Sorcha lost herself in Tavin’s heady scent. The console pressed into her belly as she leaned over it, as close to him as she could manage. His mouth was firm and demanding this time. He kissed her like a man who knew what he wanted.

That he wanted her both thrilled and worried her.

She’d never thought beyond sex. No reason to develop anything deeper, not when her future in any particular place was so uncertain. Plus, she’d outlive any human, and the specter of falling in love only to sit vigil while the man died held zero appeal. Tavin would match her lifespan. Maybe they could tumble into sex and see what came afterward.

The more she considered it, the better she liked the idea.

Her nipples formed peaks where they pressed against his chest, and she trailed her fingertips over his lushly muscled back and shoulders. Desire rose in waves, sweet and intoxicating. The car windows coated with steam.

Tavin lifted his mouth from hers and cupped her face in a hand. “If I kiss you more, we’ll end up in the back of the car. ’Tisn’t how I want things to be, and we have more pressing matters.”

She moved back enough to gaze into his green eyes. They’d darkened to river-washed agates. She could lose herself in those eyes, swim to the bottom and never surface. Still mired in sexual heat, she reached to loosen the string closure on her tunic.

He placed a hand over hers to stop her. “Nay, lass. ’Tisn’t the time.”

“I don’t understand.” Her nub pounded like an extra heart between her legs. She hadn’t come in forever, and here was a man who clearly wanted her. “Won’t take long.”

He shook his head. “That isn’t how I do things. Not a quick grapple where ye lift your skirts and I unzip my breeks.”

Heat rose from her chest and swept over her head. Quick grapples had been plenty good enough for her. She’d misjudged him. Or misread the situation. Maybe both. He might want her, but he didn’t want her enough. Feeling like a slut—and an idiot—she straightened and sat in her seat, facing forward.

“You’re right, of course,” she muttered, not sure what else to say.

He was still facing her. His Gaelic washed over her, rich and musical. “I dinna mean to hurt ye, lassie. Ye’re beautiful, and ever so hard to resist.”

She wanted to demand why he was resisting her, if that were true, but she kept her mouth shut. He wasn’t anything like other men who’d crossed her path. They’d been eager to bury themselves in her body if she encouraged such attention. Men were men, no matter if she found them in the sixteenth century or the twenty-first.

Except, apparently, this one.

Moments dribbled by. Finally, he turned his attention to the car and twisted the key. While the engine warmed, he retrieved the towel and cleared the windows sufficiently to drive. They’d been underway for a few minutes when he asked, “Did I hurt your feelings?” in English.

Her lust had abated, replaced by an antsy, uncomfortable sensation, but it too was fading. “Maybe,” she ventured.

“If I did, I’m sorry,” he went on. “This is more about me than you.” His knuckles whitened where he gripped the wheel. “I’m old, which shouldn’t come as a surprise. Many Druids are. I cavorted through a couple of centuries with a lot of women, mostly human, some not. I don’t know why, any more than I know why the falcon bonded with me, but eventually I kept to myself more and more. Sex was enticing, pleasant, but in the end, it left me feeling empty.”

Sorcha chewed on her lower lip. Should she ask questions? “If you don’t want to answer me, I understand, but how long ago did you, um, decide being alone was preferable?”

He shrugged. “Maybe a hundred years before the falcon showed up. It wasn’t so much a conscious choice as how things ended up. Before the bird, I was a musician, and I never had difficulty filling my days.”

“You’re so attractive, though. Surely women approached you.”

“Not that much.” He glanced her way and smiled. “Women are wise. They know when a man is interested—and available. As I moved into modern times, I assumed they thought I was gay. Never tried to dissuade them.”

“But you kissed me. Why?” She sucked in a breath and held it, hoping hard he wouldn’t say it was to thank her for leading him out of the abyss.

“A good question. Something about you calls to me. I fought it, probably still am.”

“Because I’m half demon?” She exhaled, grimacing at her pointblank question, but she had to know.

“Why not focus on the half witch part?” he countered. “Druids and witches have never made particularly good companions. We don’t trust one another.”

“That may be so,” she replied. “But my demon side is way more repellant than the witchy part in most circles.”

“I bet you never told humans about either one.”

She chuckled. “You’d be right about that. Same way you don’t disclose you’re a Druid, let alone a shapeshifting one.”

