“Only fools believe in dragons and fairies and leftover magic found in cromlechs and cairns.” His black gaze warned her not to disagree.
Had she been sweet and tractable, she’d have never made it to the island in the first place. “How many men dress in kilts and live alone on a deserted bit of rock?”
“Those who prize their privacy.”
“I sank my knife up to its hilt in you.”
“Look where it bloody got you!” He no longer denied it. His hand closed around her wrist. “I heal quick, a gift from my grandfather.”
Lovely. She wished she could blame her current psychosis on a relative. “So what are you going to do with me?”
“Do with you? I think I’ll take a bit of flesh as payment and then send you on your way.”
“Payment? For what?”
“Letting you live.”
She snorted. “Listen, mister. If you try to kick me off my island, I’ll have you hunted down and displayed in a zoo.”
His eyes narrowed, grip tightening.
Ah, perhaps that wasn’t the wisest threat to make.
Chapter Two
How dare she threaten him! He one-upped her stupidity, bent her over his arm, and crushed his lips to hers. Just a taste, he told himself, but he knew it was sheer folly to think so. It’d been far too long since he’d partaken of this particular feast. One taste wouldn’t be enough to sate the lust warming his blood. Even dragons had needs.
His blood stirred, along with other body parts he’d long neglected. She put her free hand on his bare chest. He swore sparks jumped from her flesh to his. His heart lurched. He’d been wrong about one thing. She might smell human, but she tasted of magic. Whatever ancestor had blessed or cursed her with his name had left a wee bit of something else behind.
Its mystery added to his arousal.
Her lips fought his, though her moan vibrated through his bones. He straightened them both, his hand sliding to cup her breast through the rough wool. Her nipple spiked the fabric, seeking solace in his palm.
He pressed her back to the stone wall, imprisoning her hips with his. It freed his hands to explore. When he’d undressed her unconscious body, the caramel skin had beckoned to him, but without the fiery spirit animating it, he’d found it lacking. Like staring at a print of a famous work of art, rather than the master’s actual brushstrokes. Beautiful but uninspiring.
Her struggles, her bright angry eyes warring with her squirming body, were invigorating.
He teased her nipples, wringing another moan from her throat. Her hands clutched the wool. He wanted to feel them on his skin. He tore away the blanket. She reached for the discarded fabric, and he kissed the length of her outstretched arm, relishing her womanly scent. Her arm dropped, abruptly boneless.
He kissed her lips, not as rough this time, savoring the heart-shaped dip in her coral skin, tasting the balm she’d protected them with. Her lips parted and his tongue delved inside. His tongue rolled in her flavor, claiming her mouth.
She roused, her hands remembering they were in the midst of a battle. Those soft feminine hands stroked his thighs, her fingers curling in on themselves, so that her knuckles skated up and down his muscles, as if she fought the urge to investigate.
He held no such qualms. Her magic beckoned. Like a siren-bewitched sailor, he couldn’t turn away. Lowering his head to her breast, he nuzzled her excited nipple with his nose. Her dark areola contracted, the puckered skin creating a maze of sensitive skin to trace with teeth and tongue. Tasting turned to suckling. She gasped. Fingers twined through his hair, cradling him to her breast.
The air sparkled around them, his power calling to hers. Hers spat like a frightened kitten, igniting dust motes and showering the floor with sparks. Good thing he kept a spare bucket of water beside the fireplace.
A thought stopped him. Had she come here to seduce him? He raised his head to stare into her face, the question burning in his throat. Damnations, he’d been blinded by his lust. He deserved a blade between the ribs.
His curses died unvoiced.
Her eyes were wide and unfocused, dreamy. What flickered in their depths didn’t quite belong to the woman he’d rescued from the shoreline. This was an older, cannier version of Ellen Kildonan, her soul’s ember watching him watch her and enjoying the alarm that came with his sudden burst of recognition. That wisp of soul never died, only drifted from body to body, life to life, animating what it could. Freud’s id be damned. The truth of what could share the same space with a conscious mind and yet remain hidden would drive a sane person insane.
