She shrugged and put her feet up on the railing. “I love music, Zev. I love all the various instruments and the sounds they make. I love to hear voices singing in perfect pitch.”

He smiled at her. “And you love to dance.”

“I do. Tatijana does as well. It felt like freedom to me, floating around the dance floor in your arms. I felt as if we were soaring above earth in the clouds.”

“I can see I’ll have to study dancing. I wouldn’t want to trip over my own feet.” He lifted his face to the breeze. Across from the house, mice scurried in the brush drawing the attention of an owl sitting silently above them in a particularly old and wide tree. It was dense with branches and needles that appeared silver whenever the moon shone through.

“That’s impossible and you know it,” she said, laughing softly. “I’ve seen you in a fight with your sword and knives and you’re like a beautiful dancer, flowing around your opponents in the most graceful, fluid way I’ve ever seen. Even Fen admires your abilities,” she added.

“I was very lucky to meet that man,” Zev said. “He was very adept at hiding that he was a mixed blood. He managed to live a good century or more among the Lycans.”

“Tatijana told me.”

Branislava lifted her hands to her hair, an idle move, but one that lifted her breasts beneath the material of her dress. Now that they were relaxing at home, she had donned a long gown, one from another era. The corset hugged her breasts and ribs and the material flared over her hips to fall to the ground. The top was white eyelet lace and a panel ran down the front of the dress surrounded by a rich crimson material.

She had been in the form of a fire dragon for centuries and he wasn’t in the least surprised to find she was attracted to the color red. She seemed extraordinarily feminine to him, preferring dresses to trousers.

He enjoyed sitting across from her, there in the night, just looking at her. “You could take your hair down,” he suggested.

Her hands settled in the thick mass of red-gold silk. “It will be all over the place. It’s a little on the wild side,” she confessed in a little rush. “It isn’t straight, but wavy and curly and straight all at once. And it grows so thick there’s very little I can do with it.”

“I’m well aware of that,” he admitted. “I love your hair.” Especially when it was wild and messy. He thought of it as bedroom hair to go with her bedroom eyes. With it down, she looked sultry and inviting. Every time she had it up, or in a long braid, his fingers itched to pull the pins out and just let it fall in cascade, like a flowing waterfall down her back. She might not like all that wild hair, but he was particularly fond of it.

She pulled out pins and the mass of silk tumbled around her face and down her back in waves of red gold. She shook her head with a small smile as if she thought he was just a little bit crazy. “There it is. A big mess.”

“You look amazing. You always look amazing. What makes you happiest?”

“Freedom.” There was no hesitation. She jumped up, stretched her arms wide and spun in a circle. “I have space. Look at all this space. I can fly up to the clouds or run in the forest with the wolves. I can leave and go into a city.” She gave a little shudder. “Not that I want to, but the point is, I could.”

“I’d love to show you the forests of Russia. And the cities there are beautiful,” Zev said. “Like you, I couldn’t live in one, I need the forest, but some of them are really extraordinary. I chased three rogues through France and while I was in Paris, after my duty had been done, I visited the museums and the artwork was almost beyond my comprehension.”

“I have seen some paintings in books as well as the memories of tourists and a few of the villagers,” Branislava murmured. “But not in person.”

“When this is all done,” he said, “we’ll travel a bit, if you feel up to it, and see some of the world.”

“The first time I was ever away from Tatijana was when she went with Fen to get Dimitri,” Branislava admitted. “I stayed behind because there were so many Lycans here and we feared there might be an all-out war.”

He regarded her with a somber gaze. “You are a warrior.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m Dragonseeker. The one thing for certain Tatijana and I learned in the ice caves was how to fight in a battle. Xavier tortured many warriors of all species and all of them shared information with us in the hopes that we could find a way to escape. Sometimes that was all we had to hold on to, the two of us planning battles and talking mythical scenarios to keep our minds active. I don’t yet know many things, but I know how to fight if it’s needed.”

She looked so beautiful to him, there in the scattered moonbeams. Her hair fell around her, looking like living silk, long waves that emphasized her small, tucked-in waist. She moved with grace and he could imagine her as a dancer, but the idea of her in combat, especially against a wolf in Lycan form, half-man, half-wolf, was a little terrifying to him. She was almost dainty with her small bone structure and soft curves, far too feminine for him to think of her wielding a sword or a knife.

“I have excellent skills with most weapons. The modern ones are a little more difficult, because Xavier rarely brought in humans. They didn’t last long or amuse him much when he tortured them. Their blood didn’t help his ultimate goal, which was to be immortal.”

Branislava wrapped her arm around one of the stone columns at the edge of the verandah and stared out into the dark of the trees. Zev noticed her hand trembled as the memories of her childhood and life settled over her. He pushed himself out of the chair, testing his strength. It was definitely coming back to him. He was far more tired than feeling as if he had been wounded or was ill.

He moved behind her and instantly felt the heat he equated with her. She seemed so cool when one talked to her. Low key. Quiet. But he was beginning to know her. Merged as he was so often with her, their spirits tied together, it was impossible not to see glimpses of who she really was—that person she kept safe from those around her.

Her reasons were all tactical. The realization swept over him, stunning him. She truly was a warrior. That fiery, passionate woman who she kept hidden was ready for warfare, for combat, just as he was always prepared for it. In a secret part of his mind, he hoped, when she was prepared to come to him, that she’d always be just as ready for their lovemaking.