The Cowboy Who Strolled Into Town (78 page)

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Desired By Two Alphas

By: Riley Moreno

Chapter 1

              “The myth of the dragon is found in almost every culture around the world. The Chinese dragon representing power and good fortune. The Indian dragon, sometimes called the
Naga,
persecutors with great strength and prowess.  But I’m going to tell you about the dragons of Celtic lore. The Celts believed that dragons lived in a world parallel to our physical world.  Druids taught that a dragon’s powers affected the very balance of the land itself, the great creatures could imbue areas with their vast power…” Beatrice King slowed in her walk back to the giant tasseled tent that housed the den of iniquity simply known as
The Tavern,
as the deep, masculine voice rolled over her, almost hypnotizing in its musical cadence.

              In the three years that Beatrice had worked at the Whitebridge Renaissance Faire she had heard Finn Macmillan’s stories of dragons countless times. Yet, she never tired of listening to the magical lilt of his thick, Irish accent as he told of
St. George and the Dragon,
or Merlin being outwitted by the dragon chained under Uther Pendragon’s castle. Although Finn liked to tell the stories from the dragon’s point of view, enchanting his listeners with his charming, witty, and sometimes scandalous renditions.

              She let his words sweep over her, not really listening to the story as much as the sound of his voice as she watched him. Finn was tall, towering over her five and half feet by at least another twelve inches. He was taller than most of the people standing in a loose half circle around him, as equally enraptured by his inexplicable charm as she was.

              Her dark brown gaze drank him in, starting at the thick, wavy, jet black hair that curled slightly at the nape of his neck. His skin was pale, but flawless. Most women she knew would be envious. She glanced down at her forearms crossed in front of her chest, looking at her softly tanned skin bronzed by hours spent in the sun. She thought of the contrast of her golden skin against his pale and shivered, quickly casting her eyes back towards him while trying to banish the image of her and Finn, skin against skin.

              Beatrice thought his most startling feature was his eyes. She had never seen eyes that green, like cut emeralds ringed in thick black lashes that when they looked at you felt like they could see all of you. Every hidden thought, every sinful fantasy. When he looked at her, she felt like she couldn’t breathe, definitely couldn't think. At least, not of anything remotely decent.

              Not that he looked at her often, which she couldn’t quite decide if it was a blessing or curse.  Since first laying eyes on him almost three years ago, it had been impossible for her not to fantasize. What it would be like to touch him, or be touched by him. And she wasn't the only one, she knew. He was like a pretty flame that drew women like moths.
And then you get burnt to a black, ashy crisp
, she thought, mentally shaking her head. She had seen that happen too. A lot.

              Oh, but how wonderful it would feel getting burned. She drew a relieved breath as he finished the end of his story with a flourish of bows, looking completely natural in his Renaissance Faire costume of tight black leather pants that were dulled with use, but clung to his body showing every flexing muscle as he now moved briefly among the small crowd, shaking a hand here and there, and thanking everyone for listening as they still stared at him raptly.

              His broad shoulders were covered with a soft looking green fabric that made his eyes seem somehow impossibly greener. She couldn't tell what the material was, but it draped like it was tailored for his tall but lithely muscled physique. In fact, it looked a lot nicer than the regular costumes with its subtle gold embroidery that looked hand sewn, and incredibly intricate, depicting two large dragons winding up each sleeve and a solitary creature clutching…something on the back. She was too far away to make out exactly what it was, but she was suddenly insanely curious, wanting to walk up, smooth her hand over the delicate stitches and sleek muscles underneath, and find out exactly what it was.

              She wondered which one of the seamstresses here had made his costume. Not Rosie, whose main job was bossing everyone else around, or Brinna, who was sweet, but completely scatterbrained. Bea thought of her own costume which she had picked up this morning, and had suddenly become about two sizes two small after asking for the cord holding the bust together to be fixed.

              Out of time as she had already been running late, she hadn’t had an extra minute to go get it replaced with the right size, and as such had been walking around all morning with her arms crossed in front of her chest trying to keep the inordinate amount of cleavage that the dress made of her already large breasts under control.  Her normal size twelve was shoved and laced into a size eight, which resulted in a ridiculous amount of flesh rising out above the burgundy corset, barely covering her nipples, and about four inches of ankle peeking out what should have been a floor length brown skirt.

              The only thing that seemed to fit was the waist, which actually fit better than her old costume had, hugging her waistline and emphasizing the flattering flair of her hips. She glanced down quickly just to make sure some of her chest was still covered, at least as much as possible with the minuscule fabric of the top. She sighed, knowing she wouldn’t have time to change until mid-afternoon, after the lunch rush died down. Well, maybe she would get more tips this way, she thought, sighing again as she looked back up, realizing that Finn had disappeared back into his own smaller, personal tent.

              He was one of the few people who lived on site. Most of the employees were locals like Beatrice, who drove in from surrounding towns. She had wondered more than once what the inside of his tent looked like. She steeled herself as she turned to continue on to the Tavern, the day had just started and it already felt like she had been wrung out and left to dry.

              Finn Macmillan poked his head out of the opening flap of the tent, casting his green-eyed gaze around the group of Ren Fair goers that were still milling around, some were dressed up in period garb, obviously home-made, while others just wore jeans and a t-shirt or shorts. The Whitebridge Faire drew a wide range of people. Some coming to enjoy the novelty of watching knights on horseback, or being served a tankard of ale by a scantily clad Wench at The Tavern, the only bar on the premises.

