IK3 (2 page)

ambulance and then to the girl. Should he mesmerize her into forgetting

what she had seen? But she would have to be conscious for that and gazing

into her huge, aquamarine eyes earlier had been nearly as intoxicating for

him as bloodlust—he hadn’t reacted that way to a woman since Queen

Guinevere. But then, she’d had that effect on more than one of Arthrur’s

knights. He gave himself a shake as he approached the mansion. Reliving

those days always meant trouble.

Maybe he could reach a bit into Miss Whitney’s mind to assure she slept.

Rest was what she needed right now. He had no more than rung the bell,

when Benton, Smith’s butler, opened the door. His eyes widened only

slightly before his stoic British training came into play. “Right this way, sir,”

he said and led the way to a small salon off the main hall. “I will inform Mr.

Smith that you have returned.”

If the situation hadn’t been so dire, Gavin would have smiled. A human lay

shredded and half-charred on the street and lights from a dozen squad cars

were flashing bright reds and blues through the foyer windows. Hordes of

uniforms milled about, not to mention the arrival of the media. The highly

excitable and eccentric Smith was probably having a case of the vapors

somewhere in the back of his house. And Benton was going to announce

Gavin as though this were a morning social call. Not that Gavin did

mornings, if he could help it. Even with the new meds, his eyes were super-

sensitive to light.

He had just laid Chloe on a sofa when Smith bustled in, his hands fluttering

theatrically. “Oh, my!” he said as he dabbed delicately at his forehead with a

linen handkerchief. “Such excitement for our quiet neighborhood! Is it true

that there is a—body—out there? On my street?” His eyes widened as he

noticed Chloe. “And who is she?”

Gavin straightened. “A reporter who fainted at the sight of the corpse. I

hope you do not mind I brought her to the house?”

“Of course not! But aren’t reporters used to accident scenes?”

“This was not an accident.” He gestured. “May we sit?”

“Certainly! My manners seem to be gone. It must be the excite—” He

stopped in mid-sentence. “What do you mean, it was not an accident? I

thought a late-night stroller had been struck by a car. This is a very safe

neighborhood…” His voice trailed off and he looked at Gavin anxiously.

“What happened?”

“What is left of a man out there was mauled by an extremely large animal

with very sharp claws and—” Gavin hesitated, glancing down to make sure

Miss Whitney still slept— “part of the body was burned, but nothing else

showed signs of fire.”

Mr Smith paled. His mouth opened and closed several times with no sound.

His hands wrung the linen square he was still holding. “There were some

dragon sightings a few weeks ago before Sophie and Michael disappeared.”

His voice was nearly inaudible. “Maybe it’s still here.”

Gavin moved to a chair nearer the desk where Mr. Smith had taken refuge.

He’d been hired by Smith to find Lucas Ramsey, his former partner, and a

woman named Sara Kincaid who’d disappeared several months ago while

searching for an ancient Celtic spear that Smith wanted to add to his

considerable collection. Since that time, Mr.Smith’s veterinarian, Sophie

Cameron, and her friend, Michael McCain, had also disappeared looking for

the sword that was part of the same group of artifacts, but Gavin had not

been aware of any dragons roaming around. It had been fifteen hundred

years—

“Tell me about them,” he said as casually as he could.

“Well,” Mr. Smith said, looking somewhat sheepish, “there were only two or

three sightings. At first, the media blamed poor Sophie for staging some sort

of hallogram to raise money for her clinic, but the scorch marks on her lawn

were real. Then the second time, the thing breathed fireballs at her

neighbors. I can just imagine how everyone felt—”

“What did this dragon look like?” Gavin interrupted before Smith could go

on. He’d already learned that the man loved to tell a good story, but this

was not the time.

Mr. Smith blinked. “Dear Sophie said it was red with gold-tipped scales.

Actually, it sounds quite pretty—”

Gavin quit listening. Pendragon? The protector of the ancient Briton Celts?

