Dragon
Maid
Dragon Lore, Book II
Ann Gimpel
Publisher: Taliesin
Publishing
Release Date: 1/2/14
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Dragons have always
fascinated me. Creatures fresh out of legend, they tempt the soul to
stretch its wings. This book is dedicated to Kheladin and Tarika, two
wonderful dragons who live in my imagination and who were generous
enough to grace the pages of my books.
Book Description:
Jonathan Shea is a
software engineer. When pressed, he admits to being a closet witch,
but he’s always been a shade ambivalent about his magic—until a
dragon shows up in Inverness, and then all bets are off. Along with
others in his coven, Jonathan is both charmed and captivated by the
creature fresh out of legend.
Britta is a dragon
shifter. Dragged from the Middle Ages by the Celtic gods, she and her
dragon prepare for a battle to save Earth. The first human she lays
eyes on in modern times is Jonathan. There’s something about him.
She can’t quite pinpoint it, but he has way more magic than any
witch she’s ever come across before. Aside from magic, Jonathan is
drop dead gorgeous. For the first time ever, Britta questions the
wisdom of remaining a maid.
Surrounded by dragon
shifters, Celtic gods, Selkies, and a heaping portion of magic,
Jonathan comes into his own fast. Good thing, too, because fell
creatures have targeted him, Britta, and the dragons. In the midst of
chaos, he finds passion so poignant and love so heartbreakingly
tender, it will change his life forever.
Excerpt:
Britta inhaled
noisily. “It smells odd.” She drew closer to him. “Is the air
poisoned?”
“It’s just car
exhaust. The air’s better here than in a truly big city.”
“Car exhaust?
Neither word means aught.”
Where to begin?
“Let’s get you some clothes. I’ll explain what I can over
dinner. In the meantime, it might be best if you didn’t ask too
many questions.”
She drew herself up
and squared her shoulders. “And why not?”
“You don’t want
people to think you’re odd. Or that you don’t belong here.”
A shiver ran
through her body. He glanced down and saw her shift from one bare
foot to the next on chill, damp ground. “Come on.” He hooked a
hand beneath her arm and tugged. “Shoes first. Then clothes.”
She fell into step
beside him. “They will have to measure me. It takes several days to
craft a pair of boots.”
“Not anymore.
We’ll find what you need readymade.”
“Really? Will the
quality be acceptable?”
Spoken like a true
countess. “Probably not, but you’ll make do. It’s better than
being cold and barefoot.” He tightened his hold on her arm, wanting
to protect her, care for her. It would take her time to get used to
the modern world—if she stayed here long enough to learn about it.
Jonathan examined the feelings coursing through him. Was it possible
she’d snared him in some sort of spell?
“I did no such
thing.” Enough outrage ran beneath her words, he believed her.
“Look here.” He
kept his voice low. “You have to stay out of my thoughts.”
“But how else
will I know about them?”
He chuckled. “How
about if you ask me questions and satisfy yourself with what I’m
willing to share. Turn this way.” He pushed open a swinging door
and followed her into a brightly lit shoe store. He blinked a few
times to ease the transition from daylight to neon.
She shielded her
eyes with a hand. “What manner of magic creates light this strong?”
“Hush. We call it
electricity. Come on.” He guided her to a display rack and selected
a serviceable pair of lace up boots. “What do you think of these?”
She wrinkled her
nose. “They’re ugly and shoddily made.” She flicked a loose
thread with a fingertip.
“Then you pick
something.”
She glanced about
and trailed her hands over tennis shoes and sandals as she walked
through the store. After oohing and aahing over several pairs of high
heels, she let him guide her back to the place they’d begun.
“Britta. It’s summer, but the nights are always on the chilly
side. Your feet will get cold unless you get sturdy boots and socks.
How about if we try these.” He pointed. “And those.” He pointed
again.
“I suppose ye’re
right. Do ye think either could be dyed black?”
A clerk had been
hovering. “We have that style in black, ma’am. What size should I
get for you?” He glanced down and inhaled audibly. “B-but you’re
barefoot. Your feet must be freezing.”
Color stained
Britta’s cheeks. “’Tisn’t so bad as all that, laddie.”
Jonathan thought
quickly. He closed his hand around Britta’s arm and gave it a
warning squeeze, hoping she’d understand not to contradict him. “My
sister just gave birth. Err, twins. Her feet got bigger. Much bigger.
Nothing fits but her house slippers, and she was too embarrassed to
wear them. How about if you measure her?”
“Certainly. If
you’d just sit over there?” The clerk gestured to a bank of
chairs.
After shooting
Jonathan an annoyed look, Britta followed the clerk.
An hour later, they
had two pairs of shoes, one black, one brown, socks, underwear, three
pairs of warm corduroy pants, sweaters, T-shirts, and two jackets.
Jonathan was a thousand pounds poorer but considered the funds well
spent. She’d stopped trying to seduce him from the moment they’d
left Kheladin’s cave, which meant he’d simply enjoyed her
company.
She led the way out
of the clothing store he’d selected after they finished with the
shoe store and turned to him. “Can we get something to eat now?”
Both of them were laden with bags.
“Sure. What do
you feel like?”
She leaned close.
“I doona know. Everything here is so strange, I feel I am
playacting, yet without knowing my lines. Pick something. Simple food
and stiff spirits.”
“Have you heard
anything from Kheladin?”
She shook her head.
“Nay, but Tarika isna pleased. She believes we waste valuable time.
’Tis possible she will settle once we find food. She is hungry.”
Jonathan considered
their options. He didn’t want to bring her to a noisy pub where
they’d have to strain to hear one another. Nor did he want a
nightclub. He looked up and down one of Inverness’ main streets.
His gaze settled on a smallish place where a sign promised EXCELLENT
FOOD IN AN INTIMATE ATMOSPHERE. Sounded perfect.
“Let’s try over
there. Maybe we’ll have enough privacy to answer some of those
questions I’ve seen dancing behind your eyes.”
She smiled at him.
Really smiled without coquettish edges. “Ye’ve been truly kind to
me. I apologize for…well, for how I was earlier. I shouldna have
been such a tease.”
“Apology
accepted. I do understand, though.”
She cocked her head
to one side. “Do ye?”
He grinned. “Sure.
Sex is power. Or it can be. But being friends is better.”
She grinned back.
“To friendship, then. Find us a bottle, and we can drink to it.”
About
the Author
Ann Gimpel is a clinical
psychologist, with a Jungian bent. Avocations include
mountaineering, skiing, wilderness photography and, of course,
writing. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing
speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has
appeared in a number of webzines and anthologies. Her longer books
run the gamut from urban fantasy to paranormal romance. She’s
published 19 books to date, with several more contracted for 2014.
A husband, grown children,
grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out her family.
@AnnGimpel (for Twitter)
Thanks so much for hosting me. It's a pleasure to be here.
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