A Druid of Her Own: An Immortal Highlander (Druid Series Book 4) (2 page)

“What the…?” Cillian cleared his throat and bent, gathering the remnants of Athol in his hands. “I’ve never seen a dark mage do that.”

“Aye, was different,” chimed Kennard, unsure exactly what had happened.

Cillian tipped his head, holding ash up to Kennard. “Is he dead?”

“I’d say so,” added Liam as he lifted a handful of what remained. “Though, I do nae recall a time in the past when anything other than a blood drinker turned to ash at its demise.”

“Me either,” Kennard added as he moved forward, pushing his booted foot through the remaining ash. Liam was right. They’d never seen anything like it happen outside of blood drinkers when they died. He glanced at his cousins. “Think it’s a trick?”

“Nae a trick I’ve ever seen,” said Liam, jutting out his chin. “You?”

“No,” answered Kennard, bending and lifting a handful of the ash and then letting it fall through his fingertips. “I’ve nae seen anything of the sort.”

Cillian shrugged. “Looks dead to me. Let’s get a drink.”

Liam snorted. “Aye. I’m up for a pint. Kennard?”

An uneasy feeling settled over Kennard. He wasn’t so sure they’d seen the last of Athol. After battling the man and his minions for centuries, the death had been underwhelming to say the least. In his mind he’d imagined the battle at the end would be epic. This was anything but. “Go on without me. I’m goin’ to make sure he’s dead and gone.”

His cousins shared a look before rolling their eyes. Cillian was first to bend next to Kennard. “Cousin, he’s gone.”

“I expected…
more
. We spent so long hunting him and he’s killed so many. He was a powerful opponent, and for it to end like this? It does nae feel right. I always assumed it would be more dramatic when we killed him.”

Cillian touched his shoulder. “Aye, as did we, but dead is dead. Let’s drink. Then we can figure out a way to try to force a shift. I need to run. I suspect we all do.”

“And find bonnie lasses to fuck,” added Liam, pulling a groan from the other men. He pumped his hips, humping air. “I might get me two or three. Lasses like to share me.”

T
he roar
of motorcycles was near deafening as the rush of them rode past her tiny coffee shop, their sound carrying easily as the doors and windows were all open. So much leather. So much muscular hotness in one place. Maggie wasn’t sure she could handle much more testosterone overload. She spent her free time—which wasn’t much of late—reading romance books, always hoping for a hero of her own, but in truth, she wouldn’t know what to do with an alpha male.

She’d probably run and hide. The idea of one was great. The reality was more than likely very different. She was also strong-willed in many respects, though she kept that fact a carefully guarded secret—only Maria, her best friend, knew the truth. It was best those around her believed her mild and weak. They already had enough fear of her oddities, and the rumors from her childhood still swirled around the small town. Adding fodder, or in this case, the truth that she could stand against them if they ever turned on her. She was Mad Maggie. The girl who’d sworn, at various points in her life, that she saw a man who looked to have a snake’s head. That was before he moved to just haunting her dreams. She was the girl who blamed the same snake-headed man on what had happened to one of her foster fathers—a man who had tried to get fresh with her, but ended up being thrown out a second-story window and who landed some thirty feet from the home, still breathing.

He’d had no memory of how he’d come to be in that state other than he’d been headed to Maggie’s room. So naturally, she’d been blamed. Mad Maggie the witch. Mad Maggie the crazy girl who said she sees demons.

She’d thought herself crazy for a portion of her youth, until she learned demons were real and bad crap was out there, wanting to hurt good people. Then she realized everyone else in town was just clueless and she actually started to feel a little bad for them. She also stopped talking about the snake-headed man to anyone except her best friend.

For now, the townspeople had at least accepted her enough to keep her coffee shop with a steady stream of business. They came in, ordered their fancy lattes or hipster tea blends, read books or worked on their computers quietly, letting her be, and she let them be. It was perfect.

Bike Week in the lakeside town was something a lot of locals dreaded. It brought with it thousands of bikers. The tourism center nearly wet itself every year it happened, gleeful with the added revenue it brought. This year it coincided with the Christmas in July festivities, meaning a larger crowd than normal was expected—that, and some bikers rode in dressed as Santa, which always made Maggie smile. She loved the holidays, even made-up ones. Though, it was a bit difficult to totally get in the spirit of the holiday when it was pushing a hundred degrees out and the humidity was nearly eighty percent. Somehow, sweat and Santa did not go hand in hand in her mind.

The shop was decked out in Christmas lights, and paper snowflakes were strung up behind the counter. She was going to put up a small Christmas tree in the corner, but Maria talked her out of it, saying she’d probably already done enough as it was, considering it really was only July after all.

She was probably right.

