by Ann Gimpel
Kheladin’s cave rose around him. Jonathan tumbled out onto its sandy floor, sprang to his feet, and hurtled toward the dragon’s bulk. “Kheladin,” he shouted, “you’ve got to make certain Tarika and Britta are safe. The Morrigan—”
Britta—a half-naked Britta—stepped away from a woman with long, blonde hair and raced toward him. “Thank the goddess ye’re unharmed.” She stopped a foot in front of him and dropped her gaze. Color rose from her open neckline and turned her face a lovely rose shade.
“I could say the same thing.” He closed the distance between them and gathered her into his arms. At first she stiffened, but then she wound her arms around him and hugged him back.
“Ye were a damned fool,” she whispered. “A brave one, but a fool nonetheless. Ye might have been killed.”
He tightened his hold on her, loving the way her body fit against his. “I could say the same,” he countered. “Not about the fool part but about your life being at risk.”
“Nay. I am immortal. It comes with the bond to Tarika.” She tilted her head back and smiled. “I have a somewhat greater margin for error.”
Immortal! Her lips were tantalizing inches from his. It took all his self-control not to crush his mouth atop hers. “I’d like to hear more about—”
“I dinna think I’d live long enough to see Britta in a man’s arms.” A tawny-haired man with arresting green eyes draped an arm around each of them. “I’m Lachlan, Laird of Clan Moncrieffe. I’d shake your hand, witch, but it appears the two of yours are busy.” The blonde, who’d been standing next to Britta, strode to them and placed a hand on Lachlan’s shoulder.
Jonathan’s eyes widened. “You’re Kheladin’s bond partner.” His gaze shifted to Maggie. “This must be your wife, er mate.”
“Aye. He told you about us, then?” Lachlan grinned; the expression softened the exacting planes of his face.
“He certainly did. Not just me. All the witches in our coven. I, uh, feel like I should bow or something.”
Lachlan cocked his head to one side. “’Twas a time when commoners all bowed to me, but ye are far from that. Power fairly blazes from you. I sense far more than witch blood. What manner of beings were your parents?”
“Aye,” Britta cut in. “I would like to know as well.”
“I’m not certain.” Three sets of eyes, golden, green, and blue, stared at him. Jonathan swallowed hard. He’d never shared his story with anyone. It was so fantastic, he didn’t believe it himself. “I was raised by my father. He and Mauvreen were quite close.”
“That would be the witch side,” Lachlan cut in. “Who was your mother?”
Heat rose to Jonathan’s face. Britta nestled against his body. “Whatever ’tis canna be so bad as all that.”
“Not bad so much as farfetched. My da was…odd. Touched by the fae. He spun fanciful tales, got lost in prophecies, and never quite found a place for himself in the real world. If it weren’t for our coven, we’d probably have been reduced to taking public handouts.”
“Where is he now?” Lachlan asked.
“I don’t know. He left the coven and Ireland once I was done with school. I got a job with a software design company and relocated to Inverness not long after he disappeared.”
Mauvreen had approached without him realizing it. “Your daddy was a dreamer,” she said. “He lived in his visions, but he could foretell the future and sometimes even change it a bit if he caught something in time. The blood of the Old Ones flowed in him. He never could stand modern life. All those radio waves from wireless routers and phones made his head ache. He just sort of faded away, maybe to where the Celts go when they need to find respite.”
“Aye, the Dreaming.” Britta straightened, and turned so she faced Mauvreen. “Do ye know who his mother was?”
The witch nodded curtly. “I do, but it’s Johnny’s call what to say. Even after thirty-five years—”
“Thirty-seven,” he muttered.
Mauvreen shrugged. “Little enough difference. You’re a man now. You were shamed by your father’s oddities as a youth, and you never truly believed the story of your conception and birth, yet they’re true.”
“How could you possibly know?” Jonathan asked. He’d always sidestepped Mauvreen when she wanted to talk about his origins. Maybe he should have been more aggressive about picking her brain.
“I was there when she brought you to him once you’d been weaned.” A soft smile wreathed her face. “I’d never seen Angus quite so happy. He always wanted a son, but selecting a woman, and maintaining a marriage, felt beyond him.”
