deaths now.
}

{
There's no need for yours either,
} Chloe says. {
I'm coming. I'll meet you at the lighthouse.
}

{
Can you, without hurting yourself? There's still a storm out here you know.
}

{
I've healed well enough to fly a little ways. I'm my father's daughter, damn it! I'm not about to be intimidated by a storm and I'm not about to lose a husband to his own stupid stubbornness.
}

By the time I reach Fowey Rocks, the storm has started to abate. Still, the waves push and pull at us, threaten to beat our bodies against the wrought-iron legs of the unmanned lighthouse's skeletal structure.

It takes most of my remaining strength but, by timing my shove to the surge of the waves, I manage to heave first Charles and then Derek onto a metal platform, a walkway that circles the lighthouse's frame just above the tips of the highest waves.

But when I try to climb up with them, my body betrays me. All I can manage is to hold on to a girder and let the waves pound me.

I forget about Charles and Derek safe above me, concentrate instead on breathing, on trying to slow my racing heart. I measure time by each wave that strikes and fails to dislodge me, by each gust of wind that rips at me to no avail. When Chloe finally says,
“Peter?”
I try to answer, but have no energy left to do so.

A cold glass tube is pressed against my lips and my bride says,
“Drink. Drink all of it.”
I let some fluid flow into my mouth and it's as if I'm swallowing liquid ice. The cold fluid tastes of apples and citrus — and something bitter, with a hint of ammonia. It quenches the burning within me, but makes me shiver. I stop drinking.
“All of it,”
Chloe says.

“Pushy woman,”
I say, emptying the rest of the vial.

“Wait until all this is over,”
she says, helping me up to the platform.
“You haven't seen anything yet.”

35

Ever since Chloe and I rescued Charles and Derek in the final dark hours of the storm, we've barely had a moment alone. Sometimes I regret having ferried the two injured creatures back to our island on Arturo's SeaRay, their natural forms shielded from view by the rain and the night's last moments of gloom. Certainly, I wish there had been somewhere else for them to stay while they healed.

I never thought my house could feel so crowded, especially during the first few days. Charles and Derek seemed to never stop moaning — both creatures sprawled on their beds of hay in their natural forms, demanding food and care. Henri seemed to need endless attention too, rarely leaving my side unless Chloe lured him away. And Claudia seemed always to be visiting, bringing out supplies, updating me on her father's rapid recovery, laughing and whispering with Chloe, helping us straighten out the house after its months of neglect and Charles's rampage of destruction, but always staying far too long.

With no more need to fight for our survival, I yearn for time that Chloe and I can spend alone, learning more about each other. But not even our bed belongs to us.

Every night Henri comes to sleep with us. “The poor boy needs to be with us now,” Chloe says when he first asks. “He needs time too — to get over being taken away from you and to get used to me. Don't worry, it won't be forever.”

As much as I hug and kiss my son, as much as I reassure him that everything bad is over, he rarely ventures off by himself. Once Derek heals enough to leave his room, the boy clings to me even more, hugging my leg whenever he's present. Not that I blame him.

Derek barely talks to any of us, only mumbling, “Sorry about all that, old man,” as a preface to asking me about Rita.

He storms off when I shrug and say, “They took her away. That's all I know.” Fortunately, he stays mostly in his room after that.

“Don't mind him,” Charles Blood says. “The boy never did handle disappointment well. He made the mistake of thinking all this was already his.” The elder creature laughs. “As if I would have trusted him to run such a large company.”

I find myself enjoying Charles Blood's company. Once he heals enough to sit up and talk, he surprises me, saying, “You needn't worry about me, boy. You won. I'll never bother you again. It's over for me as long as it's over for you.”

Something in his gruff manner reminds me of my father. Like Don Henri, he loves to play chess. He challenges me to a game the first time he sees the chessboard set up in the great room.

“My father liked to play chess too,” I tell him.

“Most of our kind do,” Charles says. “Strategy is strategy, no matter what kind of creature you are.” He plays me every night, often winning, regaling me with stories his father had told him about sailing with my father.

Charles accompanies Chloe, Henri and me each morning too when we visit Elizabeth's grave and tend to her garden. The first time he does so, I tell him the true story of how Elizabeth died at the hands of a human who betrayed me. “You know I blamed you for her death,” he says, putting his hand on my shoulder. “I don't anymore, son. You did everything you could.”

It takes all my self-control not to hug him. Not that the elder creature can't still be irritating. Sometimes he reverts to his old, unpleasant self. “Bullocks!” he shouts when told he must assume his human form whenever he wishes to go outside or whenever Claudia visits the house. “I'm not some bloody human who delights in chewing on dead cows!” he rails when Chloe and I serve him steak instead of fresh prey.

Still, grumble as he might, he accepts what we give him and does as we ask. He also never turns his gruffness on my son. The boy soon makes a habit of visiting with his grandfather at least a few times each day, sitting with his mouth open, his eyes wide as Charles tells him tales of the old days when our kind, the People of the Blood, flew openly wherever they wanted.

Claudia calls early on the morning of the eighth day after we took in Charles and Derek Blood. “Good news. Your Grady White is finally ready. I'll bring it out later this morning,” she says. “After I pick up Pops. The hospital's releasing him today. I told him to take it easy, but he insists on my bringing him along.”

I tell Chloe about the call, then say, “If I tell Arturo to arrange things, we can have your father and brother gone in a few days. It's time for them to go, Chloe, especially your brother. They've healed well enough to travel. It's time for us to be alone.”

My bride smiles. “I'd like that, Peter.”

“It's time for Claudia to stay away for a few days too,” I say.

Chloe nods. “I'll tell her.”

I take her in my arms, hug her, feel her warmth against me and whisper in her ear. “And it's time for Henri to start sleeping in his own damned bed again.”

I don't know whether I'm happier to see my Grady White or the wan Latin sitting beside his daughter by the wheel. “Pop tried to take the wheel,” Claudia shouts as soon as the boat pulls up to the dock. “I told him you'd be pissed if he screwed your boat up.”

Arturo flashes a full-toothed smile. “I told her it would only be fair after all you put my SeaRay through.”

Jumping on board, I accept Claudia's kiss on my cheek. Then I turn my full attention to her father, helping Arturo stand, clasping his hand in mine.

“Claudia's told me everything's that's gone on,” he says.

Looking at the man, I wince at the bruises still apparent on his face, the bandage wrapped around his head.

“Don't worry. The doctors say I'll be fine. I will too — as soon as the bastards that did this to me are taken care of. My people think they found them. So it shouldn't be long.”

Chloe lets out a happy squeal and we both turn and look at the dock just as Claudia hands my bride the wicker box we sent from Jamaica. My bride hugs Claudia, holds up the box. “Look!” she says.

I nod and the two woman walk off, talking and laughing.

“They're awfully tight,” Arturo says.

“Like schoolgirl chums,” I say, wondering what they're discussing now. “Claudia was great. Without her, we'd have had a hell of a time.”

The Latin nods. “I told you she was good.” He turns the subject to business, asks me what else I may want done. I tell him.