Wicked Paradise (20 page)

“Throughout the years, the Fomorians found a way to shield their true nature from easy detection. They hunted the world for unshielded magic to steal, leaving pagans depleted until they died a quick, painful death. Or they marked sorcerers as controlled minions, expanding their ranks. Witches were the first targets, being the weakest. Fomorians became so powerful they craved more magic, stronger magic. One of the Fomorian Cabals, Alasoron, discovered a way to absorb human energy to increase and prolong their power. They alone were able to steal the souls of humans and animals along with our magic. They’re part descendants of a demon race called Sluagh.” Ryan grabbed a flagon of flavored water and drank deeply.

Chills skittered up Morgan’s back and she tightened her arms over her chest. She didn’t want to interrupt him now that he’d finally opened up.

Ryan stirred the stew. “The other Fomorian Cabals wanted the secret. Instead, the Alasorons used it against them. They triggered the Horde Wars and the Cabals began battling each other. The Alasorons prevailed, but not before wiping out most of humanity in their thirst for absolute control.”

A thread of horror tightened Morgan’s chest. “I’m truly sorry.” Unspeakable sadness rode the air. She wanted to give him back everything taken from him and his people. If only she had such ability.

He paced the cave, sorrow masking his face. Halting in the cave’s entryway, he stuck his hand in a trickle of water and scrubbed it across his neck. “Look, Morgan, you have to understand. Merging is necessary to strengthen the Druid people and repair the rift between us caused by years of enemy attacks. Lauren and I rule the last two Druid covens. Even though we have a united cause fighting the Fomorians, we’re warring against each other for control. It needs to stop. The pact signing was critical. Our people counted on it.”

“I don’t understand why you and Lauren needed to...be together for the pact merger. Why it couldn’t be someone else?”

“I’m stronger than my brother Michael. Michael and Lauren aren’t strong enough to lead and defeat the Fomorians. My coven expected me to marry Lauren before the war. They expected us to merge for strength. Together, we make a force more powerful than the Alasoron leader, Alexander.”

It
was
Ryan on the beach in her vision.
Why is Fate playing such a cruel trick on me?
Morgan bowed her head, letting a niggling doubt rise to the surface. “But—” She hesitated. Didn’t Ryan wonder why he possessed a tie to the stars? What secret did he hide from her? He couldn’t merge magic with Lauren without killing her, unless she was also a descendent of an Ancient. Maybe the sorcerers of his time didn’t unite magic through their bodies like the Ancients. Maybe he meant controlling external magic together. Or were the sorcerers of Ryan’s era all descendants of the Ancients?

Standing, she huddled into her fur wrap, pressing her hand against her chest. The fire’s heat spooled across her bare legs but didn’t rise upward, leaving her feeling like a half-empty vessel. If Ryan held starfire in his blood, he must not understand WindWraith’s intent. Surely, Ryan knew the consequences of ether in his blood. She had to tell him before they ventured out again. WindWraith’s nightmare hold on her caused a cold claw to drag gooseflesh down her backside.

“I’ll find a way to make the covens accept you.” Ryan studied her carefully veiled expression. “You’re much stronger than Lauren. They’ll accept you. We’ll figure out another way to repair the discord. I won’t marry...mate with Lauren.” He smacked a fist into the flat of his other hand, signifying his dominance over the fractional Druids. Over his decision. Over her heart. “I can’t.”

Two strides toward her and he held her face in his hands. “I will have you or none other.” His lips brushed hers. “If that means I step down as leader, I will. Once my people are secure.”

Ryan’s eyes reached inside her and touched a spot only he’d touched. Hope jolted her soul, and her body responded with joyful tingles. She threaded her arms around his neck. “You would do all that for me?”

“You did something to me, Morgan. You opened my locked heart.” Ryan folded her into his embrace, his arms solid and welcome. “You’re in my blood.” He kissed her forehead, his hands slipping down to massage her buttocks. “All my life, I’ve had an emptiness, but it wasn’t a hunger in my stomach. It was in my heart.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her with a brief kiss. “When I finally touched you, breathed you in—” His hard body trembled down to her toes.

