Wicked Paradise (7 page)

Chapter 7

Shockwaves rolled through Ryan, but the bombshell to his system was unable to crush the yearning Morgan’s touch incited. He sure as hell couldn’t hide the evidence behind the snip of leather covering his groin. Ignoring his outlandish desire, he coiled his fingers around Morgan’s wrist and glowered down at the ring of strange symbols and the crystal that continued to shoot beams of lavender. Pain receded as her healing lips rasped over his burning skin. The bond he’d sensed to her in his dream, to the brink of lunacy, became real. A tangible thing he touched in the prickly air between them, smelled on her pale, creamy skin. Fragrant and airy, her Druid fire tangled with his fire magic bursting up to dance with hers.

She leaned into the rich, raw energy and shuddered from the impact. Power rumbled beneath the ground, washing pure, aromatic earthiness over him. Desire stoked his internal fire. As Morgan finished her whispered incantation, he felt her power’s invitation, like a vault door unlocking. With a mental kick, he prodded the door wide. Elemental air and earthen power spattered inside him. Defensively, his innate magic quashed it, but not before ten seconds of paradise streamed in his blood.

Ryan’s jaw tightened, his shock yielding to anger. He managed to slam the door shut on her magic, hiding the key in a cranny of his soul. “What did you do to me?”

The amulet’s gem flared brighter, casting a faint glow in Morgan’s eyes. Who was this sorceress who made his tightly wound body lose control?

Morgan tipped her head back, looked him square in the eye. “The amulet is one of a matched pair. I possess its mate.” In a sudden fluid movement, she leaped up, her mad raven eyes darting about the cave, growing frantic. “I lost my packs in the woods.” She rushed past him toward the cave opening. “We must retrieve them.” He caught her arm and she twisted against his hold. “Please.” Her agitation crinkled the skin across her forehead. “I will explain on the way.”

Annoyance bit him, but Ryan held his tongue. Not wanting to let her out of his sight, he kept his clamp on her wrist. Somehow, that slight contact eased his freakish longing for her. It proved that she was real, not island magic tricking his mind. He needed to touch her more than anything he’d ever needed in his life, for more reasons than he cared to admit.

“Cart me off to the Fomorian hideout and toss me in as breakfast,” he murmured under his breath.

“Pardon me?” Morgan’s eyebrows peaked.

“Nothing,” Ryan growled. He hooked a waterskin over his shoulder, snatched up a short spear and knife. He wanted to snag his dead boar if an island predator hadn’t already poached it. The anticipation of roasted boar meat set his mouth watering. Ever since he’d spied the angry beast two days ago, he’d been ravenous for fresh pork. Hell, anything resembling the meat he used to eat before the Fomorian blight destroyed animal life on Earth was a boon to his constantly rumbling stomach. Already, after two weeks, he’d gotten used to eating on a regular basis again after a year of scarfing whatever scavenged food his coven found in their travels from one hideout to another in New Angeles.

In jittery silence, he led Morgan out of the grotto. Holding the branches of the leafy shrubbery aside, he guided her through the hidden entryway. Cloying flowers and grasses permeated the air, caught in Ryan’s throat. Uncertainty spiked the syrupy aroma on his tongue.

Leaves clung to Morgan’s hair and he reached to pick them out. Her eyes followed his movements, narrowing as if he meant to strike her. Slowly, he feathered his fingers down her silk smooth cheek. He wanted to touch every inch of her, just as he wanted to do from the moment she invaded his dream. Now, she stood before him in the flesh, wearing his T-shirt, alluring as hell. So very alive, he feared turning his back on her, afraid he’d find his fingers touching air, his eyes gazing upon a mirage.

“Did you tell the truth about the dream? You spoke to me.” She shook a finger at him. “What did you say?”

Did she honestly believe they hadn’t shared the dream? Druid or not, dream connection or not, she was pure trouble, and he had a difficult time burying his paranoia. He also had a tricky time reconciling his lack of trust with his desire. For the first time in his life, he wanted to believe in someone he simultaneously desired. There was a first time for even that, right?

On impulse, he bent his head as if to kiss her. A hairsbreadth separated their lips, and he breathed in her fresh, shallow exhale that contained her entire essence blowing into his soul. He nearly yielded to his hunger and tasted her pinched lips. Easing back, she flipped her hair over her shoulder, and he met her insolent expression. Lust arced through him, stunning him with the blow to his system. Hell, he never believed dreams came true. Especially in the life he led, and certainly not in the last two nightmare years.

