Today, I'm very pleased to bring you an interview with Ann Gimpel about her paranormal romance latest release, Dragon Maid.
*~*~*
In Dragon
Maid, the hero, Jonathan Shea, is a
software engineer. When pressed, he admits to being a closet witch, but he’s
always been a shade ambivalent about his magic—until a dragon shows up in
Inverness, and then all bets are off. Why has he kept his magic a secret,
remaining a closet witch?
Jonathan hasn’t kept his magic a secret from
those in his coven, just from the world at large. He’s always suspected he
commands more magic than most witches, but because of murkiness surrounding his
parentage, he’s never wanted to dig too deeply into that particular area.
Is this the
first dragon to visit Inverness? How do residents react to the dragon?
Kheladin, the dragon in To Love a Highland Dragon, was the first dragon to visit Inverness.
In that book, he’s linked to Lachlan Moncrieffe, and they must be in one form
or the other. When they’re anywhere others might see them, they’re in Lachlan’s
body. He looks odd enough, coming from hundreds of years ago, but at least he
isn’t a dragon. Toward the end of Highland
Dragon, Kheladin and Lachlan discover magic that allows them their separate
forms, but which maintains their bond. The dragon continues to be very careful
not to show himself.
In Dragon
Maid, we have another dragon shifter pair: Britta and her dragon Tarika.
Neither dragon appears to humans, because they take care to cloak themselves
with magic, so the good northern Scots of Inverness never get an opportunity to
be shocked, outraged, or to call out the gendarmerie.
Your
heroine, Britta, is a dragon shifter. Dragged from the Middle Ages by the
Celtic gods, she and her dragon prepare for a battle to save Earth. How and why
did the gods force them from the Middle Ages to present day Inverness?
The gods didn’t force Britta and Tarika. They
merely laid out how desperate things are in modern times and requested their
help. Because both Britta and her dragon are honorable and understand their
duty to Earth, they rush to assist Lachlan and Kheladin.
The first
human Britta lays eyes on in modern times is Jonathan. There’s something about
him. She can’t quite pinpoint it, but he has way more magic than any witch
she’s ever come across before. Does Jonathan or his coven know the great
strength of his powers?
Jonathan’s asked some of the other witches
about power that seems over-the-top, but none of them have answers for him.
Because blending in is important, he let the matter drop until Britta and her
dragon show up.
This one’s hard to dance around without plot spoilers. The primary antagonist in this series is the Morrigan, straight out of Celtic legend. She’s induced dragon shifters and their mages to assist her. To maintain her helpers, it’s important to wipe out other dragon shifters who might annihilate them. Also, the first book in this series details a prophecy that links Lachlan, his dragon, and Maggie (his mate). Once they find one another, the Morrigan’s days will be numbered.
Briefly describe the magical systems of your world. How do those who are empowered—Jonathan, Britta, dragons shifters, selkies—gain their abilities?
I’ll take this in segments of magic wielders.
Dragon shifters: They study for a very long time, usually under a dragon shifter mentor, to gain the power to attract a dragon to bond with them. It’s an arduous process and requires giving up any semblance of a “normal” life. Because the bond is lifelong, and confers immortality on both mage and dragon, dragons are notoriously picky about who they’ll bond with. Not that the dragons don’t want to be immortal, but they practically are anyway, even without the bond, so they can afford to be choosy.
Witches: There’s a genetic basis to their power, but Covens offer a variety of training to shape and hone magic. Witches tend to have their power focused in particular areas. For example, some are better healers, some are better spell casters, etc.
Selkies: Creatures straight out of myth, they live in the sea, look like seals, but have the ability to walk on land, hide their skins, and appear human. If someone finds their skin, they can force the Selkie to do their bidding and bar their return to the sea since the Selkie needs their skin to regain their seal form.
Celtic gods: Again, straight out of myth, the gods are who they’ve always been. Haughty, entitled, immortal, they have little interest in immersing themselves in human affairs. They hold the secret to time travel, as do the dragons.
