Make Believe Lover

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Make-Believe Lover ISBN # 1-4199-0515-5 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Make-Believe Lover Copyright© 2006 Ashley Ladd Edited by Linda Carroll-Bradd. Cover art by Christine Clavel. Electronic book Publication: MM 2006

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 443103502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Warning: The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated S-ensuous by a minimum of three independent reviewers. Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (Erotic), and X (X-treme). S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination. E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature. X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

MAKE-BELIEVE LOVER Ashley Ladd

Trademarks Acknowledgment The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Batman: National Periodical Publications, Inc. Barbie: Mattel, Inc. Corporation Beatles: Apple Corps Limited Casper: Harvey Entertainment, Inc. Dr. Kildare: Okihei Enterprise, Ltd. Dungeons and Dragons: TSR Hobbies, Inc. Glucometer: Miles Laboratories, Inc. He-Man: Mattel Inc. James Bond/007: James Bond Multimedia Miss Clairol: The Procter & Gamble Company Onward Christian Soldier: Text: Sabine Baring-Gould, 1865; Music: St. Gertrude Arthur S. Sullivan 1871 Robin Hood: Time Warner Entertainment Company, L.P. Sherlock Holmes: Sherlock Holmes Ltd. Star Wars: Lucas Licensing Ltd. Superman: Detective Comics, Inc. Wild Animal Kingdom: Walt Disney Company

Make-Believe Lover

Chapter One A sheen of perspiration broke out on Becca Weiss’ brow as she tossed and turned in her bed. Dreaming of her painful past, she dug ragged fingernails into palms so raw they bled. Her father, the General, her staunchest ally against the world before their rift, ranted in a very un-General-like way. Wild-eyed insanity stared her down as the tic by his eye went spastic. In a heart-shattering voice, he hissed, “Dismissed. Get out!” Her heart crumbling, Becca blinked. This hostile alien with hatred brimming in his soulless green eyes couldn’t be the General. This man scared her beyond any fear she’d ever experienced. Haggard and vibrating with ferocity, the General bore faint resemblance to the father she’d known. No way would she stay another minute in this arctic house for it was no longer her home, just a hollowed-out bomb shelter. Furious tears stinging the backs of her eyes, she squared her shoulders and jutted out her chin in a show of bravado. “As you like, Sir.” Her voice wavered on the brink of breaking, destroying her little show of boldness as she spun on her heel, turning her back on the man she had never called ”Daddy” or ”Dad”, her former home, and the only life she’d ever known. As of this moment, the General was dead to her. She imagined this rupture in relationship would make her sad at any age, but at sixteen, she was downright devastated. Still in high school, she had no way to support herself, nowhere to turn. He knew he had her at his mercy that she would have to kiss his feet and beg forgiveness for doing nothing wrong. She wouldn’t admit wrongdoing when she was faultless and never to the General. She’d sooner beg the local charity’s mercy or sleep in the gutter. Onward Christian Soldier rang through her head and she began humming it, then increased her fervor as the inspiring rhythm drove her on. The General glared, his eyes dark and unfathomable. His iron-gray hair lay perfectly styled, close-cropped to his head, shaved short around his ears and neck in perfect military-fashion even though he’d been retired from active duty going on five years. Not even his hair would dare disobey his orders. Nobody would except his most unruly daughter. Trying not to gag on the words, she took as much solace in the soothing melody as she could. Cackling, picking up more speed, she ran down the stairs of their two-story town house, her feet silent on the carpeted stairs, and breaking down a wooden barrier, she ran out the back door.

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His face a blistery red, the General flung open an upstairs window. Leaning out so far it was a wonder he didn’t tumble into the riot of bushes below, he shook his fist, and yelled out, “Where do you think you’re going, soldier?” To join the circus with the dog-faced boy. “I’m not one of your soldiers. I’m following orders to get out, Sir.” Who cared as long as she escaped from Camp Impossible? At that moment, the General’s insanity became contagious. Dragging air into her lungs, she rushed into the dark of the dead, humid woods without a compass to guide her. Cursing the General, cursing herself, she groped through the inky night, fighting imaginary monsters. Just because he hated her boyfriend was no reason to disown her, to find her untrustworthy.

***** Panicked, enveloped in a cold sweat and entangled in her bed covers, she awoke from the nightmare. “General!” Bit by bit, her surroundings sank in. No longer did her beloved Beatles poster hang above her bed. The walls were painted a calming shade of peach, not the frantic fuchsia of her teenage years. Gone were the garish, daffodil yellow beanbag chairs, rotary dial phone, and psychedelic radio alarm clock. Instead, her gaze fell upon the red digital time-and-temperature display reflected on her ceiling, her technical degree certificate hanging on her wall, and her gray and black striped tiger cat, Gizmo, who opened a sleepy eye at her as he awoke from a deep sleep on the foot of her bed. The cat stretched his paws wide, extended his sharp claws, and began needing her satiny aqua bed cover so deeply that he snagged her toe. “Ow. Stop that!” She yanked her feet away and curled them behind her. Still, the physical pain didn’t ache nearly as much as the heartbreak that had plagued her for the past decade. Would the horrendous nightmares ever stop torturing her? No. She rolled over and punched her pillow with all her strength. The darned things were her curse, the over-inflated price of her youthful mutiny. Since the General had died before they could reconcile, the bitterness still entwined her heart. But now the animosity was directed at her, at the acute loss of what should have been. She’d been a petulant child, wanting her own way. But he’d also been too hard on her, expecting her to tow the line like a mature soldier, not a hormonal teen. What a stupid, selfish teenager she’d been. And oh God, how shortsighted! She’d never dreamed he would die so young, so fast, without a chance to set things right. She’d always imagined the pain would lessen, that they’d overcome that awful day and they’d forgive and forget and reopen communications. Now that mythical “someday” would never arrive. The General had gone to his grave believing she hated him. Or worse, he’d died hating her.

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Swooping down on the unsuspecting Gizmo, she cradled him to her heart, taking comfort in his purrs. “My baby.” Her sole baby, fur or not. She didn’t know if she could subject herself to the flipside of this parenting thing. Rickety, she reached for her glucometer to test her blood sugar levels. Her shakiness must be the result of the nightmare, but she couldn’t be too careful with her diabetes.

***** Becca never tired of watching the moms and dads interact with their kids. That was far and away the best part of her job as office administrator for the Pediatrics Clinic. Playful or strict, happy or sad, love punctuated every movement, every syllable of their relationships. Seldom did she pick up on animosity and persecution like that she’d felt from the General. The office was a happy place most of the time, due in large part to colorful murals of jungle animals and plants painted on the waiting room walls. Showers of sunlight poured through the sunroof that quite appropriately had the sun’s rays painted around the wide-open circle. Educational toys in bright primary colors littered the floor usually surrounded by a gaggle of giggling children, while family and women’s magazines lay strewn on top of the tables. When she pondered the psychology, she wondered why she surrounded herself with happy families that were the antithesis of her own. To stop the trembling that always came when she allowed herself to dwell on her past, she bit down on her lower lip. So the General had always treated her as if she were an unwanted red-haired stepchild. So she’d been issued a dishonorable discharge and she wasn’t even a soldier. So she’d bleached her hair in rebellion and was still revolting. Mousy and scared of her own shadow like a sniveling private, her mother hadn’t stood her ground. Her mother would never step out of line and incur the General’s wrath by staying in secret contact with her daughter. No frigging excuse. The woman could have called or emailed. She’d had free agency. She wasn’t in the military any more than Becca. Buck up, soldier. The past was the past. No amount of remorse would change things now. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, accept the entire blame. The General had been responsible for his troops and he’d deserted them. A strain of music in the kiddy cartoon playing in the patient waiting room reminded her of her favorite show—a very stimulating adult cartoon that would be far more pleasurable than the likes of the annoying kiddy shows that played ad nauseam in the office day in, day out. She found the fantasy world very alluring. With any luck some hottie like the cartoon’s hero would fall head over heels in love with her and carry her off to their blissful happily-ever-after. Mooning about the hero, she didn’t care if a silly smirk twisted her lips.

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She swallowed a sigh. She wasn’t greedy. All she wanted was one real-life hottie. Just one. “Not that stupid cartoon again,” Becca’s officemate Jen scowled at the television and then flipped off the switch. “Give it a break. It’s played all day, every day this week. If I have to listen to that music one more time, I’m going to puke.” “Yep.” Becca signed off on a file and put in on top of her multiplying pile, then swiveled around to look at her friend and coworker. “At least it keeps the little monsters entertained.” The majority of the time anyway. A pint-sized wail shattered her eardrums, setting her nerves on edge. An exhausted, aggravated mom screamed above the melee. Okay, so the patients weren’t all straight out of the Donna Reed family. Some were obviously dysfunctional. But she bet none of these kids had to wake up to reveille or present their dates for military inspection. “Well, I can’t take it one more day. The dang thing’s going to vanish tonight.” Jen glared meaningfully at the movie. “Go for it.” Becca scrunched her nose at the TV screen hanging high in the corner of the far wall where their pint-sized patients couldn’t play with the controls or get grubby fingerprints on the screen. In fact, she’d pay big bucks to get rid of the day’s irritating selection, but why pay if her friend would get so much satisfaction doing it for free? Jen, the evil matchmaker, elbowed her in the ribs and tilted her head at the door. “Hey hey! Get a look at that hottie. I don’t see any rings on his finger. You like that one?” Becca viewed the newcomer from beneath the veil of her lashes. He was a cutie all right with a thatch of raven-black hair and a five-o-clock shadow. The little girl tugging on his hand was downright adorable. But then a woman dressed in frumpy faded gray sweats wheeled in prattling triplets behind him and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Where’s the fire, hon?” Jen screwed up her hot pink lips and muttered, sotto voce, “Nix that one.” Ya think? Triplets. Cute, but… Becca shuddered at such an impossible thought. Oh well, the cutie wasn’t Lobo, anyway… Her Lobo… She wished. Why didn’t they make men like the sexy hero anymore? Had they ever made men like him? She chewed on the cap of her pen as she gaped out at the sun-drenched parking lot and into the distance. If they did, she’d know what to do with him, starting with some very romantic kisses, followed by erotic foreplay, and then just down-and-dirty sex. Whew! Shivers racked her spine. How she longed to tease her hottie with kisses, to run her fingers through his long luscious hair, and trace every muscled contour of his hot bod. 8

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She doodled along the edge of her notepad. Hearts. Puckered lips. Lobo’s face. His body. Their bodies entwined. Losing herself in her fantasy, fascinated by his potent animal-on-the-prowl swagger, she tiptoed up to her make believe lover and rubbed her nose against his. Her beaded nipples grazed his chest and an intense, spine-tingling awareness gushed through her. “Hey, lover. You been waiting long?” “All my life, darlin’.” Lobo made a thorough exploration of her mouth as his hands journeyed on their own expedition of her curves. A hard bulge in his pants raged against her groin. Intoxicated by his woodsy scent, by the aggressive shift of his shoulders and arrogant sway of his hips, her breath expelled in a noisy shiver. Swaying with him, she was sucked into his scent and let her hands roam every luscious inch of him. She loved the wild rollercoaster ride, riding up, up and up to the tip-top of the sky. Lost in paradise, her heart filled with dreams, she flicked her tongue along his salty neck. “The wait’s over. I’m here for you and I’m all yours, now and forever.” Wariness shadowed his eyes and he pulled back. Oh no. Her heart stumbled. She’d seen this look before. “Don’t say that. The curse…” Fearing his action was symbolic as well as physical, she blinked against the burning tears in her eyes. She believed curses had power over those who permitted it. She was his savior as much as he was hers. Putting her fingers against his lips, she whispered, “Shush. Forget the ridiculous curse. I’m your soul mate. The curse can’t hurt us.” Of course it couldn’t in this magical realm. He smoothed her hair away from her face and cradled her head between his palms. Gazing down into her eyes, his voice lowered a husky notch, “I’d go crazy if I ever lost you. I’d rather die a thousand deaths.” Bemused by her reaction to his drugging kisses, by the intensity of his declaration, she closed her eyes and burrowed closer against his warmth. “No worries. I’m all yours.” His heart thumping, he scooped her into his arms and cradled her against his chest. Cherishing her lips, he carried her to a misty, fog-filled glen and settled her upon a bed of fragrant rose petals. He peeled away her clothes until all she wore was the morning’s tender sunlight. “You’re gorgeous.” Heat liquefied her insides at the beauty of this moment. No one else, not even her would-be boyfriend Larry, had uttered such sincerely charming words. She knew she was Rubenesque, and that was being kind. All her life she’d been overly curvaceous. But Lobo didn’t seem to care. His gaze adored her. His intense gaze roved from the hollow of her neck, to her dusky areolas, and then heart-stoppingly downward. Bewitched, basking in his glowing smile, her heart swelling, she smiled up at him. Eager for him to join her, she rose to her knees and tugged on his hands. Ravenous,

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aching to know him in the flesh, she unlaced his tunic and slid it over his head. Then she pushed his slacks down to his ankles. Feasting her gaze on all his glory, she tried to catch her breath. Her gaze was drawn to the source of his heat, and she couldn’t wrench it away if she wanted to. She traced the tip of her finger along the ridge of his swelling cock, and then encircled it with her fingers. “So beautiful.” A primitive growl burst from his lips and he bent his head and suckled a pert nipple. He pushed her down into the bed of rose petals, and molded her to him. Writhing and whimpering, she arched her back to work her breast deeper into his mouth. Never before had she come without being in union with her lover, but she was on the brink of doing just that. When he cupped her mons and began rubbing her clit with his thumb, he brought her close to the edge of the abyss. Coiled tight with energy, a raw nerve, she yearned to know all of him. She parted the slit on his tip with her fingertip, and lubricated him with his creamy juice. Then she lifted her finger to her mouth and sucked it. Yummy. “So tasty.” “Siren, why do you tempt me so?” He swirled his tongue around her nipple and under the heavy globe of her breast as he slid a finger into her channel and fucked her. Feverish, struggling to breathe as relentless emotions crashed against her, she wrapped her hand around his penis. At first, she fingered it, then stroked with greedy fervor. “The. Same. Reason. You. Tempt. Me.” “Because you love me with all your heart and soul?” His soft fingers spread her wet folds and his thumb encircled the hardening nub of her clit. She gasped as those thick fingers plunged into her, stretching her with a sweetness she’d never believed possible. Giddy with supreme happiness, cherishing every moment, she nodded and painted his every staggering expression, the feel of his every sinew, his every muscle, into her memory. She would never be the same, would never look at love or life with the same eyes. Burning for more of him, she pushed his hand away from her pussy and tugged his burning cock to her lubricated clit, and fondled it. “Ditto. Love me. Now.” His passionate gaze blazed into her soul. As if he’d read her mind, he plunged into her all the way to the hilt. “Eager minx.” Molten heat burrowed between her legs. Beyond heaven, she moved with him in a seductive, hypnotic rhythm. They kissed long and slow, taking their time to explore the wonder of each other, to memorize each other’s heady scents and flavors. Their tempo picked up. Lost in the loving, she met him thrust for quivering thrust. Her heart bouncing hard in her chest, she ground her hips against his and wrapped her legs around him. They were one. United. Body and soul. Heart to heart. Life couldn’t get better than this magical fantasy.

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His body slickened with sweat, he slid evocatively against her. His calloused fingers spread her wet folds and then he slammed into her with incredible force. With a loud gasp, he ground his hips against hers, and his seed exploded. An electric jolt sparked in her crotch, and her mind reeled out of control. Desperate to join him, she squeezed her vaginal walls about his girth. With every ounce of her energy, her blood surging through her body, she pumped his cock. Searing heat flooded her under the ministrations of his skilled hands. A rainbow of brilliant fireworks exploded deep in her womanly core, she clung to him. Panting and trembling, the orgasm coursed through her, making her writhe and quiver. Then her mind left her body so that she floated on a cloud of euphoria. Fingers snapped in front of her nose and then Jen’s concerned voice wobbled from a hazy distance, “Uhm, Becca. You okay?” Her heart stopped. Bereft, Lobo evaporated from her arms. Blinking the fog from her vision, Becca looked around while hurtling down from her cloud. Enlightenment dawned and embarrassment flooded her as her surroundings imprinted themselves into her mind. Oh no! Had she just bucked against her office chair, in front of her friend and all these patients? She must look like a royal idiot. To her horror, when she glanced around, Jen’s face flushed cherry-red to her hairline and several knowing pairs of eyes regarded her. Oh God! She had. She needed a life. But fantasy was so much better… One of the incredibly sexy doctors barreled down upon her, an alarmed gleam in his eyes. “You okay?” Absolutely mortified and unable to squeak, Becca shook her head. Of course, she wasn’t okay! She was going to die. Jen squared her shoulders, stationed herself between Becca and their eligible but out-of-reach boss, and she spoke in a high-pitched voice, “Uh, she’s got bad stomach cramps. She’s such a trooper, she was trying to stick it out.” “If you’re sick, we can’t have you infecting the patients, even if you’re trying to be a good worker. You know the rules. Sign out and step into my office so I can have a looksee.” Yikes! He couldn’t take a look-see. Not here. Not now. She crossed her fingers behind her back. “It’s, uh, my time of the month. Sometimes it gets quite severe. Promise I’m not infectious.” She brought her hand around front and crossed her heart. The doctor screwed up his lips and looked away. “Oh. Well, you’re still under the weather so go on home, and rest up. We hope you’ll feel better tomorrow.” Behind their boss’s back, Jen screwed up her features in funny expressions designed to make Becca laugh out loud.

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It was everything Becca could do not to guffaw and roll on the floor laughing. Keeping a tight rein on herself, she allowed herself a gracious smile. “Thank you. A nap sounds like heaven.” “Hope you feel better. Call us if you feel worse.” The model-handsome doctor gave her arm a commiserative, fatherly squeeze. Of course. If she were a svelte wispy woman like Jen, there would have been a measure of manly appreciation instead. Oh well. That’s why she had Lobo… She shut down her dangerous thoughts as she closed her computer. She shouldered her purse and grabbed her lunch pail. On the way out, she whispered to Jen with a wealth of gratitude in her heart, “Thanks. I owe you one.” “Just don’t ever do that in here again.” Jen smiled and lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. “And fill me in later on all the yummy details. I want a piece of that.” Uh huh. Lobo was all hers. Still daydreaming of the luscious hottie, Becca slipped outside into the waning Florida sunlight. Squinting when late afternoon sun reflected off the shiny hood of her little coupe, she climbed in. Speeding away from her nine-tofive reality, she felt the heavy shackles evaporate.

***** Three and a half hours later, she dragged home in a sudden burst of rain for which South Florida was famous. Tired and wet, she struggled to balance three soggy grocery bags that were on the brink of ripping in her arms. Her shoulder bag arced out and slid down her arm as she opened the front door of her dingy little downstairs apartment. Unfortunately, no fairy godmother had visited during her absence to replace the odds and ends of shabby garage-sale furniture that crammed into the small space, with new decent furnishings that wouldn’t embarrass her if she were ever to bring home an exciting man she wished to impress. As the fullest bag broke and a mess of canned goods spilled onto the floor in front of her feet, a bundle of gray and black fur whizzed by. Groaning, she dropped the other sacks and pivoted on her heel back into the gray rain to search for the naughty tabby. “Oh no you don’t, Mister Houdini. Not again. If I don’t have a hot date, neither can you.” She called the cat by one of his scads of nicknames that tumbled off her lips when she was frustrated. She searched high in the lush trees, under the garden bushes, and low under the many cars filling up the apartment parking lot until she cornered Sir Pouncelot. Crouching low, she held out her hand and clicked her tongue to coax the furry little beggar. “Come to Mama, Gizmo. You know how the neighbors hate kitties running free and how I hate having to rescue your bad butt from the shelter.” Gizmo’s amber eyes glared unblinkingly in the haunting night.

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She patted the damp ground beside her, and gravel embedded in her palms. “Don’t even make me crawl under that greasy car after you, Chairman Meow, or it’s the dry cat food for a week.” Gizmo meowed and slinked out from beneath the vehicle, his tail tucked between his legs, unshed tears pooling in his big, sad eyes. Heart sore, she felt like Scrooge as she scooped him into her arms and cradled him to her chest. In a lame attempt to make up, she scratched his favorite spot just in front of his tail and crooned in his ear, “I know, I know. It’s not fair. You should be allowed to play outside. Those big meany neighbors of mine need to grow a heart.” Gizmo mewled as if he understood every word. She shook herself. God, she was losing it if she thought her cat understood English. Of course, he just picked up on her tone of voice and her vibes. They were in synch, she and the Giz-meister. Too bad she didn’t have a man to be in synch with. A man like Lobo… “Stop that!” She scowled at her crazy self. Getting out and about more, much, much more, was mandated. But she was beat tonight, and she wasn’t into the bar scene, anyway. She wasn’t even into hot instant messaging. The phone shrilled as she stepped inside the house and slammed the door. The phone’s readout screen displayed Larry’s number and she debated answering it, not in the mood to chat. Neither did she feel like dodging his calls as he’d just keep ringing until he wore her down. Snatching it up, she cradled it between her ear and her shoulder. “Hey, Larry.” The cat wiggled out of her arms and prowled to his water dish. His ears pointed upward like his tail as he lapped greedily. “How about we catch a bite to eat? It’s meatloaf night at the diner.” How could a single gal refuse such a scintillating offer? Suppressing a sigh, she patted her mouth grimacing when traces of her newly applied lipstick rubbed off on her hand. She clutched for an excuse and her gaze landed on the Dark Side DVD. “Uh, can’t tonight, sorry. I have a prior commitment.” Oh, she was sorry, all right. Given the chance to go out with a friend, a handsome man at that, she’d turned it down. Okay, so she was obviously an old maid by choice. She had no one to blame but herself for her boring life. Silence deafened her for several seconds and then Larry sighed into her ear. “Saturday night? Dinner and a show?” She scanned her mental calendar hoping to discover a hot date with Johnny Depp, merely to find nothing, nothing, and more nothing. Dang it! Just because his hair was thinning and spelling games topped his favorite pastimes didn’t make Larry a bad dude. He held down a good job managing a grocery store and he was kind to animals. At least he wasn’t looking for a meal ticket or a mommy like some of the jerks she’d met of late. Best of all, he wasn’t the controlling type like the

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General. How wretched would it be to stay home on date night with her cat for company? Swallowing a sigh, she said, “Okay.” “Pick you up at five sharp.” She injected more excitement into her voice than she felt. “Cool. I’ll be ready.” Why wasn’t she brimming with excitement? Even a tiny thrill? She wanted to. He’d make a great husband. She’d never want for anything, never worry about the mortgage being up-to-date. Rain and leaves pelted the window. She wasn’t going to get her walk in tonight unless she walked in the mall. But she didn’t feel like venturing out in the dreary night just to tackle a crowded mall where it was impossible to walk with enough speed to be of any help in minimizing the size of her thighs. And what if she ran into Larry? She peered at the pedometer’s illuminated screen. When she tapped the device, it chimed out in its tinny voice, “You have walked four thousand three hundred twentythree steps.” She made a moue of her lips. Two miles of accumulation for the entire day was decent enough she decided. She started to reset the counter, but decided she might get in a few more steps on her step machine before bed so she left it alone. The walls of her depressing condo seemed to squeeze in on her. Lonesome, she scooped up Gizmo and cuddled him to her heart. “Aren’t you glad you’re not outside in that chilly mess? I told Larry I had a date, so you’re it, big fella.” Purring, Gizmo rubbed his fluffy head against her cheek. He kneaded her hand with his big paw. Once her Chinese takeout arrived, she slipped in the movie and settled on her favorite recliner. She curled her legs beneath her as a makeshift table and pushed play on the television remote before digging into her food with chopsticks. She slurped lo mein noodles from the sticks and then plopped a juicy shrimp into her mouth. Dimming the lights, she lost herself in Lobo’s fantasy world of kings and knights and dragons. The sultry background melody wrapped around her and shivers racked her as she melted into the shadows. The harlot, Ernestina, performed a seductive striptease and then unlaced Lobo’s tunic, letting her fingers trail along his bulging arms and over his muscular chest. As the woman bathed each newly revealed body part with a bold sweep of her tongue, Becca squirmed on her chair. New spicy appetites overwhelming that for food, she moved her plate to the table. On fire, she slid her hand inside her panties and found her burning clit. Fingering it, she pleasured herself, and her moans drowned out those of the couple onscreen. Scorched by the flames, she needed more. She delved a finger into her well of wetness. Not enough, she inserted a second finger and stretched her slick folds. When the woman released Lobo’s cock, it stood at attention and she laved it with bold sweeps of her tongue. Fantasizing the huge, velvety staff was in her mouth and with tremors shaking her, Becca licked and sucked on the chopsticks. 14

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Shudders racked Lobo as he buried his fingers in the woman’s raven locks and pushed her face into his groin so that she took him deeper and deeper into her mouth. Moaning, his eyes closed in ecstasy, he stroked in and out of her. Becca slid an egg roll in and out of her mouth, licking the sweet-and-sour sauce from its scrumptious skin. As delectable as it was, how much better would his seed be? Just about a million times. The woman teased his balls with her fingernails. She rubbed her naked breasts against his corded thighs and massaged her clit with her thumb until her moans came out raspy, in rhythm with his. Lobo pushed her head away from his cock and scooped the pretty woman into his arms. His muscles bulging, he carried her to the bed and plunged into her almost the minute her back touched the mattress. “Temptress,” he murmured, “I swore never to touch you again.” “Yeah, like that lasted.” Her insides melting, her heart ricocheting in her chest, Becca opened her legs wider and plunged a third finger into her pussy. How could Lobo stand to live this way? How could anyone live without love? He certainly didn’t live without sex. Very, very hot sex… Good grief, get it through your thick skull that it’s just a cartoon already! “But I love you. This can’t be our last time. You can’t leave.” Ernestina clung to him, desperation echoing in her warm sensual voice. “’Tis for your own good. I warned you against falling in love with me for that is a path that leads to destruction.” He didn’t skip a beat, driving into her with a fury that would fatigue a lesser man. Panting hard, Becca drove her fingers faster, deeper into her folds, bringing herself to the brink of ecstasy. It was wonderful, but not the heaven of being in Lobo’s arms, being scorched by his kisses as she yearned. “Then I’m already destroyed. I could no more stop loving you or tear myself from your arms than stop the sun from shining.” Ernestina gazed at her lover with tears welling in her eyes. Twin tears of sympathy stinging hers, Becca nodded. Who was Ernestina to stop the sun and stars from shining? Closing her eyes so that Lobo’s moans washed over her, she stroked faster, harder. Her moans rasped out in harmony and she floated over the rainbow into a land where spider webs caught dreams and made them come true. Her orgasm spiraled out of control, and she rode the waves to bliss. Sighing dreamily, she lay back satiated in the chair, wishing she could come down off her cloud in the circle of Lobo’s arms. Meowing plaintively, Gizmo leapt onto her lap. He nuzzled her cheek and his tail brushed her nose.

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Yanked back to reality and annoyed she couldn’t hear Lobo’s reply over Gizmo’s plaintive meows, she grimaced. Scowling, she grabbed the remote off the corner table beside her and amplified the volume. Boom! Lightning crackled at the same instant and zapped the remote she held. It sizzled in her hand and threw her backwards into the wall with violent force.

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Chapter Two Something wet and sandpapery scraped against her cheek, dragging Becca out of a deep, almost comatose sleep. As she woke up in fits and spurts, she recognized it as a tongue. Blech! A strange voice commanded, “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.” Groggy, opening first one eye then the other, she glowered at her obviously blind tormentor. Her temples pounded, her mouth tasted like horrid red clay, and her hand ached something fierce. Yet the warm remote still lay clutched inside her fist. When fuzzy fur tickled her nose, she sneezed. “God bless you.” Startled, she snapped up, and gazed cross-eyed into a furry face with pointy ears and twitching whiskers. With a small scream, she hurled the demon cat off her chest. Wild-eyed, alarm hammering through her heart, she looked around, taking in her strange surroundings. Monstrous lichen-covered oak, maple, and pine trees, steep, craggy hills, and a profusion of multihued wild flowers sprouted amidst untamed brush. Moldy leaves squished under her as she moved and the sour stench caused her to wrinkle her nose. Vines hung in clumps from the giant trees, criss-crossing the forest like spider webs. Bushes laden with bluish-black berries tempted her to reach out and pop one into her mouth, but she didn’t dare in case they were poisonous. Brush in her living room? Hills and maple trees in South Florida? “I’ve got to be dreaming.” Dreaming? The throbbing in her skull was nightmarish. “Ain’t no dream unless we’re sharing the same one. Something freaky happened, girlfriend,” a familiar, yet never-before-heard, masculine voice said nearby. Freaked out, she jumped to her feet and whirled. Except for Gizmo, she was isolated in this scary forest glade. Unless someone was hiding… Spooky… “Who said that? Show yourself.” She snatched up a pointy stick to defend herself against the intruder. She turned in a slow circle, waiting for someone to step out from behind one of the monstrous granddaddy trees. Gizmo pawed at her leg, his claws snagging her pants. “I’m right here in front of your face. Did you hit your head so hard you’ve gone blind?”

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Becca blinked, staring at her pet and watching his lips move in synch with each syllable. “I’m hallucinating. Cats don’t talk.” Gizmo climbed up her leg to her chest, and got up in her face. His tail curling, his whiskers flicking, he gazed down into her eyes. “Read my lips. I’m talking to you. I told you something weird happened. We got zapped to hill country here.” Staring cross-eyed at the furry apparition, she licked her parched lips. This was super-creepy, all right. Not that she believed any of this was real but she played along. Maybe she could glean more info. “Any theories where we are and how we got here? And how you can speak English?” The cat scrunched his nose and enunciated very slowly and clearly. “I always spoke. You just never understood me before.” “Why now?” Had she morphed into Dr. Doolittle and transcended time and space? Wouldn’t it be an amazingly awesome gift if she could speak to animals, or even just to Mr. Paws? Just how had it happened? “Don’t know, but we’ll never find out if our butts stay planted here. This calls for a reconnaissance mission.” Her mind raced over the many sci-fi shows she’d devoured over the years. If they’d slid into another dimension or through time, anything was possible. Her gaze raked their surroundings again, taking in the shadows flickering across the trees, a dragonfly perching on a nearby branch, and sunlight dappled on flowering bushes. “Like we could run headlong into dinosaurs or spacemen? We shouldn’t just ramble about if that’s the case.” Gizmo leaped down, stood on his hind legs, and saluted. Then he winked. “No worries, milady. Stealth is my second nature. I’ll scout out the area. Stay twenty paces behind and stay alert.” Alas, she wasn’t an Indian scout who could walk silently through the crumbling leaves blanketing the ground. She prayed the natives were too deaf to hear a rhinoceros blundering through their woods. Doing her best to tippytoe, she crouched low and drew in shallow breaths. Idiot! Her cell phone was in her pocket. She’d just call Larry to bring the cavalry. Dragging it out, she dialed but the worthless thing kept roaming and refused to connect. Disgusted with the inefficient technology, she snapped the phone shut and stuffed it in her pocket. “I really need to get a new provider. Their range sucks.” “Back to Plan A. Follow me.” Gizmo waved her on with a wide arc of his front leg. Every few paces, he motioned for her to stop and wait while he ventured further afield. Then he would reappear at the edge of her vision and beckon her to follow. They must have trudged five miles over the arduous hills when a thunderous sound startled her. A moment later, wide-winged dragons straddled by primitive warriors wearing dull metal armor and chain mail roared from behind mountains shrouded in a bluish-gray mist.

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Her hand trembling, she pointed at the sky even as she squatted in self-defense. In a raw whisper, she squeaked out, “Oh my God, Giz. Do you see what I see?” The cat gulped and he covered his eyes with his paws. “If you see big flying terrifying dragons, uh huh.” When one of the gigantic winged creatures nose-dived not far distant, Gizmo threw himself to the ground, covered his head, and hissed, “Hit the deck and don’t make a sound.” Way ahead of him, she was in mid-fling to the rocky terrain. A lyrical voice announced out of nowhere, “You have walked six point two miles, seven-thousand three-hundred, twenty-one steps.” Cripes! Her bigmouth pedometer chose this moment to go off? Yanking the lousy thing off her elastic waistband, she threw it as far from them as she could wishing she’d played softball for more than one season. “Thanks for nothing.” The least it could do was tell her how many calories she’d burned or sing a decent song, instead of that funky aerobic workout music. One of the giant, flying lizards picked that instant to spin and make eye contact. Baring its filthy, razor-sharp teeth, the beast swooped down from the air, swallowed her pedometer, and then plucked her from the ground. The no-good gadget kept chirping from inside the monster’s belly, mocking her. At least, it had gotten its just rewards, having given away her location to the fiend. Not that that was much consolation. Kicking and struggling with all her might, she screamed, “Gizmo!” She clawed at her barbaric captor’s eyes. “Put me down!” The armor-clad creep astride the dragon guffawed and clamped meaty vice-like hands around her wrists pinning them to her side. His malevolent beady-eyed gaze bore into her. “Keep insisting, insolent girl, and I’ll drop you here—from a thousand furth langs. Your handsome face will meet with violent displeasure.” The dragon turned its reptilian face to leer and dipped its right wing so that she would have tumbled off if not for the brute’s slimy hold. Then it snorted a fireball in her direction. Terror sizzled through her veins and she shrank into herself. The message rang out loud and clear. She was their guest—or more apropos, their barbeque. “What do you want with me? I have no money. This is dollar-store jewelry, but it’s all yours.” “You shall inform the king whose army for whom you spy.” He fingered her tousled hair and grunted. “Pray tell, which kingdom produces blue-haired nymphs?” Then he tugged at her psychedelic nurse’s tunic. “What manner of peculiar garb is this? What manner of fabric?” Army? Kingdom? Nymph? She glanced down at her hot pink, cotton-blend tunic that rained cats and dogs. Should she give him her employer’s name? In the war movies the prisoners offered their name, rank, and serial number. “I’m Rebecca Weiss, I’m an office manager for a

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pediatric clinic, and I’m not giving you my social security number and having you steal my identity.” “Stay cool, Becca! We’ll get out of this,” Gizmo yelled from the back of another dragon as it pulled around them. The man’s bushy unibrow puckered. “You speak in strange riddles. You will speak plainer in King Heinrich’s audience or you shall find yourself patronizing the dungeon.” Dungeons? Dragons? King Heinreich? If she weren’t sane, she’d think she’d been sucked into the ”Dark Side” world. Dark Side? The cartoon? She had to be dreaming. She shook her head to try and make sense of everything, as if she could. Like Gizmo advised, she had to keep a level head. But now she was taking advice from her talking cat? Ai yi yi! “No more cartoons for you, missy,” she mumbled under her breath. Better yet, she was swearing off all television and movies. Her fanciful musings were getting her into trouble. She was losing touch with reality. Losing? She’d lost it big-time. “You sound pretty strange yourself, buster,” Becca said. And he looked a whole lot stranger. Another war whoop rent the air and an arrow flew into the dragon’s scaly side. Writhing, it bellowed as the ground rose up to meet them. Screams gurgled in her throat as she threw her arms around the creature’s neck in a chokehold. Closing her eyes, she prayed. Now boring and steady looked superb. If she’d joined Larry for meatloaf, she wouldn’t be soaring to her death on the back of a slimy worm. Unable to hold onto the slippery flailing beast, she plummeted toward her doom. Then a pair of strong arms snatched her from certain death and carried her away with long, purposeful strides. But was this friend or foe? What about Gizmo? She couldn’t even see her savior’s face for his long hair fell in disarray over his eyes. He could be a red-eyed demon or pointy-eared devil. All she could tell was that he had a solid, square chin under a healthy dose of stubble and strong lips. And a very muscular build. The man was a Goliath! “Does my savior have a name? You’re not with those creeps, are you?” She prayed not. “Does the blue-haired sprite have a name? You’re exceedingly large for a fairy, nor do you sprout wings.” The man shifted her weight in his arms. After a moment’s pause, he peered at the skies. “What do the king’s soldiers seek with you?” 20

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Oh God! That deep sultry voice was branded on her heart. Lobo… Breathing became complicated. Her temperature catapulted to feverish levels and her tongue swelled so thick she had trouble wrangling out the words. “It’s Becca. I don’t have a clue what those guys want.” “From what kingdom do you hail? To where does your allegiance lie?” “I’m from Florida, in the United States of America. We have a president, not a king.” “’Tis so distant a land, such a bizarre ruler, I am not acquainted of them.” She craned her head, trying to see her cat. “Please stop. They still have Gizmo. We have to rescue him.” The wind whipped Lobo’s hair from his eyes and he scowled. “Gizmo? A clansman of yours?” Swallowing hard, she searched the heavens for the winged beast carting away her beloved pet. “My cat.” Disbelief, and then anger, followed closely by hilarity, washed across Lobo’s features. “God’s teeth! You use me so cruelly as to risk my life for a mangy feline?” The bushes rustled and Lobo pushed her behind him, and then drew his sword. “Make yourself known or be skewered, rascal.” Gizmo walked out of the bushes with his front paws held high and his tail standing up straight. “I assure you I’m not mangy, and that I’m a harmless, cute, little kitty cat.” Too late for sympathy, he detracted his razor-sharp claws and sulked. Lobo thrust the sword closer to the animal’s vital organs. “You speak! ‘Tis sure you are a demon.” Gizmo made the sign of the cross over his chest. “Lobo! You speak and you’re not a demon.” “Lobo? Pray, how is it you are familiar with my name? I do not recall introductions being made.” Lobo got a better grip on the hilt and hefted his sword higher. “From the cartoo…” The final words died on Gizmo’s loose lips. “Cartoo? Is he your fellow demon? Is this a new threat?” Lobo frowned and looked around, swinging his sword in front of him. Becca gulped and rushed around the man to protect her baby. “Davin, for heaven’s sake, lower that thing before you kill someone. He’s not a demon.” Not most of the time, anyway. Lobo froze except for the narrowing of his onyx eyes. “How is it you also have the right of my Christian name?” She cursed herself as Gizmo gazed at her with a hypocritical glare. Tense, she spread her hands wide. “I didn’t mean to blurt out his name.” “My dear lady, if you well and truly have clandestine knowledge of my circumstances then you will also be aware that those who venture too close assume

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excessive folly. It is most advisable to flee before you bring down a similar fate upon your heads.” He spun on his boot heel and started to swagger away. Panic flooded her. Their one safe harbor was abandoning them. Grabbing up Katzilla, she sprinted after the disappearing hero. “Wait! You can’t leave us here for those dragon troopers to kidnap again. You have to help us.” The reluctant hero stopped and his shoulders drooped. He twisted around. “I am hard-pressed to keep my patience nor do I find myself obliged to you. I entreat you to be grateful I came to your initial assistance. Pray tell, trust me that I protect you again by begging my leave.” “You can’t go through life being the lone wolf. Let Lobo reemerge before it’s too late.” Her heart ached for him but he was in obvious need of tough love. “Stop the psychobabble, girlfriend,” Gizmo whispered in her ear. “That ain’t no way to reach this stone warrior.” To Lobo, Gizmo said with a snort, “That’s right. Let the big bad guys rape, torture, and mutilate the damsel in distress—and her poor, defenseless, adorable kitty.” Gizmo sucked in his tummy as tears pooled in his soulful eyes. As if on cue, the flapping of dragon wings stirred the air. Moments later, their ferocious roars quaked the ground. Becca gazed up at Lobo and pleaded, “We’re lost and don’t know how to get home. Without your help, we might as well hand ourselves over to the evil king. Please help us.” Lobo grunted and yanked her behind him as he dashed away. “I shall escort you to a party who can perhaps offer help. ‘Tis the most I find myself able to promise.” “Deal!” Gizmo yelled, shooting out in front of them. Home! But how would they get there? Tap her heels three times? She didn’t even have ruby slippers. The remote maybe? She’d dropped it in the struggle. They’d have to go back to retrieve their ticket home as soon as the glade was clear. Without it, they’d be trapped in this dark hell for only God knew how long. Not even the scowling hottie made the prospect palatable. Up close and personal, he was quite the ogre. Gizmo’s ears twitched. “We can’t go far. As soon as we ditch the bitches, we have to double back and find the remote.” A growl rumbled in Lobo’s chest. “Doubling back would be most ill-advised. They shall most certainly post a guard perchance you were to make rendezvous with your companions.” “Sure as my name is Gizmo, they’ll find that remote and we’ll be doomed, doomed I say!” the cat cried, clutching his throat. “We’ll be stuck with these nasty flying dragons and Sir Sunshine forever. Doomed, I tell you.”

