Chapter Thirty-Three
A veil of muted golden light draped over Rowan as green and white images glowed beyond his reach.
He floated close to the surface of awareness as though partially submerged in a tub of warm water.
Even the gunshot wound on his shoulder had retreated to a dull throb.
If he was dead, maybe this was the fate of soul-less Wizards.
So far, not so bad, unless you counted the sulfur smell and the fact his body felt like someone had used it for target practice.
The other reality was that he existed in the in-between time that had gripped his brother before he shapeshifted into his dragon form.
Pain, not from Rowan’s wounds but the one throbbing from the empty place in his heart, flamed over him.
Could Stryker still recognize him? Rowan knew so little about what Stryker had become.
He knew only that his brother had the ability to shapeshift into a dragon form and had the power of invisibility.
Those with these powers were called Dragon Wizards but had not been seen since the war between Dragons and Wizards.
Would Rowan evolve into a Dragon Wizard as well and seek vengeance on the magical community?
Better if he was dead.
He focused on the possibility Morgan had discovered a way to heal him, and he tried to remember the last events before he lost consciousness at Sorsha’s house.
He remembered finding out who was processing the Oculist stones and poisoning Wizards. The files in Zacharias’s office supported the man’s plan to start an old-fashioned Middle Ages style genocide, in which those the Talons deemed unworthy would be eradicated.
The files also revealed that Zacharias’s deceased wife was a Water Wizard, and they’d had a college-aged daughter, but there was no mention of whether she had inherited any powers.
Perhaps Zacharias felt he had had to comply with Vlad and the Talons to protect his daughter.
She might not have powers, but half-breeds were considered an abomination by both the Talons and the hard-core members of the Grey Council.
The mystery of who was behind the male Wizard deaths was solved.
The next was finding who had murdered Morgan’s sister Wizards on the island.
That one could prove even more difficult—and a moot point if what he suspected was actually happening.
He had to face the fact that the most logical reason he was still alive was his connection to dragons.
If true, that meant he would likely share the same fate as his brother.
Stryker had also lingered in a dreamlike sleep before he’d turned. Was that what was happening to him?
Was this the in-between time before you lost your soul but not your body?
“He’s awake.” Voices, soft and feminine, drifted in the air around him.
But he wasn’t ready! He wondered if that was always the complaint when a person knew they were dying.
He started to rise.
Strong hands pushed him back down into liquid warmth.
“Do not move.” The voice belonged to Morgan.
He ruled out being dead. If this were the afterlife, Morgan wouldn’t be with him in the same dark abyss.
She’d be in the light. The other option hung over him like a smothering shroud.
“Am I…a…” His voice felt raw. He worked through the pain.
“Have I turned?” Her image wavered in the golden haze, preventing him from seeing her clearly.
Something blocked his vision. He blinked and felt a light fabric over his eyes.
Panic rose within him. “Why are my eyes covered? What’s wrong?”
“We shall find out soon.” Her words didn’t fill him with warm fuzziness.
“What’s wrong?” he repeated.
Morgan pulled his hands away from his face and began removing the bandages from his eyes. “Cassandra wants you to be still while she examines you. Can you do that for me?”
She was talking to him like a small child.
Maybe that was a good sign. He didn’t sense she feared him.
Of course, she hadn’t feared his brother, either.
Rowan wished he hadn’t remembered that little detail.
As the last bandage was removed, light streamed into the small quarters and he squinted against the sunshine, waiting for his eyes to adjust, and noticed two things right away.
The first was that he was sitting in a metal tub of mud, and the second was that he was inside a gypsy-style wagon.
“Holy shit.”
The walls curved in an arch above him. Murals of life in a medieval farming village swept over the bright yellow walls.
An open cupboard displaying pottery and cooking utensils was attached on the wall to his right, while a bed covered with blankets in patchworked prints of purples, reds and greens was tucked against the wall to his left.
Completing the feeling of an otherworldly experience was the woman standing before him.
An attractive, petite woman, no more than four feet tall, dressed in a gypsy costume and surrounded by a green aura, moved closer to him. She looked familiar. Where had he seen her? Oh, yes. Vlad’s island…and she was a Troll.
He gripped the sides of the tub and turned toward Morgan. “You brought me to a Troll healer? They don’t heal my kind, they kill us.”
A voice entered his thoughts, pushing past the barriers as though they were made of tissue paper. “Ease your concern. My name is Cassandra, and you are with us now, and safe. We mean you no harm.”
“Get the hell out of my head.”
The woman pressed her lips together. “Does he always swear so much?”
Morgan merely nodded and smiled.
Her reaction annoyed him, but he kept his comments to himself. The female Troll had healed him, and he was behaving ungratefully.
The petite woman smiled, giving him a slight nod. She’d read his thoughts again. When she’d finished her examination, she slid Morgan a glance and nodded. Although they didn’t say a word, their expressions were animated, and without doubt they were communicating telepathically.
