The Dragon's Hunt

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Rhea kept her distance. “I don’t think that’s such a great idea.”

“Why? It’s not as though seeing something is going to make it happen. I want to know what’s going on, where the wolves are, who stabbed me.” He gestured with his head. “Come over here and do it again.” He seemed to realize his tone wasn’t being appreciated. “Please.”

Rhea sighed. “I can’t guarantee it will be the same vision. I don’t even know if it is a premonition. I’m still trying to get a handle on this ability, which is why I haven’t been doing it lately.” His sleeve had slipped back up over his shoulder, and Rhea pulled it down again. The amber-resin-and-spice scent he’d exuded before rolled off him in waves, a personal pheromone designed just for her. Rhea bit her lip and let her hand move down the firm musculature toward the knotted pattern of the snake.

This time, there was no snow, no blood, no fighting. Only Leo’s body under hers, hard and hot...and naked. They were both naked, in this very chair, and Leo was bound to it while Rhea straddled his lap, full of him, riding him, moaning as he pumped his hips into her, grasping for his mouth with hers as the beating of their hearts and their rapid breathing rose toward a crescendo. She arched her back and tilted her hips deeper into his lap, feet off the ground and hands gripping the chair behind her as Leo dipped his head and closed the heat of his mouth over her breast, sucking the nipple in roughly against his teeth. And with a melodic shout, she—

“Holy fuck.” Rhea sprang back so forcefully she slammed into the cabinet behind her and hit her head on the corner of the shelf above it.

Leo’s eyes were on her, warm with amusement and desire. And his erection, she couldn’t help noticing, was back with a vengeance. “Well, that was different. Was that your future or mine?”

“I...” Rhea shook her head, trying to form words, her face giving off heat like a radiant coil. She managed, finally, four small words in a breathless rush—“I have to go”—and darted past him through the curtain.

Chapter 7 (#u83383183-1294-51c2-bdba-4b658908f3d9)

A clock tower in the distance struck seven as predawn light reached the back of the shop, and the locks, right on schedule, clicked open. Leo yawned and rubbed his wrists after working the buckles out of the restraints, disappointed that Rhea had left sometime during the night. He wondered idly if his presence in the building would actually be a deterrent to vandals. He’d kept his cell phone within reach, but would his alter ego bother to call Rhea if he heard someone outside? For all Leo knew, he was the sort of person who would cheer them on.

Leo frowned. God, he hoped his alter ego wasn’t a neo-Nazi. Could that be the source of the tattoos? No. He refused to accept the idea that he could harbor something so antithetical to his own morality. Rhea had said he was an ass, but she hadn’t said anything about him being a neo-Nazi ass.

As long as he was sleeping here—assuming he hadn’t done something reprehensible last night and Rhea was still letting him stay—he might as well make himself useful. After checking downstairs to make sure there was no new graffiti, he found more cleaning supplies in the bathroom and gave all the counters a good scrubbing, along with the bathroom tile and the wood floors in the rest of the shop. There was no shower, but he managed to give himself a decent sponge bath before changing into his other clothes. He wrinkled his nose as he sniff-checked the T-shirt. He was going to have to find a laundromat soon.

The door opened as he was pulling the shirt over his head, and Rhea made a sharp little noise like she’d caught him naked.

He tugged the fabric down, head emerging through the collar, and grinned sheepishly as he put his glasses back on. “Sorry. Guess I could have changed in the bathroom.”

Her eyes were even wider than usual and her cheeks were flushed. Maybe it was from being out in the cold. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been wearing any pants.

“Must have been boring sitting around with Lucid Ass Leo last night, huh?”

Rhea peeled off her gloves and unwound her scarf as she headed into the back. “I wouldn’t say boring, no.” She returned, sans hat and coat, with that little spike of silvery-lavender hair hanging in her eyes.

Goddamn, she was cute. The word wouldn’t have done her justice if he’d used it to describe her to someone else, but it was the best word to capture the sum total of her mannerisms and quirks—the wide, dark-rimmed eyes that crinkled with easy amusement and sarcasm, the combination of almost haphazard yet defiant dress that at the same time managed to seem completely unselfconscious and totally endearing, the no-nonsense way she spoke as if she didn’t give a damn if she impressed anyone; they could take her as she was or get bent. But the wild, punky hair had its own separate personality, rebelling from and complementing her at the same time.

She was staring at him like he’d forgotten to zip his fly. He checked to be sure.

“So...was I rude to you again? I hope I didn’t do anything out of line.”

Rhea studied him. “You absolutely don’t remember anything that happens when you’re in that state?”

“No. Shit, I did something, didn’t I? That’s why you left. I’m sorry, I wish I could—”

“You didn’t do anything. I mean, you tried to get me to sit on your—”

“No.”