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Becca batted her damsel-in-distress lashes at Gizmo. “You have nine lives. You run like the wind. You go back and face those crazies to get the remote.” “I counted at least ten fire-breathing devils. And I only have seven lives left. Do the math, girlfriend.” Cats did math, too? Amazing… Maybe some psychology would work on him. “Are you a cat or a mouse? Since when did a lizard scare you? You play with them.” “With teensy tiny, harmless geckos. But I’ll go back.” Gizmo gazed up at the heavens and pretended to play a harp. “Play Amazing Grace at my funeral if I don’t make it.” “Be careful. Hide ‘til they move away.” Lord knew her little escape artist was a pro at hiding from her when he escaped to the outdoors. Lobo yanked on her arm. “Come now or stay behind.” “You’re supposed to be a hero. You save everyone else…” Oops! Dimwit, engage brain before mouth. He tossed a suspicious look her way. “How do you purport to know such vivid details about me? Are you a witch?” Exasperated, she craned her neck and looked heavenward. “No. I’m not a witch.” If only she was! She’d twitch her nose like Samantha on Bewitched and wish herself home. But she wasn’t and she didn’t dare confess she’d come from a different dimension. The lone wolf wound in and out of trees and she hoped the forest’s leafy canopies would hide their passing. Thorny bushes and brambles tore at her clothing and scratched her hands. Underfoot, spring flowers and patches of clover bunched in knots and clusters amongst the springy grass, hiding holes and exposed roots which she stumbled into and over countless times. Finally, the lush forest came to an end and they were on rocky, barren ground that hurt her feet. The flat terrain became hillier until it turned mountainous. She spied a small opening in the craggy gray rocks and a tremor of relief bounced along her finger as she pointed. “Look! A cave!” They were saved! “I often take refuge here,” Lobo mumbled and led the way inside the dank and dark cavernous underground. He led her into an inner grotto where a crude bedroll lay lumpy a few feet from a cold, dead campfire. He motioned for her to sit on the bed as he hunkered down on a large rock nearby. Never taking his fixed gaze from her, he asked, “If not by sorcery, how do you come about such intimate knowledge?” Dry-mouthed, she grappled for a plausible answer. At last she said, “You’re legendary.” He scowled as he withdrew a piece of flint from his pocket. Kneeling low and nursed a small blaze, he nurtured it with kindling, blowing gently on the newborn flames. When they grew into leaping fingers of heat, he tossed a log into its midst with

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such force sparks flew high toward the cave’s sooty roof. “Where? I prefer to keep my affairs private and I find it intolerable that my exploits are beknownst to all and sundry, in particular, the king.” Not that it would help, but she supplied, “In the Kingdom of Florida.” His frown darkened. “I know not Florida.” Becca did her best to tamp down her terror. Who didn’t know of the sunny vacation paradise? Visitors worldwide crowded their roads and beaches every winter. Sometimes she swore there were more Canadians in Florida than remained in Canada. “It’s across the ocean.” “And I am legendary so far remote? Do you have a dragon sufficiently powerful to cross exceedingly large bodies of water?” Lobo glanced toward the cave’s entrance. “Is it tethered nearby?” Her head pounded under the weight of the snowballing lies. She well knew how sharp, how leery this man could be. Panting hard, Gizmo dragged himself into the cave. His fur was wet and scruffy and his ears lay plastered to his head. Giving them the evil eye, he held out his paws to the smoldering fire. “Our new friends stole the remote to take to the king.” Becca gasped and shoveled her fingers through her hair. “Oh no! We’ll never get home.” Lobo leaned forward and stirred the fire. When his long hair fell across his face, he grunted and tucked it behind his ears. “To the Kingdom of Florida?” Gizmo arched his brow but kept his counsel. “I find myself most ignorant of this ‘remote’. Is it a new breed of dragon?” Gizmo shook his head and scrunched his nose. “This dude has dragons on the brain.” Ignoring Gizmo’s taunt, she decided to tell the truth. “It’s an electronic device that changes channels—like a transporter between worlds.” Lobo blinked and he regarded her as a hawk might consider a dove. “You journey from an alternate world? That would make apology for your most peculiar hair and attire.” Gizmo snorted as he turned his backside to the fire’s warmth and wiggled it. “You’re calling us strange? You fly around on big winged worms and sleep inside the ground like wild animals.” “You’re not helping,” Becca hissed at her sarcastic companion. His tail flickered. “Yeah? Who just risked his neck trying to get you home?” He had a point so she relaxed her expression and smiled. “Thank you.” Hope warred with dread in her heart and she turned her attention back to their rescuer. “Can you help us get the remote back from the king?”

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Lobo stared transfixed into the fire, his muscles bunching. Shadows haunted his eyes. “I dare not.” Her heart plunged along with her hope. “We’re dead meat without you. We don’t know the lay of the land or the customs.” Well, just what the cartoon had depicted and it had skipped around a lot. “Some white knight you turned out to be.” Gizmo jumped onto her lap and snuggled. Lobo snarled. “I never laid claim to such elevated rank. ‘Tis your folly if you operated under such a foolhardy notion. Pray, what do your legends profess? How would another world have such happy knowledge of me?” Gizmo’s warmth seeped into her but not enough to chase away the chill in her soul, and she shivered. The future dawned very bleak. This world didn’t boast electricity, running water, or any of the amenities of hers. Barbaric. So how did she explain technology to someone who’d never seen so much as a light bulb? “We see…uh…stories of different worlds. We didn’t know the story was true. We don’t know how we got here.” “Your remote?” “I was holding it when something sent us here. We think that’s the key. Our ticket home.” She hoped… If not, would they live out their days here?

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Chapter Three His flesh dripping with perspiration, Lobo scooted back a foot from the intense heat. He perched on the edge of one of the boulders he used as crude tables and chairs. He chafed at his dilemma and shifted his position on the uncomfortable rock several times. He cursed himself for entertaining the simpleton of a woman’s lunacy. How did he always land in such preposterous positions? Most assuredly, she was a trap set by the king. More probable, she’d escaped some dungeon that had addled her brain. There were no other worlds, no Kingdom of Florida. The known world knew men traveled by dragons or by foot. He found no need to curse himself for he was cursed. First, by the evil wizard Cyril of Derbyshire that every person he loved would die. Secondly, that he cared too much for people in distress and always came to their rescue—often to be the cause of their later demise. He had to be more like his name—a lone wolf. He couldn’t keep putting innocents in jeopardy, couldn’t keep punishing his own heart. Fate decreed for him to be an outcast. Who was he to argue with fate? “I shall take you to a place of safety but that is the most I dare. Should I help any more than that, you most assuredly will come to ruin.” When he rose, she blocked his path. “We need to find the castle and have no idea how to find it or fight dragons. I’d much rather take my chances with you.” “’Tis an exceedingly dangerous mission you’ve set for yourself. Pray, the king will most assuredly have my head if I take part.” His gaze drank in every detail of the young woman he found easy on the eyes, if not on his endurance. He entertained little doubt the king would take carnal liberties should she be captured for he had a legendary weakness for fair damsels. The blue-haired woman would be rare treasure, indeed. Flame leapt in the headstrong woman’s eyes and she jumped to her feet. Rounding the fire, she squared off against him. “We have no choice. Perhaps I can make it worth your while.” She fingered the glittering baubles and removed them from her delicate ears. Hope died in her eyes as she held them out. “These are precious gems and they’ll be all yours if you guide us.” She judged him to be so mercenary? Guilt girded in his heart. Gems and treasure were of no consequence. She must not have kept vigilance of him as she had claimed. Insulted, he shoved away her hand. “Keep your jewels. I care not for them.”

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Her shoulders slumped but she lifted her chin a notch and stared him square in the eye. “I’ve nothing else to offer.” The cat rubbed against her cheek. “No worries. I’ll get us home without Sir Heartless.” “As I promised, I shall take you to a place of safety but I suggest you give up your foolish notion of going up against King Heinrich.” Although he did indeed feel a sense of misplaced duty for this strange wench, he reminded himself he would be composing their death sentence should they unduly tarry. A defiant gleam chased the hurt from Becca’s eyes and the shade of rose petals spread across her cheeks. She jutted her chin high. “I wouldn’t dream of making you feel guilty. We won’t presume on your good graces anymore. Come, Gizzy.” With that, she quitted the cave and wandered into the wide-open spaces without the benefit of scouting the area. Was the imprudent woman trying to serve herself up to the king? He swore under his breath and could not stand to see her march headlong into calamity. The wench didn’t know the rules of safety, to search the sky for marauding dragons or to wear obscure garments to blend in with the countryside. A dragon could spot those garish colors from a far distance. Within mere moments, she would be the king’s prisoner, or a tasty morsel on a dragon’s tongue. With a severe lack of good humor, he rose and followed her. “Humor me and divest yourself of those conspicuous garments. ‘Tis the same as wearing a target on your back.” She glanced down at her tunic featuring pink and purple dogs and cats. Then her wide-eyed gaze took in the stark, open desert of their dismal surroundings and a grimace twisted her lips. “I don’t see any malls around here. Nor are any clothes dangling off the trees.” Malls? Strange terms continued to drip off her lips. This Kingdom of Florida must be a very peculiar realm indeed. But she was right about one thing—no marketplace bustled nearby. The unhappy situation put him in a quandary and he didn’t much care for the solitary resolution he reached, but there was no other. “I insist that you make use of my tunic.” She pivoted on the ball of her pink shoes, marched into the clearing, and thrust out her jaw further. “No thanks. I wouldn’t want to put you out anymore than we already have. Gizmo?” Dragons swarmed like bees against a fluffy white sky with streaks of burnished oranges and golds. Suddenly, the sky rumbled with their pell-mell of confusion and tumult. Their screeching cries rent the air and their huge wings flailed, deafening him and his heart lurched. If the dragon wasn’t delicate in grabbing, its sharp talons would rip its prey to shreds. Perhaps that would be its intention for several had acquired a taste for human flesh.

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He dove for the hapless woman and knocked her to the dry, cracked soil just as the winged beast swooped down and tried to make haste with her. Its torrid breath scorched him as he rolled with her out of its path. “Run!” Clutching her to him, he helped her to her feet, pulled her after him, and scrambled back to the cave. They reached the cave’s mouth and he pulled her inside. Gasping, her cheeks flushed a cherry red, her gaze upbraiding him, she tried to tug away. “Whoa! I can’t breathe. We’re safe now.” Stupid wench. Anger ripped along his nerves. “On the contrary, we are far from out of peril. The beast knows our location and it will not cease until it devours us. They’re very tenacious creatures.” “But they’re too big to get inside.” Fear flickering across her vivid eyes, she glanced over her shoulder. As if on cue, the dragon landed, stuck its fearful snout into the cave’s entrance and peered inside, its beady reptilian eyes insolent. It spread its magnificent wings painted with the greens of the meadow floor, the purple of the heather dotting the hills, and the blues of the ocean waves, and blocked their escape route. The king’s markings were prominently tattooed on its fearsome underbelly, plain for everyone to see from miles away. Then the fiend roared and stretched its sinewy arm inside as far as it could reach and groped, its foot-long talons clawing ruts into the stony floor. Breathing shallowly, perspiration beading on her brow, Becca flung herself headlong into his arms and buried her face against his chest. “How can you live like this?” “You have no dragons?” A rhetorical question he knew for she could not or she would know they still were not safe. Her warmth seeped into him and his heart fluttered. Afraid they were still too close to the beast’s menace, he pulled up his errant feelings and tugged her after him. “Run! To the back of the cave.” “Wait! You’re leaving the poor defenseless kitty again? What am I? Dog chow?” Gizmo streaked ahead, his fur standing on end. Lobo growled at the beef-witted corkbrain. This nonsensical pair was going to put him in an early grave. They suffered a collective lack of common sense. As they reached the cave’s innermost cavern, the dragon shot flame into the tunnel, and smoke drifted into their hideaway. “He’s going to fricassee us.” Gizmo cowered behind him. Trembling, the cat’s claws sunk into his leg. Growling, Lobo kicked off the nuisance. Becca pried herself loose. Hacking, her hand daintily covering her mouth, she asked between coughs, “How do we get out of here?” Lobo rubbed his chin. “We pray to our gods that it tires of waiting for us to emerge before reinforcements arrive, or before it smokes us out.”

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“Or else?” Gizmo stared up at him with mournful eyes. Lobo almost did not answer the thoughtless question. “If the smoke doesn’t overcome us, we shall starve.” “Aren’t you a warrior? You’re not going to try to fight your way out? You’ll just sit and rot? Where’s your pride, man? Your sense of honor?” With that, Gizmo gathered rocks and started hurling them at the dragon. One hit it square in the eye. With a ferocious roar, the beast grasped its eye and tumbled to the ground in a heap. The roar died on its lips as its eyes rolled back and it ceased to writhe. Gizmo wiped his hands and shot a superior look at Lobo. “Who’s the hero? The top cat?” Ignoring the annoying animal and unconvinced the creature had breathed its last breath, Lobo launched more rocks. When it didn’t flinch, he crept closer and pricked it with his sword. Still no movement. Venturing outside the lip of the cave, he checked the sky for other raiders. When he was satisfied there were none, he beckoned to his erstwhile charges. “We must make haste. See those markings?” Becca peered and grunted. “What do they mean?” “He belongs to the king’s guard.” He shrugged. “Heiny won’t be happy. He’ll seek vengeance.” “Oh, goodie,” Gizmo drawled. “Now His Royal Evilness will be really PO’ed at us.” Lobo marched inside, balled up one of his tunics and threw it outside. “Change into this so you’ll be less conspicuous.” Needing privacy, Becca disappeared behind a large bush and hung her tunic across the top branch. When she stepped into the clearing, she still wore the men’s white breeches and the festooned shoes. He frowned and pointed at the shoes and slacks. “The dragons could pick you out from cloud level. Remove them, too.” Defiance gleamed in her eyes and she crossed her arms across her chest. “I will not.” The movement delineated her well-developed bosom drawing his gaze. Unwelcome heat rose in his loins and he chafed. Fatigued from wasting his breath on the tiresome woman, he bowed low. “Very well. Become dragon fodder. You decline my assistance thus I bid you adieu.” Becca blocked his departure. “Of course, I don’t want to be dragon chow. I was overreacting.” She knelt down, untied her laces and removed the shoes. Then she rounded the bush again.

*****

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Shivers ran down Becca’s spine every time her gaze fell on the monstrous reptile so like a T-Rex with the stunning rainbow-colored wings. Had she wished herself into this hell more horrific and frightening than any Stephen King novel she’d ever read? Could she click her heels three times and wish herself out? Lobo wasn’t the charmer she’d adored through her television. He was an arrogant, mule-headed barbarian. And yet, he was the single trustworthy person they’d run across. Irked, she didn’t feel like taking orders from the macho man, to bow down and kiss his feet. What a lesson she’d learned. Swaggering testosterone looked quixotic from afar but reeked of something sour up close. The alpha hero had turned out to be an annoying jerk. Give her a nice relationship-oriented beta male from here on out. Larry looked better and better. She emerged from the bushes determined not to make waves with Sir He-Man and to put her energies into getting home in one piece. Rocks and twigs punished her tender soles. Wincing, she carefully picked her way through the rough terrain, trying to step between the jagged fossils. But there were so many of all shapes and sizes, it was a daunting chore. The biting ground reminded her of the rough cutting beaches she’d once visited at John Pennekamp State Park in the Keys. Lobo shot an irritated glance over his shoulder. “We need to increase our step. If we’re caught in this area, the king’s men will assuredly take us prisoner.” “If you wanted me to walk fast, you should have let me keep on my shoes. This rough ground is killing me.” For once, she didn’t admire her soft, silky feet. She’d trade them for a calloused pair in a flash. Lobo hauled her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and increased the length of his stride. “If you will humor me, Madame, please put a cork to your incessant complaining.” Fuming at his caveman antics, she felt the blood rush to her head. Dizzy and angry, she jabbed his back. “I was thinking more along the line of shoes.” “Unless elves inhabit this glen, the closest cobbler lies several furth langs distant.” So she had a choice of passing out from the head rush or mangling her feet? “Promise. I’ll walk without griping.” Even if thorns pierced her soles. He wasn’t the only tough guy around. She could be pretty tough herself. Didn’t she survive hundreds of screeching, howling kids five days a week? Lobo dumped her unceremoniously on her butt. “Excellent. My ears pain me.” When Lobo turned his back, Gizmo stuck his middle claw high in the air at the man, echoing Becca’s feelings. Empathizing, she winked at her friend. He merited moist cat food for the rest of his life. Heck, he’d earned the finest steaks she could afford.

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She couldn’t hike as fast as Lobo with his long, swift strides even if she’d been wearing hiking boots. So she ran to keep up, biting down on her lip when sharp pain drove through her heels. “Which way is the king’s palace?” He stopped and cupped her elbow, helping her over a large fallen tree. “About nine miles by foot, in the opposite direction.” Trying to quell the quivers racing down her spine, she yanked away her arm. “We need to go back.” “This would be suicide. We need to formulate a plan.” Gizmo scrambled to the top of the tree and positioned himself there. “This way or that? Make up your minds. I’m getting dizzy?” “A plan?” He was going to help them? Relief flooded her suddenly feather light heart. “First we retreat to my fortress to devise a credible stratagem.” “And some tasty victuals followed by a good catnap!” Gizmo licked his chops and drooled at a passing sparrow. “I’m starved.” Becca bit back a grin. Judging by his paunchy stomach, he wasn’t near to starving. She, on the other hand, possessed zero appetite. Fire-roasted squirrel and acorn mush didn’t much appeal. Dead dragon stench and moldy, sour leaves did little to make her hungry, either. But her achy muscles and puffy eyes longed for reprieve. She couldn’t serve much use as a soldier falling asleep at her post. “Is your hideaway far?” Most of all, her feet yearned for a good, long soak, even if it was in a cool creek or water-filled barrel. “Just beyond the rise.” Hallelujah! Amen! Breathing a sigh of relief, she nodded and coaxed her feet to plod forward. By the time they reached their destination, her feet stung and she forced herself just to hobble another step. When he paused on the rise, her heart dropped and she felt a primitive prickling of the hairs on the back of her neck. Gone was the modest little cottage she’d seen so often in the cartoon. Instead, they were on the course to a cabin whose whitewash was flaking off revealing the gray stone underneath. Patches of grass grew amongst clumps of weeds and the weeds were clearly winning their battle of domination. Sun glimmered a pale gold on the wet slates of its roof. One lone window peeked out sadly on the world. Wooden shutters hung askew. As they drew closer, sun glinted off a large spider’s web that shrouded most of its width. She shuddered and hugged herself. She and spiders did not get along. She prayed the inside would be more amenable, but she held out little hope. The man did not seem like the good housekeeping type. Inside, she grimaced at the exposed axe-hewn beams that criss-crossed the ceiling. Two chairs that reminded her of Americana twigs tied together with rope faced a 31

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wooden slab of a table set for one. The fork’s tines were bent and the knife’s handle was yellowed. Sunbeams cast a golden light on the round crusty loaf of bread sitting in the center of the table. A large four-poster bed with netting draped to the sides, took up the bulk of the room. Two small tables lie on either side of the bed. A white candle burnt almost to its quick covered one and a clay water basin and jug sat atop the other. A large wardrobe sat closed on the other side. The only other furniture in the room was a box of an oven, and another box that must be the larder. A rack that held an old bow leaned haphazardly behind the door. The wall behind the loam oven was inset with a sooty fireplace from which a large black kettle hung on a blackened chain. Aching, despairing at her plight, she tapped her reluctant host on his shoulder. “You can put me down now.” With a very eloquent grunt, he deposited her onto the closest chair and wandered over to the kitchen area. Gizmo jumped onto her lap, curled into a semi-circle and kneaded her legs with his claws. Normally, she would chase him away once the claws came out, but she soaked in his warm comfort. Besides, the pain of her feet made the dull pricks of his claws pale to almost nothingness. She scratched behind his ears until he purred and retracted his nails. “Aspirin,” she pleaded, hoping he would miraculously find one hiding in his sorry excuse for a kitchen. A pill or two of Zoloft certainly wouldn’t hurt, either. Dreading what she would see, she lifted a foot for inspection. Horrified when blood and mangled flesh met her sight, she choked back her bile. Her poor feet would never be the same—if she survived her diabetes without proper medication and care. She gnawed on her lower lip. “Do you have a first aid kit or a doctor handy?” As if startled by her sudden jerkiness, Gizmo’s eyes popped open wide and he bounded off her lap. He leapt onto the bed and began jumping up and down on it as if it was a trampoline. “Why?” Lobo had his head half stuck inside the larder taking meat, milk, and cheese from its depths. Real fear clutched at her heart and began to squeeze it until she had trouble catching her breath. She had never seen so much blood before and she felt queasy. “I’m injured.” To hell with the women’s liberation movement, she should have let him carry her. Now at the very least, she’d be bedridden for days because of her stubbornness. Lobo dropped the food on a wooden slab with a thud and came to her side. Kneeling beside her, he cradled her foot in his hands as he dangled a lantern nearby. Frowning, he muttered, “It requires medical attendance. Come daybreak I’ll fetch the healer.” She prayed it wouldn’t become septic before that. Heavy-headed and queasy, Becca slumped back and fog invaded her wakefulness. 32

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“I don’t like her color. She’s white as Casper the Ghost.” Gizmo rubbed up against her leg as if lending her strength. “I am going to bring back the healer. Keep a watchful eye on her until my return.” Lobo lifted her to the sole bed in the cabin and placed her in the middle of the sagging mattress. Becca’s heart pitter-pattered and she gulped. She’d dreamed of being in Lobo’s bed, had wasted many precious hours fantasizing about doing evocative, erotic things here, about being in Lobo’s arms. Now she was in the Utopia and he stared at her with cold, steely eyes and couldn’t wait to put miles between them. Another icon bit the dust. Her heart threatened to shrivel. She couldn’t trust any of them. Even though he was helping her, the way he begrudged it didn’t do much to endear him to her. Gizmo clutched his throat and backed away several steps. “You can’t leave me here alone with no dying woman. I’m no nurse. Do you have a phone so I can call you if she gets worse?” Lobo’s brows tented and his lips screwed into a frown. “Phone? I have not the pleasure of understanding you.” Gizmo paced, wringing his paws before him. “Then a radio? Walkie-talkies? Smoke signals? Homing pigeons?” When Lobo shook his head, Gizmo folded his paws and looked heavenward. “How did you poor people survive these dark ages?” Lobo poured water into a bowl and dipped a clean rag into it. He wrung it out and pressed the cloth to her feet. The contact stung almost as much as Lobo’s coldness and she jerked back, yelping. “Still your tongue. This has to be done if you do not wish to be parted from your feet. I vow gentleness.” Clenching her teeth hard, scared by his admonition, she nodded for him to begin. His fingers felt heavenly sliding along her ankle. The softening of his voice stirred the embers in her heart. True to his word, his ministrations were extremely gentle. Tendrils of heat licked her veins. Twinges of desire tickled the sensitive flesh between her legs. She clamped down on her tongue to keep from moaning aloud. She must have drifted off to sleep for the next thing she knew, she was startled awake by a strange bug-eyed man sporting a crew cut and handlebar mustache. She bolted up in bed, and curled her legs under her, to relative safety. The man shook his head. “I can’t provide assistance if you do not lend assistance.” He held out his hand for her feet. She looked about for her host and let out a small sigh of relief when she found him folded onto a chair next to far side of the bed. Lobo leaned forward and with a stern gaze, he said, “I know he looks odd, but he’s trustworthy. Pray, let him examine your feet.”

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Swallowing hard, she uncurled her legs and slowly extended one at a time. Even that slow, careful movement sent acute pain spiraling up her legs and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. “Please be gentle.” “I shall, my dear.” The robed man took a foot in his hand and held it gently. When her breathing eased, he applied ointment, pausing when she winced. When the sharp waves of pain subsided enough for her to study the newcomer, she noted the eccentric beading of the flowing robes that covered his tall, lanky frame, and the strings of beads and religious medallions hanging about his neck. The man’s eyes protruded even more and his mustache twitched. “Tsk tsk, child. You have need to keep off these feet for a few days. ‘Tis festered they are.” Her heart skipped several beats. Her feet were festered? Gulping, her heart somersaulting in her chest, she sat up straighter. “A few days! I have a job. Responsibilities.” “Days!” Lobo echoed as if stunned, storm clouds thundering in his eyes. “I am severely ill-qualified for this situation. I cannot have a woman in my cabin for an extended time. Do not wish me such an evil, Wilfred.” The healer sighed and turned toward Lobo with a disdainful expression in his slightly bloodshot eyes. “We cannot move her in this weakened condition. Besides, the king’s guards are conducting a house-to-house search in town. Pray no one saw us together or made note of my absence, or we shall be suspect.” Becca’s blood turned icy and she wrung the bedsheet in her hand. They were that desperate to find her? “Why does the king want me so badly?” The healer turned a speculative gaze on her. “Popular conversation has it he wishes you to guide him to your world.” Her breath grew ragged and she had trouble forcing words past her lips? “B-but why? It’s nothing like this world.” The man cleared his throat as his gaze slithered away. “To conquer your people.” Oh God! An invasion? She couldn’t breathe. Gizmo snickered and then guffawed. Soon he’d doubled over with laughter and rolled on the floor, kicking his hind legs in the air. “The big bad medieval king thinks he can conquer our technologically advanced world? All someone has to do is smash his DVD to smithereens to wipe him out.” She stared at the insane cat, wondering if there was a string of logic in his ramblings. Pacing enough to stir up dust on the straw-covered floor, Lobo scowled. “He has many powerful wizards at his command. Now that you have opened the portal from your world, if indeed you have, he thinks he can slip through.” Halejulah! Amen! Relief trickled through her. Now maybe he’d help her find that portal and get home. “So you believe me now? Why does he need me?”

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Although her heart was warmed by his willingness to believe her, she was still chilly, and her toes curled eliciting immediate, excruciating pain. With chattering teeth, she managed to squeak out, “Please throw more logs on the fire. I’m freezing.” Lobo stopped at the end of her bed and glared. “We cannot afford to draw attention to our location. The dragon warriors would spot our smoke from a distance.” Goose bumps covered her arms and she chafed them to instill warmth. Unfortunately, it didn’t work and she huddled under the thin covers. “Do you have more blankets then? Pelts? Quilts? Furs?” “I have only two quilts, more than most.” He pulled another off a quilt rack and tucked it around her. His fingers were surprisingly gentle where they grazed her body and a tremor rattled through her. But it started a heartache that she turned her face from. He would never be a part of her real world, never be hers, and now she could see how debilitating the delusion was. Dragging her thoughts back to the present, she did her best to lighten up and forced a chuckle from her throat. “Where’s a superstore when you need it?” Never again would she complain about the sweltering Florida summers. Not that the temperature here was freezing by most people’s standards, but as a native South Floridian, she turned up the electric blanket whenever the Fahrenheit dipped below seventy degrees. And the air was at least twenty degrees lower than that here. She might as well have slipped into the Ice Age. “Thank you.” Lobo rubbed his chin. “Send one of the fairies over to sit by her side. She needs a chaperone and someone to tend her wounds.” The healer stroked his pointy chin. “Do you deem it wise so many will be privy to your secret? The king employs countless eyes and ears.” Lobo dipped his mug into a barrel of water and took a swig. “Are the fairies not trustworthy? They have provided assistance and kept their silence. Bring one forthwith.” Wilfred bowed to Lobo. Then the healer turned to her and squeezed her hand. “Stay off those feet ‘til I grant you consent to walk about, my dear.” Several distressing scenarios troubled her and her brows pinched together. What would happen if she had to use the bathroom? “But…” “Do not argue. Heed my warnings if you do not wish to lose them.” Wilfred accepted a drink from the mug and then wiped his lip with the back of his hand. “Amputated! Oh God, no!” Her voice edged on a sob. She’d rather die than have them amputated. Her heart pounding so hard it sounded like the ocean roared in her ears, she sprang up in the bed and threw off her covers. “We have to get home, now!” Gizmo gasped and hugged her fiercely. His small furry body rocked gently against her, his heart beating swiftly as if he was running a marathon. “I’ll sneak into the palace and retrieve the remote. But are you sure it’s our ticket home?”

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Sadly, she shook her head. “I don’t know anything for sure. I only know I was holding it when we were sent here.” “Maybe you need Dorothy’s magical ruby red slippers. Or the wizard.” Hope flooded her and she twisted her hair around her fingers. “Wizard! That’s it! You’re a genius, Giz! Are there any good wizards that can help us?” The men exchanged veiled glances and shifted uneasily. Lobo finished off the water and restrapped the mug to his slacks. “Can we find him now? There’s no time to waste!” Lobo put one foot on the rail at the end of her bed and rested his elbow on it. “Wizards are a wily bunch. They keep to their own agendas. They only afford help when your needs echo theirs. Most don’t divulge their true plans.” Wilfred added ruefully, “Be wary of putting your trust in them.” Her pulse ricocheting in her wrist, she tried to sit up straighter against the hard, thin pillow. “But what if the remote control isn’t our ticket home? What if we can’t steal it back from the king? What if he figures out how to enter my world with his armies?” Gizmo stood and saluted. “Again, I volunteer to sneak into the palace to retrieve it. We’ll leave straight away.” Lobo pushed aside the curtain and looked outside at the full moon. “Wrong. One, we cannot leave Rebecca untended in her present state. Two, I require a night’s full rest before I can venture on this journey and confront such sturdy enemies. Three, it would be fatal to travel beneath a full moon.” “I don’t want to hear your superstitious bullshit, lone wolf.” Gizmo spat at Lobo’s feet. Lobo growled and his lips thinned. “The dragons can see many miles distant when the moon is thus full.” Gizmo’s shoulders slumped as he glanced out the moon-dappled window. “Oh, if you say so.” “Indeed. And I never agreed to help you sneak into the castle or battle the king.” Lobo narrowed his eyes on the cat and then rubbed his jaw. “Then it’ll be on your head if your king destroys my world.” Gizmo’s fur stood on end. Mortified, Becca shook her finger at her naughty baby. “Gizmo! That’s enough. Apologize this instant.” The cat jutted out his furry jaw. “I will not. I speak the truth.” “I do not claim him as my king. I stand against him.” Lobo tensed, and stood tall with a proud gleam in his eyes. “Then stand now. Haven’t you ever heard that your enemy’s enemy is your friend?” Gizmo rose on his hind legs and clamped his paws on his hips.

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Lobo scrunched up his lips and wrinkled his nose. Then his brows knitted together over his inscrutable gaze. “You are my friend?” Gizmo’s whiskers twitched. “You sure know how to hurt a guy. But whether you hate my guts or not, at least rescue the fair damsel in distress and save the world. It’s what you hero types do.” “I do not claim to be a hero.” Storm clouds thundered in Lobo’s darkening eyes and his fists clenched and unclenched at his side. “Yeah, yeah. So you said. But you always rescue the fair maiden.” Gizmo leapt onto the bed, cupped Becca’s face between his paws, and turned her face to look at the woodsman. “Don’t change your M.O. now. If ever one needs you to be her white knight, it’s Becca.” Becca hated being the object of anyone’s pity, especially the acerbic Lobo’s and wincing, jerked away from the fuzzy paws. “That’s enough, Fleabitus.” Gizmo jumped off the bed and then turned and treated her to a hurt look. “That’s the thanks I get for trying to help.” She felt like a heel and crooked her finger at him. When he came near, she whispered, “I really appreciate it. Just don’t make me sound so pathetic.” An ah-ha expression flickered across the cat’s eyes. He winked broadly. “Gotcha, girlfriend.” Turning back to Lobo, he licked his paws leisurely before speaking. “If you’ll draw a map, I shall rescue this ravishing, delectable, lovely lady, one any man would be blessed to marry.” She choked on a gasp and almost expired from the back draft of heat flushing her face. Wanting to evaporate—after she permanently shut up her so-fired PR cat—she pulled up her covers around her throat and slid deep under them. Now she understood how moms of recalcitrant toddlers felt when they blurted out extremely embarrassing statements. Although she obviously hadn’t given birth to the loose-lipped feline, she thought of him as her baby, nonetheless, thus his every word, every action reflected on her. Lobo yanked the covers off her face and smiled down at her. “You shall cease to breathe beneath the coverlets.” Becca almost melted under the rays of the first genuine smile Lobo cast her way. Then deviltry infiltrated it, mocking her, and she itched to wipe the smirk off his handsome face. Then he tossed the blanket over her head. “Upon further reflection, that would well solve my predicament. Please yourself.” Steaming, she dumped off the covers and threw the pillow with all her might, wrenching her back. “I was a fool to think you a hero. You’re just a selfish, badtempered, superstitious oaf who’s so afraid of some silly curse that he lets it cripple him emotionally.”

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The lone wolf dodged the pillow lithely and it struck a vase that shattered into several shards on the dirt floor. His face purpled as he looked from it to her. “What knowledge do you have of my curse? And if you do know of it then you should also know how prophetic it has been, that it has caused the loss of all those I held dear.” “I shall ask Faylinn to sit with Becca, but for now, I must take my departure.” Wilfred paled to the roots of his high hairline as he scurried out the door, bearing his robes several inches off the ground. She was sorry about the vase but sorrier for the pain that pooled in Lobo’s eyes. Sucking in a deep breath, she started over. “That was unforgivably harsh of me. What I meant to convey is that curses aren’t real. It was just coincidence. All of us lose loved ones, some faster than others.” She tried to squelch the renewed agony over her parents’ death in a horrible highway wreck. “Have you suffered the loss of anyone of import?” Lobo sighed and rubbed his forehead. His shoulders seemed to lower two inches. Squirming under his close scrutiny, she tried to collect her scattered senses before answering lest she break out in tears. No way did she want to appear a blathering idiot in front of this man. Lifting her gaze to duel with his, she pressed her thumbs into her palms. “As a matter of fact, I lost my parents almost two years ago, so I know loss on a first-name basis.” “A husband? Betrothed?” “Noooo.” She’d never taken more than casual lovers. “We shall converse when you have suffered such a loss. At that time, I may consider listening.” His countenance as dark and eerie as the night, Lobo snatched the broom and swept up the glass. Then he marched outside and slammed the door. Gizmo leapt onto the windowsill and peered out at the spooky forest. His ringed tail twitched and then his form was silhouetted against the window. “Hope it wasn’t anything I said.”

