Goddess Rising

by Alisha Ashton

  Skye grinned and fully appreciated how hot he was when he went all protective mate on her.

  Taran’s eyes glowed with rage as they surveyed the rest of the fògaraich in the room. All cowered under his menacing gaze. The ease with which he was able to take them down was inescapably clear. He seemed more offended that they had attempted to touch his Queen than anything.

  “Now,” she began calmly as she descended the stairs with Taran at her side. “I know your kind likes to think they’ve got a fighting chance here, but I assure you, that’s not the case. In addition to my King over here looking for any excuse to make undead confetti out of all of you…”

  “Conf-dead-ti?” Ailean muttered under his breath behind her.

  “Undead-ti?” Ruarachan suggested instead.

  “We’ll work on it,” Eògan assured.

  Skye shook her head. She struggled to keep a straight face and ignore their shenanigans as she continued. “…everything you’ve heard about me, as well as everything rumored to have happened at Faol Seunta a few weeks back, is true. I have absolutely zero interest in letting you continue your undead existence. I can’t be bribed or bargained with. Your only option is this: either provide me with information about the covens in the area – in which case I will make your final deaths quick and relatively painless…”

  Skye stopped at the base of the stairs, smiling dangerously.

  “Or refuse to tell me anything, in which case I promise I will spend the rest of the night perfecting every conceivable technique for prolonging your suffering. You all know very well that I spent ten years of my life being tortured by your kind. With that in mind, I’m sure you’ll understand why I’m really hoping you choose to stay quiet.”

  “What do you want to know?” Janette asked anxiously, still frozen in place and staring up at Ciaran’s massive teeth. “Whatever it is, I will tell you.”

  “Damn it,” Skye groused.

  “Eh well, wean. Ye’ll jist huv tae try tha new blood boilin’ trick of yers on the next one,” Ailean consoled with a grin.

  Skye smiled up at him conspiratorially as he winked and bumped her shoulder with his own. Having overheard Ailean’s purposeful comment, suddenly every coven member was offering up information at the same time.

  Nearly an hour later, after all tips had been documented and all stool pigeons had said their piece, Taran leaned down to Skye.

  “How are ya holding up, wee one?” he asked quietly enough that it would not travel. His concerned gray eyes studied her carefully, searching for even the slightest indication that she was becoming too fatigued to continue in her unseen task.

  “I’m getting tired,” she confided almost inaudibly. “I can maintain it for a few more hours if necessary, but there definitely won’t be a big finish tonight. I’ll be able to take one… maybe two of them.”

  Taran nodded in understanding. Seeing the disappointment in her eyes, he placed a hand under her chin. Tilting her head back so that she was looking directly up at him, he smiled down at her reassuringly.

  “Ya have to stop expecting so much of yourself, my love. It will nah happen overnight. The fact tha ya are able to prevent Brandubh from seeing through their eyes is an accomplishment all its own.”

  Skye sighed and nodded halfheartedly in agreement, but she was still disappointed, just the same. On the night of her Return – the night when she had learned of her relation to Sorcha, the ban-dia na gealaich, the Moon Goddess Herself – Skye had unleashed unimaginable power. The magic that had poured from her had defeated an entire army of the fògaraich in a matter of seconds. Unfortunately, she had done so while directly connected to the Great Mother and after receiving a full charge of power. Things were far less simple out here in the real world, where there was not an ancient deity standing by to guide her. For the hundredth time, Skye wished she could have brought Sorcha along for the ride.

  Not that she was completely useless on her own, of course. She was currently, and had been since their arrival, maintaining a shield of energy around the club. Brandubh, the father of all the fògaraich, was ordinarily able to see what his brethren saw, to hear what they heard. She was preventing him from accessing that link.

  Skye’s enemies believed her to be a Goddess in her own right. They feared her every bit as deeply as they did Sorcha. Skye intended to keep it that way. Were Brandubh to truly witness what transpired during her exterminations, he would become aware of her greatly diminished abilities.

  “We all ready then?” Eògan called. “Who goes first?”

