by Victoria Zak
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
About the Author
Books by Victoria Zak
Highland Storm
Guardians of Scotland Book 2
By: Victoria Zak
Highland Storm: Guardians of Scotland Book 2
Victoria Zak
Copyright 2014 by Victoria Zak
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without prior written permission of the author and publisher.
All characters, events, and locations in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, dead or living, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover Design by JAB Designs
Editing by Julie Roberts
Acknowledgements
This book is dedicated to my family. For if it wasn’t for them, this wouldn’t have been possible.
Prologue
Magnus, one of the few remaining Dragonkine elders, raced through the Highlands as if the devil himself followed closely in pursuit. One wrong turn or stumble and he was a dead man. Knowing the facts he held, the creepers were relentless in their chase. Pushing his charger beyond its natural aptitude, Magnus had to reach Black Stone on the Hill. He had time-sensitive information that Laird Douglas needed to know. However, with death hot on his heels, he doubted that he would make it home alive.
As if the grueling task of cheating death wasn’t bad enough, he’d just endured the realm of dragons. Shifting into a dragon had been the only way to reach the island of Staffa. The salty sea breezes had calmed his nerves and reminded him of home, as he remembered taking to the skies before entering the lair. Smashing waves crashed against the sea cave violently, making it impossible for mere humans to invade the dragon’s territory; a natural defense system that was quite powerful.
Once in the cave, a long winding trail of ocean water snaked inside, guiding him deeper into the hollowed-out cavern. Hexagonal, basaltic pillars stretched tall throughout the cave as if it were a cathedral for worship. Dragons of all colors and sizes had been perched high on the columns, eyeing Magnus suspiciously as he’d entered their domain. An alarm of hisses and deep gut-gurgling rattles had warned Magnus to tread softly. These dragons did not trust easily, not even their own kind.
Steam had risen from the waters, leaving behind the salty aroma of the sea mixed with a tinge of sulfur, a smell Magnus would never forget.
He had hoped to never encounter a true dragon lair again. Spending a decade living strictly in dragon form had grown too comfortable for Magnus. Watching the downfall of his kingdom had been enough to turn him fully dragon and abandon his human side altogether. At the time it had seemed like a good idea. It had been the only way he knew how to mourn the dead, for the pain he’d felt was more than he could handle, being human. Taking dragon form had been the only way he could justify the rage he held inside.
Treading deeper into the abyss, he’d folded his wings tight against his body as the tunnel began to feel cramped, closed in. Tight spaces had made the dragon’s skin crawl, for if he’d needed to stretch his wings and fly, he wouldn’t have been able to. The small space had left him defenseless, not a desirable predicament. Sweat had beaded on his scales from the humidity, or perhaps from his nerves. Whichever it might have been, he had needed to pick up the pace and get his arse out of there.
And that was exactly what he’d done. Magnus had talked to the elders and it was precisely what he’d feared. With this new-found information, he’d raced out of the cave with his sights on Black Stone, but what he hadn’t counted on was death chasing him down.
Now on horseback, Magnus raced through the glen like wildfire. Hot sulfuric breath puffed down his neck as a creeper, dressed in black armor, snatched at his reins. Pulling his warhorse away from death’s grip, he headed down a dirt trail towards Angus land. But making it there was going to be a challenge. He could not fail his Dragonkine brethren; their lives depended on him and so did the people of Scotland.
Magnus fought the urge to shift; keeping the Guardians’ dragons’ identity a secret was becoming increasingly more difficult. He turned his head to look over his shoulder, red hair whipping in his face, and met the empty eyes of a creeper.
Creepers in human form and pure death in dragon form, these creatures were vile beyond contempt. With the realization that Magnus now had the knowledge of why they were here and who controlled them, the creepers held nothing back as they fought to keep their existence veiled.
“Shite!” It seemed as if every turn he made those nasty bastards ghosted around him. He kicked his horse but the steed had given Magnus all he had. To his dismay another creeper appeared on his left flank. He was now surrounded by death. All Magnus could do now was pray but to whom, he did not know.
Drawing his leg up, Magnus unleashed its power and connected with the creeper, sending it rolling to the ground as the other menace retreated. As he set his eyes back on the trail, from out of nowhere a feminine figure flashed before him as he raced by. Wondering if his eyes had deceived him, Magnus turned his head to look behind him. Why was the woman out here alone? Was she daft? She was going to get herself killed.
Death came to an unexpected stop before they reached the woman. Magnus slowed his steed and turned to face her. What was the lass thinking? He meant to call out and ask her just that, when he noticed that the black-clad knights seemed afraid of her. She held her hands in front of her as if she was motioning them to halt.
A bright, golden flash of light flared from her hands, illuminating their surroundings. The flare zapped the creepers, sending them to the ground, disorientated. An iridescent wall now separated Magnus and the lass from death.
“Go! Now! I dinnae know how much longer I can hold the light!” the woman called out over her shoulder.
