Spirit of Dragons

By Kathryn Loch

Houston police detective Mirranda Thompson has dedicated her life to helping others while searching for answers in the gruesome, unsolved murder of her parents when she was a child. On her thirtieth birthday, she receives a mysterious gift left behind by her late father and suddenly finds herself transported back in time to 1066, awakening on the very battlefield where William the Conqueror is staging his conquest of England. But there is another, secret battle being waged on the field this day...

Lathan Aro is king of The Kindred, a dwindling race that is all that remains of an ancient clan of dragon brethren. Together with his dragon spirit, he is fighting for his life to return to his people with a lost spell book of ancient dragon magic that could save them from extinction. But he is facing a powerful enemy who will stop at nothing to gain the book for his own race, the Draoi. When a beautiful woman literally falls from the sky into Lathan’s lap, she miraculously gives him the power to defeat his enemy and escape the battlefield with his life and his precious prize. But to his horror, she claims to be from a future where magic doesn't exist and where dragons are only myth. Does this mean his quest will fail, his people destined to die out and fade into oblivion?

Despite her shock and disbelief, Mirranda is drawn to the handsome warrior who claims that magic is real and that he communes with dragons. But she is even more shocked to discover that she has magic herself, and that she is able to wield it to ease the pain Lathan suffers from the illness that curses all members of his race. Determined to find answers and a path back to her own world, she accompanies Lathan on his journey to return the spell book to his people. But the Kindred’s enemies have not given up, and danger stalks them at every turn.

Mirranda soon finds herself the focus of the oracle that sent Lathan on his quest, but the Kindred are far from accepting of a woman not of their race. There are dark forces at work in this world, forces that target Mirranda. She has a choice: risk her life and her heart for Lathan on behalf of a people who do not trust her, or try to find her way home, where those who murdered her parents now stalk her. Torn between her desire to return to the future and her desire for Lathan, who awakens feelings she thought long dead, Mirranda must determine if she’s really in the wrong time and place, or if her time and place is at Lathan’s side no matter what danger she faces.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kathryn Loch
• Release date: Jan 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311276964

Kathryn Loch

Kathryn Loch is an award winning author and has been active in the publishing community since 1996. She has held offices such as president and treasurer in her local writer's guild. The guild hosts an annual writers conference bringing in respected NY editors, agents and published authors to educate, network, and inform. She published her first novel, Primal Entities: Chaos, a medieval fantasy romance, in 2001 and is now exploring the market with e-books. She was also fortunate to attend a monthly critique group for over a year with the late Rita Gallagher (co-founder of Romance Writers of America). Kathryn writes historical, contemporary suspense, paranormal romance and SF/Fantasy. She has teamed up with Historical Editorial owner, Jenny Quinlan, to assist with developmental and copy-editing for the past year and notes her writing has taken a huge leap forward! Kathryn's growing popularity as an indie romance author has resulted in reaching Amazon's Top Ten Author rankings in the romance genre several times during the past two years, and sales rankings are still climbing. If you would like to meet Kathryn in person, stop by her Facebook author page, blog (www.kathryn-loch.com), or website (www.kathrynloch.net) and watch for announcements of appearances and book signings. She is also available for speaking engagements and workshops.

Book preview

Copyright Notice

Copyright 1999-2014 Kathryn Loch

All Rights Reserved

This e book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Acknowledgements

The author would like to acknowledge the participation of:

Cover Image

Models: Period Images

www.periodimages.com

Dragon and Bridge Images: Dollar Photo Club

www.dollarphotoclub.com

Cover Design

Kathryn Loch

Dragonbourne Publishing

Editing Consultation

Jenny Quinlan

Historical Editorial

www.historicaleditorial.com

Dedication

To my reading and writing friends who share my passion

for history, myth, and fantasy . . . 

and of course, dragons.

Table of Contents

Spirit of Dragons

Copyright Notice

Acknowledgements

Dedication

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

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

 Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

 Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Coming Soon!

Author’s Note

Forward

I would like to take this opportunity to welcome readers to the second edition of Spirit of Dragons, Book I of The Dragon Wars series. My editor and I have scrutinized plot, story line, and character development. The story, at its foundation, is unchanged, but we worked together overhauling a few scenes here and there while paying special attention to the development of this world of dragons and magic, clarifying very important details. I am very thankful for her help with a line-by-line copyedit. I’m pleased that we were able to focus this time-travel to more completely fit within the fantasy/paranormal romance genre, so there are some brand new scenes as well.

As with many of my books, its foundation in history is quite solid, although in this case, it is the foundation in ancient mythos and popular legends that are at its heart. Developing a creative fictional story within those confines is never an easy task, but this novel encompasses the rarely used sources of fantasy role playing games while also drawing on traditional fantasy fiction that has become the bedrock of the genre as a whole. It is there that you will find my dedication to research that so many readers have praised in my historical romance novels.