  Skye considered it for a moment, her eyes passing over each of the coven members slowly. She was measuring their strength, gauging the amount of stolen magic they possessed, the amount of power she would be able to reclaim from them.

  “The handsy tart and her mate,” Skye told Eògan finally, inclining her head to the French pair that had been groping Ciaran when she arrived. “Have them brought down to the basement with us, and then you men get back up here with the others. Same drill as before. Only Taran may be in the area until it is done,” she instructed purposefully, allowing her eyes to meet with those of each of her clansmen for emphasis.

  A sympathetic smile came to her lips as a low growl of displeasure escaped Ciaran’s throat. Despite his abhorrence of the decision, Skye had made it clear that only Taran could be present when she stripped the fògaraich of the stolen magic which sustained them. It was dangerous for the rest of her clansmen, she had warned. Taran was only safe due to Sorcha’s magic resurrecting him so recently. She did not know how the spell would affect the others. Or, at least, that was the lie she had told them all. In truth, her concern was for the safety of only one of her clansmen… but that was one secret she fully intended to keep.

  She frowned thoughtfully as she set out. Making her way down the stairs to the wine cellar, her thoughts returned yet again to the conversation she had with Sorcha just moments prior to Taran’s resurrection. There were some truths in life she wished she could unlearn, some secrets she could have gone the entirety of her immortal existence without knowing and would have been perfectly blissful in her ignorance…

  “Tha mind of yours is wanderin’ again, wee one,” Taran commented knowingly as he walked beside her. “Care to tell me yet where it keeps runnin’ off to?”

  She smiled and shook her head. He did not even need to look at her to know when something was bothering her. “Just fervently appreciating your decision to add jeans to your wardrobe,” she teased with a smile.

  “Tha’s a lie,” he chided.

  Skye scowled. “What makes you say that?”

  “I’m nah aboot to be tellin’ ya how I know when ya are hiding something from me,” Taran insisted.

  “I have a ‘tell’?” she asked in surprise. “Well, that blows,” she sighed before adding with a sly smile, “but hey, about those jeans…”

  “Very well. Avoidance of the issue it is,” Taran granted disapprovingly, “but sooner or later, ya will need share tha burden ya are trying to carry all on your own.”

  He stopped at the center of the basement, turning back to face her and looking down into her eyes. Skye swallowed hard under the intensity of his gaze. This was Taran’s trademark, ‘I’m deathly serious’ look. As always, it made her knees weak.

  “Ya are nah alone in this world anymore, d’ya hear tha? Ya are my mate and my Queen, Sgitheanach,” he reminded as he rested his hands on her shoulders and gave them an affectionate squeeze. “What’s mine is yours. What’s yours is mine. And here shortly, I’ll be expecting to carry my half of whatever terrible weight ya have bearing down on these lovely shoulders.”

  Knowing by now how pointless arguing with him would be, Skye inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement of his words.

  “There’s my love,” he whispered in appreciation before pressing a kiss to her brow.

  She leaned into his kiss, reaching up to cup his cheeks and run her fingers through his beard. His facial hair was still shorter than it used to
be, but he had elected to let it grow back from the goatee. When Ciaran questioned him as to why, Taran had declared in a huff that winter was ‘no time to be going bare-faced for the first time in countless centuries.’ Skye was secretly grateful; she had missed the extra scruff.

  “Where d’ya want we should put these two?” Eògan called from behind them as if he were moving a piece of furniture.

  Skye smiled as she turned to see the ancient pair of mass murderers being led into the room by Ruarachan and Aodh.

  “Right here is fine,” she answered.

  “Will it… hurt?” Janette asked worriedly as she approached.

  Taran raised a brow in amusement at the absurdity of the question.

  “What? Dying?” Skye asked in astonishment.

  She had to stop to share a laugh with her clansmen. Aodh, her mute giant of a General, laughed silently along with them. After a moment, Skye returned her attention to the undead, blood-sucking creature before her.

