by Zoe Forward
“That’s not fair. You tend to pop into my life at random. Why won’t you rescind it?”
Desperate to distract him from the curse she asked, “What’s that tat mean?” She pointed to the intricate woven Celtic-looking square tat on his right wrist. She remembered it from that night long ago, but never had a chance to ask.
He glanced at the mark. “Mistake of youth.”
“We all make mistakes.” For a few seconds she allowed her gaze to roam over the angles of his face, memorizing each detail from the strong chin to the arched dark eyebrows. The thick ridges of his biceps and wide shoulders strained beneath the dress shirt. Men in her world just weren’t made like this without CGI-screen magic. Her body cruised rapidly into overheat again.
“Hey, you can’t be in here!” a man yelled from the cloakroom entry.
They jumped simultaneously. Matt released her and put himself between her and the middle-aged man in a maroon jacket adorned with a museum name tag.
The attendant stormed toward them. “What are you doing in here?”
“She needed her coat.”
“Where’s her ticket?” The attendant held out his hand.
Matt patted his jacket and produced a ticket. “Here’s mine. She lost hers.”
Tingling spread in her body. Oh, no. A world shift was starting again. “I’ve got to go.” She rushed past the attendant in a jog toward the exit.
“Kat, stop! We’re not done.”
She pushed out the front doors and staggered into the side of the building when vertigo teetered her world. One couple huddled together against the bracing wind while waiting for their car to pull up to the curve. A valet helped an elderly lady into the backseat of a limo. Kat stumbled along the sidewalk with a hand against the side of the building. The familiar whirling sensation flowed through her head. Then it stopped. She hadn’t left Otherworld. Yet.
Matt would be behind her. Right now she couldn’t handle another confrontation with him. She darted down an alley, hoping not to run into anyone, and slipped into a recessed doorway.
Now what?
She rubbed her itchy right wrist. Her fingers traced a raised area. It burned. This called for an immediate evaluation. She rotated her wrist into the beam of ambient light from a streetlamp. A raised pink outline of a symbol rested on the underside of her wrist—three ovals that intersected in a triangular symbol. It wasn’t a tattoo but more of a scarred burn. A brand?
Oh. My. God. She rubbed at the area and then scratched the mark, desperate to erase it. But it remained. Now her skin was red and sore around the reliefed symbol. This must’ve been how he’d managed to create the sensation of touching, and then made her come. Witchcraft? Or something else? Something evil?
Her heart beat too fast. She couldn’t breathe. She stumbled against the concrete alcove, dizzy. Breathe. With her hands on her knees she breathed deeply until the light-headedness passed.
He’s not evil. She believed that on a fundamental level. But he did have his own magical, or at least supernatural, abilities. Could this mark be a curse or hex? Her mind whirled with possible curses he might cast onto her in retaliation for the one he believed she’d cast onto him. Why would he do this now, and not years ago in undergrad? They hadn’t had much time together in undergrad. Or motive.
A curse? She focused on slow breathing for a few seconds when panic spun her mind again. Be rational. Don’t freak out.
It’s not a curse. She’d researched witchcraft over the years in a desperate attempt to understand her bizarre mind-reading ability and world-shifting problem, coming to no conclusion on what she was. But she’d learned enough to know this brand wasn’t a curse. Curses didn’t involve physical marks. She didn’t recall anything about magically appearing marks other than in fictional novels.
Exhausted, she leaned her head against the door. Regret lodged itself deep in her gut. Resentment had prompted her to push away her one chance to speak with someone who might be able to help her understand her magical abilities. Aside from that, she’d just cast aside the only guy who truly knew how to make her body sing. The cold, rational side of her brain commended her for applying the brakes.
But she wanted to see his wild blue eyes smolder again as if he was three seconds shy of detonating.
No you don’t! You did the right thing. He’d devastate her again, if she gave him the chance. She might not survive a second time.
