It took every effort not to swipe away her hair. Quinn clenched his jaw and tried to think of the sound of the waves crashing into the cliffs, anything other than the rage rising within him.
Deirdre’s knowing grin grew. “You’ve been away from your brothers for over a month now. Many things could have changed. Fallon mayhap has found his own woman.”
“Better yet,” Deirdre continued, “let us talk about the men around you now. What would you do in order to save them?”
Quinn’s control snapped. “You touch them, any of them, and I will make your death as painful as I can.”
“I don’t think so. In fact, I know that will never happen. You will be mine, Quinn. Will you make this easy or difficult?”
He would slit his own throat before he became hers, but there was no need to alert her to his last resort. “As I said, my answer is never.”
“William,” Deirdre said with a snap of her fingers.
In the next heartbeat, chaos rained. William launched himself at Ian as Deirdre used her hair to bind Quinn. Arran tried to help but was flung backward with a blast of magic from Deirdre.
Quinn used his claws to slice Deirdre’s hair. As soon as a strand was severed, it mended itself instantly. There was a great roar behind Quinn as Ian was dragged away.
There was a blur of pale blue as Duncan attacked William in order to save his brother. Before Duncan could reach Ian, Broc and six other Warriors raced into the Pit.
Quinn bellowed his rage as Duncan was knocked unconscious and Ian was hauled away. Deirdre’s hair coiled around Quinn’s neck, choking him.
“You’re beginning to make me angry,” Deirdre told him. “Ian is mine now. I will torture him, kill him, and bring him back to life to do it all over again until he turns to my side.”
“Nay.”
“Aye,” she yelled. “I will do it to each one of your men. If that still doesn’t make you willingly come to my bed, I will make you watch as I torture the young Druids I’ve captured.”
She walked toward him and placed her hands on his chest. “I will leave you to think about what I’ve said. The next time I come for you, I suggest you take my offer.”
The moment her hair released him, Quinn staggered backward. Ian was gone, perhaps forever. Duncan’s wrath would know no boundaries, and it was all Quinn’s fault. He shouldn’t have mocked Deirdre.
Across the way Quinn caught sight of Charon watching him. Arran had already reached Duncan and dragged the big Warrior into his and Ian’s cave.
Quinn had never hated himself more than at that moment. Was his own future worth more than the lives of his friends? And God forbid if Deirdre discovered Marcail. What she would do to Marcail would be worse than what she would do to any of the Warriors.
He turned and made his way into the cave, but the crushing weight of what had just happened brought him to his knees. Quinn curled his arms around his head and let out the bellow he’d been holding in.
All the anger, frustration, and resentment came out in his roar. But even that didn’t make him feel better.
When he sensed Marcail’s presense, felt her magic, he doubled over. “Leave me be.”
Marcail could no more walk away from Quinn than she could stop the magic of her ancestors. Her own magic vibrated with the feelings that rolled off Quinn.
She wanted to help him, nay, she
Marcail’s heart bled for the heartache that still echoed in Quinn’s roar. She had never seen someone hurt so much before. It would only get worse once Duncan woke. Just thinking of his angry growl when they had taken Ian made her shiver with dread.
Deirdre thought she was breaking Quinn and the others, but all she was doing was strengthening their resolve to fight her.
Marcail slowly knelt in front of Quinn. Her hand shook as she reached out to him, but not in fear. She shook from the depth of his feelings. She could make him feel better. All she had to do was touch him.
“Quinn,” she whispered and ran her hands over his bare back.
His muscles jerked at her touch, but he didn’t move away. Marcail began to take in his anger and frustration. Whenever she had done this in the past it left her feeling dizzy and sick to her stomach. But now, all she felt was Quinn’s warm black skin and thick muscles beneath her palms.
She closed her eyes when his arms wrapped around her hips and his head rested on her legs. His hair was still damp, and she longed to run her fingers through the wavy strands.
When Quinn’s fingers threaded through her hair she didn’t pull away. He lifted his shoulders and began to straighten, all the while his head touching her stomach, her breasts, and then her chest. Her breathing grew ragged as his hands crept up her back. But it was her heart that threatened to jump from her chest when he pulled her against him. They were pressed together from knees to chest.
Her lips parted of their own accord when she found his face mere breaths from hers. One brawny arm wrapped around her tightly, molding her to his chest that rippled with sinew.
With her body on fire with a need she had never felt before, Marcail thrust her fingers into the cool locks of his hair. The damp, silky strands helped to anchor her against a tide of desire that threatened to engulf her.
That desire drowned out the raging emotions she was taking from Quinn. She watched, fascinated, as his eyes that had been swamped in black instantly changed to pale green.
She didn’t need to look at his skin or hands to know the black had faded and the claws were no longer visible. But the yearning she saw in his eyes only fueled her own.
Marcail whispered his name when his hand cupped the back of her head. As his head lowered, she let her eyes close.
The first brush of his lips on hers stole her breath. She shivered and he brought her tighter against him, if that were possible. She could feel the beating of his heart, hear his harsh breathing.
And then he kissed her again. This time longer, his lips learning hers. She sighed when he licked her, and then his tongue swept into her mouth.
Marcail moaned, her body flooded with heat that centered between her legs at the taste of him. He deepened the kiss until she was clinging to him. Desperate for more. Desperate for him.
Her body was no longer her own. Every touch, every sweep of his tongue against hers made her yearning grow until her body trembled with it.
“My God,” Quinn said.
She blinked up at him, unsure she could use her voice. But he slanted his mouth over hers again. The arm he had locked around her moved to her lower back. He pressed against her and she felt the thick shaft of his arousal.
And God help her, she wanted him. She wanted to feel him, see him, and experience him. Nothing else mattered at the moment but Quinn and the need they shared.
Twelve
Quinn had never tasted anything so sweet as Marcail’s kisses. He hadn’t wanted her near him, but at the first touch of her hand on his back, he had been powerless to push her away.
Now, with her pliant body against him and her soft moans filling his ears as he kissed her, all he wanted to do was make love to her. To sink into her softness, to have her legs wrap around his waist. To hear her scream his name. He ran his hands down her body to her small waist and over her hips that flared ever so invitingly.
But he couldn’t stop kissing her. It had been hundreds of years since he kissed, and he had never had a woman kiss him with as much fervor and need as Marcail.
His cock throbbed with need, and his hands shook as he cupped her buttocks and drew her against him,