The evolution of this work began in the mid-1990s, so while one may see many dragon titles available now, when I started writing this story, there was nothing on the shelves even close to all that this entails. It is one of the originals and is an award winning manuscript, receiving Best Fantasy in 1999 from a then senior editor with Random House, Steve Saffel. 

Even if you have read the first edition (which remains available) please consider obtaining this one as well. Readers won’t want to miss the improvements and brand new scenes.

No second edition would be complete without a re-formatted manuscript along with a brand new cover. This cover, thanks again to guidance from my editor, is now more appropriate for the genre and reflects many thematic elements in the story.

I believe readers will also be pleased to learn that the main reason for this overhaul and second edition release is that I am now writing the long-awaited and much-requested sequel, Rage of Dragons. Keep your eye out for more announcements.

Last, but certainly not least, remember one important fact: Magic abides by its own rules. Just when we are certain we have things figured out, something happens to prove us wrong.

I hope you enjoy this journey into this world of dragons and magic. Thank you and happy reading!

Kathryn Loch

Chapter One

Hastings, England

October 14, 1066 A.D.

Lathan Aro dropped to his hands and knees in the mud, agony coursing through his body. He sensed, rather than saw, the hunters encircle him. His heart slammed a violent staccato within his chest. The sorrow and agony of his cursed existence battered his mind and body, causing his limbs to tremble. He had pushed himself beyond his pain threshold and now suffered for his choice.

But thus was the fate of a man who shared his soul with a dragon.

Ice-cold wind cut through him as if it would peel his skin from his bones. He squeezed his eyes shut. If only he could find the strength for one last spell. The psychic barriers in his mind crumbled faster than he could rebuild them. The human mind was too fragile to know the awesome magic of the dragon. His sanity was beginning to snap like threads of poorly spun wool.

If only he could just let go, let his control crumble completely. The magic of the dragon would escape and destroy him and the hunters. He would not risk them finding his quest prize. He could not allow them to take him prisoner.

Lathan cursed himself for his weakness, for not having the courage to end it.

Why? Why did he continue to fight when all hope was lost?

He’s done, a voice barked. He can no longer cast.

Be careful! another said. If he loses his sanity, we’re all dead.

Where is the spellbinder? He will keep him controlled.

He and the others got caught on the other side of the battle. It will take time for them to work their way around.

Lathan had no choice, he had to find the strength for one last spell. He had to find the courage to end his miserable existence.

A shimmering wave of power caressed his skin, a current of magic as potent as the dragon’s, but it did not ignite his nerves into agonizing fire. This power seemed a balm to him, soft and gentle, healing in its caress.

Aro? Lathan gasped, his heart and mind reveling in the most magnificent sensation he had ever known. It surged in his blood and brought every nerve alive. He clung to the feeling, savoring the peace and comfort it offered. Could this be possible? Was this the kind of power he had sought for so long—hope renewed?

Aye, Lathan, the dragon whispered in his thoughts. ‘Tis elemental magic, but one I have never sensed before. This power is greater.

Did you feel that? the first hunter asked.

Aye. It’s close! We must find it. Kornth will be pleased if we can bring him two children of magic.

Despite the balm of power, Lathan could still do nothing, and alarm rose within him. Prax’s claws! Now another child of magic would die an agonizing death because of his inability to act.

Minutes later, Lathan heard a feminine gasp and looked up as a hunter dragged a woman forward and tossed her at Lathan. He managed to catch her before she tumbled face-first into the mud.

Her body contorted and she moaned in pain. Lathan quickly adjusted her in his arms. But the healing magic of his golden dragon told him instantly she was in trouble. Her muscles clenched uncontrollably and she was freezing cold.

Aro growled. She has void-sickness, dangerously so. The journey nearly killed her.

Lathan glanced at the hunters, but they remained in a loose circle around him, watching, waiting for the spellbinder. An icy drop of rain splashed against his cheek. Tiny patters sounded around him. He pulled his heavy fur cloak closer, trying to shield the girl from the rain.

She was beautiful—her face pale, surrounded with a long mane of rich auburn curls. She was tall and lithe, though she wore strange clothing.

Her cloak had the weight and heft of leather, but was made of a woven fabric he couldn’t identify. It had sleeves and there seemed to be something . . . odd bound to her side, a hard stick-like object, but he could not take the time to examine it and he had no desire to draw the attention of the hunters. She also wore unusual blue-colored leggings and a tunic of white silk.

Who was she? He sensed the magic she possessed. He blinked, only now realizing his pain had vanished. He no longer fought to maintain his psychic defenses. He had been so focused on the girl’s injuries he hadn’t noticed his own pain had faded.