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Chapter Four The next several days spent as a virtual prisoner in Lobo’s bed passed slowly, for the unhospitable cabin had no TV, no radio, and no books, not even a Bible. She almost wished for more spiders so she could watch them weave their webs in the rafters overhead. Back on Earth, she never would have dreamed she’d be bored in Lobo’s bed. Of course, he was supposed to be ravishing her, filling her heart and soul with awesome, swirling emotions, uttering his undying love… Now she chafed to escape the insufferable boredom even if it meant she’d never see the woodsman again. Especially if… A sigh rumbled through her and she cut off her untenable thoughts. As had become her normal routine to break the monotony when her grouchy host wasn’t around to tease and torment, she played the backgammon and chess games Faylinn had recently brought to relieve the monotony. At least the rules of the game hadn’t changed since the Dark Ages, even if the pieces were whittled from wood instead of molded plastic. Unfortunately, Gizmo won most of the time which didn’t leave her in awe of her IQ. She was so very bored, she was about to ask the fairy to bring materials so she could sew or knit, not that she’d ever enjoyed either craft. Fortunately, she drifted in and out of sleep. Unfortunately, she dreamed about dragons, dungeons, and evil kings who wanted to conquer the real world. Worst of all, this nightmare was entirely her fault. So if that was the real world, then that made this a fantasy world. What about her and Gizmo? Were they dead? Dreaming all of this? Or what? The mattress depressed and she rolled against a large, warm body. Way too large and not nearly furry enough to be Gizmo, she awoke with a start, her lids lifting wide to the blinding shower of afternoon light. Pretty as you please without an ounce of gentlemanliness, Lobo pulled the covers over him and plumped a pillow then laid his head on it. Although he turned his broad back to her, that didn’t appease her. Obviously, he wasn’t worried about her reputation and didn’t feel the necessity of a chaperone. She yanked his hair and her hand grazed his warm back. Big mistake. Quivers shook her to her toes. “Just what do you think you’re doing crawling into my bed?” A growl rumbled in his chest as he shifted his weight. Glaring over his shoulder, his nostrils flaring arrogantly, he said between gritted teeth, “Trying to sleep. My bones grow weary of the cold, unforgiving floor.”

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Trying to rein in her wayward emotions and angry with them, she folded her arms over her chest and glared. “With me? In my bed? Think again, buster. Get out.” He rolled over so that his ebony gaze bored into hers and so that his face was mere inches from hers. His brows arched and laughter danced in his eyes. “You refer to my bed. My sole coverlets. As you will recall, you insisted on having both. It is merely my intent to share.” Swallowing hard, she recalled that to her defense, she’d been freezing and she hadn’t given any thought to what would happen to him. She cursed her selfishness. Despite the chill still rasping against her, guilt entangling her, she took one of the quilts off herself and pushed it toward him. “Take one. I didn’t mean to hog all the covers.” Nor did she intend to demean herself to his level. She expected him to snatch it and get up to sleep on the chair or the floor as he had been doing, but he didn’t. He didn’t even wrap up inside the woolly cover. Instead, he placed it over both of them and tucked her shivering body against his warmth. Struggling against herself as much as against him, she shoved against his chest. She feared she was losing the battle to keep her self-respect and she couldn’t allow that. “Get off me. Just because I’m stuck in your bed, don’t think you can take liberties with me.” Lobo broke out in such raucous laughter and the bed shook. “Pray, Miss, you are the last woman on which I harbor romantic designs. The night ‘tis cold and more uninviting than you.” Deflated and nonplussed, she stared. It was the weight thing, wasn’t it? Same old sorry story. Her fists clenching around her covers, she asked, “What’s wrong with me?” Lobo’s gaze raked her in frank appraisal. He held up both his hands and fisted them. Flicking up his forefinger, he said, “You are exceeding ill tempered and I fear your tongue seems incapable of fatigue.” Ooh! Now she was getting really ticked off. Bad tempered? Her? Only in impossible, untenable situations like this where she had to deal with being kidnapped, nearly roasted, and faced possible mutilation. Like she had sought the trouble? She’d been sucked into this crazy, demonic vortex. With a derisive snort, he held up his second finger. “Two, you are more troublesome than you are worth.” Sticking out his third finger, he practically snarled. “Three, you and your impudent companion are the most bizarre creatures I have ever had the unhappy circumstance to meet.” Her? Bizarre? Cattila the Hun, maybe. His new voice talents continued to freak her out. But she was the most normal, albeit boring, person she knew. Besides, who was the superstitious cursed one to talk? And what about those fire-breathing beasts? “Four. You are an old maid. You must have seen at least twenty-two summers.”

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The cynicism in his voice made her flinch and her hackles rose. Old maid? “I’m twenty-six which is still considered very young—and sexy—on my world.” Hadn’t he heard of ”thirty, flirty, and thriving”? Not that she was exactly thriving as an office manager. Nor was she exactly flirty if how she handled Larry was any indication. A ghost of a smile flashed across his lips. “Let me amend that to ‘Old Crone’.” What nerve! She almost spit and choked. “Just how old are you?” “Thirty-five yuletides.” “Old geezer,” she muttered, angry with herself for ever having wanted to strip off the surly man’s clothes and lick every inch of his decrepit body. To hear the galling man speak, she was nearing the end of her lifespan so he must be staggering on death’s door. This man before her didn’t seem like the cartoon version—the one with whom she’d fallen in love. He continued blithely, “Five, you do not guard your words before they leave your lips.” And he did? He was flirting with a very painful, emasculating death. That did it! Her temper well and truly snapped. She nodded emphatically, and hiked her jaw a notch. “Do you think I find you romantic? You’re an overbearing, uncouth, insensitive brute! To boot, you’re superstitious and archaic. There!” An unrepentant smile dawned over his face. “Mayhap you’ll stop insulting my sensibilities and allow me some rest.” Speechless at the man’s rudeness, she stared open-mouthed for several moments. He slid a finger under her chin and forced her mouth closed. “Retire well. We shall share body warmth—not a whit more.” Her head spun at the surprising gentleness of the man’s touch. God, what a roller coaster ride! She wished this prickly heat of awareness would just go away. How could he be so entirely exasperating one minute and so sweet the next? Warmth flooding her lower regions, she wanted to kick herself again. She licked her lips and spoke lowly, “Are you still going to help us get home?” His eyes narrowed and he nodded. “Most assuredly. ‘Tis the only way it appears I shall retrieve my bed—and restore my life.” Good riddance to you, too! Highly annoyed, she punched her pillow and rolled over. “Night.” And not a good one. Not at all.

***** Wicked, wicked sunlight pierced Becca’s eyelids at an ungodly early hour thanks to the cabin’s threadbare curtains. She cursed the dirty windowpanes that did little to stop the sun’s brutal insistence that she waken. Not even the layers of dust and grime covering the panes blocked it.

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She rolled over and put her hands over her eyes in an attempt to thwart the harsh rays. But she couldn’t go back to sleep and jumbled thoughts kept coming. ”I’m fired by now,” she mumbled under her breath. If she were lucky, her coworkers would just call out the National Guard and her face would be plastered all over the front pages. She had to pee badly but Faylinn and Lobo were nowhere around. No one answered when she called out. Unable to hold her bladder much longer, hoping the old healer had been exaggerating, she scooted out of bed. “Here goes nothing,” she murmured, wondering to where Gizmo had run off. Most likely, he was chasing field mice for breakfast. Praying this would work, she put her weight on the bed and little by little eased onto her feet. Excruciating pain stabbed her raw soles, and with a yelp, she fell writhing in agony to the ground. Wide-eyed and breathless, Lobo slammed into the cabin seconds later. “What happened?” Before she could utter a response, he scooped her up and laid her gently on the bed. Embarrassed, but aching all over now, her bladder burning in particular, she admitted, “I had to use the ladies’ room. No one was here to help me.” He cast an angry look her way. “Pray tell, what is a ‘ladies’ room’? Why would you wish to visit?” Did she have to make her embarrassment complete? She rephrased in simpler terms. “My bladder is full. I need to use your outhouse.” Lobo’s lips twisted and he shook his head. “I beg you, call out whenst in need.” Scrunching her face, she gazed up at him. “I didn’t know you were close enough to hear. Besides, I thought we were in hiding and didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves by making a ruckus.” “You still require assistance?” he asked matter-of-factly, his expression carefully masked. Gulping, she nodded. “Up you go, Miss. Hang on tight.” He lifted her high in his arms and strode to a crude wooden building several feet behind the cabin. “Just set me down here and I’ll get the rest of the way myself.” Even if she had to crawl through the spiders’ webs and crusty leaves. “How? On those feet?” He tsk-tsked and twisted his lips. “God’s beard! For pity’s sake, when I’m in charge, you shall receive proper care.” My hero. She wasn’t sure if she meant that for real or sarcastically. An enigma, the man was tougher to figure out than any real-life male she’d ever known. He kicked open the worm-riddled door that creaked on its rusty hinges and ordered, “Lift your tunic.” Stunned, she held tight to the hem of her shirt and stared. He couldn’t possibly intend to stay in the cramped, buggy shack with her, did he? She could hardly breathe 42

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in the horrible stench that was worse than any of the camp site latrines she’d ever had the misfortune to visit. “Excuse me?” “Lift it so you do not wet it.” The man was delusiona,l not to mention embarrassing her royally. “Really, I can manage from here.” Fire flashed through his eyes and his muscles tightened. “Are you always so contrary? ‘Tis no wonder you are an old maid.” “Dirty old geezer,” she threw back in his face, trying not to breathe deeply. “Do it now and lower your undergarments, or I shall perform the duty.” He wouldn’t dare… One look in his serious face told her he wasn’t playing games. Anxious to get away from both the humiliating experience and the horrible smells, she just wanted to get this over with. “Close your eyes.” “That would not be fortuitous. Should you slip inside I would not dive in to retrieve you as I would not be happy to swim in that cesspool.” With a guffaw, he added, “Cease to worry. You have nothing of interest to me.” Mortified he didn’t move a muscle to leave her in peace, she angled her gaze away from the gleam in his eyes and drawled, “I know. It’s all platonic.” Squeezing her eyes tightly, she lowered her panties to her knees and did her best to lift just the back of the shirt while keeping the front secured over her thighs. Never had she been in a more embarrassing situation. She prayed she never would be again. At least not if Wilfred convinced the fairy to take care of her.

***** More chivalrous than he let on, Lobo winced at the impropriety of the situation. But it was difficult to leash his male curiosity in the presence of a naked beauty, even one this unbelievably impertinent. Unfortunately, he had not been prevaricating about the possibility of her stumbling into the filthy hole thus he could not turn his back and risk letting her fall into the sewage. His brain worked on how to rig something safer. Meanwhile, a pain pounded in his back and a weak-kneed vertigo assailed him. Forced to his knees, his face was brought level with hers. The little termagant really was quite exquisite with an alabaster complexion and by far the most vibrant blue-gray eyes he’d ever gazed into. Sunshine danced in her silky hair that curled nymph-like around her shoulders. The beauty was more exquisite than most of the seventeen-year-olds on the marriage block. But she was quite the eccentric with her odd clothing and strange, aggressive mannerisms. To his dismay, he cared increasingly more for her fate. His heart twisted to see her in such agony, to be so forlorn and lost. He longed to help her in any way in his power, to exorcise the demons from her eyes.

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Yet he had been through this before—the caring which inevitably grew into stronger feelings—which always led to disaster. His heart could not accept the loss of yet another loved one. He would sooner rip it out with his own bare hands. Forget his selfishness. He could not inflict unnecessary harm on another woman, even indirectly. The tunic scrunched up, revealing a pair of shapely legs and the most inviting pussy he’d ever seen. Immediately, his cock twinged, making his breeches unbearably tight. Fiery red curls contrasted violently with the blonde, blue-streaked hair falling in waves about her face. The portentous implications of her natural redhead status punched him in the gut. With more force than he meant to use, he yanked down her tunic, hiding her private parts from his lusty view. When she teetered and yelped, he cursed his carelessness and wrapped steadying arms around her. “Are you trying to dunk me?” Shivering, she glared with renewed hostility. “Have you finished?” Hell’s fire, much more time in her company, waspish or not, and he would be well done. His only prayer was to convince Faylinn or one of her sisters to provide care while he retrieved her means home—if the Kingdom of Florida was indeed her true home. However, her insane stunt proved beyond doubt he could not let her out of his sight long enough to bring help. With a bit of luck, Wilfred would complete his mission. “Turn your back until I tell you it’s safe to turn around.” Already too late. Fortuitously for him, she did not seem to comprehend. But she would reason it out soon enough if she took a good look at his very taut breeches. To protect his sanity as much as her privacy, he did as bade. “From this day forth, there shall be a bedpan on the nightstand.” He carried her back to his bed, laid the beauty on it, and tucked her in, cursing his protective nature, but mainly ranting at his curse. But even if the curse had never been cast on him, he could not be interested in the hostile old maid. He could not honestly answer no. God help him.

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Chapter Five King Heinrich banged his fist on the silver-inlay table so hard wine spilled over the lip of his gold-rimmed chalice. The heat wave stealing up his thick neck became unbearable and sweat beaded on his brow. “None of our efforts to locate the lost queen have succeeded. The last crusade nearly depleted my resources and all I have to show for it is a new trade route. Do you dare tell me that you still cannot unearth trace of the queen’s whereabouts?” He gazed with dismay at his sumptuous throne room, as always impressed with the velvet and brocade-covered furnishings and the invaluable tapestries lining the walls interspersed with the paintings of his noble ancestors. He was very concerned about losing his palace and especially his power to some little usurper. A scraggly-haired, trembling wizard with gray, red, and blonde splotched in his patchy beard bowed low before Heinrich. “If you’ll pardon me, Your Majesty, she was well hidden by her mother the queen.” Heinrich grabbed the chalice with his pudgy fingers and hurled it at his advisor, covering the man and the tapestries behind him with the blood red wine that splayed out. “Damn Cornelia to her rotting grave! I’m the king! Don’t ever forget it, Aloysius. My bastard half-sister wasn’t fit to be queen, nor is her pitiful lineage.” Aloysius straightened and with a scowl, dabbed ineffectually at the liquid dripping down his soiled robes. He tensed and regarded Heinrich warily. “I fail to see the quandary if the queen has vanished. She no longer poses a threat. Isn’t that your desire?” Heinrich glared at his liege, his pudgy cheeks filling with excess air. Finally, he exhaled and it whooshed out on a tremulous sigh. “Let me try to explain this again. I need confirmation that she has indeed passed on to the next world. That she no longer poses a threat. If perchance she still breathes, then I need her head as proof.” Aloysius tried to choke back a gasp, but failed miserably. Immense sadness pooled in his pale gray eyes. “But your blood flows through her veins. She is your kin, a rightful member of the royal household.” Heinrich stomped over to the useless wizard and wound his hands around the man’s throat. “I won’t have a royal household if she’s found alive and coronated, you imbecile.” Aloysius grew deathly still like a trapped animal, as insanity glowed from the king’s reddening eyes, oozing from the monarch’s every pore. “It is unwise to threaten a wizard with my many powers…”

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Heinrich squeezed harder, leaving his fingerprints on the man’s throat. His spit punctuated his sentences at the fop whose hatred glimmered in his eyes. “How dare you threaten your king? Insolent buffoon! If you were so powerful as you claim, you’d have found that little witch long ago. Hundreds of wizards infinitely more powerful than you await my disposal. Should anything happen to me, they have instructions to see that you disappear—very painfully. Have I made myself sufficiently clear? I am in no mood to delay.” Aloysius bowed low without cringing. “If I displease you so, Your Highness, then I am befuddled as to why you seek my counsel. Clearly another would be more to your liking.” His fury building, Heinrich roared ferociously and bashed his head against the useless man’s, felling him to the floor. His chest heaving from the exertion, he yelled to his squires, “Remove this rubbish from my sight. Consign him to the dungeon. Should he attempt escape, you may award Padraigin a scrumptious delicacy for dessert.” Heinrich returned to his throne as abject fear flickered across the youthful faces of his trusted squires, just the way Heinrich liked. Ever obedient, they clicked their heels, and bowed low, the magnificent plumes on their caps sweeping the floor. He had made it clear that if they failed in their mission, they would join the ill-fated wizard as the dragon’s next meal. He did not worry about their loyalty for their destitute families depended upon the lads’ meager wages to eke out their wretched existence. As they dragged the unconscious man from his chambers, he wrinkled his nose. Mayhap he should give Padraigin a well-deserved treat for her loyal service. If only all those in his service displayed such flawless loyalty, he wouldn’t be in this predicament. Ravenous, he grabbed a piece of mutton from his platter and stuffed it in his mouth. Once he’d devoured the small spread laid out before him, he wished he’d not wasted such fine wine on such worthless sport for his throat was intolerably dry. When the squires returned, he bellowed, “Fetch me a tankard of our finest ale and a wizard who displays a modicum of sense.” Upon further contemplation, he specified, “Cyril of Derbyshire.” The two boys bowed low again and hastily departed to do his bidding. The first and smaller youth returned forthwith carrying a tankard of ale that he placed before him. In a pre-pubescent voice that still crackled with the change, he said, “Your ale, Your Majesty. May I perform any other duties?” Heinrich grabbed for the tankard and chugged down the amber liquid, sloshing it over his royal tunic. His whistle wet, he sighed contentedly and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Thrusting out the tankard, he demanded, “Another tankard full, lad.” “Forthwith, Sire.” The lad scurried away, his unkempt hair flapping over his high collar. Heinrich watched the boy bouncing on his heels with a youthful exuberance he hadn’t felt in many a year and bemoaned such lost pleasures.

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“Now, where is my wizard?” Heinrich roared to the empty room, only balefully amused when his voice bounced off the walls. “Intolerable. I don’t patron a bevy of advisors just so they can keep me waiting a fortnight.” “Anon, Heiny. The sun’s not set even once since you summoned me, much less a fortnight.” Cyril waltzed in, his pristine robes skimming the floor. Mirth danced in his mischievous eyes as he shook a cajoling finger at the king. Heinrich snarled at his long-time advisor, as he slumped on his throne and stretched his stubby legs. His head heavier than it had been in many yuletides, he rested it on his hand. “’Tis dangerous to take such a tone with me today, old friend. And doubly dangerous to call me that despicable name that I find so detestable. I’ve already sent one of your brethren to the dungeon for disappointing me. ‘Tis his last time to be sure. Padraigin’s drooling at the prospect.” Cyril stroked his beard and solemnly regarded his wand. “May I be so bold as to inquire how my old friend Aloysius disappointed?” “His feeble efforts to find the queen have come to naught. I exhausted a fortune in gold on this last crusade upon his advice, yet he reports not so much as a morsel of rumor.” Renewed anger and despair bubbled up in him like bile. He could feel his kingdom slipping through his fingers like so many grains of sand. “As aforementioned, she was not on this world.” Cyril stood his ground, squaring his shoulders and tilting his head high. Dread coursing through him, Heinrich sat up taller and favored his counselor with a piercing glare. “Was not or is not? And be precise. What do you mean, ’not on this world’? Is she in the next world?” He hoped and prayed fervently, his blood icy in his veins. If the queen were to be revealed, she’d take her rightful place and oust him from the throne. He’d be exiled—or worse. He couldn’t be outmaneuvered so! Cyril conspiratorially lowered his voice. “Rumor states that she was hidden on a distant world, in another plane. Since she was a mere infant when this event occurred, she may not be cognizant of her queenship.” Such blessings should be his! Heinrich’s optimism dashed to the ground. The enemy who had hidden her wouldn’t so easily forget about the queen. Most certainly, they would be awaiting the proper time to return her. According to his royal astrologers, the stars were aligning against him and the time was strife for rebellion. If he didn’t find her and she still breathed, his ruination was in the stars. “But what if she knows? Surely her supporters will rally around her.” “I have seen no signs of insurrection. You panic for naught, Heiny.” Heinrich wasn’t so easily appeased. The suspicious object he’d been safeguarding in his hip pocket for many sunrises burned his thigh. Perplexed, he withdrew the peculiar object from his pocket and examined it yet again. “You say she may have been in hiding on another world?” 47

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“’Tis a possibility. It would explain why you’ve uncovered no trace. That or her bones have long since turned to dust.” Focused on the first theory though far-fetched, he held out the object and handed it to his advisor. If the queen were dead, he’d feel it in his bones. He didn’t feel it. “I solicit your wisdom regarding the manner of this puzzling article. ‘Tis nothing similar on this world.” Frowning, Cyril prodded it, and pulled it apart. “Most intriguing. I’ve encountered nothing of the sort before. I have no inclination to its function, but it most certainly did not originate from these parts.” “I thought not.” A growl rumbled in Heinrich’s gut and he took a long swig of his ale in the hopes of soothing his frazzled nerves and then wiped the froth off his upper lip with the back of his hand. Fury still rising in his gut, he pounded the arm of his throne. The clowns had had the foe in their clutches and let her get away. “A strange woman appeared out of nowhere and she dropped this during her flight. Perhaps it was she.” Cyril’s pallor faded and his Adam’s apple worked diligently in his throat. “Or an invading army. Tell me, was she traveling in solitude?” “Two companions accompanied her. They were afoot.” “Did she sport red hair? The child had a shock of the brightest red hair this world’s ever laid eyes on, even brighter than her vile mother’s.” “No. That’s why I did not correlate her with the queen. She had long white locks with startling blue streaks, the likes of which I’ve never been acquainted with.” “Pray they are not scouts for an invading army. No soul on this world has hair the color of the oceans.” He held up the black box to the late afternoon rays streaming through the window and gazed quizzically at it. “Did they all have blue hair?” “One was a gray-and-black-striped feline. The other wore the garb of a hunter. My men were unable to get a close look at his face, thus the description sorely lacks.” Someone had paid dearly for that lapse of vital information, but, that day, his precious Padragin had been most ecstatic. “It could not be the queen, then.” Cyril rubbed his head and frowned. “But we could be under attack by an invading army. My advice is to assemble your guards. Why did you not summon me immediately?” He could hardly reply with tolerable civility, longing to wring Aloysius’ neck again. Instead, he latched his hands behind his back and paced to and fro, with his head bent. “Because I trusted that dimwit, Aloysius. I will not make the same mistake twice. Pray tell, advise me how to proceed successfully from here. Reward notices have brought nary a soul forth. If I do say, the sum is quite generous. It’s as if they disappeared into the woods with the faeries.” Cyril’s gaze alighted with triumph. “Perhaps you should question the faeries.”

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“We have a treaty that they will not interfere in our business, nor they in ours. They can be quite ferocious when crossed. I shudder to raise their ire.” Cyril linked his fingers together before him and tilted his head. “Would that you rather an invading army conquer your kingdom and plunder your throne?” Renewed angst roiled in Heinrich’s gut. “Do you take me for a simpleton? Of course, I do not desire that.” “Mayhap there is a way to broach the faeries without ruffling their wings.” Wrinkling his nose and pursing his lips, Heinrich looked back into time recalling the unpleasant association. “They threatened to turn me into an egg-laying goose should I thwart them.” Cyril lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and inclined his head close to the king’s. “I am sure they would not want to harbor a witch accused of malfeasance. Such diabolical power could be turned against them should she be in their midst. I hear tales that her familiar speaks, not only to her but to anyone who will lend an ear. He has quite the demonic tongue.” A slow smile spread across Heinrich’s face as this morsel of tasty news endeavored to shake off his gravity. “Does she now? We cannot permit the body politic to be harmed.” “Indeed not. Witches are to be put on trial, are they not? And burned at the stake for their crimes against the body.” “Indeed yes.” Heinrich’s ire turned to such glee he could barely refrain from rubbing his hands together. Instead, he ran them across his velvet sleeves, taking pride in his ingenuity. “Spare no expense to find the witch so she may meet with her just due.” The wizard bent on one knee and bowed his head reverently. “Aye, Sire. Your will is my command.” “Off with thee. Report back with your progress before the set of each sun.” “Fare thee well, Your Majesty. I fully expect to deliver agreeable news forthwith.” Cyril rose to his impressive height and seemed to float away, his robes dusting the floor, his head held regally high. His appetite returned to its normally robust status, Heinrich took another chunk of the leg of mutton, then washed it down with a spot of ale. Indeed, the body would fare well.

***** Gizmo dragged through the door with an assortment of the oddest items in Lobo’s recollection. The creature’s coat was matted with brambles and stickers, and his ears were crooked halfway to his head. He pulled them on a piece of animal pelt over to Becca.

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Leaving them on the floor by the bed, he leapt onto the mattress and rubbed against the drowsing woman. Frowning, he patted her cheeks. “Wake up, Snow White. Girlfriend, you’re awfully pale.” Lobo strolled over to the bed and knelt by the puzzling items to take a closer look. He picked up one and turned it over in his hand as he stared at it cross-eyed. “Pray tell what are these? I have never seen anything the likes of them. Be they magical? Possessed?” Gizmo took Becca’s wrist between his paws and counted under his breath. After he finished, he glared down at Lobo. “How long’s our girl been like this? She’s shaking like a leaf. She’s whiter than snow.” He padded down to the end of the bed, checked her feet and flattened his ears against his head. Turning a glare on Lobo, the cat shook his head. “Her feet aren’t healing. Where’s that quack you called over here? She needs help, man. She’s in a hypoglycemic coma.” Lobo’s ears rang with the unfamiliar, yet deadly sounding words. “A hypoglawhat?” Apprehensive, he walked on his knees to the woman’s side and peered closely. Her pallor had deteriorated, the former bloom absent from her cheeks, her lips devoid of healthy color. “She’s been slumbering thus I did not think it wise to disturb her. She requires repose to heal.” Gizmo pulled at his ears and crossed his eyes. “She’s diabetic.” “Diawhatic?” The cat twisted his lips and his whiskers turned down. He pointed at the larder. “Give her a piece of candy, pronto.” Lobo stared down at the unresponsive woman, his nerves sorely complaining. Now the foul curse went after those he merely cared about? Gizmo snapped his fingers in front of Lobo’s face. “Candy!” Lobo awoke from his stupor and put his palm on Becca’s forehead. “Only the nobility have luxuries the like of sweetmeat.” Gizmo threw his paws heavenward. “Anything with sugar, man! Fruit. Apples.” The frantic cat jumped off the bed and picked up a box-shaped object and took it up on the bed. “Hurry with that fruit while I test her blood sugars.” Lobo strode to the table where he’d laid his knapsack and withdrew an apple. He took it and stood staring down at her, wondering how to feed it to her without causing her to choke. Extracting his pocketknife, he sliced off a sliver and put it under her tongue, hoping it would revive her, wondering how it could. The curse was much stronger than a mere sliver of fruit. Still, he willed it to work, wondering why he was listening to the foolish cat. When Becca stirred and mumbled something unintelligible, his senses leapt. Her lashes fluttered and she trembled. The pretty woman opened her fog-filled eyes a slit and tried to speak again. Her words came out scratchy and low when she pointed

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at another box on the floor and mumbled, “Icing tubes…in emergency kit. Squeeze icing…on my gums.” Lobo found some odd-shaped vials filled with a confounding goo, and held them up for her inspection. “Is this it?” She nodded briefly and ran the tip of her tongue over her lower lip. “Do it now…low…blood sugar.” He struggled not to wince. It appeared the least movement aggrieved her and he was fearful of afflicting further wound. He squirted the gooey, brightly colored substance onto his finger and rubbed it along her gums. When her lips trembled slightly at his touch, he quivered in return. Chagrined at his reaction, he chastised himself. Maybe the curse hadn’t spun its powerful web around her yet, but it would if his feelings grew any more out of control. Had Cyril sent this vulnerable woman here with all her beauty and her frailties to pierce the armor guarding his heart? Why the woman traveled with the imbecilic cat remained a mystery, however. Slight color infused her cheeks and her eyes grew clearer. She held out her hand for the apple and smiled her gratitude when he dropped it into her outstretched palm. “May I have some water, too, please?” She cast longing looks at the jug just beyond her reach. Eager to help, he poured a glass of wine and handed it to her, careful not to let their fingers meet lest he appear devoid of sense. He was bewildered as to why he felt such a tug of attraction to this old maid, not that she looked like one by any means despite her tousled hair and rumpled tunic. Her complexion was smooth and creamy for any age, but amazingly so for having seen so many yuletides. Her voluptuous figure was like one of the Chajak’s goddesses. Her lips bowed perfectly as if Cupid had poured forth all the love in his being on her creation. And she was possessed of a quirky, feisty nature that he found both infuriating and intriguing. Or maybe he’d deprived himself of a woman’s charms too long. He was a walking lightning rod, primed to fall for the first female to come into his orbit. Perhaps he should treat himself to the occasional night at the tavern with a willing wench to slake his sexual thirsts. Then his loins would cease to erupt at the sight of the first attractive young woman to enter his realm. The idea held such merit he promised himself a night’s respite as soon as he could divest himself of his guests—or procure one of the fairies to sit with her. He might find she had lost all appeal once he had quenched his appetites. Becca bit into the apple and its juice dripped down her chin. She dabbed at the glistening liquid ineffectually and asked, “Do you have a napkin? A hand towel?” Grunting, at the cramped space closing in on them, he fetched one and handed it to her. The absolutely alluring way the juice gleamed on her lips made him wonder how she would look with his cum dribbling down her chin to the enticing curves of her lush, mouthwatering breasts.

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His gaze fell to her chest and lingered on those exquisite orbs until she writhed and her chest suffused with bright heat. To his fascination, her nipples peaked against his lucky tunic. If only his hands caressed her warm flesh rather than his tunic… As if reading his thoughts, she squirmed beneath his scrutiny and modestly pulled up the quilt to her chin. “I’m, uh, awfully hungry, and with my condition I should get some protein.” Protein? Indeed, she spoke in riddles. She and the cat said in unison, “Meat.” Gizmo glared at Lobo as he licked his paw and worked the stickers out. Not having used this cabin much of late, he had not stocked a supply of meat. “I’ll hunt fresh game.” All he had were a few meager stores in his backpack. They were not sufficient for all of them for more than a day or two. But he could not leave her even to gather food. A hushed knock sounded on the door and he went on immediate alert, grabbing his bow. Then he recognized the secret signal and relaxed. Still, ever cautious, he peeked out the window to ensure whether the visitor was friend or foe. A teensy fairy buzzed about like a hummingbird. As if hearing the windowpane rattle or seeing the curtain aflutter, she turned her pixieish face and inclined her bright head in his direction. Never had he been so overjoyed to gaze upon one of the playful sprites. Her presence spelled freedom. Maybe she would recognize this disease and cure it. At the very least he hoped she could bring comfort to his charge. The thought of her lacerated feet riddled him with guilt. He flinched every time he gazed upon them. Hopefully the fairies could weave their superior magic. Relieved, he opened the door. “Faylinn, my dear, we have been anxiously awaiting your arrival. Wilfred told you we have a patient in need of your healing powers.” He led her to the bed where Becca stretched out. “Indeed he did. But he failed to praise her extreme beauty.” The sprite’s eyes twinkled like stars in her tiny face. “Faylinn, I’d like you to meet Rebecca…” He stopped when he realized that he had no idea the last name of the woman who shared his bed. “Weiss. And that’s ‘Old Maid’ Rebecca Anne Weiss. My friends call me Becca.” She held out a hand in greeting as a mischievous smile curved her cheeks. The cat stood up on his hind paws on top of the mattress and kissed the fairy’s fingernail-sized hand. “Enchanté, Madame. I’m pleasured to make your lovely acquaintance.” The fairy blushed and demurely veiled her eyes. “Enchanté, Monsieur…?” “Gizmo.” The cat’s whiskers twitched.

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Backing towards the exit, anxious to quit the uncomfortable situation, Lobo picked up his bow. “Now that you’re in excellent hands, I have some important business to tend. I’ll return before nightfall.”

***** With mixed feelings Becca watched Lobo until he was swallowed up by the forest. His dark, dreary clothes blended well into the greens and browns of the dense woods. From this great distance, his large leather boots looked like tree stumps. The man’s presence had been a strain, emotionally and physically. She doubted a fashion makeover would help his similarly dark and dreary mood. Yet, he represented security and the hope to get home. The giant trees almost looked alive and she could well believe they possessed spirits. They stretched high and wide, dusting the bottom of the bright blue skies, some seeming to part the clouds. Leafy vines wrapped around them and tall grass swayed around their gnarled, exposed roots. Rabid dragons and evil kings aside, not only did she long to go home, but it was imperative she did so immediately or she might not survive this ancient world. Her diabetes would likely be the end of her without her insulin, proper diet, and care. If not for the foot injury, she might survive a few days off her meds. Panic rose in her throat every time pain tingled in her feet. Damn, but they showed no sign of healing! As a diabetic, she very well knew she had to take extra special care of her feet. Idiot idiot idiot! The General would’ve court-martialed her for such incompetence… Faylinn hovered beside the bed, her sparkly lavender wings flapping so fast they were almost invisible. “You look troubled, Becca. Do you have any kin in these parts to claim you?” Becca choked back sudden hot tears. Even if the General were here and alive, he’d reject her. She had been dead to him long before he’d truly died. “No-o-o. My parents died a couple years ago.” Her only real family was dear Gizmo who was still by her side. “Most unfortunate. Luckily for you, Lobo took you in. He’s a good man.” For one no larger than a hummingbird, Faylinn’s voice rang out loud and clear. The lucky one seemed to disagree—violently. She held no delusions what a royal pain he’d found them and how he longed to bid them good riddance. And to think she’d placed the royal grouch on a pedestal! The ”hero” had tumbled off his exalted podium now. Not that he was evil, but just a flawed man like any other. Soon as opportunity presented itself the man had shot out that door like a frightened rabbit. But he had rescued her, tended her, and, to her dismay, made her tremble every time he accidentally brushed against her.

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Would her traitorous body ever learn what her mind had finally, painfully learned? That he wasn’t worthy of her blind adulation? Well, soon enough they’d get home and then she’d destroy the DVD and never watch another movie. She’d forget he ever existed—if he truly existed. Hopefully, it’d come true if she kept telling herself to think positive. They had to get home! The fairy prepared an attractive plate filled with warm, buttery muffins, cheese, and fruits. Then she brought over a bowl of chunky soup from which tendrils of steam wafted up. “Eat up. You need to regain your strength.” The aromas tickled Becca’s nose, making her stomach rumble at the scrumptious scents. Starving and forgetting her etiquette, she gobbled every crumb off her plate and slurped up every delicious morsel of the diced chicken and vegetables in the bowl. She finished up by washing down the meal with three glasses of the surprisingly fruity wine. Once Faylinn cleared away the dishes, the miniature nurse examined Becca’s feet. Feeling a little tipsy and on the verge of drowsiness from the strong spirits, Becca bit down on her lower lip against the acute pain. Faylinn frowned and shook her head. “Festered bad they are.” But then she exclaimed, “I never saw such tender soles on one who walks. There are no calluses. Are you royalty?” Not even close. Not even the upper echelon of the common man. “Not quite.” Faylinn frowned at her feet. “They’re blue, black, and raw.” Prior knowledge did not stop her from grimacing anew. “Lobo said you might have medicinal herbs that could heal me.” “Perhaps a salve would draw out some of the pestilence.” But the fairy’s frown belied her softly spoken words. Becca’s heart dropped to her knees and she huffed out an exasperated breath. She’d hoped for something akin to penicillin. “Where’s Dr. Kildare when you need him?” Gizmo pouted at her feet. “In TV dimension, like us,” Becca drawled unhappily. “Well, maybe if we get back that remote at least we can switch to their station. Of course, we could jump into a worse situation…” Worse than fire-breathing dragons, rabid heroes, and no modern medicine? Doubtful… “End up tied to a railroad track with a train headed straight for us. Big Doberman Pinschers chomping away at our necks…” Gizmo’s voice trailed off and he shook himself. “TV?” Faylinn latched onto the colloquialism as Lobo had. How did she explain TV and the miracles of modern technology to a magical being? She didn’t begin to comprehend the working of electronics herself. She couldn’t tell a

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diode from a resistor. Fidgeting and clutching the blankets to her, she said, “It’s like magic.” The fairy’s eyes twinkled with a devilish glee. “Ah, magic.” Faylinn treated her to a sponge bath but paused when she spied the red of her private curls between her thighs. “Ruby hair like dancing flame. Perhaps you are the promised one.” Becca gulped. For what? Ritual sacrifice? “Promised?” She thought back to the cartoon and quickly flashed through the plot. The quest for the lost queen. The ruby-haired queen. The holder of the key to Utopia. In ”Dark Side” they’d never found her. But there were rumors of a sequel… The fairy Faylinn couldn’t possibly think her the queen, could she? No more did royal blood course through her veins than did magic. She was a poor orphan. Not like Anastasia with no clue who her family was. Her parents had been General and Mrs. Average Joe working peons. Well, maybe the General wasn’t quite so average, but he certainly wasn’t royalty. The red hair was a courtesy of her Germanic ancestry. Faylinn continued to ogle her, almost bowing before her reverently. Aghast at such a ridiculous notion, she retreated deeper under her covers. “Shoot no! You must have me mistaken with somebody else. I don’t have a drop of royal blood…” Faylinn giggled and her brows tented. “How do you explain your intimate knowledge of her?” Again, she’d been thrust back to square one. How to explain television and cartoons? She’d have to formulate a plausible response as it kept coming up, but her mind was a void. For now, she tried a diversionary tactic. “How do you know?” Faylinn put her lips to Becca’s ear and whispered throatily, “Because I’m a member of a secret society…” The name burst into Becca’s mind and slid off her lips. “The Knights Exemplar.” The moment the words escaped, she knew she’d made a strategic error. Queen Rosalinde had not only many devoted followers, but many archenemies who wanted to see her dead. Her knowledge of the secret society only fueled this woman’s assertion that she was the lost queen, the key to a new and glorious world of unimaginable treasures. Becca’s eyes widened. Holy… These primitive people would see her technologyfilled, materialistic world as a wondrous place. Or a satanic, demonic place full of witchery and evil. Either way, she had no clue how to get home herself, much less lead them into her world. Unless the remote control really was this mysterious key… The lost key. No! Her mind threatened to explode with the crazy concept. “You possess the sacred knowledge. It must be submerged deep in your memory. After all, you were hidden as an infant.”