*~*~*
Dragon Maid
Dragon Lore, Book II
Ann Gimpel
Publisher: Taliesin
Publishing
Release Date: 1/2/14
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Dragons have always fascinated me. Creatures fresh out
of legend, they tempt the soul to stretch its wings. This book is dedicated to
Kheladin and Tarika, two wonderful dragons who live in my imagination and who
were generous enough to grace the pages of my books.
Book Description:
Jonathan Shea is a software
engineer. When pressed, he admits to being a closet witch, but he’s always been
a shade ambivalent about his magic—until a dragon shows up in Inverness, and
then all bets are off. Along with others in his coven, Jonathan is both charmed
and captivated by the creature fresh out of legend.
Britta is a dragon shifter.
Dragged from the Middle Ages by the Celtic gods, she and her dragon prepare for
a battle to save Earth. The first human she lays eyes on in modern times is
Jonathan. There’s something about him. She can’t quite pinpoint it, but he has
way more magic than any witch she’s ever come across before. Aside from magic,
Jonathan is drop dead gorgeous. For the first time ever, Britta questions the
wisdom of remaining a maid.
Surrounded by dragon
shifters, Celtic gods, Selkies, and a heaping portion of magic, Jonathan comes
into his own fast. Good thing, too, because fell creatures have targeted him,
Britta, and the dragons. In the midst of chaos, he finds passion so poignant
and love so heartbreakingly tender, it will change his life forever.
Excerpt:
…Jonathan tried not to
stare, but it was a losing battle. The woman—no, the dragon shifter—was the
most perfect, the most alluring, creature he’d ever laid eyes on. Tall, with
high, rounded breasts, a slender waist, and curvy hips, she looked like a
goddess. Who knew? Maybe she was. The Celts had had many deities. He fumbled
with his rucksack, pulled out a turkey sandwich on rye bread, and handed it to
her.
She yanked the wrappings
aside, dropped them onto the floor, and stuffed food into her mouth, chewing
quickly. “Ye said there were two of these meat and bread things.” Britta
surveyed him, golden eyes alight with interest.
“Yes, I did. If I give
you both, I’ll be hungry.”
She shrugged. “Not my
problem. Also, I requested mead.”
Jonathan’s lips twitched.
He corralled the smile that wanted out. Britta was an imperious bitch, yet
there was something so undeniably appealing about her straightforward nature,
it was impossible to feel offended. “No mead. At least I don’t have any. We
could ask the other witches, or if we found you some clothes, we could go into
the city and buy a proper meal, and as much to drink as you wanted.”
She cocked her head to
one side and popped the last bite of sandwich into her mouth. “I can go as I
am. Shall we walk or use magic, witch?”
“Um, no, you can’t. You’d
be arrested.”
She tilted her chin up.
“Why? I can see where I might freeze to death, but who would give a jolly fuck
whether I’m dressed or not?”
Before he could craft an
explanation, Kheladin stalked over, trailed by three female witches stroking the
scales on his lower body. “Lachlan kept a clothes chest against the far wall.”
He pointed with a talon. “I am certain some of his shirts and tights would
work, though there’s little to be done by way of shoes.”
Her gaze landed on a
particularly large heap of gold jewelry and coins. “I could borrow a bit of
money from your hoard, just a coin or two, and—”
Kheladin’s eyes whirled
faster, glittering dangerously. “I doona think so.”
“Well then,” Britta
turned a brilliant smile on Jonathan and tapped his chest with her index
finger, “he can buy me what I need.” Magic shimmered around her. “Come close,
witch. We are leaving.”
Kheladin stumped to
Britta’s side. The counter spell he summoned to dampen her power sparkled;
strands wrapped around her. Her lips curled in fury, and she raised her hands
to call magic of her own. “Not so fast,” Kheladin snapped. “First, ye’ve
forgotten ye need clothes. Second, Tarika was in an all-fired hurry to find me.