I do not understand this, Aro, but I shall not question it.

Aye, Aro replied, the sky is burgeoning with rain. You should be able to tap into the Water Elemental quite easily.

Lathan kept his head low, a slow smile tugging at his lips, and quietly began to chant.

The clouds grew darker, churning with energy. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Lathan continued to chant, his voice barely a whisper. The rain intensified, his spell focused not on the water, but on the power the storm contained. It was illusive, unwilling to be harnessed; only the strongest dragons could control it.

Thunder rumbled again, moving inexorably closer.

Although he had to maintain intense concentration, a part of Lathan marveled over the fact he still felt no pain. The power of the spell was agonizing even in the best of situations. Like an intense fire, he could only move his hand so close before his flesh burned. Yet now it was as if he could thrust his hand deeply into the flames, mold the spell, shape it to his will, and suffer no ill effect.

Was the woman in his arms the reason?

Lightning flashed and thunder roared almost directly over their heads.

The hunters flinched, staring fearfully at the sky.

What the devil? one muttered.

Another spun. He’s casting!

Impossible! He was finished.

He’s casting! I see his lips moving. The Hunter drew his sword and stepped forward.

Lathan’s body coiled. He willed the lightning to obey him.

White fire arced from the sky and descended to earth. At the last instant, Lathan lifted the girl and threw himself sideways. The hunter raised his sword and the lightning naturally found it. It killed the hunter and arced outward, slaughtering three more.

Lathan gathered his feet under him and rose, still chanting the spell. The training of a lifetime allowed him to maintain his concentration no matter what he had to do physically.

The lightning struck again, killing two more hunters. The last dove into the mud, crawling on his belly, trying to escape. This was going to be more difficult. Lathan felt the sweat rolling down his face despite the cold air. Although he did not experience the pain of magic, the manipulation of power still took a great amount of energy from the caster. But he was certain he would have never found the level of focus he had achieved if it had not been for the gift of elemental magic he held in his arms. His vision tunneled as he focused solely on the remaining hunter.

It seemed as if the lightning protested Lathan’s continuing control. It fought him, forcing him to exert even more power. His body trembling with the effort, he continued to chant, the inflection of his voice the only indication of the increasing difficulty.

The lightning finally obeyed and again cut from the sky, leaving only a smoldering body in its wake.

Lathan dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. The magically created storm dissipated, returning to its previous form: thick clouds with large icy drops of rain pattering around him.

He stared down at the woman still sheltered in his cloak. With a shaking hand, he moved her hair away from her face. I know not who you are, but I thank you. Thank you for giving me the strength I so desperately needed.

He cringed as he touched her skin. She had not warmed at all. Her muscles continued to spasm uncontrollably.

So much pain, he whispered. Aro, is there anything we can do for her?

We can help with the spasms and pain but she needs warmth and shelter. I fear for her; her journey through the void was ill advised. I sense she knew nothing of what she was doing.

Lathan shivered as he called on his healing power, a power gifted only to the golden dragon.

But he pondered the dragon’s words. The Kindred used the void to travel, but they maintained a great respect for it. Ancient standing stones dotted the land, and through them, ley lines traveled, focusing the earth’s elemental energy. The crystals in his pouch allowed him to draw that energy and use it to travel to various destinations. But Lathan knew not to push the journey too far. To do so would mean death. The void tore at the physical body and assaulted the mind. To remain there too long was to risk the very essence of the being.

A golden glow surrounded his hand and he reached outward to the girl. Her shaking eased and she groaned softly. Her eyes fluttered open and she stared at him in fear.

Who . . . who are you?

Lathan nearly lost himself in her beautiful blue eyes, which so closely matched the roiling storm clouds hovering over them.

I am Lathan Aro, he said softly. Please do not fear me. You are injured. I mean only to help.

She blinked at him, as if struggling to grasp his words. Then her body clenched and convulsed and she moaned in agony.

The golden power fluttering around his hand increased, but there was little more he could do.

Lathan, the spellbinder and more hunters approach. We must get her to safety.

A shiver crawled down his spine as he lifted the girl in his arms. Although weary from spell casting, he marveled that he still felt no pain. He hurried away from the killing fields, cradling his precious burden close. He knew of only one place to take her. It was not far, but he prayed she would survive long enough for him to reach it.

L

Lathan cautiously approached a woodsman’s hut on the border of a thick copse of trees a short distance from the battlefield. It appeared as if it hadn’t been used in years, but the roof was still good and it remained dry. Lathan kicked the door open and found a reasonably clean area on the floor. He eased the girl down, bracing her against him as he struggled to free his bedroll from his pack.

