Wicked Paradise (27 page)

Ryan strode into the waterfall, the spray claiming him. Water cascaded down his bronzed body, obliterating the pain and suffering ransacking his face.

Morgan was uncertain how the soul mate binding spell would affect them in either scenario. No one had ever refused an eternal bond to his or her soul mate. Who wanted to forego such incredible passion? She knew they would always sense the other’s power and vague emotions. They’d always retain a piece of each other inside their souls, possibly unable to completely love another. Not that she could ever love anyone other than Ryan. And her heart would shatter in a million pieces if he fell in love with another woman, or Lauren Blackwell.

Morgan pressed on her eyelids as if to smooth out the wrinkles in her troubled mind.
Father, I need your guidance!

She peered intently into the bubbling waters of the hot spring, concentrating on the spell to call her father. Within moments, the distorted face reflecting off the surface changed from hers to a hazy version of Gwilym. Nearly sliding off the ledge in surprise, she stared in stunned silence. It had to be crystal energy enhancing the island’s magic!

Misty-eyed, she whispered, “Father, you’re here.”

“Beloved daughter.” His subdued voice bounced off the hot spring’s low walls. “Did you not scry for me?”

Morgan blinked back tears. To stabilize the vision, she smoothed her palm over the water, creating a motionless spot in the boiling spring, and bolstered her spell. Gwilym’s wispy face stilled, a telltale amber glow ghosting him.

“Father.” She lowered her voice. “Strong magic abounds here. I’m tied to the island. Did you know?”

“That is why you are there. You return life to the isle.” Without further preamble, he spoke hastily. “Your sorcerer-assassin is there for the same reasons. He holds ancient Druid magic in his blood.”

“How did you know?” Morgan held her fist to her stomach and tempered her anger. Her father never deliberately harmed or deceived her, but he had much to answer for. “Have you been to this island in your dreams, or in person?”

“I am too old to transport to distant, uncharted lands.” His spectral face took on a grim countenance. “WindWraith would easily kill one of lesser blood and magic than you two.”

Bubbles emerged from the floor of the hot spring, bursting around his face like a boiling stew. Morgan intensified her spell to hold onto him for as long as possible.

Ryan stepped out of the waterfall. Unable to peel her sight off him, she watched him strap on his loincloth. He snatched up his knife and spear, sent her a tremulous smile, and herded RavenStar outside.

Gwilym continued, “As I told you on Avalon, I foresaw your destiny. To remove the veil of evil from the world. To live a peaceful and happy life on the shadowed isle. Remember, you will never leave that land.”

“But Ryan believes he’s found a way off. A gateway. He thinks we traveled through it.”

Her father pursed his lips, rippling the waters around the white hair haloing his face. “He is partially correct. However, that gateway does not work in the manner he believes,” Gwilym said insistently. “Mark my words, Daughter. That portal did not bring either of you to the island.
You
arrived through the Sacred Stones with my aid, and with help of magic from the spells and amulets. Ryan arrived through a storm-gate in the ocean, aided by the spells and amulet magic, and through his bond to you. The evil on the island is too strong otherwise.”

Morgan’s spine jerked straight. She believed the charms and Gwilym’s magic alone brought them there, that the stones merely facilitated the spells. No one had ever used the standing stones as a gateway. Who even knew the stones were capable of such potent teleportation?

“Morgan?” Gwilym’s voice grew faint.

Chagrined at her wandering mind, Morgan waved her hand over his cloudy face, smoothing the water’s surface. “What about the gateway here? What will happen if Ryan uses it to return home?”

“The isle has always been shadowed to his world. Unchartered. There’s no telling where or in what time he will land if he uses that portal, if it indeed works. There’s no telling who he will be.” Gwilym grimaced, his face pensive. “I do not know for certain. I only know that you cannot go through it.”

Irritably, she cut the air with her hand. “I understand that, Father. I know I have duties to perform once again.” Slight contempt carried her words.

The water undulated and his face misted over. “You cannot leave the island because you will die.” Gwilym shook a finger in front of his face. “Do not attempt it. Your duty will turn to love, to the life you’ve always wanted. Have faith in your destiny.”

