Page 23 of Dallas

“It’s just—with our being—you know—”

“That has nothing to do with it,” I lied. Now that I knew who she was to me, I couldn’t help but look at her through different eyes. The idea was there, and it had already begun to sprout roots which dug deep into my consciousness.

“I was only concerned, is all.”

“I said, I’ll look away. Stop being impossible.”

My dragon also needed to stop being impossible, as he cajoled me to take advantage of this situation. All he cared about was sealing the bond with our mate and furthering the bloodline. Nothing more.

Certainly, he cared nothing for her feelings on the matter. Dragons understood nothing of sensibility. They took, they dominated, they ruled their world. What did they care for feelings and respect and tenderness? Survival was all that mattered, just as it was all that mattered for any animal.

With a mighty sigh, she turned in her seat and leaned over into the cargo area to fetch the suitcases. “Do you want something from your bag?”

I was very nearly touched that she would even offer. “I’ll wait until you’re finished changing. Besides, I need to go out there and see if there’s any hope of shelter beyond the car. No sense in getting wet all over again.”

“You’re going out there?” she asked, incredulous.

I looked in the mirror and found her backside sticking up as she strained to reach the bags. Something stirred in my core, and I averted my gaze, but it was too late. Lucky for me she was unaware. “Aye. I must.” Anything to get out of that car and away from her.

Perhaps a walk through a cold, driving rain was just what I needed.

10

Icouldn’t agree with him—leaving the vehicle seemed the worst course of action, but my opinion meant little.

I supposed there was no one but myself to blame for that. I’d already given far too many opinions on far too many subjects. He’d already learned to ignore me. I was nothing but noise.

When I could no longer see him and was fairly certain he couldn’t see me, I made quick work of peeling off my still-soaked clothing in favor of Callie’s dry t-shirt and pants. She’d packed a zippered sweatshirt which I slid into before considering what to change her into.

The last thing we needed was for her to develop pneumonia, sitting around in wet clothing when the temperature in the vehicle dropped further. But it would mean moving her around and possibly causing further injury.

I watched her, studying the way her chest fell in slow, even rhythm. “I know what you’re thinking,” I whispered. “You’re thinking I’m behaving like a stubborn ass, unwilling to let his blood mix with yours. You have no idea how this eats at my very soul.”

Her hair was beginning to dry, at least. She reminded me of Mother so very much. What set her apart were the freckles which dusted her nose and cheeks, and the big, luminous eyes which always seemed to see straight through me.

They were still closed, her lashes brushing her cheeks as she slept her dreamless sleep. Somewhere outside the pain.

“I don’t know what to do,” I confessed, running my fingers through her hair to untangle it and to give myself something to do with my hands, which seemed to tremble whenever I stopped concentrating on keeping them still. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. I’ve never been through anything nearly as important. This is you. My Calliope. What am I supposed to do to make it right?”

The very notion of her carrying his blood—dragon blood—made my throat constrict almost painfully. Mother would never allow it, and if she knew such a transfusion had taken place, she would be inconsolable—and enraged beyond reason. There would be no making her understand.

What if she banished me? My hands trembled again at the mere thought.

“No. She wouldn’t do that again,” I whispered, shaking my head. Callie, of course, had no opinion on the matter. How could she, in her state? I found myself wishing she were awake that we might discuss the problem, but that would mean bringing her back to reality. And to a hellish pain.

She’d have to come back eventually. I wished I knew what I’d do when the time came.

I wished for so many things. Wisdom, strength, courage. Qualities I’d always been so certain I possessed. Always self-assured, always working to sharpen my skills and prove myself a worthy successor to my mother.

A waste of time, all of it, as Keira was the heiress and I was halfway around the world, shaking and on the verge of tears when I looked down upon my sister’s broken body. There was nothing I could do so far from home, my powers weakened nearly to the point of nonexistence.

No wonder Mother had insisted on guards. She’d suspected this, predicted it, most likely. A weakening of our abilities. It took everything I had just to keep Callie in her trance-like state.

Thunder rolled. It seemed to go on forever. I searched the darkness outside the car, looking for him. Realizing I wished he would come back. “It is safer, having him here,” I told my sister. “That’s all. I feel better knowing he’s with us. After all, look what he did to the dashboard.” It was barely recognizable after he’d reshaped it, twisted and cracked.

“I can’t keep you in here forever,” I mused, looking down at her legs. “You’ll need to stretch them out straight, which means we’ll have to pull you from your seat. I am so sorry, dearest. I would never cause you pain if there was any way of helping it, you must know that. You do, don’t you?”

She offered no reply. No consolation. No reprieve.

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