Page 45 of Dragon Thief of New York
I share a look with my mates, unsure how to read her reaction. I’ve always believed in tackling problems head-on, so here we go. “We’ve come to get my memories back.”
“I can see that.”
Is she clairvoyant or something? Is that a thing? I guess if dragons exist, anything is possible. Although she might just be noticing the protective way both my dragons are touching me. Damian’s hand rests on the small of my back, and Otto’s fingers are still wrapped around mine.
“So, how do we do it?” I ask.
“You don’t.” She winces as if it pains her to say.
“But we can’t go on like this,” Damian says. “How can I be a father to my son if his mother forgets me every time I leave her? And it’s not just happening when we’re apart. It also happened—”
I clear my throat. Yeah, she really doesn’t need to know about that little detail.
Damian gives me an apologetic look. “The point is, we need to fix this. And we’re willing to do anything.”
When I look back at the priestess, she looks almost comically shocked, her mouth is hanging open, and she’s shaking her head with wide eyes. The men with her seem just as surprised.
“Did you say son?” the priestess asks. “But…” She gives me a narrow, assessing look. “You’ve only just turned?”
I nod and pull my arms across my chest, feeling suddenly cold.
“Right,” Otto jumps in. “I turned her. But he… well, last time…” Otto rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, seeming nervous under the intense glare of the priestess.
“Dragons and humans can’t… unless…” She turns away from us to look at the men next to her. They huddle together, speaking too quietly for me to hear even with my new dragon senses. When they break apart, her lips are pinched tight. She motions toward a door off to the right. “In there.”
Chapter 24
Damian
Theroomthepriestessdirected us to is nothing like the grand entry we just left. This room is small, the walls carved from rough rock, bumpy as if someone chiseled it out and left before the work was done. In the center, a fire blazes, casting dancing shadows on the wall. The blue flames create suffocating heat, but no smoke.
I’ve never been in this part of the temple, but we all know this is a place reserved for the High Priestess alone. A shiver rushes down my spine, filling me with awe. It’s an honor and a risk to be let into this room. Some who enter never leave. Those who leave rarely speak of it.
“You’ve come,” a quiet voice says. It echoes, making it sound like it’s coming from everywhere at once.
I fall to my knees, knowing who it is even though I can’t see her. This is sacred ground, and seeing the High Priestess here is a holy honor.
Otto joins me on his knees, dropping his forehead to the floor. Kat spins around, looking for the source of the voice.
“At last,” the voice sighs.
“Where are you?” Kat asks, the only one still standing. I reach up and tug at the hem of her shirt just as a woman glides out of the shadows.
“High Priestess.” I avert my eyes, but the brief image of the High Priestess is burned into my mind. I’ve met the woman before, but she’s different here. Her hair seems to dance in a breeze I can’t feel. Her eyes burn with a fire brighter than any I’ve ever seen—blue like the flames of the altar rather than red or orange like most dragons. She doesn’t walk forward. She glides, floating toward us as one moving through water rather than air.
“No need for formalities.” She stops right in front of me, her bare toes wiggling a few inches off the ground. She leans down and lifts my chin. “You can call me Raba.”
There’s something mischievous about the smile that plays at the corners of her lips. She looks behind me, then frowns. “You didn’t bring him with you?”
“Who?” Kat and I ask at the same time. A sinking suspicion settles in my gut.
“My replacement.” The High Priestess grins.
Otto lifts his head, his eyes catching mine. Kat steps a little closer.
“I don’t know who you mean,” I say carefully.
“Of course you do.” When I shake my head, the High Priestess scoffs. “I mean Lincoln, of course.”