“Hell, I even kept that last element secret from my Druid kin,” he reminded her.

“So you did.” She glanced at a passing road sign. “We’re headed for Inverness, right?”

“We are, indeed. I don’t want to trust what we found to telepathy. Too much danger of someone listening in. If demonkind—or Black Witches—know their portals have been discovered, they’ll magic them up and make them a whole lot harder to locate.”

“You’re assuming there are more of them,” she said.

“I am.”

“You never exactly answered my question,” she pressed, and then added, “The one about me being part demon,” to make certain he understood.

He drew his brows together. “I admit it bothers me, but not a lot.”

“So that wasn’t why you didn’t…” She’d been about to say fuck me, but it sounded crass.

“Nay, lassie.” He retreated to Gaelic. “With everything we’re facing, I wouldna have bedded any woman, even Aphrodite herself. Or one of the Sirens.”

“You might not have had a choice with one of them,” she pointed out.

“Maybe so.” He angled a piercing glance her way. “Your turn.”

“My turn for what?” she asked, genuinely confused.

“I admit I’m a wee bit rusty at this, lass, but people get to know one another by trading histories. I told you something about me, so…”

Anxiety tightened her stomach. She’d never gotten close enough to anyone to provide more than superficial details, and most of them had been lies. “’Fraid I don’t have much to tell. Haven’t led a particularly interesting life. Mostly I’ve been on the run from other Roskelly witches.”

“Why didn’t you join up with them? It would have been easier.”

She gave him credit for cutting to the heart of things. Because it was tough to look at him and give voice to what lay in her heart, she stared at her hands, fingers twisted together in her lap.

“Mother was one and damned proud of it. She told me over and over about the Roskellys’ long, checkered past. Things she crowed about made me want to throw up. Granted, she lost more and more of her mind, but she wasn’t any of the things most mothers are. Even the demons were better caregivers than my mother.”

Sorcha hesitated, searching for words. “Leaving Hell wasn’t a snap decision. I planned for years. I knew if they caught me, I’d be punished, and punishments in Hell last forever. When Mother was ranting, she’d urge me to leave so I could locate Rhea. She told me Rhea would value me, love me, take care of me.

“Pfft. I never believed one word. From Mother’s stories, Rhea was far worse than she’d ever dreamed of being, piling atrocities atop one another.”

“So when ye walked out of Hell, or however you escaped, ye dinna search for your kinswomen.”

“Ha!” She snapped off a bitter laugh. “Nope. Didn’t take them long to find me, though. I came out in the 1960s with nothing, not even shoes. I hadn’t expected my casting to work, so I hadn’t brought anything with me. When the gates opened, I was afraid I wouldn’t get a second chance, so I ran through them.”

Tavin whistled. “Daring.”

“Not really. I was more afraid of what the demons would do if they caught me than of anything I’d find on the other side. There are far worse fates than being wet or cold.”

“How long did ye remain in the 1960s, and where’d ye go from there?”

Sorcha smiled. “You’re trying to keep me talking.”

“I admit I like the sound of your voice, but I also want to know as much about you as you’re willing to tell me.”

“Fair enough.” Over the next half hour, she chronicled all the spots she’d landed, from the early 1500s through her latest junket. She didn’t know the current year, but Tavin provided it. Once she began talking, her hesitancy dropped away.

“So you can understand,” she went on, “why I don’t have a string of husbands or even boyfriends. I’ve never known how long I’d remain somewhere.”

“Beyond that,” Tavin supplied, “humans don’t live long enough. I’ve watched many Druids pair up with them, and it never ends well. No one understands why the Druid isn’t aging, and the human dies far too soon.”

“Exactly.” She unclasped her hands and flexed her stiff fingers. “I can’t describe how amazing it is to have someone understand me.”

“If that’s an offhanded way of complimenting me, you’re welcome.”

She glanced down, suddenly shy again. “I’ve talked more about myself in the past hour than in the whole rest of my life.”

“How does it feel?”

“Good. Scary. I feel naked, but somehow you made it safe enough for it to be okay.”

Tavin laughed. “A wee bit ago, ye were ready to lift your skirts for me. How is this different?”

“Sex is easy. It doesn’t touch anything but my body, and only the surface of that.”

“Which is exactly why we stopped.” He pulled the car onto the shoulder. Once it rolled to a halt, he dropped a hand onto her shoulder. “Look at me, lass.”