Until now.

“I said I would find you.” His lips grazed her velvety cheek. “When my work was done,” he whispered in her ear. Her hand landed warmly on his chest, holding him back. Despite her attempt to restrain him, he doubted she’d put up a fight if he wanted to take her now. She sure as hell hadn’t resisted in their dream, not that they’d gone beyond touching and kissing.

“Damn.” He gritted his teeth. Dreams weren’t real! The sorceress radiated strong magic, paving her way into his head, his heart, even his soul. A simple task for a Fomorian toying with its prey. She was probably a plant to deter him from his duties. The witch would carve out his heart and feed it to his enemies if he surrendered to his cravings. He refused to falter. He owed it to his people who counted on him to lead them to a safe new existence on the hellhole Earth had become. His life had no room for love. Desire, yes. Love? Hell no. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to erase his insanity and figure out what to do about her. Second on the agenda was finding a way off this freak-ass island.

Ryan released her wrist and jerked away. “Let’s go. Start talking.” He threaded his way through the jungle maze, not waiting for her to follow.

A briny ocean breeze fluttered leaves and branches above their heads. Palm fronds rasped together like sheets of paper. Morgan’s crunching tread eclipsed the myriad island sounds.

“I’m waiting.” Impatience lay heavy in his tone.

She let out a frustrated sigh. “I fell asleep in the meadow at home this morning and woke up in your woods this afternoon.”

Ryan smirked. “You were joking about Avalon, right?”

“I wish that I were,” she mumbled more to herself.

Ryan’s keen sense of hearing wrenched the words from the air. He stopped short amidst a bed of blooming vines sporting multihued leaves. Sweet and heady, exotic perfume overpowered the thick jungle odors the refreshing sea winds discarded.

He tugged a burnt orange flower off the vine and spun around. Morgan stood so close he plowed into her. Ryan slipped his arm around her waist, and she leaned into him, clutching his forearm for balance. He wanted to push her away and run, wanted to pull her into his body and never let go.

Ryan stuck the flower in her hair, lodged the stem behind her ear. “Don’t lie to me,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m a Druid Master Sorcerer of immense power. You don’t want to toy with me.” He licked her ear, savoring her sweet salty taste on his tongue.

Berating himself, he jumped away and drew a flame from his power core. Fire magic flared up, surging fiery power into every fiber of his body, the main elemental magic flowing through him. It streamed outward, forming a bright bluish white globe on his palm. He erected an invisible protection shield around them. Moving backward a few steps, he launched his flaming ball at the trunk of a mature sandalwood tree. The tree exploded in a shower of bark and limbs. The fireball cut down two more trees until Ryan withdrew his power, ending his show of destruction.

Confidence and pride dampened his molten magic, sending it to rest inside him. Most fire sorcerers barely managed to decimate one or two trees at a time. Ryan had the ability to raze a small forest if he chose. For now, he’d reserve his strength in a small exhibition of ego, with a subtle warning to the enigma standing beside him.

Morgan fisted her hands at her sides. The last sparks of magic fizzled outside their cocoon, and she plowed through his impenetrable shield as if wading through a scant inch of water.

“What the—?” Mouth ajar, he checked his intact protection spell, double-checked it. How’d she walk through a barrier no one has ever penetrated? The strongest Fomorian had never breached his shields. Frowning, Ryan stroked his chin, eagle-eyed her, contemplating her strength. What the hell kind of magic did she wield?

Undeterred, Morgan stomped to the first damaged stump. Gray smoke billowed in angry spirals from the ruined trunk. Limbs and branches littered the ground. She swished an arm in the air, and white puffs of smoke floated away on steamy air currents. “Can your magic do this, Druid
master?
” She sneered.

Ryan cocked an eyebrow, regarded her in silent amusement. The sway of her glossy hair glistening down her back transfixed him, drew his gaze to the curve of her hips. He gulped down the air lodged in his throat. Again, he wondered how this wisp of a girl held power to rival his own. Where had she come from?

