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  Published By: Taliesin Publishing, LLC, PO Box 155, Sanford, MI 48657

  www.taliesinpublishing.com

  Dragon Maid

  Copyright © 2014 by Ann Gimpel

  Digital Release: January 2014

  ISBN: 978-1-62916-032-0

  Cover Artist: James Caldwell

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Table Of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Dragon Maid by Ann Gimpel

  Dragon Lore Book II

  Jonathan Shea is a software engineer. When pressed, he admits to being a closet witch, but he’s always been a shade ambivalent about his magic—until a dragon shows up in Inverness, and then all bets are off. Along with others in his coven, Jonathan is both charmed and captivated by the creature fresh out of legend.

  Britta is a dragon shifter. Dragged from the Middle Ages by the Celtic gods, she and her dragon prepare for a battle to save Earth. The first human she lays eyes on in modern times is Jonathan. There’s something about him. She can’t quite pinpoint it, but he has way more magic than any witch she’s ever come across before. Aside from magic, Jonathan is drop dead gorgeous. For the first time ever, Britta questions the wisdom of remaining a maid.

  Surrounded by dragon shifters, Celtic gods, Selkies, and a heaping portion of magic, Jonathan comes into his own fast. Good thing, too, because fell creatures have targeted him, Britta, and the dragons. In the midst of chaos, he finds passion so poignant and love so heartbreakingly tender, it will change his life forever.

  Prologue

  Lachlan bent his head and kissed Maggie. She arched against him and opened her mouth. He tightened his hold on her. Maybe leaving her with her grandmother, even for the short time it would take him to do what he needed, wasn’t the best idea. He tangled his hands in the blonde hair streaming down her back.

  Someone tapped his shoulder. Mary Elma, Maggie’s grandmother—and the most powerful witch alive—cleared her throat. She didn’t say anything; she didn’t have to. They had a plan, and a damned good one, but he needed to do his part. He broke away from Maggie and gazed fondly at her. “Lassie. Open your eyes.”

  She did; her brilliant blue gaze twinkled with amusement. “If you’re going to let Gran push you around from the get-go, there’ll be no hope for us. I heard her too.” She shot a sidelong glance at Mary Elma. “I chose to ignore her.”

  “Tsk. No respect.” But Mary Elma was smiling. It was obvious she loved her granddaughter dearly, and was willing to overlook a lot.

  Lachlan laid a hand on Maggie’s cheek. “I willna be gone long. And ye do really need to work on your magic.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “I suppose a crash course is long overdue, especially given I had zero interest in anything witchy until I met you.”

  “What a gross understatement!” Mary Elma pursed her lips. “The enormous infusion of magic Mauvreen and I force fed you needs to be shaped and honed. You could actually do damage without more knowledge.”

  “Your gran speaks true.” Lachlan arranged a stray strand of hair behind Maggie’s ear. “I felt great power within you, even afore your gran and her witch associate, Mauvreen, added to it. Ye’re truly a force to be reckoned with now.” Lachlan brushed a knuckle over Maggie’s full lips and stepped away from her. He’d never leave if he couldn’t put some distance between himself and her body pressed against him.

  Maggie looked from him to Mary Elma. “What if the force to be reckoned with wants her brand new husband to stay awhile longer?”

  “Och, mo croi, I do love you. We’ve had such a wee bit of time together, ’tisn’t easy to leave you, even for a span of a few hours.”

  Mary Elma made shooing motions with her hands. “Never fear, dragon shifter, I’ll take good care of your bride.”

  “I know ye will. Kheladin and I will be back verra soon. I suppose he’s still in the yard with Mauvreen.”

  “That would be a solid deduction,” Mary Elma said wryly. “I’d never have guessed a dragon would be such a sucker for attention.”

  Lachlan bristled. “Kheladin is far from a pushover. He recognizes Mauvreen’s adulation as genuine. ’Twas a time when humans worshipped dragons and he misses it.”

