A Druid of Her Own: An Immortal Highlander (Druid Series Book 4)

by Mandy M. Roth

  He was simply…more.

  Romance hero kind of more, she thought, her body tightening as she soaked him in. An alpha male on two wheels.

  A five o’clock shadow coated his strong jawline. Strange tribal markings of sorts covered his muscular arms. The black t-shirt he wore blocked her ability to see his chest, which she had little doubt was equally chiseled and buff. His jeans fit him perfectly, and even seated he had a great ass. Black sunglasses blocked her view of his eyes, but not the fact that he was staring at her. He veered a touch with his bike and she worried he’d wreck, watching her as hard as she was watching him.

  For a moment it was as if they each held the end of an invisible string, connecting only them. For half a second Maggie worried her condition had gotten away from her. The feeling passed, but didn’t totally vanish. It lingered just beneath the surface of her skin, making her very aware of his presence still. He kept pace with the other two men in his group, but there was no doubt he was just as interested in her as she was him.

  She smiled softly and then it faded as reality set in. Nothing would come of the encounter. “No man for you.”

  Chapter 3

  Kennard remained in place, the sun at his back, his focus so locked on where the redheaded vixen down the street had been that he didn’t notice his cousin tapping his shoulder at first. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there before he realized what he was doing. He’d been fixating on a woman he didn’t know, and he had been from the moment he’d rounded the corner on his bike, a pull starting deep in his gut, demanding he look to the side.

  And he had.

  That was when he’d seen her. When his entire body had responded to her presence, nearly making him lose control of his ride—something he never did. And his magik had flared, wanting to reach out and sample her from afar. Not only that, his wolf had unfurled, causing Kennard’s eyes to shift, his nostrils to flare and his senses to go on high alert, acutely aware of the woman—her scent, the sharp intake of her breath, the sound of her heart beating. He’d had to hold tight to his beast and his magik, fearful he’d reveal himself to countless humans, all over a woman he didn’t even know.

  A woman his wolf wanted to meet and soon. Though, it was best he avoid the temptation. He wasn’t himself lately and she might prove to be more than he could handle at the moment.

  Cillian snorted, moving the gentle tap to more of a punch. “Want a piece of that, do you?”

  “Aye,” returned Kennard, his gaze never leaving the area he’d last seen the woman. Awareness prickled along his skin before settling in his groin. He more than wanted a piece of the lass. He wanted to totally fucking consume her. He wanted to lose himself in her, breathe his essence into her and release, filling her with all of him. And moreover, he wanted to sink his teeth into her creamy pale flesh, letting his wolf up to sample her as well. That would be bad. Very bad. Mating was never to be taken lightly.

  But the lass had captured his attention and his cock throbbed with need. The organ apparently didn’t give a shit that his brain thought it was a horrible idea. Reaching down, unconcerned with who saw, he palmed himself through his jeans, trying to gain some relief to no avail. The lass who had captured his attention held his shaft enthralled.

  She was tiny, smaller in stature than he normally preferred in his women. Over the last century or so he’d gone in for tall, leggy blondes with bodies that reminded him of lithe Fae lasses. This woman couldn’t have been much over five feet. And she’d lacked any makeup, yet still managed to be gorgeous. Her blue eyes had been wide with wonder as she’d stared right back at him as if she too felt the energy buzzing between them.

  Nonsense.

  She wasn’t druid. He’d have sensed it on her at once. It wasn’t like they could hide such a thing from one another. And there weren’t many female druids at all. He’d not run into one in centuries—though a cousin of his had recently mated to a girl with druid blood in her, even though she wasn’t a full-blown one.

  He wondered if the redhead was a witch. That could explain this sudden attraction. And one of his cousins had already wed a witch so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that witches could be destined mates for druids. Another had wed a goddess, but Kennard didn’t think the odds of finding another of those roaming about was high. He wouldn’t mind though. They were probably fantastic in bed. The woman had not been wolf either. He’d have smelled it on her.

