The Immortals III: Gavin

by Cynthia Breeding

  And then there was a subtle shift. His lashes fluttered and then his eyes popped open. Lucien crouched behind Morgan, pumping into her in a frenzy. Morgan gripped Alan’s thighs as Lucien’s rough thrusts pushed her face against Caldwell, ramming his rod further down her throat. She mewled and sucked harder, urging his release.

  His breathing shallowed and the world dimmed, showering the darkness that circled him with red sparks, only they looked like they were coming from Lucien’s eyes—with a groan, he came, a strange power jolting through him before he lost complete control of his mind.

  * * * *

  “This is it,” Chloe said the next afternoon when they pulled into the driveway of the vet clinic where Sophie Cameron had worked. The hem of the gauzy skirt she wore caught on the shift, hiking it up to mid-thigh. “Darn it,” she said and yanked it off, but not before she noticed Gavin had riveted his attention on the incident and then looked quickly away. Was he, just maybe, a little bit interested? Gavin was hard to read. Was he naturally aloof or was it just that very proper British breeding? He was so serious—did he have a sense of humor at all? She sighed and then squealed. “Ohmygod! Look!” She pointed to the grass. “Scorch marks!”

  She followed Gavin as he moved closer to inspect them and then bumped into him, her breast pressing against a steel-like bicep when he stopped suddenly. He jerked away so suddenly she almost fell forward, but he caught her elbow.

  “You need to be careful,” he said and released her.

  Her arm tingled from his touch, a sure sign that pheromones hung in the air, but he seemed oblivious. Chloe sighed. She was going to have to do some heavy research on English upbringing.

  Gavin knelt, his long fingers brushing the burnt grass and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, almost like an animal taking in a scent. Before she could comment, he stood. “These would be the dragon’s marks that the news talked about?”

  “I guess so.” Chloe peered closer. “They don’t look like what was left on the street where poor Jake died.”

  “Jake was not killed on the street,” Gavin said tersely. “He was left there.”

  She felt her eyes round. “But why would someone leave Jake out in public view?”

  “A person probably would not. Dragons, on the other hand, are proud of their kills, rather like a cat bringing home a dead rat.”

  Chloe choked up. “Jake was not a rat!”

  Gavin’s voice softened. “I am sorry. I did not mean to imply that. I meant that dragons have terribly inflated egos. They do not like to stay hidden.”

  She stared at him. “How do you know that?”

  “I am somewhat of an ancient history buff.”

  “You sound like there are dozens of them roaming around.”

  Gavin looked down at the scorch marks. “There is at least one. I suspect we have not seen the last of him either.” He turned and gestured. “Shall we go inside?”

  A college-age young lady looked up from the desk as they entered and then her eyes widened and she flashed a dazzling smile at Gavin. “I’m Janie, the receptionist,” she said without even noticing Chloe. “How can I help you?”

  Chloe resisted the urge to step up and wave at the girl to get her attention, but how she blame the kid when she had—more or less—the same reaction to Gavin? He was wearing a simple, white t-shirt that clung to all his hard ridges and his inky hair was wonderfully tousled from the wind. He could have stepped out of an advertisement for Abercrombie and Fitch. Chloe almost sighed along with little Janie.

  Gavin smiled and introduced himself, showing his badge. The girl practically hyperventilated. “I’ll be glad to answer all your questions!”

  Chloe’s attention was diverted as another woman entered the waiting area. This one could have stepped off the cover of an old bodice-ripper with a spaghetti-strap tank that dipped scandalously low. Long, burnished dark hair flowed down her back and flawless ivory skin was enhanced by exotically slanted green eyes. She even moved with feline grace as she fastened that gaze on Gavin’s face and advanced.

  The effect was not lost on Gavin either for he was staring back at her, his eyes both penetrating and bold. Chloe could practically feel him alert, much like a wolf scenting prey—only she wasn’t really sure if it wasn’t the other way around. Was this the kind of woman he desired?

  “Hello. I’m Morgan,” she said and extended a soft, pale hand.

