Flight of Dragons

by Elianne Adams, Sadie Haller, Zoe York, Shelley Munro, Zara Keane, LC Alleyne, Skye Jones, Evanne Lorraine, Ann Gimpel

  It might not slow him down, but it’ll make me feel better.

  Wonder if he knows any more about modern times than Lachlan. If not, I might have more latitude than I think.

  So long as she was en route for Glasgow by midnight, she’d arrive at the airport in plenty of time to collect her grandmother. It was only a hundred seventy miles or so. For a moment, she wondered about the advisability of spending any more time than she absolutely had to in Inverness but shook her head. Lachlan was in trouble. He had to be. If she could do something—anything—to help, there wasn’t any choice in the matter.

  Not really.

  What was that he’d said in her dream? I was born loving you, and I shall die loving you. Yes, that was it. A reluctant smile tugged the corners of her mouth. Hell, even Rhukon knew she’d met up with Lachlan—and seemed oddly threatened by it.

  Maybe that’s why I never married. I’ve been saving myself for Prince Charming. If I’d just tuned into my psychic side, I’d have known he’d be along sooner or later.

  Oh for Christ’s sake, give it a break, Hibbins.

  Give it a break indeed. The probable truth of why she’d been blocked from her dreams roared home and left her reeling. Maybe if she’d had access to her psychic side, she’d have found Lachlan long before she stumbled onto him yesterday.

  Too many maybes. I sure hope Grannie can figure this out.

  The older woman started to tell her something the day Maggie mentioned she’d accepted a fellowship in Inverness. In the end, her grandmother shook her head and muttered, “Best not.” Despite Maggie’s questions, Mary Elma remained close-mouthed.

  Maggie shimmied into jeans and a T-shirt. She looked at her sandals and discarded them as impractical. Instead, she fished tennis shoes out from under the bed and put them on over a pair of socks before tightening the laces. Planning settled her nerves. It always had. She’d never been a seat-of-the-pants sort. She didn’t like surprises. A snort escaped.

  For someone who’s fond of predictability, I’ve had more than my share of bombshells since I met Lachlan.

  Maggie grabbed a gym bag from behind the door and stuffed a jacket, a sweater, and fresh underwear into it. She stopped by the bathroom and tossed in her brush. It was amazing how little she actually needed.

  Work. What will I do about the hospital? Can I risk calling them on my cell phone?

  She creased her forehead in concentration and chewed on a torn fingernail. It was apparent her grandmother saw any sort of electronic communication as risky, so that left e-mail out of the equation as well.

  She walked down the hall and looked in the refrigerator. Because it was fast, easy, and would probably stay down, she made four peanut butter and honey sandwiches, snapped up her bottled tea, and set everything on the table with her gym bag.

  What else?

  She strode to her computer. Though in sleep mode, it was still on. She didn’t save her unfinished dream document and shut the machine down. It was password protected, which might—or might not—keep someone out of it. A shiver tracked down her back. Maggie squared her shoulders against the sudden sensation she was being watched.

  Her cell phone trilled. Not the text tone this time. Realizing she’d left it lying on her rumpled covers, she raced down the hall. It took a few moments to find but was still ringing when she stared hard at the caller ID. The hospital.

  Thank Christ! Maybe I can kill two birds with one stone. “Dr. Hibbins.”

  “Ach, Doc,” Berta said, “’twas afraid I was you wouldn’t pick up.”

  Maggie’s stomach tightened. Well-honed instincts told her whatever Berta had to say wouldn’t be good. “Whatever it is, just tell me.” She infused a calm she didn’t feel into her tone.

  “Chris tried to hang himself.” A muffled sob followed the words.

  Aw, shit. “Is he in ICU? Did the attending let the family know?”

  “Aye to both. Will you be in soon?”

  Maggie closed her eyes. Hope of hiding her movements if anyone was keeping tabs on her from behind a psychic veil went up in smoke. The hospital hadn’t been in her plans, but she didn’t see how she could say no. “I’m not feeling very well this morning. Think I got a mild case of food poisoning, but I’ll be in soon. I may not stay long, though.”

  “Ach. If you’re ill, maybe you ought to remain abed—”

  “I’m not that sick.” Guilt over her lie nipped at Maggie. “I’ll be there soon. Make certain someone is with Chris at all times.”

