Then she started to cry again.
Strong arms wrapped around her and she was pulled against a chest that was as solid as a brick wall. She gulped air to protest, but somehow, the scent of him or her desperate need to be comforted overtook her senses. Despite herself, she relaxed, melting into his body, breathing in his musky scent.
Yes, he was real. His embrace was tight but not suffocating, calming her, protecting her. In fact, she had never felt so safe in all her life.
Clinging to his shirt, she could feel hard-as-steel muscle. The top of her head didn’t come to his chin, but instead of feeling overwhelmed by his size, she felt soothed.
“I’m sorry to cry on you, but it’s been such a bad day.”
“Aye.”
Bewildered by the onslaught of sensations, she turned from him. They were deep within the forest, and she was unsure from which direction she’d come. The last memory she had was staring at this man near the trailer. He ran. She followed but lost him. She had walked and walked, in circles it seemed at times, until she finally saw him standing in this clearing. How far she hiked, she had no idea.
The canopy of trees was so intertwined, they blocked the sunlight, like thick linen lying across the sky. But yet there was light coming from somewhere.
“Why are you out here?” she demanded.
He didn’t respond.
She scanned the trees, the moss, the small ladybug resting on a nearby rock. Thinking was becoming difficult. Maybe she should go to the hospital for a CT scan. Maybe the blow had injured her brain after all.
“Did you kill Jerry?”
“He was going to kill you.”
“Going to kill me?” Wren shuddered at his words as only someone can when discussing their own death.
“Aye.”
“So you…”
“So, I rescued you.”
“Rescued me.”
“Aye.”
“You killed him?” A canon of grief lodged in her throat.
He nodded.
“How?”
“I yanked him away from you and threw him to the concrete.”
“But…but what happened to you? Where did you go when everyone showed up?” Her voice took on a whining curve, as if the higher pitch and the longer words would lure the truth out of him.
This was all becoming too much, and as hard as she tried to keep her gaze averted, it wasn’t working in her favor. The faintest hint of his nipples pushed against the small shirt and held her gaze, even though she wanted to look anywhere but there.
“I have no answer for you, lass.”
“No answer as to why you ran? They think I killed Jerry.” She focused on the ground, desperate for her mind to clear like cleaned glass. Right now it was foggy like a thick mist. “Will you come with me to town, to the police station? You can put this whole thing to rest and just tell them what happened.”
“I cannot go with you to the police station.”
“Why not?”
His simple shrug was loaded with complex answers he refused to say.
“You have to. You were protecting me. You won’t get into trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about.” What is wrong with this man?
To help clear away a new covering of fog from her mind, she planted her gaze on his feet. Those body parts seemed to be the only place she could look and still keep focused.
“Why are you watching my feet? They are big, no?”
“What?” So much for ridding herself of confusion.
“You stare at my feet. Do you like men’s feet?”
“Do I like men’s feet? Did you just ask me that?”
“You are staring at my feet.”
“That’s because I don’t want to stare at your face. Or your chest.” She regretted the confession as soon as it left her mouth.
“Aye. I can understand that.” He seemed unaffected, like trying not to stare at him was the most natural thing in the world. More natural, even, than taking a drink of water when thirsty. Was he that arrogant, or just plain stupid?
“You have to come with me,” she said insisting. “If you don’t, I’ll tell the police where to find you, and they’ll arrest you.”
He shot forward like a bullet, only stopping his trajectory when he was looming over her. She stumbled backward, but he caught her by the arms, clamping his large hands around her until she cried out. Ignoring her protest, he lifted her off the ground, drawing her body to his, pinning her arms between them. Her breasts flattened against the hard wall of his chest.
He held her body, and her mind, immobile for what seemed like hours. The light behind him glowed like a night-light, and a low murmur droned throughout the forest. A hypnotic vibration seeped through her skin, into her veins and coursed through her body.
Somewhere deep inside her subconscious, she knew something strange was happening but could not bring that unease forth for questioning. Instead, her heart rate calmed into still waters, and her shaking subsided. She could float away like a robin’s feather on a soft spring breeze.
Then, less than a moment’s breadth later, she fainted.
RIAGAN SCOOPED HER up into the cradle of his arms. She was as light as a child but with the body of a woman, a curvaceous, voluptuous woman. An hourglass-shaped woman. A woman with heavy breasts, thin waist, and hips that rounded into perfect mounds of wantonness.
Oh, but to touch those breasts. That waist. Those hips.
His hands throbbed just thinking about how parts of her body would mold to his palms. He knew not that humans were made this way.
In her faint she looked peaceful, no longer sad or scared or shaken. Thick black lashes cast dark shadows on her pale cheeks. There was no worried furrow between her brows now. Her lips, as red as the roses growing on this realm, were relaxed and plush.
He had never seen a beauty such as she.
He lowered his gaze from the smoothness of her face, down her neck, toward the swell of her chest. Just a small peek wouldn’t hurt, he thought to himself, as he clasped the fabric between his fingers, ready to pull.
