The Immortals III: Gavin

by Cynthia Breeding

  Taking a deep breath, Gavin nodded. “Claw and scorch marks would indicate the dragon hasn’t disappeared. Baylor probably controls it.”

  The captain closed his eyes and rubbed them with one hand, then he slowly looked at Gavin. “You’re saying the dragon is real? The sightings were all speculation—”

  “I am afraid the dragon exists. One other thing you should probably know.”

  “What?” he asked warily.

  “Lucas mentioned that the Kincaid woman was a white witch and McCain a warlock.”

  “How cool is that?” Chloe said. “Covens and dragons—and it’s almost Halloween! Awesome!” The dour looks both the captain and Gavin gave her squelched her responsive enthusiasm. Geez. A real paranormal story right here in Dallas…

  “Oh, yeah. Totally awesome,” Johnson said. “I can’t go to my superiors with that kind of crap. I’ll be lucky if I don’t get a motorized escort to the psycho ward.”

  Gavin stood up, motioning for Chloe to join him. “Like I said, perhaps it’s not necessary to repeat this—at least, not yet.”

  “Not ever,” the captain muttered as they showed themselves out.

  Chapter Four

  Morgan took her place in the Circle of the Sisterhood, smoothing the pale blue linen of her robe down over her naked body. Most of the other witches wore undergarments, but she felt freer without such restrictions. Of course, they were all good, little white witches, who believed in ‘harming none’. They wasted precious magic casting spells for recovery of the economy and an end to war and terrorism. Or for healing and helping the homeless.

  Resigned, she raised her arms in unison with the others and chorused their welcoming incantation, as if braying to the moon as it rose over the lake in the dusk was going to do any good.

  When were they going to teach her spells she could really use? Spells so powerful that she could use Adam Baylor’s power against him? She’d whored herself out to him—albeit it willingly in return for an excellent modeling contract—but she was tired of obeying his every demand. Women were meant to rule as the Goddess had done since Eve made a fool of Adam. Isis, Gaia, Demeter, Danu, Frigg were all names for the Great Mother. Nekhbet, Athena, Minerva, Brigid, Freya—all protectors of kings—and didn’t that prove that women were superior, if men needed protecting?—but perhaps the most powerful of all were the goddesses of the underworld: Nephthys, Hecate, Persephone, the Morrigan. It was this last goddess whom Morgan truly worshiped, for she was her namesake.

  It wasn’t until Adam’s brother, Lucien, had rutted with her, reaming her so thoroughly she’d actually passed out, that Morgan realized she could harness that power and make it hers. Sexual lust was a powerful emotion—just look at all those politicians who knew their lives were open books, but still went ahead with desires anyway—as were hate, anger, and revenge. Adam was consumed with those, although Morgan didn’t know why. What she had discovered, though, was a way to suck the power of those emotions from him while he was deep inside her, thinking he was the dominant one. Power that she was slowly accumulating and storing in her soul.

  All she had to do was learn the spells to unleash it properly and she could demand whatever she wished. The possibilities were endless.

  Accepting a candle-lit blue glass globe from their leader, Brianna, Morgan studied her covertly. Small, delicate-looking with platinum hair and sky-blue eyes, their seer looked more like a Madonna than a witch. Outwardly, she was always calm and serene, yet Morgan knew her husband had been brutally murdered several years ago, the suspect never caught.

  Did Brianna not harbor revenge? How could she not? If someone Morgan had loved—she stopped. Had she ever loved someone? She’d had countless men. She liked sex. Maybe even needed it—a shrink had once told her she had nympho-tendencies. Certainly, no man had ever complained about her insatiable desire for more, but had she ever felt the need to wake up to one in the morning, other than for another good screwing? She couldn’t recall—except for Michael.

  Mindlessly, she turned and followed the others as they circled widdershins, holding their globes high, drawing down the moon’s beams. Michael was different. She frowned slightly as she nearly stumbled on an exposed root. Michael had been the coven’s druid, balancing the energy in the circle, but that wasn’t what she cared about. Michael had been hot, hot, hot—she craved running her fingers over the chiseled muscles of his chest and the hard ridges of his belly, her hands sliding lower to grasp his shaft, making it become granite and then clamping her legs around his waist while he thrust deeply into her—by the goddess, she had wanted him, hungered for him even—and he had rejected her, preferring that plain, dowdy veterinarian who wore no make-up to her.

