YAY! I'm BACK! Virginia was super-wonderful in case you were wondering--which you probably weren't, but anyway, it was. Here you are.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

I traveled inside myself, looking for the source of life that I held within me. In theory. anyway. In reality, it was the source of nothing but mess, pain, bloating, cravings, and embarrassing accidents. I concentrated in that odd, detached sort of way that I had used when I was healing Draco and carefully examined my body. Where...ah, there it is.

Alright, troops, I thought. Listen up. There will be no babies. I repeat: no babies.

I could practically feel my ovaries grumbling mutinously. Now, now, I thought. Let's not forget who's in charge, here. I bore down on them and plugged them up with a bit of magic. Ha. Take that. I detected a hint of smug triumph and wondered what I was missing.

Ah.

I flushed the egg that was already there with vindictive pleasure and then slowly came back, feeling very pleased with myself indeed. The first thing I noticed as I woke up was that I was still wrapped in Draco's arms. I was vaguely surprised—with no bed to fall out of, I would have thought I'd roll halfway down the beach before waking up. The second thing I noticed was that we were both completely naked. This didn't bother me as much as it might have, since he was still fast asleep. Besides, it seemed silly to be embarrassed over something like that in light of what we had done last night.

I took the opportunity to observe my husband (what a wonderful word—husband-husband-husband—if I could, I would say that five times fast). He was tall—the top of my head fit comfortably under his chin—and strong and lean. He wasn't skinny—not by a long shot—but there wasn't an ounce of fat on him, either. Anywhere. He was all muscle. I smirked. I was the luckiest girl in the world. Barring the odd homicidal maniac or two, of course.

Draco's eyes suddenly opened, as if he felt my gaze on him. His silver eyes glimmered sleepily at me in the pre-dawn light. I leaned forward and kissed him before moving to get up. He tightened his arms and growled something into my hair, but I wiggled free.

"I'm going swimming," I announced.

"It's not even light yet," he grumbled. "Freak."

"I'm completely covered in sand, sweat, and...other things," I finished lamely. "I'm going swimming. You might want to consider getting dressed soon," I added. "I don't know when my cousin is showing up. And while I appreciate the view, I don't think he will."

Draco opened one eye. "Who says? He might. I'm too handsome for my own good, you know."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't appreciate his appreciation of you," I informed him, and headed down the beach.

I felt his eyes on me and shivered. Let him look. I dove into the water and twirled around, wiggling with pleasure. The water was cold and shocking and it felt good. After a few minutes, Draco decided to join me. I frowned as he sped toward me in a very deliberate manner and swam to the surface, wondering what was wrong. Draco's head popped up beside mine and he grasped my arms urgently.

"What's wrong?" I asked, confused.

"You're alright?" he asked, peering at me closely. "Merlin, woman, don't you breathe?"

"Occasionally," I said smugly. "Every ten minutes or so."

"That's not natural," he said, giving me the fish eye.

"No," I agreed. "I could probably stay under as long as I want now that I'm Superwoman or whatever."

"So you weren't drowning."

"I wasn't drowning."

"Well, that was a complete waste," Draco said grumpily. "It's cold."

"I wouldn't say a complete waste," I murmured, floating closer and wrapping my arms around his neck.

After a good amount of time (during which Draco warmed up considerably), we got out of the water and washed off the salt in the stream. As we dressed I noticed Draco smiling to himself. I looked at him questioningly and he shrugged.

"It's nothing," he said.

"Come on, tell me," I urged.

"Did you know your eyes change color?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said, slightly confused. "I've been able to do that for ages. You know that."

"No, I mean they change color according to your mood," he said. "Well, different shades of green. The brown disappears completely sometimes."

"Really?" I said, surprised. "I didn't know that."

Draco nodded. "When you're angry they look like emeralds. It's very pretty."

"Is that why you love annoying me?"

"Partly," he said with a grin. "But I like your eyes when you're happy better—like pine trees with the sun shining through them."

