Dragon’s Call: Dystopian Fantasy

by Ann Gimpel

  I kissed her again, lingering over the feel of her full mouth working beneath mine. Now that I knew we’d be lovers, we could take our time, tantalize one another, enjoy exploring each other’s bodies. I wanted to make her come a hundred times, but first we had to let go of one another long enough to find this pool of hers. After a final lick, I began untangling my limbs from hers.

  “Why stop at a hundred?” She laughed, and the silvery sound of pealing bells made my heart glad.

  “No thoughts of my own, eh?”

  “Maybe a few. I’ll teleport us there. It will be faster.” The feel of her magic rose around me, thickening the air with promise and the potential of what she and I could be together.

  Lovers and warriors. I relished the combination, and it almost made me laugh. Up until a very short while ago, I hadn’t cared much for anything that had to do with warfare. Having Rowan by my side changed everything.

  The walls of her room were replaced by a circle of standing stones with a pool in the center of them. I couldn’t wait to undress her, but first I sent power arcing around us to make certain we were alone. We were, but we also weren’t exactly in Midgard any longer.

  I wrapped my arms around her. Touching her was such a novelty and such a delight, I didn’t even try to resist. “What is this place?”

  “A world between worlds. Not exactly Earth, but not too far separated from it, either. It isn’t a borderworld, but it is private.”

  “How’d you find it?”

  “A long time ago, before the Breaking, the Celts were still in Inverlochy Castle. No one ever cared where I went or what I did, so I explored every tunnel, every cave, every possibility that led away from the castle. I got skilled at concealing my tracks, and I spent a lot of time here. One other place was almost as good, but without the pool.”

  She let go of me with one hand long enough to flick magic at the water’s smooth surface. After she’d chanted a small spell to warm the pool, she turned to me and began unbuttoning my blood-saturated clothing. It would be a relief to put some distance between my shirt and jacket and nose. Rowan’s delicious scent overpowered the stench of the monster but didn’t obliterate it entirely.

  She pushed my jacket aside, followed by my shirt, and ran her hands over my bare skin. “Such a beautiful man.”

  Her words pleased me. For the first time ever in my lengthy life, I wanted to be appealing to another. I’ve always valued being viewed as competent, capable. Those are different from being thrilled a woman found me desirable.

  I reached for the bottom edge of her shirt and worked it carefully over her head, making certain not to disturb the wounds that were healing on both shoulders.

  “You have the most amazing breasts.” I filled my hands with them, luxuriating in their firm fullness and rapidly hardening nipples.

  “You saw them before,” she said playfully.

  “Aye, but I had other priorities.” Bending forward, I licked a nipple. She moaned softly, so I licked the other one. Meanwhile, her fingers were busy with my trousers. I kicked off my soft leather boots before the pants pooled around my feet.

  My cock jutted from my body. She made a grab for it, but I said, “Nope. Bath first.” If she touched me, we’d never make it into the pool. At least, not for a long while.

  Before I could undo her trousers, she whipped through the fastenings and stepped out of them. Breath swooshed from me, and my chest got tight. Her breasts were only the beginning. Hips flared beneath a sculpted ribcage and narrow waist. Her ass was almost generous, and her legs long and shapely. If she’d had shoes, they were long gone.

  She held out a hand. I kicked out of the tangle of my breeches and clasped it. We walked into the pool together. The bottom was mostly sand with a few rocks. Half a dozen steps brought us waist-deep, and I gathered handfuls of sand to scrub the dirt off my hands. Dipping my face into the water, I washed it too.

  I felt Rowan working on my back. When she was done, I turned her around to return the favor. She had a long, graceful spine and strong, broad shoulders. “The claw marks are healing,” I told her.

  “They should be gone by now,” she said. “And they would be if my magic had fully recovered.”

  After rinsing sand from my hands, I gathered her close, her back to my front, and reached around her to cup her breasts. They fit perfectly into my hands, and I angled my head to string kisses up the side of her neck. She nestled against me and murmured, “I can’t believe how good you feel.”