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Becca wrinkled her nose. “That wasn’t me…” Faylinn patted her hand reassuringly with her wee one. “Of course, you were just a tiny scrap of a thing. ‘Tis amazing you recall so vividly.” Rather than waste more breath, Becca nodded, all the while praying for deliverance. But if she were to find the portal home, she could very well lead an invading force…

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Chapter Six His loins near to bursting, his senses intolerably drugged by the siren that had stolen his bed, Lobo donned a mask over his face. Then surreptitiously glancing first right, then left, he slipped from his shadowy cocoon into a brief circle of sunlight before placing foot into the harlot’s garishly decorated den. On the outside, the establishment looked as uncomely and unremarkable as its neighbors. A newcomer to town would have trouble identifying the sedate storefront. But inside, rich, clashing colors and fabrics jumped out at him. Tassles hung from every curtain. Plump pillows embroidered with gold and silver threads were scattered across the many couches and love seats. A baby-faced bard crooned ballads of ill-starred love and conquest from a far corner as townsmen and travelers cuddled unabashedly with barely-dressed painted women. When Lobo stepped further into the room, a goodly number of the patrons gasped in horror and afforded him wide berth. Grimacing, he reminded himself he should be accustomed to the reaction however much it still stung. What hurt most was their reaction would be far worse if they actually viewed his face. He plunked down a sufficient mark of silver to make the Madame’s mouth water. In a low, voice, he gave her his preferences for the night and then awaited direction to an upstairs room. He always requested different women, and he always wore a mask so that no one except the Madame knew his identity. Pure undiluted sex. No tender feelings. Not so much as a platonic friendship. He merely needed to slake his mounting desires made all the more unbearable by the wench betwixt his covers. Her musky scent permeated his bed and filled his cabin, trapping the breath in his lungs. Pure desperation drove him here this gloomy morn. Cooped up in the confining space with the troublesome nymph, he feared succumbing to her irrepressible charms. Then they would both be lost. He cursed the fates that landed her and that lack-brained feline in his lap. The only remedy was to drive her from his mind with hot and sweaty ribald sex, the rougher and the randier, the better. Unflinchingly, he waggled two fingers high in the air at the Madame who smiled knowingly and winked bawdily. Normally he partook of only one woman at a time, but the circumstance was urgent. Two beautiful bodies would be twice as apt to quench his thirst. Growling, he wished they would make haste and banish his wayward thoughts of Becca. He regarded the women mingling with the patrons, their ample bosoms spilling unapologetically out of their bustiers. Long slits up their skirts opened naughtily to reveal naked pussies. 57

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Unabashedly, he found himself seeking out red curly hair on an exquisite pussy. Hell fire! He couldn’t allow Becca to so adversely affect him. A pussy was a pussy. He wasn’t seeking love and a happily-ever-after, just an afternoon of rampant anonymous affections. The stupid curse had reduced him to an empty shell of a man hiding from love. He was far from the first man in history to bury himself away from the tender emotions but undoubtedly the first to do this literally. The mistress palmed a tarnished brassy key to room number eight into his hand. His lucky number. Grunting his grudging approval and unlacing his tunic, he took the stairs two at a time he was so eager to slake his desire. His testicles were so swollen from such long abstinence—and he snarled, from wanting the red-haired temptress… “Stop that!” he hissed at himself as he bounded onto the top stair, which creaked alarmingly beneath his angry stride. “Stop what, sweetie?” A lusty, half-naked wench crooned as she sidled up. “I’ve not done anything—yet.” She cackled at her own yarn. He could smell the stench of another man’s lovemaking. Determined not to utter another syllable while under this roof, he backed away. He wanted to be oblique as the shadows, and as unmemorable. He did not appreciate being a legend. He did not wish undue attention. Perhaps the time had arrived to patron another tavern, time to pull up stakes and journey further down the road to that mythical place where no soul would show recognition. Definitely not to the Kingdom of Florida… God’s beard! The witch Becca had trapped his thoughts. Surely she had bewitched him. Every other musing revolved around her. Picking up his pace, he unlocked room number eight and entered the garishly pink suite that reeked of cheap perfume. Seeping into his every pore, he almost gagged on the scent. To his astonishment, two harlots writhed around on the bed, kissing each other, one stroking the other’s breasts. Discomfited, he tried to back out quietly without disturbing them. When one looked up with a devilishly sly grin and shook her long curly mane behind her shoulders, he froze. “Don’t leave, sugar. We’re just getting warmed up for you. Join us, handsome.” His cock twitched as if to say hello and he took a step into the room. Starved for pussy, he darted glances to the vees between their legs, hoping for a glimpse of the red curls that had fascinated him so very much. But no. Frilly transparent lingerie revealed goldish-blonde and one raven-haired pussy. Ravishingly hot to be sure, but definitely not red. Nor was either body lush with voluptuous curves or an ample bosom like Becca’s. They were nearly straight as broomsticks and almost as unappealing. 58

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“Shy, sugar? We can give you a little show to kindle your flame and you can join in whenever you like.” He nodded, wishing they would stop conversing and begin earning their pay. He locked the door behind him and then spread out upon the feather mattress beside the beauties. Nodding he beckoned them to proceed, trying to stoke his fire. What man could fail to get hard at the site of two lovelies pleasuring one another? His blood boiled as hot as the next man’s—hotter than most as it simmered under the surface so very long. He cursed the one who had cursed him. By now, he should have a woman to call his own and half a dozen strong sons to carry on his name. The harlots stripped, slowly and sensuously, pausing to kiss each other long and languorously. Their tongues tangoed erotically outside their mouths, and then they pressed their bodies closer and rubbed their nipples together. On fire now, but loving his private show, he released his cock from its prison and fervently stroked it. “Ready yet?” He shook his head but tore the negligee off the closest woman and flung it across the room. “You’ll pay for that, sugar. It cost a pretty penny.” The naked wench wiggled her pretty butt at him, alluringly inching back toward his cock. God’s teeth! He would get his money’s worth and more, but not quite yet. Clamping down on the other’s shoulders, he dragged her closer, his hand hovering over her bodice. “I love strong, rough men. Manhandle me, too.” The blonde lifted a small melonlike breast up to his mouth and ran the beaded tip along his lips. “Want to suckle me?” Before he could reply, the brunette slid against him and licked his cock with a long, scorching sweep of her tongue. Her long nails raked his throbbing balls gently, then with more bite. Spasms clenched in his gut. The harlot’s hands were calloused and rough as if she farmed fields, not silkily soft as he imagined Becca’s well-tended hands to be. Becca again… Furious with his lapse into fantasy, growls rumbled from deep in his throat. What would it take to eradicate all thought of his uninvited guest? Perhaps losing himself in the delicious pair offering themselves up to him… Eager to lose himself in the swirling sensations, to clean his mind of all thought, to be one raw, raging hormone, he thrust his cock into the willing mouth below as he latched onto the small, but pert, breast being shoved in his mouth. Pulling the elongated nipple deeper into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the slight mound, he longed to know the plushness, the delicately scented softness of Becca’s breasts… Again! 59

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He choked back a snarl, wondering why the maddening woman dominated his thoughts with such obsession. Determined to flush her from his thoughts, he stroked into the greedy mouth milking him. The blonde lifted his head and captured his mouth in a searing, breath-stealing kiss. Writhing against him wantonly, she dragged his hand to her pussy—her blonde pussy—helped him stroke his thumb over her clit as she moaned in bliss. Becca’s voice would be sweeter, huskier in the throes of passion… Hell fire with Becca! She had wound her insidious way into his heart, permeated his flesh, and threatened his very soul. God help him—God help her! But he wanted her and only her. He feared no one else would provide satisfaction. Closing his eyes, he let visions of Becca wash over him and he deepened the kiss, imagining Becca sliding along his length, sweat-slickened, panting for him, her red pussy hot and juicy, ready to be royally fucked. Becca’s lips slid up and down his shaft, nipping the velvety fold of skin playfully, and then reverently kissing the tip of his penis. “Yes, yes, yes!” He broke his own rule, out of his mind and riding the crest of orgasm. “Deeper. Faster.” Acquiescing to his own words, he pounded his cock into the greedy mouth. “Come into me, sugar. Let the dam burst,” Becca’s voice seemed to reverberate through him as her soft hands kneaded his balls. As much as he loved her lips on his cock, he wanted his seed to burst inside her, so he pulled out. His cock on fire, he lowered his length on top of the woman and shoved his shaft to the hilt inside her warm, wet pussy. Holding onto her tightly, he stroked into her, tenderly at first and then pounded without mercy until he was ready to erupt. Love and lust boiled, erupting with volcanic force. Shudders racked his body and he clung for dear life. Still floating on the clouds, he crushed her warm body to his, hugging her close. Against her lips, he murmured, “God’s nightgown, I never wanted this to happen, but I’m falling in love with you, Becca.” Fiercely. Frighteningly. Girlish giggles broke through his stupor and his eyes opened wide, the bewitchment broken. “We’ll be Becca—or anyone—you choose. Maybe I can be the queen and you my royal footman.” The blonde pushed her cohort aside and began licking his now flaccid cock. “I’ll pretend to be whoever gets you hot and bothered.” That would be Becca, but the enchantment would not work twice and he did not want to take a pretend Becca again. He desired the real woman. As any curse would surely already be heaped on their heads, he might as well woo, love, and protect her. She did not have to return his feelings or even know of them to be in peril. The only requirement for the curse was that he care. He felt a whole lot more than mere caring. He yearned to bond himself heart, body, and soul.

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Shifting away from the bold wench, he grabbed his clothes and began to dress. “You can’t leave me in the lurch. Fuck me, too.” Anxious to quit the room and return to Becca, he muttered, “Sorry. ‘Tis over.” The blonde punched him on the shoulder. “Pile of dragon dung!” A huge pout colored her voice as she anchored her hands on her hips and thrust out her golden pussy. He was dragon dung, all right. He should have acknowledged his tender emotions for Becca before he fantasized about her at the expense of another woman’s body. He was not excused even if he had been making imaginary love to Becca. Feeling badly for leaving the whore in the lurch, he tossed out a few more coins, a more generous tip than he had ever before bestowed. “This should pay for the room for the remainder of the night. You seemed to be finding amusement before my untimely interruption.” Covering his head he ducked out the door as the women hurled insults and anything not nailed down at him with vehement force. “We were having a lot more entertainment before you came.” Slamming the door, he shut the book on this establishment. He thanked his foresight in hiding his identity, for those two would undoubtedly hold grudges. He ran down the back, darkened staircase and into the blinding sunlight. When he reached a secluded alleyway, he slowed his pace and dragged in deep ragged breaths. It was past time to find someone who could shed a glimmer of light on these odd effects in his pockets. Patting his pants pockets, he assured himself he still held Becca’s unusual possessions. Something or someone made a noise nearby. Oddly, no one was in sight. Sucking in his breath, he flattened against the grimy brick wall of the alley. Then a cat meowed and he breathed a sigh of relief and his shoulders hunched, as the tension oozed out. Just an alley cat… Cat! The buffoon would not have followed him? Would he? Of course he would, the nosy fool! Slinking along the wall, careful not to bump into something, Lobo peered into the shadows as his vision adjusted to the dimness. Then he saw the animal, his tail flickering licking his paws daintily. Anger surging through him, he pounced on the feline, as it hissed and spat and clawed his arm. Struggling and desperate to hold on, he gripped the tail, but it slid through his fingers. Gasping for air, pain running the length of his arm, he rolled onto his back and stared after his nemesis. When the creature emerged into the sunlight, he drew in a ragged breath.

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The creature was pitch black, not gray tiger-striped. In his frenzy, he’d attacked an innocent feline. His arm burned and he winced. Holding it up to the sunlight to examine the injury, he swore at the bloody scratches. They would most assuredly leave scars, but he had lived with worse. Cursing his long silhouette, he kept to the shadows as he made his way through the alleyways. In this village, he was a wanted man. The mysterious demise of all those who dared get close made him a suspect of vile deeds. The mention of a curse frightened away most who did not care about the law and unsavory sorts. Only a handful of souls would consort with him. For that reason, he went by the name ”Lobo” rather than the one given by his mother—Davin. Lobo suited him, for he lived alone and he lived a primitive existence constantly wandering from place to place. Slipping into a long, dim passage, his gaze darted left and right. He held his breath until he was enveloped by the blackness of the wizard’s shop. “Who enters my lair?” a darkly sinister voice asked as a lantern was carried in from a back room, illuminating an eerie space containing oddities such as dragon wings, unicorn horns, and the organs of many unknown creatures. “I’m known as Lobo.” The light floated closer, revealing the shadowy figure of a white-bearded man in long, flowing robes. A red bulbous nose dominated the withered face, consumed by the well-tended long beard. And then Lobo was afforded a closer look at his eyes. Intelligent and discerning, their intensity bore into him. “Is that how you wish to be addressed now, Davin of Atterwood?” A hiss sizzled through Lobo’s teeth. So much for anonymity. He bowed slightly with deference. “If you would be so kind.” “Follow me, Mr. Lobo. These walls have many ears and I sense a need for discretion.” Lobo nodded soberly. Becca’s and Gizmo’s arrival did not bode well. That the king’s guard seemed eager to acquire them made him anxious, but their strange belongings intrigued him to a greater extent. After they descended into a grayish underground chamber no more decorated or hospitable than the cavern where he and Becca had hidden from the dragon, the wizard motioned for him to take a seat. “What may I do for you?” Lobo declined the invitation and paced in front of his esteemed host. “I’m in possession of two very unusual guests who claim to hail from another world. They insist I must help them and will not leave me. I seek your wisdom.” The wizard froze to the spot. A vein bulged and pulsed on the side of his sinewy throat. “Indeed now… A young woman with lovely red hair? Could it be the promised one after so long?”

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The promised one? The queen? Lobo blinked in shock. He had never met a less likely queen. And yet, it explained a great deal. If true, the gravity of his position weighed extremely heavy on his shoulders. It was no longer a mystery why the king wanted to get his hands on the woman so desperately. As if in deep thought the old man stroked his beard, his unwavering gaze fixed on Lobo. When he finally spoke, his voice seemed to reverberate with the wisdom of the ages. “Do you understand that you have a very important responsibility to protect the queen…” Although displeased, he was not surprised at the old man’s trail of thought. However, he still harbored severe doubts as to Miss Weiss’ identity. Their personal chattels were very peculiar. He fingered them hidden deep in his pockets. He had never seen anything of like manner. “If she is the queen.” “More importantly, the king desires her for some nefarious purpose, and that is an even greater mission—to prevent him from carrying out his dastardly intentions.” Lobo recoiled, his muscles bunching. Him against the kingdom? “The king already wishes me dead.” A sly grin spread across the wizard’s face as he circled Lobo with his hobbling gait. “Excellent. Then you have nothing to lose. You can only gain if you succeed.” He failed to see how. “Have you ever speculated why a curse was put on you, Davin?” Hearing his given name sent tremors down his spine. What if there were unfriendly ears down here, too? Biting back a grimace, he said, “Of course, I question. I did nothing to deserve such a plight. Perhaps I am being made to pay for the sins of my fathers.” The wizard nodded and his eyes narrowed. “Perhaps. Or perhaps they were afraid of what you might do in future. Maybe someone wanted to prevent you from fulfilling your destiny.” The old man’s words rang ludicrous in his ears, and yet they conjured intriguing possibilities. Had the king seen into the future? Was he trying to keep him from getting close to anybody so he would not help the queen or work against him? And as a safety measure he inflicted the curse on him to destroy all women who came near him in case one might possibly be the queen. But would the queen act in the manner of a peasant? Would she travel with her court jester that was most assuredly a demon? His thoughts still in turmoil, Lobo rubbed his chin. “That is a very troublesome manner in which to prevent a future occurrence.” “But the stakes are indeed high. Nor do you know our king as well as I.” The wizard drew close and lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “King Heinrich has his mind set on keeping the throne. The true heir mounts a threat.”

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Lobo thought this through to its conclusion. “So I am charged with stopping Heinrich? To save the queen?” The wizard wound his long mustache around his finger. “To kill the king…” Lobo flinched. To think of interfering with the king, much less killing him, was heresy! “Would not the king have me eliminated if I were such a threat?” The wizard’s logic was surely flawed. The man shrugged. “You would think so, but the king keeps his own counsel. Perhaps you were protected with a charm that prevented such drastic action.” Lobo pulled Becca’s possessions out of his pockets and held them before the wizard. Even in the dim cellar, they gleamed eerily silver. “What do you make of these effects?” The old wizard drew nearer, a frown puckering his brow. He started to touch one of the pieces with his fingertip and then let it hover just above. “Do you mind if I examine them more closely?” Lobo shook his head. ‘Tis why he had brought them. He did not know what to make of the demonic objects. “Please do, but take care.” Any one of the items could be a weapon. “I shall practice the utmost diligence.” The old man lifted the hinged, shiny metal box. When he opened it, lights flickered on and it beeped. Several symbols protruded from its lower face. “What is it?” Olivard pointed the box at a far blank wall and poked several numbers. Melodic notes played. “It appears to be a musical instrument.” Lobo grunted. The harsh tones grated on his ears. “I find the lute to my preference.” The wizard pursed his lips and nodded. “Of course, we don’t know the intricacies of playing it. Perhaps there is a code…” He punched more buttons and the pictures changed on the face. Mesmerized and spooked, Lobo watched over the old man’s shoulder. Pictures of people and script popped up. “Are they trapped?” What a powerful weapon—it shrank people and ensnared them inside. The wizard pushed a button and after a brief whirring noise, Lobo’s image etched itself on the box. Aghast, Lobo backed away, patting himself down to ensure he remained a solid entity. “Don’t point that thing at us.” “Intriguing. Obviously, your new friends come from a quite advanced civilization.” Olivard turned his gaze to the other items resting on Lobo’s palms and picked up a small card with the stranger’s image and a host of confusing words. “What have we here?” “Personal documentation. Vital statistics.” He underlined the troubling date with his finger. “This quotes the year of the Sun 2008. ‘Tis centuries into the future.” 64

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“This young woman appears to be from the world of Florida.” A small smile played about the wizard’s lips and his long mustache bobbled up and down. Lobo swallowed hard as the strange-sounding name slid off the wizard’s tongue. “So she oft professes. But I know naught of it.” Nails clicked softly on the floor behind Lobo and quitted just as suddenly. His heart lurching, he pivoted around on the ball of his foot. He should have caged the pesky critter before venturing out. “Where are you hiding your scruffy self, mongrel?” “Are we not alone?” The wizard hid the entity in the folds of his generous robes as his beady eyes darted to and fro seeking their uninvited companion. “I heard no sound.” “No human sound, alas, we have company.” Lobo checked the lengthened shadows and spotted the shabby creature slinking up the curving stone stairway. Grabbing Gizmo by the scruff of his fleshy neck, Lobo hauled him in front of his face and glared. “Pray tell, why do you spy on me?” His paws dangling, his fur standing on end, Gizmo unsheathed his claws and hissed. “I’m no worse than you, pawing through Becca’s things. You should be ashamed of yourself, Columbo.” Lobo’s lips turned down in a frown. “Columbo?” The cat nodded emphatically and folded his paws over his chest. “A snooping television detective. But you don’t know what television is even if you happen to live inside one.” “Enough with these conundrums of teel-a-vis-kan. My mind is fogged with your strange speech. ‘Tis time to confess the truth. Pray tell, what brings you and your lady friend here? Confess your purpose.” Gizmo batted at Lobo’s hand and snarled. “You mean television, moron. Put me down and I’ll be glad to explain it to your whiskery friend. Hopefully, he still has some brain cells that haven’t atrophied.” Lobo roared back. “Speak the king’s English and I shall understand!” “I’m speaking normal, everyday English. I can’t help it if you’re stuck back in the moldy fifteenth century.” Olivard smiled kindly and inched forward. “Please release our guest. He shall be more comfortable if you refrain from torturing him.” Lobo did not distress himself with apologies. “You have not seen how fast he runs or how skittish he is.” “Have a little faith, Davin. He seems to want me to listen.” Gizmo nodded sharply. “Yo, I’m here so you can speak to me instead of about me.” Against his better judgment, Lobo lowered the feline to his paws and towered over him. In the dim lighting, he found it difficult to see the whites of his eyes. “Surely your tongue has not become fatigued now. Speak up.”

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“Sheesh! Grouchy, grouchy, grouchy. Too bad, they never heard of antidepressants in this place.” Lobo resisted the urge to rub his forehead. Again with the strange terms. “Go on, I’m listening.” The wizard crouched so low his beard swept the floor. “What is a ‘television’?” Gizmo drew a picture of a large box in the dirt floor with his extended claw. “It looks like a box, only it’s much more. It’s full of microchips and electronic doodads that send audio and visual signals from one place to a whole slew of these boxes around the world.” The wizard’s expression looked as blank as his felt. Lobo did not understand at least a third of the words tripping off the cat’s forked tongue. “The signals send pictures with voices that relay news events and stories acted out, like on a stage, only you see it inside the box.” Gizmo drew stick figures inside the box to illustrate his point. “Only the pictures are animated. They move, just like in real life. The stories can be real life events or made-up ones, like fairy-tales.” Olivard stroked his beard as if in deep thought as he stared at the cat’s childish artwork. “Who possesses these ‘televisions’? What purpose do they serve?” “Everyone has one. Most families have two or three. They’re mainly for entertainment, but they also teach and disseminate news. They also sell stuff.” Gizmo drew a strange symbol in the dirt and looked up again. He rubbed his fingers together. “Everybody wants to make a buck.” “Like a town crier?” Olivard stroked his long beard, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah, that’s it. You got it.” Beaming, Gizmo jumped up and down. “Got what?” Lobo tilted his head and stared at the cat. A frown furrowed his forehead. Gizmo hissed out a deep sigh, licked his paw and rubbed his brow. “Do you understand?” “No.” Gibberish and more gibberish. Lobo scrunched his nose at the animal. Anxious to check on Becca’s condition, Lobo fidgeted. “I fear time is very short. The woman who calls herself Becca suffers from a serious medical affliction. Her feet have been injured and sorely fester instead of healing.” “And you stand here pondering her possessions. We must provide proper care for the queen. Lead me to her.” Lobo hesitated. Did he dare lead this man to his secret place? He had already entrusted him with far too much perfidious knowledge. If there was damage to be done, he had already accomplished it. “Time is of the essence. We cannot lose the promised one after waiting so long, or all will be lost.”

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***** Her heart pounding furiously, Becca backed against the head of the bed, yanking her feet away from the crazy fairy with the intent gleam of righteous purpose in her eyes. She eyed the writhing, disgusting leeches with trepidation. “If those are leeches, they won’t help. I thought you were going to use a salve.” Still advancing, a wooden bowl of the wiggling worms in one hand, Faylinn waved a nonchalant hand at her concerns. “We must leech the bad blood if you wish to heal.” Becca gritted her teeth and shook her head with fervor. “No, no, and no! I might need new blood, but not less blood.” “You’re understandably frightened. I am well-versed in this procedure.” The tiny figure pulled a slimy, wormy creature out and whisked the bed covers off Becca, exposing her feet. Becca tugged at the covers, praying she’d win their tug-of-war. “Please and respectfully, no. I know they won’t help.” The door swung wide and a white-bearded centurion of a man in flowing robes hobbled inside followed closely by Lobo and Gizmo. “And how many of them fully healed? You can’t seriously think to drain her blood without replacing it with a fresh supply.” Faylinn screwed up her exquisite features and looked at the wizard over her shoulder. “’Tis the accepted treatment…” The old man took the bowl of writhing worms from the fairy’s hands and handed them to Lobo. “Destroy these things.” Lobo nodded and holding the bowl at arm’s length, retreated silently the way he’d just entered. Becca heaved a sigh of relief and smiled at her new friend. Finally, someone with some sense. “Thank you. I’m forever indebted to you.” The man treated her to a charming, heart melting smile. “You must be the ravishing Rebecca our friend Lobo’s been regaling me about. Let me take a look at your feet.” Torn between the compliment and fear, Becca nodded, stretched out her legs and allowed him to lift a foot. When he accidentally touched a tender sole, she winced and bit her lower lip. “Did that hurt?” He squinted at the injured member. “Yes.” Despite the painful flame licking up her legs, Becca tried to school her features into some semblance of calm. “I’m diabetic and so I’m majorly worried about this problem.” The old man tilted down his head and peered over the rim of his glasses. “I’m not familiar with that malady.” Becca’s hopes dashed. “I suffer from low blood sugar. It causes a host of other medical problems and the feet are especially at risk.”

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Lobo slipped back into the cabin, his expression dark and foreboding. He sauntered up to the bed and towered over her. His fists clamped on his hips and he scowled down at her. “Then why did you not permit me to carry you?” The old man and the fairy glanced from herself to Lobo but didn’t comment. Feeling like a circus sideshow, she tried to focus solely on her host. “Believe me, I wish I had now. But the blood was rushing to my head the way you were manhandling me. At the time, walking on bare feet seemed the safer of the two evils.” Lobo had the grace to blush and look chagrined. Reaching around, he massaged his neck as he responded, “I did not know you were at heightened risk, or I would not have lost my head in anger.” Feeling chagrined herself, she forgave him. “I shouldn’t have been so pigheaded, either, and I should have explained it to you. But I was having a very bad day.” Armageddon-like bad. “You can say that again, girlfriend.” Gizmo jumped onto the bed and sat in the crook of her arm. “Girlfriend?” The elders echoed in unison. “You and her?” Faylinn asked, disapproval clouding her eyes. Shaking his head, Gizmo grinned wickedly. Pointing from Becca to himself, he asked, “You honestly think she and I? Me and her?” He snickered. “It’s just a friendly expression from our world. She’s not my type.” Becca chuckled. ”I don’t know about your world, but cats and humans don’t consort on ours.” Besides, he was her baby. Gizmo immediately bowed and kissed her hand. “I’m sure I’d fall madly, deeply, truly in love with you if I were a human or you were a cat, beautiful lady.” “Likewise.” She nodded, uncomfortably aware of Lobo’s intense gaze pinned on her. She chastised herself for teasing her pet as she alone was responsible for making a fool of herself in front of him. “Getting back to the business at hand…or rather feet.” The old man chuckled at his own joke. “I know of a cure for low sugars and a treatment for such ailments.” Cure? Hallejulah, amen! Excited but not believing her ears, Becca sucked in her breath, lifting a silent prayer. “So, you can help me?” “Juice of dragon pancreas has proved most effective. But tell me, my child, how do you know what ails you? Diagnosis is rare and only an elite few have the means.” Giddy with happiness despite the grossness of the cure, Becca hoped it wasn’t too good to be true. What she would give to be truly cured of diabetes! What a miracle. Becca motioned to her sack of items on the floor and instructed Gizmo to retrieve her glucometer.

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Gizmo cast a long surly look at Lobo and then cleared his throat. “Would you do the honors? It’s the blue and white box with the rope protruding.” Becca frowned and folded her arms across her chest. Had Lobo been pawing through her private things? “Why do you have my glucometer?” Lobo held it out to the white-haired man and then paused. “Does it meet with your approval if he makes examination?” Her blood pressure boiling, Becca glared at the lone wolf. Obviously, she’d been fooled by his sheep’s clothing into believing him trustworthy. “Yes. But it’s a very delicate instrument so please be careful. I don’t recall giving you permission to take it.” Gizmo jumped to his hind paws and jabbed an accusatory paw at the dubious hero. “He stole it…” Lobo tensed. “I borrowed it.” Gizmo scrunched his nose as his tail twitched. “He doesn’t trust us yet, he’s the thief.” “Pipe down, please,” she hissed at the cat, even though she secretly agreed. “Had you asked, I would have told you what it was. What would I have done had I needed it desperately?” Unrepentant, Lobo put it in the old man’s hand and then raked his fingers through his hair. “I suspected you were not being truthful. You must admit your story is farfetched.” She could hardly believe it herself. If someone else had laid the same story on her, she’d be just as dubious. Humming with excitement and anticipation but scared she was dreaming, Becca focused solely on her new savior. “Do you have the cure with you? May I have some?” Gizmo hugged her and whispered in her ear, “What are you thinking? It’s not government approved. He’s a wizard, not a doctor. The dude looks like an old kook to me.” And just how safe were the supposed FDA-approved drugs anyway? “I’ll take my chances.” What choice did she have? Out of insulin and her feet practically tree stumps, her time was almost gone. At least, this would give her a shot at life—a diabetes-free life at that. What a dream come true. Like being in Lobo’s bed? Ach! As if that fantasy hadn’t morphed into a joke. No, a nightmare. The wizard bestowed a fatherly smile upon her and withdrew a capped flask from his pocket. “I brought it along in case I concurred that you indeed suffer from low blood sugars. May I examine you?” Hope flaring in her heart, she shook her head. “Please do.”

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“I’ll proceed just as soon as proper introductions have been performed. As no one’s seen fit to perform the introductions, I shall begin. I’m Olivard, and I was Queen Arwen’s most trusted advisor. And you are Rebecca from the Kingdom of Florida.” Kingdom of Florida? Becca suppressed a grin at the silly title. “Florida is one of the fifty United States of America, which is our country.” Not that she expected them to recognize her nation. But Olivard nodded sagely. “I hope you’ll tell me all about it and how you came to be here. But first things first. Let’s restore you to good humor.” The man’s kindness threatened to choke her up. He was the father figure she’d always dreamed of having. The General hadn’t possessed one-tenth of the loving concern this complete stranger showed. “Faylinn, if you’ll remain to assist, I would be most appreciative.” “May I assist?” Lobo asked, hovering at the end of the bed. Becca stared up at the big woodsman who looked out of his element. Olivard pursed his lips as if in thought and then grinned. “Go outside and guard us from dragons.” Wearing a brooding expression, Lobo hunched his shoulders and turned to leave. Gizmo put his paw in her hand and rubbed his cheek against hers. “It’s not too late to stop this tomfoolery.” “You can help guard against dragons.” Olivard fixed a stern gaze on the cat. “I’m her sweet, little, innocent kitty cat so you don’t need to shoo me out.” Her kitty cat, her baby, yes. Sweet? Innocent? And he talked. She didn’t want her naughty child viewing her privates. “Please give us a few moments of privacy.” “We’ll call for you when we’ve finished.” Olivard pointed at the door as if to say, “Scat cat.” Gizmo gave her one last longing look and then with a big sigh, he leapt to the floor. “I’m goin’, I’m goin’, but under protest. If you turn my girl into a toad, you’ll have to deal with me.” Embarrassed by Gizmo’s big mouth, she wanted to bury herself under her covers. Instead, she mustered a calm smile. “I’ll be fine. I’ll call for you should I need you.” Gizmo saluted smartly and tapped his heels. “I’ll be stationed right outside your door. If I even hear the tiniest whimper, I’ll be at your side in a jiff.” “Davin, there is something you can do.” Olivard perched on the side of the bed and turned to the large man filling the doorway. “Please put the cat outside and make sure he doesn’t disturb us.” Lobo nodded and advanced on her baby. Gizmo darted whiny looks their way. “Make up your minds. First, I’m not allowed outside and now I’m not allowed inside. Cats have feelings, too. We have sensitive feelings.”

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“Out with you.” Lobo scooped up the cat, tossed him out the door and then wiped his hands down his trousers. “Mission accomplished.” The sooner, the better. Her feet throbbed but she sat up straight. “Are we ready?” “Drink this.” Olivard held out a flask brimming over with amber fluid. Cross-eyed, Becca stared suspiciously at the brown specks floating in the concoction. Hoping the cure wasn’t worse than the illness, she held out her hand tentatively. Then she glanced at her feet and tried to flex her numb toes without much success. Certainly a little dragon pancreas was worth saving her feet, her mobility. No contest. Curling her fingers around the vial, she closed her eyes and envisioned ambrosia. Silently, she chanted, “Over the gullet and down the gums, look out tummy, here it comes.” As if the childish rhyme would sweeten what she knew would be a god-awful taste. Juice of any pancreas sounded grotesque. Juice of dragon pancreas, monsterlizard pancreas, was downright nasty. “You may proceed. It cured me.” Becca’s lids flew open and she peered at her healer. “You have diabetes?” “No longer. The elixir provided much relief.” His testimonial did it. Hoping and praying for a miracle, she poured the brew down her throat and drank greedily. A moment later, violent coughing racked her body and tears flowed freely. “Drink!” Faylinn poured wine into a rugged tumbler, handed it to her and urged her to sip it. “Sip slowly.” Several minutes later, Becca’s breathing returned to normal. By then all her blood had gone south into her lungs, leaving her extremely lightheaded. Fixating on her erstwhile doctor, she asked hopefully, “Will this be ongoing therapy? Or does one time do the trick?” “No trickery’s involved, my child, let me assure you.” Olivard cupped her chin with his gnarled fingers and slanted her chin up for his inspection. Tilting her head from side to side and peering deeply into her eyes, he said thoughtfully, “I’ve only ever had to administer three doses.” Wild-eyed, Lobo barged in, his chest heaving. He marched over, his gaze probing and flickering with concern. “Are you okay?” Suddenly, she felt very groggy and her lips were too thick to formulate an audible response. Her mind wasn’t much clearer. Oh God! What was happening? It was if she’d stumbled onto a commune with smoldering happy weed. Her heart pounded frantically as if in danger of breaking her ribs and every cell felt as if it was about to implode. Her nerve endings flared and she was ready to jump out of her skin. What had she done? If some of the way-out shows on the Sci-Fi channel were to be believed, she could wake up part dragon.

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***** “I’m going in there and neither you nor grandpa are gonna stop me.” Gizmo streaked around his feet and jumped for the doorknob several times with his paws extended. After several attempts, the door knob rattled and the door groaned open a crack. The cat curled his paw around the heavy wooden door and with a grunt, started to pull it wider. “One step further and you’ll go inside with an arrow in your back.” With one eye tightly squeezed, Lobo drew back his bow and took aim at his target so clearly delineated against the backdrop of the door. Never had a moving target been so centered or still in his sights. The cat turned to him and his eyes widened. His lips quivered and his tail was tucked securely between his legs but wicked defiance gleamed in his clear eyes. The creature notched up his chin. “Go ahead. Shoot me. Explain to Becca how you shot her poor defenseless kitty. Her baby Lobo hesitated, having used the bow for effect, not intending to maim an innocent being no matter how annoying. Then he lowered the weapon slowly but left the arrow nocked and pointed at the ground. “I know where you went before you visited Methuselah.” Lobo’s heart dropped to his knees but he remained stoic. He had nothing to be apologetic about. He and Becca had made no promises to one another, had never spoken of love or even desire, and he was an adult male with privileges and needs. “I am a free spirit. ‘Tis perfectly within my rights to visit a woman. Surely, you have enjoyed your share of women, being a tomcat.” Gizmo veiled his eyes and shuffled his paws. He scooted back awkwardly and put his front paws securely in front of him. “Uh, um, actually, I’ve been neutered.” Dumbfounded, Lobo stared at the poor sap. No wonder he acted so strangely. Unsure how to respond, he merely grunted and looked away at the trees, the wild flowers, a mud puddle, anything but the pathetic creature. “You can’t look me in the face now.” Another thought struck him in the gut. Only the rich could squander wealth on their pets. Olivard might be correct in presuming Becca to be the lost queen. Clues mounted. Olivard emerged from the cabin and put his beringed fingers to his lips that were almost obscured by the thick beard. “Shush. Our patient’s finally dozing and she needs ample rest. Let her sleep as long as she will. I’ll be back to check on her before sunset tomorrow. If you have need of me prior, send the cat.” Olivard turned his attention to Gizmo. “You do remember how to find me, I trust?” “You’re awfully trusting and ‘the cat’ has a name. It’s Gizmo—G-I-Z-M-O, like a gadget. Gizmo.”

