A Druid of Her Own: An Immortal Highlander (Druid Series Book 4)

by Mandy M. Roth

  For so long the bad dreams had been the same, but in the last few weeks they’d changed. Somehow they’d managed to become even more horrific, more traumatizing to her senses. The demon in them had stalked her nightmares, always there, looming in the distance. It had been that way since she was little.

  Her fear had been something her foster families couldn’t deal with. Maggie knew little about her birth parents. From what she’d been able to gather over the years, her mother had died during childbirth and her father was unlisted. She’d not been one of the lucky babies who were adopted right away at birth. No. She’d been passed from one home to another until finding a temporary place in state-run youth facility until she aged out of the system. It was for the best. They didn’t bat an eye when she woke screaming. She wasn’t the only girl there with issues.

  They tossed pills into her as if they were coming out of a gumball machine and that was that. The state didn’t care about her mental well-being. They just wanted to get her through the system and then out the door.

  And they did.

  No one had been able to stop the nightmares. Maria and her family had tried. Two of Maria’s aunts were full-fledged witches and had given Maggie pouches to put under her pillow to ward off the evil. They’d worked for a bit, but the dreams returned tenfold. There had been lulls in her adult life when the nightmares had stayed away for months on end, only to return without warning. The last few months they’d gotten worse. Much worse.

  Maggie’s eyelids grew heavy from lack of sleep and she kicked a leg, trying to stay awake. More and more the television screen blurred. Before Maggie knew it she’d drifted off. Tired to the bone, she couldn’t fight it. As she slipped deeper into the grips of dreamland, she tried but failed to awaken.

  She knew what was going to happen next. The snake-headed demon would come. He’d bring with him fire, death and empty promises. He’d also bring the urge to follow him. That was what had started with the new dreams. She’d been able to resist his pull before, but things were changing. The strange, burning desire to be near him kept creeping into her nightmares. And in truth, she wanted nothing to do with the monster.

  Her feet felt heavy, like lead. Running was impossible. Not that she had anywhere to go. She never could escape him. The monster always seemed to find her in her sleep. As expected, she felt his dark presence seep over the area.

  “Margaret,” he said, his voice even sounding somewhat snake-like. No one ever called her Margaret. No one but the demon in her dreams.

  She twisted in place, the darkness swarming in around her. It cut off the air to her lungs. Each breath she took was filled with emptiness, despair and evil. She shook her head, unwilling to give in. Deep down she knew if she dared submit to the lure he offered she’d never be the same. She’d be tainted by his evil, and it was a taint she’d never get off her. It was the type of thing that would devour her very soul.

  Surrender wasn’t in her nature. It didn’t matter how many times this creature invaded her dreams. Perhaps it was because redheads were said to be stubborn. She didn’t know. All she knew was she wasn’t going down without a fight.

  The snake-like man approached, his arms remaining outstretched, his gaze going from normal to fire red, bringing a small scream from her. “Come with me. Join me.”

  She shook her head, trying and failing to back up. “Move, Maggie,” she said to herself. “Move!”

  Nothing happened.

  “Wake up,” she said, turning in a circle, hoping to jar herself from the throes of sleep. No luck. As always, she was on her own to face the demon. The worst part of it all was that here, in this dream state, she was weak and powerless. In reality, she could have probably thrust him away with a hefty dose of whatever the hell it was that came out of her in high stress situations, or once when she just sneezed.

  Fear crept up her spine slowly, like a spider inching its way over her. The snake man moved closer, reaching out, nearly making contact—something he’d never done before. She didn’t want to be touched. Being touched by him would be very bad. She didn’t need that spelled out. Any fool could sense as much. Fright nearly rendered her speechless, but she managed the smallest of squeaks. “Help me.”

  There was a blur, and when it slowed she blinked several times. A man, whose face she could not see, was there dressed only in a kilt and boots, standing before her, his body between her and the snake guy. The man was covered in various tattoos and symbols, each one only adding to his sex appeal. His back rippled with muscles that told her he was a well-oiled fighting machine.

