Tavin answered the same questions until he ran out of patience. This was precisely the reason he’d chosen to go his own way. He could tell that the Druids—some of them anyway—were trying to trip him up. Make him contradict himself.

In between questions, he’d sorted the witches’ names. Katerina was married to Arlen, Liliana to Sean. The third witch was Gloria, mother to Liliana. Until recently, she’d resided in 1890s Glasgow. And the blonde demon-witch combo was Sorcha. That last brought a smile to his face. If ever a name were fitting for a witch, Sorcha nailed it.

Matt, a tall slender Druid with dark hair, was still grilling Tavin. He’d known the other man most of his life and didn’t think twice about cutting him off abruptly.

“I’ve answered the same question at least six times. Let me recap what I’ve said, and then if we don’t move on, I’ll be on my way.” Tavin took a tight breath and held it before exhaling noisily. “I have no idea why or how I developed the ability to shapeshift. I never asked for it, and it scared the stuffing out of me the first time it happened. I pecked so many holes in my shirt, I chucked it.

“I heard someone or something—I always assumed it was a goddess, not sure why—tell me I’d been given a gift. Immediately afterward, I was human again.” He angled his head to one side. “I’ve always had more than a healthy dose of curiosity, so the first thing I did was see if I could recreate the transformation. It took me a few tries, but soon enough, I was flying above that grove of hawthorn trees just west of town.”

He shrugged. “I wanted to avoid what I just fell headlong into—interminable questions—so it seemed simpler to move on. No matter what I say or do at this point, some of you will always view me with suspicion at best and outright hatred at worst.”

Arlen screwed his face into a disapproving grimace. “So you exited stage left, leaving the rest of us to rot, eh?”

“You don’t look particularly rotten to me,” Tavin countered. “Hell, you’re the last Druid I ever expected to see wed, yet here you are with a blushing bride.”

“My fault, entirely,” Katerina said with a grin. “I seduced him, and he had to make an honest woman out of me.”

Tavin wrapped the borrowed cloak closer about himself. It was none too warm in the cavern. He longed for the winter clothing he’d stashed in the boathouse back on the pier in town.

“So?” He swept his gaze through the assemblage. “Which will it be?”

“Which will what be?” Arlen stared at him.

“If I rejoin your merry band of outlaws, you have to agree not to question me or dissect my magic hoping you’ll figure out how to shapeshift yourselves.”

“Ha!” The blonde who’d sashayed through time stepped forward. “How do we know you’re not a demon? They’re famous for shapeshifting.”

“You won’t. Not for certain, but maybe it takes on to know one.” Tavin turned his hands palms up and sent an appraising glance that scanned her from head to toe and back again. Damn, she was nicely put together. Only a few inches shorter than him, she had full breasts that pressed against a patched tunic. A long skirt covered her from waist to feet, but he’d bet his last pound note she had an ass to go with her tits. Firm and high and inviting.

A blast of magic hit him from behind, knocking his lascivious thoughts aside. Tavin spun and locked gazes with Sean. “Couldn’t resist checking, eh?” He clamped his jaws together. “Last warning. If any of you can’t take me at face value, accept I’m the Tavin you always knew, I’ll be gone.” He paused for emphasis and crooked two fingers in a come-along gesture. “Going once. Going twice—”

Arlen sliced a hand downward. “No one will challenge you. I’ll see to it. We’ll need every scrap of magic at our disposal in the days to come. Apologies for doubting you, and I’m verra glad you’ve returned.”

It was a nice, neat, politically correct speech. Tavin figured it was the best he could hope for. Time would take care of those who doubted him.

Or not.

The blonde was looking at him, scrutinizing him through narrowed eyes. He turned away. She was hotter than hot, but he’d never had any use for witches. Of course, all the ones he’d run across had been of the Black Magic variety with their curses and nasty, dirty hex bags.

He swallowed a snort. This one was only half witch. He wasn’t certain if her demon portion made her better or worse. He’d never known any demons.

Aye, and I’d be wise to keep it that way.

He caught Arlen’s eye. “I’ll return in a quarter hour. My clothes are back at the pier. I’ll teleport, so it won’t take long.”

Arlen opened his mouth but shut it quickly. He’d probably been about to ask if Tavin were really coming back but decided trust would buy him more than doubt.

Druids had always been self-managing. They remained within the fold because it was warm and nurturing, not because they feared consequences for leaving. Arlen was a decent leader. The Druid before him had been far more heavy-handed.

Times had been different then, though. Bloodier and more brutal.

Tavin walked purposefully toward the cave’s entrance. Before he left it entirely, he leveraged its power to fire his teleport spell. Between two breaths, the dank, dripping boathouse shimmered around him, the scents of mold and saltwater thick and acrid.

