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Portal of Dragons
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299 pages5 hours
Summary
A Paranormal Romance Anthology -
Three dragon-shifters who fought with the Pendragon and King Arthur have been given the honor and duty of protecting three powerful stones—a sapphire, emerald and ruby—which Merlin removed from the rim of the Holy Grail to keep its power from falling into the hands of the traitor, Mordred.
Mordred’s Slayers hunt the dragons and as the centuries pass, the dragons’ strength lessen. Time is soon running out. Each must find his true mate to restore his own power and keep the stones safe. If they haven't found their true mate within the last fifteen hundred years, will they be able to find one now before time runs out and evil rules the world?
A Dragon’s Tale
While on vacation in Wales, Margot Guthrie, a New York City reporter, accepts an invitation to a “haunted” castle Halloween party, only the host is never seen. Hearing strange sounds from a locked tower off-limits to guests, she is determined to find out what is up there. Only the Marquis of Tremayne has other ideas.
The Dragon’s Lair
Margot’s assistant, Tania Bjornson, arrives in Scotland after she receives an urgent message from Margot to meet her there. But when she steps foot on a remote isle off Skye, the beauty of the island feels oddly in conflict with a strange sense of foreboding, heightened only when the MacDonald chieftain claims to know nothing of Margot Guthrie.
Home Of The Dragon
Emily Bjornson, Tania’s twin, flies to southern England after a strange message from her sister about chasing dragons and searching for the Holy Grail. As a medieval literature major, she secures a job in a Glastonbury bookstore and books a room at Pendragon Hotel, a place where a baron was murdered after imprisoning his mad wife in the attic. When Emily starts seeing specters of knights and dragons, she wonders if she is losing her mind as well.
Publisher: Highland Press PublishingReleased: Oct 11, 2013ISBN: 9781301755493Format: book
Book Preview
Portal of Dragons - Cynthia Breeding
…Dragons…Shifters…Slayers
Three dragon-shifters who fought with the Pendragon and King Arthur have been given the honor and duty of protecting three powerful stones—a sapphire, emerald and ruby—which Merlin removed from the rim of the Holy Grail to keep its power from falling into the hands of the traitor, Mordred.
Mordred’s Slayers hunt the dragons and as the centuries pass, the dragons’ strength lessen. Time is soon running out. Each must find his true mate to restore his own power and keep the stones safe. If they haven't found their true mate within the last fifteen hundred years, will they be able to find one now before time runs out and evil rules the world?
A Dragon’s Tale
While on vacation in Wales, Margot Guthrie, a New York City reporter, accepts an invitation to a haunted
castle Halloween party, only the host is never seen. Hearing strange sounds from a locked tower off-limits to guests, she is determined to find out what is up there. Only the Marquis of Tremayne has other ideas.
The Dragon’s Lair
Margot’s assistant, Tania Bjornson, arrives in Scotland after she receives an urgent message from Margot to meet her there. But when she steps foot on a remote isle off Skye, the beauty of the island feels oddly in conflict with a strange sense of foreboding, heightened only when the MacDonald chieftain claims to know nothing of Margot Guthrie.
Home Of The Dragon
Emily Bjornson, Tania’s twin, flies to southern England after a strange message from her sister about chasing dragons and searching for the Holy Grail. As a medieval literature major, she secures a job in a Glastonbury bookstore and books a room at Pendragon Hotel, a place where a baron was murdered after imprisoning his mad wife in the attic. When Emily starts seeing specters of knights and dragons, she wonders if she is losing her mind as well.
Praise for
Cynthia Breeding’s Books!
Court of Love - This delicious anthology of convention-bucking heroines in three separate time periods will delight anyone who likes Jane Austen, but wishes to peek under Mr. Darcy’s clothes. Although the historical accuracy of this collection is a bit suspect and the plotlines are wrapped up with slightly alarming speed, each story features a woman with a unique personality and an independent soul, not to mention some very sexy men in breeches. Perfect bedtime reading for lovers of spicy historical romance.
~ Jaysen Scott, Romantic Times
~ * ~
All I Want for Christmas Is You (Anthology) - A warm cup of romance is just the thing for a chill winter evening... This is a compulsively readable anthology of short romance. Highly recommended.
