Midnight's Temptation Read online

  Her legs tightened a moment before her body clamped around his cock. Phelan dimly heard her scream as they climaxed together.

  The force of it sent him reeling. The world was twisting, turning as indescribable rapture flooded them, besieged them.

  Suffused them.

  Their souls touched, connected. Merged.

  There was no turning back for him, no walking away from the woman in his arms. She was his, and he would do anything and everything to keep her.

  Phelan wrapped his arms around Aisley as she collapsed on his chest, their ragged breaths drowned out by the rain.

  Phelan couldn’t quite grasp the tranquility, the serenity that had him firmly in its grip. Though he knew it couldn’t possibly last, he was going to enjoy it while he had it.

  He rubbed his cheek against the side of Aisley’s face, careful not to scratch her with his whiskers. He was in bad need of a shave, but he was loath to move.

  She sighed softly in sleep and huddled farther down in the blankets he wrapped around them. After their lovemaking, they had rinsed off in the shower. He smiled, remembering how he couldn’t keep his hands off her.

  He refused to allow her clothes. Instead, he’d grabbed the tartan blanket from the couch and pulled her outside. There he sat on the swing with the blanket around him and his arms held wide.

  Even now he could recall the sight of her sad smile as she nestled her firm arse between his legs and leaned back against him. He’d wrapped the blanket around them as they watched the rain fall.

  That was hours ago. If he wasn’t certain she was warm, he’d have brought Aisley inside when she fell asleep.

  He glanced at the sky to see it turning from black to a steel gray. Dawn was coming, and with it the rain tapered off to a faint drizzle.

  What would the new day bring? Would Aisley still want to leave? Could he let her go?

  It hadn’t taken long during the hours of the night for Phelan to realize he needed to fill Charon in on Aisley. And not just Charon. Fallon needed to know there was another Druid. Though Phelan was certain Charon had already mentioned it to Fallon.

  Phelan wasn’t looking forward to answering all the questions he knew would come about Aisley. He wanted her kept away from Wallace and whoever else hunted her, but he didn’t want to share her.

  Nor did he want to break the peace they had found.

  It was their own world here in the middle of the forest. Nothing and no one to bother them. It was near perfection.

  Which in itself brought ice to Phelan’s veins. Perfection had a way of dissolving quickly, as he learned yesterday.

  “You let me sleep,” came Aisley’s muffled voice.

  He smiled against her hair. “You needed it.”

  “Did you stay awake all night?”

  “Aye.”

  Aisley yawned and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. “What are you thinking about so hard?”

  “I need to go patrolling again.”

  “Hmm. I figured as much. There’s something else though.”

  Phelan kissed her temple, hoping she didn’t ask him to take her into town. “Those at MacLeod Castle need to know about you. There is always celebrating when another Druid is found.”

  He didn’t miss the way her body tensed, though she tried to hide it. “Why do they need to know?” she asked.

  “As I said, protecting Druids is what they do.”

  “It’s what you’re doing.”

  He happened to agree, but Phelan also knew if Wallace attacked him, Aisley wouldn’t have anyone to back her up. Wallace was too powerful of a drough for Aisley to try and fight on her own.

  “Aye, but for how long will you let me?” Before she could answer, he asked, “Have you used your magic in a fight before?”

  “You mean against someone?”

  He nodded.

  She hesitated in answering, which made him frown. “Yes.”

  “Then you know what you’ll have to do if Wallace attacks here.”

  “Let’s not talk about that.”

  Phelan took one of her slim hands in his. He marveled at her long fingers. With his thumb, he caressed her palm, trying to calm her. It wasn’t until he turned her hand over that he saw the scar running down her wrist.

  Blood pounded in his ears while his gaze was riveted on the scar. He tried to draw in a breath, but his lungs seized. Phelan needed to be rational. He knew she didn’t wear a Demon’s Kiss, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t drough.

  But he’d know if she was drough.

  He’d know!

  She put her other hand atop his to cover the scar he was tracing with his finger.

  “Aisley…” He had to pause and clear his throat. He was afraid to ask, afraid she would admit to being drough. But she knew he hunted them. Why would she have willingly come to his cabin if she was a drough? Was this her secret? Had another betrayal come?

  “Ask,” she said quietly.

  “Did you try to kill yourself?”

  She drew in a deep breath. “Many times.”

  “Why?” The truth was in her eyes, boldly daring him to ask how.

  “I couldn’t face the days after my baby died. I sat in the flat that was supposed to be ours looking at a crib that would never hold her. The tears stopped coming and life became … unbearable. I walked away from Pitlochry and the future I had there. It didn’t take me long to fall into the wrong crowd and use what little money I had on drugs. I prayed the Reaper would come for me.”

  He drew her wrist to his lips and kissed the scar. “You survived.”

  Aisley squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the tears. What a coward she was. She hadn’t been entirely truthful to Phelan, but she had tried to kill herself when she used the drugs.

  But not by slitting her wrists.

  Phelan had given her so much and offered her even more. He was a good man who deserved better than she was giving him. It was time she came clean.

