Charlotte knew better than to ask what potion was contained in the vial. “Sure. Do you expect to be away for a few days? Can’t you see what the dryads want?”
“No. It’s all a blank. I had no idea until Dòmhnall knocked on the door and asked me. You know how my gift works; I can’t see anything about my personal future.”
“You can’t see anything connected to the dryads?” Charlotte asked.
“No, there’s nothing. But they could just be protecting themselves, I suppose. They have deep Earth magic, the kind I don’t fully understand.”
“You might after you’ve visited them. Perhaps they intend to share some of their ways with you. After all, you are Dòmhnall’s mate.”
“I doubt they know I’m Dòmhnall’s mate. He doesn’t exactly broadcast it or make it legitimate, does he? I’m like some dirty secret he wants to hide in the corner.”
“Tara, he just needs time. You know how deep his betrayal ran. It will take him a while to take the plunge. For a big, bad dragon, he is running scared.” Charlotte put her hand on Tara in comfort, and the witch had to fight her reflex action to shrug it off. She wasn’t used to sympathy and never really knew how to deal with it.
“Thank you, Charlotte,” she said and moved away, hoping she had allowed Charlotte’s hand to remain in place long enough that she didn’t cause offence by letting it slip off her shoulder.
“You know where I am if you need to talk when you return. I would love to hear about what happens, so please don’t keep me in the dark.”
“I won’t,” Tara said. Girly chit-chat was not her thing either. She liked to keep everything to herself. In some ways she made the perfect mate for Dòmhnall; neither of them liked to let their defences down. And letting people in was near to impossible.
As she said goodbye to Charlotte, Tara knew that the chances were she was going to die an old maid, with Dòmhnall forever out of reach to her heart. She might have to live with nothing but her fantasies, that or conjure him up out of the full moon’s glow as a spectre on All Hallow’s Eve. But nothing would ever be like the man himself.
***
What a man he was. He stood tall and proud, his tight breeches tucked into long leather boots and a dark blue tunic over it, tied at the waist by a leather belt. She smiled. Give him a bow and arrow and he would look as though he had stepped off the movie set for Robin Hood. But she loved the way he dressed, old fashioned, no jeans and T-shirt here.
“Ready, Tara?” he asked, turning towards her as he approached.
“Yes, although for what I have no idea? I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to bring anything?”
“Only yourself. I have packed a gift for the dryads, so if you are ready, we can leave.” He indicated a pack, which would be attached to his back when he had transformed into his dragon.
This was her favourite thing to watch. She stood back, sensing the shift in the air as he transformed into his dragon. For a moment, he disappeared from this world and then he returned, in dragon form. Emerald green, his scales catching the last rays of the sun as it set beyond the forest, making them shimmer. She reached out and touched them, always fascinated by this creature of myth that was hers. So strong, so powerful, magnificent beyond compare.
She stood patiently, admiring the dragon, while Marcas attached the makeshift saddle, hooking the pack over it, and then Dòmhnall bent his leg so that Tara could climb onto his back. Settling herself down, getting comfortable as the heat from his body crept though her skin to warm her bones, she let the thrill of being astride her dragon fill her.
Then he eased his body down to the floor; she held on tight and prepared for him to take off. With one smooth movement, he leaped up into the air and flapped his wings in a downward beat to leverage himself up high out of the Stronghold. They cleared the castle walls with inches to spare and then climbed higher, the moon rising at the back of her. It called to her, begged her to come and dance naked under its silvery rays, but she had other business and the moon, no matter how beautiful, did not compare with being this close to Dòmhnall.
They swooped low over the forest, the red gold of the sun tingeing the leaves where the last of the daylight clung on before the night took hold. Tears of pure joy trickled down her cheeks: in this moment she felt alive. Being one with her dragon made all the other crap worth it.
She wanted to raise her hands above her head and whoop! What would the old-fashioned dragon think of that? Her mind switched back to him standing before her in his sexy breeches. Damn, she would whoop even louder if he decided to let her peel those off him tonight.
