The Last of His Kind

Evernight Publishing

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2012 Doris O’Connor

 
ISBN:
978-1-77130-050-6

Cover
Artist: Jinger Heaston

Editor:
Karyn White

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING:
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is
illegal.
 
No part of this book may be
used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission,
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This
is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

Janice and Suzanne, this is for you. 

Thank you for sharing your idea, and giving
me Doric. Thanks to Manda for help with the title and thanks to my gorgeous
hubby for his help in plotting this story.

And as always thanks to Karyn for making this
shine, and the UCW girls for their encouragement.

THE LAST OF HIS KIND

Naughty
Fairy Tales

Doris O’Connor

Copyright © 2012

Chapter One

"Stay
away from the
Loch
. You know it's not
safe."

The familiar
refrain reached him in the cold depths of his watery world, and Doric flicked
his scaly tail in annoyance. He smiled grimly, showing razor sharp rows of
teeth. Humans had told the tales of the monsters in the
Loch
for as long as he could remember. Little did they know that his kind were
protectors. Not that it had done them much good. Hunted to extinction by the very
beings that lived within them, he was the last of his kind, and cursed at that.

Like
countless children before her, this little girl took no heed of her mother. She
skipped along the path and across the rocky outcrop that stretched into the
Loch
with the complete lack of any sense of danger
inherent only in the young of any species.

"Ring
around the roses, a pocket full of posies, ah tissue, ah tissue we all fall
down." She flung herself on the ground in an enthusiastic re-enactment of
the nursery rhyme, and rolled off the edge with a screech and a splash. With a
flick of his tail he reached her. He couldn't let an innocent drown, no matter
how much he hated their kind. The scrawny little human clung to his neck and
took a huge gulp of air when he nudged her above the icy waters of the
Loch
. He readied himself for the screams of terror the
minute he deposited his slight cargo on the pebbly beach.

Screams that
never came. Instead the sodden, shivering, little bundle of humanity put out a
trembling hand, touched his nuzzle and smiled. Eyes the color of melted
chocolate connected with his, and she pushed her hideous plastic glasses back
up onto her little freckled nose. Stunned into disbelief he nudged her again up
the path towards the cottage and dove back into the
Loch
.

Humans could
not be trusted, he knew that only too well, yet still he couldn't keep away.
Every summer he came back to this side of the
Loch
and waited. That little girl grew into a shy, plump teenager, and eventually a
beautiful, just as shy, young woman. Ten years had passed since. Ten years
during which the cottage at the
Loch
fell into
disrepair, and he'd given up hope of ever seeing her again. Ten years during
which he'd tried to break the curse on numerous occasions, to no avail. Not one
of the many women whose beds he'd charmed himself into, reached that cold place
inside his heart. They accepted the man all too eagerly, but he wouldn't trust
any of them with his true nature. The one time he had, centuries ago now, the
girl had run away screaming rape. It had cost him the live of his brothers and
had chained him to the
Loch
forever.

Pain sliced
through him, just as fresh as it had been then, when he had found Arac's and
Morin's skinned and beheaded remains. He had roared his pain to the heavens,
swearing revenge that he knew he could never enact. The witch's curse meant he
needed acceptance from the very species who spelled his doom, forever condemned
to swim in the waters of the Loch, forever alone, forced to seek his pleasures
in human form.

No, he would
never trust a human, no matter how much the pain in her chocolate brown eyes
called to him. Yet he couldn't stop watching the woman on the shore either.

****

Penelope
breathed in the clear, crisp air and shut her eyes, letting the gentle lapping
of the
Loch
's waves wash over her.
This
is why she'd come back to
Scotland
,
and the one place she'd always felt safe. She knew the tales of monsters were
mere stories told to frighten the children. She'd never forgotten the day she
almost drowned, the day she was saved by a scaly being from the deep, its scary
appearance in direct contrast to the kindness in its mesmerizing golden eyes.
She had never seen that strange being again, and in time she'd started to
wonder whether the whole thing had been a figment of her childish imagination.

Yet, still,
she felt drawn to the
Loch
. Her mother's death
three months ago had finally freed her to return to its magical shores.
Renovations on the cottage now complete, she had the place to herself. Peace and
quiet to write, safe from men and their lecherous intentions, the stories she
created as much her friends as her means of earning a living. Loch Ness
provided all the inspiration she needed. If only the paranormal heroes she
created on paper were real.

