The moment his hard length slid inside, pleasure, heat, and desire for more of him caused her hips to rise and meet his thrusts. Groans and moans echoed in the small room. Sighs, and the slapping of her damp flesh against his, grew in volume. Sparkling light, like a halo or cloud of pure sensation, brightened the darkened interior, reaching toward the ceiling. If not for the roof to contain her within his room, Nessía feared she might float away. Too soon, the ecstasy built and multiplied. Everything went bright white, and she screamed as the rapture consumed her. As she floated down from a state of pure joy, Rory’s thrusts increased in tempo and he threw back his head. His roar of fulfillment, as he arched his back and filled her with his essence, made Nessía smile so hard her cheeks ached.
“Heavens,” Rory whispered in her ear. He slipped off, and lay beside her.
Her body shook involuntarily, and she took a deep breath. Swallowing, she licked her dry lips before she turned to answer her lover. My lover. How quaint.
“I agree. Much better than my last.”
He laughed deep and low.
Suddenly cold and feeling deprived of the most sensual partner she ever knew, she cuddled into his embrace while he tugged the blanket up and over their bodies. She silently thanked the Faerie Queen for sending this man into her life. A life Nessía knew would never be the same again.
Morning arrived too quickly and, even before the sun rose over the loch, Rory escorted a smiling young woman toward the pub. She had hung her damp clothing by the fire in his room, and he’d lent her his hairbrush. Nessía had allowed him to braid her hair into a long, sexy braid before insisting she leave, and return to work.
They strode in silent companionship through the thick mist and the rising dawn. A peaceful silence had wrapped around the town. Several fishermen worked alongside their boats at the pier. Rory and Nessía kept to the shadows, and when they arrived at the pub, he kissed her briefly.
“I have a question,” he said.
Her eyes flickered wide in the foggy atmosphere that gripped the loch. “Ask me anything, Rory.”
“What does the town’s name mean? None of the men in the pub would answer me. It’s Gaelic, right?”
She relaxed her shoulders. Had she thought he was going to ask something more intimate?
Nessía smiled before answering. “Na Cearcan Bã Na means The White Chickens.”
A rooster crowed in the distance, and they both laughed. When they reached the pub, instead of touching her—because he’d find it hard to leave her—Rory turned to her once more. What a night. He had swiftly lost himself in the pleasure of their lovemaking. Closing his eyes, he still tasted her sweet mouth.
Thump. Was that my heart?
Time to get his head out of the clouds. “What does the pub’s name mean?”
Nessía looked up at the weathered wooden sign and sighed. Was she smiling a bit too broadly for so early in the morning? He could die tomorrow if he she smiled up at him that way, once more.
“Biadhadn nan Cearc means Feeding the Hens.”
Rory laughed all the way to the inn. He climbed the front stairs and reached for the front door knob. Wham!
CHAPTER 6
Rory rubbed his bruised nose. “Good morning, ladies.”
“There you are. We missed you at breakfast,” Kendra crooned. She rubbed his right arm, while Suzie tickled his left ear.
“I went for a walk.”
“In this wet mist? Ugh,” Suzie said.
“Refreshing. You should try it. I’m starving. If you’ll excuse me?” Rory peeled their hands off his body, and strode toward the dining room. They didn’t follow, thank the Lord. The only woman on his mind was Nessía. He glanced at the mantel clock and wondered when he could see her once more. I should get some work done, first.
***
The day wore on and Nessía carried a basket of fresh-baked bread to the inn. The same inn where she had spent several blissful hours in the arms of a man. A man she was falling in love with.
The truth startled her, and a linen-wrapped loaf fell from the basket. Nessía crouched outside the flower-covered fence that surrounded the inn. She froze when she heard familiar voices. One voice belonged to Rory Hawthorn.
“Ladies, I must stop in my room.”
“We’ll come with you,” the redhead cooed, like a lovesick cow. “Tell us more about your search for your MacDonald ancestors.”