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“Yes, Mr. Gizmo. Pardon Methuselah with his lapse of memory. These old brain cells die off…” When Gizmo began to cough, Lobo patted his back firmly. “’Tis what you deserve.” Gizmo glanced pointedly at Lobo’s scratched-up arm and quirked his brow. “Ditto.” Some day, he would request an explanation, but not today. He understood the gist of the joker’s meaning from his sarcastic look. Forgetting the buffoon, he peeked in at the sleeping beauty and sucked in a ragged breath. Bathed in a stream of sunlight that showered through the crack in the door, she looked ethereal and amazingly fragile. He prayed the old man knew what he was doing and that his potion did not prove poisonous. If she did not awake, his heart would wither. Unfortunately, he was not a prince and thus could not awaken the comely princess with his kiss. Kiss her he longed to do. Deeply. All the night through. But he would settle for cradling her against his heart until she stirred from her healing slumber. Becca slept peacefully throughout the day and deep into the starlit night as Lobo kept vigil by the side of the bed. When his muscles began to ache, he stretched or paced about the cabin. The midsummer air was stifling, yet he did not want to leave her side. All he wished to do was gaze upon her angelic features and rub the silky texture of her hair between his fingers. For the innumerable time he wondered why someone blessed with glorious hair like fire dancing on the desert sands would want to hide it beneath layers of ocean blue on white? Mayhaps, like him, she was in hiding, only instead of donning a mask to conceal her features, she disguised her locks. Who would suspect that a red-haired queen hid under that mop of blue-streaked blonde or would wear such outlandish rags? Yawns attacked him. The day’s events had taken their toll. He did not wish to disturb such peaceful relaxation, but neither could he find comfort on the unforgivably hard dirt floor. Carefully, one eye on the steady rise and fall of her chest, he slid under the cover and lay prone. When she stirred and her lashes fluttered, he froze and held his breath. This seemed backward from all the fairy-tales he had ever read as a boy. The prince was supposed to awaken the sleeping beauty from her slumber, not wish her to remain asleep. But he was nary a prince, not even a nobleman. Common blood flowed through his veins, which meant that if she were a member of the royal family, he would not be found worthy. He swore silently at his fanciful musings. There he went again, thinking of impossible futures. His lot did not lie with a common woman, much less a queen. How dare he be so lofty in his aspirations as to covet the queen? Possible queen.

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Queen or not, he lusted after the beauty. He prayed she was not the queen, for what chance did a lowly commoner like himself have of winning her affections? To date, he had only succeeded in nearly killing her. His eyes adored her pale complexion, the way her nose tip-tilted slightly on the end, and the enchanting heart shape of her face. With more sunlight, she would have the peachy complexion of a natural redhead. If Olivard thought her strong enough on the morrow, he would sit her by the window. Like an exotic bloom, she withered without the sun’s rays. Captivated by her wraithlike beauty, he put his fingertips to her hair, longing to see it in all its natural glory. Her thick lashes lifted a smidgen, revealing sleepy, smoky blue eyes that stole his breath. Chastising himself for disturbing her rest, he withdrew his hand with care in the hopes she would drift back to sleep. “Lobo?” Her eyes opened wider and sparkled, intoxicating him. “Am I dead?” Taken aback by her odd question, his jaw went slack before answering. “You do not look like a ghost.” In fact, the bloom was returning to her cheeks and a mischievous twinkle danced in her eyes. Olivard should bottle that dragon juice and peddle it wide and far. He would surely amass riches beyond his wildest dreams if all his patients responded so magnificently. She wiggled around in the bed, and turned on her side making the mattress sway so she stared him square in the face. Laughing outright now, she asked impishly, “Do you know many ghosts?” “Pray tell not!” Especially not the beguiling nymph sharing his bed. Shaking her head, she clucked her tongue. “I would think on a world that uses dragons for transportation, ghosts would be commonplace.” “Dragons are not usual in the Kingdom of Florida?” Adorable chuckles chortled on her lips and he longed to capture some of their magic. This glimpse of her loveliness captivated him and he wondered how completely her effervescence would mesmerize him once she had regained her full vitality. Holding her stomach now, her mirth overflowed and she scrunched her nose. “Gracious, no. They’d lock me in the loony bin and throw away the key if I told anyone I rode a dragon. They’d wrap me in a straightjacket if I told them I’d been yanked into a cartoon.” Nearing an end to his endurance, he frowned at more riddles. ”Cartoon.” ”Loony bin.” ”Straight jacket.” They insulted his intelligence. “Those are not agreeable things, I presume?” Her brows knitted together in consternation and a faraway gleam lingered in her eyes. Finally, she said in a thoughtful, husky voice, “Cartoons can be very good.”

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“So, what is objectionable with them?” She twisted her lips at him and rolled her eyes. “Absolutely nothing. In fact, as long as you remember that’s all they are, they can be positively wonderful.” All they are? He did not like the sound of that, as if he were being belittled by association. Uncomfortable with a crick gnawing at the base of his neck, he scooted up in the bed so that his back rested against the backboard. Massaging the achy muscles in his neck, he studied her. “I fail to comprehend the meaning.” “Cartoons are animated comics. Make-believe, moving pictures with sound that tell a story, usually for small children, like fairy-tales and bedtime stories.” Understanding began to dawn, the gist of which he did not much appreciate. “Like a bard spinning a tall tale? A legend?” Like him? She fidgeted, smoothing the blanket between her fingers. She swallowed hard several times, and then said in a frustrated voice as her hands danced in the air, “Sort of. But many are complete fiction, not based on the tiniest grain of fact. Like plays, only paintings that move as if they were living, breathing people.” Fascinated against his will but trying to distract himself from the beauty of her face under the silvery glow of moonbeams, he twisted in her direction, propped his head on his arm and asked, “Which do you find most favorable?”

***** Becca gulped, unable to catch that hot potato without royally burning herself. When had this turned into a volley? He’d lobbed a doozy that would expose her feelings for which she was in no way prepared. She definitely couldn’t say ”Dark Side”—his story. But she was the world’s lousiest liar. Not that she appeared very adept at telling the truth, either, as no one in this dimension ever believed her. She should’ve been named Cassandra, for she surely suffered from the same curse. To preserve what little dignity she clung to, not that that was much considering this man had carried her to the outhouse and stood guard, she crossed her mental fingers and fibbed, “Superman.” Well, it wasn’t a blatant lie. She’d always loved the Superman comics, adored Clark Kent, and longed to be Lois Lane—or claw Lois’ eyes out in a jealous rage. But the honest truth was the comic strip only ranked second on her Becca-meter. “Dark Side” had been her far-and-away favorite since the very first time she’d viewed it. Lobo crooked his head, tented his brow and asked with a twinge of doubt in his voice, “Superman? ‘Tis a most peculiar name.” And Lobo wasn’t? Even Davin wasn’t in the mainstream. She geared up to explain the legend, wondering what would have happened had she been watching Superman when the remote had exploded in her face? She had trouble envisioning it. Apathy filled her. Despite almost becoming dragon chowder, 75

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Lobo’s surly moods, and being stuck in bed several days, she was glad she’d fallen into this cartoon rather than any other. No one she knew had ever flown on a dragon. Gizmo would never have held midnight heart-to-hearts with her, and she never would have wound up in Lobo’s bed not two feet from his hot bod. Oh! Not to mention she’d been miraculously cured of diabetes. Best-case scenario, she hoped she’d been cured. Time would tell. Oh yeah! She wouldn’t trade this experience for the entire superhero arsenal at her beck and call. Lobo snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Becca? Are you drifting into a deep sleep?” Jerking away from the sudden movement, she blinked. “Uh, no. Just thinking.” Tapping her chin with her forefinger, she extolled Superman’s virtues. “He can run faster than a locomotive, fly faster than a jet plane, stop a speeding bullet, and he wears tight tights and a gay little cape.” Lobo frowned, his countenance darkening and he shifted higher in the bed. “Locomotive? Jet plane? Bullet? Explain.” Mama mia! They had no common frame of reference. This was a constant struggle to keep her mind in the dark ages. Dark Side…Dark Ages…get it? She felt like banging her head against the wall. Oh, wait! She was banging her head against a proverbial wall. Like she had errands to run or a TV show to catch? What else did she have to amuse her? “A locomotive is a huge coach that travels upwards of sixty miles per hour on land. A jet plane is a huge coach that flies high above the clouds at an excess of five hundred miles per hour. A bullet is a part of a dangerous weapon, a projectile, like your bow, only it’s much tinier and very dense.” She closed her finger and thumb into a teensy circle in illustration. “So, he is a god?” “No. At least not on his home planet. He’s just a normal man except he’s from a different world where the gravity field is much denser. On my planet, he can do amazing things, but the most amazing thing is that he has a heart of gold and saves good people from the evil villains. If someone with all that power was evil…” Shudders racked her spine just imagining it. Lobo narrowed his eyes and considered her gravely. “Are you able to fly without aid of a dragon on my world?” “No” started to pop out of her mouth, but then she hesitated. Had she actually tried to fly? Amazing things happened in cartoons and how would she know unless she truly tried? “I don’t think so.” Heck, she hadn’t even been able to walk in at least three days, much less fly. But wouldn’t it be awesome if she could? Challenge flickering in his heady eyes, Lobo reached over and tucked a wisp of stray hair behind her ear. “Tell me, Becca, have you ever attempted such a feat?”

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Shivers raced through her, and she gasped at the unexpected contact. Did he know what the slightest flesh-to-flesh contact with him did to her? How it made her soar beyond the heavens? How it shattered her most basic concept of who she was? Who cared about flying above mere clouds after that? It would be blasé. “No. Have you?” “No.” He paused strategically and then continued on a husky note. “Mayhap we can try together.” His steady gaze bore into hers, his meaning double-edged. She hoped. Or maybe she was just crazy. She was crazy for him, all right. Naaa. She was just plain crazy as in totally, unequivocally nuts. Torture. Lying in Lobo’s bed was pure, unadulterated torture. When he lay so close, his woodsy rough-hewn scent wrapped around her, and yet remained so distant. His gentle teasing, his rapt attention, was the closest they’d come and it was giving her a false sense of warmth in the pit of her stomach. Of course, he was a guy, and she hadn’t met a member of the male species yet who wasn’t fascinated by cartoons and superheroes. They all wanted to be Superman, minus the tights. Hopefully. Or maybe he was softening towards her. His rough edge seemed to have softened. Gone was the gruffness in his voice and manner with her. Gone was the sharp edge that had threatened to skewer her. In its place was a hypnotizing twinkle in his eyes, and a playful smile tugging at his lips. Perhaps she was growing on him… Like a fungus… Stop that! Not everyone was as cold and heartless as the General. For her own piece of mind, for her own future happiness, she had to give people the benefit of the doubt and see the good in them until they had proven otherwise. Going through life expecting the worst would only bring about the bad in people. Adorn them with higher expectations and they would try to live up to her vision. She hoped. She really hoped Lobo would. She remembered what had made her fall in love with him. Nuts! Totally, friggin’ nuts! The most leniency she would allow herself was that she had fallen in lust with the cartoon hero, and even that was insane. “Do you have a yen for bold heroes such as this Superman? For Superman himself?” “It’s politically incorrect for a woman of my day and age to depend on a man for anything.” Lobo frowned. “I do not understand ‘politically incorrect’.”

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She swallowed a sigh and pushed her hair behind her ears. “It’s not popularly accepted. In other words, it’s insulting to a group of people, in this case, to the women in my country.” His forehead furrowed as if he had trouble wrapping his mind around the concept. “How odd. Dismissing popular convention, do you desire it deep in your soul? Do you crave the strength of a man?” His strength had come in handy carrying her to the outhouse… She had almost blurted out that unladylike comment in his face. Then he most assuredly would think her a very indecorous young lady. Yeah right, young lady! Rather “old crone”. Daft. She had to be scatterbrained to think for even an infinitesimal moment that the man who thought her an old crone would develop even an ounce of tender feelings for her. He shifted closer, depressing the mattress so she slid toward the saggy middle, right into his broad chest. Embarrassed and with her temperature climbing, she scrabbled to regain her relatively safe position, but only ended up pushing against his warmth. “Oops! The mattresses are firmer on my world, too.” When she started to withdraw her hand, he clasped her wrist in an iron vise and peered intensely into her eyes. “Most regrettable…for your world. I find much pleasure in our soft mattresses.” Meow. So did she. Mesmerized, she crossed her fingers and toes, and took a chance, hoping she read his signals correctly. Practically purring, she let him draw her closer, slowly, sensually. “So do I.” He closed the gap ninety percent of the way and hesitated, his face hovering within kissing distance. “Aha! There is something about my world you find agreeable.” Swallowing a smirk, she answered with as straight a face as she could, “Oh, there’s at least a couple of things I like about your world.” Namely him, at least when he was friendly and teasing like this. But she wouldn’t admit that aloud for threat of blowing up his already engorged ego. He pushed her back onto the mattress and hovered above her, a hint of passion tinting his eyes. “Would I be one?” Struggling to inhale, her lungs extremely taxed, she tried to tease, “I was thinking of Faylinn’s meat pies.” “So your appetite has returned, fair maiden?” he asked with a husky growl as he slowly lowered himself atop her. She nodded slowly and deliberately, tossing her best come-hither glance through coquettish lashes. “That’s an understatement if ever I heard one, Sir.” His brows did a jig even as his eyes darkened with passion. “Sir?”

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“Fair maiden?” Although she meant to tease, her words hissed out on a breathy whisper. She volleyed, “Don’t you mean ‘old crone’?” He shook his head and a sexy smile dawned on his lips. “You are fresh and lovely as a breath of spring, not withered and dried as an old prune.” Her emotions soared and she wasn’t normally one to let her head be turned by pretty words. Other men who had thought to charm her had come off as sleazy. But not Lobo. A depth of sincerity rang in his words that made her a believer. “Sir, are you deliberately trying to charm the pants off me?” Lobo’s gaze darted wickedly to the juncture of her legs and lingered quite unabashedly. “Quite literally so, mademoiselle.” Yikes! She hadn’t meant that and wished she could bite back her words, but of course she couldn’t. “That’s just an expression on my world that means you’re trying too hard to be charming.” “You do not wish me to practice my charms on you? I have oft been told I have quite considerable charms.” He grazed his knuckles across the highly sensitized flesh of her throat, tracing the vee of her dangerously dipping neckline, across the swell of her heaving breasts. What a catch-22! Barely able to formulate coherent words and her breath coming out in short bursts, she said, “Now you’re twisting my words.” “Not at all. I was being exceeding honest, if perhaps a touch crass. I very desperately want to make love to you, sweet witch.” Deliriously happy, she traveled the remaining ten percent to reach his lips and tasted them tentatively, savoring his musky flavor. They were soft yet firm, teasing yet deepening with a dangerous passion. Ravenous, having coveted his caresses for a very long time, she craved more of his magical ambrosia and deepened the kiss. With the most primitive, sexiest growl she’d ever heard in any world, he crushed her to him and plundered her lips with a mastery that left her breathless and yearning for more. Thrilled by his dominance and with overpowering chemistry overwhelming her, she writhed against him with a wanton abandon that shocked her. No other man had ever sparked such electricity. She was about to explode. He released her lips and gazed upon her with a mixture of tenderness and smoldering heat. “I am not hurting you, am I?” Almost set aflame, she shook her head and smiled up at him with wonder. How could a man be so strong and wild, yet so tender at the same time? “Not unless you sit on my feet.” He darted a concerned glance down her legs and started to roll off her. Raking an unsteady hand through his unruly hair, he mumbled apologetically, “I was not thinking. Pray, I would never hurt you.”

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Cursing her sarcastic tongue, she cradled his face between her palms. “I know you wouldn’t. That’s why I stuck with you even as you tried to push me away. You didn’t hurt me. I have a bad habit of letting my sarcastic tongue get the better of me. It gets me into trouble a lot.” “’Tis where your cat acquires it?” She play punched him in the shoulder. “Hey! He’s way worse than I ever was— than I could ever be in my naughtiest dreams. I’m not taking the blame for him. Uh uh. No way.” “You do not wish me to take my leave?” Taking a giant leap of faith, she shook her head and let all the desire swelling in her heart reflect on her face. “I want you to get on. Not my feet, I mean.” He fumbled with the laces of her tunic, and then grasped her hand and helped her sit up. Gently, he lifted the shirt over her head and then gazed upon her with an awe that settled deep in the pit of her stomach. “So exquisitely lovely. Tell me, wench, are you trying to bewitch me?” Her pussy tingled deliciously under his succulent analysis. Squirming, she chuckled, overcome by a surge of heady feminine power. “Is it working?” He dipped his head and blazed a searing trail of spine-tingling kisses along the column of her throat to her breasts. Nuzzling and nipping a beaded nipple, he teased her unmercifully as he mumbled around it, “Exceedingly well.” His fingers skipped lightly down her stomach, traced her belly button, and then slipped inside the elastic rim of her panties. “Tell me about your naughty dreams.” “It was just another expression.” This man took everything so literally she’d have to do back flips to consider every word she was about to utter for their possible implications. “You have never experienced a naughty dream? Not once?” Well, maybe once or twice. Okay, all the time. But how much could she divulge without scaring him off? Would a man understand when a woman longed for a ménage? Would he be threatened and wonder if she truly loved him? Love? They’d taken no vows. They’d made no promises to one another. Okay, love wasn’t an issue, but she still didn’t want to frighten him off with her wanton sexual fantasies. She opened her mouth to speak when a discreet knock sounded on the door and then Olivard poked in his head. “Is this a good time for me to examine the patient?” Yikes! It was a really lousy time. Heat stirred in her cheeks and she dove beneath the sheets and shrugged into her tunic. “Of course not.” Lobo catapulted from the bed, and straightened his clothing. “Come in.” When he turned to unstrap his mug from his side and pour a glass of wine, the raccoon’s tail he wore on his belt jiggled quite adorably. Adorable or not, no one in her

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century outside a Renaissance Faire would be caught dead wearing an animal tail. They’d probably be blasted for being politically incorrect. But she kept silent on the matter. Turning a hopeful gaze on her miracle worker, she bubbled over with excitement. “So, what’s the verdict? Am I cured? Can I get out of bed and walk?” She’d never take walking for granted again. She prayed for a good diagnosis. Olivard smiled down kindly. “May I have your permission to examine you?” “Please do.” Becca almost tore the covers from her before Lobo coughed discreetly. “Since no other chaperone is present, I shall turn my back. Let me know when it is safe to turn around.” He made a show of turning his back, and folded his arms across his chest. Gizmo flounced over to Lobo and tapped his knee, gazing up at him with intense dislike and rivalry. “I like that. Now I’m nobody again.” “Felines—in particular male felines—do not constitute appropriate chaperone material. You do not have to find it agreeable.” Gizmo pouted, his eyes pooling with glossy tears. “Cats have feelings, too.” Lobo twisted and glared at her. “You should spare not the rod and spoil the child. If he keeps up this waywardness, I am of a mind to box his ears.” Gizmo jumped back and raised his fists to Lobo. “No one’s boxing my ears. And I am not a child. I’m thirty-two in cat years, a man by any measure.” Lobo rolled his eyes dramatically and turned back to the cat. “Then I suggest you act like one.” Before they broke out in hand-to-hand combat, Becca watched the volley with a less-than-amused smile. “Break it up, boys. Go to your neutral corners.” The man and the cat glared at each other and then at her, but separated. She turned her attention to the healer. “I’m ready for you, doc.” Olivard nodded and began prodding her feet. “Tell me if this hurts, dear one.” She braced herself for sharp pain, but instead laughed and yanked back her foot when his touch tickled unmercifully. Olivard’s brows furrowed as he lowered her feet to the bed. “A most odd reaction.” Not at all for an odd person. “I forgot to warn you my feet are extremely ticklish.” “Take a look, Davin. Our patient has experienced a speedy return to health. See the bloom in her cheeks?” Olivard beamed at Becca, as if proud of his healing powers. “You must inform the naysayers. Perhaps many who were banished had not contracted the Black Lung.” Lobo marched around the spitting cat, knelt at the end of her bed, and squinted at each foot in turn as if she was a science experiment. Too relieved to have healthy feet again to be perturbed, she wriggled her toes teasingly under his nose. When he smiled wickedly and started to run his fingertips

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down her soles, she quickly tucked her feet under her Indian-style. He knew too many important secrets about her. Olivard nodded soberly. “I wonder how many poor people were exiled or put to death for naught. Backwards thinking still prevails amongst too many in this enlightened day and age.” “Enlightened day, my foot.” Gizmo flicked his tail sarcastically. “Good golly, Miss Molly. Your friend tried to drain the woman’s blood with worms. You hunt with bow and arrow. You don’t even have tender cat food.” Breathless and panting, Faylinn erupted through the door. Holding her throat, her wings flapping frantically like a hummingbird’s, she coughed and pulled up just short of crashing into the wall. “Mercy, child.” Olivard reached her side in three long strides and took her arm. He scooped her up and carried her to the bed where she perched beside Becca, hunched over. “Are the dragons on your tail?” “I-I have vital n-news. The king has decreed Becca a witch and will burn her at the stake if he catches her. And her familiar.” Becca’s heart leapt into her throat as her blood flowed south. “Ohmigod! The witchhunts. They think you…and me…” His fur spiking on end, Gizmo jumped onto her lap and shook her violently. “I told you we shouldn’t dick around about getting back the remote. We need to haul ass outta here before they turn us into crispy critters.” Lobo turned a sickly shade of green and slanted his guilt-filled eyes toward Olivard. His entire stance jittery, he shuffled his feet, creating a mini dust cloud. Olivard lowered his head and studied his toes. Her neck aching fiercely, she firmly grabbed the spastic cat and ordered, “Get a grip,” even as her own heart skipped several beats. His eyes still wild, his fur still standing on end, Gizmo collapsed against her and hugged her fiercely. Off key, the cat sang the punch line of an old comedy song, “Please, Mr. Custer, I don’t wanna die. I don’t want to be burned at the stake. I’m much too young to die.” Ditto, ditto, and ditto. “I’m beginning to think this world doesn’t like me.” Gizmo lifted his head and flattened his ears against his head. He spread his paws against her chest, his claws barely nicking her flesh. “Ya think?” Screwing up her lips, she pried off his death grip. If she was going to die, it shouldn’t be from asphyxiation by her own cat. Turning her attention off the panicking feline, she kept an eye on the suspiciously acting pair. “Do you know something you’re not telling me?” “They believe you are something else.” Lobo glanced at her swiftly and then averted his eyes almost as fast as if it pained him to look at her.

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What in the world was going on now? She stood too fast and became suddenly woozy. A wave of nausea overcame her for a few moments and she swayed. Holding onto the bedpost, she steadied herself until her strength began to seep back and then she crossed to his side and looked up into his eyes. “Something else? Tawdrier than a witch?” Olivard cleared his throat and beckoned her. “On the contrary, we sense they deem you someone else.” “Who?” The suspense was killing her and she twisted around to stare at the second man. “The queen.” Icy fingers of dread clutched her heart. Her pulse skyrocketed. “The queen? As in the king and queen of all the land?” Somberly, the men nodded in unison. Sadness flickered through Lobo’s onyx orbs as if he’d just heard the death knell. Wary hope glittered through Olivard’s eyes. Why such a mixed reaction? Wherever did they get such a crazy supposition? “What makes you think I could possibly be a queen? In particular, your queen?” Olivard drew her hand into his and led her to the stiff, uncomfortable couch where he motioned for her to take a seat. “Queen Rosalinde was hidden on another world as an infant for her safekeeping…” She tried to follow their sketchy logic. “And because I come from another world, you think I’m your lost queen?” Lobo coughed discreetly. “’Tis not the only reason.” Becca’s gaze riveted on him as she waited for the rest of his explanation. When he didn’t, she prodded, “And what are the other reasons?” “She has red hair.” The words dragged from his lips. Fingering her dyed locks, she wondered how they knew her natural hair color. The chemicals completely obliterated any trace of red. She’d always hated the garish red color feeling it lent credence to her father’s unnatural dislike of her. As far back as she could trace her genealogy, no one except her had red hair. The old bitter anguished feelings returned full force, threatening to strike her down. Did that make her a freak? Lobo’s gaze drifted to her lower parts and lingered as if he had x-ray vision. Her temperature rose and she quivered under his heated gaze. That’s why the earlier interrogation! He’d added two plus two. In this case, it didn’t add up. “Okay, so I’m a natural redhead. Millions of people are on my world. They’re not here?” She couldn’t recall seeing any in her previous viewings of Dark Side, but that showed only a tiny portion of the population. Lobo lifted his gaze to her unruly hair. “Only the royal family. Heinrich had flaming red hair before it turned to gray.”

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Olivard nodded. “As did his older sister, Cordelia, the true queen. And his niece, the true monarch. Heinrich was behind his sister’s demise.” Becca tried to digest this fantastic story but had difficulty swallowing that she was part of it. “So, King Heinrich hid the baby?” Olivard shook his head and lowered himself next to her. With gnarled, blue-veined hands, he smoothed his robes over his knees. Then he grasped her hands in his and squeezed them gently. “No, no, no. Your mother’s loyal servants hid the child for safekeeping from the false king. He planned to do away with the child, and thus he would be the only surviving member of the Royal family so his place as king would be secured. He’s been fearful for many a yuletide that we would find a way to bring the queen back.” “We?” A bullfrog suddenly croaked from her throat. All this sounded of secret societies and silent maneuverings. Chills raced down her spine and she was unable to hide her shivers. “Yes, my dear. I belong to the Order of the Grail, charged with the protection of our true queen. I’m sworn to lay my life down for her, if need be.” “Still, on my world, red hair is not rare…” Not that rare. “And certainly not confined to royalty.” Olivard slipped his hand inside his pocket and withdrew her driver’s license. “This is you? Correct?” She nodded, feeling partially numb, partially furious. Had she been a pawn all her life? Had her parents lied to her? If they were her parents. Anger burst through her veins full force. No! She wasn’t a cartoon character. Her father hadn’t loved her but that didn’t mean she’d been thrust on him from another world. Still, she looked twice at her companions and they didn’t look like cartoon characters either. Perhaps from this side of the cartoon, her world—or was it her adopted world—looked like two-dimensional comic strips? Her head started to pound so she massaged her temples. Maybe her father—that is the man she’d always thought of as her father—was a resentful stand-in. Her tongue thick from the clamoring emotions inside, she managed to squeak out, “That’s me, yes. But wouldn’t you know the name of the family you entrusted your queen to?” “His name was Oscar of Homestead.” Her head swam and her stomach knotted. Oh God! The General was Oscar Weiss and they had lived in the city of Homestead, where the Air Force Base stood. Could it be just a phenomenal coincidence? She doubted it. But if it were real… Then I’m a toon! A queen! She couldn’t decide which was worse. 84

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Catching sight of the nervous fairy, and recalling full force her reason for being so agitated, definitely being a queen was the worst scenario. If, and it was a gigantic if, she was this mythical queen, why couldn’t this be a fairytale–come true? She pulled herself up short with a stinging pinch to her arm. Of course, she wasn’t a queen—much less the queen! But where had they pulled ”Oscar of Homestead” from? Faylinn flittered close and hovered before Olivard. Crossing her arms over her miniature body, she tapped her foot midair. “’Tis not safe to remain here. I tell you, they’re on their way. Someone divulged your whereabouts. Whisk her out now as she’s too big for me to spirit out of here.” Gizmo tugged at her leggings insistently, his claws snagging on a threadbare piece of material. “I know your ears are not as sensitive as mine, but surely you heard the annoying little bug.” The little bug growled and bared sharp pointy teeth at her insulter. Her wings twittered twice as fast. Becca didn’t blame her. If Gizmo were a human child, she’d give high consideration about not sparing the rod. “We’ve got to scram before they make s’mores out of us.” Gizmo swiped at imaginary perspiration running down his brow and leapt into the windowsill. Shielding his eyes with his paw, he peered outside. “It’s hot in here. They’ve not set the cabin on fire already, have they?” Lobo grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him to the front door. “Mayhaps you would like to scout around outside and find out?” “He’s being a big bully again! Tell this macho schmuck to put me down…” Lobo opened his fist and dropped the cat unceremoniously. Then with a wickedly delicious smile, he made a show of wiping his hands of the creature. Gizmo sprawled on all fours. Hunching his back and unsheathing his claws, he hissed. “Gently.” He slinked across the room and took refuge beneath Becca. Spreading her legs forcefully, he glared out from behind her. Lobo shrugged and spread his hands wide. His grin now encompassed his entire face. “What? I merely complied with your request.” “Brute!” Becca stopped herself from shaking her head and bit back a sigh. Children! “Gizmo’s right. We must seek new refuge immediately. We must get the queen to safety,” Faylinn said. Gizmo stuck his head out from between her knees. “And don’t forget her sweet kitty. Why do you people always forget about me?”

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Lobo rolled his eyes heavenward and shook his head. “You will not permit us to forget.” “Darn tootin’! Let me take a wild guess…you’re not a cat lover, are you?” Lobo squatted down on his hunches so that he was eye-level with his adversary. “I like normal cats just fine. ‘Tis you that annoys the bejesus out of me. Maybe if you would act like a man…” “I’m a cat, not a man.” Lifting her pet onto her lap, Becca cradled him close. “Have a little faith in me. I won’t ever forget you.” Gizmo tugged away, panting for air. “I said don’t forget me, not smother me.” Scowling, Faylinn flittered around them. “Do you or do you not want to survive to see the new sunrise? If you do, I suggest you follow me to my hidden glade.” Gizmo waved his paw wildly in the air. “If we’re voting, I vote to follow the bug.” “This isn’t a democracy. My word reigns,” Becca muttered. The cat screwed up his features. “Promote a woman to queen, and she goes all dictator on you. Sheesh! Should I get down and bow to Her Highness now?” Olivard rose regally and treated the cat to a stern, schoolteacherish look. “That would be most advisable.” Gizmo snorted. “Yeah, right. If she were truly the queen.” “She is!” Lobo, Olivard, and Faylinn chimed in harmony with a mixture of humor and annoyance shadowing their features. Then Lobo would have to obey her every command, too. Yum… Perhaps being queen wasn’t so terrible after all… She wished the company would leave them alone for she could think of several commands to give the hunky hero. Olivard motioned for them to draw near and they formed a huddle. “We cannot traipse the queen outside in this manner. She’ll be spotted forthwith. We need to disguise her.” “She could masquerade as a fairy,” Faylinn smiled beatifically and tucked some blossoms in Becca’s hair. Olivard tapped his chin thoughtfully as he regarded Becca closely. “That won’t work. She’s far too large. No one would believe that, especially since she’d be on foot. Fairies fly.” Faylinn’s momentary joy evaporated from her face and she did a back flip and sank toward the floor. “Some people just can’t help being melodramatic. Every clown craves the center of attention,” Gizmo said, sighing. Pouting, he rested his chin on his crossed paws. Faylinn swooped down on Gizmo and yanked his tail. Making a fast getaway to the opposite side of the room, she nodded sharply and stuck out her tongue. Gizmo shook his fist at her. “I’ll get you for that, bug.”

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Olivard snapped his fingers over his head. “Pay attention, please. This is a most severe matter. Faylinn had the right idea, but we need a credible disguise.” The wizard looked to Lobo. “What kind of clothing do you have in here?” “My own and she is already wearing my spare set.” “Do you have a pelt or any other material?” Lobo shook his head. “No. ‘Tis all I have. ‘Tis not my normal abode.” Olivard fingered his own robes. “Perhaps we can switch garb. Becca can wear my robes and I’ll wear that. But we have to cover up that hair. It’s quite…uh…eyecatching.” Becca cursed her hair, the focus of so many of her problems. Forcing herself to think logically, she focused on the real dilemma. “Instead of hiding, don’t we have to get me home? We need that remote to get back to our world.” Lobo’s jaw clenched tightly and his eyes narrowed. Olivard paled under his nut-brown complexion. “But this is your world. Your people need you.” She gulped. Hard. Her people—if that’s who they truly were—wanted her fricasseed. They blamed her for the plague and thought her a vile witch. “If I’m your queen, I was abandoned on another world. They forgot about me long ago.” Like her adoptive parents. They’d been entrusted with her care and she knew how that sorry scenario had turned out. Sadness filtered into Olivard’s wizened eyes. “We did not abandon you, dearest one. We lost you for a time, but we’ve finally brought you home. I’m sorry the king’s soldiers intercepted our welcoming committee. Luckily for us, Davin came to your rescue.” Gizmo curled his lips at Lobo. “That’s your cue to bow, Mr. Hero.” “But what about my fath—Oscar?” The fact Oscar Weiss wasn’t her birth father freaked her out. Despite everything, she had adored him when she was a little tyke and this new knowledge clouded those happy memories. Simultaneously, the fact gave her a ray of hope. Her flesh and blood hadn’t stopped loving her. Then again, her flesh and blood had given her up. And was this evil King Heinrich related to her? The eerie thought crawled up her veins, chilling her. To be related to such a vile snake was worse than being related to Oscar. Olivard patted her hand. “Your parents loved you very much. They didn’t want to be separated from you. Your mother, Cordelia, cried when you were taken from her arms. But you would have suffered their fate had you remained. Heinrich’s a ruthless, heartless monster.”

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“Cordelia.” She tested the name on her lips, liking the roll of the triple syllables. Much more regal than Bunny. Another thought occurred to her. “Do I look like either of my parents? Aside from the red hair?” “You are the image of your lovely mother, red hair included.” It was too much to hope they’d had photographs in this ancient society. But perhaps paintings? She prayed one had survived. “Are there any portraits of my parents?” Olivard smiled sadly. “Alas, Heinrich ordered them all destroyed. He went on a rampage to eliminate all vestiges of your parents’ reign.” The more she heard about this Heinrich, the more she hated him. Curiosity clawed at her gut. “Tell me about him. Is he related to my parents?” “Time is precious for I sense our enemy’s approach. Flee now, converse later.” Faylinn tugged at the wizard’s beard and got her foot stuck in it. When she tried to free herself, she did a tailspin across the room, bounced against the wall, then slid down its length and hit the floor with a thud. Her eyes crossed, and with a moue on her tiny cupid lips, she shook her head. Olivard picked up the dizzy fairy gently and helped her to her feet. “Careful, wee one. You’ll damage yourself.” Faylinn dangled her legs over the edge of the wizard’s hand as she held her head and moaned. “I didn’t crinkle my beautiful wings, did I?” “Fortuitously not, my little lovely. They are pristinely ethereal as always.” Faylinn swiped her brow. “Whew!” She stood on his hand and wobbled slightly. “Please let us go. I fear for our safety.” “I shall answer your questions when we reach safety,” Olivard said, looking at Becca. “Make haste and exchange garments with me. We’ll drape a sheet over your head. You can pose as a miserly old widow.” Becca nodded and slipped behind the makeshift room divider Lobo fashioned by stringing the bed cover over a laundry line. Faylinn stood guard on her side, her stance staunch. “’Tis safe to disrobe, Your Majesty.” “Please call me Becca,” she muttered, embarrassed by the title, especially since she was not convinced she was deserving of it. Olivard’s robes smacked her gently in the face and she snatched them up before they finished pooling around her feet. Hastily, she shimmied into them. Then she draped the sheet over her head, tucking stray wisps of hair under its heavy folds. Lobo returned from his scouting mission, twigs and leaves nesting in his tousled hair, dust layering his boots. “All is clear. Let us go now.” “Yes, please. My nerves are getting nervous. Whoever invented clothing should be shot. You should see how long it takes girlfriend to get ready for a hot date.” Gizmo 88

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shooed them out the door irreverently, his ears once again pushed back against his skull. Lobo’s gaze smoldered as if he agreed with the cat concerning her clothing. Heat rose between her legs, red-hot and lava-like. She was getting so hot and she sweltered profusely beneath the heavy brocade, she longed to fan herself. She’d settle for strangling the bigmouth cat when she got her hands on him. Was this what it was like to have a little brother? If so, she hadn’t realized how blessed she’d been to grow up an only child. “Stop that!” She wrinkled her nose at Lobo. Lobo tossed her a naughty grin and his gaze journeyed to her pussy. Her recalcitrant blood pressure rose as if she weren’t burning up enough already. Dragons cawed in the distance, putting the fear of God into her soul. “Do you hear that?” Lobo scowled darkly and lifted the curtain to peer up at the sky. “They are on their way. We shall have to make a run for it.” “No need to tell me twice, brother.” Gizmo’s claws scrabbled on the floor as he shot out the door and made a beeline for the woods. Once under tree cover, he cheered them on, jumping up and down. “Hurry, people. I’ve only got six lives left.” Faylinn became a blazing light that reappeared at the cat’s side. She cast worried looks at the sky, waving them on. “They’re drawing closer. Their scent is strong.” Becca’s heart hammered against her ribs. Out of shape and not having run for at least the past five years, she panted. A stitch attacked her side, threatening to double her over. Frightened and worried for the others’ safety, she clutched the throbbing area, and said on a breathless note, “Go on. I’ll catch up.” “And leave the queen?” Lobo hoisted her into his arms much as he’d done the first time they’d met. “This is getting to be a habit,” she said, her heart skipping a beat. Lobo’s brows waggled down at her as his warm breath scorched her face. “Getting into life-and-death trouble?” “That, too.” She took the excuse to snuggle into his strong arms and lean her cheek against his powerfully beating heart. If this were their last moments of life, she couldn’t think of a preferable place to spend them. Well, maybe one… Lobo loped with her as if she were as light as a leaf, his breathing even and his gait graceful. When they reached the blanket of tree cover, Lobo rejoined their group. “Where to now? We cannot just amble aimlessly around the woods.”

