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  Kissed by Ice

  Sunwalker Saga, Book Five

  Copyright © 2014 Shéa MacLeod

  Published 2014 by Sunwalker Press, Clackamas, OR, USA

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover art: Amanda Kelsey of Razzle Dazzle Designs

  Editor: Theo Fenraven

  Proof Reading: Jenx Byron

  Formatting: PyperPress

  License Notes:

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  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without express written permission from the publisher. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, resold (as a "used" e-book), stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  Acknowledgements

  A big THANK YOU to Bonne, Ed, and Xtine who read one form of this story or another and gave me their honest (and sometimes brutal) feedback. If it wasn't for you, this book wouldn't be half as good.

  A thanks to my super awesome cover artist, editor, and proof reader who put their hearts and souls into their work. You guys are awesome!

  And, of course, a super big thank you to my family and friends, who put up with my foibles and fripperies on a semi-daily basis. Without your love and support, I'd have never gotten this far.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to those who give their lives every day to protect us from the monsters. Thank you just doesn't seem like enough.

  Previously…

  I'd just stepped out of the shower in my Paris hotel room when my laptop chimed. Someone was trying to Skype me. I quickly threw on my robe and wrapped my hair in a towel before answering the call.

  "Eddie!" I smiled as his face appeared on my screen. The connection was a little iffy, the picture and sound freezing and jumping around. "How are you? Aren't you on that steampunk cruise in the Caribbean?" Eddie Mulligan, my friend and the owner of a new age shop in Portland, was a steampunk enthusiast. I hadn't expected to hear from him while he was on his cruise.

  "Yes, in the Bahamas. Morgan, listen carefully. I…" The image froze for a second. "… danger. Discovered…" It froze again, this time for longer. I uselessly thumped the side of my screen as if it might help.

  "Eddie? Are you there?"

  "Need…help. Come quickly…dead."

  "What? Eddie? Oh my gods, what's happening?"

  There was a bit more jumping around of the screen, and then it zoomed in on one of Eddie's bespectacled eyes. "Hurry, Morgan. If you don't, we're all dead."

  With that, the connection dropped entirely. No matter what I tried, I couldn't get him back.

  I stared at the blank screen before giving myself a mental kick in the pants. I had to get to the Bahamas as fast as I could. I started running around the room, grabbing my things and throwing them randomly in my suitcase.

  Airport. I needed to get to the airport. I could use the private plane Jack and I had taken to France. What island? I needed to find out where the ship was and fly to the nearest island. But what cruise line had Eddie taken?

  Jack. I needed Jack.

  I dashed out my door and down the hall to pound on his door. "Jack. Jack! Are you in there?" There was no answer. "Dammit."

  I ran back to my room and grabbed my phone. I noticed I had a voicemail, but I didn't take the time to listen. I needed to find out where Eddie was. Before I could dial, it rang. I frowned, not recognizing the number. I did recognize the country code, though. It was someone in the UK.

  "Hello?"

  "Morgan? This is Drago."

  "Drago, hi. Listen…"

  "I need you to come to Scotland as quickly as possible."

  "I can't." I tossed a boot into my suitcase, then pulled it back out when I realized I'd need to wear it. "I have to catch a flight…"

  "Yes, you do. To Edinburgh as fast as you can." I heard the urgency in his voice, and my blood ran cold.

  "What's wrong, Drago?"

  "It's Inigo."

  Chapter One

  "What is it? What's wrong with Inigo?" I gripped the phone so tightly I could hear the plastic cracking in protest.

  "Just come, Morgan. Quickly."

  "What's wrong with Inigo?" I practically yelled into the phone. Drago didn't hear me. He'd already hung up, leaving me about five seconds from a full-blown panic attack.

  Screaming just about every cuss word I knew, I continued throwing random items in my suitcase. I knew I was freaking out, but I didn't know what to do about it. Eddie was somewhere in the Bahamas dying or something. The love of my life was lying in a death coma in the Highlands of Scotland from which he may or may not ever emerge. I needed to be in two places at once, and my so-called Sunwalker guardian, Jack, was nowhere to be found. I let out another shriek of frustration as I slammed my bag closed and zipped it shut. What the hell was I going to do?

  Deep breath, Morgan. Deep breath. I forced myself to think somewhat logically. Kabita, my best friend and boss at the so-called private investigation firm where we both worked (it was in reality a front for our true activities: hunting vampires, demons, and other things that went bump in the night.), was still back in Portland, and she was a hell of a lot closer to the Bahamas than I was, so I dialed her number.

  "Do you know what time this is?" She sounded like death warmed over. Kabita was no more a morning person than I was. According to my calculations, it was about four a.m. back in Portland.

  "You need to get to the Bahamas."

  A moment of silence. "Good morning to you, too, Morgan."

  "Eddie's on that damned steampunk cruise, and he called me. Something about people dying. He needed me to come urgently."

  "So I need to come why?"

