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fisted it into a ball that he stuffed in her mouth, stifling yet another attempt

to scream. “There. That’s better.”

Immediately, she began to twist and turn frantically attempting to get up.

Holding her down, Balor sighed. “I paid for sex and I will have it.” He paused

and reached for a cigarette lighter lying on the bedside table. “However,

since you are not cooperating with me, I’ll have to up the anty. Don’t worry,”

he said as he flicked the lighter and applied the flame to her buttock’s crack,

“I’ll pay more.”

He laughed as her body tensed and shuddered from the searing pain,

shoulders shaking with sobs as she made incoherent sounds behind the gag.

He drove himself in, past the scorched flesh and pumped forcefully, her

helplessness driving him to near frenzy. He was about to explode when she

went still.

Cursing, he stared at the back of her head. The bitch had passed out! Where

was the fun of inflicting pain if she couldn’t take it? Damn stupid whore.

A knock on the door diverted his attention and he glanced at the clock.

Lucifer—Lucien these days—was early. Quickly, Balor lifted his eyepatch,

sending a flash bolt to the whore’s head, immobilizing her.

He withdrew his still throbbing cock and walked to the door, not bothering to

close his robe as he opened it.

His brother stood in the hall, grinning cockily. “I thought when I heard the

thumping stop, it’d be safe to knock.”

Glancing up and down the hall, Balor gestured him in. Lucifer glanced at the

girl lying on the bed and the scanty amount of clothes on the floor. “A

street-walker?” he asked as moved toward the bottle of brandy on the table

and picked up a glass. Holding it up, he grimaced at the water spots. “At

least you didn’t take her to your hotel,” he said as he poured himself a drink.

“Do you think I’m stupid? I don’t leave trails. When we’re finished here, you

can have her.” Balor narrowed his eyes. “Why are you dressed like a cop?”

Lucifer shrugged. “It was the easiest way to get to the crime scene last

night.” He ran a hand through his short, blond hair. “Hated having to get the

haircut though.”

“It’ll grow back. Anyway, it makes you look less like a college kid.”

“That’s my cover, bro. No one suspects a fresh-faced surfer dude to be the

devil.

Although,” he added with mock self-depreciation, “mortals attribute far too

many of their own short fallings to me.”

“Never mind mortals right now.” Balor poured himself a glass and sank down

into one of the two chairs the room had to offer and motioned for Lucifer to

take the other. “Let’s talk about dragons. How the hell did Sigurd get loose?”

“Beats me. All I did was thaw him out from the frozen tundra Brighid

encased him in.”

“Don’t mention that bitch granddaughter of mine,” Balor said angrily. He still

had a hard time believing that a goddess had the power to exile him from

Avalon. He was a god! Or, at least, he had been. And, he would be again,

once he got possession of even one of the relics. He took a deep breath.

“Do you know where Sigurd is?”

“Nope.” Lucifer swirled the last of his brandy. “Actually, I prefer he stay

away from me, since Tanio is his maker.”

“Tanio is a fire-god. Fight him with your own.”

“Not so easy to do. He rules the element. I’m just a fallen angel residing in

hell.”

Balor snorted. “You’re a demon, but that is neither here nor there. We

cannot allow the dragon to shred people to death and leave their corpses in

plain view. Especially not right in front of that idiot philanthropist’s house!”

Lucifer shrugged again. “Well, you told him to keep an eye on Smith’s

place.”

“Only because my human minions can’t seem to do a good job of it!” Balor

said with venom. “We’ve already lost the Spear and the Sword due to their

incompetence. We have got to recover the Platter.”

“How do you know the Platter will be next? The Grail is out there and, if

memory serves, it has a way of resurfacing at odd times.”

Balor sighed. “Sometimes, I wish you had paid more attention to those

damn esoterical teachings on Avalon. If there is one thing you can count on

those holier-than thou priestesses doing, it is working within the confines of

universal order.”

“Yeah, well. I didn’t care too much about rules and order.”

