Dragon Maid

by Ann Gimpel

  The dragon’s voice startled him. “Tarika?”

  “Who the fuck else? The Morrigan sure as hell willna bother talking with you.”

  She already had, but Jonathan didn’t waste words pointing it out. He started to protest he didn’t know the first thing about warfare but shut his mouth. He wanted Britta—and her dragon—to respect him, not see him as worthless baggage. Jonathan reached for his magic, relieved it was more-or-less intact. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Open your mind. Add your power to mine.”

  It took a bit of maneuvering, but Jonathan experimented with frequencies until he felt the dragon slam into him. The linkage was a two-way street; memories from thousands of years boiled furiously in Tarika’s head. So did her hatred for the Morrigan. Her current strategy was as clear as if she’d told him with words. Tarika wanted to open a time portal, sequester them inside, and bar the Morrigan. From there they could escape to anywhere.

  Sounds at least possible. “We need to divert her.”

  Dragon laughter nearly deafened his already-battered hearing. “How?”

  A particularly rocky aerial manoeuver unseated him, and he bounced a half a meter off her back. “Ooph.” Jonathan landed hard and gripped Tarika tighter, determined not to create more problems for them. His next thought nearly flattened him. It was so obvious, he felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner. By the goddess! This is just like the games I design.

  But they’re not real.

  So? They depend on strategy. Besides, it’s not as if there are dozens of choices here. He turned his attention to Tarika. “Can the Morrigan hear us if we use telepathic speech?”

  “I doona believe so.”

  Tarika coiled magic more tightly around them and burrowed even deeper into his head. Jonathan’s muscles tensed. He expected the dragon to argue, so he couched his words as a statement, not open for discussion. “I’m going to sever my link with you, draw magic, and transport myself back to Inverness. If this works, the Morrigan will see me as easy pickings and follow me, figuring she can always track you down later.”

  Tarika spewed fire at the Morrigan and banked hard right. “Hmm… Might work if we—”

  “I doona want you to sacrifice yourself.” Britta’s voice rose over Tarika’s.

  “Be reasonable,” Jonathan retorted, touched she cared what happened to him yet knowing now wasn’t the time for that discussion. “So long as we remain together, we’ll just keep taking pot shots at the Morrigan until one of us falls out of the sky, exhausted. Even if that abomination of a Celtic god doesn’t follow me, I can find my way back to Kheladin’s and raise the alarm.”

  Power jolted Tarika; she screamed her outrage—and her pain. Jonathan didn’t wait for further dialogue. He slammed his mind shut, drenched himself in power, and imagined the hawthorn grove in the park. The sensation of falling created vertigo. He’d never engaged traveling magic while airborne.

  Holy shit! What if it doesn’t work?

  It has to.

  As a laggardly second thought, he diverted some of the magic surrounding him into as impenetrable a ward as he could create. The darkness around him grayed at the edges. Soon, he’d either come out where he’d planned or come face-to-face with an ugly surprise he could only guess at.

  “No more desultory playing at witchcraft,” he muttered. “If the goddess gets me out of this one, I swear I’ll read every fucking grimoire I can get my hands on.”

  He felt the ground’s approach as a magnetic pulling sensation before he actually saw it. Jonathan drew up his knees, and tucked his arms around them, just in time to roll into a landing. He connected hard with the earth but nothing broke. The second he could, he sprang to his feet, hands raised to summon power in case the battle crow was hot on his heels.

  “Jonathan!” a man cried.

  “Christ, mate. We heard your alarm. Where the fuck were you?” a woman shouted.

  “Aye, and are ye expecting company?” another woman asked in a strong Scottish brogue.

  Half a dozen witches closed around him. Relief surged. They’d heard his frantic call from wherever he and Tarika had been. “How’d you find me?”

  Caty, a broad-shouldered witch with black hair that came to her knees, stepped forward. Head of another local coven, she wore power like she owned it. Her green eyes snapped. “What danger do you face, witch? To call us out on false pretenses…” Her voice faded, and her gaze rose to a ragged hole forming in the night air.

  “Crap!” the man cursed.

  “Battle lines,” Caty commanded.

