Dragon Child

By LJ DeLeon

A fire-breathing dragon, Moira O'Neal, was exchanged at birth for a Fae princess. Discovering the truth, she escapes the cage of the royal court and joins forces with the sexiest wereleopard on Earthworld. She fights the urge to mate and the trap that comes with it as they race against time to find the missing princess and a master of the black arts who covets her power.

Major Steve Taylor, a wereleopard in the Army For Light, partners with the impetuous Moira in the middle a dangerous mission where failure means all their deaths. Worse, his leopard decides Moira is his mate, leaving the man at war with his cat.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dark Hallows Publishing
• Release date: Mar 23, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452481388

LJ DeLeon

LJ DeLeon is an Army brat and a world-traveled former CIA Intelligence Analyst who has seen enough of this world to appreciate other worlds. Working for the CIA was great training for writing fantasy, paranormal, and futuristic romance--and understanding the warrior mentality. Amazing how real life and fiction overlap.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

July 30, Otherworld:

Spying had become a bad habit.

But it was the only way she ever learned the truth in this palace of secrets.

Over the past three months, her mother had frequently cloistered herself in her vision room. After each session, trembling and with swollen, reddened eyes, she refused to meet Moira’s gaze. What secret made the queen so desperate she turned to confiding in an outsider she’d met only a few days ago?

Moira settled herself in the corner, shielded by a cabinet. Alarm skittered along her nerve-endings like a bolt of lightning sparking its way through her body.

Never one to ignore a warning, she inched forward, preparing to make her escape. The door opened and Ma entered followed by Major Steve Taylor, a wereleopard visiting from Earth.

Moira shivered at the sight of the tall, lean, hard-muscled warrior’s unflinching moss-green stare. His scent of laurel and crisp mountain air mixed with a hint of musk wafted over her, exciting every nerve ending. It drew her, enveloped her, melted her where she sat. Good thing she’d never gotten this close to him at her brother and Deva’s wedding. She inhaled again. Goddess help her, she would have fallen at his feet and made a fool of herself.

Moira gnawed on her lower lip. What was it about this hard, closed-off Were? What made her look twice at him when no other male triggered her interest?

A second later, a guard in the hall pulled the door shut, sealing them inside.

Moira eased back into her corner and prayed she escaped discovery. They couldn’t see her, but she could observe and hear everything from her location.

Major, I trust everything I say will remain in this room.

You have my word, your majesty. Within limits.

Limits?

I’ll do nothing to betray my oath to the Cáidh Arm or her mate.

Moira bit back a snort. A Fae-human half-breed as the Goddess’ Holy Weapon, who would have thought it? She bit her lower lip and reminded herself the Goddess had spoken and it wasn’t her place to question.

I would never ask you to deceive Deva. Her mother clasped Steve’s hand. But if Padraig discovers I knew and kept silent, he might turn against me—all my children may.

Her mother’s heartbreak and sense of hopelessness ripped through Moira. Her burgeoning empathic power, a new skill she had disclosed to no one and had covertly viewed as an asset, was now a crippling liability. She was frozen, unable to think or move. Her mother’s pain overwhelmed all thought, leaving only a roiling sea of fear in its wake. What could her mother have known that was so terrible she feared her children couldn’t forgive her?

Have more faith in him. In all your children, Queen Graciela, Steve said with the firmness of someone used to command. He placed a finger to his lips and scanned the room. His eyes phased to those of a leopard, fitting seamlessly into his human face—unblinking, soft grass green with a narrowed black iris. His mouth opened slightly, his tongue pressed against his teeth, as if tasting the air. His head made small abrupt movements, taking in the room.

Moira’s eyes widened at his mouthed, We aren’t alone.

She swallowed hard as he turned and prowled toward her. Damn his wereleopard nose. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed to the Goddess with every cell in her being she were invisible.

Goose bumps broke out all over her body. The air in front of her stilled. Nothing moved. Only his scent touched her.

