“I always have,” he murmured.
There was a mournful, eerie howl, and both of them watched as Phantom stood in the snow-lightened darkness and stared off toward the mountains.
Softly Cody said, “I believe his mate will come back, although, realistically, the odds are probably against it. I believe that moth-eaten burro will learn to love me one day. And I believe,” he finished quietly, “that you’ll defeat that last dragon, love.”
She turned, staring up at him. “You knew—”
“That there was another one?” He smiled tenderly. “I knew. Impossible things, like dragons in the dark, and a beautiful woman with green eyes and ESP who loves me. A woman who’s stronger than she knows, too strong to turn away from that last dragon. Too strong to let me help her fight it. Too strong to say she’ll marry me with a dragon left to fight.”
“I love you,” she said unsteadily.
He pulled her close, held her tightly. “And I love you. Never forget that, my Brooke. Never forget that I’ll love you all the days of my life…and through all the eternities of whatever comes after.”
Shaken, she clung to him. “It’s not a very big dragon,” she promised in a whisper. “It doesn’t breathe fire. But it’s there. I—I have to deal with it.”
“I know.”
“And you are helping. By being you, you’re helping.”
“My love.”
“Cody….”
“What’re you looking at?”
“You have a beauty mark beside your navel.”
“That’s what you’re looking at?”
“It’s shaped like a heart.”
“Cody?”
“Hmm?”
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
“I am looking at you.”
“Look me in the eye, dammit.”
“But it’s so fascinating.”
“My poor darling; you’re losing your mind.”
“Darling. It’s just a word. Why does it sound so different when you say it?”
“What does it sound like?”
“Moonlight. Magic.”
“Impossible things?”
“Impossible things….”
The passing days were too full for Brooke to spend time brooding, but sometimes she woke in the night, Cody’s arms holding her warmly, and wondered at the stubborn fear shaped like a gossamer dragon.
Loss.
She’d lost her father. Her mother in a different way. Josh. And it was reasonable, she knew, to fear loss. With life so uncertain, people dealt with a fear of loss every day. They loved in spite of the fear, had families in spite of the fear.
What made her fear different?
Sheltered in the haven of his arms, she fought to untangle confused strands of thought. She loved Cody; no matter what happened, nothing would ever change that. She knew that he loved her. He made her laugh and moved her almost unbearably, and showed her in a thousand different ways that she was special and that he loved her.
He had forced her to face the dragons she’d locked away inside of her for years, guided her gently and patiently through the maze of memory and bitterness. He had helped her to focus on the core of bitterness, lancing the painful wound to allow the poison to seep away.
He had softened and blurred the years of facing crowds of strangers, understanding her psychic abilities without the undue emphasis that had always made her wary of “believers” encountered in her life.
To Cody, she realized, her psychic ability was simply another facet of her personality, of herself. Brooke had green eyes, black hair, and was psychic. He accepted it calmly, cheerfully—lovingly. He loved her, not despite her abilities, and not because of them. He simply loved her.
Light shone in a dark corner of her mind, and Brooke fumbled for understanding of it.
Was part of her fear of losing Cody tangled up with the memories etched in her mind, memories of others who’d understood—for a while? Others who had expressed some degree of understanding—only to step back hurriedly when she had absently and accidentally looked into their minds? Did the hurt child inside of her fear the day when Cody would step back as well, when he’d look at her with that uneasy, mistrustful expression in his golden eyes?
Was that a part of it?
She thought about it, exploring her own mind with the probing touch he had taught her. And she realized that it was a part of the fear. At the same time she also realized that it was built out of bitter memories holding little power over her now, built on the blanket memory of many rather than on the certain knowledge of him.
Cody would never do that, Brooke told herself.
Because he was Cody. The sensitivity and understanding within him wasn’t merely lip service; it was innate to him, and it went deeper than she would have believed possible. Of his own volition, he’d stripped himself bare for her, showed her the parts of himself that people usually guarded so jealously. Cody erected no barriers between them, built no walls. Even the normal, wary guarding of his innermost self was absent with her.
Because he loved her.
And was Brooke the child still crying in a dark room because perhaps there were monsters in the corner? The child who was too afraid to get up and turn on a light?
She faced the fear of loss with her certain knowledge of Cody, her understanding, finally, that the past held no terrors for her now. Cody would never back away from her as others had done. His Brooke had green eyes, black hair, and was psychic, and he loved her.
The gossamer dragon faded almost to nothing, its transparency so fragile and unthreatening that even a sigh could defeat it. And Brooke sighed softly, raggedly, as the dragon vanished like a soap bubble.
Cody, she realized, was the light the child needed to reveal those dark corners. He was the warmth and security that gave her the courage to look and see what was there. And the man’s love gave strength to the woman—strength and humor and the clarity of vision to see herself as he saw her.
The past fell away from her then, fully and completely. It broke away from her in shards made up of fears and hurts and years of loneliness, leaving behind a whole human being with scars healing in the light of understanding and love.
