by Ann Gimpel
“Looks like I’m not the only one with a poet’s soul.” He nuzzled her neck. “Can I get you a robe? I have an extra one.” She nodded; he got to his feet and plucked both bathrobes off hooks behind the door. She padded next to him, and he helped her into a soft, blue terrycloth robe before snugging the striped one around himself. “What do you feel like eating?”
Britta shrugged. “I am not familiar enough with food in this time. Anything would be fine. Bread. Cheese. Meat.”
“Soup?”
“Doona ye have to cook that for hours?”
“It comes in a can now, but you can still make it from scratch if you have time.”
She drew her blonde brows together. “What do ye mean in a can?”
“Come along. I’ll show you.”
He settled her at his small kitchen table, opened a can of chicken noodle soup, got bread out of the freezer, and made them tuna sandwiches while the soup heated. She turned the aluminum soup can around in her hands. “Is there other food that comes this way?”
He tapped the empty tuna can on the counter with a fingernail. “You can get most anything in tins.”
“Why doesna it spoil?”
“Good question. Early on in the canning process, people died from eating food in tins that hadn’t been adequately cooked, but it’s not a problem anymore. Basically, what’s in the can is processed with heat and pressure until all the bacteria—er, little bugs—that might make you sick are dead.”
Britta wrinkled her nose. “Ewww. It seems fresher food would still be better.”
“That’s the party line.” He set a plate and bowl in front of her. “But I’m a confirmed bachelor. We’re notorious for our poor eating habits.”
“Ye’ll have to explain party line. I got the other part. Ye need a mate to see ye eat better.” She took a sip of soup and frowned. “It doesna taste like much of anything.”
Concern smote him. His slipshod eating habits might not work for Britta. He hovered halfway between counter and table, his own dishes in hand. “Would you like to get dressed and go out? We can find something better?”
“Nay.” She took a bite of sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. “I appreciate ye made me a meal. Now, if we could chase it with a bit of spirits, all would be well.”
“Is the scotch all right or would you prefer ale?”
“Scotch.”
He poured the liquor, added a bit of water to his, and sat across from Britta where he could drink her in. “It’s such a wonder to have you at my table, to share a meal with you…” His voice trailed off. He felt awkward, like an adolescent on his first date.
“I feel the same way.” She lifted her glass. “To us.”
He clinked glasses. “To us. And to victory so we have long lives to enjoy each other.”
“Aye. I’ll drink to that as well.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes. It felt companionable, domestic, things he’d never expected to find for himself. “I know enough about the Morrigan. Maybe you could tell me about the black and red dragons. All I know is they’re dragon shifters like you and Lachlan.”
She met his gaze, golden eyes serious. “Aye. Rhukon is the black wyvern’s mage.”
“His dragon’s name?”
“Malik.” She hesitated. “His defection is hard for me since he and Tarika were egg mates millennia ago.”
Jonathan racked his brain for what he knew about dragons, which wasn’t much. “Do you mean they came from the same clutch?”
“Aye. They shared a mother but obviously had different fathers. ’Tis why Tarika is called First Born, while he is not. Tarika’s father was one of the first dragons to be formed deep in the maw of Fire Mountain.”
“So not just different colors but different bloodlines,” Jonathan murmured. Britta nodded. “How long have Rhukon and Malik been bonded?”
She cocked her head to one side. “I’m not entirely certain, only that it happened after Tarika and I chose one another.”
“And the red wyvern?”
“Aye. The mage is named Connor and the dragon Preki.” Responding to the question in his eyes for more information, she shook her head. “I doona know much of either. Connor’s magic isna particularly strong. ’Twas a surprise to all of us when he bonded with a dragon at all.”
Jonathan grappled for food on his plate and realized he’d finished his sandwich. “I’m going to make myself another. Would you like more?”
Britta raked her hair away from her face and pushed it over her shoulders. “Doona think me ungrateful, but have ye aught that isna in a tin?”
He grinned. “How about a toasted cheese sandwich?”
“Hot cheese and bread?”
