The Immortals II: Michael

by Cynthia Breeding

  “But how—“

  “Perhaps the demon, Lucifer, freed him,” the red dragon replied. “He had a talent with fire, if I recall.”

  Flames blazed around Tanio. “That damn renegade. He never would abide by our rules. If Sigurd is loose, our problem has just been magnified many times over.”

  Pendragon snarled, revealing sharp, elongated fangs. “You leave Sigurd to me. I owe him for what he did to Arthur.”

  “Just remember, finding Excalibur is what counts.”

  “Of course,” he replied. “Dragons have long memories.”

  Tanio nodded and abruptly disappeared, leaving a small, smoldering pile of ash in his wake.

  Pendragon smiled, his rough tongue caressing his pointed teeth. This fight is personal now. Sigurd will die. I vow it.

  * * * *

  Sophie tossed and turned, eventually falling into a fitful sleep. Strange threads of reality wove around the edges of surreal dreams: the animals in her kennels looking at her with soulful eyes…the new girl, Morgan, watching her too, but with a different look altogether…the reporter, Toby, eyeing her anxiously when he gave her the keychain…

  and Michael, his dark eyes holding both laughter and lust, as though he knew it was only time before she would succumb to him. She turned over, mumbling, and punched the pillow.

  Then, suddenly, he was there, the scent of heather filling her room. Sophie popped her eyes open and sat up abruptly.

  The room was empty.

  “Great,” she grumbled as she sank back onto the mattress, “now I’m having hallucinations of him. It’s bad enough there’s a dragon out there.” She hit the pillow again, bunching it up under her neck and closed her eyes.

  Michael was back—and wearing only a kilt.

  Resolutely, Sophie kept her eyes closed. She would not participate in this madcap fantasy—or illusion—or whatever it was. She was tired. The idea of some pre-historic dinosaur still alive in the twenty-first century was playing with her mind.

  Strangely enough, even with her eyes closed, she could see. Moonlight from her window played across Michael’s bare, broad chest, accentuating the sculpted pecs and bi’s and creating shadows in the hard ridges of his washboard belly. A pale light seemed to glow around him—or maybe from him. Sophie squeezed her eyes tighter shut. Her poor brain really was on overload. Next, she’d have him sprouting wings like the avenging arch-angel that bore his name. She almost giggled. There was nothing—nothing—angelic about Michael McCain…except for that damn dimpled smile.

  She sensed him moving closer and then felt his weight as he eased himself onto her bed beside her. This was getting to be some weird fantasy.

  “Shhh,” he whispered as his fingertips lightly touched her eyelids. “Keep your eyes closed, lass.”

  Lass? Now what? He’d turned into a Highlander from some romance novel? She didn’t even read romance! Sophie tried to open her eyes and found that she couldn’t. It was as though his feathery touch had sealed them somehow. Yet, instead of panic growing, she felt languid, almost as though her bones were dissolving into nothingness.

  “That’s it. Just lie there and relax.”

  Michael’s voice soothed her and from some fifth dimension, it sounded more like an Irish brogue than a Scottish burr now. She couldn’t understand the words he was using, but the warmth of his hands stroking her shoulders and arms calmed her further and she sank more deeply into her dream, murmuring.

  Strange, how warm and firm his lips felt against her mouth. And what he could do with them. He slanted his lips over hers, alternating the pressure, kissing gently, then sucking her lower lip between his, then barely brushing her swollen mouth. His tongue slid leisurely along the seam and she opened to allow him access. He played with her, teasing the tip of her tongue, battling it softly, then plunging fully in to plunder her mouth. His taste was divine, sweet like aged wine, yet slightly woodsy and salty as though he’d brought the outdoors in with him.

  A coolness fanned her breasts and she realized her nightgown had come off somehow. Before she could shiver, his large hands were cupping her breasts, kneading them gently, thumbs flicking over nipples, making them into hard little buds.