She was Brooke Kennedy. She knew karate, and how to drive a Sno-Cat. She could cook and knit, and loved murder mysteries. She played chess. She was well-educated because of brilliant tutoring and her own love of reading. She wasn’t afraid of people. She wasn’t burdened with a curse. She had black hair, green eyes, and was psychic. And she loved Cody Nash.
“Brooke?”
It was a sleepy inquiry, his arm drawing her closer, and Brooke smiled into the darkness.
“Nothing, darling. Go back to sleep.”
“Mmm. Love you,” he murmured.
Still smiling, Brooke snuggled close to him. “I love you too, darling,” she whispered. And drifted off to sleep.
NINE
“WELL?” THE DRAGON demanded somewhat sternly. “Have you stopped crying about imagined monsters in dark corners?”
Brooke sat at the bow, looking absently down into the black pit. She raised her eyes finally, gazing at the feathered, familiar, increasingly dear dragon of her dreamworld. “I have to risk it,” she said slowly. “I have to risk—whatever might be there.”
“Why?” he prodded.
“Because—because even if there are monsters, even if I lose…I’ll never lose what Cody’s given me. And because he’s the light I need to see into those dark corners.”
The dragon applauded softly, his long-clawed dragon hands comical in the human gesture. “I thought you’d never figure it out,” he confided dryly.
She was surprised. “It’s that simple?”
“It always was. But that crying child had to stop crying long enough to see it. She’d hidden away in the dark for so long that it didn’t seem possible to her that there was any way to deal with the darkness. Now she knows differently.”
Brooke smiled. “Then I won’t be afraid an
ymore?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far just yet. You have to learn to pay no attention to those dark corners. And you have to learn to give of yourself totally; you haven’t learned that yet. But your man is patient. He’ll wait until you finally turn him into a prince.”
“I haven’t done that yet?”
“No.”
Puzzled, Brooke asked, “How will I do that?”
The dragon smiled oddly. “How soon we forget. With a kiss, of course.”
“I’ve kissed Cody!”
With a chuckle the dragon murmured, “Not like that, you haven’t.”
“But, how—”
“You’ll know the difference.” And without another word the dragon vanished.
Brooke woke up abruptly, confused for a moment because the dream had ended so suddenly. Cautiously she raised up on an elbow, gazing at the peacefully sleeping face of the man she loved. He was lying close beside her on his stomach, his arm across her middle.
She thought of the dream. It was easy to understand the part about learning to ignore dark corners, but—open up totally? Turn him into her prince? What was her mind trying to tell her?
She watched the sunlight crawl across his face, waiting for the slight stirring as he fought his way up from sleep. And before he could open his eyes, she said solemnly, “I love you, Cody Nash.”
His golden eyes opened, blurred from sleep for a moment and then clearing, brightening. He rolled over and pulled her on top of him in one smooth motion, smiling up at her. “Such a nice way to wake up,” he murmured, kissing her. “And I love you too, ma’am.”
“Isn’t it nice?” she asked happily.
“Masterly understatement.” Cody grinned. “‘Nice’ doesn’t begin to describe it, darling.”
“Inadequate words,” she said, her lips thoughtfully exploring the angle of his jaw. “We’re hampered by them.”
“How about actions?” he suggested.
“Actions are nice. I approve of actions.”
“Your wish is my command, darling love….”
“You tried this before, love,” she reminded.
“There’s a knack to it. And I think I’ve got it now.”
“Maybe you’d better give me your parents’ address first.”
“Funny.”
“What kind of flowers d’you want on the wreath?”
“You’re undermining my confidence here!”
“It’s just that I really prefer you with unbroken bones.”
“I have to hold his head up, that’s all.”
“I can’t talk you out of it, huh?”
“I refuse to admit defeat.”
“Stand back, Phantom.”
“Now. Just hang on with the knees, and—”
Crunch.
“Darling Brooke.”
“Yes, love?”
“John Wayne bit the dust. Or snow, as the case happens to be.”
“I noticed.”
“Want to lend a hand?”
“If I leave you there, maybe you’ll stop trying to master the donkey.”
“That animal’s laughing at me.”
“I wasn’t talking about Mister.”
“Oh, funny.”
Cody never did get Mister to accept a passenger.
Several days passed. Cody, being a free-lance troubleshooter, didn’t worry overmuch that his vacation had lasted longer than he’d planned. And Brooke was content to have this time to explore her awakened emotions.
So they spent the days outside in the sunshine loving and the nights inside the house loving.
And then, late one afternoon while they were having a cheerful, exuberant snow fight near the back porch, Brooke’s last dragon forced its way out. It was only a shadow of what it had been, but its time had come and its presence had to be acknowledged out loud.
Brooke was laughing, but suddenly her laughter was cut off and she turned her head sharply, away from the lodge and Cody.
He stepped toward her, watching her intently. “What is it?”
Her reply was little more than a whisper, a breath of sound. “Look.”
Cody followed her gaze, focusing on the clump of trees nearly sixty feet from the lodge, where Phantom had first appeared. For a moment he saw nothing. But a distant motion far to the right caught his attention, and he looked up toward the ridge high above the valley. Three, four, five. Five indistinct gray shapes against the backdrop of snow. Wolves. And they stood still and silent, looking down on the humans below.
