by Ann Gimpel
Aegir sprang forward, covering the distance to the dais in a few strides. “Cathbad? ’Tis been years, but it must be you. No one else carries that war axe and broadsword.”
The man nodded. “Aye, it’s me, and I shall officiate at your wedding today. Tarika, one of the younger Druids, and I all have roles to play. First, though, ye must hear something from me.”
Aegir gathered himself, unsure what the ancient Druidic seer would want with him.
Cathbad faced him squarely and draped a spell around them to shield his words. “Ye gave my grandson a solid beginning. Ye loved him, nurtured him. Doona harbor ill will toward my son. He had no choice but to ease Jonathan’s way by ensuring he doesna remember Arianrhod. He will recall her when the time is right, but that willna occur for many decades.”
Cathbad gripped Aegir’s arm. “Also, doona think badly of Arianrhod. Ye’ve no idea what she has suffered for her choices. I am who told her she must keep Jonathan when he was little more than a thought within her body.” He paused, perhaps for emphasis, before going on. “’Twas a difficult, nay an impossible, path laid at her feet, yet she rose to it with grace and her usual unbending will. Ye should respect her.”
The seer’s words held both sadness and conviction. Aegir nodded his understanding. “Will I see Jonathan again?” The words ripped from a place deep within him that hadn’t yet healed.
Cathbad smiled, the expression out of place on his craggy face. “Aye. Ye will meet him again once he is grown. He will turn out to be a man we can all be proud of—a man on whom the fate of the world rests—and your part in that willna be forgotten.”
Aegir opened his mouth to ask more, but Cathbad shook his head. “’Tis all I shall reveal, and I’d not have said as much as I did if I dinna ken your pain.” A wave of his hand undid his privacy spell. “Turn around. Your bride is about to walk to you. She is lovely.”
Aegir turned away from Cathbad. While they’d talked, the chamber had filled with dragons and their guests. Krise and Raene stood at the upper end of the chamber. Tarika and a Druid hurried down the aisle and took up spots on either side of Cathbad.
Druids had always joined Selkies in marriage. To have one at his wedding here in Fire Mountain touched Aegir. He and Raene had been honored in so many ways today. Their wedding would become part of Selkie lore, told and retold to generations of young Selkies. He wondered idly if dragon younglings would hear about the Selkie wedding held on Fire Mountain. It seemed remote, but he hoped so.
As if drawn by his thoughts about young dragons, a small, golden dragon pattered down the aisle clutching a cushion with two shiny golden rings balanced atop it. Each was set with two stones, a blood-red ruby and a deep-blue sapphire.
“Not yet.” Uroborus made a move to snag Glaedr, but Aegir waved him back and trotted toward the dragon who’d been conscripted as ring-bearer. He might be young, but he was of a height with Aegir.
“I am so grateful ye’ve recovered,” Aegir told him. “Your abduction was a stain on Selkie honor.”
The youngling aimed its whirling eyes right at Aegir. “’Twas my own fault.” His voice was high, musical. “Had I not modeled myself after Uroborus, fancied myself a great explorer, I’d never have been captured.”
“Enough!” Tarika clapped her taloned forelegs together. “We have a wedding to perform. Doona lose sight of those rings,” she warned Glaedr.
He bobbed his head. “I shall guard them with fire and life.”
“No dragon could ask for more.” Tarika might have been smiling.
Music swelled from off to one side. Three dragons played instruments. A lute, a lyre, and a harp from the looks of them.
Krise started down the aisle with Raene by his side. His da looked proud, and Raene was glowing with happiness.
As she joined him, tucking her hand beneath his arm, his heart cracked wide open, bursting with love for the woman by his side. He turned them to face the three who would marry them and let the words of the ancient bonding ceremony wash over and through him, searing his soul.
Magical marriages were forever, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. After the ring ceremony came the part at the end when their blood mingled. Instead of flowing into pale linen, Tarika sealed their wounds with her tongue.
