Enchanted Bookstore Legends (5-book complete epic fantasy romance box set)

by Marsha A. Moore

  She focused harder on memories showing the passage of her family’s scribal power. Her tenth birthday when Aunt Jean gave the Book of Dragonspeir, dedicated to her from grandmother Brigid, four times removed—the preceding Scribe. A vision of the two centuries old wedding gown, worn by a long list of family brides, which she now possessed and hoped to wear when she married Cullen. In response, Elisabeth’s necklace weighed heavier against the base of her throat.

  Abruptly, the necklace prickled her skin. Her eyes flew open. The currents swept higher up her arms. Increased nausea and lightheadedness threatened to block all thought. She clung to a mental image of the black amber sets arranged in the pattern of a butterfly. An intense fever passed over her, despite the cold night air. Her skin was drenched with sweat under her clothes. She collapsed into Cullen. Just as she slipped from the edge of consciousness, crackling noises sounded under her chin where the gems hung. Strength crept through her muscles. She did it—the necklace shielded her from harm!

  The evil charge also traveled up Cullen’s arms. He slumped with weakness as it entered his body. For another minute the process continued, the strength of their combined powers drawing the darkness from Kenzo’s body.

  Finally, the owl stirred, able to move his limbs. In the next moment, Cullen gave way. He yanked one hand up to the sky, and waves of radiation dissipated out of his body until claimed by a breeze. “Devious. No color matching the aura. Shrouded,” he said, watching the trailing lines of evil power flow away.

  “Do I need to do the same?” Lyra asked, still rather dizzy, but now able to command her muscles.

  “No, Elisabeth’s necklace annuls the evil force,” he gasped, exhausted.

  “Is Kenzo mended?” She ran her free hand over the bird. He felt extremely hot to touch.

  “Yes, I’ll be fine.” He moved his stubby legs underneath him and after a couple tries, rocked onto his feet, his talons clawing the frozen ground to maintain his balance. “Feeling better. Thank you both,” he croaked.

  Cullen nodded and withdrew his other hand once his assistant seemed stable. “We need to talk, but first I must bolster the shielding spell on the cabin. I think it held. They probably didn’t intend to attack Kenzo, but to be certain…” He took hold of his staff and braced his weight against it to stand, his legs wobbling. “Contego!” His voice wavered, struggling to muster a firm command. With the other hand, he grabbed the railing and ascended the steps. “Let’s go inside where it’s more comfortable.” He extended an arm to help Lyra up. “What evil was that?” he asked as they went into the sitting room. “I only saw the trail of its shadow after it flew past.”

  “Didn’t see much,” Kenzo sputtered, “only the fierce head of a dragon, about the size of a drake. But the wrong color scales and no aura at all. Its mouth opened wide, and I saw a rider. The dragon’s red eyes kept me from flying out. Those eyes and teeth both came at me. I closed my eyes. Don’t know which cast the blow.”

  Lyra sat on a twig rocking chair and clasped a hand to her necklace, hoping it might ease her shaking. “They went across our window. The dragon had sheer, black wings and iridescent scales like a raven. I couldn’t see anything of the cloaked rider other than broad shoulders.” She rubbed her forehead, feeling tired. “What kind of dragon was that? I didn’t see any in the Dark Realm.”

  Kenzo shuddered. “Ravens. Dreadful birds. Hate to call them any kin of mine.”

  “From your descriptions, that beast sounds like a cimafa, and they do live in the Dark Realm as well as some remote places.” Cullen took a seat in the worn armchair next to the bookcase. Obviously his favorite, the way it conformed to his body. “They serve as the Black Dragon’s messengers, likely away on a mission while we were there. Many also aide the Lord of the Tempestas.”

  A chill ran down Lyra’s spine. “You mean Symar?”

  “Yes. They’re cunning enough to fly him into storms as he needs for his job. And they can be in total stealth—the only dragons whose power doesn’t form an aura.”

  She twisted a strand of hair into a tortured knot. “So, do you think he was the rider?”

