Kiss of Skye (Skye Druids #8)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

London

The soft, steady drizzle painted the air in a gauzy gray, as if the entire city had been placed under a damp veil.

Light clung to the slick pavement in long, silvery streaks while headlights blurred into ghostly halos as traffic crept past. This wasn’t the downpours she was used to back home. This rain seemed almost indifferent.

Rowen didn’t bother to open her umbrella as she walked out of the hotel doors and into the shower to the cab waiting alongside the curb.

It wasn’t exactly cold, but the dampness had teeth, crawling against her bare legs and curling into her toes, making her wish she had worn the pants instead of the dress.

She hurriedly slid into the back seat and gave the driver directions before trying to get comfortable in a vehicle that had held dozens of people that day alone.

Her gaze moved to the windows and the unbroken sheet of pewter sky.

In the twenty-six hours she had been in the city, she hadn’t seen a speck of blue.

It was as if London had forgotten the color.

Revulsion rose quickly. The cobblestone streets, traditional pubs, and medieval architecture didn’t impress her.

She couldn’t care less about the city’s long history and royal landmarks.

It was loud, dirty, and crowded. And if she heard “You’re from across the pond” one more time, she was going to scream.

Rowen loosened fingers that clutched her purse too tightly.

She only had a little more time in the UK before she could return home.

She missed her family. She missed her routine.

She missed her life, though some might call it dull.

It was hers. The quiet, sedate setting was much more her pace, proving once more that she had been the wrong choice for this trip.

Finally, the cab slowed and pulled to the curb.

She climbed out into the rain and tightened the belt of her trench coat before adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder.

It was when she thought to open her umbrella that she realized she had left it in the cab, which was now long gone.

But she didn’t care that she would likely look like a drowned rat.

“Two umbrellas in just over a day. That’s a personal record. Yay, me,” she mumbled to herself.

Rowen turned her attention to the surroundings.

There were many similarities between the UK and America, but there were just as many differences.

For one, the parking lots. Or rather, car parks.

Similar, but different. She sighed and stared at the striking, ancient structure before her.

The white-gray stone matched the other prominent architecture around the city.

One talkative cab driver had explained that it was called Portland stone and had been quarried from the Isle of Portland in Dorset.

She’d learned that it had been used as far back as the Roman era, which made it difficult to determine just how old the construction was.

Rowen sighed as she made for the prominent—and intimidating—building.

She spotted others making their way to a grand entry, complete with a covered portico.

There were no guards stationed outside. Druids didn’t need them to keep those without magic away.

She quickened her steps as much as she dared on the slick sidewalk.

It wasn’t that she was in a hurry to get inside. It was more about getting out of the rain and finding warmth. All she had to do was get through this last night in London, and then she could go home and deliver her report on the London Druids to her group, the Salish Druids.

From the moment Rowen had read the email invite, she had wanted to ignore it.

There had been open communication between the London and Salish Druids going back decades, but no one from the San Juan Islands had ever been invited over.

Granted, they had never invited anyone from London to them either.

Every Druid knew the power London had. They had always been respected.

That respect had gradually turned to fear, though.

At first, it was the small things London did that were overlooked or explained away.

Then the incidents became larger and more frequent, making the Salish Druids sit up and notice.

Others had wanted to travel to the UK, but for some reason, Brenna—the leader of the Salish Druids—had chosen her.

Rowen had attempted to politely refuse, but Brenna wouldn’t take no for an answer.

So, here Rowen was, in a city she loathed, about to enter a viper’s nest.

The heels of Rowen’s boots clicked softly on the pavement as she approached the portico.

She had expected there to be a grand edifice, but the double-domed front doors looked like so many others, going so far as to have a stained-glass fanlight window above the door.

The likenesses ended with the ornate cast-iron knocker and handles, which held a touch of mysticism in the design.

As she got closer, she could see that the stained glass wasn’t exactly like the others.

