Page 32 of Druid Cursed

“A command to banish the spirit. Coupled with an iron weapon, a phantom cannot sustain their energy. In my haste to protect you, I failed to re member that I have no power to banish Sorcha.” He held the sheathed knife out to her, hilt first, and a thrill went through her.

“Keep this. You are correct in that Sorcha cannot be trusted. Knowing you carry this will bring me some modicum of peace.”

Maggie’s fingers twitched, wanting to grab it before he changed his mind.

The sheath was black, gleaming leather. Silver and ebony vines entwined the handle.

The hilt itself was formed in the shape of a raven’s head, as if the blade emerged from its open beak.

Rubies made up its eyes, shining like fresh blood. “It’s lovely, but I couldn’t possibly.”

“Whyever not?”

“It must cost a fortune, and I—”

“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 fre eing 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.”