  My erection pressing into the curves of her ass told her without words how amazing she felt in my arms. I luxuriated in the heat coursing through me and dipped a hand to the spiky mat of red curls between her legs. Her nub was distended and slick, and I teased it with a finger.

  She went from leaning against me, mewling with delight, to ramrod straight in the space between two breaths. “What is it?” I turned her in my arms so I could see her face. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “Not at all. You can’t hear the same as me because this spot is married to Celtic power. Something’s gone horribly wrong at Inverlochy Castle.” She chugged out of the water and started dragging clothes over her wet body.

  I stood stock-still, blood pumping through every vessel, cock ramrod straight and begging for release, before I rose beyond the swamp of lust my body had turned into and ran out of the pool. A jolt of magic dried me and got most of my clothes on except my boots. Never have figured out how to finesse them with anything other than the old-fashioned method.

  “Talk with me,” I urged. “What’s happening?” By now, I was sitting in the sand, dragging my boots on and getting the laces out of the way.

  “Mother.” Rowan spat the word like a curse. “Mother is at Inverlochy. The witches are defenseless against her. We have to hurry.”

  “I’ll be directly behind you.” On my feet, I ran lightly after her right through something I could have sworn was a solid cliff. It parted the moment I touched the illusion and spit us out in a place that stank of Celtic power.

  Readying myself for damn near anything, I put out a call to Nidhogg. If we needed firepower, his was as potent as it came.

  Chapter Eighteen, Rowan

  I longed for Bjorn with an urgency that ran far deeper than wisdom or reason. My plate was unbelievably full. I did not need a love interest mucking things up. Except, he wasn’t going anywhere. We were destined to fight together. Apparently, that destiny ran deeper than comrades in arms. It had taken a whole lot of self-discipline not to unbutton his trousers back in my bedroom. It would have been so easy to extract his incredible cock and ride him to ecstasy.

  But we were filthy, and I had an inexplicable need for our first time to be special. Something other than rutting in the dirt like a couple of animals. I’ve never had much use for men beyond the occasional roll in the hay. Bjorn was different. He wasn’t roll-in-the-hay material.

  It should have scared the living daylights out of me. Quickies didn’t mean anything. Hell, I didn’t even have to like the guy. I wasn’t signing on for anything beyond a cursory fuck. The moment Bjorn’s mouth came down on mine, sweet and hot and irresistible, I was lost. I may as well have stenciled an “I’m yours” heart across my forehead like the cutesy little Valentine candies mortals used to be so fond of before the world broke.

  Blinded by lust and heat and need, I brought him to my private pool. The one no one else knew about, and we bathed, washing each other. He stood behind me, the hard muscled planes of his body a delight against my back. The swell of his cock enticing. A sudden rush of Celtic power followed by outraged shrieks brought me thumping out of my fantasies of Bjorn filling me with his hot, hard dick. There was trouble at Inverlochy. Celtic trouble. And it had Mother’s name stamped all over it.

  Goddammit! If she harmed so much as a single one of the witches, there’d be hell to pay. Maybe I could leverage my linkage to dragonkind—a connection my Celtic kin probably all knew about—to mete out punishment.

  I didn’t expect Bj
orn to come with me. This was my problem, but I was quietly pleased when he simply assumed he’d be by my side. He dressed fast and asked for as many details as I had about the problem. It was starting to feel like my days of being on my own were over, but that was dangerous ground. The best way to avoid disappointment would be to keep my expectations nonexistent.

  He fed power into my travel spell, and we came out in the deserted castle courtyard. At least the beginnings of the garden were still intact. Now that we’d breached the veil separating Inverlochy from the stones and pool, I sensed Arawn and Gwydion too. Mother hadn’t come alone this time.

  Had something tipped them off about the witches being here, or had they come across them by accident?

  I dashed up the stone stairs with Bjorn right behind me. There’d been a stretch—a rather long one—when Mother intimidated me, but that time was long gone. Thank the gods—the other ones, not her—for small favors. After the witches initial volley of outraged shrieks, they’d been silent. I picked out their energy signatures, one by one.

