Midnight's Temptation dw-7

by Donna Grant

  Charon eyed a striped purple ball and lined up his pool cue. “She found where you’re from, and she learned your family fled in order to save you. What she didna learn was about your blood.”

  “What do you mean my family left to save me? Didna everyone have the same kind of blood?” Phelan asked.

  “Nay,” Charon said and took his shot. Two stripes found pockets. He moved to line up another play. “It seems your blood was rare, even for your family.”

  Phelan absorbed that info as Charon’s next shot bounced off the eight ball and hit the side of the table before colliding with a blue stripe that rolled into a side pocket.

  Charon stood and caught his gaze. “In other words, you were precious to the entire royal family. It seems your uncle let it be known about your blood because of jealousy. Your parents left Saxony that night, though they were unlucky enough to run into a group of peasants who tried to take you.”

  “Your younger sister was killed in that attack,” Rhys said.

  To know that his family had gone to such lengths to protect just one of their children left Phelan ashamed of himself for the hateful thoughts he’d had of them over the centuries.

  “How many siblings did I have?” he asked.

  In two more shots, Charon finished off the billiards game. “Five. Three brothers and two sisters. You were the second to the youngest.”

  Phelan walked to the closest chair and sank into it. He stared at the whisky in his hand, not really seeing it. “What’s so special about my blood?”

  “That we doona know yet,” Banan said. “The history we found on it is verra obscure. The word magic is used a lot, but in those times, people used magic to describe a great number of things that had nothing to do with it.”

  “Isla said my family was in northern Scotland near Oykel Bridge. Are they still?”

  Rhys shook his head. “No’ any longer. They were for a time. Two of your remaining four siblings survived long enough to marry and have children. Your sister’s line, unfortunately, was wiped out by clan wars.”

  “Your brother’s line survived,” Charon said.

  Phelan drained the whisky in one swallow and felt it burn down his throat and into his stomach. “The name Stewart Isla gave me. It isna my family’s name, is it?”

  Banan set his pool cue on the table and leaned against it. “Your family surname was Albertine. You are a prince, Phelan.”

  “A prince with no country, no throne, and no family.” He smiled humorlessly. “I’m the envy of everyone.”

  Charon placed his pool cue alongside Banan’s and retrieved the decanter of whisky. He walked to the three of them and refilled everyone’s glass. “If it wouldna been for Aisley, we wouldna know as much as we do. How did she find out?”

  “I doona know. Maybe she’s always known. Perhaps that’s why she was with me.”

  “Did she try to take any of your blood?” Rhys asked.

  Phelan frowned. “Nay.”

  “Then I doubt that’s the case.”

  Banan scratched his cheek. “I agree with Rhys. I suspected she was either telling you the truth or had an ulterior motive.”

  Phelan’s gaze narrowed on the King. It seemed they had done more than dig into his past. They’d dug into Aisley’s. “What did you do?”

  “We found out the truth about her,” Charon said.

  Phelan set aside his glass and struggled to control his rising anger. It was then he noticed how quiet the manor was. There was no laughter from the three women who had found mates with the Kings, no smell of food from the servants in the kitchen. And no other Dragon Kings. “Where is everyone? Where are Laura and Jane and the other Kings?”

  “Out.”

  Rhys’s one-word response sent warning bells ringing in Phelan’s head. He jumped to his feet and fisted his hands at his side. Zelfor screamed to be released, but Phelan still had control—by a thin thread, but it was control.

  “Calm down,” Charon said as he too got to his feet.

  “Keep whatever information you found on that drough to yourself.”

  Rhys stood and met Phelan’s glare with one of his own. “Are you afraid we’ll tell you she lied so the pain you’re feeling will only double? Or are you more scared of knowing that she told you the truth?”

  Phelan could no longer hold back his rage. He released his god and let out a growl. “I must no’ have beat you enough, Dragon, for you to still be running your mouth.”

  “Aw. Does the little Warrior have anger problems?” Rhys replied in a small, whiny voice.

