The Selkie Sorceress (Seal Island Trilogy, Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

of the beds. But there was no sign of the roses.
    Which could only mean… Glenna’s blood went cold. Sam.
    That dream only ever meant one thing—her lover was in danger. But Sam wasn’t her lover. It was all a mistake!
    She ran back into the cottage, grabbing her boline—a ritual knife used for harvesting herbs—from the drawer beneath her altar. Moonlight glinted off the curved blade and she stood, stuffing her feet into the first pair of shoes she could find.
    She’d been so careful to keep Sam at arm’s length. Because every time a man fell for her, the same thing happened. She raced into the night, her heeled boots carrying her over the fields as the laces streamed out behind her.
    The dream had found her here after all this time. She thought she had finally escaped it. She thought she was safe here.
    She had been until Sam arrived.
    She searched the village as she ran. Her gaze combed every cottage for a sign of them, for that tell-tale glow. But she knew deep down where they would be—growing outside the caretaker’s cottage on Brennan Lockley’s farm.
    She crossed the island to the sloping hills of Brennan’s land, passing sheep fields and horse pastures. Jagged stone walls lined the footpaths and dark shadows streaked over the moss. She spotted Sam’s cottage and her hands gripped the white handle of her boline when she saw the coral flowers blooming against the whitewash.
     

     
    SAM WOKE TO the scent of roses. He heard a faint scraping and rustling outside his window, and he sat up, dragging a shirt over his head. Snagging a pair of jeans off the floor, he stepped into them and crept through the house, slipping silently into the night, ready to confront whoever—or whatever —was out there.
    Barefoot, he rounded the front of the cottage and blinked. Glenna knelt in front of a knotted vine, hacking at the dark roots with a sharp, hook-shaped blade. A sheen of sweat clung to her forehead and her long brown hair curled riotously around her shoulders. Her thin satin robe had slipped off one shoulder, revealing only a sheer cream slip underneath. Her legs were bare save the ankle high russet boots and long laces she hadn’t bothered to tie.
    “Glenna?”
    She wouldn’t look at him. Her heavy hair fell into her eyes and she kept stabbing at the base of the roots. Sam felt a cold knot form in his stomach when he noticed the magnificent blooms unfurling along the thorny vine—roses the color of an autumn sky on fire.
    “Glenna,” he said again, walking toward her. “Glenna, look at me.”
    She jammed the knife into the roots and Sam leaned down, putting his hand on her elbow. She jerked back and he cursed, side-stepping and narrowly missing the swing of the blade. He saw that her hands were bleeding and grabbed her by the shoulders, hauling her to her feet.
    “Let go of me!” Glenna shouted, lurching out of his grip and reaching for her knife.
    But his arms came around her and he held her tightly against him until she stopped struggling. “I need,” she said, breathless, still staring at the flowers, “those roses.”
    He twisted her around to face him, keeping his grip firm on her upper arms. “What are you going to do with them?”
    “Destroy them.”
    A chill crept down Sam’s spine. He knew how dangerous it was when roses grew out of season on this island. “Why?”
    She lifted her haunted eyes to his. “You need to leave the island, Sam. You’re not safe here.”
    Sam shook his head. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. Come on.” He steered her toward the front of the house. She tried to twist out of his grasp, but he guided her through the door and into the small kitchen.
    She flinched when he turned on the faucet and directed her hands under the spray. He washed her wounds with soap and she bit her lip to keep from whimpering. He knew it stung. He saw the scrapes as the blood washed down the sink, the long abrasions where the thorns had cut her.
    He gave Glenna a clean towel