Celtic Dragons

by Dee Bridgnorth

  “Fine,” Kean said, though his expression was dark as he handed Ronan a spare pair of jeans. “I can’t believe that’s Liam in there. What the hell happened to him? How could he do this?”

  “He’s confused,” Ronan said, putting it politely. He tugged the jeans on one leg at a time, buttoning them loosely around his waist. His chest remained bare, but he didn’t care about that. The last thing he was worried about right now was modesty, and besides, he had plenty to show off and didn’t mind doing it. “He thinks he’s in the right. The only reason that I haven’t taken him out yet is because he’s Moira’s dad.”

  Moira appeared behind Kean, exiting Ronan’s office. Her arms were crossed over her chest, hugging her close. “You can’t grant him a pass just because he’s my dad.”

  “I can and I will,” Ronan told her. “I’m giving him one more chance.”

  “You’ve given him several already.”

  Ronan pinned her with a look. “You’re my family, which means he is too. I’ll deal with him if I have to, Moira. I promise you that. I’m not risking all of us just for him. But I just humiliated him in there, and I’ll do it again. I’ll do it far worse next time. But he gets five minutes.”

  “Three now,” Kean said.

  “Three,” Ronan agreed, reaching up to rub the back of his neck as he slowly rolled his shoulders. Transitioning was so painful for him now, and it lingered in his muscles, making him ache all over. It served as a constant reminder to him that he needed to find out how Josiah Webb played into all of this. How was he connected to the LA group? Was he acting on Abigail’s behalf, and if so, what was her end game?

  What if Liam refused to talk and Ronan had to incapacitate him? What were they going to do next?

  “Ronan?”

  He looked up sharply as he heard Natasha’s tremulous voice not far from him. The moment he saw her face, he knew something was terribly wrong, and he walked over to her, taking her in his arms. “What happened?” he demanded. “What’s wrong?” She was shaking as he held her, and he wrapped his arms around her, trying to make her feel safe again. “Natasha, tell me. What happened?”

  “I saw him,” Natasha whispered, clinging to him. “I saw a ghost.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Natasha

  “It was Josiah,” Natasha said, sitting down with Ronan in his office, his hand wrapped around her fingers, holding tightly. “He told me that it was either you or me. If I keep healing you, then he’s going to come after me. So either I can live or you can live.”

  Ronan’s face twisted into a mask of fury, the veins in his forehead bulging out. “He threatened you?”

  Natasha nodded. “Yes. He said it’s you or me. One of us is going to die. But, Ronan, he can’t hurt me. Whatever curse he puts on me—my body is just going to keep healing itself.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Ronan asked, a dark, frustrated edge to his voice. “You have to be entirely sure, Natasha. Otherwise, I’m getting you out of here on the next flight—I don’t care where to.”

  That definitely wasn’t going to happen. Natasha got up, walking over to his desk and fishing around until she found a letter opener. She grabbed the silver instrument and walked back over to him, holding out the palm of her hand for him to see as she sliced the letter opener over it. Bright red blood seeped out instantly, but then just seconds later, the wound began to close up, knitting itself back together perfectly and leaving no evidence of the wound, except for the dried blood on her skin. “I’m sure,” she said, looking down into his eyes. “See?”

  He took her hand, his thumb stroking over the center. “Yes. I’m not saying you have to go, but I don’t want you healing me any further, Natasha. The last thing I want is for you to become a target. I can’t take that. I will never let someone hurt you again, and even if you can’t die under most circumstances, that doesn’t mean you can’t die at all.” He gestured to her neck. “What if he suffocated you, Natasha? That night we fell into the ocean, you couldn’t breathe any more than I could, and your body couldn’t heal itself from a lack of oxygen, right?”

  She had to admit that he was right, although she didn’t want to. “Technically, yes. But Ronan—that’s my whole purpose in being here. To keep you well. I won’t stop doing that. The reason he wants me to is because, without me, you’d be far, far worse by now. They want to weaken you so that you can’t fight against whatever they have planned next.”

