Wren shot him a look of warning.
Guess she wants me not to tease her boyfriend.
Brian sidled to Wren’s side and put his hand on her shoulder.
Riagan placed his hand on her other shoulder, and her pretty black curls bounced as her head spun between the two.
She edged away from both men and stood opposite, her little hands on her round hips.
“Brian, I had an appointment with Michelle, then came down here. I was going to call you later.”
“What is this guy doing here, then?” He turned to Riagan. “You’re not from around here, are you? You look like a woman with that long hair.”
Brian’s own hair was brown and cut close to his scalp. His nondescript eyes and pubescent stubble on his chin made Riagan laugh again.
“This man is your betrothed?” he stammered between breaths. “You jest, do you not?”
“No, he’s not my betrothed.”
“Pre-betrothed,” Brian interjected. “Besides, who talks like that? Where are you from, outer space?”
“Close,” he muttered. “If he is not your betrothed, then who is he?”
“I told you, man, I’m her boyfriend. We’ll be betrothed soon enough.” He looked so satisfied with himself that anger flooded through Riagan.
“Not if I have anything to do with it.”
Wren whipped around, eyes flashing red. “What did you say?”
Riagan shuffled back. Big mistake. Big mistake. “Nothing. I need to go.”
“Yeah, that’s right. You do need to go,” Brian chimed in, putting his arm around her back.
The boyfriend must use the woman’s strength. No wonder he is called such.
Riagan’s stomach lurched at the sight of them standing there together. The man called Brian looked weak, plain, boring, an imitation of manhood next to a Venus. But it was that man’s hand, not his, on Wren’s back.
He clenched his fists, then shoved them deep into the pockets of his borrowed jeans.
He turned and forced himself to walk at a steady gait until he rounded the corner. Then he took off in a sprint, building speed until he was running, nearly flying, and he wouldn’t stop until he was back in the safety of the forest.
THE DRONE OF the trees signaled Riagan’s arrival at the portal, but he did not notice.
Brian. What kind of name was that? And boyfriend. Bah.
His stomach clenched. Brian was not the man for her. He was not a man at all.
A boyfriend. How ridiculous.
A man is supposed to marry a woman, not be her friend. He was not much of a man, though, to be certain.
He stood outside the clearing when he next looked up.
The portal’s light glowed incandescent. Existing. Beginning, and ending nowhere.
His senses suddenly burst with a thousand pricks as his hearing honed in to his surroundings. Nothing was present other than the massive trees, a small gray rabbit with a white tail, and a black crow peering at him through its beady eyes. He did not sense trouble, but something was amiss.
A light burst from within the portal.
“Brother,” said a most recognizable voice.
In the clearing appeared his twin, Drake, standing upon the soft moss within a translucent mist.
“Drake.” Riagan started forward.
“Do not come close to the portal. You will die if you enter. You are mortal, or did you forget?”
He halted his steps. “Drake, my brother, it is good to see you.”
For the first time in all his existence, Riagan wanted to cry. He mourned losing the closeness with his brother as much as he mourned losing his immortality. When he’d been taken from his mother, Drake had been taken as well. They were all the other had.
When it came to love, that for his brother was all he’d ever truly experienced; though he knew that wasn’t the love Caswallen wanted.
“Riagan, there is much trouble in the worlds.”
“What speak you of, Brother? Pray, tell me. Has the Cauldron now been taken? It is not yet the equinox. Tell me, brother.”
Drake stood as still as the trees. He was Riagan’s twin in all respects: long blond hair tied back with a leather strip; piercing green eyes; a long muscular physique typical of their warrior bloodline. He wore the woolen garments of Protectors of the Cauldron, as green as the lush fields of their realm, hooded and long flowing. Riagan’s spirit lurched at the sight.
The rough material of his blue jeans suddenly hurt his skin, the coarseness as uncomfortable as it was unfamiliar. He tugged at the cotton shirt that stretched tight across his torso. Oxygen was thin in the air.
“Brother, the one they call Master will attempt to take the Cauldron again.”
Riagan slammed his fist into his thigh. “Who is this enigma of a thief? And who is working with him? If he even thinks he can gain access to the Cauldron, then there must be a traitor within our midst.”
“I know not. We of the Brotherhood have increased our vigilance. But…”
“But what?”
“We have not our full powers without you. Our barriers, though they are great, can be breached. We do not know the depth of the magic of this Master, nor with whom he works. We fear he is an enemy unlike any we have ever seen.”
Riagan yearned for his old post with a ferocity that rivaled an earthquake.
“I must return.” He met Drake’s eye. “I must return to my post. I need to protect the Cauldron. We need to strengthen the lines. Can the Arch Druid make no exception to my punishment?”
“Nay.”
His senses alight, Riagan stepped toward the portal, stopping just outside the stones. “What is it you’re not telling me?”
“There is more than just trouble with the Cauldron.”
“Pray to the gods, tell me.” Riagan’s entire body shook with the warrior’s need to protect, and to kill. The ancient blood simmering in his body, the same blood as that of his forebears, ignited with this threat.
