IK2 (2 page)

around. The church, quite ironically, had offered sanctuary to him, a warlock. Michael grinned at the memory. The wife had been tempting, but he hadn‟t lacked for want of

willing women and preferred keeping his head attached to his shoulders.

Michael walked toward the churchyard behind the cathedral, following the faint

trail of magic. Lucas and Sara had definitely been here.

He stopped suddenly when he saw the ancient oak. Seared in jagged halves by

lightening, its major branches had fallen to the right and left, somehow managing to brace against the ground so the whole thing looked like an open heart. A circle of black,

scorched earth surrounded it. The white magic still emanating from the hallow interior

was strong. This must have been where they found the spear. Edging closer, Michael

noticed something glinting gold beneath scattered twigs and leaves. Leaning down, he

unearthed a gold Templar cross on a linked chain. He recognized it immediately as the

one Lucas had worn—the one Lucas had given him to wear as protection when they

hunted Balor. He hoped that Lucas could keep Sara safe, wherever they were. Balor had

spies everywhere.

Slipping it over his head, he straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. It

seemed that Michael, the immortal avenger, had been called to duty once more.

And, whether he liked the crazy Dallas millionaire or not, Smith had information

he would need.

* * * *

It was well past Sophie‟s normal veterinarian hours—if there were such a thing as

normal hours at a no-kill shelter and clinic where animals were always being dropped

off—but Mr. Smith had sounded frantic when he‟d called. Not that it was unus ual. John Smith was highly excitable and emotional about almost anything that caught his fancy.

However, his little terrier, Princess, had gotten herself impregnated with the neighbor‟s all-too-friendly lab and was in labor. With the differences in size, Sophie wanted to be there to make sure the terrier didn‟t die in the birthing process. If necessary, she could do a C-section.

Sophie turned her pick- up into the long circular driveway of the Smith mansion.

She had tried to convince him to let her do a simple D & C once she‟d made the

diagnosis that the terrier was carrying pups, but Mr. Smith had looked horrified and said
his
dog was not having an abortion; she had the right to be a mother. God only knew what these puppies would look like, but Sophie couldn‟t fault the man for having a tender heart. It counter-balanced his quirkiness.

Benton, the very proper English butler who Mr. Smith somehow had lured to

come to the States, showed her the way to the parlor. Princess was lying on a bed of

furs—probably real—in front of a fireplace that gave off a warm glow. Mr. Smith sat in

a nearby chair watching his pet. Sophie quickly pulled her long, strawberry-blonde hair into a makeshift ponytail as she crossed the room and knelt by the terrier, offering her hand for a sniff before feeling the little dog‟s abdomen.

“So far, so good,” she said. “There‟s movement. Hopefully, the pups are

turning.”

“Haven‟t we met?” a smooth baritone voice asked from across the room.

Sophie started at the sound, setting back on her heels, and turned her head to see a

tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and eyes emerge from the shadows.

“You!” she said.

SWORD OF FIRE Cynthia Breeding 7

Michael gave her a mock bow. “Dr. Cameron. Aren‟t you a little far from Palo

Pinto County?”

Mr. Smith looked from one of them to the other, his eyes bright with interest.

“Do you know each other? How delightful!!!”

Delightful was not the word Sophie would use. Several weeks ago, Michael

McCain had showed up at the country clinic insisting that a wolf had been wounded and

needed immediate care. When they had arrived at the little ranchero in the canyon, only a man and woman had been there. No wolf. Unless Sophie wanted to count the one she

was currently looking at. On the ride back that night, Michael had given her a lazy, easy smile while his eyes had practically burned through her clothes on their ride back.

“I volunteer one weekend a month at the clinic out there,” Sophie said. “They

don‟t have a regular vet so four of us take turns.”

“That‟s very generous of you,” he said and held out his hand. “Let me help you

up.”

