Winter Solstice (Sacred Places)
By
Mandy M. Roth
Winter Solstice (Sacred Places) © Copyright 2011, Mandy M. Roth
Cover art by Natalie Winters, © Copyright 2011
First Electronic Printing December 2011, The Raven Books
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
All books copyrighted to the author and may not be resold or given away without written permission from the author, Mandy M. Roth.
This novel is a work of fiction. Any and all characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or events or places is merely coincidence.
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Winter Solstice (Sacred Places)
Mandy M. Roth
Table of Contents
Winter Solstice (Sacred Places)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Sacred Places Series
About the Author, Mandy M. Roth
Mandy on Amazon
The Raven Books’ Complimentary Material
Trust in the Season by Mandy M. Roth
Christmas Curse by Michelle M. Pillow
Winter Solstice
Sacred Places Book Three
Powerful, immortal, magikal and cursed to the shadows of the night. Gordon O’Caha, a seven-hundred-year-old druid sorcerer, fell in battle centuries ago. When he recovered, he found he wasn’t as he’d once been, purely magik. He was much, much more. Now, he shares his body with darkness—a demon gifted to him by the blood drinkers he’d been attacked by. His family and clan haven’t turned their back on him. It’s Gordon who has shut himself away from them. This hardened man does what he has to in order to survive—he drinks blood, feeds his sexual lust and exists. Nothing more. That is, until a sassy slip of a woman careens into him on the street, spilling her hot coco all over his groin. It’s literally hotter than he can handle. The minx isn’t what she appears to be and when her secrets are revealed, so is a dangerous plot.
Chelsy Riley is doing her best to get by. Her grandmother’s passing left her without family and with a tiny used bookstore to run. She thinks it’s as hectic as it can get. When she slams into a sexy, gruff man who seems oddly out of time and place, she learns what secrets her past holds and that her future is full of endless possibilities. That is, only if she doesn’t become a sacrifice for dark mages.
Sacred Places Series
Sacred Places
Goddess of the Grove
Winter Solstice
Chapter One
The night air was bitter but the fresh blood pumping through Gordon O’Caha’s body warmed him. His cheeks were even slightly flushed—something that didn’t happen often. The man he’d fed from had been fat and jolly, stuffed in a Father Christmas suit and wreaking of whiskey. A second glance back at his “dinner” showed him the man was still slumped in the darkened alleyway. The man was propped haphazardly against an old building. Exactly where he’d left him after feeding from him.
Gordon adjusted the collar of his long, black leather coat and slipped on his gloves. He smoothed the front of his black Prada dress shirt. It matched his slacks. He had a thing for all black and cared not what others thought on the matter. He also had a taste for the finer things in life.
Freshly fallen snow crunched beneath his designer dress shoes as he stepped out from the alley. He worried not about his tracks. They’d never be linked to him.
The sounds of Christmas music, playing from loud speakers, carefully hidden away on lamp posts with wreaths, filled the air. With only a few days left until Christmas, the streets were busier than normal for this time of night. Last minute shoppers weaved paths past one another, each too absorbed in their own personal matters to notice that of any others.
A policeman stood waving several older women across the street. Gordon stared at the man, willing him to look in his direction. The man did. Once eye contact was made, Gordon simply drew upon the gifts of his kind, using nothing more than his mind, to instruct the man on how best to handle the situation of the drunken man in the alley.
The policeman would call for help. It would arrive. The drunken man would sober up in the hospital with a warm bed and food in his stomach. No one would remember the presence of the mysterious man—Gordon—because he simply willed it so. With a mix of ancient druid magik and the power of the blood drinkers running through him, he was a force to be reckoned with. None could deny him that much.
“Och, it’s almost too easy,” he muttered, partially under his breath as he strolled out and onto the busy sidewalk. Life lacked surprise anymore, not that what he did counted as living. He existed. Plain and simple. And this was his night. Yule. The longest night of the year. The day when the Celtic myths of old tell of the Oak King killing his brother the Holly King. All Gordon was fully sure of anymore was on this night he was afforded more darkness, allowing him greater freedoms.
His cell rang and he ignored it, already knowing who was calling. One of his cousins. Probably Coyle. The O’Cahas were fiercely loyal to their family and they alone, in the world of magiks, refused to abandon him to the darkness. After the attack, they tried their best to get him to see reason—to return with them and continue to fight the good fight, but he couldn’t. He was no longer a good man. A full-blooded druid. Now he was tainted with the blood of demons.
His phone rang once more and he knew it was Coyle again. Coyle liked to try to reconnect with him during the holidays. The Winter Solstice was a favorite of his cousin’s.
“I do nae need family. I need no one,” Gordon said partially under his breath.
Something slammed into Gordon and suddenly liquid fire ignited against his groin, drawing with it a groan from him.
