by Diana Duncan
“I used to have them all the time. But I haven’t had one for years. And never as awful—or realistic.”
Sure fingers kneaded her nape, easing the stiffness. “After reliving Graves’ assault on you while relating it to me earlier, a nightmare wouldn’t seem unlikely.”
“No…I suppose not. But how did I know you’d killed a demon on the pathway?”
His heartbeat thumped reassuringly beneath the heated muscle against her cheek, “You surmised I’d gone to battle a demon when I left the cabin, aye?”
“I knew you went to confront something. And you mentioned cleaning up a mess.”
“Well, then. Your subconscious merely inserted the logical conclusion into the dream. You’ve had a frightening, difficult sequence of events to process. ‘Tis no surprise you’re struggling to assimilate everything.”
“Did that demon come after me? Are they stalking me, already?”
“It might have been here for me. Either way, it’s dead.”
Right. One crisis at a time. “What if I really did go somewhere…but was out of body? I was glowing.”
“No, even your essence couldn’t cross without triggering my wards.”
“Okay.” She closed her eyes, listened to his heart beating sure and strong. Breathed in the comforting scent of the ocean that surrounded him.
Tell Rowan. The memory of Connor’s text message flashed in her mind’s eye, and she jumped. “I meant to tell you before I fell asleep…when I was at the prison, visiting Connor, he cut his finger on the table and sketched bloody symbols into my palm. Kind of like the ones you put on the door. For protection, I guess. That’s when I got my first surge of Power.”
She didn’t stop for him to comment, pouring out the entire confession in a rush. “It knocked down the guards. Stunned them. I think I started the riot. I mentally projected something about Judge Zinter’s flunkies frying in hell, and then I found out later the warden and some other guards got badly burned by inmates. When Zack was here, he told me he thought the warden and a few guards might be working with Zinter. So I did hurt people—”
“Whoa.” He’d gone very still. “Loss of Power control isn’t unusual for a novice. Back up, though. Connor warded your palm with his blood? Did he say anything?”
“Yes. The pronunciation was strange, though. Similar to yours, but not exactly like any Gaelic I’ve heard from you.” She repeated her brother’s murmured phrases.
Rowan pulled away, stared down at her. “What about before and after? Concentrate, lass. ‘Tis very important.”
“When I knocked down the guards, Connor looked at me all bewildered, and whispered…um…‘What have I done?’ Like it was his fault I got upset. And when they dragged him out, he said, ‘What was mine now belongs to you.’ At that point, he knew his parole wasn’t being granted and they were putting him into gen-pop. I figured it was a verbal will, you know?”
“Show me what he drew.” Rowan held out his palm.
As she traced the pattern in his hand, the outlined symbols glowed molten silver.
“‘He was reported to possess the Aillidh,’” Rowan muttered the statement Balor had made referring to her brother. “And Connor admitted he’d gotten himself into the Abyss, aye?” His teeth ground together. “Shagging unbelievable.”
“What’s the matter? What did my brother do?”
“‘Tis impossible…but somehow, he managed to transfer most of his Power to you. With a very primitive invocation. Slightly askew, but still effective. Then his essence fled, separating from his body to protect what was left of his soul before Zinter’s men could steal it from him. Only since Power transfer is lethal—or at least has always been so before—the recoil flung him into the Abyss. His fool move should’ve incinerated his essence.”
She’d thought herself past being shocked. “I put protection around him, out in the prison parking lot. Maybe, somehow, that kept him alive?”
“Your love for him is strong, and emotion amplifies your Powers.” Rowan’s eyes narrowed in assessment. “You and Connor seem to be breaking all known laws of Magic.”
“Connor never breathed a word to me about any of this. How did he know he had Power? How did he know how to give it to me?”
“He’d probably only recently come into his Powers. Happens at different times for everyone. He wouldn’t have understood how to wield them, anymore than you do yours.” Rowan shook his head. “None of what Connor did was possible. Did he hook up with a mentor? Anyone new in his life, someone he spent a lot of time with?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Bitterness tinged her reply. “But apparently, I wasn’t totally in the loop about my brother’s life.”
