by Ann Gimpel
“Why?” Lachlan stared at her. “Stop tugging on my arm, lass.”
“Even if Tarika bit him, don’t you think Jonathan and Britta would like more alone time to enjoy one another?” She elbowed Lachlan. “As I recall, we didn’t stop with once.”
Jonathan cleared his throat. “We haven’t even had once yet.” He made go away motions with both hands.
“Och, sorry.” Lachlan backed up a few steps, looking chagrined.
“Aye, sorry indeed. We shall hold those congratulations for a bit,” Kheladin seconded.
“How sorry could you be?” Britta asked. “You tromped right past my magic to get to us.”
“I’m sure I’ll be even sorrier once Tarika finishes reprimanding me.” Kheladin smirked and turned away.
Maggie blew out a breath. “I had to make love with Ceridwen looking on. The least we can do is give you more of an illusion of being alone. Here, I’ll just add a spot of my own magic to yours.” Power thrummed, and she wove a barrier out of golds and greens. The warp and weft joined Britta’s spell. Maggie’s voice blurred; Jonathan sensed her, Lachlan, and Kheladin leaving.
He shook his head. “Tarika was smart to strike while she had an opportunity.”
“A human who understands me,” the dragon purred.
“Doona encourage her.” Britta grinned. “There’ll be no living with her.”
While he could still think, before the sexual heat thickened so much it addled his brain, Jonathan looked around them. The sandy floor would do, but it would be better if they padded it with their clothing. He bent and arranged his discarded shirt and jacket, and then filched Maggie’s jacket from where Britta had dropped it.
“Will ye be adding your breeks to the pile?” Britta asked slyly.
“You just want to see me naked.”
“Aye, that too.”
He toed off his boots and unsnapped his trousers. A quick tug maneuvered the zipper past his hard-on. Britta’s voice caught with an audible gasp. She pulled at his pants, clearly anxious to get them out of the way. “’Twould be far easier if ye wore a plaid.” She sounded breathless. “Then we’d simply push it aside.”
“Looks as if we managed.” He stepped out of his pants and shorts and then kicked them toward the rough bed he’d made. Jonathan placed a hand on either side of her face and tilted it up so she met his gaze. “How would you know about such things?”
“I have eyes. I’ve watched humans rutting afore. She lifts her skirts, he lifts his plaid.”
“I don’t care about them. I care about us.” He traced the bones of her face beneath his fingers. “You are so beautiful.”
“So are you.” She fitted her body to his and wrapped her arms around him. Britta trailed her fingertips down his back. “Your skin is like silk, yet I feel such strength in the muscles beneath.”
He closed his mouth over hers, loving the feel of her lips, firm against his. He licked and nibbled until she opened her mouth to his questing tongue. The same sweet taste flooded him. Her hands had traveled to his buttocks. They tightened. She shifted so she straddled one of his legs. The heat of her core seared his thigh.
Her scent, heavy with lavender and amber rose around them. He inhaled hungrily, drinking it in, and threaded his fingers into her hair, pulling her more deeply into their kiss. Her hips bucked against his leg. He felt the shudders of a climax ripple through her. One of her hands found its way between their bodies, and she curved her fingers around his cock.
Jonathan broke their kiss, groaning at what her touch did to him. He wanted to toss her onto her back, spread her legs, and bury himself, but he didn’t want to hurt her. Dragon shifter or no, she was still a virgin.
“Here.” He unwound her fingers from his throbbing cock and gestured for her to lie down.
He joined her on their impromptu bed and strung kisses down her neck to her breasts. Her nipples were peaked. He tongued them, moving from one to the next, while he slid a hand between her legs and rubbed her passion-slick nub until she moaned and writhed beneath his touch. When he knew she was close to another release from the tension in her clit, he moved his hand and pushed a finger inside her. Muscles clenched around him; he added another finger and felt her barrier give way just as the rhythmic contractions of a second climax milked his fingers. He pressed his palm hard against her vulva to make sure she finished. Britta bucked against his hand and shrieked her delight. Her joy warmed his soul. He wanted to make her come a hundred times. A million. He wanted to devote his life to pleasing her.