  No one had killed them. Not yet, anyway.

  I felt Bjorn kindle defensive magic and weave it in with mine. Good to be ready. I’d been so intent on making sure my friends hadn’t been harmed, it had been the only thing in my mind. We barreled into the sizeable chamber the witches had claimed in time to hear Ceridwen’s chilly voice.

  “Ye will leave this spot and never return.”

  “But you’ve just signed our death sentences.” Patrick stood up to her. It made me proud of him.

  “Why should I care?” Ceridwen countered.

  “That’s always been the problem,” I shouted as I burst into the room. Bjorn flanked me, and we stopped just inside the door. “You’ve never valued anyone’s existence beyond your own.”

  “Ye’re being overly hard on your Mum,” Arawn said. Tall and gaunt, he wore his customary black robes. Dark hair spilled around him to waist level, and his dark eyes missed very little. The god of the dead was a man of few words, so hearing him speak surprised me.

  “You think so?” I turned my attention his way. “Do you know who my father is?”

  He shot a pointed glance at Gwydion; magic crackled between them as they employed shielded telepathy. Striking like all the Celts, the warrior magician and master enchanter was as fair as Arawn was dark. He was garbed in sky-blue robes sashed in white, and his ever-present magical staff carved with cunning runes and symbols shone with its usual inner light. The collection of leather pouches he normally carried everywhere hung from hooks on his sash.

  I chopped a hand downward. “I already know my parentage. All the effort you put into hiding Mother’s dirty little secret was for naught. These things have a way of coming out.”

  “Whatever are ye talking about, child?” Gwydion looked at me as if I’d grown two heads.

  I tossed a truth spell over him. Before he could break it, I said, “Do you mean to tell me you didn’t know my father is a dragon?”

  The shock stamped into his patrician features was genuine. I didn’t need my spell any longer, so I reeled it in. Gwydion stared at Ceridwen. “A dragon, eh? Ye did a masterful job hiding that little tidbit from us.”

  “How about if we move this discussion upstairs? To the council chamber?” I added a megadose of compulsion to my words. “Then the witches can get back to their garden.”

  “They canna be here.” Mother focused eyes twin to my own on me.

  I hustled forward and planted myself between her and the witches, aware of Bjorn maintaining a position where he could defend me. His unconditional support warmed me. I’d never had anyone stick up for me—until I joined the coven.

  I settled my hands on my hips. “And why not?” I asked Ceridwen. “They’re not hurting anything here. You don’t require this place. For us, it’s a matter of survival. Too many evil creatures are roaming free to plant anything outside.”

  “Us should be employed to mean you and the Celtic pantheon,” Mother retorted.

  I blew out an exasperated breath. “You fucked a dragon, for chrissakes. You hid my parentage to salvage your sorry reputation. You treated me like shit. When I refused to return to your side like an obedient puppy, you fucking broke the world.”

  Anger boiled up hot from my guts. “You didn’t give a good goddamn how many mortals you mowed through, or what a tough time the few survivors would have. Nope. It’s just like always. All about you. The witches you hate so much took me in. We’re running out of food, and I will do everything in my power to ensure we can grow what we need. Right here in Inverlochy castle. I’m a Celt. I have as much right to the use of it as you do.”

  “When you broke Midgard,” Bjorn’s deep voice growled from next to me, “you opened gateways that had been locked tight for good reason. It’s taken a few years, but pathways have formed. Channels that allow wicked creatures access to a world they’ve always desired.”

  “Who are you?” Arawn asked.

  “Aye, ye’ve a Norse feel about you,” Gwydion added.

  “I am Bjorn Nighthorse, master sorcerer for the Nine Worlds,” he replied coolly. “No need to offer your names in return, I know who you are well enough.”

  An uncharacteristic groan ripped from Ceridwen. After a string of curses in multiple languages, she muttered, “Goddess be damned. The cauldron never lies.”