  It sent Phelan over the edge.

  He lunged for Rhys only to have Charon and Banan jerk him to a halt.

  “Enough, Rhys!” Banan bellowed.

  Rhys snorted and tossed aside the crystal glass that landed with a thump on the rug. “You handle him with kid gloves. He’s an immortal. He needs to know the truth.”

  “The truth willna help him now,” Charon stated.

  Phelan shoved both men off him and tamped down Zelfor. “I’m right fucking here. Stop talking about me as if I’m no’ in the room.”

  “Then start acting like an adult,” Rhys replied.

  Phelan’s lip lifted as he growled.

  “Oh, I’m shaking,” Rhys said sarcastically. “The big bad Warrior might get me.”

  Banan shoved him hard. “If he doesna, I will. Stop agitating him, Rhys. We wanted him calm.”

  “Then just tell him.” Rhys slumped back into his chair.

  Phelan’s gaze shifted as he caught Banan and Charon exchange a look. Whatever they were about to say wasn’t going to be good. He didn’t want to know if Aisley lied to him, or worse, told the truth.

  Either one was going to crush him, and, frankly, he’d had enough.

  “Nay,” Phelan said.

  Charon let out a sigh. “I know why you doona want to know, but it can help. Either way, it’ll help.”

  “Will it? How can you be sure? Have you had someone betray you as she did me? Have you questioned everything someone said wondering if it was a lie to lead you further into whatever trap they’ve set for you?”

  Charon shook his head. “Phelan, as your friend, I’m begging you to let us tell you.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Rhys said with a roll of his eyes. “Aisley was kicked out of her home. She was pregnant, and the baby died. The infant girl is buried in Pitlochry.”

  Each word Rhys spoke was like a knife twisting in Phelan’s heart. It was worse hearing the deeds a second time, but only because he’d heard the suffering in her voice when she had told him.

  “So?” he forced himself to say when Rhys finished. “That doesna excuse her for becoming drough.”

  Banan ran a hand through his hair. “You’re one cold bastard.”

  Phelan didn’t bother to respond. He turned to Charon. “You’ve had your fun here. It’s time to contact Fallon.”

  “I suppose it is.” Charon hesitated a minute too long.

  Phelan walked up until he was in Charon’s face. “You doona feel sorry for her, do you?”

  “Nay. I feel sorry for you.”

  “Well, doona. I’m fine.”

  One dark brow rose. “A wee bit delusional, are we?”

  “Honest, no’ delusional.”

  Banan said, “You’re no’ being honest. Someone you cared about lied and you’re pissed.”

  “You’re damned right I am,” Phelan said, not taking his eyes off Charon.

  Charon shoved him away and growled long and low. “You want to take your anger out on someone, then I’m game.”

  “Why do you want to defend her?”

  “I’m no’ defending her! She told you the truth!”

  “For what purpose?” Phelan asked, his vexation running deep. “She’s a drough. They’re evil. You can no’ trust anything they say or do.”

  Rhys chuckled dryly. “And you’re no’ evil, Warrior?”

  Phelan looked at the Dragon King. “The difference is I didna have a choice about t
he evil inside me. Deirdre let it loose. I’m the one who contained the god and control it. A drough makes the decision to give their soul to Satan for black magic. The evil controls them.”

  “You didna answer my question.”

  Sometimes Phelan really hated Rhys. “I’m no’ evil.”

  “But you just said you had evil inside you, same as a drough.”

  “No’ the same!” he yelled.

  Rhys stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankle. “Evil is evil. You say you control yours. Do you really?”

  “Rhys,” Banan said in a low, warning voice.

  Phelan smiled, claws sprouting from his fingers. “You looking for another fight, Dragon?”

  “Unlike you, Warrior, I doona go looking for a fight everywhere.”

  The truth of Rhys’s words hit Phelan like a brick wall. Whatever anger he had evaporated in an instant. The old fury that burned so bright while Deirdre held him captive is what kept him going through each horrible day.