~Michael Angel, Author
~ * ~
I loved it! Curl up with three dashing, sexy pirates and three daring women in three delightful romances. The Last Pirates makes for great reading. You'll be wanting more from Cynthia Breeding—I know I will!
~ Sandra Madden, Author
~ * ~
If you want original medieval romance, captivating heroines, sexy heroes, stories of adventure, fantasy, and poignant love, Cynthia Breeding's Lochs and Lasses has it all!
~ Ann Major, USA Today Bestselling Author
~ * ~
Camelot’s Enchantment by Cynthia Breeding is a highly original and captivating tale!
~ Joy Nash, USA Today Best Seller
~ * ~
From betrayal, to broken hearts, to finding love again, Second Time Around has a story for just about anyone. these fine ladies created stories that will always stay fresh in my heart; ones I will treasure forever.
~ Cherokee , Coffee Time Romance & More
~ * ~
Cynthia Breeding's Prelude to Camelot is a lovely and fascinating read, a book worthy of being shelved with my Arthuriana fiction and non-fiction.
~ Brenda Thatcher, Mystique Books
~ * ~
In Fate of Camelot, Cynthia Breeding develops the Arthur-Lancelot-Gwenhwyfar relationship. In many Arthurian tales, Guinevere is a rather flat character. Cynthia Breeding gives her a depth of character as the reader sees her love for Lancelot and her devotion to the realm as its queen. The reader feels the pull she experiences between both men. In addition, the reader feels more of the deep friendship between Arthur and Lancelot seen in Malory's Arthurian tales. In this area, Cynthia Breeding is more faithful to the medieval Arthurian tradition than a glamorized Hollywood version. She does not gloss over the difficulties of Gwenhwyfar's role as queen and as woman, but rather develops them to give the reader a vision of a woman who lives her role as queen and lover with all that she is.
~ Merri, Merrimon Books
Portal of Dragons
Cynthia Breeding
Portal of Dragons
Copyright © 2013 Cynthia Breeding
Cover Copyright ©2013 Leanne Burroughs
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names, save actual historical figures. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
For information, please contact:
Highland Press Publishing,
PO Box 2292, High Springs, FL 32655.
http://highlandpress.org
Print ISBN: 978-0-9895262-1-0
A Wee Dram
Published by Highland Press Publishing at Smashwords
Curse of the Pendragon
Prologue
The dragon flicked his great tail lethargically, metal scales shimmering from candles reflecting the crystal walls of his hidden lair high atop a cliff and closed his eyes, slipping into a half-dream state. How long had it been since the humans had sent him a potential bride?
He remembered when—centuries ago—humans had come to the ancient Mages of Water, Earth, Fire and Air, asking for protection from the Sidhe. Mortals had no defense against fae magic. The Mages created a golden chalice, encrusting it with their sacred stones of sapphire, emerald, ruby and diamond. Together, the stones sang in perfect harmony and offered protection for humankind.
Over time, mortals became greedy and the power of the stones was on the verge of corruption. The Mages removed three of the stones—leaving the diamond, for it had the power to recall the others—and entrusted the chalice to Merlin. The Great Wizard hid the grail beneath the magical circle of Stonehenge and then called forth the three dragons who had served the mighty Pendragon.
Each dragon was given guardianship of a stone, vowing to protect it with his life. But the dragon would also need the help of a woman, for the forces of the stones always sought balance in all things.
And so a pact was made. A maiden who was born on the day of a sacred festival would be delivered by the humans to the dragon. If she could accept and love him in both his dragon and his human form—for dragons had the ability to shift—the dragon would truly be bonded. His power would strengthen with each mating and his magic would prolong his mate’s life as well.
The dragon sighed in his dream. It had been many decades since he’d had a bride—yet never his true mate—and he was so very tired. Long ago, rumors had spread regarding the power of the singing stones and their dragon-keepers. Warriors had come from across the sea, bringing their own malevolent dragon-slayers with them, hoping to steal the stones of empowerment.
