Dragon Seeker, Part Three Read online

  “You’re torturing me again,” he told her. “I think my hard-on just got a hard-on.”

  Trix laughed. “I’m sorry. Tell your delicious erection that I’ll be with him shortly. or more accurately longly. In the meantime, answer my question, Dragon man.”

  “I’m just a baby. Sixty-eight,” he told her, another low, rumbling hint of laughter emerging from his chest.

  “Ummm…” said Trix, looking at him sideways, “you call yourself a baby, but clearly you’re some sort of dodgy cradle robber, given that I’m in my twenties.” She silenced her mind for a moment, mulling over a private thought.

  “What’s happening in that head of yours?” Lyre asked. “Are you worried about how ancient and decrepit I am?”

  “Not in the least. It’s just…you’re a bit of a puzzle. You always have been, to me at least. I feel like I’ll learn little morsels about you every day for the rest of my life. But there’s a part of me that thinks it’d be a shame to find out everything.”

  “You’ll never know everything about me. I’m a mystery wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in a scone with clotted cream and raspberry jam, occasionally wrapped in Dragon scale.”

  “That sounds oddly appetizing,” Trix shot his way. “Well, now I know something more about you. But I mean it; I do like you to have some secrets. Makes you seem all mysterious and brooding.”

  Another rich, warm laugh emerged from Lyre’s chest. Trix loved hearing his almost-voice on the rare occasions when it made its way to her ears. Self-consciousness kept him silent most of the time, but if he knew just how much she adored hearing him, he might find a way to let go more often.

  “I’ll never keep secrets from you, my sweet Beatrix,” he assured her, his voice returning to its place within the confines of her head. “Nor will I share every single thought I have, at least for your sake.”

  “Well, I’ll do the same for you, then. Besides, you’d disown me if you knew what went on in my head most of the time.”

  “Oh? Such as…?”

  “Such as how many times a minute I think about sex with you. There’s a constant stream of fantasies of the blue-eyed, broad-shouldered, hard-abbed, sexiest man I’ve ever met going on in here that you don’t want to hear about, trust me.”

  Lyre threw her a mischievous look. “I beg to differ. However often you may think of sex, I don’t imagine that you’d top my record of contemplating your naked body at least six hundred times over the course of every ten seconds.”

  “All right, you win, ya great horndog. Still, maybe those are the sorts of thoughts we ought to keep to ourselves on occasion. We could at least pretend to be dignified and not constantly consumed by carnal desire. Otherwise I’d have to tell you about my latest fantasy involving my mouth and your…”

  Lyre let out a prolonged moan, his grasp on her hand tightening as though he were fighting off a painful urge. His face turned towards hers, eyebrows meeting in mock rage. “Woman, stop this talk, or my erection is going to burst through my jeans like the Incredible bloody Hulk. Tell me later, when I’m able to fulfill your desires without getting arrested for publicly fucking an incredibly sexy, perfect-breasted redhead.”

  “If I must,” Trix surrendered, laughing out loud again, “back to business, then. So, speaking of long, hard things that excite me, I can’t wait to see the legendary tower up close. It must be quite beautiful. Not only that, but I…” She paused before proceeding, the humour finally deserting her words. “I’m quite certain that we’re close to the Relic. I don’t know how to explain it, but I can feel it in my bones. In my blood, if that’s even possible.”

  “It’s most definitely possible,” his internal voice told her. “You have the power of a Seeker now. You’ve inherited all but a few of a Dragon shifter’s skills, and much more. Your instincts have altered in ways that I’m sure you haven’t yet imagined. I suspect that you’d even be a match for our greatest enemies.” He stopped and pivoted, pulling her to him in a powerful embrace. His hand cupped the back of her head, pressing her to his chest protectively. “But let’s just hope you aren’t put to the test any time soon. I don’t want a single hair on this beautiful head to be hurt.”

  “Good. That makes two of us.”