  Morgan bumped into the witch ahead of her and realized the group had stopped to begin another chant. “Sorry,” she muttered and tried to remember whichever silly, useless incantation they were using. Michael was gone—he’d disappeared along with the vet and earlier, her fellow witch, Sara Kincaid and that hunky Scottish guy who looked like a throw-back to some medieval warrior. He would have an interesting lay, too, Morgan was sure of it, but she hadn’t got the chance to find out.

  This whole mess was somehow tied up to the Celtic relics that Adam Baylor was looking for. He had simply said they were valuable, but Morgan was smarter than that. She knew they held power.

  She would do anything she needed to do to help Adam find them. And then—with the right spells, she would curse Adam Baylor to hell and the power would be hers.

  * * * *

  “First thing, before we start hunting down clues, is we’ve got to get you some different clothes,” Chloe told Gavin as they parked at a north Dallas mall the next evening.

  Gavin frowned, adjusting a burgundy silk tie. “What is wrong with the way I dress?”

  “Texans don’t run around in Armani suits,” she answered, shaking her head and making the big gold loops dance from her ears.

  “Actually, this is custom-tailored,” Gavin answered.

  Chloe rolled her eyes. “Even worse. We aren’t going to the symphony.”

  He looked affronted. “I would not wear this to a symphony. I would quite definitely wear a tux.”

  And he’d probably look ravishing in it—if men could be ravished. While other men might look like penguins in tuxes and looked about as comfortable as mannequins, she’d bet Gavin would be perfectly at ease in the garb. He’d have every woman raising tiny opera binoculars for a better look. And probably drooling all over their expensive gowns as well. Chloe had to admit that the cut of the coat he wore now fit him perfectly, its dark charcoal color making his hair ebony and his eyes even darker. The stark white of his shirt—no doubt custom-made as well—was snow-dazzling in its intensity. And Lord, she’d love to slowly unknot that tie and unbutton… With a sigh, she pulled herself out of the errant fantasy.

  “You certainly won’t be needing a tux either. Not for the places where we’re going. Come on,” she said taking his arm and tugging him toward The Gap. “We can find everything you need to blend in right here.”

  However, half an hour later she wasn’t so sure. The black t-shirt stretched over perfectly-sculpted pecs and biceps and clung to his flat belly—she could practically see the ridges of a six-pack, although maybe that was her imagination, given her penchant for romance cover models. But the tight Levis weren’t. They outlined well-developed thighs and really nice, tight buns. Gavin wasn’t going to blend in anywhere. Already, as they were exiting the mall, women were stopping to gape at him, including one grandma-type with blue hair that bumped into a stone bench.

  “Where to next?” he asked as Chloe stared the car.

  “I thought I might show you some of the spots the dragon was sighted,” she said. “Then tomorrow, we’ll go over to the temp agency where Sara and Michael worked and ask around.”

  “Can we do that in the evening?”

  “They’ll be closed.” Chloe slanted a glance at him as she eased into traffic. “In the three days
I’ve known you, I’ve only seen you at night.” She smiled, her dimple showing. “Are you some kind of vampire?”

  For a moment his eyes glittered like black diamonds as he stared back at her. “What if I told you I was?”

  She felt her eyes widen and then she laughed. “That’d be cool! I could use that in a story. Sexy vampire—“

  “My eyes are simply sensitive to light,” he interrupted.

  “Oh.” That made sense, she supposed, although a little shiver went down her spine. Not that vampires existed, but Gavin would make a really, really sexy one… With a sigh, she put that idea on a shelf too. In spite of his looks, he was almost as serious and unemotional as Mr. Spock.

  Geez.

  * * * *

  Gavin adjusted his sunglasses the next morning when they arrived at the temp agency. He glanced over at Chloe exiting the driver’s seat, her luscious rump barely covered by another pair of shorts. Did the girl truly not have the means to cover herself properly? Maybe she should have been the one buying clothes yesterday—and then he felt a smidgen of guilt. He should have offered to purchase some items for her. He certainly could afford it. He’d spent time at Arthur’s court and others as well. It would have been the gallant thing to do, but somehow, in this century, such deeds were perceived as sexist.

