Druid cursed, p.19
Druid Cursed, page 19
“You will take it.” He pressed the hilt into her hand and curled his callused fingers around hers. “Keep it with you should the need arise.”
She nodded, touched that he trusted her with his personal weapon. But as much as she loved the dagger, she hoped she wouldn’t have any reason to whip it out other than to admire it. Sorcha was real, though, so she might.
And if Sorcha was real… Her mind leaped around, processing everything that happened the last few days and how this new realization fit into it.
“If Wendy getting sick was the first sign of Sorcha possessing her, why would she later send me on a scavenger hunt?” Before Kellen could respond, she continued, speaking the idea as it formed. “The poem says if I find the three items before the new moon, only then she may be free.” Her hand tightened around the dagger. “I think it’s Wendy’s way of trying to break free from Sorcha. She knows I’d never turn down a scavenger hunt, and if Sorcha’s from the same century as you, she wouldn’t even know what a scavenger hunt is, right?”
“Perhaps,” he said slowly. “But we cannot be certain. Sorcha is not prison bound as I am. She may assumedly glean current information, even as a spirit. And ’tis entirely possible Sorcha is also using Wendy’s memories for her own unsavory purposes.”
“I could be wrong, but it’s a risk I have to take.” She slipped the dagger in her belt, feeling totally badass, and took Kellen’s large hand between hers, going for persuasion. “Wendy might be counting on me to complete this hunt to free her. Could you imagine being held hostage in your own body while someone else uses it?”
He studied her for a moment and blew out a breath. “Your loyalty is commendable. Truth be told, I would do the same for Caedmon. Very well. We will continue your quest, but I suggest we leave the ring and key in Caedmon’s keeping. If Sorcha is orchestrating this hunt, we will ensure she does not have access to the items we find.”
“Deal.”
She didn’t protest when he continued holding her hand and tugged her back the way they’d come at a brisk pace. But if Caedmon’s workshop wards were so amazing, how did his twin wind up cursed? Her heart squeezed. Seven days of life at a time for centuries, and those hours used to fight for a freedom that grew less likely by the day. If she had only seven days, how would she spend them?
As if drawn by a net, her gaze slipped to Kellen’s black boots, up his long legs and lean hips, sculpted arms and broad shoulders. The man was a mystery, a puzzle she wouldn’t mind solving, piece by piece until she knew every single detail of his past, how he became a druid, the man beneath the cloak, what might bring him more smiles than scowls—even though she kinda liked his scowl. The memory of his velvet mouth on hers flashed to life, followed by how he’d crowded her against the wall that first night and then in the library, all man and darkness and hunger. For her.
Heat crept down her neck. Yep, she could think of a few things to do.
But what if he was free? Would she be here right now, holding his hand? It was hard to imagine that he wouldn’t be more like Caedmon, worldly and jaded, drawn to the more elegant things in life, that he’d be even remotely interested in a completely ordinary girl who had nothing more to offer than her humble self. And a knowledge of medieval history that only came in handy during sports bar trivia nights. It certainly hadn’t been enough for Darren.
Besides, if he and his brother had already been alive for centuries and didn’t look a day over thirty-five, did that mean he was immortal? He’d have to see her grow old and die while he remained young… How could she put him through that?
You’re being an idiot. She had no intention of falling right back into a man, Old World druid or not. What Kellen did or didn’t want in any scenario made no difference to her life. Other than helping her free Wendy, his decisions had zero impact on her future. She cared about him, of course, but she could do that without a relationship or sacrificing any sliver of her heart. No matter how much she wanted to help him break his curse, she couldn’t let herself forget.
If the next few days were all he had left, she would miss him later. A lot. But that was all she could allow. Anything more would mean risking the part of herself that she’d already fought so hard to get back.
