Rogue Soul (The Mythean Arcana 3) - Page 73

“I do.” She smiled wider, and the sight sent a jolt of pleasure through him. Good wine or victory in battle usually did that, but never the smile of a woman. Why should he care that she was happier now in the quiet of the forest?

But he did. He hadn’t cared about anyone else’s feelings in years. Maybe ever. But with her, he cared very much, though he didn’t know why.

“Tell me about being a Dryad,” he said, anxious to know more about her.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, and after giving him an appraising glance, spoke of the spirit of the trees and midnight dances through the forest.

Under the light of stars and with revelry sounding in the background, he set about wooing her, coaxing a smile and a laugh that filled his chest with more light and joy. The more she spoke, the more entranced he became. It was something in the air or floating on the wind. But it was her also. She was unlike any woman he’d ever met. She was someone special, and he liked her immensely.

His eyes traced over her face and curves as she spoke, his mind turning toward earthlier pleasures. What would her skin feel like beneath his hands? Would she taste as sweet as she looked? It became difficult to focus on her words as her forest scent wrapped around his mind.

In the distance, the sounds of the revelers increased in volume and tempo. Her words trailed off, and he realized that the heat in his eyes must be apparent.

His cock hardened when he realized that she looked at him with the same interest. She wet her lips and laid her fingertips upon his arm as the noise and energy of the other revelers rolled through the forest, carried on a dark wind.

The heat in his blood spiked, a combination of her touch and something else he’d never felt before. A push of tearing energy and need, something fierce that he recognized might be unnatural. It flowed on the wind, carried from the site of Druantia’s gathering.

With need riding him hard, he pulled her to him. She didn’t resist, wrapping her arms around his neck and fusing her soft mouth to his. His cock jumped and his mind fogged with something that was more than normal lust, but he was too far gone to care. Her hands were frantic on his clothes, ripping and tearing. Through the haze, he realized that she was as caught up as he.

Unconcerned that something foreign and dark had overtaken them, they tore at each other’s clothes as the moon rose high above the sparse scatter of oaks. The noise of the party faded as they grappled in the moonlight, hands sliding over damp skin, hot and frantic for each other.

When he had her naked before him, he hoisted her up and pressed her back against the oak. Her legs wrapped around his waist.

He could barely see her as he thrust into the wet heat of her body, his vision darkened by the unnatural trance that had overcome him. He tried to fight it as he pounded into her. He liked her—he shouldn’t be treating her so roughly, even if her wetness and her cries of passion told him that she liked it.

But he couldn’t throw off the mantle of insanity that was overwhelming him, nor could he fight the pull of her. It stole conscious thought, vision, hearing, and eventually feeling. The glorious feel of her body accepting his began to fade. The joy that he’d taken in the act, in the victory of winning her affection, became hollow. Soon, his mind wasn’t there at all.

He awoke from his befogged state in a thick forest of oak trees, confused, for there had been far fewer trees before. All had been home to the Druid’s sacred mistletoe. The new trees were darker than the others, bigger and stronger, with no mistletoe hanging from their branches.

The sound of revelry had died, and the forest was silent. It was so quiet that he swore the other gods must have returned to Otherworld.

His gaze was drawn to the forest floor. At his feet lay the bloodied body of a beautiful blond Dryad. Yet he looked at her the same way he’d looked at the trees—with only the vaguest interest.

Had he killed her? Perhaps. There was a strangeness in his chest at the thought, but it too was uninteresting. As this night had become. He felt nothing and didn’t realize that it was strange.

Detached, he watched as her blood soaked into the ground and her body grew to form a great oak tree. The roots plunged deep into the black earth, while branches reached skyward as if the tree were desperate to escape the hold of the earth. But even that bit of magic held little relevance to his life, so he picked up his bow and quiver and returned to Otherworld and his duties. He really should be getting back.

Cam’s eyes snapped open, his consciousness returned to Blackmoor and the rock upon which he was chained. Madness tore at the edges of his mind. Ana.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Ana hopped out of Logan’s Range Rover in front of Druantia’s building and looked behind her at Logan. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Sure.” He nodded, then pulled away as soon as she shut the door.

Not too friendly, but he’d saved her ass.

Determined to get to Cam no matter what it took, she headed toward the wooden door of Druantia’s shop. The knob was cold under her hand, and she was grateful to step into the warmth of the shop.

“Can I help you?” Druantia asked as she appeared from behind a tall shelf. “Oh, Ana. I didn’t expect to see you here. How is Camulos?”

“Not good. The gods found us. I don’t know how, but he’s back in Otherworld.”

Interest glowed in Druantia’s eyes, and her mouth curved to an odd smile so fleeting that Ana was sure she imagined it. “That’s awful. Come on to the back, tell me what I can do to help.”

A sigh heaved out of Ana’s lungs. She followed Druantia to the back room, weaving around the little tables and under the archway. The zip of magic that sang across her skin was stronger now, almost painful.

“Ouch. You really upped the power on that spell that protects this room.” She rubbed her arms.

Tags: Linsey Hall The Mythean Arcana Paranormal
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