Taking the pup gently, she felt its leg and paw. “I don’t think there is anything broken, but I’ll stop by tomorrow afternoon when I’m through with work and check on him,” she said.
Mr. Smith nodded gratefully. “Thank you.”
“I must apologize also,” Caldwell said as he moved gingerly into the room, keeping an eye on the dogs. “I’m not usually that clumsy.” He gave Sophie an appreciative look and held out his hand. “Alan Caldwell.”
She took his hand. “Sophie Cameron.”
“She’s my veterinarian,” Mr. Smith interposed. “And she fences. I was hoping you two would meet!”
Michael did not care for the match-making tone in Smith’s voice. In spite of his near fall, Caldwell exuded a kind of cockiness that came from someone used to getting his own way. And Michael definitely did not want the guy having his way with Sophie. And he was holding Sophie’s hand way too long.
“We really should be going, Sophie,” he said to her.
Caldwell gave him an assessing look, one that any male recognized as a challenge. Michael crossed his arms and widened his stance. Caldwell smiled slightly and released Sophie’s hand. He looked back at her and inclined his head. “Perhaps we could discuss fencing sometime?”
The air around Michael fairly crackled and he pulled the energy back before its force planted Caldwell squarely on his ass—which was where he belonged, but Michael had been a warlock too long not to heed the first rule to “Harm None” with personal use of his magic. Sophie gave him a strange look and he wondered if she had felt the potent charge he retained. She turned back to Caldwell.
“Perhaps if we meet again, we can have that discussion, but I really must be going
now.” She gave Michael another odd look and moved to the door.
As they left, he wondered again if she had felt the magic he’d almost used—and if she truly was unaware of her own powers. How could she deny magic when she had it?
Chapter Five
Morgan tossed her shiny black hair behind her and folded her hands primly in her lap, watching the woman who sat across the desk rub her temples. It seemed that Dr. Cameron was stressed out. Which made what she had come to do easier.
Perhaps because Adam had been relentless in sic-ing the Media on her. Not that the Media had needed any prodding after the second sighting of the dragon for a day or two, but between a few discreet calls to people Adam knew in the AP and the various aliases he used on the social networking sites, there was a continual crowd now surrounding the clinic and her home.
“Your resume shows several years of public relations work with television stations across the nation,” Sophie said. “Quite impressive, but my partner and I have a rather tight budget. I don’t think I can hire you.”
Morgan smiled benignly. “If I may ask, has your business declined since all of this started?” She waved her hand toward the window. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to face that crowd with a sick animal in tow.”
Sophie reluctantly nodded. “We’ve had some cancellations.”
“And that, of course, hurts your bottom line,” Morgan replied. “Since I have the experience, let me deal with these people. I can give them little tidbits of information at regular intervals and they won’t be standing around bothering your customers all day.”
“Clients.” Sophie said automatically. “Clients and patients.”
“I am sorry. My mistake.” Morgan put a contrite look on her face. “But your poor assistant is doing nothing but handling questions via both the phone and email. I can take that over as well, so she can help you.”
Sophie leaned back in her chair, this time rubbing her right shoulder with her left hand. “Your plan might be good, but I don’t have any tidbits of information to give out. I have no idea of why this creature has shown up twice nor do I know if it will show up again.”
“Well,” Morgan said quietly, “that’s the reason those people are all out there waiting. They aren’t going to go away. You’ve worked hard to build your clinic, I’m sure. Do you want to insure its continuing success?”
“Of course I do.” Sophie hesitated and then gave a deep sigh. “All right. I’ll try you for two weeks. If you can keep that mob from interrupting my business, I’ll keep you on.”
“Fair enough,” Morgan said. “I can start right away.”
“Good. Janie!” Sophie called out just as her assistant appeared in the doorway. “This is Morgan Fontaine and she’s going to be handling all the phone calls and media requests from now on.”
The front door slammed and a moment later, a deep voice from behind Janie asked, “Morgan?”
She spun around. “Michael? What are you doing here?”
He looked momentarily confused and then his face became impassive. “I’m giving Sophie a ride to the car shop.”
“My car wouldn’t start yesterday afternoon when I was out on a call,” Sophie said to Morgan. “I had to have it towed.”
“You poor thing,” Morgan exclaimed. “How did you get home?”
“A man named Alan Caldwell was visiting my client. He dropped me off.”
“I really wish you had not trusted a stranger,” Michael said.
“Mr. Smith trusts him. I hardly think I was in any danger,” Sophie responded.
Morgan slanted a look between the two of them. Was Michael interested in this plain-looking woman who didn’t even wear make-up? He had better not be. She—Morgan—had been very patient in trying to get Michael into her bed. Most men only needed a “come hither” look and she could have their cocks pumping between her thighs and bringing her all sorts of delight. But, for some reason, Michael resisted her, which made him all the more intriguing. She wanted him mounting her, riding her hard, his muscular arms holding him over her while she played with his well-chiseled bare chest.
Sophie picked up her keys and stood. “I’m ready.”
Morgan forced a bright smile on her face as Michael opened the door for Sophie and followed her out. Now she had a reason for making Adam Baylor’s vendetta her own. Michael McCain was hers. And no woman was going to get in her way.
