Wicked Paradise (5 page)

Recalling the reason for her mad flight renewed her shivering, although the baking sun wasted little time drying the salty water on her bare skin. The man’s devouring gaze left her burning from the inside out and a deep flush crept up her chest to her neck. Her clothing clung to her in the most inappropriately disconcerting way that she felt naked under his scrutiny. The fine-grained sand beneath her suddenly felt like new fallen snow. She straightened her skewed tunic over her stomach, pulled the neckline up to her chin, covering the top of her exposed breasts.

His fingers softened on her arm. “You’re safe from whatever frightened you.” Without skipping a beat, he scooped her into his arms as if she were a child. Jarred against his solid chest, she gasped at his sudden movement. He cut off the retort forming in her throat. “You need to get out of these wet clothes. You’re probably suffering from shock.”

Morgan kicked at him, her heels hitting his solid thighs. “Set me down at once!” Weakly, she struggled against his unyielding arms.

“Settle down. I won’t hurt you.” Concern teased his gruff voice. “You’re dead white and probably feeling faint, right?”

She did feel out of sorts. Remaining vigilant, Morgan halted her struggles, leaned her head on his iron-hard arm. Magic shimmered in her fingertips, and when she seized his forearm for balance, he jolted against her shoulder as if burned. Cool ripples slid down his bronzed chest as if to guard against her touch. Or to ward off the outlandish tale she had yet to tax him with, if indeed he was the mythical assassin destiny had paired her with.
Thank you, Fate, for not preparing two innocent sorcerers for a death-defying task
. Morgan fisted her hand until her nails bit into her palm.

Had she awakened only that morning in her bed on Avalon? Had her father truly sent her catapulting through space with a sack of charms, her magical powers, and her tired and waterlogged wits in tow? Her mind swam with myriad information, offbeat tales, and Gwilym’s spells.

Regardless of her wariness, she felt safe nestled against the sorcerer’s comforting warmth. Despite every instinct telling her to trust him, the prophecies, and her dreams, she wasn’t ready to grant them their due. Prophecy oft-times traveled in directions least anticipated, or beyond interpretation. The pulse beating inside her blood was all the proof she needed. Prepared to die on Avalon that day, her most outrageous visions never predicted this outlandish outcome. Nor did all her dreams become reality. Wary contentment eased the dull ache in her head. For now, she allowed the stranger to carry her to whatever constituted a soft bed on this mysterious island.

“What are you called?” she asked softly.

“Ryan O’Rourke.” The richest of bass tones vibrated against her shoulder. “Who are you? How long have you been on the island?”

Purposefully, he strode across a wide expanse of fine white sand along the lazy shoreline. He smelled of salt and spice, a tantalizing mixture of maleness. She breathed him in, culling the memory of him from her dream. Without having ever met him in the flesh prior to that day, she
knew
the arms holding her, the strong, wide chest pressed to her body.

Ryan’s arms tensed around her. “Answer me.”

Morgan focused on his face. “I beg your pardon. I am Morgan.” She deliberately withheld her titles. Names and titles held the ability to control. She felt no need to grant him that much influence over her until he proved trustworthy. “I arrived today.” What did he know about their destiny, or of the island? Not that she had uncovered the full extent of matters, the knowledge swam erratic circles in her head. She prayed her father’s parting burst of telepathic magic would provide answers to her heap of questions. Until then, she would remain vigilant and uncover what Ryan knew.

Waves of dizziness swept over her, and she sagged deeper into the warrior’s embrace. Was he from an undiscovered land, far into the future, as Gwilym insinuated? Maybe he stemmed from her time or perhaps a time in between. How did he happen to land on this island shrouded for ages under the long gone Merlin’s powerful magic?

Sweat rolled down Ryan’s temples, dripped on her arm, drying almost instantly. He carried her up a short, stony incline into the woods framing one side of the beach. The verdant woodland enclosed them and her heart flip-flopped. As though he sensed her agitation, his muscular arms tightened about her, mashing her breast against his chest. She dragged a shaky hand through the kinks in her hair, hoping he didn’t feel the fire that kept blazing up inside her.

“Morgan who? What’s your last name?”

“Last name?” Her jumbled mind rushed to decipher his words. “I am Morgan of Avalon.” A Druid sorceress belonged to the Goddess, and therefore, she took no man’s surname, choosing the names of maternal lineage.

He snorted. “Just Morgan?”