Such a big hurry, ye went without food or rest. Why?”
Britta shook her head so
hard her hair danced about her body. She swept the heels of her hands down her
cheeks, distorting her perfect features. “Och aye, whatever is wrong with me?
Nay, I know the answer. The Morrigan is furious because Lachlan triumphed over
the black and red wyverns, and their dragon shifter mages.”
“Good the old battle crow
even noticed,” Kheladin growled and breathed a fiery gout of flames.
“She did more than
notice. She cast a spell to disrupt our memories. If ye wouldna have reminded
me… Hell, ’tis surprised I am we got here at all. The Celtic gods, Gwydion and
Arawn, sent us to warn you and Lachlan. They told us their magic would trump
hers, but not forever.” One corner of her mouth turned down. “’Twould appear I
just ran up against forever. Or mayhap their magic got subverted by your
wards.”
“What impact has the
Morrigan’s mischief had on the rest of our kind?”
“Those in Fire Mountain
are safe so long as they remain there. The casting only traps them when they
set foot on Earth.”
“Did the Celts try to
neutralize it?”
She cast a look
Kheladin’s way that said he should ask something worth her time answering.
Johnathan watched the exchange, chest tight with excitement, feeling he’d
fallen into one of the old tales where heroes and heroines walked amongst
humans.
“All right. Let me try
again.” Kheladin sounded exasperated. “Did the Morrigan wake the black wyvern’s
mage, Rhukon?”
“’Twas the first thing
she did.”
“So all our effort was
for naught.” The dragon clanked his jaws together. “I must alert Lachlan. Where
did the Celts find you?”
Britta rolled her eyes.
“Not in Fire Mountain, though I admit Tarika and I retreated there after
Rhukon, Connor, and their dragons teamed with the Morrigan, and things werena
looking good. Nay, the Celts plucked us out of the sixteen hundreds, told us
enough about what the future held to alarm us, and sent us on our way. I am far
from certain, but it seems they might be gathering reinforcements beyond Tarika
and me, so ye and Lachlan willna have to fight alone.”
Kheladin inclined his
head. “Thank you for coming.”
A warm smile lit her
face. It softened her features and made her look barely more than a girl.
Jonathan’s cock stiffened where it pressed against his jeans. Breath caught in
his throat, and he fought against touching her, running his hands down her
golden skin. He drew magic around himself to mask his lust, make it
unobtrusive, but she noticed anyway.
Britta turned an
appraising glance his way. “Aye, ye’d do well to hide your rut from me.”
Embarrassed at being caught
out but curious, too, he asked, “Why?”
She tossed her head at
Kheladin. “Tell him, dragon. Mayhap he’ll believe it if he hears it from
another, ahem, male.” Her last word dripped sarcasm.
Kheladin blew so much
steam he looked like an old-fashioned train. Jonathan bristled. Worse, his cock
didn’t seem to be in the mood for retreat. He tried for dignity. “Look. If it’s
all the same to you, I’d just as soon move on. I withdraw my question.”
“Nay.” Kheladin got his
mirth under control. “Many have tried to mate with Tarika—and Britta too. I
believe they fancy themselves reincarnations of Artemis. ’Tis why they bonded
one to the other.”
Jonathan’s brows crawled
up his forehead. “The virgin huntress?”
“Good ye know your
mythology.” Kheladin clanged his jaws shut for the second time.
“I thought you were
Celtic,” Jonathan sputtered. “Artemis was Greek.”
Kheladin bathed him in
smoke until he bent over coughing. “I picked a deity ye might recognize, witch.
Most of our goddesses have fallen out of human memory. How Britta is isna
entirely her fault, though.”
She put her hands on her
hips and glared. Breasts peeked through a curtain of hair. “I’m not sure
whether to thank you or let Tarika out to throttle you. How would I have had
the time to either find a mate or attend to him once found?”
“Lachlan dinna have a
wife, either.” Kheladin’s tone was mild.