Shifting his gaze back to the clump of trees, Cody immediately saw what Brooke had sensed.
The she-wolf they’d named Psyche was coal-black from nose to tail and nearly as large as Phantom. She emerged from the trees warily, watching the two humans with the inborn caution of a wild thing. Her tail was held low, her ears up alertly; she was thin but not overly so, and her thick coat gleamed with health.
She halted a few feet out of the trees, the coating of ice over two feet of snow supporting her weight easily. She didn’t howl, but as her yellow eyes located Phantom lying on the back porch, a peculiar puppylike yipping sound came from her throat.
Brooke and Cody half turned with one mind to look at Phantom, watching as he rose unhurriedly to his feet and came toward them; they were standing between him and Psyche. He hardly limped now, his injured leg healed from their care, and he was sleek and healthy. He halted between the two humans, looking up at each of them in turn.
Brooke reached out to scratch gently between the pointed ears. “You come back to see us, Phantom,” she told him huskily, and Cody added a soft “Anytime” as he, too, touched the wolf.
His tail waved once, and then Phantom was trotting confidently across the space separating him and his mate. She welcomed him with a curious dignity mixed with coquettishness. Noses touched, a black tail and a gray one waved happily. More of the soft yipping sounds came from her throat and his. And then they turned together toward the woods.
Phantom looked back once, a brief hesitation that might have been a good-bye and perhaps a thank you. And then they vanished into the trees.
Brooke found that she was reaching for Cody’s hand even as he reached for hers. They stood silently, their eyes turned up toward the ridge and the other waiting wolves. In time the gray and black leaders joined the rest of the pack, and there was a blur of excited motion as Phantom was welcomed back.
As the others vanished along the ridge a lone wolf remained to gaze down on the valley. Motionless, he might have been carved from granite—or from dream. He stood for a long moment until his black mate joined him to stand by his side. Then they turned away, drifting along the ridge side by side until they were lost from sight.
“She came back,” Brooke murmured. She turned glowing eyes up to Cody. “She came back for him.”
Smiling, Cody drew her into his arms. “And they lived happily ever after,” he said softly.
“They would,” Brooke said slowly, “if this were a fairy tale. But it isn’t. There are traps, ranchers with stock to protect, hunters. Nature’s own savagery. Man encroaching on their hunting grounds.”
“But they’ll live,” Cody reminded.
“For how long?” Brooke turned with him as they started into the house, her lovely face brooding over a fate that could strike down wolves—and men. “How long?”
Cody was silent while they removed and put away jackets and scarves, silent while they went into the den and sat on the couch before a cheerfully blazing fire.
He heard her question, and with his understanding of her he heard more than her words.
She’d lost so much, his Brooke. Her father, the love of a mother, her uncle. Her childhood, her privacy. He sensed that she had largely come to terms with what he now identified as the last dragon—largely, but not completely.
Brooke didn’t want to lose anymore.
When Cody finally spoke, his voice was quiet and contemplative. He sat beside Brooke on the couch, his arm around her, and told h
er a story she had never heard.
“I knew a man once,” he said slowly, “who had learned the hard way about reality. He watched his mother die by inches for years and saw his father killed before his eyes. And that man promised himself that no one would ever suffer because of him. He was convinced that he didn’t have the right, that no one had the right, to cause others to suffer. He had a dangerous job, and though he lived with the danger, he refused to allow…others to live with the danger if he could prevent it.”
Cody stared into the fire, his eyes far away. “So this man built a shell around himself. He was determined that if he were suddenly wiped out of existence, there would be nothing to cause anyone pain. He made acquaintances rather than friends and—shut out the friend of his childhood. Not because he felt too little, but because he felt too much.
“He wouldn’t give hostages to fortune, or be a hostage himself. He wouldn’t love because love caused pain, either by itself or through fear or loss. For the noblest of reasons he shut himself off from caring.”
Brooke knew whom Cody was speaking of, although she’d never heard the story. “What happened?” she asked softly, knowing the result but not how it came about.
Cody smiled a little, still gazing into the fire. “He met a woman. And fate turned up a wild card in his deck. She knocked him right off all his preconceived ideas and left him totally bewildered. Because she was the exact opposite of him in one very important way. She embraced hostages. Wherever she went, she forged ties; whomever she met along the way was instantly a friend.
“And she was a gambler, this lady; that was what bewildered him. She knew that fate could roll the dice just once at any given moment and demand that she pay a price. But she loved in spite of that knowledge and understanding, loved cheerfully and happily. She’d seen harsh reality just as he had; she’d known loss and pain.
“But she charged into his life with the cheerful exuberance of a spring storm, bringing with her bits and pieces of life all over the world. She was truly ‘a part of all she’d met’ and like nothing else he’d ever known. And she loved him with a stubborn determination, demanding her right as a human being to love where she chose. He was her hostage, like it or not; he was the most vital hostage of all, and she was willing to risk.