Free Return to Shanhasson by Joely Sue Burkhart Page A

did it.
    Darker than the night, he crept closer
to the edge and curled one taloned foreleg at her in invitation. Why not? What
did a dragon fear? With a single leap, she joined him on the edge and stared
out over a barren land so baked by the sun the earth had long ago cracked open
and died.
    “Here in this land they know you as She
Who Hung the Moon.” He cocked his head, opening his mouth slightly in what she
assumed was a smile of greeting. “I’m rather new to this land and form, too. I
find myself thinking and saying all sorts of strange things, like azhar-jalbi . It’s right, though; this
land is right in a way I haven’t felt in a very long time. I must admit,
though, it’s very strange to call you brightheart again. I believe I’ve called
you much worse over the years, but I can’t say that I regret it.”
    He winked, and she laughed softly. She
had a feeling this big hulking brute of a male was bad, even to the point of
unadulterated evil, but there was something achingly familiar about him. “Oh,
yes, you were more likely to call me thal-jalbi ,
the coldest heart of all.” Her amusement died in her throat, choking her. Where
had that come from? “Do I know you?”
    “You always know me.” He nodded
solemnly. “Although we only rarely have an opportunity like this to talk. I’m
afraid we’re usually trying too hard to kill each other.”
    “Oh.” She gave him a sly look from
beneath her lashes—if dragons had lashes. “Who won last time?”
    “You did,” he replied without
hesitation. He stretched out on the sands and looked up at the night sky, the
tip of his tail tapping and twitching to some music only he heard. “This place
is very strange, its people more savage than I guess even your barbarian horse
king living among his herd.”
    She drew back, shaken by an image of a
fiery red stallion blazing through her mind. Vulkar. She’d been the Dark Mare
then.
    The black dragon chuckled and rolled
over on his back, giving her a playful look. “They even expect me to fight.
With swords .” He unsheathed his claws
and swiped ineffectually at the air. “They call it Dancing the Blades.” He
shuddered delicately. “I’d much rather breathe on my enemies and kill them with
my poison.”
    He gave a little puff through his
nostrils and she scrambled away.
    Curling on his side, he stretched his
muzzle out on his front legs. “You were never afraid of my poisons,
brightheart. I occasionally sent them just to keep your claws sharp, but I knew
you’d sniff them out. You always do.”
    A cold dread pounded in her stomach. She
knew this man, this dragon, yet she couldn’t think of his name. “Shadow.”
    “ Iyeh .”
He grimaced, his sword teeth flashing in the night. “I’ve always been Shadow,
but never yours, not since the beginning. Others were sent to tempt you.”
    “Gregar,” she whispered. She remembered
the laughing, dark-eyed man who carried an ivory blade as white as this beast’s
teeth. Warily, she slipped closer and sniffed at the dark form. “You don’t
smell like him at all.”
    The black beast winked at her, breath
puffing out again on a laugh. She smelled the acidic taint in the air, but
beneath its bitterness, another scent lingered. She couldn’t quite place it. “I
know caffe very well indeed, but I never smelled like it. I quite like this
scent. The land is so dry, here, that one’s skin turns to leather within
moments if not protected. They use an oil—you don’t want to know where it comes
from—and each male tends to wear a trademark scent so they can identify each
other from long distances.”
    The memory of sandalwood oil crashed
through her mind, fire blazing along her skin, her horse king filled with lust.
Such frenzy had definitely come from dragons. Heat stirred within her, although
fire wasn’t her gift. The black’s scent curled about her, rich, musky
sandalwood, spiced with desert sands and night shadows. How could he have
possibly known to use