“Ye’ve been blessed by dragon essence,” she told them. “Ye will be together forever more, through this life and all lives to come. I, Tarika, First Born of Dragons, have spoken.”
The music, which had grown softer, swelled to fullness once more. Cheers and hoots and dragon bugling filled the cavern in a joyous cacophony of sound. He looked straight at Cathbad. “Thank you for what ye told me.”
“Ye’re welcome. Now take your bride to the chamber next door. The dragons have made dinner for you, and I’m hungry. Takes a lot of magic to travel through time. I need sustenance afore I can return.”
“Fooooddddd,” Glaedr crowed and raced up the aisle and out the door.
Tarika laughed indulgently. “Go ahead, you two. Kiss so we all can eat. If we doona hurry, Glaedr will have eaten the plates down to bedrock.”
Aegir didn’t need encouragement. He took his bride, the woman he was bound to throughout time, and lowered his mouth to hers.
You’ve reached the end of Dragon Fury, a spinoff from my Dragon Lore series. I do hope you’ve enjoyed it. There are four more books in the Dragon Lore series. They can all be read as stand-alones, but they’re better read in order.
Curious about how Angus and Arianrhod met and fell in love? Read Highland Secrets. Fascinated by dragon shifters? Take a peek at To Love a Highland Dragon, a story chockfull of Witches and time travel. Do you want to know more about Jonathan after he’s grown up? Take a look at Dragon Maid and Dragon’s Dare. You’ll meet Britta again, the woman Jonathan falls in love with. Her mouthy blood-red dragon, Tarika, is part of all these stories too, as is Cathbad, immortal Druidic Seer.
Keep on reading for a sample of Highland Secrets. But before you do that, please leave a review for Dragon Fury. It only takes a moment. Doesn’t have to be fancy, but reviews mean so much to authors. Be sure to let other readers know what you loved about this book.
About the Author
Ann Gimpel is a USA Today bestselling author. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in many webzines and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from urban fantasy to paranormal romance. Once upon a time, she nurtured clients. Now she nurtures dark, gritty fantasy stories that push hard against reality. When she’s not writing, she’s in the backcountry getting down and dirty with her camera. She’s published over 70 books to date, with several more planned for 2019 and beyond. A husband, grown children, grandchildren, and wolf hybrids round out her family.
Keep up with her at www.anngimpel.com or http://anngimpel.blogspot.com
If you enjoyed what you read, get in line for special offers and pre-release special reads. Newsletter Signup!
Highland Secrets, Chapter One
Angus Shea stroked beneath icy waters off the northern tip of Ireland, blending his energy with a pod of Selkies. The sea creatures cut through choppy waves in front, behind, and above him. He’d rather dive and play in the deeps with them—and if it were any other day, he would have—but he needed to keep an eye on the skies, so he edged toward the surface, pushing his head free.
Celene, a coal-black Selkie he’d done more than swim with, edged close enough her lush pelt stroked his skin. He draped an arm around her, and she nuzzled his neck with her snout.
“Where have you been?” She spoke deep into his mind. Accommodating vocal chords were part of her human form, not her seal, and he’d never learned the Selkies’ lyrical language.
“I spent a little time at my home in Scotland, but mostly I’ve ranged far from the Irish Sea.”
“That tells me less than nothing.” She nipped playfully at his shoulder with her squared-off teeth.
“Pryi
ng ears are everywhere.” He leaned into her warmth, enjoying a respite from the cold water.
“We could go where no one would hear.”
He was tempted, so tempted he toyed with saying yes and taking a break from watching for the dragon he expected. Dragons interpreted time in their own way, and the damned thing might not show up today or tomorrow or even this week. If it showed at all.
How much could he tell the Selkie?
An answer crowded on the heels of his question.
Nothing.
Angus shuttered his mind, so the creature swimming by his side couldn’t read it. Much as he yearned to talk with someone, anyone, about the impossibilities the gods tasked him with, prudence won out. Not that this assignment was worse than any of the others, but he’d finally figured out they’d never end.
I could say no. Tell them I’m done.
