I undid the wrap. The book wasn't a cookbook, and it was far older than the one I'd ordered. The binding was spiderwebbed with cracks, and the brown leather was so worn the color had faded in patches. The edges of the pages were yellow and frayed looking, and the scent rising from it was one of age and mustiness. There was no writing on the cover, and nothing on the spine.
Which was damn weird.
I opened it carefully. The leather binding creaked and dust puffed up, making my nose crinkle. The first two pages were blank, but the third had several sentences written on it. I didn't recognize the language, and there was only one word that seemed to make sense—Dušan. The writing itself was scroll-like and beautiful, but the rest of it reminded me of the tattoos decorating Azriel's neck.
Several more empty pages followed; then came a picture of what looked like a wingless, serpent-like dragon. Unlike anything else in this old book so far, the colors were vibrant and colorful, the serpentine form drawn with such skill that the tiny violet scales almost appeared to glow in the half-light of the room.
I touched it lightly, running my fingers down the jeweled spine and spiraled tail. It almost seemed warm, as if life really did pulse underneath the luminous paint.
"Fuck, Risa," Ilianna yelled from the other kitchen. "Whatever you're doing—"
The rest of her warning was lost in an explosion of power that knocked me backward and tore the dragon from the book.
It was no picture. It was alive.
The violet dragon was real and whole and powerful, and it swirled toward me—a glinting, arcane force I could feel through every fiber of my being.
I screamed and scrambled backward as fast as I could, but the creature was faster. It hit my fingertips, curled up my left wrist and arm, then seemed to settle, its little claws sinking into my skin, drawing blood but not really hurting. Its scaly hide felt like ice, and the bright violet of its scales glittered jewel-like against my skin.
"Risa, what the hell …?" Ilianna skidded to a halt in the doorway, her gaze widening as it fastened up my arm. "What on earth is that thing?"
"I don't fucking know." I shook my arm, trying to loosen the dragon's serpentine grip, but to no avail. "It sort of exploded from the book and attached itself to me."
And it was attaching itself. Even as I watched, it flattened out, seeming to sink into my skin, until it looked more like a vivid tattoo that curled from my wrist to my shoulder rather than a creature that had exploded to life from a book.
Ilianna knelt beside me and carefully touched the beast. "My God," she said, awe in her voice. "It's alive. I can feel the beat of its heart."
"So can I." And that beat was tuning itself to mine. A tremor ran through me, and fire flared briefly in the creature's obsidian eyes. It was almost as if it was responding to my fear. I swallowed heavily. "What the hell is it?"