Enchanted Magic Page 9

  “Oh, Baz,” she cried out. “Yes.”

  He inserted his fingers; first one, then the other. Working her, making her ready for him. Her quickening breath was the only warning of her orgasm. He continued to kiss her most intimate area as the walls of her vagina pulsed around his fingers.

  Her scream of pleasure brought with it the power to raise the rose petals off the ground and sent them swirling in the air around them. As she came down from her release, so did the petals, settling lightly on his back. Little, fluttering kisses along his spine and buttocks. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant, and the idea of using magic to enhance their lovemaking made him smile.

  Once again, he sat back on his heels, but this time to position himself between her thighs to take her. She lifted her legs and rested her heels on the mattress to open herself up to him further.

  Sebastian took a mental picture of her like this. Bold-red hair spread around her. Cheeks flushed. Mouth slightly open as she panted and fought to catch her breath. Nipples tight and beaded. The picture of wanton.

  Her glowing eyes met his, and she practically growled as she reached for him.

  He couldn’t wait, and in one smooth thrust, he buried himself to the hilt. Their mingled moans turned him on like nothing ever had before. And he began to move, stoking the fire within. Deepening his thrusts until the only sounds she made were little grunts of pleasure and pleas of “faster” and “harder.”

  His hips pumped in time to his heart, and he thought it was in imminent danger of bursting. His orgasm was building; he felt it in the tightening of his balls. Reaching between them, he used his thumb to bring her to completion. As she shattered in his arms, he thrust one last time and followed her over the edge.

  Chapter 10

  As Mackenzie traversed the pebbled paths of the Drakes’ garden, she turned her face to the sun. The beauty of the fine English day wasn’t lost on her. Unlike her small hometown back in the States, the weather here tended to be cooler and, at times, overcast.

  Because Sebastian had been pulled away first thing this morning to deal with a last-minute business matter, he’d encouraged her to entertain herself for a short time until his return. With a lascivious look, he’d promised they’d find the perfect spot to enjoy their breakfast picnic, going so far as to suggest round four under the open sky.

  Mackenzie smiled and stretched. Her body tingled when she thought about what they’d done last night and again before he’d had to dart off this morning. Making love with Sebastian was all she could’ve hoped for and more.

  Now, as she waited for Baz to finish and join her, she explored the estate’s extensive grounds. “Beautiful,” she murmured to herself. “I could live here forever.” She grinned because now that she was Lady Kilbride, she most likely would.

  At the end of a northbound walkway, tucked behind an overgrowth of trees and rosebushes, she discovered a weathered garden gate with a handful of timeworn symbols carved into the framework. The grass around the entrance had turned to a dingy yellow as if it were on the verge of dying.

  Unfortunately, the gate had a dilapidated lock and required a skeleton key.

  Mackenzie frowned down at the handle. Although her cousin Preston had taught her to pick locks for fun when she was a small child, she hadn’t retained anything except the basics. As rusted as the keyhole looked, she doubted the mechanism inside could be moved without a barrel of lubricant. She wasn’t getting in that way anytime soon.

  “Well, hell.”

  Backing up, she eyed the height of the wall, judging it to be a good eight-feet tall if it was an inch. She could levitate, but if a non-magical human happened to be present and glancing out the window, they’d be in for the shock of their lifetime. Granny Thorne’s cloaking spell could work for that little issue, but then Baz wouldn’t find her.

  Mackenzie grinned at the mental image of him walking right past her.

  Deciding to scale the wall, she focused on a massive oak tree on this side. It would allow her to look like a normal, everyday mortal—albeit a crazy one—climbing a tree, should anyone happen upon her.

  Unfortunately, there were no low-hanging branches to grab onto. With a quick look around, she swirled her hands in the air and created a thick, rope-like vine to aid her.

  “Perfect.”