“Who are you?” Her voice was soft. Sweet. She knew not what his fingers were about to do.
He eased his hand back and cleared his throat.
“Who are you?” she asked again.
What do I say to this? I am an immortal druid, Protector of the Murias Cauldron?
Nay, that wouldn’t work. “You can call me Ray.”
“Ray?” This name was foreign to his ears as she released it from her lips.
She tried to pull away, and he lowered her gently to the ground. She crossed to the other side of the clearing, as if she didn’t trust him, or herself when near him. Her arms folded into themselves, covering her chest.
“Yes, Ray is my name. And what should I call you?”
“Wren O’Hara.”
“Wren? Your name is Wren?”
“Like the bird.”
“Aye. Like the bird.” He was silent a moment before asking, “This is a strange name, no?”
A small smile lit her face. “I guess you have to know my mother to understand why she would give me such a name.”
The small smile slid away. “I want answers—that’s why I’m here, not to talk about my name. What happened to you? You were there, then you were gone.” He imagined her tapping her foot against the earth but she did no such thing.
He shrugged. There was no answer to give.
“Jerry was sick.” Her voice crashed over the three simple words, and the portal’s light flared. “He didn’t deserve to die.” The blue of her eyes, the same color as the Aegean, swam behind brimming tears.
For a moment, he was at a loss. He understood this wee lass not at all. The smelly man would have killed her yet she defended him?
“I meant no harm, only to protect.”
She dropped her hands to her sides, and he saw them tremble.
Despite her sorrow, he wanted to touch this woman. Not only to comfort her, but to satisfy himself.
His manhood pulsed painfully as the familiar swell of his insatiable needs soared through him.
He closed the distance between them in three long strides, until he towered over her.
He stared into her face, forcing her to either stare at his chest, in the too-tight shirt, or lift her chin. The scent of her skin, evoking memories of night-blooming jasmine, filled his nostrils.
She tilted her head back, and her lips parted with the motion. Her pink tongue licked the left corner of her upper lip. He didn’t think she was trying to set fire to his desire but that was exactly what she was doing.
He imagined her teeth gently, or not, nipping sensitive points on his body: his neck, his abdomen, his—
He pinched his thigh to keep control.
To touch that sweet mouth and lick the gentle corners would be a true fantasy. To have her use that mouth on him would be a sliver of Heaven. Such red lips, full and inviting. He could imagine them swollen from too much kissing and knew they would plump up even more.
When one of those thick tears spilled over her lid and traveled down her smooth cheek, he crash-landed back in the moment. “How did you come to be in this forest now?”
“I, um, my mom. She lives near here.”
“In the home nearby?”
Suspicion made her eyes narrow. “Yesss, why? Have you been there?”
He hoped she didn’t recognize the clothes he had stolen. “No. I just passed it on my way out here.”
“Why are you out here? The police are suspicious. They think I killed Jerry.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That I didn’t see anyone else, that I must’ve gotten knocked out.”
She rubbed her arms, and he could see the skin prickled there. The forest was cold for one not used to the portal.
“What could I tell them?” she continued. “That just as Jerry was about to kick me, some phantom angel showed up and saved me, then disappeared?”
“Druid.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Look. They think two things, neither of which is good: that I did that to Jerry or that there is a maniacal killer on the loose.”
What was there to say?
Her lips trembled and she licked the corner once more. What was she trying to do? Kill him? But her thin shoulders shook and she started to cry again. Her slender hands tried to mask her tears, but they did not succeed.
Why is she crying? Such a strange human woman. Were all mortals so emotional, so erratic?
Certainly she must want to return to his arms. He gathered her back to him, thankful that the effects of the portal numbed her human mind enough that she did not question him too forcefully.
Thank the gods for small blessings and simple pleasures.
The plans are in place, Master. Though there are still eleven druids to protect the Cauldron, their power is broken without Riagan. He will likely never return to the Brotherhood, and certainly not by the full moon. There should be little trouble.” Gwyon forced his words to sound monotone, betraying none of the excitement simmering in his blood. He was so close to having everything he had wanted and yearned for all his life.
He had been denied the benefits of the Cauldron years ago, had been denied his chance to be a man, a warrior. And now he would finally have access to its healing powers, and he would be able to watch his immortal brothers’ demise at the same time. He could ask for no more.
Gwyon became lost in thought, but when he raised his head and saw Master’s hard eyes staring at him, he straightened his back and composed his expression.
“What are these plans?” Master demanded.
Gwyon swallowed, spreading his weight between his two feet. “When the full moon looms at the equinox and the veil between the worlds is thin, the power around the Cauldron will be at its most vulnerable. With Riagan gone, the band of marauders I have summoned will follow me into the cave, where we will strike to take the Cauldron. Another band will engage the Brotherhood in battle. No one will be guarding the Cauldron with Riagan gone.”
“And once I have the artifact?”
Gwyon tried not to cower under the Master’s dark glare. Without Gwyon, the Master could not gain access to the Cauldron, but he found no strength in that knowledge. The Master terrified him.