  Once he was free, he thought to let it go. He thought he had let it go after Deirdre was killed. Now he realized it had remained, banked, but waiting for something else to fuel him.

  Aisley had taken Deirdre’s place. It sickened him. What kind of person was he to have such wrath inside him? Was that why he was always alone? Is that why he had such few friends?

  He looked at the two Dragon Kings and the Warrior who were trying to help him. Too late Phelan comprehended that was their intention. Rhys was the only one who had dared to tell him straight.

  Phelan retracted his claws and took a step back, and then another. He didn’t deserve friends. He didn’t deserve anything if he treated friendship with threats and rage.

  He caught Charon’s worried look. When his friend took a step toward him, Phelan turned on his heel and strode away.

  * * *

  Charon had seen many sides of Phelan, but this was a new one. The bone-deep, soul-crushing suffering he glimpsed made him want to go after his friend.

  But he knew Phelan well enough to know he needed time alone.

  “Well. That went splendidly,” Rhys said flatly.

  Banan slammed his glass on the table. “Shut up, Rhys.”

  “Why? Because I dared what neither of you would think about doing?”

  “He’s right,” Charon said. “Rhys did what was necessary. I didna realize—nor do I believe Phelan fully understands—just how much what Aisley has done has affected him. He’s never let anyone in.”

  Rhys rose and walked to the door. “He’s a pain in the arse, but he’s a good man.”

  “Aye,” Charon agreed. “I worry he’ll close himself off for good now.”

  “If he survives this,” Banan said.

  Charon knew Phelan. He would survive it—what he was at the end of it was the question.

  CHAPTER

  FORTY-FOUR

  Aisley drew in a ragged, painful breath. There wasn’t a part of her that didn’t scream in agony. She no longer held back the tears, nor could her screams be contained.

  She was alone. For the moment. There was no telling when Jason would return, or what new punishment he would inflict on her.

  The damp ground she was lying on helped cool her heated skin. Aisley had a cramp in her leg, but she couldn’t move from lying on her side without passing out from the pain. So, she suffered through the cramp.

  Jason had healed her ribs. Sort of. They were healed just enough that she couldn’t take a deep breath. Jason had broken and mended other bones in her body, and the suffering had sent her body into overload.

  She couldn’t even use her magic to defend herself. Somehow Jason had taken away her ability. She was defenseless, vulnerable.

  Helpless.

  Her mind drifted to the only place of happiness she had—Phelan. She relived the precious memories to help her get through the worst of the pain.

  Aisley would have to be careful though. If Jason realized what she was doing, he could use it against her. Phelan was hers and hers alone. He might hate her now, but she would always remember the taste of his kiss, the feel of his body sliding inside her.

  “Ready for more?”

  She jerked at the sound of Jason’s voice whispering in her ear. The movement caused agony to explode up her legs from her two broken femurs.

  “You didna seriously think of falling asleep and finding a place of calm, did you?” Jason asked. He made a tsking sound as he walked around her.

  Aisley took a deep breath and tried to prepare herself for the onslaught of his magic.

  Yet, when the first wave barreled into her, she couldn’t hold back the screams.

  * * *

  Phelan blew out a breath as the voices echoed in the massive great hall of MacLeod Castle. Charon said nothing more about what had happened at Dreagan, and Phelan wanted it that way. It was better that way.

  He leaned his head back and laced his fingers over his eyes while Charon and Laura added their account of what had transpired with Aisley.

  He didn’t want to relive that moment again. At least not aloud. Phelan was tired of telling others what had happened when he had barely digested the thing himself.

  It was no surprise when Isla took Aisley’s side. That is until Ronnie mentioned it was Aisley who had shot Larena. That’s when the hall erupted.

  Phelan could feel his soul withering bit by bit. He’d made love to and protected the drough responsible for Larena’s death and her predicament now.

