Eva glanced back. Thorsson looked in another direction, but Lancelot watched them with interest.
“What’s wrong? Are you looking for their approval?” Balthazar asked, the hint of a dare in his voice. “Or are you frightened of me?”
She should be—his ramblings of being a dragon were irrational. But curiosity had a tight hold, and despite her misgivings, Eva wanted to know where this would lead. Maybe he would surprise her with ancient Viking relics. “I’m not afraid.” She grabbed his hand, and he smiled at her, squeezing her fingers gently before continuing.
They finally reached the base of Lysuhóll. The mountainside was covered in lush grass and trees, and Eva could see the flat plains of the battlefield about a half mile away to the south. Her archeological dig lay at the other end, too far to see. The sun had passed the horizon, and the morning dew shimmered like diamonds. The chill air misted her breath, and she rubbed her hands together briskly to warm them, then stuck them into her sweatshirt pockets. The lands north of the volcano were layered with hills, and Eva let her imagination wander. The possibilities of what lay beneath the ground were endless.
Balthazar headed north, skirting the base of the volcano. She struggled to keep pace as the ground here was sprinkled with sharp lava rocks and uneven terrain. She refused to rush, knowing one wrong move could break her ankle. Looking up, she saw him and Lancelot standing beside a pair of tall granite monuments.
Balthazar’s hand caressed an Icelandic runic inscription when she finally stood beside him. “This was my father Gor,” he whispered. He moved to the second stone slab. “And this was Iel, my mother.” He placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We found their remains here.” He let his hand drop. “My brothers and I gave them a proper burial.”
“When you say proper, you mean a dragon burial.”
“Yes.”
Her exasperated sigh was obvious to the men. Eva looked around, refusing to give Balthazar any more of her attention. Despite the threat Mr. Fuentes had provoked, and the strange, almost unreal conversation between him and Balthazar, she admitted to herself that she came with him to see if their initial attraction could go further than just their interest in archeology. She doubted that now. Damn it—she had even scrambled over treacherous landscape and almost twisted her ankle, all for nothing. She mentally kicked herself for her spontaneous romantic foolishness.
Balthazar took this dragon thing way too seriously. She needed to find a way to leave and head back to Reykjavík. Shit. “Made in the U.S.A.,” she muttered to herself.
“A penny for your thoughts, Eva?” Balthazar asked.
Rubbing her forehead—she wanted to smack herself instead—she turned around to face him. With his arms crossed, a cocked dark eyebrow, and a slight breeze brushing strands of hair across his face, Balthazar Andal looked like a rugged male model, and God, entirely kissable. Well, those fantasies were out the window. “Look, I’ve played along with your mythical dragon tale, but I think enough is enough. Your brother Ti—which is short for Timothy, I bet—wants to kill you, and I’m caught in the middle of this. But instead of ensuring my safety, we’re wandering around out here.” She swung her arm for emphasis. “The runes on those stones are very old, and I can’t verify the names. So unless you have something spectacular to show me, I’d like to go back to the house.”
He hadn’t moved while she talked, but his eyes gleamed brighter as he frowned, which unnerved her. “So Miss Haraldsdóttir wants to see something spectacular.” His voice had changed—much lower in tone and gruff, as it had been at the hotel when he confronted Mr. Fuentes. “Come on, Lancelot.”
They headed back towards the battlefield. On a small cliff overlooking the vast expanse, Balthazar turned around. “I’m going to have my brother do a small shift so you can see, Eva,” he told her. “Then Lancelot’s going to do a full shift to dragon down there.”
She bit her tongue to keep the laughter inside. This was unreal. “Go ahead. Impress me.”
Balthazar walked up to her and grabbed her arm, and she squawked at the tight hold. “Balthazar, let me go.”
“Over here.” He half-dragged her to stand in front of Lancelot, who remained silent. “I want you to have a close view of what’s going to happen.”
“You could have asked.” She rubbed her arm.
“And watch you continue to laugh at me? I think not.”
“I haven’t laughed at you.” Not out loud, but she wasn’t going to admit that.