“Bird, my dear Bird,” he murmured, taking another step, then halting lest she feel crowded, unsafe, that he had lost her trust.
She turned abruptly, smiling, though tear tracks gleamed on her face. “It’s fine. Good, really. In fact, it’s wonderful.”
Hope began to ease the pain in his chest.
She went on, looking away, then back, away, then back again, and met his gaze straight on. “Will I sound like a . . . a nitwit if I say, if it was anyone else, I’d worry about their sanity, but because it was you, I believe it?” She gave a teary chuckle. “If it’s insanity, we can both be insane.”
“You are one of the sanest people I have had the privilege of meeting,” he said, bringing his hands lightly to her shoulders.
Her watery gaze lifted to his, her lips parted. Slow and deliberate, he caressed her shoulders, feeling the last tension melt under his fingers, then cupped her face, his thumbs resting gently against the soft skin of her jaw.
Her breathing hitched. He unlocked the steel vault controlling his mental connection just enough to sense the amalgam of her emotions: wonder, laughter, sorrow, joy, and the heat of desire. But he sensed no fear as she closed the distance between them, her own hands coming up to touch his face, his hair, and to close around his neck, drawing him so close he could feel her heartbeat, fast and steady.
No fear.
Tenderness and anticipation fountained up and enclosed them both, sunlight meeting water.
Yesssssss. The dragon’s hiss rose to a humming chord, then sank below the surface of his mind, their natures blended in perfect accord as Mikhail bent down and kissed their mate.
Gently at first, ever so gently. Her lips were soft as rose petals, tasting a little of the salt of tears, and as they opened to him she tasted of fresh apple, the spice of cinnamon, and—deeper—the sweetness that was uniquely her. She opened to his questing tongue, and responded eagerly, torching his inner heat so that he forgot where he was for a heady moment, until they broke apart, breathing hard.
“Oh,” she whispered. “Oh, I never knew a kiss could be like that.”
It told him so much, and he was aware of a thread of sadness that she, too, had been denied this kind of happiness. He thumbed a tear from her cheek as she said quickly, “It’s not what it looks like. I’m so glad, and so full of questions . . . all my life, being practical and sensible was so important. Because I wasn’t, really. Didn’t want to be. But adults are supposed to be.”
“Not,” he said, “when such things become iron bars.”
“Oh, you do understand! Trying to be practical and sensible fitted around me like a box. I think my life became smaller and smaller boxes. Ones I made for myself. And they were pretty boxes,” she added defiantly, lifting a hand toward the rest of her house. “Don’t think I’ve been miserable. I couldn’t be, with a safe home and good friends . . . but there was this other part of me—” She glanced sideways, then stiffened. “Oh! Look at the time!”
He glanced at her kitchen clock, shocked. Never had an hour and a half passed so quickly. They had six minutes to get to the university.
He took her hands in hers. “We can risk the automobile, which would require reckless speed. Or there is another way.”
“Show me,” she whispered, barely a breath.
“Are you ready?” he asked, drawing her close. “Let us go outside.”
NINE
BIRD
Bird retained just enough sense to use her free hand to grab her purse hanging on its hook by the door. Her left hand was still in his right. She sensed the strength in his fingers, held in a steady grip. A secure grip, light and firm, but in no way constraining, much less impatient, or angry. She knew instinctively that if she twitched or tugged, he would instantly let her free.
Tears burned her eyes, but they were tears of happiness, wonder, and an upwelling of joy. As they paced not to the street, but around the house to the garden, she glanced at the sky overhead and sent the thought to the universe, If this is a delusion, let me stay in it forever.
He stopped at the back of the house, away from the street. Mikhail bent and kissed her again, a quick, reassuring kiss that sent flowers of bright desire through her, impossibly bright. Nothing had ever felt like this.
He stepped away, and then he began to glow. Light shimmered over him, then brightened to a silvery-white beam, as if the moon had sent a part of itself into the rose garden. A heartbeat later the beam flashed into a long shape, shimmered again, and she found herself staring up at an enormous silver . . .
Dragon.
Impossible, her old self insisted. But the new self, the one who had kissed Mikhail and been kissed back, breathed out the word, “Ohhh.”
Because he was beautiful. The great head was framed by gently waving whiskers that glowed with their own light. Above the dragon teeth, huge eyes gazed down with the patient wisdom and benevolence that she knew as Mikhail’s own. The enormous silver-scaled dragon floated in the air, gracefully undulating in the breeze. It—he—must be two hundred feet long, she thought, awe-struck. She had never seen anything so beautiful, so noble and awe-inspiring!
He drifted closer, and a mellow voice that reminded her of wind instruments or a great organ spoke directly into her mind: Climb on, my love.
Bird laughed, looking ruefully down her fancy dress, then up again as she eyed the dragon’s great head. He lowered himself to the ground, and somehow shrank so that he wasn’t quite as large or long. Doris’s dress was watered silk in a soft powder blue, loose and floaty so it didn’t impede her limbs. Bird held the skirt away from her with one hand, and found it easy to clamber onto the dragon behind his head. The silver scales were cool, and smooth to the touch. She gave a rueful thought to her hair, which she had washed and curled so carefully after getting back from Doris’s. Well, she supposed she’d get that fashionable “wind-blown” look!