She wasn’t truly unconscious, but she was incoherent. He eased her onto the bedroll and covered her with his cloak. Her spasms finally eased and he caressed her face, noting warmth was slowly returning to her skin, but not quickly enough to suit him.

In the corner, Lathan spotted an old brazier that appeared serviceable. Now for wood. He could use magic, it would be faster and easier, but he had pushed his magical abilities further today than ever before. He’d best not invite trouble. He rose and took two steps toward the brazier.

White-hot agony slammed into him, and within a heartbeat he came closer to losing his sanity than he’d ever thought possible. His knees buckled as he tried to repair the physic barriers in his mind, but he failed miserably. In desperation he flung himself toward the girl, managing to catch her hand.

The pain stopped.

Sucking in a ragged breath, he thanked the Ancient dragons for the respite. As his pulse steadied, he worked on repairing the barriers in his mind before he released the girl’s hand.

Not long ago, you were willing to destroy them entirely, Aro said smugly.

Things have changed, Lathan replied, the corners of his lips tugging upward.

The lass has done much for your attitude at least.

Dragon, as always, you test my patience. Drawing his courage, Lathan slowly released the girl’s hand and backed away. The pain returned, but as long as he moved slowly, it was manageable.

Absolutely intriguing, Aro murmured.

Do you know the reason for this?

Nay. She has great magic, of that I have no doubt, but the cause of this, how she can stop your pain—I have never encountered such a thing. Her heritage is Ilarian and she, like others of her race, possesses control of the Air Elemental, but there is more . . . so much more.

As Lathan moved away from her, the pain thudding between his temples increased, but he could control it at this level, the standard agony he had known every day of his life since bonding with Aro.

Lathan reached the brazier and righted it, moving it closer to the girl. Hurrying outside, he hoped he could find some dry tinder. To his surprise, there was some stacked against the north wall, just under the eve of the roof.

The sounds of battle drifted toward him and he scowled. Despite the pain, his senses reached outward. The battle was not going well for King Harold. From the banners they bore, Lathan knew the attackers were Norman invaders. They brought with them new weapons and tactics, including the warrior mounted on horseback.

Even though Harold holds the high ground, he will lose, Aro said.

Aye, Lathan replied. But the Kindred must remain neutral, as always. If mortal man knew the dragons existed, we would not survive a decade. ‘Tis bad enough the Draoi know and hunt us. Our numbers are too few, our population declines, since when one of us is lost to the Draoi, both the human and dragon souls are destroyed.

The curse claims too many. So many souls lost to insanity.

At least the dragons’ souls are not destroyed, they can wait in the place of rebirth.

Aro snorted. Wait? Wait for what? Once our human loses his sanity, a dragon cannot bond with another. We would send the child insane instantly.

Answers, Lathan said firmly. Our hope for the future and for the survival of the Kindred, which we will find. I vow it.

Lathan finished gathering the wood and returned to the hut. Placing the wood in the brazier, he allowed himself the luxury of magic and uttered a fire spell to ignite it.

A soft gasp sounded behind him.

The girl sat up on his bedroll, staring at him as if he had grown a second head.

You are awake, he said with a smile, but then frowned.

The girl’s face was still terribly pallid, her eyes wide. Her body quivered and she eyed the door. Lathan had the feeling she was measuring the distance to sprint through it.

Lass, as I said before, I mean you no harm.

How . . . how did you do that?

His scowl deepened. Do what?

Light the fire.

Magic, of course.

Chapter Two

Modern Day

Houston, Texas

Mirranda Thompson rubbed her eyes, but they refused to focus. She sighed and pushed the file away. She had been studying it for hours, but she couldn’t divine information when there was none.

Since graduating from college with a bachelor’s degree in police sciences, she had been working to solve the murder of her parents. But she sadly realized she was no closer to an answer now than she had been when she graduated eight years ago.

She stared at the massive stack of files, newspaper clippings, reports, and reference books on her table. All of this . . . it couldn’t be for nothing . . . could it?

When her parents died when Mirranda was nine, she knew little of what really happened. She had been too young to understand. But her father had left a will that planned her future completely. His law firm became her guardian, managing his wealth, and caretakers had managed her life.

In college, Mirranda had been determined to enter law enforcement. She succeeded, and graduated from both college and the police academy with the highest grades in her class. She signed on with the Houston P.D. and finally worked her way up to detective. But none of that helped her find the answers she needed.

When Mirranda’s obsessive work on her parents’ case resulted in her ignoring some very real and current cases, her captain warned her to drop her personal issues.

She didn’t . . . she couldn’t . . . and had taken a leave of absence from the department to get her head on straight. Mirranda liked being a cop well enough, but the cold case of her parents’ murders would not leave her alone. That was probably why she wasn’t truly happy with the profession. Mirranda didn’t worry about money. Her father had left her enough wealth that she would never have to work another day in her life.