  The Local

  When they began to walk again, Lyre kept a muscular arm around Trix’s shoulders and steered her in the direction of the town’s core. She held onto his waist, comforted by his closeness and his body’s persistent warmth. Nothing, she thought, could go wrong so long as he was wrapped around her. He was a shield against every ill in the world, including worry and fear.

  They wandered like that for some time, unhurried and peaceful, looking more or less like a pair of contented tourists out for an evening stroll. Well, except for the fact that one of them was massive, broad-chested, devastatingly handsome, and carried with him the intoxicating scent of a Dragon shifter. The other, though a good deal smaller, was no less threatening, given the very sharp sword tucked into its sheath, which was currently slung over one shoulder.

  When they’d made their way to a narrow road that seemed to lead directly towards the town’s centre, Trix spotted a figure moving their way.

  “There’s someone who doesn’t look like a tourist,” she conveyed silently, briefly turning her head to look for Lyre’s reaction. “Maybe he’s just the person to ask about the Tower.”

  “Well, yeah. He looks about a thousand years old,” Lyre replied. “He probably built the damned thing.” It was true; the man’s hunched form made him look as though he might be as ancient as the hill under the Tor. With the help of a cane that was nearly as crooked as he was, he hobbled slowly down the street towards them. His wrinkled face was coated in a layer of soft-looking white scruff, his eyes leering at the pair suspiciously as they approached. But in spite of his apparent hostility, Trix halted before him, eager to speak to anyone who looked like he might be well acquainted with the area—and who didn’t smell like an enemy.

  “Pardon me,” she said, “but we were wondering—do you happen to live around here?”

  “Who wants to know, then?” the man grunted out, eyeing Lyre’s massive form from head to toe and back again. Trix could feel her mate shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. His Dragon seemed nervous inside him, as though he sensed imminent danger.

  “I want to know,” Trix replied. “That is, my…erm…husband and I do. We’re looking for a nice place to stay the night, you see.” She threw Lyre a quick wink, knowing that he’d probably picked up her use of the H-word.

  “Hmmph,” the old man grunted. “Well, there are plenty of inns, and now that summer’s passed, there aren’t too many tourists staying in town, so there ought to be some rooms available. You could try the Arthurian, over on Chalice Hill…” he lifted his cane to point in the direction he’d come from.

  “Chalice Hill?” asked Trix, confused. The hill was behind them now. “Isn’t that the name of…?”

  “It’s the name o’ th’ street, as well as what some call the ‘ill,” the man said, jutting his chin in the direction of the Tor. “Called Chalice because that’s where the Holy Grail was, they say, for many years.”

  “Of course,” Trix said, reaching for Lyre’s hand and squeezing to contain her excitement at the talk of Arthurian legends. “We’ll look for the street, then. And tell me, what should we look at while we’re in Glastonbury?”

  “Well, there’s the Tor, of course,” the man said, “Everyone goes to the Tor. Some people like to visit the Well at the base of the ‘ill, though don’t ask me why. You’ll see where it is as you wander, if you keep walkin’ down this way.”

  “The…Well?”

  “The Chalice Well.” The man was growing either excited or impatient; it was hard to tell if he was enjoying sharing the information or if he just wanted her to stop asking her sodding questions.

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what that is,” said Trix. No one had ever mentioned a well.

  The man leaned in cl
ose to her face, his eyes shifting about as though to be sure no one was listening in on their conversation. “It’s a dark place. Its water comes from deep under the earth, and runs red. Some say it’s tainted by the blood of the Cursed.” The man straightened up a little and began to speak louder, a warning coating his words. “They say there’s a portal on the grounds to the Underworld, that leads to the place where spirits walk. But I say folk oughtter stay far away from there. I say the well is corrupted. Some of the tourist folk come in and fill bottles with the red water to take home with ‘em. The old ones say the blasted stuff’s got healin’ properties. Bah. Poison, that’s what it is. Blood runs through the well’s water, taken from the victims of the…” He stopped abruptly, grinding his jaw, his eyes staring blankly into the distance. “Just stay away,” he reiterated. “You seem like decent folk. It isn’t a holy place, that.”

