Chapter Five

Duncan

1433-1900

They snuck up on mein the dead of night. One buried an axe in my spine, holding me at his mercy like an animal in a snare. When the other unsheathed his claymore, I knew my end was near. My last thought, before I saw the flash of steel, was for Fiona and my child. I would never find them. Never tell them I was sorry for the death of Fiona's mother and all their kin before her.

I felt the pinch of the blade and nothing more, wondering how I could still see my attackers though my head had been disconnected from my spine. I blinked up at them after my head rolled to the mossy floor. One screamed, swearing something in Gaelic, as my body crawled toward my head. My lifeblood spilled out of the cavity that was my neck and still my corpse ploughed forward.

My nose twitched as my hand brushed my face. Then my fingers yanked my hair, pulling my head toward my body. The men fell back, looks of horror etched into their bony faces as my head fused onto my neck.

"Dullahan!" one hollered before falling over his friend.

I slowly sat up, leaning against a tree stump and rubbed my aching throat. The murderers turned and ran, their feverish cries of "demon" echoing in the dead of night.

I sat motionless for several pulsating heartbeats, too numb from shock to think about pursuing my attackers. The weight of the night's events pressed against my chest and my limbs iced over in fear. I didn't know who had been more terrified, they of me, or me of the monster I'd become.

My first thought was that Fiona was more than just a dragon. She was a witch whose unholy union had tethered me to immortality. 'Twas the only explanation.

After I gathered my wits, I brushed the blood off my hands and sought out my attackers. It had not been hard, for their hollers and cries led me to a small cottage where they'd taken shelter. They'd already killed the farmer and his wife, tossing their bodies over the threshold with a pile of bloody rushes and bolting the door behind them.

I bid my time, knowing I'd have eternity to wait them out. The first snuck out at the break of dawn, creeping on his hands and knees until he was well away from the hut. I buried my axe in the man's back when he reached the edge of the woods. The other two were far easier, for they'd drowned themselves in their cups the night before and were still dead asleep in their cots. Their screams were lost in the gurgling sound of blood filling their lungs, as I ran my blade across their throats.

My only regret was that the farmer's children had seen the carnage. They huddled in a corner with wide, frightened eyes. My heart stilled when I saw the oldest girl, a lass with wild red hair, but her eyes were the color of dark moss; she could not be my child.

The children called me "Dullahan," for I was all their captors had spoken of the night before. Surprisingly, they didn't fear me. Their mother had been superstitious and filled their minds with stories of monsters and knights. They decided I was betwixt the two, both demon and hero. After I helped the children bury their parents, I gave them all the gold in my pockets and bid them farewell.

Rumors of the Dullahan spread throughout the land. No matter the town, there was not an innkeeper or patron who didn't fear me. I stayed nowhere overly long, not just because of the cold greetings I'd received, but I refused to give up my search for my mate and child. My quest took me from one continent to another. No matter my destination, stories of my immortality seemed to precede me. At each new town, I was met with wary eyes as mothers pushed their children behind their skirts and fathers guarded their homes while clutching knives and swords with trembling hands.

As time passed, I wanted to hate Fiona for cursing me to a life of immortality, unable to seek the respite of a cold grave. But even after centuries of bemoaning my lonely fate, and the keen sorrow that twisted like a blade in my heart as I laid down each night in an empty cot, I could not hate her.

For it was she who'd first taught me to love more than my own pride and glory. It was she who'd taught me to see beauty in all things. And it was for Fiona that I still clung to the hope of finding love once again. In the meantime, I vowed to hang up my monster-slaying sword in exchange for a far more noble cause; I would be a defender of the weak and champion of the poor and defenseless, though they thanked me more out of fear than admiration.

Eager to escape the moniker of Dullahan, my travels took me to a new land, the Promised Land. I hoped in America I would find not only a new start but my mate and child.

I defied death many times over, first as a soldier in the militia, surviving lead to the chest and gut as I defended my new country against the British Army. And next as a pioneer out West, having risen from the dead with a tomahawk buried deep in my skull. Once again, rumors of my immortality preceded me. To the Cherokee, I was known as Kalona. To the Navajo I was Chindi. And to the white man I was anything from a ghost, to the grim, to Satan himself.