Something in his voice thrilled her, made her long for a different life, one where she wasn’t perpetually starting over, a hostage of time and circumstances.

“If we make love,” he went on, “’twill happen as part of something larger.”

Understanding widened her eyes. “But I can’t do anything ‘larger.’ What if I have to leave again? Scratch that. I will have to leave, probably in the dead of night with no notice. It precludes commitments I can’t walk away from.”

He nodded slowly. “That was when ye were alone.”

“I’m still alone.”

“Only if ye wish it.” He still spoke Gaelic. “Ye’ve three kinswomen and an untold number of Druids who will back you up if ye choose to fight.”

She placed a hand over the one he still had on her shoulder. “Thank you for believing in me.”

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “I’m not a seer like Sean, but ye and I showed up at almost the exact same time—in the same place. It canna be sheer coincidence. There’s meaning in how events fall together.”

Letting go of her, he eased the Renault back into light traffic.

A sign flashed past announcing Inverness was twenty kilometers away. She considered what he’d said; hope flared bright and painful. She’d been alone forever. So long, it never occurred to her she might be able to stop running from Rhea. Before she got too comfortable, reality intruded, cuffing her briskly. Rhea wasn’t just dangerous. She was vicious and spiteful. If Sorcha remained in close proximity to Gloria, Liliana, and Kat—and all the Druids—her presence would spell significant risk for them.

She blew out a tense breath. Nothing was ever simple, and this was no exception. She’d remain, help the others locate gateways and fight demons—and maybe witches—as long as she could. There’d come a time when she’d have to leave, though. Just like she’d always had to go. Until then, she’d do what she usually did. Be pleasant and cordial.

And unattached.

A part of her felt sad. No Tavin for her. No men beyond the ones she took to her bed, and since Tavin was who she wanted, there’d be no men at all this time around.

“Are we going to Sean’s?” she asked, anxious to steer the conversation away from personal ground.

Tavin nodded and replied in English. “If we’re fortunate, Arlen will be there too. It’s logical. Sean’s place is north of town, where Arlen’s is a few clicks south.” He followed it up with. “Are you all right?”

She looked away, hoping nothing in her expression would give her away. “Fine. Why would you ask?”

He frowned and cast a quick glance her way. “Something changed just now. At least I think it did. You can talk with me, lass. Not much I haven’t heard in my long life.”

“Thank you. I’ve done more talking in this car than in the last fifty years, though. I’m pretty talked-out.”

They finished the last part of the drive in silence, but it felt more companionable than heavy. Thank the goddess she’d come to her senses. There were far worse things than being alone. Knowing someone she cared about was dead, their sole sin knowing her, would be a heavy load to bear. Far harder than jumping through time again.

Sean turned into a long, winding driveway, stopping in front of tall, cast iron gates covered with runic latticework. He rolled down his window and splayed an open palm across a reader plate. The gate creaked open.

“I wondered if I was still on the roster,” Tavin said.

“What roster?”

“All the local Druids are programmed into Sean’s gate system,” Tavin explained. “When he created it, it predated electronics by a good, big bunch. Amazing what a determined Druid can fashion with magic.”

Sorcha shook her head.

“What?” He rolled the window back up, probably because it was still raining like a hell-spawned bitch.

“The most disconcerting part of moving hither and thither in time is getting used to what’s available in each era. There weren’t even cars at my last stop. And if I’d told anyone about computers, they’d have locked me in an asylum.”

“Many differences,” Tavin agreed and drove slowly through manicured gardens. They had to be slathered with magic. Nothing grew this time of year, otherwise.

He turned a sharp corner, and an enormous castle rose before her. Four floors constructed of wood and stone complete with turrets and towers. Breath whistled through her teeth. “Christ! This is Sean’s house?”

“More like his castle.” Tavin laughed. “It was a falling down dump when he bought the place. He’s responsible for all the renovations.”

“But it must have taken enormous amounts of capital,” she protested.

“Sean manages the Druids’ money. One advantage of living a long time is many of us amassed rather significant fortunes. Sean makes certain we have access to our money, but that it remains invisible for tax purposes.”

“Neat trick.”

“It is. He’s always been our magic man when it comes to funds. He says it’s become easier to squirrel things away, what with Internet banking and offshore havens.”

