Chapter Thirteen
Seeing her face turn chalky, Gavin leapt the additional yards to her side, grabbing her arm, and resisting the strange protective urge to enfold her in his embrace. “Are you going to swoon again?”
Some color came back into her face as she managed to glare at him. “I do not swoon! I—you—that is, I—was just surprised, that’s all.”
He would wager she was and not by him. It wasn’t every day that the God of the Wild Hunt let mortals see him. Had Cernunnos’ intention been to rape Chloe or was there some other elemental link that had drawn the god to her? Gavin hadn’t seen him in centuries, but from what Smith told him, apparently the fire god, Tanio, had appeared to the veterinarian. Avalon must be pulling out all the stops if the gods were returning—which probably meant that Balor was becoming more powerful.
Still, at this point, it would be better if Chloe not remember what had just taken place. Mesmerizing her didn’t work, but he could plant the idea that everything had been a dream and she had only just awakened.
“What are you doing out here?” Gavin asked.
“How did you find me?” Chloe countered.
He sighed. Of course she wouldn’t answer a simple question straight-forwardly. “You were not that difficult to track, Miss Whitney.” She looked somewhat affronted, but he could hardly relent and he certainly could not tell her the erotic dream had helped him zero in on her location. “I have no idea who else might be following you.”
She frowned. “Why would anyone be following me?”
Gavin stepped closer and immediately regretted it as her spicy fragrance drifted over him. The sense of fear she’d felt moments earlier had opened her pores and he could also smell the richness of her warm blood gushing through her veins. Coupled with the dream he’d managed to latch onto, Gavin’s groin tightened as his fangs began elongating. He clenched his jaw.
“You were told to stay inside Smith’s mansion.”
“I’m a reporter. It’s my job to find out what’s going on.”
“There’s a killer loose, Miss Whitney. It is the police department’s job—and mine—to find out why that is occurring. We do not need—or want—your help.”
Chloe drew herself up to her full five feet and placed her hands on her hips. “Are you saying that because I’m a girl? This is the twenty-first century. There are even police-women in America, in case you didn’t know.”
Gavin almost smiled at her indignation. He had always liked women with fiery tempers and Chloe was practically sputtering. He resisted the urge to goad her further since he was already fighting his baser instinct to have just a tiny taste of her. “I do not think you understand the danger you may be in, Miss Whitney.” Including from himself.
Hesitating slightly, she asked, “What kind of danger?”
“Am I correct in assuming you came out here to search for the dragon?”
Chloe looked mulish and for a moment, he didn’t think she was going to answer, but then she nodded.
“Have you considered the dragon may be looking for you?”
Her eyes widened in surprise and her mouth dropped open. Gavin tried not to focus on how those parted soft lips made him want thrust his tongue inside and kiss her senseless. Resolutely, he closed his mind off to that thought.
“Why would the dragon be looking for me? Assuming there is a dragon.”
“Captain Johnson’s resistance aside, I think we can all assume the dragon exists. Let’s rethink the Arthurian legends.”
“Huh? Why? What do the knights of the Round Table have to do with what’s going on now?”
He wished he could tell her how very much some of the knights were involved, but admitting who he was wasn’t an option. “Not the knights precisely. You remember reading about Vortigern trying to build a castle that kept falling down?”
Chloe’s brow furrowed. “Yeah. Mr. Smith said something about Merlin telling him two dragons were fighting beneath the surface each night.”
“I’m impressed.” When Chloe gave him a suspicious look, he smiled at her. “Really. Most people forget—or don’t care—about how it all started, but to those of us with Celtic blood, it does.”
“Am I in for story-telling time?”
“In a way. Bear with me. Vortigern tried building his castle in Wales. The red dragon—symbolized by a red lion these days—was the pendragon—the Great Protector—of the land. Vortigern invited his father-in-law, King Hengist of the North and his brother, Horsa, to join him. They brought their talisman, a white dragon named Sigurd.” Gavin scanned Chloe’s face to check for the glazed look that took over so many humans when history was being told, but she was giving him rapt attention, which he found disquieting. Clearing his throat, he went on. “What was supposed to represent unity between the nations turned out to be a deadly fight for Britain’s independence.” Gavin paused. “The fight seems to have recommenced.”
“But why? Didn’t all that stuff happen like a thousand years ago?”
Longer than that, Gavin wanted to say, but he had to be careful. “The items that Mr. Smith is searching are ancient Celtic relics as old as the legends. They hold power.”
Chloe’s eyes rounded. “You believe that? I mean, I can see where they might be worth a lot if they’re that old—”
“Adam Baylor would be searching for them if they were worth only cash.”
“Are you talking about the guy who you said laundered money and funded terrorism and drug cartels?”
“Precisely. He is a very dangerous man and he craves ultimate power. I suspect he is behind these recent murders.”
“Why?”
