Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

THE GATHERING

She'd had that dream again—the one where regular-girl Kate Trent got giddy with the Laird of Kildear. This time, she'd only been napping, but had woken up panting with her hand between her legs. How was she supposed to deal objectively with a man who made her horny?

Kate didn't usually sleep in the afternoon; there was always too much to do. But today, after meeting the laird, she'd felt a great tiredness sweep over her, as if something monumental had happened that required time to process.

Something monumental had happened. There were men, and then there was Torran Kildear. She'd never met anyone like him before. Built for pleasure with the blazing good looks of a man who'd been around the block a few times, he held a spell in his eyes. Everything about him appealed to the bad girl inside Kate. He was the type of hot to be approached with caution—if at all.

Could she handle him? Not in terms of grabbing a piece—she wasn't that type of girl—not that she didn't dream about being that type of girl or envy those who were. She'd just never had the opportunity. No man had ever looked at Kate with lust. She was the fun girl, the reliable girl who men liked to call their friend.

Self-doubt took flight. I want to go home…

No, you don't! Jaw tight, eyes closed, Kate paused halfway through setting out her outfit for the party—the same outfit that had seemed such a good idea back in London, but now felt wrong, almost confrontational.

To convince herself she'd got it right, she reassured herself that her chosen outfit was modest, with not a scrap of skin showing. That seemed a wise precaution with reports of orgies being bandied about. This was not an opportunity to flaunt herself in front of the laird. If everyone else at the Gathering turned out to be as glamorous as Kate imagined, this monochrome costume would make her like a shadow observing from the shadows, which was exactly as it should be.

It was too soon to get dressed for the party, so she decided to take a look around the castle instead.

Or not, as it turned out.

Kate barely had a chance to leave her room when the stone-faced man who had collected her from the airport appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

"I must ask you to return to your room," he said stiffly.

She tried to make a joke of his comment. "I'm a prisoner now?"

Not a joke, apparently. He didn't laugh.

"Quite the contrary," he intoned without expression. "You are the laird's most welcome guest. If you need anything, call down on the house phone. With a party to prepare for, I'm sure you understand that it's easier for the staff if guests stay out of their way."

Kate couldn't argue with that. Reasoning that there would be time to look around at some other point, she returned to her room.

She couldn't complain about the luxurious suite she had been allocated. Everything in the castle was on a grand scale, and Kate's accommodation was no exception. It was like being in another world—not Kate's world, that was for sure!

Money was obviously no object to the laird, but it was the use of color that really impressed Kate. The various tints and hues suggested that the entire color wheel had been taken into consideration before being discarded for its lack of variety. She'd never seen such rich shades before.

Outside, the sky was darkening rapidly. The storm was building. Black clouds boiled overhead, while thunder rolled in a ceaseless drumbeat. Flashes of lightning stabbed the ground in front of the castle, blinding Kate momentarily and making it hard to see anything clearly.

No shortage of drama here, she concluded wryly, retreating from the window. But at least there were no claw marks on the stonework outside her room.

A discreet knock on the door heralded Ingrid the housekeeper, carrying a tray laden with Scottish delicacies. Plates of freshly baked scones slathered in cream and jam together with all sorts of cheese nibbles and fancies. "You didn't need to do this for me. I know how busy you are tonight. I could have come down to the kitchen and saved you a trip."

"Nonsense," Ingrid argued good-humoredly. "When did you last have something to eat? From what you told us when you arrived, you'll be working at the party, so you may not have time for food."

"That's kind of you. I really appreciate it."

"The laird is looking forward to greeting you downstairs," Ingrid added with an arch glance at Kate.

Hmm. Kate didn't want to disillusion her newfound friend, but she doubted Torran would be that pleased to see her, knowing she was on the snoop. Plus, she didn't plan to go to the party right away. She'd learn more once the revelries had a chance to get underway, but there was no harm in stocking up on sugary fuel in the meantime…

So far, so delicious.

It was a mean trick of fate for Torran to steal into her mind at the very moment she wrapped her lips around a chocolate éclair.

As her tongue snaked around the delicious pastry, Kate's imagination ran riot.