It was actually a tree of life, with its limbs extending outward and upward, and its roots mimicking the branches.

Once before the closed entrance, she stared at the raven’s head protruding from the door, holding the knocker in its beak.

Ravens were powerful symbols and messengers to Druids.

The birds were linked to wisdom, prophecy, and the connection between the living and the Otherworld.

Moreover, ravens were associated with death and transformation.

Her gaze dropped to the handle that resembled a root.

If she had any doubts about where she was, they vanished.

Rowen grasped the door knocker and quickly rapped twice.

Almost instantly, both doors swung open, and a petite brunette in her early forties greeted her with a toothy smile and eyes just a little too wide-set.

“Rowen,” the woman said, smiling, the corners of her soft brown eyes crinkling.

“We’re so excited to finally have you here.

Please, come in. I’m Ella, and I’ll be showing you around. ”

For a second, Rowen almost turned and bolted.

She didn’t want to go inside. She didn’t want to talk to any of the London Druids.

And she certainly didn’t want to mingle among them, acting as if she liked them.

It would be so easy to turn away, but she couldn’t.

The Salish Druids were counting on her. Returning home without the information they needed would only mean that a replacement would have to come. How could she do that to someone else?

Rowen took a deep breath and, against her better judgment, stepped across the threshold. She paused, almost expecting there to be a loud boom or some kind of response to her entering the building. But maybe she just watched too much TV.

Ella waited expectantly, her smile never wavering. Rowen’s hands were clenched so tightly into fists that she had to forcibly loosen her fingers. She tried to smile, but by the quick furrow of Ella’s brow, Rowen knew she’d missed the mark by a mile. Instead, she turned her attention to the décor.

While the outside of the London Druids’ stately headquarters looked like many other buildings in the city, the inside was something else altogether.

A black and white marble floor lay beneath her feet, and glossy wood paneling covered the walls while a glittering chandelier hung above her.

It all likely cost more than her entire house.

“I can take your coat,” Ella offered after shutting the doors behind her.

Rowen didn’t want to hand it over, in case she wanted to make a hasty exit, but that would be rude.

So, she reluctantly shrugged out of the garment and passed it to the Druid.

That gave her time to look at her new acquaintance.

Ella was on the shorter side, though her four-inch black stilettos brought her to Rowen’s five-foot-six-inch height.

The knee-length, black pencil skirt highlighted Ella’s thin frame, while the royal purple satin shirt with a bow tied at her neck gave her small chest some definition.

“Isn’t that better?” Ella asked with another too-bright smile as she draped Rowen’s trench over an arm. “Do you have any questions before we go in?”

Rowen shook her head and slipped her purse strap over her shoulder. There was still time for her to grab her coat and leave. The urge was strong, but once more, she pushed it aside. “I’m good.”

“I hope your flight yesterday was good. We could’ve made arrangements for someone to show you around the city last night.”

She had assumed they were keeping an eye out for her, but that didn’t lessen her unease. “I found my way around all right.”

“Of course, you did.” Ella laughed, the sound high-pitched and grating.

Rowen suspected they had followed her. She could ask, but what would be the point? The London Druids were used to getting their way. No one refused them. At least, no one who was around to talk about it. She didn’t want them to know how much they unsettled her.

Ella handed Rowen’s coat to someone. “Why don’t we go in? There’s still a little time for me to introduce you to some of the more prominent members before the meeting begins.”

Rowen grudgingly followed her deeper into the foyer.

Then, they went through another set of doors.

She caught a glimpse of more chandeliers.

No bright fluorescents that seared the eyes for these Druids.

Along the walls were paintings in various sizes that looked as if they’d come from multiple time periods.

Along with the wall art were pieces on tables and columns that looked as if they belonged in a museum.

Ella began introductions immediately, dragging Rowen’s attention from the artwork to the people.

There were so many names that it didn’t matter if she repeated them; they were lost in a sea of faces and words in the next breath.