He’d found her.

She opened her eyes and stared into his. Her chest constricted with dread. He stood, fully alert, feet planted directly in front of her. If he had been in cat form, she suspected his ears would tip forward to catch the slightest breath. Whiskers would twitch, testing for any change in the air.

Panic rose. She quickly tamped it down. A Tuatha de Danaan princess did not crumple in a crisis. Her gaze narrowed at his quizzical expression and she braced herself for exposure. He was playing with her. Making her believe he didn’t see her.

Yet, he showed no recognition of her presence as he frowned and his forehead furrowed. It was as if he doubted his senses. As if he didn’t see her.

Bewildered, she looked down at her hands and studied them. She turned them palm up then down. She was here. She could see herself, so why couldn’t he?

Maybe he wasn’t playing.

Over the past six months, she had been changing. First in small ways, now larger, unexpected abilities had emerged. Her sense of smell rivaled a werewolf’s. At night, she would swear she saw the dew beads form. Until fifty years ago, she loved being a court lady. Now she stared out at the warriors practice field with unfulfilled longing. She had the strangest urge to fly, not as a D’ Danaan, but as something flying loops and figure eights. What kind of creature, she didn’t know, except it was massive; dwarfing anything she’d ever seen, and she craved to be it.

She inhaled and a shudder rippled through her. That blasted leopard and his wonderful scent! It tickled her, filling her senses, and she knew she’d never be free because it would haunt her. Stifling a sigh, she focused on him. His hard green eyes gleamed with intelligence and frustration as he searched her alcove then shook his head.

Sucking a wayward curl that always slipped into her mouth, Moira watched him stalked back to Ma.

I’d swear I smelled someone here. It’s a scent I’ve encountered before, but only since I’ve been in Otherworld. He glanced about the room, again. Confusion and frustration clearly marked his expression. Must’ve been my imagination.

Moira smelled his placating lie. He knew better. If she wanted to avoid detection, she needed to steer clear of him over the next two weeks during his stay in Aoibhinn Tir nan Og.

Come, Major, we have much to discuss and little time. The Cáidh Arm will soon demand your presence.

Moira held her breath, waiting to learn her mother’s secret yet fearing what she’d hear.

Ashen-faced, the queen turned toward the window with tears in her eyes. Since Moira’s birth, I have had dreams. Visions. Nightmares. Shoulders shaking, she wrapped her arms around her waist. Moira opens her mouth. Flames shoot out, burning off a man’s face. I have also seen another child, now a woman, who bears a family resemblance that cannot be denied.

And Moira, with her brown eyes and copper hair, obviously doesn’t.

Her mother spun and faced the major, fury etched in every line and feature of her face. You are correct, Major. A traitor exchanged Moira for my daughter right after her birth. I sensed the difference immediately. Her energy felt different.

Moira clutched her stomach. Her lungs and throat spasmed closed. Who was she? Where did she belong?

He took a couple of steps back from her mother. If this missing woman’s your daughter, who’s Moira?

Hands fisted, mouth tight, Moira glared at the queen through watery eyes. Yes, who am I, Mother?

The daughter of my heart, the queen said in a soft voice, one weighted with years of pain.

So that’s what she meant all these years.

Is she D’ Danaan?

No, Major, she is not. But only I have recognized the subtle differences.

I wouldn’t be so sure. All your children, including Moira, strike me as very astute.

Anger, rage, a refusal to believe what she’d just heard filled Moira. She wanted to demand the Goddess force her mother to recant. She was too Queen Graciela’s daughter. But Graciela’s anguished emotions and the confident affirmation in Steve’s voice told the truth.

She, Moira, did not belong in the lineage of the O’Neill’s, the royal family of Aoibhinn Tir nan Og. Her mouth opened as if to scream her denial, but only a soft puff of searing, hot air escaped.

Yet deep down, in the place she’d never admit existed, she’d always wondered why in a sea of blue and gray-eyed tow-heads she had red hair and brown eyes.

