Loch Dragon’s Lady
Christine McKay
Loch Dragon’s Lady
Christine McKay
When Robert Dunyveg finds Ellen Kildonan on his secluded Scottish isle, he thinks she’s just another tourist to spoil his peace. Though outraged by her claim that the island is hers, the dragon shifter can’t resist indulging his long-denied desire with the exotic beauty. But while Ellen has the scent of a human, she tasted of magic—and the only way to unlock the mystery of her true identity is to explore their red-hot passion even more….
Chapter One
Of what use was a forgotten lump of land in the Outer Hebrides of Scotland? An island in the Caribbean—now there was a treasured gift. Great-Aunt Clara might as well have willed her her collection of size six shoes.
Ellen Kildonan wore a size ten.
The sea’s cold spray wet her cheeks, her rented boat bouncing in the choppy water like a preschooler on a trampoline. She burrowed deeper into her coat, hands clenching the straps of her duffel bag. The captain, a reedy man with wind-blotched cheeks and a nest of tomato-red hair in serious need of a shears’ touch, glanced back at her and grinned. “She’s a nasty vixen today. Storm’s brewing.”
She swallowed hard, forcing down the remains of her lunch, and nodded.
Ellen could count the number of words she’d exchanged with her aunt over the years. Why, as the eccentric old woman was divvying up her personal possessions, did she look at the island and think of her great-niece?
“Can’t guess crazy people’s motives,” her friend Liddy said when Ellen had told her about the odd gift.
Ellen leaned over the boat’s edge to vomit. Whatever her reasons, Aunt Clara must be cackling in her crypt about now.
Robert Dunyveg lugged the bag of rubbish onto the shore. Damn tourists and their water bottles, plastic bags and whatnot. He’d spent the better part of his day scouring his shoreline and collecting trash from the last plague of day-trippers.
His skin cast off loch water like a slicker shedding rain. He lifted his head, nostrils flaring. Speaking of which…the scent of rain filled his lungs. He didn’t mind the cold, though he doubted a good dousing would lessen his temper.
Another scent tainted the air. His upper lip curled. Man. He sniffed again. No, a woman. The disdain didn’t lessen. What buggering fool stumbled onto his isle? And for what reason? He’d bloody Magnus’s nose if he caught the youth dropping off more vermin in exchange for coin.
Picking up his plaid from where he’d cached it in the rocks this morning, he slung it over his shoulder and cinched the belt around his waist. Much to his dismay, the scent thickened as he approached his castle. If he found her poking around his belongings, may the good Lord stay his hand. He was in no mood to be generous.
What he found, though, was a hunched figure crouched around a ring of stones as she desperately tried to start a fire. A haphazard pile of supplies lay on the beach, though if the storm manifested as it seemed wont to, the water’s greedy fingers would soon filch it all. He paused, hands balled on his hips. Either she was a stupid thing and stranded, or a weather witch and unconcerned about the squall. He bet on the former. The rain smelled too pure to be conjured.
He strode toward her. “Hey there, what are you about?”
Her covered head shot up. He caught the glint of steel as she snatched up her knife, tucking it in her sleeve. Not as dim-witted as he first surmised, then. Good. He had even less patience for the crafty. Let her bear the brunt of his temper.
She straightened, and the first thing that struck him was her height. He stood a solid six feet and she nearly matched him. Licking his lips, he scented her fear and surprisingly, her anger. That had his eyes narrowing and his gait slowing. A knife, however small, could do serious harm to his human shape.
“I could ask you the same. This is Dun Isle, isn’t it?” she said. In spite of her fear, her voice rang clear.
American. That earned her yet another scowl.
He ignored her question. “How’d you get here?”
She shook back her hood. “I imagine the same as anyone else, by boat.”
Despite her accent, her looks were anything but what he’d expect from an American. Though, if tourists were an indication, they were a mongrel lot. White, chocolate, pink, and ranging from blond and as pale as the winter’s sun to as black as the bottom of his castle’s well, there wasn’t a shared feature among the lot of them. Unless rudeness and ignorance could be counted. He nearly smiled at his own wit. A hazard of keeping one’s own company.
This one dabbled in the chocolate palette, with straight dark hair that hung to her breasts, and eyes the color of polished mahogany. Her nose was wide and a bit flat, its ordinariness compensated for by her lush coral lips, both set in a perfect oval. Comely, for a human woman. If one favored that sort of thing. He didn’t. He wouldn’t let himself savor such again. Why waste emotion on something that had a shorter life cycle than his trees?
“I don’t see your boat.”
She bit her lip. A smidgen of her distress leaked out. “I was dropped off.”
“Dropped off? Alone? Dear Lord, girl, are you daft?” Dropped off in the middle of a squall? And here she was trying to light a fire instead of erecting what passed for her shelter. His first assessment was correct—comely but dim-witted. A shame.
“I’m not alone. My friend, Eric, is just over that rise.”
He raised an eyebrow. He’d not scented a man, but he detected her lie now. “I don’t believe you.”
She skirted his denial. “You didn’t answer my question. Who are you and what are you doing on my island?”
“Your isle? What makes you think it’s your isle?”
“It was willed to me by my aunt Clara. I have the deed of ownership.”
“With you?” he challenged.
“Of course not. I’m not daft.” She mimicked his tone and words.
Many had tried to lay claim to his isle. He’d scared all but the most desperate away, though none dwelled here now. Those that did linger lived and died in his shadow, men without families, willing to keep his secret in exchange for peace and solitude. No women had willingly lived here for any length of time. But the feminine name Clara struggled to emerge from the depths of his memory. It sounded familiar.
There was a man, Tom, who’d set up life on the far part of the isle in a whitewashed cottage overlooking the sea. He’d had a daughter with him. Was her name Clara? He strained to remember. Humans slipped through his life so fast, it was difficult to cling to their names and faces. Tom had died in a fishing accident—had Robert been near, he’d have prevented it—and the child had been taken away. The sea claimed the cottage in a winter squall.
“Raven-haired, with a lilting voice,” he murmured. He remembered listening to her sing as she skipped about the isle.
“Yes. Clara was from India.” Her eyes narrowed. “How would you know that? You couldn’t have possibly known her as a child.”
His lips twitched. “What makes you think that?”
“She lived to ninety-eight. You don’t look a day over thirty.”
He humphed.
“Whatever.” She nonchalantly took a step back, putting a little distance between them.
He noticed the movement and her intent. “When will your boat be back?”
She chewed on her lower lip, clearly toying with telling the truth or another lie. “Soon.”
“Lying worsens my temper.”
“I don’t care. Get in your boat and get off my island.”
“I don’t have a boat. I live here.”
She blinked. “You must get supplies from somewhere.” She eyed his plaid. “Maybe not clothes, but food.”
“I swim.”
He watched the fear surface in her eyes again and cursed himself for enjoying its flavor. “You’re crazy.”
“If that’s the case, lass, then you’d best be getting off my isle.”
She glanced at the darkening skies. As if she’d conjured it by will alone, a fat droplet fell, splattering on the sleeve of her coat. “It’s going to rain. Why don’t you go wherever it is you’re going and leave me alone?”
“Not before I see you off. Who’d you buy passage from?”
“What?”
At her blank stare, he sighed. “The boat,” he repeated. “Who is its captain?”