  As she wrapped her hand around the climber, a shiver of awareness danced along her skin. She almost backed away, but when no immediate vision of the future appeared to her, she shrugged off her unease. In mere seconds, she was at the top of the wall, peering over.

  The sight filled her with a sickening dread.

  The secret garden was nothing like she’d imagined it would be and was nothing but a wasteland of dead foliage. Any grass had long-since shriveled and died, and tree remains were blackened and bare. The only explanation could be a fire had swept through.

  She’d have believed it to be so if it weren’t for a single rosebush flourishing at the center of the destroyed area. The bush was no more than three-feet high, but it had runners along the ground in every direction. Long, fat vines unlike any rosebush she’d ever seen.

  But it was the sight of the roses themselves that chilled her. They were a black so void of light, they looked like mini black holes dotting the landscape, ready to consume anything coming into their orbit.

  Mackenzie shifted her grip on the wall slightly and peeked over the edge, straight down. Even as she watched, the runners grew in length and started climbing the brick wall faster than she would’ve thought possible without magical intervention. The thorns were at least three inches in length. The tips, wicked and threatening.

  She knew she was being fanciful, but so much death and darkness was off-putting.

  “What the bloody hell are you doing?” boomed a furious voice from below her.

  She almost lost her grip on the wall and nearly wet her pants from fright. She’d have grabbed her pounding heart if her position wasn’t so precarious.

  “Dear Goddess, Baz! You nearly gave me heart failure.” She peered down at him and, in doing so, missed the fact the rose runner had reached the top of the wall.

  “Mack, look out!”

  She whipped her head around in time to see the vine poised to shove one of those three-inch spikes directly into her neck. Throwing up a hand to protect herself, she deflected the plant’s trajectory, but not without injury to herself. Her palm now sported a deep gash, and blood flowed freely, dripping down the secret garden’s side of the wall.

  The rosebush wasn’t done with its attack on her person and coiled up, arching like a viper ready to strike.

  “Let go, Mack. I’ll catch you,” Sebastian shouted up. “Now!”

  As the vine stabbed at her a second time, she released her hold on the wall, calling on her air element to slow her descent and not be such a burden to Baz when he caught her. She was exceedingly glad when the wind kicked up. Even with the air as a cushion, Sebastian grunted at the impact.

  He stood her on her feet and gave her a single hard shake. “That garden is forbidden, Mackenzie. Do you hear me? Forbidden.”

  “I’m sorry, Baz.” Never had she witnessed such a strong reaction in another person, and she’d seen everything from fear to fury to murderous rage. Where this overwrought emotion came from was anyone’s guess.

  “You don’t understand the dangers it holds.” The fingers gripping her shoulders dug in on the word “dangers.”

  “Please calm down.” Although she could’ve easily broken his hold with magical force, she realized he needed the physical contact. Not to intimidate, but to stress the importance of his worry.

  She stroked his exposed wrist. “Please.”

  As if he’d woken from a dream, his wide-eyed gaze locked onto where his hands clutched her. His chin jerked as if the sight shocked him, and one by one, Sebastian loosened his fingers. “I’m sorry, Mack. Please forgive me.”

  “There’s no need to apologize. We both got a scare.”

  “Every time I turn m
y back, you find something to get into.” The heavy irritation in his voice was based on his concern for her safety—she was wise enough to recognize that much.

  “I like to explore. It’s one of life’s little pleasures.”

  He lifted her hand to examine the wound. “And this?” he asked dryly. “Is this one of your life’s little pleasures?”

  “Comes with the territory,” she teased. The sight of his pale face as he stared down at the deep cut gave her a little pang of conscience. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m truly sorry.”

  He met her steady gaze, and in his dark, soulful eyes, Mackenzie saw worry.

  “Baz? What is it?”

  Glancing up toward the top of the wall, he grimaced. “I don’t know how you found this place. It’s been cloaked for as long as I can remember.” His grim expression made her nervous. “We shouldn’t be here.”

  “What is this place?”