Mirranda stood and stretched, joints popping. She had been sitting at the table too long. What she needed was a good workout—that always eased her melancholy.

She bounded upstairs, changed into her karate gi, and headed for the gym her parents had built in the backyard. Their house was a Victorian and her mother flatly refused to allow her husband to destroy its charm by adding something so modern on to it.

The gym was huge. The wall facing the house was adorned with photos of her father, also in a karate gi. She stopped at her favorite. It always brought a smile to her face. Her father stood proudly, next to him was a martial arts trophy standing almost half of his six feet three inches. The photos of her father were mostly of his karate tournaments, but there were also several of his military service. He looked so gallant in his Marine Corps uniform. Three photos were of him and his brother, Uncle Merick. The uncle she never knew; she had been too little to remember him.

All she could recall was her parents sorrow when they learned he had disappeared and was feared dead.

She sighed softly. She had also investigated her uncle’s disappearance but his case had even fewer leads than her parents’ murders. It was as if someone had been hunting her family. But if that was the case, why stop? Why was she alive and perfectly fine?

Her godfather, the lead partner in her father’s law firm, didn’t understand it either. All he had been able to tell her was that at times, her father seemed downright paranoid. After learning what had been in her father’s will, Mirranda could only agree. Why else would he demand his daughter be taught martial arts and how to handle weapons?

Fortunately for Mirranda, she enjoyed martial arts. It gave her a link to her father and she was good at it.

She walked around the weight machines and pulled out the pads, arranging them on the floor.

Mirranda glanced out at the pool. The back wall of the gym was all glass, allowing natural light to flow through. It was too chilly to swim. Fall had come a little early to Houston. A rare occurrence, but it did happen now and then.

Mirranda approached the MP3 player and cranked the music. She started her stretches then quickly moved in the form of her kata, each action crisp, clean, and perfect. After that, she took her father’s katana from its place of honor. He had commissioned it from a Japanese sword master; it was beautiful and perfectly balanced. But she always paused and gazed at the dragon etched on the blade. Like the sword, it too was perfect, but she always wondered why it looked more like a European dragon rather than an Asian. It was a gorgeous weapon, and even though it had been made for her father, Mirranda found it a perfect fit for her as well.

Two hours later she trudged up the stairs, carrying the katana with her since it needed cleaning. She was tired . . . but it was a good tired. At least she felt better, until her gaze fell on the calendar and the date refused to be ignored.

Happy freakin’ thirtieth birthday to me. Damn it! She had been trying all day not to think about that.

She sat on the edge of her bed and flung herself backward, listening to the soft sounds of the creaking old house.

No other voices reached her, no sound of any other living thing in the huge Victorian. She was completely and utterly alone. She didn’t even have a damn cat.

Mirranda growled in frustration. It was her own fault. She always held everyone at arm’s length, never allowing anyone into her life, especially men. The only people who knew her were Hanna and Mattie, her two best friends—and polar opposites.

She smiled to herself and rose from the bed, deciding to shower. After showering, Mirranda spontaneously decided on a nice pair of blue jeans and a pretty blouse. She was going to shock Hanna silly this evening.

Downstairs, Mirranda reached for the phone and nearly jumped out of her skin when it rang before she could touch it.

Okay, that’s weird. Then she saw Hanna’s number on the caller ID.

Hey, girl, she answered. I was just going to call you.

Happy birthday! Hanna said, laughing.

Mirranda couldn’t help but smile. She hated birthdays, but Hanna’s bubbly personality was contagious.

Thank you.

Okay—get out of that stinky karate outfit and change into something nice. Mattie and I are taking you out tonight.

Mirranda scowled. Okay . . . this was getting weird. Uh . . . Hanna?

No excuses this time. I don’t care how much you argue with me. You are going even if I have to haul you out by your ear.

Hanna—

No arguing with me, young lady!

Mirranda rolled her eyes. Hanna—

We’re going to be there at seven and so help me if you’re—

Hanna! she barked, laughing. I’m actually ready to go.

Silence.

Uh . . . hello? Mirranda asked, wondering if they had been cut off. Hello?

Oh, my God! I don’t believe it! Hanna nearly crowed with delight. You mean we’re not going to have to beat you in the head with a stick?

No . . . I need to get out of the house for a while.

Fantastic! I’ll see you in an hour. We’re going to have a wonderful time tonight, you’ll see.

One hour, I’ll be ready. Mirranda clicked off the phone.

She chuckled. She had no doubt Hanna and Mattie would have a great time flirting with fantastic-looking guys. Mirranda would sit at the table, nursing a beer all night, and growl at any guy who had the guts to ask her to dance.