…
The day waned with no sign of Sorcha. Kellen made full use of the opportunity to spend the minutes with Maggie, scouring the library for information that may assist in freeing Wendy from Sorcha’s hold. She hid the worry for her friend behind her brave smile. Somehow, he endured the torment of keeping his hands and lips to himself. By the heavens above and earth below, her courage and loyalty smote him in the very heart. She had all the qualities he’d ever sought in a worthy life partner.
Kellen clenched his jaw as he strode the corridor to Caedmon’s workshop, Maggie safely under Jeeves’s watch. Damnation, he loathed omission when it resembled deceit, yet protecting her both in body and soul was more important than revealing the bleak facts. As much as he berated himself for surrendering to his weakness and kissing her once again, he could not fully regret the joy of holding her, the sweet taste of her lips, her soft sigh. The memories were ones he would cherish for eternity no matter what his future held, but he refused to destroy her destiny with vows he could not fulfill.
Maggie was his share of life, his true love, his soul mate. But if Caedmon did not discover an alternate counter-spell, she would never know that truth.
Mentally deactivating the shields around Caedmon’s study, he entered without knocking. Caedmon looked up from the table he leaned over, open books surrounding him on every available surface, his cravat loose and crooked. Bruises underscored his eyes, indication of his sleepless nights and unrelenting commitment to breaking the curse.
“Any further progress on the counter-spell?” Kellen asked, halting at the table.
“Still running into the same problem of needing to sacrifice Sorcha’s descendant.” He lifted his hands at Kellen’s low growl. “I know that’s out of the question.” His eyes glinted, coming to life with humor. “And speaking of the lovely Maggie O’Malley, it seems she’s finally warming up to you. You should indulge with her tonight for the harvest ritual. It would be good for the land. And with the second ward down and Sorcha’s last encounter robbing your vitality…it would be good for you, too.”
The words inspired an image of Maggie’s sweet curves pressed against him, her mouth on his, and his entire body went hard and taut as an iron poker. Kellen yielded to the urge to throw a half-hearted punch at his brother, which sadly missed as Caedmon danced out of reach, smirking. He endured the annoyance, for he preferred his brother’s humor over the shadows haunting him.
“Maggie is my heart, not some random Samhain guest who is willing to offer herself to you for one night. I will not ask it of her, not when our future remains uncertain.”
“But that’s my point.” Caedmon hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “She is your heart, your eternal love. Think of the power, the potency it would lend to tonight’s ritual, to the land. To you. We need every edge we can get against Sorcha.”
The words sent a jolt of heat straight to his groin, doing naught to temper his imagination or ease his increasingly uncomfortable situation. He cleared his throat and subtly adjusted trews—what Caedmon referred to as jeans—that had become too tight. “I would surrender my birthright to an entire coven of witches rather than use Maggie by luring her into a situation that she will bemoan later. A situation that could destroy the small measure of trust she now has for me.”
Caedmon returned his stare a moment, his jaw tight. “Sometimes, brother, you are a stubborn fool.”
“She is worth any amount of foolery,” he said softly. He held his brother’s gaze, a challenge, so he would know the depth of truth in his words. “I will not sully my tenuous relationship with her for any reason.”
Caedmon snorted, and Kellen pushed past his brother to the window overlooking the private family gardens. He loathed that Caedmon was correct. Conducting the harvest rite with his heartmate would empower the bond between druid and land like no other, replenish his stolen magic, but he could not abuse Maggie’s trust in that manner. No matter how he wished to remove her clothing one article at a time, worship every inch of her smooth skin as it was exposed…
He turned from the window. “I am going to the castle tonight. That should be enough distance between us to prevent any mishaps.”
“For the record, when it comes to women, you’re useless.” Caedmon arched an eyebrow. “Sure, slink off to the castle. Ditch Maggie for the night. See how that works out for you.”
He growled, the only answer Caedmon deserved.
“Fine. Be noble, selfless, and in complete control, as always.”