  “The Garden of Death.”

  “That’s terrifying,” she quipped, only half joking. With a look back at the gate, she noticed the pale glow of the symbols. “Um…” She pointed. “Has that ever happened before?”

  “Fucking hell!”

  “I guess this means it’s time to call Damian?”

  He shot her a dark look as he conjured a cloth to wrap her hand. “Let’s get antiseptic on your wound.”

  As he ushered her toward the manor, he whipped out his phone and dialed. “Dethridge, it’s Sebastian. I think we may have a serious problem.”

  On the other side of the wall, the blood from its victim trailed down the considerable length of the rose climber. When it got to the ground, the liquid re-formed into droplets and ran toward the base of the bush, picking up speed as it neared the center of the garden. From there, it was sucked into the roots and converged to tunnel through the poisoned soil until it connected with the six-by-three Carrara marble casket located ten feet below the ground’s surface.

  The earth rumbled as it received the nutrient it so craved—magic!

  Inside the cold interior of her coffin, the Enchantress rested in a forced stasis. But the moment the blood drops fell upon the sigil etched into the stone lid, she opened her obsidian eyes, waking from her one-hundred-ninety-two-year slumber.

  Isolde remained awake for roughly five minutes before she was forced to close her eyes and drop back into a semi-coma state. Her mind stayed alert, but her body was another matter. Starved as it was, it couldn’t sustain the effort of full life functions.

  Yet.

  A shudder went through her.

  During the brief time she’d had her eyes open moments ago, there was an increased awareness of her surroundings, and she was able to recall the circumstances resulting in her entombment: Isis had borrowed power from the Six to stop Isolde’s rule. But at best, they could only entomb her. Knowing if they killed her, she’d overthrow the Otherworld because there was power in death, too.

  How long she’d been contained, she didn’t know.

  Her eyelashes fluttered enough that she was able to register the stone, inches above her face. She slammed her lids closed again. She sucked in calming breaths and worked to keep the panic from clouding her mind. If she gave into the fear, she’d go completely mad.

  As if you weren’t mad before.

  She ignored the vicious inner voice taunting her. It had always been so. Urging her to do horrific things in the name of feeding it more power. Only once had she been able to circumvent its intentions.

  Damian. Her boy.

  The monster within her had wanted to consume him too, but she’d fought it. She’d found him a safe haven. Or so she hoped. What had happened to him in the time she was gone? What had he been told?

  How much power did he wield?

  She wanted to scream at the inner beast to shut up. Damian was off-limits. He always would be.

  Ah, but the unlimited magic he would have if he was alive could feed us, the voice reminded her. He could save us from this tomb.

  Isolde gripped her skirts, feeling her finger poke through to hit bare skin. She almost laughed at the idea of wearing threadbare clothing. She’d not be caught dead wearing anything but the latest fashion in her reign. But now she was, which meant she’d been imprisoned for quite some time.

  A single tear escaped from the corner of her eye and trailed to her temple.

  The woman. The blood. Thorne blood. Possess her. Live again. Rule again.

  Isolde’s inner demon had used these two-word phrases in a continual loop through her entire incarceration. Most times, she’d been able to sleep or cancel them out with her own thoughts. Today, having tasted the blood of the Thorne witch who’d dared venture too close to the garden, Isolde’s demon was too powerful.

  She’s ripe. Ready to possess. The Psychic Thorne.

  Isolde’s eyes flew open. Yes. That’s what she’d forgotten until now. The chit had felt her pull, and they’d met by the maze. But when had they conversed? For all she knew, it could’ve been an hour or a thousand. A day or fifty years. The memory wasn’t clear.

  But the blood was sweet. So fresh.

  Not old, then. The woman was young still. Enough to be of use to her. As her eyes drifted shut, Isolde envisioned the witch. Wavy hair, as red as the summer sunset, hanging partway down her back. A shapely body, a little on the thin side. Her smile lit up the night, and her eyes… Yes, those bold blue eyes held knowledge. Knowledge of the past, present, future. Knowledge of witchcraft. And so… much… power!

