Ciaran chuckled and patted Taran’s cheek. “I am touched that you care, brother,” Ciaran joked with a grin.
Taran caught his hand and gripped it tightly. He looked into Ciaran’s eyes intensely.
“I do care,” Taran insisted resolutely. It still wounded him deeply that his misguided jealousy had damaged the century-long, previously unshakable bond between them.
Ciaran’s features softened in response to his sincerity. “I know, brother,” he assured.
“And… I still worry,” Taran admitted. “So much of this is foreign to me. So much of it bigger than I was prepared for. It feels as if we are being swept along by the tides of fate… But I do not share your innate ability to sense what is happening. And I do not possess the ability to bite my tongue and serve unquestioningly. I want to understand – especially when you and Sgitheanach are putting yourselves in danger. So, please, brother, tell me what is going on. What did she need to practice on you?”
Ciaran opened his mouth to speak, but he felt Skye tugging at him through their link just then – a curious, wordless request for reassurance that he was all right. Taran has stopped to speak with me. I will be there soon, Ciaran assured her in his mind before slowly closing their connection.
Ciaran sighed and surveyed the area for anyone within earshot. Meeting Taran’s for a moment, he then glanced up at the forest meaningfully. While he was uncertain of the cause, he had sensed Skye’s past unease here – the way she was internally guarded even as she gave the outward appearance of calm.
Taran’s eyes widened as he briefly considered the possible reasons for needing to keep secrets here, but he stayed silent and nodded in understanding.
Ciaran spoke quietly still. “Skye has a few tricks up her sleeve for fighting the war in her time. It is something I am uniquely suited to aid her in, and she was testing whether it was possible.”
“And is it? Possible, I mean?”
“Yes. It worked.”
Taran scowled. “But it has caused you great harm. I recognize the look in your eyes.”
Ciaran cast a nervous glance toward the village and bit his bottom lip.
Taran’s own lips parted in realization before he breathed, “Sgitheanach does not know.”
Ciaran’s jaw flexed guiltily. His gaze became affixed to the ground.
“Brother, she does not know how greatly it wounded you, does she?” Taran pressed.
“It did not cause any physical damage. My body is fine. I will survive it,” Ciaran insisted. “It is just…” His eyes closed as he recalled the sensation. He shook his head and winced. His lips trembled, and tears filled his eyes. His voice quavered as he confessed, “…agonizing. Worse than anything I have ever felt, brother.”
Taran stared at him in absolute perplexity. “Why ever would you hide such a thing from her?”
Ciaran opened his tearful eyes and looked up at his brother as if the answer were obvious. “Because what we achieved today could save her life. What she is going to do when she returns to her time… What I am going to do to help her… It just might be the difference between her dying in battle or surviving long enough to reach us. And if that means I must suffer – for any length of time, so be it. But… if she finds out…”
Taran’s eyes rolled closed as he finished his brother’s sentence, “…she would never go through with it. She would spare you the pain, even if it put her at greater risk.”
“She cannot know, Taran,” Ciaran insisted. “She thinks it only caused me heartache. I cannot let her find out otherwise.”
“Ciaran…” Taran sighed. He pursed his lips and exhaled slowly through his nose. His eyes narrowed on the village in the distance. He disliked this – having to carry the secret of his brother’s pain, deciding whether he was willing to allow Ciaran to put himself through something so terrible. He shook his head and drew a hand over his mouth.
“This was but a practice run,” Taran reminded gravely. “Whatever she has done to you will likely pale in comparison to the real thing. The pain you are describing? It is probably only a fraction of what you will endure in her time. You are sentencing your future self to what sounds to be horrific torture. Perhaps if you tell her, she can protect you or even find another way to–”
“She will be everything to us one day,” Ciaran declared softly.
Taran frowned as he met Ciaran’s glittering blue eyes.
“Everything,” Ciaran stressed. “Our whole world. Our reason for living – long after life has lost its meaning for us. She is our future. Do you understand that?”
Reluctantly, Taran nodded. “I know. She has shown me.”
Ciaran smiled lightly at that. “Then you understand failure is not an option. What I will do to help her, there is no other way to accomplish. Either I do this, or she loses a vital advantage in battle. I cannot allow something as trivial as pain to prevent me from helping her. Would you?”
Taran frowned deeply, disliking the answer.
Ciaran nodded knowingly. “She must return to us safely. She must. I would give anything to ensure it.”
Taran sighed and gripped the back of Ciaran’s head, bringing their foreheads together for a moment. He closed his eyes and shook his head slowly, keeping his hold on Ciaran. “You are a fool, brother,” Taran admonished quietly. He opened his eyes and smiled as he added, “But you are a brave fool. And Sgitheanach is lucky to have one so devoted by her side.”
Ciaran grinned back at his brother. “She has two so devoted. I have seen you in her future, as well. You will be as wrapped around her little finger as I.”
Taran laughed and released Ciaran, nodding in agreement as he pulled away.
