In fact, I had just the opposite reaction. I wanted very much to smoosh myself up against him. I told my body to knock it off and focused on what was important. “Did I kick you? I didn’t think I made contact, but if I did, you deserve it for trying to pick me up and move me so you could walk through the door before I’m done talking to you.”

“You did something,” he said, frowning down at me. Hesitantly, as if he was afraid of what would happen, he put both hands on my arms. “One moment you were fine, and the next it was as if you weighed a ton.”

I pinched his side. “That is so rude! I know I’m not one of those anorexic skinny models, and I might need to lose a few pounds—okay, maybe twenty pounds—but that doesn’t mean that you can make cracks like that. Men are supposed to admire real-sized women! Get with the program.”

“Your body shape and size pleases me,” he said, but his frown was still in place as his gaze zipped up and down my front. “I would not want you to starve yourself thinner. It would not suit you. That was not, however, what I meant when I said that you did something.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you cast a spell? You do not appear to have that ability, but it could be that the blow to my head has somewhat confused me, and I am unable to see you as you really are.”

“What sort of a crack is that? I am exactly what I am—there is no seeing-me-as-I-really-am business. And, no, I did not cast a spell. I’m not a witch!”

“You did something, though,” he insisted. “It was as if you did not wish to be picked up, and you blocked me doing so. Look, I will try again.”

His hands slid down to my waist, and I braced myself, my hands on his arms. I did not want him to move me away from the door—I had questions, and he had answers, and I’d be damned if I let him get away without satisfying at least part of my curiosity.

He grunted in his attempt to lift me.

“You’re just doing that on purpose,” I accused. “Despite that very nice comment about how I shouldn’t go after the twenty pounds of flab that comes from being stuck in a nuthouse with little to do but read, you’re doing passive-aggressive shit, and I don’t like it.”

He released my waist, his expression turning thoughtful. I tried hard to resist the urge to brush back a lock of hair that had fallen forward on his forehead, but it was too much for me. I reached up and pushed it back. He jerked backward as if I had struck him.

I thought at first it was because I had touched him, but he grabbed my hand and twisted it, saying, “The ring!”

“Huh? Oh, that.”

“Where did you get it?” He all but shook my hand at me, which struck me as an amusing thing to do.

“It was given to me by a guy I dated. Well, not really given to me. I mean, he handed it to me to look at, but then he was killed, and later came back from the dead, but by then I was taken away to the home for the deranged, so I never got to give it back to him. It was the same guy who pointed you out to me. Except there was a second dragon, too.”

“That was Anton. The red dragons killed him shortly thereafter. Who is this man who gave you the ring? You said his name was Terrill?”

I twisted the ring around my finger. To be honest, I’d forgotten that I’d even put it on the day before, but the idea that it could keep Kostya from picking me up—twenty extra pounds aside—was ludicrous. “Terrin.”

“I do not know him. Who was he? Why did he give you the ring? Why did he not demand it returned?”

“He was just a guy I met at the GothFaire. At least I thought he was just a guy. Now I realize that there was more to him, too, than I thought. But why all the questions? It’s just a ring. Yeah, Terrin said it was magic, but it doesn’t do anything.”

Kostya’s range of expressions ran from dark and brooding to slightly amused. “It is not just a ring. It is the very reason that I am in this area and also why I was almost killed and likely why Jim is here.”

“You’re kidding, right?” A memory struck me, one of Terrin telling me that the dragons sought the ring for some reason, but I couldn’t quite remember what it was.

Kostya’s lips thinned. “Do I strike you as if I am joking?”

“Well…”

He adopted an outraged expression. I had to give it to him, he did outraged well, although it seemed to strike my funny bone more than make me feel apologetic for offending him.

“I do not laugh. I do not smile. I see no enjoyment in kidding, intentional or otherwise. I am Konstantin Nikolai Fekete, wyvern of the black dragons! I have been tortured for many decades and left to die a slow and lingering death. I survived the wholesale destruction of my sept and had a deranged naiad force me to declare her a mate before the entire weyr only to later run off with a minor deity, the embarrassment of which would have killed a lesser dragon!”

I did laugh at that. “Oh, so that’s why you’re so gun-shy of women? Got dumped by someone who embarrassed you, huh? Weyr… I’ve heard that word before, although I don’t remember what it means, or naiad, for that matter. It sounds like something out of Greek mythology. Isn’t a wyvern a two-legged dragon?”

“Yes. It is also the name of the leader of a dragon sept. Answer my question about the ring.”

“Tell you what, Mr. Bossy Pants, we’ll play you answer one, then I’ll answer one, okay? You go first. How did you end up on the beach outside my house?”

“Why do you have the ring?”

“Why would someone leave you to die a slow and lingering death? Wait, was it the chick who dumped you?”

He ignored my question. “How long have you had it? Did you use its powers to revive me?”

“What did you mean that you were almost killed because of the ring? It’s been locked away with my possessions for two years, and I only just put it on last night, before I went to the GothFaire. Man alive, that was just last night, wasn’t it? It seems like weeks ago.” I shook my head and held up my hand when Kostya opened his mouth, obviously about to ask yet another question. “This is getting us nowhere. Let’s do this step-by-step. Why were you almost dead on my beach?”

“You are stubborn enough to be a dragon,” Kostya surprised me by saying. The warm, admiring look in his eyes was just as surprising. “That pleases me. I dislike women who pester me—the naiad was forever challenging everything I said—and unlike her, you present your opinion without whining. Nor are you cowed by your circumstances. This is good.”