Highland Shifters: A Paranormal Romance Boxed Set

by Unknown

  "How likely is that? There's been a Rift near Mallochbirn for hundreds of years, if not a good deal longer. I am one of the few people who can locate it." He paused again. "We do know something of Dunya, remember. How do you suppose we got that information? I suspect I won't be the first Malloch to go through the Barrier and report back something of what the other world is like. And who knows, maybe if there really are the Nine Worlds that the Travelers speak of, I will learn how to get access to some of the others, too."

  He could see Cameron's eyes gleaming, speculating, planning.

  "We need to know about the darklings. Just because I can shift to one doesn't mean I understand vampires. Are they identical to our vampires or different? There's clearly something going on with those creatures if they are hanging out at the Rift and manipulating people into crossing. They are dangerous, though. I wouldn't want you to get too close. Just find out what you can about them and what the fuck they are up to."

  Colin smiled. He and Ariane were going through the Barrier to her world.

  They were going to be together.

  * * *

  They performed the hand fasting ritual on the day before they left. Down in the crystal cavern, with Rin and Prince the cat looking on, Ross wound an old piece of the traditional Malloch clan tartan, whose colors had been banned after Culloden, around the joined hands of Colin and Ariane. Hamish played upon his bagpipes, Mrs. Dumfries beamed, Jamie and his betrothed Effie danced and Kate laughed, insisting that she could feel her baby doing a Highland jig in her belly. Even Cam managed a few smiles when the local whiskey went round.

  "Thank you so much," Ariane said to Kate, hugging her. Her English was becoming fluent, although she was sure she must have a dreadful accent. "I'm sorry I won't be here for your babe's birth."

  "You'll come back to visit us, though."

  "We will, yes."

  "Be bloody careful, Col," Ross warned. "I don't want to have to swim through to rescue you from some medieval dungeon where they imprison their captured spies."

  "I'm an explorer," Colin said with a straight face. "Not a spy."

  "Keep him safe, Traveler," Cam growled, after a quick embrace of his younger brother.

  I love my family, but I'm bloody relieved to get away from them, Colin admitted via the Traveler's bond as he and Ariane swam towards the Barrier. Rin, now fully restored to health, followed them. He seemed reconciled to the separation from Ariane and happy about the prospect of meeting some females of his species. Want big love, he had told her. Like you. Miss my cat. Can have cat in our world?

  "Most cats hate water, Rin, so I don't think so. Maybe you'll find a mate and have a baby sea dragon instead."

  Baby sea dragon, Rin agreed, as if that might be an acceptable substitute for a cat.

  "Rin wants a cat," she told Colin. "But he'll take a baby sea dragon instead."

  Colin laughed. The thought of a baby sea dragon sounded good to him, too. Would any child of his and Ari's be a shifter? In his own world, probably, but in hers, he didn't know.

  Bairns? Was he seriously thinking about bairns?

  Why not? Having his own family would be a whole new territory to explore.

  Hang on tight, he told Ariane, closing his tentacles firmly around her. It's not as nasty going in this direction, but the Rift is always a bit turbulent.

  It was dawn in Dunya when they broke through, all three of them safe and sound. The sky was sunny, the seas were calm, and there was not a darkling in sight.

  O brave new world, that has such people in't!

  "What's that?"

  "Shakespeare."

  "What is Shakespeare?"

  Colin laughed and explained. He looked forward to a lifetime of learning—he about her world, and she about his.

  The End

  Author's Note

  The Scottish Shifters novels are about the Mallochs of Mallochbirn, a fictional location in the Highlands of Scotland. The books are related, but each romance is a standalone. They can be read in any order. The Zrakon's Bride, Ross's story, was the first to be published. Several more books are planned.

  Ross's story: The Zrakon's Bride (available now)

  Beauty Meets Her Beast

  Are maidens still sacrificed to sea dragons? Kate Beaton is a lover of folklore tales about beauties and beasts, maidens and monsters, princesses and frogs. But when she visits a quaint Scottish village, she is surprised to find that they take the ancient legends seriously.