“If ye doona tell me, I’ll pluck it from your mind,” Britta said, her voice sharp.
Mauvreen bristled. Jonathan felt her sheathe herself in power. “Try it, dragon shifter. Some secrets are sacred. Either he will tell you, or not.” She turned her whiskey-colored gaze on him. “Your call, Jonathan James Shea.”
He squared his shoulders. Maybe the time had come after all. He glanced from Britta to Lachlan to the blonde, Lachlan’s mate. Though she hadn’t said anything, she watched him intently. He opened his mouth, shut it again, and took a shaky breath. “This isn’t going to get any easier. I may as well just spit it out. Arianrhod. My mother was Arianrhod. According to my da, she lay with him in one of his visions. He never truly believed he’d bedded a goddess until she showed up three years later with a toddler in tow.”
Britta inhaled noisily. Lachlan cleared his throat. Jonathan felt like an idiot. They didn’t believe him, and he didn’t blame them. Who could possibly accept such a tale? “Maybe we could talk about something else,” he mumbled. “Like crafting a battle strategy so the Morrigan doesn’t catch us unaware again.”
“Aye, we need to do that, too, but this willna take but a moment.” Lachlan closed on him from one side; Britta twisted in his arms. Each placed a hand on his head.
Jonathan girded himself for blasts of power, but the dragon shifters were gentle. Power crept into him, tentative, exploring. It felt respectful. A look flowed from Britta to Lachlan. They removed their hands. She smiled broadly, stepped away, and faced him. “Aye, ’tis true.”
“See.” Mauvreen hooked an arm through his. “Told you.”
Confusion swept through him, tying his stomach into knots. “All right. Fine. But this doesn’t change a thing.”
Mauvreen looked down her nose, and he understood. Knowing for sure what and who he was changed everything.
•●•
No wonder I feel so attracted to him. He’s one of the gods, or he could be if he let himself believe in his power. Britta trained her forthright gaze on him. Jonathan looked as if he’d gone through a war. Resignation replaced disbelief on his handsome face. She saw it in the furrows in his forehead and the lines around his eyes.
“’Twill get better once ye have a wee bit of time to get used to it. Not that ye dinna know afore, but ye paid it no heed.” She gripped his hand. “No wonder ye stood up to the Morrigan.” A thought surfaced. Britta glanced at Lachlan. “Do ye suppose the battle crow knows who he is?”
Lachlan made a rude noise between a snort and a grunt. “I wouldna put it past her. Mayhap she was just as interested in him as you.”
“Rhukon seemed thrilled he’d found the two of us.” Britta recalled his words. “He said something about a bonus to boot after he gloated over finding me.”
“None of this is sounding good.” Maggie frowned. “Say, would it protect Jonathan if he, um, hooked up with you?” She focused disingenuous blue eyes on Britta. “It already seems you two like one another.”
Lachlan elbowed his mate. “Wanting to spread connubial bliss about, lass?”
She grinned. “Aw, gee. Am I so transparent?” All of them turned to her. A chorus of yesses and ayes rose just before everyone burst into laughter.
“I don’t need protection,” Jonathan sputtered once the merriment died down.
Lachlan quirked a brow. “Ye lust after Britta.”
Color stained Jonathan�
�s face, turning his tanned skin a bronzy gold. “Christ! Are all of you this…frank? It takes more than sex to make a lasting partnership.”
Mauvreen horned in. “How would you know? You’ve been avoiding female entanglements your entire adult life.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes. “I don’t need a resident mother. You fill the void nicely, Aunt Mauvreen.”
She cupped a hand to the side of her mouth and leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’m not really his aunt. I’m much too young.”
“Enough.” Britta waved a fist in the air for emphasis. She tugged at Jonathan’s hand, still encased in hers. “Come. Let’s go to where we can have some privacy. Tarika’s been giving me hell ever since you told us who your mother was. She wants to talk with you too.”
“What about battle strategy?” Lachlan mimicked Jonathan’s earlier words.
“Honestly!” Maggie dragged him toward where Kheladin held court in the middle of a gaggle of witches. “You’re impossible.”