Jonathan raised his face from her breasts so he could look at her. Britta’s neck was thrown back, corded with passion. Her eyes, glazed with heat lust, opened and she met his gaze. “Ye dinna hurt me.” She thrust her hips upward, moving his fingers deeper inside her. She wrapped a hand around his cock and grinned. “When do I get the real thing?”
“How about now?” His voice was thick, rough with need.
“Aye, now would be good.”
He grinned back. “You’re a greedy little thing. You’ve already come twice.”
“And is there a tariff on orgasms?”
“Not that I’ve heard of.” He tried to move, but she held fast. “You have to let go if you want me inside.”
His heart thudded hard; his throat was so dry he couldn’t swallow. He’d never wanted anything as intensely as he wanted the woman splayed before him. Jonathan kneeled between her legs, took hold of his cock, and guided the head of it against her opening. He practically came just from the heat of her circling his glans. She raised her legs and wrapped them around his body. Her golden gaze never left him.
He tried for restraint, lowering himself an inch at a time until the charged warmth of her surrounded him. She wriggled and tightened her muscles. His cock was about to explode. He withdrew and sank inside her twice more before his control fled, and he drove himself into her body faster and faster. Britta gripped his hips; her nails digging into him only intensified his pleasure.
Heat enveloped him, caught him up, and held him suspended until he felt her pussy contract around him. The climax he’d been holding back blasted out in shuddering bursts of ecstasy. He came for a long time, shattered by the coupling. Gasping, panting, he collapsed atop her and felt her arms close around him.
“’Tis done,” she murmured in his ear. “We are joined.”
“Aye,” Tarika crowed. “All of us.”
He rolled off Britta, lay on his side, and pulled her into his arms. “You were the most incredible, the most perfect, the most—”
She placed a hand over his mouth. “Hush. Doona ruin it with words.”
“Okay. I won’t.”
Britta snuggled against him. “I’m surprised Kheladin and Lachlan aren’t ripping Maggie’s spell apart.”
“Give them time. They will.”
“We need to alter our binding,” Tarika nudged.
Jonathan nodded to himself. Yes, there were many things that needed attention. Not the least of which were all the things couples usually worked out before they fell into their marital bed. Like where they’d live and what she’d do while he worked. “Speaking of bonding.” Heat rose to his face. He was glad she was buried in his arms and not looking at him. “Are we, um, married?”
Britta pushed away so she could see him. Her golden eyes gleamed mischievously. “Seems like the sort of question ye might want to have asked afore.”
He laughed. “So it is. But I didn’t. Are you going to answer me?”
“Would ye like it if we were?” She arched a coy brow.
Well, would I? He considered it. “Yes. Although there are a whole lot of details we haven’t talked about at all.”
“Such as?”
“Where we’ll live. What we’ll do. Whether I’ll keep working at the same job, although I’ll have to work somewhere if we want to eat.”
Britta laughed, great rolling gouts of belly mirth. Tears streamed from her eyes. Finally he couldn’t stand it. “What the hell is so funny?” He b
atted back annoyance. If there was a joke here, it had passed him by.
“Ye just mated with a dragon shifter. Any dragon worth their salt has a hoard. Tarika is ancient, one of the First Born. Ye peeked into her mind. Kheladin’s piles of gold pale in comparison to her wealth.”
“But that’s your money.” Jonathan tried for dignity. “I had no idea it existed, probably because Kheladin’s the first dragon I ever met and I—”
“Hush. Whether ye work or no is up to you.”
“You never answered me about whether we’re wed.”
“I dinna because the answer depends which set of laws ye pick. If ye choose the covenant that allows dragon shifters to mate with humans, then aye, we are wed since the dragon gifted you with her mating bite. If ye pick common law, then we would need someone to marry us, but if we were together long enough, it wouldna matter.”
“They have to be done fucking by now.” Lachlan’s voice sounded like it was coming from underwater.
“Maggie and Britta.” Kheladin spoke sharply. “Dismantle your combined working, or I’ll do it for you.”
“Looks like we’re about to have company.” Jonathan tugged some of the clothing beneath them into a rough cover.
The magic surrounding them dissipated in multicolored ribbons of light. Lachlan bounded to their side, nose twitching. “Excellent. I smell sex.”
