“Aye, I have been punished enough. There are more important issues at stake than whether or not I can find love. As we both know, I cannot.”
Caswallen flashed a smirk but then cleared his throat and the expression vanished.
“Your predecessors made sure of that, did they not?” Riagan held the end of the tree limb, welcoming its strength. Gods knew he had none for himself. Something was amiss and he feared he might not figure it out until it was too late.
The faces of his Brothers mirrored the confusion and concern that he knew lined his own, but the Arch Druid’s eyes remained cold, distant, yet satisfied in some obscure way.
“What about this woman? This woman whom you saved from imminent death, bedded, then helped to turn into a hospital patient in a psychiatric ward?”
A sickening surge of nausea started at Riagan’s toes and worked its way up through his body. He swallowed against it and stood tall. How did the Arch Druid know about Wren?
Where had Caswallen been? kept repeating itself in Riagan’s mind.
“You are a danger to the Brotherhood, to others. I will have to rectify your actions here on Earth, won’t I? I will have to deal with this human woman you have toyed with and left broken.”
“Deal with her?”
“I will need to end her life.”
Wren’s image flashed before him and he became suspended in time, no longer at the Council before the Arch Druid, by this ancient and wise tree. No, he was with her and only her. She was in his arms again, her head nestled into his chest. He could smell the sweet scent of her wild black hair as it tickled his chin, the small of her back, lost in his long arms as he held her tight to him.
He was hit with a sudden longing he did not understand. Mixed within this foreign emotion was an equally strong urge to bring an end this Council, immediately.
He thought of Wren’s face, soft and satisfied in slumber after their lovemaking. He had been a danger to her. That much was true. Would leaving her now and returning to the druid realm be the right answer? Maybe it was right for the Cauldron and the Brotherhood, but was it the right thing to do for Wren? When did her welfare get to be the main concern?
Whatever happened to him could happen, but he needed to get the Arch Druid off Earth and away from Wren. The message behind Caswallen’s eyes when he spoke of her left him with a blackened sense of foreboding.
Emboldened by his revelation, he stood up straighter, broader, manifesting himself into the druid he always was. The Protector.
As he scanned the faces of his Brotherhood, he knew what he had to do. Saving the Cauldron wasn’t the greatest priority anymore. Saving Wren was.
“I choose to remain a mortal. I will remain upon Earth. Be gone and protect the Cauldron the best you can.”
A gasp erupted through the line of warriors.
“No,” whispered Drake, his green eyes swimming.
The Arch Druid chuckled, an ugly sound that caused the trees to beat a wild, prompt rhythm.
Caswallen lifted his bony hand, forking his fingers at Riagan.
WREN DRAGGED HERSELF from the cavernous blackness again only to realize her greatest fear was unfolding like an accordion. She suddenly knew the meaning of terror at its purest.
She blinked to moisten her dry eyes. It was dark outside the windows, and the moon was hovering between the slats in the blinds like a white pearl.
She blinked again and a flash of yellow appeared in the corner of her eye. As if on cue, the little creature fluttered into view, bursting with the most blinding rays Wren had ever seen. The sun would not be so bright even if one were to fly directly into it.
“Destiny?”
The faery speaks. Was this what her mother heard? It sounded so real.
“Destiny?” she repeated. “Look at me.”
Am I in Hell?
“You are no such place.”
Did the faery just read my mind?
“Destiny, try to focus.”
“Wren.” Her throat felt like it had lost a fight with sandpaper.
“Wren, listen to me,” the little creature continued. “The hour is late. The veil is thin. Riagan needs you. Go to him.”
“Ray?” she mouthed. There was something she felt like she was supposed to remember about the owner of that name but couldn’t.
“You must come with me.”
“I can’t.” The medicine must have been on time-release because the tar was infiltrating her mind again. She was having trouble thinking. Speaking. “The straps…” she muttered. “I can’t move.”
“I will free you.”
“But how?” She wasn’t sure if she actually spoke the words or just thought them. Before she could try to speak again, she plummeted into the awaiting black cavity of unconsciousness.
Wren stumbled out of the truck of an acquaintance who had happened to be in the hospital parking lot when she fled out a side door. She thanked him, slammed the door, then darted toward the steps of the trailer.
It was a struggle to make her legs move. They were heavy, immobile with the effects of the powerful medicines she’d been given. She almost tripped over a tree root as she hurried toward the steps.
“Destiny,” a deep booming voice said.
She stopped, her nails cutting into the wooden banister. It couldn’t be. What was Dr. Martin doing here, and how had he gotten here so fast?
Why did he keep calling her by her first name?
“Destiny.” This time it was a command, and she found herself turning, willing the shaking in her lips to calm. Her sixth sense flared.
“Dr. Martin?”
He struggled toward her, leaning heavily on his cane. The full moon’s light was so bright it could still be daytime.
“I see you have left the hospital without my permission.” His black eyes were like coal. “Though I’d love to know how you got out of that straitjacket.”
She couldn’t tell him a little faery had helped her, so she said nothing.
