The Immortals II: Michael by Cynthia Breeding (1)

Immortals: Michael                                 Cynthia Breeding                                                 

 

The Immortals II:

Michael

By

Cynthia Breeding

( c ) copyright by Cynthia Breeding,  September 2009

Cover Art by Jenny Dixon, February 2018

ISBN 978-1-60394-

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction.  All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact.  Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Foreword

 

The Legend of Balor

An early Celtic sun-deity who evolved into a god of death, Balor wore a patch over one eye that, when lifted, could cause destruction with a look.  It was prophesized that only his grandson could kill him with a spear through that eye.  Consequently, he imprisoned his only daughter so she would bear no children.

But the Fates intervened.

Exiled from heaven, Balor vows to seek revenge by wrecking havoc on Earth.  Assuming human form as Adam Baylor has weakened him so he seeks the four Hallows of the lost Templar treasure: a spear, sword, platter and chalice whose powers will restore him to immortal strength…and then, he will destroy the world, one nation at a time.

The Fates intervened again, sending four medieval warriors to the New World to recover the relics before Balor does. Each of them has a special skill that will be needed to defeat the demon.

And that is where this story begins.

Chapter One

Present Day

Dallas, Texas

 

“Come on, baby.  You know you always liked it when I spread your legs and licked your juices.  I could make you come in ten seconds.”  The male voice on the other end of the phone sounded smug.  “Or maybe less.”

Sophie Cameron clenched a fist and willed herself not to slam the phone down on her ex-husband.  She would not give him the satisfaction of riling her.   Lord, the divorce had been final for over a year.

“Remember how I used to pinch your nipples the way you liked?  Just hard enough to make you squirm and then I’d soothe them by sucking—“

“That’s enough, Robert.  I don’t care to have phone sex with you.”

“I could come over.  It would be more fun that way.”

“No, thanks.”

“Why not?” 

He actually sounded hurt and confused.  Sophie made a sound of disgust.  Robert was a good actor, a trait he used as a courtroom lawyer to his advantage.  He’d totally had her believing he was faithful—looking her straight in the eyes and telling her he loved her—only his version of love included dalliances with whomever else caught his fancy.

“Did you and Amber have another spat?” she asked.  That’s when he usually called.

There was silence on the other end.  Then he said, “We broke it off.”

“Seems to me that happens about once a month.”

“Ah, baby.  Don’t be so hard on me.  This time’s for real.  I came home last night and another guy was in our bed.  You were right, baby, about everything.  Amber was just using me.  Liked the fact that I’m a big-shot attorney.”  He sighed audibly and his tone softened.  “I could have you hot for me in five minutes.  Sex was always great for us.”

“I suspect sex is great for you no matter who is in your bed,” Sophie replied.  “The answer is no.”

“Ah, baby, you’re just angry with me.  I can’t blame you.  Just let me come over there and I’ll prove I can make you feel—“

Sophie clicked the “off’ button silently in the middle of his spiel. What he had done to her was far worse than physically being unfaithful.  She had lost her ability to trust any man.  They all thought with their smaller head than the one that was attached to their shoulders.  Who needed them anyway? 

Besides which, she had her work.  Sophie picked up her truck keys and headed out the door for the animal clinic.  At least there, she had unconditional love.  Four-legged animals didn’t betray you.

* * * *

Nimue wasn’t exactly the most reliable faerie in the realm.

Michael McCain ran a hand through his unruly dark hair and looked around the hotel room again, his warlock senses on high alert.  Little tendrils of magic still laced the air… thin silvery threads that were his friend, Sara’s, and stronger golden ones that were no doubt the shifter, Lucas Ramsey’s.  Michael sniffed the air.  A slight trace of sulfur also lingered.  No doubt, Adam Baylor had been here too, but Michael felt no life essence.

The immortal bastard had escaped.

If Nimue were to be believed, Lucas and Sara had successfully recovered the Spear of Light, one of four sacred relics that the Lady had given the human world centuries ago to protect it from infinite evil, and they were in hiding somewhere.  Nimue had hardly made sense last night when she arrived, chattering about that damn fool, Merlin, who couldn’t unbind his own spells.  She had thrust a piece of paper into Michael’s hands, told him he had to go to Lewiston, Maine immediately and then she had vanished before he could question her further.

Typical faerie.

He took the paper from his jeans and unfolded it to read a poem of sorts that didn’t make much sense.

The sky’s afire

With one knight’s sire

He who sees the firedrake

The sword will take

Come, come to the lake

 

Michael refolded the paper and sighed.  Now he wished he had listened a little more carefully to what Sara had said about the manuscript her boss, the anonymous and filthy-rich John Smith, had sent her to Sotheby’s to purchase.  It had been found in an archeological dig in Scotland, written in medieval Gaelic, and originally believed to hold the secret to finding the Holy Grail.  Sara’s very eccentric boss was obsessed with medieval myths and particularly Arthurian legends.

But what came to light, after it was translated by a scholarly friend of Sara’s who had been murdered for the copy, was even more startling.

The manuscript contained secret codes the Templars had used to hide their identities after the French persecution.  References were made to treasures hidden at Rosslyn Chapel and then, later, of the need to separate and hide the sacred relics far away from the corruption that the Inquisition brought to Scotland. Another odd poem had been encrypted within the lines. 

Apparently what Nimue had given him was the second verse.  Just before she vanished, she had winked flirtatiously and told him he—and some mystery woman—had been chosen to find the sword.

Faeries.  Fickle lot, all of them.

Michael closed the door to the motel room and walked a few blocks to the Cathedral of Saints Peter and Paul.  He stood for a moment across the street from the church, admiring the beautiful rose window that was a replica of the medieval one in Chartres, France.  He remembered when the original French cathedral had been built—he’d had to leave England quite suddenly to escape false accusations—well, sort of false—made by a jealous husband. The wife had tried to seduce him, not the other way around.  The church, quite ironically, had offered sanctuary to him, a warlock. Or maybe not so ironic since he hadn’t always been 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, Heaven’s 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. He’d catch the next flight back.

* * * *

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 unusual.  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, sitting back on her heels, and turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and eyes emerge from the shadows. 

“You!” she said.

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.

“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.”

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—well, a healed Lucas Ramsey actually--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 avoid 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 currently single,” 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.

“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 comfortable.  Then he had asked Sophie questions about the clinic and her love of animals.  He had even seemed genuinely interested. 

She glanced at her wrist watch.  It was nearly nine o’clock, but she wanted to stop by the clinic and check on an older dog they were boarding.  It would only take a few minutes and then she could head home.  As she exited off I-30 a brilliant flash filled the air.  Lightning?  There hadn’t been any thunderstorms forecast.  And the night was clear, or at least as much as she could make out with all the city lights. 

Traveling north and away from the heavy traffic of the Interstate, Sophie became aware of an odd, reddish glow that seemed to linger in the air.  Her first thought was fire, or perhaps a crash at the DFW airport, but the brilliance seemed to be hovering high above her rather than along the ground. 

Still pondering, she turned down a side street and parked the truck in front of a modest brick house that had been converted into the veterinarian clinic.  It sat on a full acre of land with a fenced, grassy yard for shelter animals to walk in.  Sophie took a moment to appreciate the relative peace and quiet in this older neighborhood.  She let a large SUV drive past and then opened the truck door and stepped down.

The odd light was much brighter here and she thought she heard something as well.  A whirring sound and something that sounded like a horse snorting, but Augustin, her Andalusian, was securely in his stall in the small stable.  She looked up and then squinted. 

An oblong bright-red object was descending from the sky, an eerie trail of luminous sparkles of yellow, orange and red blazing behind it.  Could it be fuselage from a plane?  The airport wasn’t far away.  The thing seemed to be heading toward her though and now it was beginning to take on a dragon’ shape!  Sophie almost laughed at herself.  The picture of Saint George slaying the dragon must be lingering in her head.  As a child, she had loved fanciful stories about them, but they didn’t exist except in myths and legends.

The smile slipped from her face, though, as the thing came swooping down, belching fire that scorched her neatly mowed grass. The stench of the smoke assailed her.  Sophie jumped behind her truck.  Was it going to land?  My God.  What was happening? 

It slowed its descent and hovered in the air about forty feet over her head.  Sophie blinked.  OMG!  OMG!  It was a dragon.  For a moment, the world reeled about her as she tried to make sense of what was happening.  This was totally illogical, but she could see now that its scales were ruby-red and gold-tipped, almost as though the thing had been sprayed with lacquer.  The beating of the leathery-wings slowed as the dragon twisted his neck, angling his head, staring at her with cobalt-blue eyes, as if to get a better look at her.  Her.  Dear Lord.  Did she look like dinner?  She wondered if she should just stand still and pray it would move on like most wild animals would do or if she should crawl under the truck.  But the size of the dragon—its wing-span must be at least fifty feet and its length thirty—meant that it was a powerful animal.  The claws looked strong enough to pick up the truck and toss it.