“Oh.” Her brows furrowed. “Murphy, Gregor. Maybe Andrew. There were a zillion kids running around. I don’t know which one drove. MacDonald is the last name.”
He rolled his eyes.
Another fat droplet struck her coat. “You’re going to get wet,” she pointed out. “Don’t let me stop you.”
Humans were so daft. If they didn’t breed like rats, he was certain they’d have died off long ago. He could leave her here, but he didn’t trust her to not get into trouble. A missing American woman would attract unwanted attention. Taking her with him was an option he’d rather not consider, but it appeared to be the only safe one. So what if she left the isle gibbering about castles and shape-shifting men? A raving American woman was preferred to a dead one, at least in the human world. He wasn’t so sure.
The sky’s outburst decided it for him. Striding forward, he reached for her elbow. “You’ll come with me.”
“Get away from me.” She tried to twist out of his reach, but he was quicker. Seizing her elbow, he dragged her in his wake. “Let me go!”
He cared even less for screaming women. He briefly considered knocking her in the head and tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of barley.
He forgot her knife. His mistake.
She plunged the sharp little blade into his side.
Fury and pain muddled rational thought. He reared back, and she wrenched herself free, stumbling to the ground.
His hands fumbled for the blade. Jerking it out, his form shifted and blurred. Damnations. Pain overrode common sense. The wound, large on a human body, shrank as his body grew. His arms split in two lengthwise, his bones realigning themselves to form long streamlined wings and short webbed forepaws. Skin gave way to iridescent scales, violet and midnight and black. His head elongated, jaws and teeth replacing human lips, pupils widening until they consumed the whites of his eyes, leaving behind whirling multifaceted orbs. A jagged line of spikes protected his spine, from the back of his head to the end of his tail, which now lashed in agitation. He sat on his haunches, tipped his head back and roared.
The woman squeaked once and fainted.
The urges to toss her to the now-frothing sea, or to protect the limp body being pelted with rain warred within him. Mercy won out. Picking her up in his short forepaws, he carried her over the hill and to his castle.
She’d seen a man turn into a dragon. Reason struggled against what she’d witnessed. Dragons were the stuff of legend. They had no place in the real world, unless she happened to be on some Hollywood set. And she knew that wasn’t the case. She’d taken a red-eye flight to Scotland. She’d paid good money to be ferried to a godforsaken chunk of dirt willed to her by a great-aunt she’d met only a handful of times. She was bound and determined to find something of worth on the lousy rock.
Looked as though she had. A dragon.
She opened her eyes.
She was lying on a bed, covered in a thick blanket. Wool, her fingers told her. A fire blazed in an open hearth at the foot of the bed. She turned her head. A man stood at the window, dressed in a kilt, the spare cloth thrown over his shoulder like a cape.
Not just any man, she noted as he turned his head. The dragon man. Solidly built, he stood with his legs slightly spread, like a man surveying all he owned. A shock of thick black hair did nothing to soften his granite profile. She might as well have been trying to bludgeon a gorilla with a toothpick for all the damage her pocketknife had done.
She must have made some sort of noise for he turned to her. Black brows, as unruly as his hair, knit together.” Don’t think fainting will soften me toward you.”
She sat up, realized she was nude and clutched the wool to her chest. He chuckled. The chuckle vanished when she fixed him with a glare. “Where are my clothes?”
He nodded toward the fire. “You were wet.”
“You undressed me?”
He regarded her with amusement. “There’s no one else here, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“You changed into a dragon,” she blurted out. Ah, that wasn’t exactly the way she wanted to address the subject, but she couldn’t take the words back.
“Dragon, eh? You conked your head quite good. And ‘twas obviously hallucinating. There’s a knot on the back of it,” he added when she eyed him suspiciously.
She touched the spot gingerly. That’s all it was, a delusion? No. She shook her head. “I fell after you changed.” After she stabbed him.
“What kind of nonsense did they fill your head with on the mainland? Listening to too many Nessie stories, that’s what. I was trying to get you to safety and you balked.”
“You kidnapped me.”
He snorted. “Why would I do that?”
She glanced wildly around the room, looking for a weapon.
“You left your knife on the beach. The water’ll have claimed it by now.”
And all her gear, too. She quietly cursed. “You’re trespassing. You’re going to kill me and hide my body and keep the island to yourself.”
That earned her another snort. “Kill you? That wouldn’t attract anyone, would it? Fact is, as soon as the storm breaks, I’ll be carting you back to the mainland.”
“But you don’t have a boat.”
He smiled, a wide white grin. It did nothing to soften his features. “I lied.”
Inspiration struck. “Show me your wound.”
He arched a brow, puzzled. “Come again?”
“Show me where I stuck you.”
He obediently turned, flashing her a long strip of his muscled thigh as the plaid swirled around his legs. “Here.” He pointed to a red welt. “Barely a scratch. You needn’t apologize.”
She ground her teeth. “Listen, you brute. You’re on my island. If anyone’s going to make apologies, it’ll be you.” Damn, she swore she’d buried the knife to its hilt. A three-inch-deep hole should look worse than that.
Unless he was really a dragon and could heal himself. She’d rather stick to reasonable answers. She’d tried to wound him. She’d fallen instead. Whatever else she saw or thought she saw had to be a figment of her imagination.
“Robert Dunyveg’s my name, lass.”
It was hard to rant and rave when one was nude. She eyed the distance between the bed and the bundle of her clothes on the chair beside the fire. If he’d planned to hold her captive and rape her, she figured she would have woken up tied to the bed. Maybe he assumed with the knot on her head she’d be too wounded to escape. Maybe he liked a little violence with his sex. She clenched her teeth, reminding herself that, despite his rugged looks, he had some loose wires in the brain department.
“And you are?” he prompted when she remained silent.
“Ellen Kildonan,” she retorted, sullen. “Could you hand me my clothes?”
He ignored her request. “That’s a fine Scottish surname, though you don’t look the part.”
“Times change.” She’d inherited the name. Lord knows how many generations it’d been since her ancestors laid claim to Scottish soil. Genealogy didn’t interest her. Well, it hadn’t until she’d inherited an island…and apparently a crazy person with it. “My clothes, please.”
“No damage done to your feet.” He winked. “I carried you.”
And no doubt copped a feel while he did so. “You just want to see me naked.”
“I already have,” he pointed out.
Her face flushed.
“They’re probably still wet. You weren’t out that long.”
Long enough to be carried to the crazy man’s home and undressed. “Fine. Do you have something else I can wear until they dry?”
“My plaid.” He started to undo his belt buckle.
Her mouth watered. She held up her hand. “No. No, the blanket’s fine for now.”
He grinned.
Sitting back against the headboard, she sighed. What was she supposed to do? She was trapped on her island in the midst of a storm with a sexy trespassing madman. She turned her head. A glint of iridescent purple caught her eye.
She blinked and surveyed the room again. There! Wedged between the wood door frame and the stone around it. Standing, she forgot about being self-conscious in front of the stranger. She crossed the room, wool blanket clutched haphazardly around her. Robert followed her gaze. She thought he blanched.
“If you think you’re going out in that storm with nothing but a blanket for protection…”
He trailed off. She seized the glittering scale. It filled her entire palm. “What’s this?”
“Birds carry shiny things in all the time. Probably a fish scale.”
