by Kat Bastion
Movement across the chamber caught his attention.
Skorpius snapped his eyes open, then narrowed them on his expected target.
A deep breath filled his lungs.
Rapid-fire thoughts and images assailed his brain. Past and future funneled together in his mind until only the crisp clarity of the present moment came into view.
“Returned so soon?” The male’s voice purred soft. He continued to sort and drop herbs into a crude iron cauldron, not bothering to shift his attention away.
“It seems we have unfinished business.”
“I’ve no further insight to provide you, knight.”
A smile played at Skorpius’s lips as he remembered the “counsel” he’d requested so long ago as a part of his deep-cover mission. In service to a legendary king, prior to the man’s loss of his bride and fall of his kingdom. “I’m not the same knight who sought your help so long ago.”
The male paused in his work, weathered fingers hovering over an open vessel, the slender neck of a flask held in his other hand. “You speak of hours as if they passed as decades.”
Instinct ruled Skorpius’s next actions and words. For if he’d arrived without the timeline balking, then his presence there served a purpose: to learn, acquire, to share. It mattered little which it was, for he’d been trained to flow with his gut and be true to himself.
“Try centuries, wizard.” Out in the open.
With a long exhale, the male who’d been too busy to deign casting full attention toward Skorpius slid the flask into a slotted-wood holder, then glanced up. A candle that had been partially melted to his granite-slab worktable flickered a flame that danced in the male’s eyes.
Skorpius didn’t bother to hide his wings. The sorcerer had seen plenty of the fantastical over the course of his life, had likely conjured up most of them. What was one more amid the many?
Still, his opponent’s breath caught. Dark eyes widened for an instant, then narrowed.
“What magick is this?” The accusation echoed off the cold stone walls.
“No magick.”
“You are not the man who left me hours ago. You are not Lancelot.”
“I am not.” Skorpius ruffled his feathers. “And yet, I am.”
The male sneered. “Trickery.”
“Says the sorcerer who recklessly commands the elements of his world like a god. Have care what you meddle with, Merlin.” Skorpius loaded the uttered name with angelic magick, resonated his undeniable power to his foe.
The sorcerer’s body turned rigid, expression hardening. “What do you want?”
“Good question.” Not to kill the madman at that moment. The timeline wouldn’t allow such folly. Events still had to play out.
An unruly dark eyebrow arched at him. “Why have you appeared to me in a different form? Are you not human?”
Skorpius spread his black wings wide, to remove any doubt about what he’d transformed into: very not human. “The man you know of in this time is not me.” Well, he is…but he isn’t.
Knowing the power of secrets in Earth-realm, he decided on a particular tact.
“Tell Lancelot nothing of this visit. We shall keep it to ourselves, yes?” Skorpius’s conspiratorial whisper caused Merlin to lean forward a fraction. His eyes widened, no doubt along with his ears.
A slow smile curved upon the sorcerer’s face.
Oh yes, secrets were a currency greater than gold.
“Do you foretell the future? Do you hail from another world?” Merlin’s low voice held a steady, strong tone. It spoke of power and knowledge. He possessed more of both commodities than any other being on Earth, during that time.
Skorpius snorted, unsurprised that he sought more of both. Merlin always tried to get an angle, any edge to help him achieve greater power. A damning fault.
“My story is of no consequence to you, wizard. All you need to know is that you will gain more power. And then you will meet a female who will make you give it all away.”
Merlin gasped in outrage.
Romantic history had penned the cause of his demise as a lover he’d grown obsessed with.
Recent events suggested a goddess would bring him down.
Either way, the wizard’s advanced knowledge of his fate would make him try to avoid it. Which tended to manifest the outcome with even greater certainty.
“Will it be a witch?” Wide eyes stared at him, seeking, wanting the key to his salvation.
The corners of Skorpius’s mouth twisted into a wry smirk.
Merlin didn’t need to know further details.
“You will find out soon enough.”
Done with the task and satisfied with the outcome—bets hedged that the wizened sorcerer couldn’t grow powerful enough to destroy the fabric of time—Skorpius slipped back into the timeline.
Then a hard tug diverted him toward an unexpected destination.
Chapter 40
Brigid stirred. Heat surrounded her body.
Exhaustion tugged her down…
Down…
Utter blackness enveloped her.
Some unknown time later, awareness trickled in once more.
Distant booms echoed.
A fainter bang resonated.
Swordplay rang out.
Yet all seemed muffled.
As if heard through the depths of a great loch.
She fought, kicked, reached, but sank yet again, down…
Down…
A heavy door slammed.
Midday sun shone down, warm and invitin’.
Clouds passed overhead.
Grays of gloamin’ darkened.
Then stars glittered across a clear night’s sky.
Mists floated in, surroundin’ her.
Cool Highland mists, kissed with the promise of life.
Angelic mists, playful, iridescent, rich with the power of magick.
Longin’ filled her heart.
Till immense ache burned a gapin’ hole there.
With a gasp, she bolted upright.
Awake. Alive.
