It adds a layer of complication I didn’t expect, as everyone stands around, staring at each other. When Lærke’s eyes suddenly flick to Ström with longing again—and he returns her glance, complex—shock takes me to realize she may have once felt that deep mate bond with my very own Second Drake.
It adds even further complication to the mix, as Bjorn clears his throat. His big rumble of a growl is like waterfalls pummeling through me as it clears the air of sex, lust, and mates. He gestures at the lockbox in Ström’s hand, breaking our tension as he gets us all back on-track.
“We brought that. Time to take a look?” Bjorn rumbles now as everyone glances at the lockbox.
“I would relish some diversion after all that.” Mikkel chuckles as he flashes his big devil-may-care grin now, even though that red sash around his waist and his currently bare chest make him look more like a pirate than ever before.
But his lean, strong muscles are beautifully shaped, his tall proportions and nice shoulders a perfect balance. He sees me ogling him, unable to take my eyes away from the ornate, Danish-style tattooing I see curling up over his left shoulder and decorating his heart.
I completely missed them before, in my drakaina’s rage for sex to seal our Bloodbond. It’s a beautiful tattoo; like raiding ships with a sea-monster dragon in the ocean, it flows over his shoulder with water, scales, and wind like a living thing. It’s only tattooed in black and red, rather than Ström’s far more colorful designs in red and gold and blue. But I know it has some sort of warding ability as I feel magic emanate from it.
Its power unknown.
“Before we look at your documents, however…” With a wry but pleased smile that I’m ogling him now, Mikkel turns to a tall mahogany bureau set in one wall. Opening a drawer, he takes out a crisp white shirt and a new pair of tawny slacks, stepping into the pants commando like Ström often does. In a trice, he’s dressed, everything about his lovely body neatly tucked away. It saddens me, even as I feel relief that I’m no longer tempted by his nakedness.
Though he glances at me as he returns with the red sash—tying it around his hips.
I know it’s a joke for me, because I’ve compared him so often to a pirate. He grins at me and waggles his dark eyebrows; I snort and roll my eyes, and the air seems to clear between us. Our dragons still want to fuck and take full bites out of each other while they’re at it. But the people inside us are calming again, finding something more lighthearted about our situation, and it helps.
As Mikkel gestures to a large dining table in the Victorian gaming room now, inviting us to set our box upon it, we do. Ström moves forward, placing his lockbox on the table, then returns it to its original steamer trunk size with a charm. As he waves his hands and magic all over the box now, to undo the complex locking wards he’s put on it, it’s suddenly open.
Ström is pulling out all the scrolls, codices, and vellums we’ve not been able to translate yet, leaving the other ceremonial items in the box. As the documents come out, Mikkel’s, and even Lærke’s, eyes go wide. They both briefly peer inside the box to see what else we’ve got, but finding the other items have no magical signature, they return to the documents, spread out now on the table.
The Thorsen twins circle our documents like a pair of sharks—they devour the texts with their eyes now, as if they’re something delicious to eat. Bjorn, Ström, and I let them, as they think. As Mikkel starts pointing at certain runes and designs on the papers, Lærke nods—and I realize they are communicating mind-to-mind.
They go on a long while; Bjorn, Ström, and I are left standing around,blinking to stay awake in the very late hour, as the twins work to decipher our scrolls.
At last, they look at us—and I know the decrypting is done.
“We have your cypher figured out.” Mikkel beams at us, his dark eyes shining. “It differed somewhat from the ancient Bone Magic cypher Lærke and I know; we had to take a little time to figure out this new pattern, though it was similar to the one we know. The same cypher is used in all your documents, though they’re written in four unique styles of text. We’ll be able to sit down and translate them fully now; it shouldn’t take but a few hours until morning. If you three would like to return to your Hotel to sleep, we can alert you when we’re done?—”
“We’ll stay here.” Bjorn is succinct as he eyeballs Mikkel.
“Of course,” he says with a gentlemanly nod, understanding how precious these items are to us.
As we sit on the chaises now, Mikkel rings for his service to get some midnight meals for us. Our drinks he pours himself, from a little decanter of whiskey that smells divine and tastes even better, as he hands them around. Lærke surprises me by heading over to the armoire and fishing around in one drawer. She returns to me, slipping a little wad of something lacy into my hand as she bumps my shoulder.
“Bathroom is over there.” She nods her chin at a paneled door set into the wall, gilded with a teensy sign that saystoilette. My eyebrows lift as I feel the lace in my hand and realize it’s underwear. Lærke nods at the door again.
I dip my chin to her in thanks, and go.
I take a moment to be alone now, as I sit on the toilet and pee, then don the new underwear Lærke’s given me. They’re beige and lacy, tasteful but elegant; I can tell they cost a pretty penny, probably from some exclusive lingerie maker here in Copenhagen.
The thong fits me to a T, and relief fills me to no longer be bare down below in a room full of drakes. It’s interesting that Lærke knew just what would make me feel better right now, when I didn’t even know myself. Ilove my drakes, and I like to fuck, but everything feels too amped up right now with Mikkel out there and Ström’s and Bjorn’s big egos in the mix.
And my own drakaina, roaring to get back into Mikkel’s coils.
It’s funny how much protection a thin scrap of lace can provide, as I fix my braids and comb out my loose rear locks with a lovely gilded comb sitting on a gold tray of toiletries in the bathroom. Everyone looks at me as I emerge—though Lærke surprises me by moving over and threading her arm through mine like a sister.
She escorts me back to the big table as the drakes make way. As if she understands how nice it is to have another drakaina in the room, she sticks to me like glue now as she cinches me to her side.
Lærke is almost protective of me now, as Mikkel looks up and flashes me a smile, then goes back to his translating. He’s got a yellow legal pad open before him, and an expensive black pen in his left hand. He makes the strangest hash-marked notes that I can’t imagine are even close to language, unless it’s early twentieth century secretarial shorthand.
Then I realize it’s some kind of secret language, developed by the twins. Lærke isn’t writing anything down. She’s looking at the text to translate, before I feel her pass information back and forth with Mikkel mind-to-mind. As he chicken-scratches their combined translation down, she flicks her eyes to a laptop they’ve opened on the table and the writing fills right in.
It’s a fascinating process, as the twins catalogue and translate our documents. Even though I’m beyond tired now from everything we’ve done today, and that near-mating with Mikkel, I find I only eat sparingly.
Because my attention is pinned to the twins, as they sort everything out. Ström’s is, as well. He’s the only one of us who can even come close to reading what was already in these ancient Bone Mage scrolls; as the twins decipher, he sometimes nods, or exclaimsha!as they put everything together.
