It was the first sign of life I’d seen in him since he’d bit me, and I wasn’t going to let it slide. “Just because I stink of scales doesn’t mean I’ll be panting for her if she douses me in that stuff.”
He’d closed his eyes again, and at first, I didn’t think he’d respond. But then he said, “If the Dragon is in you, you won’t have a choice. And you will comply if you want to live.”
That was the crux of it, all right. “Anna is close,” I whispered to him.
“Close, but not close enough.” He grimaced. “They didn’t hose me for long enough. I can still smell Xumi.”
My gut twisted. I was strong, but I didn’t think I could last through what he endured.
Even with Dragon blood in me.
13
Anna
Cara’s tea took me under.
I was adrift in a dark fog.
For a moment, I was afraid that I was about to be launched into the nightmare of the accident, and I braced for the driving snow—and fear.
But it didn’t materialize. Instead, I heard singing.
The voice was a bit rough, but pleasant to listen to, and it drew me like a moth to a flame. My feet found solid ground, and as I walked, the song grew in volume. It wasn’t in a language I recognized.
Shapes appeared around me. The fog cleared to reveal a garden. Bushes planted around sculptures of animals, most of which were unfamiliar, but interesting nevertheless. They were spaced at regular intervals along a maze, with rampant hedge walls that towered well over my head.
The maze was expansive. The voice drew me onward, stopping when I took a wrong turn and starting again when I got it right. Finally, the narrow paths opened up—I had reached the center.
In it was an arbor with vines growing so thick that you could barely see the intricately worked metal, resembling tree branches, beneath.
Seated on an attached bench was a woman attired in a flowing, earth-colored robe that shimmered with what looked like woven-in gems. Her hair trailed almost to the ground, and it matched her clothes, with more glittering objects braided into the strands.
She stopped singing and turned her head, and I saw small, curved horns.
My eyes dropped to her feet, which were bare. Her twin toes ended in hoof-like nails.
She was a Satyr—and stunningly beautiful.
I stared at her, and she stared back. Then she smiled, and my troubles slid away from me. She stood, and a stray beam of sunlight reflected off the crown she wore. The center of it was carved or woven—it didn’t look like metal—into an intricate shape. Similar to a Celtic knot, but I didn’t think that was quite right.
A scream pierced the air. The sound rang through the maze, shattering the peaceful atmosphere.
I spun toward it, and the maze faded away. When I looked behind me, the arbor and the Satyr were gone too.
Another scream, and the pounding of hooves. My heart leaped.
Sebastian.
I reached for him, and he was there. But rather than the man I’d known, I touched a creature of rage and pain.
Not entirely unfamiliar—this was what I’d seen shining in his eyes when he fought—the inner fury that never fully died. What was missing was the fierce joy and icy control of the human.
This was pure beast.
I was swept up in a maelstrom of images—plunging hooves and a flashing whip of pure energy that bit deeply into flesh, while another, narrower band set his face aflame.
“Sebastian!” I shrieked the name into the swirling dervish that he had become.