He cut off the bitter laugh that wanted out. Whoever had the balls to refuse the Celts risked swift and certain punishment. He could hear Gwydion, master enchanter, or Ceridwen, goddess of the world, laughing their heads off—before they cut out his tongue or killed him on the spot.
“You don’t have to say a word.” Celene went on, almost as if she’d peeked into his thoughts before he took care to protect them. Selkie laughter buffeted him, spraying him with a warm, rich melody mixed with salty water. “I have to admit I’m curious, but I miss your body.”
He missed hers too. She’d been his only break from solitude for more years than he wanted to admit. He cast another glance skyward. Though he tried to be subtle, he heard a smug murmur near his ear and knew he hadn’t fooled the Selkie.
“You wait for an Ancient One.” The tenor of her mind speech shifted as she shielded it from nearby Selkies. Without stopping for him to corroborate, she forged ahead. “We can take up the banner and watch for you. My kin will let us know.”
Angus picked his way carefully, as if he walked through a field of unexploded ordnance. “I appreciate the thought, but no one can know of my comings or goings, lass.”
“We know more than you think.” Celene batted him with a flipper. “In truth, very little escapes us, but here isn’t the place to share what I heard about your latest mission.”
Concern rippled through him. If the Selkies knew, who else might? Hell, he didn’t know much beyond his assigned meeting place with the dragon, and that they’d be heading into danger.
What else was new? Danger was so second nature, his adrenaline pumps barely flinched at anything these days.
“Come with me.” Either Celene was oblivious to the turmoil rumbling through him, or she ignored it. She swam from beneath his arm and herded him toward shore. “There’s a secluded glade deep in marsh grass. No one will find us, and my kin will keep watch for the dragon. I already asked.”
The Selkies would do their best—and maybe today it would be enough—but they were no match for evil that had sunk its roots deep into the fabric of the Old Country and the rest of this world. It was why the gods stooped to using him—half-mortal, half-divine, or whatever the hell he was—to do their dirty work. Arawn, god of the dead, revenge, and terror, caught him skulking in the time-travel tunnels when he wasn’t much more than a boy and trapped him, cutting off any possibility of return. To make certain Angus remained, the god altered his memories, so he had no idea where he came from.
Now almost twenty-five years later, Arawn and the others still came up with enough for him to do that a life to call his own was out of the question. The carrot they dangled was the truth about his birth, but they never came close to telling him. The stick was his fear of what they’d do, if he told them he was done.
Over time, he’d stopped asking about his origins. He cared, but it wasn’t worth the energy to run up against their stony faces and cunningly-crafted half-truths that told him exactly nothing. Despite his reservations about a quick dalliance with Celene—and maybe missing his rendezvous with the dragon—he was sick of his self-imposed isolation.
She chivied him into shallow water. Once she was certain he’d follow, she drew ahead easily. As if the other Selkies understood, the pod dispersed. When he peered through gray-green water for their multi-colored pelts, they weren’t there.
By the time he clambered onto the rocky shore, Celene had shucked her skin. In human form, she opened her arms to welcome him. Long black hair shrouded her almost to her feet. Violet eyes gleamed in welcome. Her generous breasts peeked through the curtain of hair, their copper-colored nipples already pebbled with wanting him.
Angus had tucked his clothes beneath a rock before joining the Selkie pod. Because he swam nude, no clothes were in the way as he plunged into Celene’s offered embrace. God, how he’d missed the touch of another against him, skin to skin. Celene’s body felt warm against his chilled one. She closed her arms around him and ran her hands down his back, lingering over the curve of his butt.
He hugged her in return. The scent of her, salt and mint, flooded his mind with images of their lovemaking, and his cock hardened between their bodies. He trailed his fingertips down her smooth skin, marveling at how different she felt from a human woman. Velvety and charged with electricity. Some Selkies walked among humans, even took permanent partners. Angus didn’t understand how they eluded discovery.