  “I see,” Trix said, a cold shiver running down her spine. All this talk of stolen blood and magic brought back the grim memory of the Forsaken in London who’d sunk his teeth into a young child in front of her eyes. She’d never seen such a cruel being in her life as that man.

  The man’s eyes narrowed in warning. “Get to the inn, both of ye, where it’s safe, and enjoy yourselves. Then go back to yer home and don’t come this way again.”

  “I…Okay, then. Thank you so much for the information,” Trix replied, trying to keep her voice steady as she issued a quick, nervous smile. “I think we will look for it. The Arthurian Inn, was it?”

  “That’s the one. And yer welcome, I suppose,” the man said, before striking the ground with his walking stick and darting off far faster than his legs looked as though they could move.

  “Well, that was odd,” Trix said out loud, turning to Lyre, who read the words on her lips, nodding in response. No doubt he’d picked up the entire conversation. “I’d like to go find the inn that he mentioned. It sounds promising,” Trix added in her best attempt to return to normal chatter and to ignore the strange feeling that was now gnawing at her gut.

  Lyre nodded again, but it was some time before his reply finally came to her mind. Slowly, as though he’d been considering his words carefully, he said, “We must keep an eye out.”

  “For what?” she asked as she fixed her gaze straight ahead, trying to shake off the mounting fear that had begun to consume her.

  “I don’t quite know how to explain it, but my Dragon was on edge the whole time the old man spoke. The fellow was terrified of something. At first I thought it was us, or perhaps just me. But there was something that he didn’t want to talk about. Something he’d seen.”

  “You really think there’s a threat here, in Glastonbury?” Trix asked him silently, grateful that her words couldn’t be picked up by anyone’s ears. “Someone we wouldn’t want to run into? Somehow, I thought all the Forsaken might have made their way to London.”

  “I wish I could answer that, but I just don’t know…” Lyre said, but he cut the thought off abruptly. Perhaps he could feel her mounting anxiety. He stroked a gentle finger along her neck. “For now, let’s just get to the inn where we can have supper, then I intend to play with your naked body for hours on end. I want to make the most of this night.”

  “Right, yes. Me too,” said Trix, swallowing hard. It was disconcerting to see Lyre acting jittery. The massive man never seemed afraid of anything, and yet something was eating away at him, just as it was doing to her. An invisible force was moving in on them, engulfing their minds in a tapestry of dark thoughts.

  After a minute’s walk along the edge of an old stone wall, they came upon a sign that read “Chalice Well and Gardens.” Next to it was a large gate, secured by a thick chain and padlock.

  “The grounds are closed for the night,” Trix breathed out loud, more relieved than she cared to admit. “Too bad. I suppose it might have been useful to take a look.”

  Lyre pointed to another, smaller sign that read,

  “Hours: 10 a.m. to 6 p.m.”

  “Well,” Trix replied. “We’ll have to come by tomorrow, I suppose…”

  Taking her by the hand, Lyre fixed his stare ahead and silently replied, “I’m afraid we need to head up to the tower earlier than ten in the morning. I think we’d be wise to set off at dawn, before we’re seen.”

  “Before we’re seen,” Trix mouthed as a series of shivers made its way along her flesh.

  She was no coward, but something in those words terrified her.

  The Arthurian Inn

  After a time they came to a fork in the road, their two options leading them straight ahead or off to the right. The sign pointing to the right said “Chalice Hill Road” so they turned wordlessly to head down the pleasant street, which was lined with old buildings and the cheerful faces of parents and children, romping along without a care in the world. All of which managed to reassure Trix, at least a little. She sniffed the air, her keen sense of smell picking up nothing but the scents of baking, fresh air, and exhaust from passing cars. If there were enemies about, they weren’t in the immediate vicinity, at least.

  So far, so good.

  Some of the buildings’ façades were segmented by the wooden beams and white stucco of Tudor architecture; others of more modern brick or stone. Shops greeted their eyes with names like, “Man, Myth and Magik”, “Excalibur’s Sword Emporium”, and “Guinevere’s Teas” and a few were painted bright red, green or blue. The town, it seemed, was designed to attract tourists in search of Arthurian novelties and interesting sights.