She tried not to panic.  There must be some realistic explanation.  Dragons did not exist.  Why did she think one landed in front of her?  Was she hallucinating?  She hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since lunch. The evening had been stressful.  Maybe she should go inside and take a short nap—

Before she could decide what to do, though, the dragon snorted again, sending a flame to sear more of the earth, but somehow missing her truck.  Then he flapped his great wings and rose to disappear into the night sky almost as fast a shooting star.

* * * *

Down the street, sitting in his dark SUV, Adam Baylor watched the scene unfold and smiled.  It had been worth doing the stake-out at the Smith mansion earlier himself rather than trust his minions who had bungled the job with the spear.  Of course, each of them had personally paid, screaming in pain and begging for his slow torture to end.  Yes, that was at least satisfying—and quite just for their failure to meet his demands.

He had recognized the McCain warlock earlier and decided not to put a tail on him just yet.  Morgan, the little whore he used, was part of a witch’s coven that McCain belonged to.  He wouldn’t be hard to find.  And Baylor owed him punishment.   The man had interfered and saved the life of the little witch, Sara Kincaid, and cost Baylor an easy swipe at getting the spear. 

McCain would die for that.  Slowly.

But the woman shielding herself behind her truck was interesting.  He had wondered when she left the mansion if she knew anything about the ancient relics that both he and the warlock were hunting.  She wouldn’t have any reason to, since the panel on the side of her truck advertised her veterinary services, but Baylor believed in being thorough, so he had followed her.  And a good thing he had.

Someone had released the red dragon. 

He never would have thought those pious priestesses of Avalon would have risked it.  So many centuries ago, when Baylor had compelled Vortigern into inviting the Saxons into Britain on the pretense of helping protect them from invading Picts and Scotts—and what wonderful, bloody, destructive wars that had caused!—the red dragon had risen to defend his land.  But the Saxon brothers, Hengist and Horsa, had summoned the white dragon of the North and more chaos had ensued, much to his delight. 

Baylor had learned a valuable lesson from that.  Dragon temperament could not be trusted and barely controlled.  He had carried a few scars for nearly a hundred years as proof—which made it all the more intriguing why Avalon would choose to release the beast.

The dragon’s element was fire, which confirmed his suspicion that the next relic to be found would be the Sword of Fire, Excalibur.  Baylor had managed to confiscate a copy of the original manuscript by killing the old professor who had interpreted it. He’d made a calculated guess at the order the relics would be revealed: Spear, Sword, Platter and Chalice, for they correlated to transient yearly Celtic festivals beginning with Beltane. Unfortunately, the manuscript had only given clues to find the spear.

For the dragon to have singled this woman out, she had to be important.  Baylor would infiltrate her office and keep tabs on her. Of course, he would still rape her raw when this was finished, but he just might let her live, depending on how well she serviced him.

But right now, he had work to do to put everything in place.  Baylor heard sirens approaching.  Some concerned citizen probably had called in to report the sighting.  He eased the car into gear and turned the corner just as the first squad car approached. 

Awakening the white dragon was next on his list.

Chapter Two

Michael was almost home when a brilliant red flame shot through the night sky.  Meteor?  It seemed too close for that but if it were, then it would be crashing into the ground soon.  He turned on the police scanner he carried. PD would be receiving all sorts of calls. 

The wait wasn’t long.  Seconds later a dispatcher came on.  “Man reports seeing a dragon hovering in the sky.”

He could almost hear the officer’s laugh.  “Dragon?”

“That’s what he said.”  She gave the location.  “A red one.  Said it was breathing fire too.”

“Right,” the officer replied.  “Dopers must have gotten a really good batch of high-quality coke in recently.”

“Actually…”  The dispatcher hesitated, her voice rising just a little over the regular monotone. “We’ve received three more calls.”

“I’ll check it out.  Hope the place isn’t crawling with Media,” the officer responded. 

“Affirmative.  Maybe it’s an advertising gimmick,” she answered. 

“Why’s that?”

“The location is a clinic and no-kill shelter for animals,” Dispatch answered.  “Cameron’s Veterinarian Care.”

Michael slammed on the brakes, made a sharp U-turn and headed for I-30.  This wasn’t a prank.  More importantly, it was a red dragon.  There was only one red dragon still in existence and it had been slumbering safely on Avalon. 

For some reason, the goddess decided to release him.  Michael guessed he should not have been surprised.  He was searching for the Sword of Fire and the dragon had a vested interest in the sword too.  But why had the beast singled out Sophie?  Michael’s warlock senses tingled.  Was Sophie the “mystery woman” Nimue had alluded to?  Somehow, she was going to be instrumental in finding the sword.  How, he didn’t know, but right now, she needed protection.

The Pendragon was back—and he had little use for humans.

* * * *

Sophie had not even reached the door of her clinic when a police cruiser and TV crews arrived, the reporters tagging as close to the officer as they could get.

He examined the scorch marks on the grass.  “What happened here?” he asked.

Sophie took a deep breath and hoped they wouldn’t cart her off to a mental ward.  “I think…a dragon breathed fire on it.  At least, it looked like a dragon.”

The officer raised a skeptical brow while the reporters behind him babbled excitedly.

“Have you been drinking?”

“No.”

“Snorted some coke, lady?”

Sophie frowned.  “No.  No alcohol.  No drugs.  I’m a veterinarian.”  She pointed to the sign in the front yard.  “I stopped by to check on a dog we’re boarding.  The… the dragon—or whatever it was—hovered over the roof when I stepped out.  I can’t explain it.”

A barrage of questions came from the reporters and she wanted to put her hands over her ears to shut them all out.  “I don’t know the answers to your questions! All I know is what looked like a red dragon was in the air.  Maybe it was a hologram.  Maybe some technology genius created it.”  She turned to one reporter who had whispered something to her camera man.  “And no, I am not crazy!”

“Those scorch marks are real,” a thin, young man said and gave her a reassuring smile.  “I’m Toby Clark, ma’am.”

Sophie tried to smile back.  He seemed nice and not as aggressive as the other reporters.  Before she could answer though, several of her neighbors from down the road joined the group. 

“We saw the thing too,” one of them said.  “I was about to get my shotgun when it just vanished.”

His wife slanted a look at him.  “Like buckshot would take down whatever that was.”

“Well, an assault rifle would,” a second man said.  The officer looked at him and he stopped talking.

“So what kind of a monster was it?” another woman asked Sophie.  “You bring in some strange critters, but I never saw anything like that.”  She looked at the reporters.  “You should hear the sounds that come from here sometimes.  It’s not puppies and kittens she keeps here!”

The reporters turned back to her again in a feeding frenzy.  “How did you make it fly?” one asked.

“Was it a trick?  Do you want publicity?” A young woman stuck a microphone in front of her face. “Maybe donations to your shelter?”

“No, I—“

“I think that’s enough questions for now.”

Sophie spun around and almost groaned.  Michael McCain was elbowing his way through the growing crowd.  Bad enough that her nosy neighbor tried to seek fifteen seconds of fame by exaggerating her menagerie of assorted animals, and the police officer probably thought her nuts, but now Michael was here.  And Michael definitely made her feel confused.  She didn’t like the feeling one bit.  She was always in control of her emotions.  It was easier that way.

“Who are you?” the officer asked, his pen poised above the small notepad he carried.

“Michael McCain.” He offered his driver’s license. 

The cop looked at it and handed it back.  “Why are you here?”

Michael moved closer to Sophie and put his arm around her shoulder.  “I heard the report about Cameron Veterinary Clinic on the scanner.  Sophie’s my girl.”

She made a choking sound.  His girl???  Where did that come from?  She started to move away from him, but his fingers tightened their hold gently.  She tugged, but his hand was firm as a steel band.  Who did he think he was?  Some knight in shining armor coming to her rescue?  She could hold her own.  Sophie started to elbow him, but, as if he anticipated the move, he simply pulled her closer to him, trapping her arm against the side of his hard chest.  And damn, if her traitorous body did not respond to that closeness.  Heat radiated straight to her belly and her knees felt weak.  And almost as though he knew the effect he was having, he grinned at her.  She wanted to tell him she wasn’t about to fall for his male magnetism, but the officer was watching her.

Plastering a smile on her own face, she nodded.  “I really do have to check on my animals.”

“Of course,” the officer said and closed his notepad, slipping it into his shirt pocket.  He glanced up at the now empty sky.  “Let’s break it up folks.  That’s all for tonight.”

Michael kept her tucked up against him until the small crowd dissipated.  When the last one had gone, he released her and she spun on him.

“Just what was that all about?  The last thing I want to do is deal with an arrogant, sexy man who thinks he’s God’s gift to women!”

His mouth quirked up.  “You think I’m sexy?  That’s a good start.”

She glared at him, hands on her hips.  “No!  You think you are.  Men like you flatter and flirt until you get what you want and then the woman is left picking up the pieces and putting her life back together.”

His expression sobered.  “You’ve been hurt.”

“Never mind that.  What are you doing here anyway?  I’m about to have a nervous breakdown and I need time to think about what really happened tonight.”

Michael started to reach for her and then let his arm drop.  “There is no need for you to have a nervous breakdown,” he said.  “What you saw was real and I know who—or what—the dragon is.  Let’s go inside and talk.”

