He returned his attention to Gwyon, who was watching him now with more than a hint of curiosity in those black depths.
A rustling behind him told him Riagan had come. He also knew Wren was beside him.
With a deep breath, Drake said, “We know the offenses so there is no need to read the betrayals.”
The trees leaned forward, their long limbs reaching out over the group.
“Our Brotherhood, our realm, will never be the same. Many offenses have passed here over these moons. Now is the time to make amends for offenses made.”
His gaze flipped from Riagan, now by his side, to Gwyon.
“Gwyon, you are hereby convicted of plotting to steal the revered Murias Cauldron; for aiding the one they called Master, whom we now know to be Caswallen; for betraying your ancestors and all those on your realm.”
“Wait.” Gwyon lifted the hand that did not hold his cane. He steeled his jaw and shifted his weight. “I know my ills, and I am ready to accept punishment for them.” Tears welled in his eyes, making them resemble pieces of coal settled in a stream. “I just want to say that I am sorry for what I have done.” He turned to Wren. “I am sorry I tried to hurt you and your mother. You were innocent in all of this, and I am glad I did not succeed in my endeavor.”
He sighed, deflated, and leaned heavily on the cane.
After a moment, Drake lifted his arms, palms splayed toward his half brother. “As for punishment for said offenses, we hereby deem that all punishment has already been served. And from this day forward, Gwyon will enter druid training. He will drink from the Cauldron’s healing waters and become the warrior he was meant to be. He will become one of the Brotherhood of the Sacred Grove.”
Gwyon gasped, searching the eyes of his brothers, as if seeking and waiting for them to tell him they were joking. That he would indeed die on this day and not fulfill his life’s greatest desire. He’d never dared to dream this would happen.
The gazes he met held no humor or indication the words were anything but truth.
Then Gwyon, with a deep breath that filled his chest, lifted his chin. With his full weight upon his own feet, he wobbled, but then with sheer determination, stood erect, unaided and proud.
“I will fulfill my duty as I was born to do.”
“Pray that it will be so.”
“What about the Council’s terms that he not drink? Not train?” Riagan asked, and Eogabail stepped forward to answer.
“My sons, rules that have been made can be unmade. After seeing my daughter’s heartbreak, I summoned the worlds’ Councils, and an agreement was reached. Gwyon, after taking responsibility and showing regret for his actions, can take Riagan’s place in the Brotherhood if he fulfills the requirements of his trainings. This does not offer an immediate solution, as Riagan must remain on the druid realm until his replacement is ready, but it is a solution I think all will agree with.”
“There will be none, then, with immortal blood outside the Brotherhood,” one brother stepped forward to say.
“True,” answered Eogabail, his eyes sparkling like diamonds. “Perhaps Riagan and Destiny can take care of that for us.”
Drake turned to Riagan. Tears glistened in their matching green eyes. “When Gwyon is taken to the Cauldron to drink,” Drake whispered, “so too shall Wren. I know not if you remember from your teachings, but Redeemers can become immortals if they so wish. And, Riagan, you can also drink, and that will allow you to live on the realm of man with your love for all your days as her Protector.”
Riagan’s knees gave out and he fell to the ground, clasping his hands and staring at the heavens.
Wren’s lovely face was frozen in shock, disbelief, and confusion. There was no need to rush to an explanation, though. Riagan would have an eternity for all that and more.
The first ray of sunshine peeked through the small slit of Wren’s bedroom curtains, just enough to kiss her skin and wake her from her dreams. She rolled over and tried to fall back asleep to no avail.
Images flipped through her mind, images from the dreams that had peppered her sleep. Trees, faeries, an enormous pearl of a moon. Everything seemed so real she didn’t want to open her eyes and return to reality. Dealing with her mother, her sister, her clients, and her fiancé was, simply, too much.
No, she preferred her dreams where she became someone important, someone vital to the safety of the world, and everything around her actually made sense.
It wasn’t until Duke whimpered by the bedside that she knew she had to get up. Groaning, she rolled over, desperate for five more minutes before facing yet another day of drudgery. When her fingers fell upon an arm lying beside her, she froze, terror clutching at her heart. She did not remember inviting a man to her bed.
Her mind raced like an Olympic sprinter.
The man’s soft, rhythmic breathing told her he was still asleep. She squinted one eyelid and peered to her side.
Long strands of white-blond hair spilled onto her pillow. A muscled torso lay exposed above the sheet. One arm was flung over his head. The other rested along her body, indicating they’d been touching, sandwiched together, in her sleep.
Ray.
She was startled to see this man who had flaunted around in her dreams so vividly. She didn’t remember meeting him last night, inviting him into her home again. No, actually her last true memory of him was right after they’d slept together and he’d told her some crazy story. She remembered ordering him to leave her alone. That was months ago. Years, maybe.
Why was he here then?
She rolled out of the bed, keeping her eyes trained on him for any hint he was waking. His soft snores did not alter so she crept to her bathroom and closed the door, forgetting all about letting Duke outside. When she looked into the mirror, the image made her gasp. Staring back at her was her reflection, but somehow altered.
Her hair, many times longer than she remembered, hung down to her hips, tugging on her scalp. She ran her hands through the long strands to see if they were part of a wig or extensions, but the tight curls wouldn’t budge.
She pushed it off her face and stared at herself again. Her features were the same, though her eyes were a little brighter, her lips a little redder. She felt taller and glanced down to see that her pajama bottoms did, indeed, fall to her ankles instead of over her feet. Maybe they’d shrunk in the dryer, though that didn’t make sense as they were old and had been washed many times over.
A headache was budding behind her left eye, and just as she reached for the medicine cabinet, she heard Ray moving, then clearing his throat. He must be waking up.
She glanced back into the mirror and squared her shoulders.