It was the biggest fish scale she’d ever seen. The firelight winked off its curves. Rainbow prisms danced in her cupped palm. She touched her fingertip to its edge.
“I wouldn’t,” he cautioned.
Blood oozed through the slice in her skin. She hadn’t felt a thing.
He strode across the room and seized her hand. She started to curl her fingers around the scale, but he stopped them. His hand was warm, skin roughened. God, the strength in just his fingers made her catch her breath.
“It’s a scale all right,” she said softly. She raised her gaze to his. “What is going on? What are you?”
His jaw worked back and forth. “It’s a fish scale.”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Only fools believe in dragons and fairies and leftover magic found in cromlechs and cairns.” His black gaze warned her not to disagree.
Had she been sweet and tractable, she’d have never made it to the island in the first place. “How many men dress in kilts and live alone on a deserted bit of rock?”
“Those who prize their privacy.”
“I sank my knife up to its hilt in you.”
“Look where it bloody got you!” He no longer denied it. His hand closed around her wrist. “I heal quick, a gift from my grandfather.”
Lovely. She wished she could blame her current psychosis on a relative. “So what are you going to do with me?”
“Do with you? I think I’ll take a bit of flesh as payment and then send you on your way.”
“Payment? For what?”
“Letting you live.”
She snorted. “Listen, mister. If you try to kick me off my island, I’ll have you hunted down and displayed in a zoo.”
His eyes narrowed, grip tightening.
Ah, perhaps that wasn’t the wisest threat to make.
Chapter Two
How dare she threaten him! He one-upped her stupidity, bent her over his arm, and crushed his lips to hers. Just a taste, he told himself, but he knew it was sheer folly to think so. It’d been far too long since he’d partaken of this particular feast. One taste wouldn’t be enough to sate the lust warming his blood. Even dragons had needs.
His blood stirred, along with other body parts he’d long neglected. She put her free hand on his bare chest. He swore sparks jumped from her flesh to his. His heart lurched. He’d been wrong about one thing. She might smell human, but she tasted of magic. Whatever ancestor had blessed or cursed her with his name had left a wee bit of something else behind.
Its mystery added to his arousal.
Her lips fought his, though her moan vibrated through his bones. He straightened them both, his hand sliding to cup her breast through the rough wool. Her nipple spiked the fabric, seeking solace in his palm.
He pressed her back to the stone wall, imprisoning her hips with his. It freed his hands to explore. When he’d undressed her unconscious body, the caramel skin had beckoned to him, but without the fiery spirit animating it, he’d found it lacking. Like staring at a print of a famous work of art, rather than the master’s actual brushstrokes. Beautiful but uninspiring.
Her struggles, her bright angry eyes warring with her squirming body, were invigorating.
He teased her nipples, wringing another moan from her throat. Her hands clutched the wool. He wanted to feel them on his skin. He tore away the blanket. She reached for the discarded fabric, and he kissed the length of her outstretched arm, relishing her womanly scent. Her arm dropped, abruptly boneless.
He kissed her lips, not as rough this time, savoring the heart-shaped dip in her coral skin, tasting the balm she’d protected them with. Her lips parted and his tongue delved inside. His tongue rolled in her flavor, claiming her mouth.
She roused, her hands remembering they were in the midst of a battle. Those soft feminine hands stroked his thighs, her fingers curling in on themselves, so that her knuckles skated up and down his muscles, as if she fought the urge to investigate.
He held no such qualms. Her magic beckoned. Like a siren-bewitched sailor, he couldn’t turn away. Lowering his head to her breast, he nuzzled her excited nipple with his nose. Her dark areola contracted, the puckered skin creating a maze of sensitive skin to trace with teeth and tongue. Tasting turned to suckling. She gasped. Fingers twined through his hair, cradling him to her breast.
The air sparkled around them, his power calling to hers. Hers spat like a frightened kitten, igniting dust motes and showering the floor with sparks. Good thing he kept a spare bucket of water beside the fireplace.
A thought stopped him. Had she come here to seduce him? He raised his head to stare into her face, the question burning in his throat. Damnations, he’d been blinded by his lust. He deserved a blade between the ribs.
His curses died unvoiced.
Her eyes were wide and unfocused, dreamy. What flickered in their depths didn’t quite belong to the woman he’d rescued from the shoreline. This was an older, cannier version of Ellen Kildonan, her soul’s ember watching him watch her and enjoying the alarm that came with his sudden burst of recognition. That wisp of soul never died, only drifted from body to body, life to life, animating what it could. Freud’s id be damned. The truth of what could share the same space with a conscious mind and yet remain hidden would drive a sane person insane.
He didn’t think humans possessed enough passion to keep a soul ember burning. Dragons, fairies, nymphs, kelpies, trolls and other manners of creatures, yes. Their very existence, their souls, were fueled by magic. Humans tended toward the melodramatic. Their lives flared and died, like a match head touched to an oil-soaked cotton ball. Ashes were poor fodder for a soul ember.
He shrugged. Well, he already knew his bold little trespasser wasn’t entirely human. So she’d had past lives. As long as they didn’t impinge upon what he intended to take, he could live with them.
Seemed a shame, though, to take one unaware. It lessened his pleasure a little, but not his aching need.
He wondered if they’d met before, in another life, maybe even another world. That would explain the ease with which he abandoned his natural caution.
“Hello there. I’m Robert Dunyveg,” he said formally.
“So you’ve said,” she murmured.
Outside, the storm howled, wind battering the shutters. Within the hearth, the flames danced, kindled by the magic in the air, the wood long since consumed. Red flames morphed to blue and green. Their shadows danced, merging on the wall. Lightning spilled through the shutters’ cracks.
“Have we met before?”
“You’re a young soul. I think we’d have both remembered that, dragon man.”
“I do not wish to tread where I am unwelcome.”
Her laughter spilled out, sending shivers through him. “Too late. You’re on my isle.”
“Nay, it’s my isle and has always been so. If you desire it so badly, you’ll need to convince me to leave.”
“That can be arranged.” She touched her fingertips to his chest. Now he was certain he felt sparks. His blood frothed in his veins, threatening to cook him from the inside out.
He didn’t move. The cold core of his soul spilled out like a geyser, drenching her fire. Never had he felt his body so throbbingly alive. He threw his head back and laughed, delighted at the novelty she presented. Alarmed, she took a step backward.
Seizing her wrists, he prevented her escape. “My turn.”
His lips and tongue glided over her skin, sliding between her breasts to rest in the hollow of her throat. Her pulse fluttered there, like a wild creature fighting its bonds. He pressed his lips to it, so delicate and yet so strong.
Her hands uncurled, like a butterfly unfurling its wings for the first time. Her freed fingers slithered beneath the folds of his kilt, skimming across his pulsing cock.
Her eyes flicked open, rolling white, sprinkled with surprise, desire and fear. The Ellen of here and now reemerged. “What are you? What have you done to me?”
He kissed away her questions, inhaling her breath, making it his own and returning it to her. Lightning fractured the sky, skittering across the wall like unearthly tendrils of growth.
Picking her up, he carried her to his bed. Once kings had lain here, or so he’d been told. Rulers sired. Dynasties established. Alliances forged. He’d taken little interest in humans’ lore. Until now. Magic vibrated through her veins. What was she? Siren, was his first thought. Djinn, his second. When her hands wrapped around his cock, the rest fled.