  Tonight, when she sleeps, we can try again.

  The poison of the black rose was in the witch’s veins. Soon enough, she’d be able to gain control. Isolde only had to stay awake. Bide her time until the woman was asleep and easy to influence. Mainly, she had to find her bloody Book of Shadows. Without it, her complete resurrection would be near impossible, and living this way—half alive in a marble casket—was not an option.

  Chapter 11

  Sebastian stood beside Damian outside the gate of the place he’d long-since dubbed the Garden of Death. Due to the black roses and charred wasteland, that’s what it had seemed like to him from the time he was a small child, standing next to his father and absorbing the news of what his duty would be.

  Of course, Damian probably had a different name for his mother’s grave.

  “It pricked her,” he told Damian in a hushed tone. As if saying it where no one else could hear would undo the damage done.

  “What?”

  “A thorn from the other side. It pricked Mack’s skin and drew blood.”

  “Fucking hell.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Sebastian muttered. “What do we do now?”

  “Nothing we can do until Isis decides to answer my summons.” Damian scrubbed his face with his hands.

  Never before had they been this close in their silent accord or any accord for that matter. Never before had Damian allowed Sebastian to see him when he wasn’t in complete control. He almost appeared human in his frustration, and Sebastian liked him a little bit more for letting down his guard.

  “Is it too much to hope Isolde’s learned her lesson? That she might wake and not destroy us all?”

  Damian shifted to grace him with an incredulous look. His expression gave off a distinct “what are you, stupid?” feel. Sebastian didn’t have long to wait for him to follow it up with, “Have you lost your bloody mind, Drake?”

  “Not yet, but it’s a distinct possibility in the near future should something happen to Mack.”

  Damian’s expression softened. “I would feel the same if it were Vivian or Sabrina, I’m sure.”

  “How much time do we have left, do you suppose?”

  “Little. I can feel my mother’s life force on the other side. It’s stronger than it was.” Damian’s brows dipped, and he studied the flickering symbols on the gate’s frame. “Isolde’s pulsing back and forth between sleep and awareness. See here?”

  “Is that what the flickering light means?” Sebastian could’ve
done without knowing even that much. He hated being a warden of the property housing an evil entity. Hated knowing he alone was responsible for stopping anyone from entering the gate or mischievous children from climbing the wall.

  Or in his case, a mischievous wife.

  “What did you tell your wife about this?”

  Sebastian shook his head and took a step to his left. Damian always gave him the willies when he read his damned mind that easily. “I told her the place was forbidden.”

  “Not why?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You should, and soon. Knowledge is power. By keeping her in the dark, you may be hurting her chances of surviving.”

  Sebastian’s stomach plummeted to his knees. “I want to take her away from here.”

  “You can try. But both Sabrina and I felt a resounding boom the moment Mack crossed the boundary to your property. We’d have to test my new theory, but I believe she may be trapped here for now.” Damian linked his hands behind his back and turned from where he’d been engrossed in his study of the symbols. “You know, I saw these same carvings recently.”

  “Where?”

  “On the standing stones in the clearing of Alastair Thorne’s property.”

  “In America?” Sebastian did a double-take and stared at Damian. “How can that be?”

  “I was there to help them regain their magic. It required a ceremony involving the standing stones. When they rose to their original positions above ground, each one contained a few of these symbols. No one pillar had them all like this gate does.”

  “Coincidence, do you suppose?” Sebastian asked, tempted to trace the carvings, but not foolish enough to do so.

  “Nothing is ever a coincidence in the magical world, Drake. You should know that by now.”

  “I guess I do.” He sighed and strode to the oak tree Mackenzie had used to scale the wall. “It was here.”

  Damian joined him and glanced up. “Looks harmless enough to a stranger.”