Page 42 of Druid Cursed
CHAPTER
At the insistent knock on her door, Maggie jerked awake and sat up. Her world spun for a second before the room settled. She rubbed her grainy eyes and wiped crusted drool off her mouth. Gross.
Shadows filled her room, the twilight view beyond the windows suggesting she’d been asleep for hours. Considering the sleep-deprived night before…not a huge surprise. Or maybe the magic had been like a sugar high with the inevitable crash.
She rolled off the couch, and the whisper of silk around her legs reminded her what she’d been doing before. After the wicked-witch strategy session with Caedmon, she’d returned to her room while Kellen inspected the remaining protection ward. Jeeves, assumedly, had been assigned babysitting duty.
Freakin’ protection ward. In a matter of days, her life had tumbled into a rabbit hole. The final impact at the bottom was on its way.
After researching books until her eyes blurred and only finding sketchy information about freeing best friends from possessions, she’d tried on the delicious gown Kellen had given her to wear to the masquerade ball tonight.
It had fit perfectly. While thoroughly admiring the handiwork and basking in the Cinderella impression, she’d sat down.
She’d meant to close her eyes for only a second, not an entire afternoon, precious hours she could never get back.
She lifted her skirt and moved to the wall mirror.
Her hair was flat on one side, her makeup in need of professional help.
Maybe Cara would’ve helped her look as glamorous as the dress deserved if she’d asked.
Then again, she hadn’t seen Cara since the harvest ritual.
When she’d been Caedmon’s consort. Her face heated as she fluffed her hair.
She was probably still recovering from that night.
“Maggie, are you awake?” Kellen’s voice filtered through the door.
“I am now.” Stepping over the intact salt circle around the threshold, she opened the door and gave him an apologetic look. “I’m sorry—”
He buried his hands in her hair, tilted her head back, and silenced her with a kiss.
The way he moved his mouth over hers, both possessive and yearning, with a desire so raw it threatened to flame her alive, she could only surrender to it.
She gripped his powerful wrists to stay upright, and his frantic pulse throbbed through her fingertips, echoing her own.
Her knees wobbled, and she nearly crumpled to the floor. Holy hell, the man could kiss.
He broke away, saving her from that embarrassment. “Apologize for nothing.” Studying her face, he brushed her hair back. “Are you well?”
“Yeah,” she said, breathless. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. You should have woken me up earlier.”
“Awaken a slumbering angel?” His dark eyes gleamed wickedly. “I think not.”
Maggie eased back, finally having the sense to take him in.
New fire coiled in her gut. If he’d shaved his goatee and cut his hair, she might have mistaken him for Caedmon.
His expensive, ebony suit fit his tall, cut form perfectly, showcasing broad shoulders and narrow hips.
The black, brocaded vest highlighted swirls of peacock colors.
She grinned at the boots peeking out from his fine trousers.
He wouldn’t be Kellen without those boots.
“You clean up surprisingly nice, Mr. Ravenwood.”
He bowed his head and slipped on his mask. It completely covered his face with gleaming jet-black feathers and a sharp, curved beak. Kellen’s eyes glittered from the holes, a perfect match to the ensemble.
“A raven? Really?” She wiggled her feet into the flats and swiped her magnificent peacock mask off the coffee table. “I expected an ancient druid to be more creative.”
“Someone must represent our family,” he said stiffly. “Caedmon carries more than his share of the duties in my absence. ’Tis a trifle for me to agree to so small an act so that he might don a costume of his own choosing.”
Maggie paused before him and arched an eyebrow. “I was teasing.”
He released a breath. “Forgive me. I detest not knowing what mischief Sorcha plans for this night. I loathe being unable to defend all that I love from her evil. Already, I sense stained magic in the air, itching at my skin.”
Was that what made her feel as if she’d downed a bottle of champagne in her dreams and now paid the consequences in reality?
She set the peacock mask on her face, and a shiver threaded through her, stealing the enchantment of gowns and masquerades.
Tonight, Sorcha would make an appearance.
The clue had made it clear. But she still didn’t know if the cards came from Wendy herself or Wendy as Sorcha.
Caedmon insisted that Wendy would be safe until Samhain. Their plan to defeat Sorcha hinged on Wendy playing unwilling host to the witch until then. She could only trust that Caedmon’s druid expertise wasn’t wrong.
“Do you have the dagger I gave you?” Kellen asked as she opened the door.
