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attention on the incident and then looked quickly away. Was he, just maybe,

a little bit interested? Gavin was hard to read. Was he naturally aloof or was

it just that very proper British breeding? He was so serious—did he have a

sense of humor at all? She sighed and then squealed. “Ohmygod! Look!” She

pointed to the grass. “Scorch marks!”

She followed Gavin as he moved closer to inspect them and then bumped

into him, her breast pressing against a steel-like bicep when he stopped

suddenly. He jerked away so suddenly she almost fell forward, but he caught

her elbow.

“You need to be careful,” he said and released her.

Her arm tingled from his touch, a sure sign that pheromones hung in the air,

but he seemed oblivious. Chloe sighed. She was going to have to do some

heavy research on English upbringing.

Gavin knelt, his long fingers brushing the burnt grass and closed his eyes,

inhaling deeply, almost like an animal taking in a scent. Before she could

comment, he stood. “These would be the dragon’s marks that the news

talked about?”

“I guess so.” Chloe peered closer. “They don’t look like what was left on the

street where poor Jake died.”

“Jake was not killed on the street,” Gavin said tersely. “He was left there.”

She felt her eyes round. “But why would someone leave Jake out in public

view?”

“A person probably would not. Dragons, on the other hand, are proud of

their kills, rather like a cat bringing home a dead rat.”

Chloe choked up. “Jake was not a rat!”

Gavin’s voice softened. “I am sorry. I did not mean to imply that. I meant

that dragons have terribly inflated egos. They do not like to stay hidden.”

She stared at him. “How do you know that?”

“I am somewhat of an ancient history buff.”

“You sound like there are dozens of them roaming around.”

Gavin looked down at the scorch marks. “There is at least one. I suspect we

have not seen the last of him either.” He turned and gestured. “Shall we go

inside?”

A college-aged, young lady looked up from the desk as they entered and

then her eyes widened and she flashed a dazzling smile at Gavin. “I’m Janie,

the receptionist,” she said without even noticing Chloe. “How can I help

you?”

Chloe resisted the urge to step up and wave at the girl to get her attention,

but how could she blame the kid when she had—more or less—the same

reaction to Gavin? He was wearing a simple, white t-shirt that clung to all his

hard ridges and his inky hair was wonderfully tousled from the wind. He

could have stepped out of an advertisement for Abercrombie and Fitch.

Chloe almost sighed along with little Janie.

Gavin smiled and introduced himself, showing his badge. The girl practically

hyperventilated. “I’ll be glad to answer all your questions!”

Chloe’s attention was diverted as another woman entered the waiting area.

This one could have stepped off the cover of an old bodice-ripper with a

spaghetti-strap tank that dipped scandalously low. Long, burnished copper

hair flowed down her back and flawless ivory skin was enhanced by

exotically slanted green eyes. She even moved with feline grace as she

fastened that gaze on Gavin’s face and advanced.

The effect was not lost on Gavin either for he was staring back at her, his

eyes both penetrating and bold. Chloe could practically feel him alert, much

like a wolf scenting prey—only she wasn’t really sure if it wasn’t the other

way around. Was this the kind of woman he desired?

“Hello. I’m Morgan,” she said and extended a soft, pale hand.

With fluid grace, his eyes not leaving hers, Gavin bent over and kissed her

hand. Janie looked annoyed and Chloe felt a sudden sister-like bond with the

girl. Poor thing…

“I couldn’t help overhearing,” Morgan said in breathy-sounding voice. “I

have been working public relations for the clinic since

these…incidents…began happening. Perhaps you should direct your

questions to me?”

“Of course,” Gavin responded quickly. “Would you give me your account of

what happened? I understand that the veterinarian and a friend of hers

disappeared—”

“Michael was more than a friend,” Janie interrupted.

Gavin turned his attention to her. “Were they lovers?”

“Yes,” Janie said.

“No,” Morgan said and gave Janie an annoyed look. “You don’t know that.”

Janie lifted her chin stubbornly. “Well, Michael was really protective of

Sophie. I heard him tell her once that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen

to her. Ever,” she added for emphasis.

Chloe tuned Morgan out as she started relating what had happened in that

seductive-sounding voice. What was it with these protective men? Gavin had

said his friend, Lucas, would protect Sara with his life and—if Janie weren’t

exaggerating too much—it sounded like Michael felt the same way about the

vet. Chloe had never met anyone like that—men didn’t go around in shining

armor acting like chivalrous knights these days. Not that she expected them

to—this was the 21st century and women could take care of themselves. Of

course, that was one reason she wanted to write romance novels. Those

heroes would protect their ladies—it just didn’t happen in real life. Even with

men she’d had great, super-sex with, no one had ever offered to take care

of her. Not that it mattered. Her mother had done just fine.

“And so,” Morgan was concluding, “I want to help in any way I can.”

Gavin nodded. “I may be calling on you then.”

Her lips curled, revealing small, even white teeth. “I’ll look forward to it.”

So—Morgan was the kind of woman Gavin was interested in? She should

have known. A soft, seductive, sultry sexpot. Everything that Chloe knew

she wasn’t.

“Are you ready to leave?” Gavin asked politely, “or do you have any

questions for Morgan?”

Oh, she had questions all right, but none that she was going to ask. “No,”

she said in as neutral a voice as she could muster. Her eyes stinging, she

blinked rapidly so they wouldn’t water and turned to walk out—and bumped

straight into a bench, toppling it over and sprawling across the floor.

“Are you hurt?” Janie cried as she jumped up.

Chloe felt Gavin’s hands on her waist, lifting her up and setting her on her

feet like a small child. Morgan watched her with an amused look on her face.

Could she be any more mortified?

****

heavy drapes closed to alleviate the sun and wondered who in the hell

Morgan was.