The woman shivered beneath him. Straddling her hips, he spread her hair around her like a dark nimbus. The silken strands flowed through his fingers.
“I want to see all of you,” she whispered.
He wondered just what she could see with those impaired human eyes. The firelight reflected in their depths, sparks of magic splintering her irises until a swirl of color no human eye had ever captured met his gaze. Her hands fumbled with his belt buckle. Seizing her hands, he brought them to his lips, kissing her knuckles. He lowered them to either side of their bodies, then undid the buckle himself. The plaid’s folds spilled over their flesh, blues and blacks and magentas, dyed and woven by his hands. Impatient, she flung the fabric away.
Her lids drooped, half-mast. Her fingers closed around his shaft, playing with the taut skin. He groaned. She caressed him, a smile dancing on her lips. A fingertip touched the tip of his head, transferring the pearl of fluid from his skin to hers. She brought the crystalline jewel to her lips.
“You taste human,” she whispered.
He carefully slid out of her grasp and lowered his head to her mons. Inhaling the scent nestled in her curls, he parted her folds and kissed her glistening nub.
She gasped.
He raised his head. “You don’t.”
Grabbing her wrists, he pinned her to the bed. One thrust impaled her. He groaned as her tightness enfolded him. She writhed and bucked, fighting to unseat him. But though dragon could become man, the dragon’s weight remained behind. It’d take a hefty lass to dethrone him. Ellen Kildonan did not have the mass.
“What are you?” He withdrew and plunged into her again. “What are you?” he repeated.
The flames leaped free of the hearth, dancing around the chamber like a swarm of pissed-off fireflies.
“Human,” she cried, arching her back. A shudder ripped through her. Her legs flailed, trapped beneath his hips. “Ellen,” she whispered, her body going slack.
The fireflies exploded, showering them in multicolored sparks. His flesh tingled where they touched. The shutters banged open. Rain punished the stone floor, claiming the fire’s dregs. The wind bayed like Garm scenting an escapee from Hell.
Feeling threatened, the dragon in him warred for release. He studied the limp woman under him, still locked in orgasmic tremors. His lips curved. She might have killed a lesser man. Luckily, he wasn’t human.
Ignoring the rain’s lash and the storm’s furious hiss, he thrust inside her again. She moaned, hands fisting in the bedsheets. “Please, please, please, please.” Her voice trailed off, her lips still forming the word. Whether she begged for more or for him to stop, he did not pause to find out.
Her hips met each plunge. Slicked with her juices, she made him work for his release. Her tight tunnel sizzled his nerve endings. Muscles stiffened, becoming molten steel. His control slipped. He reared back, feeling his bones shatter. Wings sprouted, binding his arms to his back. Scales danced down his skin.
Beneath him, she cried out as another orgasm consumed her. Her scream tore an accompanying roar from his throat, half human, half dragon, fully satisfied.
“Miss, miss, are you all right?”
Someone was shaking her shoulder. Ellen snarled an unintelligible reply and burrowed deeper into her covers. Robert’s scent surrounded her, wild, primitive and, despite whatever species he might be, utterly male.
He’d taken what he wanted, and she, like a starving creature, had accepted everything. For one glorious night, she hadn’t been entirely human. Flesh yielded to bone, and beneath bone, she’d uncovered shimmering enchantment. What made her heart beat wasn’t composed of just blood and muscle, but something more elemental. He’d wordlessly asked for her soul’s splendor, and she’d given it. Worse still, he’d offered up his own, and she’d devoured it, refilling the void inside her. If someone had asked her at that very moment if she believed in magic, she’d have agreed.
Someone continued to tug on her shoulder.
Her eyelids fluttered. A bleary face swam into view. It didn’t belong to the dragon man. She squeaked and drew back, clutching the blanket.
The flame-haired captain of her rented boat stared back at her, relief painted on his face. “There now. Drink this.” He pressed a flask into her hand. She automatically took it, eyes wide. “My dad worried about you, alone on this island in the storm. Worst we’ve seen this early in the season.” He scanned the sky. “So to pacify him, I made the trip back, just to check on you. I see it was a good decision.”
She took a drink from the flask and choked on the fire that burned her throat. Sitting up straighter, she glanced around. She was tucked between a few of the shore’s larger moss-laden rocks, her raincoat covering most of her body, a plain wool blanket, though damp, keeping the rest warm.
“You look like you danced a night with the Fair Folk. All wild-eyed and disheveled.”
“I—” She touched her fingertips to the bump at the back of her head. “I fell. There was a man. Where is he?” She didn’t recognize this place.
“No man here, miss, but me.” His eyes narrowed. “What did he look like?”
“He changed shape, man to dragon and back again.” She shook her head, wincing at the pain the motion caused. She offered him his flask.
“Take another.” He folded her hands around it. “Tell me more.”
“I must have dreamed it.” She took a long drag. It didn’t burn so much this time, only warmed the cold knot in her stomach. She wasn’t given to flights of fancy. Truth be told, unless she had a sketch and her welding rod in her hand, her imagination sucked. She started to shake.
“A shape-shifter you say.” Taking the flask from her limp fingers, he capped it, then helped her to her feet. “Could have been a gruagach. Did he look like an ogre?”
Who was the crazy one here? “How would I know what that looked like?”
He smiled, a bit sheepish. “Perhaps a kelpie then. Was he fair of face, your man?”
She pressed her lips tight.
Taking no answer as one, he said, “Kelpies are bad omens.” He steered her toward his boat. “You’re lucky my dad guilted me into checking on you. You’d have likely died of exposure if I’d waited until the scheduled time.”
Dying of exposure might have been preferable to the pain she felt. It was as if someone had carved a hole in her chest with a dull knife, stolen her heart and left a stone in its place. Drunken idiot. Not only had the liquor warmed her blood, but it’d eaten away the rational part of her brain. She laid her hand over her breast. Her captain mistook the gesture for shock.
“There now. I know Margie of Birk House. Even if she don’t have a spare room, and I’m sure she does, she’ll take you in and fix you up. You just sit down.” Helping her into the boat, he tucked her blanket around her legs.
Robert stood on his balcony, hands fisted around the stone-carved railing. The wind whipped his bare legs, kicking up the edges of his kilt. Best he let her go. What kind of existence could he offer something like herself? Even as he watched the dark water drag her boat from view, her magic called to him. Something not quite human, something such as she, didn’t belong to the human world. He was absurdly jealous. Oddities in a herd were often ostracized. Was that what had happened to her? Had she sought to hide on his island?
He’d never know. He’d sent her away. If he’d waited until she awoke, until she had stared at him with those ancient mahogany eyes…well, he wouldn’t admit to feeling fear. ‘Twasn’t manly to buckle under a single feminine look, no matter how magical.
He put a finger to his throat, feeling the heat of her lips against his skin. She’d marked him as he had her. He normally healed fast, but this, this he’d preserve. Let it heal as mortals healed. It’d be a fine reminder of his folly.
He fancied he could still catch the scent of her. Hot and wet and so vibrantly alive beneath him.
The stone railing crumbled under his grip. He opened his hand, spilling the gravel over the edge. The wind whisked the tiny particles away. The larger chunks clinked against the wall as they fell, chastising him for dabbling in the human world.
He turned his back, relinquishing scent and memory to the wind.