Fear served me well during the gold rush in California and Alaska. Those with the temerity to try to murder me for my gold were met with a blade to the heart or a skull full of lead.

I returned to New York City much different than when I'd first set foot in America, not just because I'd lost most of my Scottish brogue. Over the centuries, I'd gained a great deal of wisdom through books and travels. I was also very wealthy and could have had any woman I wanted, but my soul pined for only one, my she-dragon, Fiona. For though my heart had been beating for what felt like an eternity, its rhythm was muted and dull, working as if it were half an organ. Fiona had taken the rest of my heart when she'd left me, and I knew I would find happiness with none other.

* * *

Fiona

Caribbean Sea—1729

I WOKE WITH A START, chest heaving, stomach clenched, and tears dripping freely down my snout. Smoke from my heavy breathing filled the cramped chamber that was lit with a soft yellow glow from the same veiny tributaries embedded in our shell that gave us breath. My slumber would be far more comfortable if I could shift to human form. I squeezed my dragon eyes shut, trying to block the images from my terrifying nightmare. But I knew 'twas no nightmare that had disturbed my slumber. My mother's murder was all too real.

I choked on a sob, clenching my jowls tight as I repressed the urge to cry out. I would not wake my child.

MacQuoid's child.

I chanced a look at the sleeping dragon nestled in the crook of my wing. I loved my daughter so, the one reason I didn't regret my grievous night of passion with MacQuoid so many years ago.

But I could not force my daughter to slumber forever. She had grown to full size, her ribs now pressing against the cavity that cradled my broken heart. I feared my child would ask questions about her father.

How would I explain? How could I?

The man I had once loved, the man I still loved—had murdered my mother.

* * *

Safina

Caribbean Sea—1756

I TRIED TO STRETCHa cramped wing after waking from a groggy slumber, but I hadn"t enough room, and my mother"s thick scales would not budge. Mother"s breathing came in gasps, heating the scales on my neck. Occasionally, the dragon queen would sniffle loudly through her large snout.

I didn't understand the noise my mother was making. Was she snoring? Was she sick?

"Mother, I'm tired of this shell." I spoke loud enough to wake my mother, although my voice was muffled in our cramped space.

"Cease your whining," Mother snorted. "You have much more room than I."

I didn't think so. I couldn't even stretch my wings with Mother"s large chest pushing against me. "Can"t we go to the surface?"

Mother sighed. "Go to sleep, child."

But I couldn't sleep now that I had awakened. How long we had been sleeping, I wasn"t sure, but I didn't feel like the same dragon who"d gone to slumber. My legs were heavier, and my wings itched to break free.

Outside our shell, I heard movement—groaning and grinding and all kinds of dark sounds.

I didn't like being trapped beneath the ocean.

"But what if mortals swim down and find us?"

"Mortals cannot swim this deep." The dragon queen laughed through a groan. "Besides, Graechen keeps watch."

How could my mother laugh at a time like this? A young dragon needed air, not imprisonment. "How long must we wait?"

"Forever, if need be." Mother"s tone was stern but soft. "If you learn nothing from me, remember this: a dragon"s greatest virtue is patience."

"I"m tired of being patient," I moaned.

Just then I heard a sound so strange and wondrous, my dragon ears strained for more. The sound deepened and encompassed me, filling my mind and body with love and beauty all at once. I sighed as the melody arose from my mother"s lungs.

"Sleep my child, and when ye wake,

The dragon's dawn again will break.

As frosted fields give way to spring

And little birds begin to sing

The summer rains and falling leaves

Grant the weary slow reprieve.

Slumber all ye hatchling queens.

Time abides for dragon dreams."

"What is that song you sing, Mother?"

"A dragon lullaby," Mother cooed into my ear with the rhythm of the ancient music.

"It"s beautiful." I sighed through a yawn, my soul feeling so peaceful and tired.

"Aye, child. Sweet dreams."