by Dawn Madigan
Her breath caught.
He stood, huge and magnificent, pale mist still bathing his feet. The fire’s ruddy glow touched his fur with molten copper. The deceitful darkness made his wound difficult to recognize, a dark, wet stain tarnishing his fur’s perfection.
She could hear his voice in her mind. Dara, stand back, he was begging of her.
He thundered a low, ominous growl at the black creature facing him, and limped forward.
The transformed Hound crouched slightly, barely a leap away from him. His yellow eyes scorched the both of them, as hungry as the fire’s flames. He launched himself into the smoke-thick air with startling abruptness, smashing into Rowan’s mac’tir form with brutal force. His steely claws scored bloody, ragged lines in Rowan’s flanks, ripping his arrow-wound wider. The two mac’tir beasts rolled against the crushed grass in an intimate tangle, copper and black alternating, tearing at each other’s flesh with fangs and claws.
Dara screamed, stumbling away from the violent duel. Her hand was so tight on her dagger, it hurt. Her knees gave way and she sank down at the Stone’s foot, hot tears blinding her.
The Hound was killing Rowan.
She swung the back of her left hand against the tears. Her vision was still tear-blurred, and angrily, she wiped the remaining wetness from her eyes. The night grew sharp again. Then all of its gory details snapped into place, like the pieces of a puzzle.
A bonfire.
A white, round moon riding high, on its way to the western horizon.
A dark line of blood slanting across the Stone’s pale face… Rowan’s blood.
Aislinn had seen it all in her dream.
Further away, against the crushed grass, Rowan was losing control fast over his mac’tir form. Dara felt his Power shuddering and slipping away from his desperate grasp. The arrow’s poisonous silver had already spread in his blood—an arrow meant for her, just like the one that had hit her on All Hallows night back in Oregon. Just like the one that had killed Aidan.
“Not again,” Dara whispered, clutching her searing dagger against her breasts. “Goddess, please, not again!”
Fog was finally dispersing over the battle scene, revealing two nude, humanoid forms. The Hound was bending over Rowan’s still body.
“No!” Dara shrieked. Her eyes widened as the Hound raised burning eyes to her, his pale face framed by the black spill of his hair.
“He’s not dead,” the Hound said flatly as he stood up. “Yet.”
She froze as he stepped over Rowan, approaching her leisurely. She found the strength to back away from him until her back touched Lia Fáil. The blood smeared over the stone covered her sheer dress with warm stickiness. She trembled, forcing her numb fingers to keep hold of her dagger. She had to grip the bone hilt with both her hands just to keep it from slipping down.
“Any weapon is useless against me without a Guardian’s Power backing it,” the Hound said.
He was now standing above her, his face smooth of emotion. Moonlight washed silvery over his naked skin, and bloodied slashes slanted in dark, ragged lines across his chest and abdomen. He was erect.
He crouched between Dara’s thighs with deliberate slowness, trapping her chin with one hand.
“After your Sidhe poked one of my eyes out I had to grow a new one,” he said softly.
His claws grazed her skin. Dara stifled a sob, her eyes wide with fear. The Hound leaned further into her and brushed a cool cheek against the side of her face, holding her lower jaw captive. A whimper slipped from her lips, though she tried to stop it.
“I seem to take all your men from you, mixed-breed,” he whispered tightly against her ear. “Maybe it’s better that I haven’t killed you…yet.”
His bow-hand was moving between her legs.
Dara tensed.
“You’re wrong,” she said coldly. “This weapon can hurt you.”
She turned her dagger with both her hands, its hilt pressed against her chest, and drove the soil-tarnished blade deep between the Hound’s ribs. She felt the blade sliding against the rim of his breastbone. Groaning, she pushed it deeper inside, to the hilt. Her mind was screaming.
Mom had always said when Tara’s soil touches a Hound’s heart, it will die…
The Hound tore away from Dara with an anguished howl, then stumbled back to the ground. His hands wrapped around the ritual dagger’s hilt protruding from his chest. Surprise slowly washed over his features, the first emotion he’d displayed.