He could trace this bloodline all the way to Semias, the original druid who inhabited the worlds far before the Christ came. It had been under Semias that the Cauldron was forged from the iron of the Ural Mountains, woven with the enchantment and magic of the druids to preserve the secrets of the worlds. And it was because of this Cauldron and through Semias’s bloodline that the Brotherhood of the Sacred Grove was born.
There were other revered artifacts across the worlds, but the Cauldron was the only one under the druids’ protection, and the only one that granted immortality.
Riagan would rather die than see this treasure stolen.
“What is it?” he demanded.
“Caswallen has disappeared.”
“What say you?”
“We know not if he is a prisoner of the Master’s, if he has traveled to the fae realm for help, or if he is in meditation within the Earth. He has not been seen since the night of your banishment.”
The ground beneath Riagan’s feet trembled with the sudden and ferocious movement of the trees. Their limbs batted against each other and their trunks swayed with unrest.
He understood completely.
“Even if he wanted to, he could not grant you forgiveness.”
Riagan growled deep within his throat like a grizzly. This was an impossible situation. Was the one indiscretion that night, nay, all those nights he’d stolen from his post to be with a lover, worth this grave risk?
“What must I do, Brother? What can I do?”
“You must fulfill the terms of your punishment, Riagan. Then you can cross the portal, even without the Arch Druid present, as long as you and she confess your love in front of the Council. Without the Arch Druid to allay your punishment, that is the only choice.” His expression was pleading…earnest…desperate. “Fulfill the terms of the punishment, Riagan. They plan to take the Cauldron at the full moon.”
The brothers locked gazes.
“You must not fail.”
With that, Drake disappeared in a haze. The light fla
red, and Riagan shielded his eyes. The trees stopped moving as suddenly as they had started.
Three days. I can’t but find love in three days’ time. Insane expectations. Insane punishment.
Riagan paced the periphery of the clearing, and the portal’s light shimmered.
He needed to make things right. He’d just have to figure out a way to get around the love part.
Lost in these heavy thoughts, he created a simple bed with leaves and moss, but sleep did not come the entire night. Instead, his mind whirled around images of the Cauldron, his Brotherhood, and a certain raven-haired beauty who may just hold the key to everything.
Wren waited for the sleep medication to dissolve into her bloodstream. She was lying in bed with Duke snoring by her side, warm and solid and comforting.
The hound had appeared on her porch years ago, half-starved for food and love. He had not been well cared for, so when she opened the door to the trailer and he walked inside, her house became his home. He’d been by her side since.
He had also been one of the brightest points in her life over the past years, and the white strands that now peppered his hair reminded her his time was drawing to a close. The vet estimated him to be about twelve, and though healthy, she knew he didn’t have too many years left. Her heart wept each time she thought about life without him.
She rested her hand on his head as, at long last, the sleeping pill’s numbing haze filled her.
She started to dream.
She was walking along a narrow, shallow river. Smooth gray rocks disrupted the gentle flow, causing the water, clear with just the faintest hint of blue, to bubble. There was no sun, and the sky was covered with wisps of feathery-white clouds.
Light came from somewhere, yet nowhere. Far from the river’s edge, the trees grew statuesque, nearly touching trunk to trunk. They provided a barrier between the gentle peacefulness of the riverbank, reflective of the ethereal light, and the stark eeriness of the forest.
She dipped her bare toes into the water. It was cool but not cold, like a drink of chilled water with no ice.
A rustling sound leaked from the trees, and she turned. Ray appeared at the edge of the forest, handsome, beautiful, god-like. As dark as the trees and the forest were, Ray was as bright, robed in a pristine white cloak trimmed in golden thread. He watched her, and then slowly, as if floating on the shimmering air, moved forward.
She did not step to meet him. The water’s soft caresses kept her rooted to the ground, strong within its tickling flow.
As he neared, she closed her eyes and inhaled, waiting for what she knew was to come, what she invited, what she yearned for.
A kiss.
He stood over her, and she tilted her head back. The curls of her raven hair fell from her face.
When he bent down, he filled her vision. She could see no light, no trees, and no clouds.
She could only see him.
She closed her eyes as he bent his head. Anticipation of the sweetness to come coursed through her and her knees threatened to buckle.
At first, he held his lips just out of reach, letting his breath seep out and wash over her face. She inhaled deeply and held still. Waiting. Desiring. Yearning.
In graceful motion, he took her face into his large palms, cupping her head. He stared into her eyes, searing himself into her mind. She could not read the emotion behind his gaze but welcomed the support of his hands as the muscles in her body slowly gave way.
He urged her mouth up to meet his and when his lips brushed against hers, her knees finally buckled, and he caught her by the arms. He tugged her to him, lifting her until he held her weight.
His lips crushed hers. She could do nothing but let herself be kissed. His lips were soft yet eager, and she opened under his probing. When his moist tongue slipped into her mouth, she whimpered, crying under the sensation.
He licked the inside of her mouth, tasting every part of her. The hold on her arms should have hurt but didn’t. She felt nothing but the hot trail of his tongue and the roaring fire low in her abdomen.
