Then she was falling. With Riagan wrapped in her arms, she couldn’t reach out, couldn’t stop her plummeting. Down…down…down until she lost consciousness.
There she was, a hazy apparition, floating above his head. An angel. A goddess. A dream.
Hmm…death becomes me. If this is the afterlife, I will take a hundred.
“Riagan?” Her voice was soft and sensual, caressing his skin with silky threads.
“Riagan.”
I could melt into that gentle cadence and linger for eternity.
“Riagan!”
Och, but that is melodious no longer.
“Riagan Tenman, if that truly is your name, open your eyes right now and look at me, or I’ll pinch your arm.”
Well, I don’t want to open my eyes if that’s the way my afterlife dream goes. Now this must be Hell. Humph.
His lids popped open.
Her lips split into a smile.
“That’s better,” she crooned. “Can you speak?”
“Wren?” His eyes closed again and his body went limp.
“Riagan?” The shrill of her voice hurt his ears. She slapped at his cheeks. He wanted her to stop but couldn’t wake up enough to say so.
“Damn it, Riagan, open your eyes.”
They flew open. “Yell at me not, lass. I have a headache.”
“Oh, Riagan.” She pulled him to her breast and hugged him tight. Now he knew he’d died and gone to Heaven. He nuzzled deeper into her breasts to where he could scarcely breathe. But with breasts like these, he didn’t need oxygen.
“Can you speak?” she asked.
His mouth tasted like metal and was as dry as a dandelion on a scorching summer day.
“Are you okay? How are you feeling? Are you badly hurt?”
Her white shirt had fallen from her skin as she bent forward and he had a perfect view of her plump breasts. He lifted his head and licked the bare skin that swelled out from the thin cotton.
Then his head hit the ground.
“Not funny,” she quipped.
He struggled to sit up. “What happened?” he croaked.
Drake popped into view.
“Drake, have you died as well?”
“Died?” Confusion flashed across Drake’s face, then he shook his head. “Died? Neither of us is dead, you ancient oaf.”
Wren leaned forward and her plump breasts grazed his cheek again. He could not resist another lick, and this time she did not pull away. Then he buried his head between those two delicious orbs and inhaled. She giggled, and he grazed his teeth over her exposed skin.
With each nibble, his mind fought for clarity. Had he hit his head? The last thing he remembered was the fight with Caswallen in the clearing. Wren had showed up and confessed her love for him, and Caswallen had deemed it too late, saying the Cauldron was being taken soon.
He sought the familiar forest of Earth but was met with an even more familiar scene—the druid realm. Bolting upright, he demanded, “Brother, how did I return to this realm? Did Caswallen forgive me after all? Has this all been but a dream?”
Wren’s brows pursed and her generous mouth formed into a perfect cherry, as if she wanted to interrupt and say something but didn’t know what.
Then he knew. He had crossed the portal. By the gods, he’d crossed the portal. And Wren was here?
“Where is Caswallen? What has happened? How long have I been out? How did Wren cross?”
“Cross what?” she asked.
Drake held his hand up to stop the onslaught of questions. “You have been out but a minute Earth’s time—”
“Earth’s time? What does that mean?” Wren asked, interrupting. “I thought I fainted. Where are—?” She stared at the unfamiliar surroundings.
Drake spoke to Riagan, his voice strained. “Right after you fainted, I was able to grab you, and I pulled you and your lady through.” He stared into Riagan’s eyes, a message there that his pained head wouldn’t let through. “There were no problems.”
“No problems?” Riagan struggled to understand. “But, I did not confess.”
Drake held his palm up. “There is no time to explain that which you already suspect. But you must rise, Brother. It is time. We must protect the Cauldron.”
“I fainted?” Riagan still wondered what his brother was trying to say.
“Didn’t I faint?” Wren’s brows drew together.
“Hush. Both of you. I will explain later.”
