“Unlike you, Warrior, I doona go looking for a fight everywhere.”
The truth of Rhys’s words hit Phelan like a brick wall. Whatever anger he had evaporated in an instant. The old fury that burned so bright while Deirdre held him captive is what kept him going through each horrible day.
Once he was free, he thought to let it go. He thought he had let it go after Deirdre was killed. Now he realized it had remained, banked, but waiting for something else to fuel him.
Aisley had taken Deirdre’s place. It sickened him. What kind of person was he to have such wrath inside him? Was that why he was always alone? Is that why he had such few friends?
He looked at the two Dragon Kings and the Warrior who were trying to help him. Too late Phelan comprehended that was their intention. Rhys was the only one who had dared to tell him straight.
Phelan retracted his claws and took a step back, and then another. He didn’t deserve friends. He didn’t deserve anything if he treated friendship with threats and rage.
He caught Charon’s worried look. When his friend took a step toward him, Phelan turned on his heel and strode away.
* * *
Charon had seen many sides of Phelan, but this was a new one. The bone-deep, soul-crushing suffering he glimpsed made him want to go after his friend.
But he knew Phelan well enough to know he needed time alone.
“Well. That went splendidly,” Rhys said flatly.
Banan slammed his glass on the table. “Shut up, Rhys.”
“Why? Because I dared what neither of you would think about doing?”
“He’s right,” Charon said. “Rhys did what was necessary. I didna realize—nor do I believe Phelan fully understands—just how much what Aisley has done has affected him. He’s never let anyone in.”
Rhys rose and walked to the door. “He’s a pain in the arse, but he’s a good man.”
“Aye,” Charon agreed. “I worry he’ll close himself off for good now.”
“If he survives this,” Banan said.
Charon knew Phelan. He would survive it—what he was at the end of it was the question.
CHAPTER
FORTY-FOUR
Aisley drew in a ragged, painful breath. There wasn’t a part of her that didn’t scream in agony. She no longer held back the tears, nor could her screams be contained.
She was alone. For the moment. There was no telling when Jason would return, or what new punishment he would inflict on her.
The damp ground she was lying on helped cool her heated skin. Aisley had a cramp in her leg, but she couldn’t move from lying on her side without passing out from the pain. So, she suffered through the cramp.
Jason had healed her ribs. Sort of. They were healed just enough that she couldn’t take a deep breath. Jason had broken and mended other bones in her body, and the suffering had sent her body into overload.
She couldn’t even use her magic to defend herself. Somehow Jason had taken away her ability. She was defenseless, vulnerable.
Helpless.
Her mind drifted to the only place of happiness she had—Phelan. She relived the precious memories to help her get through the worst of the pain.
Aisley would have to be careful though. If Jason realized what she was doing, he could use it against her. Phelan was hers and hers alone. He might hate her now, but she would always remember the taste of his kiss, the feel of his body sliding inside her.
“Ready for more?”
She jerked at the sound of Jason’s voice whispering in her ear. The movement caused agony to explode up her legs from her two broken femurs.
“You didna seriously think of falling asleep and finding a place of calm, did you?” Jason asked. He made a tsking sound as he walked around her.
Aisley took a deep breath and tried to prepare herself for the onslaught of his magic.
Yet, when the first wave barreled into her, she couldn’t hold back the screams.
* * *
Phelan blew out a breath as the voices echoed in the massive great hall of MacLeod Castle. Charon said nothing more about what had happened at Dreagan, and Phelan wanted it that way. It was better that way.
He leaned his head back and laced his fingers over his eyes while Charon and Laura added their account of what had transpired with Aisley.
He didn’t want to relive that moment again. At least not aloud. Phelan was tired of telling others what had happened when he had barely digested the thing himself.
It was no surprise when Isla took Aisley’s side. That is until Ronnie mentioned it was Aisley who had shot Larena. That’s when the hall erupted.
Phelan could feel his soul withering bit by bit. He’d made love to and protected the
“Ronnie said she stopped Dale from beheading Larena,” Isla’s voice said over the others.
He cringed. Would it make Aisley smile to know there were Druids defending her?
Twice now he bit his tongue to keep from telling them he’d seen the pain of her past in her eyes as well as the good inside her. But how could there be good? She was a
But damn his soul, he wanted her. He craved her like the desert craved moisture.
He hungered for her, yearned for her.
Ached for her.
When he could stand it no more, he stood and walked from the castle. The cool sea air rushing against his face helped to calm his racing heart.
He didn’t stop walking along the cliff’s edge until the castle was a speck on the horizon. Only then did he let the full extent of Aisley’s duplicity show.
In less than one heartbeat, he released Zelfor. With a roar he slashed his claws through the thick oak log at his feet. It didn’t make him feel any better. In fact, he felt worse.
He walked farther. When that didn’t help, he raced back to the castle as fast as he could. When the castle was a mile away, he jumped down the cliff, stopping midway. Then he climbed and leaped his way to one of the many caves in the cliffs.
Phelan stood at the entrance and looked out over the sea feeling more alone than ever. The ground was several hundred yards below, and the wind howled as if it knew the confusion inside him.
He was being ripped apart from the inside out. To have finally let someone in, only to be reminded of the treachery and dishonesty of people.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” said a soft, feminine voice behind him.
Phelan whirled around to find a woman of impossible beauty sitting on a rock looking at her nails that were painted a pale lavender with some design on them he couldn’t make out. Her shimmery blue-black hair hung well past her hips. She lifted unusual, swirling silver eyes to his. With her almost translucent skin, he knew she wasn’t mortal.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“You know.” She looked back at her nails before she let out a long sigh and got to her feet. She wore skintight jeans that tucked into black stiletto boots and a willowy shirt of pale purple that he swore he could see her nipples through.
He shook his head to clear it. “I know what?”
“Who I am. Or rather …