Gwilym’s words skittered through her head. She was glad to have his aid, to challenge her ideas. The amber light paled, and she hastened on before she lost the tenuous link. “What about the binding ritual we started? If we,” a tide of fire washed over her body, “complete the final spell, will Ryan’s innate magic harm me, whether or not I draw from his powers?”

“If he subverts WindWraith’s black magic into white magic, and you draw upon it, your pure magic may reverse a portion of the spell,” he said sternly, knowing her thoughts without her voicing them. “It may harm you both. Depending on Ryan’s abilities or the Fomorian’s powers, he may be unable to cleanse all of WindWraith’s taint.”

Dread returned with a vengeance, roiling in Morgan’s stomach. Matters were worse than she imagined. Her all-seeing father already knew about Ryan’s innate magic. “He must not consume WindWraith,” she said more to herself.

“Or you must never mate with Ryan,” he warned. The glow dulled to pale yellow, and Gwilym’s voice grew somber. “You will never fully love another while bound to Ryan. The binding ritual should not ever be taken lightly.”

“What about black magic he has already consumed?” Morgan clenched her amulet until it pinched her palm.

“His magic is pure, cleansed by his ether. But no one is strong enough to scrub WindWraith’s taint.”

Morgan already knew her choices. It didn’t help her much to hear them confirmed. She shook her head and anxiously studied her father’s waning face. “I cannot ever love another even if granted the chance,” she whispered. She thrust her chin out. “Ryan is the only one I want.”

“You know what to do.”

“You said if we destroyed WindWraith, we would also destroy the evil shadowing the world. How can that be? How can we save Ryan’s people while he remains on the island where we are meant to live?”

Flurries of bubbles popped on the water’s surface and Gwilym’s image dissipated. A pale reflection of his face emerged in a bubble, wavering specter-like in the dimming golden glow.

“You are bound to the island, Morgan. The shadowed island of destiny needs you to return it to glory and goodness. It is the only place to unite the lost Ancients from all times. You know what to do.” Gwilym’s voice faded off as she lost her connection.

That cold hand clawed at her heart.
Did
she know what to do? With much to comprehend, her first task was apparent. She’d use the island’s magic to help her destroy WindWraith. Ryan was too strong-willed to listen to reason. How could he forsake their love by not completing the binding ritual if he accomplished his demented undertaking? She would save him from choosing, and he’d thank her in the end. Or he’d leave her...

In the face of WindWraith’s extractions of magic from her body, her tie to the island escalated every passing moment. Its heart beat strong within her now, and the earthy, watery energies mated with her magic as if born together. Leveraging off that ultimate bond gave her the impetus she needed. Cold determination inched through her mind, gelled her plans.

WindWraith would be long dead before Ryan found the son of a whore.

Chapter 26

Ryan strode from the cavern, his troubles anchoring his shoulders. The skittish foal pranced in the tunnel, waiting for him to disappear before returning to Morgan. Shaking his head, he descended the rugged terrain to the beach. Waves tipped in white curled and pounded on the reef, a relaxing sound to drown out his lousy mood. He headed toward the shallow tide pools, salivating at the idea of a lobster dinner.

In spite of his hunger, his dilemma tore his empty stomach to shreds. Everything he’d believed in seemed not to matter any longer. How could he return to his people knowing they might reject Morgan, regardless of her overwhelming powers? They’d never believe the story of this island and Morgan’s origin. They’d probably try to burn her alive believing she was a Fomorian in disguise and had brainwashed him or somehow learned to mark him.

“Damn it.” He jabbed his spear into the sand. He was still coven leader, still a formidable assassin. His people needed him to right the wrongs Michael, Lauren, and Alexander committed against them. They needed his strength to destroy the Alasoron Cabal. Ryan could never live with himself if he failed them, especially after knowing about the treachery.

“What the hell am I to do about the unfinished binding ritual?” Ryan kicked at a conch shell, launching it far into the sea. What about the danger to Morgan from sharing his potentially tainted ether? A celibate life with her wasn’t even on the table. Duty and his desolate world promised to suck the life out of him, leaving little left for her. He refused to do that to her or to himself either. Not now that he’d tasted her, tasted a time of love, of heaven.

