“Simple, my man. Boredom. Have you not seen the reactions of mankind when the dragons arise? I mean, people come out here for a good show, and I expect to give them just that.”
“Surely, that is what Gillianbusti expected for you to enjoy too—a good show.”
Gillianbusti, the dwarf turned boar, had become his friend over the centuries. They had made the best of an odd situation. Gillianbusti liked to entertain, he'd give him that.
“And I should just let him have his fun?”
“At least let him finish. The poor thing doesn't get to let loose, right?”
Alistair crinkled his nose, and frowned. He removed his shoe and threw it at the rutting boars. “No, I think I'd rather not have to watch swine engage in coitus. The noise is unbearable, and he might be my mate, but that doesn't mean I have to watch.”
“Surely, you jest. He is cursed to be your companion, and until you are able to reverse the curse, he will remain punished in this here shape. What would you have him do?”
“Why not go in search of truffles”?” Alistair couldn’t get them to stop, no matter what he threw at the pair.
“It's the middle of the night,” Killian said.
“It will give him more to do, and as you remind me, he is bored of keeping my company.”
Killian nodded, rose from his seat, and shooed the boars apart, cautious of their thick tusks.
Alistair cared not that Gillianbusti didn't get a chance to finish. Like him, he should also be celibate waiting for his proper mate and not go chasing after the first piece that walked his way. Of course, he couldn't help but worry as to whether the other boar was indeed on tomorrow's menu, and shook his head.
There was never a better time to go vegan than after one's pet had fiddled the food.
As Alistair sat there and concentrated on what he should then do, he saw the white wisp of a woman flutter by. Her screams of help loud enough to make the undead awaken, if they weren't already.
“Madam, madam,” he called after her.
The old lady appearing ghost settled down before him.
“You can see me?” she asked.
“Even more, I can hear your horrible voice and cries. What is it that you want?”
“My granddaughter. She's been thrown overboard and will surely die if help does not come soon,” she said. He'd never seen a ghost panic, and watched her practically shake in worry.
“What would you have me do?”
“Can't you send out a boat? She was thrown overboard. I have tried several different places, but this is the first place where I've gotten a response. If you don't help her, she’ll die!”
“Or be already dead.”
“If you can't help, then don't waste my time,” she said, waving a wispy hand.
“Time? Looks like your eternal time is already wasting.”
He sounded like an ass, and he didn't understand why. The more he considered it the more he recognized it for what it was—he needed an outlet for tonight, and the guise of Nessie would be a great trick!
“Okay, I'll help you, but you must promise me something first.”
“And what is that?”
“Your granddaughter. You must promise her to me.”
The ghost nodded. “I will do anything to save her.”
“Good, for I am a beast and need companionship.”
14
Alistair
“This way,” the ghost said.
Alistair shook his head ignoring her pleas.
“I know these waters and will find her, if she is there.”
Diving under those waves felt like flying. He and the water became one. Sure, he had a boat he could have taken to pick up the lass, but what fun would that be?
As a mighty water dragon, he moved in and out of the water, embracing the freedom that the water gave him. He no longer worried about the problems that would still be there when he returned. No, instead, all he focused on was his breath, and the way his muscles propelled him through the water.
Four feet high and twenty-five feet long, he measured larger than many of the boats on the waterway. Under the blanket of night, and deep in the water, he moved through the school of fish that darted out of his way, as well as the other animals: eels, sharks and fish. He could feel her in the sea.
There was warmth and not the kind created by a tinkle, but of a heart calling out to him.
He shook his head. A deal was a deal, but that did not mean he needed to love her, just that he had to possess her.
He moved forward and as the distance grew from his home to the woman in the water, he took in the sight of her—it was the woman from the cruise ship.
“I wouldn't be surprised if you did this, Oma,” he cursed his grandmother, and still closed the distance between him and the woman who gave him pause.
She'd taken his breath away during their short exchange. Her eyes sparkled, and in that moment, he could have gifted her the most magical of things—unicorns even, but right now, it felt more like a betrayal.
She wrapped her arms around him, and he felt her arms, her heart, her thoughts. He knew everything about her in just that one touch, and thoughts assaulted him of how things could be between them if given a chance—a promise of ecstasy, passion and unbridled love.
He'd have none of that.
He pulled away, but she held on strong, until she'd wrapped her body around his own.
Images played of what could, a future not yet built, a future that was only a premonition. When he'd first laid eyes on her, he'd seen forever, but never knew that forever could start right there with them.
She muttered something, and her voice filled with a hint of desperation and hope.
“Shh, lass, you need to rest. You are safe with me.” As safe as safe can be, he thought.
“I'm not safe with anyone,” she said.
Her pain struck him.
“Worry not, you will be home soon.”
“Home,” she muttered. Upon his touching her with his rune covered scales, she morphed before his eyes; the magic of the sea and of the gods, she embraced the power of air, giving her the ability to breathe underwater like a mermaid.