She pulled the chain free of her neckline. Her fingers traced the familiar lettering: Matthew Zacharias Ryan. The only reason she’d worn these for nine years was to give them back to him, if they crossed paths again. For years she’d dreaded seeing him again, but another part of her needed that confrontation. She just hadn’t counted on turning into a flustered mess when it happened, and completely forgetting the tags.
She’d had them since she’d shifted to him, a year after their disastrous one-nighter. Matt had been imprisoned—blinded, tortured, and his body damaged. She’d released him from his shackles, and then as he stood, she’d lost her balance and clutched at him, accidentally grabbing the tags. The chain broke and she’d instantly shifted back to her real world.
For years she’d wondered if she’d freed him from a failed military op. And worried that he hadn’t gotten out. Nightmares about him hurt and imprisoned still frequented her dreams, more so when she was stressed from work. She’d never let the memory of him slip away.
Apparently he had gotten free and done just fine for himself.
The whirling resumed in her brain, and gut instinct told her she’d be jumping back to her world any minute. She dropped the tags. She’d do better next time she bumped into Matt. There would be a next time. She had questions about the mark on her wrist. And then there was their undeniable attraction. He was right. They were far from done.
…
Matt raced outside seconds behind Kat. He scanned up and down the street, and ran to the nearest alley. Residual magic tickled his senses. She’d disappeared again.
He swore, slapping the stone wall of the museum. The wild side of his brain roared in anguish that he’d lost her again. Why hadn’t he ripped her panties off and taken her to sate the teeth-clenching desire he’d lived with for ten long years?
He was an idiot. That’s why. And too focused on the damned curse. Now she was gone. Again. And for who knew how long. Before the cloakroom attendant interrupted them he’d planned to invite her home. To go slow. Maybe take a day…hell a couple of days, maybe even a month to explore what they had.
That realization surprised him. He never took women home. He usually went to their place or took women to the hotel he owned downtown. With Kat, though, he had a bizarre desire to invite her into his private sanctuary. To see her in his bed, on his sheets, and in his bath.
This should freak him out. Should. Yet, he was calmer than he’d been all night since she’d shazamed into his life again. Absently he rubbed the Sentry tattoo on his forearm. If she was Pleiades as he suspected, then as a druid, especially a Sentry, casual sex with her was forbidden for him. Good thing he wasn’t bound by the rules of that group anymore.
But her safety did concern him. The Order Lutomalifacum, who relentlessly hunted the Pleiades, would find her in no time. He’d planned to never get entangled with druids or Bryce again, but for her… Damn it. He was cornered.
He yanked the smart phone from his pocket and dialed. Maybe she had a residence in this dimension, somewhere Bryce couldn’t find. He knew someone who could ferret out the location of almost anyone.
His call went directly to his brother’s voicemail. “Eli, I need a background check and a current location on a person.” Although they’d been separated at birth, they’d both become covert operatives. He a Ranger. Eli in British intelligence. As ex-MI6, Eli was spooky in his ability to get intel on anything. He was one of the few people Matt trusted. And he was a druid. Eli hadn’t recanted his vows, and he respected Matt’s decision to remain inactive. “Her name is Katherine Ramsey. That’s Kathe
rine with a K. I met her ten years ago when I was at Yale, but not since then. This is personal and confidential. Let me be crystal clear on this. That means not one fucking word to Bryce about this.”
He ended the call and entered the museum. He glanced through the open doors at the benefit still going strong as the cords of a familiar swing number filled the air. He had no reason to return. There wasn’t a single woman among the crowd of beautiful possibilities that could ease this need. He also didn’t want to be cornered every few steps to discuss political or business bullshit.
He may be good at being CEO and enjoy the power that came with success, but he never wanted this life. When his stepfather unexpectedly died two years ago without leaving an heir, obligation made him leave the life he craved as a Ranger. Covert ops gave him a sense of rightness. His twin was lucky that he could continue that life.
Thinking about Quinn brought on a resurgent sense of responsibility toward Kat. Quinn had constantly made him recite the five druid axioms. Number five echoed in his mind. Protect the Pleiades unto death.