"Oh," I muttered, blushing a little. "Mmm. I think your eyes are very pretty, too."

Draco laughed and pulled on his shirt. "When did your grandmother say they'd be here again?"

"She didn't," I replied, sitting down on a log. "She just said they'd pick us up in the morning."

We sat in companionable silence for some time until a bird flew overhead, squawking an alarm. A few minutes later, Yiayia ambled out of the trees and looked around. When she spotted us, she headed across the beach and we got up to meet her.

"I thought I would come see you off," she explained a little tearfully. She spotted the ring on my finger and cried out, "Oh, how wonderful! A wizard's marriage ring, too. But you are going to get married in the church as well, aren't you?"

"Of course," I said, shuddering. "Theia would kill me."

"I brought you this," Yiayia said, reaching into her pocket. "It took me a while, but I found a picture of your mother and her sister."

I practically snatched the photograph from her hand and inspected it. Yiayia was right—I did have my mother's eyes. And her nose. And her smile. I also seemed to have my mother's build, even if my body was more athletic. My mother was slender and delicate, with long, pale blond hair and bright green eyes—like emeralds.

So. Eyes, nose, smile, and body. That was all from my mother. It made me feel better to know that she hadn't disappeared completely. Everyone always said how much I resembled my father and my aunt and I had sometimes worried that my mother would be lost forever since I apparently had nothing from her. It was stupid, I know, but I had read something when I was little about parents living on in their children after they died and the notion stuck.

"Your eyes look like that when you're angry," Draco said, looking over my shoulder. Then he frowned.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said uneasily. "There's just something—I don't know. Nevermind."

"I have a present for you too, young man," Yiayia said.

"You do?"

Yiayia nodded, and produced a small, leather bound book that looked suspiciously like a photo album. "I thought you should have this—so you know who Kahti was growing up."

"Yiayia!" I gasped. "But that—that has--"

"What in the world were you doing?" Draco asked, looking at a picture in the beginning. "Why are you dressed as a—what is that, anyway?"

I sighed. "We were doing a play about Noah's Ark in first grade. I was an aardvark. Yiayia, do you realize that there are pictures of me naked in there?"

"If you're married, it's nothing he hasn't seen already," Yiayia said practically. "And, anyway, you're just a baby in those pictures."

"Argh." I put a hand over my face. It was just too painful. "Draco, if you show that book to anyone, I will kill you."

"Of course, darling," he said absently, still flipping through the book. Suddenly he grinned. "You know, I could be wrong, but pants generally go on your legs, not your head. It's a charming look for you, though. You should try it again sometime."

"I mean it, Draco. I'll chop you up into teeny, tiny bits and flush you down the toilet." I narrowed my eyes at him. "A really smelly one."

"Best put that away," Yiayia said briskly. "Kallias is here."

"Who?" I turned around to find a ship in the cove. "Where'd that come from?"

"From Vouna," Yiayia said. "That's your cousin's ship."

"I figured," I muttered. "Kallias, you said?"

"Kallias," Yiayia confirmed, and smiled mischievously. "Prince of Vouna."

"What?"

"Oh, I didn't tell you? The Achaeoi rule their own islands. You're related to the royal family of Vouna—distantly, of course, but enough to warrant some respect."

"No, you didn't tell me," I hissed. "Is there anything else?"

Yiayia considered. "Nothing that you won't find out for yourself soon enough."

What the hell did that mean? "Yiayia--"

"Sshh," she said, flapping a hand at me.

The Prince of Vouna was now on dry land and marching up he beach flanked by a few spindly youths. He was—enormous. A towering pillar of muscle and hair. Kallias wore a long wraparound garment that bore a remarkable resemblance to one of my favorite skirts and a patterned vest. The vest hung open, revealing a thicket of dark curls. The hair on his head was just as dark and curly and came down to his shoulders. He looked like a bear, right down to the beady little black eyes and bushy beard.