“Either way,” he whispered, “it ends here.”
His hands slipped from the bone hilt. Swift change rippled through his motionless form, turning flesh to pale sand. A breeze fanned over the fine white grains, as if aiming to banish a texture so odd to Tara’s soil. Thunder crashed over the Hill of Tara, blue light splitting the dry sky. The sounds of battle transformed to a muddle of surprised cries as Prince Donn and his shadow riders vanished from the face of Upper Earth.
Dara shot up from her crouch and raced the short distance to Rowan. He was slumped over, naked and unmoving, his face veiled by sodden hair. She dropped to her knees beside him, afraid to touch him. He was still breathing, she could see the faint movement of his sweat-washed back.
A large raven circled thrice above Dara’s head and landed beside her with a ruffle of feathers.
“’Tis close to the night’s end,” Brighid said quietly, smoothing hair and clothes back to order. “The Hound’s death ended it sooner, before dawn. Donn and what was left of his men have been all pulled back Below. ‘Til next time they manage to open a Gateway, that is.”
“Rowan,” Dara brushed soggy hair away from the upturned side of his face. “Rowan, please…”
Shadows fell over her, and she raised feverish eyes to Niamh and Teague standing above her.
“He’s alive,” she pleaded.
“He’s badly hurt, and there is Hound’s silver inside of him.” Niamh arduously crouched beside Rowan. Her staff was missing. There was a deep slash across one of her thighs, and she was supporting her left arm against her rib cage. Her face was a tight mask, disclosing no emotions.
“Lads, help me turn him over to his back,” Teague ordered a few of the closest men. He, too, was bloodied and ruffled. “Let’s carry him over to the Stone. Easy, you amadáin!”
Rowan groaned as they lifted him, another faint sign of life.
“Dara,” Teague said softly, supporting his friend’s back against Lia Fáil. “The full moon hasn’t set yet, but ‘tis already kissing the horizon. There’s only one thing you can do now, and be quick in deciding.”
“Yes,” Dara whispered, stroking Rowan’s face. “I can try Slánú. Help me hold him.”
She’d do Slánú—use sex to heal him. Back in the Oregon warehouse, Rowan had told her Slánú would work for those meant to be together. Well, Rowan was her Chosen, they belonged with each other.
She wouldn’t let him go.
Dara shifted above her unconscious mate. Her knees burrowed damp holes in the grass, framing Rowan’s thighs. Her unsteady fingers unbuttoned what was left of her dress and she shrugged off its thin shreds. Now she was as naked as he. Cradling one of Rowan’s hands in both of hers, Dara placed his palm over the roundness of one naked breast.
“Feel that?” she whispered, pressing his hand harder against her flesh.
Bowing over him, she covered his mouth with hers. She ran her tongue over his lips, gently probing the slack gap in between.
“Kiss me back, damn you,” she whispered, releasing his hand to slide limply down her stomach.
She kissed him lower, down his neck, lingering over his thready pulse. His skin tasted of salt, seasoned with sweat and blood. She dipped her tongue into the shallow hollow at the base of his neck. Her hands hesitated over his chest, afraid to cause more pain. He groaned and stirred as her gentle touch found the gashes traversing his ribs. At least he was responding, she thought with desperation. Her mouth followed her fingers’ path, kissing every inch to make it better
. For a brief instant she thought she felt him move again beneath her.
“Damn you, you stubborn Irishman.” Her words breathed hot over his flesh. “I can’t do this alone, Rowan. You’ve got to help me!”
She climbed up his body again, her sweaty skin tight against his. Teague’s arm made a solid support beneath Rowan’s back. Dara cradled Rowan’s face in her hands and breathed life into his mouth with a deep kiss, bruising his lips. Her breasts flattened against his chest as she pressed their bodies closer. He moaned as she kissed him, and a wild surge of hope shot through her. She started to rub her naked pussy against his semi-hard cock, moving slowly back and forth.