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Olivard shook his beard and several leaves fluttered to the hilly ground. “We’ll head for the Knights’ abbey.” Becca frowned at the men. Fear wound its tentacles in an ever-tightening grip around her heart. “But we must retrieve that remote. We can’t allow the king to invade my world.” “This is your world now. A queen can’t abandon her people. You have responsibilities. Your people have anxiously awaited your return.” Olivard swept his arms wide as if to encompass the entire planet. “They need you to help rid them of Heinrich’s poison.” “This is all so hard to take in. The only home I’ve ever known is Earth and I can’t allow Heinrich to invade it any more than I can stand by and let him continue to terrorize this world.” She swallowed hard, unable to envision herself as a hero. All her sharp jabs seemed to be in her tongue. “We want to stop Heinrich from ravaging other worlds as much as you, but our ragtag group can’t put up much opposition. We need to fall back, regroup, and enlist reinforcements.” Her breath caught in her throat and she blinked. All-out war? Obviously, she wasn’t the Queen of Hearts, but the Queen of Swords. “Now that the people have you to rally around, we will triumph. I shall convene the Fairy Family.” Faylinn saluted smartly and then pirouetted to leave. Olivard stepped around her, blocking her way. “We’ll gather at the forum. Send word of the good people’s decision by sun’s set tomorrow.” Faylinn nodded emphatically and sped off, becoming a mere glimmer of light within the twinkling of an eye. Awed, Becca never tired of how the fairy shimmered into stardust. How magical.

***** The Knights’ abbey turned out to be a large limestone monastery. It was a solid rock fortress on the exterior with an open courtyard within. High spiral towers looked down upon the surrounding countryside. A heavy wooden door at least twenty feet high and ten feet wide, rose and lowered on rusty, creaking chains. Unlike Lobo’s cabin hideaway, it was surrounded by vast fields of colorful, wildly profuse flowers and tall grass that swayed in the gentle springtime breeze. Pigs meandered around the courtyard while chickens pecked at seed scattered on the ground. Sheds with smoking meat sat next to a small blacksmith stand where a bearded man in a long, brown apron hammered metal. Magnificent dragons bathed in the sun, occasionally flapping their colorful wings. Where are all the horses?

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“Rumor has it that the king hosts a royal joust two days hence.” Olivard turned away from the window and clapped his hands together and beamed. “That, my fellows, is our entry into the monster’s grim castle deep.” Becca also turned away from the window to look at each member of her group in turn and her brows furrowed. Although impeccably clean and orderly, the inside of the abbey was cold and without personality except for a few books lying about on otherwise barren tables. Without many windows, and those that were carved into the stonewalls, tall and narrow, the chamber was dim despite the high noon sun. “Don’t we need a horse in order to joust?” The men regarded her in puzzlement. “What is a ‘horse’? Some form of weapon? Payment?” She shook her head to clear the cobwebs of her adopted world from her mind. This world didn’t have horses? Or perhaps they used another term. She searched her mind for the ancient term. “A large riding animal. A steed.” Their expressions brightened, and Lobo murmured, “Ah, a steed. You mean a dragon.” Her lips parted and Gizmo nudged her jaw back to its normal position. “You joust on dragons?” “Heathens,” Gizmo whispered in her ear. “We’re in dungeons and dragons world, girlfriend.” She nodded, the frightening vision of the sky-battling beasts making her tremble. Did they fight with fire instead of swords? It couldn’t be safe to watch, for they would fall from the sky. “Most certainly, dear child. How else would they joust?” Olivard’s bushy white brows puckered. “So we’ll sneak into the castle as part of the crowd, and while Heinrich and his knights are busy we’ll spy around for the remote?” Not too 007-ish. She could handle a little reconnaissance mission. If Tom Cruise could do it, so could she. “Nay. This event is closed to the common folk, thus one of us will have to enter the competition. The rest shall attend our bold hero.” Her heart cried out, ”No!” Surely, he intended to send Lobo into the joust. Still, hope against hope, she asked, “Who will you send?” Olivard turned and nodded at Lobo. “He amongst us who is the mightiest man of valor, stalwart and true. The keenest of warriors we pray hope to find. His prowess is legendary far and wide. I present to thee, our stately Davin of Atterwood.” Her gut wrenched and her gaze flew to the man in the spotlight. No! “That’s suicide!” A bemused smile tinged Lobo’s lips as he bowed majestically before her. “I have battled atop many a dragon. Would that you have so little faith in me, Your Highness?”

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“Stop that! Please call me ‘Becca’.” As an afterthought, she added, “That’s an order.” Gizmo sidled up to her and cupped his paws around his mouth. “You’re getting to like this too much. Methinks this queen business is going to your pretty little red head. Don’t you think you should back off a hair?” She scrunched her royal nose at his furry little face. “Thank you, Obi-Wan-Kitty.” “I shall take your silence as a yes.” Resentfulness, topped with a dollop of wistfulness, clouded Lobo’s eyes. Oh God. Now she had a sensitive hero on her hands. What next? How did she fluff his ego back up while still communicating her grave concerns? “I trust you. It’s the dragons I don’t trust. Will your shields protect you from their flame? What if you fall off from five hundred feet in the air?” “I assure you I am well-acquainted with the joust and can sit steady on my steed. Worry naught on my behalf. Your mission will be to find and destroy the keys to your adopted world.” She sucked in her breath. Destroy the keys? In other words, smash the remote? Yikes! She’d never be able to return to Earth. She’d be trapped in this medieval nightmare forever. Gizmo jumped up on the table, stuffed his paws in his mouth and whistled with all his might. “Are y’all crazy? This is just a cartoon. You can’t seriously be thinking of trapping us in this loony nightmare?” What was reality? What was her reality? Gizmo was dead-on for a change. “I need more proof that I belong here before I trap us, forever.” “What would you accept as truth?” Olivard’s expression was inscrutable. She searched her soul and came up lacking. Troubled, she shrugged, “I don’t know.” She hoped she’d know it when she stumbled across it. Gizmo crossed his arms over his chest and stomped his foot. “Well, I don’t belong here. I’m a true blue, died-in-the-wool Earthling.” Despair seeped into Becca’s heart and she made a show of pouting with big puppydog eyes. “You’d leave me? I thought we were a team.” Gizmo’s eyes pooled with moisture and he sniffed back a tear. “Like Romeo and Juliet?” Well, not like Romeo and Juliet… More like Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. She put all the pathos into her voice she could dredge up and she got down on bended knee so that she was closer to eye level with the cat. “Help us. If not for me, be a hero for your beloved Mother Earth.” “You’ll be a stalwart hero and your praises will be thusly sung.” Olivard reached over and scratched Gizmo behind his ears. “Ballads will be written about you.”

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Gizmo’s face lit up and he pretended to box, bouncing around on the balls of his feet. “I’ll be a revered hero? Earth’s savior… I like the sound of that. I’ll do it! Time’s a wastin’. What do we need to get the job done?” Becca cleared her throat pointedly. She’d not noticed a dragon hanging around and at their size, she should have. “Do we have a trusty steed?” Olivard smiled. “Indeed. The Knights have several stabled nearby. Davin can take his pick.” Gizmo scrounged through a drawer in a solid oak desk and came back with a piece of papyrus the color of eggshell and quill pen. Perching on the edge of the desk, he poised the plumed writing instrument over the paper and regarded it studiously. “Go on. I’ll take dictation. I’m good at making lists.” Becca’s jaw dropped open. She learned something new daily and Gizmo was full of surprises. “What else do you do besides talk, write, and take dictation?” “There’s a lot you don’t know about me. I’m many-talented. One thing I don’t do though is ride dragons. Uh uh. No way, José. Oh! And I don’t do windows.” Gizmo scribbled on the page, then peered over the specs he’d propped on his nose. His tail smacked the table as if to garner their attention. “I presume the insane man will need a set of armor?” Lobo glared. “Battle-shields, mail, swords, scabbards, gauntlets…” Olivard crooked his finger at the group. “The battle-ready room is this way. We shall suit you up.” From her front row seat, Becca drooled over Lobo as he tried on battle gear. His many battle scars only served to make him more masculine and humanize him. She itched to let out several catcalls but it wouldn’t be dignified for a queen. Like drooling was? Damn, but he looked sexy wielding his sword and wearing the chain mail and gauntlets. His longish hair, let loose from its normal ponytail, tumbled down his back, and she longed to sift her fingers through its silkiness. How she yearned to be the lucky maid who kissed him when he was victorious in battle. If he was victorious. They weren’t playing Dungeons and Dragons. This was the real deal. Chain mail and armor wouldn’t protect him from the dragons’ fiery breath nor from hurtling out of the sky. Why couldn’t this world have normal, civilized jousts with racing horses? Weren’t sharp, pointy objects sufficiently lethal without the dragon overkill? Men! How they loved battle, blood, and gore. “This is crazy. There must be some other way to infiltrate the castle and get our remote back.”

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“Another way could take fortnights. Months. It is doubtful the monster will wait so long to launch his attack. We can’t risk the delay.” Olivard’s logic annoyed her even as she grudgingly agreed. “What disguise will I wear?” Becca asked, eyeing the gear dubiously. Did their assistants dress in armor, as well? She wished she’d paid better attention at the Ren Faire. Lobo’s darkening gaze clashed with Olivard’s. After a pregnant silence hung heavily in the air for several uncomfortable moments, Lobo finally pinpointed her with a grave gaze. “You shall remain here where you shall be safe, my queen.” What? How feudal! “I’m coming with you. We need as many people searching for the remote as possible and very few here have ever seen it.” Olivard took the papyrus and pen from Gizmo’s paws. “Draw a representation of it. The Knights will accompany us in the search.” Taking the papyrus, she drew the picture, but then held it back. No way could she sit home and worry about Lobo’s fate. She had to be near him. Perhaps, her psychic energy would wrap a protective shielding around him. “I’m still joining you.” “That’s highly inadvisable, dear one. We must protect you at all costs. We’re dispensable. You’re not as the queen.” Her heart shouted. Lobo wasn’t dispensable! “I knew you thought of me that way.” Gizmo’s lips twisted into a gigantic pout. “Every soul here is dispensable, save the queen,” Olivard said gently but firmly. “You shall have a very special assignment.” Lights glowed in Gizmo’s eyes and he snapped to attention. “Yes, Sir! Sir, General Gizmo at your service, Sir.” General? Becca bit back a snort. Generalissimo was more like it. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. “Sir, what is my assignment, Sir?” Gizmo looked up expectantly at his new commander in chief. Oh brother! What a suck up. She’d raised one spoiled kid. “Guard Queen Rebecca. Do not let her leave these walls. Protect her with your life.” Gizmo slumped and tapped his paw on the floor. “You’re leaving moi behind? But I’m the best scout among you. By far. By eons. Light years!” He shook his paw at Olivard and Lobo. “You know you need me.” “Like a hole in the head,” Lobo said. “That can be arranged.” Gizmo unsheathed his claws and took a step forward, his menacing gaze glued to the hero.

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Lobo put the tip of his sword to the cat’s navel. “One more threatening step forward, Sir Cat, and I’ll skewer you from navel to nose.” Gizmo crossed his eyes, stared from Lobo to the sword and back. Lights clicked in his eyes like a calculator. Then he took a step in arrears. Twisting his lips wryly, he said in a very respectful tone, “Sir, please outline my duties, Sir.” Becca arched her brow but remained mum. Gizmo acted totally out of character. Why? He must have something up his sleeve. If only he wore sleeves…

***** Tonight could be their final night on Templar, and Becca couldn’t stand the thought of spending it alone so she snuck into Lobo’s chamber. Her spine tingled just thinking about the coming events. She donned a nightgown of soft green gossamer-thin silk, low-cut and engineered to entice even the most cold-hearted of men. When she moved, it caught the light and shimmered, making her feel sexier than she had in all her days. She brushed her hair until it gleamed and then caught up the sides in fine gold combs so that it hung becomingly around her cheeks. She tiptoed down the hall in her bare feet so as not to awaken her hosts and attract undue attention. The only man’s attention she craved was that of one very special warrior. Like the majority of the abbey, the walls of Lobo’s bedchamber were made of hewn stone as was the icy floor under her bare feet. Faded and tattered hand-braided rugs absorbed only a bit of the chill. Shields and swords hung on the wall facing a rustic bed covered by a beautiful hand-quilted coverlet. Shadows flickered across the walls, cast by the flame of torches suspended high above the bed. The torchlight illuminated her beloved as he stirred awake in his bed. Lobo jumped to his feet, and the covers fell to the bed revealing his nakedness. He grabbed up his scabbard and spun around on the defensive. “Name thyself!” Her breath caught in her throat, but whether it was due to being at knifepoint or because of his breath-taking nudity, she couldn’t say. Probably some of both. “It’s just me, Becca.” Her voice came out way too breathy, too husky, for her peace of mind. Without coming out and saying she wanted to ravage his body, she had made it quite plain. Swearing softly under his breath, Lobo immediately sheathed the scabbard. “Why are you up and about at this late hour, Your Highness?” She tried to soften her grimace but failed. “Please don’t call me that.” It erected such a chasm between them. Hopefully, not an uncrossable divide. Plus, she felt like a fraud. She had no ironclad proof, not even probable proof that she was the long-lost queen. Any hapless female who’d wondered beyond the looking

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glass may have been cast in her present role. Well, anyone in her general age category who was unlucky enough to have red hair. She cursed her red tresses. They had forever been the bane of her existence and they were ever increasingly so now. “’Tis not proper for me to address you by your given name. I am but a lowly commoner.” Wrong. He was her hero and quite literally her knight in shining armor. At least, he would be come the new day. Shudders racked her. The new day would bring victory or death. She doubted a middle ground existed. Lobo’s sharp gaze traced each and every shudder. “Is there a problem?” You could say that. “Why are you building this wall between us? We don’t know for sure that I’m your queen. Even if I am…” “If you are, I am not fit to carry your satchels.” Such dignity vibrated in his voice, he sounded like a nobleman. “I don’t want to be queen. Trust me, I’m a mess.” She loved hard rock, cheap beer, and B-horror flicks, hardly blue-blood material much less queen potential. She didn’t have enough culture to fill her little pinky, even in her own land, in her own century. Here, she was a fish out of water. “If you will pardon my forthrightness, Your Highness, this is not about your desires. ‘Tis about your responsibilities. Only you can unite the people to oust the grim monster.” How he could be so very forceful, so upright while so very naked? As for not being about her desires, try telling that to her quivering pussy. Or her gaze glued to his gorgeous cock. On the contrary, tonight was very much about her desires. She inhaled deeply and took a step toward him. “You liked kissing me before. I’m still the same person.” His cock twitched but otherwise he held his ground. “I was not privy to your true identity.” How she hated this stuffy caste system! “Who’s to know? No one saw me come in.” So what if someone had? She didn’t care. “I know.” His shoulders flexed. “Regardless, I cannot subject the queen to my curse.” Too late. Like poor Ernestina. “We’ll face your curse together, just as we’re facing the king.” Lobo shoveled unsteady fingers through his hair, and the room’s flickering candlelight reflected in his eyes. “You said yourself you do not have knowledge of how to be queen. You know nothing of my curse or black magic.”

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She didn’t believe in the Boogie Man, the Loch Ness Monster, or Big Foot. Well, maybe Big Foot. She was too grounded for her own good. That’s why she had such trouble believing all this mumbo jumbo. If it had to be true, couldn’t there at least be a loving grandmother like Anastasia had? As much as she loved her cat, she longed for flesh and blood family. The evil King Heinrich didn’t count. From all accounts, he wouldn’t turn from the evil Darth Vader back into the loving father Anakin Skywalker. But Heinrich hadn’t hatched from an egg. Nor had her parents. Surely, there was other family. The demon spawn couldn’t have popped from thin air. But they could have been drawn from an artist’s brush. Chewing her lip, she mulled it over. A little faith was required for her sanity’s sake. This place looked real. It certainly smelled real right down to the dragon’s dung and musty beds. Lobo and the incredible way he made her feel, felt extremely, wonderfully real. Except for now, when he was breaking her heart… But it felt real. How she wished it didn’t. To test her theory, she entered his inner sanctum and touched him. Not his cock as she yearned to do, but lightly stroked the back of his hand, rubbing tiny concentric circles along his knuckles. His flesh was warm and firm, most certainly solid. Her fingers didn’t pass through him so he wasn’t a ghost or projected image. The testee in question looked down pointedly at her hand but didn’t move his away. That was a start. At least, he hadn’t jerked away as if burned. That was a good sign, right? Or it could mean she left him cold. Yowza! Why was she torturing herself? The man had turned into a statue, his heart cold stone. His cock flexed again and he grimaced. Not much, but just enough to tell her he wasn’t totally immune to her. Rather, he was an iceberg and with enough heat, could be thawed. She wouldn’t have to get out her chisel. She just needed to crank up the heat. Biting back a coy smile, she sidled closer and trailed her teasing fingertips up his arms and accidentally on purpose brushed her thigh against his burgeoning cock. Oops! He stepped backwards, his eyes growing wide. Was that panic she spied? If it was, it was laced with a healthy dose of passion.

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Her inner siren came out to play and she murmured seductively, “You’re not scared of me, are you?” Stud! She licked her lips very slowly, very deliberately, and drank in every inch of his glorious bod. With a tittering laugh, she pressed her lips against his burning flesh. “You’re obviously not repelled.” She cherished her superior knowledge. His love gauge told her all she needed to know and it was already a seven on a scale of ten and rising fast. “Rebecca…” His breathy slur of her name sent her senses reeling, snapping the last vestiges of her tentative control. Going in for the kill, she wound her fingers softly around his cock. “Uh huh?” So she wasn’t exactly the most articulate queen in the universe. There must be something to the whole nature versus nurture thing. “This is madness. We must st…” “Um… Madness…” Deliciously scrumptious, all-encompassing madness. Nothing even remotely clinical about it. She molded herself to him and swept her tongue along the rugged column of his throat. Heady power surged through her when he trembled against her and his cock hardened into a ten, maybe even an eleven. Dazed as much by her own blossoming siren tendencies as by his hypnotizing sexuality, she touched the tip of his penis. Ooh! His juices already seeped out, sweet and sticky. She lubricated his enticing length with it like massage oil. What massage oil? She wanted him to massage her all over with his special spices. “’Tis unthinkable.” His voice didn’t come out with nearly as much conviction as his words. “We are.” Silly man! The smoking gun sizzled in her hands. “You deserve far better…” Time to play her Queen of Hearts trump. “A queen deserves her heart’s desire.” Even secret, naughty pleasures. Most especially so. Being a queen had to come with some perks, surely. It couldn’t be all pomp and circumstance, duty, and dungeons and dragons. The creases left his brow and a sensual, knee-melting smile curved his cheeks. “What is your heart’s desire?” No way could she confess the whole truth that she longed for him to be her king, so she settled for her immediate desires. Punctuating her words with feathery kisses, she murmured against his so-intoxicating flesh, “Tonight in your arms.” Tucked securely against his heart. The odds of either of them surviving another rise of the moon was dismal. Their time could be up…

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She pushed away the frightening thought, determined to cherish every second they could steal. “Is that so much to ask?” “We might as well enjoy tonight, for tomorrow we shall d…” Clamping down on the ache crushing her heart, she put her fingers to his lips. “Don’t let us spend the night alone.” Cold. Lonely. Scared. If this didn’t work, she didn’t have a clue what would. She gazed deeply into the paradise of his eyes, willing him to accept her love unconditionally. “Follow your heart.”

***** Follow his heart? Lobo tried not to blink and reveal his confusion of heart. Did the siren realize what a monumental, impossible favor she asked? That was far more dangerous than overstepping his less than impressive station. Without a doubt, his sorry heart was cursed. She taunted curses and his reticence had nothing to do with her being queen when it came to his curse. He did not wish any evil to befall her, Rebecca, the woman who had scaled the wall he had erected around his heart. But she smelled so sweet like honeysuckle blossoming in the soft evening breeze and felt so very intoxicating his body refused to listen to his mind or his heart. It had a will of its own that would not be denied. Curses be damned! Too late to jump out of the way of this landslide called love, anyway. He would have to dig them both out. Right now, his sole desire was to plunge in headlong, the deeper the better. One look into the siren’s tempting eyes captivated him. She was not a siren, or a queen. “You are a witch.” That was the only explanation. She had bewitched him. But like a fool, he did not want to break the spell. He was well and truly caught in her silky web so he might as well give in to her, at least this one last night. At the rosy dawn of the new sun, he would work on getting her out of his blood. The impending joust would provide temporary appeasement. If he survived that, the following insurrection would keep him dutifully busy. Dipping his head, he teased the temptress, nibbling her lower lip, and then sucked it into his mouth. Again the inequity of their circumstances struck him and against her pliant lips, he murmured, “’Tis not fair.” She pulled back a fraction and slanted a questioning glimpse at him through her red-tinged lashes that cast shadows on her high cheekbones. How had he missed their glorious telling color before? “What’s not fair?” Her husky voice sent shivers racing down his spine. His gaze slid downwards to linger on the creamy swell of her breasts revealed by the low cut of her thin gown. He

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ran light fingertips along the edge of the teasing material and then tugged playfully at her coverings. “I stand here before you with my soul and body bared while you hide beneath your garments.” Her eyes turned into liquid cobalt smoke and her lips parted on a sigh. “We can’t have that, can we? Where I grew up we believed in equality of the sexes.” “How do you plan to set things right?” After her seduction, she had better not tell him to don clothing for he was not having it, queen or no queen. A man could only stand so much temptation and she had pushed him over that cliff long ago. She stepped back and started unlacing her barely-there gown, her gaze still dueling with his. “Help me take off these suffocating things.” Eager to see her naked, he lifted her robe and tossed it aside. Flickering candlelight adored her dusky vivacious curves. His breath caught in his throat at her loveliness. He could hardly wait to worship at her holy chalice. “You are not a queen.” Confusion etched on her exquisite features. When she wrinkled her pert nose, the light dusting of freckles came together in a fascinating pattern. “I’m not?” She didn’t sound very tormented. In fact, she almost sounded…happy. A primitive growl rumbling up from his loins, he shook his head and drew her inexorably to him, fitting her against his length. “You’re a goddess.” Stardust lit her expression and she pressed tighter—a perfect fit. “And you’re a god.” He couldn’t help himself. Sliding a finger beneath her chin, he forced her to look him squarely in his eyes. “Then stop worrying that I will get hurt tomorrow.” Torment shadowed her eyes and she swallowed hard. “Don’t spoil tonight by bringing that up. Let us have some joy.” Fool! He kicked himself. In the pursuit to ease her heart, he had accomplished the opposite. Women were almost impossible to understand and this one had a million added dimensions he hadn’t begun to understand. She may have begun her life on this world but the other one had shaped her. Their difference in station was far greater than that of queen and lowly commoner. It was more akin to the abyss between gods and mere mortals. Yet the gods of ancient mythology had oft taken mortal mates. Then they returned to their mount on high heart whole and untainted, shunning the heartbroken mortal, racking up another legend for their collection… Even forearmed with this knowledge, he could no more stop this brewing tempest then he could pull lightning from the sky. For tonight, he only longed to strip them down to their basic elements—that of man and woman. Cupping her rounded bottom with his hungry hands, moaning in ecstasy, he pulled her hard against him and rubbed his eager cock against her pussy. No woman had ever felt half so good.

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Letting the rapture work its magic, he closed his eyes and they rocked together. He wanted to feel her heavenly pussy with all his being, not let its royal color remind him of their unconquerable differences. Grr. He longed to blank his mind of all thought of Becca’s relation to the throne, of her duty and all it entailed. Mostly of how it spurned him whether she wished to admit it or not. “No more talk of gods and goddesses.” No more wasted breath talking. His lips had much more thrilling ways to communicate. Nodding, her lips parted in silent invitation. She wound her arms around his neck, pillowing her voluptuous breasts against him, their sweetly tight buds teasing him. Memory of their sweetness lingered and a sudden craving assailed him. Unable and unwilling to restrain himself a moment longer, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to his bed. Tenderly, he lowered her, laying her down in all her splendor. His ragged breath caught in his throat at the sight. The nymph beckoning him to join her was such a fascinating creature, not only outwardly, but also inwardly. From her icy cold blue-streaked blonde locks framing her face to her fiery red-hot pussy, she was a conundrum. As odd as her appearance, her soul was a thousand times more complex. And she was giving herself to him. What a gift! Every fiber of his being longed to become one with her.

***** Becca could scarcely breathe. Her senses were swamped by her lover’s nearness. She’d never been so turned on by any man, not even by Lobo himself. Every time they were alone, he burrowed deeper into her heart, melding with her soul. Desperate to fill the empty place only he could fill, she held out her arms. “Love me.” Hesitation flitted across his face and he stiffened. Yikes! His aversion to love was legendary. No man, not even twenty-first century players, were half so scared of the tender emotion. She wanted to throttle, yell, and scream at the lousy curse. She hated it with her whole being! Think fast before he retreated to his cocoon, idiot. “I meant make love to me,” she enunciated. To accentuate her plea, she reached out and stroked his penis. When he still didn’t join her on the bed, she climbed to her knees and kissed his velvety shaft. “So yummy,” she crooned, loving its salty muskiness. His eyes widened and then he relaxed, letting her draw him into her hungry mouth. Ravenous, she kissed and licked every rugged inch of him. This could be so much sweeter, hotter than her most explosive of dreams.

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His scent permeated her. His flavor coated her mouth, trickled down her throat, and became part of her. This man was her destiny. He was her other half whether or not he accepted fate’s decree. It was as if they’d been mated before, through time and eternity. He quaked and wound his fingers through her hair, holding her head gently but firmly. Just when he seemed to be holding her still for his final thrust, he pushed her back onto the mattress and plunged into her. She screamed her surprised pleasure, opening herself, no holds barred. Sweet fiery warmth spread through her and holding him tightly, she met him thrust for smoldering thrust. He plundered her mouth, drinking deeply of her as she greedily milked his seed. They writhed wantonly, sharing caresses unselfishly. Breathless from the onslaught of his kisses, a tempest raged inside and she smoldered. Surely the sheets would catch on fire. Her every nerve ending crackled. Flame licked her veins. Sizzling like dynamite, delicious orgasms exploded in allconsuming glory. When the tidal waves of rapture finally ebbed, she was spent, but exquisitely so. Reveling in being held in the tingly warmth of his embrace, she snuggled against him and laid her ear to his heart. Pressing her lips to his breast, she kissed it languorously as she stared out the high window at the star-sprinkled sky. She prayed his heart would beat so strongly, so surely this same time tomorrow night. The next twenty-four hours loomed darkly dangerous. They were on a roller coaster hurtling out of control with the brakes burned out.

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Chapter Seven Twelve hours later, strangling back hot tears, Becca kissed Lobo a tender, tremulous good-bye. The thunder of her fast-beating heart was louder in her ears than any real thunder could ever be. High above big white cumulus clouds were building behind the distant glittering peaks of the mountains. She knew he deserved a brave sendoff to his victory, not a clinging waterfall so she swallowed the lump in her throat and bravely lifted her chin trying to stand as stalwart as the far away mountains. “Please be careful.” Lobo grunted something incomprehensible, in a tone a million light years away from the previous evening. Instead of looking at her, his darkly brooding gaze roamed over the rolling green fields dotted with farm houses and grazing farm animals. Standing tall, she mustered her brightest smile. Her tongue ached she bit it so hard to keep her fears from tumbling out ad nauseam. She could only beg him to bow out of the deadly contest so many times before pushing him away. This primitive man excited her immeasurably, but he was much harder to figure out than his modern day counterparts. And they thought themselves so complex, so mysterious. Ha! This man put them all to shame—save perhaps Johnny Depp. Where had the intense feelings from the previous night gone? Buried deep inside him? Chained inside that fortress he called a heart? Or merely guarded by his armor? Olivard regarded her with misty eyes. “My dear, you exhibit an uncanny likeness to your grandmother today.” Huh? Didn’t he mean her mother? She volleyed with a quizzical uplift of her brow, a very bushy brow to be sure as she’d found nothing akin to a tweezers in this fashion desert. Maybe her hearing was off. Mangled was more like it, thanks to the unceasingly screeching dragons, hyper from their impending event. They still freaked her out, flying dragons on steroids. And Lobo, the Neanderthal, couldn’t wait to rush into their midst. He only thought he was a Knight Exemplar, the medieval version of little boys playing cowboys and Indians, cops and robbers. Of course he was doing this to save their worlds, to uphold her honor. The selfish dweeb. That made her the ungrateful one. Or an overly worried maid fearing for her man’s life. Could one overly worry about fire-breathing, man-eating monsters? Gigantic flying lizards? 103

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They’d been breathtakingly gorgeous from the safety of another world where they were mere figments of imagination. That was before they’d gotten up close and personal and put her on the menu. She watched with a worried heart as Lobo, Olivard, and a band of the Knights Exemplar marched down a narrow dirt road toward the castle until all she could see was a cloud of dust. She stared at the long green shadows of trees. Not fifteen minutes later Gizmo slammed down the rook he was moving and slid her a sly look. Twirling his whiskers with Machiavellian flare, he laughed. “Aha! Check.” Chafing, Becca peered at the impotent chessboard, wondering why they were dicking around with fake knights and kings when they should be in on the real action. With relish, she booted his rook off the board with her bishop. “You ready to blow this joint? What d’you say?” Gizmo jumped up, upending the chessboard, excitement gleaming in his luminous eyes. “Thought you’d never ask. Count me in, sister. Cat Bond 007 at your service.” “Quickly, help me get into disguise. I saw a servant dress somewhere in here.” Hopefully, they’d believe she was a washerwoman. Once he got the disguise in place, Gizmo stood back to admire his creation. Frowning, he puckered and unpuckered his lips. “They see that funky blue hair of yours, the gig’s up.” He tore a dull white bed sheet and wound it tightly around her head as a scarf. Painstakingly, he tucked every strand of loose hair securely under its band. Wondering what had ever possessed her to dye her hair so psychedelically, she nodded. At the time, it had seemed the in thing to do. Several of her office mates had streaked their hair with all colors of the rainbow. Jen had violet highlights while Stacy preferred cotton candy pink. “Not one of my brighter moves.” “Just behind buying that demonic TV that zapped us into the Dark Side here.” Gizmo’s eyes shot daggers at her. Since no twenty-first century home in America spurned television—well ninetynine-point-nine-nine-nine-nine percent of them anyway—she wouldn’t take the blame for that one. She held her hands out. “Uh uh. Don’t even go there.” Gizmo stood back and viewed her through a frame he’d fashioned with his paws. “You look like a fluffy snowman.” He’d tied pillows around her wait to enhance the costume. “Why thank you. Thank you very much.” Not! She could barely waddle with the excess padding. “No one will recognize you moving slower than an ox. Now, where’s my disguise?” He tapped his chin as his gaze roamed the room.

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“You could dress up as a Knight,” she drawled dryly. A teensy-tiny adorable Knight that would stand out like a dragon in downtown Fort Lauderdale. If a Knight’s uniform even came in miniature. Gizmo struck an offended pose. “Yeah, right. Let’s go for believable and we don’t have much travel time.” “Try going as a kitty cat.” “I am a cat.” Gizmo twirled around in his best runway model imitation. When he faced back again, he crossed his eyes and looked down his pink nose. “Exactly! They won’t be checking out cats—long as you keep your big mouth shut.” Gizmo scrunched up his face and whipped his tail back and forth like a lasso, scattering chess pieces into the far reaches of the chamber. “For that low crack, you can play super spy all by your lonesome.” She snatched him up and gave his head a noogie. “But what good is the bat guy without his sidekick?” “Mr. Big Mouth will not utter another word. No siree. Not another single annoying little word upon threat of death and dismemberment. No one can drag one out of me.” He made a big show of crossing his arms over his chest and jutting his nose high in the air as he turned his prickling back. Becca rolled her eyes. “I was just teasing.” Not really, but kind of. She wouldn’t have said it to be hurtful. He arched his wiry brow. “So I can talk?” “I’d nix the chatter. It’s a dead giveaway you’re not a run-of-the-mill tabby.” She crooked her finger at him to follow her. Gizmo raced in front. “Let me scout ahead. Wait for my signal.” She nodded and waited. Once outside the secret abbey, she stopped dead, simultaneously in awe of and horrified by the swarm of winged dragons blackening the sky like gigantic locusts. They wrestled in the air like rabid dogs, swirling and twirling like jet fighter pilots. She pointed at the clear blue heavens and said huskily, “Follow the circling dragons.” Gizmo glanced over his shoulder. “Mama…” “Mia.” Dread chased up her spine. “They’d never believe this back home. Did you bring your cell phone? We can click a pic.” Becca checked her pocket out of habit and then remembered she had no pocket and what’s more, the phone was safely locked away back in the abbey. The charge had probably run out and besides, it took really fuzzy photos. From this distance, a herd of dragons would look like a dust storm. “How ‘bout we rethink this cloak and dagger stuff? Leave it to Macho Man and Father Time?”

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Call her a twenty-first century diva but she never entrusted crucial, delicate work to men. “Because if they fail, the people back home will believe it.” Probably by this time tomorrow. “What I wouldn’t give for a couple Uzis right now.” Gizmo picked his way through the woods and kept glancing over his shoulder to make eye contact. Ditto. But they didn’t have so much as a sling shot. She’d thought about bringing a sword but she was in more danger of stabbing herself or her partner in crime than fending off a bad guy. When she fell behind, Gizmo waved her on. “Get crackin’. They won’t wait on our bad butts.” She grimaced when she tripped over a raised root that had been hidden beneath a mound of fallen leaves. “If you wanted me to be lightning fast you should’ve given me a maneuverable disguise.” Not that she was any gazelle either, but she’d be able to do tiny little things like, say, walk. “Complain, complain, complain. Guess now that you’re a queen, nothing will ever be good enough. Pardon me for living.” Oh god! Why had she been saddled with a neurotic cat? And Lobo thought he was cursed. Hmph! He should try riding herd on the furry one for a few days solo. No… Then he’d pick the dragons permanently. Speaking of the overgrown creatures, they no longer loomed as specks in the distance. Rather they glided overhead, so close overhead she could make out the blues and greens of their reptilian bellies and count the fine bones spanning their wings. Again she was awestruck by their hideous majesty. They were so close their band would be toast if one of them burped. A familiar tinny voice sounded off, “You have walked two-thousand-eighty-seven and four-tenths miles, fifty-thousand-nine-hundred-seventy-three steps.” “Shush! Silence that nutty contraption,” Gizmo hissed. Heaving a sigh, she reached down to turn off the inane pedometer. Then she stood transfixed, unable to exhale. Oh no! At almost the same instant, Gizmo turned and his eyes widened to silver-dollar size. They dominated his pinched apple-doll face, and he pointed a very shaky paw at something behind her. His mouth moved, his throat bobbed, but no sound emerged save a pathetic squeak. “It’s the dragon, isn’t it?” The snake that had swallowed her pedometer. Hopefully, all that flying had worn him out but she wouldn’t bet their lives on it. Gizmo nodded. “We’re in deep kitty litter. Make no spooky moves. Maybe he’s already had din-din.”

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She seriously doubted they fed the monsters before the joust. Who wanted to watch a sleepy tournament? And they were probably rewarded by being allowed to devour their spoils of war. At least she bet they weren’t flogged for grabbing a tasty morsel or two as long as it wasn’t one of the king’s favorite men. Something tapped her on the shoulder—something with a razor-sharp talon that pricked her skin and drew blood. Her heart crashed to her feet and she couldn’t exhale, about to drown in her stale air. “Don’t look now, but our ‘catma’ just ran out.” She hoped God could find her on this world and lifted fervent prayers. Then in the true spirit of a mother sacrificing herself for her child, she hissed, “Scat cat!” She mouthed silently, “Save yourself—bring reinforcements.” Reinforcements? If she wasn’t flash baked by the time they arrived, she could have been flown across country and she didn’t have any breadcrumbs to trail behind her. On second thought, like reinforcements would do her any good. Gizmo blinked several times as if signaling her in Morse code. As if frustrated no end, he spread his paws wide and then blew her a kiss. He might as well use sign language for she didn’t know it any better. She mouthed again, “Find Lobo.” Her scaly attacker picked her up and dangled her by a talon. She spun in midair like a Christmas tree ornament. Gulping, she almost swallowed her tongue. Now she knew what it felt like to be picked up by the scruff of the neck. “That’s no way to treat your queen, you big meanie!” When Gizmo hurled rocks at the fiend, he nearly missed hitting Becca. The dragon choked out a huh-like sound, and held her up to his face and peered at her. “What part of ‘keep your big mouth shut’ did you not understand?” she yelled at the loose-lipped cat as she tried not to breathe in the worst bad breath she’d ever encountered. Dragons had to be the smelliest beasts in any dimension. It must be all that indigestion from their internal furnaces. Pinching her nostrils shut, she breathed out of her mouth as she muttered, “Get some mouthwash, pal.” “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll get help.” Gizmo sped off, pieces of his fur flying behind him. “Hurry…” The stomping dragon just missed snagging his tail. The ridiculous pedometer chose that moment to blurt out, “You have walked two-thousand-eighty-seven and fivetenths miles, and fifty-thousand-nine-hundred-seventy-six steps.”