He shuffled toward the stairs and unease pricked her skin. His eyes seemed unfocused, shifting from her to the sky to the forest. There was something unstable, and frightening, about his presence.
“What are you doing here?” Her words dripped with the hatred she felt toward this man, masking the underlying fear.
“I did not sign off on your release.”
She eased up another step.
He followed. “I should call the police.”
His threat hung in the air. He wouldn’t call the police to report that she'd left the hospital. No, he would also bring up Jerry’s death. He would call the police to report a suspected murderer had left the hospital. Against doctor’s orders at that.
A glint of metal reflected the moonlight as he moved. It was a small dagger, half hidden behind his back.
Fear turned to terror, and she lunged for the door. The knob twisted in her hand. He reached forward and almost caught her arm but tripped over his cane. He did catch her ankle, though, and clutched it, clamping down with surprising strength. He yanked, and she lost her balance, falling to her knee.
She kicked out. He twisted her ankle. She kicked again.
An unholy howl shattered the night air as Duke appeared from behind the house and charged toward the doctor. He growled louder than a tiger as tan pants ripped between his razor-sharp teeth.
Wren jerked free from Dr. Martin’s grasp, then threw open the door that Kelly hadn’t locked. She hurled herself inside, Duke on her heels. She forced the dead bolt with shaking hands.
Dr. Martin slammed his fists against the wood. “Destiny! You can’t run from me!”
Wren’s teeth chattered as she peeked through the peephole. Terror simmered in her like a growing disease. Dr. Martin leaned into the door and tried to stare back at her through the small glass circle. He yanked on the knob.
On silent feet, she eased into the middle of the living room. There was no other door to the trailer so she was safe for now. The windows were always locked so that wasn’
t an issue. She glanced at the phone in the kitchen. Should she call the police?
She hesitated. It was her word against his. Besides, she was the one who was a murder suspect and had just left a psych ward without release. He was the respected psychiatrist.
What did he want? Why would he want to hurt her?
The blinds and curtains were shut tight. For once, the noise in her head held silent, freeing up space and energy for her to decide what to do. Duke remained plastered by her side, as loyal as ever. Sounds of his heavy breathing were the only thing she could hear.
She glanced at him and did a double take. Her dog seemed larger, as if he’d been filled with water or pumped up like a hot-air balloon. He was an eighty-pound dog that now looked at least one hundred twenty.
Oh God, don’t let me hallucinate now. Especially not over the one thing that brings me the most comfort.
Duke sniffed her knee, licked it once as if comforting her, then started padding around the trailer. He sniffed below each window and around the door. When he was finished with his rounds, he returned to Wren’s side and sat on his haunches.
After several moments, Dr. Martin’s cane scooted across the worn wooden porch with a screech, and she could tell he was moving from the door. Then she heard his cane—thud thud thud—as he went down the stairs.
Duke raised to all fours. He galloped into the kitchen and released a ferocious bark underneath the window. The hairs on her body rose to a spiky peak.
Against the screaming in her head to stay where she was, or to go hide in the bedroom, she forced her feet to move, one at a time, into the kitchen. With breath held, she peered through the slits in the blinds and saw Dr. Martin struggling to pull a ladder from the run-down shed behind the trailer. In one hand he held a hammer. Was he going to bust through the window? Why would he want to do this? There was something more to his actions than just her leaving the hospital.
She watched the scene unfold but refused to believe it was real. What should she do? Fight him? Escape into the forest? What did he want?
Duke growled low and menacingly, his nose pushed through the blinds. She could see his bared teeth. This dog would fight to the death for her, and if he would fight for her, then she would fight too. She scanned the kitchen for a knife, trying to jog her memory as to where she hid them from her mother.
Then she remembered that they were above the refrigerator, but before she pulled a stool over, she heard the sound of a truck coming up the drive. She peered through the blind and saw Brian’s familiar pickup truck lurching toward the trailer.
Her heart caught in her throat. She glanced between Dr. Martin and Brian. She could tell the doctor heard the car because he shuffled out of sight behind the shed.
Brian didn’t seem to see him and beeped his horn as he put the truck in park. Never had she been so happy to see him.
He hopped out of the truck and took the stairs two at a time. Wren flung the door open and fell into his arms. “Brian, thank God.”
“Wren, you’re shaking. Have you already heard?” His brown eyes filled with concern.
Wren wiggled away from him, then yanked at his elbow. She locked the door behind them and peeked out the window. Brian stood in the living room, watching her, his dark brows lifted. She ran back into the kitchen and peered out the slit in the blinds.
“Heard what?”
“About your mother.”
“What about my mother?”
“I was at the station when we got the call.”
Blood plummeted to Wren’s toes as she stood there, pooling at her feet making her light-headed and dizzy.
“What call?”
“That she’s gone missing.”
“What? She’s in the hospital. She can’t go missing from a hospital.”
“She has, Wren. The police are looking for her now. I’m sorry.”
Her mother had left the hospital? She pulled out her cell phone and saw several missed calls from Kelly. Wren felt detached, as if her spirit was floating in space and her body was just a shell on Earth.