Maria tended to be her voice of reason. Most of the time. But not when it came to men. Maria loved just about any man and was a hopeless flirt. Maggie not so much.

“Damn bikers,” grumbled Mr. Hopkins from the side table nearest the window. The elderly man was a regular, coming in every day at the same time, ordering a black coffee and a piece of cinnamon bread Maggie always made fresh each day. Mr. Hopkins didn’t like much in the world, but she knew he loved his daily treat.

She smiled. “They bring a lot of business to the town.”

The elderly man glanced around her shop that, while busy, wasn’t filled to capacity, and currently had no bikers in it that she was aware of. That didn’t surprise her. Most of the bars and grills were now open for the day and that seemed to be where the new arrivals congregated. It had a lot to do with the live bands that started around eleven when those places opened.

Maggie kept the smile on her face as she refilled Mr. Hopkins’s coffee. This would be his last warm-up. He only liked getting three. Said it was his limit and he was quite the creature of habit.

“Do you plan on marrying?” he asked out of the blue.

She held the carafe in her hand and watched him, avoiding a response as one was unnecessary. Everyone in town knew she was the town crazy. The weird girl with the disturbing past and the strange friend. A man wasn’t in her future. Not if she stayed in town. And whether or not the town of Sandsville knew it, they needed her and her strange friend. Now more than ever. Sandsville was a hotbed of paranormal activity, though she didn’t know why. If she were a demon she’d have found somewhere more exciting than Ohio to bother with, but who knew, maybe they were into lake-effect snow in the winter and humidity and oppressive heat in the summer.

To each his own.

Maggie and Maria had only just finished dealing with a group of demons who had come to town looking for a cult following. They’d nearly managed to gain one from the disenfranchised youth they preyed upon, but the girls had put a stop to it. Maggie had used her magik and Maria had used her strength, speed and a dagger that was bespelled. Normally, Maggie would have been able to help more, but she’d been so drained the last few weeks, never feeling rested and always feeling a little under the weather. Thankfully, in the end, several of the group of demons were no longer breathing and the rest had hightailed it out of town, just beating the rush of bikers descending on the place.

The residents thought the bikers were demons on two wheels. Not Maggie. She’d met real demons in her life. Men dressed in leather weren’t anything to be worried about. Not with what really roamed the earth and was out there, waiting for a chance to strike. Humans were clueless and that was for the best. They tended to panic easily.

Evil had been growing in the area, getting a foothold over the past several years, and if Maggie and Maria left, no one would be around to stop whatever was happening. Heck, very few even recognized it for what it was. They just saw it as a rise in crime. According to the locals it had a lot to do with all the riff-raff that was coming in from the bigger cities.

More like coming in from hell.

Demons sucked.

No way around it.

Mr. Hopkins grumbled, pulling her attention back to the here and now. He ate the last of his bread before glancing back up at her. “You’re young and pretty. How is it a man hasn’t swept you off your feet? Does it have anything to do with all those romance books I see you reading? You waiting for a man to live up to the standards set in those?”

She was, but knew that wasn’t really an option.

“Nah, just a warm body with a pulse.” She was only half kidding.

It earned her a grin from the normally cantankerous man and she let him be, heading off to take an order at the counter. A steady stream of patrons came and went, and she knew the day’s earnings would be decent. She would never be rich, but she got by and that was all that mattered.

A slow smile touched her lips as she heard even more motorcycles. She relished the swell of newcomers who came for the festivities. Loved getting to talk with new people and hear about their travels. Quite often those who came were from far away, much further than she’d ever traveled. While she was worldly in the way of things that went bump in the night, she’d barely seen anything outside of the tri-city area. If you took away what she was and what she knew existed, she was just a small-town girl who wanted to see the world, but was too afraid to leave her comfort zone to do it.

“Hey there, sexy thing.”

She cringed at the smarmy voice of the assistant manager of the bar across the street from her coffee shop. The very sound of him often made her feel as if bugs were crawling on her. He’d talk, she’d think a spider had fallen on her and was creeping its way over her. Even now, she shivered, doing a small heebie-jeebies-induced shudder.

Everything about Rodney screamed snake in the grass. She’d met demons who affected her less than he did. Her response to him had always been disgust. Ever since she’d had to go to his rickety trailer on the edges of the town to grab mail that had been “accidentally” delivered to him—though she strongly suspected he took it from her shop’s outer box—she could easily imagine him there, rubbing one out, as he watched the endless porn he owned. He’d been so proud of the collection, trying to get her to agree to stay and watch some with him.

She shuddered again.

No thanks.

She’d thought of banning him from her establishment, but had a feeling that would only make matters worse with him. He wasn’t the type to take no lightly. It wasn’t as if she’d hadn’t run into her fair share of slime balls, but Rodney did seem to take the cake. It was as if he tried to be the biggest sleaze she’d ever met. Maybe he did. And maybe he was. All Maggie knew was she avoided ever being alone with him, as did any woman who had the displeasure of meeting the man.

