Wicked Paradise (11 page)

Frozen in place, she feared the rocking island would pitch her off the narrow ledge to her death on the reef below. She searched the cave walls for a handhold, hugging the entrance walls instead. Crystal laced gravel cascaded in a dry waterfall down the walls. The rear of the cave avalanched toward them in a deafening roar. A tide of earth blanketed their makeshift bed.

Ryan clamped his hand on her arm. She pivoted to face him, but her eye caught the bag of charms her father had relegated to her protection half buried in rubble.
I will not give up this easily!
The wretched island would not win before she had a chance to right the wrongs against Avalon and her people. The leather pouch lay a few feet from the opening. Morgan wrestled against Ryan’s steadfast grasp. Another rolling rumble belowground sent him lurching off balance, forcing him to release his clamp on her arm.

“Get outside!” he snarled.

Ignoring him, she mangled a shielding spell and ducked back into the shrinking cave. Grit filled her mouth and she gagged. She crawled to the stuffed pouch, regardless of the sharp stones poking into her bare knees and hands.

“Morgan!”

Vaguely, she heard Ryan cursing, felt him grab her ankles and his fingers slip away. He made it safely outside, and her heart pitter-pattered in relief. Undeterred, she stretched forward, snatched up the pouch containing the seeds to grow life on the island.

Grime coated her nostrils. She closed her stinging eyes and flattened her body against the rough cave wall, feeling her way toward the entrance. Pebbles pelted her, bouncing harmlessly off her thin barrier of opaque air. The collapsing cave edged toward her inch by inch. Only her elemental magic kept it from claiming her completely.

Morgan squinted into the gritty air, her sight drawn to a sliver of predawn moonlight in the blocked cave opening. A thread of panic coiled in her middle. “You will not win, island,” she said. “I didn’t put my life at risk to have it dashed away by the likes of you.” Winding down her panic, she tossed out more air and earth magic to slow the cave’s destruction.

“Morgan! Can you hear me?” Ryan’s anxious voice penetrated the blocked entrance.

“Yes,” she yelled through a raspy throat.

“Is the cave still collapsing?”

She sucked in dust and gagged. Spitting, she managed to croak out, “I’m holding it back.” She had only a few moments to maintain her shields and retain enough power to enlarge the hole. Her magic stores had sorely diminished since she’d arrived on the island. Either the journey had depleted her or the magical resonance she shared with the island was draining her. Whatever it was, she needed a full day of rest to return her powers to peak strength.

“I can’t blast through the rocks without endangering you.”

“I can get out. Step away. Give me a moment.” Power swelled inside her. Sweet elemental fire and air met her innate energy and ascended to the surface, drenching her with strength and exhilaration.

A glow leaked out of her, surrounded her. Fire and air magic waltzed together like lifelong partners. Dense air contained the earth while she prepared a destructive fireball. Golden lightning collected on her right palm, and she shot a fireball forward, blasting a small hole in the rubble. Two more followed, widening the opening enough to squeeze through.

The moment she reached the other side and felt Ryan’s hands grab her, she released her barrier. Rocks obliterated the cave, and the ground shuddered from the force. Clouds of dust dissipated above their heads into brown puffs floating across the ocean.

Ryan stepped in front of her, his chest pinning her against the cliffside. His magic encircled them, sheltering them from further danger of falling particles. A vein in his neck pulsed dangerously. The fire in his eyes crept over her body in a wash of heat.

“If I give you an order, you damn well better obey me.” His mouth tightened in a stubborn line.

She clasped her hands together to prevent the wicked impulse to slap him. Obviously, he was accustomed to giving orders. However, she didn’t suffer orders from any man, whether king or peasant. Not even her father resorted to ordering her about unless she allowed it.
Which, obviously, happened more often than naught, you dolt
. Despite the outlandish desire tickling her insides from the sheer proximity of Ryan’s nearly naked body, she certainly was in no mood to allow it from this man.

She scowled, wishing like mad to escape his overpowering body. “You are not my king. I take orders from no one.”

Ryan inched closer, pressing his grungy chest to her filthy tunic. His eyes burned sapphire—not from anger, but with a fearful and joyful lust. Ryan grew hard between them, an iron rod digging into her stomach. Even in moments of danger, his body responded to hers in arousal. A strange satisfaction rimmed the pleasure dripping into her lower torso. She cupped her mouth to hide her smile.