  Jonathan watched in amazement as the witches formed a half circle and dragged him into their formation right next to Caty. This coven had apparently practiced. Before tomorrow came, he’d make certain his coven at least had a plan in place—assuming he was still alive.

  “What manner of being is this?” Caty jabbed him with an elbow.

  “The Morrigan.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh please. I’ll see you’re stripped of every— Holy fucking godhead.” The battle crow broke through and hovered in the air before them.

  Jonathan slammed himself sideways in the nick of time. The Morrigan would have annihilated him from twenty feet away if he hadn’t moved out of her path. As it was, he gulped air and rocked back on the balls of his feet, reeling from the strength of her blow. He skinned his lips back from his teeth in a feral grin. His strategy had worked! Tarika and Britta must be well on their way to safety.

  “I see ye found reinforcements, witch,” the Morrigan taunted.

  Jonathan squared his shoulders. “Yes, and there are more where these came from. Be gone, Celt. You’re an embarrassment to your fellow gods.”

  “What did ye say?” Wing beats brought her almost beak to nose with him. Caty and her witches wove power around Jonathan. The added support warmed his heart and fueled his courage.

  “I said be gone. Kheladin told us several of your fellow gods are disgusted with your antics and appalled by your alliance with the black and red wyverns.” He glanced at the six witches ranged round him. “We are seven. It is a power number. You cannot hope to prevail.”

  In support of his words, Caty chanted, summoning destruction. The rest of the witches joined in at proscribed intervals. Jonathan recognized the incantation. It opened a gateway to the nether regions. At the spell’s end, a demon would appear and ask to do their bidding. Apparently, the Morrigan recognized the casting too.

  “Ye havna seen the last of me, witch.” The crow snapped her beak, slashed him with it, and was gone. Searing pain ripped through his face. The smell of blood, hot and coppery, filled his nostrils.

  Christ! What did she do to me? He raised a hand to his face, shocked his warding hadn’t even slowed her down. Or maybe it had just taken her a little time to chop her way through it.

  “Och, doona be touchin’ it,” the witch with the strong Scottish burr screeched.

  “We can heal you,” Caty muttered. “Stand still. While we’re patching you up, tell us how it is you came to piss off the Morrigan.”

  “If you’re going to heal me,” Jonathan sagged against her, “start with my ears so I can at least hear you. Both drums are ruptured.”

  •●•

  “Ye sent him to his death,” Britta screeched. Fury pounded through her, but she was helpless inside the dragon.

  “We doona know. Not for certain. Let us leave while we can. We canna help him—or anyone else from here.”

  “Return us to Kheladin’s cave.”

  “I had planned to retreat to Fire Mountain.”

  “Nay. Not until I am certain of the witch’s fate. He offered himself in our place. So long as he lives, we must do all we can to help him. We canna do aught from Fire Mountain. Besides, we made a promise to the Celtic gods.”

  The dragon grumbled, but Britta knew she’d capitulate. Tarika had a strong sense of honor, and Britta had reminded her of a vow they’d made. “The witch was brave,” she added slyly.

  Ta
rika blew fire and pulled magic to return them to the outskirts of Kheladin’s wards. “Aye. He surprised me. I wasna in favor of bringing him with us when I realized we were under attack.”

  “Thank you for indulging me.”

  The dragon paused a beat. “He is…attractive.”

  “Aye. Beyond his physical charms, he has a good heart and a beautiful soul. And power to burn. I doona quite understand what I am feeling, but I wish to explore it further.” They hurtled toward Inverness.

  Tarika chuckled. “Are ye thinking we have been maids long enough?”

  If Britta had been in her body, she would have blushed. The thought of admitting a man to her secret places was intriguing, and scary. So long as it was just her and Tarika, there were no worries about ceding power to another. Goddess knew, she and the dragon had enough arguments about who ran the show. Men, at least the variety she’d known in earlier times, all simply expected to rule everything under their purview—wives included.

  Hmph. Mayhap this isna a good idea. I doona need a master, no matter how drawn I am to him.

  “Who wishes entrance past my wards?” Kheladin’s mind voice boomed.

  “We are returned,” Tarika announced in response to the other dragon’s query. “Let us in but be certain to drop the wards only long enough to admit us.”

