Undeniable (The Druids Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

away place. Peyton glanced around, taking it in. The entire village appeared to consist of a couple of handfuls of small buildings backing against a city wall of stone. A modest castle, with a footprint smaller than most mansions, rose to his right. It didn’t surprise Peyton that Deacon prodded him in that direction.
    The throne room opened before him with onyx and obsidian accents to compliment the gray marble with its black veins. The throne itself seemed fashioned out of some black lacquered wood and deep purple satin. The Sidhe lounged upon his throne, long, sleek black hair falling to his waist. The gunmetal gray and purple of his cloak and centuries-out-of-date finery matched the throne room. Probably had them commissioned at the same time. This was Credne, and his chosen domain proved his superior opinion of himself.
    With Credne’s cold glare on them, Deacon planted a foot in the back of Peyton’s knee, forcing him down on the marble floor. Jerking his elbow back, Peyton slammed it into Deacon’s thigh in retaliation, earning himself a punch in the back of the ribs.
    “Enough.” Credne’s voice reflected his boredom.
    Kneeling on the cold, unforgiving stone, Peyton understood his place in this Sidhe’s scheme of things. It wasn’t the place Peyton was willing to accept, but when he tried to rise, Deacon snatched his hair and forced him to raise his face towards the Sidhe. Peyton hissed, “I won’t serve you.”
    “Of course, you will.” Credne rose with a slow grace. “Where else would you go? The magic of the enchantment will only last a brief time, dissipating like the mist, leaving the terrible torment of emptiness in its stead. Only the renewal of the enchantment can save you from madness and death, and whom among the Sidhe can you count as friend enough to aid you in your time of need?”
    A sobering thought, indeed. Given all he’d done, the most mercy he could expect was a bullet to the brain. Or maybe a swift beheading with a sword. But Peyton knew he didn’t deserve that much, and couldn’t bring himself to even contemplate the idea deeply. He stopped struggling against Deacon and just fixed his attention on Credne, his doom and, apparently, his only hope. If one believed the rules and couldn’t finesse a way around them. “What do you want from me?”
    “You will serve me, and the fey you have harmed, to balance the scales of your debt.” The Sidhe’s long, tapered finger stroked from the curve of Peyton’s jaw down to the tip of his chin. This time the trail of magic that he left behind tingled with an ache that echoed a longing deeper into his soul. As much as Peyton wanted to pull away from it, to twist his head away and deny Credne’s influence upon him, he knew there was no escape while the magic latched onto him. Credne’s voice was cool, utterly without compassion, as he murmured, “You will be redeemed, even if it takes the remainder of your life to do it.”
    With the barest nod from Credne, Deacon reached around and tore open the front of Peyton’s shirt. When he started to protest and struggle the Changeling hooked his arms under Peyton’s and then locked his hands behind Peyton’s head in a full nelson, forcing him to keep his arms outstretched. Peyton could do nothing as Credne violated him again with magic; this time painting with a burning finger across his chest in some scrolling mark that reached the caps of each shoulder and coiled down his sternum. With his face forced down like it was, he watched the black magic penetrating his skin, branding him like a tattoo, in a pattern that could have been a mixture of Celtic knotwork and thorn-like tribal markings. It smelled like seared flesh, and hurt like it, even if the skin showed no damage beyond the discoloring.
    When Credne finished, and Deacon released him, Peyton gripped at the marks still burning into his flesh, unable to dig it out of himself. He hissed, with equal parts pain and fury, “What did you do to