  Whatever the redhead was, she was something—he just wasn’t sure what. What he did know was he’d cross paths with her again, and he had a pretty good idea the passing might occur between the sheets. The sight of her had turned him on, igniting need in him that didn’t seem to be easing in the least.

  His cock, sniffing some action might finally be on the horizon, was still in a state of longing, stiff as a pole and hard as a rock. He’d not bedded a wench in nearly a month—a downright shame in his book. He planned to rectify the situation in celebration of Athol’s demise. It was time he scratched his itch and he’d found the girl to do it with.

  Maggie.

  The name came to him as if plucked from the ether. He knew it was her name. The hot redhead. There was no denying Maggie had a bit of the Motherland in her—the hair, the pale skin, the light dusting of freckles, the name. Oh yes, she’d do for a night of bedding. Then he’d be on his way, as he always was after sex.

  “Come on, we’re celebratin’ our victory.” Cillian chucked him in the arm and laughed more. “I want food and drink. Let yer cock do the beggin’ after a lass later. For now, we eat and drink. Then we fuck.”

  He nodded and followed Liam toward the bar entrance but paused, noticing a man sliding off a bike, wearing a Father Christmas suit. Another man, this one with a beard that went to the middle of the man’s large beer-belly, wore a Father Christmas hat and a pin of a wreath on his leather vest. Kennard glanced at his cousin, confusion on his face. The Summer Solstice had only just passed and the men here were already dressed for the Christians’ version of Yule.

  Cillian shrugged and lowered his voice. “I do nae ever pretend to understand humans. They’re verra strange creatures.”

  “They’re probably already drunk,” added Kennard, feeling as if they were missing out. They’d ridden hard, the twins wanting to head south but Kennard demanding they head north until they reached the lakeside town. They’d been here before. It was the very same town he’d had the chance to kill Athol in twenty-three years prior but had choked. It seemed fitting he’d return with Athol dead now. It would give Kennard a chance to come to terms with a moment from his past that he wasn’t proud of. Besides, he’d been unable to get the town out of his head for months. He needed to be here, he didn’t know how or why, just that it was important he come.

  So he did.

  And he’d brought his cousins in tow this time around. They should have gone straight to an inn to get some shut-eye. This time drinking was far more important to them.

  So was fucking.

  As crass as Liam could be, he’d been right. They needed a release. This tiny town seemed to be bursting at the seams with women willing to give them what they wanted and needed.

  Perfect.

  His thoughts drifted back to the redhead from the street. She was flawless.

  Cillian cuffed him behind the ear, grabbing his full attention and then tugging him into the bar. Despite how light it still was outside, the bar was dark. Magik pulsed around in it and he knew it was Liam’s doing. His cousin was already seated at a large, round table, his feet propped upon it, a beer in hand and the look of up to no good upon his face. Somehow Cillian managed to stay out of as much mischief as his brother got in. Though, when being compared to Liam, it wasn’t hard for one to look as though one were a saint.

  With a lift of his beer, Cillian motioned to one of the empty chairs near him. “Sit. Get drunk and then find a woman to fuck.” He pointed to the dance floor. Despite the early hour the dance floor was already occupied by a group of women, all of w
hom looked as though they’d drunk their weight in spirits. Three were doing a fine job of holding one another up, and he guessed if one of the women dared to let go, all would topple.

  He lifted a brow. “Cousin, really? Aim higher.”

  Cillian made a thrusting motion with his hips and hands, even though he still held a beer. “Oh, I’d be aimin’ about yay high.”

  Liam snorted and clasped his hand on Kennard’s shoulder. “Let him go. You know how he is.”

  “Aye.”

  “Let’s drink.”

  He nodded, the idea sounding better and better to him. Though the bar couldn’t possibly have enough in the way of alcohol to make a dent in the thirsts of the three immortal druid sorcerers who now sat in its midst. Each had needed a break from what they’d faced while hunting Athol.

  Dark magik in one of its purest forms.

  The battle had been hard fought and the win came at a cost. They’d each sacrificed having anything in the way of personal lives while hunting Athol. They’d not spent the time they should with their clan and they’d each had to dabble in dark magiks themselves in an attempt to track and ultimately kill Athol. He wasn’t the only bad guy out there, though. They’d had to hunt others before him, and now that he was gone, they’d hunt new ones.