The MacDonalds? Rory is related to that bastard Monty? And why would Rory be in the company of those women? As Americans, she supposed they held a certain homesick charm, but he had told Nessía he would not stop into the pub for lunch. He had work to do. In fact, he claimed he planned to work along the northern shore of Loch Ness all day.
What I am hearing does not sound like work. Far from it.
Nessía peeked over the fence, but all three had disappeared inside the inn. Standing, she brushed dirt from her dress’s hem, then scurried to the inn’s backdoor. With her delivery complete, she swung the basket in a wide arc, desperately in want of smashing it over a certain gentleman’s head.
A MacDonald? Damnation!
Her heart ripped apart as she stamped her feet. Her dragon strength surged and the earth beneath her feet shook. Birds took to the skies and screeched, as they flew away across the loch. Stacked timber near the dock gave way beneath the tremors, and fell into the water. A boat in dry-dock slipped off its scaffolds and crashed on its side. Screams echoed from the inn and the two American females ran into the street.
“Earthquake!”
Nessía closed her eyes and took several deep, cleansing breaths. Collecting herself, she urged the trembling to stop. When it did, she strode toward the pub.
“Nessía!”
Rory.
She forced her feet to keep moving away from the inn, but two strong arms circled her shoulders. Rory turned her until she faced him. She refused to glance up. He cupped her chin, forced her head up, and she gazed into eyes filled with concern. And…love?
Silly dragon. Ye are a powerful, earthquake- causing creature. Forget him. Nessía found it hard to believe her own thoughts, especially when his mouth crushed hers in a brutal, yet passionate kiss.
“My God. Are you okay?”
“I am quite well, sir.”
“So formal? When the earthquake shook my backpack and notebooks to my bedroom floor, all I thought of was making sure you were safe.”
“Why?” Her question came out swift. Curt. Hurtful. Did she really want to hear his answer? Had he feared she had taken a tumble, suffered an injury, and was now unable to share his bed tonight? A mere inconvenience. Let him take the two screaming Americans to his bed.
“Why? Because…I…care for you, silly.” Rory smiled and her heart leapt.
Then she remembered the others. The two women ran toward him, and he backed away. When he released her from his embrace, at the first sign of two younger females, Nessía understood.
“I must return to work.” She picked up the basket that went flying when he kissed her, and marched to the pub.
She pushed through the front door, and slid to a halt. Liquor bottles and glassware lay scattered over the bar and floor. The front window sported a huge crack, and smoke billowed from the corner fireplace. Mac ran from the kitchen with a long, red, cylindrical item. He pointed it at the burning coals, and white foam shot from the can.
“ ‘Tis a disaster, I tell ye. We must close up for the rest of the day.” Mac set down the red can, and turned toward her. “Are ye unharmed, Nessie?”
“Aye. I was in the roadway. I felt it, though.”
“A grand tumbler, that. This shall cost me a month’s income to repair. Can ye help me clean up this mess?”
“Surely, I’ll be helping ye.”
“We’ll inventory the liquor stock after we clean away the broken bottles. Don’t want whisky soaking these old floor boards much longer.”
They worked in tandem until they had swept all the broken glass, mopped the floors, washed th
e bar and tables, and contacted a mason to inspect the chimney. The glazier arrived to measure the broken window, and a Closed sign caused villagers and tourists to grumble.
Darkness had fallen by the time Nessía stepped outside the pub. Her lower back ached. She pressed both hands to the base of her spine, but felt pleased she had earned every pain from good, hard work. Other bruises, deep inside, were the product of pleasure of a very different type.
The ache in her heart reminded her that she ought to erect a shield. If not, it would be better to slither away to the loch, cast off her human skin as easily as her dirty dress, and return to the lonely world under the loch’s murky surface.
“Let the Americans have him.”
“I don’t want them. I want you.”
Nessía spun around. The quick motion made her trip over the wet hem of her whisky-soaked gown. Rory grabbed her and cradled her in his heat. She needed to get away. Far away. The sensations that flooded her body were too powerful.
Too tempting.