* * * *
“I’d feel better if you gave me your word you won’t take any more rides with Caldwell,” Michael said.
Sophie refrained from rolling her eyes. “So you’ve said about ten times since we picked up my car.” She plucked at a nacho chip from the plate they were sharing before she had to get back to the clinic.
“I don’t trust the guy,” Michael answered. “My friend, Sara, dealt with him. He took her to lunch and she got really sick, like she’d been drugged. Neither Lucas or I could prove anything, but—“
“And here I am, having lunch with you.” She waved another chip in front of him and smiled. “Am I safe?” A series of emotions crossed his face. She wasn’t sure she had even seen them. Oh God, what if he thought she was flirting? She was just trying to lighten the conversation.
“You will always be safe with me,” he finally said as a muscle twitched in his jaw. “I’ll protect you.”
Sophie stared at him. Why was he getting all serious like some medieval knight?
“Lighten up, will you? Alan drove me directly home and, since there was a group milling around outside, he walked me to my door and came inside for a minute.”
“He what? You didn’t mention that.”
“Maybe because I didn’t want another lecture? He wanted to see the rapier I use for fencing, that’s all. Why are acting like my father anyhow?”
Michael nearly choked on a chip and reached for his water. His dark eyes glinted at her. “Acting like your father was the last thing on my mind.”
Sophie felt her face heat at the possible innuendo. She was hardly having paternal thoughts about Michael either. It would be extremely difficult for any woman not to react to him. He was all male, his close-fitting t-shirt defining the sculpted muscles of his shoulders and chest and clinging to sleekly carved biceps. She would bet his flat belly had the required
six-pack of ridges in it. His muscular thighs in the tight jeans made her wonder if he rode horses. Not that she was looking at his thighs or at that bulge above them as he perched on the barstool next to her. Really, what woman wouldn’t notice? She swept her gaze to his face, but that didn’t help much. His mahogany hair rakishly brushed his collar and his dark eyes penetrated, as though he were looking into her very soul. Her face flamed and she silently cursed her fair complexion. Better to turn the tables.
“So how do you know Morgan?” she asked.
He took another sip of water and studied her. “She belongs to a group called Sisterhood Circle. They…study old goddess religions. Sometimes I join them.”
Sophie frowned. “Don’t tell me you are like those New-Age Druids who go to Stonehenge at the solstices? Dancing around in white robes?”
Michael smiled. He had two kinds of smiles, Sophie decided. This one showed a dimple that made him look angelic. The other one was all bad-boy and made her body want to do very lustful things.
“Too much tourism at Stonehenge these days,” he said easily. “Sometimes, I’m asked for advice, since I do have that almost useless degree.” He grinned suddenly—no dimple—and reached over to wipe a drop of salsa off Sophie’s chin with the pad of his thumb. “But you shouldn’t knock something until you’ve tried it, right?”
That was his wicked grin. She wondered if he knew that her nipples had just tightened with that slow brush of his thumb? He probably did since he was giving her a very perceptive look. Damn it. Better to change the subject. Fast.
“So, tell me about the riddle from the manuscript,” she said as briskly as she could. “It is how you coerced me into spending time on lunch.”
“You’ve got to eat to keep up your strength. Never know when you’re going to need it.” His grin widened. “Or for what.”
She hoped her face wouldn’t suddenly explode into flame; it felt so hot.
“The riddle?” she asked again.
Michael tossed several bills on the counter. “Let’s go outside to the car. I don’t want anyone to overhear us.”
Sitting in the intimately small space of his sports car, their knees practically touching, probably wasn’t the wisest choice she’d made. Her truck would have been better. Sophie took a deep breath, which was another mistake, since it brought that strange woodsy and heather scent she was beginning to really like directly to her, along with something else that was purely him. Pheromones in an enclosed space were not good.
Seemingly unaware of the increasing amount of hormones being produced at the moment, Michael handed her the poetic riddle.
She read it and frowned. “The firedrake is the dragon?”
“Seems to be,” Michael answered. “The Pendragon certainly has lit up the sky.”
“Who’s the knight in this?” She suddenly remembered the strange dream. “You?”
“Afraid not.” Michael gave her the angelic smile, not the lustfully wicked one. “Uther took on the surname of the Pendragon. Since we’re looking for Excalibur, I assume the knight would be none other than Arthur.”
Sophie studied him. He seemed perfectly serious. But were seriously delusional people serious? If they believed what they said to be true… “You’re telling me Arthur really existed and is not just the stuff of myth and legend?”
“To be sure, myths and legends have sprung up,” Michael replied, “thanks to Mallory, Tennyson, White, and others. But there has also been enough scholarly research done—hundreds of books, in fact—that points to Arthur being a great warlord in the sixth century and the one responsible for maintaining peace with the Saxons for nearly twenty years after the battle of Badon Hill.” He paused. “I think he was successful because he had at least two of the relics with him—the sword and the Grail.”