Ryan’s jaw squared. He inched away until they no longer touched. “You will do as I say,” he commanded in a strained tone. “I know this island. You don’t.” He gave her cheek a brief stroke then snared his fingers in her grimy hair. “When I tell you not to use magic, I mean
no
magic. Next time, we might not have the protection of the crystals to keep that bastard wraith away.”

Morgan licked her lips and grimaced at the metallic, chalky taste of dry soil. Had men not changed throughout the ages? Did they all suffer from a head overflowing with arrogance? “I would be dead if I had not used my magic.”

“You wouldn’t have needed to if you’d listened to me.” Palms flat against the rocks, he braced his arms on each side of her shoulders. Caged in place, only a pinch of sultry air separated Morgan from Ryan’s powerful body. “What was so important you had to risk your life for?” He flicked his hand at the small sack she held to her side.

She contemplated the worn leather bag. Seconds before the cave-in, a solid thread of knowledge struck her mind, as if she had read a chapter in one of those intangible books crammed into her skull. An effect of her father’s slow-working potion. Now she understood what she must do with the charms. An important task her father had left unsaid, at least verbally.

The knowledge of what her father had done nearly turned her knees to water. Gwilym never betrayed himself the thief of the amulets, but he knew how much magic they contained and the incomplete spells she attempted upon them. A powerful sorcerer such as her father knew how to unravel even the strongest spell and either extinguish the spell or change it. By the Goddess, he had crafted a beckoning spell, which turned her temporary binding spell into a permanent bond.
Holy mother of Satan.
Did that mean she had bound Ryan’s magic to hers until one or both of them died? Would the spell diminish over time? A sick feeling pinched her stomach.

Morgan squeezed the pouch, clinking crystals and silver together. The amulets were definitely the triggers to bring Ryan’s surviving people to the island. She must never lose them. Rescuing these unknown lives was worth risking her own over. Regardless, she possessed more than sufficient magic to remain safe in the cave while she retrieved the pendants.

Not sure if Ryan would believe or understand the purpose of the amulets any more than she did, Morgan formed an innocuous answer. “I have little left to me in this life. At least let me keep what I do have.”

Ryan’s brow smoothed. “I hear you.” He sifted his fingers through kinks in her hair, caressed her neck. “But I don’t care if you’re queen of the demon spawned world. From now on, you do as I say.” He detangled his hand from her hair and fingered the pouch. “Nothing is worth risking your life over. You don’t know this island. Dangers abound in every crevice, least not the volcano on the island’s northern tip that probably just cursed us.”

That sick tightness began to unwind in her stomach, leaving her reluctantly relieved that Ryan knew of these perils. She owed him respect in this matter. Until he acted stupid again. She was beginning to understand the gist of the power tripping jackass phrase.

Morgan opened her mouth to acquiesce, but he cut her off. “We need to get back to the grotto before full daylight.”

Sunrays peeked over the western horizon, elongating and purging the last stars in dawn’s sky. Crystals planted in the cave’s exterior winked in the rising sun, casting flickers on the stone walls.

“Why the hurry?” Morgan slapped the grit off her bags and secured the pouch to her knife belt. “Is the grotto safe?”

“Safe enough. I’ve planted crystals around the outskirts, and there are tons embedded in the caves.” Ryan dropped his arms and eased aside, affording her a view of the white-capped aquamarine sea beyond. “The shadow-demon feeds off sunlight, seems to avoid night.”

“Yet, the vibrant crystals stop it? You would think it had found a way to draw power from the crystals to increase its own if it can feed off that blasted orb sucking the life out of me.” As if to prove her point, she swiped grainy sweat off her upper lip.

Ryan shrugged. “Doesn’t appear that way.”

“You seem to know much about WindWraith.”

“I’ve studied it.” Ryan shrugged. “There’s not a helluva lot to do on this island alone after a day of exploring.”

Morgan touched the ruby eye of his dragon tattoo, trailing her finger to the dragon’s wings disappearing into Celtic knots around his biceps. Ryan’s arm muscle spasmed beneath her fingers, either excited at her touch or battling against it. “You’re not alone any longer,” she whispered, her treacherous longing laughing at her common sense. Her finger tickled from touching the tattoo, and she rubbed it against her lips, wishing to taste dragon fire.

