Dragon's Oath (House of Night Novellas #1)(15)

“Actually, pay no mind to my request. You should be getting back to the House of Night. Dawn approaches. Most fledglings are already in their beds.”

He stopped and whirled around, wanting to spit fire at her. She’d spoken to him as if he was a child! But she didn’t realize how her words had affected him. Anastasia was still puttering around the altar, her back to him, as if she had already completely erased Dragon Lankford from her mind.

She was wrong about him. He wasn’t a child and he didn’t lack honesty or loyalty or valor. He’d show her by … by …

And then he heard himself saying, “I’ll stay and help you with the spell.”

She looked over her shoulder at him and he saw surprise and something else, something that might have been pleasure and warmth in those big blue eyes. But her voice was nonchalant. “Good. Come over here and sit there, on the edge of the rock.” She pointed. “Be careful not to disturb the altar cloth or knock over a candle.”

“Yes, my lady. Anything you say, my lady,” he muttered.

As he rejoined her she raised a brow at him but didn’t say anything and went back to arranging the candle and neatening the altar.

Dragon studied her while she worked. His first impression of her held—she was a beauty: petite with long, wheat-colored hair that fell straight and thick to her waist. But even though she was small, she still had generous curves, which he could easily see through her sheer linen top and flowing blue skirt. He didn’t usually pay much attention to what women wore—he preferred his women naked—but Anastasia’s clothing was decorated with shells and beads and fringe, making her look fey and Otherworldly, an effect that was enhanced by her tattoos, which were graceful vines and flowers, so exquisite in detail they looked real.

“All right. I’m ready to begin again. Are you?” she asked.

He blinked and shifted his attention to the altar, not liking that she’d caught him staring. “I’m ready. Actually, I’m looking forward to hearing the names of the fledglings who asked for love spells.” He turned his gaze from the altar to meet hers, being sure he put a challenge in his voice.

Anastasia’s look remained unruffled. “Because you are aiding me with the spell, I won’t need to call the fledglings’ names. Your presence and cooperation add enough strength to my casting that it will affect anyone who has been distracted by you.”

Dragon exhaled with a snort. “It sounds like it’s a good thing I don’t have a ladylove at this moment. What we’re about to do would certainly mess that up.”

“No, it wouldn’t. Not if that person was truly interested in you and not some overblown image of you.”

“You make me sound like an arrogant ass,” he said.

“Are you?”

“No! I’m just me.”

“Then this spell will not affect anyone who wants just you.”

“All right, all right. I understand. Let’s get this over with. What do you want me to do?”

She answered with a question of her own. “You have taken three years of spells and rituals classes, haven’t you?”

He nodded. “I have.”

“Good, well, I’ll mix the spellwork herbs in your hand. Hold it up like a cup.” She demonstrated with her own. “Like this. The herbs touching you will help lend strength to the spell. Do you think you could manage the completion of at least some of the parts of the actual spellwork if I lead you through it?”

He stifled his irritation. She didn’t sound patronizing. She sounded as if she hadn’t actually considered the possibility that he might enjoy class—might be good at anything besides swordplay.

Professor Anastasia was in for a surprise.

“If you have to ask, you must not have checked out my class work record from the previous spells and rituals professor,” he said blandly, hoping that his tone would make her believe she would have found one substandard grade after another.

The young professor sighed heavily. “No, I did not.”

“So all you really know about me is how infatuated some of the other fledglings are with me.”

Her eyes met his and, again, he saw an emotion he couldn’t identify in their cornflower depths. “I know that someday you will be a Warrior, but that does not mean you can cast a spell.”

“All I can do is to give you my word I will do my best tonight,” he said, wondering why it mattered at all to him what she thought.

Anastasia paused, as if she was choosing her response carefully. When she finally spoke it was just to say a simple, “Thank you, Bryan.” And she bowed her head slightly, respectfully, to him.

“Call me Dragon,” he said, trying not to show how much that one small sign of respect had affected him.

“Dragon,” she repeated. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting. It’s just that ‘Bryan’ seems to suit you.”

“You would know that ‘Dragon’ suits me were you on the other side of my sword,” he said. And then realizing how arrogant that must have sounded he added hastily, “Not that I would ever attack a priestess. I just meant that if you saw me during a swordfight you would understand my nickname. When I fight I become the dragon.”

“That probably won’t happen any time soon,” she said.

“You truly dislike me.”