Page 6 of Druid Cursed

With the glow from a nearby lamppost gleaming on his jet-black hair, his resemblance so much like the ancestral paintings she saw in the mansion, she could almost believe she’d stepped back in time a century or two.

If the night could weave a man into life exclusively for her, he would be it—solemn and mysterious with an undertone of sensual darkness. And even though he was Caedmon’s twin, nearly identical in appearance, something about Kellen drew her, a subtle vulnerability beneath the hardened exterior—

Nope. Absolutely not for her. She was done with dreams and illusions, especially when it came to men. She was done letting her emotions guide her into headaches and broken hearts.

She stuffed the flask back into her pocket. The way she’d come from led straight to the dining room, back to square one. She’d have to take her chances with the garden. It just figured that the path branched off in three different directions right at Kellen’s shiny black boots.

Boots. She resisted a smile. Not fancy bluchers or oxfords, but leather boots—with a tux—which lifted him a notch above suck, even if he’d scared her spitless and then bargained for a kiss.

But only a notch.

“Thanks for the offer,” she finally answered, “but I’ll find my own way out.”

“As you wish,” he said in a low voice that did witchy things to the best places in her body.

“But be warned. The gate is oft locked.” He flashed a black key in his fingers and tucked it back inside his jacket.

“Choose carefully. Only one path leads out, and the others are not advisable in the darkness. You may wander for hours, and the night is cold.”

He continued to hold her gaze, and the air’s chilled breath snaked through her loose hair to brush her neck, as if commanded to do his bidding.

She shifted from one foot to the other, her exposed toes chilled to the bone, and the plastic-wrapped crackers in her pocket creaked a soft reminder.

Poor Wendy, alone and sick on the first day of her fantasy week while Maggie was out trying to ditch a kiss with a strange but stunning guy who looked like he wanted to ice-cream-cone lick her.

This night was supremely messed up.

She pivoted, searching each way, undecided.

The crescent moon peeked through the trees, ghosting the garden with silver.

No matter which direction she faced, she saw dark tree limbs so thick they hid the mansion and any clear path back to it.

Tendrils of mist curled around cracked marble statues tucked among the massiv e trunks.

In the distance, a violin moaned, wild and otherworldly.

Strange… She didn’t recall seeing an orchestra in the dining hall.

Maggie exhaled, and her breath clouded in the air.

A sudden, deeper cold pebbled her skin. Among the statues and shadows, the night seemed to ripple, like a predator beneath the surface, closing in.

Whether or not her imagination played her, she knew, down to her nearly numb toes, that walking around lost and alone was a terrible idea.

“Decide, lass,” Kellen said gently but urgently. “’Tis not wise to dally. The witching hour draws ever nearer.”

Maggie wheeled back to him and ignored the thrill that fired through her veins at finding his dark gaze still on her.

“Counteroffer, Mr. Ravenwood.” She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at him, in case he thought she hadn’t figured out what he was up to.

No matter how muc h she wanted out of the garden, she was done being a creampuff for any man.

“I’ll accept your proposal, on one condition: I control the kiss. ”

“Done.” His eyes glittered, as if he’d won the lottery. Sucker . “And please,” he said, “call me Kellen.”

“You’re a terrible negotiator, Kellen.” She released her sunshine smile. “You didn’t even specify where. Maybe I’ll kiss your elbow.”

“No matter the location, I will savor your lips on my skin.” He offered his arm.

A curlicue of heat sizzled in her belly.

Ooh, he was smooth, and the old-fashioned act with the Irish lilt of his voice was nearly impossible to resist. She slipped her hand in the crook of his arm and tried to ignore the hard slope of his bicep beneath her fingers.

Just because a man stirred her senses didn’t mean he was worth the heartbreak.

Or a third glance. Or the risk of a real kiss.

At first, Darren had been intriguing, too.

He’d charmed her socks off and bamboozled her all the way down the aisle.

He’d infiltrated every space of her life, took control, and she’d been too weak and trusting to resist. Look how well that had worked out.

He’d forged her signature and taken out a loan on their house— her house, built by her father and passed down to his only daughter—decided that property taxes were optional, and let it go into foreclosure.

That house was all she had left of her dad.

Either she paid off the overdue taxes and mortgage payments, or it would have to be sold.

That rough, crooked road had led her here, a last resort to earn fast cash.

As they walked, Kellen leaned slightly into her, his arm bumping her shoulder. “What is your name?”

“Ask the butler. He seems to know everything.”

“True, but I would rather glean it from your lips.”

Glean. Dammit, how did he know she had a nerdy weakness for old words and formal speech? Her love of medieval history was so deep it filled her bones, impossible to extract without changing who she was at her core.

“How do I know you’re not a fae trying to trick me into giving you my real name so you can drag me off to Underhill as a slave?

” Of course, she knew stories of the fae.

Studying history included learning its lore.

The culture of any land and its lore were closely entangled—she couldn’t be a student of history without also learning legends and myths.

She knew the difference between fairy tales and facts and certainly didn’t believe he was fae, but honestly, giving him her name felt like welcoming a connection that, once made, couldn’t be taken back. Too intimate, too soon.

He nodded. “Very well, I will respect your wishes.”

A unique, sharp fragrance drifted from his clothing, a contrasting mix impossible not to notice.

“Interesting cologne,” she said. “Lemon and licorice?”

“Fennel.” His jaw clenched. “To ward off evil spirits.”

“Oh, right. Should’ve known.” If he was joking, he hid it well. “You put a lot of effort into this fantasy week, don’t you?”