Disoriented, Brigid took in her surroundin’s. She lay in a bed. Damp linen sheets were tangled about her legs.
I’m back at Brodie Castle.
Brigid launched out from the bed. She splashed water on her face—that maids must’ve freshened when they’d discovered her slumberin’—fastened her hair back with a leather tie, then dressed in a fresh linen chemise and pale blue day dress that had been folded on a chest. All by hand, as she’d done for eighteen summers.
No magick. Never again magick.
At the thought of magick, the agonizin’ pain set in. The loss of her one true love. And his devastatin’ betrayal.
Heart heavy, she left her bedchamber.
But all her cares faded the moment she entered Brodie Castle’s bustlin’ great hall.
Dozens of people flitted about, hangin’ long garlands of pine and fir. Scarlet ribbons were bein’ draped along the mantel. Fine silver ornaments glittered in a pile on a trestle table.
Isobel turned toward her, her belly swollen with her bairns. Four months forward.
“Brigid!” Joy brightened her friend’s face. “You’re back!”
Brigid dinna know how she’d managed to return.
Mayhap a stray thought of her bed within Brodie Castle had sent her there?
Nor did she know for certain how long she’d lain there in those tangled sheets. Hours? Days?
But then, with the vastness of time—and the precious gifts that only lasted for the blink of an eye—Brigid had become painfully aware of how little it mattered.
Chapter 41
Following the lead served by the timeline, Skorpius partially materialized into another familiar place.
More than a millennium-and-a-half forward from the cave he’d just visited, into the future.
A different musty scent filled his nostrils.
Undertones of the rich spice of leather teased his brain.
Formidable book
cases stretched up toward a coffered ceiling trimmed in crown molding.
A vehicle horn honked in the distance.
Skorpius spun around to confirm. Maclaren’s office. He’d reappeared in the office of Isobel’s professor and mentor. In the twenty-first century.
His gaze snapped to the desk. The magickal box.
The artifact still stood there—unmoved.
Hidden power snapped from beneath its surface, begging every cell in his body to touch. The object, a servant that recognized its master.
“Why?” The word hung in the air, the riddle of his journey gaining complexity. Because his inner chronometer registered a date after he’d pointedly removed that particular box from that desk—when attending to his mission to usher in the Traveler so many months ago. And yet, there the artifact sat. Which meant someone, at some point, had repositioned it there. But who?
Accustomed to a clear itinerary on missions, the mysterious labyrinth he traversed continued to bring challenge he hadn’t faced in centuries.
Excitement thrummed through his veins at the facets of the game.
Then another inexplicable pull snapped his attention to a large paned-glass window. A human female stood some forty feet beyond, her hand grasped by another female attempting to pull her forward.
The female, tall for a human female, with straight hair of dark ebony, dug the stiletto heels of thigh-high boots into manicured grass. She slowly lifted her gaze toward the window. Toward Skorpius.
The female’s blue eyes locked on to his.
Her ability to see him was unmistakable.
Even though he had not taken full corporeal form.
Skorpius expanded his senses toward her.
“Chelsea, come on. We’re late already,” her friend pleaded.
But the female ignored her and wrenched her hand free from the unwanted grasp.
Chelsea lowered her face but never took her gaze from Skorpius. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and took a measured step toward the window. Then another.
Curious, he shifted his focused awareness away from the artifact, then ghosted into the shadow of the drapery.
Chelsea’s gaze followed for those few brief seconds. When he stopped, she held his position. She’d conveyed that his movement and current location had been detected and noted.
Then her gaze traveled to the box. Her lungs inflated with a quick inhalation. A slow smile curved her lips.
Skorpius’s jaw dropped.
The force that had brought him there wanted him to witness that female see him. And the box. Perhaps the timeline wanted Skorpius to understand that Chelsea recognized what both of them were.
“Chelsea Morgana Smith.” Her companion dropped her hands to her hips. “If you don’t come with me this instant, as you promised, I will completely disown you as a friend.”
Chelsea licked her lips. Hunger glittered in her covetous gaze. She scanned the side of the building. Counting windows, noting the location of the office, he guessed.
Her gaze flicked back, holding his in clear message: I see you. I know you see me too.
Skorpius gave an imperceptible nod in reply: Game on.
Understanding washed through him when Chelsea finally allowed her friend to drag her into the adjacent building. Of why he’d been diverted there: A greater timeline scheme unfolded.
Chelsea was unique among humankind. And her friend had no idea.
Likely no one of her world did.
And Chelsea’s existence proved what angelkind had long suspected would happen, given enough centuries.
Accomplished what Merlin had been trying to create his entire life.
That humans—born as physically weak but intelligent creatures—could harness energy.
And evolve into something…more than human.
Skorpius sighed and pinched his eyes closed. His fractured heart ached at the devastating reminder of a spectacular female that had become so much more than human.
One who had become everything to him.
Chapter 42
Nigh a sennight had passed since Brigid had awakened in her bedchamber.
The first handful of days had dragged by, helped by a buzz of activity in decoratin’ the castle to prepare for what Isobel called “Christmas.”