  With fluid grace, his eyes not leaving hers, Gavin bent over and kissed her hand. Janie looked annoyed and Chloe felt a sudden sister-like bond with the girl. Poor thing…

  “I couldn’t help overhearing,” Morgan said in breathy-sounding voice. “I have been working public relations for the clinic since these…incidents…began happening. Perhaps you should direct your questions to me?”

  “Of course,” Gavin responded quickly. “Would you give me your account of what happened? I understand that the veterinarian and a friend of hers disappeared—”

  “Michael was more than a friend,” Janie interrupted.

  Gavin turned his attention to her. “Were they lovers?”

  “Yes,” Janie said.

  “No,” Morgan said and gave Janie an annoyed look. “You don’t know that.”

  Janie lifted her chin stubbornly. “Well, Michael was really protective of Sophie. I heard him tell her once that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her. Ever,” she added for emphasis.

  Chloe tuned Morgan out as she started relating what had happened in that seductive-sounding voice. What was it with these protective men? Gavin had said his friend, Lucas, would protect Sara with his life and—if Janie weren’t exaggerating too much—it sounded like Michael felt the same way about the vet. Chloe had never met anyone like that—men didn’t go around in shining armor acting like chivalrous knights these days. Not that she expected them to—this was the 21st century and women could take care of themselves. Of course, that was one reason she read romance novels. Those heroes would protect their ladies—it just didn’t happen in real life. Even with men she’d had great, super-sex with, no one had ever offered to take care of her. Not that it mattered. Her mother had done just fine.

  “And so,” Morgan was concluding, “I want to help in any way I can.”

  Gavin nodded. “I may be calling on you then.”

  Her lips curled, revealing small, even white teeth. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  So—Morgan was the kind of woman Gavin was interested in? She should have known. A soft, seductive, sultry sexpot. Everything that Chloe knew she wasn’t.

  “Are you ready to leave?” Gavin asked politely, “or do you have any questions for Morgan?”

  Oh, she had questions all right, but none that she was going to ask. “No,” she said in as neutral a voice as she could muster. Her eyes stinging, she blinked rapidly so they wouldn’t water and turned to walk out—and bumped straight into a bench, toppling it over and sprawling across the floor.

  “Are you hurt?” Janie cried as she jumped up.

  Chloe felt Gavin’s hands on her waist, lifting her up and setting her on her feet like a small child. Morgan watched her with an amused look on her face.

  Could she be any more mortified?

  * * * *

  Gavin paced in his room at Smith’s mansion later that afternoon. He had the heavy drapes closed to alleviate the sun and wondered who in the hell Morgan was.

  He was pretty sure she was human, although black magic wafted off of her. However, it wasn’t until he’d bent to kiss her hand and had the merest brush of her skin that he nearly recoiled. The taint of residual evil was in her blood. Balor’s? Or someone equally as depraved? Demons still roamed this world…

  Gavin sank into an overstuffed chair and, for the first time in centuries, he willed himself to remember what had happened after Camlann.

  Chaos reigned on the battlefield that day. Melwas had managed to incite a contingent of Arthur’s men to turn against him, saying Arthur had become soft in the twenty years of peace after Badon
Hill. Arthur sent Gavin to negotiate peace. Both armies met on the field by the River Camel, but before the two men could move forward to speak, a soldier next to Arthur raised his sword, which the ranks behind took as a signal to charge. The rest was history.

  Or more specifically, inaccurate history.

  Gavin had seen the adder raise its head to strike causing the soldier instinctively to wield his sword. In the aftermath of that ill-fated charge, Gavin had also seen the adder morph into a demon who hissed sulfur and belched smoke, making it impossible for soldiers to see whom they were battling.

  Worse, the demon had seen him. It had laughed, a gruesome sound Gavin never wanted to hear again and sent flames from its forked tongue, searing his shoulder, before it flapped leathery wings and rose into the blackened sky to disappear.

  After the bloodbath was over and Arthur and half his knights lay dead, Gavin had managed to drag himself off the battlefield, seeking refuge in the nearby forest.