The outfit Kate had chosen to wear for the Gathering called for quite a bit of care and preparation. Brushing one final layer of white glitter across her cheeks, she smiled, imagining her entrance at an orgy dressed in head-to-toe black like a specter at the feast?—

Or like Dracula.

Where was his tame journalist? It was almost midnight, and Torran was getting edgy. His guests were dancing after feasting on a relentless parade of culinary delights, but Kate had yet to join them. His only reason for inviting her was to have all this harmless detail put into an article to quash the rumors. Guests had been advised to behave well, but there was always the possibility of things getting out of hand when dragon shifters were involved.

So, where was she?

Standing on the balcony above the ballroom, he viewed the glittering scene. Thorgar's unique fabrics and colors, in all their many spangled variations, were a welcome reminder of his other home. Priceless jewels flashed and glittered as the dancers moved in an ever-increasing whirl. If past Gatherings were anything to go by, this frenzy would soon turn to lust. Torran generally abstained from the Bacchanalian revels. Preferring to keep his encounters discreet, he chose not to fuck on his own doorstep.

Not yet.

His thoughts returned to Kate Trent. Would she wear a ball gown, or some nod to the Scottish event like a plaid? Maybe she'd dress down and carry a notebook and pen. Infuriatingly, he couldn't see her. How the blistering fuck did a full-blood human hide from him like that?

They couldn't. That was the something different he'd sensed about Kate. Restless in his human form, Torran's dragon roared with the need to find out more about his visitor. Plus, he'd never been kept waiting by a woman before.

The clock struck midnight. And there she was.

A collective gasp of astonishment greeted Kate's appearance. As a coup de theatre, her entrance was unparalleled. Dressed as Dracula, she portrayed herself as his dragon kin's all-time foe. Unaware of the faux pas, Kate took her own sweet time descending the stairs so everyone got a good look at her.

The crowd on the dance floor remained transfixed. Kate's stark black tailoring against the bright white marble steps could scarcely be more offensive to creatures who devoted their lives to defending Earth and Thorgar against the White Hordes. Torran saw beyond that to shimmering auburn hair that fell in a tumultuous cascade of fiery tendrils to Kate's waist, framing her pallor in an aura of wild beauty. Blood-red lips were a bold slash of defiance against the glittering effect she had created with makeup.

It was a sight he would never forget. The transformation from journalist to striking beauty was so extreme, he was ready to believe that Kate Trent possessed supernatural powers. Whether she knew it or not, it would explain the barriers he encountered each time he tried to read her. Had she been fooling him all along? Was she on the side of the enemy? His dragon demanded answers.

The spectacle below the gallery where Kate was standing was indescribable. It certainly wasn't the orgy she'd been led to expect. The dancing was wild, but midnight had passed, and alcohol must have been consumed.

Why had she waited until midnight? To stay true to her costume? Partly, yes, but apart from the drama of introducing Dracula into the mix at midnight, she'd wanted the party to reach its peak so she could get a true picture of what was going on.

She spotted Torran on a balcony on the opposite side of the ballroom. He was staring directly at her with shock etched on his face. She didn't look that bad, did she?

She started down the stairs, marveling at the spectacle laid out in front of her. The temperature was neither warm nor cold, but as she descended she had the weirdest sense that she was floating. Glancing at the scene below confirmed, to Kate's relief, that the ballroom hadn't changed, and nor had the sweeping marble staircase. The vaulted ceiling was ablaze with light—but wait… Where was that light coming from? She could see no chandeliers, torchères, or candles, and it wasn't just a white light, but an indoor aurora borealis that changed color and shape constantly.

She was still trying to figure that out when she realized that music was playing, though there were no musicians. It definitely wasn't piped-in music, and it was having a weird effect on her senses. She wanted more music, and louder. She wanted to be part of the melody, so she could dance with abandon like the other guests.

Kate shook herself around with the reminder that she was here to work, and to faithfully record whatever was relevant to her article, but that didn't mean she had to become part of this.

And why was everyone staring at her with such dislike? Wasn't this the right party—the Gathering? Everyone else was in costume, the more outlandish, the better, it seemed, so what had she done wrong?

He used Power to leave the balcony and, in less time than it took to take a breath, greeted Kate at the foot of the stairs. It was already too late to save her from embarrassment. Encircled by guests, she was wiping her cheek where the hiss of a she-dragon had spattered Kate's sparkling white skin with saliva.

