Wow! To have the power to create something this complex, maintain it, and still have energy to play host and chat amiably defies credibility. What sort of strength did Lachlan possess to bond with such a formidable creature?
His thoughts strayed to Britta, to how her mouth had felt beneath his, and his cock sprang to life. Damn it! Not now. He buried his libido. It wasn’t difficult; he’d had lots of practice. To divert himself, Jonathan focused on the dragon. Kheladin must have sensed the disturbance in his wards. Why hadn’t he let them in? Time was critical. It had been at least an hour since the Morrigan had vanished, plenty of opportunity for her to go after Britta and Tarika.
Stop! I can’t think like that. The dragon was smart. She’d have ferried herself and Britta safely away.
What if they went somewhere I can’t follow? Like Fire Mountain? Or hundreds of years back in time?
“Are ye coming?” Someone jostled his arm. He glanced over and saw it was the witch who’d healed him.
“Huh?”
“The wards are dropping. Hurry.”
Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut. He’d been so lost in thought, he hadn’t been paying attention. Need to be more on top of things. “Thanks. I’m right behind you.”
Kheladin’s cave rose around him. Jonathan tumbled out onto its sandy floor, sprang to his feet, and hurtled toward the dragon’s bulk. “Kheladin,” he shouted, “you’ve got to make certain Tarika and Britta are safe. The Morrigan—”
Britta—a half-naked Britta—stepped away from a woman with long, blonde hair and raced toward him. “Thank the goddess ye’re unharmed.” She stopped a foot in front of him and dropped her gaze. Color rose from her open neckline and turned her face a lovely rose shade.
“I could say the same thing.” He closed the distance between them and gathered her into his arms. At first she stiffened, but then she wound her arms around him and hugged him back.
“Ye were a damned fool,” she whispered. “A brave one, but a fool nonetheless. Ye might have been killed.”
He tightened his hold on her, loving the way her body fit against his. “I could say the same,” he countered. “Not about the fool part but about your life being at risk.”
“Nay. I am immortal. It comes with the bond to Tarika.” She tilted her head back and smiled. “I have a somewhat greater margin for error.”
Immortal! Her lips were tantalizing inches from his. It took all his self-control not to crush his mouth atop hers. “I’d like to hear more about—”
“I dinna think I’d live long enough to see Britta in a man’s arms.” A tawny-haired man with arresting green eyes draped an arm around each of them. “I’m Lachlan, Laird of Clan Moncrieffe. I’d shake your hand, witch, but it appears the two of yours are busy.” The blonde, who’d been standing next to Britta, strode to them and placed a hand on Lachlan’s shoulder.
Jonathan’s eyes widened. “You’re Kheladin’s bond partner.” His gaze shifted to Maggie. “This must be your wife, er mate.”
“Aye. He told you about us, then?” Lachlan grinned; the expression softened the exacting planes of his face.
“He certainly did. Not just me. All the witches in our coven. I, uh, feel like I should bow or something.”
Lachlan cocked his head to one side. “’Twas a time when commoners all bowed to me, but ye are far from that. Power fairly blazes from you. I sense far more than witch blood. What manner of beings were your parents?”
“Aye,” Britta cut in. “I would like to know as well.”
“I’m not certain.” Three sets of eyes, golden, green, and blue, stared at him. Jonathan swallowed hard. He’d never shared his story with anyone. It was so fantastic, he didn’t believe it himself. “I was raised by my father. He and Mauvreen were quite close.”
“That would be the witch side,” Lachlan cut in. “Who was your mother?”
Heat rose to Jonathan’s face. Britta nestled against his body.
His thoughts strayed to Britta, to how her mouth had felt beneath his, and his cock sprang to life. Damn it! Not now. He buried his libido. It wasn’t difficult; he’d had lots of practice. To divert himself, Jonathan focused on the dragon. Kheladin must have sensed the disturbance in his wards. Why hadn’t he let them in? Time was critical. It had been at least an hour since the Morrigan had vanished, plenty of opportunity for her to go after Britta and Tarika.
Stop! I can’t think like that. The dragon was smart. She’d have ferried herself and Britta safely away.
What if they went somewhere I can’t follow? Like Fire Mountain? Or hundreds of years back in time?
“Are ye coming?” Someone jostled his arm. He glanced over and saw it was the witch who’d healed him.
“Huh?”
“The wards are dropping. Hurry.”
Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut. He’d been so lost in thought, he hadn’t been paying attention. Need to be more on top of things. “Thanks. I’m right behind you.”
Kheladin’s cave rose around him. Jonathan tumbled out onto its sandy floor, sprang to his feet, and hurtled toward the dragon’s bulk. “Kheladin,” he shouted, “you’ve got to make certain Tarika and Britta are safe. The Morrigan—”
Britta—a half-naked Britta—stepped away from a woman with long, blonde hair and raced toward him. “Thank the goddess ye’re unharmed.” She stopped a foot in front of him and dropped her gaze. Color rose from her open neckline and turned her face a lovely rose shade.
“I could say the same thing.” He closed the distance between them and gathered her into his arms. At first she stiffened, but then she wound her arms around him and hugged him back.
“Ye were a damned fool,” she whispered. “A brave one, but a fool nonetheless. Ye might have been killed.”
He tightened his hold on her, loving the way her body fit against his. “I could say the same,” he countered. “Not about the fool part but about your life being at risk.”
“Nay. I am immortal. It comes with the bond to Tarika.” She tilted her head back and smiled. “I have a somewhat greater margin for error.”
Immortal! Her lips were tantalizing inches from his. It took all his self-control not to crush his mouth atop hers. “I’d like to hear more about—”
“I dinna think I’d live long enough to see Britta in a man’s arms.” A tawny-haired man with arresting green eyes draped an arm around each of them. “I’m Lachlan, Laird of Clan Moncrieffe. I’d shake your hand, witch, but it appears the two of yours are busy.” The blonde, who’d been standing next to Britta, strode to them and placed a hand on Lachlan’s shoulder.
Jonathan’s eyes widened. “You’re Kheladin’s bond partner.” His gaze shifted to Maggie. “This must be your wife, er mate.”
“Aye. He told you about us, then?” Lachlan grinned; the expression softened the exacting planes of his face.
“He certainly did. Not just me. All the witches in our coven. I, uh, feel like I should bow or something.”
Lachlan cocked his head to one side. “’Twas a time when commoners all bowed to me, but ye are far from that. Power fairly blazes from you. I sense far more than witch blood. What manner of beings were your parents?”
“Aye,” Britta cut in. “I would like to know as well.”
“I’m not certain.” Three sets of eyes, golden, green, and blue, stared at him. Jonathan swallowed hard. He’d never shared his story with anyone. It was so fantastic, he didn’t believe it himself. “I was raised by my father. He and Mauvreen were quite close.”
“That would be the witch side,” Lachlan cut in. “Who was your mother?”
Heat rose to Jonathan’s face. Britta nestled against his body.
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