Phelan didn’t want to have to hunt his friend and kill him. Malcolm could be a cold son of a bitch, but he was still part of the MacLeod family. He deserved better.
“Malcolm was changing,” Guy said.
Phelan looked at him and asked, “What do you mean?”
“He was beginning to feel again.”
Rhys nodded. “His emotions were all over the place. He couldna get a handle on them most of the time, but he’s no longer indifferent to things.”
“Cold. That’s what I heard Quinn call him,” Banan said. “The last time I saw Malcolm he was detached and, aye, apathetic.”
Hal scratched his check. “No’ the Malcolm I spoke with today.”
“He said Evie did it,” Guy explained. “She’s what made him begin to feel again. It’s why he was so adamant about her being protected and no’ harmed.”
Guy suddenly smiled wearily and pushed past him. Phelan turned to see Elena, Guy’s wife, walk up. She wrapped her arms around Guy and held him for several seconds.
When she pulled back, her sage green gaze locked on Phelan. “It’s good to see you. I wish it were under better circumstances.”
“Aye,” Phelan said and watched as Guy gave a slight tug to the dark blond locks of her ponytail.
“Con said Evie might need this,” Elena said and held out a bottle of Dreagan scotch.
Rhys was the one to take it. “We all do. Thanks, Elena.”
“I’ll bring something up for her to eat,” Elena said as she peered around Phelan to look inside. Her face went pale as she caught sight of Malcolm. “Dear God.”
Guy pulled her away from the door. “We’re going to make sure he survives. Charon, Laura, and Aisley are on their way. Will you show them up when they arrive?”
Phelan didn’t hear what she said as he took the bottle of whisky and strode into the room where some glasses were set on a table. He took one and filled it with the amber liquid before setting the bottle aside.
He walked to Evie and squatted beside her chair. “You look like you could use this.”
Her devastated expression hit him squarely in the chest. Phelan knew in that instant that somehow Malcolm and Evie had found a connection. She’d reached a part of Malcolm everyone had thought dead.
For that, he owed her a debt.
But he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her if she used her black magic for evil.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX
Evie accepted the glass, and without asking what it was, drained it. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and coughed as the whisky burned her throat.
“Sipping it might have been better, lass,” Rhys said as he came into the room.
She licked her lips as the warmth of the alcohol settled in her stomach. “I need him to wake up. I have to know he’s all right.”
“I’ll make sure he is,” Phelan said as he rose and walked to the other side of the bed.
She gaped when a gold claw extended from Phelan’s finger and he cut his arm, letting his blood flow onto Malcolm. “Um … that’s unsanitary.”
“Warriors are no’ like mortals,” Guy said.
Phelan cut himself several more times, the blood flowing quickly. “Another Warrior’s blood will normally reverse the effects of
drough
blood.”
“But?” she asked when she recognized there was more. “I hear a ‘but’ in there.”
“But … Wallace changed the game by altering his blood. No’ even the Druids can heal a Warrior infected with
drough
blood now.”
She clutched the glass in both hands as her stomach clenched in dread. “You’re not giving up trying. Thank you.”
“My blood is … different,” Phelan said. “I can heal anything.”
Guy leaned his hands on the dark wood of the footboard. “I doona see much change in Malcolm.”
Evie put her forefinger along one of the cuts on his arm. It had started out a half inch longer than her finger. It was now almost to her nail. “He is healing. This cut was longer before.”
“Keep fighting, Malcolm,” Phelan whispered.
She looked at Phelan to find his gaze steady on Malcolm’s face, as if he were mentally trying to make Malcolm wake. Evie wished he could. She had to know he was going to be fine before she went to Jason.
There was no need to talk to anyone about Jason Wallace and his offer. She knew what she had to do. Malcolm paid the price for trying to help her. No one else needed to be hurt. It was her fault this entire mess was created. She would be the one to clean it up.
One way or another.
Another ten minutes went by before Phelan halted pouring his blood into Malcolm. Evie had been watching Phelan’s wounds and saw how quickly they disappeared.