For Quinn, he would confirm Kat was Pleiades. If so, he’d get her suitable protection. She would need it soon or the OLM might find her and kill her.
But he needed her to confide in him that she was a Pleiad. He may no longer consider himself druid, but he wasn’t about to be the first to reveal the not so normal side of himself to anyone. That was self-preservation one-o-one.
He drummed his fingers on the valet desk while waiting for his Porsche. He rubbed the inside of his left wrist, which only intensified its subtle burn. Confused, he inspected the area. A pink triangular brand of three intersecting ellipses marked his wrist. He recognized the symbol as Celtic triquetra but couldn’t remember what it signified. Vaguely he recalled feeling a raised area on Kat’s wrist.
Shit. He’d marked her.
Quinn had warned him long ago that he’d mark a woman when subconscious desire collided with destiny. If this was such a mark, why hadn’t it happened years ago?
Destiny’s a bitch with no mercy, Quinn’s voice answered in his mind. She’ll choose her own time.
With this permanent mark he could track Kat and remind her of him at will. It also meant her coming apart in the cloakroom probably had nothing to do with his use of the Voice.
If destiny planned a renewal of his druid status, then it would be disappointed.
Chapter Five
Kat pushed away from her dance partner after her third stumble in five minutes. “This isn’t going to work, Riley.” She bumped against the wall-length mirror of the studio after another stumble on Riley’s foot.
Riley cocked his hip and rested a fist on his waist. “I can’t believe you forgot your dance clothes. You can’t move right in clogs and scrubs.”
“The surgery on that Rottweiler ran late, and I didn’t have time to go home. I see you had time to change out of your scrubs.” She scanned his red Lycra shirt v’ed open to his navel, exposing his tan, shaved chest, and skintight black pants. No straight man would be caught dead in that much rayon and spandex. His spiky blond hair and magnetic personality rounded out an extraordinary package. They had become friends at one of his wine-tasting soirees when she found herself a minority of one. Riley had whirled her into a rumba in his dining room and discovered her latent gift for dancing.
“Am I going to have to find a new partner? Regionals are in a few weeks.” Riley pursed his lips.
She raised her eyebrows. As if a new partner could catch on to his complex choreography moves as fast as she could.
Riley rushed out, “All right, sorry. I just…come on, Kat. What’s up with you? You’re never this forgetful.”
She faced her reflection in the wall mirror, unsure how to answer. Tracing her neck where Matt’s mouth had touched twenty-four hours ago, her mind once again replayed last night’s cloakroom encounter. She may never see Matt again. Or, perhaps not for another ten years. How many opportunities would she really have with a man like that?
You are in trouble, she thought. He’s trouble. For you. He turned her brain to mush and her body into someone she didn’t recognize. But this morning she concluded she needed to see him again. He had unusual abilities and might be able to help her understand hers, especially the world-shifting problem. She just had to be careful not to end up naked and used.
She jumped when Riley whispered in her ear, “Earth to Kat. Where are you?”
Her gaze met his in the mirror. “This isn’t going to work tonight. I’m sorry. I know we need to practice.”
He sighed, and then ordered, “Stay there.” He walked to the sound system and scrolled through his iPod. The chords of her favorite salsa surrounded them.
She smiled as he returned.
“Lose the clogs. You’ll be less likely to trip barefoot.”
She kicked off the shoes. He twirled her into the familiar steps of a salsa. She focused on the moves. As always, she was careful to avoid Riley’s thoughts. His chaotic brain usually played images of men in leather outfits with holes and straps in areas that left things hanging out.
“Relax,” he suggested. “What’s going on? You okay?” He stumbled for an instant, his face shifting to super inquisitive.
Oh, no.
He slowed their pace. “It happened to you again, didn’t it? The time-travel thing?”
No use denying it. “The astrologist I saw a couple years ago thought they’re detailed, albeit extremely realistic, dream scenarios or past-life experiences. That means I don’t actually travel anywhere. I certainly don’t change times.” You’re such a liar, she thought. It was real. She’d been wearing Matt’s dog tags for years.