Chapter Three
Andrew MacDonald was right about one thing. Margie Dunain was more than happy to add another guest to her care, especially one who’d had a brush with the supernatural.
Ellen emerged from the bath Margie had drawn for her, bright pink and smelling of heather, compliments of the scented bubbles. Wrapping herself in a fluffy white towel, she stood in front of the full-length mirror.
What had happened? She had been sane when she’d left the States. Well, at least certifiably sane. She didn’t dabble in the occult, play with tarot cards, or even read her horoscope. How could a reasonable person believe a man could turn into a monster? No, not a monster. Something that defied description, something that left her breathless and wanting.
Well, plenty of the locals appeared sensible, held down normal jobs and raised families. They didn’t see the incongruity of believing in kelpies, woodwose, noggles and whatnot. In fact, they happily catered to people seeking a glimpse of the Loch Ness monster, then closed up shop on Sunday and went to church. She covered her eyes with her hands, feeling the beginnings of yet another headache.
Only it wasn’t the back of her head that throbbed. She dropped her towel. Her fingers scissored apart and she peered at her breast. She remembered falling on her head. She prodded the dark mark on her breast with her other hand. She didn’t remember tangling with lampreys or bashing her chest against anything.
She saw his dark head suckling at her breast, her fingers twisted in his hair. Heat pooled low in her stomach. His shaft invaded her, prized her apart and touched her inner core. She shivered.
If he thought he could give her the best sex she’d ever had, then muddle her thoughts and send her away, he had another guess coming.
Ellen Kildonan never backed down from a challenge.
It didn’t take much, really, to pry the location of an occultist—Druid was the closest she could get in this part of the world—from a local. Ellen didn’t bother asking her innkeeper. Judging by the number of Christian icons placed about the place, she doubted the question would be well received. Buying a round at the local pub yielded an earful of legends and the address of a local shop.
Situated in the front half of what she assumed was the shop owner’s living space, Cairns, Clachs, & Cromlechs was barely the size of her apartment back home. Harp music sounded when she opened the door. She muffled a snicker and wondered just how far she’d come that she stepped willingly into such a shop. If her friends could see her now, she was certain they’d drop over dead from shock. At least the shop didn’t sport any photos of Nessie, “real” or otherwise.
“You’d be the American staying at Dunains’. The one who’s seen the kelpie and lived.”
The woman who had spoken stepped from behind the counter. Gnomelike in build, she moved with a smooth grace at odds with her appearance. A set of reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, shackled to her body by what looked like the remains of some yarn project.
“I don’t think he was a kelpie.”
Snatching up her hand, the woman examined her palm. Startled, Ellen tried to gently pull away, but the shop owner held firm. The harps rang again, signaling the entrance of another customer. The woman continued to trace lines in her palm, muttering to herself.
“Maeve, let the poor girl go. Can’t you see you’re scaring her?”
“Mind your own business, Aggie. How often do we get one like her?” Maeve smiled reassuringly at Ellen. “I mean that in the kindest way. Most folks come just to gape.” She gave Ellen’s hand a pat and let it go. “You’ve actually encountered one of our legendary creatures. Meeting you is the next best thing to experiencing it myself.”
Ellen still didn’t feel comfortable with the woman’s gushing enthusiasm, but alienating the only person who might be able to help her wouldn’t exactly be a wise decision. “I plan on going back, and I thought I should be prepared.”
Both women gaped at her.
Ellen raised her chin. “It is my isle.”
“Obviously something else has already laid claim to it. Best you get over it, child.”
“No.”
Maeve blinked, then exchanged a look with Aggie. “Well then. We have a lot to do to make sure you’ll survive a second encounter. Aggie, be a dear and get the water boiling.”
It was past midday before Ellen left the shop, her bag of supplies clutched to her chest. Maeve and Aggie were still arguing over the differences between a kelpie and gruagach and whether Ellen had dealt with either, neither, or a hybrid. Too late in the day to tackle the trip to the island, she was secretly relieved. Margie’s hospitality was infinitely preferable to what lay on Dun Isle.
It wasn’t until nearly half the port came to see her off the next morning that she pondered the folly of her decision. She shrugged. Her parents had taught her to face her fears head-on. It’d worked for her when she crossed the country to apprentice under renowned artist, Louis De Stanse with less than a hundred dollars and a battered portfolio. She’d succeeded then. Didn’t she have a magazine clipping hanging on her bulletin board back home proclaiming her to be the decade’s greatest metal artist?
She rubbed her brow, her fingers sliding to pinch the bridge of her nose. Bending metal to her will was quite a bit different than facing a mythical creature armed with a handful of herbs and two old ladies’ well-wishes.
A fire burned within his castle’s walls. Tendrils of smoke curled out of not just one but two of his chimneys, the kitchen and his master suite. Robert knew he had left the ashes in his bedroom hearth cold, the wood far from the flames’ gluttonous grasp. And the kitchen? Its fireplace hadn’t been lit for as long as he could remember. Now both puffed away happily, as if pleased to finally have a devoted caretaker. He’d never understand humans’ bold behavior.
Maybe Ellen Kildonan had returned. Hope bloomed, as hot and as fierce as the sudden spike of his cock. Scowling, he stuffed that thought away, though there was nothing he could do about the erection. A brisk walk should snuff the blood from it. And if not, well, he shrugged. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d taken matters into his own hands. The woman was lucky he had let her escape once. If she tempted fate a second time, he wouldn’t be so kind. He grinned. Though he doubted either of them would regret the encounter.
Throwing the end of his plaid over his shoulder, he stormed over the knoll. Fog rolled off the loch water, enshrouding the remains of his castle in a wispy mantle of gray. He briefly considered changing and bursting into his home in dragon form. Often terror was an effective cure for an infestation of humans. If Ellen had returned, though, he didn’t want to rattle her wits yet again. And humans couldn’t easily replace charred body parts.
He didn’t enter through the gate, but at his balcony, climbing the ancient oak’s gnarled remains to jump from its limbs over the crumbling railing. Light gleamed through the cracks in his shutters. He made a mental note to board the windows shut. In fact, maybe he should just abandon the room and choose another for the master suite.
The scent of incense immediately assaulted his nostrils, camouflaging whatever other odors there might be. He waved his hand in front of his nose and sneezed. Fat white candles occupied every flat surface. Was the human trying to burn him out or fumigate the place? Neither would work.
The wind followed him in, twining around his legs like a cat before batting at the flames. The candles guttered, but remained lit.
Crouched at the fireplace, Ellen glanced over her shoulder. Robert stood framed in the open doorway, arms extended full length as he glowered at her. He looked like Odysseus, Hercules and every other hero of legend she’d imagined. His shock of black hair was wet and, with the wind’s touch, had started to curl. The end of his plaid, draped over his shoulder, fluttered like a cape.
Unlike the first time they’d met, she knew exactly what hid beneath his kilt. Her mouth went dry, while her vulva watered like a leaky faucet.
“I’m surprised you don’t catch pneumonia and die,” she said, sitting back.
He crossed the room in two strides and seized her by the arm, jerking her to her feet. “What are you doing here?”
“This is my isle,” she reminded him.
He ground his teeth.
He didn’t scare her. She was surprised at that, but she’d seen the man’s passionate side. This facade no longer frightened her. If he wanted her dead, he’d have done it days ago. “I was told to ask whether you are kelpie or gruagach.”