  Before long, they came upon an old stone building that looked oddly out of place among its slightly more modern neighbours. It was as though someone had ripped the wall out of a gothic cathedral and shoved it between two brick houses, hoping no one would notice. Its arched windows were divided into a series of glass diamonds by diagonal lines of black lead, their panes warped by age. On the painted wooden sign hanging above the front door was a knight astride a horse, and the carved words “The Arthurian.”

  “This is the place,” Trix said, turning Lyre’s way to meet his eyes. “Shall we head in?”

  Instead of replying, Lyre put an arm around her waist and squeezed a yes, leaning in to plant a delicate kiss on her forehead. He opened the door and held it to let Trix walk in ahead of him. As she did so, she glanced about the dark surroundings at what seemed more like an ancient pub than the lobby of an inn. Well, it was definitely her kind of place. Warm, cozy, quiet.

  And no evidence of enemies.

  A sign on their way in told them that the establishment dated back to the thirteenth century, and Trix believed it. The walls were adorned with carved wood paneling and rich wallpaper, the dark floor mostly coated in a dark layer of worn-down, ornamental carpet. To one side of the room was a tall, broad fireplace that looked as though it had been carved by some ancient stone mason hundreds of years ago, its roaring fire radiating heat throughout the space.

  On the wall opposite the door hung a coat of arms and a series of paintings depicting scenes from Arthurian legends, not to mention weaponry that looked even more ancient than the legends themselves. Among the pieces was a greatsword that looked like it would almost be too heavy, even for a man of Lyre’s astounding strength to lift. A series of daggers with ornate handles hung on the wall next to it. Their simple beauty reminded Trix of her own Dragon bone throwing stars, some of which were concealed under her jacket.

  “Seat yourselves anywhere you like, loves,” a short, rosy-cheeked woman told them, her eyes barely looking their way for a second as she tended to a family enjoying their dinner. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

  Trix recognized a Scottish lilt in the woman’s words. Another comforting sign. She glanced towards Lyre, who gestured to her as though he were raising a glass to his lips.

  “Are you suggesting a drink? Then the answer is hell, yes,” she replied. “You know I’d never turn down a tasty beverage, particularly one with alcohol in it.” And particularly not now.

  They steppe
d over to a table in a far corner, where they could both observe the room and peer out of the pub’s arched front windows to size up any passersby. As soon as they’d made themselves comfortable, the hostess headed over to greet them properly.

  But the moment her eyes fixed on Lyre, the apple-red of the woman’s rosy cheeks intensified five times over. There it is, thought Trix. The deep blush of a human female when confronted by a gorgeous Dragon shifter. She smiled to herself, recalling how it had felt to see Lyre in the flesh for the first time. It was still how she felt every time she looked at him. Bewitched by his exquisite beauty, his sexy strength. His everything.

  “Now then, I…well, that is…what can I help you with?” the woman managed to blurt out after a brief moment of shifter-induced paralysis.

  “You’re from Scotland,” Trix said, happy to be reminded of the land that she considered a second home.

  “I am, at that,” the woman said, beaming with pride. “Elsie MacDonald, born and bred in a wee village near Glasgow. I’m the innkeeper here. I’m only waiting tables because one of our young ones called in sick. And you, lass? Your accent tells me you once lived in the Edinburgh area, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “You’re not mistaken at all,” the Hunter laughed. Something about the innkeeper reminded her of her boss, Bertie. Nosy and friendly, both of them. “Haven’t lived there for a long time, but yes, that area was home once.”

  “So what brings ye here, then?” Elsie’s eyes kept shifting back to Lyre, as though they simply couldn’t help themselves. An admiring smile had crept onto her lips, and stayed there as she spoke.

  “Well, we need a room for the night, first and foremost,” Trix told her, amused at Elsie’s lack of control over her gaze, which was drawn to Lyre’s face as though he had a powerful magnet taped onto his forehead.