Destiny Fulfilled

by Laire McKinney

  Riagan paced as he considered her words. Oephille was right, but he had to be careful. Wren was mortal and his tale was not likely one easy to accept.

  “Have you word from Caswallen?”

  “Nay. Why ask you?”

  Something more than the Cauldron was amiss. “Oephille, is there any other way?”

  “She is your only hope. The Cauldron is in danger. We need your power.”

  He whipped around, and the faery flew several feet back. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, lady. I just killed a man for you. Now you need to confront the druid Council, profess your undying love for me, only to see me disappear from you forever. By the way, I’m centuries old and until I became a human man, I was immortal.’ Insane.”

  “You have no other choice. You have but days. If the one known as Master obtains the Cauldron, the worlds as we know them will be forever altered. She is our only hope and you do not have time for a prolonged courtship. She must fall in love with you. You can make her do that. You know you can.”

  Riagan stroked his cheek and spoke more to himself than the wee faery. “If I bed this lass, that should be enough.”

  A light slap stung his cheek, then Oephille danced out of his reach, her rigid body showing that she meant for the slap to be anything but light.

  He rubbed the skin with his fingers. “Why’d you do that?” He was tiring of this small creature.

  “Bedding her is not the same as love.”

  Wasn’t it a start? And what a fine start it would be.

  “Riagan, she must love you.” She fluttered closer. “And you must love her.”

  Love. What did that even mean? She needed to love him. That should not be difficult. Could he love her? Did he even know what love was? She was a mortal, an Earth human. Their emotions, especially those of the female species, were intertwined with the physical act of sex. Were they not?

  It was obvious she enjoyed his closeness. In fact, he would bet his life on the fact that she was already attracted to him, lusting after him even. He was on the way to fulfilling the terms of his banishment and he’d yet to even kiss her. If he bedded her, wouldn’t that be enough?

  He’d deal with his own emotions when the time came.

  What he needed right now was to get to the forest. The trees would help with this decision. Maybe they would know more about the safety of the treasure. Faeries were not always reliable. And why didn’t she have word of Caswallen? The bond between the fae king and the Arch Druid was unbreakable, surpassing time and space. At least that was the way it was supposed to be.

  The fae king should know where Caswallen was, or at least that he had gone missing.

  “I will think about this. She does not love me, though she may well soon enough. But what about the boyfriend?” He choked on the word. “And with only two days left, I know not if I can do this.”

  Riagan turned away under his show of weakness. No woman had ever been able to refuse him. Even the faery would know this. Then what troubled him?

  “She may simply believe your story, Riagan. She has the old blood. Why do you think her voice was able to lure you from the forest and your deep slumber? Even without the benefit of your druid senses. There is a connection there you should not dismiss.”

  She has the old blood?

  Was there hope at this dark hour? If the blood of the old coursed through Wren’s body, she may very well believe his tale and vow to help him.

  He returned to the front door, pausing before knocking. Oephille huddled by the tree line, but her voice was clear. “You must find love, Riagan. Love. Not just sex.”

  “Bah.” He rang the bell again as Oephille disappeared into the trees.

  The trailer had one small bathroom and Wren stood in it, staring at herself in the mirror. The reflection showed unruly hair falling over her face, eyes bright and as round as saucers. Dark shadows hovered underneath. She must be losing weight because today her cheeks seemed more pronounced, causing her lips to appear even plumper. The bruise deepened into a purplish-blue but wasn’t as bad as she’d expected, and the cut was healing well.

  Physically, she showed no sign of insanity though she wasn’t sure what insanity should look like. With her clients, and her mother, their eyes would lose focus as they listened to the sounds in their heads. She tried to imitate her mother’s lax stare, but it didn’t fit her somehow.

  A little solace, she supposed.

  She ran the pad of her thumb over her bottom lip. The kids at school had always teased her about the size of her lips. How could famous actresses earn millions with their beautiful lips but hers welcomed ridicule?

  The doorbell rang, making her jump. This time she knew it was that bell and not a clanging in her head. And instinct told her who it was. Ray. One final glance in the mirror showed new bursts of pink on her cheeks.

  Walking down the hall on unsteady legs, she took a deep breath before she yanked open the door, prepared to confront him, to demand he visit the police or she would call them herself. But at the sight of him, memories of her dream came flooding back on a current of lust, replacing all thoughts of death and insanity. Images of his soft lips nearly made her cry out, her face scalding with embarrassment.

  The man who had filled her dream now filled the doorway. A new T-shirt stretched over his torso. Where did this man buy his clothing? His powerful shoulders spread between the wooden beams of the door. And his arms, pushing out of the narrow openings of the shirt, rippled down to hands that were large and strong. He had on another pair of jeans and the same boots that she’d stared at too much already.

  What was she going to say to him? She couldn’t remember.

  She glanced into his eyes. Was he smirking?

  Oh, right.

  “You,” she said, stepping outside.

  His eyes widened. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. You. I’m on the verge of being fired from my job. Because of you.”

  “That is a popular word, no?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. What say you of this problem with your job?”

  “Why do you talk so funny?”

