“I’ll think about it. Now, stop hovering and pay attention to just how nicely Gabriel is allowing May to kiss him. You don’t see him complaining.”

Drake frowned. “Kincsem, I have yet to complain about the methods you use to show your affection; it is the times you choose to indulge in them that I—”

The door shut briskly in his face.

I giggled into Gabriel’s mouth, teasing his lips, nibbling and licking and tasting him, just enough to stir the dragon fire between us, but not enough to ignite it fully.

“That must wait until later,” he said, agreeing with what I was thinking.

“Someday I’m going to be able to read your mind, too, and then you’re going to be in trouble,” I said, sucking on his lower lip one last time. Regretfully, I released it and stepped back, warmed to the depths of my being by the look in his eyes.

“If you are done with that wholly inappropriate show of affection, perhaps we could get on with the challenge?” Kostya said, and he probably would have stormed over to us while he said it, but Cyrene was clinging to his arm like a naiad-sized leech, cooing little love words and tucking long strands of his auburn hair behind his ear.

Gabriel said something in Zilant, the now archaic language of the dragon weyr.

Kostya looked shocked for a moment. Drake’s lips quivered.

I nudged Gabriel. “Was that the equivalent of ‘get stuffed’?”

“Not quite so polite, but yes,” he answered, one dimple flashing momentarily. “The issue is moot, Kostya. May is mine, and you may not have her.”

“Now, don’t let him get you all riled up, pookums,” Cyrene told him as she dragged him to a love seat. “You said yourself that if you kept your so-adorable nose clean for a bit, no one would have any right to refuse recognizing us as black dragons.”

Kostya looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but he managed to stop himself in time. “You don’t know of what you speak, woman. Stop tugging on me. I don’t want to sit there!”

“Well, fine!” Cyrene said, dropping his arm with an exasperated noise. “Where do you want to sit?”

Kostya’s face was mutinous. “I will stand. Until the glorious black dragons retake their rightful place in the weyr—”

Identical long-suffering expressions appeared on Gabriel’s and Drake’s faces, as one no doubt did on mine. Once Kostya got going on his tirade about what the black dragons had suffered, it was difficult to stop him.

“Oh, shut up,” I said, exasperation overriding my better judgment.

Kostya opened his mouth to reply but instead burst into flames.

The other two men eyed him with surprise, all three turning their gazes on me.

“Er . . . did I do that?”

Kostya crossed his arms and shot me an outraged glare.

“I don’t think that was me. Was it?”