A loud splash
sent Penelope's heart racing, and her eyes flew open. It wasn't Nessie she
spotted though, but the same boat that had been circling the area for the last
few days. A shiver of unease went down her spine. The three shaven-headed,
heavily tattooed slabs of muscle in that dinghy oozed meanness out of their
very pores. She knew enough about guns to know that they were packing heat. She
pursed her lips and pulled her jacket tighter around herself. Whatever those
men were up to, research wasn't it. She was sick and tired of bounty hunters.
They were either after fame and fortune or in for the “sport”.
 
She would never understand men's obsession
with killing what they didn't understand. As far as she could tell Nessie had
never harmed anyone. Why couldn't they just leave her well alone?

She snapped
her notebook shut, her peace ruined, and with one last glare at the circling
dinghy and its questionable occupants, she turned tail and stomped up the steps
to her cottage. She would return at twilight. The
Loch
was at its most magical, and it would be just the right setting for the ending
in her book. She smiled to herself, as her mind wandered to the Happy Ever
After she envisioned in her head. Penelope might be fast approaching thirty
without any hope of finding a man, but she could give her heroines the
mind-blowing sex she secretly craved herself and, most importantly, the
tortured heroes of their dreams.

****

Penelope sat
up with a start in the middle of her tangled sheets, the shots fired having
broken through her restless dreams – dreams dominated by golden eyes in a
brooding face, framed by unruly, shoulder-length hair. Large hands had caressed
her intimately, the hard, muscled planes of a man's body fitting themselves to
her slight curves, making her feel feminine and desired and on fire from the
inside out. Pinned to the bed by the sheer bulk of her dream lover, she'd been
unable to move, her excitement hitting fever pitch when he'd tied her hands and
legs to the bed posts. Dream Penelope had panted her arousal when her lover had
rubbed his huge cock along her soaked pussy lips, teasing her with the promise
of being filled, whilst his fingers in her ass had pushed her off the bed. He'd
sucked and laved her nipples with his mouth and teeth, until she'd begged for
her release over and over. When he'd finally pushed his cock inside her aching
channel, every slow measured thrust had driven her ever closer to that elusive
edge, and then…

"Fuck
it!" The expletive hung in the stillness of the room, and she groaned,
kicking the covers off. Her bedroom window afforded an unobstructed view of the
Loch
, now bathed in the early morning mists.
All seemed quiet, perhaps too quiet, so whatever had shaken her out of her
dream was gone, if it had ever existed. She was wet and needy, and she so
needed to get laid. Penelope smiled grimly at her reflection in the bathroom
mirror – what she could see of it without her glasses. Like getting fucked
within an inch of her life was going to happen any time soon. Even in her dreams
she never quite got there, damn it. In real life it would require a loss of
control she'd never quite managed with any man. The few sexual encounters she'd
had had left her unfulfilled, and the one time she had thought herself in love
with a man, he'd thrown that love back in her face.

Disgusted
with her train of thought, Penelope yanked on some shorts and a t-shirt, pushed
her feet into her running shoes, and pulled her hair back into a rough
ponytail. An early morning run would beat the unfulfilled desire out of her
traitorous body. Shame she hadn't yet installed that punch bag. She would do so
later today and stick the sneering face of her ex-fiancé to it for good
measure. Marginally cheered at that prospect, she left her glasses on the
bedside stand, stomped down the stairs and set off at a brisk jog round the
Loch
. She didn't need them to run. They only got in the
way.

Forty-five
minutes later, Penelope wished she had the blasted things with her. Huffing and
puffing on her return trip she went flying.
 
Whatever the shape was she just stumbled over, it moved and groaned. A
very male groan. She squinted her eyes better to see and promptly shut them
again. She was seeing things. Sure enough, after several furious blinks the
shape on the pebbles, that minutes ago seemed to be only half human, had turned
into a man. A very naked hunk of a man.
 
Thankfully, or perhaps not – Penelope sniggered to herself – the man lay
face down, his muscled back, trim ass, and powerful thighs clearly visible. The
muscles in his huge shoulders bunched, and his biceps flexed as he struggled to
push his big body upwards. Another groan and a muttered curse later, he
collapsed on his side. Penelope swallowed nervously at the sight of pectorals
to die for and a glimpse of rock hard abdominals dusted with a sprinkling of
dark hair leading down to lean hips.
 
She
frowned at the dart sticking into one of those hips, the area around it
swelling and turning purple.
What the hell?