  “He’s sedated.”

  “I don’t care. I want twenty-four hour surveillance until he leaves our care.” Maggie grimaced. Her tone was sharper than she meant it to be.

  She opened her mouth to apologize when Berta said, “Yes, Doctor,” and disconnected.

  Maggie stared at the phone. Christ! What else could possibly go wrong? She gathered her purse and her gym bag and returned to the living room. After eyeing the sandwiches and tea, she decided it would be best to make more than one trip to her car. On a whim, she plucked her laptop from its spot leaning next to her desk and slid the strap from its case over one shoulder. Feeling like a sneak thief, she unlocked her front door and opened it a crack, craning her neck to peer up and down the empty hallway.

  With a small, uncomfortable laugh, she tugged the door shut behind her and chugged down the stairs. No reason to be particularly quiet. If what was after her was some sort of supernatural being, he’d have ears like a lynx. If he even relied on something as prosaic as his five senses.

  Keyed up, nerves jangling unpleasantly, Maggie locked what she had in her arms in her trunk and went back into the old manor house. She’d no sooner gotten inside when the heavy front door slammed shut behind her. A cold like nothing she’d ever felt before surrounded her. Frost formed on her eyelashes, her lungs burned, and the small hairs inside her nose felt frozen solid. Rooted in place by panic, she reached for her ward, only to understand she’d loosed it somewhere between her apartment and car.

  Maggie tried to resurrect protection around herself, but her teeth chattered so hard, it was impossible to concentrate. It’s illusion, she told herself, fighting a sick desperation. Has to be. No way it suddenly plummeted to below zero in here.

  She wrapped her arms around herself, seeking solace in the meager warmth of her body, and visualized heat, lots of it. A whole blast furnace full.

  Maggie concentrated. She gave it all she had. Whatever had her trapped in its icy maw receded but then roared back with a vengeance. She bit her lip until she tasted blood.

  I have to try harder. If I don’t, I’ll die. She’d no sooner thought the words than she understood the truth in them.

  “Goddamn you.” She spat, but her phlegm froze before it hit the floor. “Whoever the fuck you are. Leave me alone.” Maggie squared her shoulders. To hell with the cold. She drew her lips back from her teeth in a sneer. “You can’t bully me with your sick machinations.” The words helped. She wasn’t any warmer, but strength poured into her from some quarter. “Go. Back. To. The. Hell. You. Came. From.” She spaced the words, breathing after each one. Each breath felt warmer. Her lungs began to thaw.

  Because she was tuned into her psychic side, she felt something shift just before she heard the words, “Lass, thanks be to all the gods I havena come too late.” Out of nowhere, Lachlan swept to her side, and then pushed her gently behind him. He chanted in Gaelic. Moments later, the room’s temperature normalized. “Och aye, and he’s gone—for now. He willna want to fight the two of us. Not by himself, anyway.”

  Lachlan turned to her and pulled her against his body. “Ye were brave, lass. No warrior could’ve been more courageous. Are ye unharmed?” He drew back enough to look her up and down before he bent his head and kissed her.

  His mouth on hers was warm, imbued with the life she’d come so close to losing, but she pushed him away. “I need answers more than kisses,” she sputtered, reluctant to let go of him. “Who’s Rhukon, and why is he after you? While you’re at
it, what do dragons have to do with all this?”

  Lachlan opened his mouth, but Maggie shook her head and laid a finger over his lips. “I’m not thinking. We need to get a couple more things from my apartment. Then we need to leave. There’s been a bit of an emergency. We can talk on the way to the hospital.”

  He followed her up the stairs and through the door of her apartment. The heat of him behind her was full of passion and promise. She wanted to turn around and pull him against her, but there wasn’t time. Her gaze fell on the bags of clothing she’d bought for him the night before. “Quick.” She thrust them into his arms. “Change into these. You’ll be driving into Inverness with me, and it’s better if you look normal.”

  A wicked grin lit his face, melting her heart. God, but he was beautiful with those emerald eyes twinkling. “Aye, lassie. Ye just want to see me buck naked.”

  “That, too. But this time, I’m not looking. I’m due at the hospital as soon as I can get there.”

