Kissed by Ice(3)

Finn shot me a sideways look. "Can you imagine the reaction if the locals saw a dragon flying around in broad daylight?" His heavy burr was tinged with amusement.

"Okay, good point," I admitted with a sigh.

"Why don't you try and get some sleep?" Finn suggested.

It was my turn to give him a sideways look. Was he serious? My mind was a whirlwind of worry and fear over both Inigo and Eddie, and Finn expected me to sleep? What did he know that I didn't? My stomach started churning again. Gods, I could use an antacid. Scratch that. An entire bottle of them.

The drive was an exercise in both self-control and mental torture. Self-control in that I didn't puke all over everything—hurray for motion sickness—and mental torture in that I couldn't stop thinking of all the possible things that could be so very wrong that Drago would need me to drop everything and rush to Scotland. But finally, as the car rounded a final bend, the castle that was the dragon kin stronghold came into view. The car slid beneath the ancient portcullis and came to a stop in a cobbled courtyard. The stone keep soared above us in a display of looming intimidation, the dark stone gloomy against the overcast sky. A few pots of what looked like they'd once been pansies lined the sweeping staircase that led to the front door. Unfortunately, it looked like someone had taken a blow torch to them. I supposed that was the danger to any plant life in a fortress full of dragons.

"You go ahead," Finn said. "I'll make sure your bag gets to your room."

With a nod of thanks, I swung open the car door and stepped out into the cool Highland air.





"Morgan." Drago stood at the top of the front steps of the castle, bracketed on either side by a pair of massive carved stone dragons. He was in human form, but his eyes glittered an eerie gold as they caught sunlight. His dragon was close to the surface. But then, it always was. That was why he was king.

"Drago, what the hell is going on?" I demanded as I jogged up the steps to join him. Despite barely coming to his shoulder, I propped my hands on my hips and glared at him.

His smile was a little tight. "I think you should see for yourself." He turned and strode into the castle keep, clearly expecting me to follow.

I assumed he would take me to the caves where the dragons kept their healing eggs. I remembered very clearly the last time I'd been there. Inigo had been inside one of those eggs for the last few months, healing from having his heart practically ripped out of his chest. Instead Drago lead me down a long hall deeper inside the castle. Other than the occasional electric sconces, the hall was nearly dark. On either side of the hall hung portraits of what I could only assume were previous dragon kings or council elders. They were exquisitely painted in bright colors, each housed in a rich, gilt frame. I stopped to peer at one and realized it wasn't gilt at all, but pure gold. Maybe the legends about dragons and their hordes weren't that far off.

Overhead the ceiling soared in a series of high arches that would have done a gothic cathedral proud. Hanging from each beam was an elegant chandelier dripping with crystals. I wondered vaguely if they were real crystals or if they were actually diamonds. I wouldn't put it past the drags. The floor was of simple stone but covered over in thick, lush Persian carpets. From what I could tell in the dim light, they were old and handmade. Probably worth a fortune, like the gold frames and the chandeliers.

It felt like we walked for ages before Drago took an abrupt right onto a wide flight of stairs leading upward. The stone steps had been left bare, and I saw slight depressions in the center where generations of feet had tread the same path over and over, wearing down the stone. The electric sconces continued up the stairs, but these had been turned off. Instead, tiny rays of sunlight trickled through extremely narrow windows high in the stone walls. I remembered those windows from other castles I'd visited on my historically inspired rambles back when I had time for such things. They were arrow slits.

At the top of the stairs was another wide hall. The walls were lined with elegantly carved wooden doors. The floor was stone, covered with thick rugs like below, but the stone walls had been plastered over and painted with brightly colored murals. Here there was a thicket of trees, a dragon's tail sticking out from between the trunks; there a patch of bright blue sky with half a dozen dragons in flight, each of them a different color, scales shining in the light of the painted sun. The artwork was beyond breathtaking to the point of being magical. The dragons felt almost alive. My fingers itched to reach out and touch their shimmering scales.

I wondered what the hell was going on. Why had Drago brought me here? Where was Inigo?

Halfway down the hall, Drago stopped and rapped gently on one of the doors. It swung open to reveal a woman dressed in purple scrubs, her gray-streaked hair scooped up in a bun. On a black cord around her neck hung a gold medallion with a symbol in blue enamel: the Eye of Horus. A symbol used by healers and mystics since the days of ancient Eygpt.