  Well, that and the sword he was holding in one hand, his back still to her, his long dark hair hanging just below his shoulders. His very arrival lightened the heavy, oppressive feel of the air around her. He brought with him something she’d never felt in the nightmares before.

  Hope.

  Never before in her dreams had she included a warrior in a kilt. She’d have remembered that. His kilt hung low on his hips, dangerously close to showing all the things she wanted to see. Like more of those tattoos that littered his skin, running along each dip and valley of hardness. As the man turned slightly, she caught his profile and gasped.

  The biker guy who had come into her shop, ordered tea and then kissed her before rushing off.

  She blinked several times. “Ohmygod, I dreamed the hunk into my nightmare.”

  The snake-like man hissed. He slashed out with one hand, venom seeping from his mouth. “Kennard? How is it you are here?”

  Kennard? She’d not caught the man’s name earlier.

  “The how isnae important. The fact I’m here says the Fates deemed it so, Athol,” the sexy man in the kilt said.

  Maggie simply watched the events unfold, too stunned to move, let alone make a peep. She’d never before had anyone else in her dreams of the demon. It was always her on her own facing the deepest, darkest thing she could imagine.

  Athol.

  That was what Kennard, the man in the kilt, had called the demon. Strange. Maggie had never put a name to the monster before. Athol seemed right. Like it fit the thing that haunted her sleep and wanted her soul.

  Kennard swung his sword at the snake-like man, striking air. The snake man had vanished into nothingness, no trace of him left, his laughter echoing all around them.

  “I’ll nae fall for that again,” said Kennard.

  A tiny scream tore free from Maggie and the man from the motorcycle spun around, his expression wild as if he was expecting her to be a snake person as well. Confusion knit his brow. “Lass?”

  Wow. An honest-to-God Scottish romance book hero had invaded her nightmares.

  “Don’t wake up now. Don’t wake up now,” she chanted, sure this was the time she’d actually wake from the stupid dreams, now that she didn’t quite want to. The demon was nowhere to be seen and all that remained was Kennard. What girl in their right mind would want to wake up now?

  His brows met. “Maggie, lass, how are you here?”

  She gulped as the feeling of hope that arrived with the man dwindled quickly. It was as if someone opened a door and let all the good rush right out of the room. The dream took on an even more oppressive feel than any other had in the past, and that was saying something. Darkness and sadness swept around her, filling the very air she breathed. She hadn’t been aware that was possible. Whatever was happening was bad. Very bad. And ogling a hot guy in a kilt with an accent to die for wasn’t going to wake her up anytime soon.

  “Back to my first vote. Wake up, Maggie,” she chanted.

  It didn’t work.

  Suddenly, she found her legs able to move once more. The heat continued to grow to epic proportions and she could still feel evil lingering, as if lying in wait for the perfect moment to strike. She glanced around. Where was Athol? Where had the creepy guy gone? “Where is he?”

  Kennard visually scanned the area, his gaze settling back upon her. He tossed his hand in the air and just like that, the dark power that had been almost suffocat
ing her dissipated. “Why are you here on the same plane as him?”

  Tipping her head, she eyed him. “What do you mean, same plane? Like plane of existence, kind of plane?”

  He nodded, his long hair moving as he did. It was then she noticed the tiny braids in it. Wow didn’t even cover it. The guy was wet-panty material and she’d been smart enough to dream him up.

  “Aye, ‘tis what I mean. Explain yerself, woman.”

  She put her hands on her hips and squared her shoulders. “You explain yourself, hunk. You came into my shop and kissed me. Then you took off. I’ll have you know that I’m no man’s prank or joke. The next time your buddies put you up to a stunt like that, I’m going to hunt you all down in the middle of the night and stake you.”

  He tilted his head, seeming confused. “Och, lass, was nae a joke. Yer lucky my cousins pulled me away from you or I’d have ravished you like a ruttin’ beast.”

  She opened her mouth but found herself at a loss for words. It took Maggie a bit to realize her mouth was still hanging open before she snapped it shut.

  “I should have dreamed you naked. That kilt is a great touch. I must have added that because you’re Scottish, but really, naked would be better. Take it off,” she commanded.