A second handful of days had passed a wee bit quicker, before and after the arrival of the kind lass Susanna. An English lass! And their clearly smitten-with-Susanna commander, Robert.
Brigid had done her best to ease Iain’s concern over her whereabouts over those past months, skirtin’ the topic and avoidin’ him as best she could. And her dear friend Isobel had done her best to aid her cause.
But one afternoon, Brigid had tossed in her sleep durin’ a nap fraught with nightmares—mixed with sensual dreams of all that she’d lost. And she’d thundered down the stairs shoutin’ into their great hall. Evidently half out of her mind, all care tossed to the wind.
“I am done with that damned angel!” Brigid stormed up and barged in between an arguin’ Isobel and Iain, arms crossed over her chest.
Iain’s gaze snapped to Brigid. “What did you say?” He stepped closer, glaring at her.
Unafraid of her brother, Brigid shot him a frosty glare. “Done.”
“The rest of it.” Iain’s voice iced over as he towered over her.
Her voice lowered, vibratin’ hot with banked emotion. “With. That. Damned. Angel.” Brigid arched a brow at him.
“I hadn’t been aware you’d been with that damned angel.” Iain raised his brows.
Seconds crawled by as he waited, a laird and older brother expectin’ an explanation.
Brigid relented on a sigh. “Aye, Iain, you have. You know Skorpius had been bound to protect me. Weel, I’ve been gone a while, you’ve been busy with the clan, and ’tis a verra long story.” She arched a defiant brow at him. “I’ll share it when I’m ready.”
And then, the celebration of Christmas had begun in their great hall one night.
Brigid had been handin’ out tankards of a spiced apple cider that Isobel had insisted upon. When a sudden pulse of energy had flared hot in her breast, straight to her heart.
And as she’d glanced up toward the source, there he had stood, magnificent as ever. Skorpius.
His gaze had shot her way at that same instant.
Agonizin’ pain had shredded her heart anew at the sight of him. “What is he doin’ here?” she’d shouted, after he’d dangled a green bundle with a red ribbon from a hook over his head. Somethin’ about mistletoe, Robert had remarked. Then the whole room had faded away.
Skorpius’s chest had risen and fallen deeply as he stared at her.
A great sense of affection had emanated from him.
It had infuriated her.
The night had passed in a blur of anger and avoidance.
Till she’d collapsed into her bed, utterly spent. Then had sunk down into a deep slumber.
Down…
Down…
Darkness prevailed.
Drips echoed.
Crystalline surfaces glittered.
Stagnant moldy air filled Brigid’s lungs.
Nay. Not her lungs. Another’s.
Small. Frightened. The boy? Robert?
But…’twas as if she were he.
Confusion reigned. Am I aware in a dream? Or was it a vision?
Regardless, her senses were as if through the boy’s body.
A choked-off whimper lodged in her throat.
The beast must not sense my fear.
Shivers of cold.
Brigid came to her own awareness again and searched, but she couldna see. Where am I? She wondered.
Starin’ into the darkest spaces, then glancin’ around, she began to make out the features of what seemed like a cave. But not enough to know where the place was located. Which she’d need to do to transport there.
Och! No magick. Never again magick.
Mayhap, just the once. ’Twould be worth it for the boy.
But
would it? Or would all the realms be endangered?
A hot angry vibration rippled forth.
Arms banded around thin legs, huddled into a ball on the wet cold stone, she held her breath and hoped the beast wouldna notice her.
Putrid stench filled her nostrils when she finally gasped for air.
Then a tarlike scent followed.
A metallic taste lingered on her tongue.
Faint clicking moved from right to left.
The scrape of a heavy, long object dragged by.
She tucked her feet back, pressed herself against the wall.
Prickles tingled. The sensation of bein’ watched.
Forever there. Forever watchin’.
Forever waitin’.
Forever… there.
Brigid startled awake, gaspin’ for air. Tears sprang to her eyes, heart achin’ for poor Robert. She’d felt his fright, was certain that she’d had a vision of his whereabouts in her dream.
Or had it been a trick?
Merlin had done so before.
Usin’ only her human senses, she scanned through the shadows of her bedchamber.
Moonlight streamed in from the narrow windows, their tapestries pulled back. Dyin’ embers glowed from the stone hearth.
But only cold silence filled the space.
No presence appeared to be there. None but her own.
Reason made her believe all she’d had was a bad dream, darkened by her worries.
Then her mind traveled where she’d forbidden it to go, to the wise advice of a guardian: Focus on what we have the power to control. Let worry afflict the weak-minded.
And then her heart ached at the memory of the dark angel standin’ proudly in their castle’s great hall. Mere hours ago.
“Och!” Brigid yanked the linen covers back over her head. She forced herself down into the deep calm of her motionless loch, then willed herself into a dreamless visionless sleep.
Chapter 43
Skorpius had known that he’d likely encounter Brigid at the castle.
When Isobel had sent him on the mission to obtain mistletoe for her Christmas celebration?