"Ah, you must be Katina's granddaughter," he boomed in Greek, almost knocking me over as he kissed my cheeks.

"Call me Ariadne," I replied while thinking, 'Katina'? "It'll make things less confusing."

"And who is this strapping young lad?" Kallias inquired, seizing Draco's hand in a manly handshake. Draco, to his credit, didn't even wince as Kallias gave him a friendly buffet on the arm.

"This is my husband, Draco," I said, laying a hand on his arm.

"Has his tongue been cut out or does he let his woman speak for him?" Kallias said, and laughed heartily.

"He speaks only a little Greek," I explained. "He's only been here about a week."

"Not Greek!" Kallias cried. "Your father allowed this?"

"My father is dead," I said shortly.

"Forgive me," Kallias gasped, dropping to one knee. "A thousand apologies, cousin."

"Draco is a good man," Yiayia interrupted. "You will treat him with respect, Kallias, or your grandfather will hear of it."

"Of course, theia," Kallias replied jovially, springing up. "Allow me to introduce my brothers—Patroklos, Ikaro, and Iason."

"Yeiasas," Draco greeted them, holding a hand out.

"No Greek, you said?" Kallias asked, raising caterpillar eyebrows.

"Little Greek," I corrected him. "He learns fast."

"Good," Kallias said, and turned to my grandmother. "Shall I carry a message to my grandmother for you, theia?"

"Tell her that I will visit in a month's time," Yiayia said. "It's been too long."

"Well, then, let's be off," Kallias said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "This way, cousin."

I hugged my grandmother good bye and turned away with tears in my eyes, leaning gratefully into Draco as he put a comforting arm around my shoulders. Kallias' younger brothers ended up leading us onto the ship, because Yiayia held Kallias back and seemed to be explaining something to him. Probably my lycanthropy, I thought. I noticed Patroklos gaping at me and resisted the urge to glare at him, instead slipping an arm around Draco's waist.

Patroklos looked to be about sixteen and was tall and gangly. His brothers—twins, I noted with some apprehension—were probably fourteen or fifteen. All three were clad in much the same fashion as Kallias, though their kilts were a little less grand. The sailors on the ship, I saw, wore only loincloths that fell about halfway down the thigh.

"You and your husband will use my quarters," Kallias said, joining us on the ship. Lowering his voice, he added, "Your grandmother explained about your...illness. Please, do not let the crew realize. They're very superstitious."

"Alright," I agreed, and we followed him below decks to the only compartment separate from the cargo hold. It contained a bed that didn't look like it would fit both of us and a trunk and that was it. Kallias informed me that he had provided clothing for both of us in the trunk.

"Not very princely," Draco observed once Kallias had left us.

"I guess it is compared to what every one else gets," I said with a shrug, and opened the trunk.

I let out a cry of delight at the beautiful dress I found inside. It was little more than a swath of fabric, if truth be told, but it was light as a butterfly's wing and just as colorful. I had been concerned about being comfortable in the dress I was wearing. For all it was only April, it would no doubt be hot out on the sea with no shade to be found. I ruffled through the trunk and found not only more dresses, but veils to keep the sun off my head.

"What in the world..." Draco held up a garment that seemed to be something between the sailors' and Kallias' outfits. "I am not wearing that."

"Give it a couple of days out in the sun and I think you'll change your mind," I said, changing into the dress and clasping it at the shoulder with a brooch. "Let's go up and make ourselves useful."

We did, and Kallias put Draco right to work with the sailors. I, apparently, was not allowed to lift a finger. At a loss for what to do, I watched the mainland grow smaller and smaller until I couldn't see it at all anymore. I felt scared and sad and not a little lonely at leaving my family behind. Then I smiled. I had Draco—who, at the moment, was struggling with the sailors, who barked at him left and right in Greek. I could tell he was angry and frustrated, but knew better than to intercede. He needed to make a place for himself among the men. Besides, he would learn Greek faster this way.

