The Dark Desires of the Druids #1 Murder & Magick

If only her betrothed and her lover could be the same person.
Despite her wish, the painful fact remained otherwise. Raven Drake suppressed a shiver of need, tingling in anticipation to have her lover?s hands on her body. This need for him had her mind wandering far too often away.

?They are cursed!? the nasally male voice jarred her.

Struggling to concentrate on the insipid speaker before her, Raven looked at the imposing figure of Sir John Corwin. She did her best to ignore the phantom memory of her lover?s talented fingers as she listened to Corwin?s abominable opinions.

When he spoke of his passion for hunting the impure, for the Trials, the conviction in his tone rang clear. As far as she could see, his way of twisting the truth had swayed others in this parlor as they nodded in righteous agreement.

It made her nauseous to look at them. Their thoughts blindly followed the popular trend in the vain hope this didn?t affect them. Raven wanted to escape, but couldn?t. Born to this life, it was her duty to prevent anymore of the terrifying purifications.

When it came to Corwin, she had to tread carefully. She couldn?t afford to allow her thoughts to wander when he recruited. No matter how much she needed the release.

Raven glanced out the window; the garden beckoned. There, amid the old-fashioned plantings, she could find refuge from this vile man. Perhaps steal a few moments with Malcolm.

Stealing a glance at her lover, she quickly refocused on Corwin. It?d be unwise to draw attention to her affair.

They were in a small coterie by the tall, velvet-curtained windows. Too-strong perfume and the smell of gas from the lamps outside lay heavy in the room. Rich, jewel-toned fabric covered the furnishings, the satin finishes made all the more prominent by the electric lights.
?We cannot live in peace with these vermin,? the preening upstart, the self-proclaimed prelate of the Witch Hunters said. He used his baronetcy to infiltrate peerage circles and garner support. ?They have proven that time and again.?

She narrowed her eyes at him. Corwin had an annoying habit of emphasizing random words. Raven wanted to shake his sentences out of him.

Basil, Lord Granville, hadn?t yet completed the upgrades to his country house. Persistent chatter and soft music hummed in the background as the festivities carried on. Thankfully, most in attendance were oblivious to the conversation in this corner.
She hoped it would remain that way. Corwin was enough of a problem with this small crowd.

?They are unworthy,? Corwin continued.

Raven snapped her attention back to the monologue and dearly wished for a glass of champagne?or something stronger. She hadn?t thought to take one before, and now couldn?t see through the crush of bodies to snare a footman?s attention.

?They are not of this world.? He spoke with all the flair one might expect from a theatrical performer.

?Are you implying?? Her faint Scottish tone reflected barely controlled incredulity. ??that magick practitioners arise from a divine curse or, or plague??

?Miss Drake . . .? Corwin?s tone patronized, but his eyes registered suspicion.

Drat. Her aim hadn?t been to turn his attention on her, let alone his suspicion, but she couldn?t keep quiet any longer.