“I am a wyvern,” he said, looking out the window. “It’s what I do.”

“But I’m not one of your dragons.”

“No, but you are—” He stopped, his jaw tensing.

“I’m what?”

“How long will it take us to reach the place with food?”

“Another fifteen minutes. I’m what, Kostya? Your mate?” I gave the last word the emphasis that I felt was unspoken.

His fingers spasmed on his leg, but he didn’t turn to look at me. “I have no mate.”

“Not that I’m desperate for the job or anything—let alone getting involved with someone so pigheaded and arrogant—”

He turned at that, complete with a glare that probably would have singed the hair of someone who wasn’t wearing a magic ring.

“But you have to admit that when you’re not being annoying, the kissing part is a lot of fun.” I smiled at him. He glowered.

“And speaking of the ring, why isn’t it simple? Giving it to you, that is, and letting you break this curse.”

His jaw tightened. “Traditionally, the breaking of a curse is done by someone not affected by it.”

“Huh. You learn something new each day.” I thought for a few minutes. “Traditionally? Do you mean you haven’t tried to break it yourself?”

“I have not had the means.” He looked pointedly at my hand.

“No,” I said slowly. “But you would if I gave it to you. Why don’t we do that, and then you can see if curse-breaking isn’t easier than you think?”

He shook his head, saying simply, “It would not work.”

I wanted to argue the point with him, but two things stopped me: first, he was still obviously in pain, and the part of me that wanted to comfort him demanded that I stop picking on him, and second, all this business of dragons and curses and demon lords was new to me. Magically speaking, I probably had the wrong end of the stick.

The remaining hours passed quicker than I expected. I insisted on driving to my house to see what remained of it, but all that greeted us was a mass of smoky charred wood, with half of one wall still standing. Sadness gripped me at the sight of it, tears welling thickly in my eyes. I mourned the loss of the place of so many happy memories and came perilously close to breaking down and bawling when I felt Kostya standing behind me.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t even touch me, but just his nearness gave comfort. After a few minutes, I turned and walked to the car, Jim and Kostya silently flanking me.

I wanted to stop by the nearest fire station (about fifteen miles away) but made do with a phone call instead. After giving my information and promising to stop by in the next twenty-four hours to fill out the report of what we saw, I left messages for both my sister and brother briefly explaining that the house had been destroyed and that I would contact them later with information about where I would be staying.

“I don’t know why you wouldn’t let me tell them about you,” I told Kostya when I finished with the voice mail for my brother. “Other than the dragon part, I mean. I could just tell them that you are a friend and you’d offered to let me stay with you—not that I have decided if I will, mind you—so they wouldn’t worry.”

“I do not know your siblings. They might pass along information that would lead the red dragons to you.”

“You’re really stubborn, you know that? No, to the left. We want the road that heads south.”

Kostya was taking his turn at the wheel, his collarbone having finally healed. That, along with a meal and a stop by a store for some fresh clothing, had made us all feel better.

“I am a wyvern. I am not stubborn.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I watched the countryside slip past us as we headed south. “I don’t suppose you’d like to answer some questions now?”

“No. I am driving. It would be unsafe for me to do so.”

“A likely excuse. Okay, let’s try this. Jim?”

“Huh?”

I turned around in my seat to see the demon, who had requested a copy of the local newspaper, look up from one of the pages. I had bought him the paper without making a single comment about the fact that he apparently not only spoke Swedish, but also could read it and was interested in the latest news.

“What do you know about dragon weirs?”

“Weyrs,” Kostya corrected.

“Weyrs. What do you know about them? Oh, wait… I order you to tell me about weyrs.”

The dog rolled his eyes. “You can ask me stuff without the bossy parts, you know.”

“Sorry. Kostya said I had to order you.”

“It’s not very polite.” Jim sniffed, and nosed the newspaper over to the next page. “I don’t know anything about them other than it’s some sort of a collective group. It’s what the septs belong to.”

“Oh, that’s right. Terrin said something about that. It’s like a United Nations thing?” I asked Kostya. “Your individual septs are members?”

“The weyr is made up of the dragon septs, yes.” A muscle in his jaw flexed. “It was made up of the septs. It is no more.”

“The curse had the power to do that? The guy who did that to you must be a humdinger of a bad dude.”

Kostya was silent. I thought for a few minutes about picking at the question until I forced him to answer me, but the sunlight filtering in through the car window, combined with the lack of sleep and a full belly, all led me to simply say, “I’m going to find out, you know. If not now, then soon,” before making a pillow of a sweater and snuggling into the car seat as best I could for a little snooze.

I woke up some time later at the sound of rain hitting the window.

“Ow,” I said, sitting up from where I’d been slumped against the door. My neck twinged in protest from my odd position. I rubbed it and blinked as I peered around. I was alone in the car, the skies gray above, although the ground wasn’t too wet, indicating it hadn’t been raining for long. “Jim? Kostya? Hello?”

No one answered. I looked out at the rain but didn’t see anyone. The car appeared to be at a small airport—not the large one with international arrivals, but a local one. A sign above a cluster of hangars announced balloon trips were available, as was pilot training. I got out of the car and scurried over to the door of the nearest hangar. Inside was a small plane, the kind crop dusters used, but no one was visible. “Hello? Anyone?”