  “Yes. Yes, I do believe it will hurt,” Skye answered plainly, nodding to herself as if taking it into consideration. “Quite a bit, actually,” she added with wide eyes. Shifting her expression to that of feigned reassurance, she waved a hand dismissively. In an overly-cheerful tone, she assured, “But don’t worry. I promise it won’t hurt any worse for you than it did for the thousands of innocent men, women, and children you’ve killed over the centuries.”

  Janette gave a long, trilling whimper in response. Apparently, the prospect of death seemed far more frightening to her when it was equated to the ends her victims had met.

  Skye motioned for the frightened pair to come closer. Once they were standing before her, trembling as they awaited their final deaths, she addressed Eògan and Aodh. “Leave us. When it’s finished, I’ll call you back.”

  Olivier muttered under his breath in French to his mate.

  “Did you have some last words?” Skye asked, narrowing her eyes on him suspiciously.

  He said ya are nah as powerful as ya act, bright lady, Aodh warned Skye in her mind. Though the massive, 7’4, fearsome-looking faol was mute, he had been taking full advantage of Skye’s ability to communicate with him telepathically. His inner voice was jarringly childlike by comparison to his appearance.

  Did he, now? she replied in annoyance as she met Aodh’s gaze. His eyes – one brown, the other such a pallid shade of blue that it appeared white from a distance – conveyed his readiness to react if the pair tried to escape. If they run or fight, kill them quietly, she instructed.

  Gladly, bright lady, Aodh answered with a deadly grin.

  She paused and studied her giant friend for a moment. Aodh averted his eyes. There was a touch of something in his gaze lately, aside from bashfulness. It was as if he was amused by some private joke that she was not privy to just yet. This whole ‘bright lady’ nickname from him was new, too. She had no idea what had started it. Shortly after her ascension and first use of power, he had taken to calling her by it.

  Aodh was in no way unintelligent or incapable of caring for himself. In fact, she knew that he had lived alone for several centuries. That said, he was a very innocent soul. By modern standards, he would be classified as autistic. Skye reasoned that perhaps the new nickname was his way of describing the power he had witnessed from her? Maybe he was still just in awe of it? The pointed way he said it, however, gave her the sneaking suspicion there was something more to it.

  Oblivious as the rest to the exchange between Skye and Aodh, Ruarachan grabbed Olivier by the back of his neck.

  “Did ya hear tha, vermin?” Ruarachan snarled. “My Queen has asked ya a question. Ya’d do well to answer.”

  Olivier spat a response angrily in French, glaring defiantly up at Skye as she watched with a bored expression.

  “Anyone care to translate?” she sighed.

  “The deluded bastard says ya only brought them down here ‘cause ya’ve nah the power to kill the lot of them at once. Says ya did nah really clear the battlefield at Faol Seunta,” Eògan interpreted with a smile.

  Ruarachan let out a low whistle as he released his hold and let Olivier fall to the floor. “And on tha note, we’ll be getting’ ourselves to safety,” he chuckled.

  Skye’s eyes flashed with interest as her brothers turned and made their way back upstairs to guard the door.

  “Really, now?” she asked in a dangerous whisper, closing the distance between herself and Olivier. Her eyes were changing, the blue rapidly fading away as the yellow raged to the surface. The wolf in her blood was taking charge, the animal side that had been dormant, but present since birth and irrevocably freed upon her first faol transformation. Now that she had completed the Nasgadh – the joining between the woman and wolf within her – these changes were more fluid and effortless than before.

  “You two are about to experience firsthand what happened to thousands of your kind that night,” she assured as her lips curved in a cruel smile. “It was glorious. Death swept over the grounds like wildfire…” she whispered with a shudder of excitement, holding her hands up and spreading her fingers apart as she recalled the sight of it. “So much pain and retribution delivered to so many wretched creatures… and it took so little effort. You will see.”

  Janette sobbed, clinging to her equally terrified mate. Olivier looked to be considering his chances of reaching the stairwell if he made a break for it.

  With white light shining brightly in her eyes, Skye leaned closer to them. She relaxed her magic’s hold over their link to Brandubh, giving him the ability to see what his minions saw. It was time to drive the point home, and she had a new lie to test out tonight.