Chapter Four – Dòmhnall
He breathed in the evening air, letting the scent of Tara mingle with it as it caressed his taste buds. She made his mouth water. And he didn’t mean in a flesh-eating dragon type of way. But his dragon longed for them to claim her, to make her his. It was the human part of Dòmhnall that held back. The fear of allowing his heart to be entrusted to another was too strong; he could not yet conquer it.
Beneath him, Spellholm was coming to life. His dragon senses were aware of all the animals scurrying around the forest floor. Mostly ordinary creatures, but mixed in amongst them were those with two sides, man and beast combined. Under tonight’s full moon, the beasts were set loose to enjoy the freedom of the night.
They looked up as the dragon passed overhead. He was a creature of awe and wonder; there were so few dragons left in the world that he always drew a stare. It was something he loved, to be special, unique. A uniqueness that would die out if he didn’t take Tara to his bed and create his son and heir, a child to carry on in his place, but it had never been the right time.
The moon rose behind them, and images of Tara lying naked beneath the trees on a blanket of soft grass while he made love to her was so inviting, he nearly landed on the ground instead of going to the dryads. But he had given his word they would make this journey, and he had no wish to create a rift between dragons and dryads because of his sudden need for her. No, it could wait until later. His usual excuse for them still being apart.
The home of the dryads drew near; he could sense them gathered for the meeting. More than he had expected. Soon he would know what they wanted—he only hoped it did not involve a vampire or two; he had done battle with them before and had been expecting some kind of retaliation.
As he came into land, the clearing seemed empty. Only when his big dragon feet touched the ground did the first of the tree folk appear, as though morphing from the solid trunk of an ancient oak tree. She stood before them, bowing to him. Dòmhnall, always aware of his station as Dragon Lord, bowed back rather theatrically, by bending one short stumpy leg. He heard a snort of laughter from Tara and wished she would show him at least some respect. He chose to ignore her.
“Welcome Dòmhnall, Dragon Lord. And Tara. We have longed to meet you for some time now. Since you came to our home we have felt your presence.”
Tara sat very still. He could sense her surprise, and for once she didn’t use her smart mouth to offend anyone. Instead, she said, “I am honoured that you even know who I am.”
“We know so much about you. More, perhaps, than you know of yourself. The trees whisper from thousands of miles away; there is nothing that does not reach us, even tucked away in the thick forests of Spellholm.”
Around them, more dryads appeared, beautiful women in flowing dresses, flowers in their hair and the scent of perfume on the air. Jasmine for the most part, mixed in with lilacs and honeysuckle. The whole clearing was filled with a life force. His dragon could feel it, making him feel alive in every sense of the world. Strong, powerful, invincible, he practically purred.
Maybe it was time to get down to business; he was unsure of the effect these magical creatures might have on him, so the less time they spent here, the better. As if she could tell what he was thinking, Tara slipped down from his back.
“We are honoured you have come to see us. The mighty Dragon Lord and Tara, a witch beyond compare.”
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“What can we do for you?” Tara asked. He was surprised she hadn’t milked the flattery for longer.
“We thought we would welcome you properly, Tara, and wish you a long and happy future in Spellholm.” The dryad’s voice was almost musical.
“Thank you,” said Tara, but he could tell from her tone she was still convinced there was more to this visit than a welcoming committee. Around them, more dryads appeared, as though they were materialising from the very trunks of the tress. Tara turned to watch, fascinated, but Dòmhnall began to feel uneasy.
“We have a gift for you, Tara. Artemis, who watches over us, asked us to gift you a piece of our forest.” She walked towards Tara, a small carving in her hand. It was a dragon, its scales a shimmering green, just like Dòmhnall.
“It’s beautiful,” Tara said, transfixed. His feeling of unease grew as she reached out to touch it.
