Page 5 of Druid Cursed

CHAPTER

Even so, since the moment his bare feet had touched soil, a peculiar awareness rubbed at his skin, as though he’d stepped into a familiar place now owned by a foreigner.

In his absence, with Caedmon as sole caretaker, mayhap the land had momentarily forgotten him.

He suspected the sensation would fade soon, yet the thought of pretending he was not unsettled whilst playing host to the coxcombs and upstarts Caedmon invited into their home was beyond all tolerance.

He would rather dine with a knot of toads.

And now one of those visitors encroached on his privacy.

The screen of bare-limbed rowans planted around the bench revealed glimpses of the woman drifting ever closer on the pavestone path.

Her sweater matched the decorative red berries clustering the trees, and miniscule gemstones at her slender neck sparkled bright enough to challenge the stars above.

The remainder of her attire was utterly inappropriate.

Shoes that revealed delicate toes and did little to protect against the elements.

She donned blue-toned breeches, offering a visual feast of curves for a man’s fancies. Not his, of course. Women were naught but a vexation, a hard lesson learned centuries ago when he had the misfortune of catching the warped attention of Sorcha’s daughter.

While not overly tall, neither was the approaching woman willow-thin like the usual female guests his brother preferred. Nor did she have their false, painted faces. Nonetheless, he liked it not that she interrupted his labors.

Perchance, if he remained utterly still, the intruder would pass him by without notice.

But the woman stepped abreast of his hiding spot and paused. She turned toward the bench. Her summer-sky eyes widened at him.

Fie. It seemed ill luck still hounded him through the centuries.

She lifted a shiny, rectangular contraption and aimed it at him. With a soft click , lightning shot from the device, burning his eyes, temporarily blinding him. Was she a witch?

He squeezed his eyes shut, then quickly recovered and leaped up with a snarl, swiping the weapon from her fingers. She squeaked in surprise and jumped. He took advantage of her shock, crowding her back through the lavender row and against the brick wall.

Looming over her, he growled. “Sorcha grows weak indeed if you are what she deigns to send against me.”

“Holy shit on a stick.” She gasped, one long-fingered hand planted on his chest, directly over his heart. She blinked up at him, all innocence. “I thought you were a statue.”

She was too close, within dagger range, and yet he possessed no desire to move away as he oft did with other humans.

The warmth of her hand seeped through the layers of his clothing to brand his skin.

Her thrumming pulse set the beat for his heart.

He sucked in a ragged breath, drawing her lily scent into his lungs, and a ripple of tension traveled from his jaw down to his toes. Who was this woman to affect him so?

More importantly, what was she?

“You must be Caedmon Ravenwood’s brother,” she said on a breathy laugh, as if to push back any fear.

“The goatee and sinister vibe threw me off, but I see the resemblance now.” She dropped her hand, but the prepared-to-flee spring of her body remained unchanged.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your…skulking. ”

Her mouth, carnation pink and plump, parted as if inviting a kiss.

By his ancestor’s bones, the temptation to accept nigh staggered him.

He stiffened and cleared his throat, needing to say something to break this spell she cast, for it must be a spell.

His reaction to her was too fierce, too swift.

It was not possible to want someone this powerfully, this quick.

He took a step back, forcing the distance even as the urge to close it again strangled him.

“I am Kellen Ravenwood,” he rasped. Was that his hooves-grinding-gravel voice? She must think him a beast. “And you are?”

“Nobody important.” She lifted her eyebrows, and her gaze flicked beyond the cage of his body. “Alrighty then. I’ll let you get back to your post. Excellent work scaring me. I’ll be sure to leave a five-star review on any upcoming guest satisfaction survey.” She held out her hand. “My phone—”

“Stay.” Not the word he meant to utter, yet startlingly true.

The need to persuade her, keep her by his side for at least a few moments longer, was too strong to resist. “I, too, sought escape from the fiends within. Let us form an alliance against peacocks and prigs and linger in the garden until sunrise chases them back into the depths where they belong.”

Even as he cursed the overly poetic words leaving his mouth, she laughed. The sound was so musical and bright, he could not regret his wayward tongue.

“Introvert, huh?” Her eyes sparkled, and her shoulders relaxed. “Is that why you’re in the garden instead of at the formal dinner, where you can intimidate any random guest who wanders too near? You should really wear a cape or cowl. A tux doesn’t exactly scream ‘ominous.’”