“But the Internet didn’t exist when you left the group,” she pointed out.

“I may have passed through on occasion,” he admitted, looking sheepish. “Just to see how everyone was getting along.”

“You missed them.”

He nodded. “Mayhap. A wee bit. ’Tis our secret.”

“I won’t rat you out.”

“I dinna think ye would, or I’d have held silent.”

She patted his forearm. “You’re a decent man, Tavin Shaw. And I love it when you speak Gaelic.”

He pulled up at the far end of the monstrous building and killed the engine. “Why would that be, lass?”

“It’s so musical, lyrical almost.” She stopped there because the next words out of her mouth would have been it made her want to rip his clothes off. He’d made it clear sex with him came with commitment, and commitment wasn’t in the cards. Not for her.

The castle’s high wooden front door swung open. Arlen, Sean, Morgan, and the three White Witch Roskellys ran through it and down a set of flagstone steps. Tavin pushed his car door open. Sorcha let herself out before he could come around and open her side.

He was the type who would do things like that. Delightfully thoughtful and old-fashioned. Sorcha redirected herself. She liked Tavin. A lot. It wasn’t smart. Her caring might spell his death. According to her mother, Rhea was famous for finding someone’s weakest place and capitalizing on it. If she figured out Sorcha had an Achille’s heel, she’d make the most of it.

And if Rhea got her claws into Tavin, Sorcha would be in deep waters. She’d do almost anything to buy his freedom, including indenturing herself to Black Magic. Protecting Tavin—and herself—from Rhea’s manipulations shot to the very top of her list. The best way to watch out for him was to clip their growing attraction off at its roots.

“We didn’t expect you back for days.” Gloria strode purposefully to her side.

“What happened?” Liliana asked.

“We’d all like to know,” Arlen chimed in.

“A lot,” Tavin replied. “I’d feel better talking inside, behind staunch wards.”

“Of course.” Sean nodded sharply. “And perhaps over a bottle of spirits and some fresh bread.”

“We can do better than that.” Liliana prodded her mate.

He kissed her cheek. “Henpeck away, léannan. I love it. And you.”

Everybody broke out laughing. They trooped up the steps and inside, still chuckling. Sorcha tried not to stare as the castle’s interior spread before her. She’d never been inside a home as grand as this one. Beyond being unbelievably huge, it was furnished with priceless antiques. From shiny, carved wooden furniture to crystal and silver artifacts and bronze sculptures. Oil paintings and tapestries lined whitewashed walls. Thick carpets graced hardwood floors.

“We can find you some clothes,” Gloria told her.

“Maybe after we’ve talked,” Sorcha replied.

Gloria furled one red brow. “That serious, eh? Makes sense since the two of you beat a path back here. We only arrived an hour ago ourselves.”

They ended up in a formal dining room. Paintings of Druids engaged in battle covered the walls. She took a seat at a mahogany table that could have accommodated two dozen. Food materialized from somewhere. She was so busy keeping her mouth from gaping open, she wasn’t paying attention to much of anything else.

She’d known wealth like this existed, but never seen it on display.

Magic rose. She wove hers in with everyone else’s until they were enclosed in thick wards.

“All right.” Arlen nodded at Tavin. “What happened?”

“We sensed a wrong spot from that vantage point above the wharf in John O’Groats and went to investigate…”

By the time he was done talking a quarter hour later, with a few additions from her, everyone wore worried expressions.

“You’re damned lucky to be alive,” Arlen sputtered. “Where’s your bird?”

As if it had been an invitation to all of them, the familiars took shape and paraded up and down the long table cawing and cooing. Sorcha held out an arm, and her raven hopped on, using it as a ramp to her shoulder.

“There has to be a way to close the gateways,” Tavin said.

“Aye, but if we shut one, they’ll hurry to obscure the others,” Arlen pointed out.

“Assuming this wasn’t the only portal, we need to locate as many as we can find, first,” Sean agreed. “Then we coordinate an attack. You’re certain they didn’t exist eight years in the past?”

“This one didn’t,” Sorcha replied.

“Good point.” Tavin sent an approving glance her way. It warmed her and made her long for the impossible: a life where she wasn’t perpetually on the run.

“These gateways, they’re probably not only in Scotland and the remainder of the UK,” Morgan said.

