Chapter Three
The knight crested the hill, silhouetted against bright moonlight that dappled the rocky crevices lining the canyons of Palo Pinto County. It reflected on his armor. The big destrier pawed the ground, anxious to charge.
Sophie’s eyes flicked from him to the dragon that sat atop a butte across a small ravine. It puffed small balls of smoke, much like the steam engine of an old train stoking up to move forward.
Her feet were rooted to the ground between them. “It’s going to attack!” she screamed at the knight, but only a small squeak emerged.
He looked down at her and pulled his Sword. The dragon snorted, shooting fire that set the Sword aflame. The great warhorse reared as the knight turned it for the charge. But instead of thundering toward the dragon, the knight was coming toward her.
Sophie willed her legs to run, but they would not move. The dragon snorted again, but the sound was almost like laughter as the knight descended on her. My God, she was going to be trampled!
At the last moment, the horse skidded to a stop, clumps of grass and dirt scattering around her. The knight slid from the saddle, the flaming Sword still in his hand, and reached for her—
And suddenly it was Michael who was holding her, clad only in leather breeches, the Sword and armor gone. His bare chest felt like smooth, chiseled marble as his hands stroked up and down her back, soothing her.
“The dragon will not hurt you,” he whispered as he bent to nuzzle her neck, sending pleasant little shivers down her spine.
Her weak spot—kiss her nape and her knees turned to putty. Whatever thoughts she might have had flitted away like dandelion silk on the wind. How did he know?
Michael’s dark eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “I know all about you. I am going to make you mine.”
Like hell he was. Hadn’t she already made the message clear—and then, he nuzzled her neck again, this time mouthing her skin softly as he trailed kisses to her earlobe. A little mewling sound escaped her throat.
“You wanted to say something?” he whispered—and before she could, his mouth covered hers, seductive and persuasive.
Dear Lord! Who could have thought a man’s lips could be so soft and firm at the same time? And warm and dry while his tongue was wet and hot? And when had she opened her mouth to let him in? But he certainly was in, his tongue doing a wicked impersonation of what his other member would do.
He tasted of some spice she could not identify and smelled slightly of salt air and heather, as though they were on were on Scottish moors rather than in Texas. It was a heady combination.
“Let me make love to you,” he whispered as he took them both slowly to the ground—
Sophie landed with a thump on the floor beside her bed.
She squinted in the dark room illuminated only by the wash of moonlight streaming through her window onto the hardwood floor.
The silence told her she was alone. There certainly was no dragon or knight with a flaming Sword. And there was no Michael.
She disentangled herself from the twisted bed sheets that had accompanied her fall, picked herself up, and sat on the edge of the bed. To her chagrin, her breasts tingled, her nipples were tight, and there was warm moisture between her legs.
For the past year, since her galling divorce from her cheating husband, she had not even entertained a thought of dating anyone. Her body had numbed and become neutral, and that was how she wanted it. Much safer than to allow a man to play with her emotions again. Too much pain…
Why in the world had she dreamed about Michael McCain? And who was the knight with the flaming Sword?
****
The dragon curled its tail around its claws with a clanging of metal scales and settled on the hardened earth of the cave he’d found near Crawford Mountain.
He snorted, puffs of smoke streaming out the entrance.
It could hardly be called a cave—more like a hollowed out crevice beneath a shale overhang—and he barely fit, but it was close to the girl he needed to protect.
He sighed, careful not to shoot flames that would ignite the scrub brush that attached itself to the rocky hillsides.
The goddess Brighid had not allowed him to take his hoard of gold and silver with him, telling him he needed to focus his dragon’s lust for bright, shiny objects on finding Excalibur before Balor did.
His problem was that he didn’t know where to begin in this very strange world that moved so fast. He’d been sleeping and dreaming peacefully for fifteen hundred years, thankful to be away from humans.
The last he knew was that Galahad had taken the Grail and several other relics to Sarras to keep the Saxons from discovering them.
Brighid had told him a group of warrior monks called Templars had rescued the treasure and returned it to Scotland, but because of unrest there as well, the Sinclair Protector had removed them to a foreign land called America.
He shook his great head, dislodging small fragments of sandstone overhead, and sighed once more.