His beady gaze swept to her collection of romance novels behind the counter. “Mags, if it’s a man you’re after, I’ve got what you need.”

She almost gagged.

One of these days she was going to hit him with so much power his head spun. She resisted the urge to do so now. She did her best to ignore him as she moved past him—forcing down the need to vomit. He crowded her space and she thought about beating the crap out of him. She could do it. She was stronger than humans and spent enough time at learning self-defense that she was skilled too. She had to be. Killing paranormal uglies required both speed and know-how. Maria was even better at it than her, but then again, Maria had an unfair advantage. “What can I get you to drink, Rodney?”

“A large cup of you, sweetness,” he returned, easing closer. She moved around to the back of the counter again, thankful it was between them. She didn’t want to make skin-to-skin contact with him.

“A large mocha latte?” she asked, already knowing his order. He got the same thing every day.

With a nod, he glanced at the door, watching as another wave of bikers drove past. “Assholes have landed.”

“Pretty sure the biggest asshole has already been here,” she murmured, pushing an artificial smile to her face as she set about making his order.

“Still waiting for Prince Charming?” he asked, his attention back on her books. “That why you always have your nose in those romance books?”

“I enjoy reading them, Rodney,” she said, holding back the line of obscenities that wanted to fall from her lips. The guy wasn’t worth the breath they’d take. She really wished she could make his coffee faster to get him out the door.

“Those kind of guys don’t exist, sweetness,” he said, raking his gaze over her in a way that left her feeling dirty. Most everything he said or did made her feel that way.

Maggie thrust his latte at him and didn’t bother taking Rodney’s bait about heroes from romance books. Like he’d know a real hero if one bit him in the backside. The guy lacked anything in the way of charm and had some questionable bathing habits to boot. He was nothing like the men she read about. The type of man she dreamed would whisk her away to somewhere wonderful and who wouldn’t care that she was a total freak of nature.

That she was different.

The type of guy who would love all of her while being super hunky, and if she was really lucky, would have an accent on top of it all.

Mmm, a Scottish one
, she thought, letting her mind run from her. Hey, if she was going to daydream about Prince Charming, she was going to dream him exactly the way she’d want. Tall, dark, different, and in a kilt.

Yummy.

“Daydreaming again, Maggie?” Rodney asked, ruining her fantasy of a hot Scottish guy coming to save her from her drab and somewhat dreary existence.

Maggie took his money and was thankful that this time it wasn’t sticky. It had been more than once before. She’d still wash her hands after dealing with him. “Have a great day. I’m sure the bar will be busy.”

He watched for a bit and then left, latte in hand.

She exhaled and scrubbed up. The weather had been warmer than usual for July, which meant it was downright oppressive at times. Most thought humidity wasn’t really an issue in the area. They were wrong. But the warm weather meant the coffee shop could seat more patrons during the lunch hour by opening the French doors to the patio. More people meant more business and Maggie needed all the cash she could get. Her beat-up trailer needed too many repairs to list and her lease on the shop continued to go up and up. The owner of the row of buildings on her side of the street had everyone paying more than they should to be there but the alternative was she close up shop and move to a location in town that didn’t get as much foot traffic. She’d never make it then.

Another wave of bikers passed and she pushed a smile to her face as she refilled an iced tea for one of her customers. She had a small, reliable staff, so she never felt overwhelmed. Since she’d started offering food options, business had picked up even more, but dealing with her short-order cook was proving to be interesting.

Josefina only spoke Spanish. Maria could hold wonderful conversations with her, but Maggie struggled to communicate. When Maria wasn’t able to walk down and sort out a problem, Maggie either had to wait until Josefina’s nephew showed to help translate or just forget there was an issue and work around the problem. Josefina was an amazing cook and she’d needed the job.

Maggie couldn’t turn away anyone in real need. Not to mention, Maggie had it on good authority that Josefina wouldn’t bat an eye if something supernatural were to happen around her. Apparently, she’d seen and done it all in her fifty-plus years.

Taking an order out to the front patio area, Maggie was lost in thought, so much so that the newest wave of bikers arriving caught her off guard, startling her as they came around the corner. The town would burst at the seams soon at the rate they kept coming.

Time seemed to slow as she spotted the biker nearest her. His long, jet-black hair hung just past his shoulders and had various braids in it, with dark leather straps securing the ends. His face was square, his jaw firm and powerful. Everything about him was powerful. He was set apart from all the others who had passed. He seemed rougher, manlier. He exuded alpha-maleness, something she hadn’t been aware was even possible, but the guy had it in spades.