And look where that’s gotten me. Maybe . . . just once . . . she might actually dance with a guy this time.

She put on her boots and looked at her Glock 23 Gen4 on the table. She never went anywhere without it. But if she wore her shoulder harness, she’d have to wear a jacket all night. Plus, firearms were frowned on in a bar.

What the hell? I might as well live dangerously tonight. She picked up her gun and took it upstairs to her safe. Grabbing her cell, she put it in her pocket then grabbed her wallet. She was never big on carrying a purse and definitely didn’t like carrying one in a bar.

Returning downstairs, the doorbell rang. Mirranda scowled, glancing at the clock. Way too early to be Hanna. Of course, she might have been so excited about Mirranda going willingly that she may have come over straightaway before Mirranda could change her mind.

Mirranda peered through the peephole and smiled. Her godfather with a package. Bless him. She opened the door, grinning broadly. Ernie, how are you?

Mirranda, my dear, he said stepping over the threshold and embracing her warmly. He was a foot shorter than she was, and very rotund. He pulled away, holding her at arm’s length.

You grow more beautiful every day.

I know, I know, she said, rolling her eyes. I look just like my mother.

Actually, I was going to say I can see so much of your father in you. A dashing young man he was, swept your mother off her feet with just a smile.

She continued to smile, but swallowed hard. Please come in, she said, her voice growing thick. She cleared her throat. Can I get you anything?

A beer, if you’ve got one.

Sure. Mirranda hurried to the kitchen while he made himself comfortable on the couch.

She returned and handed him a beer, sipping her own, and sitting next to him.

Ernie gripped her hand. How are you?

Mirranda’s smile vanished. Ernie knew her inside and out, it would do no good to lie to him. I’ve been better.

His gaze focused on the mountain of files on the table. Are you still . . . ?

Yeah, she said firmly.

Ernie sighed and patted her hand. I know it won’t do any good, but you know . . . some cases can’t be solved.

I know. But I have to solve this one, Ernie. I don’t have a choice.

I understand. He hesitated and handed her the wrapped package with a huge bow on it. Happy birthday.

You didn’t have to.

Of course I did. Actually, it’s from both of us.

Mirranda hesitated. Ernie’s wife, Jan, was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s. How is Jan?

Some days are better than others. He sighed heavily. It sucks getting old.

So he says on my birthday.

Go ahead, open it. Jan had a good day and picked out a present for you, and I found something I thought you would like as well.

Mirranda quickly opened the box and gasped, seeing a beautiful dragon figurine. Her gaze traveled to the huge curio cabinet in the corner. Before they died, her parents had avidly collected them. Mirranda added to the collection when she could, but the pieces they had found were so artful, rarely could she find one worthy of joining them. This one, however, was absolutely stunning. A golden dragon with burnished red scales roared at her, appearing as if he would fly from his crystal perch at any second.

It’s beautiful, thank you.

That’s what Jan found. Keep digging.

She obeyed, moving the tissue paper aside and was absolutely thrilled to discover a new shoulder harness for her Glock.

This is wonderful!

As you know, Jan likes the pretty things, I like the serviceable items.

And I will get a lot of use out of this.

He chuckled, but his smile disappeared too quickly and he took a long drink from his beer.

Ernie? she asked.

I have something else for you. But I don’t know if you will think of it as a gift.

What do you mean?

He pulled a large object from his coat. It was wrapped in a dark cloth and he handed it to her.

This has been in a safe-deposit box. Your father’s will commanded I give it to you on your thirtieth birthday, if you had not found the answers for yourself.

What is it? Evidence? she asked, taking the package, realizing that what appeared to be cloth was actually well-aged leather.

I don’t know, Mirranda. I didn’t look. I may be your godfather, but it is not my place.

Her lips lifted slightly and she reached over, squeezing his hand.

He rose and drained his beer. You know I am here for you. I want you to move past your parent’s deaths but . . .

She stared at the package she held. But how can I with stuff like this popping up?

And your father’s will. He dictated your future to us exactly.

Who has that kind of foresight?

I don’t know. I have never seen the like, in all my years of practice.

How much longer will my father speak from the grave?

I can tell you honestly, today is the last. There is nothing in his will instructing us after this date.

So, she said softly. He thought I would have either figured it out by now or I would be dead.

Dead? What are you talking about?

What father demands his child learn martial arts in his will, Ernie? That she have bodyguards growing up? He was terrified that whoever killed him would come after me. Why haven’t they?

Your father made many enemies in his profession.

She rolled her eyes. "Geez, Ernie, it’s not The Godfather. The death my parents suffered went beyond revenge. It was ritualistic."

Ernie fell silent for a long moment. He gripped her shoulder. Mirranda, I did not mean to upset you.