  "Because," I said as I grabbed my bag and headed downstairs to get a taxi, "I have to go to Scotland."

  Another beat of silence. "Inigo."

  "Yes."

  "Is he…?"

  "I don't know," I admitted. "All Drago would say was to come. He hung up before I could get anything else out of him." And for that I was seriously going to read him the riot act. I mentally sent the dragon king a few choice mental curses.

  "What about Jack? Can't he go?"

  "I can't find him. He disappeared a few hours ago and he's not answering his phone. Besides, you're closer. I have a feeling this thing with Eddie is time sensitive." Understatement of the year.

  There was a beat of silence. "I'm on my way."

  "I don't know what cruise line he's on."

  "I'll figure it out."

  I knew I could count on her. Outside the hotel I hailed a cab and spent the entire cab ride on the phone with the airline.
An insane amount of money later, I was in possession of an e-ticket for a flight to Edinburgh. An hour later I was through security and found myself strapped into the world's tiniest seat on the world's smallest airplane.

  I closed my eyes as another air pocket sent the tiny plane-let plummeting toward the earth before it bounced back into place. The arm rests dug into my hips and my lower back already hurt from the odd curvature of the seat backs. I muttered a few choice words under my breath. If I ever got my hands on Jackson Keel again, I was going to kill him. Granted, he'd just come back to life—the immortal bastard—but it would still hurt like hell. He deserved it, the big jerk. Making me fly commercial. When I got my hands on him….

  I shifted uneasily in the narrow seat. There was so little padding, it was only marginally better than sitting on a cheap metal folding chair. My butt was going numb. Scratch that. My butt had gone numb thirty minutes ago, and it was starting to ache where I'd busted my coccyx during a Hunt over a year ago. Damn vampire had jumped out of nowhere and sent me flying flat on my ass.

  If Jack hadn't vanished from our Paris hotel, I'd be on a private plane right now. One with cushy seats and no need to explain my suitcase full of weapons. As it was, I'd had to leave everything behind at the hotel, along with a hefty tip so they wouldn't do something like call the police or try to sell my knives on eBay. Thanks to Jack I was not only freaked out, but weaponless, devoid of cash, and airsick.

  I fidgeted with my cell phone, anxious to email Kabita. I wanted to check if she'd landed in Miami yet even though I knew she was still in midair. There was no point in calling. And besides, the plane-let didn't have that nifty mid-air Wi-Fi the big planes had these days. Stupid cheap-ass airline.

  I tried to entertain myself with all the ways I was going to throttle Jack when I found him, but all I could focus on was the Skype call from Eddie, followed by the phone call from Drago. Had I made the right choice?

  The tiny aircraft hit another air pocket, sending my stomach soaring into my throat. I swallowed back the bile and started calculating the various ways to kill a vampire. Anything to distract myself from the thought of heaving up my last meal. Hey, whatever works, right?

  The minute the plane touched down in Edinburgh, I was out of my seat and collecting my bags. Fortunately I hadn't brought anything that needed to be checked. Customs was slow, but pretty much a breeze, and soon I was headed through the terminal toward the taxi stand.

  "Morgan? Morgan Bailey?"

  I turned toward the voice, surprised to hear someone call my name. He was tall. Probably six foot four or so, and built like those big-ass guys who throw trees around at the Highland Games. His hair was red, and his skin was that warm golden brown studded with freckles that some redheads are lucky enough to have. His eyes, like mine, were green, but where mine were kind of a cool ocean green with a bit of gray, his were the warmer mossy green of the forest.

  He held out one very large hand. "Finn Campbell," he said, giving my hand a good, hearty shake. I caught a whiff of campfires and vanilla. "Drago sent me."

  Of course. He was dragon kin, but not related to Drago and Inigo. Men of their line had a hint of chocolate to their natural scent. "Hi. Nice to meet you."

  He took my bag and ushered me toward a black Mercedes with an almost courtly air. It was very old school, but it was likely Finn himself was old school. After all, dragons lived for centuries. He may not look a day over thirty, but he could have been around when the first European settlers set foot in the Americas.

  "What's going on with Inigo?" I asked once we were inside his car. "Is he all right?"

  Finn gave me an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. There is nothing I can say."

  That was a weird way to phrase it. "Nothing you can say? Or nothing you will say?"

  "I've got my orders."

  I quite possibly said something rude. He ignored me.

  "You might as well get comfortable," Finn said, unperturbed. "We've got a four-hour drive ahead of us."

  "Can't you just fly?" I asked. "It would be a hell of a lot faster." I'd flown with Inigo before when he was in dragon form. It was a little on the chilly side, but crazy fast.

  Finn shot me a sideways look. "Can you imagine the reaction if the locals saw a dragon flying around in broad daylight?" His heavy burr was tinged with amusement.

  "Okay, good point," I admitted with a sigh.

  "Why don't you try and get some sleep?" Finn suggested.

