by Karey Brown
Dezenial’s fist shot into Peter’s mouth and yanked forth his tongue. Inzyr sliced it free. Emily turned from the gore and Peter’s guttural shrieks. The vile man moaned, writhed, blood and shattered teeth littering Maeve’s polished flagstones. Bile rose. Dezenial clutched Peter’s throat, lifting him until his twitching feet dangled high above the pool of blood. Just as suddenly, the powerful Lumynari half turned and with a force none but a few of his brethren were privy to, threw his prisoner. Peter soared across the vast hall, his body crashing out the wide double doors still standing open. To Emily, it had looked as if Peter had been shot from a canon.
“See that he lives. If not, restore him. His torture begins this night. I will not be denied.” A flick of his dark hand, the human’s foul blood vanished from both his flesh, and the flagstone floor. “He will wish for death. This is all I will share of what is in store for him, Keer’dra. You will be avenged for his assault.” An odd look came over him. “For his cruelty to your heart.” Dezenial then aimed a lethal smirk at Aunsgar. “Too often, humans assume themselves to be purveyors of fear; therefore, schooling this Peter with the true meaning of evil will be most satisfying. None touch what belongs to me, and remain unpunished.” Dark massive shoulder shrugged with cold indifference. Chiseled raw masculinity, from his high cheekbones, strong jaw, down to hands she was certain could kill with little effort . . . or caress with blissful heat. Mental shake. No good. Didn’t work. White glowing hair cascaded to narrow waist, very tight black leggings clung to his thighs like second skin. One temple boasted several thin braids cascading down to his chest she had yet to peel her eyes from. Tiny bones dangled from the ends of each braid. Morbid souvenirs? No matter. He’s the most exotic male I’ve ever seen. Much, much, much better than her dream of him . . . and his mouth. Why do I feel such an urge to run to him, cling forever, never, ever letting go—
His gaze snapped to hers, his smile erotic.
Take me from here.
Ever so slight, he shook his head.
Pain constricted her heart. Raw, primitive grief overwhelmed her. With his silent denial, it was as if air no longer filled her lungs. Light no longer existed. Darkness consumed. Peripherals faded. As did the murmur of voices.
He frowned.
Her mind became languid. There existed nothing for her.
Azure eyes looked on with concern. He took a step closer.
She dropped her lashes quickly to hide the hurt. “Broc?” To hell with you. Another male; another betrayal. Go screw yourself.
“Aye, love?” His gaze bore into the Lumynari, daring the Shadow Master to react to his words. The laird was rewarded with Dezenial’s scowl.
“Help me. The pain. All this blood. I’m covered in it. Medicine, maybe a warm bath?”
“Aye, milady. Garreck? Carry the princess to her chambers. Colin, follow and see to her needs. I’ve a door ta’ see our guests exiting—“
Piercing shrills erupted from outside.
“Danu! ‘Tis the Lady Falcon. Canna’ be good.” Warriors gave a wide berth as the falcon flew in, her talons clutching a very limp and bleeding O’Shay. Dropped gently upon the floor, the bird landed a foot or two away and proceeded to twist a sort of macabre dance of hopping, wings outstretched. Feathers contorted. Reignsfeugh snatched one of the numerous plaids from the drying hooks, and threw it across the bird as the wee beast fell upon its back.
From under the plaid, a shape grew and grew until Maeve inhaled deeply, then reached up to grapple Reignsfeugh’s forearm, seeking his strength. “Mi’ Aedan. He won’t survive the night. I wanted him ta’ breathe his last here . . . family.” Sobs stole her voice. She tucked the plaid around her, and accepted the Celt’s assistance to stand.
Collectively, their audience of Lumynari retreated several paces away from the Fey priestess. Warily, they kept close watch.
“Laddie, wake up. Yer’ home. Make the change. I carried ye’ home as promised. Let me look into yer’ eyes, Aedan.” Maeve tenderly stroked the cat. Soft mewling and the cat’s hindquarters kicked several times. Fur rippled. Mewling grew louder. “I need a plaid. ‘Tis cold against the floor for the lad.”
Several were suddenly provided.
“Put me down, Garreck,” Emily commanded. The need to get to Aedan was overpowering.
“Milady, you need to be seen to. Your head, it bleeds again. There’s nothing any o’ us can do for Aedan. Right now, ye’ look worse than the first time I found ye’. We canna’ lose you too.”