“Indeed. Although I have no wish to frighten you.”

“Little late for that. I’m pretty sure you spooked me into my forties when you leaped at me from your bench.”

“My apologies.”

Fear held no place in what he wished to do to her…touch, taste, claim—

He shook his head and smothered an annoyed growl.

This feeling was not normal. She was not normal.

Aye, he knew bewitchment stirred his desire to flames—a compulsion spell ’twas the only explanation—yet he could not detect a single spark of evil defiling her aura.

Not from this distance. He would need to get closer to know for certain, a tricky feat considering they were strangers.

Still, he leaned nearer, as if pulled by invisible threads, threads he had no inclination to break even knowing he should. Their breaths merged, and his voice dropped to a husky rumble. “Allow me to remedy my actions.”

“I don’t think so.” Her expression shuttered. “Midnight trysts with shadow-lurking bachelors I only just met aren’t my bag.” She licked her bottom lip, and every part of him jerked to attention. “My friend Wendy, however, would love to meet you. She’s under the weather tonight, but tomorrow—”

“Nay.” A growl entered his voice, but he refused to contain it. “I am not a philanderer. A woman has not seized my attention in years.” Centuries. Ever. Not like this. Wisdom screamed at him to be cautious, yet he could not resist his next words. “You…cleave me in twain.”

“Cleave? Twain? ” She cocked her head, studying him with slightly more interest than before. A shadow of a smile returned. “You’re the Dungeons & Dragons type, I bet. Makes sense, not that I’m judging. I’m a non-recovering Assassin’s Creed addict myself. You’re lucky I left my knives at home.”

He frowned, uncertain how to respond. He had unwillingly become acquainted with a dungeon or two, had not yet encountered any dragons, and what sort of self-respecting assassin would confess to wandering without weapons?

She huffed a breath, clearly growing impatient. “No offense, you may be a Nobel Prize–winning Citizen of the Year, but my man meter right now is stuck on suck.”

His gaze dropped again to her perfect mouth. Suck. An exceptional word.

“Suck in the bad way,” she said quickly, the blush staining her cheeks faint beneath the starlight. “As in lowlife. Jerk. Scuzzball.”

He preferred his version.

“Aye, men are fools,” he said. And well he knew it, himself included.

If he had rejected Sorcha’s daughter in a more courteous manner, perchance he would not be in his current predicament.

A scorned, spoiled, black-hearted woman was naught compared to her enraged witch of a mother, whether her wrath was justified or not.

The stranger ducked under his arm and stepped through the lavender to the pavestones. “I really need to get back to my sick friend and rest up for the competition. What’s the fastest way out? This place is a freaking maze.”

In no manner was he ready to part from her, and if ’twas some mild manner of bewitchment, he would be remiss not to investigate the source and intent.

Aye, he needed a valid reason to get closer to her— intimately close, skin to skin—to test her aura, and she had unwittingly provided a method to do so.

Kellen slid her lightning-wielding contraption into his breast pocket, leverage for later should his plan fail.

“The garden is most difficult to navigate for one unfamiliar with its paths and does not always cooperate with where one wishes to go, Miss…?”

She shook her head, stubbornly holding back her name.

“Nor is it safe,” he continued, “especially during the days before Samhain. I suggest a proposal. I will accompany you out of the garden on the fleetest route…in exchange for a kiss.”

…

“A kiss?” Maggie said with a laugh. This had to be a joke. “You always bargain like this, or am I just lucky?”

He must have taken that as a yes, because he started to lean in.

She held up a hand, all humor gone. “Not so fast, Romeo. I didn’t agree to anything.”

Kellen straightened and scowled in obvious disappointment. The man was serious. He really wanted a kiss as payment for showing her the way out?

She took a swig from Caedmon’s silver flask and coughed. Her eyes watered at the slow burn down her throat. Directions in exchange for a kiss with a handsome stranger. This night got weirder by the second and definitely warranted the more potent stuff.

Kellen watched her with those dark-as-sin eyes. “Where did you obtain that flask?”

“Your brother,” she said. “Why? Should I be worried it’s poisoned?”

He didn’t laugh at her joke. “Nay, not poisoned. But perhaps bespelled.”

He was kidding. He had to be. All just part of the vibe this week.