Her hand covered his. I’m okay, don’t worry.

He smiled. You going out tonight?

Yeah, Hanna and Mattie are insisting.

Good for them and good for you. You need to get out more. He hesitated, looking around the house. You don’t even have a damned cat.

Mirranda couldn’t help herself, she started laughing.

Ernie grinned and kissed her cheek. If you need anything . . . anything at all, he gestured toward the package she held. Call me.

I will, Ernie, thank you.

Happy birthday, dear. He kissed her cheek again and strode out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

Mirranda stared at the package in her hands, terrified to open it. Daddy, what have you done now?

Her gaze unwillingly traveled to one specific picture on the wall. Her father stood with her in his arms, a newborn baby. He smiled broadly, his eyes liquid with tears.

Daddy, why couldn’t I have known you? Why couldn’t we have been a family? I know you loved me, why did you have to leave me?

Tears blurred her eyes and she hastily brushed them away. She glanced over her shoulder at the beautiful dragons in the curio. Their forms so strong, so powerful, so dramatic, but in truth they were exactly like her at this moment. Tiny and very fragile.

The package, wrapped in its worn leather, had a huge lump in the middle of it. She drew in a deep breath, summoned her courage, and unwrapped it.

The lump turned out to be a small, dark pouch. Beneath it was a book. Mirranda scowled, setting the pouch aside for a moment. The book captivated her. It too was bound in worn leather, but unlike the fabric leather that wrapped her package, this was true leather binding.

On the cover, etched in faint gold, was a beautiful dragon. She blinked at it—it was exactly like the dragon etched on her katana. Mirranda opened the book and sighed. Latin. Of course, her father wouldn’t give her something easy. She wanted to cry, but laughed instead. Never easy, never any real answers, only more mystery. Daddy, I love you, but I still can’t figure out what you’re trying to tell me.

Mirranda jerked her attention from the book and glanced at the clock on the wall. More time had passed than she realized. Hanna would be here soon. She grabbed her oilskin duster. Rain was forecast for tonight and she loved the long jacket. Mirranda slung the katana’s strap over her shoulder and put the book in the pocket of her jacket. It was thick, but only about the size of her hand, so it fit nicely. She would put the katana away and clean it tomorrow. But she paused, staring at the small pouch. It appeared to have intricate runes drawn on it. Mirranda frowned and opened it.

A small crystal, about the size of a silver dollar, tumbled into her palm. It was clear, with milky-white lines running through it. She had never seen such a thing. A strange pressure grew in her chest, accompanied by a faint roaring in her ears.

She tipped the bag again and a second crystal fell into her palm, light blue, then a red crystal, and a yellow one. The pressure in her chest increased and so did the roaring. What were these crystals? Nothing in her research of her family heritage had ever revealed anything like this.

A black one appeared, almost obsidian. The last was dark blue, the color of the deepest ocean. A shadow passed over her vision and she thought the lights in the room might have flickered.

The colors were mesmerizing, beautiful, powerful, and seemed to glow with their own inner fire.

Suddenly, the colors exploded in a dance of light, blinding her, then, just as suddenly, blackness descended. Mirranda screamed as her comfortable home in Houston, Texas vanished. A void ripped at her body. Her lungs felt as if they would be pulled inside out. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t see, but she knew she was falling, and terror assailed her.

Chapter Three

"And now I’m here," Mirranda said softly. She shivered; the icy blackness had left bone-chilling cold in the core of her being. She couldn’t shake it despite the warm fire. Her mind struggled to comprehend her situation. Surely, she was hallucinating.

Lathan’s deep-green eyes stared at her in utter amazement.

How could this be happening? Mirranda didn’t remember Hanna arriving, but perhaps she had. Perhaps they went to the bar and someone had succeeded in spiking her drink. Was this well-favored man actually her captor and her brain was putting together this strange fantasy trying to make sense of a drug-induced haze?

May I see them? Lathan asked.

Excuse me?

Your crystals, may I see them?

Somehow, when she had slammed into the muddy ground, she had managed to shove them back into the pouch and into her jacket pocket before the first muscle spasms hit. Instinct told her she dare not lose them. Reluctantly, Mirranda handed the pouch to Lathan.

He gazed at it intently, seemingly more interested in the pouch than its contents. These are powerful earth runes.

Earth runes?

Aye. These particular runes are used to keep magic locked inside. Usually, only one or two are needed, but there are several here.

He opened the pouch and dumped the crystals into his palm. They were dark, but abruptly sparked and flared brightly.

White hot agony shot through her skull. Mirranda cried out in pain. The black void yawned before her, threatening to drag her into its depths. In her soul, she knew she was too weak to face it again. It would kill her.

Almighty Ancients, Lathan murmured.