“You’re about as subtle as a freight train,” Maggie snarked.
“’Tis a good thing I can catch your meaning from context, lass.” He turned his attention to Jonathan and Britta. “’Twould be a luxury to leave you the joy of your nuptial bed, but the Morrigan’s been battering against Kheladin’s wards this past half hour.”
Britta pushed herself to a sit. “Have we time for Tarika and I to separate and re-bond?”
Kheladin stalked near. “Aye, if the battle crow could have found her way through, she’d already be here. Only problem is, we’ll face her once we leave.”
“Are all the witches still here?” Jonathan asked.
“Up until a few minutes ago.” Maggie chortled. “That aunt of yours all but danced a jig once she knew the two of you were, um, intimate.”
Lachlan rolled his eyes. “Call a spade a spade, lass. ’Tisn’t intimate, ’tis fucking.”
“You interrupted me,” Maggie sputtered. Lachlan nuzzled her neck. She leaned into him before focusing her gaze on Jonathan and Britta. “Mauvreen wanted to make sure you knew she’d gone back to her house in Fort William. My grandmother’s there too. Anyway, she wants the two of you to visit as soon as possible.
“Here.” Maggie handed Britta a stack of clothes with tennis shoes on top. “After we interrupted you the first time, but before the Morrigan showed up, I made a quick trip home, courtesy of an assist from Lachlan’s magic. I picked out a few things for you to wear. Shoes, too, though I have no idea if they’ll fit.”
“Thank you.” Britta sorted through the armful, got to her feet, and dressed. Since she wasn’t modest in front of the group assembled around their bed, Jonathan took a deep breath and shinnied back into his shorts and pants. If she can do it, so can I. He hunted down his boots and tugged them on before getting to his feet.
“I’m surprised the other witches left,” he said. “Weren’t they worried the Morrigan would hassle them?”
“We discussed it,” Kheladin rumbled, his voice even deeper than usual. “The tall one ye arrived with left first with two of her witches. The others stood ready to defend them, but it wasna necessary.”
“Hmph,” Britta snapped. “’Twould appear ’tis only dragon shifters—and our mates—that interest the battle crow.”
Maggie smiled brightly at Jonathan. “How about if you spend some time with me? It will give the dragons, and their bond mates, an opportunity to alter the bonding between Britta and Tarika.”
Jonathan looked longingly at Britta. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight. If there was a place he could take her where the rest of the world simply faded into non-existence, he’d do it.
“Aye.” Britta had clearly been in his mind. “I feel the same, yet both of us are bound by duty as well as our feelings, one for the other. We are just at the barest beginnings, ye and I.” She kissed him and then followed after Lachlan and Kheladin. Jonathan fished his shirt off the floor, shrugged it on, and followed it with his jacket, which he zipped to his chin. Without Britta’s warmth, he felt chilled.
“Looks as if the shoes fit,” Maggie observed.
“Huh?” Lost in thoughts of Britta, Jonathan didn’t follow Maggie’s meaning.
“Besotted, aren’t you?” She grinned. “Not that I blame you. Lachlan has the same effect on me. If I didn’t make a huge effort, he’d be all I ever thought about. I meant the shoes I loaned Britta seem close enough.”
He remembered himself. “Thanks for thinking of my…er, mate.” Jonathan laughed self-consciously. “Cripes, I don’t know what to call her. Girlfriend doesn’t do it. She’s not exactly my fiancée. She might be my wife, depending on which set of laws I choose to follow.” He spread his hands before him, feeling flummoxed.
Maggie skewered him with her gaze, blue eyes alight with humor. “Keep it simple. Focus. We were talking about clothes and shoes fitting.”
“Yes,” he agreed, grateful to have something manageable to wrap his mind around, “everything fit fine. Um, thanks again.”
“Much better. It’s how I got through the first few days after I met Lachlan. I kept things simple. Or tried to. Dragon shifters can be…intense. Anyway, I brought sweats, a T-shirt, and a stretchy jacket for Britta. So we had a bit of leeway.” Maggie squared her shoulders. “Maybe you and I should begin with formal introductions.” She extended her hand, and he clasped it. “I’m Margaret Hibbins, but everyone calls me Maggie.”