35: Too Much to Ask
At first, Skye wondered how she would know it was time to attempt the return trip to her time. When that day came, she no longer wondered. She awoke with certainty burning in her veins. She had repeatedly practiced fighting in similar scenarios to what awaited her. She was comfortable wearing her armor and wielding Taran’s sword. She had traveled through time without issue. She had tested Ciaran’s ability to store and release her power from a distance.
It was time.
She did not have the heart to tell Ciaran when she reached the decision that morning. Better to wait as long as possible before telling him.
She went about her day as if all was the same, but it was not. She felt as if a countdown had begun in the back of her mind. Minutes were now slipping by, bringing her closer to the moment of truth – when she would traverse time and defeat her enemies… or die in the effort.
“I am leaving soon,” she told Taran softly when they finished their lessons that evening. As soon as the words left her mouth, Skye frowned at their unexpected weight – the way they seemed to hang heavily in the air between them.
Taran paused with the waterskin still pressed to his lips. He had known something was off about her. He had known the day would come when she would make such a declaration. What he had not anticipated was the pain in his gut that came in response to hearing it confirmed aloud. His brow furrowed and, to avoid meeting her gaze, he turned and pretended to be engrossed in the task of closing the waterskin and putting it back with the rest of their things.
“When?” he asked in a careful tone with his back to her.
“Three days,” Skye answered. “On the full moon. It will give me time to tell everyone and give Faolan and Sorcha time to organize whatever ceremonies or feasts they will insist on having before I go.” She frowned studying the rigid lines of Taran’s shoulders as she spoke. She could always read his emotions there, especially those he worked hardest to conceal from her. “I will leave from the place I arrived, back at the cave,” she continued. “Sorcha and I will erase everyone’s memories of me once I am past the borders of Faol Seunta.”
Taran turned and gave her an openly-apprehensive look.
Skye smiled. She had known he would take issue with that plan. “Do not worry – you and Ciaran will accompany me to the cave. I w
ill take your memories from you both before I leave this time.”
Taran nodded and trained his gaze on a random blade of grass. “Have you told him?” he asked quietly.
Skye shook her head.
“He will not take it well,” Taran commented.
Even as he said it, Taran could barely hear his own voice. A confusing, powerful surge of emotion was building within him the likes of which he had not experienced in many decades. Not since… He tried to tamp it down and stay in control, but the harder he fought, the more intense it became. His chest was tight. His eyes were wet. His jaw was clenched. The increase in his heart rate and quickening of his breathing were drawing dangerously close to betraying his inner turmoil. Given the way Skye had broken him with her punishments, he had no desire to appear weak before her ever again.
With a clearing of his throat, he gave his best effort to sound unaffected as he said, “Yes, well… That leaves a few more days to practice. Same time tomorrow?”
Before Skye had a chance to reply, Taran turned and stalked away. She watched in surprise as he made a beeline for the closest path, quickly disappearing beyond a wall of dense forest.
All Taran knew was he had to get away from her. He could not breathe. He could barely see past the infuriating tears that were forming in his eyes. What was wrong with him? Why was he responding in this way? He felt… fear and heartbreak and frustration and grief. As if he needed to DO SOMETHING. As if he needed to ignore his mind, abandon reason, and just act with his heart. Be open and honest. Be recklessly, unashamedly weak. Demand things that were impossible.
The last time he felt anguish and torment such as this had been during his first days as a faol. After he made the decision to walk away from his family, to no longer be there to protect them or see them again and… OH.
He never saw his little sisters after that. Or his parents or other siblings. And now it was far too late to ever go back. Because all of them… Every last one… They were… dead.
In response to that terrible, typically-doggedly-evaded truth, Taran’s vision failed him. Temporarily blinded by the anguish in his mind, he stumbled to a halt, leaning against a tree to stay upright. He squeezed his eyes shut and fought to repress fond memories of his sisters… The ones he had raised as his own… The ones he had never seen fully grow to womanhood or wed or bear children. The ones he never said goodbye to beyond kissing their heads as they slept.
Gods, he could still hear their joyful laughter…
They were long-dead.
And he had missed it all. Their entire lives.
I should never have let them go.
I should have fought to stay with them.
Taran held back a hopeless sob and bit down on his lip until he tasted blood. The sharp pain was at least enough to clear his vision. He shoved off the tree furiously, desperate to put distance between him and his would-one-day-be mate. He struggled to find his footing again before setting out.
He could feel his thoughts trying to take that next logical step, to come to terms with the reason for his current, pitiful state, but he desperately did not want to face it. In response to his denial, his heart beat wildly in his ears. His emotions grew to a wordless, rapidly-intensifying, irrational roar in his mind. He clawed at his chest and throat in vain as he walked. He simply could not breathe properly, that was all. If he could just get a blessed breath…
Caught in the crushing grip of his first-ever panic attack, Taran felt as if he was suffocating. His efforts to convince his brain that he could, in fact, breathe were causing him to unintentionally overcompensate. He was hyperventilating without realizing it.
Taran tromped along clumsily through the thick forest, gripping tree trunks in passing for support and making his way to the river solely on memory and instinct. He barely registered stripping off his clothing and wading out into the frigid, waist-deep water. He was still trying to get his breathing under control when he felt the first welcomed shocking blast of white water rushing over his face from the falls above.