“Don’t fault him, luv.” Rowan’s voice was as gentle as the hand stroking her back. “Even if he’d wanted, Connor couldn’t have told you without triggering a Discord. Not until you came into your own Powers.”
“Rowan?” Her teeth sank into her lower lip. “Connor managed to bequeath his Powers to me. Would…would I be able to relinquish mine to someone else? Go back to my normal world?”
Rowan’s glance flicked to the mantel where she’d set her engagement ring while she tried to decide what to do with it. He went quiet for so long she didn’t think he was going to answer. “Would you honestly risk your life in order to give them away? Return to Za— “ He cleared his throat. “Your previous life?”
“I…I don’t know. Maybe. After I rescue Connor from the Abyss.” She locked gazes with him. “Could I?”
“Until you’re sure of what you want, it doesn’t matter.” Thick, dark lashes shuttered his expression. “Feeling steadier now? Think you can go back to sleep? A bloody lot of hard work is on tap for tomorrow.”
She might never sleep again after that nightmare. But he’d had a long day himself. “Yes,” she lied.
He climbed off the mattress. As he tucked her in, she studied the black cotton drawstring pants that rode low on his ridged abs. “Can you conjure up a new wardrobe at will? ‘Cause that’d be a Power I’d keep. Especially shoes.”
“I’ve noticed you do have a passion for boots.” He chuckled. “‘Conjuring’ clothing’s a useful skill, but a waste of energy. Mages usually buy their clothes like everyone else.”
The master of the non-answer. MacLachlan had honed evasion to an art form.
“See you in the morning, lass.” He switched off the lamp, and she watched his shadow drift toward the doorway.
Don’t go. The faint, desperate plea whispered inside her mind.
Rowan froze. “What?”
Her fists crumpled the sheets. Don’t be a baby. Keep your dignity and let him walk away. Stay with me tonight.
He turned. Vibrant tension pulsed from clear across the room. “Exactly what are you asking me for, Delaney? Be very clear.”
I’m afraid if I dream… She drew a shaky breath. Damn, this was hard to admit, but the realistic nightmare had rattled her. Badly. I…don’t want to be alone. The bed is big enough for both of us. To just sleep.
“Last time you awoke with me in your bed, you weren’t happy.”
I know, and I’m sorry. I won’t freak out on you this time. I’m sure.
Once more, he hesitated so long, she was positive he’d refuse. Then he prowled soundlessly across the floor. “Scoot over, then. I sleep nearest the door.”
Of course he did.
As Rowan slid in beside her, Delaney suffered a panicked flash of what-the-hell-were-you-thinking.
Either she’d overestimated the size of the bed, or seriously underestimated the size of the man.
He rolled onto his side, facing her, but even then the mattress wasn’t wide enough to avoid touching him. “Go to sleep, luv. Nothing will harm you.”
As heat and comfort flowed from his big body, she relaxed. “Thank you, Rowan.”
“Sòlasaich,” he murmured.
Listening to his even breaths, sleep descended fast and easy.
* * *
Delaney floated to w
akefulness wrapped in a heated blanket. She sighed contentedly…and breathed in Rowan.
He surrounded her. No denying that Rowan owned—no, commanded—everything around him. His space, his weapons. The woman sharing his bed.
She kept her eyes closed amid spiking awareness. She was laying on her right side, her nose nuzzling crisp chest hair, the front of her body plastered to his. His head was bent, tucking hers into the hollow of his throat, their hair intertwined on the pillowcase. One long, proprietary leg sprawled across her thighs. His arm wrapped her waist, his wide palm cupped her bottom…pressing her close to his impressive arousal.
Desire flooded, clenched low in her belly—right where his thick shaft teased receptive nerve endings. Beneath the thermal shirt, her nipples tightened to stiff peaks.
“Morning, sweetheart.” Rowan’s sleep-husked burr vibrated in his chest. “No more bad dreams?”