  “Phelan, about the scars—”

  The sound of his mobile ringing interrupted her. Aisley sat up so he could rise from the swing and hurry into the house. She grinned when she caught sight of his bare ass before he disappeared through the doorway.

  She stood, wrapping the blanket around her. A chill settled into her soul, a chill that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with her.

  Aisley walked into the house to see Phelan listening intently to whoever was on the other end of the phone. She ran her hand through her hair and wrinkled her nose.

  A shower was in order. She could use that time to determine how she would tell Phelan what he suspected when he found the scar on her wrist, as well as her plan.

  She shut the door to the bathroom and let the blanket fall when she turned on the shower. The warm water didn’t thaw the casing of ice around her soul. And the more she thought about telling Phelan, the sicker to her stomach she got.

  But this is what she deserved for not being honest with him from the start.

  She could have told him that night at the club when he kissed her. Of course, she’d thought he knew, but it was obvious now he hadn’t.

  Instead of him chasing her to kill her, he’d been following her those two months trying to get closer to her.

  Aisley couldn’t believe her luck. To finally find someone who was caring, honest, good-looking, and incredible in bed, and not be with him was a hard pill to swallow.

  Who was she kidding?

  It wasn’t hard, it was damned impossible.

  “Why?” she asked anyone in the cosmos who would listen. “Why did Jason come looking for me? Why wasn’t I strong enough to tell him no? Why couldn’t Phelan have found me earlier? Why do I have to be his enemy?”

  Aisley mentally shook herself. There was no use fighting the inevitable. She was ready to die. Wasn’t she?

  Sadly, the answer to that was no. She’d found something good with Phelan, and she wasn’t ready for it to end. Eternity wouldn’t be long enough in his arms.

>   He was a true hero.

  And she was the enemy he would vanquish to save the world.

  Because whatever she might think of herself, Phelan had the right answer in killing all droughs. The evil within a drough was too powerful.

  Whenever they succeeded in killing Jason—and they would eventually—someone else would take his place. It might take months or even years, but it would happen.

  Aisley loved being a Druid. She enjoyed the feel of her magic, even that smidgen she’d had, race within her veins. Becoming drough had given her magic a huge boost, but it wasn’t worth the price.

  No longer did her magic give her joy. She could feel the evil inside her, feel it infest her magic and turn it from pure to something grotesque and corrupt.

  She finished her shower and shut off the water. As she toweled off, she thought the house seemed quiet, but she assumed Phelan was outside.

  With the towel wrapped around her, she stood in front of the mirror, but couldn’t make herself look at her reflection. The anger Phelan would feel when she told him—she deserved a thousand times over.

  He had been betrayed again. She might have had a good reason for doing it, but it didn’t matter. A treachery was a treachery no matter what kind of spin was put on it.

  Aisley swallowed and made her eyes lift to look in the mirror. She hated what stared back at her. While she combed her hair, she looked anywhere but directly into her own eyes.

  Her hand shook by the time she set down the comb. She hurried out of the bathroom to find some clothes. Aisley put on the first thing she found, which was a pair of yoga pants and a thin, oversized sweatshirt she had cut the neck out of.

  After all, it didn’t really matter what she wore for her death, did it?

  “Phelan,” she called when she walked out of the bedroom.

  There was no answer.

  Aisley looked all over the house, and then searched outside. Only when she happened to glance at the shed and saw his Ducati gone did she realize he’d left.

  It must have been an important phone call. She’d gotten a reprieve, but one she wasn’t happy about. Aisley feared that by the time Phelan returned she would lose her nerve.

  “I’m a damned coward,” she mumbled.

  All because she was falling hard for Phelan Stewart. A Warrior, a hero, an amazing lover, and all-around good guy.

  “Oh, hell. I’m so screwed. I want him.”

  She wanted him so badly it hurt to breathe. Because she wasn’t falling for Phelan. She’d already fallen.

  Completely, utterly.

  Totally.

  “Oh, dear God. I love him,” she whispered in shock.

  When had that happened? How had that happened? Hadn’t she been guarding her heart?

  Phelan was charming and seductive, and somehow he’d snuck past all her defenses. Then she had gone and made everything worse by agreeing to stay with him. That couldn’t happen now. She had to leave.

  She could run out into the woods, but he’d find her since not only did he know the forest, but he could follow her magic. She’d end up going in circles since she was directionally challenged.

  Still, it was better than staying, and she might have enough time to delve into her magic to learn how to stop Jason for good.

  Aisley ran into the bedroom and began to toss her few meager belongings into her duffle. She jammed her feet into her tennis shoes, and just as she was reaching for the duffle a shiver of something evil slid over her.

  “No,” she said.

  “Aisssssleeyyyyyyy!”

  She fell to her knees and clutched her head. The voice filled her mind to an earsplitting crescendo as it repeated her name over and over again.

  The voice was stronger than before, as if each time it said her name it grew in power.

  “Stop it!” Aisley screamed. “Leave me alone!”

  “Aisley.”

  This time it seemed the voice whispered right beside her ear. She jerked her head around and saw mist swirling. Dread filled her, freezing her in place.

  Was it Jason? Or was it the gray-skinned creatures that she’d barely escaped from?