He dressed quickly, tossed the cloak over everything, and summoned power to return him to the cavern. Questions bounced from one side of his mind to the other. Naturally, Sean and Arlen would wish to protect their mates. But they should have thought of the ramifications before they married Roskelly witches, even ones who’d chosen White Magic over Black.

Surely, some of the problems in such a union must have occurred to them prior to making a lifelong commitment. Druids lived through several human lifetimes. Witches too. Plenty long enough to wish they’d done things differently.

If they hadn’t mated with witches, they wouldn’t be square in Rhea’s gunsights, wouldn’t be involving other Druids in a dangerous war.

He emerged outside the cavern on purpose. Shameless of him, but he spent a few moments eavesdropping. If his erstwhile kin were going to talk shit about him behind his back, he wanted to know about it.

They weren’t.

The topic of conversation was Rhea Roskelly and how best to lure her to a spot where she’d be vulnerable. Tavin stomped inside, making enough noise they’d know he’d returned. For the next half hour, he listened to one bad idea after the next.

When he couldn’t stand it any longer, he walked toward the center of the group. “She’s not going to fall for anything I’ve heard yet.”

“Ye canna know that,” Arlen protested in Gaelic.

“Aye, but I can,” Tavin replied in kind. “Look what happened to your last scheme. Sean and Liliana almost died, and ye dinna get within spitting distance of the witch.”

“Does that mean you have any better ideas?” Sean’s usually pleasant expression was nowhere in sight, replaced by worried furrows across his forehead.

“Wish I did,” Tavin countered.

“Are you inferring nothing will work?” Liliana tucked a hand beneath Sean’s arm and stood very straight in obvious support of her mate.

“Not what I said.” Tavin raked a hand through his hair, snagging fingers on his braids. Working with a group to develop consensus decisions was a skill, one he’d let lapse while bent over his forge. A spot where he held sole responsibility for his successes—or failures.

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” he muttered so low probably no one heard him. He aimed his next words at Sorcha. “Were you the only unwilling resident in Hell?”

She spat grim laughter. “Of course not, though most were at least resigned to being there. Why?”

“Simple logic. Someone in Hell might want to help us—if we found a way to free them. You got out, so I assume ’tisn’t impossible. The Hell angle is a longshot, but there’s nothing any Roskelly here can do to lure Rhea or any of her dead sisters. They may well materialize, but they’ll have a plan. One that trumps ours. Rather like the one they launched that ended up with Liliana in a whirling-dervish prison and Sean immobilized.”

“I suppose you’re like as not correct about her writing all of us off,” Katerina said. “Particularly after our last go-round where Mother used a glamour to pretend she was me and borrowed my familiar.”

“Aye, and she’s seen enough Druids here of late, none of us would work, either,” Morgan muttered.

“Particularly in light of the two of you”—Gloria stabbed her index finger at Katerina and Liliana—“being married to them. Rhea’s always hated Druids, and now she has even more reason. To her way of thinking, they’ve co-opted witches who rightfully belonged to her.”

“We need a different approach.” Tavin grabbed what was looking like an advantage to pound home his earlier point that they were a long way from anything resembling a solution.

“Doona take this wrong,” the bald, tartan-clad Druid said, “but there’s naught been a dish too many cooks couldna ruin.”

Tavin searched his memory banks for the man’s name and finally came up with Niall. He started to voice agreement, but Arlen beat him to it.

“Hate to admit this,” Arlen was saying, “but you’re like as not correct. When I summoned all of you to a war council, my motives were twofold. I wanted to make certain everyone knew to exercise extreme caution. Remain alert and warded whenever it’s possible.”

He rolled his shoulders back. “I admit to thinking we’d use brute force to storm the fortress, but since none of us know exactly where Rhea is, all that would do is spawn a wild goose chase.

“Though we’d take every precaution, some of us would die. Possibly for naught since Rhea seems to know where we are most of the time.”

“She has spies.” Gloria bit off the words.

Matt pushed his slender shoulders forward, followed by the rest of him, and squared off in front of Arlen. Dark trousers hung off his thin hips, and a too-big plaid lumberman’s shirt was zipped to his chin. “I ken why ye’d be worried about your wife, and her kinswomen. Beyond that, I appreciate your warning to the rest of us. If ye truly have need of us, we’ll stand behind you. ’Tis the Druid way, but I canna see how this is our battle. Not yet, anyway.”

“I disagree.” Morgan’s clear, ringing voice rose above many side conversations. She stepped away from a rocky pillar she’d been leaning against and went on. “Rhea has breached veils that must remain closed, dragging Hell’s minions with her. If she persists, she’ll upset the balance point that allows human life to exist on Earth.”

Morgan closed her teeth over her lower lip and bit until a drop of bright blood welled. “If Earth is overrun with demons—and it could happen if Rhea opens a gateway—we will have missed a critical window to intervene. Now is our time. And our window. If we walk away, dust our hands together, and state it isn’t our problem, we’re lost.”

