by Ann Gimpel
Worse than a hungry bairn, he thought.
Maggie blew out an exasperated breath. “Shit. It’s Chloe again.” She swiped a finger over the device. It silenced immediately, and she spoke into it. “Yes?”
Lachlan tried to eavesdrop, but the witch guarded her communications closely. After long silences when Maggie was obviously listening, and a few times when she clucked nonsensical, soothing sounds into the phone, Ceridwen snapped, “Oh for the love of Andraste, give that bloody thing to me.”
“Hang on Chloe,” Maggie said. “Someone here wants to talk with you.”
“Well, if it’s that fucking dragon shifter who’s wasting time on sex—”
“It’s not.” Maggie handed the phone to Ceridwen and started to get into her trousers.
“Odd,” Lachlan said. “I heard your aunt’s last comment but not the ones before.”
Maggie snorted. “Not odd at all. Chloe was in rare form. When she gets really angry, it’s hard for her to hang onto her spells. She’s always had that problem.”
He watched the goddess out of the corners of his eyes. It was apparent Ceridwen had some level of comfort with modern devices, like Maggie’s phone. If she could learn, so can I.
“Either ye come here and help us, or doona meddle.” Ceridwen wasn’t exactly shouting, but she wasn’t far from it. Her voice held an undercurrent of cold steel.
“Wish I felt comfortable telling my aunt to go pound sand.” Maggie finished dressing and grimaced. “I’ve always placated her. The other women gradually accepted that I wasn’t interested in being part of the coven and their magic, but Chloe always gave me grief.” She leveled her intense, blue gaze at Lachlan. “What happens next?”
“I doona know, lass, but I have a feeling the goddess has something in mind. ’Tis why she conjured her cauldron—to concentrate her power.”
“I thought we did that when we made love.”
He smiled. “Aye, I could feel the verra earth move.”
“Och, you Scots.” She aped his brogue and punched his arm. Her brow furrowed; she undid enough clothing to peer at her upper arm. “I didn’t look when I was getting my clothes on. Is that what I think it is? It’s hard to tell from this angle and without a mirror.”
“What do ye think it is?”
“A dragon tattoo.”
Lachlan nodded. “Without even looking, I am certain it is twin to the one I bear.”
“I understand the reason you’re marked, but why me?” Her brows drew together. Lachlan drank her in. No matter what her expression, Maggie was the most entrancing woman he’d ever laid eyes on. He could have watched her forever. “Hey.” She poked his side. “You’re staring at me like a lovesick teenager. I asked you a question.”
“The simplest answer is: because I am bonded to Kheladin and ye are my mate, ye are bonded to the both of us.” He hesitated. “Ye’re so bonny, lass. I love looking at you—”
“Here.” Ceridwen waved the phone at Maggie. “Take this infernal piece of modern life back.”
Maggie strolled over to her. “Thanks for not dropping it in your cauldron.”
“Please. Even if I did, it wouldna harm it.” Ceridwen spat into the cauldron before shrugging back into her robe. “That aunt of yours is the most annoying woman. ’Tis amazing she’s still alive.”
“Is she coming here?”
“What do ye think?” Ceridwen speared Maggie with her inky gaze.
“Well, she’s a bully, but she’s also a coward, so my first guess would be no.”
“Ye’d be correct. Lachlan, over here. I developed a plan while the two of you blessed my grove.” He trotted to Maggie’s side, linked arms with her, and waited. The cauldron bubbled like an angry mud pot. Questions circulated in his mind, but he wanted to hear what Ceridwen had come up with first. In truth, he didn’t understand enough about a world where people took to the skies in motor-driven tubes to be of much use.
“Come stand on my side of the kettle, children. I shall turn it to a scrying pool. Lass, no matter what ye see or how ye feel about it, doona touch the surface of the liquid. Keep quiet as well. Once we have seen the lay of things, we shall act.”
Lachlan led Maggie next to Ceridwen. He flanked the goddess on her other side. “Do ye wish us to touch you?”
“Aye. A hand from each of you on my shoulders, touching flesh. Doona move or break contact, no matter what.” Ceridwen pushed her robe back, baring porcelain skin dusted with gold.