  And it was there that the lady found him, mortally wounded and near death himself. At first, Gavin had thought he was dead for he no longer had feeling in his arms or legs. And the young woman who crooned over him in a language he did not understand was beautiful with alabaster skin, silky ebony hair and eyes that were almost as black. He had stared into those fathomless eyes, hardly aware that she’d bitten her wrist and was offering him her blood to drink. It tasted like the sweetest ambrosia he’d ever had and oblivion swept over him. When he awoke, five hundred years later, he was in a cave deep inside the earth, alone and with a terrific thirst for human blood.

  He never did know who had made him or how he’d been transported to Outreamer, for that was where he was when he finally surfaced.

  Gavin snapped out of his reverie. All that had happened centuries ago. It had sickened him to kill humans, even if he did limit himself to the thieves, bandits, and highwaymen who lured others to their fates. He’d never expected to meet Lancelot in Outreamer.

  They’d nearly killed each other that first night on the streets of Jerusalem. Lancelot—or Lucas as he was calling himself, had been in his wolf form hunting meat since the Templar order he had joined only allowed it once a week. Gavin had been desperate for blood—any blood—and they’d both descended on the wild boar at the same time.

  Later, Lucas had introduced him to the Order and together, they’d dug for the Celtic treasure that Galahad brought to Sarras after the battle of Camlann. Gavin had many times wished he hadn’t been hibernating for those five hundred years. He only remembered Galahad as a small lad and yet, it was Galahad who had managed to save the sacred relics.

  Gavin reached for the vial of synthetic blood he kept in his jacket pocket and pondered the present. He was almost sure that the spear and sword were safe, but where? He’d stopped in the last places Lucas and Michael had been seen—Maine and New Orleans—before he’d come to Dallas and there had been few clues as to the disappearances. He would keep investigating.

  The third clue was bound to turn up soon. Lancelot had mentioned that Nimue had been involved with the search for the spear. He didn’t know if she’d delivered the clue for the sword, but it was highly likely. However, faeries were fickle and who knew what sparkling path she had meandered off on.

  Meanwhile, he needed to find out whose tainted blood Morgan carried.

  Which meant he would have to taste her.

  Chapter Six

  Two days later, Chloe walked up the front steps to Smith’s mansion in late afternoon. Alan Caldwell had called and asked that she meet him there to get a perspective on making a medieval weapons collection interesting to a wider market.

  She had mixed feelings about seeing Gavin again after her ungainly fall practically at his feet. He had not mentioned her klutziness on the ride home, but he was probably thinking about the graceful, feline beauty that Morgan exuded. Chloe had no delusions about herself. She had never been a sex goddess—she was more a free spirit, not expecting more than what the moment offered. Still, most men seemed to like that.

  What was it with Gavin?

  Benton ushered her into the informal living area where the weapon collection hung. Alan rose to greet her, but there was no sign of Gavin, although she knew he was staying here. Perhaps it was better that way.

  “I’m so glad you could come,” Alan said as he shook her hand and held it a bit longer than needed. “I can write, but I know practically nothing about the marketing end. Besides,” he added with an engaging smile, “I like working with beautiful women.”

  It was only a flirtation, the kind any guy would use in a bar near closing time, but Chloe’s pride still stung a bit from Gavin’s apparent disinterest and she found herself smiling back at Alan. She knew the routine. Besides, he was a good-looking guy. What harm could come from a little playful bantering?

  “Do you say that to all the ladies in your life?”

  “I don’t have a lady in my life currently.” His gaze traveled to her mouth and then back to her eyes. “Perhaps you’d allow me to take you to lunch soon?”

  Well, he was a fast mover, she’d give him that, but what harm would it do? A casual date might actually be nice. “That might be arranged—”

  “Ah! There you are, Chloe!” Mr. Smith came bustling in with Gavin. “I do hope you’ll stay for dinner. I’ve already invited Alan.”