His mouth gaped open. In all the magic he'd used, he'd never seen such. She wasn't a mermaid, he knew. He was to make sure that she arrived unharmed to his house, but still, it freaked him out.
And not much could shake Alistair the Brave.
Gods don't freak out, they just create something else, he considered. Well, that was his thought until he reached the dark caves.
Prophecies can’t be forced into fulfillment, even for one as beautiful as her.
15
Alistair
Alistair followed the doctor, Peter, the residential herbalist and mage, out of the room into the corridor, where the woman rested. Inside, her gran, the ghost, stayed at her side. He couldn't allow the doctor to say it there, but he knew the truth. She had a bluish tint, and even more, her heartrate was lessening.
“I gather that you didn't wish for me to say my opinion as to the state of things in the room,” Peter said. “I am not a medical doctor, but all of the signs are there. She will not make it.”
Alistair nodded his head. He didn't know a lot about humans, but he did know that hypothermia, when it set in, left little chance of survival. Although he'd rushed through the waters to get her there, to the safety and warmth of the castle, every delay worsened it. Soon, her spirit would leave, and there was nothing he could do about it.
The hallway door opened, and there, the shocked grandmother stood. For a ghost once put together, she now appeared disheveled. “Although you try to hide from me this truth,” she began, “I know she is dying. There must be something that you can do.”
Alistair shook his head. “Death is a part of life. Although you are still here, that should also not be so. We must all rest.”
Peter interrupted. “There is a way, but it is a risky and pricey one,” he began. “You might not be aware of the legend of a mig
hty dragon, but it is said during the reign of King Frederick of Thule, that one of his sons was saved by a dragon.”
“So, a dragon can save a mortal?” Gran asked. “If this is so, you must try.”
“But it comes with consequences.” Alistair waved his hands. He didn’t want to consider what it would mean to be tethered to her. “Everything does.”
“She won't last through the night,” Peter deadpanned.
But was it worth the risk? Could he let another woman die because of his failure to act? The seer, if she died, what did that mean for the prophecy, for him?
Again, the beast rumbled in his chest, “Mine.”
“What is this consequence of which you speak?” Gran asked.
“She'll become undead,” Alistair answered. “A draugr.”
“A what?” Gran asked, her eyes blared.
“She'll become the equivalent of a vampire, thirsting for human blood, and unable to die. She'll also be tied to me.” Alistair shook his head. He could deal with everything except that whole ‘tied to me’ bit. If he'd wanted a mate, he could have found one to fill his bed on a permanent basis. Rose, his latest ex, had been enough of a hassle when she’d attempted to wrap him around her finger. Sex and commitment were two different things. He didn't need, nor want either. They came with consequences, nightmares, and power-hungry women that sought to make him heel.
“We're running out of time, sir,” Peter said. “What would you like to do?”
Whichever decision he made, there would be hell to pay.
16
Leslie
Have you ever awoken and had a hankering to kill everyone in a room, and of course, desire to crack every skull within range? The room was filled with darkness with the exception of light from the full moon rising. The curtains were thrown open, and the moonlight shone brightly inside where streams of its magnificence bounced off the walls.
Rage filled me with a heat. It was a combination of thirst—like the morning jonesing for hot coffee, combined with a desire to peel the skin off of every living soul, yank out their hearts and drink from the tap.
“Leslie.” I could hear Gran's voice through the cloud of rage, but it did nothing to calm me. The voice I recognized as my own growled. I struggled against binds around my wrists.
I wasn't into any kinky sort of stuff, and the loss of control riled me up more.
I screamed. The guttural sound ripped through the room, and when the door opened, faces I didn't know approached me. But I didn't care about that. Instead, my gaze raced toward their necks. I could hear the blood whooshing through their veins, their hearts thudding to push the sweet blood.
Even their sweat smelled appealing. My mouth watered with want. I struggled more against the ties and bared my teeth.
“If she keeps pulling like that, she's going to break free,” said one.
Snap. One arm broke free.
Felt like heaven to be able to move.
I tore free from the other restraint and leapt from my four-poster bed to the female who stood only a few feet away. She smelled like fresh ginger bread. I inhaled deeply and leaned forward.
My canines descended, and I reared back my head.
There would be no consequence. Nothing but my hunger mattered, my appetite had to be sated.
Her neck was so close. All I had to do was lean in closer and allow my fangs to sink into her delectable flesh, and all of that warmth would fill me.
As I reached forward to bite down, strong hands gripped me and tore me away from her. I kicked and clawed. Only air shifted through my fingers. I wished only to bleed her out and bathe in the warmth of her fresh blood.
I snarled like an angry beast, only then to whimper in a strange plea.
“I want just a taste,” I plead. My eyes filled with crimson tears, blinding me. “Just a taste!” I demanded, and pushed back against the strong arms holding me down.
A new wave of rage rushed through me. The anger spread, and in a heartbeat, I stared at the man I hated. Him. There was no shade of gray. Any attraction that might have been there, he’d poisoned.