As if she needed someone to help her stand when she was used to practicing

lunges and twists for her fencing hobby! Before she could rise though, he leaned down,

grasped her elbow and lifted her as though she were a bag of feathers. He released her

immediately, but the warmth where his hand had been lingered. This close, his

mahogany-colored hair looked soft as silk as it touched the collar of his white shirt and she could see his dark eyes were rimmed with hazel. His wide, full mouth quirked in a

half- grin and she realized she was staring. Sophie took a step back, all too aware of the massive male strength of him and his slightly woodsy scent. Oddly, it was a pleasantly

intoxicating smell.

He was just what she did not need. Good- looking, rakish men who looked like

they belonged on the cover of a romance novel generally should stay there. That way a

woman could look and not get hurt. Robert was drop-dead gorgeous too. Look where

that had gotten her. Michael McCain probably had dozens of women tweeting him

hourly.

“I didn‟t realize you were an acquaintance of Mr. Smith‟s,” she said.

Michael nodded, still looking somewhat amused as though he knew what she was

thinking. “I‟m working on a project and I needed his help on medieval weaponry.”

Sophie glanced at the wall that held an arrangement of swords: Roman spathas,

Middle-eastern scimitars, French rapiers, military sabers, English long swords, and a

great Scottish claymore. Alongside the weapons was a picture of St. George slaying the

dragon. She always felt sorry for the dragon.

She turned her gaze back to Michael. “Are you a reporter?”

“I‟m more interested in research,” he said. “I have a totally useless degree in

medieval religions, which…” He pointed to the collection of swords… “often led to

wars.”

“This collection seems to be quite popular these days,” she answered and turned

to Mr. Smith. “Didn‟t you have a reporter in here doing an article for some magazine?”

“Ah yes. That nice Mr. Caldwell. I can hardly wait to read the article! Actually,

you should meet him, Sophie. I believe he said he has a preference for the rapier to spar with too.”

“Too?” Michael raised a questioning eyebrow. “Do you fence?”

Sophie nodded. “It‟s a good way to relieve stress.”

SWORD OF FIRE Cynthia Breeding 8

His mouth quirked up again. “I can think of much more enjoyable ways to relieve

stress than to be literally on one‟s toes, anticipating your rival‟s next move.”

He had just described the way she felt around
him
, although he didn‟t know it. “I find the concentration takes my mind off more serious things, like saving animals.”

As if on cue, Princess whimpered and began to pant. Sophie knelt down, soothing

the dog in low tones as she pressed gently on the abdomen. The puppies were definitely

squirming. “It‟s time,” she said and reached for her bag, taking out supplies. Knowing Mr. Smith was squeamish about blood, she looked up. “I‟ll let you know as soon as

Princess has all the pups out.”

He nodded. “Michael, shall we have a brandy in the library while we wait?”

Michael shook his head and squatted down beside Sophie. “I‟ll help,” he said. “I

think this little one will need it.”

For a moment, Sophie studied him. Had Mr. Smith told him of the lab‟s size?

She doubted it. And then, she almost smiled as she took her sterile instruments out of

their wrappers. She‟d just see how Mr. Macho Man would do once the blood came.

* * * *

Sophie Cameron was an enigma and Michael liked nothing better—well,
sex
was

better—than to solve a puzzle. For one thing, she wore an oversized T-shirt over loosely-fitting khaki pants almost as though she wanted to hide the luscious curves of her hips

and the swell of full breasts. That intrigued him since most women with a figure like hers would flaunt everything they had. She also used minimal make-up which only enhanced

her high cheekbones, straight little nose, and full, generous mouth. A touch of mascara highlighted the startling bright blue of her eyes and he wished, fervently, that he could release her hair from the confines of the pony-tail and let it fall in cascades around her face. Did the woman not know how hot she was?

Another thing that was interesting was her total non-responsiveness to him. The

night he had taken her to Sara‟s ranchero to see about the wolf, she had been strictly

business. Had barely returned his smile. Not that he boasted about conquests, but over the centuries, few women had turned him down. He was a warlock, after all, and charm

was a natural, inherited trait that, unfortunately, also made women with jealous husbands throw caution to the wind, like that time in Cornwall….