In my vision, my stolen daughter was abused. Her torment resulted in the birth of twins. Daughters...my granddaughters. She was finally rescued, but not by me. Her gaze met the major’s. I’ve never known where she was, except it wasn’t Earth.

Her mother’s breathing was rapid and shallow. She stood wringing her hands, and seemed to fumble for the words to continue. Three months ago, I had the first vision of my daughter in over a hundred years. She has learned the truth of her birth and that her twins live and although over a hundred, they are unlike the Fae. They are immortals. Her new knowledge lashes at me. She has left her hiding place and is now on Earth.

The queen’s hands covered her heart. These visions will not leave me alone. I have not slept a night through because of them.

Moira took in Steve’s rigid stance. He looked as if he were standing at attention. His hesitancy in approaching the weeping queen sent a ripple of unease through her.

Moira understood. Her own helplessness was overwhelming. Everything in her cried out to comfort the queen as she had after Da died. Yet rage and denial at what she’d learned warred within her. With a few words, her world had just been destroyed.

Why have you told me and not sought council from your advisors? he asked.

This must not be known by any within my Kingdom. It will create...problems. Problems we do not need when fighting a war with the Dark Lord. Her voice dropped to a whisper, I refuse to have Moira hurt. The Fae may reject her; they can be bigoted and very unforgiving. I love the daughter of my heart, Major. I will not allow her to be hurt or her joyful, trusting spirit crushed. At a hundred and fifteen, she’s still a youngster.

That’s an explanation of why you haven’t told anyone in Otherworld. But you still haven’t said what you expect of me.

I want you and those you trust to search Earth for my daughter and granddaughters.

Again, why us?

You know Earth. My people don’t. And as I said, Aoibhinn Tir nan Og must not learn of this until the three women are found.

And then what happens to Moira?

I hold her in my arms and we discover together what she is and where her birth mother is. But never doubt for one moment that Moira is anything other than my daughter.

Numb, Moira watched Steve rake fingers through his short honey-colored hair, pivot and pace to the window then back to the queen. And just how am I supposed to accomplish this?

The queen shrugged. My lost child’s scent and that of her daughters should be similar to my eldest daughter Rhianna, whom you met at the wedding.

There’s no way we can find these women by scent alone. Do you have any idea how large Earth is? Also, my team is Deva’s protection detail. We’re already splitting our forces because of a time-critical mission. I can’t and won’t accept another mission without telling Deva and she’ll tell her mate, your son, Padraig.

His gaze bore into her mother’s. This is the only way I’ll help you find these three women. Understand my duty is to the Cáidh Arm and saving Earth in our war against the Dark Lord.

Moira focused on the unyielding soldier, inhaling his scent, examining his emotions, checking for lies and finding only an honor-bound warrior.

You may tell my son and his wife. Finding my missing daughter and her twins is every bit as critical as this special mission of yours. They have untold power and will be important in this war. Should the Dark Lord or one of his allies capture them…

Moira sat in frozen silence as her mother’s words rained down on her like stone hammers. For years after Da died, she accompanied Ma to the vision room only to have her mother crumple to the floor weeping, stopping once Moira crawled onto her lap. Her mother would wrap her arms around Moira and while rocking her, croon, At least I have you, child of my heart.

All this time, she’d believed she was special because she was the child of Ma’s heart and could take away the sadness. She now knew nothing could have been further from the truth. Instead of being a comfort, she’d been a constant reminder of her mother’s loss.

Gradually, the oppressive quiet penetrated her stupor and Moira realized she was alone. Curling into a ball, she sobbed as she hadn’t since her father’s death.

An hour ago, she’d felt loved and protected.

Now she was adrift.

With a few words, life as she knew it had ceased.

* * *

Moira entered her bedroom, marched to her dressing table and stared at her reflection. Why hadn’t she seen it before? Red hair. Brown eyes. No one in the family looked like her. Not even ten millennia ago. Even Deva a half-breed had the Fae height and hair the color of a golden-red sunset. Talk about blind!