Something about her tone, rhythmic and hypnotic, caught Tavin’s attention. She’d either seen something in trance or read something in the old scrolls she loved so much. Her next words clinched it.

“Earth may be on its last legs, anyway,” she continued. “The damage done by men has weakened the psychic barrier protecting it from borderworlds and Hell.”

“You sound certain,” Arlen observed. “Are you?”

Morgan nodded until long strands of silver hair escaped her bun. “I wasn’t until Gloria and I sat and compared witch lore with ours. To see the same prophecies in two places was unsettling, but it was why I didn’t argue you out of today’s meeting.

“We all need to work together. Probably the Druids across the English Channel as well, but that’s a task for another day.”

“Try this on,” Arlen said, picking up the mantle of command. “Now that you know to look for subtle anomalies, return to your homes and your lives, but report anything unusual, no matter how small. It could be the leading edge of something much bigger. Sean and I will look for patterns, and Sean”—he eyed the banker who was his second in command—“will do whatever it takes to scry the future.”

“Will ye let us know what ye find?” Matt asked Sean.

“Of course. Assuming visions come when I call them. It doesn’t always work that way, all nice and neat and tied with a bow.”

Tavin debated his next moves. He could return to his forge, but no one was expecting him back until late in the spring. Besides, it flew in the face of working together. “If it’s all the same to you,” he addressed Arlen, “I’ll do a wee bit of scouting. No one pays the slightest attention to a falcon, and I might discover things others would miss.”

“My familiar knew what you were right off,” Gloria pointed out.

He shook his head. “Nay. It merely recognized I wasn’t a bird. That’s why both ravens chivied me to show myself. They’re curious bastards, and I wasn’t interested in them pecking me full of holes, so I gave them what they wanted.”

“Not my point,” Gloria persisted. “You’re vulnerable to anyone who holds magic, not just witch familiars.”

He offered her a rakish grin. “Noted. I’ve managed to elude discovery for the better part of half a century. I’m confident I can maintain my record for a few more weeks. If the birds hadn’t pulled my cover, the rest of you would never have noticed me.”

“I did. Detected you weren’t a bird right off,” Sorcha spoke up. “But I wasn’t in a position to point it out.”

“Thanks. Good to know I’m not exactly invisible to demons.” Breath whistled through his teeth. “If I run across any, I’ll be extra careful.” He didn’t bother adding he’d been so fascinated by her unexpected appearance, he’d tossed caution aside, trading it for a better vantage point.

“You needn’t ask my permission to go scouting”—Arlen inclined his head in Tavin’s direction—“but I appreciate the courtesy. I also welcome you speaking your mind. I sometimes get tunnel vision, and it takes a good, solid whack to bring me around.”

“You’re welcome to stay at my home. It’s a long way back and forth to the Isle of Lewis,” Sean said.

“Thanks. Still live in that renovated castle?”

Sean nodded. “Aye, and it still has thirty rooms, most of them empty.”

Tavin wanted to wait around long enough to see where Sorcha would light, but it was better if he didn’t know. Usually, steering clear of women didn’t pose a problem, but something about her drew him, fascinated him. To avoid dealing with any of it, he slipped out of the cave and set about brewing up a teleport spell. He’d take Sean up on his offer of hospitality, but he’d look around a bit first.

Perhaps he’d get lucky.

The rustle of footsteps made him glance over a shoulder. Sorcha was striding purposefully toward him. No mistaking her intention. She had something to say.

He balanced power between his hands, watching it arc to avoid getting lost in the sway of her hips and bouncing breasts.

“Mind if I come with you?” she asked brightly and crossed her arms beneath her breasts.

Of all questions, he hadn’t expected that one. “Uh, why would you want to?” He winced. It hadn’t been a particularly cordial answer. He’d never valued social skills enough to cultivate them, and his lack was painfully obvious.

She didn’t seem to notice because she shrugged. “Makes sense. We’re the two outsiders here. Besides, my bird likes you. I don’t often question it when it suggests I do something.”

“It told you to follow me out here?”

She nodded. “But I wanted to, or I’d have ignored it.” She laughed, a silvery chime that made him think of summer breezes and bevies of wildflowers. “It would have given me grief, but I’m my own demon—most of the time.” She stood straighter. Her stance accentuated the swell of both breast and hip. “Well? We could at least take a shot at teaming up. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll go back to working alone.”

He dug beneath the surface of her words. Like him, she’d probably spent most of her life—her post-Hell life, anyway—on her own. Maybe it had cost her to approach him.

Just like it cost him to rejoin his Druid kin.

Her smile faded. “Didn’t mean to put you on the spot. It’s okay if you want to think about it. I’ll be at Sean’s too. Once I know where it is. My, erm, sister—” She rolled her aquamarine eyes. “Damn, but that will take some getting used to. Having any family, that is. Anyway, she’ll be there too, along with Liliana.”

