Destiny Fulfilled

by Laire McKinney

  Nay. She belongs not with that boy.

  But where did she belong? She didn’t belong with Riagan, either. Being a member of the Brotherhood meant being alone and isolated, focused solely on the Cauldron. His realm was no place for her, even if—

  But no, all he wanted was to return to his realm and protect the Cauldron. That was all he knew how to do. Yes, that was all he wanted.

  Or was it?

  Feelings unfamiliar to him—maybe sadness, maybe melancholy—settled into his soul, but he did not know why. He favored this wee lass, that was certain. But caring for her was an emotion he had no room for. If she was to be the sacrifice in this, then so be it. Right?

  The dog’s snores wafted into the room from just outside the closed door, mixing with Wren’s soft breaths. She was so delicate, had already been through so much. She accepted things without question.

  A trait of the Protector of the Murias Cauldron was to exude strength and competence at all times, to be the ultimate Protector. He knew he had that effect on this sensitive woman. She would have no control in his presence.

  But now it seemed that her trust was to be used against her because there was no other way. A born Protector of the Cauldron was always such and could not sway from that designation.

  Riagan had to return. There was no other choice.

  Wren breathed a soft gasp and he forced himself to loosen his grip.

  She need only accompany me to the Council and fulfill the terms of this banishment.

  He swallowed hard and caressed her arm, willing his fingertips to lock in the memory of how she felt beneath them.

  He would hold her this night, make love to her in the morn, then take her to the portal where he would channel the Council. She would profess her love and he would leave her forever.

  He had sacrificed his Brotherhood and the Cauldron for a lover’s union before. Now he would have to sacrifice a woman’s love for his Brotherhood and the Cauldron. He was glad for the night so that no one could see the tear that slid down his cheek.

  The moon outside was a nearly perfect orb—bright, white, and magical. Would that the night should never end.

  EARLY THE NEXT morning, the lass rubbed her head against his chest, and he hugged her close to his warm body. He ran a hand through her curls and she moaned, then stretched like a Cheshire cat. His body grew in response and he flipped her onto her back.

  She watched him through veiled eyes as he rose up on his hands to gaze upon her nakedness. The delicate hourglass shape of her body stood out against the light-colored sheets.

  He bent and kissed the skin of her stomach.

  She purred.

  With hands deep in his hair, she drew him upward until their mouths met. She tasted so warm and sweet, like dew on a spring morn.

  He took his time with her, running hands over her smooth body, cupping her breasts, her buttocks, tickling her thighs.

  When he could stand it no longer, he entered her in one swift movement, and her lusty moan stamped itself in his mind. He would never forget the sound she made when their bodies became one.

  Her hips rode the movement of his body, her confidence no longer that of a virgin. Small hands clutched his back and he forced himself to take it slow, knowing she would be sore. He hoped her nails would leave scars in his skin, evidence of the passion they had shared. A reminder, when he was far from her, that she had indeed existed.

  He staked his claim on her body, on her soul, just as she wrapped herself around him. He would always be her first. Always.

  They cried out together, shaking from more than just exertion. He grazed his cheek along hers and rubbed, surprised to feel moisture there. Too afraid to gaze upon the tears that escaped her eyes, too afraid to acknowledge they were tears of happiness and love, he held her close, his own face buried in the pillow.

  After several moments of piecing together his rigid resolve, he felt strong again, emotionally and physically. He fell to his back and she snuggled into the crook of his arm, wiggling in as close to him as she could. He inhaled the scent of her hair.

  Then she rose up on her elbow and gazed down at him. She looked like a wild minx, pale, hair disheveled, untamed, and for the moment, satiated. He realized that he’d never hold her again. Never breathe in her scent. Never cup those perfect breasts or kiss those ruby lips.

  Before a sob formed in his gut, he shut down those thoughts and channeled his warrior teachings. He’d need all his strength for what he was about to do.

  Suddenly a flush spread across her cheeks and she lay back down, hiding her face.

