Dance of the Dragon Sorceress [Tangere Tales 3] Read online

  The dragon redoubled his efforts, hopping around on the bed and bobbing his furry little head, and she burst into giggles. She clapped her hands and sang along. “Don’t worry…about a thing…” Basile lost track of her words as he watched her. Sitting on the bed, swaying from the waist up, she clapped for the heir as he capered about, her animated face practically glowing with enthusiasm. What an intoxicating blend of innocence and sensuality she was.

  “Not a shred of self-preservation in her,” Rainger whispered, but Basile detected the catch in his voice. Could he blame him for falling under her spell, evil or not?

  “Or she knows we’re up here and she’s luring us to our doom,” Bleu whispered. “I want to know what she put on my pillow. I say we interrogate her.”

  “Harsh, Sir Knight,” Basile murmured, amused at Bleu’s discomfiture.

  “My mother made that quilt. If she’s mussed it—”

  “I’m sure she would fix it. Allow her this moment.”

  Bleu shrugged. “Her boots aren’t all over your bed, prince.”

  “Then I’ll make sure she’s moved to mine by nightfall.”

  Momentarily taken aback, Bleu said, “I didn’t mean—I don’t mind—”

  “Shh,” Basile hissed, and his boot scraped as he attempted to back farther into the shadows.

  A baleful sound filtered from downstairs, the howl of the dog tied at the railing. He liked animals, but right then he wanted to go down and choke off the horrendous, mournful sound.

  She stopped the music from playing. “What was that?” She looked around, and the baby dragon drew close to her in a flash.

  The dragon looked up, spotted them, and screeched in fear before diving into the duffel.

  “Well, shit,” Rainger muttered. He nodded at Basile and then leaped over the railing and landed like a cat a few feet away from her.

  She loosed an eardrum piercing scream of fright. Perhaps she was a banshee? Then she lunged for the duffel, still screaming, and pulled out a weapon like none he’d ever seen before.

  Chapter Three

  “Stay back, you! Or I will…smite you! Yeah, I’ll smite the crap out of you!” Elaina shouted as she brandished the Star Wars lightsaber at the russet-haired stranger.

  Filed away for further reflection was the fact that he was kilted and had very nice knees.

  For good measure, she flicked the switch, and the toy sword made the trademark wwwrring sound. “I mean it! Stay back or I will slice you and dice you like-like Darth Vader on steroids!” What the ever-loving fuck am I saying? At best I could boink them to death.

  The man backed up a step, still poised for action.

  How far under a rock do you have to live to not know what a Star Wars Lightsaber is?

  Just for good measure, she narrowed her eyes at the handsome stranger and adopted a suitably Jedi-like stance. Now she was glad she’d stuck it in her backpack the week before because two of the little boys at her daycare had kept fighting over it.

  Of course, Flappy chose that exact moment to sneeze. Twice. Blowing a little cloud of dust each time. She didn’t know how he got it up his little snout, but it tickled her nose, too.

  The stranger crouched down, wide-eyed, holding his hands out, and slowly placed the absolutely terrifying dagger on the rug and backed away a pace.

  “We mean you no harm, maiden,” he said in a deep growly voice, his green gaze never leaving hers.

  Well, at least he speaks English. His accent was unlike any she’d ever heard.

  He peered over at the bed, where her backpack lay on its side. Flappy was whimpering inside, and she wanted to go to him, to comfort the helpless sounds he made. The stranger whispered consolingly in an odd language. She wasn’t even sure it was a language human ears could understand. Flappy poked his head out, blinking at the man, looking shocked, and Elaina acted quickly, blocking the man’s movement toward the bed with her own body.

  “Don’t you dare harm him! He’s with me. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  Flappy made a clumsy, hopping dash to her and clambered up her sleeve, promptly hid in the thicket of her curly hair. There was no getting him out of it if he didn’t want to go. The stranger made as if to subdue her. She pressed the button on the lightsaber, and the sound effect was enough to make him back off again.