Maggie spun on her heel and grabbed the dagger in its sheath from the coffee table, hesitating only a moment before pushing it down between her breasts, close to the necklace of protective charms and stones. The leather pouch that gave her the heebie-jeebies rested in her gown pocket.
Kellen choked, and she smiled beneath her mask at the scandalized noise.
“Where else did you think I could put it in this dress?”
“In a satchel? Beneath a shawl?” By his tone, he was scowling under his mask. His attention flicked to her décolletage before he met her gaze again. “When I chose that dress for you, I was only imagining how lovely you would look in it, not sharing you with guests.”
She sighed dreamily. “Keep talking.”
He leaned close to her ear. “Keep your dagger close. It will most likely come in useful against Caedmon’s lecherous guests.”
“Guess I’ll just have to stay close to you.” She slid her hand into the crook of his arm, the muscles beneath her fingers jumping. “Quite the hardship.”
His black eyes shimmered behind the raven mask. “I have no intention of letting you go, leannán .”
Her heart fluttered as though dragonflies took flight in her chest.
As Kellen accompanied her to a part of the mansion she hadn’t yet explored, the evidence of a party in full swing assaulted her senses.
Candelabras smelling of lavender and rose lined the corridor on both sides, causing sinister shapes to flicker on the walls and ceiling.
Raucous laughter swelled from the open double doors leading into the night.
Music streamed from the shadowed gardens beyond, lazy drums, flutes, and a single, soulful violin that sent shivers along her neck.
A strange sort of wildness thrummed in the instruments, untamed and slightly discordant, as if the black woods beyond the gardens echoed its own song, wanting to join in.
They stepped into the cool, open air, and Maggie paused. Sudden heat trembled in her belly and licked slowly through her veins. She gripped Kellen’s arm tighter, acutely aware of the fine material of his jacket beneath her fingers, the seeping warmth of him, the firm muscle beneath. “I feel—”
“As if the night is naught but an enchanted dream?” Kellen said, his voice hoarse, his sharp gaze surveying the gardens, the guests gathered in loose, laughing knots or swirling wildly in the space cleared for dancing. “Aye. Magic.”
“Sweet sugar pops,” she murmured as the heat pooled low in her abdomen and ached between her thighs. “I think I’ve been drugged without any of the nasty side effects. Is that part of the ritual?”
“Music and mayhem.” A muscle ticked in his jaw as he nodded. “Be on your guard.”
How was she supposed to do that when all she could think about was grabbing his collar, pulling his mouth down to hers, and spending the rest of the night devouring him?
Kellen glanced at her before guiding her into the gardens, and from the dark flare in his eyes, he felt it, too. Apparently, his willpower far exceeded hers. She’d totally be okay with ditching this dance ritual and going back to her room. Or the library. Or the corridor.
Maggie took a deep breath and released it, focusing on the cool metal of Kellen’s dagger on her skin.
That was probably what Sorcha wanted, to distract them.
For Wendy, she had to be stronger than the magic.
Wendy had been her rock during her divorce, the force that had kept her going.
Now, it was her turn to be the unshakeable mountain for Wendy.
The other guests wore realistic masks representing various wildlife.
Jewels and precious metals shaped into insects, leaves, and flowers gleamed on bare throats and arms. Bonfires in braziers burned in each corner of the dance floor, dusting skin with gold and orange, adding an ominous glow to eyes glinting behind masks.
Carved pumpkins with ghoulish faces dotted tables and pathways or hung from posts.
The scent of incense and sage drifted from the candles inside their hollows.
“Caedmon awaits yonder.” Kellen jerked his chin slightly at a man standing at the edge of the dance floor, near a rowan hedge, wearing a black wolf mask and dressed in a suit exactly like Kellen’s.
The only difference was his waistcoat, which gleamed a deep crimson.
And, of course, the shined shoes instead of boots. Kellen set a course for his brother.
“Drink, Miss O’Malley?” A waiter wearing a Green Man mask held out a tray with a single flute glass.
Maggie managed to swipe it up as Kellen pulled her by without slowing. She glanced over her shoulder to say thanks, but the dancers had already swarmed the waiter beyond sight.
The peacock mask had just enough space between the beak and her mouth to take a sip. The drink tasted of chilled blackberries and moonlight. What an odd thought. How could she know what moonlight tasted like? The liquid left a cool burn down her throat, fresh and heady, magic in a glass.