Chapter One

Fiona Firesblood, Dragon Princess

Scotland—1423

I knew not what hadhappened, only that I felt my mother's pain and cry for help. I ran out of the cave we shared on human legs while tearing off my clothes, shifting into my dragon form as I jumped into the sky and flew swiftly to her aid.

I found the dragon queen's body by the sea on a rocky precipice which towered above the violent waves beneath. It had been a cold morn, made even colder by the icy terror which settled in my chest.

Landing with haste, I nearly lost my footing as an avalanche of rocks and debris slipped from beneath my talons and into the water below.

I approached my mother cautiously, pinning my wings behind me as I nudged the queen with my snout.

Mother!I cried.

The queen didn't answer.

Mother, do you not hear me?I nudged harder, and the queen rolled onto her side.

'Twas then I noticed the spear lodged in Mother's chest.

I tried to save her. I showered Mother with my healing fires until I fell over from exhaustion.

Overcome with despair, I sobbed until my body ached and shook with jarring tremors. Then my breathing slowed, stilled, and I wished I would die beside my mother.

Mortal voices carried from afar. "Find the dragonslayer! There's another!"

"I think it's dead. He killed two dragons!"

"Nay, keep your distance. I was witness. MacQuoid killed only one."

"Aye, but it looks dead. Mayhap he returned and killed this one."

I lay quiet, stifling my sobs. Let them fetch the dragonslayer, MacQuoid. Let them bring him to me, so I could have my revenge!

Other villagers came, though they were wise enough to keep their distance. One brave fool poked and prodded my scales. I sensed the wild pounding of his heart as shrill laughter erupted from his throat.

I repressed the urge to rear up and burn him on the spot. Nay, I would wait for MacQuoid.

But he never came. He'd ridden on to slay more monsters, no doubt. Perhaps he was looking for me in the hills where Mother and I had hunted wild game.

He would not find me. I would make sure of it.

I would find him. I would come to him as a woman, seduce him, lure him away.

And then.... I swore with every fiery breath in my body, I would not rest until my mother's death was avenged.

* * *

Duncan MacQuoid

Former Knight of the Realm and Dragonslayer

Scotland—1428

WHY HAVE YOU DONE THISto me, knight? What crime have I committed? I have never sought to harm humankind. Never!

I came up for breath, wiping water from my eyes. I moved to the river's edge, gliding with the flow as if I, too, was a thread of water. Pulling myself onto a dry slab of rock, I gazed intently into the clear depths beneath me.

'Twas no pattern in the way the river moved—no assurance that one current would resemble the next, yet the water kept flowing.

'Twould have been so easy if I could have said the same about my life. But over the past five summers, life had become stale, stagnant, unbearable.

I had no reprieve from the image of the dying beast while she lay there crying—the anguish in her features, in her voice, before she'd breathed her last breath.

Her pain had been all too real.

Too mortal.

'Twas not a dragon I had slain but something more.

Because of my nightmares, the life I now led was a shell of the one I'd left behind. Duncan MacQuoid, dragonslayer, was no more.

In his place was a tortured man who could not erase the memories no matter how hard I tried.

I did try, though each night I was awakened by the same dream. In the dream I had slain the dragon, but a woman had taken her place, a beautiful woman with flame red hair and a spear protruding from her chest.

"Why have you done this?" she'd cried in the same voice the dragon had used that fateful morning.

For the monster had spoken after I'd plunged my spear into her chest.

Let the world think me mad. I had heard her speak, though her fanged jowls didn't move. Her voice had been in my head, as she pierced my soul with the pained gaze of her jade-green eyes.

That dragon had been no dumb beast.

And as long as I had breath in my body, I would never forgive myself for killing her.

* * *

Fiona Firesblood, Last of the Dragon Queens

Scotland – 1429

"DRAGONSLAYER?" THEknight tilted back his head and laughed.

Anger flushed my chest and infused my cheeks. He thought me mad, just like all the other knights. Amazing how quickly these mortals were inclined to forget that beasties and monsters had ruled the earth only a few centuries past.

Stroking his bushy black beard with grimy fingers, he looked down at me with a condescending smile. "Why would a pretty wench worry herself over dragons? 'Tis stuff of fantasy." Then his eyes darkened as he leaned closer, latching onto my wrist with a meaty claw. "If ye need someone to chase away yer nightmares"—his garbled voice dropped to a hoarse whisper—"I could warm yer bed tonight."

I nearly gagged from the stench of stale brew on his breath. Jerking my arm free, my eyes narrowed to slits. "Nay, knight, go warm another pint of ale instead."

Raucous laughter erupted directly behind me.

My attention snapped to the knight's companions. I had thought there were two of them, but their numbers had swelled to five. And they no longer huddled in the darkened corner of the smoky tavern but swarmed around me like bees to a hive.

An involuntary shiver coursed through me. I didn't like the feral gleam in their eyes or the strong scent of lust radiating off them.

Instinctively, my lips curled back in a snarl.

They laughed harder, their flesh now pulsating with need.

I knew they planned to use me, whether I was willing or not. I cursed myself a fool for coming to the tavern, but I was hoping one among their number would have claimed to be the dragonslayer.

But these were just drunk fools bent on one sordid purpose.

For six years I had struggled to keep my true form a secret. Although I would feel no remorse in ripping these men to shreds, I didn't want to expose myself now. The dragonslayer was near. I could feel it in the marrow of my bones.

"Come now, wench." The tallest of the knights, with a long, thin white beard and a gaunt face, leaned over me. Twisting a wad of my skirt in his hand, he spoke against my cheek with stale, hot breath. "I be not a dragonslayer, but I pack a big spear if ye like."

"Leave me before I hurt you," I spoke on a growl while fighting the urge to retch from his putrid breath.