Indignation assailed her, but it was difficult to remain so while being carried like a babe. She feared her body would betray her further if she didn’t put distance between them. “Please set me down.”
Before I ignite an inferno in your arms.

“Why? So you can nosedive off another cliff?” His fingers bit into her arm. “I’m not in the mood to rescue idiotic women again. Doesn’t matter now, we’re here.”

Ignorant peasant!
He pressed her face protectively into his chest, and she choked down her acerbic reply.

Slanting his shoulders, Ryan shoved sideways into a thick, leafy passage. Vines caught in her flowing hair and energy pinged her flesh. Morgan’s fingers captured the flexible limbs, pulling them free. Her hand tickled as she wound up her hair in her fist. They emerged on the fringes of a magnificent grotto hidden by earthen walls, trees, and arm-thick vines twined together so abundantly the vegetation created solid living walls. A waterfall at the far end fed an alluring emerald pond. A narrow entrance to a series of caves opened to the left of the waterfall, partially hidden behind the sheet of fresh, sparkling water.

“Oh, my.” Morgan’s wide stare landed on one incredible sight after another. Flowers of every color and size sprayed the green grotto. Papaya, pineapple, and banana trees carried a whiff of fruit punch on the air. Palms, tropical grasses, ferns and other bushes enclosed the fresh water pond. Excitement whisked away her indignation. She would risk traipsing through miles of woods alone to find this tranquil paradise. “It’s beautiful.” She couldn’t wait to discover the grotto’s treasures.

Ryan grunted and carried her into the dry caves past a barrier of smaller waterfalls. Water trickled randomly down green and black granite walls, cooling the caves against the tropical heat. They passed the first cavern directly behind the main waterfall and walked beyond to Ryan’s shelter.

Coarsely stitched furs lined a ledge raised off the solid packed floor. Embers glowed in a ring of rocks in the dwelling’s center. Small fissures in the tall ceiling drew smoke out, allowing enough hazy light to see within the cool cave. Quartz veins streaked the stone walls, reflecting the stippled light. Other than a few rudimentary wood tools and tidy piles of Ryan’s belongings, the parlor-sized cave held little else.

Finally, he relinquished his hold and set her on the furs covering the bed. “Sit tight and I’ll patch you up.”

Morgan probed the crusty wound on her head, satisfied that it no longer bled. “Do you have healing herbs?”

Ryan snickered. “I wouldn’t know a healing herb from a marijuana leaf.” He walked away to rummage among his things.

Morgan scrunched her face. “Pardon? I’m not familiar with mara...wanna.”

“Pot, cannabis? The leaf people once smoked to get high. Before the cursed blight—” He clamped his mouth shut.

The “cursed blight” must be what her father had alluded to that caused the future’s devastation. She buried the idea for another time. “High?”

Ryan turned slowly, a small cloth clutched in his hand. “Who the hell are you, Morgan
of Avalon?
” Iron edged his velvet tone. “And you damn well better answer my questions.”

With a feline grace, he approached, his body seeming to dominate the space in the cave. He stood tall with a warrior’s bearing. Wearing only a scanty loincloth crafted from a tanned animal skin, his flesh was as brown as the hide. Her eyes traveled from tapered hips to rippling stomach, following the narrow trail of gilded curls up his chest, to the black and green dragon and Celtic knots banding his upper right arm, finally resting on his strong wide jaw.

Morgan felt power coiled within him as if the dragon thrived beneath his skin. Yet, his magic caused wanton heat to spread upwards from the junction of her thighs. A confusing sensation she had never experienced in the presence of any man. She forced her mind elsewhere, stalling him. “Are there others on the island?”

“Just you.”

Shock jerked her upright and she knocked her elbow into the rock wall. Stars wavered in her vision and she rubbed her tender arm. Either Ryan was the Druid assassin or he was WindWraith in disguise. Could evil Fomorian magic mimic Druid magic? Did he visit her dreams that morning to trick her or befriend her?

Ryan knelt and gently applied a wet compress to the wound on her temple. Smooth against her skin, the finely woven cloth scraped over the stinging gash. Despite his gentle touch, she winced when he applied pressure.

His full, slightly chapped lips tightened in a straight line. “I reopened the cut to clean it. Do you have a headache?”

