The Immortals II: Michael by Cynthia Breeding (2)

* * * *

“I’d feel better if you gave me your word you won’t take any more rides with Caldwell,” Michael said.

Sophie refrained from rolling her eyes.  “So you’ve said about ten times since we picked up my car.”  She plucked at a nacho chip from the plate they were sharing before she had to get back to the clinic. 

“I don’t trust the guy,” Michael answered.  “My friend, Sara, dealt with him.  He took her to lunch and she got really sick, like she’d been drugged.  Neither Lucas or I could prove anything, but—“

“And here I am, having lunch with you.” She waved another chip in front of him and smiled.  “Am I safe?” A series of emotions crossed his face. She wasn’t sure she had even seen them.  Oh God, what if he thought she was flirting?  She was just trying to lighten the conversation. 

“You will always be safe with me,” he finally said as a muscle twitched in his jaw.  “I’ll protect you.”

Sophie stared at him.  Why was he getting all serious like some medieval knight?  

“Lighten up, will you?  Alan drove me directly home and, since there was a group milling around outside, he walked me to my door and came inside for a minute.”

“He what?  You didn’t mention that.”

“Maybe because I didn’t want another lecture?  He wanted to see the rapier I use for fencing, that’s all.  Why are acting like my father anyhow?”

Michael nearly choked on a chip and reached for his water.  His dark eyes glinted at her.  “Acting like your father was the last thing on my mind.”

Sophie felt her face heat at the possible innuendo.  She was hardly having paternal thoughts about Michael either.  It would be extremely difficult for any woman not to react to him.  He was all male, his close-fitting t-shirt defining the sculpted muscles of his shoulders and chest and clinging to sleekly carved biceps.  She would bet his flat belly had the required six-pack of ridges in it.  His muscular thighs in the tight jeans made her wonder if he rode horses.  Not that she was looking at his thighs or at that bulge above them as he perched on the barstool next to her.  Really, what woman wouldn’t notice?  She swept her gaze to his face, but that didn’t help much.  His mahogany hair rakishly brushed his collar and his dark eyes penetrated, as though he were looking into her very soul.  Her face flamed and she silently cursed her fair complexion.    Better to turn the tables.

“So how do you know Morgan?” she asked.

He took another sip of water and studied her.  “She belongs to a group called Sisterhood Circle.  They…study old goddess religions.  Sometimes I join them.”

Sophie frowned.  “Don’t tell me you are like those New-Age Druids who go to Stonehenge at the solstices?  Dancing around in white robes?”

Michael smiled.  He had two kinds of smiles, Sophie decided.  This one showed a dimple that made him look angelic.  The other one was all bad-boy and made her body want to do very lustful things.

“Too much tourism at Stonehenge these days,” he said easily.  “Sometimes, I’m asked for advice, since I do have that almost useless degree.”  He grinned suddenly—no dimple—and reached over to wipe a drop of salsa off Sophie’s chin with the pad of his thumb.  “But you shouldn’t knock something until you’ve tried it, right?”

That was his wicked grin.  She wondered if he knew that her nipples had just tightened with that slow brush of his thumb? He probably did since he was giving her a very perceptive look.  Damn it.  Better to change the subject.  Fast.

“So, tell me about the riddle from the manuscript,” she said as briskly as she could.  “It is how you coerced me into spending time on lunch.”

“You’ve got to eat to keep up your strength.  Never know when you’re going to need it.”  His grin widened.  “Or for what.”

She hoped her face wouldn’t suddenly explode into flame; it felt so hot. 

“The riddle?” she asked again.

Michael tossed several bills on the counter.  “Let’s go outside to the car.  I don’t want anyone to overhear us.”        

Sitting in the intimately small space of his sports car, their knees practically touching, probably wasn’t the wisest choice she’d made.  Her truck would have been better.  Sophie took a deep breath, which was another mistake, since it brought that strange woodsy and heather scent she was beginning to really like directly to her, along with something else that was purely him.  Pheromones in an enclosed space were not good. 

Seemingly unaware of the increasing amount of hormones being produced at the moment, Michael handed her the poetic riddle.

She read it and frowned.  “The firedrake is the dragon?”

“Seems to be,” Michael answered.  “The Pendragon certainly has lit up the sky.”

“Who’s the knight in this?”  She suddenly remembered the strange dream. “You?”

“Afraid not.”  Michael gave her the angelic smile, not the lustfully wicked one.  “Uther took on the surname of the Pendragon.  Since we’re looking for Excalibur, I assume the knight would be none other than Arthur.”

Sophie studied him.  He seemed perfectly serious.  But were seriously delusional people serious?  If they believed what they said to be true…  “You’re telling me Arthur really existed and is not just the stuff of myth and legend?”

“To be sure, myths and legends have sprung up,” Michael replied, “thanks to Mallory, Tennyson, White, and others.  But there has also been enough scholarly research done—hundreds of books, in fact—that points to Arthur being a great warlord in the sixth century and the one responsible for maintaining peace with the Saxons for nearly twenty years after the battle of Badon Hill.”  He paused.  “I think he was successful because he had at least two of the relics with him—the sword and the Grail.”

Sophie glanced down at the riddle again.  “Okay.  Let’s say I play along with this game for now.  Supposedly some person—and it does say “he” and not “she”—who sees the dragon will find the sword at some lake.  That’s a big help.  Which state’s hundreds of lakes would you like to start with?  How about Minnesota?  There’s at least ten thousand lakes there, according to the tourist business.”

Michael shook his head.  “The sword will be found in the south, not the north.”

“How do you know that?  Divine intuition or something?”

“Not intuition—actually, more of a science of sorts.  That should appeal to you.”

“It might,” Sophie answered.  “Go on.”

“First of all, remember that these are Celtic relics, given to the world by the gods of the Fae.  I know!”  He held up his hand as she started to protest.  “That part isn’t scientific, but just listen.  Those ancient religions were based not only on Goddess-worship, but on harmony and respect for the laws of nature as well.”  He took another folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.  “This is the first riddle.”

Sophie unfolded it and read:

“Where roses climb to heaven

Lugh’s lance will wait

Near to the Druid’s tree

Enter Dawn’s gate.”

 

She handed the paper back.  “It doesn’t make any sense to me.  Where was the spear found?”

“Near a graveyard in Lewiston, Maine, by the Cathedral of Saints Peter and Paul.   Are you familiar with the Tarot?”

Sophie arched a brow.  “Only as a fortune-telling game.”

“It’s much more than that,” Michael answered, no trace of a smile on his face.  “But I’ll spare you the lecture.  In a nutshell, the suit of Wands—or Lances—relates to the element of air, through which it flies.  The suit is also symbolic of new beginnings—dawn, springtime, birthing.  “Dawn’s gate” would refer to the east, where the sun rises.”

“That makes sense, I guess. But how did your friends know where to go?”

“They didn’t at first.  They visited places along the east coast that could have been in existence around 1590 which is when we suspected the relics were removed from Scotland.  The first place they went was Oak Island in Nova Scotia. Have you heard about the Money Pit?”

“No.  It sounds like some casino in Vegas though.”

“Perhaps that isn’t a bad comparison,” Michael replied, “but no.  Around 1800 three boys decided to go searching for buried treasure since ships wrecked off the Grand Banks all the time.  They found a depression in the ground and started digging.  Two feet down, they came upon a layer of carefully laid flagstones.  They removed that and discovered an already-dug shaft.  Ten feet more and they discovered a platform of oak logs.  The wood was rotted from age and when they dug another ten feet, they came to a second platform...workers were brought in only to find more platforms at ten-foot intervals to a depth of ninety feet where they found another flagstone with a medieval inscription that translated to valuable treasure buried even further below, but now the tunnel started filling with water.  Long story short, for the past two hundred years, syndicates have been trying to find what is buried there, but encounter one booby-trap after another.”

“Why would Sara and Lucas think the spear was there?” Sophie asked.

“The theory is that a secret society has existed for a thousand years entrusted not only with actual treasure like the relics, but also with ancient scrolls that contain esoteric knowledge crucial to saving—or destroying—the world.  The St. Clair’s protected the Templars when they sought refuge in Scotland in 1307.  Remember I told you the St. Clair’s discovered America in the late 1300’s and with the Inquisition two hundred years later, they decided to remove the Templar treasure?”

“So they took it to Nova Scotia?  I don’t understand.  I thought you said the spear was found in Maine.”

“It was.  The whole building of the Money Pit was a ruse.  There were enough hints of treasure—coded to be sure, but easy enough to decipher—to lead men astray.  More importantly, such a ruse would divert Balor as well.”

“He seems to be hot on the right trail now.”

“True.  Which makes our finding the sword before he does crucial.  Fate protected the spear.  Let’s hope she does the same for us.”

Sophie gave him a skeptical look.  “I’m sure your friend used some kind of logic to know where to look next?”

“Yes, but only because circumstances were aligned to do so.”

“Huh?”  

Michael smiled.  “Sara and Lucus were at the historical center at Roanoke when a lady from Maine overheard them discussing the symbolism of rose windows perched as near to heaven as could be had in European cathedrals and asked if they’d like to see one here in the United States.”  Michael paused.  “Fate or Destiny, but I believe that woman was there for a reason.  To get them to the cathedral in Maine.”

Sophie wondered again at Michael’s mental stability.  This all sounded way too metaphysical and mystical to her.  Could she really be so physically attracted to Michael if he were insane?  Right now, she wanted nothing more than to slither—slither!—up against him in that small compact space and hush his words by kissing him senseless.  That wide, full mouth of his would be so good for something other than talking. God, maybe she was the one not playing with a full deck anymore—Tarot or otherwise.  She had sworn off men and here she was, practically oozing estrogen out of every pore.

“Then what happened?” she managed to ask.

“They arrived in the midst of a late nor’easter.  Lightening cracked an ancient oak—the druid’s tree—and the spear was buried inside the trunk.  Sara sounded so happy when she called with the news.”  He shrugged.  “Fate or Destiny?  They were meant to find that spear before Adam Baylor did.”

Well, Michael certainly believed his tale.  That much Sophie could tell.  And the manuscript was real.  She had seen and read it.  And even if she wasn’t sure she believed this Adam Baylor had supernatural powers, if he was supporting terrorism, that was reason enough to look for this sword, especially if it did have some sort of polarizing energy force.

“So how do you know the sword is in the South?  Which, I might add, is a fairly large expanse of land.”

“Such a skeptic.  The logical place to look for the sword is in the south.”

