“Don’t borrow trouble, lass. I’m going to try a thought connection with you to see if I can pick up on your memories. Small nuances about this incident might aid me.”
“I don’t know,” she murmured, not wanting him to sense how his presence had unnerved her.
“Open up to me.” He sat next to her and placed a hand on her forehead. “Things that happened during the attack might have escaped your notice. Through this method, I can connect with the odds and ends floating in your thoughts.”
No doubt he would sense her dangerous attraction to him. He’d find out how much his leaving had torn her apart, giving him an unfair advantage.
“You can’t read my mind.”
“I must.” His gaze intensified, turning serious. “I’m looking for things that might identify what part of the spirit world Sorcha and her followers come from.”
“How will that help?”
“Discovering where she lives might be the key to removing her ability to ever pass to the Earthly Realm again. I didn’t do that before, and she’s back now. Don’t you want to help me prevent her return so she doesn’t pester anyone again?”
“All right,” Lizzie told him, wondering if it would physically hurt to have her mind probed. Blazing witch balls. At this point, she was willing to do whatever it took to save her coven.
So what if Kincaid touched on her raw emotions? She had to bank on the fact he was professional enough not to use that against her.
Kincaid closed his eyes and his brows drew together. Tiny beads of perspiration formed on his forehead, and his lips moved slowly. He remained like that for so long, Lizzie began to get concerned. Then her brow began to ache and a splitting headache settled behind her eye sockets. The harder Kincaid pressed his hand against her forehead, the more it hurt.
“Sons of Lugus, it’s not working,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Try again,” she pleaded. “Maybe I need to concentrate harder.”
“I want you to take some of this.” He reached inside his cape and removed a small brown envelope. He poured a finite measure of snowy white powder in the palm of his hand. “You’ll need to place this on your tongue.”
She frowned. “What is it?”
“Bisporus powder. It’s made from toadstool fungus. It’ll help you relax.”
“You’re going to get me high on magic mushroom dust?”
He chuckled. “No, just very relaxed. This substance has the properties of truth serum. Right now, your mind is blocked. The bisporus powder will remove your inhibitions.”
Lizzie sensed he intended to help, but wow. This stuff would remove her inhibitions? Her coven was worth the discomfort, and embarrassment, even though she still worried about the memories and thoughts Kincaid would delve into.
She pinched the white stuff between her thumb and forefinger, then deposited it on the tip of her tongue. The sour-sweet spread across her taste buds, reminding her of kids’ candy.
Dizziness sucked at her consciousness, so she leaned back against the couch. Bright, colorful fireworks, like those that filled the sky during the mortals’ Fourth of July festivities, flashed before her eyes. A lethargic sensation spread through her limbs, and her body became light as a feather.
As her eyes closed, every care, every fear, and every concern drifted away. The tenseness in her body melted like hoarfrost over the flames of hades, and she gave into the sensations.
Chapter Six
Kincaid watched Lizzie’s pink lips as they parted and noted how her dark lashes fluttered like butterfly wings against her cheeks. She sighed softly, succumbing to a state of conscious slumber.
Centuries ago, when they were a couple, he’d often watched her as she slept, drinking in every nuance of her exquisite beauty. It had thrilled him back then to know such a fetching morsel like Lizzie wanted him. For a second, he began to be drawn into her web of enchantment. Then he shook his head to clear it.
Do your job.
Irritated at himself for still harboring desire for Lizzie, he forced himself to focus. It might take a while to probe her subconscious, so he knew he had to get serious about his methods.
With a twinge of internal caution, he reminded himself to pay close attention to the woman’s powers of fascination. By all that was sacred, he couldn’t allow himself to become enslaved by the woman’s witchy ways again.
Vera rolled up beside him and asked, “What happens next?”
“Lizzie’s subliminal mind is open to me now, so I’ll ask her some questions,” he said, then felt ridiculous for chatting with the wee carpet sweeper.
“Proceed,” Vera told him, her motor rumbling with a warning tone. “But remember, I’m watching you, buddy.”