  “Ronnie said she stopped Dale from beheading Larena,” Isla’s voice said over the others.

  He cringed. Would it make Aisley smile to know there were Druids defending her?

  Twice now he bit his tongue to keep from telling them he’d seen the pain of her past in her eyes as well as the good inside her. But how could there be good? She was a drough. She belonged to the Devil.

  But damn his soul, he wanted her. He craved her like the desert craved moisture.

  He hungered for her, yearned for her.

  Ached for her.

  When he could stand it no more, he stood and walked from the castle. The cool sea air rushing against his face helped to calm his racing heart.

  He didn’t stop walking along the cliff’s edge until the castle was a speck on the horizon. Only then did he let the full extent of Aisley’s duplicity show.

  In less than one heartbeat, he released Zelfor. With a roar he slashed his claws through the thick oak log at his feet. It didn’t make him feel any better. In fact, he felt worse.

  He walked farther. When that didn’t help, he raced back to the castle as fast as he could. When the castle was a mile away, he jumped down the cliff, stopping midway. Then he climbed and leaped his way to one of the many caves in the cliffs.

  Phelan stood at the entrance and looked out over the sea feeling more alone than ever. The ground was several hundred yards below, and the wind howled as if it knew the confusion inside him.

  He was being ripped apart from the inside out. To have finally let someone in, only to be reminded of the treachery and dishonesty of people.

  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” said a soft, feminine voice behind him.

  Phelan whirled around to find a woman of impossible beauty sitting on a rock looking at her nails that were painted a pale lavender with some design on them he couldn’t make out. Her shimmery blue-black hair hung well past her hips. She lifted unusual, swirling silver eyes to his. With her almost translucent skin, he knew she wasn’t mortal.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “You know.” She looked back at her nails before she let out a long sigh and got to her feet. She wore skintight jeans that tucked into black stiletto boots and a willowy shirt of pale purple that he swore he could see her nipples through.

  He shook his head to clear it. “I know what?”

  “Who I am. Or rather … what I am.”

  Phelan studied her for a moment, scarcely able to believe what he was about to say. “You’re Fae.�
��

  “Bingo, stud.”

  He frowned at language coming from such a sweet face.

  “Ah, let me guess,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “You were expecting elegant and otherworldly.”

  “Aye.”

  “Well, get over it. Stud.” She looked him up and down. “And you are a stud. But that’s not what I’m here for. Unless,” she trailed off and smiled wantonly.

  As attractive as she was, Phelan couldn’t believe the idea of touching her repulsed him. “Nay.”

  “Can’t blame a Fae for trying.” She shrugged. “Alrighty then. Down to business.”

  “Why do you talk so … modern?”

  She smiled and tossed back her hair. “I love it. My queen, not so much. But I’m not at court now, am I? So I can talk however I want. So, spill your guts, stud.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Why? You know your appeal to the opposite sex. Hell, I’m sure you also could’ve had any man you wanted. You ooze sex appeal, stud.”

  Phelan blinked. He looked away from the Fae. “What do you want with me?”

  “Haven’t you guessed? I’ve come to torment you.”

  “You’re succeeding.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me my name?”

  He blew out a frustrated breath and leaned a hand against the side of the cave. “Will it make you go away? Never mind. What’s your name?”

  “As if I’d tell you.”

  She was going to make his head explode. This wasn’t how he’d pictured a Fae. That wasn’t exactly true. He’d expected them to have unearthly beauty, but the quiet elegance he imagined wasn’t even in the vicinity.

  “It was your pain,” she said quietly from beside him.

  Phelan glanced over at her to look at her profile. When had she moved? “Why did you allow me to find the Fairy Pool and no’ let me see you then?”

  “We were there.” She smiled and cut him a look. “You were otherwise occupied. Stud.”

  He briefly closed his eyes and chuckled. “Can you tell me why you let me find the pool?”

  “How do you know it was you we wanted to find it?”

  That drew him up short. “You wanted Ai … You wanted the woman to find it.”