  Standing up, he took her chin in his fingers and made her look into his eyes. “Your purpose in being here is to be with me. I need you with me more than I need to be healed. I’ll compromise with you, Natasha. If something extreme is happening, then heal me. If I just need a pick me up, I don’t want you doing that for right now.” His eyes grew soft with emotion, and he hugged her close. “I love you too much to risk your life just so that I can be comfortable.”

  Natasha held him close to her, her heart swelling with love for her brave, selfless, brilliant man. “I love you,” she whispered back. “Only in extreme circumstances. Okay.”

  He kissed her gratefully, then looked around the room. “Where did you see him?”

  “There,” she said, pointing. “By the window. He was almost like a shadow. He appeared the moment that Moira left the room, like he was watching. Waiting. I don’t know if his words were out loud or in my head, but I knew that it was him …somehow.”

  “Fuck you!” Ronan shouted out to the air, startling Natasha. “You hear me, Josiah? Fuck you and everyone working with you. You’re going to get your own, trust me.”

  Natasha’s nerves faded slightly. Seeing a ghost materialize was a new experience for her, and she hadn’t enjoyed it in the slightest. She didn’t take his threat to kill her too seriously because if Matthew hadn’t been able to kill her, she didn’t put a lot of stock in Josiah Webb being able to accomplish it. Matthew had beaten her into a pulp, and she was still standing. But seeing a dead man appear in the room certainly had gotten under her skin and left a chill there that only Ronan could ease with his fierce confidence and protective nature.

  “What happened with Liam?” she asked, wanting to think about anything but the possibility of Josiah reappearing. “I heard so much noise—we were worried.”

  “He’s not cooperating,” Ronan said grimly. “He definitely called the LA branch here, and Michael isn’t here to negotiate. I can tell you that much. I don’t think Liam is going to give us the information we need, which is why I’m glad that Charlotte is still on her way.”

  Natasha nodded. “She should be here any minute.”

  “Are you all right?” Ronan asked, scanning her face carefully. “I want you with someone at all times. But how are your nerves?”

  “I’m fine,” she promised, and it was mostly true. “Completely fine. Go. Work. Be a leader.”

  He kissed her hard. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” she murmured, and then he was hurrying away, no doubt to go back to Liam’s room for one more chance at creating cooperation before all hell had to break loose.

  Natasha sat down, glancing around the room. Her eyes quickly landed on Josiah’s intangible form, which had been appearing to her off and on during her conversation with Ronan. She stared at him, and he stared right back at her, an evil smirk on his face. Then he bugged his eyes out at her and his skin became mottled with bruises and blood.

  It took her immediately back to that night with Matthew, when he had beaten her to death and her body had healed itself just as she was slipping away into the afterlife. She shuddered and turned away, her heart pounding much too hard as Josiah’s evil laugh rang in her ears.

  His message was clear. She was now a target. And there was no doubt that he would discover her weaknesses. A curse might not work on her, but there were things that would, and Josiah wouldn’t hesitate to use them—she was sure of that.

  She was also sure that she wasn’t walking away from Ronan. Not him, not his situation, and not his health.

 
“You can’t scare me,” Natasha told Josiah, forcing herself to look back at the man, her eyes narrowed and hard. She was quite scared, but she would never, ever let him see that on her. “You’re nothing. You’re dead.”

  All Josiah did was laugh.

  It was an eerie, soul-stealing sound, and Natasha had to hold back her disgust. Then, down the hall, she heard Charlotte’s voice and relief washed over her. Her friend had arrived and she wouldn’t be alone anymore. If there was anyone who could handle a dead stalker, it was definitely Charlotte.

  Natasha gave Josiah the middle finger as she stalked out of the room. “Screw you,” she told him, opening the office door. “You can’t hurt me.”

  His laughter followed her down the hall.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Ronan

  “You know what I have to do.”

  Moira nodded, her eyes red from crying and Grady standing beside her, holding her hand tightly. “I know.”