Riagan struggled to stand, but his legs felt like leaden logs. “I cannot, Brother. You must go without me.”
“Aye. It takes time for your entire form to return, but you must come.”
Riagan looked at Wren. “How did you cross?”
“How did I cross what? Where the hell are we?”
“Come, we must hurry,” Drake said. “Wren, can you support him on that side, and I’ll take the brunt of his weight on this side?”
“This makes no sense,” she muttered as she scooped underneath his arm and helped Drake stand him up.
Riagan stared at her, but she faced forward as they pushed ahead. She glowed in this world, like a flickering candle. He found it difficult to look away from her luminous skin, but he did, and found himself staring at her hair. Had it grown?
“Focus, Brother. You must channel your mind to the task ahead. They have not taken the Cauldron yet but lie in wait, ready to strike at midnight. It is but nearly the hour and you, we, must be ready.”
“The Cauldron? By the gods, where is the Brotherhood?” Riagan whipped out of their arms, spinning in a three sixty.
“I sense them but admit I have not seen them yet.”
“So they crossed?”
“I believe so. Pray that they are at their posts spanning the realm. You are the Protector who defends the Cauldron at its resting place, though. If the one they call Master is already on this realm, and I suspect he is, then you are the most important one at this moment.”
“Yes.” Riagan straightened, unsupported. He’d been born to protect the ancient artifact, and he would not defy his heritage again. And with this lady by his side, he felt invincible.
He would answer the question of how he, and Wren, crossed the portal later. Wren was safe enough by his side. Now, it was time to save the Cauldron.
RIAGAN SHOOK OFF the effects of the battle much the same way Duke shook off water. He rose to his full height, erect and proud, his long body somehow more grand and powerful than she remembered. The mortal clothes tugged where the seams were not already ripped as his muscles seemed to expand and his height grew.
Riagan was changing, there was no denying that. He flexed and unflexed his hands; his face hardened into a line of will and determination. It was at once terrifying and awesome to behold.
Wren stumbled as she tried to gather her wits and close her mouth, which she knew was dangling open like an unhinged window screen after a hurricane.
His skin was beautiful, like carved white marble. She reached out a hand to caress it, for surely he was a mirage.
Just as she leaned into him, someone grabbed her wrist and yanked. It was Drake, staring hard into her face. She tried again to shut her mouth but wasn’t certain of success.
“We must hurry,” Drake urged.
“What?” she sputtered. Riagan’s scent wove around her like silk ribbon—a heady mixture of musk, vanilla, and some undefined masculine notes that made her head feel as if it were a balloon about to float away to Heaven.
As soon as Drake lessened his grasp, she moved forward again. Riagan stood before her as a powerful warrior druid, an immortal druid. Her safe place in the middle of his chest was far above her head now. She reached up to caress it, wanting to make sure it was still there, but Drake grabbed her chin and turned her face toward his.
“There will be time for that later, lass.”
She felt like she was drowning in a vat of warm, sweet olive oil. The world in front of her became hazy, and Drake’s voice came from somewhere far away. She
was lusciously sandwiched between two of the most masculine bodies ever created, grateful they were taking over this situation because for some reason, she couldn’t even remember her name. Tingling shot through her body, and every cell she was made of burst alive.
Somewhere far away, in the very distant place where her brain could still think, she sensed tension in the air, urgency pulsing through the two men at her sides. When she put her hands on each of their arms, she couldn’t help but move them up and down, relishing the severe undulations of their magnificent muscles, the sheer power held beneath the skin.
One of the men growled, and she lifted her chin to find Riagan glaring at his brother, whose face was set in a smirk. Her hands stopped mid-rub, and Riagan grabbed her wrist, yanking her far away from his brother. He put his arm around her waist, hugging her against him, then propelled her forward, keeping her several feet from Drake.
For someone who didn’t love her, he surely was jealous.
Feeling overly satisfied, she forced herself to look ahead. “Where—where on Earth are we?”