  Keeping up the ruse that she was already Sorcha’s equal was imperative in ensuring compliance from the fògaraich, but it required a great deal of lying on her part. Skye was not very good at boasting about abilities that she did not possess. She had never come upon a need for such a skill. Typically, she allowed her fists and feet to do the talking. Under the expert tutelage of Ciaran, she was refining her talents in embellishment. Just as they had planned, she allowed the light in her eyes to flare as she spoke.

  “I brought you down here because I prefer to take my time with each of you. To watch you writhe as I once writhed. I brought you down here so that I could enjoy every blessed second of your pain,” she hissed.

  The fògarach elders screeched in anguish as the room became enveloped in blinding white light…

  2: Worship in the Bedroom

  Skye awoke slowly. She smiled and sighed contentedly at the familiar sensation of lying between her men in their shared bed. Warmth… Safety… Love… Home… There was no place in all the world that she would rather be.

  Her memory of the previous night was a bit blurry. She knew that Taran – bless his insanely-fine, Scottish arse – must have taken her home and put her to bed again. Sorcha had warned that there would be a learning curve of sorts. Until Skye fully accepted her own power and became comfortable with wielding it, their use would be exhausting. The Moon Goddess had not been lying. Several times since their arrival in Philadelphia, Skye had collapsed or completely lost consciousness after releasing her magic. Unfortunately, that fact only added to her instinctual fear of using her power again, which, in turn, prolonged the learning curve. But who could blame her? After all that she had endured in her life, the thought of blacking out in a fògarach nest and being rendered wholly defenseless was pretty damned terrifying. It was only due to her trust in her King that she continued the effort. If she was alone, she would not take the risk. Even now, hours later, Skye could feel the lingering weakness. She also felt new energy coursing through her veins. Upon killing the ancient fògarach couple, she had reclaimed the stolen magic used to sustain their wretched existences.

  It had been one hell of a lights display – just as it was every time she took down a fògarach using her power. Unfortunately, no matter how impressive her use of power was to her clansmen, in truth, she was still a rookie when it came to this magic s
tuff. She felt like a fraud when the men of her pack looked at her with such unbridled veneration. They saw her as an extension of the Great Mother, Herself. In hushed, awestricken tones, some even referred to her – to SKYE – as ban-dia na gealaich, for crying out loud!

  But she was just Skye. No matter how many titles they threw at her or how many startling new supernatural abilities she discovered, she was still, first and foremost, that same girl from Philly. Angry. Impatient. Foul-mouthed. Incredibly awkward when forced to behave femininely. Slow to trust. Quick to fight. Ordinary. Plain.

  Taran disagreed wholeheartedly with those descriptions. When he looked at her, he saw his mate. Queen Skye Faolan of the Tàcharain Fhaol Clan. Immortal. Commander of the faoil army. Daughter of the First, Faolan. Daughter of the Great Mother, Sorcha.

  Skye sighed quietly to herself. Here she was, parading around as if she had the slightest clue what it meant to be any one of those things.

  “Awake, wee one?” Taran whispered, drawing her from her thoughts.

  With a warm smile, she rolled over to face him. As she had found many times since they started this sleeping arrangement, Taran was watching her and Ciaran fondly. "I love it when you look at us like that," she whispered before leaning up to steal a sweet kiss.

  Taran chuckled softly against her lips. “Aye – just as much as I love to look upon ya sleeping so peacefully.”

  As if in response to his brother’s words, Ciaran nuzzled up to Skye’s back. He muttered something in Gaelic against her neck as he entwined his fingers with hers.

  “Surprisingly, it’s not at all creepy that you stay awake to watch us,” Skye teased.

  Taran smiled as he stroked her hair. “Ah, but it does this ancient heart well to see ya both as ya are. Serene. Safe. Ya look so content in your sleep, I’d rather be awake to enjoy the sight.”

  Skye watched in interest as he brushed the hair back from Ciaran’s brow. “You really do love him, don’t you?” she asked, still marveling at the strength of their bond and how fortunate she was to be part of it.