Dance of the Dracon (Paranormal/Romantic suspense)

By Valle Bower

Hymnia, the muse of glorious praise, in an unusual display of arrogance is thrust through time to medieval Scotland. She encounters Dacien Lugh MacEthnenn the Laird of Castle Lugh, a rogue dragon who seems anything but god-like. She uncovers the mystery of the disappearing women of his castle but loses her heart to the very person she suspects of doing the killing, in THE DANCE OF THE DRACON.

Dance of the Dracon was originally part of The Song of the Muses Anthology. Be sure to look up these authors as many have re-published their contribution to the original anthology. ~Hywela Lyn ~R.G. Porter ~Alisha Paige ~Skhye Moncrief ~Michele Hart ~ Masha Holl ~Reece Herring ~Sky Purington.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Valle Bower
• Release date: Jan 2, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466082168

Valle Bower

Born in Traverse City, Michigan, situated between the lovely East and West Bays leading to Old Mission Peninsula, she now resides in the Appalachian Mountains of Boone, North Carolina, near the Blue Ridge Parkway. Most days, you can find her at her laptop, in a little cabin atop a mountain with her husband, Louis, two sons, and a few pets! And when she isn’t writing, go around back and check the garden...she should be there. The Grandfather Mountain Highland Games is a playground for her writing imagination, as is the picturesque beauty of northern Michigan. Mystery and suspense, love and romance along with courageous heroes and heroines. Share her world for a spell...magic isn’t optional...it’s a guarantee.

Book preview

DANCE OF THE DRACON

Dance of the Dracon

VALLE BOWER

Smashwords Edition | Copyright by Valle Bower

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www.vallebower.com

All rights reserved.

Copyright © by Valle Bower

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photographing, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, to other books or to real events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Published by: LJE Publishing

PROLOGUE

In the days of old, throughout the green grass of Ireland, of the cliff drops to craggy shores and on to the Mediterranean Sea, to the foot of mount Helicon, the Bards still retell the legends that love would bind the flower crown of pensiveness with the magus of the dragon. Furthermore, they regal the lesser gods and goddesses with the adventures and heartbreak of all nine muse begot of Zeus and Mnemosyne, the goddess of memory, whether in Greek dialect or Scottish brogue.

And happy is the lost soul whom the Muse show favor for storytelling flows speech from his mouth. Although a soul has seen sorrow and grief in his many-troubled life, in dread because his heart feels distress, yet, when a singer, the bard of the Muse, chants the glorious deeds of men of old and retells of the adventurous gods who inhabit the highlands of Scotland, at once one forgets his heaviness and remembers not his sorrows at all for the gifts of the muse soon turn him to the light…and to love.

Chapter 1

The darkness, a normal occurrence in the confines of the castle, was a haven he sought. Grateful, he felt fingers massaging the muscles of his knee but didn’t acknowledge the presence attached to the fingers. Dacien Lugh MacEthnenn took a long pull from the goblet that was placed on the table before him.

He tilted his head back, and sighed, feeling the release of tension from the strain of too long a horse ride that day. Near dozing, he started awake when the soothing fingers explored further than the surrounding knee. They had crept up his thigh, circling, searching.

His callused hand clamped down on her fragile wrist, and she squeaked her surprise at finding him still awake. Enough. ‘Tis grateful I am, lass. Not this time.

She stood, and he heard her sniff in annoyance, but then left him to his silence.

He sat in the near darkness, but for the glow of the fading embers of the fireplace. The long, lonely dining table stretched before him.

He lifted the goblet again, and drained it. He swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. A large sigh escaped and his shoulder drooped. The muscles in his leg still throbbed, but he wouldn’t call her back.

He rubbed between his eyes, trying to ease the pounding in his head. A rustle beside him told him another had come in to refill his goblet. Through lowered eyelids, he watched the delicate hand pour the dark liquid. She handed the goblet to him and leaned closer; her fingers caressed him, suggestively. Her skirt brushed his leg.

He tilted his head and dark brooding eyes racked over her curvaceous body. You wish to leave the castle?

She shook her head, Nay. Lord. Her voice lowered, Please, no.

She leaned closer still, and her thigh brushed his arm. He hissed at the contact, but she didn’t back away. You will leave me in peace, wench, less you do in fact wish to be found a new residence. His voiced deepened, Your choice.

My lord, she whispered as her finders trailed up his arm to rest on his shoulder.

His eyes glowed at the contact, but she failed to heed the warning signs.