Maggie dropped a hand on the goddess’ shoulder and sucked in a breath. The heat radiating from Ceridwen’s body must have surprised her, but she kept quiet, as instructed. Lachlan nodded to himself. ’Twas good the lass wasn’t always oppositional, and she could do as she was bid if it was important enough.
He stared at the glassy surface of the cauldron and felt the goddess’ magic rise and swirl around them. In moments, the liquid formed a picture, followed by others in rapid succession. He recognized Rhukon, Connor, and the Morrigan. All sat watch over a complex piece of magic that formed an opaque wall. Behind it, something silvery gleamed.
Ceridwen, who’d been chanting softly, cut the flow of her magic. The cauldron turned into a bubbling mass once again. “You may speak. No need to keep touching me.”
Maggie pulled her hand away and gazed at her palm. “Not exactly first degree burns,” she muttered, “but close.” Her eyes narrowed in speculation. “Your body temperature must push a hundred fifteen degrees or better.”
“I am not human. What did ye expect? Nay, lass,” she held up a hand, “doona answer. What I want to know is what ye saw in the pool.”
“The airplane is trapped behind some sort of shielding. I recognized Rhukon, because I’ve seen him. I assume the huge crow was the Morrigan, and the other man was the red wyvern.”
“Excellent powers of observation.” The goddess’ sharp gaze settled on Lachlan. “Do ye have aught to add?”
“Nay. The binding is extraordinarily complex. I was trying to trace it when ye cut the sending.”
“May I ask a question?”
The goddess traded Maggie for him in her gun sights. “If ’tis relevant.”
“Is the plane still in the air somewhere? And if it is, will it crash once it runs out of fuel?”
Lachlan shrugged helplessly and turned to Ceridwen. “I am out of my depth here.”
“I doona know for certain,” Ceridwen replied, “but what I think is this. The airship is so large and heavy and alien, Rhukon and the others were unable to move it out of this world. ’Twas likely their original plan, because it would have lured us away from Earth to a less favorable environment.”
Understanding dawned, and Lachlan murmured, “Since they couldna do that, they erected a barrier and are waiting us out. They will engage us in battle if we come to them, but the odds on our side are not good. First we would need to defeat all three, and then there would still be the problem of neutralizing their casting.”
“In the meantime, Gran’s plane will crash if we do nothing. Although,” Maggie blew out a defeated-sounding breath, “it might crash anyway. All those things you outlined will take time—too much time.”
“Aye, lass, ’tis about the size of things,” Ceridwen concurred. “We need help.”
“I can call Gwydion and Arawn,” Lachlan offered, still working on integrating what he knew about the world and magic with their current problem.
“I already did.”
“And we are already here.” The air on the far side of the kettle took on a numinous glow. The Celts emerged as the glimmering faded. Arawn’s dark hair hung loose. He wore old-fashioned battle leathers that clung to his broad-shouldered form like a second skin. Gwydion’s blond hair was braided in many small rows. Mage robes, deep blue, belted with cream, flapped around him.
“Thank you for extending aid to myself and my mate.” Lachlan inclined his head formally. No matter Gwydion and Arawn felt like old friends, they were still gods and worthy of deep and abiding respect.
Lachlan snorted. Apparently the Celt wasn’t going to mention spying on them. “Och, so my description was lacking, eh?”
Gwydion waved him to silence and kissed Maggie on both cheeks. “Blessings on your nuptials, witch. May ye live long, and produce many bairns.”
“I second those wishes.” Arawn tossed his unbound hair back from his face and leapt nimbly to Maggie, pushing Gwydion aside. He took one of her hands and kissed it.
“Thank you. Both of you.” Maggie’s voice sounded strained. Lachlan imagined it was shock at coming face-to-face with mythical figures she’d probably read about but never guessed were real.
“Enough of this.” Ceridwen’s voice rang out. “Lachlan, we need Kheladin. He is better able to manoeuver in the air than any of us. Plus, as a dragon, more likely to recognize the casting we must defeat.”
