Page 31 of The Silver Spider
Her stomach tensed. Dragon eyes were startling enough, but she was used to them by now. Eyes that changed color—that was new.
“Compulsion,” she said, not wanting to reveal her real reason for hunting him down. Let him think she’d been drawn here by the magic and her own curiosity rather than her investigation of his criminal activities.
“There is only one reason why you would be compelled.” Dawnthorne said.
Sitting here, she could taste the magic held in abeyance under his skin. A thin film of living proteins that separated the rest of the room from power that tasted as if it were enough to incinerate them all, if he so chose. Power she’d never felt before—she knew all Dwyrkin were magical, but dragons were different from fae, were different from werewolves, were different from the other creatures that also lived in human skin and came from the other dimension.
He held out a hand, a silent demand. She stared. “Take it,” he said.
“You’re insane,” she said.
“No.” His smile was bland. “Insanity is not my strength. Take it, I will not harm you.”
She glanced at Amnan, hating that she looked for his advice even that much. He met her eyes and said nothing, but she could tell by the set of his broad shoulders he was tense. But it was her choice, and he wasn’t growling.
“I don’t want to touch you,” Serephone said. “What is it you’re trying to learn?”
Dawnthorne reached out and seized her wrist, wrapping long fingers around her like a vise. She sucked in a breath and began to jerk back, incensed, but her magic chose that moment to flair to life, prickles running inside her skin in a flood toward where his flesh touched hers. Light shimmered, a tangle of green and gold, his glyph rising from her skin and hovering in the air before dissipating.
“So. You’re of my Line.”
“That’s what the light show means?”
He released her, studying her face. “I was not entirely sure—half breeds tend to look alike to me.”
Asshole. “How are we related?”
“The relationship, such as it is, would be distant.” He glanced at Amnan. “Why does a dragon accompany one of mine?”
“Her mother married my father. She is under the protection of Lord Maddugh of the Dwyrkin Adallsthone”
“I see.” Dawnthorne rose. “That will complicate things somewhat.”
Serephone crossed her arms. “Why?”
“I imagine your Lord will protest when he discovers you must remain here, but I do have the prior claim of blood. And I cannot let you leave, I fear.”
Her immediate, visceral reaction was violent. Serephone stood, her chair skittering backwards with an awful screech, whispering to her darlings. They emerged from their nests inside her sleeves, crawling up her arms and through her hair, a half-mechanical, half-psychic hiss only another magic user would recognize, much less hear.
Dawnthorne did not move, though his eyes widened slightly. Not in fear—there was no fear in how he held out his hand, as if in wonder.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed again.
His hand lowered slowly. “Apologies. This is unexpected.”
“More unexpected than her existence?” Amnan asked.
Serephone glanced at him. Her own emotions were heightened, but Amnan stood with arms crossed over his chest, calm, speech dry.
“Put those away, Sere, we’re not alone,” he continued. She studied his face for a split-second, accessing their bond. His ease was all illusion. The lazy carelessness of his tone hid something deeper.
“Not until he takes back his threat.”
Dawnthorne’s brow rose. “I did not threaten you.”
“You said you would try to stop me from leaving.”
“Ah. The geas, not myself personally. There is paperwork to fill out, now that I am aware I have yet another half-breed cousin.”