  Ross Malloch is a modern Highland laird with a family secret—there have been shape shifters at Mallochbirn for centuries. The Zrakon is in his blood. And on Midsummer's Eve, the only thing his alpha male sea dragon can think about is finding his one true mate.

  The Zrakon's Bride is a short, erotic paranormal romance from Rita award-winning romance author Linda Barlow. It is intended for mature audiences.

  Excerpt from - Chapter One

  Ross stood on the ancient battlements of Mallochbirn Castle, looking out over the churning waters of the sea. The day was stormy and warmer than usual. Humid. The skies were leaden and heavy with rain. His eyes searched the rocks, the crags, the distant headlands, and, most of all, the rough, white-capped waters surrounding his tiny island in northwest Scotland. "Come to me," he murmured, over and over. "I summon thee. Come."

  The words were spoken without his volition. Oh, he knew he spoke them, and understood their meaning, but it wasn’t his rational mind that had driven him up into the tower and out to the crenellated battlements. He spent most of the year resisting all thought of the ancient legends of Mallochbirn. Yet here he was, following the dictates of the tale, like many a fool before him.

  How many generations of his family had stood here, on the worn stone, sending their souls out of their body, restlessly questing, seeking something they yearned for but could not name? He glanced up at the great stone dragon, symbol of Mallochbirn and his family, carved in weather-smoothed basalt atop the highest tower. His dragon. His doom.

  A loud crack of thunder jolted him. Idiot, he said to himself. He stood there for some time longer, buffeted by the wind, watching the storm sweep in from the sea. Jagged bolts of lightning lit up the sky, and the air sizzled with the power of the raging elements. He knew he ought to go inside instead of making himself a target for the lightning, but some defiant spirit kept him there, absorbing Nature’s ferocity.

  His vision, sharper than usual, caught an unusual movement on the causeway that led to the island. The gravel roadway there had an inch or two of surf breaking over it. The tide was receding, but the winds had whipped up waves, and causeway wouldn't be safe until the water backed off completely. He leaned forward over the retaining wall, trying to get a better look. No cars were allowed on the island. What fool was attempting to drive over?

  Nobody local would even dream of doing such a thing. Particularly on this day of the year—the morning of Midsummer's Eve. It must be someone who did not belong on the island or in the village. A stranger. But this was a place where strangers were not allowed.

  Ross stalked into the tower and down the long, winding staircase that led to the main part of the castle. He wished someone had installed an elevator. Maybe it was time for a few more renovations around here.

  He caught the intruder getting out of the car on the narrow stony beach where the end of the causeway met the rocks of the island. The dark-clad figure was considerably shorter than Ross was, but not until he slipped behind and applied the edge of a fine Scots dirk to a slender throat did he realize the intruder was female.

  She tensed, but did not panic. "Whoa," she said.

  "Reckless to be disregarding all the signs," Ross said. He was trying to stay loose, ready for anything. The intruder was clad in light clothing suitable for a cool summer in northern Scotland. His dirk was probably unnecessary, but he wasn't fool enough to underestimate her because of her sex. "If you were to drown, no one would be surprised."

  "A slashed throat would be investigated," said the intru
der—American, by her accent.

  "You’d be surprised at the injuries than can be inflicted by some of the razor-sharp rocks hereabouts. Who are you?"

  "My name’s Catriona Beaton. People call me Kate. And you are?"

  "Angry. Trying not to be careless with this blade, but no guarantees. I’d advise you to remain still, like a mouse." He patted her down efficiently with one hand and found nothing. Except some appealing curves.

  "Hey, I’m harmless," she protested.

  Ross turned her loose with a shove and sheathed his blade.

