Midnight's Temptation

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Charon tossed his mobile phone onto the couch as he strode to the floor-to-ceiling windows of the top floor of his building.

“Bad news?” Laura asked as she looked up from her book.

Charon stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his slacks and blew out a harsh breath. “He’s no’ answering his damned phone.”

Laura set aside her book and rose from the couch. She walked barefoot to her husband and slipped her arms around his waist from behind.

She rose up on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear, “He might be busy. Phelan is quite the ladies’ man.”

“He answers, Laura. He always answers.”

“Unless he can’t,” she reminded him. “If he was in trouble he’d let you know.”

Charon turned his head slightly, his chin-length dark locks brushing her cheek. “I hope you’re right. I’m concerned about the Druid who’s with him.”

“Why? Phelan knows the difference between droughs and mies. What are you worried about?”

“I doona know. Something just doesna seem right.”

Laura walked around Charon until she stood in front of him. “Could it be you’re upset that he didn’t tell you he had a Druid with him?”

Charon pulled her into his arms and rested his chin atop her head. “He was my only friend for a long time. He’s no’ the settling down type.”

“So you’re worried about the Druid?”

“I doona know what the bloody hell I’m worried about. He didna tell me anything other than he had a Druid with him. No’ her name or anything.”

Laura closed her eyes and shrugged. “It could be a male. Not all Druids are female.”

“It was a woman,” Charon said. “If it wasna, Phelan would’ve had Fallon bring the Druid to the castle immediately.”

“Hm. Then wait a little longer and call Phelan again. If he’s on his motorbike, getting ahold of him isn’t easy.”

“And if he’s encountered Wallace?”

Laura’s eyes flew open. Just the thought of Jason Wallace made her skin crawl. She hoped she’d seen the last of him when she managed to escape his clutches. All thanks to one black-haired drough.

Aisley. Laura had wondered what happened to her during the battle at Dreagan. Her body wasn’t with the rest of the dead. There was a possibility that Aisley could have gone wherever Jason went.

“We couldn’t get lucky enough for Jason to be blasted into a gazillion pieces, could we?” Laura asked.

“It doesna appear that way.”

“Why does evil always seem to win? Why do they always get the lucky breaks while we work our asses off just to stay alive?”

Charon rubbed his large hand up and down her back. “It’s the way it’s always been.”

“Well, it sucks.”

His chuckle reverberated through his chest. “That it does, sweetheart.”

Laura lifted her head and looked at her husband. “Do you want to go to MacLeod Castle?”

“Only if you do. I willna force you.”

“Will it make you feel better if I go?”

He shrugged his thick shoulders, his dark eyes holding hers. “I doona think it matters where we are. Wallace will attack. The other Druids will be here shortly to add their spells around the village.”

“You know as well as I no spell will keep Jason out.”

Charon smiled, showing her the fierce Highland Warrior she’d fallen in love with. “Nay, but it’ll give us enough time to call the others or to get you to safety. I’m eager for another go at the bastard.”

“You’re not the only one. He did use his magic on me and try to turn me against you.”

“But it didna work. You wanted my body too badly,” he said smugly.

Laura stepped out of his arms. “Is that so?”

“Aye.”

“And you didn’t want this?” she asked as she pulled her thin cotton dress over her head, leaving her standing completely nude.

Charon’s gaze darkened as desire took him. “You temptress. I didna know you were no’ wearing any panties.”

“I’ve got to keep you on your toes.”

He reached for her, but Laura sidestepped him and started running for their bedroom. She barely made it through the door before his arms wrapped around her, and he had her pinned against the wall. Charon’s mouth took hers in a fiery kiss as she clawed at his shirt until they were skin to skin.

* * *

Phelan put the kickstand down on his Ducati after he shut off the engine and delighted in the feel of Aisley’s magic. He’d worried that she would take his absence as a chance to run. Halfway back to the house is when her magic wrapped around him, and he’d breathed a sigh of relief.