  It was amazingly difficult to leave Maggie’s presence, but Lachlan forced himself to turn and walk out the door of Mauvreen’s charming, eighteenth-century cottage. It sat just outside Fort William in the midst of the Scottish Highlands. The other witch and Kheladin were chatting up a storm. Steam billowed from the copper-colored dragon’s nostrils, and he gestured with his forelegs when he talked. Mauvreen nodded enthusiastically, apparently agreeing with whatever pearls of wisdom Kheladin dispensed.

  She waved eagerly when she noticed Lachlan. He strode down her front steps and across the yard, which was shrouded in wardings and don’t look here spells. Kheladin blew steam at him. “I was wondering if we were ever going to leave,” the dragon said.

  “Yes,” Mauvreen seconded. “Here we were thinking maybe you’d changed your mind about visiting the Celts.”

  Lachlan shrugged. Truth be told, he was of two minds because he saw their trip as a fool’s errand. Nevertheless, he had to try to secure the Celtic gods’ assistance. The Morrigan, also known as the battle crow, was one of their own. By rights, they needed to be the ones to control her. Like all the Celts, she was immortal, which further complicated matters.

  Kheladin eyed him shrewdly. He and Lachlan were bond mates. Over the hundreds of years they’d been a pair, they’d gotten to know one another eerily well. “We must do this thing,” he rumbled and belched a gout of fire.

  “I know.”

  Kheladin hunkered until he could lay a taloned forefoot on Lachlan’s shoulder. “Rhukon and his dragon, Malik, nearly bested us—again. Connor and his dragon, Preki, aren’t as big a problem, but the Morrigan controls them too. If it weren’t enough that they ensorcelled us for over three hundred years, they just dragged us back to the fifteen hundreds to try to keep you away from Maggie.”

  Lachlan nodded tiredly. “I havena forgotten. If it wasna for you and your quick thinking, we’d still be stuck hundreds of years in the past.” Leaving the Morrigan free to spread chaos and poison.

  Kheladin twisted his long stalk of a neck and looked pointedly at the spot between his wings. Lachlan drew magic and vaulted into place.

  “Is the invitation to bring my coven to your cave still open?” Mauvreen asked,
hope shining from her amber eyes.

  “Of course. I’ll join you there once Lachlan and I return from the Isle of Skye.” The dragon spread his wings.

  “Thanks. See you soon.” Mauvreen winked. “We can finish our conversation then.”

  “Ye’ll have to remind me where we left off,” the dragon said.

  “Be glad to.” Mauvreen walked toward the house.

  “I’d love to fly with you,” Lachlan told the dragon, “but doona ye think we should use magic to travel?”

  “I miss the time we came from,” Kheladin grumbled.

  “Aye, I understand, yet we willna accomplish anything if some modern do-gooder sees us and tries to shoot us out of the sky.”

  Kheladin folded his wings. “I would kill them.”

  “And then we would be in even deeper trouble. We havena spent long in this era. ’Twould be wise for us to blend in as best we can.” Lachlan summoned a traveling spell, visualized the standing stone circle on the Isle of Skye, and took them there. He wasn’t certain he’d find any of the Celts, but the stones held a great deal of ancient power. If the Celts were elsewhere, perhaps one would notice him waiting and deign to come.

  He cast invisibility about himself and his dragon. No point in scaring the hell out of tourists who might be visiting the standing stones. He had ways of getting rid of them, but he had to be closer to accomplish it. He smelled the salt air before he saw the sacred circle.

  Deserted.

  Lady luck was with him. He glanced at a clear blue sky and visualized a thundercloud or two. A few drops pattered down, settling into a steady downpour. Nothing like a little rain to discourage stray visitors. Kheladin dug into the sand, jaws parted in his approximation of a grin. Lachlan jumped down, using magic to soften his landing. The dragon was large enough, falling from his back would be like tumbling off a six foot precipice. Lachlan settled in to wait.