“Neither.”
She raised her brows, waiting.
“Earth isn’t the birthplace of my species.” He crushed his lips to hers, putting an end to further questions.
Possession was nine-tenths of the law. His hand fisted in her hair, drawing her tighter. God, any closer and she’d inhale him. Balancing on her tiptoes, she dug her hands into his shoulders. He smelled of mist and moss and underneath that, a wild scent she could put no name to. It was that secret scent that transformed her blood from liquid to molten lava.
Their lips fought and parted. Tongues continued the duel. He was the one that pulled back first, though they were both breathing hard.
His black eyes bored into hers. “What is this all about?”
“There were a variety of theories as to how to remove you. I opted for all of them.”
He fingered the turquoise choker at her throat. “I’m not evil.” The brush of his fingertips against her skin made her shiver.
“The way I see it, you are. You seduced me, satisfied yourself and left me in the rain to die. Thank goodness for Andrew MacDonald.”
High pockets of red bloomed on his cheekbones. Anger or embarrassment, she didn’t know. “You were in no danger. As for seduction, it was you who lured me.”
She snorted. “Please. Tell me another. How many tourists have you whisked away and had your way with?”
Seizing her shoulders, he picked her up. Her swallowed scream came out a squeak.
“There have been no others like you.” Feet dangling, he shook her once. “Since you’ve graced my castle with your presence yet again, I think I shall indulge myself.”
Her knee came up in self-defense, but he simply shifted and flung her over his shoulder. Her squeak turned into a shout. “Put me down!”
“You came to me,” he pointed out.
She didn’t have an answer. The upside-down position gave her a fine view of his spine and the broad slope of his shoulders. The kilt hid his ass from view, but the back of his thighs and his calves were sights to behold all by themselves. Why hadn’t she noticed his legs before?
He strode through the doorway and headed down the castle steps.
She thumped on his back with a fist. “Hey, where are you taking me?”
“Where the air is pure. It’ll take time to rid the room of that revolting stench. I do not wish to wait.”
Her heart thudded in her throat. “It’s incense,” she muttered. So far she’d succeeded in only temporarily removing him from the castle. So much for taking the advice of a so-called Druid.
“Then it belongs in a holy place.”
“It’s meant to repel you.”
“It succeeded.”
Instead of turning toward the kitchen where she’d set a pot of herbs simmering—as instructed by Maeve and probably just as useless—he headed for the narrow staircase tucked into one of the turrets flanking the entryway. She’d toyed with heading down them earlier, but deferred when she couldn’t find anything to light her way. Discovering one new species in her lifetime was enough; she didn’t need to stumble over something scarier than her shape-shifting dragon man. Speaking of which…
“You know, you haven’t told me your name.”
“I have. Twice. You’ve forgotten it.”
She chewed her lower lip. Had she? What else had slipped her mind? “What shall I scream out when we have sex again?”
He faltered and nearly stumbled over the next stair tread, despite the torches that abruptly blazed to life around them.
“I’m assuming we are, and not that you’re chaining me in the dungeon to die.” Perhaps an overly optimistic hope.
“It’s Robert. Robert Dunyveg.”
“Sounds awfully human for an alien.”
“My mother was sentimental. Her lover indulged her.”
For some reason, the thought of him having a mother startled her. “Umm, you’re not taking me to meet her, are you?”
That wrung a laugh from him, deep and vibrating. “No.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs, wherever that was. Water dripped from the walls. Rivulets formed at their base and traveled in the same direction as they were headed. He set her down.
It took a moment for the blood to rush from her head back to her extremities. Wobbling, she flung out a hand.
Catching it, he kissed her knuckles. She didn’t know what to say.
“What do you remember of our last encounter?”
Her brows furrowed. She knew they had mind-blowing sex, but the details eluded her. That irked her. “You took my memories.”
He shook his head. “No, that’s not one of my talents. If your memories are absent, it’s your own fault. Siren or djinn or witch, I know not what you be.”
“R-i-g-h-t.”
He blinked. “Truly.”
She jabbed her chest with her finger. “Me, Ellen. Very human.” And right now cold, horny and confused. She pointed to him. “You, Robert. Kidnapping, trespassing thug. No similarities that I can see.” Why had she thought returning was a good idea?
He grinned. “You’re wrong there, lass.”
This was insane. He clearly wasn’t intimidated by her, nor did he have any intention of leaving her isle. Did she really want him to? She gnawed at her lip and ignored the question. She glanced around. They stood at the edge of a black expanse of water, the last torch’s light reflecting in the waves lapping the shore. He started unbuckling his belt.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting undressed. I advise you to do the same, unless you brought a spare set of clothes.”
“I’m not getting in the water. It’s freezing.”
His grin was getting on her last nerve. “I’ll keep you warm.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “No.”
“It’s not an option.”
She bolted for the staircase. For a big man, he was surprisingly agile. In retrospect, running was probably a bad idea. Tackling her, they skidded across the slick stone. She twisted in his grasp, realizing at the last moment that he was buck naked. His erection ground against her jeans, reminding her just where her mind had really been when she’d hatched the idea to return.
But what stunned her the most was witnessing him change from human to beast. Straddling her, he pinned her to the ground with his hips. His arms split lengthwise. He never even winced. A sheer membrane joined his arm bone to his back. The other half of his arms—ew, was all she could think—thickened. Fingernails lengthened and became claws. Skin tore, revealing scales, shimmering rows of moist armor. Somewhere in between there, haunches replaced hips, and his cock vanished. She was too mesmerized, paralyzed with fear, and God knew what else, to request her body to do anything more than breathe. A tail sliced the water and she exhaled. He had to be the size of a school bus, and still she lay beneath him, inches from his dappled blue stomach. One wrong move and she’d be crushed.
She couldn’t help herself. She reached up, hand splayed, and touched his scales.
His head snapped around on a serpentine neck. Whirling, multifaceted eyes glared at her. A clawed hand snatched her up. She screamed.
Pressing both hands to his belly, she shoved against him. She might as well have been pushing against stone. He didn’t even wince. Her hands curled into claws of their own. Something inside her stirred and expanded, the sensation not unlike a good stretch after a workout. How dare he deliberately try to scare her! How dare he force her to do anything! That otherworldliness inside her extended some more, fanned by the flames of her anger. As he carried her toward the water, the rage spilled out. Stars danced behind her eyelids, blurring her vision.
He dropped her, recoiling so fast she struck the ground the same time he leaped into the water. The air whooshed out of her lungs. Gasping, she choked on a fetid smell. The air was tainted with the scent of scorched hair.
Damn it. Her hair was on fire! She batted at the flames just as Robert emerged from the water. He sprayed a mouthful of water at her, completely dousing her. Ten long scratches marred his underbelly, bright green against the midnight scales.
“Are you trying to drown me?” she sputtered.
The dragon tipped his head to the side. You set yourself on fire.
The words rang in her skull. Since her head was also pounding, she was even less appreciative of the intrusion than the dousing he’d just given her. “Get out of my head!”
He snorted, spraying her with what she hoped was only water.
She glanced at the marks on his stomach. “Don’t you think I’d know if I could do something like that? Why am I arguing with you? What the hell—”
Hellfire burns hotter, I’m told. As a djinn, what you conjured is marginally cooler.