Their words faded as they walked away. “I thought ye appreciated my sense of humor.”
“I do. Where’s your sense of romance?”
He spun Maggie and closed his mouth over hers. Britta knew she was staring, but she felt the intensity of their attraction from thirty paces. “There.” Lachlan lifted his lips from Maggie’s. “Enough romance for you, lass?”
“Maybe not.” She grinned. “Do it some more.”
“They seem happy,” Jonathan murmured.
“Aye, that they do. Ready for a bit of conversation?” He nodded.
“I was just leaving.” Mauvreen slipped away.
“Looks as if everyone’s left us alone,” he noted.
“Aye, but witches and dragons have sharp ears. I’d feel better if we put a wee bit of distance betwixt us and the crowd, and warded our words.” She turned and walked toward the sound of running water at the far end of the cave. She was thirsty, plus the waterfall would be an added deterrent in case anyone wanted to listen in. They put a good fifty yards between themselves and the others in the cave. To be on the safe side, she added a bit of magic to mute their words and shield them from prying eyes.
She ducked her cupped hands into the icy pool and drank deeply. Jonathan did the same. Tarika had kept up a running commentary. The dragon liked the idea of them having a mate. “…And once we’ve bedded him, we can let Kheladin and Lachlan lead us through the new bonding ceremony.”
“Jonathan isn’t a foregone conclusion.” Britta knew her mind voice was snappish, but the dragon’s rapid about-face unbalanced her.
“He’s practically family,” the dragon crowed. “One of my distant cousins bedded Arianrhod about a thousand years ago.”
“What?” Britta blew out a frustrated breath. “The supposed virgin goddess fucked everything with a dick?”
Tarika laughed. “Hardly. My cousin was verra handsome, black-scaled with blue-green eyes. ’Twas afore the black dragons fell out of favor. It doesna matter. We should make this one ours. I will help with the mating bite.”
“Doona do it yet. He and I must talk.”
Jonathan laid a wet hand over hers. “You and Tarika are talking. I sensed the energy, but I didn’t want to listen in. Would you like me to take a walk and come back in a while?”
Britta shook her head. “Nay. ’Tis ye and I who must figure some things out. Tarika’s mind is already made up.” She summoned her mage light. Away from the phalanx of witches, the cave was dim. “I know why I have kept to myself. Why have ye not married?”
His throat worked; he drew his brows together. For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer, but then he started talking. “Lots of reasons. I was afraid my genetics were flawed.” He blew out a breath. “After all, Da was crazy.”
“Ye’re not a virgin,” she pressed.
He dropped his gaze. “I suppose you would know things like that. No, I’m not, but for a guy closer to forty than thirty, I’ve had painfully little experience.”
“Why? ’Tis not just ye were worried ye’d produce defective children. There are ways to prevent such things.”
“Persistent, aren’t you?” But he smiled.
She didn’t smile back. “’Tisn’t easy to become a dragon shifter. I was extremely focused for all the years afore I took myself to Fire Mountain in search of a dragon, and for long years after. I was verra young when Tarika and I bonded, so I had much magical education to make up for, even after we merged.” She blew out a breath. “Ye’ll just ask me anyway, so I’ll save you the trouble by telling you.”
“Telling me what?”
“I avoided men for two reasons. No one appealed to me, and they all wanted to control me, to ally with my father’s holdings. They saw me as chattel, not a person. I had no interest in any master beyond the magic in my blood, and Tarika wouldn’t have stood for it.”
“What about other dragon shifters?”
“Such a pairing might have worked, but I never met one I particularly cared for. Humans put land and holdings first; dragon shifters hold magic dear. Even if I’d found a mage I was attracted to, I would have placed third, right after his dragon and his grimoire.”
Jonathan chuckled. “You shouldn’t play second fiddle to anything.”
“Thank you. ’Twas the way I saw it.” She bowed slightly. “Your turn.”
He nodded. “All right. I had a couple of girlfriends in high school. Once they came home and met Da, that did it. They ran screaming for the hills. He’d do things like lay his hands on their head and tell them their future—no matter how hideous it was. Of course, everything he said came true, but no sixteen-year-old girl wants to know she’ll die of cancer in six years or her parents are having affairs with other people.”