Magnus stood dumbfounded. What the devil had he just witnessed? The view from where he stood was real, aye. Even though he only saw the back of her, she was covered by a white dress with her arms exposed. He couldn’t believe it. Faintly his eyes traced the white markings scrolling up the back of her arms. “Nay,” he exclaimed. Indeed his vision had deceived him. They are all dead; I witnessed the massacre centuries ago.
Magnus’s horse pranced in a fit as if it could sense the turmoil in the air. Never removing his sight from the lass, he saw her turn and face him with a smile. She nodded her head. More confused than ever, he blinked his eyes, trying to confirm the vision in front of him. Had entering the dragon elders’ lair played with his mind? Shaking the cobwebs from his head, he clucked at his horse and took off towards Angus.
Chapter 1
Cold sweat streamed down Conall Hamilton’s face and his heartbeat quickened as he sat up in bed, catching his bre
ath. Ever since he’d dared to dream of a solitary life and settling down with one woman, haunting images of his past plagued his nights. Visions of his beautiful wife and son running into his arms should have been his last memory of his family, but Conall wasn’t granted that pleasure. Instead his last memory was of Ann and wee Thomas brutally murdered outside their village home by a band of rogue Vikings.
Yet tonight’s dream had been different. There had been no charred bodies, no screams, and no dirty little feet poking out of the white sheet that lay across his son’s lifeless body. Indeed this dream was different; it had come with a message.
Conall shut his eyes tight, trying to erase the nightmare from his mind. He shoved his hands through his sweaty hair and cursed out loud. “Holy hell!” Ann was here; he had felt her.
He recalled her warm gentle hands caressing his chest, slowly making their way down under the covers, where he grew rather aroused from the sweet torture. His hands found their way up to long lean legs straddling his hips. By the saints, they are soft.
The fresh smell of rain wisped past his nose, awakening all of his senses. Silky strands of long hair tickled his cheek and her voice warmed his heart like a summer’s breeze. “Wake up, my darling.”
This had to be a dream, yet the body spanning him felt so real. And her scent... God, her scent. Even though centuries had passed, that scent never did. Conall rubbed his hands up and down her soft thighs and opened his eyes. “Nay, ’tis a dream.” His Ann? In disbelief, he ran his hands through her golden locks. “Ann.”
“Aye, my darling,” she said sweetly. His wife felt of flesh and blood; her flawless white skin shimmered with a glow as he trailed his hands down her shoulders and cupped her breasts. “If this be a dream, I do no’ want to wake,” he whispered.
Ann bent down and kissed his lips. Her lips were just as he remembered them; full, soft and made for passionate kisses. Whispering in between kisses, Conall said, “I’ve missed ye, mo chridhe.”
The beautiful woman sat up and smiled brightly down at her husband. “’Tis time, Conall.”
“Time for what?” He didn’t want to waste time with useless chatter. He knew what he wanted to do. It was what he had longed to do since the day she was unfairly and brutally taken away from him. Claim her one last time.
Conall pulled Ann down on top of him but was halted. “Nay, Conall, ye must listen to me. ’Tis time to move on and allow yerself to love again.”
A vision of a memory he wished he could forget flashed through him. He was on bended knees, gathering up his family’s ashes, preparing for his pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Ann and Thomas, his wee Thomas, needed a proper burial away from the ruin of their home and the evilness of men. He owed it to them. They deserved peace and their souls needed to be put to rest properly.
Never allowing himself forgiveness for failing to protect his family, he roamed the Earth emotionlessly. He was a shell of a man. With every step he took he mourned his family, alone. Being immortal, Dragonkine warriors gave part of their immortality to their wives. They had eternity to be together. So he had thought, but no amount given could have saved his Ann.
As he watched her smiling down over him, he remembered that long daunting journey. Images rolled through his mind as if it had happened yesterday, not centuries ago. Even being a dragon, the road traveled to the Holy Place was dangerous. It left many travelers meeting their maker sooner than they expected. Whether it was inner peace, to be forgiven for crimes, or seeking a cure for illness, the voyagers endured the crusade, seeking spiritual enlightenment.
One night, on his way to the Holy Land, Conall had sought refuge at a nearby village tavern where he was greeted by an unruly group of local folk. Desperate to rob Conall of everything, the wild men began to beat him. After the first blow the warrior discovered he could actually feel again. Blow by blow his body absorbed each pounding fist as he stood stoic. He believed that this was his punishment for failing his wife.
Bloodied and bruised, Conall stood in the middle of the dark, stale tavern with his body giving up the fight when a man from a shadowed corner came to his rescue. The wild man was about to knock Conall on his arse with his meaty fist cocked back and ready to pound the warrior in the face. In a blink of an eye, the shadow man stood behind the bastard, grabbing his fist before it had a chance to connect. Bones shattered in the rogue’s hand as he screamed out in pain. The rest of the thieves scattered with one look at Conall’s rescuer.
