thefts. Once he’d heard that, he found himself giving a promise before he realized it.
There wasn’t much he could do until he found the spell, and then he’d have to do his damnedest to convince Ronnie to let him have it.
“No’ going to happen,” he mumbled.
“What?” a woman beside him asked.
Arran shook his head and shoved the shovel into the ground. Memphaea, his god, wasn’t exactly content, but he had calmed tremendously since Arran arrived at the dig site. At least now Arran didn’t have to worry about his god pushing for his need for blood and death, not with the way Arran was working his body.
His muscles strained, and he pushed himself harder. It felt good to be doing something physical. For too long he’d sat in the castle idle. That wouldn’t happen again.
Magic washed over him, strong and forceful, taking his breath as it did. It was so powerful, it caused him to take a step back.
He stared at the ground, trying to see through the dirt to what was beneath. There was something under the ground, something that had been buried a very long time.
If it was the cargo of magical items lost as it traveled from Edinburgh to London, then there was no telling what they would unearth.
There were things that could potentially harm someone. Or something that, in the wrong hands, could bring about war. None of the Warriors or Druids knew exactly what was in the shipment. Anything could be under the dirt.
Anything.
Arran glanced up and saw Ronnie staring at the ground intently. He narrowed his gaze at her. She cocked her head to the side, as if listening. Her lids began to lower, and then suddenly she was digging faster.
In that instant, Arran knew. Ronnie was the Druid he’d felt. As soon as he realized it, he felt her magic. It pulsed over him stronger than any of the other magic around. It swarmed him, submerging him in the delightful magic that was Ronnie’s alone. He took a step back from the force of it, his body tensing from the effects of her magic.
He’d wanted her before. Now … he needed her.
His body was on fire, and only she could quench the flames. Their gazes clashed when she suddenly looked up. Worry clouded her hazel eyes for a moment. Then she seemed to accept … what? That he was watching her? That he wanted to push her back and take her right there in the dirt in front of everyone, to claim her as his own?
There was no way she could know he’d guessed she was a Druid or that her power was unearthing artifacts. He’d bet most of what she uncovered were magical relics as well.
Everyone thought she was one of the best archeologists because she was lucky in where she excavated, but Arran knew the truth now. It was no wonder she didn’t like it when Pete tried to brag.
“Forget it,” said a man beside him.
Arran turned his head at the sound of the Irish accent. “Forget what?”
“Her. Dr. Reid. Every mon here has tried to get her attention. I don’t think she likes men.”
Arran recalled how she’d looked at him, the flare of interest in her hazel gaze had been unmistakable. “Maybe she just hasna found the right man to show interest in.”
Irish snorted. “Not likely, mate. She’s a cold one. Her only interest is what’s in the ground.”
Arran turned his gaze back to Ronnie to find her kneeling and bent over, looking at something in the ground. Cold? Ronnie was anything but cold. She was passion and fire, and with the right man, she would glow with it.
He’d like to see if he could bring out her passion, and maybe once he found the spell, Arran would take up the challenge. He wanted to find the spell soon, because he wasn’t sure how long he could retain control over the unbendable need that pushed him.
With a shake of his head, he went back to shoveling to work off some of the frustration of his body. Dirt covered his jeans, and he’d long ago given up his shirt. Sweat ran down his back. The sounds of boots stepping in squishy earth along with the
There wasn’t much he could do until he found the spell, and then he’d have to do his damnedest to convince Ronnie to let him have it.
“No’ going to happen,” he mumbled.
“What?” a woman beside him asked.
Arran shook his head and shoved the shovel into the ground. Memphaea, his god, wasn’t exactly content, but he had calmed tremendously since Arran arrived at the dig site. At least now Arran didn’t have to worry about his god pushing for his need for blood and death, not with the way Arran was working his body.
His muscles strained, and he pushed himself harder. It felt good to be doing something physical. For too long he’d sat in the castle idle. That wouldn’t happen again.
Magic washed over him, strong and forceful, taking his breath as it did. It was so powerful, it caused him to take a step back.
He stared at the ground, trying to see through the dirt to what was beneath. There was something under the ground, something that had been buried a very long time.
If it was the cargo of magical items lost as it traveled from Edinburgh to London, then there was no telling what they would unearth.
There were things that could potentially harm someone. Or something that, in the wrong hands, could bring about war. None of the Warriors or Druids knew exactly what was in the shipment. Anything could be under the dirt.
Anything.
Arran glanced up and saw Ronnie staring at the ground intently. He narrowed his gaze at her. She cocked her head to the side, as if listening. Her lids began to lower, and then suddenly she was digging faster.
In that instant, Arran knew. Ronnie was the Druid he’d felt. As soon as he realized it, he felt her magic. It pulsed over him stronger than any of the other magic around. It swarmed him, submerging him in the delightful magic that was Ronnie’s alone. He took a step back from the force of it, his body tensing from the effects of her magic.
He’d wanted her before. Now … he needed her.
His body was on fire, and only she could quench the flames. Their gazes clashed when she suddenly looked up. Worry clouded her hazel eyes for a moment. Then she seemed to accept … what? That he was watching her? That he wanted to push her back and take her right there in the dirt in front of everyone, to claim her as his own?
There was no way she could know he’d guessed she was a Druid or that her power was unearthing artifacts. He’d bet most of what she uncovered were magical relics as well.
Everyone thought she was one of the best archeologists because she was lucky in where she excavated, but Arran knew the truth now. It was no wonder she didn’t like it when Pete tried to brag.
“Forget it,” said a man beside him.
Arran turned his head at the sound of the Irish accent. “Forget what?”
“Her. Dr. Reid. Every mon here has tried to get her attention. I don’t think she likes men.”
Arran recalled how she’d looked at him, the flare of interest in her hazel gaze had been unmistakable. “Maybe she just hasna found the right man to show interest in.”
Irish snorted. “Not likely, mate. She’s a cold one. Her only interest is what’s in the ground.”
Arran turned his gaze back to Ronnie to find her kneeling and bent over, looking at something in the ground. Cold? Ronnie was anything but cold. She was passion and fire, and with the right man, she would glow with it.
He’d like to see if he could bring out her passion, and maybe once he found the spell, Arran would take up the challenge. He wanted to find the spell soon, because he wasn’t sure how long he could retain control over the unbendable need that pushed him.
With a shake of his head, he went back to shoveling to work off some of the frustration of his body. Dirt covered his jeans, and he’d long ago given up his shirt. Sweat ran down his back. The sounds of boots stepping in squishy earth along with the
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