“No, Leslie,” his voice commanded me, and my limbs responded. I could no longer struggle. I no longer pushed against him. Instead, like a dog brought to heel, I stood still. At his word, I was to obey his every command. And every second I stood next to him, I heard hearts beating and cursed him for not allowing me to sate my hunger.
“This is for your own good, dear.” With a snap of his fingers, I again sank into the black abyss of unconsciousness, with the putrid stench of fish burning my nose.
I really hated sea food.
I cracked my eyes open. I didn’t know how long I'd been out, but the happy sigh from my gran told me all I needed to know. She'd been afraid and I'd pulled through. Snuggled in thick blankets around me, a fire roaring in the large fireplace, I glanced around at my surroundings. I was in what appeared to be an ostentatious room with white wall paper, and carefully chosen furniture. I rested on a plush settee in the salon. Two sconces rested on either side of the large fireplace which roared to life. In the corner, a grand piano waited to be played.
Expensive taste. Designer taste, not on a budget for sure.
Oil paintings, of who I assumed must have been the dragon’s keepers throughout the ages, hung on the walls. They all appeared in Edwardian, Regency, and Victorian aged dress in their portraits.
Surely later, I could take in the grand architecture and interior design that displayed a coat of arms, with a dragon, of course.
My body wasn’t my own. It felt scratchy, cold even.
“What do you remember?” Gran asked.
“Dancing?”
“You don’t dance. You’ve hated dancing since you discovered what it meant to not have rhythm.” Gran took a seat on the side of the bed. “You had me worried, and I’m sure you remember more than what you’re telling me.
“I had a bad feeling about this trip and I was telling you the truth.”
“Yeah, lesson learned. I should always listen to my ghostly grandmother.”
My thoughts drifted from being in the water to the dragon’s arrival.
Riding the dragon hadn’t been as easy as it sounded. It wasn’t just a thing of holding on and hoping I wouldn’t fall off its back. The air was frigid far above as we flew, and against the beast, its heat sought to warm me through.
Despite the large flame, I shivered, unable to get warm. Although, all my thoughts of Rose and Jack disappeared once I’d reached land again, my head still ached from treading water for so long. I felt strange.
Gran patted my hand, what she’d always done to soothe me. Interesting what one could do with a small gesture.
“Hypothermia had set in, right?” I asked. Questions rolled off of my tongue. “What’s happening?” I asked. “and who is our host? I can’t be so rude as to not introduce myself.” That always got my lips to moving.
“The dragon, dear. He saved you, and seeing this magic, I think it’s going to come with a cost.” She shook her head. “We’ll have to see about that, but for now, you rest.”
Concern marred her brow, and for a ghost, that was saying something. Usually, her face was serene as a Sunday dinner, but this was as concerned as a food-poisoned lunch. With her brow furrowed and her lips pursed, if she could have moved things, she would have.
She came closer. “I just need to pull this blanket up higher around you.”
“We both know you can’t,” I said. Ghosts could do many things, but moving physical objects was not one of their abilities.
She reached forward to tuck in the thick fur blanket around me.
And it moved.
We stared at each other, wide-eyed, and I stopped breathing for a moment.
Gran lifted her hands and stared at them.
“Well, there’s only one way of knowing for sure.” She headed towards the door and instead of walking through it as she normally would, she slammed right into it, then stumbled backwards.
&
nbsp; That meant one of two things: either Gran could now do the ghostly impossible, or I was dead.
When I thought about death, I never thought heaven would be in a Scottish medieval castle. Heaven? Geesh.
“Well, you can't just sit there and think there isn't work to be done,” Gran said. Her mouth said one thing, but her eyes were as large as dinner plates.
A knock on the door startled me, and in entered a young woman with her hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her plump freckled face and bright smile should have calmed me down.
It didn't.
“What's going on?” I asked.
“His lordship just asked that I check and see if you needed anything. You were in the water quite a while,” she said.
“We’re fine,” Gran responded. For those who didn’t know her, it was a polite smile. For me, I knew that smile—she was calculating and thinking about everything that was going on. If this were a recipe, someone just added a pinch too much salt into her Bundt cake.
I stared at the room a little more. “He definitely has an affinity for boars.”
“Boars?” Gran asked, raising a brow.
“They’re everywhere.”
“Does this bother you?”
“No, but what if we’ve found ourselves somewhere where they hunt people. I mean, hunting is something that everyone can do, but I don’t have to like it.” I rambled. Tears pricked my eyes. Death. Geesh. “How is it possible to be here? Where is here?”
17
Leslie
I struggled to my feet, needing to see more of the place than just this room of mounted boar heads. It didn't matter which color his tartan was supposed to be, I drew the line at taxidermy.
“Keep the curtains closed,” Gran warned.
I nodded not understanding. I was never one to throw back the curtains and announce, “Look at me.” Instead, I liked privacy, but I also noticed again that there was no sun.
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