  “It brings me no pleasure,” Ronan told his dear friend, his own throat catching at the sight of her sorrow. “You need to know that.”

  “I do,” Moira promised him, nodding. “I know. Ronan, my trust and loyalty has always been with you. I know you’ll do the right thing.”

  Grady slipped his arm around her, kissing her head. “I’m sorry, baby.”

  “It’s nobody’s fault but his,” Moira whispered, leaning into the man she loved. “He brought this on himself. He’s betrayed us and started a clan war. He deserves what he gets, even if he is my father.”

  Ronan wanted to hug her, but he knew that Grady was the best person to be with her in that moment. Grady was a good man, who loved Moira beyond reason. The way that Ronan felt about Natasha.

  “I’m sorry,” Ronan told Moira again, wishing he could say more. “You do know that, don’t you?

  “I know.”

  Talking about it any further was only going to be torture for Moira, so he touched her hand briefly, then walked out of her office and back down to the room where Liam was waiting, still pacing in his dragon form, refusing to shift so that he could talk to anyone, and blowing fire at anyone who came near him.

  Ronan strode into the room with all of his confidence and determination radiating from him, his broad, muscled chest still bare, demonstrating his physical power over Liam.

  “You’ve made a terrible mistake,” Ronan told the gray dragon, his feet spread wide and his hands on his hips. “You’ve denounced your clan, and you’ve betrayed us. You’ve brought people here who want to harm us. You’re a threat—and my job is to eliminate threats. For Moira’s sake, I’m not going to have you killed. I wouldn’t do that to her, even though she would understand. But I am going to do this.”

  Ronan pulled a knife out of the back of his pocket and advanced on Liam, watching the understanding dawn over the dragon’s face. Liam began to rear backward, to fight Ronan off, but Kean, Eamon, and Siobhan all walked into the room, having been waiting for this exact moment.

  Slowly, they surrounded the dragon, knowing that Liam understood that, at any point, one of them could shift into their own dragon form and completely overpower him. All he could do was spit fire, and he did. The fire burned hot against Ronan’s skin, but he was quicker than Liam and was able to dart the fire even if he could do nothing about the fact that they latched onto the broken shards of the table and chairs that were still in the room. Fire burned all around them, but Ronan didn’t give the order for them to stop, and he and his friends continued to surround Liam.

  Wings lashed out at them, and Ronan ducked, then grabbed one wing, hanging on tightly as he wrestled with Liam. The knife flashed, then sliced through the webbing on the left wing, leaving a gap between the spines that gave the wing structure and power.

  Liam roared in pain and reared back, kicking Eamon to the ground and flinging Siobhan up against the wall.

  Ronan sliced through another section of webbing, and Liam went into full panic mode, thrashing around, sending all of them flying in different directions as he flailed and fought. The pain of the blows that Liam dealt rocketed through Ronan’s already-abused body, but he didn’t stop coming back for more, returning each time to slice through another section of webbing on Liam’s wings.

  He was incapacitating the dragon.

  It was the worst possible thing that could happen to a dragon—to have its wings clipped. Without wings, a dragon was a large, rather cumbersome figure with limited power. Dragons were not fast runners, almost like crocodiles with their inability to make tight, fast turns that were necessary in a fight. If someone clipped Ronan’s wings, he would still have his brute strength and power, but because Liam was so much older, he no longer had that natural strength.

  Without his wings, he was nothing. And he knew it.

  Liam roared, sending another cloud of fire at them as his wings began to shrivel up on themselves. It was his last-ditch effort to fight back, but it was a useless one. Siobhan slipped from the room to bring the hose in from the back, which would quickly take care of the blazes that were licking at the walls and the scraps of wood. The three men stayed, the flames crackling in the air and the heat growing more oppressive. But for Ronan, at least, it was almost a gesture of respect. The dragon that was roaring and flailing, furious and in pain, had once been his father’s companion and friend. Had once been an uncle to him. Had once been a dedicated member of the Dragon Clan.

