Page 14 of Highlander’s Curse (The Daughters of the Glen #8)

“Jesus, what happened? Snakebite?” Mackenzie stooped to retrieve the knife, her shrill voice bringing the ordeal to an end, thankfully releasing Abby from the horrible spell she’d felt herself under.

“No. I’m afraid my penknife slipped as I tried to clear a bit of dirt from a stone I was showing to Abigail.”

Jonathan’s voice shook in a way that left no doubt he was upset by what he’d done, and yet she simply could not bring herself to meet his eyes again. Whatever emotion it was she’d seen there before, she knew only that she didn’t want any part of it.

“Oh, well, for crying out loud. That’s why we don’t use things like this.

” Mackenzie closed the blade on the knife and handed it to Jonathan, her irritation evident.

“Put that in your pocket and keep it there. And you don’t suck the blood out of knife wounds, okay?

Honestly, Jonathan. Do you have any idea how many germs live in the human mouth? ”

“Sorry,” he murmured, his eyes glazed. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Look,” Mackenzie interrupted. “I know this is your project, okay? But nothing is running to standard here. I know you’re a researcher, okay?

A paper-and-pen and stacks-of-books kind of guy, okay?

So please just leave the field work to those of us who know what we’re doing.

You should go get yourself a bottle of water from the cooler and rinse your mouth out, too.

Gross.” Mackenzie jerked Abby’s hand from Jonathan’s grasp, sparing him a glare before peering down at the cut.

“That’s not so bad. You’ll be fine. It doesn’t even need stitches.

Come on over to the van. There’s a first aid kit in there and we can wrap you up. After we clean it out.”

Abby nodded mutely, trailing gratefully along behind her bossy younger coworker.

A glance back over her shoulder revealed Jonathan unmoving, as if in shock. She should probably say something to him, tell him she was fine and not upset with him at all.

But she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him, not even to save his feelings. She wasn’t fine. She was rattled as hell. Whatever had just passed between her and Jonathan frightened her. He frightened her. All she wanted was to get as far away from him as possible.

Turning back, she fixed her gaze on the young woman marching ahead of her.

She might have considered Mackenzie a pain in the ass from the first day they met, but that all changed as of right now.

Having Mackenzie within eyesight just might be the smartest thing she could do as long as Jonathan Flynn was around.

Flynn breathed in deeply, slowly, waiting for his equilibrium to return.

The Magic had hit him hard, flooding his body with its own sweet tang.

It had all happened so quickly. An accident, to be sure. But then, as the blood had oozed from Abigail’s wound, the Bloodlust had taken hold and he’d been unable to resist touching his tongue to that magnificent nectar. Once he’d done that, he was lost, desperate for more.

It was glorious. She was glorious.

He watched Abby walking away from him, unable to tear his gaze from her.

To the eye, she was little more than an everywoman, certainly not a classic beauty by the standards of this time.

And yet, everything about her called out to him and he wanted her more desperately than he’d wanted any woman in a very long time.

He wanted all of her. Her body, her blood, her Magic.

That glorious Magic! It rippled through him like a burst of electricity.

He’d been right about her. The blood of the Fae flowed in her veins, and along with it the pure, sweet essence of his beloved Magic. Even now its power tingled through his body, sparkling in the synapses of his brain like fireworks.

All around him, it was as if small, insistent voices tore at the edges of his awareness, all demanding his attention in a sensory-battering cacophony.

Here! The pen from Mackenzie’s clipboard lay buried in a tall clump of grass off to his left.

Here! An earring somewhere beyond in the grove of trees, lost over a decade past.

Here! A shard of pottery, buried beneath his feet, centuries ago forgotten.

It was too much all at once, hundreds of voices spilling over one another in a flood of noise. So many, they drowned one another out, masking the individual words, turning the sound into an indistinguishable mass of writhing colors pounding in his brain.

Flynn lifted his hands to his ears in a fruitless effort to block the flow. How could anyone profit from an assault such as this? It would be impossible to isolate any one item from the whole.

Unless he could learn to filter the noise, to sift out that which he sought.

He stalked into the grove, slowing to snatch up a discarded trowel on his way. Once beyond the sight of his companions, he dropped to his knees and plunged the blade of the trowel into the soft ground.

Here!

Clawing into the earth with his fingers, he shoved away a handful of rotting leaves and mud.

He alternated between trowel and fingers, digging like a madman until at last one of the voices ceased to call.

He splayed open his hand, pushing through the clump of dirt he held until he found it, the earring that had called out to him.

What a magnificent gift the Magic had bestowed! He needed only to figure out a way to isolate the individual voices he sought, those of the Portal pieces.

Dropping the worthless trinket to the ground, Flynn closed his eyes, fighting to ignore the many in favor of the few. He filled his mind with the Portal as he imagined it would have looked, willing his mind to go deeper and deeper into the whirlpool of flowing color that was the noise.

How long he kneeled on the damp ground he had no idea, nor did he care. All he was aware of was that it was working! Gradually, one by one, the voices receded, layers of color peeling back, leaving him alone in a dark cocoon of silence.

“Come on, people! Doesn’t look like the rain is going to let up this time. Let’s wrap it up for the day!”

Mackenzie’s voice pierced his awareness, drawing him back to the present. Somewhere along the way, the clouds had returned, bringing with them the rain that splattered against his face in large, cold drops.

Already the Magic was beginning to fade.

Slowly, Flynn rose to his feet, acutely aware of the spots within him which would soon be empty again. He’d not found any trace of the Portal, but he had found something perhaps just as good.

Abigail was descended from the Fae. Now that he had his proof, he was more determined than ever to proceed with his plans.

Fighting the emptiness left behind by the initial rush of the Magic, Flynn made his way out of the grove and into the clearing, his eyes instantly drawn to Abigail.

He might never find his way back to Wyddecol, but perhaps he could live with that now. He would have her, and through her he would have the Magic. As much and as often as he desired.