She turned a fierce gaze up at him. She felt him sway and nearly lose his hold on her. “Put-me-down,” she enunciated, her eyes burning orbs. Complying, he stepped back, grappling hilt of his ancient sword. Lady Emily’s hair erupted into white flames. Her eyes were now amber beacons in the near dark hall.
Garreck freed his weapon. Only a Lumynari priestess possessed power of flame-hair.
None noticed the assassin, Inzyr, proudly smiling—save for Dezenial. Almost, the Shadow Master rolled his eyes over the assassin’s reaction.
Emily stumbled towards Aedan. Broc reared, he too grappling hilt of his sword. Aunsgar stopped him. Aedan was covered with a plaid, its center already blood soaked. She pulled back the plaid—her hand was grasped, immobilizing her.
“ ‘Tis no’ something ye’ want to see,” Maeve warned, seemingly indifferent to the change in Emily. “He is dy—milord! Her hands!” Maeve yelled out. “They burn!”
“Speak the words, Emily. Feel the heat flow through you. Pass it along into his wound,” Dezenial softly commanded, not wanting to frighten her of her own power. “Do not fear your power. It remembers you, though you know not of it. Hurry, Keer’dra, or he’ll pass.”
Broc looked to Aunsgar, fury on the brink of exploding. How dare the Lumynari bastard verbally caress her! Promises be damned! But the Elven prince gave a slight nod, yielding to the Shadow Master. In that moment, Broc desired nothing more than to rip Aunsgar’s royal throat into morsels of wolf-feed.
Emily’s hands seared. She shook them to ease the fire coursing from wrist to fingertips. Words filled her head, swirling until compelled to speak them aloud.
“Place your hand upon his wound,” Aunsgar ordered.
Emily shook her head, tucking her hands deep under her arms. Dezenial glided closer. “The burning will cease when placed upon his wound.” He caressed her slim shoulders, offering strength. “The more you fight it, the more you’ll burn. And he will die, Emily. You are his only hope.”
As if Aedan’s innards were ice-cold water, Emily plunged her hands upon the area that had once been a taught abdomen. Glowing engulfed his wound, spreading across his ribs to encompass his entire torso. Words in her head expelled from her mouth before she realized she spoke. Louder and louder, she chanted, a chorus of male voices joining her din. An ancient ritual from a world far from any they’d conceived, the chant strengthened, power flowing through her, and into Aedan.
Forest Lords gaped.
Lumynari sank to their knees, heads bowed. Several Elves did likewise.
Dezenial supported her petite frame. Inzyr observed, spellbound.
Male chorusing crawled down from balconies, swirling and dissipating.
Everything stopped.
For long moments, silence sounded louder than the chanting had. Emily slumped. Dezenial caught her and scooped her up into his powerful arms.
“Keer’dra,” he whispered against her brow. She was too weak to even raise her eyelids. With much regret, he turned to Garreck, the Forest Lord quickly accepting her into his outstretched arms. Almost, Dezenial changed his mind, but never must he allow her into his world. Her death, a fourth time, would be his end. “Wipe the scowl from your face, human, I do not enjoy returning her to you.” He turned to Aunsgar. “I cannot take her into my world. Tides turn. Treachery abounds, more than ever in either of our pasts. We take our leave. Unthreatened passage?” He grinned most wickedly, obviously mocking Aunsgar’s earlier offer. No greater joy would come than a small skirmish all
owing him to bleed a few Forest Lords.
“Safe passage.” Aunsgar couldn’t hide his own smirk, hand tightening on his hilt.
Dezenial chuckled. Several men shuddered from the chill of it. “Don’t worry, mountain Elf, your precious Outlanders won’t lose ability to fill their lungs with air this eve. You do, however, have guards eager to kill from your watch towers.”
“They will not be foolish enough to start a war.”
“Halt!” Broc commanded.
Slowly, Dezenial turned. “I grow weary of your assumptions that you deal with a simpleton.”
“How is it you are here, in my mountains?”
“Your mountains? I have always been here.” He looked to where Garreck ascended the stairs with Emily, then back to the Outlander. “Wherever Emily is, I am not far.”
“Impossible for you to be here.” Broc closed the distance between them. “We are cursed, but not even Lumynari live this long.”