Celene closed her mouth over the junction between his neck and shoulder, licking, sucking, biting. He moved a hand from her back to cup the side of her face and lowered his lips over hers. The moment he touched her, desire engulfed him. Hot, urgent, desperate, he sank his tongue into her waiting mouth.
She grappled with his ass, pulling his body hard against hers as her hips writhed and breath hitched in her throat. Tearing her mouth from his, she gasped. “Too long. It’s been too long.”
Liquid heat trailed the path of her mouth as she licked her way down his chest, stopping to tease his nipples. He kissed the top of her head and wove his fingers into her long hair. Every nerve came alive with wanting her, but it ran deeper than that. Touch was such a basic need, and he’d denied that essential part of his humanity—along with every other comfort.
For what?
No matter how much he gave the Celts, they took every shred—and him—for granted. He wanted to get a job, blend in with humans. Something mundane like driving a cab, or flipping burgers in a grill, but his requests were denied. The Celts provided for him. So long as they housed and fed him, why would he need to clutter his time with anything as humdrum as earning a living? What if they needed him, and he was in the middle of washing dishes in some nameless restaurant? He could almost hear Gwydion’s voice. See the master enchanter with a long-suffering look on his face—
He wiped his Celtic masters from his mind. This time was for him and Celene. No one else belonged in his head. Just because he’d chosen a semimonastic existence was no reason he couldn’t give her everything she needed. Months had passed since they’d last been together, maybe as much as a year. He moved back enough to fill his hands with her breasts, rubbing her erect nipples before he bent to suck on them, remembering the little biting motions she loved.
A low guttural moan escaped her, and she threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him against her breasts. She began to sing as he loved her. A series of low, sweet notes rose in cadence and intensity as she lost herself in his touch. He’d asked her about the music once, and she told him it was how sea people vocalized their joy. The music filled him with unbearable hunger, poignant, mind-bending need for another person’s touch.
Although he’d never done it before, he raised his voice and joined her song. The change was instantaneous. In that moment, he sensed her loneliness and isolation, twin to his own, and he knew both of them needed more kisses, more touches—even more than they needed sex.
“Lay on your belly.” His voice rasped with wanting her. He tore tufts of marsh grass and arranged them to make her a bed on a sandy stretch between rocks.
She lay down, continuing to sing. Angus sang too, as he straddled her and ra
n his hands down her back rubbing tension from her muscles. He followed his hands with his mouth and strung kisses across her shoulder blades and down the line of vertebrae from her neck to the curves of her ass. Between their song, the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips, and his cock getting stiffer by the moment, waiting became almost painful, yet he held back, not quite sure why.
The rhythm and cadence of her song shifted as he alternated his mouth and hands across the sculpted planes of her back. The intense pressure in his balls receded almost as if he’d reached a peak, though he hadn’t come. Maybe she sensed his need for warmth, contact, much as he’d sensed hers.
“Move off me so I can look at you.” Celene flipped over to face him, kneeling above her. Rose and gold splotched her pale skin, and a broad smile split her exotic, high-cheek-boned face. “Today was different. You sang with me. You’ve never done that before.”
He shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “It felt right. Even though I wasn’t inside you, what happened between us felt right.”
She cocked her head to one side and trained her gaze on him. “Are you sure you don’t have sea blood?”
A flicker of annoyance at the Celts’ staunch refusal to disclose anything about his birth narrowed his eyes. “I have no idea what I am.” He ticked what he did know off on his fingers. “I’m not immortal, but I’ll live a thousand years. My magic is closer to seer and witch than anything else, yet I’m neither of those. The covens acknowledge me as one of their own, but only because the local witches are too kind to tell me to go away. The time-travel portals accept me.” He shrugged again. “I don’t suppose knowing more would make a hell of a lot of difference.”
“You’re not from Scotland, even though you live there.” She stated it baldly, as fact.
He frowned. “Why would you say that?”
“Your speech. There’s something about the lilt of Scotland that’s impossible to rid yourself of. You don’t sound Irish or British, either, at least not from the time we live in.” Her nostrils flared. “Maybe that’s it.”