  “I know not, lass.” He slapped the back of his neck as if stung by a bee, and a flash of yellow disappeared off into the early morning light.

  “What was that?” She’d seen the canary light, but the insect didn’t look like a bee. Please don’t let the hallucinations start now. “What was that?” she asked again.

  Something about this man turned her mind into a nonfunctioning entity. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t speak. She could only stare at him, gawking like a schoolgirl. Well, it was no wonder with that shirt he wore. So she looked down from his pecs to his stomach, rippling with muscles, even through the fabric.

  Brian was always talking about wanting washboard abs but Brian didn’t have them. Something told her she would find them under Ray’s shirt, but that wasn’t the point.

  The point was, a narrow waist dipped below those pecs, followed by hips housed in a pair of low-hung jeans that fit just right. From there fell long, long legs, unmistakably Herculean. The thick denim could not hide the muscular limbs pushing against the fabric.

  Curls fell around her face as she once again lowered her gaze to the dirty boots. Just then Duke sauntered over to Ray and sniffed his pants with gusto, loud snorts reverberating through the air.

  “He is an ugly dog.”

  Her gaze shot up. “He is not. How dare you.”

  Ray tilted his head. “You like this mutt, do you?”

  “If you call him a mutt again, you’re going to find this metal door with an imprint of your face in it.” She rubbed Duke’s head. “He’s a bloodhound. And he’s perfect.”

  The dog stared at Ray with nothing short of distaste and disdain. She mimicked that look, making sure he got the message.

  But then, struck by the sudden memory of her predicament, she said, “You have to speak to the police.”

  As if on cue, a low grumble of thunder began, its rough g
reeting shaking the small trailer.

  “It is going to storm.” His head tilted skyward.

  “It always storms here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of the mountains.”

  “Because of the portal.”

  “Port?”

  “Portal.”

  “Port? We’re in the mountains. There is no port here.”

  “Right.”

  “Where did you think we were?”

  Ray slapped at his neck again. Wren closed her eyes and started counting under her breath, the bridge of her nose pinched between her fingers in the one way that helped her refocus after these confusing verbal exchanges.

  “I know not, lass. You befuddle my thoughts, talking so fast. And you ask too many questions.”

  “Me?” she demanded. “You think I talk funny? Seriously, have you heard yourself lately? You sound like you’re straight out of a Highland romance novel.”

  “Romance? You like romance?” His lips parted, not a lot, just a little, as if a promise was hidden behind them.

  She blushed again.

  “Is this Brian good at romance?” His voice dropped several octaves, rich and oozing like dark chocolate.

  Oh my.

  She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed on the side, trying to force herself to think. It was like he was able to crawl into her mind and use his powerful hands to muddle all her thoughts until they turned into a jumbled mess.

  He rubbed his chin, covered in days’ worth of blond scruff. She didn’t know if he was trying to look sexy or was distracted by their conversation, but she found herself struggling to breathe.

  She willed her chest to stop heaving, her heart to stop pounding, her mind to refocus. Just then Duke barked. It was the jolt her mind needed, and she was able to pull her thoughts back together.

  “I just got a call from my supervisor, and he told me that I’m on unpaid leave. All because they think I killed Jerry. I’m sure the police will be out here to question me again, and I don’t know how much more I can take. Since you are the one who was there that day, you need to talk to them. I can’t lose my income.”

  The sky turned black and rain burst from the clouds like buckets of water, just missing them under the awning of the porch. Jagged thrashes of lightning lit the sky.

  “It is early for a storm, no?” Ray surveyed the area, his brows furrowed.

  The storm had come on as suddenly and as unexpectedly as the new flash of yellow by his neck.

  “What is that?” she asked. “Are you getting bitten? I know we have a lot of bugs in the mountains, but really.”

  With the next flash of lightning, thunder shook the small house and a loud crack shot through the wind. A giant tree to the left split down the side, the upper half of it falling to the ground with a boom.

  Wren jumped into his arms.

  HER HAIR SMELLED like strawberries mixed with lavender, maybe a little vanilla, maybe a little jasmine, but organic, sweet. He inhaled, ignoring Duke’s guttural growl. Through her thin back, he could feel her heart beat and knew that his own thudded against her temple. He clutched her to him. Her breasts, barely covered in a form-fitting shirt, flattened against his chest.

  “Ray,” she muttered, her face hidden in his chest. She tried to pull away. Duke growled again, this time louder, more threatening, but Riagan held her fast. He did not want to hold her against her will but found he could not let go. Her small body writhed against him, but it only made him use his strength more.

  Maybe it was the thrashing wind, his punishment, or the troubles that lay ahead, but suddenly, anger pulsed through him like the force of the storm. It was all becoming too much. He could not do what was asked of him. Riagan would never be able to fulfill this punishment. He was incapable of love. Period.

  And here was this woman, pushing against his chest as he held her short, voluptuous body. He should have ignored her voice and left her to her fate. Damn this woman.

  He gave her no freedom to move. The scent of fear filled the air. He wanted to take her now, against her will if it came to that. Maybe Oephille was wrong. Maybe taking her body would fulfill the terms of his banishment. It was a so-called act of love, was it not?

