Soul Scorched Page 3

  “She doesna have to know we’re Dragon Kings.”

  He cut Rhys a look. “She’s a Druid. She’ll know.”

  “We’ll see,” Rhys said as he walked away.

  Warrick climbed the ladder to stand on the roof once more. He checked the streets again, but his gaze was drawn back to the window time and again.

  The light shone like a beacon in the darkness. To his delight, her silhouette appeared once more. A long shirt stopping mid-thigh skimmed her lithe body. She pulled back the covers of the bed and climbed in before reaching over and cutting off the light.

  Warrick still didn’t move. “Who are you, Druid?” he whispered. “How were you able to touch our magic?”

  He didn’t want to be intrigued, or care about her as he did. His duty to Dreagan and the Dragon Kings was tested again in his compassion for the humans.

  All he could hope for now was that no one realized just how much he cared about the mortals.

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  Darcy stumbled to the kitchen in her robe for a coffee. She’d slept very little as her conversation with Ulrik had been mixed with images of the dragon from her dream.

  Not even a shower could help wake her. Afterward, she leaned against the counter sipping the hot liquid while her hair dried. She didn’t move until the mug was empty. Only then did she make her way to the wardrobe with a yawn. She opened the doors and looked over her clothes and groaned.

  She wanted to be comfortable, but there wasn’t a single thing she had that she felt the urge to wear. With a loud sigh, she turned away and got the blow dryer. Not that she could do anything with her curls. They had a mind of their own, and no matter what hair product she used, her hair did its own thing.

  After it was dry, Darcy looked in the mirror and winced. There were dark circles under her eyes. She didn’t normally wear makeup on a daily basis, but today certainly called for some. She concentrated on her makeup as she applied it. A quick glance to be sure she didn’t have mascara anywhere but her eyelashes and she returned to the wardrobe.

  It was one of those days where she would stand in front of her clothes for hours and still not find anything to wear. So she grabbed the first thing she saw—a pair of black leggings. Darcy paired it with her favorite faded purple and black plaid flannel shirt.

  Darcy added a cream long-sleeved tee beneath the shirt, letting both hang down to her hips. She then tugged on the pair of black leather Ugg boots with the lamb’s wool within that would keep her feet warm.

  She was running late, so she threw on her jacket and purse, and grabbed an apple on the way out the door. It was halfway between her flat and the shop that she realized she’d left her jewelry. Darcy ate the apple and tugged her coat closed. The wind was fierce coming off the sea that morning. She was happy to be inside the shop after such a frigid blast first thing.

  She tended to her plants, expecting to see Ulrik again, but she should’ve known better. He’d told her all he would. She would have to take it from there. After she finished with her plants, Darcy returned to the front of the store and flipped the OPEN sign over before unlocking the door.

  She had a client coming that morning who hadn’t missed a week in five years. Dorothy MacAvoy was an elderly lady deeply rooted in the occult. She claimed to have ancestors who were Druids.

  Mrs. MacAvoy wasn’t the first client to say such things, and Darcy never let anyone know she truly was a Druid. Mostly because the perception of a modern-day Druid was so far removed from what she really was.

  Instead, she let Mrs. MacAvoy talk of the magic she felt was within her and how she wished she were born in a different century. Mrs. MacAvoy was sweet and always had a kind smile.

  The door opened, and Mrs. MacAvoy stepped inside. She rubbed her hands together as she spied Darcy. “It’s a cold one, dear. I suspect we’ll get snow soon.”

  Darcy rose and helped her remove her purse and coat. She hung both on the hook for Mrs. MacAvoy. Then, together they walked to the table.

  It took a little while for the woman to settle her old bones in the chair. When she was comfortable, Darcy walked around the table to her chair and sat. She looked at Mrs. MacAvoy and noticed something decidedly different about her today, though she couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

  “Shall I read the cards now?” Darcy asked.

  Mrs. MacAvoy always booked two hours. During that time Darcy would read the cards, but most of it was spent talking about whatever Mrs. MacAvoy wished.