“We are not on Earth, Wren.” He squeezed her side. “Open your mind.”
Not on Earth? All she remembered was the Arch Druid disappearing. Then the tree had released her from its hold. She’d knelt before Riagan and cradled him until he awoke. That was just a few moments ago. When did they have the time to leave Earth? Many strange things were happening, that was for sure.
“Well, where are we? Have I been here before? And where’s Duke? He was in the forest with us.”
“Shh,” Riagan said gently. “We must be quiet. I’m not sure even I understand all that has happened.”
They ducked behind a thirty-foot tree that was wide enough to shield them. The light was a mixture of radiant blue and somber gray, part shimmery, part staid. The sound of rushing water came from nearby, but she could see no river. They were surrounded by trees, thousands upon thousands of trees, larger and grander than those in the forest behind her trailer.
They were, in fact, enormous both in height and width. Their bark was as smooth as glass, though deep brown in color like normal trees. The limbs, though too high above her head to touch, glistened in the obscure light, and she felt sure they would be of the same glassy material. The leaves, the smallest the size of a dinner plate and the largest at least as big as a chair’s seat, shimmered high above her head, not like glitter, but as if she could see life pumping through their veins.
She’d never seen anything so beautiful, well, except for the two men flanking her sides. They were certainly beautiful…and masculine…and powerful…and ethereal. Her stomach flipped each time she looked from one to the other. If she died now, in the midst of this male perfection, she would die a very happy woman.
Just then the sound of pounding feet merged with the noise from the water, jolting her into the moment. Coming from the left was a group of men, the Arch Druid at the helm. They marched in a perfect V formation with silver swords in one hand and large sickles in the other. Each person, if that’s what they were, was clad in head-to-toe black, making her think of ninjas from a Japanese action flick. Even their faces were covered with black masks, with only slits open for their eyes.
Drake and Riagan laid large palms on her shoulders, pushing her down into a crouched position as they followed suit.
“Drake,” Riagan whispered, “Caswallen is the one known as Master?”
“Aye.”
“They are one and the same?”
“Aye.”
“Did you suspect?”
“Nay, brother. The worlds have been unsettled since the night you were banned. But who could have foreseen this? As you know, we of the Brotherhood may be immortal but we are not privy to the sight.” He paused for a moment, then continued. “If only I’d known.”
“I don’t understand,” Wren began. “Well, I don’t understand anything, but why is the Arch Druid after the Cauldron? I mean, is he now the enemy? And what is the sight? Is that like seeing things? Telling the future?”
Riagan gazed down at her. “Aye. He must be after immortality. By gaining access to the Cauldron, he can drink from its waters and become thus.”
“It is likely. I have no other explanation,” Drake agreed.
After the group disappeared in the distance, to where she did not know, the brothers took her by her arms, lifting her to her feet. The trio followed a worn trail until the sound of the river filled Wren's ears, rushing and alive.
They started to climb a steep slope, the grade making movement difficult, but they pushed ahead until they came to a small lookout high on a mountainside. There, they hunched down behind a gray stone boulder. Below, the black-clad men stood in a circle, their arms uplifted, their palms touching at the pinkie finger until they merged as one. There was no sign of the rest of the Brotherhood.
Looming like a massive white orb was the full moon, just off to their right, hovering like a crystal ball. So enormous and close, Wren could hit it with a rock. “Oh. My. God.”
Riagan’s hand clamped down over her mouth before she could say more.
Now she knew she was hallucinating. The moon consumed a quarter of the night sky with its radiant white presence. She could see the cavernous beaches and the soaring mountains. She knew if she walked forward, she would be able to touch it.
“Riagan,” she began, but he gave her a gentle shake.
“You must be quiet.”
She nodded, and he loosened his grip.
The sounds of chanting wafted up with a breeze, and she was able to focus on the small, black group below as they lifted their heads. The moon’s glow reflected off their faces, ghostly in the gray light.
