Taran gave her a sympathetic look as his posture relaxed. His features softened, and eyes glittered in response. He had seen the hellscape of her mind. He knew all too well what sanity meant to her. He thought it over for a moment before saying, “I suppose I have a great deal of work to do before I share your views on my responsibilities as your mate… but, going by your experience, it seems I will get there eventually.”
Skye smiled. “You will definitely get there,” she assured. “That being said, in my time, you are not even remotely okay with our current separation or the danger I was in. I need to make sure I get back to your future self in one piece.”
Taran nodded as his mind replayed her memories. “We will practice techniques for grounding the winged ones. The larger beasts have a few flaws in their grotesque design – weak points that can be exploited.” He tilted his head and gave her a curious look as something suddenly occurred to him. “Do you think you can carry items with you back to your time?”
Skye frowned thoughtfully. “I had not considered it.”
Taran’s mind raced. “You arrived here wearing what was left of your clothing. You can bring more than just your physical form. And when you… ascended to Triple Goddess…” he forced out in a strained voice. He cleared his throat as he continued, “…your form changed to include different, foreign attire for one of your incarnations. When you returned to your singular form, your attire was precisely the way it had been before the change – right down to the paint on your skin. You were able to conjure items based off memory and thought.”
Skye’s eyes widened in surprise. “I had not put that together,” she breathed. That certainly opened a new realm of possibilities. “You are right, with practice, I should be able to bring things without issue. When I work with Sorcha on how to travel back without burning myself, I will go over that, as well.”
“Then it is settled,” Taran said with a nod. “When we reach Faol Seunta, in between your practice with Sorcha, I will train you to prepare for battle. I hope I will prove to be as capable an instructor for you in this time as I am in the future.”
28: Locks and Love
Skye and Taran went their separate ways as everyone got ready to sleep. He still intended to keep his distance, aside from their upcoming lessons, and that was fine by her. Given everything she had subjected him to, he had already made incredible progress. She could deal with things staying a bit frosty between them for the time being.
When Skye settled in for the night, she burrowed into Ciaran’s welcoming embrace, eagerly soaking up all of his sweetness as he stroked her hair and kissed her brow. Even though her attention had been drawn elsewhere for several hours, Ciaran was still remarkably content.
She looked up at him curiously and studied his appearance. She was pleased to find that he had not diminished at all. The power she had given him earlier that night was sitting well with him. He looked very much like the Ciaran she knew and loved – maybe not quite as radiant and joyful, but close. He needed little more than a haircut and a change of clothes to convincingly pass for his future self.
She wondered over that. Why had he been so content when she first met him in her own timeline? If all went according to plan, by that point he would not have seen her in four millennia. So, why did he look like he was chockful of her power so long after –?
Her eyes widened in sudden realization.
She recalled the way Ciaran had glowed to her eyes just after her Return, the night she had met Sorcha for the first time. At the center of his chest, for a brief time, she had been able to glimpse intense light shining like a beacon – the mark that had drawn her Wolf to him. It had looked eerily like…
She rested her hand on his chest.
It settled easily into the exact location of the mark.
She inhaled deeply as the pieces began fitting together in her mind. If she managed to successfully return to her own time, she was going to arrive virtually powerless, but Ciaran could store her power. Doing so was pleasurable for him. It kept him happy and vibrant in her absence. He could also return that stored power to her in her time of need. It seemed impossible, but she already knew it was true: before leaving this time, she was going to fill him up with enough power to keep him blissful and carefree for over 4,000 years. And apparently, it was going to work just fine.
Biting her lip, she realized that she could not tell anyone about this new part of the plan without being barraged by questions as to why Ciaran was able to accomplish such a thing. Ciaran would be open to it without question… and at least she could speak with Drostan about it privately if she wanted advice…
“Your mind is so terribly busy,” Ciaran whispered. The side of his upper lip curled up into a familiar, playful smile. He drew his fingertips down the side of her face fondly. His eyes flashed with interest, silently informing her of his desire to thoroughly distract her from the thoughts in her head. He sighed disappointedly, however, and cast a glance in the direction of Faolan’s slumbering form.
The fact that Faolan was sleeping a matter of feet away from them effectively took sex of any kind off the table, but Skye could deal with that. Faolan’s presence did add an intense sense of safety.
“You are right,” she agreed. “I have a lot on my mind. If I keep going at this rate, I will not get any sleep tonight.”
“…and not even for the reasons I would prefer,” Ciaran joked.
Skye laughed and kissed his lips sweetly. “Your sense of humor has not changed by the time we meet.” She closed her eyes and let her thoughts wander back to her own time. She recalled in perfect clarity looking into Taran and Ciaran’s eyes in the back of that truck just before their worlds had been upended. She recalled the silent promise they had all made to find their way back to one another, no matter what. She would make it back to them.