Maddeningly he stopped talking and she wanted to rail at him to tell her straight and simple.  Then he grinned at her. She was fairly sure the air was sparkling with invisible pheromones again.  What was so irresistible about his grin anyhow?  This was the wicked one—a little lopsided, the left corner of his mouth tilting up a bit more than the right. His eyes smoldered slightly, as if inviting her into some lush, dark, secret world that her traitorous body seemed to want to go to.  Maybe her self-imposed celibacy since the divorce was getting the best of her. Maybe she should invest in one of those vibrating “Rabbits”.   She resisted smiling back.

“Why the South?” she asked again, hoping her voice wasn’t quivering like some parts of her body were.

“Forces of nature,” he said, an amused expression crossing his face.  “The concept of the Tarot is a guideline for the laws of nature.  Logical.  The suit of Swords symbolizes the element of fire.  Fire protects and provides warmth.  The cycle of life flows clockwise.  As the east is symbolic of dawn and beginnings, the south is symbolic of  summer and achievement. So it would be logical to seek the sword in the south, wouldn’t it?”  Michael tilted his head waiting for her answer.

Sophie mulled it over.  “Perhaps,” she finally said, “but where in the world would you start?”

“I’ve given it some thought. If the theory of a general like Lee or another military leader being a member of the Priory is true, we need to check Civil War sites that are near lakes probably no farther north than the Chesapeake.

“That’s not exactly a lake.”

“No, but Charleston has a good harbor that’s been used for centuries and it saw its share of battles.  I’ll be through with adjuncting in couple of weeks.  We can leave the first part of June.”

Sophie raised her brows.  “You really think my involvement is crucial to your finding the sword?”

“Yes.  The Pendragon would not have made his presence known to you otherwise.  I don’t know what your role is, but you have one.”  Michael smiled, the dimple appearing.  “You will help me, right?”

She hesitated and then nodded.  “I guess I could.  I have some vacation time coming.  But this will be strictly business.  No expectations of making it personal. Separate rooms. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Michael said solemnly.  “I really need your help.”  He leaned across her to open the door, taking care not to brush against her. “I would never force you to do anything you didn’t want to do.”  Then he grinned.

The dimple wasn’t there.  As Sophie stepped out of his car, she had the distinct impression that he had never forced any woman to do what she didn’t want to do because the thought to refuse him probably never entered any woman’s head. 

Blast him.  Well, he would find out that she was different.  He would.

* * * *

The Landon boy had ceased yelling a good twenty minutes ago and, more recently, had quit fighting the ropes that had him splayed on his stomach and tethered to the bedposts of the elaborately decorated master bedroom in Baylor’s suite.  Alan and Toby sat in armchairs near the window, trying to appear nonchalant about what he was doing, but Morgan licked her lips, eyes gleaming with arousal, as she watched Baylor thoroughly ream the young man’s ass.

Baylor particularly enjoyed humiliating Carl.  The kid was good-looking with his long brown hair and green eyes.  He worked out religiously at a gym whenever he wasn’t gambling and was extremely proud of his virility.  He also had a real aversion to gay men which made it all the more pleasurable for Baylor to mortify him.  And it served as a good example to Alan and Toby that Baylor exacted his due when he was not obeyed. 

Carl was limp now, the blood from Baylor’s grinding into him trickling down his thighs.  Baylor snorted in disgust and gave a final, vicious thrust, relieving himself.  What enjoyment was there in causing pain if the kid passed out?

He withdrew and reached for the towel on the bed stand to clean himself.  “That little demonstration was because Mr. Landon chose to be in a poker game rather than tailing Sophie Cameron the second time the dragon appeared.  If I had known of his absence, I’d have been there myself.”  Balor looked around.  “Any questions?”

Toby shook his head quickly, his face pale.  No doubt he was remembering some of the special tortures he’d endured in the past.  Caldwell looked at him steadily, his hatred smoldering just beneath the surface.  Baylor almost laughed.  Caldwell had taken a branding a few months ago rather than be shagged by a couple of Baylor’s bodyguards.  In truth, Baylor admired Caldwell’s standing up to him, although he would never let him know it.  “Well?” he asked.

“Nope.” Caldwell answered.  “I think everyone here understands you.  I disabled the doc’s car and offered to give her a ride home.  Your remote webcam is now installed inside her living room.”

Baylor turned to Toby.  “And for once, did you get something right the first time?”

Toby gulped, but managed not to look away.  “Yes, sir.  I gave her the dragon keychain with the GPS chip inside.  Anytime she has those keys, we can track her.”

“Good.”  Baylor gestured to the bed where Carl was groaning.  “See what you saved yourself from?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you, my pet.”  Baylor walked over to Morgan on the small settee and fondled her breasts through the thin material of her low-cut blouse.  “You looked a bit gloom when you got here.  Are you going to tell me you weren’t successful?”

“I got in,” she said.  “I’m her girl-Friday now and the audio-bug is under her desk.”

“Then why so glum?  You know I reward you well for doing what you’re told.”

Morgan tossed her ebony hair back.  “That damn bitch has Michael wrapped around her finger!”

“Forget the damn warlock.  I’ll have Caldwell kill him once we find the sword.”

“No!  Don’t harm Michael!  He’s—”  She stopped, her expression telling Baylor that she knew she had said too much.  “Kill the bitch instead.”

“I might,” Baylor replied, “but I intend to have a little fun with her myself first.  Depending on how pliable she is, I may keep her around.”  He brought his hand up to stroke Morgan’s face.  “I think I’d enjoy watching you with her…doing it gently, softly, really making her come with your tongue in her.  That would please me indeed.”

With a chuckle, he turned to the men.  “We’ve got everything in place.  The next time that dragon is sighted, I am sure Mr. Landon will let me know.  Isn’t that so?” he asked, not turning to look at man, but he heard the faint “Yes, sir” that he needed.  “Caldwell, ingratiate yourself with that idiot Smith.  He’s bound to have the second riddle somewhere.  Work on Sophie Cameron too.  You said she likes to fence?  Do something with that.”

Caldwell grinned.  “Oh, I intend to.”

“No drugs this time.  Even though it was Ramsey who messed up your plans with Sara, we don’t know that the warlock didn’t find out about that little incident.”

“No drugs.”

“Good.  Toby, get that story published.  I may need for you to go back and get more details.”  Baylor opened the bedstand drawer and pulled out a business card.  “This is an editor who owes me a favor.  Call him.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And Morgan.  You truly are my eyes and ears in that office.  The Cameron woman might have a copy of the riddle.  See if you can find it for me, won’t you sweetness?”

“If it’s there, I’ll find it.”

“If you do, I might even let you play with your warlock boy.”  He watched her face light up for a mere fraction of a second before she carefully schooled her expression.  Morgan might just make a good pupil of his, after all.

Lucifer’s horns!  He needed some humans he could actually trust…if such thing could be done.  His drug cartels were becoming unruly, fighting amongst themselves and killing too many people.  How many times had he told the warlords that a country would submit to be running by corruption, if the common folk didn’t fear for their daily lives?

All the bickering was slowing his profit margin as well.  The terrorist training camps he sponsored were clamoring for more money and more recruits.  With all the attention on securing the borders, even Baylor was having a hard time of it.  Once the sword was his, all that would change.  Evil and corruption would rule the world.

Meanwhile, he might just need to have a talk with Lucifer.  After all, he was his brother.

Chapter Six

It had taken every bit of centuries-old willpower to keep from touching Sophie when he opened her car door, but Michael had managed it.  Even now, two nights later, he could still smell the fresh, herbal cologne she wore and more importantly, the actual scent that was her essence seemed to linger in the air about him.

He couldn’t remember any woman having such a tenacious hold on him—not the married one who’d almost gotten him killed so long ago nor the beauty who had healed him afterwards.  The irony in this situation was that Sophie didn’t even care.  She was totally oblivious to his usual charm and the few times he’d tried to mind-touch, her emotional shields were firmly up.  That was unusual in itself.

Michael parked his sports car in the caleche parking lot near the lake and got out.   The Sisterhood Circle was meeting tonight, the first full moon after Beltane and he would be joining them to counter-balance the feminine energy of their magic.  He took his white Druid’s robe out of the trunk and wondered what Sophie would say if she knew what he really was.  By the Goddess, he would love to initiate her into their rites, especially that of Hieros Gamos—the Sacred Marriage that “married” ancient Celtic kings to their lands through a sexual ritual with a priestess of the Goddess.  In times past, on-lookers would then choose partners and couple as well, adding their sexual and spiritual energy to that of the Rite to guarantee bountiful harvests. 

Michael had a distinct feeling that sex with Sophie would be a spiritual high as well as a physical one.  He couldn’t deny that he would love every moment of touching her, stroking his hands over her, slowly undressing her and savoring the feel of her full breasts in his hands.  Her aureoles would ruche as his fingers teased ever closer to the tight little buds that he would suckle, gently at first and then drawing deeper.  Nor could he deny how much he would enjoy spreading her legs and burying his face between them.  He could almost taste the slight saltiness of those slick, wet folds.  He would leisurely lick and nibble and kiss until she shattered against him.

All of that would be pure, male lust—but once he thrust inside her and felt the heat of her tightness sheathing him, he knew that the power of his magic would connect them.  It would be Hieros Gamos in its own way.

With a start, he realized Brianna Frazier was standing beside him.  Almost guiltily, he wondered how long she had been standing there.  Brianna was their Seer and his aura must have been flaming red with his lustful thoughts. 

“I’m almost ready,” he said as he slipped the robe over his head.

“I can see that,” she said with an amused smile.

Even in the semi-darkness of dusk, it must have been easy for her to spot the hard bulge that strained against his jeans.  “Sorry—“

She placed a hand lightly on his arm.  “Don’t be.  Male sexual energy can be a potent force for us tonight.”

He looked at her.  She was slender, almost fragile, with long pale hair and porcelain skin.  Her face was beautiful in a classic way, gentle and composed.  She looked more like a madonna—especially since the witches wore pale blue robes—than someone who would find sex amusing.    

Tonight she was wearing verdant green, the color of growth and prosperity.  It was Sara’s robe and it seemed strange to see Brianna in it.  “You’re officiating?”

She nodded.  “The others chose me since Sara is miss—not here.”

“I’m glad.  You are the most neutral and fair-minded of all of them.”  He squinted toward the clump of trees near the lake where the other witches were preparing.  “Is Morgan here?”

“Yes.  She has a strange energy radiating from her tonight.”

Michael’s senses went on alert.  “Light or dark?”