“Don’t apologize. You caught me by surprise.” He’d long since relinquished his teleport spell. “I’m used to being alone, but then I expect the same is true for you. Maybe we could work together.” He took a deep breath. “I’m willing to give it a try.” He held out a hand.

She clasped it. Heat from her touch rocketed through him like high-octane fuel. He had to remind himself to let go. The temperature of his face and body had escalated several degrees. He silently blessed the dark night. It would hide the worst of his red face.

“Where do you want to go first?” she asked, seemingly oblivious to the emotions roiling through him.

His fingers still tingled from her handshake. “We’ll start in John O’Groats and work our way south. Might take a couple of days to reach Inverness, and that’s if we don’t turn anything up.”

“Sounds good to me.”

He let magic bubble around him. She fed her own brand of power into his spell, experimenting with blending their ability to maximize it. “We have to start somewhere,” she said briskly. “Better here than when we’re on the run.”

Puzzle pieces clicked together. “Earlier, you said you were escaping a relative. Was it Rhea?”

Sorcha nodded. “Yeah. I’m like a fucking magnet for that bitch. Ever since she discovered I’m half demon, she’s wanted to stake a claim to me. Pfft. Like I’m going to roll over and let that happen.”

He kindled their joint magic. The wharf formed around them almost before he visualized it. “That was fast,” he muttered.

“Blended magic. Works like a champ every time.”

“My car is this way.” He pointed. “How would you know about blended power since you’ve worked alone.”

“Lots of downtime in Hell. Lot of books too. I read. A lot. No one to talk with. No television. No Internet.”

He wanted to ask how she’d escaped, but it was a question for farther down the road. Once they knew one another better.

“Do you know how to drive?”

She nodded. “I’ve had a license a few times. If I’m here long enough, I’ll get another.”

He unlocked the Renault and opened her door. “How do you get around providing identification?”

“You really asked that?” She turned the full force of her gaze on him, and his chest tightened. “Not much magic can’t solve, and that problem is trivial.” Before he could respond, she hopped into the car and closed her door.

He went around to the right side and got behind the wheel. “Has Rhea located you—?”

“Nearly every place I’ve been.” She cut him off, anticipating his question. “Sometimes it’s taken her a while. I was at the last place for almost a year.”

“So, it’s a good bet she’ll show up here.”

Sorcha cupped her chin in an upraised hand. “Maybe. She knows the Druids are out for blood. It might slow her down.”

Or have the opposite effect, Tavin thought. Not that he nurtured anything like a hero complex, but wouldn’t it be convenient if the old bat placed herself close enough for him to behead her with one of the iron blades he kept with him?

Sorcha was on her knees, surveying the back of the old station wagon. “Oooh, look at all those swords. Doesn’t the iron bother you?”

He grinned at her. “’Tis my own special blend. I’m a smith. And I’ve had years to perfect a mixture of metals that’s toxic to dark power but not to me.”

Before he could caution her, she reached out a hand and touched one of the longswords. He waited for her to shriek and draw her hand back. Instead, she turned back around in her seat.

“Excellent. I can use them too.” She hesitated before adding, “I used to worry I was wicked, but here’s one more confirmation I’m not.”

Something about her words, plaintive and determined rolled into one, tugged at his soul. He nosed the car to the highest vantage point in John O’Groats. If there was aught to find here, their magic would locate it.

If nothing showed itself, they’d drive south.

“Thanks.” Her voice was soft.

“For?”

“Giving me a chance. No one trusts demons, and I understand why.”

Her forthright manner touched his heart, but he didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound schmaltzy, so he muttered, “Don’t make me sorry.”

“I’ll do my damnedest.” Peals of throaty laughter filled the car, and soon he was laughing right along with her. He, who’d almost forgotten how to laugh. Maybe their unlikely partnership would work out better than he thought.

So long as I treat it like a partnership and nothing further.

He parked and killed the engine. By the time he scrambled out, she was standing next to the car, power deployed like a beacon as she searched for anything that shouldn’t be there.

When he threaded his magic with hers, the two fit together as if they’d always worked as a team. Alarm bells tolled. Unlike her, he’d worked with plenty of magic wielders, and the joining shouldn’t be this easy.

Did she have ulterior motives?

Something she’d neglected to mention?

Caution tinged with distrust urged him to run as fast and as far as he could, but a much bigger part of him didn’t give a good goddamn what she’d done. Or if she’d done nothing at all beyond being herself. Working alongside her felt good, and he’d ride this horse until it bucked and threw him. Or until he figured things out.

She sent a penetrating look his way. “Everything okay?”

“Couldn’t be better. Let’s examine the area toward the east, and then we’ll have covered things here.”