Wicked Paradise (30 page)

She lay in the nucleus of a volcano. And this time it wasn’t a dream.

She wondered how the Fomorian lived in darkness when it seemed to prefer sunlight. Obviously, the liquid fire called to him, enough to burn away the absolute dark of night.

Morgan’s stomach lurched violently and she screamed until her voice grew hoarse. With all her might, she battled against her constraints, gaining chafed skin for her efforts. Hard gasps heaved her chest up and down until she thought her lungs would burst. After abrading skin off her shoulder blades on the rough bed, she froze and forced herself to calm down. To think. To plan her escape.

The last thing she remembered after eating the delicious fruit was drifting in the sky, WindWraith gloved around her. He had given her power and taken some of hers in a mutual exchange of need. The former Druid reminded her that they shared the same ancient blood, the same homeland. He told her he loved her and wanted her, that she had come to the island to end his long imprisonment, to unite their powers and their souls. She was his destiny as he was hers. He wanted to love, protect, and cherish her for an eternity. He vowed never to leave her. All the sentiments she desperately longed to hear.

Doubts had zigzagged up her boneless body in a prickling tide, filtered into her fuzzy mind. Wasn’t Ryan her destined mate? Didn’t they share a soul bond? Hadn’t Ryan said similar words to her and shown her how much he loved her? Were WindWraith and Ryan one and the same? In her sluggish state, her mind had fallen into a chaos of rights and wrongs, needs and wants, and selfless destiny. Believing it another dream, she had passed out from the pressure of balancing her life and the world in her head.

Then, she’d awoken here and now. Definitely not suffering a dream or foretelling. The nightmare was real.

Morgan gathered her diminishing magic to access her sparse link to Ryan. Even that effort proved difficult. Volumes of frustration replaced her internal resources. Magic bled out of her like blood from a dozen stab wounds, causing further ruin to her consciousness. Fighting sleep, vivid scenes of Ryan’s world crowded her head as her body slackened.

* * *

Lauren and Alexander sat in a gloomy room, lit only by twin candles on a table between them. She slicked her fingers through the cracked bowl of precious melted chocolate, and Alexander devoured the scarce treat. He licked Lauren’s fingers clean, sucking them into his mouth.

The Fomorian Overlord waved away her next offering. “You are ready to kill O’Rourke tonight?”

Even in her dream, confusion expanded in Morgan’s head. Weren’t Michael and Lauren planning to kill Alexander? Why were Lauren and Alexander together? Were the two plotting against the O’Rourke brothers and both covens? In fascinated horror, Morgan’s unconscious mind watched the scene unfold.

Lauren scooted her chair closer to him, her small hand landing on Alexander’s thigh. “Michael won’t know what hit him, darling. Then I’ll return to celebrate our new pact.” She slid her hand up his thigh, circling the bulge in his trousers, her fingertips teasing his hardness.

Alexander cleared his throat, covered her hand with his. “You’re sure you don’t need my help?” Candle flames reflected in his aroused eyes and his voice held a dual anticipation.

“I can manage that spineless idiot.” Lauren leaned closer to Alexander. Her right breast skimmed his arm. With the tip of her tongue, she licked his lips. “You taste divine.” Her mouth grazed his and he crushed her to him. His hungry kiss was punishing, and his forceful grip on her arms yanked her onto his lap. Alexander kissed her with a savage intensity, her whimpers spurring him on until he had his fill, leaving her panting.

Easing back, she brushed her fingertips across her mouth. She exhaled a shaky laugh. “Not now, darling. Save it for our celebration.”

He caught her chin roughly between his thumb and forefinger. “Do it and get back here.” He thrust his hips up, grinding into her, squeezing and kneading her breasts as if they were dough. “It’s time to take what’s mine.”
 

* * *

Halting outside the catacombs, Ryan set his internal tracking mechanisms in play. He sensed traces of Morgan’s magical signature around the cave’s perimeter and followed her intangible trail toward the singular path that led away from the hidden entrance. The tremors in his tight arms loosened a fraction. Her trail was stronger than any he’d ever tracked. Their bond helped create the robust connection, but the tie diminished with every passing minute.

“Hope to hell I’m not too late.” Fear skewered his heart. He had to force himself to quit thinking about her in order to concentrate on his search before he bashed his already bruised head into another boulder, or nosedived off a cliff.

