Fate's Hand: Book One of The Celtic Prophecy Read Online Free Page A

to appear again, an obstacle barring the escape route. From his perch, he had done what he could for the fleeing woman, casting a spell, bringing down the veil between worlds for a fraction of a second, enough to set the dog off in warning.
    This time, it had been enough.
    He couldn’t be seen taking action in direct opposition to the Order. Theirs—his—was a holy mission, to hold the balance until the Priestess was revealed. But he knew after centuries even the most devout could be tempted. Convincing the elders of this, most of whom turned a blind eye to the corruption that fractured the group, was an insurmountable feat. They refused to believe that one could be turned by avarice.
    Brought out of his ruminations by the appearance of headlights turning the corner, his instincts screamed until he activated his runes and stepped back into enhanced shadows. The car door opened. What were the odds that the very woman he had saved tonight was coming here, less than a block from where he lived?
    Alex started at the dog’s growl—interesting that the dog was so attuned to magic. He took a few steps to the curb, unwilling to leave cover completely lest his concealment be discovered. He squatted, touched the asphalt with his fingertips and waited for his spell to move through the man-made material to reach the dog across the street. The dog quieted within seconds.
    He watched the woman cross to the bakery, choose a table near the entrance, and tie the unruly dog’s leash to the bars of the wrought iron fence. He waited until she went in and then sprinted across the street. The two dents on the hood confirmed what he already knew to be true.
    He had to meet her, talk with her, learn if she was a likely candidate; but it would be counterproductive if he scared her. He knew what she’d see—a large, hulking man. So when the woman emerged with a Styrofoam cup and a brown paper bag, it was to find Alex petting her dog. Animals had a way of disarming people. He could see she was surprised to find him there. She hesitated a moment, scanned the area, and then approached, depositing the cup and bag on the table.
    Alexander focused on the dog, speaking Gaelic nonsense to it before looking up and taking in a lovely view of her toned calves. The sight ended slightly above her knees where the lace trim of her shift—her dress—started. She was tall for a woman, with a figure that made a man’s hands ache to hold.
    “Good morning.”
    Alex flashed a smile and stood, despite the dog’s protests at the sudden neglect. She had a mass of dark hair tied into a floppy knot on top of her head, with wisps falling around her shoulders. “Oh, haló. Nice animal ye ha’. Well-built and friendly.” He patted the dog one last time. “I am Alexander Sinclair.” Taking a step toward her, he held out his hand.
    Wide eyes, as green as new grass before a storm, met his gaze. The woman’s stance changed, posture straight, feet spread slightly apart, and her eyes darted to the open gate, aware of the change in the environment his presence made, but she took the hand that he offered, “Brenawyn McAllister, nice to meet you.”
    Modern woman, indeed, but at least she was aware of potential danger, even if she wasn’t conscious of that fact. She felt his power, even if she’d likely define it as the ability to command a room; Alex had his work cut out for him. “I’ll leave ye to yer breakfast,” and entered the bakery. When he emerged, she was still there, half concealed by the trellised vines, hair down now, spilling in glossy thickness over her shoulder as she bent to scratch behind the dog’s ear.
    He stopped with his back toward her and took a careful sip of the coffee, savoring its richness, then took a bigger swig. She cleared her throat, and he looked in her direction as she brought her cup halfway to her lips, “It’s good here. You should try the croissants too.”
    He held up the bag.
    She took a fortifying sip of her coffee,