He had thought Pendragon returned to Avalon when Arthur died, but that

had been such a confused time, with accusations flying all about. He wasn’t

really sure of anything after that miserable battle of Camlann and then he’d

been turned and hadn’t seen daylight in several centuries.

“Has the dragon been seen recently?” Gavin asked, interrupting again.

“I don’t think so. Once Sophie disappeared…” He stopped, thinking. “But

then there were some other reports off the Florida Keys while Sophie and

Michael were over there.”

“Of the dragon?”

“Of a white one, I think.”

The hair at Gavin’s nape prickled. The white dragon had been the bane of

Brtion, brought by the Saxons. Sigurd was also Balor’s pet, which meant

these disappearances had something to do with the evil immortal who had

once been a god. He glanced over to Chloe again. Thankfully, she still had

not moved.

“Have you heard of a man named Adam Baylor?”

Mr. Smith nodded, seemingly not surprised at the change of subject. “Lucas

told me he owned a brokerage firm in London, but secretly was laundering

money to spread terrorism and support the drug trade. Both Lucas and

Michael told me he wants the same artifacts that I’m searching for.

Shameful that he would exploit such treasures for money to help criminals.

I’ve hired detectives to look into his resources, but to no avail.”

“You will not find anything. Interpol and Scotland Yard have both

investigated him. We know there are two sets of books, but the man is

clever and has layers of protection surrounding him. Most of his minions do

not even know for whom they work.” Gavin leaned forward. “But what is

important is that he is seeking the Celtic relics mentioned in the

manuscript.”

This time Mr. Smith did look surprised. “You know about the manuscript?”

“Lucas was the one who found it and we were partners.” Gavin wasn’t sure if

Smith was aware of the real worth of the relics he was seeking. “I did not

get a chance to read it though.”

‘Perfectly understandable since it was written in medieval Gaelic,” Mr. Smith

said. “Luckily, Mr. Ramsey was fluent in the language.”

So was he. Both of them had been alive in the Middle Ages. “What clues did

the manuscript provide?”

Mr. Smith sighed. “It’s rather complicated. Neither Mr. Ramsey nor Mr.

McCain thought the manuscript to be actually medieval.” When Gavin raised

his eyebrows in question, Mr. Smith hurried on. “Supposedly, the four

relics—the Spear, the Sword, the Platter, and the Chalice—were part of the

original treasure the Knights Templar dug up at Solomon’s Temple and took

back to Europe. When that horrid King Philippe began prosecuting them in

1307, some Templars managed to escape to Scotland with the treasure.”

Smith frowned as if trying to remember more.

Gavin strove to keep his face impassive. He remembered standing with

Lucas, watching while Jacques de Molay, their leader, burned at the stake.

Balor’s work, turning both a pope and the French king into murderers. Later,

Lucas had shifted to his wolf and destroyed two of Balor’s minions. “Go on,”

Gavin said.

“The treasure was under the guardianship of the Sinclairs at Rosslyn until

the Inquisition in 1590. According to Mr. Ramsey, it was then moved to Oak

Island in Nova Scotia. Have you ever heard of the Money Pit there?” Mr.

Smith asked, veering off the subject, “It’s quite interesting how many

different levels there were and how the water keeps filling—”

“Yes,” Gavin replied quickly. “There have been books written about it. What

was Lucas’ theory?”

Smith looked disappointed at not being able to tell the story, but he went

on. “After serious excavations began in the 1800’s, Lucas thought the

treasure was probably removed again and brought to the States and split

up.”

“That would make sense. What else?”

“Well, this is the intriguing part.” Mr. Smith’s voice dropped almost to a

whisper. “Supposedly, an elite branch of the Templars, the Priory of Sion—

just like in the DaVinci Code!—are still in existence today and wrote the

manuscript in code to provide clues where to look!” He winked

conspiratorially. “For those who have eyes to see.”

Gavin started. That phrase was Templar code, handed down to the Masons.

Did Smith actually know the real relevance of the relics? That they held the

power of the Celtic gods?

