It was as if the airport was a ghost town. I headed toward the big sign, assuming that’s where the office was located, but movement from the side caught my eye. A plane had evidently just landed and was taxiing toward me. This was no crop duster—it was small but sleek and positively reeked of money. I paused, watching it as it came to a stop, and the steps slid down in a near-silent hiss.

A man appeared, stocky in build, with red hair and a wary look on his face. He didn’t look to me like a dragon, but then, Kostya didn’t look like a dragon when he was in man-form. I took a step toward the redhead but stopped when he was joined by a second man, also redheaded. Neither of them looked like Kostya.

I turned my feet toward the office, glancing up and down the rows of hangars for signs of Kostya or Jim.

A shout behind me had me stopping. The two men from the plane were now joined by others, including a woman with curly brown hair and a tall man with black hair. The woman pointed at me, and in a flash, I realized that I was looking at dragons—but not Kostya’s family.

“Red dragons,” I said aloud, clutching my hand to my chest. “They want the ring! Well, they can’t have it!”

Feeling almost as brave as Kostya had been earlier (although with a lot more circumspection, given the situation), I spun around on my heel and ran back the way I’d come, hoping that Kostya had left the car keys in the ignition.

Almost immediately, there were sounds of running footsteps behind me. I dug deep for a burst of speed, but two years where the most vigorous exercise was a gentle stroll in the gardens had taken its toll, and before I was halfway to the car, I heard heavy breathing directly behind me. Ahead of me loomed the edge of one of the hangars. Behind it was my car, but I had serious doubts that I’d make it. I gathered every bit of energy I had and willed my legs to run faster, but just as I reached the end of the hangar, someone caught the back of my shirt and jerked me backward.

It was the taller of the two redheads. He said something in a language I didn’t understand, pulling me toward him. Behind him, the stockier guy was approaching, as were the woman and dark-haired man.

“Let go of me,” I snarled, my fingers curled into a fist. I swung at him, but he ducked. The second man reached us just as a large shape blurred past me, and then I was free. I ran a couple of steps forward, realized what the large shape must be, and spun around to see Kostya rolling on the ground with both redheads.

The dark-haired man checked his step for a moment; then with a roar of fury, he threw himself on the pile.

“Sweet sadistic salamanders!” I yelled, clutching my hand with the ring and trying to remember how I used it with the other red dragons. I tried to pull together power and directed it at them, bellowing, “Stop, stop, stop! I command you all to stop!”

Nothing happened. The men continued to fight.

Now what the devil was I supposed to do?

Eight

“Pal! Istvan!” The woman who had been with the three men reached us, yelling, “Stop, Drake! Aoife, get them apart! They’ll kill each other.”

I did a double take at the sound of a familiar female voice. “Aisling?” I asked.

The two redheaded men had dragged themselves out of the pile, but Kostya and the man who I assumed must be his brother still rolled around, thankfully in human form, but judging by the sounds, still beating the stuffing out of each other.

“I’m really getting tired of all the fighting,” I told Kostya. “So you can just stop it right now, because I am not taking you to see Dr. Ek a third time!”

“Pull them apart,” Aisling shouted, leaping forward and catching hold of Drake’s arm, trying to pull him back.

He snarled something quite rude, his face black with fury. To my amazement, the two redheads did as she ordered, grabbing Drake and attempting to force him off his brother. Kostya lunged forward, taking advantage of the fact that Drake was temporarily unable to strike back, and nailed him with a solid blow to the face that, if the sound of the resulting crack was anything to go by, probably broke the latter’s nose.

“Aoife, you’re going to have to pull him off,” Aisling ordered, trying to squeeze her way between the two men. “They won’t stop until we get them separated!”

I looked around for something that I could use to help pry Kostya off Drake, but other than Jim, there was nothing at hand.

“Jim,” I commanded, “find something to help me yank Kostya back.”

“Seriously?” Jim pursed his lips. “Like what, a bulldozer?”

“You are not helping,” I said in between grunts as I wrapped my arms around Kostya from the back and tried to pivot him over my hip.

“Aoife, babe, you’ve seen Slick go at it before. You gotta know that it’s going to take something like a crowbar to remove him from the other dude, and realistically, that’s only going to work if you knock him silly with the crowbar.”

“Do as I order,” I yelled, giving up on the pivoting idea. I decided Aisling had a better plan and tried to shove myself between the two men. “Grab the back of his shirt and pull!”

It worked, but only after I took an inadvertent blow to the jaw that made me see stars for a few minutes. I clung to Kostya, telling him to stop being such an idiot and other such words of wisdom, and with Aisling and her two friends pulling Drake back to a safe distance, at last we got the two men separated by thirty yards. Kostya stood panting, his shirt torn and sporting two black eyes. Drake didn’t look much better, with blood dripping out of his nose, a fat lip, and a lump on his jaw that slowly faded away.

“What the hell?” I asked Kostya when the two men stood glaring at each other. “Why didn’t you tell me you hated your brother?”

He shifted his gaze to me, the anger in it fading to puzzlement. “What are you talking about? I don’t hate my brother.”

I pointed to where Aisling was mopping up Drake’s face. “You just tried to kill him. Don’t tell me you didn’t, because you most definitely did not pull that punch that I took instead of him.”

Kostya’s eyes sharpened on my face, a horrified look flashing in his eyes. He touched my jaw, his thumb stroking gently across the tender spot. “I struck you? Let me see.”

“I’m fine.” I batted his hand away, but he simply ignored that and turned my head until he could examine the bruised part of my jaw. His fingers were warm as he brushed his thumb again, sending an answering warmth down my neck, to where it pooled in my belly.