“More than you know,” he murmured, and an undercurrent of bitterness entered his cultured voice.

The autumn air was brisk enough that she was thankful for her sweater and the heat rolling into her from Kellen.

Ranks of bare-branched trees fringed the path and separated them from the rest of the garden.

An owl hooted in the distance, haunting.

Even nature seemed to cooperate with the Ravenwoods’ Halloween production.

But sooner than she thought they would be—and by a simpler route than she expected—they were at the edge of the garden. Why had it seemed so far and complicated before?

“Here we are, as promised.” Kellen stopped before a massive iron gate.

A padlock chain looped through the spokes, shutting it tight.

Beyond, the main entrance to the mansion glowed softly with candlelight.

He’d told the truth, a good sign. Her quota for kissing liars who kept heartbreaking secrets had already been filled.

She released his arm and faced him, and her heart rate hit the throttle. Pay-up time.

Holy hell, he was tall. The top of her head barely reached his collarbone.

The only way she could reach his jaw would include a chest bump and upward slide on tiptoes, and that was if he bent his head.

Her mouth went dry as his exotic scent curled around her.

When had the sliver of moon morphed into a heat lamp?

He was too big, too close, too present. He seemed to take up all the space and air, making it hard to concentrate.

Maggie touched the flask in her pocket. Another gulp was tempting. “Aren’t you going to unlock the gate?”

“You have already proven to be shrewd in your negotiations.” One corner of his mouth curled upward, and damn if that didn’t make him even sexier. “I dare not risk the possibility you may forego our bargain once you are free.”

“How do I know you won’t refuse to unlock the gate after I kiss you?” She cocked her hip. “I’m the one at a disadvantage here. Ever see a lumbering cow? That’s me at a sprint. Pretty sure you could catch me if I ran.”

“Aye, I am certain to catch you.” The words held a warning, a promise. The heat in the air gathered in his eyes, dark coals that sent a shock wave through her nerves.

Kissing him wouldn’t be the stupidest thing she’d ever done, and she’d bet her book collection that he’d make it memorable.

But surrendering to his challenge could sabotage her no-man-required pursuit of happiness, and instead of dreaming about her future, she might be tempted to add him to that dream.

This week was about winning back her life, not tangling up in another romantic disaster.

And a no-strings distraction wasn’t a good idea, either—she needed all her focus on surviving whatever this competition threw at her.

She narrowed her eyes at him and added some ice to her tone. “Open the gate, Mr. Ravenwood.”

“Kellen.”

“I’ll call you whatever I damn well please until you let me out of here.”

He dipped his chin into the smallest bow. “Very well.”

Maggie released a silent breath as he unlocked the gate. He’d fulfilled his part of the bargain. Now she had to keep her word and kiss him. The pounding of her heart drowned the clank of falling chains. A quick peck on the cheek. Easy. Like kissing her grandpa.

The gate creaked open, and Kellen pivoted, waiting…temptation in a suit.

So not her grandpa.

“Shall I roll up my sleeve for improved elbow access?” A definite smirk took over those lips that she would not be touching. Wonderful. He had a sense of humor beneath that stern facade. Dangerous, dangerous man.

She took in a steadying breath. She could do this, no fallout.

Defiantly holding his gaze, Maggie marched forward until her sandals bumped his boots and lifted herself on tiptoes.

He helpfully dipped his head. A silent dare, his full mouth waited an inch from hers. His lemon-licorice scent drifted over her, seeping into her bloodstream. The brush of his breath sang along her nerves.

Focus on the competition money. Men equaled heartache. Going back there wasn’t happening, no matter how enchanting. She was so over it.

She aimed for his cheek. At the last second, Kellen shifted just enough that her lips hit the corner of his mouth.

Pliant and velvety soft, even with the scrape of his goatee, the sensation sent tingles along her skin.

She stepped back before she gave in to the unexpected urge to turn her head and make it a real kiss.

He watched her, his eyes glittering like midnight stars. For a heartbeat, his eyebrows tented in dismay. “You are not…” he started, then firmly clamped his lips. Probably hoping she hadn’t heard him, but she very much had.

Whatever. The kiss had been his idea, not hers. Better for them both if she didn’t measure up to his expectations. But still… Jerk.

Ignoring how her legs trembled, Maggie slipped through the gate, her breath ragged.

She wasn’t hyperventilating from their contact.

Mountain air, higher altitude, different country, all perfectly reasonable explanations.

She turned and gripped a wrought-iron spoke for balance. “Wait. I need my phone.”

“’Twas not part of our bargain.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “I will return your device in exchange for information.”

“What information could I possibly have that you’d want?”

“Your name.” His voice rumbled low, a warning.

She licked her lips, thinking. He’d likely find out her name while she was here this week, anyway. And she needed her phone. “Fine. Maggie O’Malley. Now, hand over—”

“Nay.” His jaw clenched, as if she’d offended him somehow. “ You? ”

“What—”

“My brother has gone too far with his pranks this time.” He spun and strode away as if on a mission, the night swallowing him whole.

“—the hell?” Maggie thunked her forehead against the gate and blew out a long breath, then found the nearest door to the mansion and marched back to her room.

Tonight, she was draining the rest of Caedmon’s flask.

She’d tell her ridiculous story to Wendy, and they’d yuk it up.

Tomorrow, she’d return that flask, get her phone back, and forget any of this ever happened.

No more encounters with skulking garden gargoyles in human form and shocking non-kisses.

Nope. Aside from his money—that she was definitely going to win—Kellen Ravenwood did not exist.