Dreamwalker (Stormwalker #5)(34)

“Think about it.” Gabrielle mimed holding a phone to her ear. “Call me.”

Mick’s dragon calmed down as he watched the exchange. The red tinge left his eyes, and a slow grin creased his face. “If you took her out, you could keep an eye on her,” Mick said. “We’d know she was under some kind of control.”

“Aw, Mick,” Gabrielle said. “Don’t be a buzz kill.”

Drake understood that Mick was making fun of him. He finished tying his hair back and gave Mick a severe look. “Smith is a danger. Crush him or eat him next time.”

Mick moved behind me, enfolded me in his big arms, and kissed my hair. “I’m sure he has some contingency against being dragon food. As in blowing me up from the inside or having my own stomach acid eat through me. I didn’t drop him on purpose, in fact. He burned me.” Mick displayed his hand. A round, angry red welt decorated his palm. “I’d planned to take him to the dragon compound, so he could be confined or dismembered.”

“We should hunt him,” Gabrielle said brightly. “Janet and me and you dragons. I bet he’d have a hard time fighting all of us at once.”

“He fought us all with great skill at Chaco,” Drake reminded her. “But the point is well taken. At Chaco, we were divided in purpose. If we join forces to take this man down, we might succeed.”

“Awesome.” Gabrielle grinned. “How about you take me to that Mexican restaurant, and we talk strategy?”

Drake clearly had no idea what eating salsa had to do with battle plans, but he gave her a nod. “That might be a good idea.”

“Hot damn. I have a date with a dragon.” Gabrielle did a little victory hop. “Janet doesn’t get all the good guys.”

Janet had only had one guy in her life, who was right now breathing heat into her ear.

“You okay?” I asked him.

Mick shrugged, folding his fingers over his palm. “It will heal. We should go in. Who knows what else he’ll throw at us, or what he might do to gain possession of the mirror while we’re out here.”

My heart went ice cold. “Shit. My dad’s here. He came down from Many Farms to visit.”

I broke from Mick and started walking as rapidly as I could in this terrain. Mick jogged after me. Drake followed, Gabrielle breaking around us to run ahead. Neither of the dragons suggested flying—it wasn’t far back to the hotel, and there were too many people around for them to remain hidden. I wanted to point out that two tall, well-built men running in the back door stark naked would also cause chaos, but I kept that to myself.

I saw no sign of Ansel as we returned. I had to assume he’d recovered or taken himself somewhere to heal. I hoped so—what he’d done had taken great courage. I’d look in on him once I got Gabrielle home.

“What are you doing out here, Drake?” I asked him as we moved over the hills and crossed shallow washes. Mick provided a ball of warm dragon fire to light the way, nothing that would excite the vortexes. “Just happened to be passing?”

“No, I was with Mick, as planned.”

I looked at Mick in surprise, but he shook his head. Obviously, he hadn’t wanted Drake to impart that information. Mick didn’t elaborate, his mouth set in a grim line.

“So,” Gabrielle began. She walked backwards so she could pin her gaze on Drake. “When you say you were with Mick … Do you mean with him?”

Mick’s forbidding look fled, and he let out a laugh. “No way. I have better taste.”

Drake had no clue what they meant, but he did suspect he was being left out of a joke. He frowned at Mick and broke away before we reached the railroad bed.

Drake had a stash of clothes back here, I saw, packed away in a waterproof canvas bag. Made sense—that way, he could fly from the dragon compound in New Mexico, turn human, dress himself, and approach the hotel. I didn’t like the implication—that the dragons from the compound sent him frequently to look in on me.

Mick kept clothes in a duffel bag hidden behind scrub at the base of the railroad bed. He liked to have contingency stashes of clothing for when he had to unexpectedly shift to and from dragon.

Once Mick and Drake were clothed, Gabrielle enjoying herself watching Drake dress, we climbed the railroad bed.

As I stepped to the top, a waft of music floated out into the night. Low and mellow, the sound of a wooden flute drifted on the wind. It moaned, soft and sweet, the smooth shifting of notes followed by fluttering trills.

My feet fixed to the ground. I knew who played the flute with such an expert touch. It was my father, who must be outside on the grounds, or on the large patio behind the saloon Drake’s renovators had added.