Irritating words and notions stuffed Morgan’s head, but she assumed Ryan referred to physical pain. Already, fantastical ideas knitted together, sifting into the recesses of her mind. Hopefully, Gwilym’s strong mind magic would soon shed clarity on the chaos and enable her to recall the various legends of Avalon’s Shadow.
Later. I will dwell upon Father’s irksome spells and wisdom later.

Daylight leaked through the chinks in the ceiling, speckling Ryan in glints of light, bringing out the sparkles of curiosity in his ocean-blue eyes.

“I ran into a tree limb in the woods. I’ll be fine.” No sooner had she voiced the words than another swell of dizziness teetered her alarmingly on the ledge. She was unable to prevent her body from tipping toward the beckoning soft furs.

“Damn it.” Ryan snaked an arm around her waist, supporting her back. “Lie down.”

Gently, he helped her stretch out on the bed, then retrieved a waterskin. He dripped cool water into her mouth. It held a faint leathery taste, but she welcomed the refreshment, especially after sucking down a mouthful of salt earlier. And Father’s putrid potion. Her stomach lurched alarmingly and she cupped a hand over her mouth. Breathing deeply, she managed to halt the weakness from encroaching further, hating how this island seemed to suck the life out of her.

“Thank you,” Morgan murmured, waving the waterskin away. “My body...I must rest.”
I must figure out what is real versus myth from the pesky ideas battling within my mind.

The splashing, tinkling waterfalls lulled her bone-weary body toward the realm of dreams. She fought it, not wanting to sleep and give up her defenses to the stranger beside her. The last thing she needed was to show additional frailty to this man. Who knew what torture he might subject her to if he discovered her vulnerabilities? If he were Avalon’s banished Fomorian, what tricks did he play on her? The only demons Morgan had ever confronted were in Father’s old texts. Sprinkling deceptions and lust upon innocent victims like birdseed, Fomorians and demons before her time hoodwinked even the most powerful sorcerers. Even Merlin had succumbed to their trickery, hence the island prison the old mage had created for the one evil being he failed to destroy. Did WindWraith now inhabit the handsome stranger sitting before her?

“You need dry clothes.” Ryan moved to his stacks of belongings and returned with a black garment. “You can wear my T-shirt.” He held the garment toward her. “Do you need help changing?”

Heat surged up her neck, and she wagged her head violently. Goddess help her, her internal fire magic would burn her alive on this forsaken island hell.
Yes, that’s how Fate decreed I would die today! Death by the flames of mortification.
The last thing she wanted was for Ryan O’Rourke to view her nakedness. Morgan took the T-shirt, and he turned his back to her in a surprising gentlemanly action. Hastily, she tugged off her damp tunic and leggings without leaving the cover of the furs. Her clammy chemise clung to her breasts. Without a second thought, she eased it off and shrugged into the black garment. The shapeless T-shirt draped to her knees, wonderfully smooth against her cold skin. It smelled fresh with a faint lemon fragrance. Morgan threw Ryan a curious look. Lemons and water created a purifying cleanser. What man or creature knew such womanly things?

“Are you hungry? I have pineapple and leftover fish.” Rustling sounds wafted over as Ryan dug into his food supplies.

Morgan wrinkled her nose. Despite having lived her lifetime on an island surrounded by oceans full of sea creatures, she hated the taste of seafood.
He must be evil if he likes seafood
, she mused half-heartedly. “Thank you. I’m not hungry.” Propped on her elbow, she scanned the cave, absorbing evidence of human life. A sparkly object caught her attention above the bed by her feet. It looked excruciatingly familiar. Startled, she cried out, “Oh, bloody hell!” She bolted upright. Pain stabbed her head like a dagger, but she ignored it.

A rough niche in the wall held a silver circlet pendant, an amethyst crystal embedded in the center. Tiny runes inscribed the flat silver ring around the large uncut stone. The charm hung from a braided leather and silver chain cord. She grabbed it off the wall, her eyes narrowing as she closed her fingers around the all too memorable pendant. A strange mix of anger and bewilderment twisted the dagger in her head.

Ryan wheeled around. On wobbly legs, Morgan rose off the bed, raised her fist in his face. “Where did you get this?”

He shrugged. “Found it.”

She blinked rapidly. “On
this
island?”
Was this what Father meant when he said the assassin’s charm has been cast?

Ryan braced his legs in a defiant stance. “What difference does it make?” He folded his arms across his chest, arm muscles bunching tightly. The dragon’s tail twitched across his biceps.