              Others came to disappear. They could put on their costume, show up, and be whoever they wanted to be. A king, a knight, a maiden. It didn't matter as long as they didn’t have to be themselves for a little while.

              He heaved a sigh of relief when he finished scanning the crowd and didn’t see a short, deliciously curvy minx with long brown hair and dark chocolate eyes a dragon could happily drown in. Not to mention about a mile of sweetly curved cleavage on view for anyone to ogle that almost made him swallow his tongue in the middle of his story.

              What was she thinking walking around like that! He knew there were several security guards patrolling the fair dressed up in brown leather pants and matching vest, not to mention a baton, handcuffs, and a Taser if necessary. Still, he thought that maybe he should go over and tell her himself that she needed to cover up before she drove some sex-crazed man crazy with her delicious looking body so obviously on display.

             
Right, that’s why I want to go over there and find her. To protect her. That’s all.
He shook his head.
Nothing at all to do with the fact that I was so hard when I saw her standing there watching me, it was all I could do not to grab her, pull her into the tent, and see what little she was hiding under the rest of that dress.

             
Finn had no problem with women. His natural charisma, and something else, something only he and his friend Sebastian understood, drew women like a starving man to a buffet.  But Finn had rules, and he made sure the women he chose knew those rules. In all his almost five hundred years, he had never lacked for a bedmate, although recently he begun to lose interest in the women that flocked around him. They seemed all the same to him. Flat, one-dimensional people that left him bored and filled with discontent the moment after his release. Except Beatrice. He couldn’t help but notice the spark every time he saw her.

              That’s why he relished his arrangement with Sebastian, the only other shape shifter employed at Whitebridge. Finn had discovered Bastian’s secret almost eight years ago, when he had first joined the company. To Finn, it seemed like yesterday when he had seen the large, dark haired man with the haggard, desolate expression walk onto the fair grounds. To him, it had seemed like seeing two images, one layered directly over the other. One of the men, and one of a large brown bear with tan markings like a sunburst over its chest.

              It was one of his many talents as a dragon shifter that he could
see
others of his kind. Could see their secrets, their other, hidden selves. He could see inside of them. It was one of the reasons that dragon’s lived solitary existences. Other shifters resented and mistrusted them, sometimes even hunting them or driving them away. Finn understood. When you were raised from birth that secrecy is a virtue, it was hard to countenance inviting someone in that destroyed all that.

              He had lived for so many lonely years, that he had almost forgotten what it was like to have a true friend, someone you could trust. Surprisingly, he had found that in the bear shifter. They were compatible in other ways. Both had been forced to repress their alpha tendencies, and as a result were extremely dominant when it came to sexual interactions.

              Finn thought again of the luscious Beatrice King. He had watched her for years, since she had first joined the fair, but almost immediately rejected her despite his body’s intense reaction to her. She had been incredibly timid, almost painfully shy at first. Too timid to accept what he and Sebastian had to offer. Over time, she grew more confident, and more often, especially over the past year,  he had caught her looking at him with desire swirling like a whirlpool in her dark eyes. But as soon as his gaze met hers, she would turn away, although less quickly of late.

              He felt his body tense at the thought of her stretched out and ready for him. Or kneeling in front of him, her dark eyes alight with want and surrender, waiting for his command. Maybe it was finally time to talk to little miss King after all.

Chapter 2

              For the thousandth time that morning, Beatrice tugged up the top edge of the deep red corset barely covering her ample curves. The color was so deep it was almost black, and made her tan skin look delicately golden next to it, although the skin now exposed by the over-revealing top was several shades paler than the rest of her chest and arms.

              As a serving maiden at The Tavern, it was her job to bring pints of ale in oversized wooden mugs and giant platers of various roasted meats and vegetables to guests. She usually loved her job, loved working with the wonderful people at the fair, the happy visitors, and getting to play dress up and forget about her normal, empty life back in the small Midwest town she called home.  But all day she had felt off, and today her job at the fair felt like just that, a job, and she was already dreaming of going back to her small apartment, taking a hot bath with her new lavender oil, and curling up in bed with a nice book.

              Just before the crowds started filing in for lunch or an afternoon beer, they had run out of the wooden trays they used to serve the food, and Bea had been sent on a scavenger hunt, looking for replacements. She had checked the back supply tent, the offices, and the Blacksmith’s tent, all with no luck.

              She was headed over to the field where they put on the daily tournament shows in the hopes of finding some extra wooden practice shields to use as makeshift platters she could abscond with for the day.  As Beatrice neared the big, open area she was met with the metallic clangs and occasional
oofs
that meant the ‘knights’ were practicing, warming up for the jousting, sword fighting, and other various manly events that took place during the Whitebridge Faire Tournament. It was the main attraction of the fair, and most of the customers would willingly pay the extra forty five dollars to get a good seat watching the men in armor batter each other with fake swords.

              Beatrice caught sight of them as she rounded a stack of wooden boxes with a dirty beige canvas tarp haphazardly thrown over it. She paused a moment, struck by the grace of their movements as they struck, parried, and ducked all in the shiny metal armor that was the classic knight costume.

              She knew it wasn’t real armor, but it made a very convincing show as they danced around one another, the chainmail swaying with every movement as the shoulder plates caught and threw back a burst of light reflected from the brightening mid-morning sun.

              Beatrice knew it was an antiquated thought, but she couldn't help the primal shiver at the sight of all those big, sweaty men acting so….manly. One in particular held her eye. He was bigger than the others. Not taller, at just over six feet, but broader and more heavily muscled.