“Let me be, sir!” Struggling, she escaped and ran to the shore of the black loch. Night had fallen and the moon hid beyond the clouds, but she knew the shoreline as well as she knew her true form. She dove into its depths, then glided with powerful strokes until the soundless void swallowed her. The loch’s calming essence pulsed through her, and she shifted. As she returned to her rightful form, the human clothing ripped apart and floated away from her massive body.
Faerie Queen be damned. A monster is a monster, and true love is a myth.
Nessía dove to the bottom, surrounding herself with the great depth’s emptiness. Even five-hundred feet down, however, she still felt something large enter the water. Sounds of splashing rippled down to where she swam. Curiosity consumed her.
A human trait I must outgrow, again.
When Monty broke her heart, she had returned to the loch, shifted into her dragon form, and slammed her head against the underwater land mass. Her actions caused the large earthquake of 1816. The one Rory had mentioned.
She wanted to outgrow the need to repeat those actions. Earlier, using only her anger, she had caused damage to the town, and the pub. She had not meant to scare people, nor had she planned to cost Mac much of his livelihood. Her anger rose like a volcano, and her inability to contain herself hit her as a reprehensible action. Why punish innocent people?
The person she needed to hurt was Rory Hawthorn. A MacDonald, like Monty before him, he had filled her head with pretty words, then lulled her into a sense of well-being with exquisite kisses and gentle caresses.
Do not think of those kisses.
She whipped her tail to return to the surface. What had fallen into the loch in the middle of the night? When a familiar fragrance drifted over her snout, she slowed.
Rory.
The murkiness of the loch blinded her from finding him until a sudden frantic movement stirred the water. Rory was drowning.
CHAPTER 7
I’m going to drown. When Rory stupidly followed Nessía into the shallows, he forgot that the bottom of the loch sloped dangerously. Barely yards from shore, Rory slipped. His hiking boots quickly filled with water and he held onto his backpack as if it were a life preserver. Unfortunately, the bag full of books sank like a stone.
As Rory contemplated the pros and cons of losing a month’s work or his life, huge bubbles propelled him to the surface. Sputtering, he swam along with the huge waves. An unusual pressure beneath the surface pushed him and his backpack toward shore.
Rory grasped the fishing pier’s support post and winced as something sharp slashed his palm. He tossed the backpack up and onto the pier, then licked the blood from his wound. Turning toward the black depths of the loch, hidden by an eerie mist, the waves lessened. A loose fishing boat, probably pushed off shore by the recent earthquake, tossed in the ripples. A large curved hump rose from behind the vessel then, just as quickly, disappeared.
He brushed aside his wet hair and rubbed his eyes. Filled with grit, they stung. His first inclination was to assume he’d witnessed an apparition. When the water around him filled with bubbles, he froze, with one arm grasping the pier for support.
As the clouds lifted, and moonlight shone across the surface of the loch, a huge, horned head rose from the depths. Water cascaded off its lustrous green scales. Eyes the size of dinner plates and the color of river ice glared. The creature stared right at him as it swam closer.
Rory could not move, could not think. He ought to climb from the water, especially when the monster came within six feet. Had the creature enthralled him under a spell? When its huge mouth opened and a long, pink tongue reached out from between rows of pointed teeth and lapped his bleeding palm, he struggled up and onto the pier.
The animal did not pursue him. Even so, Rory backed away from the pier’s edge and stared as the creature silently sank below the black surface. Rory slumped to the planks and sat in the silence of the night, and listened.
Nothing. Total quiet. What the heck did I see?
He knew. In his heart, he knew he’d witnessed the fabled Loch Ness monster. Seconds later, he jumped to his feet and ran to the edge of the pier. He squinted and searched the surface.
“OmiGod! Nessía jumped into the water right before the monster surfaced!” He ripped off his shirt, kicked off his boots, and searched for a weapon. He prayed for a sign that Nessía was safe. A long, hook-ended pole lay beside a stack of buoys. Rory grabbed it and dove into the loch.
