Page 11 of Dallas

“And yet I’ve had more than enough time to think things over, and I know I was at fault. I was very much at fault.”

“No, Mother.” I turned and knelt before her. “You followed our law, the law written by our ancestors and by Gavin himself. They sealed the agreement with blood. There was no going back. I know the pain it caused you to banish Demeter, but you saw no other way. You were keeping the law, nothing more. Gavin thought he was above the law he himself helped create—or, rather, that his clansman was above it. He broke the agreement. It was his fault we no longer shielded the clan as we once had. It was his fault the humans or Gwydions or whoever was responsible for the attack were able to find them and kill so many.”

“Even so.” She stroked my hair, staring at me but not seeing me. I sensed her being far away. With Demeter, who was long since dead. Her favorite, the golden child. “Even so, Demeter was in love. I should have taken that into account.”

“With a dragon.”

“It matters not to the person in love,” she whispered. Unshed tears sparkled in her eyes. She even managed to cry prettily. “Your sister knew very well the price she would pay if discovered. She walked into the affair with complete awareness. That means whatever she felt toward this dragon was far stronger than any fear or guilt.”

She offered a weak smile. “As I said, I’ve had time to think about it. Once the anger burned away, I had nothing but the weak excuse that I’d done what the law ordered. It’s been cold comfort, my dearest.”

I bit my tongue against the arguments threatening to pour forth. No sense in adding to the pain she clearly still suffered. Any further attempt to remind her of the treachery of the dragons would only worsen things. I didn’t want to fight just before leaving.

“I’d better finish packing,” I decided as I stood. “I have a long trip ahead of me.” Better to get moving than to open old wounds.

Besides, I would need to conserve my mental energy, if expected to sit on a plane with Dallas for hours on end.

5

“At least there’s legroom.” Owen stretched his long legs out in front of him, hands folded over his flat torso. “I can imagine worse.”

“Aye, such as being crammed in with dozens of humans,” Isla agreed. “Though I wouldn’t mind being crammed in alongside a handsome rugby player or two.”

“The odds of such a thing coming to pass are slim to none,” Leslie giggled.

“Perhaps we’ll meet some American football players while we’re there?”

Owen snickered at his sister’s notion. “As if they simply walk the streets in droves, waiting for Scottish lasses to find ‘em.”

“I happen to know that Americans are quite taken with our accents,” Isla huffed, her hair over her shoulder. “And none of us are exactly known to shatter mirrors when we gaze into them.”

That was so. The pair of them were as fetching as any women I’d ever seen, and that included the witches who huddled in their little mini-coven on the other side of the jet. Their looks made them stand out in a crowd what with large, mysteriously green eyes.

“Just the same, we aren’t heading over there to mate with strange humans,” I murmured, one eye always on the witches. What were they talking about, their heads close together, their voices so low? I’d never been one to appreciate such behavior from people I trusted, and I hardly trusted them.

“Who said anything about mating?” Leslie laughed. “I’m only talking about a bit of diversion. Nothing serious.”

“You know what Alan would think of such an idea.”

She rolled her eyes, as did Isla. “He isn’t here.”

Turning to Owen, I shrugged. “I give up.”

He pulled out a magazine and began flipping through. “You’re a stronger man than I, for I wouldn’t have started the conversation, to begin with.”

Once again, I glanced across to see what the witches were up to, and this time I found Callie doing the same. Our eyes met, and we smiled, a bit shyly on her end, a faint blush darkening beneath a sprinkle of freckles. She’d always struck me as being the nicest at her core, though she was just as fierce as the rest when push came to shove. “Have you ever flown before?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No need to, and I suppose there’s no use asking you that question.”

I had to laugh. “I’ve flown many, many, many times.”

“I’d think there’s a difference between flying this way and flying your way,” Hecate snapped.

Why did she insist on inserting herself into conversations which had nothing to do with her?

“Why yes, there is,” I replied, speaking slowly as though her reply had somehow awed me. “You’re extremely insightful.”

“Careful,” Owen muttered under his breath, but his warnings meant little to me right then.

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