Ruarachan let out another quiet, involuntary growl as the stranger approached, greatly disliking Taran’s decision to allow this unknown individual near him. Taran rested his hand on Ruarachan’s shoulder appreciatively. He could feel that Ruarachan’s body was tense as a coiled spring, prepared to lash out at the first hint of threat.
“Who are ya and why are ya here?” Taran asked the stranger once he was standing a short distance away.
“Not big on small talk, huh?” the man noted in amusement. “I’m a friend of Skye’s – though she probably won’t remember me. The name’s Corbin Reed. Is she around?”
Ruarachan’s body tensed further still in response to the bold request. Taran gave his shoulder a squeeze, urging him to remain steady. Corbin glanced up at the towering ginger with a hint of apprehension but returned his attention to Taran.
Taran tilted his head, still eyeing Corbin with open distrust. “She is nah available to speak with presently.”
“Oh, because of the moon?” Corbin asked. “Wow, so then she’s one of you guys now, huh?” Seeing the way Taran’s eyebrows rose in surprise, Corbin waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, I know about all that. It’s fine. I got no problem with your kind.” He stepped closer as he added in a quieter tone, “Now, the other guys? I’d love nothing more than to roast marshmallows over the flames while they burn in Hell.”
Taran laughed grimly at that but took no comfort in Corbin’s supposed shared sentiments. It was an easy enough lie for an enemy to offer. For a stranger to be here at their gates, trying to reach Skye when she was already being attacked, it was going to take a hell of a lot more than hollow words to gain an audience with her.
“When do you think she’ll be free? I really need to talk to her,” Corbin pressed. He cast appraising looks at the handful of faoil who had taken up positions around him.
“I do nah know. Perhaps ya can leave your message with me?” Taran offered with a cold smile.
It was Corbin’s turn to give a humorless laugh. He ran a hand over his salt and pepper goatee and smiled. “Look, no offense, I’m sure you’re a great guy and all, but I don’t know you from Adam,” Corbin stated plainly. “I mean, true enough, in all my years, I’ve never seen any of your kind start problems or hurt an innocent person… but I gotta be honest: for all I know, you’re just the latest group of supernatural beings holding Skye against her will. I’m getting déjà vu here, ya know? You can understand my skepticism. I’d like to see for myself that she’s really safe.”
“Beadaidh searg,” Ruarachan snarled furiously under his breath at the audacity of this mortal to speak to his King in such a way.
“Gesundheit,” Corbin joked, clearly aware that Ruarachan had not sneezed.
Ruarachan’s eyes took on a golden hue as he curled back his lips, fighting back the urge to bite. Corbin narrowed his eyes on the furious faol, but he did not shy away.
Pointedly ignoring their posturing, Taran’s brow furrowed as he considered Corbin’s concerns. They were heavy with sincerity. Not that it was going to get him any closer to Skye, but Taran still took note of it.
“Fair point,” Taran granted. “Then we seem to have reached an impasse for the time being. Ya will nah leave your message with me, and Skye is nah available. All I can do for ya is this: leave your contact information and – once she is free – I will ask whether she has any interest in speaking with ya.”
“We can try that,” Corbin agreed and pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “Although, I’m not really sure my name is going to ring any bells for her. We didn’t have much by way of a conversation when we were together.”
Taran’s jaw flexed as he wondered just what the hell that was supposed to mean. Having heard more than enough, Ruarachan shifted his weight to his leading foot and started to reach for Corbin, preparing to haul him out into the street. Before he got any further, Taran gripped his hand tightly and held his arm as one would the leash of an attack dog. This time, Corbin did take a step back in the interest of self-preservation. Ruarachan growled in displeasure but, respecting his King’s wishes, grudgingly held steady.