  He did manage to get to the door of the building and open it for her. She gave him an odd look, but muttered thanks and he refrained from giving her a courtly bow. Chloe seemed to have an odd effect on him. He hadn’t felt knightly or even protective of anyone in centuries—not that she was asking for protection. She’d probably shun the very idea. Gavin shook his head. She reminded him of a faerie nymph—free-spirited and independent…

  And faeries were usually trouble.

  She’d gotten perilously close to the truth last night, asking him, if only in jest, whether he was a vampire. Over the years, he’d learned to cover the truth by sometimes telling the truth in such a way that people thought he was the one who was jesting. Had it worked on Chloe?

  “You can take the shades off now,” she said, showing her dimple again.

  He slipped them off as a middle-aged lady approached them. “I’m Stephanie, the manager. Can I help you?” she asked with a friendly smile.

  Chloe showed her news credentials and turned to introduce him. This is Inspector Myles —”

  “Private investigator hired by Mr. Smith,” Gavin interrupted before Chloe spilled the beans about Scotland Yard and who-knows-what else. “He’s very concerned about Sara Kincaid’s disappearance.”

  Stephanie’s face fell. “It’s so sad. There hasn’t been a clue. I suppose we should be glad a body hasn’t turned up.”

  “That’s true,” Chloe said encouragingly. “When was the last time you spoke to her?”

  “As I told the police, Sara called me when she and that nice-looking Lucas Ramsey were on their way to Maine. She was all excited about looking for that weapon that Mr. Smith wanted.” The older woman’s lower lip trembled. “The man already has a whole arsenal of medieval weapons. Why poor Sara had to go looking for another one I don’t know. You’d think Mr. Smith would be satisfied with what he has, but no. He got all excited about that old manuscript and this spear being from King Arthur’s time. As if all that was real in the first place.”

  It was real all right, but the fewer people who how real, the better. “I’ve found that collectors often get obsessed over such discoveries,” Gavin said. “Lucas Ramsey was my partner which is why Mr. Smith hired me. Rest assured, if Lucas was with Sara, he’d protect her with his life.”

  Stephanie brightened a little and Chloe gave him another odd look, but surprisingly, didn’t have a comment.

  “Well, Michael did say he felt they might be safe-keeping the spear somewhere,” Stephanie said.

  The warlock again. “Why did he feel that way?”

  She shrugged. “He didn’t say exactly, but Sara told me someone else was looking for the spear too and it was important they found it first. Then Michael…” Her eyes filled with tears. “…Michael got involved with Mr. Smith too, looking for an old sword. And then he disappeared… I don’t know any more. It’s just been hard,” she said, dabbing at her eyes as a young man came through the front entrance. Stephanie managed a smile. “I can use you here today, Troy, getting records uploaded to our new files.”

  “Sure,” he said, glancing from her to Gavin and Chloe. “Is anything wrong?”

  “No, dear. These people are trying to help find Sara and Michael.” She turned to them as Gavin and Chloe stood to leave. “This is Troy Sutton. He’s been a godsend since Michael and Sara have been gone.”

  Gavin extended his hand. “Gavin Myles.”

  Troy shook it, his blue eyes holding Gavin’s gaze, steady and searching. “I hope you’re successful.”

  Although Troy was young, the look he gave Gavin spoke of an old soul. As they left, Gavin couldn’t help thinking that somewhere he had met this young man before.

  Chapter Five

  Balor inhaled deeply on his Cuban cigar and then blew a smoke ring as he sat back in the heavily brocaded chair in his master suite. Alan Caldwell suppressed a cough; he hated smoke and the hotel had an anti-smoking policy, but what would Adam Baylor care about that?

  Lucien chuckled as he handed Alan a snifter of brandy. “You’d better get used to smoke, dude. I don’t think you’ll be going to the other place when you die.”

  Alan accepted the glass, avoiding swirling or sniffing it since his eyes were already stinging. It wasn’t safe to show any sort of weakness around Baylor. “I don’t believe in heaven or hell.”