  “Where in the fuck am I exactly?” She knew it was only a matter of time before the shock of her light-up sword wore off and they realized it was a toy. And why didn’t they know that right off the bat?

  “Abbatia de Innocentio, in the Western Kingdom of Tangere. This is our home.”

  “Oh. Oh, shoot. So technically I’m the intruder.” She had a thought and quickly knocked her hand against the grip of the toy and watched with relief as the plastic tubing shush-shush-shushed, collapsing in on itself. If the thing held them at bay, then there was no sense in revealing its ineffectiveness until she had no other choice. No holster, and not wanting to move closer to the stranger to reach her backpack, she stuck the thing under her arm and accidentally keyed the wrrring noise one more time.

  “Nurk?” Flappy chirped from the haven of her hair.

  “It’s okay, baby. I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”

  “Give him to me and you won’t be harmed,” the stranger said, reaching out a big, callused, strong-looking hand. Doing so revealed the bands of copper-hued tattoos wrapping around both his forearms, the designs extending upward beneath the sleeves of his tunic.

  She moved as if to pull the weapon out again. “Do you want me to electrocute you?” What the fuck? They were the first words she could think of.

  He lifted his palms in a placating gesture. “No, maiden. Keep your weapon. Just—”

  Long, powerful arms suddenly wrapped around her from behind, imprisoning her within their strength and lifting her off of her feet. “Ahhhhhhh—” Her scream was cut off by a big hand covering her mouth, and Flappy took up her cry, screeching right in her ear, the fear evident in his voice.

  The russet-haired stranger looked beyond and above her and said, “Basile, I don’t think that is helping.” She was held to a rock-solid torso and judged that the individual was taller, much taller than her at any rate. So was most everyone else she met.

  The arms loosened, but the hand stayed over her mouth as she was forcibly turned. She looked up at the most alluring male face she’d ever seen.

  “Well, aren’t you pretty?” The thought was voiced before she could recall it, but thankfully, it only came out sounding like Weh-meh-meh-meh-meh?

  Flappy squirmed and made an inquisitive sound and peeked out from under her ear then jerked back and squeaked again. “Nurk!”

  The tall man had hair so very black that in the candlelight it shimmered with blue highlights where it hung down over his forehead. His features were angular, like the other man’s, but his cheekbones were especially sharp, angling up to tilted black-lashed blue eyes and arched black brows. His lips pursed in a way that told her he was biting his inner lip as he thought about what he should say.

  “Would you please remove your hand?” She tried for indignant but again wound up garbling, Weh-weh-meh-meh-meh?

  He cautiously removed his hand. “Do not speak,” he murmured in a voice that left her instantly breathless. His register was slightly higher than the other stranger’s, perhaps a baritone, but it had a raspy vibrato that…holy mackerel, could communicate with her lady bits. So not the time, Pussy Galore!

  “They may very well call you the panty-whisperer where you come from, buster, but I take orders from no one, unless you want me to—hey! That’s mine!” she squeaked as he smirked and held up her lightsaber.

  He released her arm and tossed the lightsaber up into the shadows, where it lit up and made the sound again.

  “Enough of these theatrics,” a deep voice called from the rafters, and light suddenly flared in a fireplace in a loft space she hadn’t even been aware was there, and candles lit all around them as if by magic. Several men stood a
t the railing, looking down on them.

  She squeaked in alarm when another man jumped from the upper level and landed in front of her.

  He was big, just as big as the black-haired stranger, but he was older, silver-haired, and bore a scary-looking scar across his brow and down one cheek. He bowed to her as if he were at court and came disconcertingly close, gazing at her with hypnotic eyes the color of silver. “Be still.”

  An instant later, she realized it wasn’t a request because when she tried to back away from him her limbs refused to cooperate.

  Behind her, gentle hands parted her hair, and Flappy squeaked with fear. The thought of them harming him was too much, it was all too much, and she couldn’t help it when she began to whimper, too.

  “Meemee!”

  She could tell how frightened he was, but her vocal chords wouldn’t cooperate with her when she tried to console him. His sounds of fear broke her heart, but she couldn’t lift a hand to protect him, no matter how hard she tried.