Everyone was dressed impeccably. It made her glad that she had decided to change out of her jeans and follow instructions by wearing a nice dress.

It wasn’t as grand as most of the other women’s attire, but Rowen had never much cared about such things.

“And here is Roger Hughes,” Ella said. “He’s one of…”

Rowen smiled and nodded, but tuned Ella out. The woman kept giving her more information than she needed. It was overcrowding her brain. Rowen couldn’t figure out if it was just Ella’s nature or if there was another reason for it.

Thirty minutes later, they hadn’t made it another two feet when a gong sounded. Instantly, the crowd began to disperse, and conversation dimmed.

“It’s time for the meeting,” Ella said excitedly.

Her reaction was near cult-like, and yet another mark against the organization in Rowen’s eyes.

The group moved as one, slowly making their way through a set of doors into a larger room that was more like an amphitheater filled with rows of chairs.

The ceiling soared so high above her that Rowen couldn’t make out what was painted upon it.

Mammoth columns the color of old bone lined the sides, standing like tall, unmovable guardians.

She saw etchings on them. From afar, they looked like hieroglyphs.

She moved toward the nearest column to get a closer look and saw spirals, knots, and jagged sigils.

She ran her finger along them, tracing a knot.

It wasn’t hieroglyphs. This was the language of the Druids, passed down through the generations.

It didn’t matter where a Druid’s home was. They all knew this language.

Suddenly, Ella gripped Rowen’s arm. She followed Ella’s gaze to see more people streaming in. She was about to turn away when she saw one man apart from the others. Tall, distinguished, and drawing the eye of those around him. Just one more reason to get out quickly.

“Did you see him?” Ella asked breathlessly.

It was the kind of enthusiasm she expected from someone seeing a movie star or a royal. Rowen stopped short of rolling her eyes. “Sorry, no.”

Ella absently touched her hair and adjusted her shirt. “You wouldn’t be so flippant about it if you saw him. He’s the most eligible bachelor in the organization. Everyone wants him.”

Rowen ignored the comment. She didn’t care who had caught Ella’s attention. She was too busy ogling the artwork. The more she saw, the more she was sure some of it had come from a museum.

“Rowen.”

She once more followed Ella as they walked to take their seats. Rowen was beginning to wonder if this was some special ceremony for something only the London Druids celebrated, because it was starting to cross the line from meeting into something else entirely.

Three Druids, two men and a woman, walked onto a stage, and their presence silenced the room in a heartbeat.

Rowen wanted to roll her eyes again. It seemed these Druids really leaned into the fanfare of their power.

The trio was all in the later stages of their lives, and one held an uncanny resemblance to an actor who usually played a villain.

Ella leaned over and whispered, “Those are the elders. I’m sure you’ll wish to speak with them.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Few get that honor. If they agree, you must,” Ella stated sharply, her smile disappearing as displeasure flared in her eyes.

Rowen soon forgot Ella as the elders began to speak.

At first, it was nothing more than talking about the strides the Druids were making around the world.

It was obvious that the three led the organization.

She had heard rumors that London had moved to such a consortium.

Perhaps they had no choice with so many members, but it was unusual not to have a single leader.

More unusual was the sheer size of the assembly. Druids didn’t typically gather in such numbers, so as not to bring attention to themselves. If society were losing its mind over the idea that there might be alien life in the universe, how would it react to learning that magic was real?

Witch hunts, anyone? It was better to keep those without magic in the dark so as not to upset the balance. Because it would. There would be a divide. Those with magic against those without. And there was a lot more of those without.

Suddenly, the elders finished and moved aside. Rowen looked between heads to see the stage as a woman walked up. She stood in silence for a moment and simply smiled.

“I know many of you are anxious for an update about the Skye Druids,” the woman said. “I’m happy to report that our enemies will soon be vanquished.”

Rowen’s blood went cold as Ella clapped happily beside her.