“Aye, I can see where it would have been a wee problem.” She narrowed her eyes. “’Tis been long years since your da left, why are ye still alone?”
He smiled crookedly. “I’ve asked myself the same question. Beyond the simple release of sex—and lust became less urgent as I grew older—I guess I never found anyone who pulled my heartstrings—or sang to my soul.”
“Och aye, ’tis verra beautiful. Ye spin words like a poet, Jonathan.” She cloaked her magic. She could give him the tiniest push but didn’t want to. He had to want her for her, not because she’d employed compulsion. She tilted her chin up. “What do ye think of me?”
“Truth?”
“Of course.” She girded herself to hear him say she was very beautiful, but…
“Ever since I laid eyes on Tarika when you sought help from Kheladin, I haven’t been able to think of anything but the two of you. Protecting you from the Morrigan was automatic. I’d have done something, anything, to give you an opportunity to flee to safety. In that moment, I understood I’d lay down my life to preserve yours.” He winked lazily. “Of course, I didn’t realize you were immortal at the time, but even if I had, I’d still have done the same thing.”
Britta swallowed around the lump in her throat. She blinked furiously. His words touched her core, but she did not want to cry. “Thank you.”
His gaze speared her, amber eyes alight with desire, and more too. A feral protectiveness colored their depths. He took a breath and went on. “I’m so attracted to you, my cock’s been hard the whole time we’ve been together. Even when we were separated, all I had to do was think of you, and I got so hard I ached with wanting you. That hasn’t happened to me since I was a teenager.”
Britta glanced to where the front of his pants belled out. She wanted to wrap her fingers around his bulge, wanted the cock beneath for her own. Her mouth went dry. Her nipples pebbled into points. Her crotch flooded with moisture. Britta slid Maggie’s jacket off her shoulders and tossed her hair out of the way to bare her breasts. Deep in her mind, Tarika cheered her on.
Chapter Six
Jonathan’s gaze roved from her perfect face, glorious hair, and flawless breasts downward to the tangle of red-gold curls in the vee between her legs. The air around Britta took
on a luminous quality; Tarika’s outline formed. “Ye must want me too,” the dragon said. Shadowy wings fluttered.
“I do,” Jonathan replied. “You’re as amazing as your bond mate.”
The dragon didn’t hesitate. Britta’s form blurred; jaws closed around the juncture between his neck and shoulder and bit deep. It hurt, but Tarika’s bite opened him to the wonder of her mind. Arcane memories crowded behind his eyes. Images merged kaleidoscopically, even more compelling than his peek into her mind when they’d fought the Morrigan.
“’Tis enough.” Britta stood before him again, nimble fingers busy with the buttons on his shirt. “Tarika was supposed to wait until we mated.”
“Not necessarily.” The dragon sounded smug. “If there are rules, show them to me, and I will bite him again if needs be.”
“I can hear her without summoning the magic I usually need for telepathic speech.”
“Aye, ’tis because she accepted you.” Britta snorted. “Ye may wish for the peace and quiet of your own mind afore too long.”
“Why would he?” Tarika inquired archly.
Britta pushed at his shirt. He laid his hands over hers. “Wait a minute. I have to unzip the jacket first.”
“Unzip?”
He pointed. “Button replacements.”
She bent and peered at the metal teeth. “Cunning how they mesh together. When was this invented?”
He slipped his jacket and shirt off his shoulders and dropped them on the cave’s sandy floor. His body was electric with arousal. Even the dragon’s bite thrummed with unfilled need. “Does it really matter?” His voice rasped with passion, and he held out his arms.
Footsteps pounded toward them. Kheladin surged forward with Lachlan by his side, right through Britta’s privacy shielding. “Excellent.” The dragon beamed, double rows of teeth gleaming in the glow from Britta’s mage light.
“Yes,” Lachlan chimed, sounding excited. “We felt Tarika’s mating bite from the far side of the cave.”
“And came to congratulate you,” Kheladin finished.
“Damn it!” Maggie chugged up behind them. “I told you to at least knock first, or call out, or something.”