She shoved the stupid itinerant copper curl that always fell into her mouth behind her ear. All she wanted was to disappear.

Her eyes widened at the now empty mirror.

She looked down at her hands. They were there just like in the vision room.

She turned back to the mirror. Only the pale green plaster wall behind her was visible. It is true, he did not see me.

She was like the Cáidh Arm. She wasn’t Fae and could become invisible at will. As she stared at the empty mirror, her image wavered back into view.

Clearly, she needed more practice.

Between now and when she left for Earth—and she was going, she just didn’t know when or how yet—she would have master invisibility. Then she’d hunt for the queen’s missing daughter and granddaughters and return them safely to her mother. That was the only way she could free herself from the bonds of Otherworld and discover who she really was. What happened to her fulfilling her mission, where she went and what she did, was in the Goddess’ hands.

Sniffling, Moira grabbed a linen cloth and scrubbed all evidence of hurt from her face. She stared at her now-despised hair. It marked her as an outsider, not truly belonging.

As she studied herself, another blasted lock of red hair fell forward and into her mouth. This ends now. She couldn’t do anything about the color, but she could cure the annoying distraction of her hair.

She marched over to her desk, grabbed a pair of shears, and returned to the mirror. If I am not Fae, there is no reason to have long hair like them.

She grabbed a hank of hair and lopped off all but three fingers width. Eyes narrowed, she made her way around her head, hacking as she went. In some places, like the nape of her neck, she rested the scissors on her skin and cut.

Completing her declaration of adulthood and independence, she stared at her image. A few long, straggly pieces and curls of differing lengths stuck out from her head. Perhaps it had been a declaration of insanity. Then again, why not finish the job? Lips tightening into a thin line, she grasped those few long stands and sliced them off.

As they fell to the floor, she heard someone gasp behind her.

Moira Fiona O’Neill! What in the name of the Goddess have you done?

The scissors slipped from numb fingers to the floor. Turning from the mirror, Moira met her mother’s horrified expression. She had to be strong. At least she was over her temporary fit of rejecting Graciela as her mother. After all, the queen had raised her, loved her, given her the Light.

Yet still, in her heart, Moira feared she was not seen as one of them. It made me stand out as different.

And this does not? All females in Aoibhinn Tir nan Og have long hair.

Moira matched her mother’s gaze with one of tenacious determination. I want to be a warrior, not a court lady.

Even our warriors have longer hair than yours. Her mother glided forward and cupped Moira’s chin, lifting her head up, turning it from one side to the other.

Are you angry? Do you hate it? Moira almost winced at her weak, needy voice.

No. Just surprised. A twitch at the corners of the queen’s mouth blossomed into a beautiful smile. From your first steps you have been inquisitive and impulsive. Nothing you do could ever change how much I love you. Her mother tugged and pushed at the mass of short, uneven curls. Now, let us see if your cousin Lyrissa can fix this. It is not as if we can glue it back on, she said with a chuckle.

Moira blinked back tears. She and her best friend, Raielle, had been infants when they were placed in their foster mother’s arms. If Raielle could be happy, so could she. In the end, it didn’t matter that who she was might be a lie. Ma loved her and had suffered because of her.

Now, it was up to her to fix things.

She would find Ma’s birth daughter and granddaughters. In so doing, she would also search for her birth mother. Not that she would take Ma’s place, but because Moira needed to discover what had happened, learn about and understand her true nature, and not burn off that man’s face.

The gnawing inside her to strike out and fight grew with each hour. Soon she would not be able to contain it. All she could do was control it, master it.

She strolled to the window overlooking the warriors’ practice field then turned back to the queen. Ma, I was meant to be a warrior. Please, this time, let me try to become one. I can start with the fledglings and if I am a failure, I will not say another word. Please, Ma.