Kincaid chuckled. Vera was nothing more than a mechanical watchdog standing by to make certain her mistress remained unharmed. How charming.
“What are you going to do if you think I pose a threat to Lizzie? Whip out your hose and clean me to death?”
Vera revved her motor and said, “Maybe.”
Kincaid studied the woman he’d almost fallen in love with in another life and another time. “Lizzie, can you hear me?”
“Of course,” she murmured.
“Do you know who I am?”
“You’re the scoundrel who dumped me.” She giggled and added, “Kincaid McAllister.”
He bristled, then talked himself down. There was no point in rehashing the past. “I want you to allow your mind to travel back to this morning. Retrace your steps and describe every minor detail of what happened when you and your clan were attacked by Sorcha’s banshee swarm.”
Lizzie remained silent, her brow furrowed.
“What are you doing right now?” Kincaid prompted.
“It’s nearly sunrise, and I’m flying toward the Royal Witch Arena. I told Wren—she’s my broom—that Mistress Hawkthorne, the presiding mistress of ceremonies, will probably be upset that I’m late. Wren scolds me, and calls me a diva. It took too long to find the perfect outfit.”
Kincaid smiled. “Was it true?”
“I couldn’t wear just any old rag.”
He glanced at Lizzie’s little black dress, the way it hugged her curves in all the right places and caused his heart to lurch. Most women had an obsession over their appearance and Lizzie’s choice of attire had definitely garnered his interest.
Enough with the ogling.
“I see the arena in the distance,” Lizzie murmured. “I’m relieved. When I lower down for a landing, a gust of wind knocks loose the casserole dish on the broom handle, and my Eye of Newt Love Potion casserole splashes all over me.”
That explained the aphrodisiac he’d smelled on her. No wonder he was so enamored at their initial reunion. Traces of pheromones in the casserole had permeated her skin. Now his lusty reaction made sense. It wasn’t due to his lack of control, so his libido wasn’t entirely to blame.
“I’m on the ground now,” Lizzie continued.
“Where?”
“Inside the arena.”
“Tell me what you see.”
“The ceremony has already begun. Everyone’s coming down the stone steps to gather in the center of the arena. Mistress Hawkthorne is positioned right next to the cauldron of sacred water, which she will use to sprinkle on the brooms for their blessing.”
He leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees. “Everything is in place?”
She nodded.
“Do you recognize everyone?”
“I see friends and acquaintances. And I see my family.” A smile brightened her face. “There are my parents, my Aunt Aggie, and my sisters. There’s Miranda with her husband Max and their baby, Aurora.”
“Is there anything else unusual?”
Lizzie frowned. “I see…I see a dark cloud. It’s moving closer and closer.”
“What color?”
“Purple-gray. With a black outer ring.”
“What direction is it coming from?”
“The east.”
“That w
as no cloud. That must have been the banshee swarm heading your way.”
When Lizzie whimpered, Kincaid could have kicked himself. Damn, why had he said that? He took her hand and gently rubbed the back of it. She jumped initially at his touch.
“It’s all right, lass. We’re makin’ great progress. What’s happening with the cloud?”
His voice seemed to calm her, and she breathed in a calmer rhythm.
“It’s right behind the arena now, and it’s turned a silver-gray color,” she said. “It’s starting to break apart. But I have to hurry. I’ve got things to do.”
“Like what?”
“I’ve got to place Wren in the inner sanctum with the rest of the brooms. Once the ceremony gets underway, attendants will come for them and—”
She screamed and sobs racked her body.
“Lizzie what is it? What’s wrong? Remember you’re only experiencing memories—memories that can’t hurt you.”
“Okay, okay.” She stopped crying.
“Good,” he said. “Now what’s happening?”
“There’s a whirlwind in the hallway. The shrieking grates on my ear drums.” She took several ragged breaths. “Goddess have mercy, that thing is coming after me!”
“What thing?”