  Her cheeks grew hot when tears fell, and she couldn’t wipe them away or at least pretend she wasn’t crying. It was obvious. She didn’t even care that the stranger was yanking at her hair, hurting her, trying to get at Flappy, who was having none of it.

  The silver-haired man quickly grew impatient as Flappy fought to remain where he was and only screeched louder. “This isn’t working. Basile. Leave him be for now. Maiden, what is your name?”

  “Elaina,” she hissed through vocal chords that barely reacted to the effort. Flappy continued fighting against the tall man, and she was sure his tiny claws were drawing blood from her scalp.

  “Are you a witch?”

  “A what?”

  “Who sent you?”

  “I don’t…I didn’t…I don’t know what you mean. I’m lost.” More tears coursed on her cheeks as she spoke the last difficult word. How humiliating that they could see how affected she was by Flappy’s fear as well as her own.

  Another dark-headed man jumped down from the balcony and put a staying hand on the one messing with her hair. “You’re scaring her, Basile.” His tone told her he wasn’t happy about that.

  “Indigo is right,” the silver-haired man said. “She’s telling the truth. Let him stay where he is for now, Basile. He doesn’t appear harmed or under a spell.”

  Her arms went limp, and her knees nearly gave way, but the black-haired man caught her in his arms again. He leaned down close enough that his lips were at her ear. “I’m sorry for scaring you, Elaina.” Gah, that voice sent good chills all over her body. He gave her a gentle squeeze before releasing her completely.

  A red-haired man jumped down from the balcony, startling her. “What is a panty-whisperer?” He appeared younger than the rest and was clad in a green kilt, as was the first stranger she’d met, and he carried a bow.

  “N-Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “Are you hungry, Elaina?” the silver-haired man asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m mostly freaked out right now. Eek!” she squeaked as several more men leaped down from the loft. The silver-haired man looked at them with exasperation and then turned to her.

  “Forgive them. We haven’t had this much excitement in the abbey in a while. I don’t know the last time a woman was anywhere in the vicinity, and they’re—”

  “Well, they better not be horny,” she growled as she jerked the lightsaber out of the grasp of one of the dark-haired men, who was clad in dark blue leather, who would’ve been quite handsome if not for the pouty sneer he wore, before he could realize it was nothing more than a child’s toy. “Because if they are horny, I’m going to take them from a gander to a goose with one chop!”

  The red-haired man in the kilt grabbed his crotch and grimaced. His face was so expressive it was comical, and she accidentally let a giggle slip. Okay, so maybe she was a little hysterical. Totally understandable given the circumstances. They blinked at her, and she quieted. She was so screwed if they thought her giggling was an invitation.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck! Ten on one are not good odds!

  “You are scaring her, looming over her like this!” The first, russet-haired stranger broke through the crowd and risked putting an arm around her while keeping an eye on the lightsaber. “Shhh, I vow that nothing will happen to you. We are more scared of you than you are of us.”

  “W-What? Why?”

  “Because of him,” he said, a hint of a smile showing in his expression as he pointed at the little head she could feel peeking out from below her ear.

  He spoke again in that unknown language, and the tone had a soothing quality to it that worked on Flappy because he stopped shaking, which helped her to stop shaking.

  “What witchery is this?” the man dressed in dark blue leather muttered. Diverting her attention to him, she realized he was digging in the pockets of her backpack.

  “Hey! You’ll wish you hadn’t done that when I’m done with you, asshole. Stop!” she cried out in genuine alarm when he pulled her pink-rhinestone-encrusted pepper spray from the side pocket.

  “I will not be ordered about by you,” the man growled. “It’s my possessions, my sacred space you befouled with your evil magic, you—” He depressed the button at the top and screamed like a sissy girl.

  “I told you!” she shouted as her eyes began watering and she coughed. “Ack!”

  The men near him doubled over and put their hands to their faces. And blue-leather-dude gagged before howling, “I’m blind! I can’t see!”