  She straightened and rubbed her neck. Ross estimated her to be somewhere in her twenties, with dark hair, regular features, and a strong, fit body. The young woman's dark hair was swept up in an intricate style with little wisps of curl framing her features. One lock, though, had escaped its confinement to drift haplessly down the side of her throat. Her eyes were the light, clear green of sun-drenched tropical seas. They were rimmed with dark, soft lashes and arched with feathery eyebrows to which he would love to touch the tip of his tongue. She had a stubborn chin and distinctly kissable lips. Those lips were arched up in a smile.

  "Are you the owner of this place? Mr. Malloch?"

  "This place and most of the surrounding land, aye. You’re trespassing."

  "Sorry about that. I was hoping to meet the laird." She was gazing curiously at the knife he had sheathed in a leather casing on his belt. "Do you always wear a sword? Isn't that a little anachronistic?"

  "It's a dirk. It's useful for confronting gatecrashers. You're lucky your car wasn't swept out to sea. What you did is not only forbidden, but also dangerous."

  "Forbidden?"

  "No cars are allowed on the island. That's one reason why the causeway isn't paved." He gestured to the stony dirt road that was becoming visible as the surf continued to retreat. The local vicar's orange cat was prowling near the water line, looking impatient. He must have crossed to the island at low tide and gotten stranded here. He fussed over that cat occasionally, which he probably shouldn't do, since it encouraged him to visit.

  "There aren't many cars in the village, either," he added. "We don't like to pollute our pristine sliver of Scotland with modern chemical fumes."

  "I noticed. The whole village seems anachronistic," she said cheerfully. "Or have I stepped through a time warp into the past?"

  She had an engaging smile and a pleasant way about her. He had to school himself to resist her charm. "Why are you here?"

  "I've come to speak to the laird. I emailed, but received no reply. Is email another of the modern conveniences you disdain, Mr. Malloch?"

  She was clearly guessing, but he decided not to deny his identity. "I'm not receiving guests. The tide is falling, so it should be safe enough for you to turn your car around and return to wherever you came from."

  "I came all the way from Boston. You know—far off in the New World?" She grinned at him.

  "Why? What do you want here? Few people in the States have ever heard of this place."

  "Well, actually, I'm curious about a dragon."

  Ross tensed. "A dragon," he repeated, injecting as much disdain into the word as he could muster.

  "Right. Big, scaly, fire-breathing. You know the type. Have any large flying creatures incinerated anyone lately?"

  He managed a laugh. "Are you writing a fantasy novel?"

  "A book on folk tales, actually. You'd be amazed at how many there are, especially in the British Isles. It’s a folklore treasure trove." She paused, looking at Ross as if sizing him up. Or maybe checking him out. "Most of the villages and towns with magical or mystical legends are proud of them. Such stories tend to bring in the tourists."

  "We don't encourage tourists here."

  "That's the odd thing about this area—there’s no Dragon’s Inn or Firebreathers pub. No website dedicated to re-telling the old legends. No ballads to commemorate the heroes, assuming there were any. In my experience, that’s unusual. Most people are proud of their dragons. Why aren’t you?"

  "No idea. Maybe this dragon of yours gobbled up all the balladeers, innkeepers, publicans, heroes, and website developers who knew about him, thus preserving his anonymity." He paused. "If the legends don’t exist, what are you doing here?"

  "The legends do exist. Great stories—very imaginative. Heroic battles, virgin sacrifices, the dragons punished by the gods for their destructiveness. My favorite has the hero driving the dragon from the skies and extinguishing his fires in the sea. But the beast turned into a sea dragon and stole the hero's lover away to a watery lair deep under some island fortress." She looked up at Mallochbirn Keep. "Rather like this place."

  This woman was going to be trouble. "Sounds as if you stopped by the pub for some of our fine single malt before heading over here."

  She gave him a big grin. It was all too appealing, and he felt something move inside him. This was all he needed on Midsummer's Eve—an attractive woman stimulating all the passions that he was trying to keep contained.