“I remember, but even we cannot change the natural procession of life. We

can make lives miserable and we can create chaos, fear, and pain, but we

can not change the natural procession. Life flows clockwise. Birth, like the

dawn, begins in the east where the Spear was found.”

Lucifer yawned and poured another brandy. “Is this going to take long?”

Balor glared at him with his good eye. “As long as I want it to. Understand?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I’ll spare you the whole metaphysical crap.” Balor leaned forward and took

the brandy away. “The Sword was found in the south at New Orleans.”

Lucifer’s eyes glowed red briefly before returning to the bright blue he

preferred. Deliberately, he picked up the bottle and took a swig. “So let me

guess. You think the Platter is in the west somewhere?”

“Yes.” Balor sat back, scowling. “I just do not know where in the west.”

“And you think the anonymous John Smith will have the next clue?”

“It seems logical. He got his hands on the Templar manuscript and then the

damn warlock provided him with the second clue. Why wouldn’t the third

clue find its way to the eccentric fool?”

“Maybe he isn’t as foolish as you think,” Lucifer answered. “Light travels to

those who seek it.”

Balor stared at him and set down the brandy glass. “Light? You think white

magic has something to do with this?”

“The old gods left those relics on earth to protect mortals against us, didn’t

they?” Lucifer grinned as he retrieved his drink. “I did pay attention to some

of the lessons—a really hot, little priestess was teaching that one.”

Balor laughed. “I hope you succeeded in screwing her. That would be

ultimate justice.” Then he sobered. “You know damn well the power in those

relics is neutral. Whoever has possession has the power to use it as he will—

and I do not plan for white magic to play any part at all.” Not when he could

wreck complete havoc on the planet and bring it close to Armageddon. He

felt himself grow hard at the thought. Too bad the slut was still out cold.

“We can not afford to lose the Platter.”

Lucifer sipped more brandy. “Well, you’ve got Caldwell installed at Smith’s,

supposedly writing Smith’s memoir, haven’t you?”

“Yes. I was rather persuasive in explaining to Caldwell that he had better be

willing to suck the man’s cock to get back into that house after he so

foolishly got himself thrown out over that fencing incident with Smith’s vet.”

Balor smiled. “I also reminded Caldwell that I know exactly where his elderly

mother lives. Just like I know where Toby Clark’s frail, invalid sister lives.”

“Spare me the details.”

“Was Clark there last night?” Balor asked. “I got him that job at the paper

for a specific purpose.”

Lucifer nodded. “Yeah, he was hanging around the edges. Don’t think he had

the stomach for the bloody pulp though. There was a pretty hot chick with

orange hair, too. Maybe I could work that lead.”

“Right now I don’t want you directly involved, bro. We’ll use Clark and

Caldwell—and Sigurd, if we can find him.”

“I have a feeling he’ll find us soon. Dragons like affection and he seemed

really taken with your little witch, Morgan.”

Balor raised a eyebrow. “Well, maybe Morgan will have a second use then.

I’ll make a call. I need some good service anyhow.” He glanced at the whore

on the bed and stood to walk to the door. “Take care of this little matter, will

you?”

Lucifer watched him leave and sighed. He was getting a little sick of taking

care of his brother’s loose ends. He looked at the woman who was groggily

coming out of the stupor Balor had put her in. She wasn’t half-bad to look

at. Maybe he’d give her a good screwing before he left her for Sigurd to find.

Chloe meant every word she said about wanting to discover why Jake had

been killed, but standing this close to Gavin—practically leaning over him in

Mr. Smith’s parlor—she caught the subtle scent of expensive cologne and

something more. Something raw and earthy and all male. Damn. This guy

made her tingle all over. He was way more sexy than James Bond. And that

dark seductive look he’d given her—half-hooded, intense, yet sensual—she

could practically feel herself pressed up against him naked. At twenty-eight,

sex was not a hang-up for her, probably due to the fact that her mom had

no idea who her father was and it had never really mattered.