The shadow man looked Conall up and down and then shook his head in disgust. “I know who you are, lad. Come with me and you will find what you seek.”
Conall wiped the blood from his lips. “Ye know nothing, auld man,” he bit back. He turned to the tavern’s bar wench. “Ale.”
The shadow man smiled and took the seat next to Conall. “Lad, you seek the Holy Land, this I know.” He motioned for the wench to fill his cup. “For what reasons, they are for you to keep. I’m only offering you our protection.”
Conall laughed. Mortal men offering him, Dragonkine, protection. This was ludicrous. He housed a dragon deep inside of him for God’s sake. He was far more dangerous and capable of taking care of his own affairs. “Och, if ye know who I be then ye would know that I dinnae need yer protection.”
“Aye, spoken like a true Highlander.” The man took a long pull of his freshly poured ale.
The man who came from the shadows was beginning to irritate him. “Who are ye?”
“Hugues de Payens.” He took another long swallow of ale. “I and my brethren,” he motioned over to a dark corner of the room, “offer you our protection in reaching the Holy Land. We are the Knights Templar.”
It was like a cold hand reaching up and slapping him right up-side the head. He had heard about the Templars and how they helped folks on their crusade to the Holy Land. They were brave knight warriors, a wealthy military religious order.
Although he was impressed by the mere appearance of the man, something was unsettling. How did Hugues know who he was?
As if the man had read his thoughts, he began to explain his situation. “It’s been written in the scrolls that a Dragonkine warrior would cross our path and become the ninth Templar. Conall, my friend, this is your next journey in life. Join us.”
Skeptical, Conall sat silent for a while. True, he needed to fulfill his quest, yet could he trust these men? Without a doubt, with their help, his journey wouldn’t be as daunting, compared to making it alone. His wife and son needed to be laid to rest and for that reason alone he would join the Templars.
Conall rubbed the tension from his neck, then rotated his head side to side, popping his neck. “Aye, I’ll join yer order, but as soon as me quest is complete, I’m on me own. Understood?”
The Templar cocked a snide smile and rubbed his hands over his white-robed thighs. “Aye.”
Conall focused on his wife’s eyes. There was no denying it, he had laid her to rest alongside their son. He’d scattered their remains and seen the ash swirl and mix with the sand below his feet.
Ann had changed him from the first time they met. Conall had been alone and angry for too long. She’d brought light to his darkness when his world had fallen apart.
Stranded in a human world without his Kine, Conall had lost so much in his life that he was positive he had been damned. His kingdom had been destroyed. King MacAlpin, king of the Scots, had slaughtered his people, wiping out their Dragonkine society.
Even though the king of Scots had left behind seven warriors, the remaining seven had parted ways, broken and angry. The pain and loss was unbearable for the warriors to withstand, which had led Conall down his path of destruction. He battled with rage and he didn’t care what side he fought on as long as he was killing, taking his aggravations out on the enemy, humans.
But Ann had changed everything. He clung to her as if she was his lifeline. Aye, there had been a time when life had been good. Alas, it had been no more than a blink of an eye.
When he lost Ann and their
son, Conall had nothing else to live for. He knew he didn’t want to slip back into the dark past. He had to move on. Wanting to honor his late wife, for he knew Ann would be proud of him, he indeed joined the Templars and fought for the greater good.
But all good things come to an end. That he knew. When the Templars became a threat, the nine men had to lay low, separate. Conall had made it out of France just in time before the men he fought side by side with were imprisoned for an array of alleged crimes ranging from devil worship to homosexuality. These allegations burned Conall’s soul. These men were honest and courageous and he loathed the fact that he couldn’t rescue them. One lone man who had to keep his dragon guarded, against the whole country of France; the odds were not in his favor. He’d had to flee to Scotland to avoid the same fate as his brethren.
Ann interrupted his inner musings. “Conall, ye have been forgiven a long time ago. Ye need to find love again and become whole. Yer dragon needs peace, my love.”
Conall wished it was that easy to forgive himself but he couldn’t. No matter how many times he’d tried to overcome the unbearable pain of losing his wife and son and the men who’d showed him a better life, he would never allow himself happiness, nor put another loved one in harm’s way as long as he lived. Which, for an immortal, would be a very long time.
His beautiful wife took his head in her hands and looked sternly into his storm-gray eyes. “Do ye think it’s fair to the red-headed lass you’ve been courting? Ye must do the right thing and make an honest woman of her.”
He hadn’t quite thought about it like that. Keeping his and Effie’s passion-filled jaunts a secret was the only way he knew to keep her safe and protect her from his enemies. Not once had he thought of how Effie might think about his motives.
“I must go. Please heed my words and do the honorable thing, marry that lass.”
When Conall looked back up to his wife, her ghostly frame was beginning to fade. Desperately, he tried to hold onto her, but his hands passed right through her disappearing body. “Tell Thomas that his da loves him verra much.” A tear slid from his eye as he saw Ann smile right before she crumbled into smoldering ash and vanished into the air like smoke.
