Page 52 of Druid Cursed

CHAPTER

Kellen stumbled forward and landed on al l fours in the mud. His fingers squelched in the chilled, oversaturated earth, the rain yet pelting his head, but naught changed between one blink and the next.

What fresh trickery was this?

Never before had his cursed prison contained sensation, sound, color. Life. Druid power, his and Caedmon’s together, thrummed around him, full and raging, seeking release.

He lifted his head and sucked in a breath, unable to believe what his eyes conveyed. Caedmon stood near, his grim expression aimed at Sorcha across the fire, and Maggie—sweet, lovely Maggie—sat up on the dolmen, her hands pressed to her temples.

Fearful that madness already took him, weaving delusions, he shakily gained his feet.

His body ached from its prior punishment, no longer channeling endless bouts of pain.

Blue sparks spat from each standing stone, ripe with the familiar power of the ley line and amplified by the fragments collected from the ritual participants, a warded pocket created by magic.

Somehow, Caedmon had blocked the pull to his prison, but for how long?

As though time had ticked in slow motion while Kellen gained his bearings, it resumed with a flourish of Caedmon’s hand. His brother flung a handful of herbs and powder from his pocket into the flames. The fire seethed and smoked, spiced with his spell.

Sorcha hissed and made a sign in the air. The smoke ceased, and she laughed, low and evil. “No druid spell will exorcise me.”

“You’re under a misapprehension, witch.” Caedmon straightened and slipped his hands into his pockets, assuming the dauntless guise he displayed to his guests. “Exorcism wasn’t my intention.”

“Your intentions have no bearing on what is and what will be.” Unblinking, she cocked her head, a feral beast gauging its tame, weak quarry.

“I planted my spells thread by thread over the centuries, stitched them into the earth in a fine, careful weave so to not disrupt the druid magic slumbering within or its guardians. Over time, both of your magic subtly blended with mine, and now the boundary thrumming in the deep recognizes me as its own. Even the ancestral shields you wear now against your skin, old blood to new, are useless against me.” She gave Caedmon a woeful look, her voice chiding. “If only your kin could assist you.”

Caedmon sucked in a breath as ash drifted from his shirt cuffs, remnants of the protective iron bands he had donned.

Kellen fisted his hands. He knew not if Sorcha recognized that Caedmon now wielded both of their power.

Defeating her would require all they had, and as long as the curse remained in effect, he dared not aid his twin further.

Sorcha tucked her hands into the overlong sleeves of her soil-stained cloak, an innocent gesture.

But druids kept spells slipped up their sleeves as well.

“I will accept your surrender, Caedmon Ravenwood. Your brother’s fate is sealed, but to demonstrate that I am capable of mercy, you may flee and live.

I make this offer only once. Do not be a fool.

” Her eyes glittered. “Like your mother.”

All the blood drained from Kellen’s head, leaving him disoriented.

The image of the crucified raven on their mother’s gravestone clawed through his memory.

At the time, he suspected Sorcha had purposely placed it there merely to anger and distract him.

Instead, it had hinted at a deeper, darker meaning.

Whatever secrets Sorcha kept of their mother could not bode well. “Explain yourself.”

Sorcha did not deign to look at him, keeping her focus on Caedmon, her sole adversary.

“When I sought to ease your mother’s burden of too many hungry mouths and too little food by taking you and your brother into my care, she refused.

Instead, she gave you to the druids.” A malevolent edge entered her voice, adding a heaviness to the air.

“She chose death, and I gave it to her.”

A dull roar filled Kellen’s ears, borne of guilt, shame, and fury. Their mother had not betrayed them to the druids. She had saved them from Sorcha and had perished because of it.

All these centuries he had been mistaken, blaming her for casting them away without explanation, when in truth she had placed them with the only force strong enough to offer protection from a powerful witch.

He had been every degree of fool. And it was far too late to ask his mother for forgiveness, to thank her for her sacrifice.

Sparks flew between the stones, creating a webbed cage of crackling blue that extended into a dome above the clearing. The magic cast Caedmon’s face in an eerie glow, as if he were formed of starlight and hellfire.

“I propose a counteroffer.” Caedmon’s voice cut through the din, decidedly calmer and more composed than Kellen could have managed given what they’d just heard.

“Leave the body you’re using without harm and cancel your curse against my brother.