  Sophie murmured again, telling Michael to stop—at least she thought that was what she tried to say. His soft laugh said otherwise and he whispered something in that strange language again. Maybe she didn’t want him to stop—after all, this was a dream. She hadn’t had sex in so long. Maybe Michael’s careful avoidance in not touching her in the car a few days ago was what was bringing this on—some obstinate, irrational desire to prove she was desirable? Her brain frizzled. At the moment, all that seemed to matter was his touch.

  His mouth closed over one tight nipple and Sophie arched her back into him as he began to suckle, pulling slowly and gently while he rolled the other tip between his finger and thumb, tugging lightly. The sensation seared deeply through her body and she felt the juncture of her thighs grow damp, her core throbbing as though it had been set aflame. That hadn’t ever happened this quickly—not even in real, waking life.

  Sophie moaned again, eyes still closed. Now she was afraid to open them. There would be nothing—no one—there and this erotic fantasy would be over.

  Michael’s tongue traveled a wet trail down her belly, pausing to explore her navel before continuing downward. Dear God! Was he…?

  He was. Somehow, he had shifted position and was kneeling between her spread thighs. When had she opened them? Michael lifted her legs, placing them over his shoulders and bent down to taste her. His tongue felt like soft velvet as he licked slowly along her folds, her juices slicking the way. He teased her pulsating nub, circling it lightly with the tip of his tongue. Sophie made a mewling sound, deep in her throat. Michael laughed, deliberately continuing the slow, exquisite torture: kissing, licking, air-brushing, stopping. Sophie’s hips lifted, begging for more.

  And then he bore down, sucking the quivering nub, drawing deep while his finger plunged into her center, finding the soft spot that made stars suddenly sparkle and shoot behind her eyes as her body shattered in total surrender.

  Sophie lay there panting, becoming aware eventually, that there no longer was a weight on the bed. Light seemed to fill the room, although it was no longer pale moonbeams. Dawn, already? She forced her eyes open.

  There was no one there.

  But the odd, orange cast still lingered. She felt a shiver creep up her spine as she turned toward the window. It couldn’t be—

  Reluctantly, she swung her feet over the bed and walked to the window. The dragon sat on her lawn, docile as a large dog. Sophie blinked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. What in the world—? She blinked again.

  A man stood beside the dragon, consumed in fire. Orange flames licked his legs, red ones flowed around his shoulders like a cape and his hair…blue flares whipped in the night breeze. And yet, he didn’t appear to be burning.

  She had to be hallucinating. First, the wild, erotic dream and now this…this man encircled in flames. Not to mention the dragon. She’d almost gotten used to him—which just proved what state her mind was in. She moved closer to the window and then gasped.

  The dragon’s lips were peeled back, making him look like he was smiling. She looked at the fire-man. He was grinning…almost like they’d both witnessed her erotic dream themselves. She felt her body heat and her face grow hot. That wasn’t possible, of course. Michael hadn’t even been here. It was a dream.

  Then she gaped as the fiery man bowed with a flourish and waved his hand through the air, making the dragon and himself disappear. Sophie slipped to the floor, a hand to her mouth.

  She was losing it. She really was.

  Chapter Seven

  Sophie pushed through the throng of media-types that were waiting for her when she got to clinic the next morning. She had managed to avoid those parked in front of her house only because her car was in an attached garage and she’d locked her car doors before opening the garage.


  “I need coffee,” she said as she managed to get the door closed before a reporter’s foot got inside.

  “Right away,” Morgan replied as she hung up the phone and got up to go to the small kitchen in the back.

  “Another sighting…this time at your house,” Janie said as she trailed after Sophie, manila case folders in her hands. “It was all over TV this morning. Do you have any idea of what’s going on?”

  “Yes, what is going on?” Robert said as he turned away from the office window to look at her. “This is crazy.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know, Robert. Why are you here anyway?” He looked hurt, but she knew what a consummate actor he could be.

  “Isn’t a husband supposed to be supportive of his wife?” he asked.