* * * *

Michael spent the time waiting while Sophie checked on the animals pondering just how much he should tell her.  Or, more precisely, how much she could take. 

She looked exhausted when she finally came back to the waiting room.  Her face was pale and she had dark circles under her eyes.  Michael wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and soothe her with his magic, but his warlock sense told him she would only interpret that as a sexual advance.  And, as voluptuous as her body was, she had suppressed any inclination to flirt.  Someone had hurt her really badly. 

Maybe in time, he could find out who the jerk was.  But, if they were going to work together, she had to trust him.  He sighed.  That meant putting all his lustful thoughts of her soft, naked body aside.  At least, for now.

Sophie sank into one of the leather armchairs placed about the room.  “I really saw a dragon?”

“You really saw a dragon.”

Sophie closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.  Michael’s fingers itched to touch her.  He could relieve the tension easily enough—a simple mind-spell would do it, but even as he thought it, she opened her eyes.

“How is it possible?” she asked in a shaky voice.  “Dinosaurs, which people probably mistook for dragons, became extinct long ago.”

“Two entirely different species,” Michael answered.  “Dragons are magical creatures.”

She stared at him.  “Magical?  Like unicorns?  Don’t tell me they exist too!”

They did, but Michael saw no reason to bring that up right now.  Sophie already looked a little wild-eyed.  He probed her aura gently, but she had astral shields in place.  Pushing at those would cause her more distress.

“Thousands of years ago, dragons roamed quite freely on Earth.  When humans came, the dragons tried to help, but the mortals were afraid of the sacred fire they breathed.  Instead of trying to understand the dragons, the humans hunted them.  The dragons withdrew into the mists.”  Michael paused, giving her time to absorb what he knew probably sounded like science-fiction.  “The reason people think dragons don’t exist is because, over the passage of time, people have stopped thinking of them.”  He paused again and tried to mind-link, but her defense shields were firmly in place.  Should he continue?  “The same thing happened with the old Greek and Roman gods.  The new religion replaced them, just like it did the goddess of Avalon.”  Michael stopped when Sophie held up her hand.  

“Please don’t tell me there is some mystical Lady of the Lake floating around somewhere too!”

Michael tried not to wince, reminding himself that Sophie was practical and logical.  She had, after all, gone to medical school for years and thought like a scientist, not like the witches he was used to working with.  She would need time to accept Truth.

“Perhaps it would help if I gave you my theory on the difference between non-existence and forgetting-to-remember?” he asked.

She eyed him warily.  “Okay.”

“The ancient gods and goddesses have faded into Time because people have gradually forgotten about them.  Many of those religions, like the Celts, were based on worship of the divine-feminine.  The goddess in her three forms: maiden, mother, crone.”  He paused, but Sophie seemed to be still listening.  “In the third century, when the Romans decided it would further their needs to hoist a single religion on the world they were conquering, they chose to adopt the new religion as their own.  But the warrior legions would be thought weak to worship the Great Mother.  They kept the holy trinity but made it a god instead: father, son, spirit.”

Sophie’s brows creased and Michael could see she was processing the information.  Her breathing had slowed to a normal, deeper rate too.  He tried not to notice how her breasts lifted with each inhalation or think about how good they would feel pressed against his chest as he held her, massaging her back and making her feel better.  Then he chided himself for letting his mind run amok again.

“You are talking about the spread of Christianity?” she asked.

Michael nodded, forcing himself to refocus. It had been decades, if not centuries, that a woman had distracted him this much.  “Constantine was no fool.  He knew the conquered tribes had deep roots in goddess worship so he didn’t even try to take away their sacred festivals.  He merely incorporated them into his own calendar.  Samhain became the Hallowed Eve of All Saints. Yule was the time to celebrate the Christ’s Mass and birth.  Ostara’s celebration became Easter and Beltane was called Whitsun.  Over time, people forgot the origins of the holy days.  That doesn’t mean those goddesses didn’t exist.”

Sophie stared at him now, her sapphire eyes appraising.  “But they are gone now.”  She hesitated a moment.  “Aren’t they?”

How many times had he summoned the old gods--Tanio of Fire, Awyr of Air, Dwfr of Water, and Pridd of Earth—when he called the quarters at the full-moon meetings of the coven of witches that he worked with?  The balance of their magic gave the Circle its power.  But Michael was pretty sure Sophie wasn’t ready to hear any of that just yet or even accept what he was.  Maybe especially not what he was. 

He shrugged slightly.  “Perhaps they only slumber.”

“Like the legend of King Arthur and his knights sleeping until the world needs them again?” Sophie asked with more than a trace of sarcasm in her voice. 

Michael smiled at her.  If only she knew…  “Something like that,” he said.  “Is it so hard to believe that deities live—some good, some evil—beyond our recognition?”  He tilted his head a bit.  “You saw a dragon earlier.”

Sophie’s face paled.  Her mouth opened and then closed.  She blinked her eyes and then sagged back into the armchair in defeat.  “I really wasn’t hallucinating?”

“No.  What you saw was real.”

She shook her head.  “Dragons aren’t real.”

Michael opened his mind and sent a strand of magic toward her forehead to link with her third-eye chakra.  Hopefully, it would help her accept what seemed impossible.  “He left those scorch marks so that you would not doubt.” 

Her eyes widened slightly as his wisp of magic touched her.  “Who is he?” she whispered. 

Michael took a deep breath, hoping he could keep the flickering magical connection with her mind for a bit longer.  He had seldom met someone with such a protective shield of logic as she had.  “He is the Pendragon.  Defender of Britain.”

She stared at him.  “Like in King Arthur Pendragon?”

“Not exactly.  The term is a title, meaning “Mightiest Dragon”.   Even after dragon-kind retreated to the safety of the mists, the gods assigned a Dragon Protector to each land. Britain was prophesied to one day rule the world.”  He smiled.  “The Pendragon stopped the Romans.  They never were able to conquer Wales, Scotland, or Ireland.”

“But the Britains lost to the Saxons eventually,” Sophie said. “That is a fact in all the history books.”

“Partially true. Vortigern, the betrayer, allowed the white dragon of the North on to Britain’s soil.  They didn’t conquer all of it though.”

Sophie eyed him skeptically.  “Just for the sake of argument—however illogical this is—does the white dragon still live too?”

“I don’t know,” Michael answered.  “Most of what was written about dragons exists only in metaphysical references. As the new religion became stronger, the old gods’ power grew weaker.  The dragons eventually withdrew from activities on Earth.”  What he didn’t add was that the white dragon had been Balor’s pet. 

“So why is the red dragon back now?  It makes no sense.” 

Sophie spoke the word triumphantly, as though she had just won their little argument.  Her chin lifted and she gave him a determined look as if to challenge his response to her logic.  He wondered if she were part Vulcan.  She didn’t have pointy ears. Then he bit back a grin.   

His experience with women had been that the harder they tried to remain logical, the hotter their physical response was once he found the key to unlock all those repressed emotions.  He wanted very much to be the man who opened her to the pleasures of unleashed, lustful passion.  His groin tightened in response and he pulled his thoughts back.  Someday—but first, there was the matter of finding the sword.

“Do you remember that research project I told you about earlier?”  When she nodded, he continued.  “I am looking for a very old sword that was once a holy relic of the old Celtic religion.  It has magical powers that could be deadly if it fell into the wrong hands.”

Sophie was staring at him again, this time total disbelief evident on her face.  “A magical sword?  Give me a break.  Next, you’ll be telling me it’s stuck in a stone someplace and you have to pull it out!” 

“That was a different sword,” Michael replied.  “This one was made from a fiery stone that fell to earth more than two thousand years ago.  The red dragon found the meteor and forged the sword with his own breath.  I think he’s returned to help me find it.”

“Uh-huh.  Well, you weave quite an incredible faerie tale,” Sophie said, “but how gullible do you think I am?  Tell me, how did you rig the hologram to appear right over my clinic?” 

Michael studied her for a silent moment.  She began to squirm in her chair.  “I had no idea of where your clinic was,” he finally said and waited for that truth to sink in.

Sophie stilled.  “Then how—?”  When he didn’t answer, her face paled.  “Even if what you say is true…what…what would the dragon want with me?”

“That I truly do not know,” he answered, “but somehow, I think you are to assist me in finding the sword.  And there is someone else who is looking for it.  We must find it before he does.” 

“Of course.  Let’s add to the mystery here.  Maybe a twenty-first century version of Romancing the Stone? ”

“This isn’t a movie, Sophie.  I’ve told you the truth. I know it sounds strange.”

“Strange?”  She gave a clipped laugh that sounded more like a bark.  “What is this—Sword of Fire—supposed to look like?”

“The blade shines blue-silver, like the very finest steel.  The hilt is gold with silver runes and a large ruby is set in the pommel.”

“Very distinctive.  A ceremonial sword?” Sophie asked, a trace of sarcasm still lingering.

Michael shook his head.  “Not ceremonial.  Excalibur was wielded in many battles.”

“Excalibur?  The legendary sword of the mythical King Arthur?”  

Michael watched her warily.  She didn’t believe him.  What more could he say?  Very discreetly, he sent her a truth spell along a thin tendril of magic toward her.