  “Not yet,” she replied and held out her hands.

  Darcy took the woman’s hands as they had done from the first time Dorothy entered the shop. “All right. Have you had any more dreams of Mr. MacAvoy?”

  “I’ll be joining him soon,” she said, her smile slipping.

  Darcy was taken aback. She knew Mrs. MacAvoy’s life was counting down, but she’d never let her client know that. “What makes you think that?”

  “I have one more task to complete, and then I can join my Rupert.” Mrs. MacAvoy squeezed Darcy’s hands. “Will you help me with my task?”

  “Of course,” she replied without thinking about it. What could the old woman possibly need her to do that she wouldn’t accept?

  Mrs. MacAvoy took a deep breath. “There was a wrong that happened thousands of years ago. It needs to be set right, Darcy. It’s important that it’s set right.”

  Darcy blinked, suddenly wary. “There’s a lot of history that happens in thousands of years. What are you talking about?”

  “You’ll know when the time comes.”

  “I could use a little more information.”

  Mrs. MacAvoy’s smile was a little sad. “We all have our destinies. I’ve known mine since I was a little girl. I think you know yours is important.”

  “Why do you say that?” Darcy asked, becoming uncomfortable with the way the conversation had turned. Normally, Dorothy would talk of her husband and their children before Darcy read the cards.

  “You came to Edinburgh, didn’t you?”

  “How do you know I wasn’t born here?”

  Mrs. MacAvoy chuckled. “You’ve the look of the isle about you, girl. There’s no mistaking that.”

  Darcy swallowed, trying to figure out where Dorothy’s conversation was taking them. “You think I was brought to Edinburgh? I chose this city.”

  “Fate likes to let us think we make our own decisions, but the big ones are already laid out before us.”

  “I don’t believe that. We make our own fate.”

  Mrs. MacAvoy tightened her fingers on Darcy’s. “You’ll discover the truth soon enough, my dear. We all do.”

  The room spun around Darcy for a moment, causing her to squeeze her eyes closed. The lack of sleep was playing havoc with her. “I thought I was the one who read the future,” she said with a forced smile.

  “Good luck with what’s coming, Darcy. You’re going to need it.”

  Darcy could only sit there as Mrs. MacAvoy rose and put on her coat before she walked out of the shop without the cards being read.

  It had been an incredibly strange morning, and much to her dismay, the day didn’t get any better. Not only did she feel drained, but she couldn’t focus. The day seemed to last forever. It was a rare thing indeed for Darcy to be glad to leave the shop.

  She locked the shop and turned around. The city pulsed around her, and yet she felt utterly alone somehow. She blamed Ulrik and his mysterious words, but it went deeper than that.

  It was almost as if the fates that Mrs. MacAvoy mentioned were involved, positioning things their way.

  At the thought of the fates, Corann’s voice filled her head with one of his old sayings. “You always think such polite and good thoughts, Darcy. That’s no’ always a bad thing, lass, but you need to remember there is evil out there. You think it may be the fates, when in fact it is evil.”

  She shoved her hands in her coat pockets. Evil. There was certainly enough out in the world. Every day the news held nothing but horri
ble stories of war, murder, rape, and other such crimes.

  How could she forget there was evil when it fairly surrounded her? How naïve she had been on Skye. There she and the other Druids were sheltered from the realities of the world.

  There were times she truly missed those days of innocence.

  But she chose to trade her innocence for freedom. Away from Corann and the rest of the elders of Skye, she was allowed to make her own way.

  She hadn’t always done a good job. There were times she didn’t just stumble, but fell flat on her face. Yet, she picked herself up and tried again.

  Darcy was proud of what she’d accomplished. Through all her decisions and failures, she hadn’t broken the code of a Skye Druid. She still had her magic. Corann could be pleased about that, if nothing else.

  As she walked home, she found herself lured by the sound of music coming from a pub. She occasionally stopped there for dinner and a drink. After the day she’d had, she needed a drink.