From Kate's shocked expression, it was obvious she had no idea why this had happened. Torran knew only too well. Not only had Kate offended by appearing as one of the undead, but the she-dragon in question had her sights set on Torran, and in the hope of seducing him tonight, she was displaying her wares with a costume painted onto naked skin.

"Apologize," he commanded brusquely.

The creature did her best to soothe him with upturned amber eyes, until, realizing her cause was hopeless, she wilted and obeyed.

"Louder," he growled when she mumbled something to Kate.

"It's okay," Kate told him in a stage whisper, touching his arm. "No harm done."

He disagreed, but something more interesting had happened. Both he and Kate had received a shock when they touched.

"What's going on?" Kate murmured, absent-mindedly rubbing her arm as the she-dragon slunk away.

Was Kate referring to the incident or to their mutual reaction when they touched? People were still staring, interest growing thanks to his proximity to someone who appeared to be a vampire.

"What have I done to deserve such anger?" Kate pressed, glancing around.

"The way you look tonight has raised hackles."

"Why?" She frowned as she glanced down at her outfit. "I thought my costume was pretty tame. I'll wear the emperor's new clothes next time?—"

"Next time?" he queried with the lift of a brow.

Slanting her lush mouth, Kate continued to stare at him as if he were no more formidable than a delicious chocolate dessert. "Please accept my sincere apologies if I've caused offense at your party."

"She'll get over it."

"And the rest of your guests?"

A dragonish flash of his eyes sent the curious who had gathered around them scattering. Dragon shifters couldn't hide their hunger for Kate, but they quickly backed off when he delivered a sharp rebuke to their senses. Kate, now fully recovered, was staring around with interest. An attractive blush appeared on her white-glittered cheeks when he asked what she thought of the Gathering.

"Early days—but, already, just wow," she admitted.

No wonder she was impressed. His guests had pushed the boundary of what he guessed Kate would consider human decency with ultra-low-cut gowns, or no gowns at all, wearing skin paint instead. Male dragons, intent on making the most of mating opportunities, displayed their generously sized dragon cocks in outrageously decorated codpieces. It was some satisfaction to know they were wasting their time flaunting their bulges at Kate, as she only had eyes for him.

A man in a kilt does it for me every time.

This time, he did read her and almost smiled.

Softening under his stare, but only as steel might soften under extreme heat, Kate observed, "I see you chose not to wear a costume."

"You don't like Highland dress?"

"I didn't say that. I think it suits you very well."

"You chose to dress down," he observed, thinking the severity of Kate's tailoring accentuated the voluptuous curves of her body to perfection, even if it did symbolize everything he and his kin found repellant.

"As you may have gathered," she said, still staring around, "I have a lot to work with here."

"Just don't mention the incident in your article."

"I wouldn't dream of it. I plan to focus on how your mere presence causes an uproar in the heavens."

He hummed. "Be careful with that too."

His dragon roared with lust as Kate gave him a questioning look. "You're not censoring me already, are you?"

Ignoring that, he asked, "Are you going to explain why you decided to dress as one of the White Hordes?"

She frowned. "Is that some sort of washing powder?"

He had to force back a laugh. "The undead," he explained.

"Goodness, those old coffin hoggers?" Kate was clearly not taking this seriously. "I scanned all the society magazines for costume parties before I decided on an outfit, and knowing I couldn't compete with fabulous gowns and glittering jewels, I decided on something that would blend into the background. Clearly, I got that wrong," she observed with a rueful grin. "But surely I can't be the first person to dress as Dracula at one of these posh fancy-dress dos."

Having his Gathering described as a fancy-dress do made his hackles rise. It also made him want to laugh. What the fuck was this woman doing to him? Tame reporter? That vain hope had receded into the distance. Kate would be a challenge all the way. Bring it on.

He had already reassured himself that she was not a vampire. They were easy to identify with their underlying scent of decay. Kate smelled as fresh and clean as a new day and was very much alive.

"Oh, come on," she chided as if reading his thoughts. "I think we both know Dracula's harmless—just so long as you have a wooden stake and garlic to hand. Anyway," she added, running a hand down her chosen costume. "This was the closest I could get to what I wear at the office. I didn't want to look as if I came here for the ride."