“Aye, but he fucked
enough women to make up for it.” Britta narrowed her eyes. “As I recall, there
was a string of housekeepers in addition to a bevy of local maids.”
“He was laird of Clan
Moncrieffe. ’Twas natural enough maids would wish to be his lady.” Kheladin
defended his shifter bond mate.
Jonathan felt as if he’d
wandered in at the midpoint of a very old argument. He cleared his throat. “Was
there a specific reason neither dragon shifter wed?”
Britta snorted. “Ye know
nothing of what it takes to become a dragon shifter. I studied long—as did
Lachlan—and forsook much. A man would have just gotten in my way, as would
bairns. I could have made certain I dinna conceive, but what man doesna wish
heirs?”
Kheladin leaned closer to
Jonathan. “Her da was a powerful mage and laird of Cumbria. Many a swain wished
to share her bed—and her dowry.”
“Men! Cretins, the lot of
them!” Britta threw a hand in the air, spun, and strode toward where Kheladin
had indicated Lachlan’s clothing chest was.
Jonathan cleared his
throat and sent a thought to Kheladin since he didn’t want to be the butt of
Britta’s scorn. “Temperamental, isn’t she?”
“Ye doona know the half
of it, laddie. Yet she is courageous—and compassionate. ’Twasn’t accidental the
gods picked her to locate us.”
“Guess I’ll wait until
she’s dressed and then take her into Inverness. We can find more clothes, some
shoes, and a meal.”
“Aye, and then ye must
return here. While ye’re gone, I’ll raise Lachlan.”
“Whatever are the two of
you whispering about in mind speech? Sounds like a buzzing beehive over here.”
Britta sashayed to them wrapped in a cream-colored linen shirt that fell just
south of her groin. A pair of black tights was draped over her arm.
Jonathan eyed her. “Are
you going to put those on?”
She focused her golden
eyes on him and slowly, deliberately, shook out the tights and rolled one leg.
Still watching him intently, she raised her leg, giving him a clear view of
tight red-gold curls before she shoved it into the woolen pants. Heat raced
through him; it was so intense he could barely breathe. His cock strained
against his pants. For one long, awkward moment, he was afraid he’d come in his
shorts.
For Christ’s sake. I haven’t
had this much trouble controlling myself since I was a teenager twenty years
ago. Because he couldn’t force himself to look away, he squeezed his eyes shut
and thought about breathing. Just breathing. Not about burying himself to the
hilt inside her gorgeous pussy. His cock jerked. It didn’t want breathing. It
wanted fucking and reminded him it had been months since he’d paid any
attention to his sexual needs.
Time passed. Kheladin’s
energy pulsed to one side. Jonathan could pick out witches he knew from how
their psychic emanations felt. Maybe I should get one of the women to feed her
and get her some shoes…
“Och aye, and that
wouldna be nearly this much fun,” she purred.
He pinched the bridge of
his nose between two fingers. “Stay out of my head. A man’s thoughts need to
be, well, private.”
She ignored his plea. “Do
ye think I’m dressed enough to be decent?” Her scent eddied closer, lavender,
musk, and something he couldn’t identify. Maybe amber. “Ye’ll need to open
those lovely eyes to answer me.”
He felt her magic zing
into him; his eyes snapped open, and he took a couple of steps back. “The only
way this is going to work,” he gritted out, “is if you stop teasing me with
your body. It really is incredible, but I’m sure you already know that.”
“Is it now? I have lived
amongst dragons and our mages for so long, I’d nearly forgotten. But now ye are
near and fawning, I find I’ve missed human attention.”
“We all have,” Kheladin
cut in. “Yon lad has a point. His cock is ready to burst from his pants. If ye
expect him to sit with you, share a meal and mayhap information about this
era—about which ye know nothing, I might add—ye will need to behave better.”
“I doona understand.”
Britta drew her perfect brows together. “He can simply tap a serving wench,
satisfy his lust, and return to my side.”