  They melted through earth; the walls of Kheladin’s cave formed around them. Witches milled about in small groups, vying for choice spots near Kheladin. A striking man with thick, tawny hair and eyes the same green as Kheladin’s stood next to the dragon with his arm around a woman who looked like a Viking princess.

  Lachlan and his mate.

  Tarika made her way to Kheladin’s side and inclined her head. “Lachlan.” She bathed him and his woman—and a few nearby witches—in steam. Britta cringed, hoping the blonde-haired woman wouldn’t mind.

  “Tarika.” Lachlan narrowed his eyes. “Tell us what happened.”

  “Aye,” Kheladin cut in. “Where is the witch who went with you?”

  “Let me out.” Britta demanded. “Ye can huddle with Kheladin telepathically and learn how it is he and Lachlan can exist in their own bodies. I would know so we might do the same.”

  “Aye.” Tarika ceded their form to Britta. “’Twould be much more convenient.”

  Britta reclaimed her body and shook herself. Damn! Still naked. All the shopping had been nothing but a colossal waste of time.

  “Here.” The Viking shucked a rucksack, pulled a jacket out of it, and handed it to Britta. “I’m Maggie Hibbins.” She extended a hand, sea-blue eyes twinkling merrily. “We’ll have to find you some clothes. Shouldn’t be a problem since we’re close to the same size.”

  Britta stared at the extended hand. What was she supposed to do? Kiss it? She wasn’t a man. Lachlan grinned. “’Tis a modern custom. Ye take her hand, squeeze, but not too hard, and give it a shake.”

  “Aye.” She grasped Maggie’s hand. “I am Britta Kilkerran. My dragon is Tarika, though she would probably say I am her human. Och, but ye’re warm.”

  “Not as warm as you, dragon shifter. Funny, Lachlan said the same thing about Kheladin. Let me rustle through Lachlan’s chest. Maybe I can come up with something for your bottom half.”

  Britta held up a hand. “’Tisn’t important. We must help Jonathan.”

  Lachlan quirked a brow. “The witch Kheladin asked after?” At Britta’s nod, a knowing look stole over his face. “And why would the Iron Maid have even a sliver of interest in any man?”

  “Iron Maid?” Maggie looked confused.

  Britta snorted. “Och aye, and was that what ye called me behind my back all these years?”

  Lachlan had the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry, lass. It just slipped out.”

  “Like the garments, ’tisn’t important. I had clothes. Jonathan bought them for me, and a meal too. We were just returning when Rhukon appeared out of nowhere, followed by the Morrigan.”

  Lachlan gasped. Maggie bit her lower lip and drew closer to him. “That sorry piece of dung,” he said and spat onto the dirt floor of the cave. “I knew we hadna seen the end of her—or Rhukon. But I hadna expected them quite so soon. I left Rhukon asleep back in the fifteen hundreds.”

  “The Morrigan woke him.” Kheladin was apparently following their conversation as well as his internal one with Tarika. “I was just getting ready to tell you when Tarika rattled my wards.”

  “So, ye’d just arrived here?” Britta asked.

  “Aye. Not five minutes afore you,” Lachlan said.

  “We were having supper when Kheladin said we had to come,” Maggie added.

  “Ye missed supper. I ruined one set of clothes and left several more stewing in a broken bottle of decent whiskey.” Britta shrugged. “Yet we all still live. ’Tis far more important than creature comforts.”

  “We must break our bond.” Tarika spoke into her mind.

  “What?” Anxiety gripped her, narrowing her throat.

  “To be like Lachlan and Kheladin. They used a different magic, and a much more powerful one. We canna do the same until we are free of our current binding.”

  Britta started breathing again. Not being linked to Tarika was unthinkable. The dragon was so much a part of her, sometimes she forgot the days when she’d been a maid, and dragonless.

  “Forgive me. I was eavesdropping.” Lachlan half-bowed.

  “At least have the decency to look ashamed.” Maggie rolled her eyes.

  “As I was saying,” Lachlan broke in smoothly. “A bit of history is in order. Rhukon shanghaied us back to a hundred years afore Kheladin and I had bonded. Once we separated, the bond broke—”

  “Because it hadna yet happened,” Britta murmured.

