Wicked Paradise (15 page)

He sucked in shallow breaths of fetid air, focusing on the essence of evil enshrouding him. The air element was prominent and stronger in WindWraith than any other Fomorian he’d encountered. The increasing tangible mix of elemental fire stolen from Ryan and Morgan made an impact, though. Ryan concentrated on untangling the black magic thread by thread. It was easier to kill a powerful Fomorian if you weakened its magic before the killing blow. First, he needed to know what that magic encompassed.

“Why per chance do you believe it is your body I desire?” The feeble, broken voice of a man who hadn’t spoken due to a long coma slinked into Ryan’s mind.

Shock roared through him, causing him to bang his forehead against the wavering shroud. Fireworks exploded in his head, blinding him. Quickly, Ryan shuttered his thoughts, but he was unable to banish the sinister specter pressing into his brain in his moment of weakness.

“You can suck on me all you want, but you’ll never be strong enough to possess me.” Ryan’s vocal cords had frozen, but he placed emphasis on the thought in his mind—using the same communication method the Fomorian practiced.

“You have the strength of two men, the strong body I desire. You are the body that will carry me as a king into realms I long to visit. Nevertheless, you are not the single source of food on this island. Nor the sole body,” WindWraith replied, his voice smoother, an arrogant sneer now evident.

“What realms? Not that you can escape this island.”

“Are you certain of your convictions? Mayhap you fail to grasp the methods to escape the island, eh? I have endured a millennium learning the secrets of this land, jarring the locks on the doors, absorbing the wellspring of elements. Waiting for one like you.”

“So you’ve found a way to escape. You can pass through the crystal barrier. Big fucking deal. Where will you go? Back to Avalon? Like there’s any magic left for you. You’ll go back there, snack on the few remaining sorcerers, then die because you won’t have enough magical energy to sustain your body.” Fomorians didn’t necessarily die without access to magic, but Ryan was baiting WindWraith, trying to get it to cough up its plans.

“Your delusions are amusing. I might fancy your enticing body after all.” WindWraith brushed a hand over Ryan’s growing erection, wrapping airy strands around it.

Ryan stifled a groan, forced his anger to freeze his arousal. False desire trickled into him as WindWraith stroked him up and down, hard and gentle, slow and fast. Ryan chomped down on his bottom lip, tasted blood in his mouth. He refused to give in to the son of a bitch.

“Your world calls to me,” the Fomorian intoned. “I believe your people will welcome me with great fanfare when
you
return to them.”

He sucked in thick air, choked on it, fought the blood pounding in his groin. WindWraith’s relentless seduction continued, damaging every iota of his control. “You have no ties to my world. You’ll never get there in my body.”

The hand stilled on Ryan. “How do you suppose you wound up on my island? Do you not fancy that this land has ties to both your world and the world of your lovely sorceress?”

Ryan’s heart thundered in his ears. The evil protrusion clamped tight around his erection. “How will you get to my world?” The thought came out strangled. Blood coated his mouth as he clenched his teeth and bit the inside of his cheek. He focused on the question, needing to know the answer so desperately he’d sacrifice his dignity for it.

A punch to Ryan’s gut knocked what little air he managed to consume out in an explosion of breath. Pain jarred through his torso, and he began hyperventilating, sucking in tar thick air. He waded into the morass of oblivion, fighting off the darkness threatening to murder his last fragile breath. He concentrated on the magic seeping into him to slow his racing heart. The Fomorian’s stinging, pulsating magic replaced his dwindling fire element. It leached into his power’s wellspring, and he latched onto a nucleus of exposed magic, quickly registering WindWraith’s magical footprint in his mind. From that trace, he knew without a ghost of a doubt that WindWraith wasn’t strong enough to subsume him. Relief kick-started a stream of confident endorphins in his blood stream.

The coffin of water and lava squeezed him, entered his pores. His heartbeat slowed, skipped a beat, then another, nearly stopping. Ryan flirted with total incapacitation, painfully struggling to hold onto a smidgen of elemental magic regenerating inside him. An eternal void beckoned. Just as he was about to grasp it, his cement coffin began disintegrating. Sultry air zoomed over him, more refreshing than any cool sea breeze, and he heaved it in.

Flung awake, Ryan found himself lying on the grass where he’d fallen asleep. The lingering effects of WindWraith’s virtual rape left him weak, sore, soaked with sweat. The sun rising in the west burned the last stars to ash in the brightening sky.