But that was hundreds of years ago and he had learned to a void married women.

He frowned. Sophie wasn‟t wearing a wedding ring, but that didn‟t mean she wasn‟t

married. Maybe that was the reason she didn‟t respond to his attempt at flirting?

“What kind of work does your husband do?” he asked casually.

She kept her eyes on the terrier, but her breath hitched just a bit. “I‟m not

married,” she said.

“Divorced? Widowed?”

“I‟m busy right now. Hand me the KY jelly. The first pup‟s breaching.”

Michael picked up the tube, thinking what other much more interesting uses it

had, and gave it to her. Sophie was on her elbows and knees, affording him a very sweet view of her nicely-rounded ass, as she encouraged the terrier in a throaty voice. His

wayward shaft went rock hard. Was she teasing him with that sultry tone and a pose that would make any man want to rip those pants off leaving her female flesh exposed to him?

Sweat beaded on his forehead at the thought of how nice that would be. He swallowed

hard to keep from saying so.

SWORD OF FIRE Cynthia Breeding 9

“If you‟re going to be sick, go join Mr. Smith. I can handle this,” Sophie said.

So much for her being a cock-tease. She looked thoroughly disgusted with him.

Not that he could blame her. Here he was, thinking like a besotted, untried lad, when she was working to save the little dog‟s life.

He slipped over next to her. “Let me help,” he said.

She gave him one quick glance and nodded as she inserted forceps to gently tug

the first puppy out. “Just pet Princess and keep her calm. Her squirming isn‟t helping and I have my hands full.”

Michael laid a hand on the terrier‟s head and sent her a silent message of

tranquility along with soothing golden light. He sensed something besides the dog‟s

essence though. A faint blue mist mixed with the terrier‟s aura. Sophie? She had an

astral connection? Interesting. Princess‟ panting lessened and her muscle contractions strengthened. The second puppy plopped out.

“She did that one on her own,” Sophie said with a note of surprise. “I didn‟t think

she‟d be strong enough.”

“How many more?” Michael asked as he watched her hands, steady and gentle.

She wore no nail polish, simply kept her nails short and buffed. It was strange how

appealing he found her hands to be. It wasn‟t a usual part of female anatomy that he paid a lot of attention to. And the bluish mist…Was she aware of her ancient powers?

“Just one. I took a sonogram a few weeks ago,” Sophie said and picked up the

forceps again, but before she needed them, the third puppy slid through the canal.

“That‟s it, Princess. You can relax now and we‟ll wait for the afterbirth.”

The dog wagged her tail once and licked Michael‟s hand. He sent another

soothing stream of light to her and then picked up one of the towels Sophie had put down.

“I‟ll clean the pups,” he said as he picked up the first one and wiped the sticky film off it.

“You go tell Mr. Smith he‟s a proud grandfather or whatever.”

Sophie gave him a strange look as she got up. “You actually stuck with me on

this.” She tilted her head as if studying him and then, quite unexpectedly, smiled.

“Thank you.”

“You‟re welcome,” Michael answered, surprised a little at the tiny sparkle of

orange he‟d just seen in her peacefully blue-green aura. Orange sprang from the sacral

chakra, the center for physical attraction.

Maybe, beneath that cool, calm surface of remoteness, interest lay?

He definitely planned to find out.

* * * *

An hour and a half later, Sophie got into her truck and headed home. Mr. Smith

had been ecstatic that all three puppies were alive and nursing and that Princess had

required only a few stitches. His very generous tip would allow her to add on another

row of kennels at the clinic.

And Michael—well, she had been sure he would continue to flirt with her and

expect her to be grateful for the attention. Good- looking, muscular men were very aware of the effect they had on women—she only had to think of Robert to remember how very

effective
he had been—but Michael had surprised her. After the puppies were born, he had cleaned them up, taken care of the afterbirth and made sure Princess was