***
Nessía wanted to laugh at the look on Rory’s face. Dragons do not laugh, of course, but she felt better knowing he had landed safe on shore, albeit hanging on to the pier. She had reached out and licked his palm to let him know she meant him no harm in her dragon form, and tasted blood. He had hurt himself in his search for the human Nessía. How heroic.
A loud roar of something hitting the water made her loop into a somersault. She cautiously returned to shore and came face to face in the murky water with a man holding some sort of long pole. A lethal looking pole.
Rory?
As understanding dawned, Nessía turned to swim away. Too late. A sharp pain pierced her shoulder. He had stabbed her with the pointed weapon. She reared back and the weapon slipped from Rory’s fingers. She turned and swam away with the hook imbedded between her scales while her serpentine heart shattered.
***
Rory pulled his weary body up, and sat alone on the pier. He wound a strip of cloth, torn from a floating rag, around his palm. As he tucked the end under, he spied a section of lace.
“God! No!” he cried when he recognized the cloth as the remains of Nessía’s pub gown. Covering his face with his hands, he sobbed.
“Please, do not cry.”
“Who said that?” Rory jumped to his feet and swung around. He stood alone on top of the pier, but long, thin fingers clutched the edge. Female fingers.
He sprawled on the pier, leaned over the edge, and pulled a naked Nessía into his arms. “Thank you, God!”
When she shivered, he wrapped his larger body around hers until she cried out in pain. He smelled the blood before he spied the wound in her back, just above her shoulder blade. The creature had hurt her.
Rory laid her on the dock and grabbed a canvas tarp from a covered bin. It smelled of fish, but was dry and suitable to contain the blood until he could have her wounds tended. The wound looked deep, but not wide, so he hoped he could use his first aid training and take care of it in his room at the inn. From his research of the area, he knew the closest hospital was a long ways away from Na Cearcan Bã Na.
He covered the distance to the inn with newfound strength, then snuck up the stairs. When he reached the safety of his room with his bundled passenger, he laid her on the settee in the corner. Rory gathered towels and pressed them against her back. She barely moved and her eyes were closed. Had she passed out?
“Stay still. I’ll be right back.” She didn’t answer him, so he headed down to the inn’s kitchen. A soft,
yellow light burned from the pantry ceiling. He rummaged around and found first aid supplies. He grabbed bandages, antiseptic, and over-the-counter painkillers.
He heard voices from the inn’s front door. Rory tiptoed through the kitchen, then peeked into the dining area. The American women had returned. No longer screaming, now that the earthquake had subsided, each had their arms filled with a muscular Scot.
At least someone is enjoying the night.
Rory waited until their footsteps disappeared up onto the third floor. He returned with his supplies to his own room, and the woman he loved.
I love her?
The fear he’d endured the moment he thought the creature planned to eat her, proved to him that his heart had fallen. Luckily, he had managed to strike the creature before it had the opportunity to hurt Nessía.
Now, Nessía lay hurt. Possibly dying.
He growled when the urge to return to the loch, and to kill the creature, rose up as he shut the door behind him.
“Ye sound like me. Is it so bad?” Nessía looked up at him, sat up, and turned her back to him. The tarp slid to her waist and the wound glistened with fresh blood.
“I told you to keep still, love.” He scooped her up and laid her on her side, away from him, on the bed. He dabbed the wound and laid out the supplies by his hip. “This might hurt.”
“I trust ye,” she whispered.
With his heart in his throat at her whispered praise, he inspected the wound under the brighter light of the bedside table and found a rather small puncture wound. What could have caused it? A quick assessment showed no other wounds on her body, and he sighed with relief.
Rory slathered antiseptic on the wound. As he applied several butterfly bandages and pulled the wound closed, the bleeding stopped. He coated the area with more antiseptic and a large bandage, then forced her to swallow two pain pills.
Rory pulled the sheet over her shoulders, kissed her temple, and turned out the light. He stripped in the bathroom, showered away the blood, and pulled on clean gym shorts and t-shirt. Returning to the darkened bedroom, he settled into an uncomfortable position on the settee. Before sleep overtook his tired limbs, he prayed Nessía survived until morning.
Dragon Bites Page 24