Sophie glanced down at the riddle again. “Okay. Let’s say I play along with this game for now. Supposedly some person—and it does say “he” and not “she”—who sees the dragon will find the sword at some lake. That’s a big help. Which state’s hundreds of lakes would you like to start with? How about Minnesota? There’s at least ten thousand lakes there, according to the tourist business.”
Michael shook his head. “The sword will be found in the south, not the north.”
“How do you know that? Divine intuition or something?”
“Not intuition—actually, more of a science of sorts. That should appeal to you.”
“It might,” Sophie answered. “Go on.”
“First of all, remember that these are Celtic relics, given to the world by the gods of the Fae. I know!” He held up his hand as she started to protest. “That part isn’t scientific, but just listen. Those ancient religions were based not only on Goddess-worship, but on harmony and respect for the laws of nature as well.” He took another folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “This is the first riddle.”
Sophie unfolded it and read:
“Where roses climb to heaven
Lugh’s lance will wait
Near to the Druid’s tree
Enter Dawn’s gate.”
She handed the paper back. “It doesn’t make any sense to me. Where was the spear found?”
“Near a graveyard in Lewiston, Maine, by the Cathedral of Saints Peter and Paul. Are you familiar with the Tarot?”
Sophie arched a brow. “Only as a fortune-telling game.”
“It’s much more than that,” Michael answered, no trace of a smile on his face. “But I’ll spare you the lecture. In a nutshell, the suit of Wands—or Lances—relates to the element of air, through which it flies. The suit is also symbolic of new beginnings—dawn, springtime, birthing. “Dawn’s gate” would refer to the east, where the sun rises.”
“That makes sense, I guess. But how did your friends know where to go?”
“They didn’t at first. They visited places along the east coast that could have been in existence around 1590 which is when we suspected the relics were removed from Scotland. The first place they went was Oak Island in Nova Scotia. Have you heard about the Money Pit?”
“No. It sounds like some casino in Vegas though.”
“Perhaps that isn’t a bad comparison,” Michael replied, “but no. Around 1800 three boys decided to go searching for buried treasure since ships wrecked off the Grand Banks all the time. They found a depression in the ground and started digging. Two feet down, they came upon a layer of carefully laid flagstones. They removed that and discovered an already-dug shaft. Ten feet more and they discovered a platform of oak logs. The wood was rotted from age and when they dug another ten feet, they came to a second platform...workers were brought in only to find more platforms at ten-foot intervals to a depth of ninety feet where they found another flagstone with a medieval inscription that translated to valuable treasure buried even further below, but now the tunnel started filling with water. Long story short, for the past two hundred years, syndicates have been trying to find what is buried there, but encounter one booby-trap after another.”
“Why would Sara and Lucas think the spear was there?” Sophie asked.
“The theory is that a secret society has existed for a thousand years entrusted not only with actual treasure like the relics, but also with ancient scrolls that contain esoteric knowledge crucial to saving—or destroying—the world. The St. Clair’s protected the Templars when they sought refuge in Scotland in 1307. Remember I told you the St. Clair’s discovered America in the late 1300’s and with the Inquisition two hundred years later, they decided to remove the Templar treasure?”
“So they took it to Nova Scotia? I don’t understand. I thought you said the spear was found in Maine.”
“It was. The whole building of the Money Pit was a ruse. There were enough hints of treasure—coded to be sure, but easy enough to decipher—to lead men astray. More importantly, such a ruse would divert Balor as well.”
“He seems to be hot on the right trail now.”
“True. Which makes our findin
g the sword before he does crucial. Fate protected the spear. Let’s hope she does the same for us.”
Sophie gave him a skeptical look. “I’m sure your friend used some kind of logic to know where to look next?”
“Yes, but only because circumstances were aligned to do so.”
“Huh?”
Michael smiled. “Sara and Lucus were at the historical center at Roanoke when a lady from Maine overheard them discussing the symbolism of rose windows perched as near to heaven as could be had in European cathedrals and asked if they’d like to see one here in the United States.” Michael paused. “Fate or Destiny, but I believe that woman was there for a reason. To get them to the cathedral in Maine.”
Sophie wondered again at Michael’s mental stability. This all sounded way too metaphysical and mystical to her. Could she really be so physically attracted to Michael if he were insane? Right now, she wanted nothing more than to slither—slither!—up against him in that small compact space and hush his words by kissing him senseless. That wide, full mouth of his would be so good for something other than talking. God, maybe she was the one not playing with a full deck anymore—Tarot or otherwise. She had sworn off men and here she was, practically oozing estrogen out of every pore.
“Then what happened?” she managed to ask.
“They arrived in the midst of a late nor’easter. Lightening cracked an ancient oak—the druid’s tree—and the spear was buried inside the trunk. Sara sounded so happy when she called with the news.” He shrugged. “Fate or Destiny? They were meant to find that spear before Adam Baylor did.”
Well, Michael certainly believed his tale. That much Sophie could tell. And the manuscript was real. She had seen and read it. And even if she wasn’t sure she believed this Adam Baylor had supernatural powers, if he was supporting terrorism, that was reason enough to look for this sword, especially if it did have some sort of polarizing energy force.
The Immortals II: Michael Page 6