  “Could be. I don’t know. Whoever it was didn’t want to be known. It requires great power to hide your aura. Was there anything else either of you saw about the rider that stood out?”

  “Nope. Trying to think who else might have access to cimafa,” Kenzo pondered.

  “Tarom certainly, and any of his assistants. Also, some Qumeli chiefs ride them.”

  “Does the Dark Realm have a master sorcerer?” Lyra asked. “I’ve only head of Tarom, their alchemist.”

  Surprisingly, Kenzo broke out in a sort of chuckle, smacking his beak and wobbling his head. “Master sure put an end to him. Outsmarted him, killing him with a ricochet of his own powerball.” He sailed across the room, awkwardly landing on the back of Lyra’s rocker. “Oops. Not back to normal yet.”

  “As far as I know, they haven’t named a replacement. However, news about the dark forces is scarce.”

  Lyra suddenly sat upright in her chair. “I just remembered—the rider’s cloak had an odd, jagged hem that twisted up and around against the wind. Symar wore that sort of cloak at the festival, and Tarom wore one when we met him in the Black Dragon’s lair.”

  “A useful clue, going along with those who’d have access to the cimafa,” Cullen replied.

  She fingered her black amber necklace to steady her nerves. “After I was attacked on the Sea of Cogadh, I had a nightmare and saw a man with that same type of cloak. I have a feeling that dream meant something.”

  “Most likely. In some way you remain a threat, even after you’ve completed your task as a Scribe.”

  “Maybe my job isn’t finished?” She gazed up at him.

  “Trouble is they know what that mission might be and we don’t.”

  “Another reason for me to get started learning how to use my inherited abilities. I’m ready to start.”

  “Indeed, but that’s tomorrow. We need some rest tonight. The house is safe.”

  “What about the porch?” Kenzo asked. “It’s too hot in here for my winter down layer.”

  Cullen let out a laugh. “Of course, I secured the porch for you. Make yourself comfortable.”

  “Don’t really want to be anywhere near if you two decide to break out the vanilla bluet,” he hooted, quickly making for the door as Lyra playfully tossed a throw pillow in his direction. “Need to practice your aim,” he called over his shoulder.

  “Soon I’ll be so good you’ll wish you never signed up to be my practice partner.” Lyra walked after him and shut the door, glad to find her strength nearly restored.

  Cullen met her at the foot of the stairs and waved her up. “After you.”

  “Do you still have enough control of your power to conjure that amazing warm touch again?” she asked. Before he could answer, she raced up the stairs.

  Tempted, he sped after her, swept her up into his arms and laid her back into the fluff of the coverlet. “Plenty.”

  She wrapped her arms around his torso and pulled him close to her. The weight of his body comforted her. “What do you think that man wanted with me?”

  He rolled off to the side of her, but kept his arm around her waist. “My guess would be he intended to make you use your unique powers to do what he wished. Kidnapping might have been a possibility, if he or they want something from the Imperial Dragon, which is plausible. I doubt they’d kill you. It’s unlikely they would attempt to steal your aura since it’s well known no one can use that power unless born a Scribe.”

  “That’s some reassurance, but seems like they’re willing to kill anyone to block my actions or get to me, first my aunt and now this attempt on Kenzo.” She ran her hand along his cheek, the rough stubble prickling her fingers. “That frightens me. I’ll fight them however I can.”

  He turned his head and kissed her palm. “I was relieved to see Elisabeth’s necklace absorb that dark energy. You weren’t prepared to handle it yet. Tha
t’s why I didn’t ask you to combine your magic with mine. That much pain might’ve harmed you.”

  “You struggled to heal him. He was suffering. I wanted to help.”

  “I know…and I love that about you.” He leaned over her and found her mouth for a long, soft kiss.

  Lyra ran her hands along the firm muscles of the sides of his torso, then wrapped her arms around his back. After the attack, she relished the security of their closeness. She stretched her legs and pressed her whole length against his.

  He broke away, murmuring, “Almost forgot, you wanted me to heat my hands again.” The corners of his mouth curled into a devilish expression.

