Chapter Sixteen
Gavin jerked back. God’s Blood! What had he almost done?
Chloe looked dazed. Had she felt the needle prick of his fang point before he retracted it? He couldn’t tell. From the way passionate way she kissed him—his groin tightened painfully at the memory—he didn’t think she was hurt, but he still asked.
“I’m fine,” she answered as he helped her up.
Her eyes lingered on his mouth and Gavin wondered if she was going to kiss him again. He was not at all sure he had the will power, Templar training or not, to withstand another onslaught of her deliciously sweet, hot mouth. She took a shuddering breath and looked away.
“I’m just not sure what happened. I don’t think motorcycles are allowed on these trails.”
He was pretty sure they weren’t either—and he didn’t think those two riders were out to enjoy the park. One of those jerks had tried to pick Chloe up. Had they meant to abduct her? Was it part of Balor’s master plan? Perhaps to hold her hostage to get to Guinevere? If she were immortal, Balor would want to know.
Unfortunately, the riders’ faces had been completely shielded by dark visors and they’d worn plain leather jackets and jeans, so there were no identifying marks Gavin could make. He’d gotten the license number of one of the cycles, but he’d wager they were rented.
He should have paid more attention to the hair on his nape rising. His instincts rarely let him down, but he’d been distracted watching Chloe’s pretty rump bouncing in the saddle.
Mistakes like that could be dangerous, even for a vampire. For a mortal woman, they could be fatal. Gavin would not let his guard slip again.
“If you are feeling better, Miss Whitney, I would suggest we get these horses back to the stable. Do you think you can ride?”
Chloe rolled her eyes at him. “Of course I can ride. The first rule after being thrown is to get back on. It wasn’t the horse’s fault anyhow.”
Gavin had to admire her spunk, even if he planned to keep his distance. Chloe had more spirit than any woman he’d met in centuries. “I would suggest we collect your things from your mother’s and get started then.”
“Can’t we wait until morning?”
He hesitated, not sure how much he wanted to tell her. The sooner they were away from her mother, the safer both of the women would be. “Do you remember the reason I brought you with me was because I thought you might be in danger?”
Chloe frowned. “Yeah. You never said why, not that it mattered. I was going to come along anyway.”
“It matters, Miss Whitney. I have reason to believe what just happened was no accident. I am not sure why, but I think Adam Baylor is very much interested in abducting you.”
“Abduct—you mean kidnapping? Me? Why? I’ve never even done a story on the guy.”
Gavin could hardly tell her he suspected it was because of her mother. “All I have are theories at this point. However, it is possible that those bodies the dragon left were meant to lure you out.”
Chloe’s eyes rounded like saucers. “But—you mean I might be his next murder victim?”
“Doubtful. I think Baylor wants you alive.” Gavin helped Chloe mount and vaulted onto his own horse before he was tempted to let his hands linger where they shouldn’t. “But that does not make the situation any safer. The man has trained terrorists. He is a master of torture. Whatever information he wants from you, he would get.”
“And you’re going to protect me from this monster?”
“Yes.”
She rode up alongside him and gave him a long look. “Why?”
Gavin clenched his jaw and avoided looking back. “Because I may have led him to you.”
* * * *
Gavin Myles had to be the most exasperating man she had ever met. How a man could kiss that passionately—Ha! She had known there was fire under that icy façade—and then calmly return to addressing her as “Miss Whitney”, acting as though nothing had happened, she didn’t understand. Geez. He’d curled her toes just kissing her. Luckily, she’d been sitting on the ground and didn’t need to use them to stand on.
But that wasn’t the only enigma Gavin represented. After making the statement about leading the Baylor guy to her, Gavin had refused to elaborate all the way back to her mother’s. Nor had he explained what this guy—much less a dragon—would want with her in the first place. Chloe hadn’t done any articles on organized crime. She wasn’t famous—or infamous—and she certainly wasn’t wealthy.
Nor had Gavin been willing to stay for a late lunch. For someone who usually preferred to stay inside during the afternoon because the sun was stronger then, he’d been in an awful hurry to get on the road. It was almost like he thought someone was chasing him. Chloe barely had time to get her duffel and leave a copy of the poem-clue for her mother to meditate on when she’d been propelled through the doorway.
Now, as the car approached Sutter Creek, she glanced sideways at him. “You can’t just not talk. Why won’t you tell me why you think I’m in danger?”
“The less you know, the safer you are.”
“That makes no sense. How can I protect myself if I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking out for?”
“There is very little you can do to protect yourself. Not from evil incarnate.”
“That’s pretty purple-prosy, even for a Halloween story,” Chloe said, “except it’s still a week away.”