Lachlan felt his bond mate stir. The dragon was more than ready to come out. He’d been close to the surface since their narrow escape from his cave. “Before I loose him, what is our plan?”
A savage smile split Gwydion’s face and was mirrored on Arawn’s and Ceridwen’s. In that moment, they looked like the three ancients they were. It didn’t take much of an imagination to see blood dripping from their mouths and fingers. Rhukon’s blood.
“Simple,” Ceridwen said. “We draw magic, travel to the psychic barrier, defeat it, and free the airplane.”
“All right. Who will do what? And why do ye need Kheladin?” The dragon gave a great, rolling heave inside him. Smoke poured from Lachlan’s mouth. The dragon didn’t give a good goddamn why he was needed; he just wanted out. Now.
“Beast getting away from you, lad?” Arawn inquired archly. Lachlan didn’t answer. It took all his concentration to remain in human form.
“The weave of the barrier is dragon magic,” Gwydion inserted smoothly. “Kheladin will recognize it and understand how it can be offset.”
“How do you know it’s not the Morrigan’s work?” Maggie asked.
“It dinna have the stench of Celtic magic,” Ceridwen replied. “If it had, I could likely have nullified it from here.”
“Kheladin will be—” Lachlan stumbled over the word helpless, knowing the dragon would react badly. “Uh, unguarded while he works out the barrier’s mysteries.”
“We will be there,” Arawn said.
“Aye.” Ceridwen chuckled. “What is that modern saying? We shall have your back.”
“What about me?” Maggie’s voice shook a little.
“Good question.” Gwydion turned his intense blue gaze to stare at her. “Ye could remain here next to the loch.”
“Probably the best plan,” Lachlan concurred. “And by far the safest.” He moved to her side and bent to kiss her, but she sidestepped him.
“What if I don’t want to stay here?” she demanded. “After all, it’s my grandmother. Maybe she’d be able to help us, if she knew we were there, and we needed some extra magic or something.”
“Not wise, lass.” Lachlan infused the subtlest spell at his disposal into his words, hoping like hell she wouldn’t notice.
“Stop it.” She tossed her head like a restless mare and walked a few feet away, keeping a wary eye on Lachlan. “Why couldn’t all of you,” she spread her arms, “just sort of encase me in a spell and bring me with you?”
“Because then we’d have to watch over you, and it would take our attention away from…other things.” Gwydion sucked in a breath, nostrils flaring. “We shall be under attack. Ye’d be helpless.”
Maggie looked from one to the other of them. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“Witch blood runs strong in that one,” Arawn commented.
“Aye, pity she never developed her magic,” Gwydion concurred.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, stop it. I agree with you. I was a fool to walk away from what the coven offered, but I didn’t have a crystal ball when I made that decision.”
Lachlan hurried to her side and pulled her against him. “Doona speak thus to them—” he began.
“Why not? It isn’t as if I cursed them or anything.”
“Because they truly are gods. They only look like humans.”
“So?” She pulled away from him and tossed her hands in the air. “They’ve presumably been here all those years you were asleep, which means they’re used to humans being outspoken and won’t take offense.”
Gwydion’s mouth twitched. “Wonder what all that fire looks like when she’s on her back with her legs spread?”
“Aye, or on top with her breasts bouncing and her hair unbound,” Arawn added and winked.
“Men!” Ceridwen rolled her eyes. “Put your cocks back under your clothes. What they are not telling you, lass,” she turned to Maggie, “is the only way ye could come is if ye rode astride Kheladin. The dragon’s magic would protect you.”
“Excuse me?” Maggie cleared her throat and dissolved into a coughing fit. Gasping and spitting, she straightened. “People only ride dragons in children’s stories.”
Lachlan fought a pitched battle with Kheladin. He glanced at his hands, saw they’d turned to talons, and knew he’d lost. “Wait,” he begged. “Let me get my clothes off.”
“What the hell?” Maggie switched her gaze from the goddess to Lachlan as he hurriedly stripped off his shirt and shinnied his breeks down his legs.
