Earth's Blood (Earth Reclaimed)

by Ann Gimpel

  The fucking dragon.

  Aislinn rolled over. “I’m tired. Leave me alone.”

  “I am many things, too, but it does not excuse me from duty. Get up and get out here. Now.”

  Aislinn threw a pillow across the room and focused her bleary brain. Must mean Bran is back, too. Thank God we have reinforcements if those things upstairs get out of control again.

  Forcing her gritty eyes open, she rubbed them to get some of the irritating particles out. She could have slept several more hours. Her entire body ached. Rune was curled in his customary spot on the floor. It was the same place he’d slept in for years as Marta’s bond animal.

  Fionn was gone. His energy was unmistakable and it was conspicuously absent. She reached a hand to his side of the bed. Apparently he’d left quite a while ago because the duvet no longer held any remnants of his warmth.

  An imperious tapping sounded at her window. Rune growled.

  “None of that,” she chided the wolf. “It will only make things worse. It has to be Dewi. If she could fit inside this house, she’d have rousted me more directly.”

  Dragon laughter rattled the windowpanes. Aislinn threw back the comforter, pulled on the first robe she saw—which happened to be Fionn’s—and padded across the room to pull the curtains open. After a minor struggle, she managed to open a window.

  The dragon bent her long, sinuous, red-scaled neck down to peer at her. “You look like hell,” she pronounced.

  “Thanks,” Aislinn muttered.

  “You’re in luck. I have just the cure for that. Put on some clothes and come ride with me.”

  The bedroom door slammed open. Fionn’s presence pulsed against her back. “She can go riding”—he strode to the window and draped an arm around Aislinn—“as soon as she’s eaten.”

  “A wee bit overprotective, aren’t you?” Dewi snorted.

  “I do need to eat.” Aislinn turned her head and gave Fionn a quick peck on the cheek.

  “Get some clothes, leannán. There’s food on the kitchen table.”

  Aislinn hunted for the black sweats she’d worn the night before. At least they didn’t take any energy to get into. Somewhere between her pants and boots, Rune got up and stretched out each paw, obviously taking his time. He shook himself all over and walked from the room. Bella, who’d been on Fionn’s shoulder, flew after him.

  “I swear”—Fionn shook his head—“Bella has a stronger bond to Rune than she does to me. She certainly spends a lot of time with him.”

  “Has the wolf told you aught about himself?” Dewi asked peevishly.

  Aislinn battled irritation, not bothering to glance Dewi’s way. “Don’t start. I just got him settled down about you.” As dressed for the day as she thought she was likely to get, Aislinn linked an arm through Fionn’s. “I’m ready for breakfast.”

  “You didn’t answer me,” the dragon snapped; smoke streamed from her jaws. Double rows of teeth gleamed in the midday light.

  “How about if we delay this conversation until our ride?”

  “Good idea.” Fionn herded her toward the door.

  Dewi loosed a spate of Gaelic so archaic that Aislinn only caught one word in three. She stopped in the doorway and turned to face the dragon. “I’m sorry if you’re not happy with me. I still feel like I’m going to fall on my face if I don’t get more rest and something in my stomach. I’ll be outside presently.”

  “Well—” the dragon sniffed haughtily “—I suppose that will have to do.”

  Yes, you old bag of wind, I suppose it will.

  “Watch it.” Fionn’s voice sounded in her head. “She reads minds.”

  Aislinn stomped down the hall. A headache throbbed behind her right eye. She still hadn’t forgiven Dewi for using her as a vehicle to have sex with the Minotaur. It was unfortunate, but she didn’t trust the ancient Celtic dragon god as far as she could throw her.

  “Nonetheless, ye are bonded to her,” Fionn reminded her gently. “Not in the same way as ye are bonded to Rune, but the dragon has a claim to the MacLochlainn. Until we produce a child or two, that would be you.”

  Aislinn didn’t want to think about the dragon. She practically fell into a seat at the table and spooned oatmeal with nuts into her mouth as fast as she could swallow the gelatinous mixture. No wonder I’m so hungry. It’s probably been forty hours since I’ve had anything to eat. Fionn handed her mead to wash it down.

