A thousand years ago in the English Lake District.

The dragon lord’s golden eyes focused on the grey sky above the rock-strewn hills. Dawn mist hovered around the summit like a silken web. It drifted through the rocky outcrops until it reached the valley where he stood alone.

The elusive turquoise-scaled dragons appeared through the haze. Their minds united by a single aim: the dragon egg’s safety, the reason they risked exposure to the human world.

He chose the secret hideaway with care, a valley nurtured with spiritual and physic power. His fiery dragon’s breath blazed across the morning sky and scorched the earth in front of him. The dragon lord hid the egg below the dark earth. Their quest completed, the dragons disappeared as one into the mist. A faint smell of sulphur lingered.

Present day 2013

Lukas found the crowded bus from Penrith a hindrance to quiet reflection. He shut down his senses and blocked out extraneous distractions. Within his circle of protection, he meditated on how he could stop his old adversary.

A burst of psychic energy distracted him. Intrigued, he tracked its source. To his surprise, it originated from the woman who sat across from him. Her aura was a dichotomy of strength and vulnerability. She appeared human, yet…

Fascinated, he watched her as she read with her head bent in concentration; he admired the delicate curve of her neck. Her bow-shaped lips murmured the occasional word as she ran her elegant fingers through the soft, silkiness of her dark blonde hair. His gaze feasted on her silken tresses, shot through with highlights of copper, gold, and platinum.

Lukas forced his mind back to his mission. He studied his murder mystery character profile. His fellow participants mustn’t find out his identity. Or the real reason for his presence at Hallows House. His character traits memorized, Lukas’ attention returned to his mystery woman. She’d finished reading. Now she stared at the misty scenery through the steamed-up window. He settled back and enjoyed the view.

Frustrated with the slow bus journey from the market town of Penrith, Fleur peered through the dirty window. Ice covered the road. Mists floated across Lake Ullswater and cloaked the twisty lanes in an impenetrable shroud. She’d studied the details of her character for the weekend’s event. Fleur smiled at the irony. She knew all the nuances of Megan Wilde, so different from herself. At twenty-four, her life lacked the direction and excitement of her murder mystery character.

“Next stop, Glenhows.”

Fleur gathered her bags from the floor. The bus skidded. The sudden jolt catapulted her into the opposite, occupied seat. Hard muscular arms closed around her. Her rescuer, obviously male, pulled her even closer. The rumble of his deep voice vibrated through her body.

Jane Hunt Writer

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