And Gavin was doing it again—giving her that penetrating look that made

her want to step even closer—and then he turned his head away. Losing his

gaze was like having cold water splashed on her. She sat down in the other

chair in front of Smith’s desk.

“Who was your friend out there?” Gavin asked.

Chloe swallowed hard and tried not think about what she had seen. “His

name is Jake Baxter. He was a sharp reporter, but a gentle soul underneath.

Kind of a beta-hero.” Not at all like the sexy, leonine hunk sitting in front of

her—she’d bet Gavin was all alpha-male.

Gavin’s eyebrow rose. “Were you lovers?”

“Of course not! He was happily married with kids. I so do not go there.”

“Any idea why he would be in an up-scale neighborhood like this? This is

hardly a place to look for crime.”

“I’m not sure, but I think Jake was still trying to get an angle on the dragon

story from a few weeks ago. I mean, like how often do people see dragons

flying around? I didn’t believe it myself.”

“But why look here?” Mr. Smith asked.

“Sophie Cameron was your veterinarian, wasn’t she? And it was her clinic

that the dragon descended on. Then she disappeared and so did the dragon.

Or, at least, it hasn’t been sighted. I think Jake was just following up on any

leads, trying to find a loose thread somewhere.” A thought struck her and

she widened her eyes as she looked at Gavin. “Did the red dragon do—do

that horrible—that horrible—”

“It may not have been a red dragon,” Mr. Smith said hesitantly.

She switched her focus. “What? Are you saying there’s more than one

dragon

loose?” She noticed Gavin had riveted his full attention on Mr. Smith too.

The man almost seemed to shrink behind his desk.

“Well, Sophie mentioned when she called that some huge, white thing had

swooped over Charleston while they were there and someone had spotted a

white sea monster near the Florida Keys. She also said an old fishing guide

in New Orleans had mentioned flashes of lightning when the night skies were

clear. Michael McCain thought it might have been an old Saxon dragon.” Mr.

Smith looked a bit smug as he opened a drawer and pulled out a manila

folder. “I am quite intrigued with the Dark Ages and the medieval period so I

did some research.” He shuffled through the sheets and extracted one. “I

was going to ask Michael about this when they got back, but—” For a

moment he looked sad and then he brightened. “I think this goes back to

Vortigern trying to build his castle and Merlin telling him it would continue to

crumple because two dragons fought below the surface. A red dragon and a

white one.” Mr. Smith practically beamed now. “Isn’t that just the most

exciting possibility ever?”

Chloe stared at him, not sure whether Mr. Smith was just an eccentric

billionaire with odd interests—she’d seen the whole medieval weapon

collection lining his walls—or someone who should have been carted off to

the psycho ward at John-Peter Smith Hospital in Ft. Worth long ago. She

glanced sideways at Gavin, but his expression was impassive. Surely, he

wasn’t buying this? “Uh—are you talking, like, King Arthur’s Merlin?”

“Of course! There’s only one Merlin.” Mr. Smith practically giggled. “After all,

we were looking for Excalibur.”

“Excalibur.” The man was definitely loony-tunes. No one in his right mind

would think someone in the 21st century was looking for Arthur’s sword. But

it might be good fodder for a romance—she was always looking for

inspiration. And Gavin would make a perfect hero. She could almost see him

in armor on a huge, black destrier.

She glanced at him again only to find him leveling that dark, penetrating

stare at her again. It was disconcerting and she lost her train of thought.

What had they been talking about? Gavin was all virile male—How could any

man look so dangerously sexy in a suit? Of course, he’d taken the jacket off,

leaving a perfectly-tailored, dazzingly white shirt that managed to hint at

really nice pecs and biceps. Chloe didn’t need to use her imagination to set

him in a hot, sexy scene where that shirt would peel off— Geez, she was

practically drooling.

Gavin frowned slightly. “Are you feeling all right, Miss Whitney? You have an

odd look on your face.”

An odd look. He thought a passionate look that practically oozed estrogen

out of her pores was odd? With an effort, she managed to rein in her erotic