He glanced toward her. “Purple prosy?”
“Yeah. You know. A little over-the-top? Like I’m supposed to be all scared and shivery because some terrifying, inhuman monster is lurking out there? The man may be vile and immoral and even a heinous villain, but ‘evil incarnate’? Give me a break.”
“Adam Baylor is all of those things, Miss Whitney. The reason so many of the world’s dictators were able to rule with iron fists for so long was because Adam Baylor provided their power bases.”
“The guy must be ancient then.”
Gavin grimaced. “Age has nothing to do with it.”
“Well, if he’s so powerful, how come so many of these dictators have fallen? Maybe the old guy is losing his touch.”
“Do not jest, Miss Whitney. If Adam Baylor finds even one of the Celtic relics, he will have enough power to rebuild any empires he may have lost.”
Chloe was about to tell him how ridiculous that was, but he was being so serious, she held the remark. “You really think a thing—even if it is a solid gold platter from ancient times—has power? Cool as it sounds, it’s pretty hard to accept.”
“Why? Metal is an energy source. Gold is an energy source. This platter is an energy force. There are people who know how to use that, for good or evil.”
“Still. It’s hard to believe.”
“Did you believe in dragons before the sightings?”
“Well—no, I guess not.” Chloe took a deep breath. “So you’re saying this guy is like a sorcerer?”
“Not a sorcerer, Miss Whitney.”
“Well, what then? A devil?”
“Not in the sense that the Christian world views it.” Gavin hesitated as if searching for the right words as he parked the car along the historical main street and shut off its engine. “Adam Baylor is a demon.”
* * * *
Gavin was afraid he’d said too much as they walked into the Visitor’s Center. Probably the only thing that prevented Chloe demanding to know about demons was that they were surrounded by tourists.
“We’re getting ready to close,” the young man at the information desk said, “but I can give you a brochure and sign you up for the Gold Mine Tour tomorrow or maybe you’d rather try the wine-tasting? The vineyards in this area produce great wines.”
“Thanks,” Chloe said as she took the brochure, “we’ll need to talk about what we want to do.”
Gavin had a hunch Chloe did not mean tourist traps, although she was quiet as they drove to a nearby motel to secure rooms for the night. It wasn’t until after they’d finished dinner that he noticed the determined look in her eye.
“Let’s walk,” she said, “because I want to talk.”
At least she hadn’t asked him to go to her room. After that kiss, he wasn’t at all sure he possessed the self-control he’d always prided himself on. This woman got to him like no one had since Gwenhwyfar. And, like Arthur’s queen, the attraction was not merely lust. Chloe had the same quality of spirit and independence that was both admirable and foolhardy enough that Gavin had the urge to protect her. Of course, trying to protect Gwenhwyfar had led to all sorts of problems. A wiser man would put as much distance as possible between himself and a woman who brought out all kinds of emotions that had been packed away for centuries. But he couldn’t leave Chloe with Balor and his minions loose. Gavin just hoped that she thought his posed indifference to her was real.
“What do you want to talk about?” he asked as if he didn’t know.
Chloe looked heavenward as though asking for patience in dealing with someone who obviously was none-too-bright. “Demons. Spill.”
“Spill?”
“Tell me about demons,” she said as though addressing a dimwit child.
Some American slang took getting used to, he thought, as they walked down the street toward Bryson Park. Tourists still strolled around, but Gavin found an empty bench near some cottonwoods. She shivered in the rapidly cooling night air and Gavin fought the urge to draw her close and put his arm around her. Instead, he forced himself to keep a respectable space between them and offered Chloe his jacket.
“You’ll freeze,” she said.
Little did she know vampires were immune to weather. “Britain stays cold. I’m used to it.” Gavin swirled the jacket over her shoulders. His heart gave a strange lurch as she drew his jacket closer and sighed contently, enveloping herself in his scent.
“Now,” she said and broke his train of thought, “no more delay tactics. What are demons?”
Where to start? “They are entities who are the driving forces behind all that is wrong in this world— envy, avarice, pride, gluttony, anger, sloth—”
“Are you talking about Dante’s Seven Deadly Sins?”
“Dante only summarized them, but yes,” Gavin answered. “All wars that have been fought have had one or more of these causes behind them. All the inhumanity that has been wrought on mankind—indescribable annihilation, torture and degradation—can be contributed to these “sins” as they’ve been labeled. Demons have been behind each and every movement.”
Chloe studied him. “So you’re saying demons are the devil’s helper, but not the devil himself?”
Gavin shook his head. “The notion there is a “devil” was inspired by Constantine in the fourth century when he decided the best way to unite all the conquered countries of the Roman Empire was to embrace a new religion called Christianity. And, for the most part, it has been effective, but evil is a force that has been in existence long before then. Demons are entities that control that force.”