Her eyes popped open. With her nestled to every square foot of magnificently hard Highlander, no way could he have missed her body’s awakening. “Um…” She dragged in a breath, which rubbed her nipples against his pecs. His erection twitched in response, and heavy, impatient need spiraled deep in her core. “I…no.”
“Good.” Rowan leaned down and kissed her, his morning beard adding a sensual graze. He claimed her hard and fast, with a demanding possession of talented lips and satin tongue. Then he rolled away, rose from the bed and stretched, powerful bronzed muscles rippling. “I’ll be having a shower, then.”
Leaving her hollow and aching, he strolled from the room.
* * *
Inside the shower, Rowan put his back to the purposefully icy stream and sudsed up. He could still smell Delaney on his skin. Taste her on his lips…autumn sunshine and wild ripe berries. Damnation. The woman was sheer temptation. She had no idea of the torture she’d put him through last night. Once the tantalizing lass had raised his libido from the dead, it had roared to life hungrier than a barracuda.
There were a dozen reasons to keep his hands off her, and to hell with all of them.
Need taunted him, and he gritted his teeth. He’d better slam a lid on it and fast, before he did something they’d both regret. If he took anything from Delaney, it would be because he’d made a cold, calculated decision—with his brain.
His soapy fingers lathered the lower half of his body, and he groaned. A frigid shower wasn’t dousing the fire. His balls were tight and achy, his cock so hard it hurt to touch.
Delaney was just as attracted to him, and sensing her need ramped up his own.
He could warm the water and invite her to share the shower…odds were in his favor she’d come. A wry grimace tilted his lips. They both would.
Then what?
The thought was more chilling than the cold spray. They’d be irrevocably tied to one another, each vulnerable in so many ways they’d both despise.
Rowan sighed. He wasn’t willing to again trust another woman with his body. Or his Power.
He slid his hand to his cock, squeezed hard. Pressure didn’t ease the engorgement, in fact, made it worse. He stroked down the slick, rigid length, just once. Bit back another groan.
Shite. He hadn’t resorted to jacking off since he was fifteen years old.
He spun, flipped the temperature lever until steam billowed. Turning his back to the jets again, he let wet warmth wash over his shoulders, trickle down his chest, his belly, swirl around his cock to his swollen sac.
Not helping, either.
Just give it up, lad. Quick and clinical—scratch the itch. Planting his feet wide for balance, he swiped his palm with lather, then closed his fist around his shaft.
But as he stroked, unbidden, unwanted visions of Delaney shimmered in his thoughts. Smiling, she stepped into the shower with him, naked and flushed with desire. Her willing body arched against his, creamy skin sleek and wet. Stiffened coral nipples teased his chest. Soft, generous lips sought his mouth in tantalizing kisses as he palmed her lush breasts, his thumbs stroking until she whispered a breathless moan.
Begged for his mouth on her.
He sucked her sensitized nipples while his hands explored the curve of her hip, then gently kneaded her sweet arse—skimming down the tender crease until she moaned again and parted her legs for him. His hand slid lower, his fingertips dipping in to brush damp feminine curls.
Rowan, please, she panted. I want you.
He thrust his fingers into wet silken heat, and screaming his name, she climaxed.
Rowan tipped back his head, spread legs trembling, every muscle strained as water poured over him. His hand pumped rapidly, chest heaving, breath sawing in his throat as he came—his entire body jolting with violent release.
* * *
In the kitchen cooking bacon and eggs, the erotic image of Rowan climaxing in the shower blazed into Delaney’s mind. Her knees buckled on a blast of desire so intense, she doubled over and grabbed the counter for support.
Oh. My. God.
As the heat-flash sizzled out, the carnal vision faded, but tingling need lingered. Her body teetered on the verge of orgasm…not quite able to get there.
She blinked. Slowly eased upright. Her heart pounded, she couldn’t catch her breath, and her panties were damp.
Okay, she’d been turned on ever since waking in Rowan’s arms—but spontaneous combustion?
She dropped into a chair. Sat stunned until her legs stopped trembling. Then she chugged two glasses of water.