  His desire was infectious, and she returned his smile, eager to have him pamper her.

  He slid to the foot of the bed, and as before, raised a tiny powerball between his palms, allowing its heat to penetrate.

  Lyra sat up and removed her boots. She unlaced the bodice of her gown and stood, letting it drop to the floor. Underneath, she discovered he’d dressed her in a slip of the softest white cotton lawn. Its white embroidery and lace all over the camisole top and hem of the flouncy skirt made her feel feminine.

  She thought his blue-white light seemed more intense than earlier. Perhaps overcoming tonight’s challenge together strengthened their connection. She brushed her hair away and ran her hands along the fine cloth covering her breasts, enjoying the softness of the fabric and also anticipating his touch. Her nipples hardened, clearly visible through the sheer lawn. She looked up to see Cullen’s face beaming, taking in the view. Heat rose in her cheeks.

  “You’re beautiful. That slip looks even better than I imagined when I created it for you.”

  This detail overwhelmed her. She bit her lower lip to hold back happy tears. His thoughtfulness, the expressions of his love, made her feel so special that her heart throbbed with desire.

  The corners of his eyes crinkled a bit with the happiness on his face. He reached up and eased one strap of the slip, then the other, off her shoulders. With a single finger, he slowly teased the camisole down to expose one breast.

  Even that light touch pulsed with magical heat and gave Lyra goose bumps.

  He circled her breast, exploring its wide lower curve. Yet, he avoided her nipple. He knew exactly what to do to drive her wild.

  She lay motionless, her body aching with anticipation as he continued to caress and skillfully avoid what she wanted most. When his thumb finally grazed sensitive areas, she jumped. Tingling warmth shot in all directions throughout her body and prompted her into motion. She loosened the fabric tie around his tunic and did the same with the belt of his trousers.

  He pinched her nipple, and she let out a soft moan. Replacing his fingers with his mouth, he flicked it with his tongue.

  Adding moisture to her skin, still glowing from his magic touch, brought Lyra a new wave of erotic wonder. She arched her back to lift her chest closer to him.

  He pulled the slip free from her waist and ran his hands under her panties, kneading her cheeks with that incredible warmth.

  She pushed against him, and he grabbed hard onto her hips to hold her there.

  He pulled back and removed his clothes. He straddled her legs and slid a hand between her thighs.

  She moaned as a wave of pleasure weakened her limbs. She located his free hand and pressed her palm to his. Embraced by the fluff of the down and entranced by his touch, she closed her eyes to fully enjoy the rapture.

  He leaned over and kissed her hard on the mouth, exploring every surface of her tongue.

  With some difficulty, she moved her hand, nearly numb from soaking up his magical warmth from his palm. Tracing forward from the side of his hip, she found the fine line of soft hair on his stomach and followed it down.

  He lifted his hips, making space for her fingers to caress him. He groaned.

  Her eyes fluttered open to see her hand glowing, transferring light and tingles.

  He moved between her thighs, and she gasped as more of the electricity shot along her delicate skin.

  He pressed harder and the magic shot through her hips legs, traveling with waves of her own release. In seconds, his own satisfaction sent even more tingles. She dropped back into the soft bed, savoring the final pulses.

  Chapter Seven: Instruments of Air

  Dressed in her slip and socks, Lyra padded into Cullen’s small galley-style kitchen. The full-skirted party gown was much too fancy and poufy to wear while cooking. She considered conjuring a new outfit, but only remembered fragments of spells. Shivering in the cool air of the cabin, she scanned the downstairs walls for a thermostat or a radiator. Finding none, she searched for a sweater, but only located her cloak on a chair, again too cumbersome. A coarsely-woven wool throw draped across her shoulders worked better.

  Cooking some eggs and toast would warm the tiny downstairs. She opened the half-sized refrigerator and found it filled with neatly arranged glass jars and crocks, but nothing that looked like a carton of eggs or loaf of bread. One held something with a little furry face floating in liquid. It must have suffered some painful death, baring its teeth in a last desperate attempt to fight back. She slammed the door.