Finding Aodh had been incredibly reassuring. Recalling the mark on Ciaran in her time was further confirmation that her unexpected foray into time-travel had already come to pass. Not only that, it meant that two of her pack members’ lives had been greatly improved as a result. Three, actually, if she counted Taran’s recent shift from an egotistical, jealous, misogynistic, immature douchebag into a repentant, compassionate, helpful ally.
She was on the right path – no matter how bumpy and indirect it proved to be. There was a lot of work to be done, questions to be answered, and details to be ironed out, but she could do this. She had a plan. Or, at least, the beginnings of an evolving plan… But it was a start.
Skye drifted off into the first genuinely restful sleep she had in weeks.
The clan was eager to hit the road the following morning and beyond excited to present Skye to Sorcha. Unfortunately, it called for a lot of ceremony. Skye was impatient to reach Faol Seunta (and the apparently deceitful Moon Goddess) so they could get things in motion, but she did not want to mess this moment up for the men. To get through their preparations as quickly as possible, she followed their requests and instructions.
In a private chamber of the cave, she bathed to remove the flaking white paint from her body. With Ciaran’s help, she applied a fresh coat. Drostan carefully repainted the appropriate woad symbols on her skin. This time, however, in acknowledgement of her ascension, he placed the symbol for the Triple Goddess on her brow.
When the time came to have her hair styled, Ciaran moved to take care of it. Skye hesitated, however. She caught his hand before he could begin and frowned thoughtfully. She recalled watching Taran in the mirror in her time as he braided her hair with such obvious devotion and care. How much pride he took in the act…
“What is it?” Ciaran asked curiously.
“A hunch,” Skye replied. She turned to Drostan and asked, “Why does Taran wash and braid my hair in my time? ONLY him – never once Ciaran. Taran takes pride in it. It calms him. Brings him comfort. Why does it hold such significance for him?”
Drostan bit his lip, wincing slightly in response to the subject. “You read him well,” he not
ed quietly. He considered his words for a moment, his eyes flitting to Ciaran before he answered reluctantly, “In our mortal tribe, caring for another’s hair was a thing for husband and wife. It was intimate. Were we still mortal, having another man touching your hair in such a way would be tantamount to committing adultery.”
Ciaran paled considerably at that revelation. With a pained expression he said, “I did not know.”
“How would you?” Drostan asked pointedly and gave Ciaran a look that conveyed how preposterous his statement had been.
Skye smiled seeing Ciaran’s features rapidly soften. Drostan’s reaction had served its intended purpose. The guilt that had just started to swirl in Ciaran’s mind quickly dissipated.
“Your tribe’s ways varied greatly from ours, Ciaran, and it is not as if we have ever had cause to compare marriage customs.” Drostan reminded. “But… Taran is clearly struggling with it,” he said as he looked back to Skye. “His upbringing is clashing with the arrangement between the three of you. Rationality is contending with deep-seated arrogance and possessiveness because – you must remember – Taran was royalty in our tribe. He was treated as such. He was in line for the throne, groomed from the time he was a boy for the possibility that he would one day become a great warrior King. He does not readily share with others, as he was never expected to do so. Even if the two of you were only lovers, accepting that your body does not belong to him exclusively would be difficult enough for him. Knowing that he is your mate – your husband – makes it even harder. Watching you and Ciaran care for one another – and yes, particularly your hair – is salt in the wound.”
Skye thought on that for a while. “In my time, Taran cut all of his hair off,” she recalled slowly and watched Drostan’s reaction. She swallowed hard when his lips parted in abject shock. “I did not ask him to do it, but he did it for me. He wanted to look the part of my husband, to blend in with my culture.” She shook her head, realizing the full weight of his actions and how difficult it must have been for him. After a moment, she said, “You two can go ahead and get yourselves ready. I need to talk to a bullheaded future-King.”
She set out into the main chamber of the cave to find Taran. True, she was still a bit miffed with him over the whole attempted-rape / Triple-Goddess-smackdown incident. It was going to take quite a while before she entirely forgave his arrogance. However, he had been greatly humbled by the experience and clearly set on the right path to become the man she loved. And out of respect for her King, she wanted to do this right.
It only took her a moment to locate him amidst the crowd. When he saw her approaching, he sat up straight. His eyes darted around anxiously trying to gauge whether she was really seeking him out.
“Taran, can you come with me for a moment? I need your help with something,” she requested softly and waited for him to awkwardly climb to his feet. He followed along after her but was still visibly skittish in her presence. She could not blame him.
Once they were alone in the chamber, she turned to face him. He stopped several feet away. His stance was cautious as he studied her face, trying to get a read of her mood.