He was clearly insane. Arguing with him didn’t make her seem any more rational. Waving her hand at him, she stood. “Fine, whatever. You win. You can keep the island.” She headed for the staircase.
He wound around the chamber, blocking her path with his tail.
“Move! Or…or I’ll scorch you again.”
His head lowered, staring her in the face. She could lose her head in just one of his nostrils. Fear shivered through her. She’d slept with that. She still wanted to sleep with that. Not it, him. God, she was crazy. She closed her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. “I know what I am.”
Fire djinn or at least of tainted bloodlines. He hesitated. Please stay.
Intrigued by the plea, she opened one eye. She couldn’t read the emotion in the alien gaze. “Why?”
I wish to show you something.
Curiosity won over caution. “Fine. But if it’s something valuable, I withdraw my offer to leave the island to you.”
Chuckling in her mind, he wrapped his clawed paws around her, and before she could protest, dived into the black loch water. The cold water struck her body like a kickboxer’s blow, wrestling the air from her lungs. She gasped, certain she was going to drown.
He burst to the surface, belly first, like a whale breaking over and she took another breath, managing to mutter a curse before he dived beneath the dark waters again.
She didn’t feel the cold or anything else other than terror. Despite her flailing, he kept her close to his stomach, paws carefully wrapped around her. Each time she thought she’d run out of air, he’d break the surface again, leaping and dipping. When she realized he knew how much air she needed and was obviously not going to let her drown, she relaxed a smidgen. His antics were so much like a dolphin at play. She wished she could watch him from the shoreline. He dived deep and the fear returned. The light above them vanished, swallowed by the loch water’s ravenous appetite.
Down, down, down.
His body rippled like a snake’s. They entered some sort of underwater tunnel, rock pressing on either side of them. Bursting out of the water, he clambered up the rocky shoreline, not nearly as graceful on land as he was in the water. The cave walls gleamed with a white moss, illuminating a chamber that could have been hewn by water or man, though she saw deep gouges along the stone walls, so perhaps it was really crafted by dragon claws. Setting her down, he circled her twice, tail snapping back and forth, before he changed. The moss gleamed off his violet-and-midnight scales as if each scale was a jewel.
Then she was abruptly staring into the face of a man once more, a man whose jaw was set in a tight line, eyes whirling once or twice in their human-sized sockets before they took on a somewhat more normal and human black. He was on his hands and knees. He sat back, unselfconsciously nude.
“I’m not human, little woman. Pretending I am won’t make me one.”
She sucked in a breath. He was deliberately trying to scare her, and doing a splendid job. She glanced at the raw red lines marring his perfect set of abs. Apparently she had a way to defend herself, even if she didn’t know how to wield it. For a moment, she was more scared of herself than him.
“The other night I fucked a man, not a dragon.”
He blinked. Clearly, intelligible words were not what he expected to hear come out of her mouth. Well, she wouldn’t indulge his fantasies by screaming, even if she did feel like it. Though, as she studied his welts, she wondered just who was the monster. He’d never harmed her.
“I am neither man nor dragon, but both. Just as you declare yourself human but are not.” He stood and circled her, studying the way her wet clothes clung to her body. Little good they did her now.
She scrambled to her feet, arms wrapped around herself. “I don’t know what a djinn is.”
“Basically a genie.”
She managed a laugh. “Like with the veils and the belly dancing outfit? Perfect. I can grant my own wishes.”
He winced. “In your family’s defense, they might not have known one infiltrated your bloodline. They can disguise themselves as human.”
“Like you?” She was deliberately trying to be vicious, to exact the same amount of pain he’d heaped on her with the declaration of her inhumanness. When he didn’t reply, she sighed, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
He reached for her. She let him take her in his arms, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “You scare me. I scare me. So why do I just want to be touched by you?” Her voice came out muffled.
“Opposites attract…and I’m not afraid of you.”
She lifted her head and caught his glimpse of amusement. “What?”
“Fire djinn to water dragon.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. That’s the best excuse you can come up with?”
“Would you like me to say we’re destined for each other? Star-crossed lovers?” He humphed. “Life is much more practical.”
She laughed, a bit nervous. “I’d settle for an ‘I like you’ or ‘I need a bed buddy.’”
His fingers trailed over her shoulders, then toyed with the singed ends of her hair. His lips curved. “You’re a maddening woman and a loose cannon, a hazard to yourself and obviously me, as well.”
Her gaze dropped to the angry red welts cutting an asymmetrical path across his abs. “I see.”
“I’m also not in need of a bed buddy, as you put it.”
She started to draw away, but he caught her shoulder. His other hand lifted her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Lovers should always start as friends. I have few enough of those. Friends,” he added hastily. “Not lovers. Well, those, too.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Damnations, you know what I mean.”
Her lips quirked. She had a feeling if she’d let him, this enigmatic not-quite-man might get under her skin. “Can you prove I’m not human?”
He sighed. “Yes, but pledge you won’t hate me for it.”
She raised one hand. “I promise.”
Chapter Four
Robert offered her his hand. When she took it, he led her deeper into his lair, the white moss illuminating their way. The rock underfoot turned into crushed crystal. They rounded a curve and entered a twinkling cavern. She stopped, jaw slack. They’d walked into a giant friggin’ geode. Shafts of crystal clung to the walls and ceilings, glistening in the moss light. Some of the multifaceted fragments were bigger around than her thigh. Thick white furs replaced the crushed crystal pathway. It was the craziest boudoir she’d ever seen.
She found her voice and whispered, “What is this place?”
“The island holds many treasures.”
Lowering her gaze, she looked around. Roman coins spilled out of chests whose woodwork was all but rotted away. Ropes of precious stones looped over more common artifacts: a stone ax, stacks of leather-bound books, a pile of glittering silver armor fit for a fairy king. She looked closer. The armor seemed to be made of dragon hide.
Stooping, he picked up a length of gold chain and wound it around her neck. She lifted it from her breast, staring at the shimmer of gold in her hands. Her mouth went dry.
He didn’t meet her puzzled look. “Take all you can carry and leave the isle. Forget your heritage.”
He wanted her to leave? She still didn’t trust in Fate, but she was hard-pressed to believe the last couple of days had been the result of sheer coincidence. The puzzle’s last piece fell in place. Somehow Aunt Clara had known or seen what coursed through her veins. Willing her this island had been her aunt’s way of seeing her trained…or safe, though she could hardly consider the dragon man innocent.
“I don’t think I can go,” she said quietly.
“I’ll teach you if you stay. But it won’t be the easiest of journeys and, ah, I don’t believe I could keep my hands to myself.”
She smiled at his confession. “How long have you been here?” She touched the jewel-encrusted hilt of a broken sword jammed into the wall at eye level. The bright red gem at its heart flared. She yanked her hand back, eying her fingers with unease. They still looked like the same hands she’d known all her life.
“Centuries.”
Her head jerked up. “How long would it take to teach me?”
“Probably another century or so.”
She gasped.
“A longer than human lifespan is just one of the fringe benefits.” He stepped toward her. Taking the loop of gold from around her neck, he said, “Hold out your hands.” He spilled it into her cupped hands, then folded them around the golden puddle. “Now give it life.” His breath stirred her damp hair.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she whispered.