  “What is it, lass?”

  She giggled. “Nothing.” After a pause she said, “Did you sleep well?”

  He’d tell her not that he hadn’t slept at all. But he did have to tell her the truth, and tell her the full truth, he would. He owed her that much and now was the time. “Well enough,” he started. “You?”

  “Hmm,” was her reply.

  “Wren?”

  “Yes?”

  He ran a hand up and down her arm, bringing chills to her smooth skin. “I need your help.”

  “Okay.”

  So trusting. Guilt pierced his heart with a pain worse than a dagger’s blade. At first he didn’t recognize the emotion. Then when the knowledge of what he was feeling dawned on him, it made him feel even worse. Too many emotions on this realm, for certain. Being a mortal brought too much trouble, too much pain.

  “Have you ever felt that life isn’t what it seems? That there are other forces out there, outside of what textbooks convey to you, what preachers preach to you, what others tell you?”

  Her muscles tensed, and he knew he’d hit a nerve.

  “What are you talking about?” Her voice barely rose above a breath.

  “Wren,” he started, but struggled to go on. He was about to shatter every truth she’d ever known. “I have much to tell you. You must understand there are things I will say that you will cast aside as delusional. Insane.”

  She tried to sit up, but he held her down. He could not risk looking her in the eye.

  “Open your mind to all that you have been told is myth, magic, fairy tale.”

  She remained quiet. He continued, though her petite body shook beside him.

  “My name is not Ray. It’s Riagan Tenman, son of Ragda, and Protector of the Murias Cauldron.”

  She stiffened.

  “I am an immortal druid of the Brotherhood of the Sacred Grove, born in the year 453 AD. I am one of twelve sworn Protectors of the Murias Cauldron, who was punished for an indiscretion and was banished by our Arch Druid to the realm of man.” His ability to speak dropped off like it had been chopped by an ax.

  How did he explain to her that he was supposed to find love? To have a woman fall in love with him, and he had chosen her for the task?

  The other part of the banishment was that he was to find love too. Was he in love?

  In truth, he wouldn’t know what love was if it bit him on the arse. No, he wasn’t in love. That was something he’d never felt—would never feel in his life. But he did care about her. Yes, he cared about her, and a great deal at that, which was shocking considering how little time they’d spent together.

  His level of caring for the lass should be enough for the Council. His teachings couldn’t beat an emotion completely out of him, then wither away for him to suddenly be able to feel that emotion again, could they?

  “I have to remain on this realm until I find someone who loves me and whom I love in return. Then my banishment will be lifted and I can return to my rightful place as Protector of the Cauldron.”

  There. That was believable, no? He’d not wanted words to pour out of his mouth in this way but it was done. The truth was out.

  She jerked out of his arms, catapulting herself off the bed. A broad brushstroke of fury colored her features. A good reaction, this was not.

  “Lass…”

  “Get out.” Her chest heaved.

  He sat up. “Nay. I’ll
not leave until you’ve listened to me. Then you’ll understand. Open your mind, Wren. There is more here than you have been taught. This is no delusion, no hallucination. You are not ill.”

  She gawked at him.

  “Right now the Cauldron is at risk. There will be an attempt to steal it tomorrow night. I must return to my Brotherhood and assume my position as Protector, for if the Cauldron is taken, all mysteries of the worlds will be lost from us forever and will be in the hands of him who they call Master.”

  By the gods, this jumble of words is not how I wanted to tell her. Shush, Riagan, shush. She is frightened and you speak too much.

  Then she started to giggle, a high-pitched disturbing sound, for certain. Duke whined behind the closed door and scratched to get in.

  Then her face fell into an expression of stone. “Get out.”

  “But he will enslave the humans. Destroy the Earth as you know it.” He paused, pleading. “He will become immortal.”

  “Get out.”

  “Lass, please.”

  “GET OUT!” She flung open the door, and Duke rushed in, growling by her feet. Slobber oozed over his pink lips and his enormous eyes bulged.