White brow arched. “As son of both the goddess Shadow and the god of Underworld, Hades, I will outlive even your pathetic immortality, human.” Dezenial was amused by the Elves losing their ability to hide their shock. Never had they really understood who and what he was. “Be grateful I am who I am, otherwise Emily would have been slaughtered in her fourth winter of this life; furthermore, human, should you ever again kiss her, I will peel your face down to your knees. Doubt me? You were sworn to guardianship. Fulfill your duty.” He gazed lovingly across the expanse separating him from Emily. “As if she was ever yours at all.” His longing, no matter the mere seconds on his face, did not go unnoticed.
Wave after wave of shock slapped against Aunsgar. Dezenial a god? Why had Pendaran kept this from him? Why had the Elders denied her from Dezenial if such a claim were true? He would need to ponder and reflect upon this strange night. He knew Urkani felt it as well, his commander openly displaying an expression of confusion.
Broc took a step closer. “Who did Emily run to when you saved her that long ago day?”
Dezenial’s lip curled. “I will not mention him by name.”
Aunsgar stiffened.
Broc looked from the Elf, back to the Shadow Master. “I will no’ ask again.”
Dezenial turned, offered Aunsgar a regal nod before he and his small retinue walked several paces away . . . and vanished.
No one moved.
Broc found his voice first. “Canna speak whose name?”
Aunsgar nodded to several of his guards, waiting until they slipped out into the night before answering the laird. “Pendaran.”
Ancient Forest Lord loudly expelled his breath, fingers violently raking his hair back off his forehead—a sure sign the laird’s nerves stretched taught. Emily’s battered face drew his attention. Luminous white hair soaked with blood—her blood. Tawny skin now sallow. Held lovingly at the top of the stairs by whom else—Garreck, the captain waiting as Corbin and Urkani caught up with him. Broc’s attention slipped to Aedan. Save for encrusted blood, he was sitting up as if having just awakened from a nap. Maeve clutched her son and sobbed, Aedan patting her, mumbling comfort.
Emily had restored the shield master’s life. With her hands. Broc returned his glare to Aunsgar. “Glowing hands,” as if the prince had read his observations. “Unlike Aurelia, she didn’t hesitate to use the magic within her to save one of my own.”
Aunsgar too looked from Emily to Aedan and back again.
“You and I have much to discuss,” Broc said, an ancient rage consuming him. “I think I’ve been kept unapprised about a great many things.” He spun around, not waiting for Aunsgar to acquiesce. “Follow me, Aunsgar. We’ve need of your magicks—again! You can explain those ancient voices that filled mi’ hall as we assist in healing your queen.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Isn’t this how we met?” Emily found herself mummy-tucked into a massive four-poster bed.
Broc’s smile warmed her. “Aye, but ye’ willna’ be running amuck, attempting ta’ skewer mi’ face.”
“Give it an hour or two.”
His laughter filled the chamber. He’d had time to contemplate much. Especially that Emily had saved Aedan’s life. Hadn’t hesitated. Hadn’t sought permissions.
“I don’t think there’s an inch of my body free of pain.” Her eyes fluttered, their weight unbearable to hold open.
Broc squeezed her hand. “I have coffee. Maeve will skin mi’ arse, if she finds out.”
She felt soft giggles bubble up.
“She swears ye’ need ta’ start wi’ tea. I won’t tell, if ye’d don’t.” He leaned closer. “Even sneaked ye’ a wee bit o’ scotch. Mi’ foynest secret stash. Had Allen bring it from Milngavie. Aged forty years, your realm. Boggles mi’ mind, ‘til I’ve ‘ad a few shots.” He shrugged. “Then, it’s shits and no brains.”
Emily laughed, which turned into moans. She reached up, trailing her face. Knots lined her cheekbones. Her fingers traced higher. Broc grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t, lass, it isna’ good. You’ll only upset yourself.”
“I want to see.”
“Can’t.”
Her eyes widened. “Can’t?”
“I’ve had all the mirrors removed from the room—“
Gleam in her eye warned him.
“From the castle. Every one of them, smashed.
“Smashed?”
“Aye.”
“Seven years bad luck for each broken, ye’ ken?”
He arched a brow at her Gaelic and brogue. “Canna’ be any worse than livin’ for three thousand years, now can it?”
Exhausted, she nodded slowly. “You have a point.” She lifted her hand, examining the bandage encompassing her hand and half her arm. “All this for a pinky?”