“A horrid woman in shredded clothing—she slammed me against a wall. I’ve hit my head,” she muttered. “It hurts. I can barely see. There’s the preparation room! I’m crawling inside. Everything’s black. Can’t s-see…”
Groaning, she pressed her fingers against her temples.
“Lizzie snap out of it, lass! None of this is real, you’re just rememberin’ terrible things.” Alarmed, he squeezed her hands.
She didn’t seem to hear him, and it didn’t appear she had the capacity to resurface to reality. A mental fog of pain and terror held her captive.
“You’d better do something fast.” Vera rolled up closer. “She’s in trouble.”
Desperate to reach Lizzie, Kincaid gathered her in his arms and kissed her. At first, she pressed her hands against his chest and tried to shove him away, her body tense with apprehension. He held her tighter, willing her to be released from her frightful memories. At last her tightly coiled limbs relaxed, and she pressed up against him.
Mother of Scotland, he thought as his body responded to her softness. Her lips pressed harder against his. God help him, she tasted good, just like he remembered. The world around them dissolved, and he knew nothing but how wonderful it felt to hold Lizzie’s warm, pliable body against his. Practically drinking in her essence, he ran a hand through her long tresses, enjoying the silky sensation.
“Kincaid,” she murmured in a sultry whisper as her lips moved against his.
The passion in her voice whittled away his resistance, and he closed his eyes. Damn his hide. It was wrong for him to allow this to happen, but it felt so right.
He couldn’t prevent himself from drowning in Lizzie’s compelling kiss. He didn’t have the willpower. Not now, anyway, not while in the thrall of her sweet, spellbinding lips. During the centuries they’d been apart, he’d sorely missed this.
He tried to pull away, but every stone wall he’d built around his heart began to crumble. She’d stolen his heart once, and he feared she could easily do it again.
You’re playing with fire, my man. Blazing, enticing, enchanting fire.
***
Through a haze of sluggishness, Lizzie pushed off the frightening memories. Aware that Kincaid held her in his strong embrace, she pried herself out of his grip. Despite her determination to never be in a situation like this with him again, she could barely resist parting from his comforting warmth. Lips still moist and tingling from his kiss, she crossed her arms over her chest.
“How dare you take advantage of me?” she whispered.
He stood up and pinned her with a hard glare. “You were caught between your subconscious state and reality. I din’na have a choice.”
“It’s the truth, Lizzie.” Vera rolled closer and blinked her lights. “You couldn’t wake up so I begged Kincaid to do something.”
Lizzie stood and walked to the window. Confusion swirled through her as she peered through the boards at the moonlit street. Fearing she might be falling into the same trap, humiliation, similar to what she’d suffered all those centuries ago, washed over her.
Once again, she longed to ask Kincaid once why he’d left her, but she held back. She’d been so young and inexperienced when they’d first met, it was no wonder he’d easily manipulated her.
It would not happen again.
She needed Kincaid’s expertise to eradicate the banshee swarm, but that’s where her need for him ended. As she touched her lower lip, she shivered.
I was under the influence of his blasted magic mushroom powder.
Still reeling with disbelief, she pushed her unease to the back of her mind. Vera said he’d only kissed her to help bring her back to consciousness. She needn’t be so concerned.
“Are you all right?” Kincaid asked.
“I’m worried about my coven. I want those banshees gone and we’re wasting time.”
“That’s why we must act quickly,” he said in a solemn tone.
She placed her hands on her hips and faced him. “What do we do now?”
“I need a look at your Royal Witch Arena. Maybe I’ll get an idea about what makes those old hags tick.”
“Won’t the banshees see us?”
“There’s no ‘us’. I’m goin’ alone.”
“But—”
“Do as I say, lass. I refuse to put you in danger again.”
Not appreciating his authoritarian tone one bit, she frowned. “I know how dangerous the old hags are, Kincaid. But it’s my family and friends we’re talking about. I refuse to sit here like a ninny. I intend to help.”
He sighed. “Can’t change your mind, can I?”
