Page 9 of Knight of the Sword

“I could follow Michael,” Morgan said.

One of Baylor’s brows lifted and he almost smiled. He knew the little bitch was hot to rut with the warlock. “I’m sure you would like nothing better than to follow him, but I want you to infiltrate the vet’s clinic. The media is going to be pouncing, and you do have a gift for public relations.”

She looked disappointed, but nodded.

“That’s my pet,” he said. “Now go, all of you. I want everyone positioned by tomorrow. We have to find out what the second verse to the damn riddle is. I do not intend to lose the Sword as well.”

He waited for several minutes, to be sure they had all cleared the hotel, before he called for his car to be brought around. He had discovered a ley line—a source of universal energy—not far from the Dallas County boundary, near a lake. It would be from there that he would call the white dragon, although he might have to call on Lucifer, since it was his brother who kept the dragon frozen.

The white dragon had beaten the red in Vortigern’s time. With Baylor’s help, the white would destroy the red this time too, and evil would gain a stronger foothold in the world.

Baylor smiled, anticipating the outcome of that.

Chapter Three

The knight crested the hill, silhouetted against bright moonlight that dappled the rocky crevices lining the canyons of Palo Pinto County. It reflected on his armor. The big destrier pawed the ground, anxious to charge.

Sophie’s eyes flicked from him to the dragon that sat atop a butte across a small ravine. It puffed small balls of smoke, much like the steam engine of an old train stoking up to move forward.

Her feet were rooted to the ground between them. “It’s going to attack!” she screamed at the knight, but only a small squeak emerged.

He looked down at her and pulled his Sword. The dragon snorted, shooting fire that set the Sword aflame. The great warhorse reared as the knight turned it for the charge. But instead of thundering toward the dragon, the knight was coming toward her.

Sophie willed her legs to run, but they would not move. The dragon snorted again, but the sound was almost like laughter as the knight descended on her. My God, she was going to be trampled!

At the last moment, the horse skidded to a stop, clumps of grass and dirt scattering around her. The knight slid from the saddle, the flaming Sword still in his hand, and reached for her—

And suddenly it was Michael who was holding her, clad only in leather breeches, the Sword and armor gone. His bare chest felt like smooth, chiseled marble as his hands stroked up and down her back, soothing her.

“The dragon will not hurt you,” he whispered as he bent to nuzzle her neck, sending pleasant little shivers down her spine.

Her weak spot—kiss her nape and her knees turned to putty. Whatever thoughts she might have had flitted away like dandelion silk on the wind. How did he know?

Michael’s dark eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “I know all about you. I am going to make you mine.”

Like hell he was. Hadn’t she already made the message clear—and then, he nuzzled her neck again, this time mouthing her skin softly as he trailed kisses to her earlobe. A little mewling sound escaped her throat.

“You wanted to say something?” he whispered—and before she could, his mouth covered hers, seductive and persuasive.

Dear Lord! Who could have thought a man’s lips could be so soft and firm at the same time? And warm and dry while his tongue was wet and hot? And when had she opened her mouth to let him in? But he certainly was in, his tongue doing a wicked impersonation of what his other member would do.

He tasted of some spice she could not identify and smelled slightly of salt air and heather, as though they were on were on Scottish moors rather than in Texas. It was a heady combination.

“Let me make love to you,” he whispered as he took them both slowly to the ground—

Sophie landed with a thump on the floor beside her bed. She squinted in the dark room illuminated only by the wash of moonlight streaming through her window onto the hardwood floor. The silence told her she was alone. There certainly was no dragon or knight with a flaming Sword. And there was no Michael.

She disentangled herself from the twisted bed sheets that had accompanied her fall, picked herself up, and sat on the edge of the bed. To her chagrin, her breasts tingled, her nipples were tight, and there was warm moisture between her legs.

For the past year, since her galling divorce from her cheating husband, she had not even entertained a thought of dating anyone. Her body had numbed and become neutral, and that was how she wanted it. Much safer than to allow a man to play with her emotions again. Too much pain…

Why in the world had she dreamed about Michael McCain? And who was the knight with the flaming Sword?

****

The dragon curled its tail around its claws with a clanging of metal scales and settled on the hardened earth of the cave he’d found near Crawford Mountain. He snorted, puffs of smoke streaming out the entrance. It could hardly be called a cave—more like a hollowed out crevice beneath a shale overhang—and he barely fit, but it was close to the girl he needed to protect. He sighed, careful not to shoot flames that would ignite the scrub brush that attached itself to the rocky hillsides. The goddess Brighid had not allowed him to take his hoard of gold and silver with him, telling him he needed to focus his dragon’s lust for bright, shiny objects on finding Excalibur before Balor did.

His problem was that he didn’t know where to begin in this very strange world that moved so fast. He’d been sleeping and dreaming peacefully for fifteen hundred years, thankful to be away from humans. The last he knew was that Galahad had taken the Grail and several other relics to Sarras to keep the Saxons from discovering them. Brighid had told him a group of warrior monks called Templars had rescued the treasure and returned it to Scotland, but because of unrest there as well, the Sinclair Protector had removed them to a foreign land called America.