He felt like an outsider. As he sat up straighter, thick mud sloshed over the sides of the tub and the smell of warm rotten eggs made his stomach churn.
“Damn.” He clenched his jaw down to bite off a string of additional swear words that would have eased his frustration but would have been disrespectful since he realized the Troll who had saved his life disapproved.
“What’s the verdict?” he said. “Will I live? Turn into a dragon? Scurry away like a rabbit?” He’d made the last comments to see if they were listening.
Cassandra turned to leave and, as she did, she glanced over her shoulder. Her thoughts wove into his. “You have not turned, Fire Wizard, although you must avoid further exposure to the Oculist poison in the future. Twice you have cheated its dark purpose. You will not escape a third time.”
“Thank you.” The overused phrase seemed inadequate for what Cassandra had done and what she’d risked. There was no love lost between Trolls and male Wizards. “I’ll not forget your kindness.”
“You’d better not.”
When the door shut behind Cassandra, Morgan moved toward him, bringing the crisp fragrance of salt seas and tropical breezes with her. Rowan drank in her fresh scent and felt more at ease. He was beginning to believe her emotions and her scent were linked.
Morgan smoothed the hair from his forehead. “Cassandra advises you stay here until tomorrow.”
“She doesn’t like me.”
“You are correct.”
“Yet I’m alive because of a Troll?”
She tilted her head, smiling. “You saved Donningale.”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“You know him by the name Wiz. Cassandra was very grateful. Evidently, you’re not as much of a monster as you’d like everyone to believe.”
“Saving the mutt was a momentary lapse.”
“That is what I told them.”
Rowan fingered the bandage over his shoulder.
The wound was still tender. “I’m guessing the bullet casings were filled with Oculist powder and that’s how my eyes were infected.
” When she nodded, Rowan reached for her hand, sloshing mud over the side of the tub again. The mud bubbled. “What is that smell?”
She hadn’t pulled away. He liked the way her mouth turned up in a smile that touched her eyes, making them glitter like starlight. “It is the medicine Cassandra used to heal you.”
What’s in it?”
“Believe me, you do not want to know.”
He gently squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you didn’t give up on me.”
“Would you have given up on me if you had to choose between me and duty?”
He knew the response he was trained to give.
The one that spoke of loyalty to only the Talons and the Grey Council.
Everyone else was expendable, and that included female Wizards as well as male Wizards.
Male Wizards were trained to protect their females, but only if it didn’t conflict with the wishes of the leadership.
He drew her closer until she was pressed against the side of the tub. She was waiting for his answer. She had saved his life and deserved the truth. “I don’t know, Morgan.” He expected her to slap him, verbally take him to task, or drown him.
“Your doubt is a first step on a long road.” Morgan reached for a folded towel and held it against her chest. “Your uncertainty would not please the Grey Council.”
“You got that right. They’d be pissed. Probably have me killed on principle.” He gripped the side of the tub and shoved to a standing position, grimacing when pain shot through his body. “That hurt.”
“Cassandra said you might have a little pain for a day or two. Is it very bad?”
“Pain of the body I can understand,” he said reaching for the towel to wrap around his waist. “It’s all the other stuff I can’t seem to get right.”
As he secured the towel, his muscles flexed and rippled over Rowan’s bare chest and shoulders.
Morgan felt her face heat as sensual memories flooded over her.
“It pleases me you are being honest. It is a start,” she managed, refolding a blanket.
She was mesmerized by the way his eyes warmed like a banked fire as his gaze touched hers.
“Any chance I can get a shower?”
“Probably not.” Her breath caught in her throat.
He had moved closer to her and her skin flamed under his scrutiny as the tight quarters of the wagon closed in around her.
“The reason you’re in the wagon is that although Cassandra agreed to heal you, she won’t allow you in the house.
I’ll have someone bring fresh water and a clean bathtub. ”
“You’re leaving? What if I have a relapse?”
“I will not be long, and Renegade is outside standing guard. Let him know if the pain increases, or if you think you are losing your eyesight again, and he will send for help.”
“Why do I have a guard?”
She lifted an eyebrow.
He heaved a sigh. “Got it. Trolls don’t trust Wizards, and I’m on probation. I can live with that. Still not crazy about the whole bath experience, though. I’m more of a shower kind of guy—unless you join me,” he said with a boyish grin.
She backed toward the door of the wagon until the handle dug into her back. She wanted to stay but knew his presence here was precarious. If she indulged her desires, Cassandra might interpret it to mean that she had been enchanted by the Fire Wizard and was not thinking clearly.
“I could spray you down with a hose.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Promise?”
“I was kidding.”
“Too late. I’m going to hold you to it.”
Her heart beat so rapidly she thought for sure he must hear its thunder. If she didn’t leave in the next few seconds, she knew she never would. She forced herself to turn the door handle. “For now, you will have to be content with the tub.”