  “OUT!”

  Och, but that did not go well.

  Her voice was crazed and the dog’s growl mimicked it perfectly.

  What have I done? This was not supposed to be her reaction. Oephille said she has the old blood. Why does she then react this way?

  Her eyes darkened in rage.

  I’m in trouble.

  He slid out of the bed and grabbed his jeans. “Wren, please. You must listen to me. I know that you know there is more to this life than what you see before you. You are special, Wren. I…I…” He struggled to finish the sentence, suddenly aware of how very true the statement was. “I need you.”

  “Get out before I kill you and then let my dog devour you from head to toe.”

  He fled the trailer, his mind reeling.

  Wren’s teeth chattered as if she was standing, naked, on an iceberg far out in the ocean. She stood in the doorway to her bedroom staring at the blood-spotted sheets, evidence of the loss of her virginity, and rock-solid proof of her naiveté, her insanity.

  Sobs wrenched up through her body. She raced into the bathroom then vomited into the toilet.

  The image of Jerry’s dead body and Ray’s halo flashed before her and she heaved. Bracing herself against the cold bowl, she could not stop the pictures of the past days playing in her mind like a projector, pounding her with relentless force.

  Jerry’s dead body.

  Dr. Martin’s accusing eyes.

  Her mother’s blank stare.

  Ray’s constant, unexplained presence.

  The signs were there—she was losing her mind. The signs had started long before Jerry’s death with the creeping awareness of the voices, and kept hurling evidence after evidence at her, and she had refused to see it.

  Well, those blood-stained sheets made sure she could see it now.

  How could she have trusted this stranger? Had she been so desperate that she’d given herself to a man she didn’t know, a man who’d killed her client? She’d given this man her virginity? Maybe even her sanity?

  Then she saw him as he was when he came to her last night—soft, tender, and prepared to make love to her till morning light. Her stomach tightened with the memory of his body with its rippling muscles pumping with desire—desire for her. When he moved inside her, he had lured her into his captivity. Would she ever be able to escape?

  She turned her head and gazed at the bed through the open door. The blood mocked her, reinforcing the notion that she was not able to care for herself, that she was just two steps away from becoming her mother. She knew the road well and also knew that she was traveling down it at warp speed.

  At this point she would welcome the break from reality. Life was too difficult. Holding on to her sanity was too much of a struggle. She wouldn’t fight it any longer.

  She didn’t want to fight any longer.

  A second later, she had her keys in her fist and was sprinting toward the truck.

  A gray mass was oozing its way into her mind like a disease, obliterating coherent thoughts, replacing them with nothingness as black and as deep and as finite as a cavernous pit.

  She slammed the door and locked it. Chatter erupted in her head so loud, she clutched her ears.

  “Stop. Please. I can’t take it.” Sobs poured out of her in waves of anguish.

  She gasped for air as if she were drowning. Fighting with the key and the ignition, she finally managed to start the truck. Its roar to life did nothing to quiet the chorus in her head.

  She steered onto the road and floored the gas, making the truck jerk and stall as it struggled to increase speed. Shadows fell across the road, but she didn’t bother to turn on the headlights. She went faster and faster, the truck slowly gaining momentum, the tires screeching around the sharp curves.

  Run, Wren. Run.

  From the past. From the present. From the future.

  From the madness that will swallow you alive.

  She pushed the pedal harder and fought to control the wobbling steering wheel. No other cars were out, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

  Ray. Blond, powerful, beautiful Ray. Angel with the halo.

  Why had he come here? To torment her? That was too hateful to consider. But why else? Was this really all just a hallucination?

  Her clients, and her mother, always acted like the voices and visions were so real. Maybe that’s what all of this was. Maybe once she was medicated, these hallucinations would be phased out and a young woman in a stupor of medicated existence would be what was left.