  “’Tis good to see you happy.” Kheladin nudged him with his snout.

  “Aye. Maggie is everything my dreams were made of.” Lachlan twisted so he looked Kheladin in the eye. “She makes up for having to live in the midst of concrete, asphalt, toxic water, and poisoned air.”

  The dragon snorted steam. “She said she’d be willing to come back to the fifteen or sixteen hundreds with us, at least for part of the time.”

  “Aye, that she did.” Lachlan leaned against Kheladin’s warm scales and lapsed into thought. Maggie was his destiny. Their pairing had been foretold eons ago and held enough magic to save the world from the Morrigan and her henchmen, which was why Rhukon had tried so hard to corral both him and Maggie, and keep them apart. He’d even gone so far as to separate Maggie from the dream world.

  The pull of destiny had been impossible to deny, though. Lachlan had found Maggie. Or she’d found him. That they were together infuriated the Morrigan. She’d upped the ante and escalated from an annoyance to an outright menace. Even though Mary Elma had cautioned him the Celtic gods were unlikely to help, something Lachlan already knew, both of them saw today’s journey as necessary.

  Light leached from the long, summer’s day. Lachlan was getting ready to tell Kheladin it was high time they left. If the Celts knew he stood in their sacred circle, they apparently weren’t going to acknowledge him. He could force the issue by calling for them directly, but didn’t wish to anger them. The air shimmered off to one side. Lachlan blinked. When his vision cleared, Ceridwen, Gwydion, and Arawn stood in a semicircle, glowering.

  Ceridwen, goddess of the world, crossed her arms over her chest. Long black hair, shot with silver, cascaded down her robed body. “We know what ye want,” she said.

  “Aye.” Gwydion, master enchanter and warrior magician, blew out a tired sounding sigh. Blond hair wafted about him, dampening quickly from the rain. He jabbed a richly carved wooden staff into the ground for emphasis. “’Tisn’t as if ye havena asked afore.”

  Lachlan focused his gaze on Arawn, god of the dead. Today his midnight-dark hair was unbound and his dark eyes solemn. “Ye must figure this problem out on your own,” the god of the underworld said.

  Ceridwen shook her head. Lightning flashed next to her, so Lachlan understood she was furious. “We almost dinna come.”

  “Aye,” Arawn said, “the reason ye waited for hours is because we argued about it.”

  “’Twas only my fondness for you that prevailed,” Gwydion muttered. “Doona push me, dragon shifter. I wouldna like to think ye’d take advantage of my good nature.”

  “But I havena even opened my mouth as yet,” Lachlan protested.

  “Ye doona have to,” Ceridwen snapped. “We see what is within your mind.”

  Kheladin got to his feet and turned to face the gods. “The Morrigan is one of you,” he said flatly. “When a dragon misbehaves, we address it amongst ourselves. We doona foist the task off onto another race.”

  Lachlan winced. Kheladin’s words were true, but he was afraid they’d make things worse.

  “Hmph.” Gwydion pounded his staff into the ground again. “’Tisn’t as if the Morrigan has done anything worse than her usual.”

  Arawn nodded agreement. “If anything, she may have been a wee bit better here of late.”

  “Only because there are no wars to feed her blood lust,” Ceridwen growled. “Not big ones, anyway.” She walked to Lachlan and thumped him in the chest with an index finger. “Rhukon and Connor are dragon shifter mages—just like you. Malik and Preki are dragons—just like Kheladin. We,” she spread her arms to encompass Arawn and Gwydion, “have discussed this thoroughly. We see them as your problem.”

  Lachlan opened his mouth to protest, to tell them the Morrigan made Rhukon, Connor, and their dragons a much bigger problem than they’d be without her magic powering theirs. Kheladin spoke deep within his mind. “Doona argue.”

  Ceridwen waited. She glanced from Lachlan to Kheladin and back. “Much better,” she said and shoved sodden hair behind her shoulders. “Now, we’ll hear no more of this.”