“Feel that?” she exhaled into his mouth. “I’m all wet for you, Rowan. Kiss me back. Kiss me back.”
His tongue brushed hers in his mouth. His hands curled weakly against her bare thighs. She felt his chest heaving beneath her breasts, swelling with a deeper gasp. Teague carefully withdrew his supporting hand from Rowan’s back. Dara dropped her hands to Rowan’s and laced their fingers together, breaking their kiss for air. Rowan’s eyes fluttered open. He tightened his hold on her. Biting energy shot from their linked hands, and Dara groaned as she felt Power surging through her body.
“Yes!” she cried out. “Rowan. Yes.”
This time Rowan’s mouth found Dara’s. His lips were fever-hot, moist. She moaned as he dipped into her mouth and drank from her with a thirsty, endless kiss. His deep, slow tongue-strokes enhanced the flow of Power between them. She felt him drawing on her life force, twining it with his. From mouth to pussy she clung to him, wanting him to take whatever he needed. Rowan’s hands gently unwound from hers and traveled up her damp back in a tight caress. He wrapped his palms against the back of her head, warming her nape, drawing her tighter against him. Finally, they tore their mouths from each other, breathing heavily. Their eyes locked, amber flecked-brown hotly clinging to ocean-green.
Dara shifted once more above Rowan, her movements still slow, careful. She felt his cock stroking her damp nether lips. She placed her hands on his shoulders and moved against him until all their parts matched.
“Dara,” he whispered with effort, a brief tremble stirring him. His cock head was nudging her entrance.
She lowered herself on his erection, taking him all the way inside her. Slowly, inch by inch. She felt him taking in air with a loud hiss.
“Move,” Rowan whispered. His hands dropped to her hips.
Wordlessly, Dara started a slow ride, undulating up and down his shaft. Her hands tightened on his shoulders. She watched Rowan’s face as he leaned his head back against the Stone, watching her sway above him. His hands roamed up her stomach, caressed and cupped her breasts. Her body instantly responded to his touch, her nipples wrinkling and tautening beneath his palms.
Dara moaned aloud.
It didn’t matter that they weren’t truly alone. It didn’t matter that they were fucking in front of an engrossed audience of shifters atop the natural stage the ring made. Rowan felt so good inside her. Dammit all, he felt so good alive. His cock was kneading every wet, hidden part of her as she rode him… Stretching her hungry flesh… Reaching the very end of her.
A cry tore from her mouth.
“Dara.” Rowan’s grip tightened on her hips. His grasp had already regained its natural strength. He started to dominate their rhythm, moving her faster and harder on his cock.
Dara trembled all over, her back arching sharply. Her eyes squeezed shut until red fog was dancing behind her quivering eyelids. She let Rowan rock her above him, answering each of his deep thrusts with a broken scream.
Goddess. Oh, Goddess. She needed to come.
Her sweaty hands slipped down from his shoulders and reached between her thighs for her clit. Her fingers parted her nether lips with a burning search, sliding over warm, thick wetness. She found the slick fleshy nub, erect and throbbing like a tiny cock.
“Rowan,” she gasped.
Her fingers pressed and kneaded her engorged clit as Rowan’s cock slid in and out of her in long, sharp thrusts. She came on a scream, her inner flesh rippling with tight contractions. Rowan groaned and heaved his hips, spearing her deeply. He pulled her down hard on him as he burst deep within her, shooting his semen deep into her womb.
Dara arched her neck, crying out again as waves of pleasure rocked her body. Spent and still quivering, she sank against Rowan’s chest, her thighs still clutching his waist. His large hands fumbled against the small of her back, loosely pulling her to him.
Rowan felt Dara’s tender touch searching his chest, her light fingers tracing the lines of his ribs. She moaned with relief, finding his flesh whole beneath the caking of mud and blood.