Brianna frowned.  “You know we practice white magic only.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Michael said softly.  “There’s something about Morgan I don’t trust.”

“She’s young and she’s new.  Perhaps she’s just not totally comfortable yet?”

“I don’t think that’s it.  She disliked Sara, remember?”

“That’s because you and Sara were such good friends.  I think Morgan has a crush on you.”

“I certainly didn’t encourage that.”

Brianna replaced her frown with an impish smile.  “You are a warlock—women are supposed to be enchanted by you.”

Too bad Sophie didn’t know about that theory.  It certainly would make things easier.  He sighed.  The seduction of Dr. Sophie Cameron was going to take a very long time and right now, he needed her help in finding the sword.

“You know about the dragon sightings, don’t you?” he asked.

Brianna looked puzzled.  “Sure.  It’s been all over the news.  It’s appeared at some vet clinic twice.”

“That’s been no accident.  That veterinarian is going to help me find Excalibur.”

Her eyes widened.  “The second relic?”

“Yes.”  Michael was glad he didn’t have to explain.  Brianna was Sara’s best friend and understood what they had undertaken.  

“What does that have to do with Morgan?” she asked now.

“I don’t know, but she showed up at Sophie’s—the vet—clinic and now she’s working there.”

“Coincidence?”

“You know there are no coincidences.”

“Sometimes Fate works in ways we don’t understand.  Maybe she’s there to help in some way.”

“I’m not sure.” 

“Well, let it play out.  Destiny is what it will be.”  She gestured toward the trees.

“The others are waiting.”

Michael nodded and followed her, drawing up his hood as he stepped into the middle of the circle the witches had formed.  Each of them held a small, blue, glass globe with a candle. They raised these now as the rounded sphere of the moon began to show on the lake’s horizon and began their soft chanting. 

It was his part of the ritual to call the elements and normally, he called in proper rotation beginning with the east, but tonight he faced west first.  “Llyr, god of water, be with us.”  He turned north.  “Pridd, god of earth, be welcome.”  Facing east, he continued, “Awyr, god of air, come swiftly.”  Then, he pivoted south.  “Tanio, god of fire, join us.”

He held his breath, waiting to see if the Pendragon would appear.  Tanio was the god he answered to, but nothing red streaked across the sky.  Instead, the water ruffled, white-capping as the wind began to blow.  Leaves rustled and then, suddenly, the blue globe that Brianna held left her hands and crashed to the ground.  The candle’s flame spiraled upward and there was a collective gasp from the group as it took the shape of a small dragon, its fiery tail flicking back and forth as it hovered in front of Michael and then it flickered to earth.  Michael looked down. 

The scorch mark the flame left was in the form of a sword.

* * * * 

The Pendragon roused himself, his yawn vibrating off the walls of the small cave.  He had been dreaming of his lair with its hoard of bright, shining jewels when he heard the call to Tanio. 

Blast the warlock for waking him!  Smoke flared from his nostrils before he controlled his anger.  It was bad enough that he had to deal with humans again—foolish creatures who thought they could injure him with tiny pellets from a long object that one of them aimed at him.  He contemplated.  The metal object the human had used belched a puff of smoke itself when it made that cracking sound.  Perhaps he would have to swoop down and take it from the next insipid mortal who thought to harm him.  It might be an interesting piece to add to his hoard, although its dull burnished color could not compete with silver and gold.

Golden light shone at the entrance to his present cave a moment before the fire-god strode in.  As always, orange fire circled his loins while red flames cloaked his bare shoulders.  His blazing blue hair flared out behind him.  He crossed his massive arms and glared at the dragon.

“You have not found Excalibur.”

The dragon clicked his tail, spines half-rising in irritation, but he kept his voice even.  “The warlock and his mortal have no idea where it is.”

“Brighid sent you to help them.”

He leveled his cobalt stare on the god.  “I am here to protect the human.”

Tanio laughed suddenly.  “And how you hate to do that.”

Pendragon ruffled his scales, the sound clanging in the small space.  “It was a human who so foolishly threw away the sword in the first place.”

Sobering, Tanio nodded.  “Bedwyr meant to return it to the Lady, but Manannan intercepted it, thinking it was his own sword, Answerer.”

“Ah, yes, a sea-god who should have stayed in the oceans,” Pendragon replied with a snort.  “How could he mistake the sword of fire for his?” 

Tanio shrugged, sending off sparks that floated in the air.  “Llyr banished him from the Lake for that bit of foolishness.  Unfortunately, it also caught Balor’s attention.” 

“Balor has been hunting it since then?” Pendragon asked.

“It would seem so.  Luckily, Talesin found the sword and in time, it passed on to the Lion-Heart and found its way to Sarras to reunite with the other relics.”  Tanio frowned, the flames of his cloak leaping around him.  “This time, humans might not be so lucky.  Balor has become extremely powerful in the mortal world while you slept.  Excalibur in his hands would mean total chaos and destruction.”

The dragon nodded thoughtfully.  “And if he has Sigurd to help him—“

“What?”  Tanio’s head came up sharply, blue spikes from his hair flaring wildly.  “The white dragon lies buried deep in the northern ice.  Only my fire can melt his prison.”

“He has been called forth,” Pendragon answered.  “I have smelt him.”

“But how—“

“Perhaps the demon, Lucifer, freed him,” the red dragon replied.  “He had a talent with fire, if I recall.”

Flames blazed around Tanio.  “That damn renegade.  He never would abide by our rules.  If Sigurd is loose, our problem has just been magnified many times over.”

Pendragon snarled, revealing sharp, elongated fangs.  “You leave Sigurd to me.  I owe him for what he did to Arthur.”

“Just remember, finding Excalibur is what counts.”

“Of course,” he replied.  “Dragons have long memories.”

Tanio nodded and abruptly disappeared, leaving a small, smoldering pile of ash in his wake.

Pendragon smiled, his rough tongue caressing his pointed teeth. This fight is personal now.  Sigurd will die.  I vow it.

* * * *

Sophie tossed and turned, eventually falling into a fitful sleep.  Strange threads of reality wove around the edges of surreal dreams:  the animals in her kennels looking at her with soulful eyes…the new girl, Morgan, watching her too, but with a different look altogether…the reporter, Toby, eyeing her anxiously when he gave her the keychain…

and Michael, his dark eyes holding both laughter and lust, as though he knew it was only time before she would succumb to him.  She turned over, mumbling, and punched the pillow.

Then, suddenly, he was there, the scent of heather filling her room.  Sophie popped her eyes open and sat up abruptly.

The room was empty. 

“Great,” she grumbled as she sank back onto the mattress, “now I’m having hallucinations of him.  It’s bad enough there’s a dragon out there.”  She hit the pillow again, bunching it up under her neck and closed her eyes.

Michael was back—and wearing only a kilt. 

Resolutely, Sophie kept her eyes closed.  She would not participate in this madcap fantasy—or illusion—or whatever it was.  She was tired.  The idea of some pre-historic dinosaur still alive in the twenty-first century was playing with her mind.     

Strangely enough, even with her eyes closed, she could see.  Moonlight from her window played across Michael’s bare, broad chest, accentuating the sculpted pecs and bi’s and creating shadows in the hard ridges of his washboard belly. A pale light seemed to glow around him—or maybe from him.  Sophie squeezed her eyes tighter shut.  Her poor brain really was on overload.  Next, she’d have him sprouting wings like the avenging arch-angel that bore his name.  She almost giggled.  There was nothing—nothing—angelic about Michael McCain…except for that damn dimpled smile.

She sensed him moving closer and then felt his weight as he eased himself onto her bed beside her.  This was getting to be some weird fantasy.

“Shhh,” he whispered as his fingertips lightly touched her eyelids.  “Keep your eyes closed, lass.”

Lass?  Now what?  He’d turned into a Highlander from some romance novel?  She didn’t even read romance!  Sophie tried to open her eyes and found that she couldn’t.  It was as though his feathery touch had sealed them somehow.  Yet, instead of panic growing, she felt languid, almost as though her bones were dissolving into nothingness.

“That’s it.  Just lie there and relax.” 

Michael’s voice soothed her and from some fifth dimension, it sounded more like an Irish brogue than a Scottish burr now.  She couldn’t understand the words he was using, but the warmth of his hands stroking her shoulders and arms calmed her further and she sank more deeply into her dream, murmuring.

Strange, how warm and firm his lips felt against her mouth.  And what he could do with them.  He slanted his lips over hers, alternating the pressure, kissing gently, then sucking her lower lip between his, then barely brushing her swollen mouth.  His tongue slid leisurely along the seam and she opened to allow him access.  He played with her, teasing the tip of her tongue, battling it softly, then plunging fully in to plunder her mouth.  His taste was divine, sweet like aged wine, yet slightly woodsy and salty as though he’d brought the outdoors in with him.

A coolness fanned her breasts and she realized her nightgown had come off somehow.  Before she could shiver, his large hands were cupping her breasts, kneading them gently, thumbs flicking over nipples, making them into hard little buds. 

Sophie murmured again, telling Michael to stop—at least she thought that was what she tried to say.  His soft laugh said otherwise and he whispered something in that strange language again.  Maybe she didn’t want him to stop—after all, this was a dream.  She hadn’t had sex in so long.  Maybe Michael’s careful avoidance in not touching her in the car a few days ago was what was bringing this on—some obstinate, irrational desire to prove she was desirable?  Her brain frizzled.  At the moment, all that seemed to matter was his touch.

His mouth closed over one tight nipple and Sophie arched her back into him as he began to suckle, pulling slowly and gently while he rolled the other tip between his finger and thumb, tugging lightly.  The sensation seared deeply through her body and she felt the juncture of her thighs grow damp, her core throbbing as though it had been set aflame.  That hadn’t ever happened this quickly—not even in real, waking life.

Sophie moaned again, eyes still closed. Now she was afraid to open them.  There would be nothing—no one—there and this erotic fantasy would be over. 

Michael’s tongue traveled a wet trail down her belly, pausing to explore her navel before continuing downward.  Dear God!  Was he…?

He was.  Somehow, he had shifted position and was kneeling between her spread thighs.  When had she opened them?  Michael lifted her legs, placing them over his shoulders and bent down to taste her.  His tongue felt like soft velvet as he licked slowly along her folds, her juices slicking the way. He teased her pulsating nub, circling it lightly with the tip of his tongue.  Sophie made a mewling sound, deep in her throat.  Michael laughed, deliberately continuing the slow, exquisite torture: kissing, licking, air-brushing, stopping.  Sophie’s hips lifted, begging for more.