Wren shuddered. “Where is the Cauldron?”
Riagan pointed to the left. She had been so consumed by the moon she hadn’t noticed the waterfall. It was enormous too, at least three stories high, with a narrow yet powerful overflow of water rushing down the rock face of a mountain. Was everything here supersized?
The water cascaded into a pool at the bottom of the mountain, but the place where it landed seemed undersized for the amount of water pouring into it. A gentle river also flowed into the pool and she wondered if it accommodated the massive amount of water from the fall. Or was there something else down there? Somewhere else the water went?
Caswallen’s men dropped their arms and turned as a single unit toward the waterfall. They moved forward, almost gliding across the moss-covered ground. Riagan and Drake were tense and so was she.
Something was about to happen.
But what?
Riagan, Wren, and Drake watched as the group, led by Caswallen, stepped into the water that pooled at the bottom of the waterfall. The men walked in a single-file line, easing into the water as if walking down stairs. When their heads submerged and there was no ripple of water, Riagan flashed a silent plea at Wren to remain with his brother. After he received her quiet nod of agreement, his gaze turned to Drake. A separate silent message passed between them in which Riagan pleaded for Drake to forgo going to his post, to remain by Wren’s side. Drake agreed, knowing it was Riagan who needed to be nearest the Cauldron at this direst of moments.
Riagan slid down the mountain.
He was several paces behind the last man in the group and knew he moved with the quietness of a spider. Riagan said a prayer of thanks to the gods for giving him back his full druid powers when he crossed the portal.
The water numbed the soles of his feet, ice cold, but so welcome. This was the pool he knew well. He had not only been born near this very spot, but the cave to the Cauldron lay just behind this waterfall, deeply imbedded into the rock face.
Were he not so focused, like a viper on its prey, he would have cried tears of joy and jubilation at returning home. His stomach churned when he thought of the Arch Druid’s betrayal. How could he change to the side of evil and void his most sacred vows? When did he become the Master? It must’ve happened right under their unassuming noses.
Casw
allen had been born into the Arch Druid’s role, been trained for it his entire life, was chosen by the gods as the one who would become the next leader of this group of warriors. What did this mean for the Brotherhood of the Sacred Grove? They had never encountered such a betrayal, and Riagan was not sure how they would recover or survive.
His muscles coiled and constricted as he submerged beneath the water, but he shut his mind to anything other than the Cauldron. Its powerful presence lured him forward, obscuring all other thoughts as it beckoned him to cross the mile underwater to get to its dwelling place.
He maintained his gait to match that of Caswallen and the others, careful not to fall behind, but as careful not to plunge ahead. Did they detect his presence? He knew the spell of invisibility, which not only made him physically invisible but also made the energy he emitted invisible. Caswallen would know how to counter that spell, but as the group continued forward, he doubted he’d see use for it. Caswallen likely thought Riagan was dead or stuck upon the Earth as a mortal.
He likely thought the first half of his goal was achieved.
The water was a cool, transparent green, almost like looking through a piece of sea glass. These waters were enchanted, brought forth from the lakes of the Isle before the great storm obliterated that sacred place. Even through transport, the waters, carried in oak barrels in the hulls of great wooden ships, maintained their magical, protective powers. Only within a pool such as this could an artifact as revered as the Murias Cauldron remain protected, and only through an enchanted river could men be submerged for so long without breath.
Just ahead, a neon glow lit the water. The entrance to the cave. The Cauldron. Caswallen’s men had made it. But so had he.
He slipped around the side to come at the Cauldron from a narrow passageway he’d carved into the side of the rock face, a passage even the Arch Druid didn’t know of. He’d carved that hidden door to sneak out and meet his lovers.
A stab of pain shot through his heart, and he closed his eyes. So much had been sacrificed for his wanton desires. But then he thought of Wren and pushed ahead, determination igniting his every warrior sense.
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