Dragon Me to Your Lair: A dragon shifter story (Dragons of Emberside Book 1)

Dragon Me to Your Lair

(Dragons of Emberside 1)

by

Thalia Frost

Copyright 2016. All rights reserved.

Cover art design: Melody Simmons

“Need a hand with that, lass? It's almost as big as you are.”

Twenty-two year-old Skye MacLeod turned to look into the greenest eyes she had ever seen. And the rest of the man standing next to the taxi wasn't so bad either. Black hair and skin shimmering with sweat were topped off by a tall, muscular frame. Did he always go around not wearing a shirt? If so, he must have a lot of women of a certain age panting at his heels. His six pack was to die for.

“I think I can do it. It's the last bag. Thanks anyway.” She was unloading the taxi from the airport, her tone curt.

He must be the caretaker. I pictured him as an 80 year old with a bad attitude, not a stud at my beck and call.

Skye had purposely chosen to live in Emberside on the Isle for the summer in order to avoid too many people. Solitude for work is what she wanted—that and the scenery she had heard about all her life from Gran, her great grandmother.

“You must see it before you die, my girl,” was her catchphrase. She had loved home but had immigrated to America as a wee girl in the early 1930s for a better life, along with her family. She had shared many descriptions of the rocky caves and grassy highlands and how magical they were with her great granddaughter. They had made an impression on a young girl with wanderlust.

And now she's gone—for three months now.

Skye tried to shake off the sadness she felt every time she thought of Gran's death. She had been a strong woman and Skye's touchstone.

“If ye say so.” He shrugged, watching her struggle with the suitcase.

His brogue was thick. She loved it.

Down, girl. He might be a serial killer, for all you know.

It would take a special type of person to live out here. Though it was lovely with the sea within hearing distance, rolling and spraying, and hills and craggy clefts, it was isolated.

“This is a nice place—quiet like,” the man said, walking behind her as she dragged the two huge suitcases along the ground.

She stopped, puffing. “Here. Take one of these since you're tagging along!”

He laughed. “I'm glad you changed your mind. You haven't asked who I am yet. For all you know, I could be the village pervert.”

“You probably are.” Skye avoided his gaze, not looking behind her as he grabbed the other bag, his warm hand brushing hers.

She walked the distance of the winding, smooth stone path to the white painted, green shuttered cottage. A thrill of excitement went through her.

This is going to be perfect—if Mr. Studly here will leave me alone and let me work.

“So, why are ye here, Ms.? Just a tourist? We get many of those for summers.” He put her suitcase down on the small porch with a thud.

“Careful. I have breakables in there.” She glared at him and struggled with the key.

Maybe he'll go away if I act like a bitch.

“It sticks a bit. I haven't gotten around to that yet.” The caretaker grinned and turned it with ease.

Skye sighed and pushed open the door. Her irritation lessened and gave way to satisfaction when she saw the interior of the small cottage. Rustic paintings of the moors peppered the clean, white walls, and every piece of furniture seemed chosen for comfort. Shades of sage and white made for a soothing feel to the place. The real showpiece of the kitchen to the left was its picture window—three panes and a marvelous view of waving grasses and craggy rocks, dropping down to the jade colored sea.

“Gorgeous, isn't it?” The man behind her cleared his throat.

“Yes, it is. A perfect place for peace and quiet. And to answer your question, that's what I'm here for—to write without being bothered.” She turned and looked at him pointedly.

Damn. Those muscles. They're distracting.

“Ah, that. Sorry. I had heard something like that, actually.” He grinned playfully. “Talk around the village is that you're a famous writer come here from the States?” He raised an eyebrow, and for the first time, she noticed a strange, light brown birthmark on the left side of his forehead. It looked like...a dragon. But a birthmark couldn't look like that. Could it? It had to be a trick of the light or of the neurology. A frisson of unease went through her. She wanted to look at her own similarly shaped birthmark on her left inner thigh. One boyfriend had nicknamed her fire breather due to it. He was the only one who had ever gotten close enough to see it that well.

Strange coincidence. Damn it. Who cares? I need to get him out of here and focus on writing.

“Yes, I am, and I'm very busy. I'm on a three month deadline before final edits are due, that started--” Skye glanced at her watch. “Yesterday.”

“I apologize. I'll be checking in with you, and the number to reach me is on your counter just over there.” He pointed, grinning widely.

He's enjoying this.

“And your name? Otherwise, I'll just call you Mr. Caretaker.” She tapped her foot, anxious to get started with work and have the half naked stud out of her house so she could concentrate on her hero and heroine instead.

“Niall. Niall Gregor.” He tipped his head at her.

“Good to meet you, Niall. Thanks for the help unloading.” She gave him a grudging smile.

“I'll just be going, then. If you need anything, just holler by way of the phone. There's still a land line here, and my number is on the wall beside it.” He smiled and left, his footsteps as silent as a serpent's crawl.

* * * *

“Could the timing be any worse?” Niall groaned and shook his head as he ran through the woods. He'd been fighting his attraction to Skye McLeod since her leg had made an appearance from the car door—a very shapely leg in a summery, spaghetti strap dress, he might add.

When he got terribly aroused, he shifted, and when he found a woman like Skye, well, there was more to it than that.

As soon as he had seen her, he had wanted to peel her clothing off and look at her inner thighs—to see if she had the mark.

But that wouldn't be polite in regular society, now would it?

He laughed at the thought, his breath coming in puffs as he neared the cave.

Her hair, like a wood on fire, had alerted him to the possibility, as had her last name. She was Scottish. Her personality made him certain he was correct—fiery and no nonsense, yet aloof.