  “Dreamed? ‘Tis nae a dream, lass. Are you daft?” he asked. “You want me to rut you here and now? We’ve a dark mage near us and you want sex? Lass, I admire yer spirit and fire, but I do nae think it wise we get to the act right this minute. I want to know how it is yer here on his plane.”

  “Huh?”

  He pressed his lips together and gave her a look that said her response to his “Are you daft?” question was explanation enough. He then grunted and continued to glance around at their surroundings, his posture suggesting he was expecting a battle.

  Taking offense, she huffed. “I’m here because I’m dreaming. I dreamed him up and I dreamed you here. I’m rethinking the kilt. Leave it on and do me hard.” She wanted to run her hands over the man and feel if he was as awesome as he looked. Sure, he had a few rough edges—namely his personality—but he would more than do.

  Kennard’s brows shot up and he bit at his lower lip, his gaze raking over her very slowly. Her body heated more with each lingering look. “You truly want me?”

  Duh!

  She swallowed hard and nodded. Even in her dreams she wasn’t about to be as free spirited with men as Maria was. “You’re okay. I mean, you’ll do.”

  “Okay?” he mimicked, his brogue thick.

  “For a romance book hero and all.”

  He licked his lower lip and she nearly melted before him. “Romance book hero?”

  “Oh yeah. The kilt really sealed the deal.”

  “Growin’ on you that much then, huh?” He laughed harder, the kind of laugh that started deep within a man and then burst free, running over her, making her shiver with need. She had to wonder if the man’s laugh would make her orgasm. Was that even possible? The ache between her thighs said it was more than possible. “Aye, yer a bonnie lass yerself.”

  She hoped being bonnie was a good thing. And that bonnie wasn’t code for coyote ugly in his book—the kind of ugly that would make him want to chew off a limb come morning should he wake next to her. More than that, she hoped she got to touch him. At least once. Was he as hard all over as he looked?

  I hope so.

  He stepped even closer, his long hair falling over a shoulder. “You dinnae answer me. Why are you on the same plane as the dark sorcerer? And do nae try to distract me with words about findin’ me pleasant enough or talk of me gettin’ naked. I’m already of a mind to bed you, wench. Do nae encourage it. From the looks of you, you could nae handle a man such as me.”

  Have a mind to bed me?

  She stared at him, her eyes wide, that damn ache between her legs growing. Yes. He was totally the stuff of romance books because men like him didn’t happen in real life, but beyond that he was a total dickhead. “What are you doing here in my dream?”

  “I’ve told you already, ‘tis nae a dream. This is old magik that pulls us here together. Magik one does nae pull upon lightly. How are you here?”

  “I’ve explained this to you already. Now who is the daft one?” she countered.

  He grinned. “You’ve spunk, lass. I’ll give you that.”

  Maybe he wasn’t a total dickhead. She thought about his threat of bedding her and decided it was time to throw caution to the wind. It was her nightmare, and if it was going to finally let her mold it, then she was going to turn it into the best sex dream she’d ever had. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” he repeated. “Okay what? You’ll tell me why yer here?”

  “Okay bed me,” she said, licking her lower lip, wanting the man to do as he threatened. She just hoped he did it all night long and that she didn’t dare wake from the dream.

  He sputtered as he spoke. “A-are you daft?”

  “No. Stop asking me that. Enough people in this stupid town think I’m crazy. I don’t appreciate you bringing it into my dreams too. I’m horny and you’ll work to fix that problem. When else would someone like me ever get a chance with someone like you?”

  “Lass,” he pressed, taking one hand and adjusting himself through his kilt. “Yer tryin’ hard to do what Athol wants—yer tryin’ to kill me. But yer weapon is yer tongue as it weaves promises of beddin’ you. We will be explosive when we join.”

  “Oh, I’m sure of that,” she replied, reaching for him and swiping her fingers over his forearm.

  His jaw clenched as if he was trying to maintain control of himself. “Lass, the beast in me wants free. It wants me to claim you and yer nae ready for that.”

  She jutted her chin out. “How is it you know what I am and am not ready for?”

  “Redheads,” he mumbled. “Stubborn.”

