Page 69 of Of Scale and Blood

Me not.

I half smiled.No, but we are working together to get rid of this threat, are we not?

Still should kill.

We’ll see what happens when we get there.

She didn’t reply, but only because she’d spotted a fat capra and had swooped to claim it.

As my stomach rumbled a loud reminder that it hadn’t eaten anything for an indecently long amount of time, I carefully edged away from Damon.

His grip almost instantly tightened, and in a warm, almost languid voice he said, “And where do you think you’re going, my dear wife?”

“I need to pee, and I need to eat, and I have a flight out over Mareritten I need to get ready for.”

“How urgent is the need to pee on a scale of one to ten? Ten being ‘if you don’t release me now I’m going to wet this bed.’”

“About a three,” I replied, amused. “Why?”

“Because it is unseeming for a wife—or indeed a husband, because this relationship is all about equality—to leave a bed without kissing their partner good morning.”

“Is kissing going to lead to sexing?”

“That would be my preference, yes.”

I laughed, turned in his arms, and kissed him, long and lingering. He slid his hand down my spine to my butt, then lightly pulled me closer. His erection pressed against my belly, hard and heated, and the deep down well of wanting that I’d been successfully ignoring up until then exploded.

From that moment on, there was little talk, but there was a whole lot of exploration and a mind-blowing culmination. How the hell it was possible for sex with this man to get better each and every time, I had no idea, but long may it continue.

While he ordered breakfast, I took a quick bath, then got dressed. Our meal arrived just as I was tugging on my boots, and the sharp smell of shamoke had me hurrying over. I thanked the servant as she left the room, then sat down and poured us both a drink. The quill pen and its tablet, I noted, were nowhere to be seen.

“Did you have any luck talking to your people back on Angola?”

“Some.” He handed me a bowl of the creamy pottage, then spooned out a second for himself. “There’s definitely a spell that could work, but everything we’ve uncovered so far says it comes with some rather life-altering consequences.”

Did that explain the warning I’d seen on the tablet last night? Maybe. Probably. The problem was instinct, which was saying no.

“Consequences are to be expected, given we’re not only dealing with magic but trying to transfer an innate psychic talent from one being to another.”

“Except it’snotas simple as transferring a talent.”

I didn’t think it would be, but I nevertheless asked, “Why not?”

“The writings we’ve uncovered imply that it’s a more universalandequal transfer—that for every ability you give to her, one of hers will be transferred to you.”

I contemplated that for several seconds as I ate my pottage. “Does that mean I will become more drakkon-like?”

“It won’t alter flesh—you will physically remain as you are—but it could well leave you with drakkon-like attributes such as quick healing and a longer lifespan.”

I smiled. “I can’t see a downside in that.”

“What it gives it may well take. Her lifespan may well be shortened to compensate.”

“Then that is something we need to tell her. Only she can decide whether gaining fire is worth losing life years over.”

“Of course, and in truth, there is no certainty about any of this. The spell, as far as we have been able to uncover, was only performed once, and the results were... unsatisfactory.”

“In what way?”

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