  Her studies today needed to include some basic survival craft, in addition to powerful methods for solving quests. The Imperial Dragon probably wouldn’t bother teaching her how to cook. She sighed. So much she needed to learn. His lesson began at noon. She considered how to make productive use of her morning hours.

  Lyra walked along the large bookcases, which spanned three walls of the sitting room. Many titles sounded interesting: History of the Power of the Four Elements; Lunar Magic; Isolating Powers Within; Advanced Fascination. This library of hundreds of volumes would likely fill months of study. Where to begin?

  She ran her hand along the gilded leather spine of Compendium of Common Charms and pulled it from the shelf. Settling into Cullen’s favorite soft club chair, she understood why he liked it. The wide arms were set low, the perfect height to rest an open book.

  The book smelled musty, and the edges of its yellowed pages were frayed to a well-loved softness. It was organized into units according to basic use: household; personal; social. She turned to the household section and found chapters on laundry, cleaning, home repairs, and cooking. Just what she needed.

  While she previewed the specific types of charms, a tiny ray of light shined upon the page. She looked up to see her jadestone brooch on the collar of her cloak shimmering…no…it was the small stone hooked below it, the heliodor. She placed the book down and pulled the garment from the back of the rocker. It was a scrying stone, to be called upon. How or why did it call its owner? It shot out dozens of small sparks. Strange. Perhaps it wanted her to visualize some image of the future.

  In her palm, the golden gem gleamed with a tiny white star, its arms radiating across the smooth surface. Lyra focused on her internal fire. It hummed through her mind for a couple minutes as she stared at the stone. An image slowly took shape on its surface, her own face twisted into an expression of shock or horror. With her brow knitted into deep furrows, in slow motion the image of her mouth opened, and Lyra heard the first note of her own terrified scream. The vision was so vivid she trembled, and prickling heat crawled along her neck.

  Suddenly a scraping noise, followed by a thump, sounded from the porch. Then a thud hit the door. Her attention jerked from the heliodor. Kenzo plastered his face against the door window. She opened it, glad for the rush of icy air to brace her nerves and cool her hot face.

  He tumbled inside upon her feet. His actions reminded her of when she used to press her nose onto Jean’s window, making funny faces at her aunt. Despite the scary vision, she couldn’t help laughing at the big feathery kid. “Come in, silly. Help me make breakfast.” Still, the image of her own frightened face stuck in her mind. Before she closed the door, she looked around outside, but saw no one.

  “I can usually grasp that handle with my beak or talons. Darned ice crystals over e
verything to decorate for the celebration.” He spun his head around a full one hundred eighty degrees. “Hope my tail feathers aren’t ruined. I slipped and landed square on them. Hmpf.” He ran the tip of one wing as far as he could reach, smoothing his mangled tail. “Drat!” Two feathers defied his efforts—one standing at a right angle, bent straight up, and the other curved far to his left.

  Lyra muffled a laugh with her hand. “You look like some wild Indian headdress.” She bent down and tried unsuccessfully to straighten the unruly quills.

  His huge ice blue eyes followed her every move. “What’s Indian?”

  “Umm, never mind, long story. I think we’ll need to wait for your master. I’ve only healed with his touch guiding me.”

  The owl’s face snapped back to the front, glaring at her. “Don’t you know any charms yet?’

  She shook her head.

  “All that grand inherited power of a Scribe everyone envies, and you can’t cast a simple healing charm?”

  “I have a lot to learn…beginning with how to conjure clothes and cook. Can you help me with breakfast?”

  “That’s easy.” Waving for her to follow, the owl waddled, a bit off-balanced with his damaged tail, into the kitchen. “I usually serve myself.” He grasped a scoop with the talons of one foot and fluttered above a wide drum canister set on the floor. After knocking off the lid with his other foot, he lowered down and gathered some grain. The contents of the scoop he poured into a nearby shallow ceramic bowl. “There you go. Cracked grain—my favorite, but I’ll share with you.”

  “Can’t you conjure me some bread and eggs? What’s in that refrigerator surely isn’t food.”