He knelt to unlace his boots. “’Tis the dragon,” he spoke around a mouth that was rapidly changing shape. “He likes the idea of you on his back and—”
The dragon took form, obliterating Lachlan’s next words. Wings sprouted, a tail grew. Haunches formed. Scales coated everything. In moments, Kheladin stretched his wings and fanned the air. Spinning green eyes zeroed in on Maggie. “Come astride me, lass. I would take you for a ride.”
“Lachlan?” Maggie’s mind speech sounded shaky and hesitant. “Are you inside somewhere?”
“Yes, my love. I am part of Kheladin, and he is part of me. Doona fear, we shan’t let you fall.”
Chapter Fourteen
Me and my big mouth. Maggie stared at the dragon. She heard herself hyperventilating. Knowing Lachlan was bound to a dragon and actually seeing that dragon were two very different things. To buy herself time to think, she walked around Kheladin, reaching to touch his coppery scales with tentative fingers. The dragon stood at least eight feet from the ground to the top of his head. Leathery wings folded over his back. A sinuous tail wound around his back feet, much like a cat’s might have done. Long, amber talons graced all four feet. They were curved and looked sharp as knives.
Smoke curled lazily from the dragon’s mouth. His jaws split in what might have been a smile, displaying double rows of razor sharp teeth. “What think ye, witch?”
“You’re beautiful. I understand why Lachlan wanted to bond with you.”
Kheladin nodded his great head, as if he agreed with her assessment. Maggie tried to dredge everything she knew about dragons from her subconscious and came up dry. “So, my, uh, choices are to either stay here while you all go, or ride Kheladin and come with you?”
“Aye, lass,” Arawn answered. “Ye must decide quickly. If we tarry, the plane will idle through its fuel and plummet to the bottom of the Atlantic.”
Of course I’ll stay here.
It would be foolhardy to do anything else.
Those were the same instincts, Maggie noted, that had kept her away from her magical heritage. “To hell with it,” she snapped. “I’m going. Gran’s in trouble. Lachlan is my husband, er, mate. I should be by his side if there’s danger.”
Besides, I couldn’t bear the waiting. It would tear my heart out.
Jaw set in a tense line, she strode to Kheladin’s folded rear leg. “How do I get on? It’s a long way up th
ere.”
Ceridwen tossed an appraising glance her way. “Ye have mettle, lass. More than I would have guessed when ye cringed away from joining your body with Lachlan’s in front of me.”
“Step on my knee,” Kheladin instructed, tapping his bent back leg. “Once ye are there, I shall lift you.”
Within the space of three heartbeats, she sat astride the dragon. Maggie had done plenty of horseback riding, but horses didn’t fly. No saddle here. No bridles. If she fell off a horse, she might break a leg; falling off Kheladin, she’d break every bone in her body and then some. She wound her arms around Kheladin’s neck; it was so huge, she barely spanned a small part of it.
“Nice, lass. Ye can hug me any time ye want.”
Maggie laid her cheek against Kheladin’s scaled neck. The coppery rounds were warm. Maybe this won’t be as impossible as I fear. Her heart pounded so hard she was afraid she might pass out; a headache bloomed behind her right temple. “Could we sort of do a quick practice flight before we leave?”
“I doona see why not. Draw magic to shield us from humans who might look to the skies,” the dragon commanded.
“Consider it done,” Gwydion said.
Maggie forced herself to keep breathing as Kheladin furled his wings. They beat the air, once, twice. On the third downward stroke, they were airborne. She squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe if she didn’t look down, it wouldn’t be so bad. She thought about Lachlan—and Kheladin. It was curious Lachlan treated the Celts like the gods they were, and Kheladin didn’t hesitate to order them about as if they were his lackeys.
And they complied, she realized with a start.
“Of course they did. Dragons are special,” Kheladin informed her smugly. “Open your eyes, Maggie. See my world.”
Compulsion flowed beneath the dragon’s suggestion, and Maggie’s eyes snapped open. They were about fifty feet above the ground. Kheladin inscribed long, looping circles in the still air. She loosened her death grip around his neck, didn’t feel she was in danger of plummeting to Earth, and folded her hands in front of her. There was something soothing about the air racing by them.
“I think I’m good with this,” Maggie sent, aware of time slipping past. “We can leave anytime.”