  “Aye. In the meantime, Kheladin did a bit of digging and came up with a much older version of the binding.”

  “The original one.” Kheladin sounded smug.

  “Mayhap we can take care of that once we’ve done what we can to help Jonathan,” Britta said. “His courage is what freed us. The Morrigan took the bait and went after him.”

  “Och aye.” Lachlan drew his brows together. “It doesna bode well.”

  Britta’s heart felt like a lead weight in her chest. She’d known, but hearing it spoken aloud was like a death knell.

  Maggie took her hand. “Maybe it’s not as hopeless as you fear.” Her voice and touch were comforting, almost hypnotic.

  “Doona be using your magic on me, witch.” Britta tried to pull her hand back, but Maggie held fast.

  “I haven’t used a shred. I’m a doctor, a psychiatrist. I’ve spent hours upon hours soothing troubled souls.”

  Truth pinged, bright and clean, off her magic. Britta sucked in a breath. One less thing to worry about. The last thing she needed was to alienate Lachlan’s mate. “Sorry. I dinna mean to be so sharp.”

  “I understand completely.” Maggie caught her gaze. “Truly I do.”

  “Someone comes.” Kheladin sounded grim.

  “Aye,” Lachlan concurred. “I feel a disturbance in your wards.”

  Britta sent her own magic hurtling upward. She wasn’t linked to Kheladin’s warding, but if Rhukon or the Morrigan lurked without, she’d recognize their foul energy. Delicately, she picked her way through Kheladin’s shielding without disturbing its integrity. A stab of joy, so bright it stole her composure, lanced through her. “Witches!”

  Mauvreen sidled close. “I do believe you’re right, dragon shifter. And one of them feels a whole lot like Johnny.”

  Chapter Five

  Jonathan’s face felt numb, but at least his ears were working again. He’d filled Caty’s witches in on everything while one of them patched him up, clucked, and told him he was damned lucky he hadn’t lost an eye. The Morrigan had dug her beak in and cut him from orbital socket to jawline, exposing his cheekbone. “If this doesna hold,” the witch cautioned, “ye’ll need stitches.”

  “I’ll take magic any day. We’ve wasted enough time on me.”
/>   “Where would you have us go?” Caty asked.

  “I’m going back to Kheladin’s cave to raise the alarm so he and Lachlan can make certain Britta and Tarika made it to safety.” Jonathan bowed formally. “Thank you for heeding my call and for helping me.” The air shimmered as he summoned magic.

  “Not so fast.” Caty made a grab for his arm. “If you’re off to talk to a dragon, we’re coming with you.” Her normally taciturn face split into a crooked grin. “We wouldn’t miss this opportunity for the world.”

  Jonathan chuckled. “My coven felt the same way. Open your minds; I’ll send you an image of where I’m headed.”

  He led the group to the entrance of Kheladin’s cave. They hovered outside the most elaborate warding system he’d ever seen. When he’d come through earlier with his coven, the wards had already been down. Now they formed layer upon layer, wrapped about and pinned to psychic strong points in the ether. Wow! To have the power to create something this complex, maintain it, and still have energy to play host and chat amiably defies credibility. What sort of strength did Lachlan possess to bond with such a formidable creature?

  His thoughts strayed to Britta, to how her mouth had felt beneath his, and his cock sprang to life. Damn it! Not now. He buried his libido. It wasn’t difficult; he’d had lots of practice. To divert himself, Jonathan focused on the dragon. Kheladin must have sensed the disturbance in his wards. Why hadn’t he let them in? Time was critical. It had been at least an hour since the Morrigan had vanished, plenty of opportunity for her to go after Britta and Tarika.

  Stop! I can’t think like that. The dragon was smart. She’d have ferried herself and Britta safely away.

  What if they went somewhere I can’t follow? Like Fire Mountain? Or hundreds of years back in time?

  “Are ye coming?” Someone jostled his arm. He glanced over and saw it was the witch who’d healed him.

  “Huh?”

  “The wards are dropping. Hurry.”

  Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut. He’d been so lost in thought, he hadn’t been paying attention. Need to be more on top of things. “Thanks. I’m right behind you.”