Her chest tightened as she realized Malcolm should be healing that quickly as well. He’d known Brian’s kidnapper was Jason Wallace. Malcolm had also understood that Jason would try and take her.
It was Malcolm’s quick thinking in asking Rhys, Guy, and Hal to help that allowed her to get away. The price, however, could very well be Malcolm’s life.
Evie was thankful when the men left her alone with him. The door to the room wasn’t shut, and Phelan was never far, but she let out a deep breath all the same.
Phelan didn’t trust her, and she couldn’t blame him. She was a menace. Look at the giant mess she’d caused because she’d wanted to know if there were other Druids out in the world.
“Oh, Malcolm,” she whispered and dropped her forehead to the mattress.
He hadn’t moved an inch. His chest continued to rise and fall, but it was slow. Too slow. She put her hand on his thigh and fought against a fresh wave of tears.
Crying wouldn’t help him. Evie wasn’t sure if anything could.
Then she remembered how he liked the feel of her magic. Phelan had also mentioned that Druids used magic to heal. She’d never tried it before, but she knew her grandmother had used a healing spell or two.
Evie lamented the fact she didn’t have those spells when she recalled how she had used her magic at Urquhart without a spell. She had done it then for Malcolm.
And if she did it once, she could do it again.
It had always been easy for her to call up her magic, and it was no different now, though it was darker, heavier. It rushed through her like a tidal wave. The power of it staggered her. Evie let it surround her until only she, her magic, and Malcolm existed.
Then, she began to methodically push her magic into him while she pictured his wounds healing. Evie had never used her magic thus, and she was surprised at how quickly her body drained of energy.
She refused to give up, however. A smile formed when she heard the drums and chanting her grandmother had taught her to seek in the times she needed guidance.
Evie let herself draw closer to the chanting, but it wasn’t just the ancients with her. There was something dark, something sinister lurking on the fringes of her mind.
It beckoned her with shadowy fingers, urging her closer. Wickedness surrounded the entity. Like a black cloud of gloom, it waited patiently.
Evie turned her attention away from it and concentrated on the chants and drums, but again and again she found herself looking to the shadow figure. And then the shadows faded and she was able to see.
A wall of flames suddenly appeared, their edges licking high into the sky. And then she saw the figure. It danced in a large circle to a provocative, bewitching beat that lulled her, pulled her.
The person, neither man nor woman, was clothed in solid back. Even its head was masked by material that kept every inch of skin from being revealed.
Evie couldn’t stop herself from moving. She began to sway with the figure. It was captivating, hypnotizing. It knew exactly what she wanted. Without words, the figure promised to heal Malcolm, pledged to get Brian back. It vowed magic potent enough to wipe out Jason Wallace once and for all.
All the figure asked for in return was … her.
Evie forgot about the ancients as she focused on the figure. All her problems could be solved if she just gave in. All she had to do was go to the figure, to say yes.
She jerked as it took her hands and began to twirl her around, holding her securely in its embrace. It wooed her, enticed her.
Tempted her.
Strong, violent magic raced through her veins. She could feel herself changing, becoming dark … dangerous. The magic was addictive, enslaving. Dominating.
Evie tried one feeble attempt to turn away from it, but the black magic had her in its grip. As if overjoyed, the figure spun her around faster and faster.
All around them flames danced, reaching higher and higher. Her eyes became heavy, her limbs weighty. The more she danced, the harder it was for her to remember why she was using her magic at all.
The flames licked at her, touching her skin without burning. She laughed as she weaved in and out of the blaze. Dimly, she realized the figure was now watching her instead of dancing with her. There were no eyes, no mouth, no nose—but she knew the figure approved.
Malcolm
.
The name was a shout in her mind. She halted instantly, her mind remembering Malcolm and his injuries. The figure began dancing again, drawing nearer and nearer, as it once more tried to enchant her.
The hold the figure had on her was gone. She remembered Malcolm, remembered why she was using her magic to help him. Her stomach heaved at what she had nearly forgotten, and the people who counted on her. Evie tried to walk away, but the flames that hadn’t harmed her before now burned her.
