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 had 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.
It had been two days since Michael left her office, and she hadn’t heard from him nor had she seen the dragon. She should be relieved that he had taken her seriously when she said she was through with all this nonsense about hunting Excalibur.
Especially with him. How could she trust a man who used magic to seduce her in her dreams?
And, dear God, she didn’t want to admit it, but that dream had been so good.
Even now, she could still taste his kisses, his lips warm, persistent, and demanding.
She felt her nipples tighten as she remembered how his mouth had covered them, and heat seared through her as a pleasant throbbing began between her legs.
His tongue had been like soft velvet, gently laving, until she arched and quivered for him to take her.
Dear Lord, she’d shattered in the hardest climax she’d ever had and he hadn’t even entered her. Hadn’t even been there physically.
What else could that be but magic?
Then, as if she’d conjured him herself, he was standing in her driveway when she turned into it.
His dark hair blew against his collar in the slight breeze as he stood waiting for her, muscled arms folded across that broad chest, unmoving.
She must be imagining him. Sophie blinked, opened her eyes. He was still there.
“What are you doing here?” she asked as she stepped out of the car.
He smiled, his dark eyes glistening in the near darkness. “I’ve brought you proof, as I said I would. Could we go in?”
Sophie hesitated. The last thing she needed to do was be alone with him in her house.
“Please. This is important,” Michael said. “You’ll be safe with me.”
She looked into those mesmerizing eyes and then quickly away. She certainly didn’t need to be entranced—or whatever magicians called casting a spell these days—by Michael. Still, he had told her he never forced a woman.
“I suppose you can come in, but not for long.”
He smiled, the dimple showing. “Good. Thank you.”
As she started to unlock the door she noticed what looked like a large dog kennel behind her hedge. A low noise, not quite a growl, was coming from it. “What’s that?”
Michael picked it up and pushed the door open. “I’ll show you once we’re inside.”
Sophie shut the door behind him and snapped on a lamp as he set the kennel on the floor. Another low rumble sounded and, this time, she saw a faint puff of smoke. She felt her eyes widen as he unlatched the door. It couldn’t be—
A red dragon the size of a large dog lurched through the opening, its cobalt eyes blazing as it swung its head from side to side and slapped its tail resoundingly on the floor.
“That isn’t—”
“Afraid it is,” Michael said and grinned. “Meet Pendragon. In his other form.”
He looked down at the dragon. “He’s promised to be on his best behavior, too.”
Spikes rose along the dragon’s spine and he slanted a look at Michael and then he sighed, wisps of smoke curling upward. He extended a gold-tipped claw toward Sophie. “I am here to help you find Excalibur,” he said in perfect English.
The room started to swirl around Sophie in various shades of gray. Reeling, she tried to hold on to some semblance of sanity. The last thing she remembered was Michael leaping toward her and catching her in his strong arms.
****
“You didn’t have to scare her out of her wits!” Michael said as he eased Sophie onto the sofa.
Pendragon snorted, sparks filling the air, fizzling before they reached the carpet, thanks to the warlock’s quick hand-spell. He was not happy being in small dragon form and he didn’t like being chastised.
“You wanted her to get to know me. What am I supposed to do? Stand here and look like some stupid animal?” He raised his spikes. “I am the head dragon of Britain! Even Caesar gave me a wide berth. I remember—”
“Not now,” Michael replied, his eyes on Sophie as he gently stroked her face, speaking softly in Gaelic to her.
Pendragon rattled his scales in response and turned his attention to the girl.
She looked so much like her ancestor. His Epona.
The Roman goddess’s blood flowed in the veins of this human, yet Sophie Cameron had none of the warrior qualities Epona possessed.
The girl had fainted when he merely spoke to her!
And he had been ever so polite, careful not to knock anything over with his tail or rip her rug to shreds with his claws, or set anything on fire, just as Tanio had requested.
Was it too much to ask that this mortal carry on a simple conversation with him?
By Mithras! How could he help the girl if she was going to swoon whenever he spoke?
A descendant of Epona should be made of sterner stuff…
He paused. This woman probably had his blood flowing in her veins, too, since Epona had chosen to have their only child in her human form.
This simply would not do. A female with dragon blood, whether she was able to shift or not, needed to be taught about her birthright. Of course, that bloody warlock would probably object, judging from how tenderly he was coddling the awakening woman, but then, why would he have to know?
Pendragon understood now why Brighid had sent him. He would definitely protect the human. She was, after all, a granddaughter—centuries removed—in his genealogy, but he would do more.
Sophie Cameron might be the last of his kind.
****
Sophie rubbed her bleary eyes as she sat down at her desk the next morning to review her list of patients for the day. Not getting sleep at night was taking its toll, but how could she possibly sleep with a talking dragon in her home?
“Coffee?” Morgan asked in a chirpy tone.
“Please. Make it strong.” Sophie scanned down the calendar. Thank goodness she had only routine appointments for this morning. The afternoon looked light as well. Maybe she could get Allison to cover for her. She really needed to clear her head and think.
“Here you are,” Morgan said as she set down the cup of steaming brew. “Chicory-flavored.”
“Thanks.” Sophie took a grateful sip. She was getting used to the strong, slightly bitter taste of chicory. She needed all the help she could get this morning.
“You’re welcome.” Morgan laid down the morning newspaper. “The interview you did with that newspaper reporter is in here. I thought you might want to read it.”
Sophie glanced down at it as Morgan left to answer the phone.
That interview seemed so long ago, although it had been only three weeks or so.
Back then, life was still semi-normal. Sure, a dragon had been sighted, but she had still clung to the idea that it was some sort of technical gadgetry that had created it.
Little did she know she was going to have it living with her.
Sophie scratched at an itch behind her ear absently as she skimmed the article. The young reporter had actually quoted her accurately. She almost smiled at how insistent she had been that the dragon could not be real. Ha. She knew better now.
Pushing the newspaper aside, she rubbed her temples. What in the world was she going to do? Michael had stayed late to help her get acquainted with Pendragon. He’d even offered to spend the night on the sofa.
As if that would help. The idea of a half-clothed warlock—or maybe even a naked one—how did she know what he slept in?—was too much mind-overload. Or, she thought giddily, the idea of a virile, good-looking, muscular male on her sofa was too much hormone-overload. Way too much.
She had slowly regained consciousness last night to the sensation of Michael’s fingers gently brushing her hair back and then sliding his warm hands slowly down her cheeks and neck to her shoulders.
He had stroked her arms, softly crooning in some language she didn’t comprehend, although her body, it seemed, understood perfectly what he was doing, since her female parts started to tingle even as the rest of her felt like a weightless, boneless, quivering mass.
Lord, if she reacted to him like that when she was half-unconscious, what would she do awake? And traveling with him? Based on last night’s conversation between Michael and Pendragon, it no longer seemed she had a choice about traveling.
“We need to get started as soon as possible,” Pendragon had said. “I don’t want to stay in this small form any longer than I have to.”
“You’re going with Michael?” Sophie asked in surprise.
“I am going with Michael and you,” he replied, revealing sharp teeth in what was supposed to be a dragon-grin, “although I think I could protect you better in my original form.” He turned bright, cobalt eyes on Michael. “I could fly ahead and scout the territory—”
“No,” Michael interrupted. “It was a mistake to draw so much media attention to you in the first place. I’ll create an illusion that you’re a wolfhound and you’ll travel in the cargo hold.”