“Yup.”
“I can make it if ye show me where things are.”
He held up a hand. “Nah. Even my limited culinary arts can turn out toasted cheese sandwiches.” He rustled in the refrigerator, found a chunk of cheddar, and pulled a cast iron skillet from a cupboard.
She sipped her scotch and watched him. “What happened to the serving classes who used to take care of house care and cooking?”
“People who have lots of money still employ domestic help. The rest of us make do.” He flipped a sandwich onto a fresh plate and walked it to her. Because it looked better than a second go-round with tuna and mayonnaise, he made himself one as well. She was half done with hers before he got back to the table. He grinned. “Better?”
“Aye.” She grinned back. “Much. At least this bears a passing resemblance to food.”
He took a bite, savoring the melted cheese and crisp bread. “Do you know how the Morrigan and the two wyverns got together?”
“That I do.” She poured another half finger of scotch into her glass. “’Twas during one of those interminable battles that peppered the old country in the fifteen and sixteen hundreds. The Morrigan was in her element; she solicited recruits to help manage the dead.”
“Er, this may be a stupid question, but why wouldn’t she have teamed up with Arawn, Celtic god of the dead?”
“She did, until Arawn grew sick of her. What I meant to say was she got Rhukon and Connor to talk people into changing sides afore they’d actually died.” Britta rolled her shoulders. Jonathan jumped to his feet, came around behind her, and massaged the sides of her neck. “Och, but your touch feels heavenly.” She leaned into his hands.
“Originally, you said manage the dead.”
“So I did. See, it dinna matter which side the poor sods fought on. Most of them died anyway. But it helped the Morrigan’s cause if the proper side was victorious because it meant war would continue.” She laid her hands atop his. “Finish your meal while ’tis still warm.”
He returned to his seat and addressed the remaining half-sandwich, consuming it in just a few bites. “Let’s see if I have this straight. The Morrigan used Connor and Rhukon to solicit cooperation from men fighting on the side she wanted to lose.” At Britta’s nod, he went on. “Why’d they stick with her after the fighting was done?”
“The dragons liked the battle crow, and she enjoyed the adulation. Most of the other Celtic gods have always looked down on the Morrigan. They’ve allowed as how she was one of them but in a bit of an inferior capacity. I doona know for certain, but I believe she kept the dragon shifters close to boost her sense of self-importance.”
“After hundreds of years, the partnership just sort of stuck,” Jonathan murmured, half to himself. “Had enough to eat?”
“What else have ye?”
He remembered Belgian chocolates tucked away in a high cupboard and got the box. “Here.” He opened it and set it on the table. “Sweets.”
She plucked one from its fluted paper cup and popped it into her mouth. The amazed expression on her face almost made him laugh. Clearly, she hadn’t been expecting the rich confection. “Mmmm. Wonderful,” she said once she could talk and grabbed another.
“Yes. They are. Mauvreen knows I like them, so she brings them to me.” He picke
d a piece he knew had cordial inside.
“Mauvreen’s been around your whole life, but she talks differently. Now I think about it, she sounds a lot like Lachlan’s mate.”
“Because both of them are from the States.”
“Which states?”
“The New World?”
“Och, aye. Across the great ocean.”
He nodded. “Mauvreen’s been here for, maybe, fifty years. But she still sounds like the New Yorker she started out as.” Britta looked confused, so he hurried on. “New York is one of fifty United States, but none of that is especially important.”
“We’re done feeding our bodies,” she noted coyly.
“Maybe I can really make love with you this time.” His cock stirred, hardening against his upper leg. “We can start in the bathtub. I’ll wash your body and your hair and then we’ll—”
“Doona be telling me. Show me.” She laid the heels of her hands on the table and got to her feet; her robe puddled on the floor when she slid it off her shoulders.