He didn’t think humans possessed enough passion to keep a soul ember burning. Dragons, fairies, nymphs, kelpies, trolls and other manners of creatures, yes. Their very existence, their souls, were fueled by magic. Humans tended toward the melodramatic. Their lives flared and died, like a match head touched to an oil-soaked cotton ball. Ashes were poor fodder for a soul ember.
He shrugged. Well, he already knew his bold little trespasser wasn’t entirely human. So she’d had past lives. As long as they didn’t impinge upon what he intended to take, he could live with them.
Seemed a shame, though, to take one unaware. It lessened his pleasure a little, but not his aching need.
He wondered if they’d met before, in another life, maybe even another world. That would explain the ease with which he abandoned his natural caution.
“Hello there. I’m Robert Dunyveg,” he said formally.
“So you’ve said,” she murmured.
Outside, the storm howled, wind battering the shutters. Within the hearth, the flames danced, kindled by the magic in the air, the wood long since consumed. Red flames morphed to blue and green. Their shadows danced, merging on the wall. Lightning spilled through the shutters’ cracks.
“Have we met before?”
“You’re a young soul. I think we’d have both remembered that, dragon man.”
“I do not wish to tread where I am unwelcome.”
Her laughter spilled out, sending shivers through him. “Too late. You’re on my isle.”
“Nay, it’s my isle and has always been so. If you desire it so badly, you’ll need to convince me to leave.”
“That can be arranged.” She touched her fingertips to his chest. Now he was certain he felt sparks. His blood frothed in his veins, threatening to cook him from the inside out.
He didn’t move. The cold core of his soul spilled out like a geyser, drenching her fire. Never had he felt his body so throbbingly alive. He threw his head back and laughed, delighted at the novelty she presented. Alarmed, she took a step backward.
Seizing her wrists, he prevented her escape. “My turn.”
His lips and tongue glided over her skin, sliding between her breasts to rest in the hollow of her throat. Her pulse fluttered there, like a wild creature fighting its bonds. He pressed his lips to it, so delicate and yet so strong.
Her hands uncurled, like a butterfly unfurling its wings for the first time. Her freed fingers slithered beneath the folds of his kilt, skimming across his pulsing cock.
Her eyes flicked open, rolling white, sprinkled with surprise, desire and fear. The Ellen of here and now reemerged. “What are you? What have you done to me?”
He kissed away her questions, inhaling her breath, making it his own and returning it to her. Lightning fractured the sky, skittering across the wall like unearthly tendrils of growth.
Picking her up, he carried her to his bed. Once kings had lain here, or so he’d been told. Rulers sired. Dynasties established. Alliances forged. He’d taken little interest in humans’ lore. Until now. Magic vibrated through her veins. What was she? Siren, was his first thought. Djinn, his second. When her hands wrapped around his cock, the rest fled.
The woman shivered beneath him. Straddling her hips, he spread her hair around her like a dark nimbus. The silken strands flowed through his fingers.
“I want to see all of you,” she whispered.
He wondered just what she could see wi
th those impaired human eyes. The firelight reflected in their depths, sparks of magic splintering her irises until a swirl of color no human eye had ever captured met his gaze. Her hands fumbled with his belt buckle. Seizing her hands, he brought them to his lips, kissing her knuckles. He lowered them to either side of their bodies, then undid the buckle himself. The plaid’s folds spilled over their flesh, blues and blacks and magentas, dyed and woven by his hands. Impatient, she flung the fabric away.
Her lids drooped, half-mast. Her fingers closed around his shaft, playing with the taut skin. He groaned. She caressed him, a smile dancing on her lips. A fingertip touched the tip of his head, transferring the pearl of fluid from his skin to hers. She brought the crystalline jewel to her lips.
“You taste human,” she whispered.
He carefully slid out of her grasp and lowered his head to her mons. Inhaling the scent nestled in her curls, he parted her folds and kissed her glistening nub.
She gasped.
He raised his head. “You don’t.”