Morgan stroked his shoulders, loving his solid strength, the fire burning beneath his skin. “Oh, Ryan—”

His mouth closed over hers, their kiss dripping passion, spoken and unspoken. Their tongues met, reticent at first, then greedily, twining around each other like island vines in the sun. Their bodies curved together in a perfect mold, and Morgan thrummed with pleasure from toes to scalp. Their kiss turned tender before he eased back.

Ryan lifted her chin with one finger, his light-hearted smile stealing her breath away. “I want you.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Only you.”

She hugged him hard, never wanting to let go, but her head stomped on her heart and she pried her arms off him. “We’ll have time for more...” She peeked at his bulging loincloth and beat down her mounting arousal. “Later. I have much to tell you first.”

He groaned in mock annoyance. “Eat first. You need your strength.”

She perched on a crude chair constructed of leather straps and a rough log frame. Ryan handed her a fresh bowl of steaming stew. Wild carrots, potatoes, onions, and a beefy meat renewed waves of hunger in her stomach. Fresh herbs and ocean salt added a tangy spice to the scrumptious meal. Surprised, Morgan praised him between bites. “This is delicious.”

Ryan lounged on the bed, leaning against the wall, his arms folded loosely across his chest. “I’ve learned to cook out of necessity from survival training.”

In companionable silence, Morgan finished her meal, washed it down with fruity water. Ryan’s gaze clung to hers as if she might disappear if he shifted his eyes. The winged foal licked her bowl clean and resumed resting against the inner cave wall.

“Even he likes it.” She laughed.

“I don’t think he likes horse food.” Ryan rubbed his head and grimaced. “He wouldn’t eat the grass I brought him, and he loves your juiced-up water.”

The foal growled at Ryan, as if he knew Ryan spoke about him. Ryan and Morgan laughed, an edgy, provocative silence piggybacking along. Disorder in Morgan’s mind caused her head to thunder. She massaged her temples.

“Are you okay?” Ryan asked.

“My head aches with knowledge that belongs to others.”

“Do you have herbs for headaches?”

“I’ll survive.” With a flutter of her hand, she waved his concern away. “My mind is stuffed to the brim with ages of information. It’s all there, but scattered.”

“I’d rather hear your scattered knowledge than dwell on my bleak world.”

Morgan touched his hand and he linked his fingers through hers. “We have similar lives.” She crossed her ankles under the stool. “My mother was a High Druid Sorceress, my father an equally powerful sorcerer.” She was afraid to tell him her father was a descendant of Merlin, the mage responsible for their plight. “Although they loved one another deeply, they wished to create a powerful child to unite the people and bring peace to our lands. They expected me to breed the next generation to keep the Druid magic alive, to carry on Avalon’s legacy.” Morgan swallowed the sadness welling up from her heart. “I never knew my mother in the flesh. She died giving birth to me.” Head bowed, she fought the crick in her heart that always threatened whenever she recalled the mother she knew only through her father’s loving words. Now, her sorrow included the father also lost to her.

Morgan heard a rustle and Ryan sat beside her, eased her against his body. “I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to know your mother.” His thumb caught the tear sliding down her cheek. The tear for the father she missed, the mother she always wanted to touch.

“I know her through my father. She’s always with me.” She patted her heart. “In here.”

Ryan kissed her temple and hugged her tighter. A sob rose in Morgan’s throat and she gulped it down. She must accept her lot and quit sniveling over the family now lost to her. At least her father still lived, when Ryan’s family was probably dead. “My father gave everything to me. Once born, it became apparent that I could never take my rightful place as High Sorceress. Our magic threatened those around us. We were the last Druids born with ties to the
Tuatha dé Danann
. With the demise of the general Druid population through repression and conquest, and a declining sorcerer population suffering great magic loss from WindWraith and others, dissenters found ways to kill off our people one by one. Those left on Avalon feared they would be murdered if they revealed themselves away from the sanctuary of the isle.” Ryan released her and settled his back against the earthen walls. It felt right telling him her life’s story. How could she not trust the man bound to her magic, possibly her destined soul mate?

For now, she concentrated on her story, sorely trying to ignore Ryan’s solid body tempting her frayed emotions. “My father believed it best to raise me as a simple Druid descendant. He forced me to hide my magic to the outside world, even though he taught me to use all my talents. Regardless, he schooled me in the ancient magic, and I learned the history and legends of the great sorcerers who lived before me.”