“I am not lying,” he said.  “We seek Excalibur.”

Her eyes rounded for a moment.  “Of course we do.” She began to laugh, softly at first, then more sharply.  Tears trickled down her face as her volume increased.  She began to hiccup, but she couldn’t stop laughing.

There were only two cures for hysteria that Michael knew.  One was to slap the person.  The other way was a kiss.

Michael reached down and lifted Sophie into his arms, his mouth settling over hers, claiming sweet victory along with salty tears.  Her lips trembled beneath his, soft and full and warm.  His tongue licked along the crease, encouraging her to open for him and he was rewarded with a small moan low in her throat as she stilled.

And then it was his turn to groan, as her knee connected with a very swollen part of him.

* * * *

Adam Baylor took a puff of his Cuban cigar and leaned back against the soft cabretta leather of the overstuffed sofa in the penthouse suite of one of Dallas’ most luxurious hotels.  His silk bathrobe lay open and he spread his legs so the naked woman kneeling in front of him could have better access to his cock.  He pushed her head down.

“I said suck it.  Hard.  And take it all.  You are not pleasing me.”

Obligingly, Morgan widened her mouth and stretched her throat until she consumed the length of him.

“That’s better,” he said and reached down to pinch her nipples until she whimpered in pain.  There was so much pleasure in giving pain. And Morgan liked it as much as he did.  He felt his shaft grow harder. 

“Take her from behind,” he instructed his newest minion, Carl Landon.  Apart from owing over a hundred thousand dollars in gambling debt to Baylor, the kid was a darn good screwer.  And Baylor enjoyed watching as much as doing.   “My treat.”

The athletic young man grinned and lost no time in unzipping his jeans and plunging deep inside her, his thrusts hard and fast.  Morgan moaned and sucked harder.

Baylor glanced sideways at Alan Caldwell who was sitting in an armchair across from him.  His expression was grim and Baylor almost smiled.  Caldwell had a thing for Morgan and it nearly killed him having to watch two other men using her. 

Not that the bitch minded being used.  When Caldwell had recruited her to help him get rid of Sara Kincaid, she had let him know—in no uncertain terms—that she wanted to be a model. Baylor had arranged to make that happen, but he enjoyed the extra bit of malice in making Caldwell watch and not touch, especially since the man hated him.   Caldwell was loyal only because Baylor knew where his fragile, elderly mother lived.

Baylor let his gaze slide over to Toby Clark who, as usual, fidgeted.  The kid was lanky and looked like a nerd and was mild-mannered to boot.  The perfect combination to be any bully’s victim.  Knowing that Clark’s virginal sister was wheelchair-bound made him an even more perfect mark. 

“Did you make any progress with the vet?” he asked. 

Toby swallowed nervously.  “I think so.  The other reporters were accusing her of setting up a publicity stunt and I acted like the nice guy.”

“And?”

He swallowed again.  “I’m going back tomorrow morning and ask for an interview.”

Baylor grunted and spurted into Morgan’s mouth, then pushed her face away.  Carl gave a final thrust and finished as well.

“See that you don’t fail me this time,” Baylor said to Toby.

Toby’s face turned bright red.  “Yes, sir.”

“Caldwell.  I’ll need for you go back to that lunatic Smith and tell him you got an offer to write a book and you want to include a Chapter on his weaponry.  The vet and that damn warlock paid him a visit before the dragon was sighted.  Somehow that nutcase is involved in this and I want you to stay close.”

“Got it.”

“Landon, you’re going to be the stakeout.  Stay hidden, but follow the warlock.”

“I could follow Michael,” Morgan said.

One of Baylor’s brows lifted and he almost smiled.  He knew the little bitch was hot to rut with the warlock.  “I’m sure you would like nothing better than to follow him, but I want you to infiltrate the vet’s clinic.  The media is going to be pouncing and you do have a gift for public relations.”  Public sexual relations too, he thought.

She looked disappointed, but nodded.

“That’s my pet,” he said.  “Now go, all of you.  I want everyone positioned by tomorrow.  We have to find out what the second verse to the damn riddle is.  I do not intend to lose the sword as well.”

He waited for several minutes to be sure they had all cleared the hotel and then he called for his car to be brought around.  He had discovered a ley line—a source of universal energy—not far from the Dallas County boundary, near a lake.  It would be from there that he would call the white dragon.

The white dragon had beaten the red in Vortigern’s time.  With Baylor’s help, the white would destroy the red this time and evil would gain a stronger foothold in the world.

Baylor smiled, anticipating the outcome of that.

Chapter Three

The knight crested the hill, silhouetted against bright moonlight that dappled the rocky crevices lining the canyons of Palo Pinto County. It reflected on his armor.  The big destrier pawed the ground, anxious to charge.

Sophie’s eyes flicked from him to the dragon that sat atop a butte across a small ravine.  It puffed small balls of smoke, much as an old train steam engine stoking up to move forward. 

Her feet were rooted to the ground between them.  “It’s going to attack!” she screamed at the knight, but only a small squeak emerged.

He looked down at her and pulled his sword. The dragon snorted, shooting fire that set the sword aflame.  The great warhorse reared as the knight turned it for the charge.  But instead of thundering toward the dragon, the knight was coming toward her.

Sophie willed her legs to run, but they would not move.  The dragon snorted again, but the sound was almost like laughter as the knight descended on her.  My God, she was going to be trampled!

At the last moment, the horse skidded to a stop, clumps of grass and dirt scattering around her.  The knight slid from the saddle, the flaming sword still in his hand and reached for her—

And suddenly it was Michael who was holding her, clad only in leather breeches, the sword and armor gone.  His bare chest felt like smooth, chiseled marble as his hands stroked up and down her back, soothing her.

“The dragon will not hurt you,” he whispered as he bent to nuzzle her neck,, sending pleasant little shivers down her spine.

Her weak spot—kiss her nape and her knees turned to putty— whatever thoughts she might have had flitted away like dandelion silk on the wind.  How did he know? 

Michael’s dark eyes gleamed in the moonlight.  “I know all about you.  I am going to make you mine.”

Like hell he was.  Hadn’t she already made the message clear—and then, he nuzzled her neck again, this time mouthing her skin softly as he trailed kisses to her earlobe.  A little mewling sound escaped her throat.

“You wanted to say something?” he whispered and before she could, his mouth covered hers, seductive and persuasive.

Dear Lord!  Who could have thought a man’s lips could be so soft and firm at the same time?  And warm and dry while his tongue was wet and hot?  And when had she opened her mouth to let him in?  But he certainly was in, his tongue doing a wicked impersonation of what his other member would do. 

He tasted of some spice she could not identify and smelled slightly of salt-air and heather, as though they were on were on Scottish moors rather than in Texas.  It was a heady combination and the world tilted as she pressed suddenly heavy, swollen breasts against him.  His hands slid down her back and grasped her buttocks, bringing her fully against his large, granite-hard erection.

“Let me make love to you,” he whispered as he took them both slowly to the ground—

Sophie landed with a thump on the floor beside her bed.  She squinted in the dark room illuminated only by the wash of moonlight streaming through her window onto the hardwood floor.  The silence told her she was alone.  There certainly was no dragon or knight with a flaming sword.  And there was no Michael. 

She disentangled herself from the twisted bed sheets that had accompanied her fall, picked herself up and sat on the edge of the bed.  To her chagrin, her breasts tingled, her nipples were tight, and there was warm moisture between her legs.

For the past year, since her galling divorce from her cheating husband, she had not even entertained a thought of dating anyone.  Her body had numbed and become neutral and that was how she wanted it.  Much safer than to allow a man to play with her emotions again.  Too much pain…

Why in the world had she dreamed about Michael McCain?  And who was the knight with the flaming sword?

* * * *

The dragon curled its tail around its claws with a clanging of metal scales and settled on the hardened earth of the cave he’d found near Crawford Mountain.  He snorted, puffs of smoke streaming out the entrance.  It could hardly be called a cave—more like a hollowed out crevice beneath a shale overhang—and he barely fit, but it was close to the girl he needed to protect.  He sighed, careful not to shoot flames that would ignite the scrub brush that attached itself to the rocky hillsides.  The goddess Brighid had not allowed him to take his hoard of gold and silver with him, telling him he needed to focus his dragon’s lust for bright, shiny objects on finding Excalibur before Balor did.

His problem was that he didn’t know where to begin in this very strange world that moved so fast.  He’d been sleeping and dreaming peacefully for fifteen hundred years, thankful to be away from humans.  The last he knew was that Galahad had taken the Grail and several other relics to Sarras to keep the Saxons from discovering them.  Brighid had told him a group of warrior monks called Templars had rescued the treasure and returned it to Scotland, but because of unrest there as well, the Sinclair Protector had removed them to a foreign land called America.

He shook his great head, dislodging small fragments of sandstone overhead, and sighed once more.  He had frightened the mortal girl the night before when he’d followed her home.  He had forgotten how humans reacted to his kind.  But this one cared for animals, which wasn’t unusual considering her real ancestry. Perhaps if she saw more of him she would lose her fear.