And then he bore down, sucking the quivering nub, drawing deep while his finger plunged into her center, finding the soft spot that made stars suddenly sparkle and shoot behind her eyes as her body shattered in total surrender.

Sophie lay there panting, becoming aware eventually, that there no longer was a weight on the bed.  Light seemed to fill the room, although it was no longer pale moonbeams.  Dawn, already?  She forced her eyes open. 

There was no one there. 

But the odd, orange cast still lingered.  She felt a shiver creep up her spine as she turned toward the window.  It couldn’t be—

Reluctantly, she swung her feet over the bed and walked to the window.  The dragon sat on her lawn, docile as a large dog.  Sophie blinked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.  What in the world—?  She blinked again. 

A man stood beside the dragon, consumed in fire.  Orange flames licked his legs, red ones flowed around his shoulders like a cape and his hair…blue flares whipped in the night breeze.  And yet, he didn’t appear to be burning.

She had to be hallucinating.  First, the wild, erotic dream and now this…this man encircled in flames.  Not to mention the dragon.  She’d almost gotten used to him—which just proved what state her mind was in.  She moved closer to the window and then gasped.

The dragon’s lips were peeled back, making him look like he was smiling.  She looked at the fire-man.  He was grinning…almost like they’d both witnessed her erotic dream themselves.  She felt her body heat and her face grow hot.  That wasn’t possible, of course.  Michael hadn’t even been here.  It was a dream.

Then she gaped as the fiery man bowed with a flourish and waved his hand through the air, making the dragon and himself disappear.  Sophie slipped to the floor, a hand to her mouth.

She was losing it.  She really was.

Chapter Seven

Sophie pushed through the throng of media-types that were waiting for her when she got to clinic the next morning.  She had managed to avoid those parked in front of her house only because her car was in an attached garage and she’d locked her car doors before opening the garage.

“I need coffee,” she said as she managed to get the door closed before a reporter’s foot got inside.

“Right away,” Morgan replied as she hung up the phone and got up to go to the small kitchen in the back. 

“Another sighting…this time at your house,” Janie said as she trailed after Sophie, manila case folders in her hands.  “It was all over TV this morning.  Do you have any idea of what’s going on?”

“Yes, what is going on?” Robert said as he turned away from the office window to look at her.  “This is crazy.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, Robert.  Why are you here anyway?” He looked hurt, but she knew what a consummate actor he could be. 

“Isn’t a husband supposed to be supportive of his wife?” he asked.

“Ex-husband.  You seem to keep forgetting that.” Sophie sat down at her desk and rubbed her eyes.  They burned and were probably as red as though she’d closed down a bar somewhere, but she hadn’t had any sleep.  She shook her head.  “I’m still trying to come to grips that the thing is actually alive.”

Morgan came back and set the coffee down in front of her.  “I put some chicory in it,” she said and smiled at Robert as she handed him a cup too.  “They swear by it in New Orleans.” 

It had a decidedly different flavor, but it wasn’t bad.  Sophie was thankful that it was strong and black too.  Maybe the caffeine would give her a boost.  She took another sip as someone rapped lightly on the doorjamb.

“I just heard on the radio,” Michael said as he came in. 

Sophie bit back a groan.  Dealing with her ex was bad enough this morning, but now Michael!  She wasn’t ready to face him after that way-too-realistic dream she’d had. 

Morgan gave him a bright smile as she stepped toward him and put her hand on his arm. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked and pressed closer.

He shifted away slightly.  “No thanks.  There’s a frenzied mob out there.  Shouldn’t you be taking care of that?”

She gave him a slow pout, her full lower lip thrusting out.  “All business this morning?  I liked when you held me the other night—“

“You tripped.  I caught you.” 

Sophie thought Michael looked uncomfortable, as though he’d been caught at something he’d rather not talk about.  That was unusual.  Not that she knew him well—unless she wanted to count that erotic episode she’d had last night—and she felt herself blush at that and turned away quickly.  Was there something going on between Michael and Morgan?  He had mentioned that they belonged to some sort of social circle or something.  It was also obvious that Morgan was attracted to him.  An odd pain shot through her stomach at the thought.

“Janie.  Morgan.”  Allison poked her head around the door.  “I could use a hand out here.”

Sophie waited until they’d left and then cast a sideways look at Michael.  This morning he was dressed in a t-shirt that stretched across his chest and tight-fitting jeans but she was remembering him in that kilt and nothing else.  She felt her face grow warm again.  Damn.  She couldn’t let him know about that dream.

“What brings you here?” she managed to ask as she gestured for him to sit.

“The semester’s over,” he said as he pushed his chair closer to hers.  “I thought we’d better make plans for the road trip.”

“What road trip?” Robert asked.

Michael eyed him.  “Is that any of your business?”

He bristled.  “She’s my…she was my wife.  I can be protective of her.”

Michael bristled too.  “Maybe you should have thought of that earlier?”

The air suddenly seemed close in the small office, but maybe that was because waves of testosterone were washing off both men, threatening to flood the room.  Sophie rubbed her temples. 

“Enough!  Robert, not that it is your business, but Mr. Smith wants Michael and me to find—“ She stopped at Michael’s warning look.  “—a sword that he wants to add to his collection.”

“And it takes both of you to do that?  Why can’t he—“ Robert gestured to Michael—“go by himself?”

Sophie picked up her cup and took a large sip.  She was beginning to think she needed something stronger than caffeine if she were going to contend with this.  A Bloody Mary would be good.  “I’m not sure—“

“Smith asked her to.  He also makes generous donations to this clinic.  I would think an attorney like you would understand politics,” Michael said.

Robert narrowed his eyes just as his cell binged a text message.  He pulled it out, scowling as he read it.  “I’ve got to go.  The judge moved my case up on the docket.” He shoved the phone back into his pocket.  “But I’m not finished with this conversation, Sophie.  I’ll call you soon.”

As Janie showed him to the door, Sophie turned her attention back to Michael.

The road trip.  How in the world was she going to be able to spend time in a car or plane with him after that dream?  To say nothing of hotel rooms… Sophie folded her hands around her coffee cup to keep them from trembling. 

“Maybe Robert is right. I still don’t see how I can be of help in finding the sword.  How do you know that riddle was meant for me?  That part about “he who sees the firedrake, the sword will take”—well, a lot of people have seen the dragon.  That’s why the reporters are out there.”

“True, but the dragon only sits on your lawn,” Michael answered, “and he’s not done any damage.  I’d say that’s pretty clear-cut that you have something to do with finding the sword.”  He leaned toward her.  “Have you never felt—sensed—special powers?  Visionary, maybe?”

Sophie felt her cheeks flame.  Dear God. Visions?  Could he know about the erotic dream she’d had?  She would be totally mortified if he even thought—and why was he looking at her so strangely?  Another wave of heat fanned her face. 

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She was definitely not “all right”.  She’d never had a hot, porno dream in her life, let alone climaxed from one—and that had happened.  And now, all she could think of was Michael looked like without his shirt on.  Damn again.  In all likelihood, she might just be having a nervous breakdown to boot.  

“Sure,” she finally said, “if you count the fact that a dragon visits me and last night he brought a friend who looked like he was on fire, but wasn’t burning.  If that’s normal, then I’m fine.”

Michael sat up straighter.  “A man on fire?”

Sophie set her cup down.  He was probably going to suggest she see a psychiatrist or, worse, call 911 and have her taken away.  But she had to tell someone.  The Media, thankfully, had arrived after the man and dragon had already disappeared.

“I know it sounds crazy.  The guy was standing next to the dragon and there were orange, red and blue flames surrounding him.  It was almost like he was wearing the fire.”  She suddenly hid her face in both hands, tears spilling over.  “It’s crazy.  Maybe I’m crazy—“

“You’re not crazy.”  In one swift move, he was holding her in his arms and her head was resting against his hard chest. His hands stroked up and down her back in a soothing motion.  She could feel the steady beating of his heart.  So normal.  For a few moments she allowed herself to bask in his comforting touch.  Sophie swiped at a tear and managed a trembling smile as she straightened.

“How many women do you know that see dragons and men-on-fire?”  She stifled a hiccup.  “There are all sorts of mental disorders that can cause hallucinations—“

“You listen to me, Sophie.”  Michael sat her down gently in her chair and perched on the desktop next to her.  “The dragon is real.  The reporters wouldn’t be outside if they hadn’t seen him too.  And the man—well, he really isn’t a man.”

Sophie stared at him.  “I’m making him up?”

“No.  He’s real.  He’s just not human.”  Michael took her hand and held it between his.  “He is the Celtic god of fire.  His name is Tanio.”

“A god of fire,” Sophie repeated, still staring at him.  “Sure.  Why not?”

“I know this all sounds strange to you,” Michael said, “and I know you have a hard time accepting something that can’t be proved by science, but these ancient gods still exist.  Remember the talk we had?”  When she nodded slowly, he continued.  “Tanio is the god of dragons.  It was he who provided the special fire that forged Excalibur.  It’s not surprising that he is here.  What is surprising is that he showed himself to you.  The ancient gods normally prefer to stay hidden from today’s world.  It only proves, though, that you are going to be important in finding the sword.”  He released her hand and stood.  “I need to check on a few things though—and I think the sooner we can get started in our search, the better it will be.”

“It doesn’t sound like I have a choice anymore,” she said resignedly.  “Thank God the Media doesn’t know about the “Come to the lake” part of the riddle or they’d be swarming over the shores of every lake within a hundred miles.”  

Michael smiled.  “If the Tarot correlation holds true, Texas would be too far west for the sword.  It’s somewhere in the deep South.”  He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek.  “I’ll call you later.”

Watching him leave, Sophie touched her cheek where he had kissed her.  It had been a gentle, brotherly kiss, nothing at all like last night’s torrid ones.  And that was fine.  Michael didn’t seem to be harboring any lustful thoughts about her.  Maybe this would work out.  They could find the sword, for whatever it was worth, and then her life could get back to normal.  She would be in control of herself again.  No more dragons or men that gave her sleepless nights.

So why didn’t that sound good?

* * * *

Morgan narrowed her eyes as she removed the coffee cup from Sophie’s desk.  The woman had to be a witch from another coven.  Why else would Michael—who usually had a devil-may-care bad-boy attitude—be so attentive and caring over that bitch?  The way he held Sophie—Morgan had seen the healing blue aura surrounding them and she hadn’t missed the flecks of bright orange that was his lust either.  Michael had never held her that way, not even when she’d managed to trip and fall right into his embrace at the moon ritual a few nights ago.  And he had never looked at her the way he did Sophie.

