CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Jareth~
The hallucination struck right there in the breakfast parlor with sunlight streaming into the room and his lap full of fragrant, willing dragoness.
At least it was not the all too familiar scene of watery death. He was flying. This time with Iliana. Her stubby wings had lengthened. She now possessed all the elegance and graceful strength of an adult dragoness. Her body was long and muscular, her limbs fully developed. Her scales seemed harder and more iridescent too. Best of all, she smelled pregnant.
The moon turned the dancing ocean below them to glittering silver that reflected the sky full of stars. A scrap of forested rock towered from the waves, almost black in the midnight air. Brisk winds filled their wings and carried them closer and closer to the island he had dreamed of before.
Iliana darted ahead of him and then circled playfully, nudging him and urging him faster. He angled into the wind and let it carry him ahead of her. Her merry whistling made his heart stir. He floated high, propelled as much by love as by the breeze, and echoed her love song back to her.
“What’s happening?” Iliana cried.
His vision vanished. Instead of waves and rocks he saw the remains of their breakfast. The air was warm and instead of the smell of the sea, the scent of his mate filled his nostrils. His frightened mate. Her cry still echoed in his ears.
“I had a waking nightmare,” he explained, cuddling her. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, my dear. I thought they had gone away like the nighttime ones.”
“I saw it too,” she said. “We were flying over the ocean. But I didn’t know where we were.”
“You shared my dream?” Horror seized him. Had he infected Iliana with his madness? Caused her to also hallucinate?
She relaxed against his chest. “When you began to dream, I dreamed too. I could hear the waves and the seagulls and feel the wind beneath my wings. I wonder what it means.”
“Nothing whatsoever,” he said bitterly. “They never do.”
“What do you mean?”
“I often have waking dreams. Usually they are just versions of my nighttime ones. And they mean as little.”
She patted his shoulder. “I wonder.”
“Except for the one where you asked me for help, they have all been meaningless terrors.” He had had many years to learn that lesson.
“I was in no dream,” she corrected. “I showed myself to you in the stream to entice you.”
“And sent voices that shrieked like a wailing wind?” he asked in horror.
“No.” She nestled closer against his still thudding heart. “I was trying to woo you, not drive you away. No wonder you looked appalled.”
“Huh.”
“That wicked wight sent the voices,” she declared passionately, “To prevent our meeting.”
“Probably.”
“Just as she visited you at night to torment you with your parents’ death. Fortunately she did not succeed. But whatever we saw did not feel in the least like your evil dream. We were happy flying together beneath the stars.”
“So we were. But you have to admit that dreaming during the daytime is unusual.”
“More unusual than a man turning into a dragon?”
“Perhaps not.” He couldn’t bring himself to confess that she had bound herself to a lunatic.
“If you were sent a vision,” she said thoughtfully, “I mean, another vision, you will have to wait and see. Perhaps now that the malevolent influence of the wight’s necromancy has been lifted, the meaning of your visions will become clear.”
“Huh?”
“It is not just me who has changed,” she insisted. “Now that I have a soul, I am no longer beautiful. And you are much larger than you used to be. But I am not at all sure that we have completed our metamorphosis.”
He sniffed the curve of her jaw. She smelled like his mate, but she wasn’t pregnant. Yet. Perhaps his vision had shown him their happy future. “You are beautiful, Iliana. You don’t look the same. But you are still a lovely woman.”
“My hair is dull brown. And my eyes are funny looking.”
“Your hair is soft and shiny, and if you don’t like the color, any hairdresser will change it for you. But not on my account. I like it as it is. And I think your eyes are beautiful.” He tried to explain. “Before you were like some sort of unreal fantasy. Larger than life. Too voluptuous. Too, too everything.”
She sniffed unhappily, and he rushed on. “Now you feel real. And now that you have a heart, you have a truer beauty.” He stopped and gathered her closer. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m not much good at whispering sweet nothings.”
“You really prefer me as I am?” she asked incredulously.
“Yup. I wish you liked your new face and body. But I promise you they grow on a fellow.” He was teasing her, but it was also true that before she had been as unreal as an airbrushed centerfold. Voluptuous and sensual, but essentially a gorgeous inflatable doll. He much preferred her with a soul.
“Am I as pretty as Angela?”
“Angela?”
She pinched him. “Angela who dresses horses,” she hissed. “The one you are in love with.”
“You’ve been listening at keyholes,” he said. “And you misunderstood.”
“I have not. I sat on your shoulder. And I understood you perfectly. You wished to marry this Angela. You are in love with her.” She pinched him again. “Answer me. Am I prettier?”
He held her hand. Kissed her fingers. “Don’t pinch me, sweetheart. Angela does not dress horses. She makes them do fancy maneuvers called dressage. It’s a sport.”
“Oh.” Her face expressed either disgust or doubt. Clearly, she was jealous as sin.
He hugged her. “You are my mate, Iliana. There is no more attractive woman than you anywhere,” he vowed. “And I do not love Angela. I never have, and now I never will. You have no need to be jealous.”
“Hmph.” She pouted. “What about you? Do you like being bigger?” she asked.
He kissed her pout away. “I do. I’ve always been the smallest of the family. Now it feels as if I have finally grown up.” It did. It felt great. Invigorating. Of course that might be due to Iliana.
“Perhaps your growth was stunted by the wight. And your visions too.”
“Or my fear of her.”
“It’s the same thing. You must not blame yourself because she persecuted you when you were a child. It was not your fault.”
Somehow it had always seemed as if it were due to some fatal flaw in his character. “Think so?”
“I know it. I have stood beside you when you addressed the great and terrible goddess Hel. When my tongue turned to ashes in my mouth, you spoke bravely, and won her respect.”
“It had to be done. And I didn’t feel any braver than when I went into battle against the countess.”
“My point exactly. Bravery means doing what makes you quail, because it must be done, whatever the cost.”
If she wished to believe he was brave, he didn’t plan to disillusion her.