Ryan ached to make love to Morgan now and every day for the rest of their lives. He longed to give her the newfound love in his expanding heart. He wanted them to live a life of enduring love, the kind he’d missed living. He wanted her by his side as he started a new life. Before he left New Angeles, his scouts had found a defensible secluded valley in the ravaged California Sierras. Initial soil tests left them optimistic that they might rejuvenate the land with the alchemic spells his coven was developing. If that proved unrealistic, their failsafe took them to building on the ocean. Hell, who knew where they’d end up? Wherever they made a home, Morgan belonged with him.

He sprinted hard across the sand and dashed into the foamy wake, wishing to hurl his troubles into the receding waves. Briny water sloshed to his knees, and he waded to a tide pool among the smaller rocks. The never-ending sea held his gaze for a long moment. He searched for a sign of his world, of any world. Only the diminishing rays of sunlight reflected off the ocean’s surface, as blue and endless as his mood.

Ryan scanned the peaceful cove, the perilous jutting cliffs, and the jungle beyond. Wild and challenging, he found an inner peace on the beautiful isle, a carefree calm he’d only experienced sailing the open waters. Home for a few weeks now, the paradise felt like a fresh beginning, a new chapter overflowing with adventure, and most of all with love. He couldn’t imagine living anywhere else with Morgan, or ever living without her.

Thoughts twisted in Ryan’s head. He lost himself scavenging for shellfish, scooping up several lobsters. They’d enjoy a feast tonight before concentrating on their decisions and making a plan in the morning. They deserved one last night in paradise before their lives flipped into another hell.

When he returned to the cavern, he spotted Morgan stirring the contents of a stiffened leather pot. Entranced, he froze in his tracks. She wore what appeared to be a modern dress. Certainly, she never wore such a creation during her time, not if history books were accurate. She must have altered it for the heat. An enormous pang of love jerked his heart.

Fringe dangled from the hem of her mid-thigh, royal blue dress. The sleek material clung to her slender frame, accentuating her lush curves to every incredible advantage. Her sun-touched breasts overflowed the low-cut neckline, the amulet buried between the twin mounds.

Raven-wing hair piled high on her head, loose ringlets framing her honeyed face. Ryan adjusted his loincloth, unable to stifle a groan as his hand grazed his hardness. Morgan straightened, their gazes met. The tip of her tongue darted across her bottom lip, and a shy smile spread her ripe plum lips. Her smile was enough to set any man’s heart racing. He dumped his load on the ground and slowly walked toward her, drinking in her beauty with every step.

He held her angelic face in his hands, falling into her exotic celadon eyes. “You are so gorgeous.” She placed her hand flat over his rune tattoo, her touch drilling a hole to his heart. Their amethysts bathed Morgan’s fingers in lavender light.

He lowered his arms to her waist in a loose clinch. “You are my true destiny. I can’t deny that. I can’t...I won’t live without you.”

Morgan buried her face in his chest, muffling a sob. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes.” Ryan tipped her chin up. “Tomorrow, we’ll decide what to do. Tonight, let’s enjoy our feast...and each other.” He trailed his fingers down her satiny neck until they rested on her rune brand. His brand. His woman.

* * *

Flames caught the crystal icicles dangling from the ceiling, shooting rainbow prisms around the cavern. The glow diffused the natural radiance of the stones and lent warm contentment to their veined, slab dinner table. Morgan pushed her leaf-lined wooden plate of steamed lobster away, wrinkling her nose. No matter how anyone prepared shellfish, she would never acquire a taste for anything that lived in the water. “Not for me. I’m sorry.”

Ryan grimaced teasingly. “I can’t believe you grew up on an island and don’t like shellfish.” He snagged her leftover lobster and began layering it on the other two he’d eaten.

Earlier, in semi-stilted companionship, they’d scrounged the darkening island for wild vegetables and hunted for small game, ever watchful of WindWraith. They spoke no more of their plight. Instead, they regaled each other with stories from their past and their worlds. Morgan lapped up every iota of information about Ryan’s former world, fascinated with twenty-first century advancements, distressed to hear of their obliteration. He told her about electricity, computers, and cars, all casualties of the Horde Wars.

“Why aren’t you married?” Ryan asked unexpectedly. “I thought people of your time married young. Or
were
you married?” His knuckles whitened around his bowl.