Dragon Maid (3 page)

A rustling susurrus moved through the crowd. They surged closer, anxious to listen. Kheladin took it as a good sign. “’Twas when Lachlan and I were still forced to occupy a single form. He and Maggie Hibbins, a witch like all of you, had just mated, which infuriated our enemies.”

“Why?” someone cried.

The dragon paused, considering which details were needed. “Maggie and Lachlan are linked through a verra old prophecy. The simple version is their combined energy, once mated, will be enough to defeat our enemies and return Earth to its former glory. Of course,” he preened, remembering his mating bite, “I was part of the mating too.”

Mauvreen spun back to face him and put her hands on her hips. “Not that I don’t want to believe you, but Earth’s pretty much on a one-way track to destruction. How could—?”

He puffed more steam to silence her. Kheladin spoke sternly. “Ye are a witch. It means ye believe in magic. Prophecies are applied magic. Magic ye can see and feel and get your talons into. When ye canna believe in the wonder of it anymore, mayhap ye should rethink yourself.” She looked down. Kheladin read shame in her mind, but didn’t soften his words by adding to them.

“It’s one of the problems with being alive today.” Jonathan spread his hands in front of him. “We live in an age that’s antithetical to magic. Obviously, I wasn’t there, but I’ll bet it’s a whole lot different than the time you came from. Everything is science-based now. Although,” he looked up, met, and held the dragon’s gaze, “listening to you explain applied magic, it sounded a lot like science to me.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s just my mindset.”

Few humans could tolerate a dragon’s gaze; fewer still sought it out. Kheladin was reluctantly impressed. “Come closer.” He crooked a curved talon toward Jonathan. “Ye can explain
science
to me while the others clear rocks and debris from my cave floor.”

I can seek out those who may have strong magic later. It doesna appear the witches are in any hurry to leave.

“You heard the dragon.” Mauvreen bolted toward the group, obviously anxious to put distance between herself and the one who’d embarrassed her by pointing out her lapse of faith.

“I dinna mean to humiliate you.”
Kheladin used mind speech only she could hear.

“
I know. It was just a shock having you peer into my innermost thoughts and pluck out what troubles me. Really,”
she glanced over one shoulder,
“I owe you a debt of thanks for making me examine what’s uncomfortable.”

“We can talk more later.”

“I’d like that.”
Mauvreen bent, picked up a rock, and carted it off to one side.

“Over here.” A witch with long, blonde hair beckoned. “If a few of us concentrate our magic, this won’t take nearly as long.”

Kheladin grinned to himself. He could have cleared the cave in minutes with his own magic, but it was heady having all these humans falling over themselves to help him. Almost like the old days. Perhaps once they got through the worst of things, and the black and red wyverns and the Morrigan had been soundly defeated, he’d float the idea of resurrecting shrines—hell, maybe even temples—to dragon worship.

He focused his whirling eyes on Jonathan. The man didn’t look away. “Step closer still, witch. I doona bite.” He chuckled, blowing steam. “Unless it’s part of the mating ritual. Now, about this science…”

Jonathan strode next to Kheladin and craned his neck to glance up. “I thought it would be handy if we were looking at one another, but I’m not sure how to make it work.”

“How about this?” Kheladin bent and extended a foreleg. “Hop on.”

“Really?” Jonathan’s eyes widened.

“I wouldna have offered in jest.”

Jonathan positioned himself between Kheladin’s front limbs and body, stepped on the dragon’s bent knees, and levered himself up. Once he was seated on a foreleg, the dragon straightened. Jonathan’s forthright gaze swept over Kheladin. “Perfect. Forgive me for staring, but you’re incredible. I still can’t believe this is really happening—”

“Science,” Kheladin reminded him.

“Oh yes, right. Well, the Scientific Revolution actually began during your time. You’ll recall Newton, Copernicus, Descartes, and Galileo, to name a few.”

“Aye. They were regarded as charlatans.”

“Why am I not surprised they weren’t appreciated in their own time? In any event, by the seventeen and eighteen hundreds, which I guess you slept through, science was in full swing. If you couldn’t prove something in a lab, it didn’t exist. Talk about a death knell for magic and magic wielders. Somewhere around the sixteen-nineties, they started burning witches at the stake in the States and here too. I lost quite a few relatives…”

The air currents thickened. Magic. Strong magic that had nothing to do with the witches in his cave. The human sitting atop his foreleg stiffened. Apparently, he’d sensed it too. Kheladin bent forward; Jonathan scrambled to the ground and eyed the dragon. “I’ve never felt anything quite like that. What is it?” He raised his hands to call power.