  Or two.

  * * *

  Warrick shifted in the shadows so he could see Darcy enter the pub. The bright lights and loud music along with the crowd made it difficult for him to keep track of her.

  “You’re going to have to go in after her,” Thorn said as he walked up.

  Warrick looked over at his fellow Dragon King. Thorn’s dark hair hung past his shoulder. Having only recently been woken, he hadn’t cut his hair. Not that Warrick thought he would.

  Thorn did his own thing. He had an air about him that always brought danger close. Women were attracted to that dangerous thread.

  When Thorn had arrived the night before, there had been few words exchanged between them as Thorn set up his watch and Kiril and Rhys returned to Dreagan.

  “You do better in crowds,” Warrick said.

  Thorn crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve no’ been awake long. You really want me in a crowd like that?”

  “Shite,” Warrick mumbled.

  Which meant Warrick had no choice but to go into the pub if he wanted to ensure Darcy didn’t end up with a Dark Fae. He walked from the shadows, hating the idea of being around so many people.

  “You might want to mask that glower,” Thorn called.

  Warrick stopped and took a deep breath. Thorn was right. He had to pretend to at least like going into such a place.

  It was a conundrum. Warrick was completely fascinated by humans, but he couldn’t stand being around so many beings whether it was humans, Fae, or Kings. Crowds made him immensely uncomfortable. He felt closed in and became agitated, which made people wary and anxious.

  It wasn’t much better with those he knew well. The Kings were his brethren. He would do anything for them—and had on many occasions. Yet, he found it nearly impossible to sit in Con’s meetings around so many of them.

  It took a bit of effort to erase his anger, but Warrick managed it. He glanced back at Thorn to see the prick give him a thumbs-up with a wide grin. Warrick rolled his eyes and continued to the pub.

  As soon as he pulled the door open, the music and conversation deafened him. He was tall enough to see over most everyone, which made it easy for him to pick out Darcy.

  She stood at the bar and had her head bent, her auburn curls falling forward as she looked over the menu. It didn’t take her long to place her order and grab the glass of ale. As she turned around, someone bumped into her, spilling some of the ale. She easily deflected the drunken man with just a small blast of magic.

  Warrick was surprised to find himself grinning. He let it drop and slowly made his way through the pub to get closer to Darcy after she found a table.

  He walked past her table as she tilted her head. One auburn curl slid down, brushing the back of his hand. He didn’t stop until he reached the back and found an empty table. Warrick moved the chair so that it backed against the corner. He sat and motioned to a waitress.

  His gaze quickly scanned the liquor lining the back of the bar to see if they stocked Dreagan whisky. Unfortunately, they didn’t. He ordered an ale instead. Then sat back and observed the humans.

  Few knew—or recognized—the limits of their bodies. They drank too much, smoked too much, and indulged in everything too much. But it was appealing to watch them. They didn’t care that smoking could give them lung cancer or that it made their breath smell bad.

  They would get drunk every night, heaving the contents left in their stomachs the next morning, and that evening return to the pub to do it all over again.

  It didn’t make sense to him, no matter how many times Warrick tried to understand what caused the mortals to do the things they did.

  Warrick’s gaze landed on Darcy. Her head nodded slightly to the music playing. He noticed her toe tapping with the beat while she was typing something on her phone. Her ale was sipped slowly, and that didn’t change when her food was brought.

  He finished two ales in the time it took for her food to arrive and for her to eat. When she paid and stood to leave, over half of her ale was left.

  Warrick rose and tossed money down on the table. He did a double take when the doors opened and two men walked into the pub. Except they weren’t men. They were Dark Fae. They each used glamour to hide their red eyes, but neither did anything about their black hair streaked with silver—a trademark of the Dark.

  There was a push against Warrick’s mind from Thorn. He opened the link shared by all Dragon Kings. “I see them.”

  “There are three more of the assholes outside,” Thorn said contemptuously.