“Once you have the Cauldron, you will drink from its waters. You will be immortal.”
The Master’s pale lips curved into a gruesome smile, or smirk, Gwyon knew not which.
“And these marauders?”
“These marauders owe you their allegiance. They would be banished to the realm of spirit were it not for your intervention. They owe you their freedom and will not disappoint.”
“It is good.”
Master regarded the night’s sky, and Gwyon fell into his own thoughts. All he’d ever wanted in all his years was to belong to the Brotherhood, to train as a warrior druid. But that had been denied him, hadn’t it? He’d been born a bastard child, with a deformity no less, and forced to work by the women’s sides instead of taking his rightful place as a member of the Brotherhood of the Sacred Grove.
He could have been a valuable asset but had been refused further drink from the Cauldron’s healing waters because, centuries ago, his father had already given two boys to the Brotherhood and no more were needed. He’d only been allowed to drink from it to become immortal, thus trapping him in this faulty body for eternity.
One immortal who has the old blood must remain outside the Brotherhood, his father had said.
I can’t be in this broken body for eternity. Allow me to drink again and heal my body, Gwyon had pleaded. Please.
It is not to be. His father had turned his back on him.
Now he would exact his revenge on his brothers since his father now dwelled in the land of the fae. Even if they begged for mercy, he would not relent. The sons would pay the price of the father’s decision. They deserved humiliation. They deserved death. And it would all happen at his hands.
The thoughts were so captivating, Gwyon didn’t notice Master watching him. Then Master struck like an asp, and with a vise-like grip, circled Gwyon’s neck, nearly snapping it like a fallen twig. One small flinch and he would suffer a broken neck. Against his screaming instincts, he held still.
“Gwyon.”
He could not respond as his throat was all but closed off.
“The Cauldron and its power will be mine.” Master spoke the words faintly, quietly, but each syllable dripped with venom and the promise of certain death.
Master released him. Gwyon collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath as Master walked away.
WREN’S EYELIDS BATTED and fluttered. The fog swirling in her head began to clear as her sight struggled to return. Her mind hovered at the edge of awareness yet she couldn’t quite remember what had just happened.
Her body moved with a gentle sway, but she knew she wasn’t walking. Her cheek rested against something solid and warm, something that smelled nice, something musky and masculine.
The rhythm of movement kept lulling her back to sleep when she wanted to wake up. But when she felt a hand moving up her leg to cup her bottom, her eyes flew open and she realized she was in Ray’s arms being carried like a baby.
“Stop that,” she managed through a dry and dusty throat.
He moved his hand back to the underside of her knee, chuckled, and continued walking. Her mind numbed again, and she fell back into a semi-sleep.
His hot breath flowed over her face, and her skin absorbed his exhale like air. His heart thumped against her cheek. Strong, fast. She fit against him perfectly, her head imprinted between the muscles of his chest. If he never let go of her, never dropped her back into a world of insanity and disappointment, she’d be a content and happy woman.
Yes, this was what a man should be. Someone to kiss, and she could see his lips in her mind’s eye, pale, pink, and full. They would be soft, she knew, yet they would hint at the man behind them—virile and powerfu
l and masculine. Someone to hold her, his arms strong, supportive, protective. Someone to…
With a man like this, she would not be a virgin much longer. She heard herself giggle at the thought and the strong arms tugged her closer. She snuggled in closer still.
Deep within her stomach, a tingling ignited, something that Brian had never created.
Please never let me wake up. If I’m dreaming, let me drift along this beautiful current.
Then he stopped walking, and the hypnotic rhythm halted with an unexpected and unwelcome jolt. Her eyes flew open to find him staring down at her.
Could he read her thoughts? See what her dream had been? Sense her attraction?
She didn’t move for several moments, then finally said, “You can put me down.”
He did.
She scanned her surroundings. They were outside the trailer.
“LASS, YOU ARE very flushed.” Riagan studied her through squinted eyes. “You are also very beautiful.”
“You mean my chest?” Her words held a hint of sarcasm mixed with resignation.
“Your what? Do you mean your breasts?” He focused on the objects in question. “They are beautiful in their own right, for certain. Very full. They would feel nice in my hands.” He cupped his hands as he had done before, flipping his gaze between them and her breasts.
The impatience on her face made him stop short in his perusal. “I meant your face. You have a beautiful face. And your cheeks. They are very red.” He reached out to touch her forehead, but she swatted him away and reached for his arm, fingers ready.
“Pray, don’t pinch me again.” He stepped back. “I won’t try to touch you. I but wanted to see if you have the fever.”
She snarled at him, and he burst out laughing. What a funny human she is.
“You are so strange.” Her arms slammed together over her chest. “I can’t figure you out.”
“You think I’m strange?”
“Yes.”
“Well, we’ve proven I’m real.” He rubbed the purple bruise on his arm. “Why do you question it so? I know not why you’d call me strange.”
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