“No. I just wish I still had my broom. We could fly there.”
“Remember, your Aunt Aggie taught me to fly,” Vera reminded her with a vroom of her motor. “I can take the both of you, unless my exhaust fumes gross you out.”
Lizzie’s hopes lifted as she realized she had a flying companion again, albeit one with a motor.
“You two can take to the air,” Kincaid directed. “I’ll follow along on the ground.”
“How will you be able to keep up?”
“Don’t worry,” he growled. “I have my ways.”
Lizzie rolled Vera toward the back door. Kincaid obviously had powers of travel she didn’t know about. Maybe the rumors of the Spirit Wulver’s ability to transform into a wolf were true. Holding up her hand, she directed a surge of magic at the back door.
“Extractum obex.” The wooden entrance opened with a creaking sound.
The effort of using her magic caused her temples to throb. She stumbled and Kincaid caught her elbow.
“You really ought to stay here.”
Lizzie’s skin tingled where Kincaid’s fingers pressed against it.
“I won’t.”
His brows furrowed. “Doo’na be foolish.”
“We’ve got work to do,” she insisted.
Pulling away from Kincaid, she grabbed Vera’s handle and rolled the vacuum to the threshold. Arranging her long green cape, she turned to him. “The Royal Witch Arena is right next to the coastal highway.”
Kincaid nodded, but his gaze still glimmered with concern. Was he pretending to be concerned about her because he truly cared about her welfare? Or was he just worried he wouldn’t get paid if something happened?
Skeptical about Kincaid’s ability to maintain pace with her and Vera, Lizzie straddled the vacuum. She patted Vera’s tank and they lifted upward through the layers of cool darkness. Illuminated only by silver moonlight and a mantle of twinkling stars, the night drew her in. Glancing at the ground, she expected Kincaid would be watching as she departed.
To her surprise, he no longer stood where he had a second ago. Bushes and trees rustled i
n the wooded hills, but he had disappeared.
“Obsessing over the Spirit Wulver, are you?” Vera giggled. “Naughty, naughty. Though I don’t blame you. He’s absolutely delicious.”
“I am not obsessing,” Lizzie snapped.
“Of course not.” Vera revved her engine and flew through the evening air, dipping and rolling gently along the breezy currents. Before long, the Royal Witch Arena appeared, nestled like a hulking dark spot along the shore.
When Lizzie peered at the ancient amphitheater’s declining condition, which looked worse than ever, her insides flared with alarm. Softly, she begged the nature spirits to lend their assistance in driving out the horrid banshees.
Aaaaaawooooooo…
A long, lonely howl echoed across the vast distance. A chill shot up Lizzie’s spine. Kincaid’s alter ego—the wolf—must be racing across the darkened landscape.
What other supernatural abilities did Kincaid possess? Realizing she hadn’t truly known him all those centuries ago, she shivered.
Chapter Seven
Kincaid tossed aside his clothes and willed his body to transform, or mùthadh as his ancestors called it. The change came over him quickly. Hot as liquid fire, blood shot through his veins, urging him to run. His feet crushed the moist ground as he plunged through the forest. Uncanny pressure caused his bones to crack and twist. His pale skin ripped away like shredded ribbons and sharp claws burst forth from his hands, which soon became large pink paws covered in bristly fur.
Saliva dripped through his teeth as he noted a reddish-brown pelt rippling across various parts of his skin. It burst forth on his limbs, his groin, his chest, then his back and finally his entire body. His forehead and throat began to ache as an elongated snout pushed from his face. Fangs burst from his gums, and a long tongue whipped through his jaw.
In order for his human skeleton to alter into that of a wolf, his spine arched, and his large frame stretched out. Snarling, he fell forward onto all fours, not missing a beat of his steady stride across the terrain. The forest closed its green entrance around him with a welcoming embrace—nature meeting his animal character. Through his large lycanthrope eyes, he viewed trees, bushes, and weeds tinged with an ethereal silver-blue glow, which gave his vision keen insight.
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