Morgan waved her arms over the stump, as though stirring the contents of a cauldron, chanting unintelligible words that sounded like Latin. She stepped out of the way, and the tree reformed its sundered pieces. Within seconds, the sandalwood stood intact, its mighty branches shivering in the breeze, leaves rustling an eerie song of joy. His eyes widened, and he smiled appreciatively. She returned his admiration with a thunderous frown.

They measured each other warily until the noise of large, flapping wings overhead stole Ryan’s attention. Hairs lifted on his scalp. He craned his neck, scrutinized the clear sky, saw nothing out of the ordinary. But the unmistakable omnipresence of evil, which so far had kept its distance, zoomed toward them. The air shimmered and darkened. The ground trembled as if a herd of boars raced past them. The day’s heat gelled oppressively, and he tasted vileness on his tongue with every inhalation.

Upon the first step Ryan took into the jungle after hacking out a lungful of water on the beach two weeks ago, he’d recognized the presence of evil, so familiar to him. He’d been around enough Fomorians and demons all his life to know the island was home to an ancient, formidable creature. The specter made itself known in devious ways. A feeling here or there that encroached upon Ryan’s sixth sense, or a flicker of light and shadows. It hadn’t taken him long to smell Fomorian stink—the rot of flesh—infesting nearly every cranny of the island as if the paradise was a breeding ground for evil.

Ryan dug further into his memory. The one other time he’d heard the fluttering wings was when he neared starvation and cast a spell to kill the speckled brown and gray bear whose fur lined his bed.

Too late. He now realized that magic attracted the evil like death to a vulture. Heat drained from his body, and his power sank into a lead ball in his gut. His protection shield disintegrated. Now, he understood the source behind his sluggish magic whenever he left the grotto. Back home something rare in his blood prevented the Fomorians from drawing upon his magic or marking him. During the two weeks he’d spent on the island, he’d felt a trickle of loss. He’d chalked it up to the peculiars of a foreign land. If he contained full magical energy, he could’ve uprooted the trees, rather than hack them to stumps.

“Morgan!” He bolted toward her, flailing his arms to catch her attention. “Stop!”

Up to her ankles in wood chunks and splintered limbs, she halted before the second decimated tree. Arms outstretched as if to blast him, she spun toward him. “You dared to kill living trees in a reckless fit of bravado, so do not tell me to stop my restoration spells.”

Ryan plunged through brambles. “Hold up, Morgan. Please!”

Ignoring him, she bent over the blackened tree stump and swirled her arms in a circle.

The giant bird-like flapping drew closer, more insistent, heading straight toward them.

Unusual pain wrenched Ryan’s heart. “Damn it.” He lunged, grappled her around the waist, and slung her over his shoulder.

Outraged, Morgan shrieked, kicked, and beat her tiny fists against his butt. He jogged behind a rocky outcropping, set her on her feet, his palm planted over her mouth. Her breasts lifted and fell with each breath against his chest. The huge wings flapped louder. The sooty, looming specter took shape in the very spot he’d cast his magic. It grew to twice the size of a warhorse, an undulating blob of gray evil devouring the air and light in its path.

“Quiet, okay?” he said in her ear.

Head bobbing, her eyes sparkled in an odd mixture of awe, anticipation, and fear.

“Let’s go. No magic.” He gave her a stern look, his aggravation wrenching on his arrogant heart. “Our magic drew it to us.”

“It is WindWraith. Avalon’s Shadow.” Morgan cupped her hand over her mouth. “It needs us to feed upon.”

The foggy spirit encircled the first restored tree, enshrouded it in inky air. It practically luxuriated in their residual Druid power. A crooning sound drifted out of the dense cloud.

“I will need your aid in killing it,” she decreed decisively in a low voice.

Kill it? Ryan regarded Morgan with renewed speculation. Earlier, he questioned whether she was linked to the evil spirit he’d sensed here. Her shaking body refuted any such collaboration. Even so, he still wasn’t convinced he could trust her. A mystery he’d unravel later, once he got them out of the jam he’d created.

He took her wrist and tugged her into the heart of the jungle, away from the specter sniffing at their leftover magic like a Fomorian one step behind its next minion.

Chapter 8

Sucking in deep breaths, Morgan tried to crush the terror thickening in her throat. The Fomorian—WindWraith—was truly in their midst! Everything her father told her was true. Until that moment, she hadn’t fully believed the ungodly myths.