  “Ex-husband. You seem to keep forgetting that.” Sophie sat down at her desk and rubbed her eyes. They burned and were probably as red as though she’d closed down a bar somewhere, but she hadn’t had any sleep. She shook her head. “I’m still trying to come to grips that the thing is actually alive.”

  Morgan came back and set the coffee down in front of her. “I put some chicory in it,” she said and smiled at Robert as she handed him a cup too. “They swear by it in New Orleans.”

  It had a decidedly different flavor, but it wasn’t bad. Sophie was thankful that it was strong and black too. Maybe the caffeine would give her a boost. She took another sip as someone rapped lightly on the doorjamb.

  “I just heard on the radio,” Michael said as he came in.

  Sophie bit back a groan. Dealing with her ex was bad enough this morning, but now Michael! She wasn’t ready to face him after that way-too-realistic dream she’d had.

  Morgan gave him a bright smile as she stepped toward him and put her hand on his arm. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked and pressed closer.

  He shifted away slightly. “No thanks. There’s a frenzied mob out there. Shouldn’t you be taking care of that?”

  She gave him a slow pout, her full lower lip thrusting out. “All business this morning? I liked when you held me the other night—“

  “You tripped. I caught you.”

  Sophie thought Michael looked uncomfortable, as though he’d been caught at something he’d rather not talk about. That was unusual. Not that she knew him well—unless she wanted to count that erotic episode she’d had last night—and she felt herself blush at that and turned away quickly. Was there something going on between Michael and Morgan? He had mentioned that they belonged to some sort of social circle or something. It was also obvious that Morgan was attracted to him. An odd pain shot through her stomach at the thought.

  “Janie. Morgan.” Allison poked her head around the door. “I could use a hand out here.”

  Sophie waited until they’d left and then cast a sideways look at Michael. This morning he was dressed in a t-shirt that stretched across his chest and tight-fitting jeans but she was remembering him in that kilt and nothing else. She felt her face grow warm again. Damn. She couldn’t let him know about that dream.

  “What brings you here?” she managed to ask as she gestured for him to sit.

  “The semester’s over,” he said as he pushed his chair closer to hers. “I thought we’d better make plans for the road trip.”

  “What road trip?” Robert asked.

  Michael eyed him. “Is that any of your business?”

  He bristled. “She’s my…she was my wife. I can be protective of her.”

  Michael bristled too. “Maybe you should have thought of that earlier?”

  The air suddenly seemed close in the small office, but maybe that was because waves of testosterone were washing off both men, threatening to flood the room. Sophie rubbed her temples.

  “Enough! Robert, not that it is your business, but Mr. Smith wants Michael and me to find—“ She stopped at Michael’s warning look. “—a sword that he wants to add to his collection.”

  “And it takes both of you to do that? Why can’t he—“ Robert gestured to Michael—“go by himself?”

  Sophie picked up her cup and took a large sip. She was beginning to think she needed something stronger than caffeine if she were going to contend with this. A Bloody Mary would be good. “I’m not sure—“

  “Smith asked her to. He also makes generous donations to this clinic. I would think an attorney like you would understand politics,” Michael said.

  Robert narrowed his eyes just as his cell binged a text message. He pulled it out, scowling as he read it. “I’ve got to go. The judge moved my case up on the docket.” He shoved the phone back into his pocket. “But I’m not finished with this conversation, Sophie. I’ll call you soon.”

  As Janie showed him to the door, Sophie turned her attention back to Michael.

  The road trip. How in the world was she going to be able to spend time in a car or plane with him after that dream? To say nothing of hotel rooms… Sophie folded her hands around her coffee cup to keep them from trembling.

  “Maybe Robert is right. I still don’t see how I can be of help in finding the sword. How do you know that riddle was meant for me? That part about “he who sees the firedrake, the sword will take”—well, a lot of people have seen the dragon. That’s why the reporters are out there.”

  “True, but the dragon only sits on your lawn,” Michael answered, “and he’s not done any damage. I’d say that’s pretty clear-cut that you have something to do with finding the sword.” He leaned toward her. “Have you never felt—sensed—special powers? Visionary, maybe?”