Jonathan chuckled. “Ha! I
always wondered what it was truly like a few hundred years back. There aren’t
too many handy serving wenches willing to lift their skirts—or drop their
pants, more likely—these days. I’d have to wine them, dine them, at least
pretend to care—”
She waved him to silence.
“I am starting to understand. I willna flaunt myself, though ’tis great fun to
know I can still heat a man’s blood.”
Heat a man’s blood, is
it? He bit back a laugh at the idea and the Gaelic inflection in his thoughts.
For a moment, he’d sounded just like his da. “You do way more than that.” He
let himself look at her. The tights were in place, waist string tied, but she
had yet to button the shirt. Apparently sensing his thoughts, she hastily
looped square, wooden buttons into their holes.
She held her arms to the
side and twirled in place. “There. Will I do?”
He found he could breathe
again. Although still aroused, the desperate edge had receded. Jonathan nodded.
“Yes. Your magic or mine?”
“Yours. I am still
depleted from my travels.”
He glanced at Kheladin,
now surrounded by ten witches, all patting and fussing over him. The dragon
almost glowed beneath their attention. “How soon do you need us back?”
Kheladin bathed him in
steam. “I would verra much like to tell you to take your time, but I fear ’tis
something we may well be running short of. Enjoy a meal. Find the lass some
footwear and a warm jacket. Mayhap other clothes that fit her better. Then
return.”
“Ye can link to me if something
happens,” Britta said.
Kheladin included her in
the steam bath. “Aye, ’tis been long since I’ve had another dragon shifter—at
least one on our side—near to hand. Thanks to you again for coming.”
“My pleasure. Once we
return, Tarika and I want to know about the magic that allows ye and Lachlan
the freedom of your bodies yet maintains the bond.” She turned to Jonathan. “I
stand ready, witch.”
“Wait.” Kheladin held up
a foreleg and chanted a few notes mingled with fire. “There, my wards are
open.”
Jonathan threw his
rucksack over a shoulder. He summoned magic, wrapped them in it, and aimed for
a thick grove in one of Inverness’ many parks. If they got very lucky, they
wouldn’t disturb a couple in the midst of enjoying one another. The cave’s
walls glimmered, thinned, and turned to black as he ferried them away from
Kheladin and the phalanx of adoring witches.
Providence was on his
side. It was dim where he brought them out in a thick hawthorn grove. And cold.
He slid his iPhone from a pocket and glanced at the time. Just closing on
seven. Not so bad, except it meant they’d need to shop first, else the stores
would shut for the night.
Britta inhaled noisily.
“It smells odd.” She drew closer to him. “Is the air poisoned?”
“It’s just car exhaust.
The air’s better here than in a truly big city.”
“Car exhaust? Neither
word means aught.”
Where to begin? “Let’s
get you some clothes. I’ll explain what I can over dinner. In the meantime, it
might be best if you didn’t ask too many questions.”
She drew herself up and
squared her shoulders. “And why not?”
“You don’t want people to
think you’re odd. Or that you don’t belong here.”
A shiver ran through her
body. He glanced down and saw her shift from one bare foot to the next on
chill, damp ground. “Come on.” He hooked a hand beneath her arm and tugged.
“Shoes first. Then clothes.”
She fell into step beside
him. “They will have to measure me. It takes several days to craft a pair of
boots.”
“Not anymore. We’ll find
what you need readymade.”
“Really? Will the quality
be acceptable?”
Spoken like a true
countess. “Probably not, but you’ll make do. It’s better than being cold and
barefoot.” He tightened his hold on her arm, wanting to protect her, care for
her. It would take her time to get used to the modern world—if she stayed here
long enough to learn about it. Jonathan examined the feelings coursing through
him. Was it possible she’d snared him in some sort of spell?
“I did no such thing.”
Enough outrage ran beneath her words, he believed her.
“Look here.” He kept his
voice low. “You have to stay out of my thoughts.”
“But how else will I know
about them?”