  It was what they were born to do.

  They’d been fighting the good fight for over seven hundred years and would continue to do so as long as evil still walked the Earth. Some of their clan had settled down, but still battled when the need arose. The unmated ones tried their best to keep the mated ones out of harm’s way so no wee ones would be raised without fathers, but the O’Caha clan men didn’t take well to being sidelined.

  Liam, Cillian and Kennard had taken up double duty, trying their best to avoid letting anyone know they’d been dealing with Athol. The rest of the clan would have insisted on helping. No need to put them at risk. But whereas Cillian and Liam were sure they’d been successful in ending Athol, Kennard wasn’t sold on the idea.

  Something still felt off. Didn’t matter to the twins. They wanted to celebrate by drinking and fucking. Outnumbered on the vote, Kennard had found himself on his motorcycle, riding with his cousins on what was to be a cross-country trip, with the intent of going wherever the road decided to take them.

  But Kennard’s gut had him steer the group here. Back to the small lakeside town he’d been in over twenty years ago. Thankfully, the overabundance of bikers and the banners announcing Bike Week left them knowing it would provide good cover for them. On their own, Kennard and his cousins stood out and people tended to ask too many questions. And while they were fully capable of altering the memories of mortals, they tried to avoid doing so too often. It wasn’t good to go about leaving evidence of where they’d been or what they’d been up to. Mortals simply didn’t understand all that existed in the world. If they knew they’d panic. It’s what they did best. Mess things up while running about like chickens with their heads cut off.

  Kennard took a seat and within seconds had a fresh, cold bottle of beer before him. His thoughts lingered on the redhead from the street. What about her had held his attention so? He couldn’t put his finger on it. Something about her spoke to him without saying a word, but he couldn’t pinpoint it.

  Liam tapped the toe of his boot on the table, close to Kennard. “Yer mind is nae here.”

  “It’s on a woman,” Cillian said with a grin. “Fine lookin’ one, if I do say so myself. Deep red hair. Creamy pale skin. Big breasts and a tiny waist.”

  “You looked at her long enough to notice all that?” Kennard twisted in his seat, his heated gaze on his cousin. He thought of pummeling the man there and then.

  How dare he look upon the redhead? How dare he talk about Maggie’s breasts and hips? Kennard’s wolf pushed at him, wanting to rise to the surface and bite his cousin’s throat out. He snarled and began to ease forward.

  “Whoa there, cousin. I’ve no death wish. Stop lookin’ at me as if yer about to cast a spell on me and throw me into the Dark Ages. That or eat me.” Cillian put his hands up, signaling surrender. “I’ll nae talk of the girl again.”

  “Guid.” Nodding, Kennard sipped his beer. If his cousin dared speak of Maggie again, he’d rip his tongue from his mouth, and that would be before he let his wolf out to play.

  He stilled, realizing his reaction to the unknown woman wasn’t normal. He fixed his gaze to the women with loose morals, shaking to the music and bouncing just so that their breasts jiggled under their thin t-shirts. The act did nothing for him or his beast. They were too easy, too willing to be fucked. He appreciated a challenge, not a sure thing and a wench who had no doubt ridden most of the dicks in the bar.

  As he gulped more of his beer, a strange sensation came over him. He didn’t want to be in the bar anymore. He wanted to be away from the women near him now. Anywhere but near them. If the truth was something he was willing to admit to, he wanted to go down the street and find Maggie. She was who held his interest now. “You two can move on from this town tonight. I’m stayin’ on a bit more.”

  The twins shared one of their famed looks and then smiled wide. “Oh, we’re stayin’.”

  “You goin’ after the girl I’ll nae name,” asked Liam, a smirk upon his face.

  “Aye.”

  Cillian’s brows met. “Are you all right, cousin? You seem out of sorts.”

  “I’m horny.”