Did humans believe in dragons anymore? It was getting harder, without his mate, to keep himself and his sacred stone shielded from the Slayers. Were his two brothers alive? Merlin had separated them with an enchantment so none knew where the others were. Was the Grail still safely hidden beneath Stonehenge? It had been so long since he’d had contact… His claws curled protectively around the stone it was his duty to guard. Guard it he would.
The dragon struggled to open his eyes and shook his luminous blue-black mane. He was sleepy, but he mustn’t give up his vigilance. A Slayer was near. For weeks the stone had sung discordantly, a sound as beguiling as a siren’s call and as piercing as a banshee.
Time was wearing thin. The dragon must find his mate, for only she could renew his strength to fight the Slayer. The curse the Pendragon left—that finding his mate would be wrought with danger, strife and perhaps death—did nothing to improve his odds. But he would venture once more into the realm of humans, hoping she would come.
He was so very, very weary…
A Dragon’s Tale
Chapter One
The blasted taxi would take her only as far as the sleepy little village of Seth. Margot Guthrie glared at the disappearing taillights. Now, how in hell was she supposed to get to—she glanced at her notes—someplace called Castle Dour, of all things? Muttering under her breath, she picked up her suitcase and walked over to a small, ramshackle building that had a sign over the door declaring it to be a general store.
She stepped inside, inhaling the musty odor and avoiding the clutter of wooden barrels, dangling pots and pans, and coiled rope. Dust mites danced in the shaft of dim sunlight filtering through a dirty window pane. She looked around. This might be a rugged part of Wales, but she felt like she had stepped back in time.
Can I help you, miss? I’m Amy.
Margot turned to find a young girl smiling at her with big, brown eyes. You might. I have to get to Castle Dour and the taxi refused to take me further.
The child stopped smiling and her face paled. You don’t want to go there. ‘Tis said ‘tis haunted.
Aren’t castles supposed to be haunted at Halloween?
Amy shook her brown curls vigorously. ’Tis haunted all the time. Strange sounds come from it. You don’t want to go there.
You certainly have an active imagination.
Margot smiled. Perhaps you’ll be a writer someday.
’Tis not her imagination, miss.
An older man, probably the child’s grandfather, stepped out from behind the counter. There’s shrieks, wails and sometimes a roar so loud the ground trembles.
Great. Evidently, the owner of the castle paid the villagers to stay in character and convince the guests the place was spooky. The advertisement in the London paper had hinted at a Halloween—no, a Samhain experience—like nothing ever witnessed before. Margot almost skipped over the ad, but she had some free time before her vacation was over and, as a newspaper reporter from New York, the part about applying and qualifying for an invitation intrigued her. So here she was.
She fished in her purse and drew out the cream-colored card with the strange Edwardian script. I’ve got an invitation—
she held it up—to a house party there.
"So you’re one of them. The man’s mouth tightened into a grim line.
I should have known. Ye have the looks."
Looks?
Aye. The old Marquis invites lots of pretty girls this time of year. Lord only knows what they do up there, but I’ve seen some of them come running down the hill like the hounds of hell were on their heels.
Margot frowned. Was this marquis some old, quirky man who thought he could lure young women—well, maybe she wasn’t that young…she was thirty—to a drafty old castle for a group feel-for-all? She tossed her long, coppery hair over her shoulder. Like she would so allow that. Still…a titled Englishman wanting to have his own sex orgy would make a really good story, even in New York. She just wished she had her Glock with her, but airport security wasn’t about to let that happen. Well, she’d hung around enough bars to know how to avoid unwanted gropes.
Just women get invited?
she asked lightly, her newshound nose nearly twitching.
No. There’s some gents that go, too, but not as many.
Ummm. Was the old marquis a voyeur? He preferred watching maybe? That would add a little juice to her story. What can you tell me about the marquis?
The man shrugged. No’ much. Truth is, no one has seen him. He bought the place years ago. Don’t ever come to town. Just sends that young man, Kier Drummond, who runs the place for him.
Margot’s ears pricked. A recluse who hosted orgies? This was getting better and better. Surely, some of the people who work there have seen him?
Can’t say. No one in the village goes up there.
He must have servants, even if it’s a small castle. Who does the work?
The old man shook his head. Brought his own people when he moved in. They don’t mingle much.