  Chapter Seven

  Lachlan gritted his teeth. Far from his absence keeping the lass safe, it actually left her vulnerable to attack. His conversation with the Celtic gods came to an abrupt halt when Gwydion bolted to his feet, face like a thundercloud, screeching, “That bastard. Who would’ve guessed Rhukon could move so quickly?”

  Lachlan didn’t waste time asking questions. He’d pulled magic as fast and hard as he could—gratified his power was recovering—and hastened to Maggie’s side.

  Intensely relieved he’d appeared soon enough to thwart his adversary, Lachlan pulled garments from flimsy bags made of some slick, alien substance. “What is this?” He pinched a bag disdainfully before tossing in onto the floor.

  “Plastic. A relatively new invention. Come on, Lachlan, I really do need you to hurry.”

  He ran his hands over breeks made of a stiff, blue fabric, a softer shirt and another, thicker shirt, and then held up what had to be smallclothes. “Aye, I think I understand just what goes where.” Never taking his gaze from her, he laid the new clothes over the arm of a puffy chair and unbuckled his sword belt. Next he unwound his plaid from his upper body and removed his shirt.

  By the time his chest was bare, spots of color bloomed on Maggie’s cheeks, and he could smell the heat of her arousal from ten paces. She gave a muffled squawk and turned away from him.

  “Am I so unattractive ye canna bear to gaze upon me?” The folds of the plaid fell from his body. He folded it carefully, laying it aside, and unbuckled his thigh sheath before working his way into the far less comfortable attire.

  “You know damn well that’s not it. It’s taking every shred of self-discipline I have to stay on this side of the room.” Breath rattled against her teeth as she exhaled. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but one of my patients tried to kill himself last night. The nursing staff is upset. They need me. I won’t stay at the hospital very long, but I have to stop in, check on my patient, and sign orders for his care. It doesn’t look good when suicides happen on my watch. People aren’t lawsuit-happy here like they are in the States, but that’s no excuse not to provide the best care I can.”

  “I doona quite catch some of your meaning.” Lachlan slid into the shorts and T-shirt. He pulled a top made of some soft material that wasn’t wool, but felt like it, over his torso and stared at the breeks. They looked as if they’d be uncomfortable as all get-out. He shoved a leg into one side, then the other, and pulled them into place. Because his cock was erect, it didn’t want to be stuffed into the confining space behind a row of metal buttons.

  “Are you dressed?”

  “Mostly. Ye’re fairly safe if ye turn about. This fellow ye’re caring for, he must be old and sick, eh? When people decide they’ve had enough of life, ’tis their choice to go far from their loved ones and meet the goddess. I doona understand why ye feel the need to prolong his life beyond—”

  She turned slowly and let her gaze sweep over him from head to toe. “Customs have changed dramatically since you were here last.” She waved a hand dismissively. “How society views suicide isn’t important right now. Ready?”

  He grinned sheepishly. “Not quite. I canna get the breeks buttoned.”

  Maggie’s cheeks turned crimson, and her intense blue eyes zeroed in on his groin. “That’s because your, er, uh… Oh, for Christ’s sake, I’m an M.D., not a bumbling schoolgirl. Your erection is in the way,” she finished. “Push it to the side, and the buttons should go. I’d help…” She quirked a brow. “But I won’t make the problem any better.”

  He half-turned from her and fumbled with his crotch. The buttons finally slipped into their fasteners, but his cock was wretchedly uncomfortable, trapped between his stomach and the rough fabric. Without the smallclothes providing a bit of shielding, the sensation would’ve been unbearable. “I doona see why a man would choose something like this over a plaid.”

  If Maggie had an answer for him, she didn’t offer it. She handed him the other, thicker shirt and gathered food items from her table. “Let’s go.”

  “Just a minute.” Lachlan picked up his thigh sheath and started to fasten it around his upper leg.”

  Maggie shook her head. “You won’t need that, and it defeats the whole purpose of having you in modern garb.”

  He eyed his sword. “I suppose next ye’re going to tell me to leave that behind as well.” She nodded. He chafed against leaving his weapons, but in truth, magic trumped steel every time. Lachlan gathered sword and dagger. He placed them against a wall and turned to face Maggie.