“Jonathan Shea.” He opened his senses to her. “You’re a witch—a strong one.”
“Not so sure about the strong part, but I am a witch. Also a doctor.”
“Not much difference, really.” He let go of her hand.
Maggie snorted. “Yeah, it’s what my grandmother always told me. She was annoyed when I went to medical school.”
He sucked in a surprised breath as puzzle pieces clicked into place. “You can’t be related to that Hibbins. Mary Elma, isn’t it?”
“’Fraid so. Why am I not surprised you’ve heard of her?” Maggie cleared her throat. “Everyone has, at least in witchdom.”
“Mauvreen, sort of my aunt but not really, knows her from way back. I think they met when she still lived in the States.” He shrugged. “Perhaps they were girls together, or something, back in the eighteen hundreds, or maybe the seventeen hundreds. It’s hard to get a straight answer out of any of the women about how old they really are.”
She smirked. “Isn’t it, though?”
He drew his brows together as memories surfaced, “I’m so sorry about what happened to your parents during the last big coven war.”
“Yeah, it was pretty awful,” she agreed. “That’s why I had a sort of love-hate relationship with my magic—until Lachlan showed up, that is.”
“How old were you…?” His voice trailed off. It was hard to get the words when your parents died past his lips.
“Six. Old enough to understand magic killed them but too young to truly assimilate why.” She shook her head; sadness rolled off her in waves that pricked Jonathan’s heart. “I had to blame something for losing them, so I blamed magic. It was only much later I understood they died fighting for something they believed in.”
“I wasn’t much older than you, but I remember the witches over here talking about it. Your parents were heroes. They kept a sacred formula out of the wrong hands.”
Maggie’s lips curved into a bittersweet smile. “Thanks. I’ve never thought of them in quite that light before. It helps.”
“You’re welcome.” He sent healing energy her way.
“Want something to eat?” Maggie changed the subject.
He made a
grab for his rucksack and then remembered he’d abandoned it on the streets of Inverness where he’d met up with Caty and her witches. He’d taken it off to get a drink of water. Between talking with the witches and letting them work on his injuries, he’d forgotten about it—until now. “Yeah, I am hungry, but I left my sandwich a long way from here.”
“You’re in luck. I brought food back along with those clothes for Britta. Lachlan is always hungry. Dragon shifter metabolism must run at twice the rate ours does.”
“After you.” Jonathan made a sweeping motion with one hand and followed her.
They sat with their backs against the cave wall. Maggie hadn’t been kidding when she said she’d brought food. He munched on bread and cheese and cold cuts washed down with water from the pool. Maggie was easy to talk with. She fed him questions and answered his. He was beginning to feel drowsy and wondered how much longer Britta and Tarika would be when a gust of magic rocked him.
Jonathan leaped to his feet with Maggie by his side. His magic collided with hers as they sought the source of the disturbance. “I think it’s okay,” she ventured.
“How could it be?” he demanded, hands raised to summon power. “Whatever’s coming is strong enough to blast us out of here.”
“They could, but they won’t.”
“Goddammit. Who are they?” Every muscle tense, Jonathan balanced power, ready to loose it at a moment’s notice. He didn’t relish explaining to Lachlan how his mate sustained an injury on his watch.
“Bow to your betters,” a deep voice rose from the depths of the cave.
“Ach, those witches never did know their place,” a woman retorted.
“I could be mistaken,” Maggie murmured, “but I think it’s Arawn, Gwydion, and Ceridwen.”
“If it is,” Jonathan gritted through clenched teeth, “maybe they can take care of the Morrigan. If I remember my mythology, the Celts disowned her, but she’s still one of them.”
Reality slapped him hard. Not only had he actually laid eyes on a dragon today, he had mated himself to a dragon shifter. If Maggie was right, he was about to meet his first Celtic god face-to-face, other than the Morrigan, who scarcely counted. Well, maybe not quite the first since it appeared his da’s fantastic story was true. A long-buried image of an imposing woman with floor-length silvery hair rose from somewhere. Eyes, one gold and one silver, with the moon reflected in their depths, looked right through him.