Settling his massive jaw between his claws and the spiky tip of his tail, he shut his eyes to nap and plan his strategy. 

Seconds later, he opened them wide as the scales on top of his head fanned out in spears of defense.  Another dragon was near.

Brighid had told him no dragons walked the earth any more.  Cautiously, he breathed in the air.  It was not that close—perhaps a good twenty leagues away—but he now recognized the scent.

Sigurd.  The damn, white dragon that Hengist and Horsa had brought with

them.  They had battled before and Pendragon had ultimately lost when Arthur was killed.  He snorted once, thinking about revenge.

This time, he would win.

He had to.

* * * *

Sophie peered out the window of the clinic again.  Yep, the reporters were still there, hovering like vultures waiting for the next kill. She’d managed to elude them by retreating to the Palo Pinto County Clinic yesterday, but the AP had gotten wind of the story and the phone was ringing off the hook.  Her vet partner, Allison, needed her back. 

With a sigh, she turned back to her computer and Googled “Dragons” once more.

Two days had passed without any return of the dragon—except in that weird dream she had.  

Her cell phone rang again and she groaned.  Robert had left at least a dozen voice mails since the sighting.  She glanced at the Caller ID and frowned slightly.  Toby Clark.  Of all the reporters, he was the only one who hadn’t accused her of setting up some sort of publicity stunt for her clinic.  She pressed her answer button.

“Hello, Mr. Clark.”

His voice sounded cheerful.  “Dr. Cameron?  I was wondering if I could do a human interest story on you?”

“I thought it was the dragon—or whatever it was—everyone was interested in.  Why would you want to do a story on me?”

“The tie-in would be great,” he replied.  “You’re a vet.  You heal animals.  Maybe the dragon is ill and needed your help?”

Sophie almost smiled.  The dragon—or whatever it was—she was still not too sure she was ready to accept what should be a myth as reality—certainly had appeared healthy, if nothing else.  “I really think it was just circumstantial that it hovered here.”

“But maybe not.  Look, I’m a rookie at this reporting stuff,” he said with a note of desperation in his voice.  “If you give me an exclusive interview, it would really go a long way with my boss.  Plus, once you’ve given the story, most of this pack will melt away.”

Sophie glanced out the window again.  That would be a help.  Potential adopters were having a hard time getting past the crowd.   “Okay,” she said, “but I can’t do it for a couple more days.  We’re swamped right now.”

Toby hesitated and she was wondering how insistent he was going to get.  He sounded sweet and nice, but she knew media types were predatory.  To her surprise, he didn’t argue.  Instead, they set a time for Wednesday morning.

She had just turned back to the computer when Janie, their assistant, appeared in the door.   “There’s a man here to see you,” she said.

“A client?”

“Don’t think so.  He’s really cute,” she said with a smile.

Sophie repressed a sigh.  Janie was all of twenty and nearly every male under thirty was “cute” in her eyes.  “Does he have a name?”

“Michael.”

This time she did sigh.  What in the world was he doing here? After what she did to him, she wouldn’t think he’d ever want to see her again.  Probably not too many women kneed the man.  “Show him in,” she said.

Janie giggled and managed to brush against Michael as his broad-shouldered frame filled the doorway.  He gave her a fleeting smile and then looked at Sophie.  His dark eyes held hers instantly with an intensity that made her breath hitch as he crossed the room toward her. The sunlight streaming in from the French doors caught the deep auburn streaks in his almost-black hair and she thought she saw a flame-like halo around his head.  She gave herself a shake.  What would she be seeing next?  Faeries floating around in the air?  And why did her thinking go all goofy when Michael was around?

“Please have a seat,” she said quickly before he got any closer to her.  “I must say I’m surprised to see you after our last encounter.”

He inclined his head as he drew a straight-back chair near to where she sat at her computer.  “That was my fault.  I’m afraid I took advantage of the situation.”

He was apologizing?  She was pretty sure she had put him out of commission for at least twenty-four hours.  Most men would be cursing her for that.  “Well, I probably could have used an alternative way to stop you.”

A corner of his mouth quirked up in a small smile.  “That might not have hurt so much.”  He glanced at the computer screen.  “You’re looking up dragons?”

She felt her face flush.  “It’s pretty stupid.  There’s been no sighting of anything unnatural since whatever that was happened.”

“What happened was real.  You’re not stupid to want to know more.  Go ahead,” he said.  “Google it.”

Feeling like a fool, Sophie turned back to the computer and clicked on a link.  There was the usual stuff about dragons liking bling, and collecting hordes of shiny treasures, along with lightning and thunder being the dragon’s breath and roar, respectively.  Another link talked about their appearance: scales that rotate and overlap, horns, razor-sharp wings and spiked-spines with arrow-point tails.  The third link was more educational. 

“It says dragons, like birds, have hollow bones which allows them to fly.  They can dislocate their jaw bone to take in large chunks of food.”  Briefly, she thought of being dinner for the red dragon.  “Here’s something interesting.”

“What’s that?”

“It says their scales form when iron from their food mixes with a protein called keratin in their cells.”  She looked up at Michael.  “Sorry.  I get excited about biology.”

“No problem.”  Michael moved closer and reached across her, his fingers brushing her hand as he moved the mouse to another site.  That very slight touch left a pleasant, tingling sensation that spread up her arm and through her body.  Sophie was suddenly aware of his closeness, although he did not touch her.  In fact, he settled back in his chair.

“There’s some more biology for you,” he said.

She forced herself to refocus on the screen and not think about the scent of heather and woodlands that surrounded him.  What in the world was wrong with her?

“This site says dragons live for centuries!  Babies are called wyrmlings and are considered young adolescents at age sixty. I’ll bet the baby-boomer generation would appreciate that!”  She peered more closely at the facts.  “They aren’t adults until they’re five hundred and only middle-aged at a thousand!”

Michael leaned in again, only inches away from her to read over her shoulder.  Her entire body alerted, nerve-endings ready for—what?  It was almost as if she were wrapped in a warm cocoon that pulsated with gentle static.  Yet he was not touching her, only his warm breath tickled her ear.  She needed to focus on something besides Michael.  Shakily, she began to read on.

“When the female seeks a mate, she lets out a special call and then begins to glow—”  She stopped abruptly, her face heating.  This was not the direction she needed to take. 

“You’re glowing,” Michael said with a grin.

Before she could decide how to ignore the innuendo, Janie was back at the door, along with a very annoyed-looking Robert.

“I told him you were busy,” Janie said, but she didn’t sound too convincing since she was smiling at him.

He entered the room without preamble, glancing at Michael before staring at Sophie.  “I guess he’s the reason you haven’t returned my calls?” 

Sophie felt her face flame and wondered if she might just spontaneously combust.  Could things get worse?

“I’ve been so worried about you,” Robert said.   

Michael stood, shifting his weight so he was balanced on both feet. Sophie recognized it as a defensive move from fencing. 

“And you are?” he asked.

Robert regarded him coolly, using his best, impassive attorney face.  “I am her husband.”

“Ex-husband,” Sophie said.

“You know we’re going to talk about that,” Robert said in the buttery-smooth voice he used to convince witnesses to talk. 

Sophie bit her tongue and tried not to glare at the man.  She didn’t believe in airing dirty laundry in front of strangers.   “I am busy at the moment.”

“Yes.  We were involved in a conversation,” Michael said.

Robert appraised him again, this time shifting his weight too and Sophie suddenly wondered if they were going to resort to squabbling like school boys. 

“And who are you?”

“Name’s Michael McCain.”

“And what do you do?”

“I help a friend run a temp agency and I adjunct at the local college.  Why?”

Robert’s lips curled in a subtle sneer that Sophie had seen him use when he felt he had the upper hand.  She didn’t like it.

“Gentleman,” she said, standing also.  “I really need both of you to leave.  I’ve got forty animals to feed, a horse that needs exercising, and an elderly lady coming in an hour who may have to put her ancient Shepard down.  I need time to prepare myself for that.”

Michael’s gaze softened.  “I understand.  I’ll get back to you about the research project.”  He turned to Robert.  “After you.”

Robert did not move for a moment and Sophie was afraid he was going to stubbornly insist upon staying and talking.  Attorneys were nothing if not persistent.  But something in her look must have convinced him this was not the day. 

He moved toward the door.  “I’ll be getting back to you too,” he said.

* * * *

In her relief that there had not been a dragon sighting, Sophie almost forgot her appointment with Toby Clark until Janie announced him on Wednesday morning.

“Thank you for seeing me,” he said after she’d invited him to sit down.

“I’m still not sure why you would want to do a human interest story on me,” Sophie replied.  “Especially since nothing has happened since that one time.”  She pointed toward the windows.  “There’s only one or two media types lingering out there.”

“As I mentioned, I’m new at this.  I think the fact that you are a vet—used to caring for animals—and this dragon appeared at your doorstep is an interesting angle.”  Toby shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out something wrapped in tissue.  “I saw this and thought you might like it.”

She unwrapped the tissue and held up a keychain with a crystal-eyed dragon dangling from it.  “Thank you,” she said.