  It was my turn to give him a sideways look. Was he serious? My mind was a whirlwind of worry and fear over both Inigo and Eddie, and Finn expected me to sleep? What did he know that I didn't? My stomach started churning again. Gods, I could use an antacid. Scratch that. An entire bottle of them.

  The drive was an exercise in both self-control and mental torture. Self-control in that I didn't puke all over everything—hurray for motion sickness—and mental torture in that I couldn't stop thinking of all the possible things that could be so very wrong that Drago would need me to drop everything and rush to Scotland. But finally, as the car rounded a final bend, the castle that was the dragon kin stronghold came into view. The car slid beneath the ancient portcullis and came to a stop in a cobbled courtyard. The stone keep soared above us in a display of looming intimidation, the dark stone gloomy against the overcast sky. A few pots of what looked like they'd once been pansies lined the sweeping staircase that led to the front door. Unfortunately, it looked like someone had taken a blow torch to them. I supposed that was the danger to any plant life in a fortress full of dragons.

  "You go ahead," Finn said. "I'll make sure your bag gets to your room."

  With a nod of thanks, I swung open the car door and stepped out into the cool Highland air.

  # # #

  "Morgan." Drago stood at the top of the front steps of the castle, bracketed on either side by a pair of massive carved stone dragons. He was in human form, but his eyes glittered an eerie gold as they caught sunlight. His dragon was close to the surface. But then, it always was. That was why he was king.

  "Drago, what the hell is going on?" I demanded as I jogged up the steps to join him. Despite barely coming to his shoulder, I propped my hands on my hips and glared at him.

  His smile was a little tight. "I think you should see for yourself." He turned and strode into the castle keep, clearly expecting me to follow.

  I assumed he would take me to the caves where the dragons kept their healing eggs. I remembered very clearly the last time I'd been there. Inigo had been inside one of those eggs for the last few months, healing from having his heart practically ripped out of his chest. Instead Drago lead me down a long hall deeper inside the castle. Other than the occasional electric sconces, the hall was nearly dark. On either side of the hall hung portraits of what I could only assume were previous dragon kings or council elders. They were exquisitely painted in bright colors, each housed in a rich, gilt frame. I stopped to peer at one and realized it wasn't gilt at all, but pure gold. Maybe the legends about dragons and their hordes weren't that far off.

  Overhead the ceiling soared in a series of high arches that would have done a gothic cathedral proud. Hanging from each beam was an elegant chandelier dripping with crystals. I wondered vaguely if they were real crystals or if they were actually diamonds. I wouldn't put it past the drags. The floor was of simple stone but covered over in thick, lush Persian carpets. From what I could tell in the dim light, they were old and handmade. Probably worth a fortune, like the gold frames and the chandeliers.

  It felt like we walked for ages before Drago took an abrupt right onto a wide flight of stairs leading upward. The stone steps had been left bare, and I saw slight depressions in the center where generations of feet had tread the same path over and over, wearing down the stone. The electric sconces continued up the stairs, but these had been turned off. Instead, tiny rays of sunlight trickled through extremely narrow windows high in the stone walls. I remembered those windows from other castles I'd visited on my historically inspired
rambles back when I had time for such things. They were arrow slits.

  At the top of the stairs was another wide hall. The walls were lined with elegantly carved wooden doors. The floor was stone, covered with thick rugs like below, but the stone walls had been plastered over and painted with brightly colored murals. Here there was a thicket of trees, a dragon's tail sticking out from between the trunks; there a patch of bright blue sky with half a dozen dragons in flight, each of them a different color, scales shining in the light of the painted sun. The artwork was beyond breathtaking to the point of being magical. The dragons felt almost alive. My fingers itched to reach out and touch their shimmering scales.

  I wondered what the hell was going on. Why had Drago brought me here? Where was Inigo?

  Halfway down the hall, Drago stopped and rapped gently on one of the doors. It swung open to reveal a woman dressed in purple scrubs, her gray-streaked hair scooped up in a bun. On a black cord around her neck hung a gold medallion with a symbol in blue enamel: the Eye of Horus. A symbol used by healers and mystics since the days of ancient Eygpt.

  "My lord." She gave Drago a slight bow.

  "How is my brother?"

  "Quiet. More at ease than since he first woke."

  "Inigo's awake?" I moved forward, trying to push past Drago and the woman, but he held me back.

  "Morgan, this is Dalinda. She is one of our healers."

  Dalinda shot Drago a look before reaching out to shake my hand. "Among normal people I'd be called a doctor, but you know how dragons love their traditions."

  "Doctor?" I asked. "Why does Inigo need a doctor? What is going on? Is he okay?"

  Drago and Dalinda exchanged another look. "Like I said, you should see for yourself." Drago waved toward the open door.

  With a glance at the two of them, I stepped inside. The room was even darker than the hall. Heavy drapes had been pulled over the large window opposite the door, and the room was nearly overcrowded by an enormous four-poster bed. I moved closer to the bed, straining, despite my superior night vision, to make out the figure huddled under the blankets.