I can ease your discomfort. She reached her hand down to run across the front of his open shirt, and then slipped inside, scratching nails across his skin.

He stopped her hand. She knelt before him. He sighed. Your name?

Shalanna, lord. She leaned into him, pressed her breasts against his arm. The material drew tight, almost spilling out for him to view. I can see to your needs.

Pour me more drink. We will talk.

She stood, but pouted as she reached for the pitcher.

Shalanna, you are the one with needs, and . . .

Aye. She interrupted him, and began to lift her skirts.

Wait. It will not be me to meet your desires. I will begin a search and find you a protector. He will attend to you. He lifted his cup and motioned her away.

She waited.

Begone, before my good will turns to lost patience.

She sniffed, but he still refused look at her. She gathered the empty pitcher and left the room in a huff. It was always this way. He breathed a sigh of relief. A woman’s body kept away the encroaching shadows within so fleeting. It wasn’t worth the complications that followed, or the repercussions.

Unconsciously, he reached for the amulet at his neck, which contained a tiny scrying shard of glass. Unaware, he caressed it back and forth across his lower lip. With a flick of his other hand, the fire in the grate came to life, but it didn’t dispel the darkness spreading across his soul.

He closed his eyes and drew deep within himself, as he attempted to calm the beast within. His hand still grasped the amulet around his throat. The fire and the furnishings in the room no longer noticed.

He could no longer go on like this. He had no wish to have the responsibility for the protection of his territory. His abilities served no purpose any longer-no change noticed, for his efforts. The morals that still existed had slowly eroded down to gray choices between good and evil. Any more, he wished for destruction, of their village and their beliefs, wrong that they were.

He waited but the silence mocked him. He bowed his head and made a vow to the High God--the one higher than Zeus.

He would accomplish this one last deed for their drunken brawl called Octoberfest, and then would expect to move on. No longer would he be their protector. He was filled with the awareness of a higher acceptance.

He became heedful of his surroundings again, reached for the goblet, and drained it. He felt the stirrings of unease settle in his belly. That was far too easy.

#

Gardening was something she enjoyed doing, no matter the time or the place. So, when Polyhymnia heard footsteps approach, she tamped down her irritation at being interrupted. She looked up, but then smiled, Ahhh, Verda, it’s been so long since you visited. How is Mikhail?

She saw the grin leave her friends face. He’s no longer important in my life. But, Hymnia, I’m so glad to see you-let’s talk of something else.

Hymnia stood to embrace her friend, but a look of horror crossed Verda’s face, stopping her.

Hymnia, look. . . dirt. On you. Your fingers. Your sleeves.

Hymnia put a somewhat dirty finger to her lips, tilted her head, and then laughed. Some things never changed, and Verda’s penchant for cleanliness was a constant.

And although Verda wasn’t a muse, she was near-immortal, and one of Hymnia’s closest friends. She didn’t know if Verda had powers or god-like abilities, it never seemed to matter with their friendship. They just enjoyed being with each other.

Hymnia softly blew a song to her friend,

"Song from the Muse,

Trust your desires to adventure.

Lost, but soon found,

Love will find you."

Verda blinked several times, and then she smiled.

Hymnia returned the smile, So, tell me what’s new on Olympus. She was glad her song brought some comfort to her friend.

Oh, this and that. The usual. I guess, I should tell you right away about the latest that’s being whispered about you.

Me? No one there cares what I’m doing, I’m sure. This time Hymnia’s finger came to her mouth, but it wasn’t in jest.

Hera says she'd rather you put your talents toward joining the other muses and celebrate the autumn festival. She wants you to sing of Zeus’ greatness; about the marvelous deeds of the Greek heroes, of the origin of the stars, the earth, and all its wonderful creatures-you know the customary.

Hymnia pensively looked at Verda, who still looked like she was afraid of getting dirt on her skirt, and very much out of place in the flowerbed. She leaned down and laid the dirty spade shovel in the mulch. All the while she was thinking of how to best answer Verda. The more she thought, the more the frown deepened on her forehead.

Hymnia sighed. Hera is always meddling where she should not. Her voice, normally soothing and husky sounded abrasive even to her own ears.

I think she wants you to find a cause that will benefit the world, and do it in her name-or at least for your father, Zeus.

She needs to leave me alone and go about finding another of his lovers. That normally keeps her out of our way, or keeping up with Aphrodite’s latest hero, should do it. Her sharp words echoed between the two women. Hymnia stuck