Toby blushed to the roots of his fair hair.  “I hope I didn’t offend you.  I thought you might think it funny.”  He looked very earnest.  “You will use it, won’t you?”

Sophie looked at the small dragon again.  “It is rather cute.”  She sensed that he was waiting, like a small boy hoping to please her.  She picked up the keys to the office that were lying on the desk and clipped the ring to it.  “There.  All set to go.  You were sweet to think of it.”

His blush deepened and then he coughed and brought out his notepad.  “I know you’re busy, so I’ll just get started,” he said.

They spent about fifteen minutes discussing how Sophie had decided to become a vet and how important having a no-kill animal shelter was.  As she watched him leave, she thought about how very different he was from the other reporters she’d had to deal with.  He seemed to lack the aggression and persistence that most of them had, but who was she to fault him for that?

“Good luck,” she said to his retreating back.

* * * *

“Any problems today?” Michael asked Stephanie, Sara’s middle-aged assistant, late that afternoon as he checked into the agency.

“None.  We had thirty temps working, including a new guy with the cutest smile.  Too bad I’m not twenty years younger,” she said with a wink

“What’s his name?” Michael asked, “and what does he do?  Did you run background?”

She looked slightly miffed.  “Of course.  No criminal record.  The name is Troy Sutton and he has a degree in Ancient History.  Apparently it’s almost as useless as yours.  I sent him to the library since they’re needing someone to help catalog what is going digital.”

“He knows computers?”

“Seems to.  The head librarian didn’t have any complaints when I talked to her earlier.”

“Good.  Maybe he can help out here.”  Michael glanced over the neatly stacked folders of their clients.  “I may have to leave for a few weeks as soon as the semester is over.”

“No problem.”  She gave him a quick smile.  “I’ve managed this office for three years.  Going on vacation?”

“Not quite.  A…friend of mine and I need to retrieve something for Mr. Smith.”

She frowned at that.  “Sara was working for him when she disappeared.”

“Sara hasn’t exactly disappeared,” Michael said.  “She’s safe-guarding a very valuable object in a secluded location.”

“She hasn’t called or anything,” Stephanie replied. 

He knew she was worried about Sara.  He was too, but he had to trust that Nimue knew what she was talking about, even if she was a fickle faerie.  But how to explain to Stephanie? 

“You know cell phone transmissions can be picked up pretty easily,” Michael answered.  “So she can’t call.”

She looked dubious, but didn’t say anything.  Michael retreated to the small office behind the main desk and closed the door.  He needed to make sure he hadn’t missed anything that Sara might have left behind concerning Balor.  The bastard kept himself incognito, just like he did when he was running the money-laundering scheme that kept terroristic organizations supplied with cash.  To the outside world, Baylor operated a very successful brokerage in London.  To the few who really knew what he was, the “inside” money was all dirty, taken from the drug cartels of Mexico and South America as well as the opium business in Afghanistan.

Michael wished he didn’t need to drag Sophie into this.  It was dangerous enough work for him and he’d had centuries to hone his warlock skills.  Sophie was completely unaware of her magical power from what he could tell which meant she didn’t know how to use it either. 

Thoughts of Sophie made him wonder about the ex-husband.  The man was arrogant, but he clearly thought he was going to be a part of her life again.  Did she harbor feelings for him?  Or was he the jerk who had hurt her?  She had made no comment, one way or the other.

Something that felt dangerously close to a knife pierced his gut.  The idea of

another man’s hands roaming over Sophie’s naked flesh, kneading her breasts, teasing her nipples to hard nubs with his tongue, and then spreading her legs made Michael want to smash a fist into the guy’s face.  His aura expanded, flickering shards of dark red and black.  He took a deep breath, pulling the negative energy back in and neutralizing it with a spell.  Balor fed off those kind of emotions—would feel them across space— if Michael let his anger loose he would endanger everyone around him.

Michael finished searching the small office with no luck.  He shut off the lights and went into the lobby.  Dusk was already falling and Stephanie had gone home.

He had just switched on the ignition in his car when something red flashed across the sky.  This time he didn’t need the police scanner to tell him what it was.  Putting the car in drive, the tires squealed as he headed for Sophie’s clinic.

* * * *

Sophie arched her back, stretching tired muscles, as she closed the door to the kennel area.  All the animals had been fed and had fresh water.  Most were already curled up and snoozing contently.  It had been a long day, but knowing that these dogs and cats, at least, would be comfortable and safe made the work worth it.

She’d even managed to take Augustin for a good ride.  It was odd how she could relate to the horse, almost as if he understood everything she said.  He’d even nickered and tossed his head when she tried to explain how crazy her world had become. 

She yawned as she sat down at her desk and checked the email.  A couple of adoption applications and the usual jokes and political comments of the day.  She deleted a cutesy note from Robert. At least there were no nasty little queries about whether she was insane or just out for publicity that had been coming in the past week.  No crank phone calls either, tying up her receptionist.  The interview she had given Toby never appeared in the paper and she had mixed feelings about that.  It probably was not of that much interest since the media had moved on to other stories.  She was a dim memory.

But she did remember what had happened.  Try to deny it she might, but that dragon had been real.  Only Michael seemed to accept that.

Michael.  She tried not to think about how her skin tingled at the mere brush of his fingers or how his body heat had enveloped her while they were at the computer a few days ago—her traitorous body had waited in anticipation of his hands running over her shoulders, down her arms and encircling her waist as he pulled her up against him… 

Sophie toyed with a pencil absently.  Michael had not touched her.  Why would she want him to?  Physical attraction only led to disastrous results.  For men, sex was a conquest and a carnal release of momentary passion.  She had experienced that during her single years of dating more than once.  For her, sex was an emotional investment—putting her faith and trust in someone who would share all of his life with her.  And she had thought Robert was the one.  Even though he turned women’s heads just walking through a room, he had kept his attention riveted on her.  He had said and done all the right things to make her feel special…  In the end, it had all been a sham. She had just been another trophy he wanted to acquire.

No, physical attraction needed to be restrained.  Definitely.

Her hands stilled.  Damn it.  She could not deny that she was physically attracted to Michael.  Her body hummed when she saw him. When he got into her personal space, she felt as though she were physically being pulled toward him.  Like he was some big, hunky magnet that she had no ability to step back from.  Definitely dangerous.  Absolutely dangerous for her to even be thinking—

Sophie grabbed her dragon keychain and headed for the door.  Enough of this wool-gathering.  It was already dark outside and she needed to head home.  Tomorrow morning, she would go to Mr. Smith’s to take Princess’ stitches out.  Surely Michael would not be there if she arrived bright and early.

She had just locked the door when she heard the whirring of leathery wings.  A bright light nearly blinded her.  She felt the dragon’s hot breath even before she turned around.

It was sitting on the street, its spiked tail with the spear tip wrapped around its front claws, showing no sign of aggression.  It blinked its cobalt eyes slowly, then tilted its head as if to study her.

It reminded her of an over-sized dog.  Avatar-sized.  Maybe she really was losing it.  How did someone know if she were having a nervous breakdown anyhow?  Still—

She took a step closer.  The dragon didn’t move.  She closed her eyes, then slowly re-opened them.  It was still there.  Hesitantly, she ventured another step.  The dragon tipped its head, almost as if it were nodding.  A small puff of smoke escaped from its nostrils, but no flame of fire.

“What do you want?” she asked in a voice slightly above a whisper.  She probably really was losing it, standing on her lawn talking to a metal-scaled dragon as though she were trying to calm a nervous cat.  But it was an animal, living and breathing.  Why had it come again?  Was it hurt in some way she could not see?   If it needed her—  “Can I help you?”

The dragon pulled back its lips, exposing rows of razor-sharp teeth.  Sophie drew back.  Obviously, it didn’t need her help.  But it stayed where it was and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if it was smiling, like some dogs do.  A hysterical bubble of laughter rose in her throat.  Next, she’d be imagining it would roll over and want its belly rubbed.  Did dragons have soft underbellies?

Porch lights were snapping on down the street and she could hear doors slamming as her neighbors started shouting.  One of them was running toward her with a raised shotgun.

“Go!”  she said to the dragon.  “Get away before they kill you!”

The dragon blinked once, then turned its massive head, releasing a stream of fire that snaked along the tarred street, before it rose gracefully in the air, its wings beating rhythmically.  The shotgun fired and the dragon roared, sending another ball of flame rolling down the street.  One of her neighbors shrieked and Sophie could hear the sound of sirens coming closer. 

She covered her face with her hands.  Not again!  Just when she thought the nightmare was over…

A gently firm hand touched her shoulder.  She separated her fingers and peered out. 

“I’m here,” Michael said.

Instinctively, she leaned into his warm, solid body.  He put a comforting arm around her and led her back toward the clinic, taking the key from her shaking fingers and getting them inside, away from the prying eyes of the gathering crowd. 

“The police will be here any minute,” she said, her voice quivery.  “I don’t know that I can go through this again.”