“Feel the weight of it in your hands. See its shimmering lines. Merge them. Melt them. Make them yield to your will.”
All she could feel was his warm hands covering hers. His scent filled her nose, wild and earthy. Something inside her shifted, that curious sensation she’d always embraced as a necessary part of her when she forged her artwork. Gold oozed between their fingers like warm honey. He didn’t remove his hands.
She took a shuddering breath.
“Stay. Leave. It’s your decision. Make it now.” His voice was rough.
Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his. She thought she felt his tremble. “I think I’ve found my great-aunt’s treasure,” she whispered. “And it has nothing to do with silly jewels or piles of gold coin.”
Releasing her hands, he tugged the hem of her damp sweater. She obediently raised his arms. Golden snowflakes rained from her open hands, the necklace’s remains. He pulled off her sweater, then proceeded directly to her pants.
Amused at his pace, she murmured, “Worried I’ll catch a chill?”
“I don’t think you can. Your blood runs too hot.”
She stepped out of her shoes and pants. “Is seduction part of my training?”
“My payment.” His eyes strayed to her long legs. Dropping to his knees, he placed his hands on her inner thighs.
She shivered. He nosed aside the elastic band of her panties, kissing her waist as he traveled its curves. Her nervous shivers morphed into tremors of anticipation. One of his fingers slipped beneath the waistband, tugging it down her hips. He kissed the bared skin, rubbing his smooth cheek against it. His hands slid to her backside, caressing the curves of her ass, teasing the sensitive line where ass cheek met thigh.
He worked the panties down a bit farther, then pressed his lips to her mons. She tangled her hands in his hair.
He was more than ready. She’d noticed his sizable erection the moment they crossed into this chamber. Tonight she didn’t want to be teased, just fucked crazy.
She jerked his head back. “Take me.”
His eyes rolled up. Amusement warred with desire.
“I’m ready,” she insisted.
He parted her folds and flicked his tongue across her nub. Her legs started to buckle.
She jerked his head back again. “I mean it.”
In one fluid movement, he picked her up, her ass cheeks resting in his hands, and pinned her against the wall. Perfectly positioned, the crystals sprouted around her, imprisoning her between their shafts. His cock bumped against her vulva. She strained to reach him, but his hips held her prisoner.
“Lass, there’s no hurry.” He cut off her response with a kiss.
Contrary to his claim, his lips seized hers, impatient and demanding. Only when he’d robbed her of air did his touch soften. Cupping her chin, his finger slid up to trace the curves of her mouth. He ran a fingertip across her lips’ seam. She opened her mouth, seizing his finger with her teeth.
Power eddied, drawn to them as if they were lightning rods in the midst of a storm. She didn’t understand the magic’s nuances, the strength both brought to the forefront when they challenged one another, and she didn’t care. Titles meant nothing: djinn, shape-shifter, genie, dragon, man, woman. Only the latter labels mattered. His cock teased her entrance, rubbing back and forth, while she could only soak her panties and yearn for more.
He lowered her to the ground, the soft furs caressing her back. She didn’t know how he could pace himself the way he did. She felt a bit schizophrenic. His hands skimmed down her arms, tickling their sensitive undersides. A chalice tipped off a chest, its cupful of red gems spilling over its brim like frozen wine drops. He kissed her wrists, lips lingering over the jackrabbit beat of her pulse. The gems burst into flames, spinning like a fiery diadem above them.
“Am I doing that?” she whispered. Her fingers flexed and the gems dropped out of the air. She answered her own question.
“Shh.” He slid his fingers beneath her panties, skating the fabric the rest of the way down her legs. He kneaded the soles of her feet, worked his way up her calves and lingered in the tender spot behind her knees. He bit the back of her knee lightly, drawing a cry from her.
Her skin was so hot she felt as if muscle and tissue might split. And then what? Could he hold on to living flame? She thought he might. His hands were like a balm, soothing the outer heat of her flesh while bringing the fire inside her to a white-hot flash point. She arched her back, hands curling in the furs.
Why had she not felt this with any other man?
He licked her inner thighs, from knee to groin, long careful strokes that had her squirming. She swore steam rose from her skin. Then his splayed hands took over where his tongue left off, skimming up her legs. His fingers teased her secret lips, running along their wet seam. He dipped his thumb into her, his knuckle rubbing against her nub.
She moaned.
Two fingers replaced his thumb, his rough skin grazing the walls of her vagina. He lowered his lips to her nub and inhaled her throbbing bit of flesh.
The scream lodged in her throat dissolved into a long moan. Her body stiffened. Had her hands not been fisted in the fur, she swore she’d have floated. A king’s ransom worth of coins dissolved into a puddle of molten gold, crawling over the furs on blobby fingers, trying to reach her.
With the tremors still riding her, he plunged into her. His invasion was a palpable relief. The fire inside her backed off. He covered her body with his own, his chest pressed against her breasts. She rubbed her nipples across that expanse of broad muscle and earned a chuckle from him. She wasn’t in a laughing mood. Her entire body ached, still strung tight. He worked himself out of her slowly while she bucked her hips, begging him to ride her faster, harder. Instead of blood, lava coursed through her veins, threatening to erupt.
Heaving, she rolled them over, surprising them both. Straddling his hips, she ground herself into him at a blistering pace. His hands settled at her waist, trying to slow her down, but she ignored him. The heat inside her built and built, until she was little more than a blazing inferno of nerve endings waiting to explode.
She didn’t feel him lift them up. Her legs automatically wound around his waist, his shaft still buried inside her. The heat climbed higher. Her hair danced around her head like a dark nimbus.
They pitched into the black loch waters as she peaked.
It was like being at the heart of a nuclear blast. Everything peeled away, leaving nothing but searing heat and a pleasure so intense she forgot to breathe. She opened her eyes and met the whirling flash of Robert’s dragon eyes. Around them, the water bubbled and frothed. His arms were wrapped around her waist, his cock still buried deep inside her. He plunged in and out of her as they sank into the watery depths. His skin shifted from creamy human flesh to iridescent scales, the hints of blues and violets rippling beneath the tissue paper layer of his skin.
He sealed his lips to hers, breathing air into her lungs. Her eyes widened, hands tangling in his hair. He held to his human form by sheer will alone. His heart pounded against her breastbone. Hers echoed, a frantic staccato beat. Then his arms stiffened and he spilled himself inside her. It set off her own trembling aftershocks, wringing a muffled cry from her throat.
They surfaced in the castle’s basement. She was too spent to do more than cling to his shoulders, face pressed into the side of his neck.
“I almost killed you,” she whispered.
His hand stroked her hair as she shuddered. “There now. I’m harder to kill than that.” He covered them both with his plaid. “A death I’d have gladly embraced, though.”
She raised her head, astonished, and stared into his dark gaze.
His lips twisted into a scowl. “There’ll be much to practice, lass. Will you be up to it?”
She choked on a laugh. “I don’t know, other than that instantaneous combustion bit. that seemed pretty perfect.” She kissed the frown off his face, then nestled her head against his shoulder.
“I seem to recall leaving behind a plethora of candles in my room. Shall we see if we can make their flames dance?”
Her breath hitched as his hand covered her mons. “Oh, yes.”
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ISBN: 978-1-4268-4694-6
Loch Dragon’s Lady
Copyright © 2010 by Christine Kocourek
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