Curious. What really went on in the castle? Margot’s fingers itched to get started on a story. How do I get to the castle? Do you have a local cabbie?
Don’t need one,
he replied. Just go sit on that stoop outside. They’ll come for you.
That ‘stoop’ was a sawed-off tree trunk and didn’t look all that comfortable. How will they know I’m here?
He managed a tight smile. They’ll know.
With a sigh, she turned and walked outside. Taking out the invitation again, she looked for a phone number she could call. She really didn’t want to be sitting here for hours waiting for someone who might check and see if any new guests had arrived. It was already near dusk. She frowned. No telephone number.
The sound of horses’ hooves tapping on the cobblestone street drew her attention. A black coach rocked its way toward her, pulled by two ebony horses. They even had black plumes attached to their bridles. She blinked. Were those actual oil lamps swinging from the sides of the carriage?
It lurched to a stop in front of the store and a footman jumped down. Margot tried not to stare. The man was in full vintage livery—albeit blue and not black—that belonged to another century. Not the twentieth either. In the gathering darkness, she felt like she’d stepped into another time zone.
The man clicked his heels and bowed. I am Ulfius. I will take you to the castle.
What a strange name. Yet, she thought she actually may have heard of it before. How do you know who I am?
Margot asked suspiciously.
Ulfius smiled. You are the last of the guests to arrive. Margot Guthrie, if I am not mistaken?
Well, he wasn’t wrong. She wondered again how he’d known she’d arrived. Maybe the old man had called him at some unlisted number. She looked at the carriage with its black curtains and black paint. The old marquis certainly had a sense for setting the mood, she’d give him that. The footman opened the door and pulled down the steps and held his hand out to assist her. Margot nearly smiled. He looked so courtly. Heck, she couldn’t remember when a man had opened a car door for her. She took his hand and stepped in.
The inside of the carriage was also black. Hardly surprising, she thought, as it jerked and lurched forward. The leather seats were buttery-soft, though, and a single, blood-red rose lay on the bench across from her. She had to hand it to the old marquis. There was a certain amount of style to this. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. She had to call Tania, her photographer assistant who often accompanied her on assignments. She’d never believe this. Margot tapped the contact number and waited. Nothing. She squinted in the dim light. No signal. She snapped the phone shut and pulled back a curtain. Gasping, she quickly closed it.
The narrow road hugged the cliff side and what she had seen was a sheer drop to white-topped waves churning in the moonlight far below. Falling into a watery grave wasn’t her idea of the way she wanted to leave this earth. Suddenly, the coach felt a lot more rickety and unstable. It veered sharply to the right and she grabbed the looped wall-strap. The incline had sharpened drastically. They were climbing even higher. Taking a deep breath, she opened the curtain again. All she could see was trees. She moved cautiously to the other side and peered out. More trees. Margot sighed with relief. No more drop-offs down to the water.
The carriage shuddered suddenly as the horses stopped. A moment later a footman opened the door for her. She stepped out and gaped at the structure in front of her.
She had seen beautiful castles in Scotland, from Stirling to Edinburgh, but this one was unique. Size-wise, it was smaller, but it seemed to be built directly out of the mountain that loomed behind it. Whoever the original builders had been, they had taken no chance of an invasion from behind. In the dim light from the carriage lamps and candlelight shining through various windows, the stone appeared black. Margot craned her neck to catch the dizzying effect of the tower, several stories high, jutting out of the rock. The view from there must be fantastic. Something dark flitted across the battlement toward the spiral turrets at the other end, gliding as silently as an owl, but much bigger. Special effects, maybe? This was billed as a Halloween—Samhain—party, after all, even if the old Marquis had a possible sex orgy in mind.
Margot’s gaze shifted and she widened her eyes. Liveried servants lined a walk leading to the steps of the entrance. The men stood with military precision, staring straight ahead, while the women cast furtive glances her way. There must have been at least twenty of them and Margot could have sworn the courtyard was empty when she’d arrived moments ago.
