Her face warmed as she followed the young woman’s gaze. Rowan and Stryker stood apart from the others, engrossed in aprivate conversation. It was how she remembered seeing them for the first time. They always kept to themselves. Even other Fire Wizards were cautious around them. Rowan and Stryker were tall and straight, like mighty oaks. They had powerfully built long legs, muscled, well-toned bodies, and features that looked like they were chiseled out of stone. Her heart rate increased until she feared its thunder could be overheard.
At that exact moment, Rowan glanced in her direction.
Startled, she took another breath. Rational thought argued that he was aware female Wizards were waiting on the stage but had no reason to suspect she was here. If he thought of her at all, he would expect she had died.
Despite her reasoning, his gaze seemed focused on her, turning molten and setting her senses on fire. A tremor of excitement shimmered over her like satin against bare skin. This moment, steeped in history and survival, was difficult to deny, and harder still to resist. She relished the moment, tasting each sensation as her breath quickened.
She gasped and pulled back. Her heart raced and fluttered like a caged bird fighting for release as she let the curtain fall into place. Her fingers clutched the silk folds of her gown to keep them from trembling. When she’d regained a small portion of her composure, she offered a weak smile. “Zephra, could you fetch Anne and Deidre and ask them to bring me some of the cream I was using earlier? It feels like my skin is inflamed. I need something to cool it.”
She’d spoken the truth, but it wasn’t nerves heating her blood—it was desire.
Zephra looked like she wanted to ask Morgan a question. Instead, the young woman did as she was asked and headed toward the dressing chambers to find Anne and Deidre.
Wave after wave of intense emotion crashed against Morgan. There were hidden dangers at the festival. Although maleWizards were forbidden to use their powers, in the heat of passion or jealousy it was not unusual for them to lose control. When that happened, a female or rival male Wizard could be accidentally harmed or killed. She’d only witnessed it once, but the memory was a haunting reminder that the festival was dangerous. They had one chance of rescuing the apprentice Wizards and escaping the island without the male Wizard’s knowledge. Her participation in Bealtaine was the key. If Rowan learned of the plan, he would set the island on fire to stop them.
Calling upon the last reserves of her strength, she drew in a deep breath. She would let the others know the plan was in motion and confirm her intention of bringing Rowan under her spell.
A familiar phrase replayed in her thoughts.
“Easier said than done.”
Chapter Six
Torchlight turned night into day, casting long shadows over the male Wizards assembled below the terraces. Fragrant gardens spread from the foot of the massive marble staircase, past triple-tiered fountains, and down to the shore. The area was transformed into a scene from Shakespeare’sA Midsummer Night’s Dream. There were fairies the size of hummingbirds, unicorns grazing in a meadow of wildflowers, and tents with identifying flags and banners crowding an open field.
Rowan was in hell. The last time he attended one of these Fertility Festivals he’d almost killed a guy. Over a woman. Fortunately, Stryker had come to the rescue and knocked some sense into him. Rowan had searched for the woman, to apologize, but she had vanished. That was the last time he’d attended a Bealtaine festival.
He ground his teeth together. A better use of his time was tracking down a suspected paranormal bottom feeder who was trying to make the killings of male Wizards look like a drug overdose. Detective Lyons had given Rowan the assignment to find those responsible. Rowan thought about turning it down, but when Constantine contacted him with the same assignment, and the same theory that the killer might be attending the Bealtaine Festival, it piqued his interest. People were going to a lot of trouble to make sure he made an appearance.
Just as troubling was that his brother was here. Stryker avoided Bealtaine as much as he did.
Good news: The opening night of Bealtaine was packed with murder suspects, from smiling but overworked caterers and waiters dressed in medieval costumes, to male Wizards waiting for the festival to begin. At least that would keep him busy.
Rowan took a long pull of the wine, made at one of the Talons’ vineyards in Tuscany. It was too sweet for his taste, butthe wine was an essential element of the ritual, and therefore critical. Abstaining would only draw unwanted attention. After all, he was supposed to blend in. That part was easy. He knew he looked like every other sex-starved male Wizard at the festival. For male Wizards, human partners were off limits, and female Wizards were scarce. He’d tried having a relationship with a female vampire, but it ended when they both realized they were each in love with someone else and only making themselves miserable.
He forced down another sip of wine. The icy wine was made from grapes harvested after an early frost and laced with a secret magical potion that dulled a Wizard’s power and made it impossible for him to recognize any of the female Wizards. Both conditions were deemed a safety precaution. Male Wizards were jealous by nature, as well as volatile and unpredictable. Having full use of their powers during the festival added fuel to the fire. A deadly combination in one of his kind.
Stryker, like Rowan, had moved to stand by himself. His brother slid a glance toward him and nodded. Rowan returned the gesture, recognizing the silent meaning. Whatever happened tonight, no one would die at their hands. At least that was their hope. Fire Wizards weren’t known for their restraint.
In theory, each man and woman would have multiple partners over the course of the week, magnifying the female’s chance of becoming pregnant. Because multiple partners were involved, the Grey Council assured male Wizards that it was impossible to know if they had fathered a child. The explanation was meant to absolve male Wizards of any guilt they might feel for potentially fathering a child. The ploy worked for some, but not all. Rowan and Stryker counted themselves amongst those who wanted to connect with any children they might have sired.
Female Wizards, however, knew instinctively who had fathered their child, but were forbidden to disclose theinformation. In addition, with the spells and glamours they cast, a man never knew for sure if he slept with a different woman each night or the same one for the entire festival.
It bothered some—hell, it bothered him. When he was younger, he didn’t care so much about who he bedded. But then he’d met a woman at Bealtaine, learned her name, broken rules to spend time with her after the festival, only to lose track of her when he was pulled away on assignment. He had been told she died. But if that were true, why, even after all these years, did he still feel her presence in the early morning hours before dawn?
Trumpets broke through the quiet hum of conversations. There was a heightened excitement vibrating through the throng of male Wizards crowded below the curtained terrace. No one spoke, and the silence added to the tension. The women had gathered behind a velvet barrier. Rowan wondered if they were as eager for the festival to begin as the men. Or was it duty, not passion, that drove them?
Duty. The word had a bitter aftertaste in Rowan’s mouth. Everything he’d ever done in his life, every decision he’d made, was measured by the Grey Council’s definition of that one word.
He took another swallow of the wine, downing the concoction like a small child might drink a foul-tasting medicine. The wine gave Rowan a headache. When the waiter walked by, he handed over his glass, declining a second.
Tonight, Rowan needed a clear head. He was not on the island for pleasure. He had a job to do. He had to catch a killer.
Besides, he reasoned, he was a late arrival and not likely to be chosen. Female Wizards took the selection process seriously. He felt a twinge of regret and shook the all-too-human emotion away. It must be this place and the wine. Bealtaine shut out the dark realities of the outside world. For the duration of the festival, a male Wizard could have his sexual fantasies fulfilled, experience pleasure and the illusion of love, all withthe knowledge that for seven days he wouldn’t be hunted by those who wanted to extinguish all magical creatures. Was this nameless, faceless organization behind the current Wizard murders?
****
A Celtic melody, sung by a chorus of young women, was carried on the fragrant air. It started low and seductive, blending the voices and the haunting notes of a violin in perfect harmony. All eyes focused on the massive arbor positioned on the edge of the stage. Entwined with roses, daises, lilacs, lavender, and ivy, it marked where female Wizards would pass through to the awaiting male Wizards below.