  She looked at the flask dubiously. “Booze? In the morning?”

  “Aye. It will refresh you.”

  Figuring she needed all the help she could get, Aislinn took the flagon and tipped it back. When she looked in her bowl for more oatmeal, it was empty. “Damn. I’m still hungry.” Her gaze zeroed in on the stove. “Is there any more?”

  “Nay, but I can boil more water. It was a stroke of luck Marta hoarded food.” His hand swept wide, encompassing well-filled bins and cupboards in the tidy kitchen. “In the meantime, how about dried fruit and nuts?”

  Aislinn nodded. She slid from her chair and opened a couple of canisters to retrieve cashews, walnuts, almonds, and dried apricots. Fionn busied himself at the stove, heating water with magic.

  Bran strode into the room from the adjoining study, battle leathers immaculate as usual. The tight-fitting garments showed off his heavily-muscled physique. His blond hair was tightly braided, and his copper-colored eyes looked grim. “In light of what happened here last night, I’ve been trying to glean something from those infernal journals.”

  “And?” Fionn eyed him.

  “That fucking witch wrote in circles. Every time I think I may be getting close to something important, she veers off topic.”

  “Don’t let Rune hear you call Marta that,” Aislinn cautioned. Something he said gave her pause. “Have you considered that the journals might be spelled? At least the ones you’re reading. The ones I looked at didn’t give me any problems at all.”

  Bran’s forehead creased in thought. “Ye may have a point, lass.” He looked her up and down. “And might I add, ye’re looking fetching this morning.” He licked full lips in obvious invitation. “Oh, and have I told you if ye tire of—”

  “Yes, I’m quite certain ye have told her that,” Fionn snapped. He made shooing motions with both hands. “Aislinn had a good idea. Try a neutralizing incantation.”

  Bran laughed. “I know a brushoff when I hear one. I’ll shout if I find aught of relevance.” He detoured past the table to grab a handful of nuts from one of the canisters before disappearing into the study.

  Fionn plopped another dish of oatmeal in front of her. She dug in, but more slowly this time, her state of near-starvation partially mollified. “You know what you said about children?” she asked around a mouthful of cereal laced with walnuts. Still busy over by the stove, he turned to look at her and nodded. She laid a hand over her flat stomach. “Well, I don’t think we should even consider having any.”

  He was by her side in a flash. “And why not? Do ye not love me?” He looked so distraught, it shocked her.

  “No, silly. That’s not it at all. What kind of life would this be for a baby or a child? I don’t even know if I’m going to be alive from one day to the next—”

  “I wasna thinking about that.” He sounded mildly cowed. “I assumed when ye conceived, I’d move you to the Old Country. ’Twould be much easier to care for you and our bairns there. Magic is closer to the surface. Easier to access. Ye’d find that true as well.” He favored her with one of his thousand-watt smiles. The kind that made him look like the handsomest man who ever lived.

  Anger flared, biting deep. Aislinn struggled to restrain the temper that had always been her undoing. She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Just when were you going to spring that one on me? Were you even going to ask me if it was what I wanted?” Tears were too close to the surface for comfort. She stuffed some dried apricots into her mouth and chewed to mask her emotions. In some ways, Fionn and the dragon were a matched pair. Both of them assume
d they could control her future.

  Dewi trumpeted from outside.

  Speak of the devil… Aislinn dragged a hand down her face, made a grab for the flask, and emptied it. Alcohol really did help take the edge off things. So what if it wasn’t even afternoon quite yet.

  Fionn spread his hands in front of him. “I—”

  She shook her head. “Don’t start. I don’t have enough energy for you and her today. Dewi will probably start dismantling this house board by board if I don’t report front and center. My bottom line is this: no children until Earth is safe again. What that means is the dark gods and Lemurians aren’t a threat anymore.” Aislinn dragged herself out of her chair and plodded toward the back door. Maybe if she were lucky, she’d fall off the damned dragon and not have to deal with any of this.

  Don’t even think that way, an inner voice that sounded a lot like Tara Lenear chided.