“Diversion. If the police and the media are focused on these killings and tying up Smith’s time and money for defense, Adam Baylor has a big lead on finding the next relic himself.”
“I guess that makes sense—in a way. But how do you figure I am in danger? I don’t know anything about any of this.”
“You are somewhat nosy, Miss Whitney. Your friend, Jake, has already paid the price for that.”
Chloe quieted, her face somber. “Okay, say I accept your theory, but why would a dragon be chasing me and not the other media who hang around?”
“Because you wear the pendragon tattoo.”
She stared at him. “How do you know I have a tattoo?” Her eyes narrowed. “It’s not exactly in a visible place.”
Gavin grinned. “No, it is not.”
“Then…?”
For a moment he considered not answering just to see if he could evoke her temper again, but he was having too much trouble controlling his own lecherous thoughts this evening which was disturbing in itself. The Templars had taught him restraint. Holding up his hand to stave off her next remark, he replied. “A button was undone on your shirt the night you swooned.”
“Oh.” She frowned. “But so what? It’s a cute little dragon. I did it on a dare one night when I’d had too much to drink. It hardly makes me part of some kind of dragon cult, or whatever.”
“Sigurd would only detect the link. He would not make the differentiation.” Gavin glanced up at the pre-dawn sky, wondering if Cernunnos had finished the hunt. Sigurd was his enemy too, since the god used to rule the Celts.
He glanced at Chloe, wondering if his mind-link had been successful. She hadn’t brought up Cernunnos or the hounds, but maybe she just didn’t want him to think she saw them. The woman was an enigma.
“We should be getting back before Smith starts to worry. I didn’t have a chance to talk to him before I left. My car’s parked down the road a bit. We can send for yours.”
“I can drive.”
“Miss Whitney, have you not listened to what I’ve said? The dragon could very well be seeking you and he may also be close. I am not about to let you drive back alone.”
“So now you’re going to play the knight-in-shining-armor?”
Gavin grimaced. She’d mentioned that before. It had been a long time since he’d tried to be gallant. He wasn’t Lancelot, after all. And daylight was approaching.
“If it will get you in my car on the road home.” He didn’t wait for an answer but took her arm firmly enough that she moved forward with him, although she grumbled about still wanting to find the dragon.
He would have to find a way to divert her interest on that because what he didn’t tell Chloe was that Sigurd had been Balor’s pet.
* * * *
Chloe wished it had been Morgan instead of Mr. Smith who witnessed them returning shortly after sunrise. It would have given her just a smidgin’ of satisfaction to let Morgan think Gavin had been out with her all night. Not that he had hinted at anything that even bordered on being attracted. The ride home had been boringly quiet and he had disappeared as soon as they got back.
Sometimes she wondered if she really was losing it. She was acting like some high school kid infatuated with the latest rock star while Gavin remained aloof and impervious to her. He wouldn’t even call her by her name. It was always “Miss Whitney” like she was someone’s old maid aunt or something. Geez.
“My dear,” Mr. Smith said as Benton served them coffee in the breakfast room, “you really must not take it upon yourself to do things like this. Promise me.”
“Promise you what?” Morgan asked as she entered the room in another negligee with a thin, silk robe loosely knotted at her waist and draped open enough to reveal the top half of her breasts.
Well, maybe it was better that Gavin had disappeared immediately. Morgan’s theatrical entrance was lost on Mr. Smith. Still, she smiled brightly and joined them.
“Chloe actually went out to Palo Pinto County last night to look for the dragon!” Mr. Smith exclaimed. “By herself!”
Morgan’s eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at Chloe. “I guess you didn’t find him? You don’t seem to be worse for the wear.”
“No, I didn’t.” But she had found something else. Or she thought she had. But how would she explain two albino dogs the size of ponies and a half-naked man wearing antlers who disappeared when she turned around? Or she thought he did. Maybe he had been part of that erotic dream she’d been having. Heat sluiced through her veins as she remembered Gavin passionately making love to her. Or she thought he did.
Maybe the antlered-man really was an American Indian doing some sort of ritual. History always said they walked soundlessly. Maybe he actually stole away while she wasn’t looking—or maybe she had imagined the guy, injecting him with enough testosterone to fill a football stadium because Gavin wasn’t interested. Could her self-esteem really be that low?
It was all so confusing.
Chloe felt a bubble of hysteria rise in her throat. Maybe the world was going bonkers and not her. If dragons could be real, why not an antlered man who appeared and disappeared out of nowhere? Heck, maybe even werewolves and shape-shifters existed too. And vampires. Why not? Gavin seemed to prefer working at night…
Geez. If she kept this up, she’d be in a psych ward soon.
“Well, it’s just a good thing that Gavin went after you,” Mr. Smith said.
Chloe felt the chill as Morgan’s gaze turned icy-green like a winter sea. She couldn’t help but smile—probably a mistake given the odd glint in Morgan’s eyes.
“I was wondering where he had gone last night,” she said.