She watched her mother’s face for any sign she was weakening in her long-standing opposition to Moira’s drive to become a warrior. Maybe because of Deva, having the leader of the Army for Light as her son’s mate, this time would be different. As soon as she spotted a twinkle in Ma’s eyes, she knew she’d won.

Yes, but only with the fledglings. If you cannot handle it...not another word.

Discovering she was not a true princess, freed her from the strictures forced upon royalty. It gave her the courage to follow her destiny, wherever it led. Agreed.

Never again would she live caged by a lie.

* * *

Last month she started training with the new recruits. She had proven herself—first with the novices then journeymen of the D’ Danaan military. Today, she started her lessons with the battle-hardened warriors. She was right. She was a born warrior, not a princess.

She would show them all.

Moira grinned. She was finally wearing warrior leathers and boots. The day she had advanced from fledgling to intermediate, Ma arranged for Ansiel, Tailor to the Warriors, to make her a set. It only took four weeks to earn her first day with the veteran master warriors. That meant she was allowed to wear leathers.

She looked at the way the form-fitting leathers cupped her derriere. The leathers hugged her from shoulders to toes like a second skin. Nothing to catch on a doorknob, tree limb or be stepped on in a procession. Her hands slid down her legs, stroking the soft, supple leather that caressed her skin like water, reminding her of when she went swimming naked in the warm sea.

Slowly pivoting, she faced the mirror again and sighed in happiness. For once her small breasts didn’t look underdeveloped in her clothing. She looked like the warrior she was, from her tawny leather vest and pants to the matching soft-soled boots that came up to her knees.

She sniffed and smelled nothing. The lack of odor made them perfect for a scouting mission. She lifted her arms and sniffed beneath—even there, not a hint of smell. It seemed the leathers actually hid her natural scent, shielding her from detection by even the most sensitive noses, like the demon Alu and Raksashas. And that curious wereleopard.

She hoped.

Facing front, she ran her fingers through her short, cropped hair. It curled, barely, surrounding her face in soft waves. She looked like a giant pixie. Who knew, maybe she was one. At least the length was perfect for fighting. It stayed out of her eyes and could not be used against her.

Head high, she left her room. As she strode toward the training fields, she wondered if before this war was over, all D’ Danaan would be wearing leathers.

An hour later, she stood grinning at the scowling, dirt-covered seasoned warriors. She had dropped them like flies. Compensating for her lack of height, she grabbed them from behind by their waist-long swinging queues, jerked their heads back, and pulled them howling to the ground, holding her short, practice sword to their throats.

Her gaze rose from her latest victim to Collin, leader of the Tuatha de Danaan warriors. As he strode through his troops, the men parted like the sea receding.

Playtime is over, princess. You’ve done adequately. He turned to the men. Stop treating her like a porcelain doll. She wants to be a warrior. He turned back to her. Now, the real lessons begin. I promise...you will live through it.

Moira swallowed hard at the sight of his steely gray eyes boring into her. What do you mean, live through it? If I hadn’t been gentle, none of these warriors would have survived my attacks. She suppressed a wince at Collin’s roar of laughter.

Oh, little girl, you have much to learn about war. Still grinning down at her, Collin said, Let it begin.

They faced off in a large circle of warriors. Moira didn’t trust Collin’s smirk. This old warrior was up to something, and it didn’t bode well for her. He had at least nine hundred years on her.

She grasped her short sword in her right hand as they circled. Do you really fight like this in battle?

In alleys and forests. This is called one-on-one, my sweet.

I know that, she huffed. Now, all she had to do was survive. That required taking Collin down—hard, fast. She could do it. She had the advantage. Her five foot four inches gave her a better center of gravity than Collin’s six and a half feet. Now, all she had to do was use it against him.

She needed to stay inside his reach, like a bothersome gnat. If she stayed close, his long arms became a disadvantage.