Expertly drawing on his tracking abilities, he shielded his dwindling link to Morgan. Using all his internal and external senses, he scanned one spot to another. Trampled grass here, a broken twig there gave visible evidence of her passage, but she left little damage behind. Morgan’s strange, lifelike link to the island prevented her from causing unintentional harm to the land. Since he’d already witnessed it, he knew the island had assisted her journey. He derived small comfort in that, not that it derailed his angry fear.

Even though she was a powerful sorceress with the island as her ally, she didn’t possess enough magic to destroy WindWraith. Or did she? Didn’t they need his ether? Ryan knew in his heart that she’d left to prevent him from absorbing the black taint.

Frustration shimmied over his skin in a hot breeze. An ankle high vine whipped out of his path. “Thank you,” he murmured absently.

If only Morgan had waited for him to tell her of his decision to help her kill WindWraith! He knew he needed her in all ways. He couldn’t risk her life or his own by taking in WindWraith’s magic. They would find another way to save his people. It was possible that bonding with Morgan would supplement his magic enough to conquer the Fomorians back home. He needed to trust her, like he’d trusted no one in his life. He loved her even more for trying to protect him, albeit with misplaced intentions. With her strong foresight, maybe she knew something he didn’t, though. Why else would she attempt to hunt a fearsome Fomorian on her own? He shook his head sharply, wishing to shake off this nightmare as easily.

Surely, she didn’t plan to kill WindWraith simply because she wanted to complete the damn ritual. Or to use him. Her entire purpose on the island gave testament to her unselfishness. Ryan wanted to hammer sense into his head for wasting so much valuable time concocting his stupid plans, rather than sitting down with Morgan and hashing out their existence on the island, their destiny. To learn more about the enigma he loved more than life.

Refocusing on the path, Ryan shoved out his troubles. He trudged through the jungle until he emerged in a familiar colorful meadow. A brook gurgled on one side, sea cliffs and the ocean framed the other sides. Magic fluttered in his gut, drew a miniscule sense of Morgan from the glade. “This is where she rested.”

Incessant cawing in a tree grove across the creek responded to his mutters. He studied the ravens. Quiet now, twin sets of beady eyes bored into him. The birds launched out of the tree in an explosion of black wings. They circled low above his head. Cawing in unison, they flew north, stopped, and wheeled around, luring him to follow. A barbed vine twisted around his heart, and he questioned what the featherheads tried to tell him.

The sleeping volcano reached for the stratosphere far to the north. Steam spewed from the top in a thin cloud about once a minute. Otherwise, the summit crater remained silent, harmless. Was it possible WindWraith shacked up in the volcano? Had Morgan known?

He stalked the meadow, scrutinizing any tangible and intangible evidence left behind. Along the creek, he found a flattened area where she’d rested. He sifted through the mashed grass, hunting for clues, finding nothing.

Ryan strode to the creek, draining his waterskin. Just as he crouched to refill it, he spotted a half-eaten piece of the punchy fruit. Lunging forward, he seized the leftover off the grass, searched for the peels, but none met his panicked gaze. That explained the vaguely familiar fruity smell on Morgan in his morning’s dream. It also explained Morgan’s capture.

“Son of a...” He hurled the fruit into the creek so hard it splattered into bits off a rock. “I should have warned her.”

In his first encounter with the fruit, he’d eaten two of them, and they’d caused the most intense eroticism. The effects had lingered for hours. In his boredom, he’d discovered the peel was a potent aphrodisiac. The candied meat stimulated a minor feeling of wellbeing and adrenaline, a lesser drug-like effect. The juice had identical effects as beer or wine. Diluted with water, it energized.

He searched the rest of the clearing, emerging clueless. Returning to the invisible trail, he heard a tangle in the bushes. His biceps coiled, and he poised his spear. A whinny erupted behind the nearest bolder, and the winged foal raced toward him.

A smidgen of tension slid off his shoulders. RavenStar trotted over and nosed him, its tongue rasping along Ryan’s palm like sandpaper before biting down on Ryan’s fingers.

Ryan snapped his hand back. “You little shit.”

The winged horse snorted, head bobbing. It backed away and trotted north along Ryan’s invisible trail. RavenStar glanced over its haunches at Ryan, waggled its head and whinnied.