Chloe kept her smile pasted on. Did that mean Gavin was sharing Morgan’s bed other nights? He’d stopped going to the police station at night so she didn’t know. Was that why he’d been so angry when he approached her? Because he had to leave Morgan’s warm bed and hot body?
She lifted her chin a little. It wasn’t like she was wanting Gavin to declare undying love or anything. Her mother had a series of lovers while Chloe was growing up and all of them had been nice to her and treated her mother well while they were there. So it wasn’t like she expected anything permanent. She was a big girl now.
She’d be damned if she let Morgan know the barb had struck home. Feigning a yawn, she stood up. “I think I’ll go get some rest. It really was a long night.”
As she walked away, another icy blast ripped through her. She didn’t need to turn around to know Morgan was angry. It almost made up for her insinuation.
Almost.
* * * *
Balor lay back against the headboard of the bed and studied Morgan under hooded lids as she sucked him off. She seemed as enthusiastic about the blow job as she always was, but he sensed a power shift within her. It was very, very subtle, but it was there. It almost felt like she was slipping out of his control and he didn’t like it.
The world was going to hell in the proverbial hand basket. Well, maybe not hell, he thought as he looked up at Lucifer on his knees behind Morgan grinding into her hard.
Lucifer hadn’t really been taking care of his responsibilities either—he was supposed to in charge of spreading hatred and bigotry in the Christian world since they believed him to be the devil. Balor had carefully orchestrated the Great Recession in the United States to do just that, but the puny mortals were managing to survive. The Europeans were hanging on too.
The damn Arab Spring several years ago hadn’t helped either. Balor had lost too many henchmen and it would take time to work on corrupting whoever replaced them. Time that he might not have if he didn’t find the platter before the vampire did.
“When did you say they were leaving?” he asked after he’d shot a good wad of semen down Morgan’s throat.
She closed her eyes, shuddering in bliss as Lucifer gave one final thrust. Balor would wager that keeping Morgan from an immediate answer was a little power play on his brother’s part.
“Day after tomorrow,” she said huskily, her body flushed with her climax. “I dropped the GPS chip into Chloe’s purse yesterday.”
“Good. I’ll notify Carl to be ready.”
Lucifer pulled out of Morgan and stood, pulling up his jeans. “Are you sure Carl understands what to do this time?”
Balor grinned and adjusted his eye patch. “I think I made myself clear.” Actually, it had been quite enjoyable terrorizing the kid with a porn star Balor hired who had a twelve inch dick. Carl was homophobic and the porn guy had been featured in several sado-masochistic films. Just thinking of the kid being reamed thoroughly with that impressive cock had made Balor hard. In the end, though, Balor had let Carl off with just the threat of what would happen if he failed his assignment—and a reminder that he still held the IOU’s to the gambling debts.
And then he’d given the porn star a few lessons in real S&M. Remembering made him grow stiff and he dragged Morgan on top of him. “Ride me.” He plunged into her hot, dripping sheath as she straddled him and gave himself over to her skills.
“You weren’t able to lure the reporter to Sigurd’s lair?” he asked when he’d finished and tossed Morgan off him. He’d given Morgan explicit instructions to tell the dragon he wanted the girl alive to use as a hostage.
She frowned, obviously not having come a second time herself. “I tried. I told her I’d had a photo shoot out in Palo Pinto and she might want to investigate the area. And she did,” Morgan added defensively, “but Gavin followed her.”
Damn the vampire for his acute senses. “Did Sigurd not have time to capture her before that? Or did he not sense her presence? What did he say when you contacted him?”
Morgan reached for her clothes and began dressing. “He knew she was there. He was giving her time to fall asleep.” She hesitated and then went on, “He sensed something else too.”
“Like what?” Balor asked, suspecting Sigurd had scented the vampire, but not wanting Morgan to know there was an Immortal loose.
“It sounds crazy, but Sigurd said it was Cernunnos, the old god of the forest.”
Balor exchanged a startled look with Lucifer. What was the god doing in America? His territory was Britain, Wales in particular. It was bad enough the fire god, Tanio, had gotten involved in the search for the sword. They didn’t need another one—especially one whom that damn goddess of Avalon favored—interfering in this hunt.
Morgan looked from one to the other. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Balor said quickly, his mind reeling with the new information. The Celtic relics of power had been handed down to mortals from the Tuatha De Danaan, ancestors of the Celtic gods. That Cernunnos had developed a link to the platter must mean it was buried in a forest or the earth, since that was part of his dominion. That was a clue that the vampire didn’t have.
On the other hand, the Pendragon had lived in Wales protected by Cernunnos before Sigurd—with Balor’s help—had overcome him. That made Cernunnos the white dragon’s arch enemy, not to mention Balor’s.
Across the room, Lucifer’s eyes flashed red and then returned to blue. “Dude,” he said, “we might have to recalculate.”
That had to be worst understatement in two centuries.