Riley twirled her into a series of spins and then back to facing him. “Where’d you go this time?”
She spun away from him into a solo hip gyration exhibition.
He caught her back to him. “Come on. What happened?”
She threw him a stubborn look and danced in silence for a while.
Riley shrugged. “Fine. Don’t tell me what happened. But, I want you to come to my meeting this week. We’ve got a special speaker coming. She talked to us last year, and I think she might be able to help with your disappearing problem.” The song ended.
“Is this one of your Wiccan things?”
“Shhh.” His gaze darted to the few people trickling in for the group class starting soon. He whispered, “I keep telling you that you’ll fit in better with them than me, what with your little…problem.” He stopped and jiggled her arms. “God, you’re so tense.” He leered at her. “You need to get laid.”
Kat rolled her eyes. Leave it to Riley to think sex fixed everything. “Is this you offering to be my booty call?”
He briefly granted her a body scan and shook his head. “Nope. But if I was going to swing your way, you’d be my first choice.” He laid his hand on her cheek. “I know you got hurt in undergrad. We’ve got to get you past that. Not every guy’s a shit. I’ve got this friend, if you’re interested, that I could hook you up with. I can’t say he’d be in it for the long haul, but he’d be fun.” He dropped his hand and stepped away with a grin.
“Is this another one of your friends that’s interested in an experimental walk on the other side? That last guy you set me up with spent our entire date checking out the other guys in the restaurant and not me.”
“Okay, I won’t fix you up. For now. Hey, how were those fuck-me pumps that came in yesterday? Do you think they’ll work to hook a hot date?”
She’d already proved they worked. Her mind replayed the coatroom highlight reel. “They’re strappy…and way out of my budget.”
“So they’re smokin’ hot. Excellent. Keep ’em. You need to embrace showing off your stellar body in some arena other than dancing if you want to hook Mr. Right.” He moved away to undock his iPod. He grinned over his shoulder at her. “Actually, who wants to be tied down to Mr. Right at our age? We’re young and all we need is a hottie with skills.”
She put on her
clogs and grabbed her handbag.
“Maybe you’ll find someone at Friday’s meeting. I’ll pick you up at eight.” His phone dinged. “I gotta go. Got plans tonight. I met someone last weekend who’s got a body to die for.” He kissed her on the cheek. “I love you and you’re worrying me right now. Let’s try again tomorrow after work. We’ve got that exhibition on Saturday that we need to prepare for.”
She squeezed his hand as he pulled away. “I love you, too.”
She headed for the bathroom at the back of the studio, needing a break before she went home. Inside she wiped away the mascara under her eyes, then leaned in closer to the mirror. Shit, more lines. I’m definitely getting old. With her twenty-ninth birthday looming she was tired of the failed internet dates. Why, then, continue the online-dating torture?
She liked the thought of longevity. Of a life partner. But she had yet to meet anyone she trusted enough to foray into bed with since Matt. Ten years. Had it really been that long?
Damn him for ruining her for other guys. She absently traced the swirly edges of the raised brand on her wrist while staring at her reflection.
A disorienting lightness entered her head and she stumbled into the wall.
Oh God. Not again.
Chapter Six
Matt’s finger froze on its way to deactivate his penthouse security. The blinking red light put Matt on instant alert. He glanced down the dark hallway, then back to the digital clock on the alarm panel, which read 10:05 p.m. His day of nonstop meetings had been hell, especially since his mind was trapped in a nonstop personal fantasy fest with Kat Ramsey as the star. Then a three-hour, seven-course dinner at his mother’s house had put him in a sour mood.
Low grumbles from his TV emanated from the rec room. He lived alone. No one other than his housekeeper was allowed inside. She never watched TV, and he barely did.
He unlocked the hidden gun vault beneath the hall table to retrieve his 9 mm. As he stalked silently down the hall, he opened his senses to detect the auras in the air around him. The intruder was a druid. A familiar one. And likely reclined on his sofa in his rec room sucking down his last Guinness. Damn it.