She looked down at the empty cup.  Maybe next time she would put something else into it.  Something that would make Sophie break out in hives and rashes.  Michael wouldn’t think the bitch so beautiful when she was itching and mottled with a rash.

Glancing through the door to make sure she wasn’t watched, Morgan quickly put her hand under the desk and removed the tiny clip from the listening device and inserted a new one.  Part of their conversation had been about the sword, but she’d not been able to hear all of it, due to the blasted phone ringing.

She slipped the clip into her pocket and smiled.  Baylor would be pleased.  And when Baylor was pleased, she could get more modeling contracts from him, not to mention he would teach her new sexual skills as well—skills she would use on Michael.  Skill that other women didn’t even know of.  Pain and pleasure.

Michael would be so pleased with her ministrations.

* * * *

Even though the night was dark, the new moon not due for another evening, Michael drew the shades in his apartment, shutting out all light from the street.  He placed the goblet containing his potion of anise, fly agarics, and mandrake root on the fireplace mantle and knelt to kindle the oak twigs and small branches he had gathered earlier.  The need-fire wasn’t large, as the medieval ones had been, but it would be enough to summon Tanio.

The apartment lights were off.  In the eerie glow of the small fire, he reached for his drink, downing it quickly.  From a small jar, he dabbed his finger into sandlewood oil and drew a cross on his forehead, opening the third eye that would let him see into the Otherworld.  Then he sank to the floor, cross-legged, and stared into the fire until it was all that he could see, all that he could feel around him.  His hands brushed through the smoke, becoming one with the blaze.

“Tanio, come forth.”

The flames leapt as though a sudden breeze stirred them.  Michael withdrew his hands and watched the fire god appear.

“I rarely answer individual summons, warlock,” Tanio said, the bright blue flame-tips of his hair sparking around him, “but you used the magic mushroom.  What is so important?”

“Did you appear with the Pendragon at Sophie Cameron’s house last night?”

Tanio shrugged.  “I did not ask her name.  Was that the woman you were having sex with?”

“I was not having sex with her!”

One of the fire god’s eyebrows rose.  “Then what was it that Pendragon and I witnessed?”

Michael blinked, trying to focus on the wavering god inside the fire.  Now was not the time for the damn mushroom to kick-in.  It was only supposed to heighten his senses and increase his ability to summon the god.  “What the hell did you think you saw?” 

“Tsk, tsk, warlock.  We only saw what you were already envisioning.  I must say, the kilt made Pendragon a little homesick for the old days.”

“You had no right to enter my mind,” Michael said, “and definitely no right to send those images to Sophie.”  Bel’s Fires!  No wonder she had turned all those interesting shades of pink while he was there this morning.  She had experienced his fantasy!

“You dare to tell me what I can do?”  Flames rose dangerously high, threatening to leap out of the hearth altogether.  “You will do well to remember your place.”

The room grew hot.  Michael felt the air constricting around him.  Heat seared his lungs as he tried to breath.  Tanio faded in and out, as though Michael were looking through a zoom lens.  He forced himself to concentrate on a single spark above Tanio’s head, watching it grow, move toward him… and then explode like a huge firecracker over his head.  

Michael threw up his hand, muttering sacred words before the sparks could singe his hair or scorch his face.  With an effort, he drew the energy of that burst inside himself, letting it wrap its falling shards around his brow chakra.  His vision cleared slowly.

Tanio tilted his fiery head, regarding him.  “I am impressed, warlock.  I’ve never had one of my spells stopped before.”  He raised his hands, palms up, and withdrew the heat back into the hearth.  “Perhaps you are the best vessel to find the sword and outwit Balor.  I had argued with Brighid about that.”

“I didn’t call you here to play games,” Michael replied.  “I want you to stay out of Sophie’s mind.  She doesn’t trust men because some jerk really hurt her.  The last thing she needs is to think is that I am using her for sexual fantasies.”

Tonio’s brow rose again.  “Aren’t you?”

Michael felt his face grow warm and it didn’t have to do with the fire-god’s previous endeavors.  “I keep my thoughts controlled.  For some reason, we need her to find the sword.  I won’t jeopardize that.”

“See that you don’t,” Tonio replied and then abruptly vanished, leaving nothing but warm embers banking in the hearth.

“Damn it!” Michael shouted as he stood.  “You didn’t tell me if you’d stay out of Sophie’s mind!”

Laughter surrounded him and then it faded away.

Michael cursed again as he turned on the lights.  How was he ever going to convince Sophie that he wasn’t going to use her like that other guy did if some mischievous god was going to lurk in his head?

* * * *

Baylor leaned back in Lucifer’s lambskin recliner and watched as his brother adjusted the spiked dog collar around Morgan’s neck.  It was just tight enough that if she yanked her head, it would prick her skin, much like a vampire’s bite.  Attaching the small chains from the nipple rings to the collar, Lucifer bent her forward from the waist and used the collar’s leash to tether her to the polished brass foot rail of an ultra-modern glass and ebony bar in the posh bachelor pad he was currently using. Placing padded cuffs around her wrists, he shackled them to the rail as well.  The effect was that Morgan’s head was down, allowing for blood flow to add to the climatic rush, and her naked ass was thrust high into the air, like a waiting invitation.

Lucifer grinned at Balor, white teeth flashing in his tanned face as he brushed his fingers through his blond hair. His blue eyes twinkled, all traces of the demon-red they really were concealed.  No one would ever guess that he’d been around for thousands of years…or that he was the Christian’s own devil.  Morgan thought she was having sex with a California surfer dude.

“Sure you don’t want a turn first, bro?” Lucifer asked.  “You know I tend to fatigue them.”

That was probably an understatement.  He used to simply kill them through sheer exhaustion, but laws over the last centuries had taught him to be more careful.  Victims turning up dead led to inquires.

“She’s all yours.  I promised Morgan a little treat for the information she got for me.”

“Mmmm…and I’m so ready,” Morgan said and started to turn her head to look at them and abruptly stopped as the movement pulled the chains causing the nipple rings to pinch.  “Ah!”

Lucifer leaned down, reaching around her to give them another tug.  “Do you like that, beautiful?”

“Oh, yes,” Morgan purred.  “Baylor has taught me that pain is pleasure.”

He grinned again.  “Then I should be very thankful to my brother, shouldn’t I?”  He grabbed her hips, holding them still, and rammed himself into her ass, causing her to squeal.  He pulled her hair back, lifting her head, causing the collar to bite in as he began thrusting.  “Feel the pain, sweetheart.  Become one with it.  Your climax is going to be the best one you ever had.”

“Oooh…hurts…so…much…umm, so…good….”  Morgan became incoherent as he continued to take her hard. 

Nearly half an hour later, she lay passed out on the floor.  Lucifer cleaned himself with a warm washcloth.  “No blood.  You must use her often.”

Balor shrugged.  “She likes it that way.  Probably the best lay I’ve had in a hundred years.”

“She’s got stamina too.  Most of them don’t hold out more than fifteen minutes tops,” Lucifer said.  “What’s her name again?”

“Morgan.”

Lucifer paused in pulling on his jeans.  “No relation to Morgana le Fey, is she?”

Balor laughed.  “Hardly.  Don’t you think we’d recognize an Immortal?”

“Hard to say.”  Lucifer zipped up his pants and reached for his shirt.  “Morgana saved her brother’s life on more than one occasion by creating the illusion of being invisible.”

“Arthur lived because he carried Excalibur,” Balor snapped. 

“Ah, yes.  The Sword of Fire.  It’s why you’re here, I assume?”  He poured himself a whisky and offered one to Balor.  Flopping down in another lambskin chair, he flung a leg over the armrest.  “So what information did this little whore bring you?”

Balor related the conversation he’d heard on the tape.  “They’re about ready to start hunting,” he said.  “I’ll have Landon follow them using the GPS, but with Pendragon loose, we’ll need Segurd’s help as well.”

“Yeah, I thawed his cave out when I got your message,” Lucifer said.  “He wasn’t exactly happy.  Hell’s a little too warm for him after being in the Artic.”

“Tanio probably wasn’t too pleased either,” Balor replied.

Lucifer shrugged.  “I stopped answering to him long ago when the Christians were so kind as to give me my own name.”

“Still, he is a deity.”  Balor forced himself to keep the rancor out of his voice. He’d damn Brighid to hell for exiling him, except she wouldn’t go there.  “No sense in deliberately alienating one of the old gods.”

He grinned.  “I can hold my own.  The more people who believe I am evil, the more power I absorb.”

Balor laughed too.  “You are evil.  You got kicked out of Avalon right after I did.”

Lucifer sobered.  “We owe that bitch, Brighid.  I get dibs on raping her for eternity.”

“And you’re welcome to her,” Balor replied, “right after we seize total control of the world and throw it into complete chaos.”

“And people think hell is bad,” Lucifer said and grinned again, this time the demon-fire burning in his eyes.  “Just wait until they see what we can really do.”

Chapter Eight

Sophie felt Alan Caldwell’s eyes on her as she finished giving Princess’ pups their initial shots.  Mr. Smith had told her that the article Caldwell had done for Guns and Swords had gone over well and the editors wanted another story on Smith’s weapons, which was the reason Alan was at the mansion.  Supposedly.

She’d never considered herself to be a detective—heck, she didn’t even watch CSI:whatever—but something about Alan seemed off.  She cast a sideways glance through her lashes.  Physically, he was a good-looking man with a pro-football player build, but she wasn’t attracted to him.  Michael was muscular too, but with the leaner build of a baseball or tennis player.  Alan’s eyes were blue and cold; his smile didn’t reach them.  Michael’s eyes were dark and sexy…all sorts of emotions played through them.

Sophie grimaced and stood.  Why in the world was she comparing Alan to Michael?  She had tried to stopping thinking about Michael at all after that unsettling dream a couple of nights ago, but it kept niggling at her mind.  Even last night, as she tossed and turned, she could feel his hands on her, kneading her breasts, stroking down her belly and then lower, to explore her folds while his mouth covered a tight nipple.  She had grown wet again and practically come from only the thought.  It was like she had some sort of spell on her and to make matters worse, Michael was due here any minute to discuss their itinerary.  How in the world was she going to handle traveling with the man?

“You’ve got a terrible frown on your face,” Alan said as crossed the study to come stand beside her.  “What’s wrong?”

