Chapter 8 #2
“And this prophecy says I’ll be able to heal these people with a song and not only prevent their deaths, but the deaths of their brethren?
” She couldn’t begin to fathom how he could possibly believe that.
Well, maybe she could. After all, in the Thirteenth Realm, everything appeared to be possible.
“I’m supposed to heal them with a song I’m expected to sing? ”
With a sad shake of his head, he passed his free hand across the surface of the water for a second time.
Unlike before, this time the waters settled to a mirror-like smoothness and revealed a more peaceful image.
“Not people,” he said as the details of the picture across the pool sharpened into focus.
“And I dinna believe ye have to unleash yer magic with yer voice. Yer magic lives in the music ye create—no matter how ye choose to create it.”
“What do you mean, not people?” She peered closer at the panoramic view on the water as it closed in on an open terrace high in the mountains.
On that ancient-looking terrace was a stone platform, a lounging bed of sorts situated where the sun hit it at the perfect angle for enjoying the warmth of the day.
Reclining on the lounge was the impossible. “Is that a dinosaur?”
Magnus gave a derisive snort. “Dragonkind would not appreciate being compared to those dull-witted beasties.”
Startled, she jerked back from the image and stared up at him. “Did you say dragonkind? As in—dragons? Fire breathing, flying, and crunching the bones of anything that gets near their hoard dragons?”
Jaw clenched, he slowly nodded. “In a manner of speaking, aye. Here, ye see my brother. My spiritual twin. Talon Darkmist. A dragon.” With a flick of his hand, he brought the image closer, centering it on the enormous blue-black, winged reptile sunning on the terrace like a well-fed house cat.
“He retired to his lair in the mountains, awaiting my signal.”
“Your signal for what?” She had to get out of here.
The next thing Magnus would probably tell her is that once a month, they sacrificed virgins to keep the dragons from destroying the village.
Wasn’t that the way most of those fairy tales went?
Of course, as a non-virgin, she didn’t qualify for the ritual—but still.
When he just stood there, staring down at the image rippling across the water, she sloshed back a step, putting some distance between them. “Answer me, please. What signal?”
He dispelled the image and leaned back against the side of the pool. “The signal I intended to send when I felt ye were ready to learn that the Thirteenth Realm is the reality of the mighty dragon kindred.”
The heat of Magnus’s body, his unusual eyes, and massive, god-like form along with this newest revelation made it all fall into place.
He had to be one of those creatures that she’d read about in romance novels.
One of those who could either be a dragon or a human, depending on their mood.
What did they call them? Shifters? “You’re a dragon too. Aren’t you?”
“I am not a shifter.” He scrubbed his face with both hands, then let them drop back to his sides.
“The Ninth Realm is the reality of the shifters. When any dragons capable of that magic hatch out here in the Thirteenth, they emigrate to that realm.” He rolled his shoulders and rubbed his neck as if weary of the conversation’s tension.
“They feel more accepted there even though we would never reject any of dragonkind. The Thirteenth Realm is the origin reality of all dragons who populate every realm. Their ancestry, their origin, begins here.” With another dejected huff that might pass as a sigh, he folded his arms across his chest. “Many of the dragons here possess the magic to change their form to that of another beast, but currently, none of this kingdom can assume the form of a human. I am always notified when we are gifted with any shifter hatchlings.”
She sidled back against her side of the pool, wishing she was closer to the steps and her robe.
She had to make a run for it. This had all gotten stranger than she was prepared to handle.
Even though she still inexplicably yearned to launch herself into Magnus’s arms and never let him go, she couldn’t.
This could not be happening. This had to be a medically induced coma or something.
None of this could be real. “If you’re not a dragon, what are you? ”
“Yer fated mate. The man destined to love ye in this life and every life thereafter.”
Her heart thumped so hard that she gasped. “That is not fair.”
With a sad shake of his head, he looked at her with such sad longing, she nearly cried out and reached for him. “Life is rarely fair, my love, else we would not be having this conversation.”
“What else have you not told me about this place?” She so needed to cry out all these crazy emotions.