  She had seen how the monsters moved by turning into mist and disappearing. If it was them, it was pointless to use magic. That would only make them attack her sooner.

  Aisley watched as the mist grew thicker and thicker. She knew without a doubt that whatever appeared out of the mist was there to kill her.

  She scooted back on her hands and feet until she hit a wall. The mist began to fill the room, creeping closer and closer to her.

  “Aisley.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-THREE

  Trepidation and restlessness settled in Phelan’s chest after his phone call with Fallon. Phelan gunned the Ducati as he drove faster, hoping that somehow the speed would dissolve the worry over Charon from his chest.

  He put on the brake as he came up behind a car. Phelan saw the Slow Now sign, but the driver didn’t heed it as they reached the almost 90-degree turn.

  They were either locals or tourists. The sudden brakes flaring and the car’s skidding of tires told Phelan they were tourists.

  He had to come to a stop and waited for them to take the turn at a turtle’s pace. Phelan glanced ahead and saw he had a small portion of road in which to go around them.

  It wasn’t something he would chance in a car, but he wasn’t in a car. He was on the Ducati.

  Phelan revved the motorbike and squealed his tires before he raced around them. He easily cleared them and got back into his lane right before he saw the Yield sign as he came to the one-lane stone bridge.

  He often heard tourists complain about the bridges, but few of them realized they had been built when people used carriages. The bridges were wide enough for one carriage to cross at a time.

  When Phelan had gone another ten miles he pulled off the main road onto a dirt road. As soon as he found a good spot, he pulled into the grass and shut off the motorbike.

  It wasn’t that he couldn’t sense Druid magic from his bike, but sometimes being on the Ducati when he was searching for someone made things more difficult. It was better if he did his search on foot.

  Phelan put the kickstand down and got off the bike. He removed the helmet and placed it on the seat. Just as he turned he spotted a pine marten on a nearby log.

  The animal made him think of Charon and how one night they’d had too much to drink and raced to see who could be the first to catch one of the quick-footed animals.

  Needless to say, neither came up with the prize.

  “Damn you, Charon.”

  Phelan ran a hand down his face and sighed. He ran over Fallon’s conversation again. Something was wrong with Larena, and she suspected it had to do with the drough blood in the X90 bullets that had been used to kill her.

  The same blood that had nearly taken Charon’s life.

  Or so Charon said.

  Phelan recalled all too well being in the backseat of the car as they drove away from Wallace’s mansion after the battle. Charon’s limp body was covered in blood from the knife wound.

  They had gone to Wallace’s to help Arran get Ronnie back after she was captured. They hadn’t expected Wallace to have droughs working for him. Droughs were notorious for doing things alone, but Wallace thought differently.

  The droughs did their work and stopped their attack. For the most part. Charon and Phelan had gone undetected by the droughs and turned the tide back in their favor.

  Yet, Charon stepped in front of a dagger dipped in drough blood meant for Arran.

  All the Warriors’ powers were affected by something at the mansion. Fallon couldn’t jump them back to the castle. They had no choice but to pile into the car and drive back.

  Every Warrior in the car had given their blood to Charon, but nothing had helped. Phelan still remembered the helplessness he felt when, for the first time, his blood failed to heal.

  He long suspected the power in his blood had nothing to do with the god
inside him. If that was true, then it should’ve healed Charon instantly. But it hadn’t. The blood of the Warriors helped to slow the drough blood inside him, but it didn’t stop it.

  Halfway back to the castle their powers returned and Fallon took Charon. Phelan had waited anxiously to know Charon had recovered with the help of the Druids.

  What Charon failed to mention was that the pain of the wound continued to bother him. It had never happened before. It reinforced everyone’s suspicion that Wallace had done something to the drough blood to make it stronger somehow.

  The droughs they fought continued to get more powerful and attack in new, unconventional ways. How could the Warriors keep up? They were constantly one step behind. At that rate, the droughs would win the war.

  Phelan’s thoughts turned to Aisley. The mere mention of her in a world of evil and darkness made his stomach hurt. She was meant for so much more.

  He had always wanted to kill Wallace, but now he had a very specific reason. Aisley.

  Was this how Charon and the others with mates felt? The anxiety, fear, and dread was swallowing him whole. He wanted to find Wallace, but at the same time he wanted to be with Aisley to protect her.

  He couldn’t be in both places.

  “Fuck,” Phelan growled angrily.

  What a damned predicament. He took a deep breath and looked around him. Clutters of trees dotted the ground, and in between was tall grass swaying in the wind.

  Droplets of water fell from the leaves above him from the storm the night before. He slowly moved his gaze around him. There were few places Wallace could hide in this area, and with Phelan’s enhanced vision, he didn’t need to go search every grove of trees.

  When he was satisfied he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary or feel drough magic, he climbed on the Ducati and got back on the road.

  There were hours of searching ahead of him.

  He could only hope Aisley was at the cottage when he returned.

  * * *

  Aisley had to tamp down the magic that surged through her. It was instinct for a Druid to call upon her magic in a crisis. It had taken her seeing the gray-skinned creatures’ frenzied attack on Jason as he used his magic that stopped hers cold.