She's a dragon shifter, too, but she might not know it yet.

“How would that even be possible? A virgin that looks like her, in her early twenties?” He ducked to enter his world, the dark and dank cave.

But Niall knew it was more than possible. It was probable. The strong reaction female dragon shifters had when they were aroused often scared them and pushed them away from sex. For good reason. Many had already shifted by age three, but some didn't learn of their gift until much later. Those who shifted first in adulthood, rather than in childhood, often made the papers as murderesses. They hadn't meant to kill, but their first change had driven them mad, not to mention scared the hell out of the man they were with. Often, those men died of heart attacks, he had heard.

Whatever she knows, she is destined to be mine. I have much to teach her...and she will teach me, too.

He shook his head again at the terrible timing of finding his mate.

* * * *

“Okay, Skye. One word goes after another.” She blew a deep breath out and lay her head on the kitchen table.

All she could think about was Niall Gregor.

This is not a good time for ridiculous puppy love. I have to work.

She had spent her short life tamping down her libido at every turn. Though she had made out with a few men who wanted more, Skye was still a virgin. She threw all of her passion into writing. She didn't have any left for men, and frankly, her sex drive scared her. Skye had chosen just to deny it, and that choice had paid off.

I'm a bestseller. I'm wealthy now as long as I manage the money right. I have freedom to do anything I want.

She frowned. “As long as I write the sequel and do a damned good job of it.”

Writing was a pursuit that took diligence and tenacity. One book wasn't enough. She wanted to remain a bestseller, not a flash in the pan.

Skye stood from the table and stretched, sighing with relief from her screaming joints. “A break is warranted. I'm talking to myself. It's my first day here, and that's just not healthy.” She grinned and went to change into a pair of walking pants. Exploring would be fun. Exercise could also be good for the word flow.

* * * *

“What do you mean, brother?” Magnus frowned, a mean glint in his yellow eyes as he snorted at Niall.

“Just what I said. I met my mate today.” He pawed at the ground, trying to get comfortable for an afternoon nap.

His brother growled. “You're meant to be formally mated in two months. The future of the clan depends upon it.” He swished his tail as he paced Niall's room—an offshoot of the large cave. He had one of the nicer rooms in the cave since his father had been the leader of the Dragons of Emberside many years before. Now, he was dead, and Magnus had taken over.

And he's been a thorn in my side ever since.

“I don't want to marry Morighan.” Niall smoothed his scales out, feeling heat rise in his belly. He didn't want another fight with Magnus. His brother was larger, and he always won.

But I'm catching up. He's just a bit older—and stronger.

“It's not about want, brother. It's about duty and your future—and ours. She's a distant cousin. It will help with group harmony, and you know we need that these days with Roland acting up and trying to assert his authority.” Magnus breathed smoke from his nostrils. He was definitely pissed.

Boy did Niall ever know. Roland wanted to be the leader—the head, the alpha of the group. No one else wanted him to be the head of anything. He had a terrible temper, even for a dragon shifter, and his control wouldn't be good for any of them. Plus, he wasn't yet mated at the old age of 27 in human years. Being mated as leader of the clan was a must for respect from elders and those who wanted to be like you as they got older.

“I won't fail you, brother. She's marked. She's a shifter. I just know it, but I don't think she does. Otherwise, we would have, well, discussed it.” Niall snorted with laughter at the innuendo.

“No discussions of that sort need to happen. You're marrying Morighan. That's final. You don't get a say. I'm the leader of the clan, and I know what's best.” His brother swept out of his room, rings of smoke coming from his flared nostrils.

Like I hell I'll marry her.

He had never felt the attraction for Morighan that he did for Skye MacLeod, whom he had only just met. They had mated as dragons, of course, and though the act was enjoyable, he didn't love Morighan. He already loved everything about the woman: her hair, her voice, her sassy personality. And dammit—her body, her upturned little nose, and that auburn hair.

He sighed, heat rising in him again.

But getting Morighan to leave me alone be will be easier said than done.

Like most dragon shifters, especially of the feminine persuasion, Morighan knew what she wanted, and she aimed to get it. She had decided long ago, he was what she wanted, and the clan agreed even before her own decision had been made. At every turn, she tried to seduce him. Niall enjoyed the sex, but he didn't love her, and now that he had met Skye, he didn't want to lead her on.

Damn. Ending things is not going to be fun.

Avoiding her would be his best bet for now. It might be cowardly, but he didn't want the hassle.

Niall couldn't rest after the conversation with Magnus. What he wanted now was to take a walk and run into Skye MacLeod again.

* * * *

“I wonder why this is off limits.” Skye walked closer to the sign at the entrance of the cave:

Absolutely No Trespassing by Order of Law. Do Not Enter. Danger ahead.

Skye knew the Isle was noted for its variety of caves, and tourists explored most at will. This one was nearly hidden, though. She had only noticed it when she ran across the sign.

“I wonder what's so dangerous about it.” Maybe it was slippery surfaces. She had heard some caves required boots. “Oh well. I need to head back anyway.” She had been walking for hours, enjoying the grassy highlands, and she still needed to make her word count goal for the novel today of 500 words. She barely cut herself any slack—even on moving day. Skye couldn't afford to with the first draft due in less than ninety days.

She gazed up at the leaden sky as the wind shifted. It looked like a storm might be rolling in quickly. Gray clouds hung heavy overhead, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Skye turned to head back the way she had come, hoping her memory of the landmarks she had passed would serve her well. The last thing she needed to do was get lost on her first day here.