“I doona know. We will stand ready but not deploy defensive magic until we know what it is we face.” He trumpeted. The sound rang off the cave walls, echoed, and amplified itself. When it faded, Kheladin spoke to everyone. “Something comes. Ready yourselves but doona fire yet.”

The oddness in the air intensified. It felt thick, syrupy, with a tinge of springtime. Kheladin chinked a hole in the warding he’d resurrected once the last witch was through. The minute he did, he knew what was outside his wards, but the answer was so fantastic, he had trouble believing it. Against all odds, another dragon shifter was close, one of the women. Who had tracked him down? And why?

I willna have to wait long to find out.
“’Tis safe enough,” he announced. “Return to your work. Another dragon will be here verra soon.”

Another dragon,
reverberated through the witches’ ranks, along with
amazing,
brilliant
,
incredible,
and
yesssss.

Good to know we’re still treasured.

“Drop your bloody wards, Kheladin. You recognized me. In the name of Dewi, let me in.”

His wards. Kheladin withdrew the magic powering them.
“Sorry. Done.”

Power raged through multihued air. When it stopped pulsating, an iridescent green dragon stood before him. Golden eyes whirled menacingly. Fire shot from her mouth. “What the bloody fuck? Why did ye hesitate once ye knew ’twas me?”

Kheladin slammed his wards shut and inclined his head. “I dinna realize ’twas you, Tarika. All I knew was another of us stood without. Besides, I havena seen you for over three hundred years. I thought ye’d gone to Fire Mountain with the rest of our kin.”

“Hmph.” Tarika’s gaze swept the cave. “Who are all these people?”

“Witches. They like me.”

“Pfft. Ye are so full of yourself.” More fire, mixed with steam. “Let us take our human forms. I would lay eyes on Lachlan again.”

“He is not here.”

“What?” she screeched in a shower of sparks. “Ye broke the bond?”

“Aye and resurrected it in a superior form that allows us each the pleasure of our own bodies.” He blew out a breath, aware the witches were fascinated and listening intently. “’Tis a verra long tale. I would start it at the beginning.”

“Do ye have food here?”

“Nay. For sustenance, ye must leave my cave in human form. This era doesna recognize those like us.”

“Fine.” The air turned molten gold, glistening and shimmery. When it cleared, Britta stood before him, naked as the day she was born. Red-blonde hair shrouded her nearly to her waist. Golden eyes glinted a challenge. “Which direction might I find food? Tarika and I searched long for you, and I am famished.”

Jonathan stepped forward, eyes averted, color high on his cheeks. “Hello. I’m Jonathan.” He bowed slightly. “I’d be glad to help any way I can. If you’re interested, I brought a couple of sandwiches with me, and I’m sure some of the other witches didn’t come empty-handed. We planned to be here for a while. Until Kheladin kicked us out, actually.”

Britta eyed him speculatively. “A witch who knows his place. I prefer them that way. My name is Britta Kilkerran, Countess of Cumbria. Lead out.” She made shooing motions with both hands. “If ye have mead to go with the food, I would take drink as well.”

Jonathan tried not to stare, but it was a losing battle. The woman—no, the dragon shifter—was the most perfect, the most alluring, creature he’d ever laid eyes on. Tall, with high, rounded breasts, a slender waist, and curvy hips, she looked like a goddess. Who knew? Maybe she was. The Celts had had many deities. He fumbled with his rucksack, pulled out a turkey sandwich on rye bread, and handed it to her.

She yanked the wrappings aside, dropped them onto the floor, and stuffed food into her mouth, chewing quickly. “Ye said there were two of these meat and bread things.” Britta surveyed him, golden eyes alight with interest.

“Yes, I did. If I give you both, I’ll be hungry.”

She shrugged. “Not my problem. Also, I requested mead.”

Jonathan’s lips twitched. He corralled the smile that wanted out. Britta was an imperious bitch, yet there was something so undeniably appealing about her straightforward nature, it was impossible to feel offended. “No mead. At least I don’t have any. We could ask the other witches, or if we found you some clothes, we could go into the city and buy a proper meal, and as much to drink as you wanted.”