Wind howled and screamed around Ryan. Cloudy wind blustered within the trees and plants, surrounding him. Not attempting to move closer, WindWraith encircled him from a few feet away, a ghostly form shaped like a freakish giant of a man. Ryan bounded up, steadying his rubbery legs against a tree trunk. He erected a thin fortress around himself. Drawing from the residual magic, he sprinkled starfire on WindWraith and lumbered through the splintering cloud into the jungle.

Strength returned to his legs and he eased into a slow jog. With quick glances over his shoulder, he saw small blobs of WindWraith following from a distance, forming into the shape of a wolf. The spotted wolf rushed up on him, growling and nipping at Ryan’s heels, then backed off for another rush forward.

Ryan raced north of the grotto toward the eastern shore, the closest cliffside he knew held crystals buried within it. The area around that particular cliff had supplied his biggest score of brilliant gems now lining the grotto’s perimeter.

The jungle lashed out at him, and he pummeled the dense overgrowth. WindWraith grew farther behind the closer Ryan approached the cliff. By the time he stumbled and rolled down the shallow end of the grassy, rocky facade, WindWraith had disappeared. Relief swept over his drained body. He continued his trek down the cliff until he spied the edges of a depression partially hidden by boulders and a hodgepodge of plants. Energy sizzled in the air, flooded him with adrenaline, and buzzed in his eardrums. He shoved aside palmettos and tall grasses to reveal a cave entrance. Faint light glowed around a bend in the dark tunnel, the source of the intense energy hissing around the opening.

“This wasn’t here last week,” he said, his throat scratchy. He sank onto the hard-packed dirt inside the cave opening, completely hidden from outside view. He slumped against the tunnel wall, his mind spinning in excited circles.

Rubbing his jaw, he studied the cave entrance. Did the demon cause the earthquake? Was that what he meant by jarring the island? Were the earthquakes breaking down the crystal barrier around the island?

“If he escapes, that SOB could annihilate every human and Fomorian left in the world.” A slow grin spread Ryan’s mouth wide. No question about it now. The demon was more powerful than any other he’d encountered. It had the vital magic Ryan could use against its brethren back home. He knew WindWraith was exactly what his people needed to shift the power to them.

The hardened lava felt almost pliable against his back compared to WindWraith’s steely body bag in his vision. He squeezed his eyes closed, shutting out the horrifying nightmare, reveling in the disclosure the idiot Fomorian unleashed in Ryan’s mind.

Once he investigated the cave, he needed to head back to the grotto. To Morgan. He wanted to see and touch her so badly. His body buzzed with the need to hold her, to make sure she was safe, alive, and real.

They had to take WindWraith down soon, or there was no telling what torture the creature had in store for them. “I need your magic, Morgan.” Using his T-shirt, Ryan scrubbed the sweat and dirt off his face. “Once I draw that prick to me, I’ll need her to weaken it and hold it in thrall while I...” He chomped down on his tongue. The first rule of demon hunting: keep your thoughts to yourself and shield your mind.

“Bring it on, bastard.” He slammed his right fist into his left palm.

Chapter 16

“Mor-gan.” A forlorn voice whispered in Morgan’s head. “Morgan!” The urgent wail chased her out of a fitful sleep.

Jerking upright, she shivered in the damp cave. She slipped the fur around her and eased out of bed. Embers barely glowed in the fire ring, and she rekindled the fire, trying to identify the suffering and loneliness riding the air. Was Ryan hurt? WindWraith playing games? A dream or her Sight? It was difficult to discern on this island.

Morgan repacked food and medicinal herbs in her satchel. Her fingers grazed the amulet buried on the bottom. She drew the pendant out, feathered her fingers along the silver and leather braid. A twin to Ryan’s amulet, it had identical rune marks, the amethyst created from the same cut and dye. She touched her lips to the stone, and then slung the cord around her neck, tucking it beneath her tunic. “You’re never coming off. I can’t lose you.” The pendant represented hope.

In long-legged strides, she left the cave, buckling her dagger belt around her waist. She listened intently for the voice on the air, discarding the various sounds of the awakening jungle. Determined, she jogged along the grassy rim of the pond to the grotto’s hidden doorway, the morning’s dew not getting a chance to dampen her boots.

“Hello.” The childlike voice floated like a butterfly in her head.