Grabbing her wrists, he pinned her to the bed. One thrust impaled her. He groaned as her tightness enfolded him. She writhed and bucked, fighting to unseat him. But though dragon could become man, the dragon’s weight remained behind. It’d take a hefty lass to dethrone him. Ellen Kildonan did not have the mass.
“What are you?” He withdrew and plunged into her again. “What are you?” he repeated.
The flames leaped free of the hearth, dancing around the chamber like a swarm of pissed-off fireflies.
“Human,” she cried, arching her back. A shudder ripped through her. Her legs flailed, trapped beneath his hips. “Ellen,” she whispered, her body going slack.
The fireflies exploded, showering them in multicolored sparks. His flesh tingled where they touched. The shutters banged open. Rain punished the stone floor, claiming the fire’s dregs. The wind bayed like Garm scenting an escapee from Hell.
Feeling threatened, the dragon in him warred for release. He studied the limp woman under him, still locked in orgasmic tremors. His lips curved. She might have killed a lesser man. Luckily, he wasn’t human.
Ignoring the rain’s lash and the storm’s furious hiss, he thrust inside her again. She moaned, hands fisting in the bedsheets. “Please, please, please, please.” Her voice trailed off, her lips still forming the word. Whether she begged for more or for him to stop, he did not pause to find out.
Her hips met each plunge. Slicked with her juices, she made him work for his release. Her tight tunnel sizzled his nerve endings. Muscles stiffened, becoming molten steel. His control slipped. He reared back, feeling his bones shatter. Wings sprouted, binding his arms to his back. Scales danced down his skin.
Beneath him, she cried out as another orgasm consumed her. Her scream tore an accompanying roar from his throat, half human, half dragon, fully satisfied.
“Miss, miss, are you all right?”
Someone was shaking her shoulder. Ellen snarled an unintelligible reply and burrowed deeper into her covers. Robert’s scent surrounded her, wild, primitive and, despite whatever species he might be, utterly male.
He’d taken what he wanted, and she, like a starving creature, had accepted everything. For one glorious night, she hadn’t been entirely human. Flesh yielded to bone, and beneath bone, she’d uncovered shimmering enchantment. What made her heart beat wasn’t composed of just blood and muscle, but something more elemental. He’d wordlessly asked for her soul’s splendor, and she’d given it. Worse still, he’d offered up his own, and she’d devoured it, refilling the void inside her. If someone had asked her at that very moment if she believed in magic, she’d have agreed.
Someone continued to tug on her shoulder.
Her eyelids fluttered. A bleary face swam into view. It didn’t belong to the dragon man. She squeaked and drew back, clutching the blanket.
The flame-haired captain of her rented boat stared back at her, relief painted on his face. “There now. Drink this.” He pressed a flask into her hand. She automatically took it, eyes wide. “My dad worried about you, alone on this island in the storm. Worst we’ve seen this early in the season.” He scanned the sky. “So to pacify him, I made the trip back, just to check on you. I see it was a good decision.”
She took a drink from the flask and choked on the fire that burned her throat. Sitting up straighter, she glanced around. She was tucked between a few of the shore’s larger moss-laden rocks, her raincoat covering most of her body, a plain wool blanket, though damp, keeping the rest warm.
“You look like you danced a night with the Fair Folk. All wild-eyed and disheveled.”
“I—” She touched her fingertips to the bump at the back of her head. “I fell. There was a man. Where is he?” She didn’t recognize this place.
“No man here, miss, but me.” His eyes narrowed. “What did he look like?”
“He changed shape, man to dragon and back again.” She shook her head, wincing at the pain the motion caused. She offered him his flask.
“Take another.” He folded her hands around it. “Tell me more.”
“I must have dreamed it.” She took a long drag. It didn’t burn so much this time, only warmed the cold knot in her stomach. She wasn’t given to flights of fancy. Truth be told, unless she had a sketch and her welding rod in her hand, her imagination sucked. She started to shake.
“A shape-shifter you say.” Taking the flask from her limp fingers, he capped it, then helped her to her feet. “Could have been a gruagach. Did he look like an ogre?”
