Wicked Paradise Read Free Page B

the molasses-thick air faster. Knowing her father’s penchant for solving problems before they affected her, she believed he would have done all in his arsenal of magic to change the tide of destiny. She understood why he’d waited to divulge her mission until he had no choice.
    Clasping her satchel and Gwilym’s leather pouch, she rose to her feet. A breeze kissed her face, salty and sultry. Perspiration dotted her temples, dripped between her breasts. She stripped off her stifling overcoat and wadded it into her pack. Morgan shook the twigs and dust from her skirt. The loathsome jagged scars across her lower belly itched from the sweltering air.
    Power rippled beneath the ground, flowed over her feet. It sifted through her fire and air magic, filled her with earthy energy. Pleasantly startled, she let it penetrate, calming and cooling. She felt as if she floated on a fluffy white cloud overlooking a tropical paradise that belonged to her, in her. She dipped in and out of luscious rain forests, fragrant meadows, dazzling waterfalls, all awakening on the air currents left in her wake. Arms outstretched to capture the unusual, welcoming energy, she laughed and spun in a circle.
    The old tales, along with Gwilym’s spoken and unspoken directives quickly plagued her momentary bliss. Unopened library tomes seemed to cram her head, throbbing behind her eyes. Except for the spells, recipes, and notations in the set of Mage’s Book of Secrets passed down from one generation to the next, she never understood the tales and prophecies painstakingly handwritten in the leather-bound journals. Some were so old and jumbled they made no sense. Dejection slumped Morgan’s shoulders, forcing her leaden arms to her side.
    A shallow burrow of ferns in the woods caught her eye. She needed to rest and regain her sensibilities, to temper the magic roiling in the air, softly vibrating beneath her feet, becoming one with her. The island seemed to secrete power, similar to what she’d felt from the Sacred Stones. Pushing aside the lush foliage, she crawled into the viney nest.
    “I may as well tie my wrists behind my back for all the will granted me in this life.” She slapped a dead flower off its stem onto the ground. “No! I will not let it defeat me...not the most powerful sorceress on Avalon!” She wanted to laugh at the incongruity of her situation—she was the only sorceress on this island. Exhausted, she leaned her back against a petrified tree stump. Her eyelids grew heavy in the blistering heat. A horrid memory hung onto the edge of her mind and she refused to name it or give it proper due.
    Her body grew languid, and sleep came fast. The dream arrived quick and persistent...
    Her dream lover guided Morgan over the misty meadow, her back molded to his muscled chest. His fingers danced across her flesh, scorching trails of fire up and down her body. They halted at the cliff’s edge, Avalon’s Sacred Stones holding silent vigil behind them. Molten lust deluged Morgan, leaving her boneless. Mesmerized, she possessed no will to resist the pleasure cascading over her naked body.
    Desperate to feast her sight upon his face, Morgan started to turn in her dream warrior’s embrace, but his arms tightened into iron bands, forcing her to remain immobile. The burning fingers of desire suddenly disappeared, replaced by the scraping itch of ice. Invisible ropes shackled her wrists to her sides, and her power rose defensively inside her. A howling, evil laughter floated up, filled her senses with wicked shards of darkness.
    Oh, hell. This wasn’t her dream lover!
    Readying a spell, she wrenched on her magic. She managed to toss a ball of destructive Druid magic outward, bending it behind her. Her magic faltered, slashing into ineffective embers that evaporated on the humid air.
    She struggled against the unyielding bands, drawing on magic that refused to cooperate. Malevolence seeped through myriad thorn pricks across her skin. An unseen