She gave herself a shake.  “Nothing.  I was just thinking about some arrangements that needed to be made.” She nodded at Mr. Smith.  “The pups are doing well.”  Then, since Caldwell was still standing there expectedly, she asked, “How is your article going?”

“Well.”  He gestured to the wall where the swords hung.  “I’ve decided I’d include a little history lesson on each type of sword that Mr. Smith owns and the time period in which it was used.”

“That sounds interesting,” she replied off-handedly as she heard Benton answer the door and then the sound of Michael’s baritone, low, but soft and tickly on her ears.  The kind of voice a man might use in the bedroom…

Dear God.  She had to stop thinking about him like that!!!

“Too bad Excalibur isn’t up on the wall,” Alan said.

That drew her attention back to him and, it seemed, Michael’s too, as he entered the room.  She could practically see his ears perk up. 

“Most people think Excalibur is a myth,” she said carefully as Michael approached them.

“Do they?”  Alan’s icy-blue eyes stared into hers.  “What do you think?”

She had that unsettled feeling again, as though he were asking a completely different question.  She forced a laugh that sound stilted even to her.  “I—I don’t know.  Maybe, if it were real, it would be fun to swing it.  Test its balance.  Maybe even imagine what those knights of the Round Table were like.”  She felt Michael’s hand at the small of her back and nearly jumped.  Even that small gesture sent tingly sensations all over her.    

“Why the interest in Excalibur?” Michael asked bluntly.

Caldwell shifted his gaze to meet Michael’s.  “That would be the Mother Lode, wouldn’t it?  For the article.”

“The article,” Michael repeated, not taking his eyes off Caldwell and keeping his hand firmly at Sophie’s back.

She had a sudden feeling that the two men were squaring off, much like boys in a schoolyard ready to start a brawl.  How to switch the subject before expensive lamps started flying off tables?

“The rapier,” she said quickly.  “That would make a good story.  I believe the pirate, Jean LaFitte, used the same type as the one here.”

“But my dear,” Mr. Smith interceded, unaware of the tension mounting between the two men, “that could very well be Mr. LaFitte’s sword.  It was found right after the Battle of New Orleans.”  He clapped his hands delightedly.  “That would make a good story, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would,” Sophie agreed hastily, hoping the situation was diffused.

Apparently, it was, because Alan looked back at her.  “I believe you said you fenced as a hobby?  And the rapier was your favorite weapon?”

“I haven’t had time recently, but yes.”

“Perhaps a little match would help you relax about whatever you were worried about earlier?  Maybe tomorrow?”

“Ah—I don’t know—“

“I can handle a sword too,” Michael interrupted.  “Why don’t you take me on?”

Caldwell slowly turned back to him, his look calculating.  “Any time.  But I was asking the lady.”

Sophie gave an inward groan.  So much for diffusion.

“It would hardly be a fair match,” Michael said. “You outweigh her by a good eighty pounds.”

Sophie gaped at him.  He didn’t think she could hold her own?  Her lighter weight gave her the advantage of being quick and flexible!  And a match wasn’t mortal combat after all.  She lifted her head, chin jutting out.

“You’re on,” she said to Alan.  “Tomorrow.”

* * * *

For at least the hundredth time, Michael wanted to kick himself for throwing the proverbial gauntlet down to challenge Sophie.  She wouldn’t be here in the gym this morning, donning a fencer’s mask, facing that linebacker, Caldwell.

Of course, she refused to look at Michael where he sat on the side bench.  He recalled their earlier conversation, when he’d arrived at her house, pushed through the lingering reporters, and rung her bell.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I’ve come to escort you to the gym,” he answered.

“I don’t need an escort.  I’ve driven myself there for years.”  Her eyes had narrowed.  “You’re not still thinking you’ll fight in my place?”

“I’m more of a match for him than you.  No disrespect intended.”

She had practically rolled her eyes.  “This isn’t some kind of duel.  It’s a fencing match.  There are rules.  I’ll not get hurt.”

“Still.  I’d like to the honorable thing and fight for you.”

She’d stared at him, as though he had taken leave of his senses.  “What are you?  Some throwback to medieval knights?” 

Michael sighed now as he watched Sophie assume the first guard position.  He had not been a knight of the Round Table, but he had met King Arthur once in Cornwall.  He’d had his nephews with him—Gawain, Gaheris, Gareth—and they all impressed him with their fighting skills.  Arthur had even invited Michael to come to Camelot, but then that married lady had mucked up his life and he’d had to flee to Brittany to keep his head attached. 

Still, a strong sense of chivalry stayed with him.  It was obviously something twenty-first century women didn’t appreciate.

Michael watched as Caldwell lunged at Sophie.  She spun, light on her feet, and cut to her right.  There was a clash of engagement as Caldwell parried and moved closer to press her sword.  It was just what Michael had feared would happen.  The big man would push the flat of his sword against hers and her upper body strength would be no match for him.  If he hurt her, Michael would make him pay—

His jaw nearly dropped as Sophie passed her blade beneath Caldwell’s and disengaged.  She sprang back and feinted left.  Caldwell thrust straight into open space and stumbled.  Michael started to laugh and stopped.  Caldwell’s aura blazed a deep maroon-red as he regained his footing and moved into a fifth guard position.  A chill swept over Michael.  That stance was as close to medieval warfare as modern fencing got.  This was no longer a game.

Caldwell lunged once more and Sophie parried, not sensing the danger.  He reposted and thrust again, using a series of quick jabs as he advanced on her.  Sophie retreated, blocking the now stronger blows as best she could.  She had no shield. 

“This isn’t a duel.  It’s a fencing match.  There are rules.  I’ll not get hurt.” 

Like hell she wouldn’t.  She was almost backed against a wall.  Caldwell was intent on winning.  He’d draw blood in another minute.

Michael leapt from the bench with preternatural warlock speed, brandishing his right arm, envisioning Excalibur and creating the illusion that he carried a flaming sword.  White-hot light flared from his other hand to Caldwell’s rapier.  Caldwell howled in pain as the metal heated and flung the sword away.  He bent over, clenching his hand and cursing.

Sophie grounded her sword and raised her visor, looking bewildered.  “What just happened?”

“Your friend just came at me with a fiery sword,” Caldwell said through clenched teeth. 

Sophie cut her eyes to Michael who held out his hands, palms up.

“Do you see a sword?” he asked.  He prayed she had not; he’d created the illusion for Caldwell, but he hadn’t had much time to fine-hone it.  Sometimes the magic flowed over. 

Her brow creased and she looked back at Caldwell.  “What sword?”

“The damn, bloody sword he was swinging,” he replied and then straightened, giving Michael a calculating look, as though he were remembering something.  Then he turned to Sophie and shook his head.  “You probably didn’t see it.  It wasn’t there.  The damn thing was only an illusion.”

She frowned.  “What are you talking about?  Are you ill?”

Caldwell snorted.  “I am fine.  Your friend was messing with my head.”

Her frown deepened.  “How?  I didn’t see him do anything.”

“Of course you didn’t.  He didn’t want you to see anything.”

“You’re not making any sense.  Perhaps we should call a doctor—“

“I’m fine, I told you.”  Caldwell pointed to Michael.  “He’s the one who’s not normal.”

Sophie’s gaze flitted to Michael and then back to Caldwell.  “I don’t—“

“Your friend,” Caldwell interrupted, “is a friggin’ warlock.”  He smiled coldly at her surprised expression.  “Or didn’t he tell you that?”

* * * *

Sophie sat in the passenger seat of Michael’s sport car, focusing on the traffic flow on Central Expressway as they made their way home from the fencing episode.  As usual, it was bumper-to-bumper and speeding along a good fifteen miles over the posted limit, but the flowing mass of metal was somehow comforting today.  Normal people doing their normal routines, probably going to very normal jobs downtown and then back to normal lives in the ‘burbs this evening.

Her life certainly wasn’t normal.

“Are you angry with me?” Michael asked as he gave her a quick glance.

Sophie felt a swell of hysteria rising in her throat.  Maybe she should just ask Michael to drive over to Parkland Hospital and she’d check herself into the psycho ward.  No dragons or warlocks there.  Or, if there were, some nice nurse would give her a nice, little pill to make it all go away. 

“Tell me you aren’t really a warlock,” she said without much hope.

He gave her another quick look.  “Sorry, but I am.”

She drew a shaky breath.  “What…what exactly does that mean?”

“Can we wait until I get you home to talk about this?  It’s complicated.”

“I want to know now.”

Michael sighed. “I…inherited… special intuitive powers.  Over the years, I’ve been trained to use them.”

Sophie looked at him.  “Do you curse people?”

“No.  That’s black magic.  It comes back to haunt you.”

“Do you lure people away?  Lock them in dungeons or trees or whatever like that witch did with Merlin?”

A corner of his mouth quirked up in a little smile.  “Nope.  And Nimue is—wasn’t—a witch.  She’s a faerie.”

“A faerie.  Of course.”  Sophie turned her attention back to the cars speeding past.  So normal.  Not one of those people had issues with dragons landing on their lawns, or men wearing fire-capes, or faeries flying around.  Not to mention a sexy-looking warlock… She snapped her head back suddenly to study him. 

“Is this how you really look?  Or is it an illusion covering up horns and a tail?”   

He grinned and shook his head.  “Demons have horns and tails, not warlocks.”

“And I suppose demons are running loose too?”  She tried to laugh, but her voice cracked. 

Michael sobered.  “I can assure you they are.  Adam Baylor is one.  That’s why it is so important that we find Excalibur before he does.  Can you imagine what a demon would do with the kind of power the sword has?”

Sophie felt the blood drain from her face.  She turned back to stare at the cars, not seeing them.  All this talk of supernatural beings was too much.  She was a logical person.  There were logical reasons for everything.  Weren’t there? She didn’t want to think about fire-breathing dragons or demons from hell, or wherever they came from.   Parkland was beginning to sound really cozy.    

They rode in silence the rest of the way home while she tried to get a handle on the nonsensical information that Michael had given her.  She hardly noticed when he stopped the car in front of her house.  Thankfully, there were no reporters lingering about.

“I have one other question,” she said.

“Sure.  What?”

“Can you get inside a person’s mind?  Know what they’re thinking?”

“Sometimes.  It’s easier when someone is angry or highly emotional.  They let their psychic shields down.”

Highly emotional.  Like in sexual climax.  Sophie felt her face grow hot.  Did he know about the dream?  Dear Lord.  Then another thought hit her and she narrowed her eyes.  “Can you put thoughts into someone’s head?”