  “What exactly does that mean?” I was close enough to thump her in the chest with my index finger. No more respect from me. She didn’t deserve any.

  “We’d like to know as well.” Arawn turned his bottomless black eyes on Ceridwen.

  “While ye’re at it,” Gwydion sniped, “how many other secrets have ye been sitting on?”

  I narrowed my eyes to slits. “We will move this discussion upstairs.” I thumped Mother once again for good measure. “I want your absolute word you will leave the witches alone. They’ll only be here long enough to see their crops through to harvest.”

  “What about the next planting?” Ceridwen snapped.

  “If Earth lasts that long, there will be another planting,” I agreed. “You will leave them alone then too.”

  Arawn and Gwydion moved to either side of Mother. “Leaving?” I asked caustically. “It will only put off a long-overdue talk. And inconvenience the hell out of Bjorn and me because we’ll have to track you down.”

  “We shall reconvene in the council chamber,” Gwydion informed me. A jolt of power dropped over Mother, ostensibly to teleport her, but maybe the master enchanter knew her well enough to expect her to try to make a run for it. Mother never did like to lose the upper hand. Thorny discussions weren’t her favorite, either.

  When the air cleared, they were gone.

  The witches looked rattled. “Do you think it’s safe for us to remain?” Patrick asked.

  “Aye,” Bjorn said. “I was certain the other Celts knew about Rowan’s parentage. Clearly, they didn’t. They’ll be annoyed enough with Ceridwen for withholding the truth that having you here growing a few vegetables won’t even rise to the level of a minor inconvenience.”

  “A dragon, eh?” Patrick’s drawn face relaxed into a warm smile.

  Hilda rushed forward and hugged me. Leif and several others gathered close. “We’d still love you if your da was the Devil himself,” she murmured.

  I returned her embrace. “You’re all special to me too. Bjorn and I are going upstairs, but you can get back to work.”

  “Check in with us before you leave,” Patrick told me. His instructions were transparent as hell, but he needed to make certain I was all right. Blood might be thicker than water, but if I had kinfolk, it was my witch family all the way.

  “Sure thing.” I patted his shoulder before Bjorn and I walked out of the room.

  “We could teleport,” he pointed out.

  “Yeah, but I want to give them time to grill Mother about opening her legs when she should have known better.” I smiled, but it had a lot of teeth and no mirth at all.

  “There is tha
t. Also I had the distinct impression they weren’t aware your mother was responsible for the Breaking. Or not totally responsible.”

  I hadn’t picked up on that part, but I’d be damn certain to rip the scab off that wound too. We traipsed up many flights to the Celts’ council chamber. It sat on the fourth floor at the tail end of a long, wide hallway. The farther up we moved in the castle, the more intact it was.

  Wall hangings depicting Celtic glory were interspersed with bronze statues and ivory carvings. A fortune in art sat within these walls. A useless fortune. Money didn’t buy anything anymore. I paused a couple of meters from the double doors that led to the council chamber. They were shut, but I’d expected them to be. A cursory jab of magic told me the Celts had shielded it from prying ears too.

  I turned toward Bjorn. “That thing you said earlier.”

  “Which thing in particular?”

  “The one about the Breaking kicking open paths for bad shit from other places to rampage through to Earth.”

  He nodded. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense. Midgard would have been well on its way to healing after the Breaking, but the magic that split the world became self-perpetuating. As big a bitch as your mother is, I don’t believe she cared enough to keep an infusion of destructive magic flowing.”

  “I might be deluding myself, but remember how I said I might be able to gradually repair the damage? I didn’t realize Mother was behind the Breaking until quite recently. Once I understood it was her power that spawned the destruction, I started considering how to counteract it. Only problem is things keep popping up, so I haven’t been able to focus any attention on how to address the problem.”

  Bjorn made a wry face. “Things popping up is an understatement. Even without them, though, your idea might have worked a decade ago. In the meantime, this thing—whatever it is—has developed a mind of its own and terminal velocity. Magic that renews itself is the hardest to alter.”

  “But we’re strong together,” I argued.