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“And you still haven’t explained to me, or more importantly Lottie, why you peeled her theories apart like a Vidalia onion on a hot August afternoon.”
“That’s what we do. We challenge each other’s theories. Punch holes in them before anyone else can. It makes us better Agents, better Guardsman, better…”
“Bigger and better Assholes, ya’ mean. You should’ve just said you were sorry.”
“Ya’ know what I’m the most sorry about?”
“No, dear Lad, enlighten me.”
“That you ever learned any of the current vernacular. That you’re not quiet and stoic like Ranger says his Dragon King is. That I didn’t keep you in the dark and feed you shit like the mushroom I wished you were.”
“Why, I never.”
“You damned sure did and do all the time. Let me tell you one thing, Ancient Dragon King of the Silver Sapphire Dragons, I’m running this ship. This is my brain…”
“Oh, yeah, that’s not something I’d be braggin’ about, Bucko.”
“…and getting dissed in Gaelic was bad enough but havin’ to listen to a knock-off Don Rickles twenty-four-seven is so much worse. I have it on good authority…”
“Ranger is not a good authority.”
“… that no other Guardsman has to put up with this abuse. It’s asinine.”
“Wow, somebody got a word of the day calendar.”
“Wonder if I can petition the Universe for a new Dragon King.”
“No more than I can request another Guardsman, Rico Suave. We’re stuck together like a feather boa on Phyllis Diller.”
“And no more reruns from old sixties sit coms. You’re outta control.”
“And no more pissing off our Mate or the Sleipnir Mare with whom she shares her soul. She’s my Mate, too, ya’ know. I’m a helluva lot older than you and am ready to settle down and live the good life. You need to get your shit together. At the very least make it so Lottie can stand to be in the same room with you. Then put. A. Ring. On. It. You’re not gettin’ any younger. You need to…”
“Slam my shields into place and tell you to shut up because the portal Brynn opened for us is right up there.”
“Alright, I’ll be quiet…for now. But only because traveling by vortex gives me a migraine. I just don’t understand why we couldn’t fly. What was your excuse again?”
“Shut. Up. Daig.”
Not waiting for his Dragon King to respond, Donovan slammed his mental shields in place, reinforced them with the Magic of his mother – Cilla, the Queen of the Adalia White Tigers – on his side, smiling when Daig did the same with their pure, white Dragon Magic on the other. Taking the last few steps to the portal, the Guardsman laughed out loud when the words,Be careful. Don’t have too much fun, and tell Jianna we all say, ‘Hey!’appeared in bright yellow letters smack dab in the middle of the glowing, swirling kaleidoscope of colors created by the one and only Brynn Marron-MacAllen.
“I sure will, and you tell that hubby of yours to keep the beer cold and a bottle of hundred-year-old Scotch ready for me,”he chuckled before stepping into the thick curtain of blessed Magic.
Time stood utterly still all around as it raced and sped just out of his reach. Van was suddenly an entity all to himself. He felt like the tiniest star floating in the huge cosmos with the whole damned universe spinning around him as he watched the menagerie of unimaginable sights and breathtaking colors dancing to a tune all their own from a protective bubble in the very center.
A single bolt of bright silver lightning, the hiss of air expelling into the atmosphere, and just like that, he was stepping out of the portal and into the most glorious paddock he'd ever seen. Rays of the setting sun shining through the tall, thick trunks of the giant redwood trees made the perfect backdrop for the petals of pink, blue, and lavender.
Nature had never been Donovan’s thing. He was much happier in an air-conditioned office, or his loft in the barn he’d converted into his very own showplace on the farthest edge of the MacAllen Ranch.
Sure, he loved football. Not a man, woman, or child born in the great state of Texas could resist watching their favorite team or throwing around the pigskin on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Riding one of the many horses the MacAllens had was always good for whatever ailed the soul. Fresh air made him feel alive in ways nothing else could.
But it only works in small doses…
Moving out to the desert had never been the plan. He’d even politely refused every time Ranger, Owen, and all the brothers ganged up and ask him when he was going to give up all the high rises and crime and live the easy life.
Then the weirdest thing happened. He spent several nights by Ranger’s bed, praying for his longtime friend to wake up after a horrific accident.
Walking the fields to pass the time when Barbara made him take a break, spending time with the horses, and just relaxing on the front porch as the hot, desert air took all his cares away, Donovan realized his friends were right. He did need to find a calmer, more isolated place to live. Somewhere he could leave the shit from work behind and regroup between cases.
The next day, he asked Owen to sell him the barn they weren’t using on the other side of Horseshoe Gulch. It took some convincing, but the older Dragon finally agreed to take Van’s money, and that was that.
“But I’ll always be a city boy at heart,” he chuckled, just as the pepper, anise, and mint of sweet basil combined with the heady aroma of jasmine and pink yarrow filled his senses.
Inhaling as deeply as he could, letting his eyes slide shut as the image of Lottie Maldese-Dalgaard danced through his mind, Van almost ended up flat on his ass as a roaring, “What the fuck are you doin’ here, Donovan Cross?” shattered his serene moment of revelry.
Spinning on his heels, his eyes locked with a very angry Lottie’s at exactly the same moment that Jianna unconvincingly chuckled, “Well, hell, I didn’t know y’all knew each other.”