Who was the crazy one here? “How would I know what that looked like?”
He smiled, a bit sheepish. “Perhaps a kelpie then. Was he fair of face, your man?”
She pressed her lips tight.
Taking no answer as one, he said, “Kelpies are bad omens.” He steered her toward his boat. “You’re lucky my dad guilted me into checking on you. You’d have likely died of exposure if I’d waited until the scheduled time.”
Dying of exposure might have been preferable to the pain she felt. It was as if someone had carved a hole in her chest with a dull knife, stolen her heart and left a stone in its place. Drunken idiot. Not only had the liquor warmed her blood, but it’d eaten away the rational part of her brain. She laid her hand over her breast. Her captain mistook the gesture for shock.
“There now. I know Margie of Birk House. Even if she don’t have a spare room, and I’m sure she does, she’ll take you in and fix you up. You just sit down.” Helping her into the boat, he tucked her blanket around her legs.
Robert stood on his balcony, hands fisted around the stone-carved railing. The wind whipped his bare legs, kicking up the edges of his kilt. Best he let her go. What kind of existence could he offer something like herself? Even as he watched the dark water drag her boat from view, her magic called to him. Something not quite human, something such as she, didn’t belong to the human world. He was absurdly jealous. Oddities in a herd were often ostracized. Was that what had happened to her? Had she sought to hide on his island?
He’d never know. He’d sent her away. If he’d waited until she awoke, until she had stared at him with those ancient mahogany eyes…well, he wouldn’t admit to feeling fear. ‘Twasn’t manly to buckle under a single feminine look, no matter how magical.
He put a finger to his throat, feeling the heat of her lips against his skin. She’d marked him as he had her. He normally healed fast, but this, this he’d preserve. Let it heal as mortals healed. It’d be a fine reminder of his folly.
He fancied he could still catch the scent of her. Hot and wet and so vibrantly alive beneath him.
The stone railing crumbled under his grip. He opened his hand, spilling the gravel over the edge. The wind whisked the tiny particles away. The larger chunks clinked against the wall as they fell, chastising him for dabbling in the human world.
He turned his back, relinquishing scent and memory to the wind.
Chapter Three
Andrew MacDonald was
right about one thing. Margie Dunain was more than happy to add another guest to her care, especially one who’d had a brush with the supernatural.
Ellen emerged from the bath Margie had drawn for her, bright pink and smelling of heather, compliments of the scented bubbles. Wrapping herself in a fluffy white towel, she stood in front of the full-length mirror.
What had happened? She had been sane when she’d left the States. Well, at least certifiably sane. She didn’t dabble in the occult, play with tarot cards, or even read her horoscope. How could a reasonable person believe a man could turn into a monster? No, not a monster. Something that defied description, something that left her breathless and wanting.
Well, plenty of the locals appeared sensible, held down normal jobs and raised families. They didn’t see the incongruity of believing in kelpies, woodwose, noggles and whatnot. In fact, they happily catered to people seeking a glimpse of the Loch Ness monster, then closed up shop on Sunday and went to church. She covered her eyes with her hands, feeling the beginnings of yet another headache.
Only it wasn’t the back of her head that throbbed. She dropped her towel. Her fingers scissored apart and she peered at her breast. She remembered falling on her head. She prodded the dark mark on her breast with her other hand. She didn’t remember tangling with lampreys or bashing her chest against anything.
She saw his dark head suckling at her breast, her fingers twisted in his hair. Heat pooled low in her stomach. His shaft invaded her, prized her apart and touched her inner core. She shivered.
If he thought he could give her the best sex she’d ever had, then muddle her thoughts and send her away, he had another guess coming.
Ellen Kildonan never backed down from a challenge.
It didn’t take much, really, to pry the location of an occultist—Druid was the closest she could get in this part of the world—from a local. Ellen didn’t bother asking her innkeeper. Judging by the number of Christian icons placed about the place, she doubted the question would be well received. Buying a round at the local pub yielded an earful of legends and the address of a local shop.
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