Draco's shirt came off after a few hours, as did his shoes. He was covered in sweat and his skin looked like uncooked hamburger. The men poked fun at him, calling him baby-skinned and land-lubber. Draco stubbornly kept his mouth shut and kept working despite the taunts. I was very impressed. I was so impressed that I kept watching throughout the day. I don't know if it was really that interesting or I was more bored than I thought, but it was quite entertaining. Like my own personal soap opera.

That evening, Draco flopped face down on the bed, utterly exhausted. I hissed through my teeth in sympathy when I saw his back and laid my hand gently on the raw skin. I closed my eyes and drifted down my fingertips, letting cool healing magic flow into his skin. He sighed in relief and let his muscles relax. When I opened my eyes, his skin was still slightly pink, but it lacked the raw, boiled appearance of a cooked lobster. I rubbed Draco's shoulders as firmly as I dared, eliciting a contented moan.

After a few minutes he asked, "What does poulaki mean?"

I froze for a minute, then continued rubbing. "It means 'little bird'. Why? Is that what the men are calling you?"

"Yes." Draco's voice was completely expressionless, a sure sign that he was peeved. "I knew it wasn't complimentary, but I didn't know what it meant."

"Ah."

I doubted he would appreciate any words of encouragement or comfort I might have, so I continued rubbing until he turned over and pulled me down beside him. When he didn't say anything, I looked up questioningly only to find that he was already asleep. I chuckled and curled up beside him, waiting for the moon to rise.

The next morning, Draco got up at the crack of dawn with no complaint whatsoever. I knew then that something bad was on the horizon. He didn't say a word as he pulled on the garment Kallias had provided for him—it looked like the bastard child of Kallias' kilt and the sailors' loincloths. He did, however, indulge in a grimace of distaste. I kept my face carefully blank at the sight of his incongruously pale legs and followed him up on deck.

I watched throughout the morning with steadily increasing concern. Draco's face was like a thundercloud, and a muscle had begun to twitch near his eye. Several times I saw his fist clench or his shoulder jerk, as if he were itching to throw a punch. He reminded me of a volcano waiting to blow. And when he did, it wouldn't be pretty. It was only a matter of time.

The time came the next day around noon. I wasn't close enough to hear what was said and I doubted Draco understood it completely anyway, but some things don't need translation. In a flash, Draco was on top of the unfortunate antagonist, beating the living daylights out of him. A couple more decided to join in and dragged Draco off their bleeding comrade. The others found seats or stood nearby, taking bets. Apparently three to one were considered reasonable odds.

Perhaps they were, considering that Draco wasn't exactly small and seemed to have gone insane with rage. In light of these facts, I hurriedly placed a couple of bets of my own as Draco hooked a foot behind one of his captors' ankles and drove his elbow into the other's lower belly. One fell to the floor and the other doubled up, only to get a close up of Draco's knee as it smashed into his face. By this time, the original victim had recovered somewhat and rushed Draco with a roar. With a snarl eerily reminiscent of the one he wore as a leopard, Draco let loose a savage blow that knocked the guy clear off his feet and into a stack of crates. He didn't get up.

The other two were back and one had Draco from behind while the other dealt Draco a nasty punch to the face. Draco lashed out with a foot and caught him square in the balls, leaving just the one combatant. They rolled around for a while, punching, kicking, and clawing at each other, but it ended with Draco sitting on the sailor's chest, beating him mercilessly against the deck.

Like I said, some things don't need translation. "Get the hell off me, I give up," looks the same in every language. So does, "Damn straight, you fucking pansy." Draco hauled himself to his feet and staggered over to the stack of crates, where his original attacker was coming around. I collected my winnings from the glowering sailors and remarked with a smile,

"He's a champion boxer in England, you know. Never lost a fight."

I made my way through the small crowd surrounding Draco, who was having his back slapped and his arms buffeted in congratulations and praise. Blood ran onto his chest from his mouth and nose and a cut above his eye and there were dark bruises already spreading over his cheek and around his ribs, but he looked downright cheerful.