She cocked her head to one side and popped the last bite of sandwich into her mouth. “I can go as I am. Shall we walk or use magic, witch?”

“Um, no, you can’t. You’d be arrested.”

She tilted her chin up. “Why? I can see where I might freeze to death, but who would give a jolly fuck whether I’m dressed or not?”

Before he could craft an explanation, Kheladin stalked over, trailed by three female witches stroking the scales on his lower body. “Lachlan kept a clothes chest against the far wall.” He pointed with a talon. “I am certain some of his shirts and tights would work, though there’s little to be done by way of shoes.”

Her gaze landed on a particularly large heap of gold jewelry and coins. “I could borrow a bit of money from your hoard, just a coin or two, and—”

Kheladin’s eyes whirled faster, glittering dangerously. “I doona think so.”

“Well then,” Britta turned a brilliant smile on Jonathan and tapped his chest with her index finger, “he can buy me what I need.” Magic shimmered around her. “Come close, witch. We are leaving.”

Kheladin stumped to Britta’s side. The counter spell he summoned to dampen her power sparkled; strands wrapped around her. Her lips curled in fury, and she raised her hands to call magic of her own. “Not so fast,” Kheladin snapped. “First, ye’ve forgotten ye need clothes. Second, Tarika was in an all-fired hurry to find me. Such a big hurry, ye went without food or rest. Why?”

Britta shook her head so hard her hair danced about her body. She swept the heels of her hands down her cheeks, distorting her perfect features. “Och aye, whatever is wrong with me? Nay, I know the answer. The Morrigan is furious because Lachlan triumphed over the black and red wyverns, and their dragon shifter mages.”

“Good the old battle crow even noticed,” Kheladin growled and breathed a fiery gout of flames.

“She did more than notice. She cast a spell to disrupt our memories. If ye wouldna have reminded me… Hell, ’tis surprised I am we got here at all. The Celtic gods, Gwydion and Arawn, sent us to warn you and Lachlan. They told us their magic would trump hers, but not forever.” One corner of her mouth turned down. “’Twould appear I just ran up against
forever
. Or mayhap their magic got subverted by your wards.”

“What impact has the Morrigan’s mischief had on the rest of our kind?”

“Those in Fire Mountain are safe so long as they remain there. The casting only traps them when they set foot on Earth.”

“Did the Celts try to neutralize it?”

She cast a look Kheladin’s way that said he should ask something worth her time answering. Johnathan watched the exchange, chest tight with excitement, feeling he’d fallen into one of the old tales where heroes and heroines walked amongst humans.

“All right. Let me try again.” Kheladin sounded exasperated. “Did the Morrigan wake the black wyvern’s mage, Rhukon?”

“’Twas the first thing she did.”

“So all our effort was for naught.” The dragon clanked his jaws together. “I must alert Lachlan. Where did the Celts find you?”

Britta rolled her eyes. “Not in Fire Mountain, though I admit Tarika and I retreated there after Rhukon, Connor, and their dragons teamed with the Morrigan, and things werena looking good. Nay, the Celts plucked us out of the sixteen hundreds, told us enough about what the future held to alarm us, and sent us on our way. I am far from certain, but it seems they might be gathering reinforcements beyond Tarika and me, so ye and Lachlan willna have to fight alone.”

Kheladin inclined his head. “Thank you for coming.”

A warm smile lit her face. It softened her features and made her look barely more than a girl. Jonathan’s cock stiffened where it pressed against his jeans. Breath caught in his throat, and he fought against touching her, running his hands down her golden skin. He drew magic around himself to mask his lust, make it unobtrusive, but she noticed anyway.

Britta turned an appraising glance his way. “Aye, ye’d do well to hide your rut from me.”

Embarrassed at being caught out but curious, too, he asked, “Why?”

She tossed her head at Kheladin. “Tell him, dragon. Mayhap he’ll believe it if he hears it from another, ahem,
male
.” Her last word dripped sarcasm.

Kheladin blew so much steam he looked like an old-fashioned train. Jonathan bristled. Worse, his cock didn’t seem to be in the mood for retreat. He tried for dignity. “Look. If it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon move on. I withdraw my question.”

“Nay.” Kheladin got his mirth under control. “Many have tried to mate with Tarika—and Britta too. I believe they fancy themselves reincarnations of Artemis. ’Tis why they bonded one to the other.”