  Sophie felt her cheeks flame. Dear God. Visions? Could he know about the erotic dream she’d had? She would be totally mortified if he even thought—and why was he looking at her so strangely? Another wave of heat fanned her face.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She was definitely not “all right”. She’d never had a hot, porno dream in her life, let alone climaxed from one—and that had happened. And now, all she could think of was Michael looked like without his shirt on. Damn again. In all likelihood, she might just be having a nervous breakdown to boot.

  “Sure,” she finally said, “if you count the fact that a dragon visits me and last night he brought a friend who looked like he was on fire, but wasn’t burning. If that’s normal, then I’m fine.”

  Michael sat up straighter. “A man on fire?”

  Sophie set her cup down. He was probably going to suggest she see a psychiatrist or, worse, call 911 and have her taken away. But she had to tell someone. The Media, thankfully, had arrived after the man and dragon had already disappeared.

  “I know it sounds crazy. The guy was standing next to the dragon and there were orange, red and blue flames surrounding him. It was almost like he was wearing the fire.” She suddenly hid her face in both hands, tears spilling over. “It’s crazy. Maybe I’m crazy—“

  “You’re not crazy.” In one swift move, he was holding her in his arms and her head was resting against his hard chest. His hands stroked up and down her back in a soothing motion. She could feel the steady beating of his heart. So normal. For a few moments she allowed herself to bask in his comforting touch. Sophie swiped at a tear and managed a trembling smile as she straightened.

  “How many women do you know that see dragons and men-on-fire?” She stifled a hiccup. “There are all sorts of mental disorders that can cause hallucinations—“

  “You listen to me, Sophie.” Michael sat her down gently in her chair and perched on the desktop next to her. “The dragon is real. The reporters wouldn’t be outside if they hadn’t seen him too. And the man—well, he really isn’t a man.”

  Sophie stared at him. “I’m making him up?”

  “No. He’s real. He’s just not human.” Michael took her hand and held it between his. “He is the Celtic god of fire. His name is Tanio.”

  “A god of fire,” Sophie repeated, still staring at him. “Sure. Why not?”

  “I know this all sounds strange to you,” Michael said, “and I kn
ow you have a hard time accepting something that can’t be proved by science, but these ancient gods still exist. Remember the talk we had?” When she nodded slowly, he continued. “Tanio is the god of dragons. It was he who provided the special fire that forged Excalibur. It’s not surprising that he is here. What is surprising is that he showed himself to you. The ancient gods normally prefer to stay hidden from today’s world. It only proves, though, that you are going to be important in finding the sword.” He released her hand and stood. “I need to check on a few things though—and I think the sooner we can get started in our search, the better it will be.”

  “It doesn’t sound like I have a choice anymore,” she said resignedly. “Thank God the Media doesn’t know about the “Come to the lake” part of the riddle or they’d be swarming over the shores of every lake within a hundred miles.”

  Michael smiled. “If the Tarot correlation holds true, Texas would be too far west for the sword. It’s somewhere in the deep South.” He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’ll call you later.”

  Watching him leave, Sophie touched her cheek where he had kissed her. It had been a gentle, brotherly kiss, nothing at all like last night’s torrid ones. And that was fine. Michael didn’t seem to be harboring any lustful thoughts about her. Maybe this would work out. They could find the sword, for whatever it was worth, and then her life could get back to normal. She would be in control of herself again. No more dragons or men that gave her sleepless nights.

  So why didn’t that sound good?

  * * * *

  Morgan narrowed her eyes as she removed the coffee cup from Sophie’s desk. The woman had to be a witch from another coven. Why else would Michael—who usually had a devil-may-care bad-boy attitude—be so attentive and caring over that bitch? The way he held Sophie—Morgan had seen the healing blue aura surrounding them and she hadn’t missed the flecks of bright orange that was his lust either. Michael had never held her that way, not even when she’d managed to trip and fall right into his embrace at the moon ritual a few nights ago. And he had never looked at her the way he did Sophie.