Her fingers grasped the fabric of the cloak. His kiss forced her head back but she felt nothing other than the flames tearing through her body like wildfire, cell by cell, igniting sensations that brought her to life…
Duke twitched beside her, yanking her out of the dream.
She fought against returning to the cold, lonely present, preferring the luscious expanse of her dream to harsh reality. But Duke stood at the edge of the bed now, alert and rigid, his floppy ears pinned back. She sat up, pushed her hair out of her face, and listened.
When Duke jumped off the bed and sprinted into the living room, she made her way out of bed with a resigned sigh.
Maybe I’ll slip back into that dream tonight. Maybe. Hopefully. Please, God, let me return to that dream.
A noise captured her attention. Had someone knocked? Called? She glanced at the nightstand clock.
It was eight o’clock in the morning.
She yawned, stunned she’d slept all night. She shuffled her feet and rubbed her eyes. That dream had seemed so real.
She tripped through the bedroom door to the shrill sound of her phone ringing.
So that’s what woke Duke.
Another ring reverberated through the small trailer and she hurried forward, not wanting to wake her mother, and stubbed her toe hard against the counter.
“Ouch.”
Duke whined beside her. “It’s okay, boy.” She picked up the phone. “Hello?” She hobbled to the sink and poured a glass of water, taking a quick drink to moisten her dry throat, an unfortunate effect of the sleep meds.
“Wren, this is Dr. Martin. I’ve spoken with the supervisory committee at the agency, and we’ve agreed that you need to take an extended leave of absence. Unpaid, of course.”
“What?”
“You are instructed to take an indefinite leave of absence until this situation with Jerry Smith has been resolved. You will not be paid for that time off.”
“Not paid?” When had her dream become a nightmare?
“No, not paid. It is customary in situations like these.”
“Situations like these? Has there ever been a situation like this before?”
“I will be in contact.” He hung up the phone.
Unpaid leave? Was she being fired? They couldn’t do that. What happened to innocent until proven guilty?
Wren stood at the kitchen window and pulled back the curtains, then yanked open the blind. The sun had not yet risen above the treetops and the yard was cast in creeping, sinister shadow.
The pile of unpaid bills was an inch thick, lying by the checkbook, envelopes and stamps on the counter. Each envelope held a bill, and they weren’t just her bills. She also took care of her mother’s finances, and the disability checks and insurance never covered enough, leaving her footing the extra cost. She barely made ends meet. Some months she didn’t.
She had to find Ray today and take him to the station. There was more at stake here than just a job.
What am I going to do?
She worried at her bottom lip as she sorted the mail, putting the envelopes into piles by their payment due date.
The doorbell rang.
The clock read ten minutes after eight. She peered through the side window but saw no one at the front door. The trill of a single bell, a different sound now, clanged in her ear, and she shook her head to halt its progression into two, three, four bells, followed by two, three, four voices. Maybe it wasn’t the doorbell she’d heard.
She turned on the television to listen to the news. At least it would help drown out the sounds in her head.
RIAGAN BOLTED FROM Wren’s door.
Damn that wee faery for ringing the bell.
He doubled over with his hands on his knees, gulping air into his mortal lungs.
Damn this mortal body.
As he cursed the physical inferiority of his body, the tiny yellow faery floated nearby. He sensed her presence like
he could sense a coming thunderstorm and wondered at her audacity in sticking around. Didn’t she know how angry she’d made him?
It was early morning, and he hadn’t slept. He had to move faster—the encounter with his brother proved that. The Cauldron would be at grave risk in just two days, when the full moon loomed high in the west. He studied the sky, where the white shadow of the moon lingered, not yet ready to give up its place to the sun. This was not where his interest lay, though. No, his attention, unbeknownst to the wee one, was zeroed in on the faery.
His hand shot out, and with swiftness defying his mortal body, he grabbed Oephille, closing his fingers around her diminutive body. Wings no larger than a butterfly’s beat against his skin as he carried her behind the first wall of trees. Her words of anger reached his ears, but he did not care.
Out of sight of the home, he opened his hand. The faery burst forth, the sunshine orbs flashing. She opened and closed her small mouth several times as she fluttered in front of his face, hands on her tiny hips.
“Riagan Tenman, what do you think you’re doing? You need her. You don’t have time to play games.”
“Play games? You don’t even know what you’re talking about, wee lass. Fly on home, faery, and leave these matters to me.”
“Nay, I’ll not leave them to you. You need my help.”
“What I need is to return to my realm, to the Cauldron.”
“Yes, but you can’t until you have fulfilled the terms of your banishment, Riagan.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a wee child.”
“Then don’t act like a wee child.”
He swiped at her bright form, but she kept well out of his reach this time.
“Have you heard word about the Cauldron? Is it safe still?”
“I know not, Riagan. But I do know that the fae king, Eogabail, summoned me to you. You must return to the Cauldron. Drake and the others cannot do this without you—the strength of the twelve is needed. The only way for you to cross the portal is to fulfill the terms of your banishment. She is your only hope.”
Destiny Fulfilled Page 7
