by P. C. Cast
She almost ran into Tegan when he stopped abruptly. He looked over his shoulder at her. She felt a breathless thrill at the passion reflected in his amber eyes.
“I can feel your desire. It’s making it very difficult for me not to take you in my arms.”
14
Aine forgot to breathe. “Your wings are beautiful.” She watched them shiver, as if her words had been a caress. Surprised, she took an involuntary step back.
“Please don’t fear me. We are bound, you and I. I would tear these wings from my body before I harmed you.”
“Could you do that?” She stared at his wings. “They seem so much a part of you.”
“To my people wings are the seat of our soul. Destroy my wings and you will probably destroy me.”
He’d given her the gift of his vulnerability and it frightened her terribly. Not for herself, but for him. What would have happened if the bear trap had closed around one of his wings and ripped it off? It made her sick just thinking about it.
“Aine, are you worried for me?”
She pulled her gaze from his wings and met his eyes. “It’s just that they’re so…out there. If your wings are that important you’d think they’d be better protected.”
Tegan laughed. “You’d be surprised. I’m not usually this helpless.” Still chuckling to himself, he continued down the narrow path.
They hadn’t gone much farther when Tegan told her, “You’ll have to bend down to enter the cave, but it widens soon.”
She watched him crouch and then disappear into what looked to be nothing more than an ordinary niche in the side of the mountain base. She ducked and went after him. After only a few feet the entrance spilled into a large, oblong room. There was a round opening in the ceiling, but it only let in a weak, indirect light. Mostly it served as an escape for the smoke from the well-banked fire that gave soft light and ample heat. She heard falling water and saw that the rear wall was wet with a steady waterfall which ran out through a crack in the rock floor. Along another wall were strips of smoked meat interspersed with drying herbs. The cave smelled pleasantly of pine smoke and spice.
“How long have you been here?” she asked as she began to unload the urn.
Tegan was gingerly lowering himself onto a pallet of furs. “Two full passes of the seasons.”
She blinked in surprise. “And no one knows?”
“Only you. I rarely go out into the Partholon forest, and was only there yesterday because winter is coming and the hunting there is better than the Wastelands side of the mountains.”
Aine began examining his leg. “So there are really no other Fomorians here with you.”
“You said you believed me yesterday.”
“I did. I do. It’s just that this is all so incredible.”
He sucked in a sharp breath as she poured a cleansing solution over his wound. Aine grimaced, but didn’t pause until the leg was clean and dressed. Then she sat back, breathing as heavily as Tegan. She studied him with Healer’s eyes. His wound was better today, but he looked worse. There were bruised shadows under his eyes and his skin had lost much of the luster it had the previous day.
“I’ll be better now that you are here.”
She frowned at him. “Stop reading my mind.”
“I’m reading your face, not your mind.” Tegan smiled. “Sit beside me and tell me about yourself.”
Aine sat, noticing that the tip of his wing was almost touching her knee. “I’m a Healer,” she said, trying to keep her attention from his wing. “I grew up at Laragon Keep. The women in my family have been Healers for generations.”
“A legacy of kindness and strength.” Tegan covered her hand with his as if it was a completely natural thing to do. “I have been given such an amazing gift in you.”
Aine was going to pull her hand away, but then she felt it. His pulse against her skin. And in that pulse she also felt the beat of his need for her.
“You want to drink from me again.” Aine’s voice trembled.
“I do. I will always want you.”
“Your need is especially intense now because of your injury.” She concentrated on him, staring into his eyes. “It would help you heal, wouldn’t it?”
“Your blood has the power to heal me, body and soul.”
She did pull her hand from him then, rubbing at the spot that was still warm from his touch.
“Aine, I gave you my word I would not drink from you against your will.”
“What if it isn’t against my will?”
15
“I want you to drink from me and be healed. Then I want you to return to your people,” Aine said.
“You want…” Tegan began, trying to reason through the haze of desire her words had caused to pulse through his body. Then all of what she’d said broke past his need. “No. I won’t leave you.”
“You have to. It’s only a matter of time before the Guardian Warriors find you. They’ll kill you. They won’t care that you’re not a monster—a monster is all they’ll see.”
He touched her cheek. “Then I am not a monster to you?”
“How can you be? You’re in my blood. I feel what you feel. I’d know if you were a demon, and you’re not.” Aine pulled a small knife from within the urn. Without looking at Tegan she drew the blade down the inside of her forearm. Then she turned to the winged creature beside her, offering him her arm. “Drink.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me.” Tegan’s voice was rough, but he cradled her bleeding arm gently in his hands.
“I do. I can feel it, too.”
With a moan of ecstasy, Tegan leaned forward to touch his tongue to the narrow slash in her skin. At the first taste of her, his wings shivered.
“So beautiful…” Aine breathed the words. She ran her fingers along the soft down that covered the underside of them.
He gasped her name. Pressing his mouth against her arm he sucked and licked, causing pleasure to ripple through her body. She lost herself in sensation, thrilled by the power in the wings that were unfurling over her. Tegan continued to drink from her as he pulled at her clothing. Dizzy with need—both his and hers—Aine helped him, until she was naked.