“And you’re saying these…demons…take human shape? That’s kind of far out, even for my imagination.”
“I guess “far out” is another American expression,” Gavin said, “but I gather it means “hard to believe”? He went on as Chloe nodded. “Look at it this way. The best-selling books and top-grossing films have to do with wizardry, vampires, and werewolves. Why do you suppose there is such an interest?”
Chloe started to laugh. “Those are for kids.”
“Young adults. Our future,” Gavin answered. “Perhaps they know their battles may involve the paranormal.”
She sobered. “Oh, come on. You don’t expect me to believe vampires and werewolves are running around?”
Chloe must not have seen Gavin’s supernatural response to the motorcyclists. He should feel relieved, but a part of him wanted her to believe in what he was. And that thought almost stopped him cold. He had never wanted to share that information with anyone. He shrugged. “You did not believe in dragons, either, if you recall.”
“I—” Chloe opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Maybe there is another explanation. Captain Johnson thinks there is. Anyway, for the sake of argument, if this golden platter is maybe in a church, how would a demon get it? And wouldn’t it, like, incinerate something that evil touching it?”
“A church would offer good protection, which is why we are stopping at some of the more likely places, but there is nothing in the clue that indicates a church was used. In any event, the platter contains neutral energy which can be used for either good or evil, which is why Adam Baylor wants to get his hands on it and why that can’t be allowed—” Gavin stopped, aware that Chloe’s attention had been diverted to a clump of bushes not far away where excited tourists milled about in the near darkness.
A fireball exploded suddenly near the group. Women shrieked as something white flashed through the air nearly as fast as lightning, leaving only a burning bush in its wake. Gavin’s nape prickled.
Sigurd.
* * * *
Gavin had spent the night hunting, but found no more traces of the dragon. He remained uneasy. From the reports he’d read regarding the search for the sword, the dragon had manifested in both Charleston and the Florida Keys. Traces of scorched grass were found near Lake Ponchartrain as well. Sigurd would have had no trouble tracking the warlock and veterinarian since they traveled with Pendragon, but the only conclusion Gavin could up with for being able to track Chloe was the connection with the red dragon tattoo—and she had said her mother had one as well. Had the whole horrid devastation following Camlann followed Guinevere and himself through the centuries to the present? Was this bigger than finding the platter?
“I didn’t think it possible, but you haven’t said a word since we started down Route 49 this morning,” Chloe said as rain pelted the windshield and thunder boomed overhead.
“I am trying to concentrate on the road. These are not exactly the best driving conditions,” Gavin replied as a gust of wind blew the hard rain nearly sideways.
“You really think that puff of white smoke last night was the dragon?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“This just keeps getting weirder and weirder,” she replied. “First a red dragon—or something—was sighted. A big one. You say there’s a white dragon loose. What we saw last night wasn’t big. We’re not even sure what it was. There was a fireball and what looked like white smoke. The police are investigating whether it was a malfunctioning bomb. Why are you sure it was Sigurd?”
“I just am.”
Chloe shook her head in frustration and went back to looking at the brochure they’d gotten. “Changing the subject then. There are a number of churches along this old Mother Lode trail, but a lot of the original ones burned in fires around 1861-62. Others were built twenty-plus years later. If your theory is that some member of the Priory arrived here not long after the 49ers, wouldn’t that limit us to which churches to check out?”
Chloe had a quick mind. Another little trait that Gavin liked. He was finding more and more to like about her which made him uneasy for an entirely different reason. He had no right getting involved with her—either physically or emotionally—when she didn’t even know what he was. Even if he could get her to believe that vampires existed outside of novels and film, she’d probably be thoroughly disgusted with the whole gruesome aspect of blood-drinking. She might even be frightened enough to leave and right now she needed his protection even if she didn’t realize it.
“Do any of the churches meet that qualification?” he asked.
She nibbled the end of the pencil she was holding. Gavin tried not to notice how her soft lips closed over the tip. He pushed away the thought of how that warm, pliant mouth might feel closing over him.
“Just one,” Chloe answered. “St. Ann’s in Columbia. It’s just outside a state historic park and is the oldest original church still standing. I’d say it’s our best bet.”
“At least it will be one more place to eliminate,” Gavin said and then braked, tires squealing as a bolt of lightning struck in front of them.
“Lord! What was…” Chloe didn’t finish the sentence. Instead her eyes rounded as she stared past him.
Gavin turned his head, although he already knew what he would see.
Sigurd swooped down, his leathery wings brushing the roof of the car before he soared upward and out of sight.