“I’m sure they’ll find her,” he said. “They’re looking in town and surrounding areas now.”
She wondered if surrounding areas encompassed the forest around the trailer, or if it was it too remote? If they were smart, they would start there, she thought to herself, but Wren didn’t say anything. She would find her mother herself, and that way there would be no need to involve the authorities. The last thing she wanted was for her mother to be put into a home because Wren couldn’t care for her.
This was nothing unusual, she told herself. Her mother often talked about running away, finding far-off, obscure friends, leaving Earth, but Wren wrote the talk off as another hallucination, another quirk of schizophrenia. In truth, Annie often disappeared when Wren wasn’t looking, and if she was found, it was deep in the forest. If she wasn’t, well, she always returned.
There was no reason this time would be any different.
Wren thought of Ray and suddenly yearned for him like a salve for a burn. She did not question why. Her instincts told her to find him, that maybe his insane words could add sanity to this situation, and she would listen to those instincts. Besides, nothing else made sense in her life.
“Brian, we need to talk.”
Duke sat by her leg, and she rubbed his furry head which now came up to her waist. She scoured his body only to find paws that had widened again, legs that had lengthened, and a body that had expanded to even greater girth.
She blinked.
Brian seemed to notice as well. “How much have you been feeding that dog?” He tried to force a smile, but it slid away as he met her gaze.
She tossed her curls to clear her head. “Brian, I—I’m not the woman for you.”
“What?”
“I can’t do this anymore.”
Wren felt the burn of his eyes on her, but she could not look up. He was a good man and deserved better than what she could give him. She looked at Duke instead and couldn’t help but wonder what he had eaten. Had she fed him too much? Duke shook his head, as if telling her that his size had nothing to do with her overfilling his food bowl.
“Wren?”
“I need to leave this area for a while.”
“What about your mother?”
“Kelly will call me when they find her.”
He lifted his arm toward her but stopped before making contact.
What did her expression tell him? She could only imagine.
He turned his back to her. Then, without a word, he left the trailer. He rotated to face her once more from the driveway but did not wave.
Wren turned to Duke. “She might be in the forest.”
The dog’s head bobbed up and down. Up and down.
“Ray will be there too.”
Again, the large head moved.
“I must hurry.”
Duke pushed against her thigh, urging her toward the door.
TWO DRUIDS RESTRAINED Drake, hands clamped around his struggling arms. “You can’t do this, Caswallen. We need him.”
The Arch Druid turned to Drake and flicked his index finger. Drake fell against the Brothers as if stunned by a gun.
“He has decided his fate, has he not? He has opted for a mortal life. He has opted to try and save the woman he almost killed.”
Riagan studied the man standing across the clearing. He looked like the same Arch Druid who had taught him folklore and magic for the past years. The man before him had the same gaunt, thin frame, always swallowed beneath the fabric of the robes. His hands were long, veiny and white, resembling more ghost than man. But there was a change, in more than just his curt, cold attitude. Nay, there was a change behind his eyes, a change in his soul.
Riagan met his brother’s blazing gaze. “Aye. This is how it must be, Drake. You must find another to fill my place as one of the Protectors, if it is not lost from us on this night.”
“Who would that be, pray tell?” Drake said wailing. “We need
you. We have no other in our bloodline.” He fought against those holding him, despair storming his handsome features.
“Aye, Brother. We have another.”
Their gazes locked. “Gwyon.”
Drake’s mouth fell open. “Gwyon?”
“Aye. He is our father’s blood-born son and will carry the gene. Let him take my place.”
“But, Riagan. He can’t.”
Riagan fought a choke that threatened to spill upward and suffocate him. He needed all of his strength—he was losing everything that was dear to him, save for Wren. The best for everyone would be to move on. Without him. He would remain on Earth and watch over Wren, even if it was from afar.
And the Brotherhood, well, yes, there was another and it was time to make amends—to make amends to a little babe who was born with crooked feet and denied a place in the Brotherhood.
Gwyon hadn’t even been given a chance. With two sons, strong and physically perfect, already given to the Brotherhood, there was no need for another. Thus, when he was born, Gwyon was allowed to drink from the Cauldron’s waters for immortality, but not for healing. And he was the one who needed it.
Where was he now? Would he want a chance to finally belong? The image of Gwyon’s sad dark eyes following every move he and the Brothers made grabbed Riagan’s heart and twisted it into a braid. He should have been given a chance. No man of their powerful bloodline, crooked feet or not, deserved to be treated like one of the women who did the weaving and wash. This was the least he could do.
“Yes, he can. Bring him into the Brotherhood, teach him the ancient wisdom. When he has learned all that his mind and soul can learn, lead him to the Cauldron and let him drink. Then he can take his place among the Brotherhood where he belongs.”
“Impossible.” Caswallen’s expression held satisfaction. Certainty. “One must remain outside the Brotherhood who has the gene. He cannot become a member.”
Drake yanked free of the strong hands that held him. “But brother, you have found true love, have you not? We do not need a replacement.”
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