Arlen nodded. “Aye. I’ll alert the Arch Druid in Europe. Predicated on what he finds, we may move our search farther out.”

“Let’s hope he finds nothing.” Katerina’s voice was lined with concern.

“Meanwhile, we’ll create small teams—not more than two or three—and have them scour Scotland,” Arlen said.

“I’ll take care of that part.” Sean nodded briskly. “I have encrypted ways of reaching most of us.” He sent a pointed look in Tavin’s direction. “So long as you’ve surfaced, do you have even the slightest interest in how your funds are doing?”

“None.” Tavin grinned. “I’ve trusted you to take care of them for a long time. Naught about that has changed.”

Sorcha was enjoying being part of a group of mages. The only other place she’d been where she wasn’t the only magic-wielder was Hell, and it scarcely counted.

Don’t enjoy any of this too much, she cautioned herself.

From long habit, she sent power in a full arc, searching for what shouldn’t be there. Her first scan was benign, but the warding snagged most of its power. “Excuse me for a moment,” she said and stood.

“Naught can get inside.” Sean’s words were reassuring, but she hadn’t made it this far by trusting anything beyond her own magic.

“What about that demon?” Gloria speared him with her keen gaze.

“I got sloppy,” he admitted. “Fixed the breach.”

“You hope you did,” Arlen muttered.

Sorcha had heard enough. She stepped through the warding, her raven in its customary spot on her shoulder, and deployed seeking magic one more time. Every direction but one pinged cleanly off her spell. She returned to it again. Before she’d probed deeper, Gloria joined her. “Where?” she asked, her words tense.

Sorcha jerked her chin at the offending spot.

Gloria threaded magic in with Sorcha’s, and they explored the place again. “What do you think?” she asked her sister.

Gloria shook a fisted hand at the air. “Several things. Sean did stymie prying ears, but that’s Rhea as sure as I’m standing here, doing her damnedest to break through.”

“From where?”

“Who the hell knows.” Gloria’s nostrils flared with disgust. “She could be elsewhere in time, or on a borderworld, or entertaining Satan’s armies in Hell.”

Sorcha turned to face her kinswoman. “Why’d she target us? Beyond the obvious shared blood, what’s in it for her?”

“What else?” Gloria asked bitterly. “Making us miserable. It’s what she lives for. You never got a chance to get to know her. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same. Come on. Let’s find you something to wear.”

The other raven shimmered into visibility, talons curled around Gloria’s shoulder.

Sorcha trooped after the other witch, her mind busy. “You make her sound like a demon. They’re the same, feeding off fear and pain and desolation.”

“Yes. Everything powered with Black Magic has that in common.” Gloria stopped at the top of a flight of carpeted stairs. “You’ve never had any instruction in magic, have you?”

Sorcha shook her head.

“The goddess finally dropped you in the right spot. We’ll begin to remedy that today. I have a feeling you’ll be a quick study.”

“Nothing wrong with my magic.” Sorcha battled defensiveness.

“Nothing at all,” Gloria agreed. “It just needs a spot of honing. Don’t get your feathers ruffled, missy.” A door to their right flew open, and Gloria marched through.

Sorcha joined her in front of several generous armoire cabinets. She pulled one open, and clothing all but spilled out. Woolens and silks and rayons in rich, vibrant colors. The raven cawed and flew to a low table, perching on it. Gloria’s familiar joined it, and the birds proceeded to preen their glistening black feathers.

“But these are all too nice,” Sorcha protested, running her fingers over the lush fabrics.

“Nonsense. You can’t wander about in clothing from a bygone era. Dig in and find a few outfits. No one else is using them. I’ll hunt down several pairs of shoes. Something is bound to fit.” Turning aside, she began rooting through a nearby dresser.

Tentative at first, Sorcha pulled garments from several cabinets. The fabrics felt heavenly against her skin as she tried things on, adding her selections to a small pile of items she wanted to keep.

It would be tough—very tough—not to grow far too comfortable here, she warned herself. But somehow, she couldn’t make herself worry enough to refuse the garments.

Or Gloria’s brusque kindness.

Just this once, she told herself. Just this once.

It might be a mistake, but it was one she could recover from.

She hoped.

Sorcha cleared her mind. No point worrying about an uncertain future. She’d done a damned fine job of living for today, and she’d keep right on keeping on. Until it didn’t work for her any longer.