“You can touch me harder, sweetheart,” he whispered against her tousled dark head.
She mumbled something against his shoulder, but Rowan couldn’t make out the words, only feel the hot moisture dousing his skin. She was crying in silence.
Niamh rose to her feet in a laborious climb, aided by Teague. The first shafts of morning sunlight dusted her bright hair with gold.
“This bond is now forged by the Stone of Fal as demanded by the ancient Law,” she declared, and a wild burst of joyous screams exploded from the battered crowd.
Brighid gently undid the leather thong from Dara’s nape as she rested in her lifemate’s embrace. She then took her amulet out of its protective pouch and tied the naked charm back around her own neck. The silver flashed once sharply in the morning sun before vanishing beneath Brighid’s gray cape.
“I wish you both happiness,” she whispered, lightly touching Dara’s naked shoulder. She vanished within a cloud of mist, and a large raven soared from the haze and aimed for dawn’s flaming sunrise.
“Brighid!” Teague shouted. “Brighid, wait!”
Niamh laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Let her go,” she said.
“Aye, Bantiarna,” he whispered and bent down to where the redheaded banshee had last stood. His long fingers uncovered a small leather sack from within the muddied grass. He pressed it tight in his fist. “’Tis not the last we’ll see of each other, wee one,” he promised, touching the leather to his lips.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Rowan caught Dara’s face in both his hands and studied her pale expression.
“Yes,” she told him. “I just had a busy night.”
He laughed.
She lifted her hands to his hair, stroking the damp, copper tangles. She still couldn’t believe he was alive and whole again. The image of him naked and bleeding over the grass had been burnt into her retinas. Her hands slid down further to flatten against the Stone, framing her lover’s face.
A rumble started, so deep that the earth itself shook.
Dara cried out, keeping her hands against the Stone’s face for balance.
“What’s happening?” Teague bellowed, thrown to the ground. “Are the bleedin’ riders coming back?”
From everywhere around them frightened voices cried out as shifters stumbled upon the shuddering earth. Rowan and Dara had been tossed away from the roaring Stone and lay in a tangled heap.
“No, Teague, ‘tis the voice of Lia Fáil!” Niamh shouted, struggling to rise to a crouch. “The Stone is roaring!”
As if compensating for over a thousand years of silence, the Destiny Stone’s first roar was a fierce and long one. It roared two more times, making the Hill of Tara quaver from south to north. When its last echoes had faded, the Kanjali folk struggled back to their feet in a jumble of bewildered shouts.
Rowan crouched above Dara within the tall grass fringing the Stone. Gently, he stroked her face.
“‘Lia Fáil will again utter a cry, the first and the last in one and a half-thousand years,’” he softly recited.
“But why did it cry now?” she whispered, eyes wide and stunned. “When I touched it before, it stayed quiet!”
“Only now, Dara, when you touched Lia Fáil, you had new life growing inside you,” Niamh said, her blue cob
alt eyes bright with sunlight. “The Stone didn’t cry for you. It cried for your unborn child.”
Dara gasped with disbelief.
Rowan flashed her a weak grin from above.
Teague groaned. “I need a drop of Guinness,” he muttered.
Circling high above, unseen and unheard, an oversized raven crowned with a blazing feathery tuft squawked with mirth.
About the Author
Dawn is a hopeless romantic and a Gemini, a tricky combination to handle. During daytime she’s moonlighting as a medical doctor, but at nights...oh, at nights...at nights she’s fervently hammering steamy scenes on her moaning keyboard.
A secret identity…sort of like Catwoman, right?
Simply put, Dawn finds penning Erotica/Romance for EC so much more stimulating than writing boring medical articles! After all, daydreaming of alpha werewolves, sexy, dark vampires and muscle-bound futuristic warriors is by far a more invigorating pastime than listening to your patients complaining!
Dawn welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1337 Commerce Drive, #13, Stow, OH 44224.
Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.
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