Dragon Bites

  DRAGON

  Bites

  a collection of Scottish

  paranormal romance

  by Nancy Lee Badger

  *Dragon’s Curse

  *Southern Fried Dragon

  *Dragon in the Mist

  Copyright © September 2013

  Nancy Lee Badger

  ***

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for YOUR personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work.

  ***

  All rights reserved. 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.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products

  of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Dragon’s Curse

  originally released © 2010

  by Whispers Publishing

  Southern Fried Dragon

  originally released ©Feb 2012

  Dragon In The Mist

  originally released ©August 2011

  Carved Slate cover image by Ron and Ina Lippard

  Renaissance Reproductions, Lisbon, NH, USA

  Cover © 2013 http://nancyleebadger.com

  ***Caution: contains explicit sexual situations***

  The Romance Begins with Brianna and Draco…

  Sometimes a special gift and an unwanted curse cannot keep destined lovers apart.

  Brianna Macleod has accompanied a shipload of her guardian’s friends to a remote island off the coast of Scotland. She eludes these Highland hunters to keep her innocence…and her gift of sight. Her attitude against falling for womanly desires changes when she nearly drowns. Saved by the talons of a terrifying winged beast, she awakens—naked—in a cave, beside an unusual man.

  Cursed by a vengeful witch to transform into a dragon at inopportune times, Draco MacDonald hides on this deserted island to live alone: until he plucks a servant girl from certain death. Fueled by jealousy, and tempered by fear for her safety, he succumbs to an unfamiliar desire to mate. Her kisses propel him to dare to make her his own.

  Set in 1592 Scotland on the Scottish island of Staffa, the cursed hero battles a ghostly witch, a hunter set on rape, and his own growing desire for a young woman with premonitions of his death.

  DRAGON’S

  Curse

  CHAPTER 1

  Scotland, 1592

  The sea’s brackish waves battered the island’s ragged coastline and crashed against Brianna’s legs. She staggered for a moment, tangled in the wet hem of her servant’s frock. The force of the water pushed against her like a troublesome bully, and she fell to one knee onto the pebble-strewn sand. Forced to drop her collection of driftwood, she fought the power of the receding current until she regained her balance and righted herself.

  With one hand grasping her unbound hair to keep it from whipping her eyes, Brianna snatched at a small, gnarled piece of bleached wood. It floated farther away with each pulse of the swirling foam until the tide swallowed it whole.

  She shook out her drenched skirt, unable to ignore the salt that leached upward like lacy fingers along the coarse fabric. Castaway sea-kelp gathered around her ankles. Tethered by their weight, she hopped on one foot, and then beat a path farther from the edge of the surf. When she arrived near the base of the cliff, Brianna freed her feet from the confines of both her soaked leather boots and one remaining rope of slimy weed. She stared down at her damp work clothes.

  These best come clean or Gregor will have my head upon my return. My guardian is no’ free with his coin.

  Yellow rays of light beamed from the early morning sky and soothed her thoughts. Sand glittered with a golden radiance and crunched beneath her bare toes. ‘Twas odd to stand on the rocky shore of an island while brushing windblown sand from her bodice.

  The sun rose high overhead. She had lost track of time, again. She had best return to camp, since Cook expected her help feeding the hunting party.

  What disgusting fowl will she make me pluck this day?

  Lips puckering, she pushed aside distasteful thoughts while uneasiness grew in her belly. She would rather dwell on pleasant dreams of faeries, winged creatures, and handsome Highlanders, than return to camp.

  A man is no’ dangerous in my dreams.

  As she turned to head back along the beach, she spied an odd piece of wood lying flat against the base of the cliff wall. All thoughts of an angry Gregor, the bloody hunters with roaming hands, and kitchen chores, fell away.

  “Speakin’ o’ creatures out of my dreams, this driftwood looks like a winged dragon.” She chuckled at her own imagination, which tended to run away with her on days like this.

  “Oh, to be free as a dragon and escape upon the wind.” Brianna sighed. Warm breezes and the scent of the sea had called to her the moment their vessel left the Scottish mainland and headed through the Sound of Sleat toward the open ocean. Their galley landed on the island’s eastern shore only yesterday. Freedom, and its sudden luxury, rarely fit into her life back in Glenelg. Though forced to earn her keep doing menial tasks, she lived in the great tower of the laird of Clan Macleod. Such an honor came with many obligations, the biggest being to use her gift of sight whenever the laird demanded.

  Her duties as a serving wench on this hunting trip should only keep her busy ten or twelve hours a day. The rest of the time belonged to her, unless her laird demanded she force a premonition, the skill he warned her to keep secret. Roaring breakers brought her back to her senses.

  “No time for woolgathering. I have chores. ‘Tis time to retrace my steps and return to camp,” she said to the wind. She tipped back her head, resting it on her tired shoulders. An ache, fueled by the disdain she barely suppressed when Gregor’s so-called friends lay hands upon her, speared along her spine.

  Brianna shook away the sour memories. Failing once more to sweep away the deep sense of melancholy consuming her life, her gaze followed the steep expanse of gray wall. She paused, and then sucked in a quick, salty breath. Her attention locked on the rock face just out of reach.

