Page 43 of Druid Cursed
Autumn air sang over her skin, and her blood thrummed in time with the hedonistic rhythm of the music. Her limbs loose, the ground felt like clouds cushioning her feet. She’d never felt so good, free and untroubled.
Caedmon leaned in her face, bringing the wolf mask near. For a blurry second, the eyes behind the mask gleamed golden, not black, and the white teeth glistened like fangs. She blinked and the vision passed.
“You should let my brother dress you more often, little sparrow.” He took her hand and pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles as Kellen growled. Maybe Kellen should have worn the wolf mask. “You’re ravishing.”
“I prefer having him un dress me.” An inferno invaded her face. That so wasn’t what she’d planned to say. She took another drink.
The wolf mask swung to Kellen. “And all this time I thought that surge of power was entirely my own efforts and prowess.” He nodded, as if in approval, and Caedmon smacked his brother on the back. “Well done.” His voice hummed with humor. “And might I add, it’s about time.”
Kellen fisted his hand. “Watch your words.” He leaned closer to Caedmon, and his rough voice dropped to a murmur. “And your back.”
The wolf nodded. Flames writhed in Caedmon’s dark eyes as he turned away.
“Maggie!” In a flowing, sparkling gown the shade of foxgloves, Cara sidestepped two dancers. Her elegant mask appeared to be formed completely of butterflies and flowers, all in various shades of pink. “I need to talk to you.”
“Speak later, my queen.” Caedmon pulled Cara near and whispered in her ear. “Now, we dance.”
As if helpless to resist Caedmon’s invitation, Cara looked over her shoulder and held Maggie’s gaze a beat before the dancing crowd swallowed them whole.
“What sort of ritual is this?” Maggie leaned into Kellen as a woman in a white owl mask and a dress more gauze than anything brushed by her, laughing.
A man wearing a face of tree bark and branches chased after her with grasping hands.
Lights swayed in the woods beyond the garden’s iron fence, as if guests carrying lanterns wandered about, either coming or going.
Twining between the laughter and voices, the violin sounded like a woman sobbing.
“A dance to honor the fey folk. My apologies for making you miss the instructions. Whoever remains on the dance floor the longest will surely impress the Fates.”
“Wait a second. Is this like those stories about humans being lured to Underhill, tricked into drinking, and then they can’t stop dancing, even when their feet start bleeding?”
“Nothing of the sort. Do I look like a fairy?” His mask couldn’t hide the scowl in his voice.
“No, sir.” She grinned up at him, feeling woozy. “You do not.”
“Are you unwell?” Kellen rested a hand on her hip and pulled her into his side. His touch was light, protective, and burned through the thin material of her gown, as if his skin sought contact with hers.
“You need to tell me what brand of wine this was.” She pointed to her empty glass and set it on the stone ledge behind her, swaying a little as she did so. His tightened grip on her waist steadied her. “It’s unreal.”
His fingers dug into her hip, and he turned her in his arms to face him. The heat in his eyes made the ache between her thighs pulse madly. “Maggie, I…” He cleared his throat and held out his hand. “Will you dance with me?”
As she went to take his hand, a twirling couple surged between them, and Maggie tripped out of reach.
Other dancers churned around her, and she tumbled helplessly in a wild current of skirts and silk.
Bodies pushed and twisted, masks floated close and wheeled away.
Hands grazed her arms, stroked her back, caressed her hips, as if following the music’s feral call.
The crowd parted for a second, long enough to catch a flash of Kellen’s raven mask, his dark eyes locked on her.
Maggie caught her breath, and blood rushed hot through her veins.
When she’d first met Kellen, she’d thought he was some sort of midnight fantasy, cut straight from her steamiest dreams. Spending time with him these past days had only confirmed that initial impression.
But there was an edge about him tonight, delicious and carnal and dangerous, that tempted her to forget everything and simply drown in him.
Cara whirled by in a flurry of pink, no longer with Caedmon. A different man in a stag mask led her on. She grasped for Maggie as she passed by, her eyes glittering behind her mask. “I need to talk to you,” she gasped, spun in the man’s arms. “It’s important!”
Maggie lunged for her, reaching. Their fingers briefly brushed as the crowd surged again, and Cara vanished, helplessly caught by the music.
The song paused for a beat, and Maggie blinked. The world settled and clarified, as if she snapped awake from a living dream. She fisted her skirts, needing some sort of anchor. Damn. This was some serious magic, and she couldn’t let it overpower her senses. Wendy depended on her.
She turned and bumped into a hard chest, and all her willpower drifted away.
Kellen caught her bare arms in a strong, steady hold, and every nerve throbbed at the contact.
Her head spun with the need to jump into his arms, wrap her legs around his waist, and kiss him while the rest of the world burned.
She grabbed his lapels as her knees trembled.
“Maggie.” His rough voice whispered through her like silk and sin.
He took her hand in his and stroked the inside of her wrist in lazy circles.
“Do you know how many centuries I have longed to have you in my arms? To feel your breath on my skin, your hair in my hands?” He twirled her around and pulled her back against his chest. The feathers of the raven mask brushed her bare shoulder as he brought his face close to her ear.
“To know the pleasure of your touch, your sweet, lovely mouth on me?”
Need swept through her, and the memory of his strong, hard back flexing beneath her fingers the night before, the desperate longing in his eyes as he’d touched her, loved her.
Loved her .
The word was like a crack in the spell, an instant slap of sober. Did Kellen love her? Because she was starting to think she might love him. Which was preposterous. She’d only known him a few days, and yet it felt 100 percent right . How could it be right?
He spun her again, and the masks and lights and trees blurred, strung together by spider silk.
A woman in a deer mask swayed near, and Maggie swore two tiny horns poked from her golden hair.
And there, by the trees, a man wearing a fox mask sported tufted ears, and as he moved, the twitch of a fox-red tail.
White feathers sprang from another man’s neck, stark against the black of his too-expensive suit.
She twirled, anchored only by Kellen’s hands on hers, the world flashing by her in a shimmering circle, like a broken film reel, flip and pause.
Flip . Every mask turned to look at her, and darkness gleamed in the eye holes. Delicate threads flowed from every finger in a shivering dance, glittering webs touched by morning dew, binding the dancers like beads on a string.
Pause . A woman in a leaf mask danced with a satyr, black flowers falling from her white hair, fine and fragile. The threads wrapped her arm from wrist to elbow in a glistening cocoon, as if a spider feasted on her flesh while she laughed.
Flip . Behind them, a figure wearing antlers knelt in the shadows. Silver eyes glinted in the firelight.
Pause . The music turned savage. Laughter sounded more like screams.
“Stop.” Her stomach turned, and the word came out weaker than she wanted, too quiet for Kellen to hear over the pounding bass. Maggie swallowed, the taste in her mouth metallic and wrong. “Stop!”
His hold on her hands slipped, and she spun around, controlled by the webs wrapping around her limbs. The threads blocked her sight, blinding. In a bright flash, the guests vanished, leaving only the pinpoint light of a single candle and deep shadows.
Maggie stumbled into a pillar and held onto it like a lifeline. She was going to be sick. The music and laughter had stopped, replaced by a silence too long, too deep. A bone-cold chill ruled the air, lifting goose bumps on her bare arms. Where was Kellen?
“Maggie O’Malley.” A woman’s soft brogue skittered down her neck like spiders, and the distant groan of a violin echoed from another world, another time away. “I have been longing to meet you.”