A Dash of Destiny (Warlocks MacGregor Book 8) Read online

  A Dash of Destiny

  Warlocks MacGregor

  Michelle M. Pillow®

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  A Dash of Destiny (Warlocks MacGregor®) © copyright 2020 by Michelle M. Pillow

  First Electronic Printing October 27, 2020

  ISBN: 9781625012395

  Published by The Raven Books LLC

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  All books copyrighted to the author and may not be resold or given away without written permission from the author, Michelle M. Pillow.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any and all characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or events or places is merely coincidence. Novel intended for adults only. Must be 18 years or older to read.

  Michelle M. Pillow® and Warlocks MacGregor® are registered trademarks of The Raven Books LLC

  Contents

  About A Dash of Destiny

  Warlocks MacGregor® Series

  Michelle’s Bestselling Series

  Author Updates

  Dear Readers

  Note from the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  The Series Continues

  Warlocks MacGregor® Series

  Join the Exclusive Club!

  About Michelle M. Pillow

  Free Reading Guides

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  About A Dash of Destiny

  A dash of destiny and a pinch of passion can change everything…

  Scottish warlock Rory MacGregor knows something from the supernatural world is trying to kill him. He’s not sure exactly what that something is, but it’ll make for a fun adventure figuring it all out. Of course, nothing is simple, so when Fate tosses in a dash of destiny to keep him on his toes by way of an enchanting new arrival in town, he’s all in.

  He just wished she was too.

  Life hasn’t turned out as planned for Jennifer Greene. After taking care of her sick father for years, she’s come to Green Vallis, Wisconsin, for one reason only—a job. She isn’t looking for adventure, even if it’s by way of a tempting Highlander in a kilt or men streaking across the countryside. And she definitely isn’t looking for love—even though love is looking for her.

  Warlocks MacGregor® Series

  Scottish Magickal Warlocks

  Love Potions

  Spellbound

  Stirring Up Trouble

  Cauldrons and Confessions

  Spirits and Spells

  Kisses and Curses

  Magick and Mischief

  A Dash of Destiny

  Night Magick

  More Coming Soon

  Visit www.MichellePillow.com for details.

  Michelle’s Bestselling Series

  Qurilixen World Novels

  Dragon Lords Series

  Barbarian Prince

  Perfect Prince

  Dark Prince

  Warrior Prince

  His Highness The Duke

  The Stubborn Lord

  The Reluctant Lord

  The Impatient Lord

  The Dragon’s Queen

  Lords of the Var® Series

  The Savage King

  The Playful Prince

  The Bound Prince

  The Rogue Prince

  The Pirate Prince

  Qurilixen Lords

  Dragon Prince

  More Coming Soon!

  Captured by a Dragon-Shifter Series

  Determined Prince

  Rebellious Prince

  Stranded with the Cajun

  Hunted by the Dragon

  Mischievous Prince

  Headstrong Prince

  Space Lords Series

  His Frost Maiden

  His Fire Maiden

  His Metal Maiden

  His Earth Maiden

  His Woodland Maiden

  Having trouble finding the books?

  Updated Buy Links Here

  To learn more about the Qurilixen World series of books and to stay up to date on the latest book list visit www.MichellePillow.com

  Author Updates

  Join the Reader Club Mailing List to stay informed about new books, sales, contests and preorders!

  http://michellepillow.com/author-updates/

  Dear Readers

  Dear Readers,

  It has come to my attention that Uncle Raibeart has been trying to lace all the e-books with love potions. So if you have found yourself waiting and wishing for his proposal, gazing for naked warlocks running past your window with longing, well, we have a support group for that: Michelle M. Pillow Fan Club Uncle Raibeart Love Fest.

  My sincerest apologies. We do what we can to keep him reined in but unfortunately have not found a proper firewall for Raibeart’s magickal hacking skills. If you do see him, please, tell him to put on some clothes and come home. And, whatever you do, do not say yes to anything he proposes.

  Thank you,

  Michelle M. Pillow

  Note from the Author

  The term “warlock” is a variation on the Old English word “waerloga” primarily used by the Scots. It meant traitor, monster, deceiver, or other variations. The MacGregor Clan does not look at themselves as being what history has labeled their kind. To them, warlock means magick, family, and immortality. This book is not meant to be a portrayal of modern day witches or those who have such beliefs. The MacGregors are a magickal class all their own.

  As with all my books, this is pure fantasy. In real life, please always practice safe sex and magic(k).