She met his gaze and informed him, “I wanted you to know that, in my time, you are the only one who ever helps me with my hair.”
Taran’s expression shifted between emotions in response, but she could plainly see the relief that passed over his features.
“I did not realize the full meaning and importance of that,” she admitted. “I never got around to asking. But since I do know now, I feel like it would be wrong to allow anyone else to do it while I am here. Can you…?” She motioned to her wet tresses with a befuddled look. She had no idea how to get it back into the appropriate style. She hoped he did.
Taran nodded, unable to speak as he stepped behind her. He was utterly overwhelmed to be taking part in this ritual with her. He felt unworthy to do so, but thankful for the unexpected opportunity. He knew he would never have another mate aside from Skye, no matter how many years separated him from the time they would meet again. She had been careful never to give an exact timeframe, but he strongly suspected that he had a very long road ahead of him before he experienced this level of intimacy with her again.
Skye slowly relaxed into the familiar sensation of his large hands tugging and arranging her hair. Her eyes rolled closed and she felt tension in her shoulders easing. It felt so right – the closest she had felt to her King since being pulled from his grasp. If he were to call her ‘my wee Queen’ right then, her heart just might burst.
She realized through the haze of relaxation that she no longer instinctually distrusted him. Just a short time ago, having her eyes closed with him standing behind her while they were alone would have been enough to trigger a transformation. Now, her Wolf was utterly calm, no longer perceiving him as a threat. She smiled to herself at that. Yes, he was certainly on the right path.
When she was ready, everyone loaded packs of supplies onto their backs and set out on foot. She marveled at the mass of them walking together across the vast, uninhabited landscape. Seeing the nomadic origins of her clan saddened her for some reason. Perhaps because she wanted them all to have a safe, permanent place to call home.
Drostan led several songs along the way. For a bunch of burly werewolves, the men harmonized amazingly well. She supposed they got a lot of practice. They were always wandering, and their songs were this time’s equivalent to listening to the car radio. Most of the tunes were tales of battles they had won and the freedom of the hunt. A few were about the Great Mother and the moon. Skye’s absolute favorite, however, focused on her. She refused to feel even a little bad about that. The song was a joyful, prophetic, rhythmic chant about what it would mean for the clan to finally find her, and how she would lead them to victory over the fògaraich. The way the men sang it was enough to give her goosebumps. It filled her with anticipative energy and made her eager to dive into battle… which she supposed was sort of the whole point of the song.
An hour into their trek, she started missing the existence of vehicles. Walking could not really tire her, but it slowed their progress significantly. Running on all fours in faol form was a far speedier alternative, but she doubted such a blatant display of their abilities in broad daylight would earn them any favor with the local tribes.
She wondered about the lack of horses. She knew in her time many of the ancients were avid animal lovers, so she reasoned that it could not be that the animals were afraid. When she asked Ciaran about it, he explained that horses – along with all other animals – could not stand to be in the presence of faoil pups, and there were a few traveling with them at that moment. Horses could sense the untamed savagery of the juvenile wolves and instinctively kept their distance. Only after a faol had mastered their change, were animals calm in their presence once more. With training, or magic, an animal could be soothed to trust all faoil, but it took a great deal of time and effort.
“All animals keep their distance?” Skye asked purposefully, now even more suspicious of the raven that had been flying overhead and hopping along the neighboring clifftops.
“Yes, all animals,” Drostan answered. He followed her gaze and frowned when he saw the reason for her question.
“I have been watching it, as well,” Faolan said quietly.
“Sent by Brandubh?” Ailean asked.
“Safe to assume,” Skye commented.
“Likely keeping him apprised of our location,” Ciaran growled.
“There would be no need. He can sense me without a scout,” Skye said, causing several of the men to scowl in displeasure.
“Shall we kill it then?” Eògan asked hopefully.
“No point,” Faolan answered. “Another would take its place.”
“If Brandubh intends to attack us, let him come. We are ready for a fight,” Taran declared gruffly, glad that today, he truly was ready.
“He will not attack,” Skye assured with surprising certainty. Her brows drew together as she said, mo
re to herself than the others, “He just wants me to know he is near.”
As if in reply to her words, the raven cawed, spread its wings, and bowed its head graciously. Her clansmen bristled and exchanged cross looks as the group picked up the pace, now more eager than ever to get Skye within the protection of Faol Seunta.
Whether the men wanted to hear it or not, Skye knew the bird’s presence was for her. It was meant as an offering and reminder – an invitation for her to call upon Brandubh or seek him out in her dreams whenever she wished. She greatly disliked the fact that she was eventually going to accept that invitation. As much as she loathed it, she would have to speak with him at some point. She needed answers about what really happened between him, Sorcha, and Faolan.
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