He tossed his robe over hers, wound his arms around her, and crushed his mouth down on hers. Despite their earlier lovemaking, need was sharp and so urgent it stole his breath away. He ran his hands down her back and gripped the globes of her ass, lifting her easily onto his erection. She wrapped her legs around his hips, her arms around his shoulders, and tightened her pussy muscles around him. She tore her mouth from beneath his. “Bath,” she rasped, smiling like a mischievous imp. “I thought ye said the first thing was a bath.”
“Do you want to stop?” He thrust his hips against her, burying himself to the hilt.
“Nay.” She threw back her head, neck corded with lust, and laughed. “I want you to fuck me. Fast and hard. The bath can wait.”
“Remember,” he growled. “You asked for this.” He slid his forearms beneath her buttocks to balance her weight better and moved his cock in little tantalizing circles inside her.
“Oooch.” She writhed against him, pushing her clit against his public bone. “Close.” She turned passion-swollen lips upward for his kiss. Soon after he closed his mouth over hers, he felt the rhythmic contractions of her release. Maybe it was the decadence of their position or her unbridled lust, but he couldn’t hold himself back. As soon as he felt her coming, his own climax found its way to the surface. He came hard, shuddering over and over and crying her name.
“Aye, beloved,” she murmured once his body stilled. “’Twas what ye called me. Beloved. I think I rather like it.”
Heart thudding so hard it was a struggle to breathe, he relaxed into their embrace. “About that bath…”
“Och.” She wrinkled her nose. “Now we need it more than ever.”
Chapter Ten
A Few Hours Earlier
Kheladin drew Tarika close and summoned magic to transport them to Fort William. “What think ye of the new bond?” The walls of his cave disappeared beneath them.
“It feels…strange. I have been linked, talon and claw, to Britta for so long, it feels as if a part of me is missing.” She blew a plume of smoke. “What is even stranger, though, is her fascination with Jonathan. Not that I’m not pleased by the turn of events, mind ye, but I thought sure she’d be a maid forever.”
“’Tis far more than infatuation,” Kheladin informed her. “It has the feel of Lachlan and Maggie’s bond.”
“Aye, ye’re right about that, which is why I bit him to formalize their mating.”
Kheladin chuckled. “Aye, and ye dinna wish to risk Britta changing her mind.”
“Mayhap that too. ’Tis a good thing he makes her happy. When I met Britta, she was an overly serious maid, and she grew into a woman with grim edges.”
“All dragon shifters are dour at times,” Kheladin concurred. “’Tis because they forego much to be bonded to us.”
Scales rattled as Tarika shook herself. “I miss flying places. Having to be shrouded in magic is trying. ’Tisn’t far from Inverness to where we are going. We could have taken to the skies and—”
“I havena been here long,” Kheladin cut in, “but there are no dragons, except for us, that is.”
“So?”
“Maggie says modern people have weapons that could shoot us out of the skies.”
“We’re immortal, or have ye forgotten?”
“Nay. I havena forgotten, but it could take long years to repair our bodies if they are too badly broken.”
“And we must save our strength for the battle that matters. Doona mind me. I stayed too long at Fire Mountain. ’Twill take a wee bit of time afore I’m familiar with the realities of living in this world.”
“Let us hope the world remains intact long enough for ye to get your wish.”
“Do ye believe straits are so dire?” Tarika asked.
“Aye, but doona take my word for it. Ye can speak with Maggie’s grandmother and Mauvreen, two powerful witches.”
“Aye, I met the one. A wee bit on the overbearing side.”
Kheladin laughed. “Wait till ye meet Mary Elma. She makes Mauvreen look like a piker. It willna be long, we are nearly there.”
He brought them down in the warded yard outside Mauvreen’s house. The witches must have been expecting them because they sat on the bottom porch step, mugs of something that smelled alcoholic in hand.
Mary Elma sprang to her feet and trotted toward them. “Where is that granddaughter of mine? And her consort.”
Kheladin blew a plume of smoke skyward. “I’m thinking Lachlan might see Maggie as his consort, but it doesna make all that much difference. They are at her home in Inverness—”
“—fucking each other’s brains out.” Mary Elma rolled her dark eyes and raked her hands through long, black hair flecked with gray. Her black skirt brushed the ground, and a long black tunic encased her wraith-thin upper body.