  The chilly outside air was welcome because it cooled her heated cheeks. Aislinn drew in a deep breath and trotted down the stairs to face the dragon. Dewi stood better than eight feet from the tip of her head to the ground. Leathery red wings folded over her back. Her eyes were whirling dark pools, just like the Lemurians’.

  “Well. It took you long enough. Did you polish off every scrap of food in the house?”

  Aislinn shook her head. She placed her hands on her hips and looked up at Dewi. “If you’re going to give me a hard time, I’m going right back into the house. Last night, I wished you were here. Today, I’m rethinking that.”

  The dragon cocked her head to one side and blew out a gout of steam. “A wee bit on the touchy side, aren’t you?”

  “You would be, too, if you’d been captured by Lemurians and had to fight those hybrids all in the same day.”

  Dewi crooked a talon. “Come, Daughter. I’ll help you up.”

  Aislinn liked riding. It had frightened her at first, but she really enjoyed feeling the powerful beat of Dewi’s wings keeping them airborne. She set a foot on Dewi’s knee and let the dragon boost her onto her perch at the base of her long neck.

  They’d no sooner left the ground when the dragon said, “Now, about that wolf of yours—”

  “You obviously have something you think I need to know,” Aislinn muttered. “So go ahead and tell me.” Leave it to the dragon to wait until she was a captive audience to bring up something that was likely spiteful.

  “It involves Fionn, as well.” There was indeed something unpleasant riding beneath the dragon’s tone.

  “Tell me and get it over with,” Aislinn snapped. The usual joy she felt with the wind in her face dissipated. What the hell did the dragon have up her sleeve?

  “Bran and Sceolan were Celtic hounds that belonged to Fionn, and Tuiren was the bitch that spawned them. Well,”—Dewi’s tone became conspiratorial—“Tuiren was actually Fionn’s aunt. See, she was transformed into a hound by the Sidhe, and no one could undo the spell.”

  “Your point?” Aislinn spat from between clenched jaws. She couldn’t see how Celtic mythology had any bearing on what was happening today.

  “Rune is descended from Bran—or maybe it was Sceolan, I never can get that part straight—so he is rooted in Celtic legend and bound to Fionn just as his ancestors were.”

  “You told me this, why?”

  “Hmph. I’ll wager neither of them told you they had a connection.”

  “No, they didn’t. I’m betting they don’t even know about it,” Aislinn countered. “Why don’t we land so we can ask them?” Something batted about in a corner of her mind. Rune wasn’t the wolf’s real name. He’d been reluctant to tell her what was. Could this possibly have something to do with that?

  “It is probable”—the dragon sounded unbearably serious—“that they are just waiting for you to drop your guard—”

  “To do what?” Aislinn cut in. “They love me. You should be ashamed of yourself. You’ve known Fionn for the whole thousand years he’s been alive. You’re an impossible gossip. Did you know that?”

  “I was only trying to help…”

  “Let’s land and ask them. I’m sure this will sort itself out.”

  The dragon soared higher, scribing large, lazy circles around Marta’s house. Aislinn considered asking what she was doing, but decided against it.

  “You can trust me. In fact, I am the only one you should trust.” Compulsion flowed under Dewi’s words. In Aislin’s mind, she heard a reverberating, trust me, trust me, trust me…

  “I really am ready for us to land,” she told the dragon. “You’ve done this to me before. If you want me to ride you, you have to respect when I’ve had enough.”

  “We’ve barely begun, little magic-wielder.”

  The anger that had surged at Fionn earlier returned tenfold. Muscles tense, teeth clamped together, Aislinn eyed the ground. No reason she couldn’t jump herself back to the house. It wasn’t very far, and her spell should work like it always did. Heartily sick of being manipulated, she wove the threads that would free her from Dewi’s back.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” The dragon sounded horrified.

  “You won’t put me down, so I’m working on another way to leave.”

  Dewi angled her neck around so she was looking right at Aislinn. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Oh”—Aislinn smiled as sweetly as she knew how—“but I would. I’ve had it with all of you deciding what’s best for me. I’m the author of that. Now either you land, or I’m leaving.” Her magic hovered between them. She knew the dragon could feel it.

