The Dragon Delasangre Read Online Free Page B

darkness.
    Maria gasps. “They’re huge.”
    I shake my head, cut the motors and let the boat coast to the dock. “They’re no larger than German shepherds. They just have overly large heads and mouths,” I say. I hop off the boat and tie the lines to the dock cleats. “But they’ve been bred to look like that, to guard this island. My ancestor, Don Henri, brought the first dogs to control the slaves he used to build our house. Over the years we’ve added others, eliminated the weak and timid ones, until we ended up with our own breed, all of them like the two you’ve just seen.”
    A chorus of growls comes from the dark shadows just inland of the docks. “Don’t they scare you?” Maria asks.
    â€œNo.” I’m tempted to laugh at the question. These creatures know who is the master of this island. They tuck their tails and cringe before my displeasure. I bring two fingers to my mouth and whistle three times—short, sharp bursts that pierce the quiet of the night. The growls cease, their sound replaced by the rustle of the underbrush as the pack scurries away.
    Maria reaches up and I lift her from the boat and place her on the dock. She giggles at the ease with which I handle her, feels my biceps and mutters, “So powerful.”
    Something about the way she does it makes me feel boastful and I pick her up and cradle her to my chest. She looks up and we kiss.
    â€œPeter,” Father mindspeaks to me.
    I sigh. “Father, I’m busy.” I carry Maria down the dock toward the house. She snuggles against me.
    â€œI heard your whistle. . . . It woke me.”
    â€œGo back to sleep.”
    â€œHave you brought me something? Something young and sweet?” Father asks.
    I heft Maria in my arms and she sighs. “I don’t know if I have or not,” I tell Father. “It’s been a confusing evening so far.”
    â€œHow so?”
    â€œThere was something in the air . . . a strange scent, like cinnamon mixed with other things. . . . It disturbed me.”
    Maria shifts in my arms. “Can you put me down? Is it safe? I’d like to see your house.”
    â€œIt’s safe,” I say and put her down.
    â€œI knew you brought me something!”
    â€œShe’s here for me , Father. Go to sleep.”
    â€œI may know what that smell was . . .”
    â€œTell me, Father, then go away!”
    His chuckle fills my head. “Later,” Father mindspeaks. “I’m an old man . . . tired and hungry . . . with an ungrateful and selfish son. Wake me when you have something to bring me and we’ll discuss that strange aroma you discovered.”
    â€œFather!”
    â€œLater, Peter, didn’t you tell me to sleep?”
    I feel the emptiness around me and know he’s closed himself off. Irritating old man.
    â€œYou said, ‘we,’ before,” Maria asks. “You don’t live here alone?”
    â€œNo.” I shake my head. “My father lives with me. He stays in his room mostly. He’s very old and very sick.”
    â€œOh,” Maria says. “Sorry.” She takes my hand in hers, and squeezes it.
    We walk to the end of the dock, neither of us speaking, the night silent except for the irregular slap of water lapping at the dock, the whisper of the evening wind rustling through the trees and the rhythm of the ocean waves’ gentle rush.
    At the end of the dock a massive iron gate, set into an archway made from coral stone, blocks access through the thick, high coral fence that guards the homestead. Maria and I stop in front of it and she waits while I take an ancient key from my pocket and unlock the gate’s equally ancient lock.
    Maria cocks an eyebrow at the darkness looming beyond the gate, then looks to me for reassurance.
    â€œWait,” I say and step through the gateway, reach for the weatherproof