Michael hesitated. 

“Can you?”

“I can create an illusion. One time, I created an illusion of being a panther to save a woman from being accosted in a park.  This time, Caldwell thought he saw a flaming sword in my hand.”

“And you can make the person actually feel it?  Alan thought it burnt his hand.  That’s why he threw his rapier down.”

“Yes.” 

“Oh, my God.”  Sophie fumbled for the door handle and stumbled out of the car.  “You were in my head the other night.  You put the dream there!  How dare you?”

“Wait.  I can explain.”  Michael opened his door.  “I’ll walk you—“

“No. You stay right here.  I don’t need any more of your illusions right now.  And I thought Robert was a liar!  You’re worse!  You made me do—made me feel—things—I never…  You controlled me.” 

With a sob, she turned and ran for her front door.

Chapter Nine

“I told you Sophie called and said she was running late.  Why do you keep pacing?”  Morgan asked petulantly. 

“We had a misunderstanding yesterday.  I need to talk to her.”  Michael didn’t add that he had gotten her voicemail several times last night. 

Morgan gave an exasperated sigh.  “That’s no surprise.  The woman is as unemotional as Mr. Spock.”

If Michael hadn’t been so tense, he might have laughed.  Sophie’s response in the dream they’d shared had been anything but unemotional.  Gut level passion and desire burned in her and he’d wager anything he’d owned in his long existence that she’d truly be a wild thing in bed with him as well. 

But the dream should never have been allowed to enter Sophie’s mind.  He tightly controlled his fantasies.  He knew Sophie had been hurt and didn’t trust men.  The last thing he would want her to think was that he just wanted casual—albeit it blazingly hot—sex with her.

He hadn’t counted on Tanio hanging around after the full-moon ritual, but that was probably because Pendragon had awakened.  They had worked closely forging Excalibur.  Still, to invade his dreams—it was something the trickster, Loki, might have done.  

“Are you listening to me?”

Michael focused his attention on Morgan.  Her full lower lip was protruding in a pout so he must have missed something.  “Sorry.  What did you say?”

Another sigh came from her.  “I said she’s not one of us.”

As if Morgan would know.  Michael hadn’t sensed that Sophie was a witch, but she did have some sort of special powers.  Protective powers, maybe, since she had instinctively used them to save the puppies from being stepped on.

The counterpoint to “demons from hell” were “angels from heaven” which is how the modern world thought of it.  And Avalon, shrouded in the mists of Time, was probably closer to a concept of “heaven” these days than it had been when it was an island guarded by the Lady of the Lake.  None the less, its priestesses had been protectors of animal and human life and its male sector, the druids, protectors of earth as well.  But, Michael supposed, it didn’t really matter much what names were put to the ancient battle of good versus evil. 

“There are relatively few witches still alive,” Michael replied.

“I don’t mean that.  Sophie isn’t like us.”  Morgan slanted a look at him through her lashes.

He grew wary.  “Like us?”

“We feel.  We lust for life…to experience pleasure.  We’re not afraid to take sex when and where we can.”  Morgan got up from her desk and moved toward him, her usually sultry sway somewhat stiff, although her mouth was curved in a silky smile.

“From the way you’re walking, I think you may have been indulging in that activity fairly recently.”

Her smile faltered for a moment, but then she placed a hand on his arm.  “Why don’t you let me work some of that tension out of you?”

“I’ll be fine once I’ve talked to Sophie.” He withdrew his arm.

“Well, that may be awhile.” 

“How late is she running?”

Morgan shrugged.  “I think maybe she might have said she had to talk to her husband—“

“Ex-husband,” Michael said and tried not to grit his teeth.

“Whatever.  He sure calls here a lot though.”

Michael stared at her.  He had felt confident that Sophie harbored no remnants of love for her former husband, but after last night—what had she said?  That he, Michael, was worse than that man.  Michael cringed inwardly.  Sophie thought he had betrayed her.  Worse, she thought he could control her emotions, which he couldn’t unless he used black magic and he was a sworn protector of the Light.  Goddess, he had hurt Sophie!

Like a wounded animal, would she seek shelter in the arms of someone familiar?  Would she give Robert another chance?  From the conversations Michael had with the man, as well as the long list of rogues and rakes he’d dealt with over the centuries, Michael knew his type.  Those men loved the hunt.  They sweet-talked women into believing they cared.  They lavished compliments and gifts and attention until they had their quarry cornered as deftly as the proverbial deer-in-the-headlights.  Once the conquest had been achieved, they moved on to other prey.  Michael had seen it, thousands of times.  Unfortunately, it worked only too often since the women they targeted were innocent, if not naïve, of such motives. 

Morgan’s fingers trailed up his arm again, her hand resting lightly on his chest, palm flattening against his nipple.  “Why don’t you forget about her and let me make you feel good?”

Her touch, inadvertently, was close to his heart and a chakra pathway opened for him.  Morgan had her psychic shields down, concentrating on trying to seduce him, and he probed her other thoughts.  The image of the man who drifted on the periphery of her mind surprised him.

Michael looked down at her.  “Tell me,” he said a low voice that was deadly calm, “how do you know Adam Caldwell?”

* * * *

Sophie stopped just short of the doorway to her office staring at Michael and Morgan.  Morgan was running her hand seductively over his chest, and practically purring at the man.   He said something to her, too low for Sophie to hear, but Morgan just gave him a coy look and a sultry smile.

Well, if Sophie needed any affirmation in not trusting a warlock, this was it.  All that supposed sincerity of his—and Dear God, she had actually thought him to be sincere and maybe even honest—was just a scam. 

“Am I interrupting something?” she asked as she entered the room.

Michael jerked away from Morgan as if burned by a flame.  No doubt Morgan, with her long, blue-black hair and alabaster skin, was a hot number in his eyes.  The tight, low-cut blouse she wore practically had her boobs popping out.  Why had Sophie not noticed before how provocatively Morgan dressed?

“You aren’t interrupting anything,” Michael answered.  “It seems that Morgan knows Alan Caldwell and I was wondering how they met.”  He looked back at Morgan, waiting for an answer.

“Oh, for goodness sake.” She flounced over to Sophie’s desk, straightening some paperwork.  “I went to Mr. Smith’s a few months ago looking for Sara and Alan was there.  We met a couple of times for drinks.  Why?”

“It seems that Caldwell knew I was a warlock.  Did you tell him?”

Morgan cast her eyes at Sophie and then back to Michael.  “I might have.”

“You know we don’t make that information public, Morgan.  Too many people get the wrong idea or want magical help.”

“Alan didn’t seem to care that I was a witch,” Morgan replied and glanced at Sophie again.  “Is that what your little misunderstanding was about?”

Sophie glared at Michael.  “I didn’t realize I was the subject for public discussion.  Perhaps you should leave.”

“Not until you’ve heard me out, Sophie.” He turned to Morgan.  “Close the door on your way out.”

She pouted and then tossed her head.  “Just remember what I said.”

“I’m not even going to ask,” Sophie said as she sat down stiffly behind her desk.  “However, if you think I’m still going to go hunting some mythical sword with you, forget it.  Use your magic to find it.”

“I would, if that was all that was necessary,” Michael said mildly and pulled a straight back chair close to the side of Sophie’s desk, “but Pendragon’s appearance tells me you are needed to come with me.”

Sophie studied him.  “Dragons don’t exist.  I came to the conclusion last night that he is an illusion.  You somehow sent it so that I’d buy this whole story.”

“He’s real, Sophie.  You’ve seen the scorch marks on your grass.”

“You could have put those there too,” she said stubbornly.

“But I didn’t.”  Michael leaned closer and she caught that unique woodsy scent of him.  “I don’t know what I can do to convince you, but I did not send you that dream.”

She raised an eyebrow skeptically.  “Well, I certainly didn’t enter your mind.”

“No.  Tanio did it.”

“Oh, yeah.  The fire-god guy.  I’ll admit, you are really good with illusions.  You almost had me convinced all this stuff was real.”

“It’s all real.  Why do you think the media has camped out all this time?”

Sophie stared into space.  “Maybe it’s some kind of group-hallucination.  Stage magicians do it all the time.”

A shadow crossed Michael’s face.  “Sleight-of-hand and hypnotic suggestions are not magic.”  He sighed.  “My guess is that Tanio tapped into my head—without my permission, but gods never think they need it—and decided to show you an extra benefit that could be had.”  He held up a hand before she could protest.  “I’ll admit it was my fantasy and I suppose I should apologize for fantasizing about you, but I swear, I don’t make any moves unless they’re welcomed.  I’ve told you that before.”

She turned back to look at him.  “You admit you fantasize about me and yet you expect me to travel with you?  Spend nights in hotel rooms next to each other?”

He smiled, showing his dimple.  “I guess you mean in separate rooms next to each other?”

Sophie felt her face heat at the implication of what she said.  God, how Freudian could she get?  “Definitely separate rooms—that is, if I were going with you, which I’m not.  Dragons and fire-gods?  Not to mention horned-demons.  You almost had me believing it, but then I remembered how fanatical Mr. Smith is when he’s onto something.  He’s a real medieval aficionado and he’s wealthy enough to indulge himself.  So my guess is, when his assistant came back from London with that manuscript, he decided to sponsor an expensive scavenger hunt.  He’s told me over and over that I need a little adventure in my life.  How much did he pay you to arrange all this? ”

Michael’s eyes darkened.  “He didn’t.  I give you my word that Excalibur exists and that a demon who wants to control, and maybe destroy the world, is hunting for the same sword.  We have to find it before he does.”  He stood and walked to the door and then turned.  “I’m going to have a little talk with Tanio.  When I come back, you’ll have your proof.”

Sophie sat mutely at her desk after he was gone.  It was all so confusing.  Nothing made sense and she had always been ruled by logic.  One possibility was that she truly was having a nervous breakdown, but everything else in her life seemed rational and real.  The clinic functioned.  Clients trusted her with their pets.  Augustin still gave her his special nuzzle…

Or maybe Mr. Smith, who loved to meddle, really was playing a hoax.  But what Michael had said about the media hovering for days niggled at her.  They couldn’t all be fooled, could they?

She shut her eyes, not wanting to think of the other option. 

Maybe demons, dragons, faeries and warlocks existed and she had been too oblivious to see.  Maybe there was some grandiose scheme in the universe to have good battle evil.  Certainly, the unrest in the Middle East had been raging for years now.  Suicidal terrorists had created fear in the hearts of sane people.  Drug cartels murdered people for no reason.  World-wide economies were crashing… Maybe some evil force really was behind it all.