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“Shut up already!” She cursed the dim-witted gadget, hoping the battery fueling it would die a thousand excruciating deaths. The dragon glared at her as cross-eyed as the neurotic cat had done. Geesh! Now she had a paranoid dragon on her hands to boot. Wild Kingdom hated her. “Not you. I meant that chatterbox in your throat.” Her unappeased host closed her into his fist and took to the air, flapping his wings furiously. “I s’pose now is not the time to tell you I get air sick? Or that I don’t have a penny of flight insurance?” When her pilot ignored her, she pounded his back. “Maybe if you didn’t hit so many air pockets and tried to fly straight, I wouldn’t have to report you to the FAA.” The dragon turned its head and snarled at her and snorted flame from its nostrils. Okay. So that wasn’t a good move. She stilled her hand mid-motion. The dreaded gray castle walls of the king’s palace appeared out of nowhere below them as if it had been shielded. So, he’d bought her ten minutes. Tops. Eight high, round towers rose from the otherwise square castle walls. Most were stone, but at least two were older structures made of faded wood. Rows of armed archers stood on alert, keeping watch of the skies above and the rolling fields below. Sunlight glinted off the narrow moat winding around the whole of the castle, dividing it from the surrounding bright green farmlands. Show time! Drat. She hadn’t had a chance to freshen her lipstick in honor of her little family reunion with dear old Uncle Heiny. Correction to self—Darth Vader-Uncle Heiny. King her foot! The worm made a bumpy landing, creating a dust storm that obliterated daylight for several moments. Becca wanted to pinch off her nostrils from the smelly place that was worse than the dragon. Livestock roamed inside the stables, blacksmiths clanged out ironwork, soldiers practiced their skills, and children played oblivious to the adults. Fires burned. Water was dispensed from wells. Servants bustled about taking care of the personal needs of the household. The interior courtyard supported several timber and stone structures—workshops and stables. Various craftsmen worked diligently including men making barrels and still others who made axes and other ancient tools. Coughing, choking, she longed to be hosed down. Not only would it wash off the dirt but also she wouldn’t be crackly as kindling if he hiccoughed. “Padragin, what morsel did you drag home today?” A paunchy, gray-haired man gimped up and petted the dragon with great affection. A few red hairs intertwined with the gray in his bushy hair and beard. The dragon loosened its fist fractionally and nudged her with its stinky snout. Mewly grunts tumbled from her lips. 108

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The newcomer, whom she presumed to be her evil Uncle Vader, hissed in a harsh breath and then did a double take. “This rotund washerwoman is the lost queen?” He waggled a pudgy finger at the animal. “You’ve been imbibing on drunken villagers again, my friend.” The dragon grunted again insistently and ripped the makeshift scarf from Becca’s head. Becca’s hair tumbled about her shoulders in wild disarray. Smiling so tightly her teeth were in danger of cracking, she asked, “King Heinrich, I presume?” Darth Heiny turned greener than his serpent and his eyes bulged out of his skull. Turning to Padragin, he said merrily, “Excellent, Paidry. Leave her with me whilst you saddle up. Make haste, else you miss the commencement ceremonies.” Her uncle snapped his fingers and several armed soldiers tromped over, swords drawn, armor clanking, their frowns securely in place. “Should she attempt to escape or make a threatening move, you may enjoy her—in any matter you choose.” He licked his slimy lips. The men leered as her Uncle Dearest circled her, derision lacing his eyes. “There’s nary red a strand of hair.” Thank you, Miss Clairol! “See! ‘Paidry’ nabbed the wrong woman. We’ll forget all about this and I won’t sue if you let me go now.” She’d had enough of family reunions to last a dozen lifetimes. If this were a sample of her gene pool, Gizmo would be an only child. Her uncle stroked his whiskers and narrowed his icy reptilian eyes. “You speak with the coarse tongue of a peasant. You’re the witch. Tell me, which army employs you to spy?” Queen. Witch. She wished they’d make up their minds. She was getting royally dizzy. “No one’s paying me.” By now she was most assuredly royally fired. No way would the clinic take her back if she managed to cross the divide back to Earth. And if she tried to explain why she hadn’t called in sick, they’d take her to the first available straightjacket and engrave her name on it. Old Heiny lifted a white brow laced with wild red hairs. He could use some of her hair coloring. In fact, he’d really benefit from a Darth Vader mask. Unfortunately for her, the family resemblance was eerily unmistakable. “We have ways of persuading you to talk, witch.” Heiny faced off in front of her and clamped his fists on his hips. “The dragons get ravenous after the joust. My Paidry has her eye on you and I don’t deny her anything.” She knew the feeling. How else had she raised such a spoiled rotten brat? Only her brat didn’t burn down cities, eat innocent damsels, or mess up the jet stream. Her brat had a really sweet, adorable side, plus he made a terrific pillow.

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***** Squinting and cursing the wretched afternoon sun, Heinrich swiped the perspiration dripping from his brow and circled the stout witch who was chained to the strongest post his blacksmiths could forge. Doubts niggled as familiar expressions flitted across his prisoner’s face. Although his sister and brother-in-law had long rotted in their graves, some recollections returned full force. “You have a passing resemblance to Queen Cordelia so I can see why you may have been mistaken for her daughter. Of course, Cordelia was of much slighter build.” “I do?” The young woman’s voice rushed out on a breathless puff. Annoyance warred with intrigue in her eyes—also eerily reminiscent of Cordelia. “What was Queen Cordelia like?” The woman’s eagerness sounded genuine, further flaming his troubled suspicions. He should crucify her quickly rather than let her rot in the dungeon. The sooner her menace was erased from this world, the easier he would breathe. “Pray, why the fascination? Unless, of course, you are her offspring?” Pursing her lips, the dangerous woman glared mutinously. “No response? Tsk tsk. ‘Tis no way to show respect for your king.” The wildcat bared the most perfect teeth he’d ever seen and spat on his boots, spoiling their high gloss. Furious at her public show of disdain and the raucous laughter behind him, he swallowed the curses bubbling up in his throat. He intended to retain the upper hand in this battle of wits, to appear in control to his audience. Smoothing a lock of the woman’s strangely colored hair between his thumb and forefinger, he examined the course texture. Deliciously wicked thoughts germinated and his gaze traveled way south of her head. Although her legs could tell him what he needed to know, this usurper didn’t deserve such delicate respect. “There is another, better qualified place to see your true hair color.” All color drained from the woman’s face so that he was better able to denote a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her pert Cordelia-like nose. Cordelia had sported a dusting of freckles in her youth as well. Too many coincidences for his comfort were revealing themselves. Growing weary of this game, he snapped his fingers high over his head, and bit out imperiously, “Undress her.” His young squires ogled her and their respiration increased. The bolder of the two asked in a squeaky voice, “Should we take her inside to the maids, Sire?” He took profuse delight in the look of mortification that flew across the wench’s face and didn’t bother to rein in the hearty laughter that rose from his belly. “No, the body politic deserves to see her true hair color for themselves. Nor can I be accused of false maneuverings if we reveal her duplicity in this public forum.”

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“You’re more monster than that worm you call a dragon.” The prisoner broke free of the puny squires and kicked like a mad woman. One of his aides fell writhing to the ground. He clutched his ankle and wailed, “I think the witch broke it!” Thunderous rage shook Heinrich’s body. When his Knights clamped irons around her wrists, he marched forward and ripped the disguise until it fell in tatters around her feet, revealing a Rubenesque figure with flaming red curls covering her pussy. “As I presumed. None other than Cordelia’s daughter.” Bawdy remarks and thunderous clapping shook the stands. She held her head high and thrust her ample breasts forward as if she wore the finest purple robes fashioned of pure silk. “Are you going to strip and reveal yourself so they can ensure that your red hair is real, too?” Sickened by the vulgar suggestion, Heinrich marched up to his sister’s demon spawn and struck her with all his might. “Your tongue should be cut out for such irreverence.” A snort exploded from her lips. “And your actions befit a king’s?” How dare she mock him! Rage boiling inside, he roared, “I am the king. My word is law. You are but a worthless female.” She thrust her jaw several notches higher and regarded him down the length of her nose. “And you are a murderer, a shameful excuse for a human being. You murdered your own sister and her husband. You tried to murder me. Your people despise you. I see nothing to admire.” “Hurrah!” echoed around them. “Long live the queen.” “Down with King Heinrich!” The horrid clamor deafened and befuddled him. Terror welling, he spun on his heel and glared malevolently at the traitors. “I command you to quit cheering the witch. She is clearly an imposter—a spy sent from another world as a prelude to war. We must do away with our enemy.” With that, he pounced, stole the Knight’s sword, and lunged for the woman’s vile heart.

***** Leers, then cheers riffled the stifling stagnant summer air. Lobo reined his dragon around through the cover of fluffy clouds and soared back to the crowded event. Several dragons already circled in the air, their wings spread wide, fire belching from their flared nostrils. Two of the knights had commenced jousting, their spears held high. A deep frown furrowed his forehead that they had commenced ahead of schedule, not giving him the opportunity to take his place.

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People milled about like angry ants. Their shouts a din, no particular words were discernible from this great distance. His gut roiling, he flew closer. As his dragon dipped its wing, all hell unleashed. “Holy…” Had Olivard’s band met with discovery? Surely, they would have waited until the festivities were well underway, until the household staff had sneaked outside to observe the joust, the king none the wiser. No, the wise wizard would not jeopardize his mission. Nor would the Knights Exemplar. They were too well seasoned. Horrifying thoughts niggled at the back of his mind. No matter how he tried to banish them, they refused to depart. Becca and her buffoon of a sidekick would not have remanded orders, would they? Of course they would! Fool! They shunned sage advice, and instead listened to their own counsel. At those times, it seemed they shared half a brain cell. Olivard should have assigned a Knight, no, a band of Knights, to guard them under lock and key. The dragon finally flew close enough for him to observe what caused the commotion, and he swore loudly. “Saints be!” He should have locked her inside a chastity belt. Unless the king’s evil wizard played tricks on his eyes, Rebecca stood chained in all her naked glory before the bloodthirsty crowd, the Sun’s rays refracting off the bright red hair of her pussy. Heinrich was a dead man. He would feed him to his own dragon. When the king lunged at the chained woman, sun glinted wickedly off the silver of a blade. Lobo’s heart skipped several beats and he gulped in ragged breaths. The curse had found him again. This was his fault for falling madly, desperately, in love with Becca against all warnings to the contrary. No! He wouldn’t, couldn’t let the curse claim yet another victim, most especially not the woman who owned his heart as no other had or ever would. Becca twisted away as far as the chains permitted so that the sword plunged into one of the king’s wizards standing behind her. As the wizard fell in a heap to the ground, a pool of blood staining his robes, the king roared in a pained rage. His fists flailing, he ran straight at the woman. Panic chilled Lobo to the bone. Anguish mangled him. His Becca was in lethal danger.

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Disgust followed a close second that the monster dared call himself “king”. How could the ogre call himself a man, much less a monarch, attacking a woman, and a defenseless one at that? No time to land the dragon, he dove off his mount. With a blood-curdling war whoop he landed on Heinrich, crushing him beneath the force of his weight. The man’s bones crunched. Whimpers tumbled off his swollen lips. The Knights Exemplar burst into the melee, shields raised, brandishing their swords. Metal clanged in a deafening cacophony as they parried blade to blade with the king’s Knights. They seemed to be at a stalemate when Faylinn led the fairies into the fray. Although tiny, they darted between the Knights. A team of fairies wrapped chains around one giant Knight’s legs, until he stumbled to the ground. Another pair lifted a smaller Knight up under his arms and heaved him into a nearby lake. Yet others took up weapons and battled fiercely. His face purpling, Olivard scampered amongst the raging battle, dodging deadly blows, ‘til he reached Becca’s side. Tears pooled in his eyes that he sniffed back, as he covered her with his cloak. “By my lady. I’ve surely disappointed your grandmother.” Mere inches from Becca and the wizard, he wondered at the old man’s reaction. Puzzling… With a ferocious bellow, Heinrich slammed his head into Lobo’s. They wrestled on the bloody ground until Lobo wound his hands around Heinrich’s neck and squeezed with all his might until his reviled foe stopped struggling and his eyes rolled back in his head. “Enough! He’s lost consciousness.” Becca’s voice filtered through the fogginess of his brain as if hailing from a great distance. But he didn’t want to hear it. The man deserved to find himself in the belly of his dragon burning for all eternity. Breathing hard, he raised his fist to pummel the man to a bloody pulp. “Don’t do it, Davin. For me. Please.” For her? She was too soft for her own good, concerned for kin who had betrayed her and would happily make her immortal. So-called kin who would feed her to his beloved dragon or burn her at the stake. Alas, he was doing this for her. She would be far safer when Heinrich’s threat was but a memory. So would the world. His petty patience waning, he glared with all the hatred simmering in his gut at the odious face. His lungs ready to burst, his knuckles throbbing, Lobo lifted his gaze to her. So very beautiful. So very humiliated. How he wished to finish off the tyrannical brute, to keep him from hurting Becca. With one last final, longing look at the unconscious fiend, he flung him to the ground and forced himself to retreat. He prayed he did not commit a grave error to let

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this walking disease fester instead of eliminating him. He drew his sword and stepped over the limp body, glaring at the subdued king’s men, daring them to intervene. The thorn in his side materialized, his chest puffed out, his tail held high. He had the effrontery to sing out, “Gizmo’s here to save the day!” He ignored Lobo’s warning growl and continued, “Where’s the damsel in distress? Point me at her. I’ll rescue her.” Who would rescue her? He was the hero. The man desperately, hopelessly in love with her. That was his mission. And he’d already saved her. Becca lifted her hand as far as the iron cuff would allow and waved. “Yoo-hoo. Over here.” Lobo marched over and pulled with all his might at the chains that bound her, grimacing at the way they chafed her wrists. His protective instincts overwhelmed him as he never knew they could. Of all females to fall in love with, why the queen? He would never be brave or stalwart enough. His pitiable bloodline precluded his asking for her hand. Still, he would give his life to save hers a hundred times over. He would do anything, that is, except stand by whilst she was in peril. “You were ordered to remain in the abbey.” Gizmo whisked his tail to and fro and flattened his ears against his skull. “You have a lot of gall ordering the queen about.” The furry oaf had immense nerve breathing! When the cuffs failed to budge, Lobo gritted his teeth. “God’s thumb! We would not be in this unhappy predicament if you had stayed put.” “We thought you might need help.” Becca jutted her chin high and glared down her imperious nose. Gizmo’s whiskers twitched and his ears flattened against his head. “Yeah, pardon us for living.” He was not pardoned. Gray and haggard, Olivard bustled about, speaking in hushed murmurs to the king’s Knights. Then jubilance lighting his features, he scampered back jangling a heavy ring of keys. Inserting one key after another into the hole, he worked fastidiously. “We’ll have you out of here in no time, dear one.” Becca’s forehead puckered. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?” Lobo froze, wondering if she had discerned the battle of emotions crossing his face. This was not the time or place to confess undying love. Such an elusive time would never come as long as he was a peasant. “I, uh…” “Olivard?” she questioned softly. “I’m getting weird vibes from you. What’s going on that you’re not telling me? What did you mean about my grandmother?” Olivard’s brow furrowed. “Vibes?”

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“Strong feelings,” she supplied. Olivard found the proper key and the irons slid apart and clanged to the ground at her feet. He caught her when she would have pitched forward and hugged her fiercely. “My dearest one, I think I would have died if I’d lost you again.” Lobo pinned his gaze on the improbable couple and perked his ears to catch the new intrigue.

***** A few days later, Becca held her breath even though it scorched her lungs. The wizard had been casting strange, longing looks her way for several days. Could he be more than her parents’ trusted advisor? How much more? She burned to know. She bet herself on the answer and crossed her fingers behind her back. If her hunch were right, she’d jump for joy. She found him alone in the charming garden at his favorite spot on the wrought iron bench amidst lush and colorful hollyhocks, roses, and peonies. The curving edge of the flowerbed softened the angularity of the flagstone path that led to a rose-covered arbor. She approached him quietly and put a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “Why are you tearing up? Why would you have died again?” Olivard took her hands in his and hypnotically caressed the raw flesh of her inner wrists with his thumbs. For several long moments, he regarded their linked hands, and then he raised misty eyes swirling with love, relief, and much regret. “Because I knew your grandmother intimately. Much better than was proper.” Becca took a stab, starting with her number-three theory. “You were my grandmother’s trusted advisor?” Olivard glanced heavenward and smiled. “Arwen, I swore never to reveal our secret, but the time has come that I must sever that sacred trust. This holds far greater import.” What’s more important? Becca’s frustration chafed worse than the irons around her wrists had. “What trust?” “I can’t divulge that here. There is a sacrosanct ceremony planned. All shall be revealed in due course.” “Am I invited?” “As queen, and my… Yes. You will be the guest of honor.” Olivard blushed and looked slightly embarrassed. Shoot! He’d almost answered her question.

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Chapter Eight “Hurrah! Long live Queen Rebecca!” “Down with King Heinrich!” “Off with the king’s head.” The cheers, boos, and hisses spun in Becca’s head and she wavered, putting out a hand to steady herself. Frowning, Olivard inclined his head at Lobo and then to a private corner out of the sun’s final dusky rays of the day. “Escort her to comfortable quarters and bestow her with a spot of water to quench her thirst. I pray the unseasonably warm sunlight will not cause a chill on her stomach. She’s in no amiable condition to hold court. The people will have to understand. I’ll address the assembly.” Gratefulness welled in her heart. Whatever Olivard’s true connection to her turned out to be, he was a man of integrity and kindness. He’d forever gained her trust and thanks. Lobo, on the other hand, regarded her alternately with fury and tenderness, as if he didn’t know his own mind. Or perhaps his heart was the culprit. When she caught a glance brimming over with tenderness and a touch of protectiveness, her heart did a little jig and her pussy quivered. That was not the look a commoner gave his queen. It was the gaze of a man in love, if albeit, against his will. It was a start. It was more than a start. Now that the evil wizard Cyril was dead, Olivard had assured them Lobo’s curse had been broken. He was free to love. Now she just had to convince him that their stations didn’t matter, that she’d denounce the throne to be with him if that was the only way to be true to her heart— that he was free to love her. Lobo lifted her into his arms, cradled her against his chest, and marched forcefully to his mount’s side. Flickering emotions shadowed his face. “’Tis no place for my queen. Did they cause injury?” Merely to her pride. She shook her head. “Not seriously. My wrists are raw from the cuffs, and I’m sunburned in places I never would have dreamed of, but I’ll live.” “We’ll have Olivard tend to you forthwith. Can you hold onto me if we fly home? ‘Tis the quickest, safest way to journey.” He approached his dragon that turned its head and snorted miniature fireballs from its nostrils. He called that overgrown lizard safe?

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Her heart beating a rapid tattoo against her aching ribs, she eyed the snarling beast with much trepidation. Her previous rides had been anything but safe. Then she slid a glance at Lobo from beneath her veiled lashes. She trusted her pilot with her life and savored the opportunity to hold on tight, to lay her heart against his. “I’ll manage.” With a great gentleness, he lifted her onto the back of the dragon and then climbed on behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “I thought I was going to hold onto you.” She was getting a lot of terrific practice at that. “I think it will be better if I hold onto you.” He gazed down with a passion that stole her breath. Her toes curled deliciously and she couldn’t wipe the silly grin from her face. She nodded, not wanting to destroy the magic moment. She wanted him to hold on tight and never let go, no matter what bumps their ride had in store for them, long after they dismounted from his dragon. When her pussy slid against the scaly dragon, awesome, overwhelming sensations rocked her and a loud moan escaped before she could bite it back. She’d forgotten she’d been dispossessed of everything beneath her borrowed robes. As if she could do that now with the volatile man pressing against her buttocks and his arms brushing against her breasts. “Are you well?” Concern etched his husky tones and he tightened his embrace and fit her snugly against him. “Wonderful.” Better than wonderful. Meltingly, earth-shatteringly divine. “Are you ready?” Past ready! She squirmed deliciously, sensations burning. Becca took the opportunity to snuggle closer, to inhale his intoxicating muskiness. “Do you not feel secure enough?” A frown tinged Lobo’s voice. Secure in his strong arms with his heart beating a hypnotic tattoo against her, she wished she could stay by his side forever. “Um. I am now.” “Ready to fly?” Past prepared, she was primed for a rocket ship blastoff so she nodded. He squeezed his knees into the dragon’s side and tapped its flanks. “Take us home, Manasa.” The dragon grunted and spread its impressive wings. Its span was easily the length of a football field, making her feel insignificant in comparison. Almost… In Lobo’s hypnotic embrace, her every nerve ending sang. They performed a truly heavenly opera. A melting sorbet on the horizon, the last of the sun’s rays cast raspberry, peach, and strawberry streaks across the settling night.

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She gasped at the magnificent view from her heavenly vantage. As mysteriously magical as they were this night, the clouds couldn’t begin to touch the magic of being held in Lobo’s arms. “Breathtaking.” Lobo whispered huskily into her ear as his warm breath tickled it. Delicious shivers assaulted her from all directions. The dragon’s vibrations rubbed against her bare pussy, massaging her clit. Lobo’s whipcord thighs clamped against hers. His arms rubbed against her unencumbered breasts. His hair entangled with hers and whipped across her face as the soft summer breeze cooled her burning cheeks. Pure, undulating ecstasy filled her. “It’s magnificent.” So perfect. “Would you like to take the long way home?” A languid smile teased at her lips and spilled over into her heart. “Yes, please.” She never wanted this enchanted evening to end and burrowed closer. They soared higher and higher into the heavens and she reveled in feeling like a goddess. Up in the clouds, it was as if they had the universe all to themselves. “I can’t understand why you don’t spend all your time flying, it’s so magnificent.” She arched her neck to let the wind kiss it. “Man cannot live by flight alone,” he murmured against her ear, and then nibbled her lobe. His hand crept under her robes, his fingers danced around her thigh and sought her pussy. Quivering at his intimate touch, she leaned further back, giving him better access to her aching folds. His hand cupped her pussy and his thumb massaged her clit with a slow, sensual rhythm. Upping the tempo, he increased the pressure of his caress. Flying higher than the dragon, writhing wantonly against his hand, she surpassed the heavens. Lobo nuzzled her neck, his lips moist and feverish. He parted her pussy lips and delved a finger into her well. Ravenous for him, she ground her hips against his hand, driving him deeper. She didn’t try to bite back the moans rising from her core, but embraced them. “My head should surely be chopped off for being so naughty with the queen.” Lobo chuckled, a purely masculine sound. “Anyone who touches one hair on your head will answer to me.” She had total dibs on him, head, and everything else. He thrust faster and harder as the shimmery sun sank beneath the distant tree line. She went into meltdown, shuddering uncontrollably. Eons later, she floated lazily down from her cloud, sighing contentedly. “Thank you. That was magnificent.” He was magnificent.

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He rubbed his groin against her, the ridge of his desire hard and insistent against her back. “Shall we land?” That depended… She’d never be ready to land from this ecstasy, but yes, she was ready to dismount from the dragon and mount her stallion. Thrilling as their twilight flight had been, the prospect of flying high astride Lobo promised far brighter things. The imp inside her came out to play and she sensually rubbed her butt against his cock. So big, so hard. Ooh baby. “Ready anytime you are.” But Gizmo would be waiting to pounce the moment they returned to the abbey and she wanted Lobo all to herself. “Can we go somewhere romantic? Private?” Not that their sunset flight hadn’t been the most romantic episode of her life, but she couldn’t pleasure Lobo midair as he’d pleasured her. Besides, her fever climbed dangerously high again and she longed to be completely filled to overflowing by him. “Eager minx.” He turned Manasa and they flew toward the rising moon. “Um, very.” She sizzled, and his fingers playing with her wiry curls, grazing her clit, were about to hurtle her over the cliff again. But she yearned to come with him this time so she bit down hard on her lips to slow the ecstasy. How much sweeter and steamier it would be if he were inside her, their souls in harmony. “Lend me a hand to land her,” Lobo crooned against her ear. “Me? Steer a dragon?” Adrenaline and something akin to panic squeezed her heart. She bet it wouldn’t be like riding horseback. “You can do it. As queen, you shall have to learn.” Dismayed but intrigued, she fixated on the reins. That was in the queen rulebook? Not in any she’d ever heard of. And here she’d been worried about the pomp and circumstance, and most especially with fitting into the high society of lords and ladies. After today’s hideous introduction to her court, she suspected no rulebook could help. Who would respect her now? Uncle Dearest had seen to that. “I’ll have to, huh?” What the hey! Tonight was a night for thrills and revelations. If she could hold up her head while buck naked in front of the Royal Court, she most certainly could master flying a dragon. Lobo nodded soberly. “It will be part of your coronation ceremony.” “And I s’pose I’ll have to shoot a flaming arrow through a hoop, too?” Probably while on dragonback. At least she’d shot archery in summer camp so she could handle a bow. “What a strange notion. Your Earth has very peculiar customs.” Becca blinked and bit her tongue. Look who’s talking. She was staring cross-eyed at the back of a dragon’s head. And her adopted world was strange? Yeah right. “How ‘bout that romantic place?” She mischievously wiggled against him, rewarded when he pressed his incredible cock harder against her. 119

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A hard man was definitely good to find. That made Lobo absolutely stupendously great to find. “Patience, eager one. Wrap the reins around your hands like this.” He demonstrated. She was pleased to see it was the same as holding a horse’s reins. Emulating him, she took Manasa’s reins, feeling a lot more at ease than she had expected. “You possess natural talent.” “You’re a good teacher.” Why deflate his male ego? She didn’t want anything else important to deflate, either. It wouldn’t kill him if he didn’t know she’d hung out a lot at the stables during summer camp. Pride radiated from him and he puffed out his chest. Wow! Manipulating men was this easy? Heroes at that? Power surged through her. She was on top of the world in a hundred ways. “Pull the reins to your right. Slightly—so you do not jerk on Manasa’s neck.” Aye captain. She spotted the white caps of the ocean in the distance, and then the silvery moon reflected off golden sands. “Are we going to the beach?” Lobo nuzzled her neck. “You dictated romantic.” She pulled down on the reins, guiding Manasa to the brightest jewel of an ocean she’d ever seen. Not a speck of pollution spoiled the azure waters off shore. Awestruck, she slid off their mount and dug her toes into the glorious beach sand, still deliciously warm from the recently setting sun. Giddy, she stripped out of her borrowed robes and ran into the inviting waves crashing ashore. Opening her arms wide, she embraced the succulent tide. “It’s so incredible.” Lobo tethered the dragon and then began to shrug out of his armor. Divesting himself of his armor as he ran after her, he left a trail of the suit behind him. Moonbeams glanced off his long raven hair so that it gleamed blue-black. Laughing joyously, she splashed him unmercifully, and then turned and ran when a primitive growl erupted from his depths. “Betcha can’t catch me,” she threw down the gauntlet, hoping he’d catch her fast and have his decadent way with her. What redblooded man could resist such a challenge? A hunter, he really should find the dare irresistible. “Playing coy now, wench?” Passion darkened his eyes as he dove into the water and cleaved cleanly through it. Letting out a yelp of excitement, she struck out in a strong crawl, keeping parallel to shore. Although she couldn’t wait for him to catch her, she was having the time of her life taunting him. Why oh why hadn’t she been zapped into Lobo’s world years ago?

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She’d made it a respectable distance down shore from where Manasa was tied, when he caught her, scooped her into his arms, and hauled her against his chest. “You’re at my mercy now.” Water droplets clung to the tips of his lashes while others sparkled on his glorious chest. Lucky bastards. A sucker for temptation, she swirled her tongue around his male nipple, capturing the water on the tip of her tongue. Against his other nipple, she murmured huskily, “Have your way with me, master.” He quirked his brow and then a lopsided grin spread across his shadowy face. “Be careful what you wish.” She’d written the book on that one. At this moment, however, wishes looked pretty darn good. “I’ll take my chances.” He carried her to the water’s edge where he stripped off the rest of his clothes, spread them out on the shore and laid her down upon the makeshift blanket. The moon kissing his body, he really could be mistaken for a god. No king could compete. “Ravage me.” She held her arms wide. “Do not trifle with me. I could not stop the tide now if I tried.” Like she wanted him to? She wound her fingers around his and drew him down. Nothing and nobody could stop this now. Her heart was on fire, her pussy ablaze. “No one wants you to.” She spread her legs wide and parted her lips. Her eyes half-lidded, she didn’t care if all the love in her heart blazed in them. He was worth taking monumental risks. If she hit the love lottery, she’d die happy. He lowered himself on top of her, holding his weight on his hands as if doing pushups, the muscles in his arms straining impressively. His cock hovered above her, teasing and tempting, driving her crazy. He lowered himself ever so slightly so that it just dusted her unruly curls. Her juices flowed hot and heavy. She was so hot the water had already evaporated from her flesh. She lifted her hips, brushing her pussy against his cock. His grin faded as he pressed her down into the wet sand. He captured her lips in a searing, all-consuming kiss. His tongue pressed insistently against her teeth, pushing its way into the cavern of her mouth. Their tongues dueled as he molded her to him. His hand cupped her pussy and heated up her clit. When she thought she could stand no more and ground her hips against his, he plunged into her with a fury that stole her breath. She parried thrust for thrust, matching his frenzied rhythm. She was so close, so very very close to coming when he pulled out and off. Bereft and chilled, she stared in puzzlement.

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He stood on his knees and reached down to help her up. “Get on your hands and knees.” She licked her lips and drawled, “Bad boy.” So he wanted to do some dirty dancing. So did she. Desperately. The naughtier, the better. She got up on her hands and knees. Throwing a laughing, come-hither look over her shoulder, she wiggled her derriere in front of his face. “Have your wicked way with me.” “You’re the Queen of Lust.” Just for him. Forever for him. She inched back toward his pulsing cock that hung heavy with his desire. With a sexy growl, he splayed his palms around her waist and drove all the way into her. No one had ever driven so deep, filled her so full, and she screamed in ecstasy. “Faster! Harder!” “Not very greedy, are you?” Between pants, she admitted proudly, “I am—voracious—for—you—utterly— starved!” When he pounded into her, his balls slapping her buttocks, she screamed again. “Good thing we didn’t take this back to the abbey.” Another scream ripping from her throat, she nodded. Her breasts swung to and fro, her pert nipples skimming the sand. Quakes rumbled through her. Small and exhilarating at first, they built in intensity until the big one shook her to her core, threatening to tear her apart. “Stay with me,” Lobo ordered in a dark chocolately voice as he stroked into her with a savage force. She couldn’t to save her life. Shudder upon shudder shook her to her very foundation. He slammed her back against him and clamped her against his hips. Powerful shudders rocked him, rocking her with him. Finally, they fell onto the sand and rolled together laughing joyfully, kissing and nibbling. Rock and roll! What an Olympic event! She must have dozed in his arms for she awoke with a start when cool water crashed over them. Lobo hauled her to her feet. “High tide. ‘Tis time to head back.” She pouted and sidled against him as the murky waters swirled around their ankles. “Must we?”

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She voted to stay here forever. Her fierce independent streak slammed into the gooey warm feeling of being cared about again. The gooey warmth won out. Linking her fingers through his, she tugged him up shore to their discarded clothing. “I’ll drive home.” Home to Olivard and his secret. Her lust sated, she couldn’t wait to unravel the dear man’s mysterious words. She hoped beyond hope she was right.

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Chapter Nine As much as Becca itched to find answers to the question burning in her heart, her exhaustion took priority. The sun was high before she finally yawned awake. Rolling over, she deposited a light kiss on Lobo’s lips, so warmly, wonderfully inviting. If only she could awake by his side every morning for the rest of their lives. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t. A sleepy smile curved his cheeks and he wound a lazy arm around her waist and drew her back against his side. “Did you sleep well?” Once he’d finally let her sleep, which hadn’t been until the wee hours of the morning just as the sun was rising. “Very.” In the crook of his arm, tucked against his heart. “So where do we go from here?” She’d never been so bold before, but this man constituted her life. They’d shared so much and she felt as if she’d known him forever. His smile faded and his touch cooled several degrees. “I have no right to do anything but protect you. I should not linger.” She propped herself up on her elbow and gazed into his eyes. “Don’t I have any say in my own destiny? Can’t I choose whom to marry? I find you most worthy.” “Did you enjoy such freedoms on Earth?” She nodded. “Yes. They were called basic liberties.” In the Kingdom of Florida at any rate. He grunted and wrapped his arm around her when she lay down on his chest. Seeking to chase away the fingers of dread trying to strangle her heart, she strained closer. “Can’t a queen choose her own husband? I’ve not been coronated. Only a few know who I am. We don’t have to tell anyone and then we can be together.” His fingers rubbed hypnotic circles along her bare back. “I cannot be so selfish. Your people need you.” “You’re their hero. They need you, too. Surely, they can’t object to us being together?” “I cannot speak plainer. You fail to understand.” “No, I don’t.” And she never would. She’d rebelled before when the General had tried to run her love life, or rather, stifle it. Now it started to make sense why no one had met up to his impossible standards. He’d probably been instructed not to let her get close to anybody. He’d been keeping her on ice. “You owe specific obligations. Queens marry kings. Form alliances. Keep peace so the body will prosper.”

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She didn’t want to act selfishly, but she wouldn’t know with whom to make a strategic alliance, whom to trust to tell her. The only family she had left was Heinrich who’d been incarcerated in the dungeon, unless… She had to find out. “Let’s put this talk on hold. There’s someone I have to see.” This date with destiny was past due. Lobo frowned and lifted her chin so she was forced to gaze into his questioning eyes. “Who?” “Someone I hope will have the answers I need.” A cryptic answer to be sure, but she didn’t want to put this person in a publicly awkward spot if she was wrong or if he didn’t choose to confess. “Answers to what?” She bit her tongue, not yet able to share everything. Hopefully, someday soon. “I’ll tell you everything once I have it figured out.” “I’ll attend you.” Fierce protectiveness surged in his gaze and his muscles tensed beneath her. “No, my handsome Knight. I won’t be in any danger. Promise.” He was so sweet and annoyingly macho, simultaneously. Hating to leave him yet eager to shed light on this important part of her life, she dressed, and went in search of the old wizard, hoping he hadn’t departed. She found him in the serenely beautiful garden. An exquisite butterfly alighted onto his outstretched finger and he crooned to it, his fluffy beard bobbing gently in the late morning breeze. “How are you today, my little lovely?” Mesmerized by the beautiful sight, she froze, memorializing this moment for posterity. If he was… How special. Several glittery butterflies flitted about him and upon closer inspection she saw that several were miniaturized versions of Faylinn. Shimmering like stained glass, neon colored wings caught and refracted the early afternoon rays. “Come closer, dear one.” Olivard turned a smile infused with sunlight on her. His eyes danced merrily, the pirouetting fairies reflected in their twinkling depths. Venturing closer, she hesitated. What if he wasn’t whom she hoped and dreamed he was? What if her hopes were dashed? It wouldn’t be the first time. She’d survived a lot worse. Stopping by his side, she towered over him, peering down atop his cottony hair. Too tense to exchange banal trivialities, she plunged in with the question foremost on her mind. “Why do you call me ‘dear one’? Why did you apologize to my grandmother for not taking good care of me?” Olivard scooted to the side of the stone bench upon which he rested and patted the vacated seat. “You have need of the truth in its entirety.”