“By Dagda!” Blinking in surprise, he reached out quickly, catching hold of the pixie before him. The woman, coming only to his mid chest, was tiny in his arms. She wiggled, almost managing to break free of his barely there hold. Eyes as green as the grass near the bog at the base of the land he played on as a child stared up at him through a shroud of thick lashes. Long wisps of blonde, unruly, curly hair fought to be free of the clips holding it up. There was a bit of the old country in her. No doubt about it.
The darker side of him—the side that should be sated for weeks to come—thrummed with hunger. His ears pounded with the sound of her beating heart. The blood raced through her veins, taunting him. His resolve nearly broke as he focused in on her neck. For a split second, he was sure his fangs had exploded through his gums. A quick roll of his tongue over his teeth proved otherwise. He knew he should release her and flee or risk being her end, yet he couldn’t get his fingers to unfurl from her upper arms.
With a sharp intake of breath, she stared at his groin. “Ohmygod, I’m so sorry.”
Fog coated his mind, making it difficult to form a thought. He had to focus, harnessing both his manly urges and the darkness he harbored. The woman shouldn’t have had that effect on him. Others hadn’t in his hundreds upon hundreds of years roaming the earth. Why would this one prove different?
“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice as demure as she appeared to be.
Am I all right? I want to rip the clothes from her body, feed from her and fuck her into the otherwor
ld, and she’s wonderin’ if I’m all right?
Gordon shook his head slightly and cleared his throat, following her gaze. His eyes widened as he found the front of his black slacks covered in a large wet spot.
I’ve embarrassed myself?
Nae.
He looked again.
Aye.
“I, well, I…” he stammered, only then noting the crushed paper cup and plastic lid laying near his feet in the snow. Brown liquid was splattered on the ground around them.
“That coco was scalding hot,” she said, reaching for him. “Did it burn you?”
Her delicate fingers connected with the front of his crotch and Gordon knew then he’d not yet come in his pants. If she kept touching him, he would. Grabbing her wrist gently, he eased her fingers from him, instantly mourning the loss of her touch.
Chelsy Riley stared in horror at the large wet spot on the man in front of her. She’d been so wrapped up in thoughts about errands that she’d never seen him there. She’d careened into him, spilling her cup of steaming hot coco all over him. The strange way he watched her made her wonder if he was in shock. Something as hot as the liquid all over his groin had to be painful.
Her gaze flickered to his pants once more. She tipped her head, her mouth forming an “O” as she took note of the size of his erection pressed firmly against the wet material. Men didn’t come packaged like that. It had to be a sock or something other than his cock. If it was the real deal, the man was carrying around a battering ram in his pants.
Pink stained her upper chest as she realized she was checking him out. She ripped her gaze from his groin, drawing it up his broad chest. Sadly, that did nothing in the way of breaking her wanton thoughts of him. If the man was half as built as she was guessing he was under all those layers, he was amazing. She chewed at her lower lip, hoping to keep from moaning.
When her gaze met his dark blue one, she took another tiny step back. He was at least six and a half feet tall. Had there been any sun out, he’d have surely eclipsed it. As it stood, he already did a fine number of blocking out the moon’s pale light. Long jet black hair hung past his shoulders. Pieces of it were braided in tiny braids, the ends secured with black bands. The rest lay about his shoulders, untouched. There was a fierceness about him. It was as if he were out of place. Like he belonged somewhere else. In another time perhaps.
“Lass, can you nae see? How is it you can miss one such as me?” he snapped, his brogue evident. “I’m hardly a small man.”
No. Small certainly wasn’t the word she’d use to describe him.
It was then she pictured him standing in a field of heather, somewhere in Scotland, dressed in full Highlander regal. The image was so vivid she had to force herself away from it.
Her lips turned upwards. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spill my coco on you.”
“Well, you did,” he said harshly, his hands tightening on her forearms.
She hissed and pulled, trying to get loose. “You’re hurting me.”
His eyes widened and he released her at once. His gaze locked upon her arms and he reached out tentatively. She flinched and his hardened expression softened in an instant. “I’ll nae harm you. I only wish to assure yer well. My strength got away from me, lass.”
Genuine concern rode not only his voice but his face as well. Chelsy had no choice but to drop her guard somewhat. “I’m fine. How about you?” She motioned to his groin. “How badly are you burned?”
Before he could respond, sirens sounded throughout the night, piercing the Christmas music. The man in front of her never bothered to so much as glance at the ambulance that sped to a stop just behind them. Nor did he pay any mind to the commotion as what appeared to be a homeless man dressed in a Santa suit was brought out on a stretcher. The only thing the man seemed concerned with was her.
She gulped. With a shaky finger, she pointed towards the paramedics. “Look. They have Santa. I wonder what happened to the man. I hope he’s okay.”
“Father Christmas is fine,” the man said, stepping closer. “And you do nae see him.”
Confused, she lifted a brow, still pointing. “But I do see him. He’s right there.”
A stunned expression came over the handsome stranger. “Did you nae hear me? I said, you do nae see him.”