He had frightened the mortal girl the night before when he’d followed her home.
He had forgotten how humans reacted to his kind.
But this one cared for animals, which wasn’t unusual considering her real ancestry.
Perhaps if she saw more of him she would lose her fear.
Settling his massive jaw between his claws and the spiky tip of his tail, he shut his eyes to nap and plan his strategy.
Seconds later, he opened them wide as the scales on top of his head fanned out in spears of defense. Another dragon was near.
Brighid had told him no dragons walked the earth any more. Cautiously, he breathed in the air. It was not that close—perhaps a good twenty leagues away—but he now recognized the scent.
Sigurd. The damn white dragon that Hengist and Horsa had brought with them. They had battled before and Pendragon had ultimately lost when Arthur was killed. He snorted once, thinking about revenge.
This time, he would win.
He had to.
****
Sophie peered out the window of the clinic again.
Yep, the reporters were still there, hovering like vultures waiting for the next kill.
She’d managed to elude them by retreating to the Palo Pinto County Clinic yesterday, but the AP had gotten wind of the story and the phone was ringing off the hook.
Her vet partner, Allison, needed her back.
With a sigh, she turned back to her computer and Googled “Dragons” once more.
Two days had passed without any return of the dragon—except in that weird dream she had.
Her cell phone rang again and she groaned.
Robert had left at least a dozen voice mails since the sighting.
She glanced at the Caller ID and frowned slightly.
Toby Clark. Of all the reporters, he was the only one who hadn’t accused her of setting up some sort of publicity stunt for her clinic. She pressed her answer button.
“Hello, Mr. Clark.”
His voice sounded cheerful. “Dr. Cameron? I was wondering if I could do a human interest story on you?”
“I thought it was the dragon—or whatever it was—everyone was interested in. Why would you want to do a story on me?”
“The tie-in would be great,” he replied. “You’re a vet. You heal animals. Maybe the dragon is ill and needs your help?”
Sophie almost smiled. The dragon—or whatever it was—she was still not too sure she was ready to accept what should be a myth as reality—certainly had appeared healthy, if nothing else. “I really think it was just circumstantial that it hovered here.”
“But maybe not. Look, I’m a rookie at this reporting stuff,” he said with a note of desperation in his voice. “If you give me an exclusive interview, it would really go a long way with my boss. Plus, once you’ve given the story, most of this pack will melt away.”
Sophie glanced out the window again. That would be a help. Potential adopters were having a hard time getting past the crowd. “Okay,” she said, “but I can’t do it for a couple more days. We’re swamped right now.”
Toby hesitated and she was wondering how insistent he was going to get. He sounded sweet and nice, but she knew media types were predatory. To her surprise, he didn’t argue. Instead, they set a time for Wednesday morning.
She had just turned back to the computer when Janie, their assistant, appeared in the door. “There’s a man here to see you,” she said.
“A client?”
“Don’t think so. He’s really cute,” she said with a smile.
Sophie repressed a sigh. Janie was all of twenty and nearly every male under thirty was “cute” in her eyes. “Does he have a name?”
“Michael.”
This time she did sigh. What in the world was he doing here? After what she did to him, she wouldn’t think he’d ever want to see her again. Probably not too many women kneed the man. “Show him in,” she said.
Janie giggled and managed to brush against Michael as his broad-shouldered frame filled the doorway.
He gave her a fleeting smile and then looked at Sophie.
His dark eyes held hers instantly with an intensity that made her breath hitch as he crossed the room toward her.
The sunlight streaming in from the French doors caught the deep auburn streaks in his almost-black hair and she thought she saw a flame-like halo around his head.
She gave herself a shake. What would she be seeing next?
Faeries floating around in the air? And why did her thinking go all goofy when Michael was around?
“Please have a seat,” she said quickly before he got any closer to her. “I must say I’m surprised to see you after our last encounter.”
He inclined his head as he drew a straight-back chair near to where she sat at her computer. “That was my fault. I’m afraid I took advantage of the situation.”
He was apologizing? She was pretty sure she had put him out of commission for at least twenty-four hours. Most men would be cursing her for that. “Well, I probably could have used an alternative way to stop you.”