The Dragon Wore a Kilt
In the northern reaches of Scotland rests Loch Saorach, home to an ancient legend—a dragon. The Matasan family has guarded the loch and its dragon for centuries.
Over the years Saorach has claimed humans, imbuing them with his fae magic. Connor Matasan, the arrogant Earl of Glencarol, is a recent acquisition. Like all those possessed and transformed by the dragon’s ancient magic, Connor is sith, immortal and commanding powers beyond the human norm.
Middle aged wife and mother Lila is vacationing in Scotland when Saorach chooses her to join his brood. Her transformation to an eternally young sith is painful and compounded by the loss of everything she holds dear. Waking to a new life, she is utterly dependent upon Connor and his family. Lila feels trapped and resents that the dragon has bound her to Connor, soul to soul, passion to passion: a passion Connor cannot control, a passion Lila fears.
Will the magic that brought them together destroy them?
Loch Ness wasn’t Scotland’s only body of water to boast a water monster; it was just the famous one.
Connor rounded a curve and leaped into the cold, dark, deep water—so deep none truly knew how far the loch’s bottom descended. The sinuous bulk of the monster bumped him gently. It would not harm him for he belonged to the loch as much as it did. But the driver of the doomed car could not be so lucky.
The monster had grasped the vehicle in its toothy jaws. Connor swam past the monster’s bulbous eye and realized he had to surface for air. He shot upward, gulped a lungful of air, and then dove back down, following the monster and its prize. Every so often, the monster would shake its head, the violent swish of the car through the murky water leaving whitish bubbles and eddies of disturbance. On one of those shakes, the vehicle’s passenger side door flew open and the car’s sole passenger floated out. Connor hoped the mysterious and ancient water dragon of Saorach did not realize that its fleshy prey had escaped the metal shell.
He swam around the monster’s lithe, snakelike neck and grabbed a bit of cloth. Lungs burning, he needed air—desperately. The lake monster stilled and fixed a bushel basket sized eye upon him and the barely discernible body he grasped.
Connor’s own eyes narrowed and he sent a warning to the monster to leave well enough alone.
Do fola liom éileamh, ionúin Saorach. The claim rang clearly through his mind, vibrated through his flesh. He remembered those words from long ago and knew they were not for him that time. He gasped, sucking in a lungful of water. And his vision began to burn as much as his lungs.
Hard boiled, scrambled, over easy, and sunny side up: eggs are the musings of Holly Bargo, the pseudonym for the author.
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