He gasped wetly in surprise as the jarring force and sound of the white water snapped him back to reality. He turned his face away for a moment to draw a much-needed deep breath, then leaned back into the water for more. His hands grasped the cold, algae-slick rocks as he held his face beneath the water for a moment at a time. The worst of the panic mercifully dissolved beneath the powerful spray.
When he finally felt that he was in control of his breathing and mind again, he moved away slightly and wiped the excess water from his face. He turned and tipped his head back, leaning into the waterfall once more. The force of the cascade gathered his wild hair together and smoothed it into some semblance of order.
Feeling much better than he had moments earlier, he exhaled in relief and slowly opened his eyes. When he focused on his surroundings, he instantly wished to retreat into the falls again.
Skye was standing at the riverbank beside the pile of his hastily discarded clothing, silently watching his every move.
Taran swore crudely under his breath before looking down at the surface of the water. The last thing he wanted was to attempt to explain himself and his unwarranted emotional reaction in that moment. He had not even allowed himself to process the cause for his feelings yet. How could he possibly explain what she had just (rather inconveniently for him) witnessed?
Judging by the expression on her face, they were about to have a chat about it regardless.
He slowly, grudgingly made his way back toward the shore, but at the last minute, with the water pooled at his hips, he decided against climbing out. It seemed terribly ill-advised to approach her naked after… well, everything.
They stared at one another in tense, awkward silence for a long moment before Skye finally spoke. She looked down at the pile of clothing, nudging it purposefully with her foot. “Funny… I can barely keep you dressed in my time, too. I see these nudist tendencies have always been a thing for you.”
Surprised by her humor in the face of such tension, Taran suppressed a smile and tilted his head to the side.
Emboldened by the way his features were rapidly softening, Skye asked in feigned impatience, “Are you planning on coming out of there? If you are feeling shy, remember I am familiar enough with your body to know – with absolute certainty – that any detrimental effect that icy water is having is only temporary.”
Taran was so caught off guard by her bold, playful words that he laughed, quietly at first, then louder until the sound of his boisterous laughter echoed off the trees. Tension forgotten, he shook his head and smiled up at her gratefully.
He waded up out of the water with intentional swagger as he teased, “Not shy at all. I simply wanted to give you the opportunity to look away in case any of… this…” He glanced down at his magnificent, nude body, then back at her with a self-assured smile. “…has diminished with age. I did not want you unfairly holding my future-self to my current high standards.”
Skye laughed at that and gave him a once-over. “Nothing diminishes – believe me,” she assured. With a thoughtful expression, she added as an afterthought, “If anything, you improve with age. Like a leggy colt maturing into a stallion.”
Taran’s brows rose high in amusement as he picked up his pants and began the difficult task of sliding them onto his wet frame. “Oh, a colt, am I?” he challenged as he slid the pants up over his utterly fantastic bare arse.
“Oh, a colt, you are,” Skye agreed puckishly.
Taran grunted in feigned disapproval as he tied the front of his pants. He sat back on a boulder to get to work pulling on his boots.
“Ah, well, I suppose that is a fair description,” he finally conceded. He looked her dead in the eyes and said with a wicked, wolfish grin, “After all, I am still too young for you to be riding just yet.”
She let slip a short burst of laughter before pursing her lips and giving him a lighthearted scowl (mainly because she could not form words.) He chuckled victoriously and gave her a wink
as he returned his attention to his boots.
She bit her lip the instant his eyes were no longer on her. She could not deny her attraction to him. He was dripping wet, shirtless, talking about her riding him, and she was growing steadily fonder of this playful, younger version of her mate. She looked back at the waterfall to distract herself from the way his biceps and pecs shifted and flexed as he carefully laced up his boots, and the way errant strands of his wet hair hung down in his face. She recalled how much she missed her King’s long hair after he cut it. And here it was – all silky and thick and within reach if she wanted to grip a handful and give a tug and hear that particular special moan he always used to give in response…
Giving herself a hard, mental shake, she looked back at Taran and decided to pry. “So… are we going to talk about this?” she asked quietly.
Taran’s hands stilled in their work. He looked up at her slowly. His striking gray eyes were heavy like storm clouds, swirling with restrained emotion. “Must we?” he asked hoarsely. He returned his attention to lacing his boots, though his movements had slowed to prolong the task.
Skye studied him, considering her words. She finally closed the distance between them and took a seat on the boulder beside him. She thought for a moment before beginning softly. “When I first met you… not you-you, but future-you… I never wanted to let anything out. All those memories I showed you? All that torment? I locked it up inside for years, no matter how much it hurt. There was not a living soul in this world who knew, no one I would have trusted to share it with. Even when I began making friends, I was too afraid that talking about my pain or fear would mean I was weak. And then… I met you.” She smiled fondly, recalling the first time she laid eyes on him. “You changed all of that. You were the first one I ever opened up to. The one I still trust to be vulnerable with. You and I are not yet what we one day will be… but I am still your wife.”
Taran’s heart clenched in response to her words.
Goddess Rising Page 50