  She lifted a hand to her hair, which was blowing in the brisk wind. The thunderstorm must have moved off, though, since the sky was brighter. It looked as if the sun might even break through. Kate Beaton attempted to knot her thick hair atop her head, but long silky strands kept escaping. Laughing at her futile efforts, she abandoned the attempt, and loosed her glorious hair. Ross imagined it flowing over his bare chest and tangling in his fingers while he fucked her.

  Lust rose with a clamoring din. Looking into her eyes he felt his consciousness slide and his awareness deepen. Something that was sleeping stirred. It perked up its head and took a good hard look. He flashed back to the high tower at Mallochbirn where he'd stood on the ancient battlements looking out to sea. Had it been she whom he'd been summoning? Was that why she was here?

  For centuries, the Mallochs had been known as the dragons of Mallochbirn, and dragon lore pervaded the region. The original Mallochbirn Dragon had been the traditional flying, fire-breathing variety, but somewhere down the centuries, the creature had been banished from the skies to the seas. By tradition, the sea dragon was bound to the lord. In some versions of the tale, the lord of Mallochbirn actually was the creature—half man, half beast, shifting back and forth at unpredictable intervals.

  Particularly on Midsummer's Eve.

  Family legend held that in every generation, the Laird of the Isle must take a mate, produce an heir, and bind the dragon to its future master. And so it had happened, for too many centuries to count. The direct line of descent had never been broken. If an heir was not lawfully begotten in the marriage bed, the lords of Mallochbirn had never hesitated to legitimize their bastards. Supposedly, the dragon’s drive to beget an heir on whichever woman could produce one was far too powerful to resist.

  Ross could not deny that for the past few weeks he had been feeling a strong compulsion to find himself a woman for something more than the occasional fuck. And as he looked down at the lovely female standing opposite him, something deep in the heart of him hissed: This one. I want this one.

  He was oddly transfixed by her mouth. And her scent—it was light, heathery, and incredibly alluring. Once again he felt the beast inside him stir, more insistently now. His muscles hardened to stone and his jaw clenched as he resisted. What he felt was very focused. She is for me. Take her. I want her.

  She was young—not more than early twenties, he guessed. A bit young for a thirty-year-old reprobate like him.

  They tend to come that way. Brides. Young.

  Brides?! What the hell was he thinking?

  She was continuing to speak: "You’ll have to admit, dragon legends make exciting tales. My Gramma Molly used to tell them to me when I was little. It was she who urged me to investigate my roots in Scotland."

  Shit. The last thing he needed was some American girl prying into the island's strange history. For her own sake, he had to get rid of her. If the beast inside him got just a little more aroused and interested in this girl, she would be in considerabl
e danger.

  She needed to leave. Quickly. Before tonight.

  * * *

  The Zrakon's Bride is currently available at all ebook retailers. For more information about this novel and all my other books, please check out my website at http://www.lindabarlow.com

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  Linda's Bio

  Linda Barlow is the bestselling author of 24 novels, with more on the way, including a new novel in the Scottish Shifters series. She lives in New England with her mysterious spouse (who sleeps during the day, which has often made her wonder if he's a vampire) and their equally enigmatic and nocturnal cat.

  Her novel Leaves of Fortune won the Rita Award and Fires of Destiny was a finalist for the same award. She loves reading, writing, computer games, and dark chocolate.

  To Tame A Highlander

  Highlander Werewolf Romance

  By Adriana Hunter

  Copyright © 2014, Adriana Hunter

  All Rights Reserved.

  Published by Tangled Press

  http://www.AdrianaHunter.com

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  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and places are solely the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, including events, areas, locations and situations is entirely coincidental.

  Callum McCourt ran, heart hammering in his chest, feet pounding the cracked concrete of the alley crowded with dumpsters and piles of garbage. The last thing he wanted was to be caught here, in a strange city, alone. But he was, cut off from anyone who could help him. He was exhausted, the adrenaline fueling him earlier long gone, and now he was running on empty.