By the time Rowan sauntered into the kitchen in snug jeans, boots and a sapphire sweater that turned his irises into sparkling quicksilver, Delaney pretty much had herself under control again. Except for the fullness in her still sensitive breasts and the heavy ache between her thighs.
And the inability to look Rowan in the eye.
No way could she sit across the table from the man and casually converse, while the naked vision of his glorious climax seared her brain.
Rein in your imagination, woman!
She frantically attempted to shield the scorching fantasy. If he plucked that image out of her head, she’d die on the spot.
“Breakfast is done, help yourself. I’m going to grab a shower before I eat.”
Taking the coward’s option, she fled.
* * *
During the next nine days, Rowan pushed Delaney relentlessly from daybreak until dark. He proved to be as good at teaching as he was at everything. She appreciated that he didn’t patronize her because she was inexperienced, or coddle her because she was female. He treated her as a peer, in every way his equal.
Delaney’s Power continued to be hit-and-miss, and she strove to learn basic spells for cover, offense and defense, as well as grasp tactical skills and hand-to-hand combat. Lying to Vanessa daily didn’t get any easier, either.
She struggled more with her attraction to the irresistibly intriguing Scottish warrior and their growing camaraderie. His wryly humorous observations even turned a mundane grocery run into entertainment.
They trained together every moment of every day, locked in physical and emotional contact. Ate their meals together, spent quiet evenings talking about likes and dislikes, and discovered philosophies they shared in common during intimate suppers beside the fire. Rowan also used that time to tutor her in spells and incantations.
Their wary alliance evolved into partnership. Then friendship.
Although only to a point. Letting Rowan in, allowing him to encroach on her protective barriers terrified Delaney. Everyone she’d ever known, including her own brother, wasn’t who, or what, they’d seemed. If she opened herself up to Rowan, she was asking for potential devastation.
She’d never have enough Power to handle heart-to-heart combat.
One benefit of her Mage’s merciless regimen was that she tumbled into bed each night sore and exhausted, and zonked into dreamless sleep. But exhaustion didn’t quash her craving for the man sleeping in the next room.
So close…yet so far away.
On day ten, he
rousted Delaney from slumber—way too early as usual—by strolling into the bedroom whistling “Flower of Scotland.” She’d caught him humming the haunting tune beneath his breath several nights ago as they’d stood on the bluff watching a cotton-candy sunset blush the ocean. He’d answered her inquiry by telling her it was the unofficial Scots anthem. She’d asked him to sing the words, and his low, melodic a cappella had brought tears to her eyes.
Sensing his homesickness, she’d then taught him the lyrics to “Pour Some Sugar on Me”—complete with cheesy ‘80’s dance steps. And reveled in his mirth as she’d goaded him into singing and dancing along with her.
Rowan set her morning coffee on the nightstand. “Up and at ‘em, luv. Another day, another demon to slay.”
She groaned and burrowed deeper into the mattress. “Anyone ever tell you you’re sickeningly cheery at the friggin’ crack of dawn?”
As had become his habit, he settled onto the quilt beside her, one big hand wrapped around his own fragrant mug. He leaned down, tempting her with the intoxicating scents of steamy coffee and hot man. “I don’t have a problem getting up at dawn.”
Liquid desire surged through her. “I’ve noticed.”
Was it a bad sign that she could actually feel the warmth of his grin without seeing it?
“Delaney, do you have clothes in the colors of autumn?”
“Sure. Why, want to borrow an outfit?”
“Get them on.” He patted her butt through the blankets. “We’ve less than two weeks to finish your training. Today’s exercise is camouflage and recon. You’re ready to break into Judge Zinter’s beach house.”
Chapter 12
Delaney chugged a second coffee and gobbled an energy bar in the kitchen as Rowan strolled outdoors. Jittery and now wide awake, she rushed through a shower, then French-braided her hair before hurrying into leggings, knee-length boots, a bronze pullover and rust hoodie. She missed the lethal weight of the Glock in her pocket. Especially today.