Michael turned her in his arms so she was facing him.  He held her close enough that his body heat enveloped her, along with now somewhat familiar woodsy scent tinged with a hint of heather.  His hands soothed her back in long, slow strokes.  His voice rumbled low in a language she did not understand, but the cadence was rhythmic and slow, relaxing her.  She should step back…but it felt so good.  No one had made the effort to console her since her parents were killed several years ago.  If she could just linger a bit—

The blare of police siren cut off abruptly and she knew she’d have to face them.  With a sigh, she began to pull away, but Michael’s hands slid upward over her shoulders and cupped her head.  He bent down, brushing her lips with his in a light, gentle gesture that was leisurely, yet promising.  Sophie felt herself softening, melting against him, wanting him—

With a start, she broke away, her hand to her mouth, staring at him.  What  affected her thinking whenever she was near him?  There were police pounding on the door, for God’s sake.

His mouth turned up at one corner in a smile, but his eyes smoldered a different message, which she tried to ignore as she made her weak-kneed way to the door.

The problem of a centuries-old dragon showing up on her doorstep was easier to handle than the problem of Michael.  Way easier.

Chapter Four

Michael watched as Sophie clipped the stitches with a steady hand, pulling gently to remove them from the little terrier.  It was quite a contrast from the emotional state she had been in last night when he arrived at her clinic.

Of course, there had been a big, red dragon breathing fire at the silly fools who thought a twenty-gauge shotgun shell would pierce his armor. 

Michael hadn’t meant to kiss her either.  Centuries spent as a male—to say nothing of enhanced warlock abilities—told him this woman was not likely to succumb to any intimate gestures without a solid relationship.   He had meant to comfort her, ease the despair he felt in her, but the desperation he’d seen in her eyes at the arrival of the police had triggered that kiss.  And, by the Goddess, her lips had been soft and warm and moist just like he imagined the wonderful juncture between her legs would be—  His reverie ended as Mr. Smith entered the study, carrying a folder.

Sophie looked up.  “Is that the manuscript?”

“It is indeed,” he replied and sat down at his desk.  Princess bounded to him, her three puppies tumbling over each other as they wobbled after her.

Michael laughed and scooped the pups up in his hands as he took one of the two chairs opposite Mr. Smith.  “Your mom needs a rest,” he said to them as Mr. Smith slid the folder toward him.

Sophie approached more slowly and sat in the other chair.  “Shouldn’t something this old be kept in an environmentally-controlled compartment or something?”

“Oh, this is just a English language copy,” Mr. Smith said.  “The original is in my vault.  I have very good security.  Go ahead.  Read it.”

Michael let one of the puppies nibble on his finger while they waited for Sophie to finish.  Princess watched him anxiously and he finally set the pups down and gave her a pat on her head.  “There you go, Mama,” he said as she sniffed her offspring.

Sophie put the manuscript down and shook her head.  “I can believe the Templars found some ancient religious relics.  Anyone who is interested in history knows the original nine spent their time digging around Solomon’s Temple rather than “protecting” Christian pilgrims on Crusade.  Stories of the vast Templar treasure are legendary.  I can even believe that they managed to smuggle it out of France and to Scotland before that dreaded round-up on Friday the 13th.  But magical?  How can an inanimate object wield power?”

“I don’t blame you for being skeptical,” Michael replied.  “You’ve been trained to deal with facts and proof.  For the sake of argument, let’s assume the Templars did get the treasure—whatever it was—to Scotland and under the protection of the St. Clair’s, who opposed the French king and his somewhat dubious alliance with England.  Studying history, it’s pretty safe to bet that it was the Templars who were the “warrior force” that gave Robert the Bruce his victory at Bannockburn.  Are you okay with that?”

Sophie shrugged.  “I suppose.  But what does a lesson in Scottish history have to do with Celtic relics supposedly handed down by some mythical gods?”

Mr. Smith pursed his lips at that.  “My dear Sophie.  Your name means “wisdom”, did you know?”

She frowned at him.  “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Tsk. Tsk,” Mr. Smith replied.  “A wise woman would be willing to accept new ideas and concepts, wouldn’t she?”

“Concepts, yes, but—“

“Just keep an open mind, my dear.”

Sophie grunted and turned back to Michael.  “Go on, please.”

“I’m going to have to back-track a little for you to understand how this particular manuscript was written,” Michael said.  “Excalibur is one of four sacred relics that were entrusted to a secret order of Templars referred to as Priory of Sion—“

“Are you going to go DaVinci Code on me?” Sophie asked suspiciously.

Michael shook his head.  “The relics were passed down through the Merovingian bloodline and the Priory was the elite guard trained to protect them.”

“Whose bloodline?”

“The Merovingian kings of Gaul, also known as the Sorcerer Kings, were considered quite a threat to the Roman Church in the sixth century because of their knowledge and use of esoteric and occult skills.”

Sophie grimaced.  “So how are French kings from fifteen hundred years ago relevant to the manuscript?  It isn’t that old.”   

“Patience, my dear,” Mr. Smith interjected.

“They’re relevant because they were descendents of the Fisher Kings, who traced their lineage back to Joseph of Armathea.” Michael eyed Sophie as though waiting for her to interrupt again, but she was silent, so he continued, “Pelles, the king during Arthur’s time, had a daughter named Elaine who married Lancelot—“

“And Galahad was born and eventually found the Holy Grail!”  Mr. Smith clapped his hands excitedly.  “Doesn’t it all just fit together?”

Sophie studied him, wondering if both of these men were slightly mad, but before she could comment, Michael went on.

“I can see the skepticism on your face, but it’s the truth.  However, to move forward and answer your original question—the manuscript was probably written in the twentieth century, but in medieval Gaelic so only those who were meant to read it would.” 

“There aren’t too many people who major in medieval languages, are there?” Sophie asked.

“No, but the Priory still exists.”

“Uh-huh,” Sophie said.

Michael smiled.  “I know it’s hard to believe, but each of the relics would have been protected by a person with interest in that field.  The spear and the sword are both battle weapons, so my guess is they would have had a military guardian.  Someone like General Lee or Winston Churchill or maybe even Patton.”

“Patton?”

“Well, you know he loved history and believed in re-incarnation.  He spoke of battle sites where he had fought before.”

Sophie stared at him.  “You’re saying these men were members of an ancient secret order of the Templars?”

“I can’t say that.  No one knows who members of the Priory are except for the Grand Masters, who are always referred to as Jean.” 

“Why?”

Michael shrugged.  “Perhaps to protect their real identity.  Perhaps because the Templars revered Jean—John—the Baptist as their patron.  At any rate, what’s important now is that the sword is the United States.”

“And you’re going to tell me how it got here?”

He grinned.  “Sure.  I don’t know where the treasure was secreted for over a hundred years, but speculation—from scholars—is that William St. Clair—which is how the Sinclair name was pronounced back then—began building Rosslyn Chapel in the late 1400’s as a cover to hide the treasure.  Kirks—churches—were still safe from invasion at that time.”  Michael paused, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.  “However, when King James began his persecution and burning of so-called witches a century later, nowhere was safe.  Rosslyn Chapel aroused suspicion because it had too many pagan symbols carved on its walls, pillars, and altars.  Would it not make sense for the St. Clair earl to remove the treasure?”

“I guess.  But why bring it to America?  If I recall, it was the Spanish and the French who were claiming land here.”

“True,” Michael agreed, “but the St. Clairs hailed from Viking sailing stock.  One of the Henri’s set off for Nova Scotia in 1398, nearly a century before Columbus.  By the mid-1400’s, St. Clair had drawn maps of North America.” Michael nodded toward the manuscript.  “St. Clair would have known where to go.”

Sophie followed his glance and then looked at Mr. Smith.  “You said that your research assistant found the spear?  Why isn’t she looking for the sword then?”

Mr. Smith’s face drooped.  “She is missing at present.  I, of course, have hired private detectives to look for her.”  He looked at Michael.  “I’m sure that horrible man, Adam Baylor, has hired some as well.”

“I have every reason to believe that Sara and the spear are safe,” Michael answered, hoping no one would ask who his source was.  Even Smith—who had a lively imagination—would have a hard time accepting a faerie had told him.  And Michael didn’t even want to see the incredulous look on Sophie’s face.  She would think him completely delusional.

But it was Sophie who switched directions.  “Who is Adam Baylor?”

Michael couldn’t very well tell her that Baylor—or Balor—was an ancient god who had deliberately become evil and fed off of violence and enmity.  “Adam Baylor poses as a very wealthy broker who is based in London,” he finally said, “but what he really does is launders money from international drug cartels and sponsors terrorist organizations across the world.”

Sophie stared at him.  “Why hasn’t he been caught?  Surely Interpol has the technology to—“

“Interpol has tried.  So has Scotland Yard and the CIA.  Baylor uses aliases and has layers of protection,” Michael answered.  “The set of books he keeps are clean.  No one has ever been able to directly connect him to anything.”

“Then how do you know he’s guilty?”

“Every once in a while there is a whistle-blower brave enough to come forward,” Michael said.  Better not mention just how long ago some of them came from—Julius Caesar, King Arthur, MacBeth—more recently,  Ghandi and Martin Luther King…

“What happened to them?” Sophie asked.

“They all ended up being assassinated,” Michael answered.