He got off the bike, reaching for his mobile in his back pocket at the same time to see who kept calling him. His lips compressed when he saw it was Charon. For several minutes Phelan contemplated returning the call. In the end, he knew he didn’t have a choice.

Phelan pressed dial. Three rings later it went to voice mail. He waited for the beep, then said, “It’s me. Everything is fine. I’m still with the Druid. There’s also been no sign of Wallace. Let me know any news on your end.”

He hung up the phone and went to pocket it when it rang. Phelan glanced down to see Logan’s name pop up on the screen. He answered with a tight, “Hello?”

“How is everything on your end?”

“That depends on how things are going there.”

Logan’s chuckle came through the phone. “We’ve some news you might want to know. Britt is still a few days away from finishing her serum.”

“This will combat whatever Wallace has done to the drough blood?”

“Aye.”

“That is good news. I detect something in your voice though. What else is going on?”

Logan let out a long sigh. By the silence through the phone Phelan knew he was alone.

“Logan?”

“Things are strained here. Half want to believe Wallace is dead and concentrate on finding the spell to bind our gods. The other half are ready for battle.”

Phelan rubbed his chin. “Which category do you fall into?”

“I wish I could say I believed Wallace is dead, but I know you wouldna lie about what you felt.”

“I didna. It’s Wallace’s magic. I’d know it anywhere, just as Declan’s and Deirdre’s was distinctive. So is Wallace’s.”

“I believe you, Phelan. It’s why I’m ready for battle. The Druids have been adding more spells to the castle. A few will be heading to Ferness to do the same there.”

Phelan looked out over the loch, hating what Wallace was doing to them. “You know as well as I how easy it is to get through spells. Ramsey did it effortlessly enough at Wallace’s mansion. He’ll do it wherever he is.”

“Aye, but it’ll give us time. Isla is setting something up so that she’ll be notified if anyone attempts to come through the spells or tries to break them.”

It was everything Phelan could do not to growl at the mention of Isla’s name. Instead he said, “What do you want of me?”

“We want to make sure everything is all right.”

“It is.”

“And the Druid?”

Phelan looked over his shoulder at his cabin. For whatever reason, he wasn’t ready to share her with anyone else. “She’s on the run from someone. I’m no’ sure who, but until I am, I’m keeping her safe.”

“Where are you?”

He hesitated a bit too long because Logan laughed and said, “You know all I have to do is ask Broc to find you.”

“I know it all too well. If you must know, I’m about an hour south of Loch Ness.”

Logan made a sound at the back of his throat. “I’ve often wondered if you had a place you went. That’s where you’re at now, is it no’?”

“Aye.”

“We’ll no’ be bothering you unless it’s necessary. Let me know if you need help with your Druid.”

Your Druid.

Phelan hung up the phone with that phrase running through his mind. He quite liked it. He wasn’t sure how Aisley would feel about it, which made him smile.

He pocketed his phone before he grabbed the bag of groceries he’d strapped to the back of the bike. Phelan hurried into the house and kicked the door closed behind him.

Aisley had been right. The house was his haven, his sanctuary. The only other people who knew of it were the caretakers he had when he knew he wouldn’t return for a while.

There hadn’t been a single instance in the four centuries after he built the house that he’d thought to ever bring a woman here.

Now, it seemed right, fitting even, that Aisley was there.

Phelan followed her magic to the bathroom. The door was open, allowing him to see her reclining in the tub staring out the window.

He leaned a shoulder against the door frame and smiled at the bubbles that were up to her chin. She grinned wickedly as if she knew he was watching her.

“I’m all pruny,” she said as she lifted her feet from the water and wiggled her toes.

“Maybe it’s time to get out then.”

“I’ve been telling myself that for thirty minutes but this feels so good. And the view.” She turned her face to him. “I saw a squirrel and there are birds galore. They love your flowers.”

Phelan’s smile grew. “I’ve got to check a few things around the place. Give a shout if you need me.”