Tegan took his lips from her arm. Reverently, his hands glided over her body, pausing to cup the fullness of her breasts.
“I’ve never known such sweet softness.” He touched his tongue to the pink tips of her nipples. As Aine moaned with pleasure he sucked the delicate buds into his mouth, gently grazing them with his teeth.
“Tegan, please.” Aine’s hips lifted to rub herself against the hardness sheathed in his pants.
Tegan pulled away from her so that he could look into her eyes. “I can stop now. I will if you wish it. You must know that if we do this—if we join—then we will be fully mated, and I will not, can not leave you.”
Aine tried to think, but all she could do was feel. She felt his passion and need, along with the heat of her own desire. Then she realized that she could feel something more than raw lust. Aine could feel Tegan’s kindness, and along with it she sensed a soul deep sadness born of loneliness and isolation.
“How long have youbeen alone?”
“Longer than you’ve been alive.”
“No more,” she whispered.
She felt his despair before she saw it reflected in his eyes. He pulled out of her arms and turned away from her.
“You don’t see me as a demon, but that does not mean it is your wish to be mated with me.”
“You misunderstand.” Aine sat up, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and drawing him back to her while the tips of her fingers splayed across the inside of his wings. “I meant that you will be alone no more.”
Tegan kissed her with such fierce joy that it made her cry out. He released her instantly.
“Did I harm you?” He smoothed her hair back, peering anxiously into her eyes.
“No, love. Always remember, I’m stronger than I look.”
She smiled as sh
e worked the ties of his breeches, finally pulling the throbbing heat of him free. Aine stroked him with her hands, marveling at the thick stiffness and length of him.
He moaned her name and she straddled him, slowing impaling herself. Aine closed her eyes and arched back, taking him fully within her. With a snarl, Tegan wrapped his arms around her and shifted their bodies so that he was on top of her. Aine bared her throat to him, pulling his mouth down so that he could drink from her as her hips thrust up to meet his again and again.
With wings spread erect and pulsing over them, Tegan claimed Aine as his mate and spilled his seed deep within her.
16
“Don’t go,” Tegan said sleepily.
Aine looked up from lacing her dress. “If I don’t return the warriors will come looking for me. They may be able to track me to you.”
“Then we’ll find a new place—deeper in the mountains. Just don’t go.”
Aine stroked the downy underside of his wing. It quivered, causing Tegan to close his eyes and moan softly.
“I will come back to you.” She kissed him.
“Tomorrow?”
“I’ll try. Rest and finish healing. I have a plan.”
He raised a brow. “A plan?”
“I’m going to tell the Lord of Guardian Castle that I’m not happy there. They’ll have to find a new Healer. It won’t surprise any of them. Maev was my only friend, and now that she’s gone there’s really nothing for me there.”
“Then you will come to live with me?” Tegan rolled a dark lock of her hair around his finger.
“Yes.” She was unable to keep the sadness from her voice.
“Why does the thought of being with me sadden you?”
“My family is going to have to believe I’m dead. That’s what makes me sad.”
Tegan didn’t speak. There was no other way. With what was coming no one would accept their love—Aine wouldn’t even accept it if she knew. That was why he had to get her away from here—before what they had was destroyed by an evil he couldn’t stop.
“Perhaps you and I will begin a new family.”
She looked startled. “Can we?”
He smiled and shrugged. “After the miracle of you, I believe anything is possible.”
Tegan thought she looked a little dazed as Aine wrapped her cloak around her shoulders. He stood up, flexing his leg, pleased at how good it felt.
“It’s much better,” she said.
“Because of you.”
Even when they couldn’t walk beside one another, Aine and Tegan made sure their bodies touched. She brushed his wing with her fingertips. He stopped often to pull her into his arms. By the time they came to the edge of the mountains, dusk was near.
“I have to hurry.”
Tegan kissed her once more, long and possessively. “Come to me tomorrow.”
“I’ll try,” she assured him.
He watched until he could see her no longer.
“Healer! Where have you been?”
The Monro’s gruff voice accosted Aine as she slipped quietly inside the front gates, thinking she was well hidden in the deepening shadows of dusk.
“I went to—” Aine paused. She’d left the funeral urn in Tegan’s cave! Thinking quickly, Aine glanced around them. They were alone with no Edan nearby to contradict her. If she was lucky, he’d been hunting all day and hadn’t even spoken to the Chieftain. “I went to Maev’s pyre and offered more prayers for her.”
“You should have been here. You’ve been needed.”
“What is it?” Aine frowned. The Monro’s words weren’t slurring, but he smelled like a pub. How could the Chieftain of a Clan, and Lord of Guardian Castle be a drunk?
“The warrior Edan was wounded while he was hunting. It was that same Goddess-be-damned boar.”
“Edan! Is he in the infirmary?” Monro’s drunkenness forgotten, Aine began hurrying through the castle grounds.
“No. We thought it best not to move him. His spine may be broken. You’ll have to go to him. He’s not far outside the rear gate.”
“Oh, Goddess! I’ll need my surgical box and a board to brace his back.”