"For the ride?" he queried.

"For a freebie," she explained.

"Dance on," he told his other guests. Quite a few had stopped to view the unbelievable sight of their leader laughing with a woman who looked like a vampire.

"Come with me," he said, guiding Kate into the shadows. "Your face looks different tonight."

Her lips slanted as she considered this. "Powdered white and glittery with a teardrop of blood at one corner of my mouth? Nah—I always dress like this for the office."

He was enjoying himself and couldn't remember the last time that had happened. A battle-scarred dragon overlord, Torran wasn't known for his sense of humor. The worlds he policed were fraught with danger and violence, making enjoyment an indulgence he refrained from, unless that indulgence was sex.

"Why are you frowning?" Kate probed. "Do you feel guilty for laughing and enjoying yourself?"

She'd hit the nail on the head, but how about Kate answering some questions. All the outward signs pointed to her being a creature of passion, so why was she still a virgin? The prospect of introducing her to pleasure made his dragon roar.

"I've kept you from your guests long enough," she declared, but she made no move to leave his side.

"You don't have to go anywhere."

Cocking her head to one side, she said, "Do you always know what people are thinking?"

"Special powers," he murmured enigmatically.

"Great," she enthused. "Can you make anything happen?"

"Are you fishing for tidbits for your article?"

"Always working," she confirmed. "Why else would I be here?"

"Why indeed?" he murmured.

"You're leaving?" she asked as he turned to go.

"We'll talk again after the business of the night."

"The business of the night?" she repeated.

"These Gatherings are a chance for like-minded people to raise their concerns."

"With you? Can't they sort things out for themselves?"

As you would do, he thought. "Some problems are better shared."

"You make yourself sound really nice."

"That was not my intention," he said honestly, enjoying the banter.

"So, you're in overall charge?" she pressed.

"As chieftain, yes." As dragon too. All strong-minded forces needed a leader, or they would spin in ever-decreasing circles until they destroyed themselves.

"I'm impressed."

Kate's comment drew his attention to her lips. How long could he hold his dragon in check? The spectral light surrounding them in the ballroom had reduced the veil between Earth and Thorgar to a gossamer thread. Earthly sexual manners were controlled by the mores of each age, but nothing was controlled when it came to Thorgar's approach to sex. It was regarded in the same way as food. If hunger was mutual, you ate.

Gossip would be rife tonight. Dragonkin were glancing their way. They'd be wondering about Kate and trying to read her. Encountering the same barriers he had, they'd be suspicious.

Following his gaze, Kate remarked, "Would it help your guests to relax if you told them who I am and why I'm here? Or," she added mischievously, "you could lead them to believe I'm a long-lost love here to pique their interest and warm your bed."

She was right about one thing. "You're very bold for a reporter on her first assignment."

"I'm easing into things, you could say. Though, surely, it's the nature of a reporter to be bold? Though I am sorry if I've upset your guests."

"They'll get over it."

"Will you?" Kate's gaze remained fixed upon his face.

"You wanted to chat about your article," he reminded her.

"I'd like to know more about this Gathering. You say it gives you the opportunity to solve guests' problems. What type of problems?"

"You're a guest. What problems do you have?"

"None that I care to discuss."

"Exactly."

"Touché, milord," Kate said with an infectious grin.

She seemed very young at that moment, while he, with a serious conflict brewing, felt the weight of infinity resting on his shoulders. Leading the way to the grand double doors fashioned out of solid gold and flanked by uniformed footmen clad in the opulent livery of a dragon overlord consisting of magenta tail coats lavishly trimmed with gold braid and close-fitting buckskin breeches, he softened his approach toward Kate. She seemed to feel this and smiled up at him. "What problems do you think I have?" she said.

"They start with questioning me."

"Are you going to be difficult?"

"I can be."

"But not with me."

"Is that an instruction?"

She smiled again. "That depends. Perhaps I should go straight to my room and write about what I've seen so far."

"And, perhaps you shouldn't," he said.

"Is that an instruction?"

"Think less, feel more," he advised.

"Is that the best way to learn what's really going on here?" Kate pressed.

"What's really going on?" he repeated as if he'd never heard such foolishness. "I think you'd better follow me if you want to find out."