  “Here.” He took a large bottle of amber liquid from her, hoping it was mead, and held the door open. She locked it behind them and vaulted down the stairs. By the time he got to her car, she had the back part open. He put the shirt and bottle inside and got into the car.

  She settled behind the wheel and made a few adjustments. The metal monster on wheels rolled toward the street. “I was thinking, while you dressed. The first thing I need to know is who Rhukon is.”

  “Did he reveal himself to you, then?”

  Her lips pursed. “Of course he did. How else would I know about him? He showed up in my dream. See this bruise?” She held her braid back and pointed. “He slapped me, and it left a mark. That’s how I knew it wasn’t a dream. My grandmother is on her way here to help, but we can talk about that later. Who’s Rhukon?”

  “The black wyvern.”

  Maggie blew out a tense-sounding breath. “Okay. So he’s a black dragonesque creature. That tells me less than nothing. Why is he after you—and now me?”

  “’Tis a long story, lass.”

  “Give me the short version. I don’t have to understand everything, just the essentials.”

  “Out of all the dragons, a few from each clan are overly attracted to power. The Dragon Council in Fire Mountain tries to corral them, but ’tisn’t easy since Fire Mountain is far away, and dragons can live wherever they choose.” Lachlan collected his thoughts, wanting to highlight the important bits. “So far, the Dragon Council has either imprisoned miscreant dragons or barred them from returning to Fire Mountain. Dragons value family, so being forbidden contact with other dragonkind is serious punishment.”

  “How many dragon clans are there?” she cut in. “And what is Fire Mountain?”

  “If ye interrupt every other word, I willna be able to tell you aught.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Sorry, bad habit. I’m used to asking questions. Lots of them. I’ll shut up and listen. Promise.”

  He inhaled, considering how to attack reams of information and distill it into something Maggie could understand. “Dragon clans are based on color. There are several. Red, green, gold, copper, and black. Fire Mountain is the dragons’ eternal home. ’Tis where their life was forged in volcanic craters, and where they return to die. It exists on the other side of time. Many dragons chose to live out their years there when things became difficult for them here.” He caught her gaze and held it. “’Tis why ye’ve probably never seen dragons in your lifetime.
A few remain, but not many, and they know how to shield themselves from mortal eyes.”

  “No probably about it. I haven’t.”

  Lachlan nodded before continuing. “Danu promised dragons immortality if they bonded with a human mage. The mage becomes immortal through that process as well. Dragons are extremely picky, though, and long-lived enough even without Danu’s boon, so they only bond with the strongest magicians. Many doona choose to bond at all.”

  “Awk! Jesus Christ! You’re bonded to a dragon. That’s why you turned into one in my dream.” Maggie clamped her jaws shut with an audible clack. Spots of color bloomed on her high cheekbones. “Sorry. I really will try to keep my mouth shut.”

  Lachlan snorted. Maggie being quiet was starting to seem like an oxymoron. He loved her forthright nature, though. “I studied for hundreds of years to strengthen my magic enough to attract a dragon. Not long after I bonded with Kheladin, the black wyvern laid siege to my person and my lands. It never occurred to me he was doing aught but making mischief. Certain dragons always have misbehaved, and rather badly. ’Tis only occasionally been so serious, the Dragon Council told them they couldna return to Fire Mountain.

  “With Rhukon, I chalked his meddling up to a particular dragon—my dragon—rejecting him when he attempted to bond with it.”

  A muscle twitched beneath one of his eyes. It was hard to admit serious miscalculation. By all the gods, he was a warrior. He didn’t want the woman sitting a hand span away to see him as weak. His stomach muscles tightened. “There were many things I dinna know back then—”

  “Like what?”

  “Goddesses’ tits, lass, but ye’re determined.” He pressed his tongue against his teeth, thinking. “I dinna know Rhukon had cast strong magics with the intent of annihilating me. Perhaps ’twas arrogance on my part, but it never occurred to me he’d do such a thing.”

  “Are any other dragons mixed up in this mess on Rhukon’s side?”

  “’Tis prescient ye are.” He shot her a wry smile. “Malik is Rhukon’s dragon. The mage he’s closest to is named Connor, and his dragon is a red named Preki.” Lachlan waited for Maggie to break in with another question, but she remained silent, so he continued. “Before I returned to your home, I met with Gwydion and Arawn—”