  Liam laughed. “And he’s goin’ to find a lil’ redhead to fix the problem.” He paled as Kennard shot him a daring look. “I wasn’t speakin’ ill of her, promise.”

  Kennard swallowed hard. “I’m goin’ for coffee.”

  “You do nae like coffee,” said Cillian.

  Kennard smiled, knowing it was wolfish. “I do now.”

  Chapter 4

  Kennard opened the door to the small coffee shop and inhaled. The tiny bell above the door announced his arrival. Even with all the grounds, which normally would make it difficult for his wolf to pick up scents with ease, he could smell her. Smell Maggie. Smell the impish redhead he’d caught sight of while riding. The entire shop held her scent, as if she were here a lot. Closing his eyes, he drew in a deeper breath, allowing his wolf to rise a touch, to enjoy the smell of the woman. She smelled of honey and faintly of flowers. A mischievous grin touched his lips. Smells he could get very used to indeed, as could his cock, which had been hard since first glimpsing her.

  He adjusted again, unconcerned with any who might see him so do. He ached and his body wanted the redhead in a way he’d not wanted another before. Living as long as he had, he didn’t dare ignore the draw he had to the woman. Not that his wolf would permit him to do so.

  Kennard knew she was approaching before he caught sight of her. Maggie came out from the kitchen area, placing a pencil in the front of a small apron she wore over a pair of well-fitting jeans and a T-shirt that had the shop’s logo on it. She didn’t look up as she spoke. “Welcome to Mystic Grounds. What can I get you today?”

  He licked his lower lip, a rumble starting deep in his chest. His wolf wanted out. It wanted her. As did he. His vision tunneled and for a minute all he could hear was the sound of his own heart beating furiously.

  She looked up then as if sensing danger.

  Smart girl.

  Her blue eyes widened and she froze.

  As had happened upon first glimpsing her, everything around him faded away, darkness coming into the sides of his eyes as his vision tunneled on her and her alone. He clenched his fists, his fingernails nearly lengthening with an involuntary change, despite the dark runes he’d placed upon his skin to suppress such an action for at least another month. The woman before him had the power to supersede dark magik and his wolf.

  His mind told him to run. To put distance between them for her own safety. He did the opposite. He took a step in her direction and the damn fool of a woman eased closer to him as well. Did she not sense he was dangerous? Did she not see how he wanted to ravish her? How h
e wanted to fall upon her, take her to the floor, damn all who were witness and fuck her until he could fuck no more? He was immortal, so that could be a very long time indeed.

  She bit her lower lip, the action making his wolf respond more, nearly forcing itself up and on him. The dark rune on the side of his torso began to heat and burn, grounding him, bringing him back slowly from the edge of insanity. The rune hurt, but Kennard ignored the biting pain, his gaze on Maggie. He didn’t dare remove his sunglasses. If he did he was sure she’d see his eyes were not their normal dark green color but were now a deep yellow. Such a thing happened whenever he lost control of his wolf or shifted forms fully.

  “Can I get you me?” she asked, her voice soft, like music to his ears. She gasped and then touched her upper chest, drawing his attention to the V-neck area of her t-shirt and to the cleavage he spotted. “Um, can I get you something?”

  Her slip of the tongue made the edges of his mouth curve upwards ever so gradually. She wanted him. Good. He wanted her too and he’d have her. He had to swallow several times and take a deep breath before he was collected enough to speak. “Aye, what do you recommend?”

  She tipped her head, still staring at him. “Scottish?”

  He hid his smile and nodded. “Somethin’ other than coffee, please.”

  His cousins would laugh if they heard how forced his niceties were. It wasn’t as though there was a high need for manners when hunting dark sorcerers. But his grandmother would be proud. She expected all the boys to have good manners.

  Sadly, most of the O’Caha let her down in that regard.

  Grandmother was smaller even than Maggie, yet managed to command respect from her large family. She was fierce when called for and loving and giving all other times. Kennard had the strangest urge to call her and tell her of Maggie.

  He stilled.

  He’d never told his grandmother of a woman before—hell, he had not even bothered to learn the names of women he’d had an interest in prior. But this was so much more than simple interest.