As she walked through the column they formed, the massive, double oak doors of the castle opened, silhouetting a man in the bright light from a gleaming chandelier in the hall behind him. Tall, his hair—so black it appeared blue—brushed the collar of his black frockcoat. She blinked. Frockcoat? And was that a waistcoat he wore beneath it? Margot squinted at the flash of snowy-white material beneath his squared jaw. A cravat? Why did she get the feeling she’d stepped back into the late 1700s? The liveried servants…the horse-drawn carriage…she almost expected someone to produce a cape that would swirl around the man’s broad shoulders. Shoulders that, come to think of it, filled out the coat quite nicely. And she couldn’t help notice the way the black cloth of his pants clung to well-muscled thighs as he descended the steps toward her.
If there was going to be an orgy here, she called dibs on this guy. And she hadn’t even seen his face clearly.
Welcome to Castle Dour,
he said in a rich, baritone voice as he bowed slightly and swept up her hand in his. He brushed his lips over her knuckles and Margot felt a heated shiver slide up her arm and to the depths of her belly. This guy had some style. She couldn’t remember ever coming this close to having an instantaneous orgasm—and especially not standing in a driveway.
I’m Kier Drummond,
he said as he straightened, the Marquis of Tremayne’s assistant. We’ve been expecting you, Miss Guthrie.
She found herself gazing into eyes as blazingly blue as sapphires. Mesmerizing eyes. She was nearly speechless. Another first. Somehow she managed to say something totally inane like, I’m glad to be here.
A corner of his sensually full mouth quirked up and he offered her his arm. Her fingertips brushed against an iron-hard bicep as she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. She suppressed her own smile. Oh, yeah. If old Marqy Tremayne wanted to do some ogling, she wouldn’t mind doing a little canoodling with Kier Drummond. Not at all.
Chapter Two
Kier surveyed the guests as they strolled in for the buffet breakfast the next morning. Of more than one hundred responses he’d received to the London ad for this party, only eleven of the women had been born on Samhain. Was one of them his mate?
He fastened his eyes on the latest arrival. Margot Guthrie, with her long, copper-colored hair and eyes the color of a stormy sea, was the only American present and she intrigued him. His arm had actually tingled last night when she’d touched him as he escorted her inside. More than a tingle—he’d felt luminous scales begin to develop on his back, as they did whenever the dragon was aroused.
Kier moved toward her. Did you sleep well, Miss Guthrie?
He ladled some poached eggs on a plate from the sideboard.
The room was lovely.
She chose a freshly baked scone and added a good dollop of clotted cream to it.
He smiled as she spooned a bit more cream on to the plate. He liked a woman who wasn’t afraid to enjoy her food. So many of these modern females were obsessed with looking like living cadavers. Miss Guthrie was curvaceous and he would bet that, given the fit of her jeans, her rounded buttocks would fill his palms quite nicely. He pushed the thought away before his scales started to show. It was much too early to allow his true nature to come through. She wouldn’t be ready to accept him yet, even if she were his mate. And, he reminded himself, he was looking for his mate, not just quick relief, however satisfying and pleasurable that would be. He frowned slightly. She hadn’t really answered his question.
But did you sleep well? I can arrange for another bed, if yours was not comfortable.
It wasn’t that.
She hesitated, then went on. I kept hearing some sort of strange noise.
His ears perked. Had she heard the stone sing? Only someone with fae blood would be able to do that. What kind of noise?
It’s hard to describe. Some kind of humming. At times it was soft and low and then it sounded more like a shriek. Since we’re up so high, I assume it was the wind.
She’d heard the stone! Kier was well aware of how it had sung and vibrated last night as he curled his dragon claws around it in his cave above the tower room. The mellow pitch meant one of these women was potentially his mate. The jarring discord was the sapphire’s way of reminding him that a Slayer was close, too.
The wind?
he asked with a smile. Perhaps it was a Welsh faerie you heard. The locals say the woods are alive with them.
Margot stared at him for a moment and then she laughed. Good one. I guess you need to set the stage for this Halloween party, right?
He tilted his head. The Marquis prefers to think of it as Samhain.
Right.
Margot looked around the breakfast room. Where is he? I would have thought he’d want to meet all these…ladies.
I can assure you he does. However, at the moment, he’s indisposed.
She gave him her wide-eyed
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