  A light mist began to fall, but she didn’t turn on the wipers, keeping her foot pushed down on the pedal, forcing the truck to skid and slide around the turns.

  Images of Ray flipped to images of blood-stained sheets. Those flashed to images of her mother, then of herself in ten years, slivers of madness shaping her days.

  A road sign, yellow and reflective, warned of dangerous curves ahead. She chuckled and gripped the wheel as she took the first turn, the curve so sharp it was almost ninety degrees. The back wheels lost traction and the truck swerved. She didn’t let up on the gas, though, and all wheels slid on the wet surface, sending the truck into a tailspin. She forgot about Duke, her mother, Ray, her madness.

  She forgot about everything.

  The truck lost control. Wren lost control. She smiled to herself as the truck hurtled toward the massive tree in front of her.

  RIAGAN COLLAPSED NEAR the portal. His human, mortal heart struggled to beat as the veil thinned, time barreling toward the equinox. The air held too little oxygen, and he felt like he’d just climbed to the top of the Pyrenees.

  The trees were alive, swaying restlessly, their long limbs undulating in harmonious and foreboding rhythm. He would have welcomed their advice but they were silent. Far off in the distance, bells chimed the fae realm’s preparation for the full moon.

  Despair marched through his body like a band of maniacal, bloodthirsty warriors.

  “This is impossible. What is the point of all of this?” He yanked at the strands of his hair as he wailed to the trees. “Damn the Arch Druid. Damn him for this punishment. I have made many mistakes, it is certain, but I did not deserve this.”

  Was there ever any hope that he could return home? Or was this all a cruel joke? He had never been expected to find love, had he? They’d made sure of that when he was a babe. He’d been a fool to think there was even a chance at redemption.

  The Arch Druid had set him up to impossible demands—banished to the realm of man until he found love, a silly and impossible punishment.

  And he’d failed, just like the Arch Druid expected.

  Even though he had suspicions, cold, hard realization crashed over him like a waterfall of ice. He was never meant to return. He’d been given a punishment that he could never fulfill. Ever. And that wa
s why he’d been given it, wasn’t it?

  He struggled for the breath that would keep his human, mortal body alive. Never meant to return. Of course. But why?

  Riagan passed the rest of the day and night in turmoil—his mind at turns furious and focused, then confused, wavering and uncertain. Never in all his years had a situation such as this come to pass: an attempt to steal the Cauldron, followed by a severe and unwarranted punishment, only to discover that the punishment was never to be alleviated. He was doomed.

  AT FIRST LIGHT, on the day of the autumnal equinox, Riagan was still staring into the portal, as he had been doing the entire night. If only its light would resolve all his problems to dusty nothingness.

  Alas, it was not to be. Nothing changed other than the fact that his legs were stiff and his feet were numb and his mind was a juxtaposed hodgepodge of puzzle pieces.

  With effort, he lifted to his feet. Desperate to get the blood pumping through his veins again, he started walking in a circle, then in a line, then straight toward Wren’s trailer. What he would do once he got there, he knew not.

  Master!” Gwyon spoke in quiet, rushed words, shuffling forward, hiding his pain behind excitement. “It is time.” He wrenched his hands together as he leaned against an enormous stone.

  Master forked his long gray fingers under his chin. “You have missed something.”

  Gwyon’s mind pitched and stumbled and staggered. What could he have missed? He’d traveled all the realms, done due diligence in gathering the best band of marauders to help him take the Cauldron. He had searched far and wide, then far and wide again to ensure there were no obstacles in their path. He had missed naught.

  But Master’s gray eyes didn’t blink, and Gwyon leaned against the stone, not wanting to show fear but unable to show strength.

  “Why do you think you were sent to the realm of man all those times?”

  A cold, prickly sweat broke out on Gwyon’s neck, dripping onto his back in icy droplets. He had thought it strange to travel thus, but had not questioned it. There were many quirks, if they could be called such, about Master that he had not questioned. Indeed, he’d done his job. Hadn’t he?