With much backslapping and arm-punching, they all sat down and had a drink. Men are so weird. There appeared to be no love lost between Draco and the men he fought. Quite the opposite. It seemed that the men had accepted him, because from then on they treated him like one of their own. Later that day, Kallias found me leaning over the side, watching a pod of dolphins zip along next to the ship.

"Your Dragon is a fine fighter," he remarked. "The men were wondering how long it would take him to snap. The results were...somewhat unexpected."

"They were doing that on purpose?" I demanded.

"Of course," Kallias laughed, throwing his head back. "He lasted longer than anyone thought he would."

"He does have a remarkable amount of self control," I agreed. "Or stubbornness, depending on how you look at it. How is he doing?"

"Very well," Kallias said, stroking his beard meditatively. "You were right, he does learn fast. I think we'll make a sailor of him yet."

"Good," I said. "It makes me feel better knowing that there could be something for him here when we return."

"You are leaving for England, are you not?" Kallias inquired. "What for?"

I sighed. "War."

Kallias was silent for a moment as he regarded my husband. Then he smiled down at me, black eyes twinkling.

"Cousin, save your worry for his enemies—they need it more than he does, no doubt."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Days passed—in complete boredom, at least for me. Now that Draco was one of them, I had nothing to entertain me. Well, it was fun watching the men practice knife-fighting (somehow I wasn't surprised to see that Draco was as skilled with knives as he was with his fists). The men even started teaching Draco to fight with a shortsword, which was—apparently—very different from fencing.

But watching them engage in such manly pursuits got old after a while. I spent most of my time talking with Kallias and thinking up new ways to use my magic. I could direct the wind (though Kallias was better at it than I was), I could turn salt water into fresh water (a good thing, since I wouldn't have been able to bathe otherwise), I knew the four points of the compass as if there were magnets in my bones, and I could sense and divert foul weather. I couldn't stop it, but I could sort of bend it so it went around us.

It was on the fifth day, however, that I discovered a truly glorious gift: I could take on any form that I wanted, not just that of a wolf. From then on, I spent much of the day soaring above the ship as a gull or speeding alongside it as a dolphin. It was wonderful. I had to change back periodically, though. The only form I could hold without effort was that of a wolf. I'd had considerably more practice as a wolf, after all.

At night, though, Draco would sometimes join me at the rail and we would talk about how we would live once the war in England was over. He quite enjoyed sailing, he confessed, but didn't really consider it as a profession. I was secretly glad—I didn't want to wait at home for weeks on end while he was out on a boat in the middle of nowhere. I didn't know what he would do, but there was time to think about it, after all.

Instead, he sang to me some songs that he had learned from the men and told me of their new name for him—Tsichlo. I laughed and told him what it meant. They were calling him 'thrush', presumably for his voice. It was somewhat more respectable than 'little bird', at least. I was glad that he was getting on with them.

Greece appeared to agree with Draco—his skin had darkened to a deep golden-brown, making his eyes glitter like diamonds in contrast, especially when he smiled. He smiled a lot more nowadays. The sun had bleached his hair as well. Parts of it were nearly white while others remained a sunny gold overlying a darker, tawny shade. He hadn't shaved since we left the mainland and he looked highly disreputable. I liked it.

On the eighth day of our voyage, I woke up to find Draco already awake and getting dressed. I was so flabbergasted that I just stared at him. He seemed excited and distracted and disappeared through the door as soon as he was dressed. Feeling slightly hurt, I shrugged and got out of bed.

Up on deck, the usual cacophony of shouts and manly grunts didn't reach my ears and I felt a surge of fear, struck by the irrational thought that everyone had died. But the men were there—just silent. It made the hair rise on the back of my neck. What in the world was going on? I asked Draco, but he merely shrugged and continued working without looking at me.