“No!” she shouted.
She strained to hear the chanting of the drums, but there was nothing but the crackle of the fire. Evie covered her ears with her hands and bent over.
“Malcolm!”
The figure took her hand, but she yanked it away. She had to get back to Malcolm, had to return her magic to helping him. Evie ran through the fires, heedless of the flames that scorched her skin and clothes.
She ran for what felt like miles, pushing her body well past its limit, before she found herself in a room devoid of any light. Her legs gave out as she slumped to the ground. Malcolm said she would have to make choices—impossible choices, tempting and alluring choices.
Evie pushed the dark figure from her mind and concentrated on the ancients. It was with them that she could pull the poison of the
drough
blood from Malcolm.
“Please,” she whispered.
“You turned from us,”
the ancients said, their voices surrounding her and echoing until her ears ached.
“I had no choice. I was only trying to help my brother.”
“You should’ve come to us.”
Evie hung her head. “Punish me in any way you want, but please help me save Malcolm.”
“He’s a traitor to his friends, a murderer.”
“Everything he did was for his family. He’s dying because of me!”
The ancients were silent for a moment before they said,
“You want to use your magic to kill.”
Evie wanted to deny it, but it was useless. In this dreamlike world of the ancients, they could peer into a Druid’s mind with ease. They saw the truth of every thought, every wish. Every desire.
“Yes. Jason Wallace is evil. He needs to die.”
“The
drough
cannot be killed.”
Evie felt as if she’d been kicked in the ribs. “There has to be something that can stop him.”
“There is.”
“What?” she demanded when they fell silent. “Tell me!”
But there was no answer. The ancients left her with no hope of healing Malcolm and no answer regarding Jason Wallace.
She started running again, but it was as if she were standing in place. Nothing moved, no light could be found. She was lost, lost in the dark and all her fears closing in around her.
“Evie!”
Her eyes flew open to find Rhys leaning over her as she lay on the floor. A heartbeat later, fierce, debilitating agony ripped through her. The pain was so great she couldn’t take a breath. Every bit of skin felt as if it had been flayed from her body inch by inch.
She tried to shrink away from the torment, but there was no distancing herself from it. All around her she could hear voices but couldn’t think enough to understand what they were saying. She tried to reach out her hand and get back to Malcolm. Her magic could help him, she was sure of it. She just had to find a way past the pain to him.
“No’ now, lass,” Guy said from her other side. His voice was insistent, his tone low. There was a mewling sound she only then realized was coming from her. “You need to rest. We’ll look after Malcolm.”
Evie screamed as a new wave of anguish slammed into her when someone touched her arm.
“Con!” someone bellowed.
Evie closed her eyes and retreated into her mind, anything to get away from the pain. It felt as if she’d fallen into a fire. Even her face hurt.
“Slow, even breaths, Evie,” Rhys urged from beside her.
She tried to tell him it hurt to breathe, but she couldn’t get the words past her lips.
“I can help.”
Evie recognized Phelan’s voice. She didn’t want his help, but it wasn’t as if she could tell him no. Just when she thought the pain might truly kill her, something warm dropped onto her skin, and the agony immediately began to subside.
“I leave for five minutes and come back to see Evie covered in burns. What the hell happened?” Phelan demanded.
Evie opened her eyes to find Phelan staring angrily at Rhys and Guy.
“I doona know,” Guy said.
Rhys ran a hand down his face and let out a breath. “One minute she was sitting on the chair, the next she was on the floor as burns covered her and scorched through her clothing.”
Evie took a deep breath, which gained her everyone’s attention. The pain was diminishing to just a memory, but with it came the realization of just how close to death she had come. Con came running into the room at that moment.
“What happened?” he asked, his brow furrowed deeply.
Evie winced as she sat up and looked down at her arms to find large holes burned through her black sweater. “I tried to use my magic to heal Malcolm.”
“It was working too,” Rhys said.
“I was with the ancients, and then … I wasn’t.” Evie looked up at Con, and then to Phelan as a shudder went through her. “There was something else with me.”