  The russet-haired man escorted her off to one side, wincing and eyes watering, observing her. With a crooked grin, he held out his elbow in a universal gesture of gentlemanly conduct. She took it, and he said, “You tried to stop him. Bleu is not known for his listening skills.”

  “Sent from the devil!” blue-leather-dude shouted as he rubbed his eyes and yowled in pain.

  The others made similar claims, and as they moved away from the noxious cloud, she looked up at the man and said, “It’s pepper spray. It doesn’t do permanent damage, just stings like hell. It will disperse eventually, but it would help if they moved away from it until then.”

  “Let them suffer for scaring you, at least a little bit,” he replied with a twinkle in his green eyes. “I am Rainger Galterrium. The one who grabbed you is Basile. He and I spotted you in the forest earlier. We thought you were a witch.”

  “A witch?”

  “You were chanting. We didn’t realize you had a companion.”

  “Chanting? I was singing for Flappy.”

  “Flappy? Is that what you call him?” Amusement filled his tone.

  “Well, yes. We only just met in the cave.”

  “Cave? I know of no caves near here.”

  “Well, there is because that’s how I got here, although I don’t know how to get back, and it closed up behind me…or something.”

  He drew back and looked at her. “A cave that closed up behind you? Have you ever met a woman named Selena? An enchantress?”

  “A what?”

  “A fae enchantress,” the silver-haired man said before turning aside to cough.

  “Fae?” Elaina replied, turning to him so suddenly Flappy squeaked.

  “Yes, Mistress. A fae. A rather devious fae if memory serves me correctly,” he added in a wry tone. “Cave portals are her specialty.”

  “Cave portals? That’s a thing?”

  “Of course, Mistress Elaina.”

  Elaina shook her head. “I’m just Elaina White, no title. And nope, I’d remember if I’d ever met a fae enchantress.”

  “Elaina the White. So you are a witch?” Rainger asked.

  “Just Elaina White. It’s my last name. My family name.”

  “A family of white witches. This could be a good sign,” he replied to Rainger. “We could use all the help we can get.”

  “No. I’m not a witch. No woo-woo stuff.” Sheesh! Get it through your heads!

  “But the…” He pointed at the pepper spray canister.

  �
��That is a device for self-protection.”

  “I see. A witch who says she’s not a witch.” The silver-haired man bowed over her hand and then said, “I’m Lord Violet, the leader of this motley crew.”

  Flappy jerked his head and then murmured to her. “Nurk-nurk?’

  “I don’t think he means that Motley Crüe, Flapster. Less head-banging and more ass-kicking would be my guess. And I’m really not a witch.”

  Rainger chuckled as he and Lord Violet drew her out of the chamber, leaving the others to recover, but not before she snagged her backpack and her pepper spray from blue-leather-dude who was in peril of pepper spraying himself again.

  “We will leave them to recover and for Bleu to repair the disarray you left his bed in.”

  “That was his bed I was using? Dang. I tidied the covers back up and everything, too. What’s his problem?”

  “He’s very particular about his personal belongings,” Lord Violet said.

  “Wait. His name is Blue?”

  “Bleu,” Lord Violet enunciated, drawing out the ‘oo’.

  “And you’re Veeyolay—you’re Violet! Violet. What the heck?”

  “No, Violet,” he replied, looking askance at her American English pronunciation of his name.

  She flicked a thumb back toward the sleeping chamber. The other dude. He’s Blue.”

  “Bloo. Bloo. Oh, never mind. Yes. He is.”

  “This is awesome. But you’re Rainger. Why aren’t you named after a color?”

  Rainger stood looking at her as if she had two heads. “I am not a member of the Order of the Dragon.”

  “The what? What the—what? What the fuck? Dragon? That’s symbolic, right?” Even to her own ears her giggling sounded hysterical. This is some sort of breakdown. Did I eat mushrooms in the forest?

  “I think she’s trying to cast a spell,” Lord Violet muttered as he stared at her.

  “She sounds amused.” Rainger watched her closely. “At one point, she seemed like she was having some sort of fit back in the forest. Perhaps this is the same.”