Taran studied Corbin with renewed purpose, attempting to gauge whether this man had been a lover to Skye at some point since her escape. Corbin was nearly the exact height and build as Taran. His skin was a rich, chocolate brown that positively radiated virility. His black and silver goatee framed an easy smile. He had kind eyes and the fluid movement of one who had seen their fair share of fights. His body was strong and muscular, despite his many mortal years. Corbin was easily 30 years Skye’s senior, but Taran was the last person in the world to deny a man’s possible sexual connection with Skye based on age difference.
“I’ll keep checking back just in case she doesn’t know the name,” Corbin stated as he handed over his business card. “And hey, listen, I really do need to speak with her,” he stressed as he met Taran’s gaze intensely and held it for a moment. He looked up at the other faoil that surrounded him, pausing on the deadly glare Ruarachan was still leveling at him. Inclining his head before leaving, he said quietly, “Enjoy the rest of your day, gentlemen.”
Taran watched as the man turned and made his way back to the gate. He wondered at the stirring of jealousy he felt at the possibility that Corbin had been Skye’s lover. Scrutinizing its cause, he found the answer was obvious: Mortality. Unknown history with her from her mortal life. These were things Corbin possessed that Taran could never offer his Queen. Competing with another faol for Skye’s love and attention was a non-issue. Taran held her heart. He was her King and her mate. There was not a faol alive that could challenge him for those roles. But a mortal man who represented a piece of her own lost mortality? Taran frowned. That was something altogether different. Something fleeting and precious. Something that presented the very real possibility of drawing her undivided attention for a time.
Taran ground his teeth and considered the business card in his hand. He could burn it, he supposed. He could pretend this meeting had never taken place. He could order his men to prevent Corbin from ever returning to their gates by any means necessary. (Ruarachan was clearly hoping for that option.) Had Taran been a young, impetuous, insecure King, he would not have hesitated in taking those actions.
Thankfully, Taran was no young King. Instead, he smiled lightly and nodded to himself that it did not matter. Jealousy was pointless. It would only cause a rift between him and Skye that he was unwilling to create. If this Corbin fellow was someone with whom Skye shared a connection, she was welcome to embrace it. That being said, Taran would certainly not permit them to meet unless he knew it was safe.
“Donnach, take this to the young Asher lad called Schrader straight away,” Taran instructed as he handed the business card to the younger faol. “Tell him to research this man thoroughly for any hint he may pose a threat to Skye. Tell him I shall expect a full report by the time we return from Faol Seunta.”
“Right away, my King,” Donnach answered before hurrying off.
Removed from the hustle and bustle going on in the buildings above her, Skye spent the day within the confines of her cage. The hours passed with her wrapped up in the arms of Ciaran for most of the time, and Taran for any time he could get in between planning and preparing for their journey.
Skye was bone weary, but she fought with all of her strength to stay awake as long as possible. She was going to be sedated for the entirety of the trip. That meant she was facing the likelihood of an entire day trapped inside the hellscape of her nightmares.
She had several hallucinations over the course of the day, but thankfully nothing violent. Just things to torment her and threaten her sanity. Like seeing her brothers standing beyond the bars of her cage. Not speaking. Not moving. Just watching. Silently accusing. Sometimes they appeared as they had been the night they were murdered and turned into fògaraich. Young and innocent, their throats freshly bitten and still wet with their blood. Sometimes they appeared as they had while they tortured her. Still youn
g in appearance, yet twisted and cruel and covered in her blood.
“Don’t look, a stóirín,” Ciaran gently urged when he caught her staring off into the empty space in distress. He held her closer and guided her to hide her face away against his chest. “Whatever it is, just don’t look.”
When the sun set, Skye could barely muster the energy to congratulate Miko and Elijah when they both managed to overcome the need to transform with the rising of the moon. Thankfully, the ancients were able to make the moment as joyous as it should be for the pups.
“Tha settles it. The pups are coming along,” Taran declared once the cheering and celebratory ruckus had died down. “Go on and get your bags packed, lads. We’ll be heading out shortly.”