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Holding her breath, she nodded. Finally. Quivering, she felt as if she’d been waiting her entire lifetime for this moment. Folding her hands in her lap, trying to quell her quaking, she said, “Yes, please.” “Your grandmother and I were maddeningly, desperately in love. She was queen and I, her most trusted advisor.” He heaved a huge sigh and his shoulders slumped as if his spirit crumpled inside. “Alas, I was not worthy of her hand.” Becca listened with bated breath, her heart breaking for the star-crossed couple, so much like herself and Lobo. Again with the royalty and stations. She thought she would scream! Surely, that couldn’t be all there was to his elevated concern. Lending comfort, she covered the man’s withered hand with her own. The suspense was killing her and she willed the answer from his mouth. She had to know one way or the other. “Is there more to tell?” The old man shifted around and lifted sorrow-filled eyes, eyes that also vibrated with affection. “Your dear mother Cordelia was our child. Not that she ever knew. Arwen and I swore never to bespeak of this to anyone. She took the secret to her grave and I pledged to follow suit.” Becca cried out in joy and flung herself into her grandfather’s arms. Finally, someone to call her own, that she could grab onto and never let go. “I’m so glad you didn’t. You don’t know how very much I need you.” Desperately so. “And I you, child.” He sighed again, his countenance turning gray, his shoulders slumping more. “But we cannot tell anyone. It must remain our secret.” “Not even Lobo? Why?” Shadows flitted across his eyes and he turned his hand over in hers and squeezed it. He covered their linked hands with his other. “Only the Knights Exemplar have this knowledge and they are sworn to protect you and the secret.” The fairies buzzed about like fireflies, some so tiny they were as dust mites. “And the fairies?” He didn’t seem to mind speaking the truth in front of them. “Our society is exceeding rigid and your grandmother Arwen had the misfortune of being espoused to the king, a most monstrous beast who delighted in maltreating her. How I longed to whisk her away and protect her, but alas my powers were not great enough. I failed her.” Her grandmother’s husband sounded like a clone of Heinrich and she developed an instant extreme disliking for the fiend, even as her love intensified for this most precious man in her arms. She laid her cheek against his shoulder and remained in the circle of his embrace for indefinable moments. “You’ve never failed me. You’ve always been there.” Puzzle pieces started to fit together. She’d inherited the diabetes from Olivard. His knowledge of her world, his patient interest in her all made sense. He lifted his head and gazed adoringly, his eyes suspiciously shiny. “As I always shall.”

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He rose and squared his shoulders. Holding out his hand, he said pensively, “Perhaps there’s more I can do for you that I couldn’t do for myself.” Such as? She accepted his proffered hand and let him lead her into the dim monastery. It took numerous moments for her eyes to readjust to the gloominess so she made her way gingerly across the uneven stone floor. This world lacked so many of the amenities to which she was accustomed, and yet it held so much more than the one she was leaving behind. He opened a hidden door that revealed a secret passageway and led her down a spiral stone stairway. Torches attached high to the walls cast flickering shadows through the cavernous channel. “Watch your step. ‘Tis quite steep.” Not to mention narrow and slippery. One of the first improvements she’d suggest was a railing. She braced herself against the chilly walls on either side. The deeper they descended, the louder chanting grew, piquing her interest. “What is that, Grandfather?” She hoped he wouldn’t mind the endearment. It felt strangely wonderful formulating on her lips for the first time in her life. His eyes misted again as he gazed up at her. He put his finger to his lips and whispered, “The sacred ceremony I aforementioned. We have come in time to participate.” Stunned, she hesitated. “Me?” Didn’t one have to be initiated into secret societies? Even queens? “You were born into this one. Our sole purpose is to worship and protect you and your line. We have spent many a year trying to bring you safely home. I was beginning to feel most unsure of success.” Becca’s shoulders ached as the heavy yoke of responsibility lowered. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, she stopped short. Instead of Knights in full armor as she’d expected, the inhabitants of the room were completely naked, men and women both. Heat crept into her cheeks and she averted her gaze. Lowering her voice to a mere whisper, she said, “I can’t join in that.” The naked, expectant-looking bodies looked ready to erupt into an orgy. Olivard regarded her with loving patience. “They are worshipping the body, in particularly the sacred female. ‘Tis most hallowed.” She blinked. They worshipped the female in this macho world? “I don’t understand.” “Because the female is most revered, we must also protect her. This belief is at the basis of our religion.” And they worshipped her by making love on the group plan? As much as the idea of an orgy with so many handsome men was turning her on, as much as it made her

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long to ravish Lobo again, she couldn’t bring herself to voice her fascination aloud to her own grandfather. “’Tis no cause for discomfort. ‘Tis a most glorious celebration. Come see,” Olivard said in a melodious voice that reverberated through the chamber. She could see quite well from here, thank you very much. At least, she no longer felt mortified the Knights had seen her in all her naked glory in the middle of the king’s court. “If the Knights marry you and Lobo in this ceremony, no man can tear you asunder.” Becca’s pulse raced out of control. “I thought it was forbidden for us to marry. He’s not a king or of royal lineage.” “You have not yet been coronated.” The humiliating episode courtesy of Uncle Darth taunted her. Surely, gossip of her return had spread like wildfire. Juicy things like that always did. Logic evaded her and she frowned, trying to make sense out of the sketchy knowledge she had stored of this societal anachronism. “But you couldn’t marry Arwen. Why would it be different for me?” “My Arwen was already espoused. ‘Tis no divorce, especially not for a queen.” Her grandfather squeezed her hand. “You are not yet married. The people don’t know that. If you marry now, they will have to accept your holy union.” She glowed from the inside out. She and Lobo could be together! She couldn’t wait to tell him. Too eager to wait another minute, she tugged at her grandfather’s hand. Unfortunately, she didn’t know her way around this maze they called an abbey. “We have to find Lobo.” When they emerged from the passage, she almost tripped over the prowling Gizmo. The cat struck a defensive pose, crossing his paws over his chest. “I’ve been searching high and low for you, girlfriend, and you’ve been playing D&D.” He tried to peer around her legs down into the tunnel. “What’s that mumbo jumbo coming out of the walls?” Olivard sealed the door and then turned a steady gaze on the cat. “A sacred ceremony.” “Can I go? I like parties. They have lots of yummy table scraps.” “Not this time, Giz.” Just the thought of the ceremony made her feel totally pink from her head to her toes. Worse, her pussy quivered uncontrollably. Gizmo pouted, his eyes pooling with tears. “I never get to do anything fun. I’m bored.” “Why don’t you go outside and romp around?” Her precious baby could lie in the sun, roll in the grass, eat some bugs, and chill out.

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“With those big scary dragons flitting about? Think again.” “The garden’s safe,” Olivard said. “I think there’s some catnip.” Gizmo’s ears perked up and his nose twitched. “Catnip? Point me there, brother.” When Gizmo happily trounced off, his tail high in the air, Becca said to her grandfather, “You didn’t mention that Faylinn and company were outside.” Olivard grinned wickedly. “He’ll find out. It’ll give him something to chase, work off some of that excessive energy.” What about her excess energy? She wanted Lobo now. How she missed cell phones. They found Lobo practicing archery. He squinted down the shaft, one eye squeezed tightly shut, the other one narrowed. His muscles strained in his shoulders and then he let loose of the string with a thwap. The arrow flew true and split its brother already dead center in the bull’s-eye. Proud of his prowess with the longbow, Becca clapped and cheered. “Way to go, Robin Hood!” Lobo pivoted and checked out the surrounding area and then he regarded her quizzically. “Who’s Robin Hood? Do we have the honor of a guest?” Becca shook her head at herself. “Long story. I’ll explain later.” “I see you’ve not lost your knack with a bow.” Olivard beamed as if he were the archer’s mentor. “My survival has oft depended on it. ‘Tis necessary to keep my skills sharp.” Lobo slung his bow over his shoulder and joined them. “That was pretty sharp all right.” Becca thought the man keen all around. But suddenly shy, she bade her time. He’d never actually said he wanted to marry her if a way could be found. She searched her mind for a prelude. “You should be at the ceremony, son,” Olivard said smoothly, squeezing her shoulder in support. Lobo frowned. “I was not extended an invitation.” “Consider it extended. The Knights wish to honor a most worthy hero by having you join their society. ‘Tis a most rare and high privilege.” Lobo went down on bended knee before her grandfather. “I am most unworthy thus I cannot accept. Alas, I intend no disrespect.” But he must accept! Becca exchanged worried glances with her grandfather. She didn’t want herself and Lobo to become star-crossed lovers like Olivard and Arwen. “You saved the queen. You saved my beloved granddaughter. You are more than worthy.” Olivard put his arm around Becca and motioned for Lobo to rise. Lobo’s head jerked up, surprise flickering through his eyes as he gazed in awe from Becca to Olivard and back. “Your granddaughter?” Olivard and Becca nodded in unison. “He just confirmed my suspicions.” 129

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Lobo rose slowly, still looking dumbfounded. “How can that be so—if she is the queen?” A wistful smile curved Olivard’s lips. “I sired Becca’s mother, Cordelia, not the king. I’ve never divulged this secret to another living soul save the Knights who are sworn to protect the queen and her descendants.” Love swelling in her chest, Becca hugged the dear old darling. “I have real family. I’m so very happy.” Only one thing could make her happier. Lobo rocked back and forth on his worn boots. “’Tis good to know she will not be alone in the world.” “Alone?” The word tumbled off her lips. Her lungs seized up and she struggled to inhale. “What do you mean?” He cleared his throat, looking anywhere and everywhere but at her. “’Tis time for me to venture forth. If you know me as you say, you shall know I am a loner. My home lies far distant.” Her pulse skipped erratically. “But there’s no need to run anymore. Your curse has been broken. You love me and I didn’t die. You saved me.” Oh God! How much more pathetic could she sound? Never before had she begged a man to stay with her and she didn’t like herself much now for verging on it. Lobo grazed his knuckles along her cheek. “’Tis a very handsome thought, but I must follow the dictates of my conscience.” The big idiot had a chance now! He was clutching at excuses, the commitmentphobe. That or he’d been toying with her. “But last night?” Surely no one before had ever spent such a romantic evening and he wanted to throw it all away? Lobo glanced warily at her grandfather who radiated disapproval. “Resulted because emotions ran rampant. You nearly died. We shared an extraordinary felicity.” Obviously not extraordinary enough. She was through humiliating herself. No more groveling. “I thank you for saving me. You have my undying gratitude.” But her words were underlined by a chilliness that iced over her veins. They sounded robotic, dull, and insincere. She added as an afterthought. “We’ll have to present you with a medal and a cash reward for your valor above and beyond the call of duty.” Unable to gaze upon him another heart-rending moment, she spun on her heel with as much aplomb as she could muster, turning her back. The sooner he left, the better.

*****

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Lobo’s jaw started to drop as Becca quitted the glade. His traitorous heart pleaded with him to follow her, to beg her mercy, to vow undying love but he just stood and watched impotently as she merged with the dense forest shadows. But he held himself back with great restraint and he remained watching long enough that the blades of trampled grass caught by her footfall rose to their former glory. He was not worthy. The people would never accept him as their king. She was destined for great things. Olivard regarded him dourly. “Take a walk with me.” “I will not be swayed.” He stood fast and held his head tall. “Humor an old man. Hear me out.” The wizard came up beside him and put a fatherly arm around his shoulders and they began to walk. They strolled in silence for several moments through a field of wild flowers, the tension mounting. “Do you love her?” Lobo started. He had been expecting a lecture on their clandestine union of the previous night. It still could loom on the horizon. He searched his heart and nodded. “II think so.” Olivard laid a companionable, grandfatherly arm across his shoulders. “Does she make your heart sing?” A resounding “yes” shocked him. He nodded somberly. That still did not grant him the right to trifle with her life. “Have you felt that way before? Do you realize how rare that is? How few people find their soul mates?” Olivard tsk-tsked. “’Tis not something to take lightly. Not at all.” “But she’s the queen!” “A queen with common blood running through her. A woman in love.” Lobo took into consideration the source of this sage advice. The man who had disrespected Queen Arwen’s marriage vows, who had defied the king. A loving grandfather who wanted to make his granddaughter’s dreams come true. “I deserve the skepticism in your eyes.” Lobo pulled himself up short and pursed his lips. “You’re thinking I am the last person to offer advice. Consider this, my friend. True love cannot, should not be denied. Try and disaster will ensue. You have a golden opportunity to prevent it. Don’t wait too long to make the right decision. I promise you’ll regret giving up on it for so paltry a reason.” With that, the old man clapped him on the back and traced his granddaughter’s steps to the monastery. Lobo stood transfixed, gaping after him. Was he being a stubborn fool as Olivard had implied? Was he scared? Of love? Commitment? The monumental duties of a king? All of the above.

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He was filled with violence of feeling. The next king should be sure and stalwart. The world could not withstand another Heinrich. Becca deserved far better. He whistled for Manasa to take him from this place. Past time he resume his journey home.

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Chapter Ten The coronation was imminent and Becca couldn’t get excited. She felt lackluster. Worse, an aching emptiness haunted her ever since she’d watched Lobo fly into the sunset on Manasa. That had been well over a month ago and she’d heard no word from him. Her court pressed her to marry the Prince of their enemy country to bring about peace. She couldn’t continue to stall her coronation. She’d held onto the crazy hope Lobo would come to his senses and return, vowing his undying love. He’d done no such thing. She felt like a fool waiting. Gizmo leapt onto her lap and rubbed against her cheek. “Forget the dork.” “Believe me, I’m trying.” Becca sighed and folded the cat into her arms. “Try harder. If he can’t see how wonderful you are, he’s not worth another thought.” “You’re biased.” And she loved him for it. “I’m right. He’s a loser.” “No he’s not!” Just because he didn’t love her as much as she loved him did not make him any such thing. Gizmo sighed. “You’re a goner. I give up.” “Just because I don’t want to bash the guy doesn’t make me a ‘goner’.” “Whatevah! If you say so.” A knock rattled the door and her grandfather stuck in his head. “It’s time. Are you ready?” As she’d ever be. She nodded, unable to work up any enthusiasm. “Yes.” Gizmo screwed up his face. “Don’t do this. You’re the queen. You get to make the rules.” If only! What did it matter? Lobo didn’t want her. No one could ever measure up so she may as well do right by her people. Olivard bustled her to the royal dressmaker where her maids awaited. He seemed to be brimming with excitement even though he pretended to be just her advisor and still hid his grandfatherly status in the closet. Still, given his history, she’d expected him to be disapproving, even sad.

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“Lift your arms, Your Majesty,” the dressmaker said in a deep, gravelly voice. “We must pretty you up for your Prince.” When her maids and the fairies dropped the gossamer gown over her head and fussed about her, she felt like a dress-up Barbie. The dressmaker clucked her tongue as she gathered loose folds of material in her hands. “More weight gone. ‘Tis too rapid you’re losing. You must keep up your strength.” She’d been too despondent to eat. Gizmo had benefited from her lack of appetite though, and had packed on several pounds. “Brides are supposed to be svelte.” She was still a far cry from being slim but she was pleased to see the beginnings of a waistline. Heartache was the secret to weight loss. This was one secret she wouldn’t recommend, however. “Brides need their strength for the wedding night,” the bold woman crooned, sotto voce. Disgusted at the notion, Becca shuddered. Was this how Arwen had felt about her groom? She tried to anesthetize herself with thoughts of duty and drink. “Bring me a glass of strong brew.” Faylinn scowled. “’Tis a mistake. Your heart’s not in this marriage.” Becca chuckled without humor. “I’m the queen. Happiness and joy in marriage isn’t prerequisite. I’m a creature of duty.” Faylinn snorted and pulled Becca’s hair unnecessarily tight as she braided it. “First and foremost you are a woman and you shall well remember soon enough.” She didn’t want to remember. It ached too badly. She longed to be a rock. An unemotional, solid rock. “See? Even Miss Bug agrees.” Nagglepuss nodded his head emphatically. Faylinn snarled at the cat, baring her scary teeth. He snarled back. “Children! Let’s play nice. This is supposed to be a happy day.” She almost choked on the sickeningly upbeat words. “Try telling that to yourself, only you’d be lying.” Gizmo prowled about the room. “You have the remote now. It’s not too late to go back to Earth.” And leave her grandfather? Slink back with her tail tucked between her legs? “No. But you can go if you like.” “And leave you? Uh uh. We’re a team, remember? Like peanut butter and chocolate, milk and cookies, soda and popcorn.” The maids painted her face with berry juice and kohl, Faylinn finished fashioning her hair with ribbons and flowers, and the dressmaker helped her slip into matching satin slippers with the longest pointiest toes she’d ever seen.

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Gizmo’s eyes teared up and he sniffed them back. “You’re so very beautiful.” Like an ice princess. Beaming, her grandfather claimed her in his embrace. “You’re the vision of your grandmother. I’m so glad your hair has returned to its normal, regal red.” At least one of them was happy. Then Olivard stepped back. He held out his arm and she took it. In a trance, she let him lead her to the scene of the crime, Gizmo, Faylinn, and the fairies, trailing behind like a funeral procession. “The wedding will take place first,” Olivard said in low but vibrant tones, his head bent close. Uncaring, she nodded soberly. She just yearned for this dreadful day to end. When they entered the chapel, the Prince’s back was turned to her. He looked taller, broader than she recalled, but the lighting was dim and she’d only met him briefly once. The room was filled to overflowing by the Royal Court and the Knights. Lords and ladies turned at her entrance, oohing and aahing at her appearance. Bolstered a bit by their approving gazes, she squared her shoulders and whispered to her grandfather, “I’m ready.” Now or never. Gizmo whispered behind her, “Bombs away.” She stomped in warning for him to shut his trap. They were in church now, which called for reverence. Of course, her cat was her ring bearer. How reverent was that? Her granddad squeezed her arm. “You shall be well married. You shall see,” he whispered. Perplexed, she frowned at him. His eyes twinkled and he winked broadly. Then he inclined his head toward the altar. Her heart did a little flip as hope flared in her chest. When she dared lift her curious gaze to the forefront, she gasped. The groom had turned to face her. Lobo! And he winked. Her heart flipped over in her chest and in case she was hallucinating, she blinked. But he was still there when her eyes opened wide. “Did I not tell you it would be to your liking?” Her grandfather kissed her on the cheek. “Every Princess deserves a happily-ever-after.” “Amen.” Gizmo shouted, then clamped his hand over his mouth. He whispered, “Sorry! I’m such a sucker for happy endings.” So was she. She just wondered if she was dreaming. “Pinch me.” Gizmo reached over and pinched her ankle.

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Glaring down, she vowed payback. But not today. She was too giddy, too much in love. She only wanted to look at her sexy groom. Lobo mouthed, “I love you.” She mouthed back, “I love you, too.” Gizmo broke out in happy sobs. “Shush!” Faylinn hissed. “You dare pull my tail. You’re so dead, bug!” Faylinn bent over, hands on hips and stuck out her tongue at Twinkle Paws. Becca rolled her eyes. “Children!” In rapture, she floated to the altar. When Lobo took her hands in his, she almost melted. “How? Why?” His lips barely moving, he whispered, “Later.” They were anointed with ambrosia and olive oil. She inhaled deeply of the scent that pervaded heaven and earth. So excited she almost burst, she floated through the ceremony. “Bless these Rings, O merciful Lord. May those who wear them, that give and receive them, be ever faithful to one another, remain in your peace, and live and grow old together in your love, under their own vine and fig tree. May they see their children's children. I hereunto plight thee trothed under God’s holy ordinance. Amen,” the priest said in his rich reverberating voice. Lobo stroked her wedding band. He held her hands in his for several long moments, smiling into her eyes, but made no move to take her in his arms. “It’s customary on my adopted world to kiss the bride and seal the union.” Full of starry dreams, she gazed up at him, offering him her eager lips. Lobo enfolded her into his arms and they drank of each other as if neither wanted to let the other go. When the father cleared his throat, he relinquished her lips. The congregation tossed wildflowers as she and her groom ran down the aisle. He scooped her into his arms and cradled her against his chest. “Your noble steed awaits, my queen.” Manasa roared and flung her head. She thrashed her tail about, hammering the ground. “Are we going to fly into the sunset?” Unable to resist teasing her groom, she batted her lashes. He chuckled in such deep, husky tones that delicious quivers raced down her spine. “Our sun is just dawning.” How right he was, even if it was dusk. Unable to keep her hands and lips off him, she nuzzled his neck. “Where do we go from here?”

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“Your grandfather has summoned us to a sacred ceremony at the abbey. We are the guests of honor.” Oh oh… Was it a repeat of the earlier ceremony she’d witnessed? Manasa only flapped her wings a few times and glided the rest of the way. They soared through the heavens as Becca leaned back against her husband. Her husband. Exhilarated, she loved the sound of that. Mrs. Lobo. She giggled at her silliness. “May I share your mirth?” Her husband whispered huskily in her ear. Then the devil dipped his tongue in her canal and bathed it while he kneaded her breast. “I just love being married to you.” Close enough… “Care to tell me what changed your mind about marrying me, scary, evil queen that I am?” She squirmed against him, so feverish she might not be able to hold her floodgates until they joined the celebration. “Your grandfather’s advice finally sunk through my addled skull.” He kissed and licked the back of her neck provocatively. His fingers rubbed her nipples to tight peaks. She quivered with unrestrained, unabashed lust. “What profound advice did he offer?” He drew her closer. “That a powerful love is rare and something to be cherished for the majority of people never find such joy. That I would be most ungrateful and nonsensical to destroy us.” “And you don’t mind that I’m queen?” She held her breath. “I would prefer you were not but I shall not hold it against you.” Her heart sang joyously. She’d take it. Manasa started her descent and circled the abbey. Becca whetted her lips and asked huskily, “Did Olivard tell you about this sacred ceremony?” “Only that I shall be inducted into the Knights and their purpose is to worship the sacred female.” That was the one. Her pussy quivered uncontrollably. Several moments later, her grandfather embraced them at the entrance. “Welcome, my precious ones. Are you ready?” She hoped she was. Her nerves twittered at the prospect. “Do not be shocked, my children. This is a very ancient, sacrosanct ceremony. We believe the female is sacred and we worship her.” “Worship her?” Lobo’s brows rose and he sought Becca’s gaze. Tiptoeing up to her groom, tingling all over, she whispered in his ear, “They make love—in public.”

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Lobo blinked and a dazed look settled over his eyes. Then a slow, sexy smile dawned. His hands spanned her waist and he pulled her to him and kissed the tip of her nose. “Should this be your wish, I concur.” “We’re the guests of honor. We can’t possibly refuse.” “I should think not.” This queen stuff was getting fun. “As king and queen, we must perform our duties.” “And we must perform well.” Lobo nodded, stealing steamy kisses all the way to the ceremonial chamber. No problemo. Not with him as her leading man. Her husband was knighted and the sacred ceremony was explained. Electricity hummed through their linked hands. Every nerve ending arcing, spitting sparks, and she could barely stand still. Her grandfather, the master of ceremonies, announced, “We are here to honor the union of our queen and our new king. We vow our eternal loyalty and will give our lives for theirs, for the safety of the Kingdom of Templar.” He turned to Becca and Lobo and nodded. “My son, you will worship your queen for the first time as her husband, for all the knights to witness. In this way, your bonds will be sealed for all eternity.” Lobo whispered in her ear, “Are you truly okay with this?” Becca’s blood thrummed through her veins and she slid a glance at the audience of knights. Her voice sticking in her throat, she nodded. Olivard tilted his head to her new husband and folded his hands atop his sacred journals. “You may proceed.” Even though the king had stripped her naked in front of a crowd once before, she was alternately embarrassed and so turned on her juices flowed down her thighs. “They’re waiting on us,” she murmured to her husband. Well aware the spotlight was on them, her in particular, she made a show of shimmying out of her bridal gown and then inching her panties down her legs. Her nipples beaded into tight nubs and her pussy ached to be filled, to feel the friction of the sacred dance. She’d never been idolized as a sacred symbol before and she was in awe, greatly humbled, and quivering decadently all at once. To her husband, she whispered seductively, “Time to earn our keep.” Passion darkened his eyes as she unleashed his magnificent cock and stroked it, worshipping it. Collective breathing grew raw and ragged, and she looked up to see all gazes in the chamber focused on them. Several of the men stroked their own straining cocks as they gazed with awe at her pussy. For a woman who had never garnered much male adulation, she was overwhelmed by their lusty reaction.

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Her grandfather stepped near and cleared his throat. “Partake of the chalice, Your Highness.” She was the chalice? Her grandfather added softly, “This is purely religious.” Religion had never captivated her so and she felt way more wicked than sacred. Deliciously so to be sure. “This is how the Knights form such a strong bond with you that they would lay down their lives to protect you.” Maybe she should stop feeling so sorry for Arwen. If this custom had been handed down through the generations, her grandmother’s life hadn’t lacked adventure and fun. Lobo stroked her hair lovingly. Against her lips, he murmured, “I am more than agreeable.” Before she could nod her agreement, he laid her back onto floor cushioned by many thick quilts and drove into her with a fervor never before exhibited, sizzling hot as they’d been together. He plundered her lips even as he worshipped at her altar. Looking around at her Knights, she saw them pumping their hard cocks. Droplets of glistening seed clung to the tips of some. Still others moaned loudly as their white cream seeped over their hands and coated their shafts. She’d never seen such a variety of cocks—black, white, long and thick, short but wide, long but slender, freckled… Lobo’s thumb massaged her clit with increasing urgency, making her squirm wantonly, shooting her temperature into the stratosphere. “If this is how excited this makes you, I wish we’d married long ago.” “Long ago…” She danced with him, merging hip to hip in a frantic, frenzied, exquisite rhythm. Greedily, she squeezed his thick cock with her inner walls, milking every luscious drop of his seed. She licked his chest, sprinkled with coarse, sexy hair. Not too furry, just enough to tickle her nose. His tremors sent ripples of feminine power through her. His moans crooned to her as no love song ever could. His cock drove into her with an insane urgency that shot ripple upon ripple of undulating rapture through her. Shooting stars blazed across her heaven. Screaming wildly, she pounded her hips against his. Her love drove into her one last time, and held her impossibly, incredibly close as he quaked in her arms. Lowering his lips, he brushed hers tenderly. She savored his lips, his cock, and their holy union. Heart-to-heart, soul-to-soul, she gave herself to him completely. Incredibly, their bond was stronger, unbreakable. No woman could dream of a hotter, more fulfilling honeymoon. Forget sun-drenched Jamaican beaches or snowtopped mountains. 139

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“Oh where, oh where did my sweet Becca go? Oh where, oh where can she be?” Gizmo’s sarcastic voice echoed through the hallowed chamber. Fear gripped Becca’s heart and her eyes widened painfully. She scrambled to find her gown. “Gizmo can’t see me this way!” Lobo laughed heartily and grabbed her back against him. He nibbled on her breasts and slid a finger into her pussy. “For sure he is a tomcat. Trust me, he does not have virgin eyes.” Moaning, she opened herself fully, completely to her husband. He was absolutely right. “Love me.” “Try and stop me.” He ravaged her with such a stormy force the Earth quaked. Enraptured, she forgot everybody and everything else existed.

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Chapter Eleven “Francis, the farmer,” Gizmo announced, bowing low with a flourish. “He wishes to show his respects to Your Queenship.” “Your Highness,” Lobo whispered loudly, his lips twisting into a scowl, and the furrow between his brow deepening. Becca bestowed an adoring smile on her kitty. He wouldn’t be Gizmo if he were perfect. Even though he’d been the first royal kitty for almost a month now, he was having trouble getting the hang of his new status. With lots of love and indulgence swelling in her heart, she nodded to him to continue. “You may approach the throne, Francis the Farmer.” Squawking pealed from inside the burlap sack flung over his shoulder. He stopped a few feet before her and opened the sack from which a scrawny chicken and fuzzy rooster strutted out. “A token of my gratitude for delivering us from the evil King Heinrich, Your Highness. I hope you will find them worthy for your chicken yard.” Olivard nodded approvingly and leaned forward. “Such a robust rooster should have a voice to match. Our present cock has grown old and crotchety. He can barely raise his voice, much less the household.” Cool! A medieval alarm clock. Feeling truly special, she beamed at her presents. This was like having Christmas every day. The rooster crowed and then charged at the chicken. In a tizzy, the hen squawked ferociously, fluttered its wings madly, and flew at Becca’s face with its talons extended. With a squeal of her own, Becca covered her head with her arms and ducked. On all fours, she scrambled behind her throne to take cover, wondering if any other queen in history had ever humiliated herself like this. Someday, she hoped, she’d take furious birds in her stride. She and winged creatures were still dueling it out. Except for her precious Manasa. Okay, so it was a very dysfunctional Christmas. “I’ll save you!” Gizmo leapt into the fray and chased the fowl around the royal chambers. The poultry screamed their outrage as they fled Gizmo’s clutches. Feathers flew. They collided with each other, and with the courtiers who shrieked and scurried to the exit. So, who was going to save Gizzy? “Whoa mama! This is great exercise! Better than a treadmill.”

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Okay, so Gizmo didn’t need saving from the birds. He only needed deliverance from her. Enraged by Gizmo’s cavalier attitude and monstrous behavior, Becca stood as regally as she could with a flock of chicken feathers entangled in her hair. One fluttered off the top of her head and into her mouth. With an angry puff of air, she blew it away. “Cease and desist this minute! They are not your personal trainers.” So pale he looked about to faint, the farmer chased the chickens. He was so tall and gawky, and his clothes so large and baggy, he looked like a scarecrow come to life. Panting, holding his stomach as he fought to drag air into his lungs, he said breathlessly, “My apologies, Your Highness. I am so very sorry to have been the cause of this melee. I should have kept my offering tethered.” “It’s not your fault,” she said, trying to regain her graceful composure, while inside dying of embarrassment. When her glance fell on the real troublemaker who was having the time of his life, she seethed. Once and for all, her child was going to learn manners! This was no way for a member of the royal family to behave. She thanked God there were no paparazzi or press to capture this shame on film for posterity. Growling, Lobo caught Gizmo by the scruff of his neck and let his feet dangle mid air. “Since you so very much aspire for more exercise, I shall consign you to the dog pen.” Uneasy tingles permeated to her toes. Her husband’s expression was more murderous than when he’d faced Heinrich. Certainly, Gizmo needed more discipline, but that punishment would be cruelly inhumane. When Lobo winked surreptitiously, she breathed in a huge sigh of relief. She hadn’t misjudged her husband after all and felt a twinge of chagrin that she had for so much as a second. Then she gave herself a break. She’d had a lot to wrap her mind around and she’d adapted to her new responsibilities well over all. Even the Windsor family had their occasional mishap. It wasn’t the end of the world. Gizmo gulped and covered his eyes with his paws. His fur spiked out and his ears meshed to his head. Then he tentatively held up one paw. “Don’t throw me to the dogs. Scout’s honor, I’ll be a good boy.” She backed out of her hiding place and rose to her full height as regally as possible. She cursed silently that her crown had slid down the side of her head and anchored around her ear. With a self-conscious laugh, she pushed it in place. “Please apologize to Mr. Farmer.” Lobo lowered him to his feet and gave him a gentle nudge. “I entreat you to do as your queen commands.” Gizmo nodded somberly. His ears slowly pointed to the ceiling and he padded over to the farmer and lowered his face. “I’m sorry for frightening your gifts. My animal instincts got the better of me. I won’t do it again. I beg your forgiveness.”

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The farmer smiled and color infused his cheeks once again. “I accept your apologies, Sir Gizmo.” He turned to Becca and bowed once again. “Long live the queen. You own my undying loyalty.” “Thank you.” Running on empty, she desperately needed to refuel. Thankfully, the farmer was the last in a long line of well-wishers so as soon as he departed, she could sink into oblivion—for the night, at least. The man departed, his tattered clothes flapping behind him. Exhausted, she sank to her throne and let out a loud whoosh of relief. “Please tell me no one else is hiding out there waiting for an audience. I’m bushed.” Olivard peeked outside and shook his head. “Nary a soul. Court is now officially pronounced at an end for the day.” She loved her people, but hallelujah! She loved her family more. Her husband gave her a long, meaningful look and rejoined her. Passionate promise danced in his eyes as he leaned over her. Against her lips, he murmured, “You display great wisdom and compassion. You are a magnificent queen.” Her grandfather squeezed her hand and beamed with pride. The corners of his wizened eyes crinkled and iridescent tears welled up in them. “The image of your grandmother.” Becca felt a blush rise from her throat into her cheeks. “I wish I could have met her.” “Look at yourself and you shall know her. She lives on in you.” Not used to receiving such lavish compliments, she glowed at his sincerity. “Truly? I resemble her?” “Inside and out, precious one. Especially now you’ve let your hair return to its glorious red.” She fingered her silky tresses. It had taken several months to grow long enough to cut off the dyed atrocity. Thus it was much shorter than that of any of her subjects. More and more of them had taken to cutting their hair and emulating her. She’d never been a trendsetter before. Better than being a trendsetter, however, she had a tangible link to her ancestors. Putting a brake on the mutual admiration society, she forced her mind back to business. The sooner they took care of business, the sooner she could lavish her attention entirely on her very sexy hubby. “Reports? How’s my kingdom faring? Any imminent wars?” Olivard drew out a scroll and cleared his throat. He lifted his chin so that his long beard bobbled in rhythm to his lips. “Your subjects and your neighboring kingdoms are supremely cheered that King Heinrich remains in the dungeon. The Knights Exemplar have encountered no threats, disagreements, or skirmishes.”

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She tried to remember her checklist of items. “Good. How do the people fare economically? Are the poor receiving enough nutritious food? Have the poorhouses been abolished and the prisoners freed?” Olivard’s smile broadened and his eyes twinkled. “Their tables floweth over with abundance. Your irrigation techniques and greenhouses have increased our food supply. The fish hatcheries were a touch of genius, if I may so boast of my granddaughter’s brilliance. Thank you.” She struggled not to blush again at her grandfather’s sumptuous praise. She wished she could take credit for such inventions, but she was only borrowing them from the world that had raised her. Still, she would accept credit for implementing them. “You’re most welcome.” “Are we free yet? Court was pronounced adjourned.” Passion clouded her husband’s eyes as he gazed intensely into hers. Her breath caught in her throat. “Why? Are you hungry? I can summon the royal cook. We can snack on fruit and cheese before dinner…” He nibbled on her ear. “I am most ravenous—for you. Cook packed us a picnic hamper that is already strapped to Manasa. I thought we might enjoy a moonlit banquet at our private beach.” Becca tingled all over. She could never resist a moonlight ride on Manasa, especially if it ended at their lover’s hideaway. She laced her fingers through her husband’s and rose. Tiptoeing up to him she pressed her lips to his. Huskily, she murmured, “What are we waiting for?” Gizmo jumped into her arms and fluttered his stubby lashes. “Take me. Take me.” “It’s your bedtime.” She kissed the tip of his furry head and affectionately swatted his feline behind as he jumped to the floor. Olivard made a show of yawning. He patted his mouth and mumbled, “I’m going to grab a spot of dinner and then retire to my chambers. You are welcome to join me.” “’Tis our bedtime,” A slow smile tugged at Lobo’s lips. Gizmo winked. “Oh! Why didn’t you say you were going to make whoopee? You don’t have to hit me with a brick wall.” To the wizard, Gizmo said, “I thought no one would ever ask. I’m starving to death! Let’s leave these two lovebirds alone to croon and swoon. I think they’ve forgotten our existence anyway.” Olivard crooked his finger to the cat as he exited the room with a knowing grin. Then he put it to his lips. “Shush. Let’s not break the spell.” Gizmo sniffed back tears and swiped at his widened eyes. “I’m so happy for them I want to cry. They’re so beautiful together.” “Forthwith!” Olivard scooped the cat into his arms and strode away, his long robes whooshing around his ankles.

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Make-Believe Lover

Almost as soon as their shadows faded from view, Manasa’s bellows rattled her bones. Becca lifted her head from where she’d tucked it against her husband’s warm chest. “That’s our cue. She’s anxious to fly away and if we don’t hurry, she’s going to start without us.” “Heresy!” Lobo waggled a brow and cast a smile full of sexy assurance. Gazing deeply into his soulful eyes, she felt herself drowning. Quivering with anticipation, she licked her lips seductively. “Definitely not. We can’t miss our bedtime.” Serious heat shimmered in the depths of his eyes and an especially fascinating bulge strained against his pants. He tightened his fingers around hers and pulled her quickly behind him. “I am not sleepy.” Eager to get back to their honeymoon, she skipped to keep up with his long, purposeful strides. “Neither am I.” Not at all.

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About the Author Whether it’s strolling through the worst slums of the Third World to serve the poor in her day job, marching in the Mardis Gras parade representing the US Air Force, falling off horses in the middle of riding competitions (while she’s trying to impress a really handsome real-life hero), or spending unforgettable romantic afternoons on the sun-kissed Biloxi beaches, Ashley Ladd lives for romance and adventure. Wanting it all, Ashley is not content to sit back and watch life pass her by. Her lifelong quest is to find the perfect hero, run faster than a speeding locomotive, stop speeding bullets, fly through the heavens—oops, that’s her really top top secret identity. Like herself, her heroines often do crazy things like fall off horses at the worst possible moment leaving no choice but to laugh at themselves as they blunder their way through this, or far-distant, crazy mixed-up worlds. In the end, dreams come true, the handsome hero falls madly in love with the heroine, and all is right with the universe, crazy as it may be. Ashley invites you to come sit a spell at her cyber home, read her oh-so-scintillating blog, and find out the latest news about her books, awards, and contests at: www.ashleyladd.com. She also loves to receive email from her fans at: [email protected] Ashley Ladd welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1056 Home Avenue, Akron, OH 44310-3502.

Also by Ashley Ladd American Beauty And Lady Makes Three anthology Blessed Be Carbon Copy Civil Affairs Price of Fame Purrfect Justice Sex Kittens anthology

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