“And such a likeness to your mate, the Dragon Lord.” The dryad’s voice was so mesmerising.
“If he will ever have me,” Tara murmured.
The dryad smiled gently, pity in her face. “And this is why Artemis granted you such a gift.”
A sudden frisson of electricity filled the air as Dòmhnall changed into his human form. He rushed forward just as she touched it, shouting, “Tara. No.”
Too late. She faded from the world and was lost to him.
“What have you done?” he demanded to know, but the dryad simply smiled. He had to hold himself back from changing into his dragon and smiting her with his big talons.
“Giving you a choice, Dòmhnall, Dragon Lord. You may either follow your mate or remain here without her.”
“Follow her where?”
“Touch the dragon and you will find out.”
“You expect me to trust you?” He stormed over to her. “Who put you up to this?”
“Your answers will only be found if you follow Tara. Or you can walk away.”
“And Tara?”
“She will no longer be your mate. Fly now, dragon, and when you reach your home, you will not remember her as your mate. We are offering you freedom. Isn’t that what you want?”
He stood and stared, not sure whether to believe her or not. Could it be possible the dryads could break the mating bond? Everything about her told him she was speaking the truth. Whatever they had done was not malicious. They were acting with love and kindness. Should he believe that, or were they very good at lying?
For one moment he stood, looking inside himself at all the feelings he had for Tara. She was the most infuriating woman to ever enter his life. She was disrespectful and sarcastic, so much so that she drove him insane with the way she spoke to him, especially in front of the other dragons.
Yet tinged with this was a need for her, so deep-rooted, so primal, he knew his life would always be lacking something if she were not in it. Did he want to risk losing that?
With no more thought, he reached out and touched the dragon.
Chapter Five – Tara
A sudden ache for him filled her heart: why couldn’t he love and accept her? Those were her thoughts when she reached out and touched the carved dragon.
And then it was gone, he was gone, she could no longer feel his presence. No. Wait. He wasn’t gone, she was. All around her were trees, but this was not the same forest, there were no dryads and no Dòmhnall. Nothing was the same. Somehow, the dryads had shifted her to another part of the forest.
Fearing the worst, knowing it had been a trap and Dòmhnall must be in danger, she summoned her powers. Tara had the power to return herself to the Stronghold, it was like a homing beacon, and once there she could raise the alarm and go with the other dragons to rescue him.
But as she called the energy to her, nothing happened. Her magic was gone.
“Come on, Tara, get yourself together.” She closed her eyes and tentatively reached out for the magic that was always there and had always been part of her. Nothing.
Feeling sick, she placed her hand on the rough bark of an old oak, searching for the natural magic that she always sensed in living things. It was closed off to her. A sob caught in her throat. She swallowed it down; she never cried. Never.
Yet the overwhelming sense of loss was too much. Everything was gone from her, everything she held dear. Her magic, the friends she had made in Spellholm—a strange thing to miss, because she hadn’t really let herself accept she had friends, that people, especially Charlotte actually liked her.
But most of all, the loss of the man who was her mate. Dòmhnall. It tore at her heart, the need to be with him, for him to love her as she loved him.
Covering her mouth, shocked at this admission, she tried to shake it off. She didn’t love him, they were fated to be together, true, but that was not the same as love. But she did…
Before she could deal with this realisation, the air around her was torn; the same current of electricity that she experienced when Dòmhnall changed from man to dragon surrounded her. And then he was here. Falling to his knees as he touched the ground. When he looked up and saw her, he looked relieved and then a little puzzled.
“I am still a man.”
“What did you expect?” Even though relief flooded through her, she could not keep the sarcasm from her voice.
“To be a dragon.” He stated as if it was obvious.
“Oh.”
“Your oh does not give me confidence.” Dòmhnall looked around him, and then his eyes looked faraway as he tried to summon his dragon. The look on his face conveyed his appalling confusion. “It’s gone.”
“My magic is gone too.”