Elijah and Miko left to pack, each struggling to walk and laughing from their positions beneath Ailean’s massive arms. To say the ancient was proud of their achievement was a drastic understatement. He announced their arrival and gave a delighted retelling of their success at each new room they entered. His shouts could be heard for several minutes after they had gone.
Once a heavy silence had settled over the few who still remained in the area of the pup cages, Taran turned and gave Aiyana a meaningful look.
Aiyana nodded sadly and slowly approached Skye’s cage. “Guess it’s about that time,” she said softly.
“Yay. Time for my medicine,” Skye said unenthusiastically. Seeing the sadness in her friend’s eyes, she forced a smile for Aiyana’s benefit and lied, “It’s okay. I need the sleep, anyway.”
Ciaran held her tighter, wishing more than anything that he could spare her the torment to come. Skye had warned him to stay out of her head once she went under and to leave her be – even if it was obvious she was having a nightmare. After all the suffering she had endured that day alone, he was not sure he could do it.
Taran opened the cage door and entered. He sank to his knees before his Queen and held her face in his hands. “We will be right here with ya the entire time, my love. No matter what horrors ya see, no matter what lies these visions tell, know tha we are here, keeping ya safe.”
Skye swallowed hard and nodded as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her temple. Taran and Ciaran sat at her sides as Aiyana brought out the case with the sedatives and prepped a needle. Skye fought to keep her body still and not to quake with fear as it pierced her skin. She held her head up high as the sedatives hit her veins. She held back the whimper of terror that tried to escape her throat when the drugs began taking effect. And then, the blackness swallowed her whole.
Taran blinked through tears as he held her limp body in his arms for several moments. He ran a trembling hand through her hair and tried not to feel guilt for what they had done. Even though it was her own idea, it broke his heart that they had just abandoned her to face the horrors in her mind alone. He kissed her brow and spoke gently to her, promising that they would not leave her side.
Ciaran, Aiyana, Ruarachan, and Drostan watched silently, each warring with their own emotions as Taran worked up the strength to place Skye on the mattress and step away.
Once he was clear, Aiyana moved to sit beside Skye on the bed and opened a cloth bag she had been carrying. One by one, she pulled items from the bag and laid them out. Ciaran’s eyes passed over the colors of the candles present, then on to the herbs, flowers, seeds, roots, and various other items. He noted what each was, then – satisfied that there was nothing to fear – returned his attention to Skye.
Taran, however, looked at the items and grew steadily more anxious. “These spells ya are planning to use… Drostan has looked them over?”
“Aye, brother,” Drostan assured. “Just protective spells. Ways to block some of the outward influences. Nothing tha can cause her any harm. Aiyana did well in her search for things to help. They are nah permanent fixes, as we do nah know the root cause, but they are sure to provide Skye at least a small measure of relief during the journey.”
Taran nodded and inclined his head to Aiyana. “Ya have my deepest gratitude.”
“I just pray it’s enough to help her even a little bit,” Aiyana said as she began combining ingredients in a small bowl. “Poor girl needs a break already.”
13: Through the Glass
For the drive to the airport, Skye was kept in the back of a customized, heavily-fortified tractor-trailer designed specifically for transporting pups. Ciaran stayed with her, holding her close and monitoring her surface emotions through their link. Taran was never more than a few feet away as he paced the interior, calling to check in with everyone in their convoy. Ruarachan sat at the back like a statue, his hazel gaze closely monitoring their surroundings through the many tinted windows.
They boarded the clan’s private jet and were greeted by countless old, familiar faces. Each faoil bowed their head respectfully as Taran passed by carrying Skye to the rear of the jet. Several cages were already present for times when they had to travel with pups. Taran stopped at the center cage and waited while Ciaran put together a makeshift bed for them there.
For the start of the flight, both men stayed with her, offering her comfort and occasionally exchanging worried glances. Neither of them liked this, but there was nothing to be done for it. All they could do was wait. When questions arose amongst the other faoil about what would take place after they landed in Scotland, Taran reluctantly climbed from the cage and left Skye to Ciaran’s care. It was not long after that, when Ciaran began to notice a difference in Skye via their link.