At the unusually bitter edge to Caedmon’s voice, Kellen faced his twin. The veneer Caedmon always wore around his guests was gone, and for an instant, only his brother stood before him, lost and unsure. Alone. Fie, he was the worst sort of cretin, wallowing in his own burdens while his brother bore his own.
“Do you remember when we were first brought to the druids and Master Finnegan took me from you?” Caedmon asked quietly. He lifted the acorn pendant on the chain around his neck—their mother’s locket—and stared at it, rubbing his thumb back and forth over it.
Kellen nodded. That day was a scar on his memory. They had both been torn from their mother with no rational explanation, taken into custody by a frightening stranger who would become master, tormenter, and teacher. Worst of all, they had been separated for the entirety of a year and knew not the other’s fate save for what their respective warden chose to share, and there had been no method to decipher truth from lie.
“They were smart, separating us to gain control,” Caedmon said. “I know what you were told to keep you in line that first year—that if you didn’t cooperate, whatever punishment you earned would be doubly upon me. From the very beginning, your master recognized your nature, that you’d do anything to protect me, even if it meant your own suffering.”
The warning had been more effective than any noose around his neck. Kellen would have fought until his last breath without fear of the consequences, but when his master had informed him after that first beating how Caedmon suffered due to his choices? Aye, he had leashed his rage and took on the yoke of obedient student and slave. He’d dared not question the veracity of the claim, not when he had no manner of determining the truth, not when his brother’s welfare depended on him.
Caedmon released the pendant and studied his fingernails, as if their conversation was no more than casual, not stirring up an ancient pain that would never fully heal. “I never divulged what Finnegan used to keep me under his heel that first year. He crushed my spirit the very first night, offered up my worst fear, and made me live it.” He lifted his gaze and moisture shimmered in his eyes. “He told me you were dead, and I had no reason not to believe him.” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “I would have endured all the beatings in the world to have known that you were alive that first year.”
“Och, brother.” Kellen could barely make the words, his airway closing up. “Why did you not say so before?”
Clenching his jaw, he shook his head. “My point is that if you ever turned your back on me, if I ever lost you, it would destroy me.” He cleared his throat, taking the rasp in his voice with it. “Sorcha knows that. She seeks to separate us because apart, we’re vulnerable. Our birthright, the very land itself is now endangered. This could have ripple effects throughout all of Ireland. But together, we’re a force she can’t stand against.”
Kellen waited a moment for his emotions to settle before he spoke. “Do you know what kept me sane while in my prison?”
Caedmon blinked, and the sheen of unshed tears in his eyes vanished along with his sentiment. “I doubt it’s singing to yourself. Your voice could make a corpse crumble.” He snapped his fingers. “Why haven’t we tried that on Sorcha yet?”
Kellen let the humor slide off him and squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “I think of you. How strong you are for taking on most of my duties along with yours, alone. What mischief you are causing without me there to balance you.”
“I do miss your disapproving scowls.” Caedmon’s smile was twisted and pained. “Every decade or so.”
“I think of how you unceasingly fight for my freedom.” He leaned his forehead against Caedmon’s. “I will never be able to repay you for the years you have continued on alone, for always being there for me. For simply being my brother.”
“For God’s sake, stop it. I can’t bear the melancholy. Bring my brooding, ill-tempered brother back before I sic Jeeves on you.” Caedmon pushed him away and swiped at his eyes. “One can die from too many blueberry muffins. Proven fact.”
Kellen gave him a small grin and allowed his brother the reprieve from sharp emotions and even sharper memories. “I reinforced the remaining ward around the main grounds as much as I could.” As the last bastion against Sorcha’s evil, he prayed it would hold. “Are all the preparations for tonight in place?”
“Of course.” Caedmon sniffed in mock offense. “Nothing but the best for me and my sordid appetite.”
“I will meet you in the sacred oak grove, then retreat to my castle.” And he would be nowhere near Maggie for the rest of the night.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Lightning forked, electric-white, across the angry sky, and the chandelier in Maggie’s room flickered violently. Thunder boomed before the jagged reflection had faded, shaking the foundations of Ravenwood Mansion. The lights died altogether, and the deep quiet of a night without electricity crept in.