Needed to curl up into a tight little ball somewhere in the corner and sob her eyes out like she’d done when they’d told her she’d never sing again.
“Do you feed virgins to the dragons to keep them from destroying your fortress? I’m not a virgin, you know?
Is that what you meant about the prophecy and the magic of my music?
Would the music be my screams when they chomp on my bones? ”
He stared at her, squinting in either confusion or shock that she’d figured out his ulterior motives.
“We dinna feed the dragons anything. They are individuals like ourselves, not pets. They choose their own meals.” Still squinting in disbelief, he shook his head.
“Fish from the lochs or the sea is what they enjoy most.” Then he rolled his shoulders as if shaking off what she’d suggested.
“And my brother, Talon, Lord Darkmist to most in our clan, is my trusted advisor and quite wise, though ’tis best ye dinna laud him too much to his face, for he tends to become a bit pompous about his own importance.
” His frown returned. “And I nay figured ye to be a virgin. Not at yer age.”
That insult brought her rising hysteria to a screeching halt. “My age?” Hands fisted, she threw back her shoulders and stood taller, not caring that the water level dropped and revealed her breasts. “You think I’m old?”
He threw up his hands and openly struggled to look at her face rather than her chest. “Ye misunderstand, my lady.”
She pointed at her face. “My eyes are up here. I’m smart enough to know that, and for your information, I’m neither old nor stupid.”
“I never said ye were either.”
“You didn’t have to.” She sloshed her way over to the steps, climbed out of the pool, and threw on the robe, then thumped her chest with her fist. “Not old, and not stupid. What I am is fed up with this hallucination, nightmare, coma, or whatever this is, and I’m ready to wake up now and get on with my life. Leave me alone!”
He slogged across the pool, his pants materializing onto his body as he stepped out of the water.
Baring his teeth like an angry beast, he stabbed the air with his finger.
“This is life, lass. Ye are not asleep or addled or any of those other things ye said. The Weavers brought ye through the portal, because this is where ye belong.” Then he smacked his chest. “Ye are mine, Lyla, and always will be no matter what choice ye make.” He strode toward her, looming so close that the heat of his body and his mesmerizing scent of what could only be described as warm, delicious, toasted cinnamon wafted across her.
How could this man, who enraged her so much, smell like her favorite bakery’s cinnamon rolls?
“No!” She pointed at him, daring him to defy her. “I do not belong to anyone.”
“Like hell.” He caught her by the shoulders and kissed her so long and hard that she groaned.
She couldn’t help it. He’d tapped into the storm of emotions building within her and set it free.
Crushing her to his chest, he lifted his head and glared down at her.
“Feel the beat of our hearts. They pound together as one because we are meant to be one.” Then he shoved her away, effortlessly tossing her to the couch, but he didn’t follow.
Instead, he stood there, glaring at her, his chest heaving.
“Fourteen days. Fourteen nights,” he growled, “and neither dragons, magic, time travel, nor demonic druids will keep me from spending every moment of that time showing ye that ye are meant to be at my side. My lady. My queen. The other half of my soul and the keeper of my heart.” He jabbed the air again, pointing at her.
“Ye will want me, woman. More than ye have ever wanted a man before.” He stabbed the air again, his finger shaking.
“And ye will love me. I dinna care that we’ve only just met.
Ye will love me as ye have loved me in every lifetime before this one. ”
She raked the back of her hand across her mouth, fighting the utter lunacy of all that she felt.
She wanted to sob. Scream. Rant. Rage. Throw something.
But most of all, she wanted to climb this infuriating mountain of maleness and claim him, planting a proverbial flag that he’d never forget.
And if she was honest with herself, and she hated being honest with herself, she already loved Magnus MacRaith, and that was freaking impossible because she’d known him less than a day. Who felt that way in such a short time?
“A crazy person,” she muttered. “That’s who does that. I have lost my ever-loving mind.”
“What?” With a scowl so fierce she wanted to kiss it off his face, he loomed over her. “Speak up, woman.”
“Don’t talk to me as if I’m an object.” She scrambled to sit properly on the couch, refusing to cower. “I am Lyla Ibrams.” She jutted her chin higher. “Your worst nightmare.”