  Why does the wall change color part way up?

  Brianna walked closer. She stretched out both hands, pressing them flat against the vertical precipice. A sudden chill raced under her skin, through her fingertips, and up her arms. A sense of doom made her fingers clench.

  This wall is wet, but, Gregor’s scout reported it has no’ rained on Staffa in over a fortnight. Her thoughts wrestled with the evidence until a loud boom echoed off the rock face. She whirled about, and screamed.

  Frozen with fear, she stood with her back flat against the wet rock at the base of the steep cliff. Willing her body to calm itself, Brianna took stock of her options. Earlier, she cursed at having lost track of the time. Only now did she realize how far from camp she had walked. The safe way home, along a narrow strip of beach, had vanished with the rising tide.

  I put myself in this predicament, and I shall get myself out.

  The ocean rolled and surged with the anger of a beast, clawing its way to shore and foaming at the mouth as it pounced. Black water, topped with white froth, mingled with the scent of a distant storm. Great pewter clouds lay low upon the horizon, while mid-morning sun still burned off a sooty haze. The waves rose and fell closer and closer as the tide rolled in. The narrow strip of sand under her bare feet did not offer a way of escape, nor were there any
handholds or steps in the cliff’s sheer rock face. The tidal surge had obliterated her footprints from camp. Her breath whistled out with a sob.

  I am trapped.

  Swirls of salty foam, edging closer with each thunderous crash of the waves, interrupted her thoughts of how to escape the precarious situation.

  If I survive, I shall cry foolish later.

  Another slap of water shook the sand at her feet, and she dropped her dragon-shaped piece of kindling. Fear streaked up her spine. She grabbed her boots, lifted her skirts above her knees, and ran. Each pounding step took her farther and farther away from camp.

  With little choice, and no help from her premonitions, Brianna stumbled upon a gorge split by a small stream. Water rushed by with each surge and the muddy current rose and fell. The tide-filled ravine looked rather deep, so she glanced around for an easier avenue of escape. Focusing, she spotted a shadow-filled opening in the cliff.

  A cave! Alongside the muddy gorge that filled its center, its hidden entrance offered a dry, rock-strewn path along a wall to her right. With each crash of a wave, more seawater flowed in and threatened to overflow onto the path.

  Bile threatened to rise and fill her throat. She contemplated her choices: run inside the huge cave, find shelter, and wait out the tide or take the chance the waves would recede before reaching her. She glanced back at the cliff wall and at the damp stone above her head. Such evidence meant the tide would keep flowing higher and higher until waves crushed her against the wall, or swept her out to sea. Not one to fool with the power of nature, Brianna followed the narrow path nestled along one side, and headed inside the massive cave.

  Why has no premonition appeared to show me the path to safety?

  Disillusionment flooded her thoughts until coarse sand and pebbles, mixed with crushed and broken shells, sliced the soles of her bare feet. She winced, but kept moving. Breaking waves dampened her gown and its weight slowed her steps. Should the water overtake her before she found refuge, the soggy weight of her gown would pull her beneath the waves.

  She might drown.

  Brianna whipped her frock off over her head, and then clasped the dress under her left arm as she ventured farther into the bowels of the damp, dark cavern.

  Guided by fingers sliding across the rough, mossy wall, her gaze flitted side to side in search of higher ground. As she weighed whether the water might continue to follow her into the cave, salt spray on the walls confirmed her fears and leftover puddles dotted her path.

  She had to go higher, ahead of the rising water, but the low light hindered her sense of direction. As she contemplated the odds of survival, she stumbled across a crude staircase cut into the cave wall. Whether fabricated by men, or carved by the force of water, she took the path to higher ground as a sign.

  Brianna tied the laces of her boots together, and looped them around her neck. She flinched as the cold, sand-encrusted leather scraped against her sensitive skin. Without a moment to lose, she flung her dress over one shoulder and climbed.

  Pressing her breasts against the slimy wall, she clawed at the protrusions for support. The dampness seeped through her tattered chemise, and each breaking wave forced a wet breeze to whip across her back. Salt-laden air tickled her barely concealed thighs. When more rolling, black water surged inches beneath her feet, its spray seeped into the thin material of her chemise. She climbed faster.

  The incoming tide must have obliterated the beach. Trembling fingers slid across the crusty surface, searching for a handhold. The distant thunder of crashing waves, unseen beyond the cave’s angled opening, echoed through the deep, dark chasm.

  The bright sunlight of early morning had vanished. Black shadows and unfamiliar sounds, more lyrical than deadly, surrounded her as she inched her way higher. Unable to appreciate the beauty of the melody reverberating in the dark, Brianna climbed. Shifting shadows made the going treacherous, When a quiet surge of shifting water brushed her toes, panic set in.

  “Help!” she screamed, though she knew no one in her party could hear her pleas. As her cries echoed in the darkness, tears threatened. A helpless feeling consumed her. No man stood ready to render aid. No one knew her location.

  She slipped, and a small squeak escaped. To calm the rapid pounding of her heart, she inhaled one big breath. Plastered flat against the wall, her back stiff and straight, she tipped back her head.