“Colin’s handiwork. He’s like an auld woman and a small child. Clucking over you, and excited ta’ use knowledge he brings back from Inverness. Your realm, no’ ours.” He waggled his dark brows. “In this realm, we would ‘ave used leeches.”
“Put those things anywhere near me, and I’ll choke the brogue outa ye’.”
“Indeed.”
“Couldn’t Aunsgar have done one of his hocus-pocus thingies, and fix all this?”
Broc’s eyes were suddenly red and watering.
“Broc?”
“Lass, a week has passed since your abduction. You’ve slept . . . lost so much blood.” He looked away, biting his lower lip several times. He looked down at her again. And gave in to his inner agony. He dropped his head against her shoulder, his hand squeezing her hip.
Shock enveloped her. Broc’s shoulders trembled. She dug around for something to say, but came up empty. Instead, she cupped his head, pressing him close, her cheek nuzzling the top of his head; his warm hair. “I’m okay. Aches and pains, but I’m here, safe with all of you.”
“He could have killed you, Emily.” Slowly, he raised up and gazed down at her. Unashamedly, tears continued to flow. “I canna lose ye’ again.”
“I’m not Aurelia, and Dezenial would never kill me. Don’t ask me how I know.”
“I speak of that wastrel, Peter, and I doona want ye’ ta’ be Aurelia!”
Emily flinched.
He settled, patting her in apology for his outburst. “A part of you is her. Regardless how much ye’ deny it. But who ye’ are now,” he wiped his face. “I ‘ave fallen under the spell of a madwoman from some God awful hellhole called Texas.”
Emily grinned. “It is pretty damn hot there.”
“Aye, so I gathered from the wee bit o’ clothing ye’ brought when ye’ first arrived.” His sheepish smiled endeared her. Again, he swiped his face, this time using his sleeve.
“You might as well say it. You mean from the tiny panties and bra I was wearing.”
“I was being a gentleman.”
“Right. Bathed me in the nude, I’m unconscious—Aedan.” Her eyes smarted.
“Ye’ speak o’ baths and you think of Aedan?”
“O’Shay. He took a bullet for
me.” Her lips and chin quivered. She covered her face and sobbed. Broc stared at her, clearly baffled. “Aedan. He was there. I’d taken him, thinking he was O’Shay. He changed right before Peter shot him. He was trying to protect me.”
“Lass, do ye’ no’ remember?”
“Of course I remember,” she sobbed. “I saw it!”
Abruptly, Laird MacLarrin stood. He crossed the chamber in long, smart strides and threw open the massive oak door. “O’Shay! Get yer’ arse in here! Lady Emily ‘as need of her mouser!”
“What?” Emily tried sitting up. And flopped back, too weak.
“Ye’ healed him”
Emily squinted, about to argue when a very large red cat bounded up on the bed. More tears sprouted. “O’Shay!” Red mouser trotted closer and was immediately dragged into a cocooning embrace. Repeatedly kissing his furred faced, schmoozeling and crooning unintelligible words into his neck, she hugged him close to her bosom.
“Lass, ye’ ken he’s Aedan. Yer’ holdin’ him against—“
She kissed the cat’s forehead several times, nuzzling and rubbing her forehead against O’Shay’s as if a cat herself. O’Shay purred loudly. Lying back down, she pulled the cat with her, tucking him under the blankets where she held him tightly against her as her eyelids closed.
“Lady Emily. Ye’ canna be serious ta’ allow that fur ball ta’ sleep in mi’ bed, and against you in such a way—“
“He stays.”
A deep sigh escaped him. Running fingers through his hair—a nervous habit Emily had weeks earlier commented on. “Aye.” He nodded, though he glared down at the beast. “Perhaps it will calm Maeve for a time if her son finally rests instead of pacing outside yer’ door. Watch over her, mouser.” He turned to take his leave. “As ye’ ‘ave always done, Aedan.”
Emily sighed. O’Shay’s purr served as her lullaby. “Dezenial left me. He speaks in my mind, saves my life, and leaves.” She sighed, slumber taking her away to shores of deep dreams, enabling the other within her to rise. The voice muttering was no longer Emily’s. Instead, a thick accent replaced Emily’s Texan lilt. Nor was it speaking Emily’s language. Red tom raised his head, green eyes studying the female, most curious how she could sound so much like Aurelia.