  That version of the man was gone, but Ronan still remembered him, and it was that man who Ronan would stay with until the pain and anger and fear had faded into bitter acceptance of his new reality.

  Liam Brennan would never fly again, and he would never be the same man he’d once been. Ronan felt responsibility for that, even if the man had made the choice himself.

  The hose that Siobhan pulled in from the back of the building blasted the room with water, wiping out the heat from the fire. Liam transitioned out of his ruined dragon form, huddling in the corner, naked and cold but with anger still burning out of his eyes. Even in his new condition, no humility or regret showed in his face, and it was clear that he considered himself to be a martyr to his cause. He blamed Ronan utterly and entirely for what had just happened, and Ronan stared back at him, willing the man to see that he did have regret, even if he knew he’d made the right choice.

  “There was nothing you could do,” Kean told him quietly. “The reason you’re our leader is because you know how to make these hard decisions. We’re all backing you.”

  Ronan looked at him gratefully. “I know. And it’s the only reason I can do it. Now I want us to move forward. We know that Liam brought Michael here to take us down. We’re not going to let that happen. Charlotte is going to help me find them, and while I do that—I want you and Siobhan getting us ready to fight. We’ve never gone up against our own before, and I don’t know what lies ahead. Be ready for anything.”

  Kean nodded, clapping Ronan’s shoulder. “Count on it.”

  “Trust me. I do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Abigail

  “We got picked up,” Michael said, tossing the newspaper down in front of Abigail with a flourish of his wrist. “Dragon sighting. That’s us.”

  Abigail put down her glass of wine and picked up the paper, scanning the content briefly. “Yeah, and?” she asked, reaching behind her to unpin her strawberry-blonde hair from its updo and let it fall now that they were safely in their hotel room. It might only be midafternoon, but a drink and comfortable clothes were definitely in order now.

  “And that was our goal.”

  “And we met it,” Abigail agreed, standing up and walking over to her suitcase. She pulled a pair of sweatpants out, followed by a T-shirt. Without any concern for the fact that Michael was there, she began to undress and get into her sweats. She and Michael were both members of the LA Dragon Clan branch, which meant they had grown up together, learned how to transition together, and had seen each other naked too many times to count as they worked throu
gh the transition process. Their bodies were of no interest to each other anymore.

  She glanced back at Michael, who was frowning at her.

  “What?” Abigail said, pulling on her T-shirt and turning to face him, her hands on her hips. “Am I not being excited enough for you? You know how I am, Michael. Excitement isn’t really my thing. I’m glad the plan is working, but mainly—I’m still pissed that there has to be a plan at all. You know how hard I had to work and how much ass I had to kiss in order to be chosen, in my teens, as the woman who would end up with Ronan Connelly. Everyone knows that the Boston Dragon Clan branch is the be-all-end-all of the future of the clan. Whoever marries him is going to be it. She’s going to be the leader going forward, and her children will be set for life. So I worked hard, and I got the job, and then you get a call from that guy saying that Ronan is jumping ship completely and all my work was for nothing and my future is in the toilet. That’s my reality, and you want me to get excited because we got picked up in the paper.”

  Michael groaned, flopping down on the bed. “You’re such a killjoy, Abigail.”

  “I’m a practical, driven woman,” she corrected him, walking to the bed to stand over him, her arms crossed over her chest. “And you value that in me. God knows how you became leader of our generation, given how …passive you are.”

  “I’m not passive.”

  “Yes, you are,” Abigail insisted, turning away from him and walking over to the mirror to inspect herself. Strawberry-blonde waves tumbled down her back, the waves created from the intricate updo she had slept in the night before. Wide, blue eyes stared back at her, looking deceptively innocent and unassuming, and perky, curved, full lips were quick to form a charming smile when she needed them to—like when she had convinced Josiah Webb that he was in love with her and would protect her interests at any cost to himself. She looked the part of the pretty, eager wife she was supposed to be, and it was her secret that she was anything but.