Baltic slid her a quick look. “Would you like to place a wager on that assumption?”
Cyrene showed rare circumspection by saying nothing other than a whispered, “Kostya was right—whoever this dragon is, he’s a pain in the butt. Show him what you’re made of, May.”
“Kostya?” Baltic lifted his head as if he was scenting the air, his gaze narrowed on Cyrene. “You are his . . .”
“Mate,” she said quickly.
Baltic’s eyebrows rose.
“Oh, all right, all right! I wish everyone would stop doing that when I tell them I’m Kostya’s mate. It’s annoying! I’m mate lite, OK? Not quite a full-fledged mate, but close enough to count. Not that I want him anymore, the heartless, unfeeling bastard. But if I did, I’d be his mate. Sort of.”
We all stared at Cyrene as she had her verbal hissy fit.
“Are you done