Once in a while the wind would shift slightly and I'd catch a faint snatch of a tune, so soft and fleeting that I was convinced I was imagining it. But it kept happening and the sound grew stronger as the morning progressed. When we came in sight of land, an excited mutter ran through the crew. By this time, I had decided that there was definitely music on the wind. Soon I could tell that it was singing and by then I could see the sirens perched on the rocks. Horrified, I ran up to Kallias, who was steering.

"Kallias, what are you doing? Turn around, don't you see the rocks?" He shook me off. "Kallias!"

With a cry of frustration, I ran around deck, pinching and nagging and pleading with the men to listen to me. They all ignored me, including Draco. The music was stronger now, and every man was focused on the cluster of rocks that we were approaching. What could I do? Stupid cows, I thought furiously. Their voices weren't even all that—oh. Duh.

I stood in the prow of the ship, facing the men, and began to sing.

"Karavi kinthenevi mes' ta vathia nera,

Kerkira kai Kefalonia, the' tha se xanantamoso pia

Voitha Panagia mou yia na glytosome

Kerkira kai Kefalonia, the' tha se xanantamoso pia. . ."

I sang of their homeland and basically how they would never see it again if they didn't pull their heads out of their asses and their hands away from their cocks. I was desperate and scared and boiling mad at the same time and poured mingled magic and emotion into the song. It's bad enough when your man stares at a woman who's prettier than you--but watching your husband pitch a tent while ogling a bunch of naked, half-human whores is something else again. Ooh, if we live through this, I thought darkly, he's going to beg for forgiveness on his hands and knees for weeks—months—before he gets any.

Gradually the men's attention shifted to me rather than the sirens and Kallias had the presence of mind to turn the boat aside. I kept singing—wordlessly now—until we were safely past the island. I then sat down rather heavily, feeling drained. Draco rushed forward to help me up, but I jerked my arm out of his grasp. I wobbled defiantly to my feet and glared at him.

"Ari," he began, flustered. "Ari, I don't know what came over me. What were those—Ari, wait--"

I brushed past him without a word, ignoring his stammered, disjointed attempts to explain himself. I paused at the head of the ladder leading below decks and turned to face him.

"I don't want to hear another word from you until you get rid of that circus tent in your lap," I snapped.

Draco's eyes snapped downward and a guilty flush crept up his neck. I looked around and, sure enough, every man there looked like a fourteen-year-old with his first porn magazine. To be fair, Ikaro and Iason were fourteen, but the others—my dear husband included—had no such excuse. With a "hmph!" of offended dignity, I whirled around and climbed down the ladder.

Draco slept on the floor that night. And the night after that. On the third night, I relented and let him back in bed (his side of the bed) only because he had been apologizing profusely and showering me with as much charm and flattery—I didn't let him close enough for affection—as he possibly could for the past two days. I was rather proud of myself—it was a personal record for Draco-resistance.

"Ari," he cried in exasperation on the fourth night. "Don't do this. You know you're the only woman I want." He had been inching closer and closer as he said this until he was right behind me with his arms around my waist. "You are my queen"--he planted a kiss on my shoulder-- "my goddess"--one on my neck-- "my angel"--he was nibbling on my earlobe-- "my life. Surely you know that?"

I turned around and slid my arms around his neck. "I know that."

"Good," he said, and kissed me tentatively. "Forgive me?"

I kissed him back with a sigh almost of relief. I had missed him. I didn't like being mad at him. "I forgive you."

"Oh, good." Draco smiled hopefully. "So does that mean we can--"

"No."

"Alright," he said meekly. "Good night, then."

"Goodnight, Draco."

I kissed him again, sliding a hand slowly up his thigh—and stopped. I leaned over him to blow out the candle, steadying myself with a hand on his hip, and cuddled up to him. Draco slipped an arm around my shoulders and sighed.

"You are unspeakably cruel."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

bwahahahahahaha. Ari is so mean. teeheehee. haha. hohoho. hoohoo. ahh...snort gigglegigglegiggle...hehehe...okay, I'm done. hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

shai