  At that awkward angle, Brianna spied an opening in the ceiling. The black depths of a large hole loomed above her current position. With renewed hope for escape, she hastened her ascent. The acrid odor of wet ash and decaying animal flesh intensified. Trepidation made her hesitate.

  When both feet slipped, she grabbed at a horizontal crack between two slabs of slime-covered rock. As skin sliced open along her hands, she bounced awkwardly against the wall. Her boots dug into her bodice and bruised her breasts.

  Dislodging several pebbles, she clawed her way to a better grip. Dirt flew at her face. When she coughed, damp hair blinded her. More pebbles rained down upon her shoulders before disappearing beneath the angry current.

  “Please, help me!” She did not expect an answer. The water continued to rise. Her chilled toes slipped into a foothold. She stretched, reaching upward for the next indentation with renewed fervor. Her ears buzzed with the thunder of the angry waves and the rapid beat of her heart.

  A surge of anger pushed her to reach safety. Laird Gregor Macleod had forced her to come to this horrid island. He had put her in this precarious situation.

  Seething, Brianna stretched toward a spot above her head. Within inches of safety, relief poured through her until a blast of cold water slammed her sideways.

  “Nay!”

  Screaming, she lost her footing. Bloodied fingers grasped another crude step. If wrenched from their new perch, she could drown.

  Brianna sobbed as her entire body shook. Chilled to the bone, numb toes and fingers endangered her hold.

  A roar pierced the air, momentarily drowning out the sounds of sloshing waves. The entire cavern shook. Emanating from above, she glanced up at the exact moment another wave broke over her head.

  The force ripped her grip from the rocks and hurled her beneath the foam. Frozen with shock, and with eyes shut against the sting of salt water and swirling sand, she instinctively tried to find her footing. The next wave lifted her up and threatened to propel her into the dark, inner recesses of the cavern.

  Bobbing to the surface, Brianna sputtered and gagged. She wiped her fingers across her face, shoved loose hair aside, and blinked at a gleaming set of talons.

  As they descended from the ceiling, she let loose another scream. Tremendous golden claws circled her waist, and yanked her out of the surf. Two glowing red eyes and a snarling mouthful of jagged teeth filled her vision. Horrified, Brianna screamed again. Death loomed. Remorse clenched her heart.

  I shall never experience the joys of love, home, and family.

  Insurmountable sadness swept over her and the creature’s triumphant roar echoed in her head. Tears melded with salt water as Brianna succumbed to the ice cold comfort of unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER 2

  Light peeked from behind her aching eyelids. With slow, hesitant movements, she raised her salt-tipped lashes. A large man crouched beside her, his keen gaze locked on her face. Light emanated from nearby, surrounding his dark head like a halo. Shimmering walls and a low ceiling framed his rugged features. She shook her head to clear a buzzing in her ears.

  Have I died? If I live no more, who might this stranger be?

  The scent of tallow candles filled her nostrils with the strong odor of burning sheep fat. Acrid smoke hung in the air. Such smells, along with swallowed seawater, weighed heavy in her lungs. Her head swam with a wave of dizziness, making the shimmering black walls ripple like the sea.

  “Nay, the flames reflect the curve of the ceiling,” she muttered. She pushed her body upright and waited for her queasy stomach to settle. As a more agreeable smell made its pres
ence known, her nose twitched.

  Staring at the quiet man, who had not moved a muscle nor threatened her, or spoke one word of comfort, she hoped the pleasant aroma was him.

  His wavy, coal-black hair looked as if hacked with a short sword. A pair of gleaming black eyes under dark, bushy brows stared back. His pale skin and bloodless lips reminded her of chiseled stone.

  “Ye are awake.”

  Enjoying the soft tone of his voice, Brianna smiled at the simplicity of the statement issued from his very handsome mouth.

  Still in a crouch, he straightened his back. Both of his heavily lashed lids shuttered nearly all the way closed, as if her smile hurt his eyes. As silence loomed, she glanced over the rest of his person. A long, straight nose and a strong, square chin complemented his dark eyes. He wore no shirt, only a sleeveless vest crudely constructed of small, layered squares of brown leather. The hide gleamed under the candlelight as if wet. Open at the front, his muscled chest sported a small patch of curly, dark hair.

  Her gaze followed it down toward his belt and words tangled in her mouth. She ought to ask for answers. He should offer an explanation. She wanted to kiss him.

  Her dry tongue slid across her salty lips. A parched throat caused her to cough, the sound echoing in the small, dark space.

  The stranger’s eyes flicked wide open as he jumped to his feet and moved away. Her attention riveted on a backside molded into brown leather breeches. Rawhide laces crisscrossed from hip to boot to hold the sides of the garment together. Tanned skin peeked through.

  Brianna gasped. Heat slashed across her chest, and then dipped lower. Wrenching her gaze away, she tightened the muscles of both arms while her hands sunk into something quite soft covering a lumpy bed.

  She recognized the earthy fragrance of moss and something more familiar, something reminiscent of her homeland in the western Highlands. Fresh-picked heather! The familiar aromas filtered out the harsh odor of the candles.