  Behind him, Gavin was frowning. Did he not want her to stay? Geez. It wasn’t like she’d actually tried seducing him or anything! But Lord, he looked sexy. He was dressed all in black tonight—jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket—she could almost see him standing on an English moor, like a brooding Heathcliff, the wind blowing his hair wildly while he contemplated…what? The woman he’d just left in bed? The woman he wanted but couldn’t have? The woman who broke his heart— Chloe shook her head and refocused. Just because she was a romance reader, did her imagination have to run amok every time she saw Gavin? And where had she gotten the stupid idea that some woman had ever broken his heart? All she had seen was Stoicism from him. But then again— She grimaced. She really needed to get a grip.

  “I’d love to stay, Mr. Smith. And I’d really like to have a better look at your collection. I suspect some of these weapons are very valuable.”

  “I’ve done the research,” Alan said. “I’d be glad to take the time to go over it with you.”

  “That would be good. I could be more helpful that way,” Chloe answered and turned to Gavin who was studying Alan as though he were some rare specimen. “Have you gotten any more information from the police about Jake?”

  Gavin turned his attention to her. “I have not,” he said in a neutral tone. “Unless an eye witness appears with some answers, the case will remain open.”

  “A man was ripped to shreds! There may be a dragon loose, for Pete’s sake! The police aren’t going to do anything?”

  “Cops don’t like to mess with the paranormal,” Alan interjected. “Makes them look less macho if they admit there’s something they can’t control out there.”

  Gavin fixed that dark, penetrating look on him again. “There have not been any leads. Unless something suddenly turns up, what would you have them do?”

  Caldwell shrugged. “All I’m saying is when the dragon sightings first started happening, the media had a field day and the cops pretty much ignored it—”

  “That’s not exactly true,” Mr. Smith said. “The detectives practically hounded poor Sophie, all but accusing her of staging a publicity stunt. Thank goodness she hired that girl, Morgan, to handle the media blitz or the clinic wouldn’t have been able to function at all.”

  Gavin’s gaze sharpened. “Where did Sophie find Morgan? Did she have good recommendations?”

  Chloe kept her face impassive, trying not to look at Gavin. Was he hedging for personal information about Morgan? Like maybe was she married? Probably. Morgan had certainly been interested in him. She’d made that obvious. Chloe sighed. Life was so not fair sometimes.

  “I think Michael knew Morgan from
some kind of social group,” Mr. Smith said. “I assume that’s how she came to be hired.”

  Gavin’s expression intensified. ‘What kind of group?”

  “Oh, something New-Age,” Mr. Smith waved his hand dismissively. “Sara belonged to the group too. I think they called themselves the Circle of Sisterhood.”

  Chloe stared at him. “That’s a Wiccan group.”

  “Witches?” Alan asked with interest. “Why would McCain be involved with a bunch of witches?”

  Mr. Smith winced. “I hardly think Sara or Morgan are witches.”

  She didn’t know about Sara, but Chloe wasn’t too sure about Morgan. She certainly had ‘bewitched’ Gavin, it seemed. Still, Chloe’s hippie mother had instilled the principle of not hurling out negative emotions. They came back to haunt you. “Maybe Michael was some kind of warlock or something,” she said with a laugh.

  Gavin’s eyes riveted on her and for a moment, she felt as though she were pinned against a door, but there was only space behind her, then the pressure lessened.

  “Do you believe in witches and warlocks, Miss Whitley?” he asked.

  “Do I—? No. I was joking. I mean—I suppose that there are weird people out there who think they’re witches. The AP gets crazy news stories in sometimes about people who think they’re werewolves or vampires or faeries that can fly.”

  One of Gavin’s dark brows rose. “Really? And are there logical explanations?”

  “Who knows? They usually pop up in crime cases with insanity defenses,” Chloe answered.

  “Well, Sara and Sophie and Michael were all quite sane,” Mr. Smith said, “and there just may be a dragon out there.”

  “Maybe he’s looking for one of those relics everyone’s been searching for,” Chloe replied with a big grin. “After all, aren’t dragons supposed to like shiny bling?”

  Three pairs of eyes fastened on her. Mr. Smith frowned, Alan looked speculative, and Gavin was nearly glowering.