Again, she remained in place. “Are you mental or something, mister?”
“The name is Gordon O’Caha and I’m nae touched in the head, though you seem to be resistant to such a thing.”
His words were odd, as was the man, but there was something about him that drew her in. She lowered her arm and settled slightly when the hustle and bustle on the street began to clear. The ambulance pulled away and everything seemed to go back to normal or as normal as it could be in the height of the Christmas happenings.
“Well, Gordon, I’m Chelsy. My shop is just up the street here. If you want, I have some paper towels and a sink you can use to clean up in.”
He watched her for what felt like forever before finally responding. “Aye. I’d like that verra much.”
It was impossible to hold back a smile. The way the man phrased things and his accent was too much for her. She stepped past him, her body brushing against his. Fire ignited within her, and she undid the three buttons that held her long, thick wool sweater duster together in the front.
Gordon invaded her space, his powerful body making contact with her once more. “Lass, you look warm. Somethin’ a matter?”
Yeah, I’m suffering from hormone overload.
“N-no, I’m good,” she said, straightening her shoulders and heading in the direction of her shop. If she kept staring at him, she might very well beg the man to do naughty things to her and she wasn’t that type of girl. Her grandmother had raised her better than that.
Gordon followed closely behind Chelsy. Her bottom was rounded. Not too plump and not too skinny. Just the way he liked them. So many women in this day and age prided themselves on being skin and bones. A man had to have something to grab hold of at night. Something to pound into. It was his job to be hard and the woman’s job to be soft and welcoming. Chelsy looked like she was precisely that.
Soft.
Warm.
Welcoming.
His cock throbbed with need. He adjusted it, taking a moment to palm his erection as he thought about sinking between the globes of her ass. There was a certain fire about her. Her will was strong. So strong that he’d been unable to compel her with his voice. Humans always obeyed his will be it spoken or not. Having one who so easily stood in opposition to his influence was refreshing. He’d see where she led him and then use her to sate the burning in his loins. Already he felt the need to feed his bloodlust once more and she’d do nicely for that as well. He’d be careful about how he fed from her though as to not alert her it was occurring.
I’ll get in, fuck her, drink and then go.
He huffed.
Okay, mayhap I’ll fuck, drink from her and then stick around a wee bit longer to fuck her again.
A large iron sign hung outside a tiny corner store.
The Cobbler’s Bookstore.
He arched a brow. Someone did shoe repair and sold books?
Chelsy turned, a grin on her face. “Used to be a shoe repair shop before my grandmother bought it and made it a used bookstore.”
“Ah, I see.” Or so he claimed until he entered the store and noted the abundance of books on druids and magiks scattered about, displayed in various ways. What was odd was some of the books looked to be ancient, and while she had them within glass cases, she had them all the same. They were to be passed down within druid lines, never for public consumption. Sadly, history firmly believed little to no written accounts of druids existed when in reality many did, but they remained within the druid lines, never to be shared with the general public. Seeing them on display set his teeth on edge.
He strolled to the case that had first caught his eye and touched the glass. Power pulsed through the air, from the bo
ok to his fingers and then back again. He drew in a sharp breath but kept a straight face. “This one. How much for it?”
“Sorry, not for sale,” Chelsy replied. “Display only. All the ones in that case are the same. Just there for looks. Not for purchase.”
He eyed her closely. Was she aware of how special they were? He’d not sensed any magikal gifts upon her. Well, if he wasn’t counting her ability to make his cock rock hard in an instant a magikal gift.
“Money is nae an issue for me, lass,” he said. “Name yer price.”
She joined him near the case and seemed lost in thought for a moment. “The books were my grandmother’s and her father’s before her and his before that. Blah, blah, blah. Since they’ve been in my family for like ever, I couldn’t ever part with them. They were too interesting to keep locked away in my grandmother’s storage room, so I dusted them off and brought them out here for others to be able to enjoy their beauty as well.” She inched closer. “Are you a book collector?”
“This subject interests me,” he offered, still eyeing the books and then her. Why was it he didn’t sense the druid on her when the books were evident it was in her blood line?
The text currently making itself known to him was one that spoke of how to handle a practitioner of the dark arts. Its title roughly translated to Darkness Through Light. He couldn’t tear his gaze from it, wondering what it would recommend one do to handle him. Since the attack that left him what he was today—one with both the blood drinkers and the druids—he was often labeled as a dark druid and hunted by those he’d once called brothers. It didn’t help that the longer he’d spent on his own, the more he’d convinced himself he was indeed a great darkness. Before long, he was actually living up to the reputation that preceded him.
He slinked his fingers over the smooth glass, hungry for the knowledge within the text. It wasn’t until Chelsy’s tiny hand touched his forearm that he was able to draw back from the pull of power. She stared up at him curiously.
Winter Solstice: An Immortal Highlander Novella (Druid Series) Page 1