The foal was trying to tell him something, too. Ryan tugged a few ripe fruits off a branch and crammed them in his knapsack. He patted the foal’s quaking haunches, and they headed toward the volcano.

* * *

Morgan’s body refused to awaken in the roasting cavern. Another prominent vision scattered the ideas forming in her mind...

Smiling nervously, Lauren walked into the office behind the old pulpit. Michael rose from a scarred cherry wood desk and greeted her with a lingering kiss. She slipped her arms around his neck and encouraged him for several moments. They ended the kiss but remained in a tight embrace.

“I love you so much.” Lauren touched her hand to his cheek. “Can you believe it’s almost over?” Neat rows of precious beakers and bottles lined the shelves behind the desk.

“Thank the Gods.” Michael squeezed her waist before releasing her. “You’re here to
kill
me?” His right eyebrow slid up his forehead. “Alexander didn’t tail you, did he?” He perched a hip on the desktop.

“Yes and no.” Lauren tossed her grubby leather purse beside him on the desk and tugged her hair from its bindings. “I had my usual spells in place to gauge his sincerity and naïveté. He passed. He’s testing my loyalty and ruthlessness, so he won’t follow. The guards verified I wasn’t tracked.”

Grim resolve traversed Michael’s face, etched lines on the sides of his mouth and eyes. He twisted the Druid leader’s ring around his finger.

Lauren caressed his cheek. “You miss Ryan.” An undeniable statement of fact. “Will we ever know what happened to him?”

A thick pall hung over the room almost as tangible as smoke. Michael wrenched the ring off and handed it to her. “It’s physically impossible for me to wear this if he were alive. It would reject me as the strongest O’Rourke.”

A tear trailed down Lauren’s cheek. “I admired him so much. I know we could have made it work and been content together.” She clutched the ring in her fist. “But I love you and have since I was a metal mouth teenager.” A wan smile curved her rosy lips. “You know these things happen for a reason.”

Michael exhaled loudly. “I know.”

“All the sacrifices we’d planned, and see what it got us.” She laughed bitterly. “Each other. Exactly what we wanted since you rescued me on the East Coast.” Her somber smile turned tender.

“Was it worth it?”

She brushed a kiss across his mouth. “Not Ryan’s loss. Nothing was worth that.”

“I love you.” Michael pulled her between his legs, his thick arms holding her tight and safe. “I hate that Ryan’s gone, that I won’t ever get a chance to mend the discord between us. Show him how our father pitted us against each other to toughen us up. All I wanted was to be second to Ryan and work with him, not against him. But our damn father wouldn’t allow it. Wouldn’t allow me to practice spellcraft, telling Ryan my efforts killed our mother, turning him completely against alchemy.” He pressed his hands against her spine. “But I won’t ever regret our love. Never.” Their lips met, a sweet, gentle kiss sealing his vow.

Lauren drew back in surprise. “I thought your mother died in a car accident.”

Michael hung his head sheepishly. “She did.” He scrubbed his hand over his eyes. “My father took one of my early demon vanquishing potions and slipped it into James MacFarland’s drink. He didn’t know how it would affect James or that he’d drive my mother home that night.”

“Ryan blames you for it? That’s insane.”

“He didn’t necessary blame me, but it didn’t endear him to the arts of alchemy either. If Ryan knew you were involved in useless, unpredictable pansy potion mixing, as he called it, he probably would have nixed the merger.”

“That’s why you were insistent in working secretly on the East Coast.” Lauren hugged him. “Honey, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I planned to a lot sooner.” He rested his chin on her head. “Then Dad was killed. The wars broke out. You and I didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye, at first, both of us strong leaders from opposing covens. Ryan hated me. Then he disappeared.”

“Why tell me now?”

“Because I don’t want any more secrets between us. We’ve signed the pact, it’s time to put the last few years behind us and create a new life for our merged covens.”

“Once we destroy the Overlord.” Lauren shivered, tensing.

“Let’s go over the plan.” Michael eased her aside and hopped off the desk. He walked to a patched cherry cupboard and drew out a small, carved teak box. Reverently, he lifted the container in both hands and carried it to the table. He pulled a large vial of crimson liquid from his jacket pocket.

Lauren flicked up the latch on the box and threw Michael a skittish look.