Why did she feel such desire toward this wretched man? She had just met him! She smoothed out the furrows in her brow, rubbing sense into her rebellious mind, trying to erase the idea of putting on her amulet and allowing Ryan to bind his magic to her.

Everything inside her longed for Ryan’s touch, despite the nagging vision of his past she experienced crawling through the cave. Gulping down the lump in her throat, Morgan shoved her conflicted feelings to the no-man’s land in her mind.

Ryan growled low in his throat and spun away. “Let’s go,” he said gruffly. “Time’s ticking.” He slung their satchels over his shoulder and nudged her in front of him. “Start climbing. There are plenty of handholds.” He gave her a reassuring rub in the small of her back. “I’ll be right behind you. There’s no chance of you falling.”

His tenderness alleviated a corner of Morgan’s concern. At least he was a gentleman in some respects. The rest remained to be tested.

“Stop at the top, so I can shoot out feelers in case WindWraith’s hovering about.”

She took hold of a fat root above her head, stuck her foot in a crevice, and began climbing. “No magic,” she said sarcastically.

“I’m a tracker,” he drawled. “I know how to shield my tracking magic—even against that bastard demon.”

Wide-eyed, Morgan stared at him over her shoulders. He did indeed possess great magic to rival hers. “My magic was shielded,” she added as an afterthought.

“You weren’t shielded. I felt your magic.”

Surprise raced down her legs, jolting her foot. She slipped and banged her knee against a boulder. Pain shot through her leg muscles, and she gritted her teeth to kill her cry. Ryan braced her ankle, steadying her.

“Of course it was shield—” She bit down on her tongue. He’d always know when she used her magic, whether shielded or not. A powerful sorcerer normally sensed magic in the air when emitted, but their partial bond gave Ryan awareness of her magic even when shielded.

Don’t tread there. He will know soon enough
. “Earlier you asked what magic I wield.” She stretched up to grab a small rock protrusion, muscles tightening in her sides. “I have elemental and innate magic abilities. I can draw from the land’s elements and use them without notice. I have studied with the best teachers to learn how to use all my magic.”

“The only thing your magic is good for now is to tame WindWraith.” Ryan smacked her buttocks softly, his large hand lingering hot on her right cheek. “Now zip it and get moving. I need a damn bath.”

* * *

They arrived at the emerald grotto unscathed, each lost in reflection and wary of the other. Sunlight snuck through the chinks in the canopy of trees overhanging the heavenly site. Morgan shook leaves and twigs from her hair, drew in a deep breath of flowery heat. Despite the sweltering hike, the return trip had revived her. She pivoted around and absorbed the grotto’s enchantment. A pleasurable feeling of welcome and acceptance inundated her.

Various tree species—palms, ferns, coconut, bamboo, oak, and mahogany—intertwined with flourishing vines. Shiny and matte leaves of bright green, dark green, and every color in between gave tribute to the grotto’s adopted name. Multicolored flowers rioted along the outer fringes of the pool. Many varieties Morgan did not recognize. Some appeared familiar, but their colors and sizes were dissimilar to those in Britain. Bold blossoms in blues and purples larger than Ryan’s hands put together grew out of lily-like stems near the waterfall. Morgan had never seen the like. The island’s heart centered in the vibrant grotto, anchoring her there. In no other place did her magic resonate with the earth as fully as it did in the grotto. Not even on Avalon.

“I think those only grow here.” Ryan’s voice bounced her back to the present.

She turned to him, smiling wide. “They are magnificent. Do you know what they’re called?”

“You’re the botanist, not me.”

“No. I know mostly of plants that aid in spells, healing, and cooking.” Soil encrusted roots drooped from her raised hand. “Like this soaproot. I have never been this grimy.”
Except when I had to catch the piglets from last year’s litter and tripped over that beastly sow
. Ryan didn’t need to know the mundane tasks Avalon’s demise forced upon her. Fortunately, those tasks left her prepared for her new life on this island.

His gaze strolled indolently from her face to her lower legs. Fierce heat whirled up from Morgan’s feet and she stood as if she were a broodmare on display to the highest bidder. Not the most pleasant sensation if one dwelled on the idea. She rubbed her nose, feeling it elongate and fur sprout. Trading stares with the powerful warrior standing before her, Morgan shoved the impressions out of her mind, letting heat bathe her cool edges.