“Your magic?” He came to her, reaching out to touch her. “Tara, I am sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” she said, about to shrug off his touch of kindness. She didn’t want his pity, she wanted more than that. However, she accepted him, allowed him into her space, trying to force down the barriers that had kept him out for so long. They were quite a pair, neither allowing themselves to open up, too caught up in their own self-worth. Now they were worthless. They were normal.
“It is,” he persisted. “I asked you to come to see the dryads, and now look at us.”
“We will find a way out.” She looked around. “It has to be some other part of Spellholm, right? Maybe it has an ancient spell on it. One that binds all magic.” She looked up, caught by the brightness of his eyes, of the warmth that was there, tinged with something else. Fear?
This great man, Dragon Lord of Spellholm, was completely out of his depth. He had never known anything other than his power, and the hold it granted him over other people. So when he said, “What if we are stuck here forever?” she should have been prepared for the way his voice shook ever so slightly, but it caught her off guard.
Looking away, she gave him time to compose himself. “I should imagine even the great Dòmhnall can muster enough strength to walk through a forest for a day or two without having to resort to his dragon. It’s about time you proved to everyone that there is more to you than fire and brimstone.”
His hand left her shoulder; he straightened his back and said, “In the same way the great witch Tara should be able to manage without her spells and potions. I see it hasn’t taken your sharp tongue too.”
“Shall we go, Dòmhnall?”
He smiled at her. “Yes, Tara. Any preference as to which direction?”
Tara lifted her chin, feeling the sun on her face as it filtered through the green leaves of the canopy high above her head. This was an ancient forest; it could be anywhere in Spellholm, or anywhere in the world. As long as they were in their world, and not some parallel universe, then if they headed west, they would hit the edge of the forest. Hell, if they walked far enough in any direction they would hit the edge of the forest. They just had to avoid walking around in a circle. Simple.
“West. Let’s follow the path of the sun as it sets ahead of us. We’ll have to keep an eye out for a stream; our greatest threat will be dehydration.” She took a st
ep forward and Dòmhnall followed, walking side by side with her.
Tara let herself relax; she had longed to be with him like this, to be at peace in his presence, not to be constantly striving to impress him. Now was her time to get to know him, to get him to open up to her. But one look at his impassive face told her this was not the time. He was fighting to come to terms with what had happened. Brief flashes of rage crossed his face. She could only imagine the internal dialogue flashing through his mind, and she hoped for the dryads’ sake they didn’t get out of here too soon, as a certain dragon might very well be burning down swathes of ancient forest where the dryads lived.
“You seem calm,” he remarked, and she heard a hint of an accusation in his voice.
“There is nothing else to be. I have no magic, neither do you. So all we can do is walk and try to figure out how we get out of here. I could shout and wail about it, but all that will do is make me feel lousy and tired.”
“So you have just accepted our plight?” he asked.
“Not exactly accepted it. But I can do nothing more.” She glanced over to him. “Unlike you, Dòmhnall, there have been periods of my life when I have been as helpless as this. I have learned to be patient.”
“Does that period of helplessness include the life you live now?”
“You mean living at the Stronghold?” She thought carefully before answering, not because she was trying to be clever with her answer, but because she had never thought of it that way. But, yes, it most probably did. “You know we are fated mates. I know you do not trust me, and most likely never will. I find it frustrating.”
“So you plotted with the dryads?” And there they had it!
Tara turned to face him, hands on her hips, chin thrust forward. “You think this is all my fault? That I asked the dryads to send us here? To take my powers and yours?”
“I have heard you say that your gift as a seer is often a curse.”
“So what? You think I gave it all up to come and play house here in the middle of a forest with a cranky old ex-dragon?” She laughed at him. “Wow, you really think you are something. I mean, I want us to be together. But I am not willing to sacrifice who I am for you.”
Mate of the Dragon: BBW Paranormal Shifter Romance (Her Dragon's Bane Series Book 6) Page 2