“Yeah. But it was nothing I couldn’t handle. I mean the come-ons,” she added hastily. “But he—you—said some curious things about your tattoos.”

“Did I?” Leo leaned back against the front counter, palms braced against the edge. Was he finally going to get some answers his conscious mind didn’t have access to? Having Rhea talk to his alter ego might turn out to be useful. Unless she found out something he didn’t want her to know. He only wished he knew what there was to find out. “Like what?”

“He didn’t remember getting them. And he didn’t even know about the Midgard Serpent. He thinks you got it to punish him in some way. To control him.”

So the other him didn’t have a clue about the marks either.

Leo tried not to let the disappointment show on his face. “You realize you keep talking about me in the third person.”

Rhea shrugged in acknowledgment. “It’s a little weird trying to have a conversation with someone about their other self. He kept using the third person when he talked about you. He calls you...”

Leo waited, but she didn’t finish the sentence. “He calls me what?”

Her cheeks reddened slightly. “Leo the Dull.”

“Really.” He wasn’t sure why that annoyed him so much. “Did you tell him we call him the Lucid Ass?”

“It didn’t come up.”

“Well, maybe next time you can let him know.” The rush of air filling his chest and the tightness in his jaw were confusing until it dawned on him that he was jealous of his own alter ego. The idea of him spending time with Rhea—propositioning Rhea—made him want to call the asshole out and challenge him. But the “asshole” was himself. It occurred to him that perhaps this response wasn’t entirely healthy.

Rhea’s expression was guarded. “So, did you? Get the tattoo to punish him, I mean.”

Why did he get the feeling she was mad at him about it? “Maybe. I don’t know.”

She laughed, obviously disbelieving. “How can you not know?”

This was starting to go places he really didn’t want it to go. On the other hand, she already knew more about him than he knew about himself. What was the point in keeping what he did know a secret?

“Because...I don’t actually remember getting it.” There. It was out. She was looking at him the way he’d expected her to. Not only did he have an alternate personality he had to tie up at night, he had blackouts and giant gaps in his history no sane person would have.

“Neither of you remember getting the tattoo?” She glanced at his wrists. The way he was gripping the counter made the allrune and Mjölnir prominently visible. “Do you remember getting those?”

He didn’t want to answer. But she already knew.

“I only know they weren’t always there and they weren’t by choice. But when they were put there and by whom...?” He shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. Jörmungandr...” He paused, the memory of buzzing tattoo needles tugging faintly at him. He remembered the aftercare, peeling back the gauze bandage and seeing the intricate black designs, holding his arm before the mirror and turning until he could see the shape of the coiling snake. “Jörmungandr, I think I had done myself. But that’s all I know.”

Rhea studied him, trying to determine, no doubt, whether he was full of shit. “Do you have any long-term memory?”

Leo gave her a half smile. “Are you analyzing me?”

Her eyes narrowed. “That’s what he said.”

“Well.” Leo shrugged and pushed away from the counter. “We both share the same skin.” He put his hands in his pockets, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. “So I promised to work off my debt. What else do you need done? I checked downstairs earlier and didn’t find any new graffiti, and I cleaned up a bit in here.”

Rhea glanced around, her eyes taking in the gleaming hardwood. “Did you scrub the floor?”

“Yeah.”

She looked at him curiously. “I don’t have a mop.”

“I just used a sponge and some warm soapy water. I followed up with a towel to make sure the water didn’t soak in.”

She was still looking at him funny.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just—Well, I didn’t expect you to be crawling around on my floor on your hands and knees.” That little flush was back in her cheeks. “But thank you. It looks great.” She glanced around once more, avoiding his eyes. “I did want to go over the inventory. It’s not much yet, a dozen bottles of ink, a small supply of needles and accessories, and the disinfecting supplies. I started a spreadsheet to estimate how much I’ll need and how much this is going to set me back before I start to turn a profit, but I couldn’t get all the columns to add up.”

“I can take a look at it for you.”

“Could you? That would be great. Even if you could just finish entering the physical inventory and tallying it, that would really help. The more complex stuff can wait.”

Leo smiled as Rhea fished the tablet out of her bag. “I’m pretty good with data. I’m used to working in a lab.”

While Rhea pulled up the spreadsheet to show him how far she’d gotten, the bell on the door jingled. A woman who looked as much like Rhea as she could without being her twin—except for the long, dark chestnut hair in a high ponytail and bangs—stepped inside, blowing on her bare fingers and stamping her feet.

“Goddamn. It’s colder than a witch’s tit.” She grinned as Rhea turned in surprise. “Hi, brat! I figured I’d come by and see your new digs while Rafe is busy dealing with the frozen pipes at one of his worksites.”