Maybe Michael was right about everything.  How could she know for certain?

* * * *

The dragon lay dozing, his eyes fluttering as his tail clinked gently against the rocky floor of his cave.  In his dream, he was back with Uther and the Roman legions. Although Rome had long left Britain to defend itself from the Byzantine empire,  Romulus Augustulus still allowed soldiers of Roman descent to train in his armies.

And that is where the Pendragon left Uther, once he learned that Rome held other pleasures.

He had first seen her as a wild, white mare, her sleek, silvery neck arched gracefully, mane and tail flowing as she galloped over the steep slope of a hill, sure of her footing, hooves seeming to float above the ground.  Being a young dragon back then, he thought to have a bit of sport with the free, feisty horse. 

So it came as a surprise to him to find his fireballs ricocheting back and actually knocking him onto his haunches.  When the smoke cleared, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen stood in front of him.  Dressed in a white tunic trimmed in gold thread, her long, moonlight-colored hair flowed around her, but her dark eyes flashed their own fire.

“You dare to trifle with me, dragon?” she asked.

Pendragon flicked his tail and blinked.  ‘I wanted to play with the horse.”

She stared at him and then she lifted her head and sniffed, taking in his scent.  “You are not from here.  Where is your home?”

“Briton.  I am mentor to a young soldier who wants to take his country back from Vortigern.”

The woman tilted her head.  “What is this soldier’s name?”

“Uther.  He takes my name also.  I am called Pendragon.”  He said it rather proudly and rattled his scales.

She ignored him, seeming to be in deep thought.  “It is written in the wind there will be mighty battles in Briton, but your Uther will not lead them.  However, his son will overcome the Saxons swine.”

Pendragon puffed smoke.  “How do you know this?”

She raised her arms to the sky and laughed.  When she lowered them, she was clad in full warrior armor, a Lorica segmentata  covering her shoulders and breasts, and strips of  heavy leather hung over a shortened tunic.   Slender yet muscular calves were encased in leather strips holding hob-nailed sandals tight to her feet.  In one hand she held a spatha and in the other, the spear-like pilus.

“Because I am Epona, goddess of horses and soldiers.”  Her eyes blazed sparks of fire.  “I will be there.”  

The dragon stirred in his sleep and slowly became aware that he was no longer alone in his lair.  He opened a cobalt eye to see Tanio and the warlock.  He sat up abruptly, banging his head on the hard ceiling. 

“Is something the matter with the girl?” he asked.

“Not exactly,” Tanio answered with a look at Michael.  “Do you want to explain or shall I?”

“I will,” Michael replied and proceeded to inform Pendragon of all that had taken place.  “So you see,” he concluded, “Sophie thinks I conjured up everything.  She doesn’t think you are real.”

The dragon snorted, flames shooting out the cave.  “Not real?  I will visit her again tonight then and the next as well.”

Michael shook his head.  “Your visits are keeping the media on high-alert looking for a story.  If we’re to find Excalibur, we don’t need reporters following us.  Besides,” he added, “she needs to get close enough to touch you, to communicate with you.  Then she’ll have to admit you exist.”

The spikes on his head raised with interest.  “Can you help her shape shift?  She can really see for herself what a dragon is like then.”  Memories of Epona shifting to dragon form flashed through his mind.  They’d soared over Rome’s hills together, made dragon-love—

“She’d never speak to me again if I even tried that,” Michael said.

“Then what?” Pendragon asked.  “She can come out into the street I guess.  I’ll not burn her.”

“Your size is a bit intimidating,” Tanio replied.  “But perhaps there is a way—“

The dragon’s eyes turned midnight blue.  “If what I’m thinking you’re thinking, the answer is no.”

Tanio removed his flaming cape and swirled it over the Pendragon’s head.  “I’m afraid the answer is yes, my friend,” he said.

* * * *

Balor looked around the empty warehouse in a drug-invested neighborhood of south Dallas.  No one would bother him here.  No one would call the police if they heard screaming.  No one would question a drugged man being dragged in.  Whatever people inhabited the streets and tenements around them would not care.

It was the most perfect place for punishment.

He looked up at the steel girder from which dangled a leather strap, the thick studded collar at its end turned inside out, so that the blunted spikes poked against the neck of the unconscious man who lay naked on the floor.

“You did well, my pet,” he said to Morgan.

She looked up from filing her nails.  “He should be coming around soon.  I didn’t doze him too much.”

Balor smiled and turned his attention again to Caldwell, still passed out.  “I grow weary of waiting.”  He gestured to one of the two body-builders he’d recruited from a gay bar.  “Throw some water on him.”

Caldwell sputtered as the bucket of cold water sloshed over him and tried to sit up.  He fell back, unbalanced, since his hands were bound behind him.  “What the hell?”  He struggled back into a sitting position and glanced down at himself.  “What’s going on?  Why am I naked?”

Balor gestured to one of the men who began pulling the loose end of the strap over the girder, forcing Caldwell onto his feet.  “You are in need of some discipline.”

“Why?”

“You disappointed me, Alan.  I had not thought you so weak that you would lose control in a fencing match with that slip of a girl.”  He shook his head.  “That loon, Smith, fired you when he found out.  We have made no progress on even knowing where to look for the sword.  I needed you in that house.”

“I can get back in.  I’ll—“

“You will learn to control your temper, Alan.  And your first lesson starts now.”  He gestured to the man holding the strap.  “A little higher, please.”

The leash tugged at the collar as it grew tighter, forcing Caldwell to lift his chin and stretch his neck. 

“If you hold very still,” Balor said as he inspected the collar, “those studs won’t dig into your throat too much.”  He nodded and the young man secured the leather strap to a bolt in the wall.  Balor moved to a cardboard box on a broken-down desk and removed two ping-pong paddles.  “It’s odd how these little devices can produce so much pain when used correctly.”  He handed one to each of the young men and turned back to Caldwell.  “Allow me to introduce your playmates for today.  John and Simon.”  Balor stepped aside, gesturing for them to move closer.

Grinning, they moved into position behind Caldwell and each administered a sharp slap to his buttocks, alternating their strokes.  He flinched, a muscle tightening in his jaw. 

“This is stupid,” he gritted out.

“Oh?” Balor asked.  “Dear boys, don’t forget the backs of his thighs.  Let the

smarting wear off  his ass before you strike him again.  It’s more painful that way.”

Caldwell closed his eyes as the beatings began and then popped them open quickly as Balor ran his hand down the length of his penis.  Caldwell jerked and then grunted in pain as the collar choked him.  Still, he tried to writhe his hips away from Balor’s handling of him.

“Oh, I forgot.  You don’t like men handling you, do you?”  Balor asked with a smile.  “And so sad, because John and Simon simply love resistant men.  However,” he said with a sigh, “part of this lesson includes controlling your pleasure as well as your pain, so perhaps you won’t object to Morgan handling you?”

She came forward at once, sliding her hands over his chest and arms and sinking to her knees in front of him.  She stroked down his belly, cupping his balls as she licked slowly up the length of him.  His cock stiffened immediately.

“Ah, that’s more like it,” Balor said jovially.  “Do you see how quickly you react to Morgan’s gentle touch while pain is administered from behind?”  He nodded to Morgan  “Don’t let him come, my pet.”  Moving to the box again, he removed a blindfold. 

“What the—hell, I don’t need a blindfold!”  Caldwell jerked again and then shouted his fury as the collar tightened around his neck.

“Well, not seeing what is happening makes it so much more titillating,” Balor answered.  “All your senses will be focused on what you’re feeling.  The pain will mix with the pleasure.  It will blend into one.  And,” he added as he fastened the blindfold over Caldwell, “you won’t really know who’s sucking you off, will you?  I believe the boys want a turn too.”

“Absolutely,” John said and reached one hand around to pinch at Caldwell’s nipple.  “I’ll be relieving little Morgan very soon…and I know how to keep a man hard for a very long time.” 

“And I will take your ass,” Simon said as he paused momentarily in his paddling to run a finger along the crack, making Caldwell shudder.  He inserted the tip of his finger.  “This will feel so good.  Your butt will be burning, both inside and out.  Mmmm.  I can’t wait…”

“I will make you pay for this, Baylor,” Caldwell said from behind clenched teeth.

Balor laughed.  “I don’t think so, my dear boy.  I know exactly which assisted-living center your mother resides in.”

Balor sat down in a rickety chair to watch the proceedings, unzipping his pants and motioning for Morgan to come and serve him.  He almost laughed at how totally rigid Caldwell went when John moved around to the front of him, but he was disappointed in how stoically Caldwell stood there, not screaming or cursing or begging, even when Simon began to massage his anus.  Balor had to admit to a grudging respect of Caldwell.  Perhaps, he’d spare him the reaming.  At least for now.  He held up his hand to Simon, who looked disappointed but continued his paddling as John sucked Alan’s shaft harder and harder. 

Balor looked down at the top of Morgan’s head.  She seemed enthusiastic about her work and sometimes he wished she weren’t.  He did love subjecting a woman to humiliation and one who wasn’t willing to have him in her mouth was particularly enticing.  On the other hand, Morgan was very good at this.  Who was he to complain?

His thoughts drifted to the female veterinarian and wondered how uptight she’d be.  If she could resist a warlock—Morgan had told him about their argument—she might be colder than fish in the Artic ocean, which would make it extremely enjoyable to make her melt.

Or at least pleasure him as often as he wanted it.  She didn’t believe in supernatural beings.  She wouldn’t recognize him. 

He might just have to pay Sophie Cameron a visit himself.

Chapter Ten

Sophie petted Augustin’s silky muzzle and checked his supply of oats in the trough.  “I’m going to have to cut down on those if I can’t get to riding you more,” she said as the horse shook his head.  She laughed.  “I think you understood that, didn’t you, guy?”  With a lingering stroke along his sleek neck, she closed the stall door.  “Maybe tomorrow will be a better day.”

She turned on an oldies-rock station as she drove home in the dusky twilight.  Oddly enough, some of the bands from her parents’ day were still performing or doing reunion tours.  Nostalgia for a time when life was simpler—or so her mother said—nearly overwhelmed her.  If her parents hadn’t been killed in a freak train wreck, what would her mother have said about dragons lighting up the night sky?  Probably—Sophie’s hands stilled on the steering wheel as Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds began playing.  How ironic.  She shook her head.  In her parents’ day, what with LSD and tripping, dragons may have been a common sight. 

Maybe they were even real.