So this was it—her mental break had come. She couldn’t recall the events of last evening, last month, last year, and had no idea how this guy came to be in her home, in her bed. But with this realization—that the insanity she had waited nearly her whole life for was here—came liberation.
She would ask Ray to leave, and then she would spend the day writing in her journal. Maybe the observations of her own mental deterioration could help someone else. Maybe she could even write for a medical or psychiatry journal.
Wren O’Hara, writer.
Turning from the mirror, she opened the door a crack and peered out. Duke was standing there, eyes pleading to go outside. She tiptoed down the hall, careful not to look in the bedroom, and held the door open for Duke.
She glanced at the clock in the kitchen, and it read eight thirty. That gave her an hour and a half before her mother would wake up. The last thing she wanted was for her mother to see Ray. Life was upside down and topsy-turvy enough without sending her mother off the rails. She remembered all too well how her mother reacted the first time she met him.
Leaving Duke outside to take care of his needs, she closed the door quietly and walked back down the hall. As she neared the bedroom door, she slowed, peering ahead to try and catch the first glimpse of Ray before he caught one of her.
It
didn’t work.
As soon as he came into view, his eyes locked on hers.
He smiled. She felt nauseous.
Sunlight streamed through the window, reflecting off something that flashed in the corner of her bedroom. She blinked, then clenched her eyes shut and counted to ten, trying to ward off any visual hallucinations. She opened them again.
The strange item was still there.
The diadem from her dream.
She glanced from the crown to Ray, his chiseled chest rising and falling with his breath, his long blond hair casting a halo around his perfect face.
OCH, BUT SHE is a beauty. He hardened under the cotton sheet and willed her back to bed. Why does she look so upset? Certainly the cries I brought forth from her last night would be cause for a smile?
“What is it, little bird?” Her pet name rolled off his tongue. He threw back the sheets and shot her his most smoldering glance.
But she averted her gaze.
I’ve lost my touch. That was my best sexy look.
So he tried again. He gave a slight flip of his long hair in a come-hither move he’d seen on her television.
She turned away.
Oy! Not the best.
He glanced down to see if he was as virile as he remembered. Hmmm, looks good. Then what was with the lass on this morn?
He got out of bed, standing to his full, impressive, nude, height. Moving in front of her, he allowed her a moment to study his body. Her eyes traveled from his broad shoulders down to his stomach. When she saw his alert member, her pretty little mouth fell open and he could not resist.
She didn’t protest when he brought his lips down upon her cherry mouth and kissed her deeply. She moaned in his grasp, and he pushed her onto the bed.
She seemed to change her mind and tried to rise back up, but he was faster. And more determined. Her full breasts squashed against his chest, and he could feel her hardened nipples pressing outward, begging to be kissed.
So he obliged.
She whimpered under him, then slid her petite hands into his hair, and he couldn’t tell if she was pulling him toward her or pushing him away. Either way, he didn’t care. This woman was his to cherish till the end of time and cherish her he would.
She wiggled underneath him. He inched his head back. She was watching him with an expression he did not understand. She seemed like she was about to cry, and her pouty bottom lip quivered.
“What is it, little bird?” He kissed that bottom lip.
Tears escaped her eyes and slid down her rosy cheeks in silvery trails. He lifted off her and gathered her into his embrace. Holding her like an infant, he rocked back and forth on the creaky bed. Eogabail said she would have moments such as this as she readjusted to the realm of man after their last visit to the druid realm, a visit that had seen Gwyon take Riagan’s place in the Brotherhood.
He caressed her hair, then tilted her face back to look at him. “I love you, lass. Now tell me, what is wrong? Remember, I am your Protector.”
She searched his eyes. “Wasn’t it all just a dream?”
“Lass, if you believe nothing else, believe in me, your sworn Protector. I’ll let naught happen to you, my beloved.”
She stared at the blanket for several moments. He had to resist the urge to trace the outline of her heavy breast as he watched it rise and fall with her breath. So quietly he almost didn’t hear her, she said, “My Protector?”
“Aye,” he said with force. “I am your Protector, and I will never leave your side. Don’t ever forget it. You are mine.”
The eyes of the Aegean searched his face. After everything, did she still think she was insane? Had her travel back to the realm of man altered her mind? A pit opened in his stomach. What if she was going to turn out like her mother? The thought was too distressing to contemplate.
No matter what, though, he would protect her.
Finally, she mumbled, “I guess it wasn’t a dream after all.” Then she flashed a smile at him and his heart nearly burst open with happiness.
“A dream? What speak you of, lass?” He was overjoyed with this change in attitude. “I’ll show you I’m no dream.” He tickled her sides until she screamed, and soon he had her clothes in a heap on the floor.
When Riagan knew her fears had abated, he turned his tickles into caresses. Beginning with her shoulders and arms, he traced her body with his fingertips.
She shuddered when he flicked over her pink nipples, and he was unable to resist pulling each one between his lips. She ran her nails down his back and the pleasant pain was unbearable. He eased on top of her and stared deep into her eyes as he entered her with a powerful thrust.
She grasped his back and clung to him as if afraid he would disappear into thin air, as if she could hold him tight enough that he would remain with her forever. The little lass still didn’t believe he was real, but he would spend eternity proving to her he was.
Outside the bedroom window, kissed by a new day’s sun, the trees danced to their ancient rhythm.
Laire McKinney is the author of contemporary romance and romantic fantasy. She believes in a hard-earned happily-ever-after, with nothing more satisfying than passionate kisses and sexy love scenes. When not writing steamy romance, she can be found traipsing among the wildflowers, reading under a willow tree, or gazing at the moon while pondering the meaning of it all. She lives in Virginia with her family and beloved rescue pup, Lila.
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