“Did the manuscript provide clues for all the relics?”

“No. Only the first one, the Spear. But then, Michael McCain provided the

second clue.”

The warlock. Lucas had asked Gavin to do research on him. Although they’d

never met, he was an immortal as well. “And how did that happen?”

Mr. Smith shrugged. “Michael was a friend of Sara’s. I was too upset over

Sara’s disappearance to ask how he got it.”

“Do you have the third clue?”

“No. And I’m not sure I want it anymore,” Mr. Smith said. “Four people have

disappeared. Who knows if they’ve been murdered? And if that horrible

Adam Baylor is involved, it might be better just to leave things be.”

“That is the one thing we can not do,” Gavin answered. “If any of those

relics fall into his hands, he will have the power to annihilate every human

being on Earth. Please do not think I am exaggerating either.”

“I don’t,” Chloe said from the sofa.

Only his many years as a warrior kept Gavin from jumping out of his skin.

Slowly, he turned to find her sitting up on the couch. “How long have you

been awake?”

She grinned at him, a dimple appearing in one cheek. “Long enough to know

you’re hunting treasure that some international criminal wants as well. Geez!

What a great story this will make!”

Gavin leveled a mesmerizing look at her, but for some reason it didn’t take.

She continued to look animated. “There will be no story, Miss Whitney.”

She stared at him. “Like hell. That’s my friend lying out in the street. My

reporter’s nose tells me it’s somehow tied in to this treasure thing.”

He stared back. Of course it was tied in, since Sigurd was Balor’s pet, but

how in the world would she know that? He gave her a penetrating look,

meant to erase what she had just heard, but she remained unfazed. How

very strange.

Chloe stood up, raising her arms above her head to stretch, which also

opened her fatigue jacket to show nicely rounded breasts jutting against her

clingy tee-shirt. Did she have any idea of how enticing that was? She strode

toward him now, her eyes never leaving his gaze. Another oddity. Most

humans could not tolerate a vampire’s stare for more than a few seconds.

She stopped just inches away from him, close enough that he could breathe

in the scent of her spicy cologne.

“I’m on this. Don’t even think of trying to shake me.”

Gavin opened his mouth to respond and his enhanced senses gave him a

whiff of her woman scent. His shaft engorged. Abruptly, he snapped his

mouth closed before his fangs showed.

He had an inkling that he had just inherited one more problem.

Balor rammed his cock down the prostitute’s throat hard, causing her to

gag. “I said take all of me, damn you! Now do it!” Where in hell was his pet,

Morgan, anyway? That was a whore who knew how to give good head, not

like this slut. He should have known better than to pick one off the streets,

but he didn’t like to leave traces.

He looked down at her on her knees by the bed and thrust deeper. She

gagged again, this time pressing her hands against his belly, trying to push

away. Grabbing her hair, he snapped her head back. She cried out in pain,

her brown eyes wide and frightened.

“You don’t want to do what I paid you for?” he asked in a deceptively soft

voice.

She tried to nod. “I do. You’re just so big. Just let me take a little time—”

“Forget it. I want something else.” Balor reached under the pillow and

extracted a length of rope and dangled it between them.

The prostitute eyed it warily. “Tying me up will cost you more.”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ve got money.” He patted the place beside him

on the bed and she inched up to join him. “Turn around.”

Hesitating for a few seconds, she did as he asked. Balor tied her hands

behind her and shoved her face-down on the bed, fingering her ass.

“Doing Greek will cost more,” she said in a muffled voice.

“You seem to be more concerned with money than you do with pleasing

me,” he said as he slapped a buttock. “I demand good service. Now spread

for me.”

She hesitated again and he lost patience. Pushing her legs apart with his

knees, he thrust himself inside her anus and she screamed. Instantly, he

leaned down and clamped a hand over her mouth. “We can’t have that,” he

said as though he were discussing menu options at a restaurant. “Motels

aren’t soundproof.” Calmly, he slid the silk belt from his dressing robe and