He was pretty sure she was human, although black magic wafted off of her.

However, it wasn’t until he’d bent to kiss her hand and had the merest brush

of her skin that he nearly recoiled. The taint of residual evil was in her blood.

Balor’s? Or someone equally as depraved? Demons still roamed this world—

Gavin sank into an overstuffed chair and, for the first time in centuries, he

willed himself to remember what had happened after Camlann.

Chaos reigned on the battlefield that day. Melwas had managed to incite a

contingent of Arthur’s men to turn against him, saying Arthur had become

soft in the twenty years of peace after Badon Hill. Arthur sent Gavin to

negotiate peace. Both armies met on the field by the River Camel, but

before the two men could move forward to speak, a soldier next to Arthur

raised his sword, which the ranks behind took as a signal to charge. The rest

was history.

Or more specifically, inaccurate history.

Gavin had seen the adder raise its head to strike causing the soldier

instinctively to wield his sword. In the aftermath of that ill-fated charge,

Gavin had also seen the adder morph into a demon who hissed sulfur and

belched smoke, making it impossible for soldiers to see whom they were

battling.

Worse, the demon had seen him. It had laughed, a gruesome sound Gavin

never wanted to hear again and sent flames from its forked tongue, searing

his shoulder, before it flapped leathery wings and rose into the blackened

sky to disappear.

After the bloodbath was over and Arthur and half his knights lay dead, Gavin

had managed to drag himself off the battlefield, seeking refuge in the nearby

forest.

And it was there that the lady found him, mortally wounded and near death

himself. At first, Gavin had thought he was dead for he no longer had feeling

in his arms or legs. And the young woman who crooned over him in a

language he did not understand was beautiful with alabaster skin, silky

ebony hair and eyes that were almost as black. He had stared into those

fathomless eyes, hardly aware that she’d bitten her wrist and was offering

him her blood to drink. It tasted like the sweetest ambrosia he’d ever had

and oblivion swept over him. When he awoke, five hundred years later, he

was in a cave deep inside the earth, alone and with a terrific thirst for

human blood.

He never did know who had made him or how he’d been transported to

Outreamer, for that was where he was when he finally surfaced.

Gavin snapped out of his reverie. All that had happened fifteen hundred

years ago. It had sickened him to kill humans, even if he did limit himself to

the thieves, bandits, and highwaymen who lured others to their fates. He’d

never expected to meet Lancelot in Outremer.

They’d nearly killed each other that first night on the streets of Jerusalem.

Lancelot—or Lucas as he was calling himself, had been in his wolf form

hunting meat since the Templar order he had joined only allowed it once a

week. Gavin had been desperate for blood—any blood—and they’d both

descended on the wild boar at the same time.

Later, Lucas had introduced him to the Order and together, they’d dug for

the Celtic treasure that Galahad brought to Sarras after the battle of

Camlann. Gavin had many times wished he hadn’t been hibernating for

those five hundred years. He only remembered Galahad as a small lad and

yet, it was Galahad who had managed to save the sacred relics.

Gavin reached for the vial of synthetic blood he kept in his jacket pocket and

pondered the present. He was almost sure that the Spear and Sword were

safe, but where? He’d stopped in Maine and New Orleans before he’d come

to Dallas and there had been few clues as to the disappearances. He would

keep investigating.

The third clue was bound to turn up soon. Lancelot had mentioned that

Nimue had delivered the first one and more than likely, the second one as

well. But faeries were fickle and who knew what sparkling path she had

meandered off on.

Meanwhile, he needed to find out whose tainted blood Morgan carried.

Which meant he would have to taste her.

Two days later, Chloe walked up the front steps to Smith’s mansion in late

afternoon. Alan Caldwell had called and asked that she meet him there to

get a perspective on making a medieval weapons collection interesting to a

wider market.

She had mixed feelings about seeing Gavin again after her ungainly fall

practically at his feet. He had not mentioned her klutziness on the ride

home, but he was probably thinking about the graceful, feline beauty that

Morgan exuded. Chloe had no delusions about herself. She had never been a

sex goddess—she was more a free spirit, not expecting more than what the

moment offered. Still, most men seemed to like that.

What was it with Gavin?

Benton ushered her into the informal living area where the weapon collection

hung. Alan rose to greet her, but there was no sign of Gavin, although she

knew he was staying here. Perhaps it was better that way.

“I’m so glad you could come,” Alan said as he shook her hand and held it a

bit longer than needed. “I can write, but I know practically nothing about the

marketing end. Besides,” he added with an engaging smile, “I like working

with beautiful women.”

It was only a flirtation, the kind any guy would use in a bar near closing

time, but Chloe’s pride still stung a bit from Gavin’s apparent disinterest and

she found herself smiling back at Alan. She knew the routine. Besides, he

was a good-looking guy and bulked-up like a football player. What harm

could come from a little playful bantering?

“Do you say that to all the ladies in your life?”

“I don’t have a lady in my life currently.” His gaze traveled to her mouth and

then back to her eyes. “Perhaps you’d allow me to take you to lunch soon?”

Well, he was a fast mover, she’d give him that, but what harm would it do?

A casual date might actually be nice. “That might be arranged—”

“Ah! There you are, Chloe!” Mr. Smith came bustling in with Gavin. “I do

hope you’ll stay for dinner. I’ve already invited Alan.”

Behind him, Gavin was frowning. Did he not want her to stay? Geez. It

wasn’t like she’d actually tried seducing him or anything! But Lord, he looked

sexy. He was dressed all in black tonight—jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket—she

could almost see him standing on an English moor, like a brooding

Heathcliff, the wind blowing his hair wildly while he contemplated…what? The

woman he’d just left in bed? The woman he wanted but couldn’t have? The