  Chapter One

  Ireland, 1693

  Rory MacGregor watched the muddy hand give one last twitch before the earth swallowed the woman whole. The stitch in his side from trying to push through the peat bog was nothing compared to the agony of defeat. If not for the fact he needed to catch his breath, he would have screamed. Instead, he tried to keep moving in the impossibly thick mud.

  His efforts were futile. Rory was knee-deep and sinking. Only too late did he realize his warlock magick was useless in the enchanted trap. For the moment, he was like any other human, imprisoned inside the knowledge that death came for him—in slow, descending inches.

  He reached his hand into the bog, feeling around in a desperate attempt to grab hold of her even though logically, he knew she was too far away. He shivered at the cold pressure against his naked legs. The smell of the decaying plant life stirred each time he slowly tried to lift his foot. This was not the first time he’d been stuck in a bog, but it was the first time he couldn’t quickly maneuver his way out of it.

  “Tha mi duilich,” he whispered to the woman he’d tried to rescue. I’m sorry.

  Rory knew he should back up, but he tried to take a step forward instead. Her eyes, the same dark color as the land that consumed her, had pleaded with him for help. Maybe if he reached her, there would still be time. The bog refused to release his legs.

  Rory glanced around the flat landscape, stretching his neck to see behind him. He caught sight of a figure along the edge of his vision. He tried to twist farther, but the movement caused his body to sink a little mo
re.

  “A woman went under,” Rory yelled over his shoulder as he pointed to the now-empty bog. “We have to help her!”

  He tried to turn, stretching his waist as far as he could. Rory frowned. It was a young lad. A child couldn’t help him.

  He again attempted to press forward to where she had gone under. If he could just take a few more steps…

  “Get help!” Rory turned to glance back, only to see the boy coming toward him. He couldn’t be more than ten years. “No, stop. It’s not safe.”

  The child didn’t listen.

  “Stop. It’s not safe,” he repeated, switching to a local dialect. He had no idea how far he’d traveled inland. Ireland was not his homeland, and he did not know the terrain or how close he was to help.

  The lad still came forward, his steps sure. The skin on his nose had peeled as if he recovered from too much time in the sun. His brown hair hung in long tangled strands and had not been washed in quite some time.

  “Stop,” Rory yelled louder, waving his muddy hands for the boy to stay away. From what he could see, the child was alone.

  Rory tried to force magick from his fingers to fling the boy back without touching him. Nothing happened.

  Rory watched in horror as the lad stepped closer, waiting for him to sink. Miraculously, the ground stayed firm beneath the boy’s feet as he circled Rory. He moved as if the bog wasn’t waiting to swallow him.

  “It’s not safe,” Rory insisted. He was careful not to move, not wishing to disturb the earth beneath the boy. “Get help,” Rory ordered. The child’s luck wouldn’t last too long.

  The boy stopped behind him. Rory felt small hands on his shoulders. For a second, he thought the child was going to attempt to pull him out.

  “Jenny Greentooth,” the boy whispered, jumping up to press all of his weight on Rory’s shoulders.

  Rory lurched, trying to resist as he sank deeper into the bog. On reflex, he pushed his hands in front of him to counteract the attack. His fingers sank beneath the surface. The bog swallowed his waist.

  “Och!” He grunted as the peat encased his manhood in its chilly grip.

  Rory jerked his hands from the muck and slapped behind his back. The boy laughed as he let go, and Rory heard the child’s footsteps running away.

  The ground bulged where the woman had gone under, rising and falling as if it breathed. With each lift it grew higher until the surface broke and a peat-covered hand poked through. Dirty fingers slapped the earth.

  How was this possible? The woman should be dead.

  Rory felt his body sinking deeper.

  A second hand appeared. Through the clumps of mud, he detected short claws. The woman pulled herself out of the bog. Though he could pick out small similarities, this creature was not the woman he’d seen disappear.

  Peat-covered hair clung to her shoulders. Mud slicked her face and bony arms. A long hiss of breath left her mouth, showcasing rotted teeth marred with decaying leaves. A clump fell from her face, taking what should have been a nose with it.

  “Ya must be Jenny,” Rory said, not bothering to hide his repulsion as the hag crawled on her stomach from the bog to move along the surface. He struggled to push out of the muck, but the lad had sunk him too deeply.

  Jenny smiled, eyeing him like trapped prey she was ready to devour.

  “Lovely day for a stroll, isn’t it?” Rory had charmed far more dangerous women than her. He gave her his most winning smile.

  The bog witch’s voice crackled an undistinguishable answer. Apparently, his charms were lost on Jenny, and she continued toward him.

  “Och, this is going to be a tough one,” he muttered, unsure what he should do. Panic began to fill him. Without magick he was helpless, and he knew there was no easy escape from Jenny and her enchanted bog.