“Those things already await you.”
Aine jogged beside the Chieftain down the path that emptied into the Wastelands side of the pass, feeling a terrible sinking in her stomach. The air was thick, oppressive. This was too much like what had happened to Maev. Then she noticed that Monro was wheezing and dropping behind her. He stumbled and almost fell. Aine paused, but he brushed off her aid.
“Go on.” He motioned feebly down the path. “Take the first right hand fork. Edan and the rest of them are waiting. I’ll catch up.”
Aine nodded and jogged away from him. Pathetic. Before I join Tegan I’ll get a message to the Muse. Guardian Castle needs a change in leadership.
When she came to the fork in the road, she sprinted to the right, finding her second wind. In the thickening darkness she almost fell over Edan. He was lying in the middle of the path—alone. He had been disemboweled and his throat had been ripped out.
17
Aine sank to her knees beside Edan. She didn’t have to touch him to know he was dead. Her surgeon’s box was sitting neatly beside the body, just as the Monro had said it would be. There was no back brace, though.
“He doesn’t need it,” she whispered numbly.
“Ahhhhh, there you are, Healer.”
Aine looked up into the eyes of evil.
A Fomorian stood before her. Several other creatures were behind him, carrying torches. The flickering light slicked off Edan’s blood, which covered the leader’s hands and face. He smiled and his dark wings rustled. There was blood in his fangs.
“I have need of a Healer,” the Fomorian said.
“Who are you?”
“You may call me Nuada…or master.” His laughter was horrible. The creatures behind him echoed it, making the sound bounce eerily off the walls of the pass.
Aine sprang to her feet and ran. Nuada opened his wings, gliding easily to cut off her retreat. He grabbed her arms, sinking his claws into her cruelly.
“I need your services, but that does not mean that you must remain completely undamaged.”
He bared his fangs at her and bent down, but he didn’t complete the attack. As he got near her skin his almost colorless eyes widened. He seemed to consider, and then pushed her so that she stumbled back towards Edan’s body.
“Take her to the camp, but treat her carefully. We wouldn’t want our Healer broken.” His laughter followed Aine as the others grabbed her and dragged her along the pass.
Aine studied the Fomorians as they traveled. She forced herself to be dispassionate and use medical logic to assess them. Physically, they were similar to Tegan. They were the same species. That was obvious. But these males were different. They looked more insectile. They were taller, thinner, and their claws were more prominent. Some of their fangs were visible even when their mouths weren’t open. Their leader, Nuada, was the most grotesque of the group. He was larger and stronger than the others. That they feared him was obvious.
Her Tegan was not like these creatures. These were the beasts of nightmare stories—what she had accused him of being. Instead of rejecting her mate, she understood what it was that had driven him into lonely exile. He didn’t belong with these demons any more than she did.
The Fomorian camp was laughably close to the castle at the bottom of a ravine. Maev’s dying words came back to her, The warriors know! They know! Fomorians had killed the centaur, and the warriors of Guardian Castle knew they were here. Not Edan, though. Aine knew in her heart that he had not been corrupted. That was why they had killed him.
Nuada grabbed her arm and dragged her to a tented structure that was guarded by several Fomorians.
“Healer, I expect you to make sure they live for at least as long as it takes the young to be brought forth.” He shoved her inside the tent, throwing her surgical box in after her.
Aine blinke
d, trying to accustom her eyes to the sudden brightness. The opulently decorated tent was lit by hundreds of candles. Women lounged on cushions, sipping wine and eating pastries. She recognized several of them as women who had ignored her when she had first arrived at Guardian Castle.
They were all pregnant.
“Oh, good. You’re finally here.” A blonde with a bulging abdomen motioned regally at Aine. “I’m having some discomfort and the wine is not dulling it. I need you to give me something to relieve the pain.”
Aine stared at her, swallowing down her fear and revulsion. Those creatures out there were not Tegan, just as she was not these women. “You’re pregnant with a Fomorian’s child.”
“Of course.”
“Why?” Aine said, not hiding her disgust.
The blonde’s eyes went cold and mean. “That is not your concern. You’re here for us.”
“We’re bringing a new species into this world,” a plump redhead said dreamily.
“An army that will worship us and our beautiful, three-faced god.”
Aine felt sick. They worshipped evil; they reveled in it.
“Quiet! She’s only here to stop our pain.” The blonde gave Aine a cruel look. “Now, do you brew us something or do I call Nuada and tell him we don’t need you after all?”
Aine pulled opiates from her surgical box while she concentrated her mind on one thing, over and over: Tegan, be wary, but come to me…
18
Tegan arrived with the next dusk.
His sword slicing through the rear of the canvas tent made a distinctive sound. He held open the flap and offered his hand to her. Aine looked at the women she’d drugged one last time before taking his hand and turning her back on them. They didn’t speak until they were well beyond the Fomorian camp.
“Did you know about them?” Aine was facing him, arms wrapped around herself as if anticipating a physical blow.
“I knew my people had given in to evil. I knew they were planning an attack on Partholon. I did not know about the women.”