  She pouted and realized she’d played into his hand nicely. “This is my dream.”

  He opened his eyes but they were no longer green, they were yellow and seemed almost aflame. His nostrils flared. “’Tis about to be yer weddin’ night too, lass. Do nae push me. I am holdin’ on by a thread. You do nae want to be tied to me for eternity.”

  Everything inside her told her to stop pushing, that something wasn’t right. She actually started to wonder if she was really dreaming and if the hunk was there with her, but that would mean the snake-man was real too and she couldn’t bear to believe it. It didn’t matter that Maggie had seen things no one else could explain. Heck, she policed the supernatural, as best as she and Maria could do, but believing the boogieman was real wasn’t something she could do. Not yet.

  She exhaled slowly. “I’m still voting for sex.”

  Kennard grinned and screamed alpha male without saying a word.

  She would have stepped back if she could have moved her legs.

  “I’m no guid for you, lass.”

  “Honestly, it’s what I’m hoping for. I need a little bad boy in my life right now.”

  “Little?” he echoed and then puffed his chest, his eyes flickering back to deep green. “I’m nae little, wench.”

  “Stop calling me a wench,” she said, touching him again. Fire seemed to dance between them as their skin connected. Her power jumped from her, and for the briefest of moments it was as if he had power coming from him. Had she dreamed up the biker man in a kilt and given him magik too?

  Perfect indeed.

  He took a large step back from her, putting space between them. It was then she noticed he was sweating more. “Lass, have you no sense? We’re on a plane with a demon and you want me to rut you.”

  “Is rutting like banging my brains out?” she asked, totally serious. “Because if that is a yes, I’m still game. More than game. Take me and rut the living hell out of me.”

  He tipped his head back, his hair going in all directions as he did. “Wench. You’ve no sense.”

  She shrugged. “I can have as much or as little sense as I want. It’s my dream. You want more sense, go dream your
own dream.”

  He tipped his head and gave her a curious stare, the edges of his mouth quirking upwards. “Yer nae right in the head, are you?”

  She touched her lower lip, her gaze fixed on his groin. She wished the kilt would melt away. Maybe if she concentrated hard enough it would. It was her dream after all. Anything was possible.

  The man took hold of her arm and the heat returned. He gasped. “Yer magik?”

  It was her turn to be surprised. “W-what did you ask me?”

  Growling, he looked past her, in the direction the bad guy had been. “Are you in league with the demon?”

  “Am I in league with that snake-headed monster who has been terrorizing my dreams for years now? Uh, no.” Maggie stood her ground. “But to answer your question, yes, I’m magik.”

  “How is it yer here, lass?” he asked, his voice less harsh this time. It was evident he was trying to be patient with her, despite his obvious annoyance.

  She sighed, really liking the sound of his brogue. The man was completely yummy. “I already told you, I’m dreaming. What is your excuse for being here? Come to kiss and run again? You’re good at that.”

  His lips twitched. “I’m clearly here to save the damsel in distress. ‘Tis nae evident? For she does nae seem to believe this is no dream. Far from it.”

  She stared at his covered package again.

  He caught her chin. “Eyes, up, lass.”

  “Or kilt down,” she suggested, gaining her a double-take from him.

  His mouth fell open. “Yer a spirited one, aren’t you?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Listen carefully to me. This is nae a dream. The events that happen here are verra real and verra dangerous. You must understand as much and believe me.”

  Confused, she shook her head. “No. This is a dream. I’ve been having them for years and the creepy guy is in all of them.”

  Kennard gritted his teeth. “He wants you for something. What?”

  It was hard to rip her gaze from him to give him an answer that she didn’t even have. When he scowled and then took hold of her elbow rather forcefully, she jerked her arm free. She folded her arms over her chest and his gaze seemed fixed on the action. “I don’t know for sure. He wants me to come with him for some reason. I’m pretty sure if I say yes and go, I’ll end up seven kinds of evil, but I wouldn’t end up dead. What I want to know is why I dreamed you up too. And better yet, why didn’t I dream you here naked? The kilt is a nice touch, but really, naked would have been better.”