In the mists of the dark forest of Muir, Rowan of Locks Glen stumbles into a trap. He is the last of his kind, a fierce and mighty Dragon Lord. As Rowan is fighting for his life, he is suddenly, desperately aware that he should have taken a wife, thereby ensuring the lineage of his blood. A throng of arrows whip through his body as everything turns black.
Kira, a healer from an ancient clan of elves, finds Rowan’s prone body. She recognizes him as the protector of her people, hides him and takes him to her cottage where, she hopes, he’ll be safe. While there, Rowan asks her to be his life mate. She refuses at first, for she feels unworthy, but she was born to protect this mighty Dragon Lord. What better way to protect him than to be constantly by his side?
PRINT ISBN 1-60154-143-0
(252 pages) Spicy
Bringing her thoughts back to the present, she was about to give up hope of finding any one alive when she heard a faint moan from behind her. She hurried over to the man. He was lying on his stomach, blood splattered everywhere on his armor. She felt his neck for a pulse. It was barely there below the surface, but it was there none the less.
She stood and looked down at the man. He was very large. It would take all her strength and cunning to be able to move his massive body. Well, there was no help for it, she needed to turn him over and remove his armor so she could tend his wounds.
With steady fingers, she grabbed the taut leather strips that held the armor together along the sides. There were five on either side, tied snugly to keep the armor from slipping. Once they were removed, it was by far a much easier task, slipping the armor off from first the backside. She knew as soon as she was able to turn him over onto his back, the rest of the armor would fall away. But then there was the task of removing the chain mail jerkin that he wore just beneath the armor. He was such a large man that she knew the jerkin would be too heavy for her to remove by herself. She would have to have him in a sitting position or all would be for naught.
Gently as she could, she started pushing him over onto his back. He was unconscious so his weight was that of a dead man. He moaned softly, but didn't move. She had examined his back and found no wounds save for the arrow that protruded from his left shoulder and the nasty gash that bled from the back of his dark head, probably done when he had fallen from his horse, his helm coming loose and landing several feet from where he lay. She hoped she would be able to save him. Finally, with one last shove, over onto his back he went. She gasped in sudden recognition as she fell backward onto her backside.
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