“Don’t be hard on them.” Mauvreen came forward. “They’ve only just discovered one another. I remember what it was like to be young.”
“Do you now?” Mary Elma turned a sour expression on her friend. “Maybe I’m just too old and withered to remember the feel of a man’s cock—”
“Bullshit!” Mauvreen said succinctly. “Just last Beltane, you had so many men, I was a bit jealous. At one point, they were lined up to sample you.”
Mary Elma’s alabaster complexion turned the color of fresh blood. “Hmph. I’d forgotten you were there.”
Mauvreen shot her a triumphant smile. “You might borrow a page from my book. I’m not begrudging Johnny a minute he can steal with his dragon shifter, not now when he’s finally met a woman who’s worthy of him.”
“You always sounded more like his mother than anything else,” Mary Elma huffed.
“And why not? The poor boy never had a mother.”
“Of course he did. She just didn’t want to blow her cover as a virgin goddess. Enough of this.” Mary Elma walked around Kheladin to Tarika and stared up. “I suppose your mage is the one who’s taken up with Jonathan?”
Tarika exchanged glances with Kheladin. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, hoping she wouldn’t antagonize Mary Elma. Tarika exhaled steam. “Aye, ye’d be correct.” She inclined her head toward Mary Elma. “Ye must forgive me. I am not used to such things being bandied about quite so openly.”
“Maybe they’d like something to eat?” Mauvreen suggested cheerily.
Kheladin brightened. “Is there a forested area nearby where we might hunt?”
Mary Elma joined her friend and poked her. “What were you going to offer them? Watercress sandwiches?”
“For the love of Pete, Mary. Give it a rest.” Mauvreen blew out an annoyed-sounding breath. “I was just trying to be a good host. If what they need is a cow or sheep, there’s not much I can do about it.”
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Tarika said hastily. “Mayhap we could use this time afore our bond mates return for you to catch me up—and Kheladin, too, though he’s had greater opportunity than me to accustom himself to how things
are now.”
“What would you like to know?” Mary Elma sank onto the grass in a cross-legged sit.
Tarika and Kheladin lay on their bellies, snouts at ground level, one on either side of Mary Elma. “I’ll just refresh our drinks.” Mauvreen plucked the mug from Mary Elma’s hand and strode into the house.
Kheladin considered the witch’s question. “For starters, did ye realize the Morrigan and two dragon shifter pairs were a menace afore Lachlan hooked up with your granddaughter?”
Mary Elma pursed her lips into a thin line. “Not exactly. We understood Earth faced serious threats from multiple sources, but we didn’t believe there were magical creatures involved.”
“We certainly didn’t,” Mauvreen chimed in. She handed Mary Elma’s mug back and sat next to her, rucking her skirts up around her legs. “We spent a lot of time worrying about carbon emissions and pollution and the degradation of the ozone layer.”
“Translate, please,” Tarika said.
Kheladin placed a foreleg under his head. “’Tis a fancy way of saying Earth is dying. While important, what is critical here is that our enemies masked themselves well enough the witches dinna know of their existence.”
“The witches in question are feeling pretty damned stupid,” Mary Elma snarled. “I was in the airplane that the Morrigan shanghaied. The second it veered off course and ended up in magical stasis, I knew exactly what I faced. Thank the goddess, it wasn’t too late to launch countermeasures.”
“What airplane?” Tarika asked. “Actually, back up. What’s an airplane?”
“A mechanical device that flies just like you do,” Mauvreen said.
Mary Elma tightened her jaw. “The Morrigan forced the airplane off course to keep me away from Maggie. Damned battle crow! She knew once I got near my granddaughter, I’d be able to protect her.”
Kheladin picked his next words carefully. “Do you suppose if all the covens, and whoever else has magic, joined forces that you could help us?”
“What exactly did you have in mind?” Mary Elma narrowed her eyes.
“We need to craft a plan to disable the red and black wyverns and their mages,” Kheladin replied.
