berated her, told her to walk away, to think, to rationalize her actions. She wrung her hands, fisted them at her sides. Her mind frantically tried to unearth a way out of her predicament. There was no nullification for fleeting spells designed to run their course. She stared at the brand on Ryan’s chest, a very permanent binding. Ignorant sorceress!
Words tripped out in an unstoppable whisper. She didn’t feel the bond, but she would have if Ryan joined in the ritual and bound his magic to her. A tiny thread existed between them now. He’d feel more as the days progressed. She’d feel little to nothing. Perhaps it was for the best, until she figured out how to annul the spell.
The words were said, the Goddess appeased. Tears streamed down Morgan’s cheeks. Nothing ever happened as planned in her life. She failed at dying as she’d prophesied. She had a wealth of knowledge scattered to the winds in her head. She had a vicious creature to kill and an uncertain future on a deserted island, magically tied to a hardened stranger, no less. The idea that she was bound to this man in a way she thought never to occur overwhelmed her, and she rubbed at the increased thumping in her temples. As time passed, Ryan would sense her magic and even delve into her strongest emotions, one step closer to his ability to actually use her magic to supplement his own. Worst of all, the bond could mask his true feelings toward her, leaving her mired in a relationship based on deception.
At least Morgan was certain of one thing. The amulet spells only bound Druid sorcerers, and none other. Ryan O’Rourke was no Fomorian. Morgan closed her eyes.
“Little raven?” Ryan’s constricted voice intruded upon her mental dance of pity.
She whipped her head up and stood ramrod straight. Little raven? Did he know she’d dreamed of him calling her that? Had he shared her morning’s dream? “You called me that in a dream.” She pressed her fists into her stomach.
“I know. I was there.” He touched her lips with trembling fingers. “From the time you breathed air into my lungs as I was drowning, to this morning when I rescued you from falling to your death at the hands of a shadow-shifter.”
Chapter 6
The peculiar resonance of home spooled through the air. WindWraith whipped about, sniffed the familiar reverberations, tasted it on his tongue, relishing the sizzle of magic. He hardly recognized the sweet bite of Druid sorcery. It had been an eternity.
Breathing it in, he filled his shattered being with the remnants of a stolen life. Magic waltzed through him, ancient and memorable, watering the burnt sprout of humanity buried so deep he did not know if enough life existed in it to grow again. The long-forgotten sense of longing splintered his spectral shape into fragments. He yanked his form into a sphere, wallowing in the odd prickles of desire, a sensation he once hoped never to forget, or thought never to experience again.
Dropping to the comforting cavern’s rocky ground, he spread out in a mottled gray blanket across the rubble. He stretched out a tentacle and tentatively touched the ebony stone platform on the black granite altar. The blood-red crystals had died off long ago, bled dry until they were black.
Thin fingers sprouted from his arm-like appendage. They gripped the edge of the stone bed, flowed into tiny fissures deep inside the pillar until his fingers brushed the first layer of untainted stones. Crystals burned his fingers and he howled in pain, folded in upon himself, reducing his corporeal form by half to preserve his strength. He nearly withdrew his melting hand from the stones. Perseverance won out, and he soaked up the energy, fed his malevolence.
Once he grew accustomed to the pain, he spread out on the ground again, undulating softly over the gravel. Buried energy vibrated beneath the island, rippled across his form. The island’s energy had hidden far within the earth’s farthest depths,
Words tripped out in an unstoppable whisper. She didn’t feel the bond, but she would have if Ryan joined in the ritual and bound his magic to her. A tiny thread existed between them now. He’d feel more as the days progressed. She’d feel little to nothing. Perhaps it was for the best, until she figured out how to annul the spell.
The words were said, the Goddess appeased. Tears streamed down Morgan’s cheeks. Nothing ever happened as planned in her life. She failed at dying as she’d prophesied. She had a wealth of knowledge scattered to the winds in her head. She had a vicious creature to kill and an uncertain future on a deserted island, magically tied to a hardened stranger, no less. The idea that she was bound to this man in a way she thought never to occur overwhelmed her, and she rubbed at the increased thumping in her temples. As time passed, Ryan would sense her magic and even delve into her strongest emotions, one step closer to his ability to actually use her magic to supplement his own. Worst of all, the bond could mask his true feelings toward her, leaving her mired in a relationship based on deception.
At least Morgan was certain of one thing. The amulet spells only bound Druid sorcerers, and none other. Ryan O’Rourke was no Fomorian. Morgan closed her eyes.
“Little raven?” Ryan’s constricted voice intruded upon her mental dance of pity.
She whipped her head up and stood ramrod straight. Little raven? Did he know she’d dreamed of him calling her that? Had he shared her morning’s dream? “You called me that in a dream.” She pressed her fists into her stomach.
“I know. I was there.” He touched her lips with trembling fingers. “From the time you breathed air into my lungs as I was drowning, to this morning when I rescued you from falling to your death at the hands of a shadow-shifter.”
Chapter 6
The peculiar resonance of home spooled through the air. WindWraith whipped about, sniffed the familiar reverberations, tasted it on his tongue, relishing the sizzle of magic. He hardly recognized the sweet bite of Druid sorcery. It had been an eternity.
Breathing it in, he filled his shattered being with the remnants of a stolen life. Magic waltzed through him, ancient and memorable, watering the burnt sprout of humanity buried so deep he did not know if enough life existed in it to grow again. The long-forgotten sense of longing splintered his spectral shape into fragments. He yanked his form into a sphere, wallowing in the odd prickles of desire, a sensation he once hoped never to forget, or thought never to experience again.
Dropping to the comforting cavern’s rocky ground, he spread out in a mottled gray blanket across the rubble. He stretched out a tentacle and tentatively touched the ebony stone platform on the black granite altar. The blood-red crystals had died off long ago, bled dry until they were black.
Thin fingers sprouted from his arm-like appendage. They gripped the edge of the stone bed, flowed into tiny fissures deep inside the pillar until his fingers brushed the first layer of untainted stones. Crystals burned his fingers and he howled in pain, folded in upon himself, reducing his corporeal form by half to preserve his strength. He nearly withdrew his melting hand from the stones. Perseverance won out, and he soaked up the energy, fed his malevolence.
Once he grew accustomed to the pain, he spread out on the ground again, undulating softly over the gravel. Buried energy vibrated beneath the island, rippled across his form. The island’s energy had hidden far within the earth’s farthest depths,
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