  Gwydion trotted to Lachlan’s side and clapped him on the back. “There’s a good lad. Come visit when ye doona want something.” His broad-shouldered form took on an insubstantial air. Moments later, the Celtic gods were gone.

  “There’s a good lad?” Lachlan snarled. He pounded a fist into the nearest stone and yelped.

  Kheladin blasted fire toward the skies, a sure sign he was seriously displeased. “The only way this could have gone worse,” he growled, “would have been if they’d challenged us to a battle.”

  Lachlan knew better. He walked to the dragon’s side. “Nay,” he said. “Had they been truly bent on harming us, they’d have dissolved our bond.”

  Chapter One

  A few hours later

  Kheladin sat back on his haunches, his multi-chambered dragon heart bursting with delight. He breathed a gout of steam; it drifted lazily upward. Crossing his forelegs over the copper scales cascading down his chest, he opened his jaws in a toothy grin.

  The dragon gazed about his cave located deep beneath Inverness. It teemed with witches. This was the first time he’d entertained anyone except Lachlan or the Celtic gods, and his human bond mate scarcely counted because, until very recently, they’d been stuck shuttling between Lachlan’s human body and his dragon one.

  Kheladin’s grin broadened. It had been a stroke of fortune when he’d stumbled onto an arcane spell that allowed them to separate. Though he and Lachlan were still magically linked, they were no longer jammed into a single body. The freedom of his thoughts, without constant commentary from Lachlan, felt like a gift from the gods.

  One of the witches, Mauvreen, pushed her wild mop of red curls out of her face. Hair hung around her like a gown, falling to her waist. She was dressed in dark-colored breeks, much like a man would wear, and a fuzzy-looking green top with a black vest over it. Eyes the color of aged whiskey beamed at him. She swept her arms wide. “Thanks for inviting us. Everyone’s fascinated, simply fascinated, with you and your gold and gems, and we
ll, just everything. Your storytelling’s been great too.” She walked a few steps from him and sank onto the floor of his cave amongst a group of witches. “Oh yes.” She looked back over a shoulder. “We’re all here. You wanted me to let you know.”

  “Thank you.” Kheladin secured his wards, grateful nothing wicked had tried to sneak in along with the group of witches.

  He didn’t count well. It wasn’t a dragon gift, but at least thirty witches spread out on the sandy floor of his cave. Maybe even forty or fifty. They’d been dribbling in for the past couple of hours. Mage lights bobbed everywhere. What surprised him most was the number of male witches in the group. He’d always assumed most witches were women.

  More steam, mingled with smoke, streamed from his open mouth. Kheladin assumed a lot of things, but many of them were no longer true. He shook himself from shoulders to tail tip. His scales rattled, filling the air with discordant chiming. What a shock it had been to waken in the early years of the twenty-first century after being ensorcelled with Lachlan for over three hundred years. The world had changed, and not for the better, while they’d slumbered. He thought about the crowded streets of the city above them and grimaced. Inverness had been a far more habitable place in the sixteen hundreds.

  He crooked a talon at Mauvreen. She pushed up from her place on the floor and strode to him. “And what does my dragon desire?”

  Fire joined smoke and steam, shooting high into the dark air above him. “I am not your dragon.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t be so touchy. I know you’re bonded to Lachlan. It was just an endearment…sweetie. Speaking of Lachlan, will he be along soon?”

  “I left him at your house in Fort William with Maggie and her grandmother. They will show up when they choose.”

  “Could you pin it down a bit closer? I’m anxious to confer with Mary Elma.”

  “I’m not your servant to be ordered about.” The dragon’s whirling eyes spun faster in annoyance. What in the nine hells had happened to respect for ancient creatures? It was one aspect of modern life he didn’t appreciate. He started to chastise her further, but swallowed the words. Not much point. Instead, he asked, “How many of your fellows are here?”