At first, there was nothing but white light and warmth. The more Skye fought to pass through it, the brighter that light became. She wanted answers, though, and some part of her just knew they lay ahead. So, she stopped fighting to pass through the light. She calmed herself and simply willed herself past it.
The sensation of cold stone beneath her bare feet was the first thing Skye became aware of. For a moment or two, she could not make out her surroundings in the sudden absence of blinding light. Her faol senses alerted her to the fact that she was in a vast, cavernous space – impossibly deep underground. Gradually, she began to perceive an orb of dim light up ahead. Slowly and cautiously, she set out toward it. The closer she came, the brighter the orb grew.
She looked around in terror as she began to make out the space around her. At first glance, it appeared that she was in a towering forest… but something about it was wrong. There was no scent of leaves or bark. No life in the soaring trees. A closer look revealed that they were made of stone. Thousands upon thousands of trees had been carved to create this dead, underground forest.
Skye’s heart leapt into her throat. Who would need a forest of stone? Who would have the power to command such a thing be built and limitless time to oversee its creation?
As if in time with that sickening realization, a raven cried out to her left. In an instant, the cave filled with the deafening cries and beating wings of thousands of ravens as they took flight.
She felt a pull – a draw on her powers. Before she could instinctively recoil from the sensation, a small tendril of her magic was drawn down the pathway ahead of her. The white light paused every few yards to pass over another orb. The crystal structures slowly grew in intensity until each shone brightly to light her way.
She took a deep breath and set out down the path. Before long, she spotted motion between the trees at her side. A young woman was running within the forbidden interior of the forest, but her movements were unnatural. She seemed to be trapped in slow motion. Her long, flowing, black hair and dress billowed and fanned out behind her as if under water. Her footfalls were silent. She possessed no scent or warmth.
Skye watched as the woman disappeared behind a tree and failed to emerge on the other side. She frowned, thinking the specter had vanished, only to gasp a second later when the woman appeared directly in front of her on the stone path. Skye was temporarily spellbound by the woman’s beauty. There was something about her face that was familiar, but Skye could not place what it was.
&nbs
p; “You have come at last,” the woman whispered in relief.
“Where am I?” Skye asked as she took in the bewitching woman’s ghostly appearance. “And who are you?”
Startled by something that Skye failed to perceive, the woman looked off into the distance in fear. “Quickly, you must–!” the woman urged in a rush before fading away midsentence.
Skye remained frozen in place for several moments – unsure what to do or what to expect. When it became clear that the woman would not be reappearing any time soon, Skye cautiously moved on.
She walked for what felt like hours before the pathway finally opened to reveal a massive set of stone steps. When she focused on the throne perched at their summit, it felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. She could only just barely make out the stooped shape of the man seated in the place of veneration.
His voice was pure venom as he whispered, “Sorcha…” His whisper echoed louder than a shout, causing Skye to take a startled step back. “Come to gloat, Goddess? To gaze upon the broken wretch you have reduced me to? Have you not tired of your torments?”
As he spoke, his voice multiplied around her, seemingly amplified by the enchanted stone forest. The loudest of his echoed words were in Gaelic, but amongst the whispers, a faint incarnation of his voice was in English.
Skye swallowed hard and gradually built up enough courage to whisper, “Brandubh?”
The surprised hiss he gave in response as he leapt to his feet caused her to jump in fright. His black wings stretched out wide behind him and sent her heart racing. “Sgitheanach…” he breathed in abject disbelief. He gaped down at her.
She felt rooted in place once he slowly began descending the stairs in primal, stalking sidesteps. As unbidden tears formed in her eyes, she realized that they were not due to fright. They were due to his magnificence. Her mind’s hypothetical version of him had done him no justice.
Goddess Rising Page 18