Sophie’s eyes grew round.  “This Baylor person was responsible?”

Michael nodded.  “He even had the poor old professor who translated this manuscript murdered, although there is no blood on his hands.”

She looked again at the manuscript.  “Has he seen this?”

“Undoubtedly,” Mr. Smith cut in.  “The clue to finding the spear was in here.  It was how he knew to track Sara and Mr. Ramsey.”

“So he’s searching for the relics too?” she asked.

“Yes.”  Michael leaned forward in his chair.  “I know you may not believe me, but each of the relics holds power—energy, if you’d rather call it that—from the four elements of wind, fire, water and earth.  The power is neutral.  Whoever owns the relic can use that power for good or evil.  Can you imagine what someone like Baylor would do with that?  He could, literally, annihilate the world.”

“So you have to find this sword—this Sword of Fire—before he does?”

“Excalibur,” Mr. Smith said emphatically.  “That is its name.”

Sophie rolled her eyes.  “Please.  Let’s not bring in the whole Arthurian myth again.  I can—sort of—accept the theory that these relics might have a certain electron or proton predilection that produces a form of energy.  But magic? That doesn’t exist in the real world.”  When no one answered her, she looked from Mr. Smith to Michael. “What?  You two really believe this is all magic?”

“Can you deny that the Pendragon is real?” Michael finally asked.  “He’s visited you twice.”  She looked crestfallen at that and Michael wished he could be kinder, but she had to understand.  “With you, seeing is believing, I think.  A thirty-foot dragon is hardly something you can miss and he certainly is not mythical anymore, is he?”

Mr. Smith clapped his hands in delight.  “Of course!  That makes sense!  Our Sophie needs proof and poof!”  He giggled at his play-on-words and then sobered.  “My dear, you must take some things on faith.”

She sighed.  “Okay.  I can’t say I’m convinced about this magical power thing, but if these relics are as old as you think they are, they’re valuable in their own right.  So where are you going to start looking?”

Michael grinned.  “The question is where are we going to start looking?”

She gaped at him.  “We?”

His grin broadened.  “Remember I told you I thought the dragon was going to help us find the sword?  He wouldn’t have led me to you if you weren’t meant to be a part of this.”  He reached inside his jeans pocket and pulled out a paper.  “To answer your question, this is the second riddle that provides the clues.”

“Excuse me.”  The butler stood in the doorway.

“Yes?” Mr. Smith said.

“That Mr. Caldwell who wrote the weapons article is here to see you, Sir.”

Mr. Smith frowned.  “Have him make an appointment.  I’m busy right now.”

The butler hesitated.  “He said it was rather important.  Something about his publisher wanting to do a book on your entire collection.”

Mr. Smith’s eyes sparkled at the thought.  “Oooh.  A book…”  He turned to Michael.  “Would you and Sophie mind if I talk to him for a minute?”

“Of course not,” Sophie said and stood.

Michael stood too.  “No problem.  I can explain the clue to Sophie over lunch.”

“Sorry.  I’m booked solid into the late afternoon,” Sophie replied.

“Tomorrow then,” Michael said as Caldwell entered the study.

It was at that precise moment that one of the puppies nipped Princess a little too hard and she sent him sprawling.  The pup rolled into Caldwell’s pathway as his foot came down.  Princess yelped and leapt, but she was not close enough to save her little one.

Before Michael could toss a bolt of light to aid her, Caldwell spun to his left, pushed by some unseen force.  He slammed into the doorjamb, cracking his head in the process.  Dazed, he clung to wall as the puppy limped away.

The slight movement of Sophie flexing her fingers drew Michael’s eye.  His warlock senses saw the bright bits of violet sparks still pulsating from her fingers.  She had saved the pup from being crushed by using her powers.  Was she even aware of it? His gaze sought hers, but she was already rushing over to the small ball of fur that Princess was fussing over.

Taking the pup gently, she felt its leg and paw.  “I don’t think there is anything broken, but I’ll stop by tomorrow afternoon when I’m through with work and check on him,” she said.

Mr. Smith nodded gratefully.  “Thank you.”

“I must apologize also,” Caldwell said as he moved gingerly into the room, keeping an eye on the dogs.  “I’m not usually that clumsy.”  He gave Sophie an appreciative look and held out his hand.  “Alan Caldwell.”

She took his hand.  “Sophie Cameron.”

“She’s my veterinarian,” Mr. Smith interposed. “And she fences.  I was hoping you two would meet!” 

Michael did not care for the match-making tone in Smith’s voice.  In spite of his near fall, Caldwell exuded a kind of cockiness that came from someone used to getting his own way.  And Michael definitely did not want the guy having his way with Sophie.  And he was holding Sophie’s hand way too long.

“We really should be going, Sophie,” he said to her.

Caldwell gave him an assessing look, one that any male recognized as a challenge.  Michael crossed his arms and widened his stance.  Caldwell smiled slightly and released Sophie’s hand.  He looked back at her and inclined his head.  “Perhaps we could discuss fencing sometime?”

The air around Michael fairly crackled and he pulled the energy back before its force planted Caldwell squarely on his ass—which was where he belonged, but Michael had been a warlock too long not to heed the first rule to “Harm None” with personal use of his magic.  Sophie gave him a strange look and he wondered if she had felt the potent charge he retained.  She turned back to Caldwell.

“Perhaps if we meet again, we can have that discussion, but I really must be going

now.”  She gave Michael another odd look and moved to the door.

As they left, he wondered again if she had felt the magic he’d almost used—and if she truly was unaware of her own powers.  How could she deny magic when she had it?

Chapter Five

Morgan tossed her shiny black hair behind her and folded her hands primly in her lap, watching the woman who sat across the desk rub her temples.  It seemed that Dr. Cameron was stressed out.  Which made what she had come to do easier.

Perhaps because Adam had been relentless in sic-ing the Media on her.  Not that the Media had needed any prodding after the second sighting of the dragon for a day or two, but between a few discreet calls to people Adam knew in the AP and the various aliases he used on the social networking sites, there was a continual crowd now surrounding the clinic and her home.

“Your resume shows several years of public relations work with television stations across the nation,” Sophie said.  “Quite impressive, but my partner and I have a rather tight budget.  I don’t think I can hire you.”

Morgan smiled benignly.  “If I may ask, has your business declined since all of this started?”  She waved her hand toward the window.  “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to face that crowd with a sick animal in tow.”

Sophie reluctantly nodded.  “We’ve had some cancellations.”

“And that, of course, hurts your bottom line,” Morgan replied.  “Since I have the experience, let me deal with these people.  I can give them little tidbits of information at regular intervals and they won’t be standing around bothering your customers all day.”

“Clients.”  Sophie said automatically.  “Clients and patients.”

“I am sorry.  My mistake.”  Morgan put a contrite look on her face.  “But your poor assistant is doing nothing but handling questions via both the phone and email.  I can take that over as well, so she can help you.”

Sophie leaned back in her chair, this time rubbing her right shoulder with her left hand.  “Your plan might be good, but I don’t have any tidbits of information to give out.  I have no idea of why this creature has shown up twice nor do I know if it will show up again.”

“Well,” Morgan said quietly, “that’s the reason those people are all out there waiting.  They aren’t going to go away.  You’ve worked hard to build your clinic, I’m sure.  Do you want to insure its continuing success?”

“Of course I do.”  Sophie hesitated and then gave a deep sigh.  “All right.  I’ll try you for two weeks.  If you can keep that mob from interrupting my business, I’ll keep you on.”

“Fair enough,” Morgan said.  “I can start right away.”

“Good.  Janie!” Sophie called out just as her assistant appeared in the doorway.  “This is Morgan Fontaine and she’s going to be handling all the phone calls and media requests from now on.”

The front door slammed and a moment later, a deep voice from behind Janie asked, “Morgan?”

She spun around.  “Michael?  What are you doing here?”

He looked momentarily confused and then his face became impassive.  “I’m giving Sophie a ride to the car shop.”

“My car wouldn’t start yesterday afternoon when I was out on a call,” Sophie said to Morgan.  “I had to have it towed.”

“You poor thing,” Morgan exclaimed.  “How did you get home?”

“A man named Alan Caldwell was visiting my client.  He dropped me off.”

“I really wish you had not trusted a stranger,” Michael said.

“Mr. Smith trusts him.  I hardly think I was in any danger,” Sophie responded.

Morgan slanted a look between the two of them.  Was Michael interested in this plain-looking woman who didn’t even wear make-up?  He had better not be.  She—Morgan—had been very patient in trying to get Michael into her bed.  Most men only needed a “come hither” look and she could have their cocks pumping between her thighs and bringing her all sorts of delight.  But, for some reason, Michael resisted her, which made him all the more intriguing.  She wanted him mounting her, riding her hard, his muscular arms holding him over her while she played with his well-chiseled bare chest.

Sophie picked up her keys and stood.  “I’m ready.”

Morgan forced a bright smile on her face as Michael opened the door for Sophie and followed her out.  Now she had a reason for making Adam Baylor’s vendetta her own.  Michael McCain was hers.  And no woman was going to get in her way.