The void disappeared and the world righted itself, leaving her head pounding and nausea clenching her gut. Mirranda blinked and focused her vision, realizing Lathan had returned the crystals to the pouch and now gripped her shoulder.

Are you well, lass?

She shook her head, not trusting her voice.

I have never witnessed the like. Now I understand the reason for those runes.

I don’t.

He did not move, his hazel eyes gazing at her intently. Wait a second? Hazel? She could have sworn he had green eyes.

Lathan moved enough to hand her a wineskin. She eyed it suspiciously for a moment, but then accepted it and drank . . . and nearly gagged. Dear God, white lightning had nothing on this stuff. This was turpentine mixed with gasoline.

Apologies, he said, smiling slightly. It tastes terrible, but it is quite effective against magic drain.

Magic drain? She had to admit, it warmed her gut, and surprisingly, cleared her head.

Lathan watched her for a moment, his eyes shifting from hazel to blue. She blinked in astonishment, wondering briefly if it was a trick of the firelight. But his eyes really did change color.

Lathan looked again at the pouch he held. These runes keep the magic of the crystals locked away. For some reason, they activate instantly around you.

Wait . . . how do you know this?

He sighed softly and paused, as if listening intently to something. But then he opened the pouch again. Mirranda flinched.

Nay, I will be cautious, worry not. The runes will keep the magic contained. I will only look at them one at a time.

Lathan picked through the pouch, withdrawing first the dark-blue crystal, then the red and then the yellow, nodding as if he expected them.

My people use these crystals as well. We journey to standing stones. There the ley lines of the earth intersect and the crystals tap into that energy so we may travel.

Standing stones? You mean like Stonehenge?

Aye. That is one of the largest and most well-known, but there are standing stones scattered throughout the land.

Mirranda struggled to sort through her memory. He was right. Although more common in Great Britain, standing stones dotted the land throughout Europe.

The dark blue, red, and yellow are the three primaries. Water, earth, and fire. He paused and pulled out the light-blue crystal. But this one we do not have. Air Elemental?

She lifted her hands helplessly. I have no idea.

It would make sense, you have the gift of the Air Elemental in great measure.

Mirranda frowned at him. What in the hell was he talking about?

Lathan withdrew the black crystal. This is the quest crystal; it assists us in combining the magic of the others so we may travel further. But it is granted only to one who is on a quest. He paused, frowning. Are you on a quest? Is that the reason why you were able to travel through time?

Lathan was taking this time-travel thing in stride. Mirranda still refused to believe it, but she had to admit his clothing seemed completely authentic. She saw no sign of machine stitching or modern cloth. Everything he wore was handmade.

For the first time, she allowed herself to examine him closely. He was a giant—standing at least six feet six—and he wore ancient leather armor.

A thick fur cloak, which fell to mid-calf, draped over his broad shoulders. He wore a sleeveless, studded armor vest, which revealed massive arms. Gold bands wrapped around giant biceps. Vambraces with decorative metal tooling protected his forearms. Heavy muscle corded his chest and a wide belt wrapped around a trim waist leading to lean hips. Thick leather breeches molded perfectly to his powerful thighs. Well-made boots, laced up the front, ascended to his knees with a dagger shoved into each one. Everything about him bespoke power.

Handsome failed to describe him. Lathan’s long, red-gold hair was pulled into a tubular gold clasp at the nape of his neck. His hair glowed a rich, burnished bronze even in the dull light of the fire, an errant strand brushing a sculpted cheekbone. He bore a strong, square jaw, slightly darkened with faint stubble. His aristocratic nose was straight, matching the strong features of his face. His lips were sensual and full. Eyebrows, slightly darker than his hair, arched perfectly over his well-shaped eyes. His lashes were thick, and dark, but the tips were kissed with the color of the sun.

Lathan glanced at her, abruptly aware of her scrutiny. His eyes shifted to a deep blue. What was up with that? How could his eyes change color? The corners of his lips tugged upward.

Mirranda looked away. Lathan may have been attractive, but she had to remind herself he could very well be responsible for her state. She became aware of her katana still at her side. If he was the cause of this, he should have taken it from her. Instead, he had left her in control of a weapon that could easily kill him.

Lathan returned his attention to her pouch and pulled out the last crystal. The white one. Mirranda flinched again as pain shot through her head. Lathan—

He quickly put it away. We do not have a white crystal. I have no idea what magic it represents. But you seem to be the most sensitive to it.

She rubbed her temples, the pain receding to a dull thud.

You need to rest, Mirranda. This place is safe for tonight, but those hunting us will not stop. We will need to move in the morning.

What? she asked in confusion.

"The men who captured you when you first arrived. They had captured me as well. They hunt children of magic and were going to kill both of us. Your arrival gave me the strength to defeat them.