She gave him a little wave and turned back to the view. Phelan put away the groceries and then went outside. He moved the Ducati to the shed on the other side of the house to keep it out of sight.

After checking the amount of firewood, he examined the plants. With cutters, he trimmed off the dead and wilted flowers in the front before pulling weeds. He walked around back once those were up to his standards.

Phelan loved sitting on his porch and looking over the loch, but the two chairs and small table situated in the middle of his rather large flower garden in the back ran a close second.

He found contentment in getting his hands in the soil and watching the plants grow. One of his favorite things was watching his garden come alive with color in the spring after the winter snows.

Phelan knelt next to one of the flower beds and began to pull weeds. The others would probably laugh if they saw him now, which is one reason he kept so much to himself.

Charon was the closest thing he had to a family, but Phelan didn’t share everything with him. It was just in the last few years that he even called anyone friend.

For four centuries he had been his only friend and confidante. After leaving Cairn Toul and Deirdre’s clutches, Phelan had searched to discover who he was.

He wandered aimlessly while learning what society was and how he fit in. He had to learn about money, work, family, and relationships.

Phelan squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. Those first fifty years had been awful. He learned the hard way that he fit in nowhere.

When Isla freed him and she lay dying, she’d told him to seek out the MacLeods. Perhaps he should have, but he managed on his own. It had been painful, grim, and difficult most days, yet he’d gotten through.

He still didn’t know much about family and less about relationships of any sort. He’d bedded his first woman a year after leaving Cairn Toul.

For the next week, he’d learned everything he could from the woman. Her husband returned from sea, and Phelan moved on to the next woman, and then the next.

He versed himself in how to charm women, to seduce them until they were putty in his hands. While other men studied economics, law, or medicine, Phelan’s knowledge turned to carnal pleasures. There wasn’t anything he didn’t take the time to learn.

Women were his teachers and his studies. For the few hours he was theirs, they shared their bodies and pleasure. But no more.

Never more.

Phelan knew it was because he had a hard time relying on anyone. He’d never felt the need to spend more than one night with a woman, and then not even the entire night. Which is why he was having a difficult time wrapping his head around the fact he had brought Aisley to his home.

He pulled out a dead plant and tossed it aside. Next he checked the roots of the plant beside it and made sure it was covered adequately with soil.

Phelan wondered if Charon knew their friendship was something new to him. Most likely Charon did. It had been him, after all, who had told Phelan the story of how Warriors came to be and the role of the Druids.

For centuries, Phelan assumed all Druids were the same. He’d felt the difference in their magic, but to him, they were all evil creatures using their magic against everyone.

It wasn’t until those at MacLeod Castle took a last stand against Deirdre and her new accomplice, Declan Wallace, that Charon convinced Phelan to join in and help the others.

The centuries of peace had been good, but he was a Warrior. He was meant for battle, blood, and death. And it had felt damn good going into the fray.

His god, Zelfor, the god of torment, had been truly satisfied during those skirmishes. There was no getting away from what he was. He could pretend he was just a man, but the lust for death, the joy of using his claws to slice open an enemy felt too good.

He was a monster with a tightly leashed primeval god inside him. His skin might turn a metallic gold when he unleashed his god. With gold claws, gold eyes, and impressive fangs, there wasn’t anything tame about him.

Phelan looked down at his hand in the dark soil and saw the gold skin. He pulled his hand from the dirt and flicked off the remains from his claws.

“This is what I am,” he murmured.

Zelfor rumbled his agreement inside him.

Phelan ran his tongue over the fangs that sprouted in his mouth. Aisley said she knew he was a Warrior, but how would she react if she saw him now?

That made his chest clench in dread. She was like that frightened kitten he’d found—skittish and afraid of its own shadow.

One wrong move and Aisley would disappear again. Phelan would track her the rest of his life if he had to, but he didn’t want it to come to that.

He wanted her.

In his bed.

But more than that, he wanted her to need him.