The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance (Trisha Telep) (Kitty Norville 0.50)

And he’d learned one very important lesson. Never picture a woman naked when she was capable of reading your mind. At least not unless you were seriously into masochism.

Thom wasn’t. Then again, given his current predicament, perhaps he was.

Only a true masochist would dart across the street to meet and fall in love with Merlin.

Thom paused in his writing. “Now, good reader, before you think me odd. Let me explain. You see Merlin in ancient Britain wasn’t a name. It was a title and the one who bore that title could be either male or female. And my Merlin was a beautiful blonde angel who just happens to be a little less than forgiving. How do I know? See first paragraph where I talk about being imprisoned for a millennium . . . give or take a few centuries which still doesn’t sound quite as impressive as millennium.”

Thom felt a little better after uttering that speech. Though not much. How could any man feel better while stuck in a hole?

For it was true. Hell had no fury greater than a woman’s wrath.

“That’s what having a beer with your buddies will get you.”

Well, in his case it was more like a keg of ale. But that would be jumping ahead of the story.

Sighing at himself, Thom dipped his quill in ink and returned to his vellum sheet. It was true, he had other means of writing things down, but since it all began with a quill and vellum, he wanted this diatribe to be captured the same way. After all, this was his version of the story. Or more simply, this was the truth of the matter. While others only speculated, he knew the truth.

And no, the truth would not set him free. Only Merlin could do that and well, that was an entirely different story from this one.

This story began with a poor besotted man seeing his Aphrodite across the street. She had paused in her walk and was looking about as if she’d lost something.

Me, he’d thought. You have lost me and I am right here.

With no thought except to hear the sound of his beloved’s voice before she started on her way again, he’d headed towards her only to nearly die under the hooves of a horse as he stepped out in front of a carter. Thom not-so-deftly dodged the carter and landed extremely unceremoniously in a trough.

Drenched, but still besotted by Cupid’s whim, Thom attempted to wring himself dry before he again headed towards her . . . this time a bit more cautious of traffic.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t dry the damn stench of the reeking water off his clothes. All he could do was watch his Calypso as she waited (he told himself) for him to claim her.

As he drew near her, a million clever thoughts and introductions popped eagerly into his mind. He was going to sweep her off her feet with witty repartee. She would be bedazzled by his nimble, elegant tongue (in more ways than one if everything went according to plan).

And then she had looked at him. Those brilliant blue ... or maybe they were green . . . eyes had pierced him with curiosity.

Thom had drawn a deep breath, opened his mouth to speak, to woo her with his charm, when all of a sudden his cleverness abandoned him.

Nothing. His mind was blank. Worthless. Aggravating.

“Greetings.” Even he cringed as that simple, stupid word had tumbled out of his lips.

“Greetings, good sir.”

Her voice had been clear and soft. Like the song of an angel. She’d stood there for a moment, looking expectantly at him while his heart pounded, his forehead beaded with sweat.

Speak, Thom, speak.

“Nice day, eh?”

“Very nice.”

Aye, he was a fool. One who no longer bore any trace of his shrivelled manhood. Wanting to save whatever dignity he possessed (which at this point was in the negative digits), Thom nodded. “I just thought I’d point it out to you, fair maiden. Good day.”

Cringing even more, he’d started away from her only to pause as he caught sight of something strange.

Now, being a rational human being, he’d thought it an unusually large bird. Let’s face it, in fifteenth-century England, everyone spoke of dragons, but no one had really thought to ever see one.

And yet there it was in the sky. Like a giant . . . dragon. Which it was. Large and black with big red bulbous eyes and gleaming scales, it had circled above them, blocking out the sun.

Thomas, being a coward, had wanted to run, but being a lusty man, he quickly saw an opportunity to woo his fair lady with dashing actions instead of a feeble tongue. After all, what woman wouldn’t swoon over a dragonslayer?