He laughed, though his sunken orbs darkened with forewarning of foul deeds. Still clutching the fabric of my skirt, he yanked me off my stool.

The air whooshed from my lungs as I slammed against his chest. Grasping his lean, taut shoulders, I fought the panic that tied a knot in my throat. I had to find another means of escape. I'd come too far to reveal my secret, but I knew not how to escape these men in my mortal body. I'd only had to rely on my human form for persuasion. Why fight as a girl when a dragon was so much more powerful?

With no other options before me, I resorted to the only means available to a weak female. "Please let me go," I pleaded, batting long lashes at my brutish captor.

A low, ominous rumble broke from his chest. "I will when we're finished with ye, wench." Digging his hooks into my slender forearms, the knight pulled me up the length of his chest, and in the next second, his hard mouth came crashing down on mine.

I tried to scream, but his suffocating kiss would not give me breath to make a sound.

I'd run out of options.

Heart beating wildly, I braced myself for the change. Beneath my flesh, muscles coiled, bones ached, as I prepared to break free of my mortal skin.

'Twas when my body was on the precipice of transformation that a booming command shook the stagnant air of the small tavern. "Leave her be!"

The knight broke the kiss in an instant, dropping me as if I were no more than a discarded ragdoll. I stumbled back, nearly falling on my backside, but I was caught by firm hands that captured my waist.

Gasping for breath, I was momentarily disoriented.

When the strong hands holding me roved to my breasts, I elbowed the man in the ribcage. Howling, he released me, but I escaped that captor only to be caught in the grip of another drunken knight.

I hadn't seen my rescuer come to my aid until I was shoved onto a table. I came to my knees, bracing myself for another attack, but the offending knights were now in the midst of a brawl.

Against one man.

Jaw dropping, I watched with amazement as the man wielded a sword with all the skill of a seasoned knight, although his tattered woolen tunic and mud-stained breeches indicated he was most likely a farmer.

The barmaid stood behind the barkeep, screaming, while he swung open the heavy wooden door of the front entrance. A rush of cool night air ruffled my hair and chilled the nape of my neck. The door thudded closed behind them, and I turned my attention back to the brawl.

Two men were down. Another staggered in front of me before falling on top of the table, his face buried in my skirt. I grabbed a tankard and banged it across his skull. He slipped to the floor with a satisfying thud.

I inwardly smiled at the weapon in my hand—leverage to assist my weak human body. Jumping to my feet, I managed to steady myself while smashing the tankard across the head of another knight. Though I heard the crack of bone, I briefly wondered if I'd done any harm at all. The knight simply walked to the other side of the room, weaving between tables before he reached the back wall.

Clutching tightly to my weapon, my chest swelled with pride as the knight slowly slid down the wall.

The farmer still battled the two big knights who'd first accosted me. I had not seen the farmer strike, but the white-haired knight dropped his sword, clutching his chest as blood seeped from between his fingers.

The other knight fell against my table, grasping a bleeding wound at his throat. The structure wobbled beneath me. The sound of wood splitting filled my ears, and I screamed when I flew into the air.

Then I landed in a strong embrace. Instinctively, I clenched my fingers, but when my nails pierced the flesh of my palm, my throat tightened at the realization I'd lost the tankard.

Balling hands into fists, I prepared to strike the man holding me.

Only then did I look at him—into eyes paler than the summer sky.

"Are ye hurt?" His voice was strong with a gentle edge.

A tremor shot to my core, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Nay, are you?"

One corner of his mouth hitched up in a slight smile. "I am well, but I think we should go before the magistrate arrives." His brogue was not thick like the other villagers I'd encountered this day. "Are ye able to stand?"

'Twas then I realized the farmer was still holding me. But how could I have forgotten? My mind was so muddled, I could hardly muster a coherent thought.

"A-Aye," I stammered.

Slowly, and ever so gently, the man placed me on my feet. I sighed when he released me. For a moment, I thought I missed the warmth of his touch. I shook my head, trying to clear my brain of such foolish notions.

I'd vowed long ago never to lose my heart to a man. Men brought only heartache. I'd learned that from my sire.

Fool that I was, the breath was stolen from my lungs when I looked into his face again. The lines around his pale eyes suggested his age, perhaps thirty-five summers or more. But he was far more handsome than any young mortal I'd ever known. Perhaps 'twas the compassion I'd read beneath his soft gaze.

His warm hand still clutched mine, and though I knew I ought to pull free, I made no attempt to let go. He opened the heavy door and led me into the crisp night air.

Still clutching his hand, I followed without care or thought for anything save my blue-eyed swordsman. A voice flickered through the recesses of my mind, warning me 'twas folly to become smitten over a man. 'Twas my mother's voice, I was sure. But my mother had been dead six autumns, and my hand cradled in his was so welcoming. I realized I'd been alone far too long.

"I've not seen ye before, lass. Where is yer home?" His deep voice pulled me out of my trance.

"Home." I mouthed the words, slightly stunned by the hollow sound of my own voice.

We'd come to a halt. I looked up, into the intensity of his gaze as he stared at me in silence. Still clutching his hand, I spun a half-circle, surveying my surroundings. I had not realized he'd led me off the cobblestone path and into the dense forest, illuminated only by the pale light of the full moon.

"I think I should escort ye home." The pad of his thumb traced gentle circles along the tender cup of my hand.

My knees weakened, and my legs wobbled like jelly. Instinctively, I leaned into him, craving the warmth radiating off his broad frame.

"I have no home," I spoke on an exhale while resting my cheek against the cradle of his chest.

His arm came around me and settled on the small of my back. Then he stroked up the length of my spine until his thick fingers threaded through my riotous curls. Tucking several strands of hair behind my ear, he spoke in a throaty whisper. "Ye may stay with me if ye like."