He chuckled. “How about
if you ask me questions and satisfy yourself with what I’m willing to share.
Turn this way.” He pushed open a swinging door and followed her into a brightly
lit shoe store. He blinked a few times to ease the transition from daylight to
neon.
She shielded her eyes
with a hand. “What manner of magic creates light this strong?”
“Hush. We call it
electricity. Come on.” He guided her to a display rack and selected a
serviceable pair of lace up boots. “What do you think of these?”
She wrinkled her nose.
“They’re ugly and shoddily made.” She flicked a loose thread with a fingertip.
“Then you pick
something.”
She glanced about and
trailed her hands over tennis shoes and sandals as she walked through the
store. After oohing and aahing over several pairs of high heels, she let him
guide her back to the place they’d begun. “Britta. It’s summer, but the nights
are always on the chilly side. Your feet will get cold unless you get sturdy
boots and socks. How about if we try these.” He pointed. “And those.” He
pointed again.
“I suppose ye’re right.
Do ye think either could be dyed black?”
A clerk had been
hovering. “We have that style in black, ma’am. What size should I get for you?”
He glanced down and inhaled audibly. “B-but you’re barefoot. Your feet must be
freezing.”
Color stained Britta’s
cheeks. “’Tisn’t so bad as all that, laddie.”
Jonathan thought quickly.
He closed his hand around Britta’s arm and gave it a warning squeeze, hoping
she’d understand not to contradict him. “My sister just gave birth. Err, twins.
Her feet got bigger. Much bigger. Nothing fits but her house slippers, and she
was too embarrassed to wear them. How about if you measure her?”
“Certainly. If you’d just
sit over there?” The clerk gestured to a bank of chairs.
After shooting Jonathan
an annoyed look, Britta followed the clerk.
An hour later, they had
two pairs of shoes, one black, one brown, socks, underwear, three pairs of warm
corduroy pants, sweaters, T-shirts, and two jackets. Jonathan was a thousand
pounds poorer but considered the funds well spent. She’d stopped trying to
seduce him from the moment they’d left Kheladin’s cave, which meant he’d simply
enjoyed her company.
She led the way out of
the clothing store he’d selected after they finished with the shoe store and
turned to him. “Can we get something to eat now?” Both of them were laden with
bags.
“Sure. What do you feel
like?”
She leaned close. “I
doona know. Everything here is so strange, I feel I am playacting, yet without
knowing my lines. Pick something. Simple food and stiff spirits.”
“Have you heard anything
from Kheladin?”
She shook her head. “Nay,
but Tarika isna pleased. She believes we waste valuable time. ’Tis possible she
will settle once we find food. She is hungry.”
Jonathan considered their
options. He didn’t want to bring her to a noisy pub where they’d have to strain
to hear one another. Nor did he want a nightclub. He looked up and down one of
Inverness’ main streets. His gaze settled on a smallish place where a sign
promised EXCELLENT FOOD IN AN INTIMATE ATMOSPHERE. Sounded perfect.
“Let’s try over there.
Maybe we’ll have enough privacy to answer some of those questions I’ve seen
dancing behind your eyes.”
She smiled at him. Really
smiled without coquettish edges. “Ye’ve been truly kind to me. I apologize
for…well, for how I was earlier. I shouldna have been such a tease.”
“Apology accepted. I do
understand, though.”
She cocked her head to
one side. “Do ye?”
He grinned. “Sure. Sex is
power. Or it can be. But being friends is better.”
She grinned back. “To
friendship, then. Find us a bottle, and we can drink to it.”
About the Author:
Ann Gimpel is a clinical
psychologist, with a Jungian bent.
Avocations include mountaineering, skiing, wilderness photography and,
of course, writing. A lifelong
aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years
ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in a number of webzines and
anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from urban fantasy to paranormal
romance. She’s published 19 books to date, with several more contracted for
2014.
A husband, grown children,
grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out her family.
@AnnGimpel (for Twitter)
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