They continued to feint. No matter what she did, he blocked every move. He lunged at her. With her right foot, she kicked out to the side connecting with his knee. He stumbled. Using his off-balance momentum, she charged behind him, grabbed his queue and jerked his head back.

Before her sword touched his throat, Collin’s knife sliced through his hair. A nanosecond later, she hit the ground with a thud, his braid in her hand, her breath whooshing from her. Before she could move, he’d immobilized her sword arm with his knee, his blade at her throat.

Listen well, little girl. I could have kept my braid and taken your liver...or heart. All that was required was a backward thrust of my sword.

He removed the knife from her neck. With a twist of his wrist, the blade faced backwards, and he jabbed as if she were still behind him.

Moira stared. He was right. She might have slit his neck, but Collin would have killed her at the same time. Too bad she couldn’t disclose her invisibility. It would raise questions none of them could answer. No, that crafty, old warrior would still have jabbed backwards and gotten her.

He stood and pulled her to her feet. I sacrificed my warrior’s braid to teach you a valuable lesson. Unless you are so quick your enemy can’t respond or you have truly immobilized him, you are open to counterattack. As long as your enemy has a knife, a sword, or a fighting dagger in his hand, you are unprotected, vulnerable. Should it be a demon with claws, you will always be at risk. Our advantage, Moira, is from the air. Try again, this time flying.

Momentary panic filled Moira. Then she settled. Like all the D’ Danaan, when she flew she turned invisible to all but her fellow airborne Fae. She wondered if she was a chameleon, becoming whatever the people around her were. If so, that explained why no one other than Ma knew or suspected she wasn’t one of them.

Iridescent wings slid out hidden vents in the back of her vest and unfurled, arching high over her head with feathers brushing the ground. Her thirty-foot wingspan rivaled that of any warrior, including Padraig and Collin. No, hers were at least five feet wider. Strangely, she knew her wings were small compared with those of the blurred winged creature she’d seen in her dreams.

Pride filled her as she took to the sky.

Remember to use your practice sword. I don’t need to lose any of my warriors’ heads. He took a mask from a warrior and placed it over his eyes. I will be the enemy who can’t see you.

The next thing she knew, Collin joined her. She grinned. There he was. They might be invisible to the enemy but not to each other. Except today, he was flying blind and she had him.

Within seconds she found herself face down in the grass.

He held his thin-as-gossamer mask in front of her.

You cheated.

"Never trust the enemy, not even your compatriots in training. You have much to learn yet, my princess. Even if I couldn’t see you, your beating wings gave your location away. Had I been a harpy, you’d be sliced and diced. Remember, once aloft, glide as much as possible. Mimic the eagle, the hawk, the falcon, not the hummingbird."

As he helped her up, Moira’s wings retracted. Head lowered, a tear tracked down her cheek. Shame at her arrogance and foolhardiness filled her. Collin and his troops had seen the truth. She wasn't a warrior. She could cost them all their lives in battle.

He tipped her bent head up. Their gazes met then he nodded to his men. As one, they grasped their daggers, reached behind their heads and severed their warrior braids.

* * *

Moira gnawed her lower lip. She had less than a week before the September First dedication ceremony on Earth. She had to get there, but how? Spotting her brothers Sean and Aidan ambling toward her, she grinned. Thanks be to the Goddess.

She struggled to hide her smile at their short hair. All the warriors now wore Earth military-style hair, her brothers, too. She wondered if Padraig had whacked off his braid yet.

She’d learned a lot about herself this past month, the signals she sent, her childish behavior. Instead of lacking abilities, she was evolving into more than she’d dreamed.

Well done, Pipsqueak. You’ve taught us all a valuable lesson, Aidan said, chucking her under the chin.

Moira met Sean’s gaze, his face a marble mask. From the day of Ma’s secret revelation that Da had been murdered and hadn’t died in a riding accident, all of Sean and Aidan’s laughter had disappeared. Aidan was chosen to hunt for Da’s killer. Sean, the spy master,