  “Very well. No need to risk yourself.” Dewi spread her wings, using them as airfoils to allow them to drift downward. When they were about ten feet above the ground, the dragon asked, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “Very. Land, goddammit.”

  The second the dragon touched down, Aislinn didn’t wait for assistance. She slid down the spiny hide on Dewi’s side, ripping the hell out of her soft pants and scratching the tender skin beneath. Fury thrummed through her. She stalked toward the house, holding the shreds of her clothing together.

  The ground shook as the dragon lumbered after her. “Wait.”

  “Why should I?” Aislinn didn’t even bother to turn around.

  “I am sorry—”

  Aislinn twirled to face Dewi and balled her hands into fists. “So am I. This proves I can’t trust you. That was the last time I will ever get on your back. You’ve heard the old saying, ‘fuck me once, shame on you. Fuck me twice, shame on me?’”

  “No, I can’t say as I have. Look, Daughter, be reasonable.”

  “Sorry, I’m not in the mood.” She raced up the porch steps and slammed into the house.

  Fionn and Bran were in the study poring over Marta’s journals. Located just off the kitchen, it was a cozy room with leather furniture, an enormous glass-fronted mahogany desk, and a generous fireplace, complete with a brass screen and andirons.

  Bran smiled when he saw her. “Lass, that was a brilliant idea—”

  “Can it.” Aislinn threw herself down on a small couch, so angry she was practically beyond speech. “Don’t talk to me.”

  “Och, dragon problems, eh?” Bran patted her arm before returning his attention to the thick volume open in his lap.

  “What happened?” Fionn moved to sit next to her.

  She considered asking snappishly what part of “don’t talk to me” he hadn’t understood, but bit her tongue. “I can’t trust her,” she muttered. “Because I can’t trust her, I’m done. I’m never riding her again, no matter how many times she apologizes. She does what she wants and doesn’t pay a whit of attention to me.”

  Fionn shrugged. “Aye, that’s likely true. She’s been like that for thousands of years. Ye willna change her.”

  “Well, can I get out of the MacLochlainn thing? Even if I did have children—and I haven’t changed my mind about that—the last thing I’d want would be for them to be bound to that dragon.”

  “She’s really not a
ll that bad—” Fionn began.

  Something brittle snapped, and Aislinn surged to her feet. “Oh, she’s not, is she?” Aislinn paced from one end of the room to the other and back again. She crimped her hands into such tight fists, her nails cut into her palms. “She wanted to get me alone to tell me some crap about a couple of hounds you once owned. I think your aunt or something was their mother. She thinks Rune is related to them…and to you. And that the two of you are plotting something dastardly—with me as the target.”

  “What?” The distress on Fionn’s face had to be genuine.

  Aislinn came to a stop in front of him. “I told her she was full of shit. I wanted her to land so we could talk to you—and Rune.”

  Fionn got to his feet and laid his hands on her shoulders. “The part about my aunt is true. The Sidhe turned her into a Wolfhound as punishment for something-or-other. I kept her in my stables to prevent further mischief, and she produced litter after litter of puppies. I kept two from one of the early batches. ’Tis been so long ago, I doona recall what happened to the rest.”

  So that part was true. Aislinn’s fury shattered around her, leaving her feeling vulnerable. She took a deep breath. “What about Rune?” Her voice was quiet. She twisted bits of Seeker magic into a truth net.

  “I doona know about that part. I never laid eyes on him until I met you next to that lake near my underground home.”

  Fionn’s words pinged cleanly off her magic, which meant he’d told the truth. She retreated to her place on the couch, aware of an empty spot inside her. Whenever she got so angry her vision blurred to a red haze, she felt the same hollowness afterward. She’d always supposed it came from understanding how impotent her anger had been to change either her mother’s or father’s deaths.

  She cleared her throat, hoping for a return of control over her emotions. “Rune told me he had another name.”

  “What is it?” Fionn looked intrigued.

  “I have no idea. He’d never disclose it.”

  “Well, mayhap we should find him and ask what it is,” Bran suggested. “Afore we do that, I think I may have found what I was looking for.” He tapped a calloused index finger on the page open in front of him.