She plowed onward, leaning forward as if to press her words upon him. “While WindWraith held me in thrall, it filled my head with its sordid past. Things no one most likely knew about it.”

Ryan shoved away from the wall, and sat rigidly on the bed. His knuckle cracking competed with the fire’s pops and snaps. “What did the twisted freak do to you?” Veins in his neck stood out in livid ridges.

Morgan held up a placating hand. “It’s not so terrible.” She sipped the tepid water to loosen her clogged throat. Setting the coconut shell aside, she continued. “It’s just a muddle of thoughts and emotions. It’s similar to the knowledge my father infused me with.” She wanted to sort the Fomorian’s words before she shared them with Ryan. A thimble of doubt remained and she had a peculiar feeling that WindWraith had warned her about Ryan. Not that she trusted the abomination or its manipulations, her qualms refused to die.

“Infused?” Ryan’s blond brows drew together in a single stripe.

“Gwilym made me drink a potion steeped with knowledge. I can’t explain how he accomplished the spell.” She smiled with fond remembrance. “He’s a powerful sorcerer and knows secret magic passed down from our ancestors.”

“We’ll deal with your father later.” He blindly picked at the crusty scabs around his rune tattoo. “What did that bastard dump in your head?”

Morgan worried about Ryan’s reaction to her words. She squirmed and pressed her legs against the chair frame. The creaking wood sliced through the tense hush. Ryan waited expectantly for her to continue.

“WindWraith needs fire magic to complete it, to regain a corporeal form. It already possesses air and water elements naturally. It has been draining earth, air, and water magic from the island, which enhances its natural elements.”

“I get that. Plus it’s stealing fire magic from us.”

She nodded. “Once it has its fill of all elements except ether, it can possess a body with ancient Druid blood. Any other person of lesser magic is useless to it. They will die from the transference, unable to absorb such enormous power.” She weighed Ryan’s reaction, but his face was a blank palette.

“Then what will WindWraith do?” Ryan’s apprehension practically pulsated in the air. Unintended power seemed to escape him and wrapped Morgan in a protective shield.

Longing raged through her for this man of destiny. She fisted her hands, quashing her overwhelming need to touch him. “Once its transference into a human body is complete, it will be able to return to a populated world to seek vengeance for its long banishment.”

Ryan pushed off the bed, paced to the fire. Emotions caused his crystal to bloom, bouncing violet light off the variegated walls. “How? Why?” Ryan stilled. “Nothing makes sense on this freak-show island.” He stirred the fire, added another oak log. The fire’s hisses and crackles edged the silence.

“Wait a minute.” Ryan glared down at her. “WindWraith needs power from an Ancient? Then how has the son of a bitch been sucking on me for weeks? What good is my fire to him?”

Morgan tilted her head to the side, frowning at him. “Ryan, you possess ancient Druid blood.”

“Because I drank your ensorcelled water?” He laughed grimly. “I don’t think so.”

“I will mind-send you things my father fed me. He possessed greater ability to see into the future. His potion gave me knowledge of your world, your speech, things I need to do here. It slowly materializes in bits and pieces.”

“Okay.” Ryan squared his shoulders. “Do it.”

Morgan sent images and knowledge of Ryan’s heritage into his mind. His head jerked up, his eyes wild. “You received your ether from your blood father, a descendant of an Ancient.” Morgan slid her hand over his, linking their fingers. “Only one of ancient blood can tolerate star power once it manifests. It was your star power that I latched onto to escape WindWraith’s clutches, wasn’t it? I believe those among your people who have both innate magic and ties to the elements may also have descended from the Ancients.”

Blood drained from Ryan’s face, and the skin pulled taut over the ridge of his cheekbones. “Yes, it was my ether,” he whispered. He sank onto the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his steepled hands. Morgan sat beside him, smoothed her hand over his trembling thigh.

“My blood father?” A strange smile played across his mouth. “Ian O’Rourke’s not my father?”

“No.”

A grim chuckle escaped him. “I hated that bastard. I always knew he couldn’t be my real father. We were nothing alike. Except for our mutual inability to love, which he taught me well.”

“You’re not like him.” Morgan shook her head sharply. “Your mother loved your real father, James MacFarland. And he loved her.” Morgan kissed his dragon tattoo, skittered her fingers down his arm to rest on his wrist. “They gave each other up for duty.”