  “They’re no’ here by accident.”

  Thorn grunted. “Nay. I’ll take care of the ones out here.”

  “No’ yet. I doona want them to know we’re here.”

  “I doona like it, but all right.”

  Warrick watched Darcy walk past one of the Fae. The Dark reached out and grasped her arm. She frowned and turned to him.

  Warrick hoped she would be immune to the Dark like some of the humans were, but Darcy fell under their spell immediately. Warrick cursed beneath his breath. So much for keeping Darcy away from the Dark.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  Darcy was disoriented and baffled. She was on her way out the door when the man grabbed her. Not one for being manhandled, she turned to give him a piece of her mind. Then she looked into his eyes.

  She couldn’t name the color. They kept changing, showing flashes of red. It should scare her, but it didn’t. No longer did she care about going home., the dragons, her magic, or … anything other than the extremely handsome man looking at her.

  “Stay,” he urged softly, a smile upon his lips.

  She recognized the Irish accent. He was gorgeous. The kind of man who was too beautiful to be real, like Chris Hemsworth. And the man was talking to her.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, Darcy knew something was off. But she couldn’t put her finger on it. She wanted to stay, which she knew was wrong. Yet she couldn’t make herself leave.

  The man gently touched one of her curls. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “We both have,” said a second man, his voice just as seductive as the first.

  He came up behind her so she was sandwiched between the two of them. She couldn’t catch her breath, and the urge to give herself to them was irresistible, engulfing.

  Uncontrollable.

  The first leaned close, pushing her back against the second man. He bent and put his lips by her ear. “Leave with us.”

  “We’ll show you untold ecstasy,” whispered the second.

  Darcy was nodding before their words registered. With one on each side of her, they guided her out of the pub. She willingly went with them, her body eager to feel their hands on her. Her legs were jelly, her chest heaving as if she were winded. Her body was a riot of need and hunger clawing at her, demanding release that instant.

  As soon as the cool wind hit her, she expected to shake off whatever assaulted her, but she couldn’t. In fact, the desire only intensified. She was ne
arly crying with the longing to ease her body that was on fire for them.

  With their hands on her lower back, they applied just enough pressure to keep her moving at a steady pace. When they turned the corner of the block, the first pushed her against the building and took her face in his hands.

  “I’ll not go farther until I have a kiss,” he said in a husky whisper. He claimed her mouth in a kiss that seemed to sap her very soul.

  “We share everything,” came the second voice.

  He began to kiss down her neck, his hands everywhere, touching every part of her. Her flannel shirt was suddenly unbuttoned, and her tee was shoved up and over her breasts.

  Her body throbbed for more while she begged them between kisses never to stop. She grasped the brick of the building to keep on her feet. For the life of her Darcy couldn’t understand how she loved every moment of their touch while at the same time her mind screamed for her to run.

  “Leave some for us,” came a third male voice.

  Her lids were heavy, her limbs weighted down. She was only on her feet because they kept her upright. Three men? Yes!

  No!

  Something was wrong. She never gave herself so easily to a man—any man, much less two. Or three.

  But it feels so good. Their hands, their mouths.

  Darcy closed her eyes as her sex ached to be touched. She found herself grinding against one of the men. And somehow through the haze of passion, she realized the feelings within her weren’t her own. They were being forced.

  She pushed the two men kissing her away. They were so unprepared that she managed a little distance. That’s when she spotted three more standing behind them for a total of five. By the way they were eyeing her—like she was a meal—she finally registered the warning her mind kept telling her.

  Darcy tried to halt the need pounding through her, but it was too much. She struggled to stay on her feet even as she yanked her bra back into place and pulled her shirt down.

  “No,” she said.

  The man closest to her, the one who had kissed her senseless merely laughed. “No?” he repeated in his Irish brogue. “You really don’t mean that. You want us. I felt it in your kiss, in the way your nipples hardened beneath my hand. All you have to do is lie there and let us give you pleasure.”