Hairs rose on the back of Morgan’s neck. Was a child on the island? Fighting branches and brambles, she nudged through the obscure opening to the grotto, shoving her way to the other side. Absently, she dashed at leaves stuck in her braided hair. Her fear of the woods and charging animals left a vague jitter in her belly.

The frightened voice called again. Hesitating no longer, she raced into the jungle toward the sound, barely aware of the path the jungle cleared for her, easing her passage. The awakening island’s life force energized her blood, fed her sure steps into the woodsy depths.

Muggy air grew more oppressive the farther into the jungle she ran, pungent and syrupy on her tongue. Acrid grasses, mosses, and a bevy of floral fragrances besieged Morgan’s nose. A mix of ripened pineapple and bananas set her stomach to growling. The ripe vegetation and the land beneath her feet felt alive, thriving with vitality and magic. Latent earthy energy pervaded the air. The ground vibrated with it. Flora and fauna swayed rhythmically. Her elemental powers had heightened and her bizarre ties to the sentient island were strengthening. Regardless, from the moment she left the protective grotto, she felt WindWraith steal her magic, drip by drip.

Morgan halted and rubbed her arms. Despite the morning’s growing heat, cool island power crept beneath her skin, chipped away at her fear. Did she really derive power from the island, or did someone or something play tricks upon her? She had no desire to test it with magic and alert WindWraith. Peacefulness settled over her, her taut muscles relaxing as she rushed forward, listening intently for the beckoning voice.

Chattering animals distracted her. Parrots trilled in answer, warning her. Morgan saw no living beings, only the dynamic, multihued jungle. She hopped across a narrow brook. Clear water bubbled over smooth river stones before it switchbacked deeper into the jungle. Sweat already trickled down her temples. The pesky raven pair circled overhead, cawing at her as if to warn her back to the grotto.

Morgan froze and clasped her throat. Musty soil and fauna aromas created mayhem with her senses. An animal chittered to her left, and she spun toward it. A monkey screeched to her right. A large animal crashed in the bushes and howled behind her. She whirled to face it. Nothing. Sounds encompassed her, taunting, beguiling. Fear clawed at her, ratcheting up the drumming of her heart against her ribcage. Mentally reaching for her powers, she prepared to unleash it at the least provocation.

“Hello! Morgan!” the voice cried to her left.

Cold perspiration coated her skin. She continued forward, pushing aside thick layers of fronds and vines, still unable to drive a hole through the jungle maze. Circling the small enclosure, she tried to force an opening in the greenery from one spot to another, but the jungle trapped her. Even the path that led her to the clearing had disappeared into an impenetrable wall of vegetation. Overwhelming thoughts paralyzed her as she stood stone still in the center of her verdant cage.

The island’s power fed her magic, oozed energy into her core. Her magic became a living entity, without her drawing upon it. Exhilaration pumped through her, and she tussled with air and earthen energy that pleaded for liberation. Desperate, she used her powers to demolish her fear and focused on the new earthen energy churning into her elemental magic. Could she use it to break out of her jungle prison?

An animal roared, a strangled lion sound, on the other side of her prison. So near, she smelled the beast’s odor, thick and sour on the stagnant air. It smashed down bushes trying to tear apart the living green barricade. Although she sensed its manic hunger, it remained invisible to her. Old nightmares escaped the closed pockets of her mind. The scars on her stomach stung in remembrance. The animal rammed the hedges hard and fast. It stopped and bellowed its anger, and Morgan feared it gauged its strength to tear the hedge into slivers. Again, the beast butted into the enclosure. Plants ripped from the ground and the animal uprooted a sapling.

Her heart roaring in her ears, she scanned her cage for a tree to climb if needed. “Hells fire,” she whispered. The sky held no place to hide either.

She yanked out her dagger and readied it in her right hand. The animal’s vicious growls and booming crashes into the fence seized hold of Morgan’s fear. Immobilized, she felt another fresh flush of earthy magic float up from the ground. A beefy, thorny vine fluttered and popped free of the hedge near the spot the animal battered. Morgan held out her left hand and sent a billow of air toward the vine. Another vine snaked out of the ground and joined the first one. The vines slithered over the hedge. The creature’s angry roars turned into squeals of pain. Eyes closed, Morgan envisioned the vines squeezing the beast, thorns tearing into its flesh. Blood fed the vines and they roped the animal into submission, tying it to thick branches along the green fence.