  Lucien arched an eyebrow. “That’s interesting. So you’re not afraid to die?”

  He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He had no doubt that Lucien could be every bit as ruthless as his brother, even if he did act more affable. As a private investigator, Caldwell had been involved in enough good cop/bad cop scenarios himself to recognize the tactic. He shrugged nonchalantly. “No one wants to die.”

  “Hear! Hear!” Balor said and raised his own glass in toast. “Today we celebrate! Alan is firmly ensconced in Smith’s residence again. We’ll know as soon as a clue comes in regarding the platter. And,” he added as he swigged some brandy, “there’s that woman reporter that’s sidled up to Smith and gotten all cozy. Maybe this time you can actually get some information out of her too.”

  Alan winced inwardly, careful not to react. His attempt at seducing Sara Kincaid had failed when Ramsey stepped in, and he’d let a stupid fencing competition keep him from getting under the sheets with Sophie Cameron. Getting females into bed was the easiest way to get information—women loved to cuddle and talk after sex and all he had to do was ask the right questions. “She seems like an easy mark.”

  Balor took another long puff. “That’s what you said about the first two. Try not to screw it up this time.”

  Alan wondered if the use of the word ‘screw’ was intentional irony. He still shuddered at the sexual torture Baylor had put him through the last time.

  “You talking about that hot little number with the orange hair?” Lucien asked as he poured another drink. “I wouldn’t mind getting a little information out of her myself.”

  Balor gave him an irritated look. “I told you before. Not this time. You’re playing cop, remember?” Then he turned back to Alan. “Tell me more about the man that Smith hired. I know he’s Scotland Yard. What’s he like? It’s always good to know the enemy.”

  Alan thought. Myles made him uneasy. His nearly black eyes were too intense and penetrating, almost more predator than human, but Alan wasn’t about to get fanciful with Baylor. “He’s aloof. Doesn’t say much. I got the idea, though, that he didn’t miss anything.”

  “Ummm. Perhaps I need to get Morgan to use her rather extensive skills on him. Speaking of which,” he said as he glanced at his Rolex, “she’s late. I don’t like late.”

  Lucien’s eyes glinted. “I’ll be glad to punish her
properly for you.”

  As if on cue, a soft knock sounded on the door. Lucien opened it to allow Morgan to come in. She gave him a sultry look and then glided over to Baylor, sliding off her coat and loosening the pins that allowed her long, silky black hair to flow down her back. She wasn’t wearing anything else except five-inch heels.

  Caldwell did a quick intake of air. God, she was beautiful. He’d always thought she was hot, but he’d never seen her totally naked before. Full breasts were firmly taunt, their hard, little nipples jaunting upward. Her waist was tiny, her belly flat, her hips flared out gently and her shaven pubis was already swollen and inviting. His own groin tightened.

  Balor glanced at him and back to Morgan. His lips curved in what might be a smile. “Would you like her, Caldwell?”

  It was a loaded question. The bastard knew he was attracted to her. No doubt he’d be forced to watch Morgan perform on Baylor while he watched. It had happened before. “Who wouldn’t?” he asked.

  Balor laughed. “Well, you’ve actually given me some important information this time, so maybe you have earned a reward.” He gestured to Morgan. “Service him while I watch.”

  Caldwell started. Was she—?

  Without a word, Morgan turned and gave him a seductive smile, swaying her hips provocatively as she approached him. She brushed her bare mound against his face, allowing him a delicious whiff of her woman scent before she knelt to unzip his pants. His cock nearly jumped out and she smiled, her soft hands manipulating his balls, kneading them and causing him to stiffen even more. She pumped his shaft expertly, increasing and decreasing the pressure while her tongue flicked over his head, teasing him with whisper strokes, then lapping his ring with the tip of her tongue.

  Caldwell felt like an untried schoolboy, about to burst without restraint. He began to moan. Morgan glanced up at him through her lashes and leaned in closer, taking him fully. He shut his eyes and leaned back. The sensation was nearly unbearable as the hot wetness of her mouth closed over him and her velvet tongue swirled around his granite erection, alternating with the suction of her sucking him hard. He didn’t think he could hold out much longer, but he never wanted this to end.