  Then he could give in to the intense throbbing of his body and satiate this deep burning need, so intense he’d never felt it for any other woman. By pushing her against the wall, he could then free his arms to rip her clothing off and see her womanly curves displayed before him. Then he would touch her, and he knew she would enjoy it. All women he’d had did. Then he could take her and she would be his.

  “Ray,” she said, gasping.

  Then the mutt bit him on the leg, not enough to break the skin, but enough to give fair warning. The animal yanked at his jeans and wouldn’t release them until he released Wren. He dropped his arms and stared at her as he struggled to gather his wits. The thunder rumbled again, shaking the windows.

  “That damned dog bit me.”

  “Serves you right. You don’t hold a woman against her will.” She backed through the door and into the home, stopping several feet from him. Her arms were held out, staying his approach, warning and weary.

  She looked afraid. But he also saw something else. Was it desire? Energy emanated off her skin in tidal waves, but he could not read its origins.

  The dog growled another warning and sat on his haunches between them.

  “I apologize.” He felt like someone had pulled his plug and drained him of every ounce of energy. The task at hand was too great. He could not do this.

  “Ray, are you okay?” The look of fear was replaced by concern. Such a gentle soul, she was. How could she care about his welfare? Did she not know how close he came to taking her against her will?

  She backed farther away until she stood by a red sofa, Duke by her side. The dog nearly came up to her hip bone. His long floppy ears and droopy eyes seemed strange on a dog that would obviously attack him if he touched Wren again. If the situation were not so dire, he would have laughed at the mutt’s attempt to intimidate him.

  “I know not, lass. I know not.” His sigh was heavy, weighted.

  “Tell me, and maybe I can help. You look so sad.”

  Her expression was pleading, as if the pain his soul felt reverberated through the air and filled her as well. There was something about this woman he couldn’t quite understand. She cared for those who sought to harm her.

  But could she help him? Would she? Was this even worth the try?

  Riagan glanced at the surrounding trees as feelings he didn’t understand funneled through him. The trees thrashed, mirroring the unrest he felt in his soul.

  Wren did not seem bothered by the early morning storm—perhaps it was normal for this area—but he didn’t like it. The worlds were unsettled by more than just lightning and thunder.

  With a deep breath and gathered resolve, he stepped inside. “We need to talk.”

  She motioned to a chair on the opposite side of the room. “Sit down. Would you like some tea?”

  “No and no. I prefer to stand to tell this tale.” He was surprised to find his hands shaking. “Actually, yes. I would like some tea, and I will help.”

  She shrugged and turned toward the kitchen. Welcoming the distraction, he gaped at the way her hips, in a perfect-fitting pair of black cotton pants, swayed as she moved. Her bottom, tight and high, clenched and unclenched with the motion of her legs. Ooh, delicious.

  He fell into step behind her, drawn forward by the motion of those hips. They were like magnets and his body jerked, alive and ready. He felt no need to control her now, to take her against her will. However powerful that urge had been, it subsided, leaving in its wake the absolute knowledge that a woman like this should be savored for a long, long time.

  Just as he reached out to clasp those hips in his hands, the sudden memory that she didn’t live alone deflated him like a balloon. “Where is your mother? You live with her, do you not?”

  “She’s
in bed. She wakes up at ten o’clock.”

  “At exactly ten o’clock?”

  “Yes, nearly every morning. She, well, she suffers from a mental illness. Two actually.”

  “Two mental illnesses?” He tried not to gawk at her bouncing breasts as she retrieved loose tea from a little ceramic jar.

  “Yes. Two. Schizophrenia and obsessive-compulsive disorder. She hears voices no one else hears, which is the schizophrenia, and the obsessive compulsive disorder makes her rigid, uncompromising. Getting up at exactly ten every morning is one symptom of that.”

  “Oh. Wouldn’t the storm wake her? Or the mutt’s barking—” He broke off the question at the dirty look she shot him.

  “Doubt it.”

  Their kitchen was tiny, white, and clean, almost sterile. There were a handful of cabinets, a small stovetop, and a refrigerator that had rust along the hinges. There was a counter where several envelopes lay scattered though upon closer look, they appeared to be organized into stacks.

  “What are these?” he asked, stalling.

  As Wren poured water into a kettle, she glanced over her shoulder. “Bills.”

  “Bills? What are bills?”

  “Bills. You know, you have to pay for things, like electricity.” Her blue eyes nearly disappeared behind narrowed lids. “Gas, phone, water.”

  “But there are many more bills here than what you list.”

  “You’re very perceptive.” Sarcasm molded her words like little clay swords. “My mother is ill so I also take care of her bills, along with my own.”

  “And this is why you are so concerned about your job.”

  “Yes. I can’t lose my income. Or my health insurance.”

  “Health insurance?”

  “Yes. Health insurance. For when I have my own breakdown.” Her voice became so soft he could barely hear her. Something told him she spoke to herself and not for his benefit. “When I have my own breakdown,” she repeated. “If I haven’t already.”

  The whistle on the tea kettle blew and she lifted the cobalt blue pot off the burner. Steam rose from the cup as she poured the water.

  So she thinks she will have the same problems as her mother.