  Chapter Two

  Green Vallis, Wisconsin, Modern Day

  When the guidance counselor had sat Jennifer Greene down to talk about her future after high school, waitressing in a small Wisconsin town fifteen years later, living on tips and free employee meals, had not been on her list of dreams. The tater tot nachos at the Crimson Tavern were heavenly, but they weren’t health insurance and a 401k.

  That was the not-so-funny thing about life. It rarely ended up as intended.

  Jennifer had not planned on her mother leaving after a car ran over her older brother. She hadn’t imagined her strong father would get so sick he couldn’t walk. She hadn’t planned on choosing between a college scholarship or a job to take care of him for six years until he succumbed to the big C. She hadn’t planned on her friends disappearing from her life one by one by one because they’d moved on and couldn’t relate to her struggle. She hadn’t planned on her dad’s medical bills, a reverse mortgage on her childhood home, or the extremely desperate loneliness that led her into the arms of a man who would leave her when they thought she’d gotten pregnant. It had been a false positive, but the betrayal stung.

  “All it takes is a dash of destiny, and everything can change.”

  Her mother told her that the night she left. The look on the woman’s face used to haunt her. She’d been so…excited. Who could be that happy knowing they were abandoning their child? Jennifer had been six, and it was the only thing she remembered about the woman. She’d thought about those words a lot in her life.

  “All it takes is a dash of destiny…”

  Jennifer stood beside the quiet street outside the Crimson Tavern. Dash of destiny—it sounded like an ingredient in a lousy family recipe. She’d had about all the dashes she could handle. So far, her life’s destiny tasted sour and left her more than a little bitter.

  Headlights turned off of Main Street and ventured toward her. The downtown streets were constructed of red bricks that had shifted over time to make for bumpy roads. The lights bounced as the slow-moving car neared where she stood close to the Crimson Tavern’s door.

  The locals treated her like a stranger, but she didn’t mind. The solitary hours gave her time to romanticize a make-believe life she was living. A light fog lined the street as if exhaled from windows. The historic buildings squished close together could have been from the 1800s. If she ignored the modern dresses in the store windows, she could pretend she walked through history on the evening streets of London. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine the sound of horse hooves and carriage wheels.

  Jennifer lifted her hand to block the headlights as they passed. The bright flash of high beams brought her out of her thoughts and blinded her to who was driving.

  Walking alone at night in Green Vallis was relatively safe. The biggest threat was Mrs. Callister, the town gossip, who was always trying to take everyone’s pictures. Jennifer was tired of seeing her blurry face on the woman’s blog. The woman posted them next to speculation about what really went on inside Crimson Tavern.

  Waitressing. Waitressing went on. Cheap beer and cheaper come-on lines.

  Jennifer spent hours on her feet, fetching burgers, and refilling drinks. It wasn’t glamorous, but at least it was honest. She liked honest. It was also boring.

  The car turned the corner, and darkness once more covered the street.

  “Fifty bucks that was Callister,” Kay said from behind her as the door to the building closed slowly. The sound of the spark wheel on the woman’s lighter punctuated the words as she attempted to light her cigarette. “Bitch posted a photo of me tripping the other day and insinuated I was drunk. I swear she photoshopped an extra ten pounds on my ass too.”

  Kay spoke in a gravelly volume even the most foulmouthed of sailors would envy, yet her swearing only seemed to amuse the regulars who came more for the drink than the food. They had worked together for about three months. She took a significant amount of smoke breaks, often leaving Jennifer to pick up the work slack.

  “Last week she implied we turn tricks in the storage room.” Jennifer picked a piece of fuzz off her shirt and dropped it into the slight breeze. With a sigh, she turned toward the door. Since
Kay was outside, that meant no one was watching the tables.

  “Yeah, right between the giant cans of ketchup and extra napkins.” Kay laughed. The sound was followed by a cough.

  “Under the glow of the swinging light bulb hanging on its wire,” Jennifer added.

  “You turn on the lights?” Kay laughed harder. “Hell, girl, I charge extra if they want to look at all this.”

  “We’d be taking home a lot more than fifteen dollars an hour if we were providing extra services.” Jennifer opened the door. The fifteen was only after tips on a jam-packed weekend night. The rest of the time, she didn’t even want to think about it.

  “Too bad none of the MacGregors have been coming in.” Kay took a long drag off the cigarette. As she continued, smoke billowed from her lips. “Now there’s a few guys I wouldn’t mind taking to the storage room.”

  “Which ones?” Jennifer asked.

  “Any of them,” Kay said. “As my grandma used to say, they’re all fine as frog hair.”