” His voice lowered to a sinister hush. “Maybe then I’ll destroy you after a hundred years of torment rather than a thousand. ”

In answer, a sickly green vapor seeped from the earth beneath Sorcha’s scuffed boots and formed a billowing mass, the land turned traitor, obeying the witch’s command. The discolored mist spread and curled over the ground, fast as a sandstorm, straight at them.

The subtle hum of magic in Kellen’s blood vanished, whether siphoned or suffocated, he did not know. The spell rasped over the barren soil as though it hid creatures scrabbling on claws. Serrated voices emerged from within, whispering of worms feasting on dead flesh in the deep.

He backed up, his stomach turning. His heels hit the wall of energy between the standing stones. Caedmon’s ward, bolstered by their combined power, was as solid as any physical boundary, a bastion preventing passage, holding them all hostage.

Inches from the toes of his boots, the vapor parted and continued on either side of him, stopping at the ward, where it paused, pulsing with a heartbeat of its own. A vile pool spread before him, impossible to leap over. He had no doubt that wading in would not end well.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” Caedmon said between gritted teeth. The spell had surrounded him as well, a trap against his own cage. Magic flickered around him, caught in Sorcha’s net, catching aflame only to sputter out.

Kellen trembled beneath the onslaught. He should have insisted on being privy to every detail of Caedmon’s scheme, even at the risk of returning to his prison early, if only to prevent this very scenario, where all he cherished was cast at Sorcha’s feet, at her mercy.

She had not been deceitful in her explanation. He sensed it to his very bones. Mayhap that had been her intention all along when she cursed him, for the land to eventually accept her in his stead. She did not need Samhain or the new moon’s power. It had all been a ruse to cultivate their hope.

And then crush it.

Kellen straightened. He had not been given the opportunity to save his mother, but he would do all he could to protect those he loved who yet lived.

“Sorcha.” As her gaze fell on him, his skin crawled. “I will do whatever you wish, beg for mercy, forgiveness, submit to any torture you see fitting—whatever you desire—if you allow Caedmon and Maggie to depart, unharmed.”

Caedmon remained surprisingly silent. His visage conveyed no expression beyond the burn of hatred in his eyes. Sparks of his magic no longer appeared. Words were their only remaining weapons.

Sorcha turned her attention to Maggie, who had managed to stand—barely—supporting herself against the dolmen’s stone surface.

Her face was a ghostly white in the magic’s glow, and when she pushed her damp hair from her face, her hand trembled.

The vapor did not trap her. Only a small space separated her from the witch.

A few steps would bring Sorcha to her side. The proximity fisted his heart.

“Thoughtful of you to deliver my kin.” A surprising tenderness entered Sorcha’s tone. “My bloodline will endure long after the Ravenwoods vanish from the memory of history.”

“Wendy?” Maggie sounded more coherent now, and she squinted at Sorcha.

Sorcha’s expression softened. Her gaze returned to Kellen, and any hint of humanity vanished. “All that you possess, all that you are, is already mine. You have naught to bargain with.”

The low, pained whine of a violin echoed from the trees. Aibreann’s spirit suddenly materialized beside her mother, beautiful as a sunset, her attention riveted on Kellen. When she smiled, Caedmon sucked in a quiet breath. The hair on Kellen’s nape rose.

Sorcha spread her fingers, and pain ripped through Kellen’s limbs so fast and furious that all his muscles clenched, rigid in the hold of her power. Beside him, Caedmon dropped to his knees with a grunt. Their mother’s locket and its chain lifted free from Kellen’s neck and flew to Sorcha’s hand.

“’Tis befitting that the body of your true love becomes the permanent vessel for my daughter’s earth-tethered soul. We will share the magic and rule the land together.”

Invisible chains pulled Maggie back onto the dolmen and pinned her there. Her hands flexed at her sides as if she struggled to rise.

Maggie . He could not even moan her name, the pain stuffing his lungs and throat like wool.

Aibreann vanished. She reappeared on the opposite side of the dolmen, leaning over Maggie. “Fear not. The Ravenwoods will not defeat us ever again.”

“Not exactly what I was worried about,” Maggie said on a gasp, and despite the despair ripping him to pieces, even as agony cracked his bones, Kellen rejoiced at her defiant tone. How he mourned the life he would never have with her.

“I thank you for collecting these for me.” The poison ring, the key to his tower, his mother’s locket, and a rock Kellen had not seen before appeared in Aibreann’s hand.