She lowered the borrowed Ravenwood library book, Possessions and Purifications, and stared out into the black from the window seat. With the moon and stars behind storm clouds, she had no way to see. Great. How would she keep her mind occupied now? Without Kellen constantly distracting her and no third scavenger hunt clue card yet, all the worry for Wendy gathered like a suffocating weight on her chest, making it hard to gather a full breath. What if Sorcha had quieted Wendy for good? She hated that her friend was out there, somewhere, trapped and possibly in pain. Possessed. And she had no idea how to help her.
Contest cash or not, no matter the entire mountain range of arcane happenings surrounding her, she’d never leave Ravenwood Estate without Wendy. Backing out wasn’t an option. Until she received the last clue, the scavenger quest remained at a standstill. The next competition ritual hadn’t been announced yet. She felt like she treaded water in a shark-infested sea. It was only a matter of time before the fins showed up.
The heavens opened, and rain drilled the windowpane. A gust of wicked wind howled around corners and shook the glass as if trying to break in.
Maybe curled up on the window seat wasn’t the safest place. Maggie fumbled through the dark, tripping over Wendy’s suitcase on her way to the door. As she reached for the doorknob, a knock sounded, giving her heart a jolt.
“Miss O’Malley, I have a lantern for you.” At Jeeves’s familiar voice, she opened the door. He stood there in the dark like a wraith, an oil lantern in his long, white fingers. It seemed Ravenwood refused to ruin the Halloween experience with anything so normal as flashlights. He handed it to her with a bow. “Master Kellen, of course, would have preferred to bring the lantern to you personally, but his duties this evening prevent it.”
She’d been trying not to think about that, too. What unavoidable duties could he possibly have when he only had a few days of freedom left, a curse to break, and a witch to crush?
“Was the salt you requested earlier adequate for your purposes?” Jeeves waited for her response, his expression blank of any judgment or curiosity.
“It was perfect.” Maggie almost glanced at the salt lining the threshold between them and wondered if he’d noticed. Salt also lined every windowsill and circled the sink and toilet for good measure. She wasn’t taking any chances that spirits might be able to pass through drainpipes.
“If you need aught else, simply call and I will answer.” He bowed and turned gracefully away.
She set the lantern on the table by the door. Maybe she wasn’t being entirely fair about being alone tonight. Kellen had been amazing, the perfect gentleman. He’d guided her through the library, finding armfuls of books that might help her rescue Wendy. While she’d pored over articles on spirits and how to kick them out of flesh and bone, he’d brought her cinnamon-laced coffee and the best cheese sandwich she’d ever had, making sure she kept up her strength. He’d made her feel like she wasn’t facing an impossible situation alone. Along the way, he’d told her stories of his childhood and pried personal details from her. Just as it had been freeing to tell him about Aunt Maeve, something she’d kept secret from everyone else until now, it had been surprisingly easy talking to him, sharing more of herself and her past.
And oh so dangerous. He’d made her feel important and interesting. Desired.
Another spear of lightning flashed, with a follow-up peal of thunder that made her jump. The chandelier hanging above the door rattled. She couldn’t stop replaying the leaves in the forest taking human form or Sorcha’s threats.
“White and Nerdy” erupted from her phone on the coffee table.
Her breath caught at Wendy’s ringtone. Maybe the storm had messed with the cell towers enough to finally give them a bit of service. She leaped for her phone and swiped the screen to answer. “Wendy?”
“Maggie, thank God! I’ve been trying and trying to call or text. The connection here sucks.”
Maggie closed her eyes in relief. Wendy’s voice, Wendy’s words, no hint of accent or witchy rasp. She was safe. “Where are you? Are you okay?”
“I’m…you wouldn’t believe…creepy.” The call faded in and out, serrated by crackles and silence.
