Shifter Bound

by Leisl Leighton

  Mad it may be, but she would not see her children sucked into the same path of insanity and destruction as their father, her once-beloved Griffydd Brynn. Once the best among them—so talented, he had dazzled her with all he could do. So dazzled, she hadn’t noticed what that power was doing to him. She’d tried to save him with this mad scheme, despite the distance grown between them, but it had been much too late. He’d disappeared a year ago—she’d thought him dead. Then one awful night, he’d returned.

  She touched her stomach. His babe lay there. The babe he’d seeded in her by force just before running out into the night, dying in an explosion of magic that had taken three of their coven’s elders with him. Two months gone and the brilliant light of his suffering still played on the back of her eyes, burned into them forever more.

  She clenched her jaw. She would not grieve for him. He had done things she could not countenance, things that had torn her ability to love from her, but she did grieve for what could have been. He had loved her once, as she had loved him. Darkness and a lust for power had torn that from them. She was determined that tragedy would never be repeated. Her children, her people—none of them would suffer the madness, the darkness and shame. Especially not this babe. Created in violence, she may have been, but Bridgette would leave a legacy of light for her and the rest of her children. They would not be lost in dreams of evil and a burst of flame like their father.

  This had to work. She would make it work.

  Ignoring the pain from the bite in her neck, she staggered across the dance to the altar stone where she’d draped her robe. Hands shaking, she pulled it over her shoulders, wincing at the encroaching stiffness in ligament and bone. The simple task of dressing was too much and, exhausted, she leaned against the altar stone.

  She’d used too much power because of the unexpected banishment. The Darkness had risen from Ioan McVale half way through the ritual, surprising her, but not the Goddess. She’d immediately spoken through Bridgette, helping to banish it. But even with her help, reserves of power and energy had been used and she had nothing to bolster herself for the walk back to her horse. Her gentle Nessie and the nourishment that was in the saddlebags slung over her withers were down in the valley, far away from where the scent of the Were could spook her.

  She breathed deeply, willing herself to stand straight. The neck of her robe clung to the blood that trickled from the bonding wound down her back and shoulder. Picking up her Athamé, she tore a strip from the hem and padded it up, laying it over the wound, then pulled the robe down tight to hold the pad of material in place. It would have to do until she got back to Nessie and the supplies. Her head spun and she leaned against the altar again, the cold stone a balm to her overheated skin. The burn of too much power always took her this way. She would stand here a moment and get her breath back. There was no need to hurry.

  A prickle chased down her spine. Someone was still there. Watching.

  Bridgette spun around. The wild movement overwhelmed her. The heavens swirled above her and she clung to the rock, desperate to keep her feet. Fear chased along her spine. She had no energy or power left to fight with. No energy even to call on her Goddess. She was alone. All alone.

  In the shadows on the other side of the dance, she heard movement, the merest sifting sigh, like dry leaves brushed along by a gentle breeze. Then in the shadows she saw the glint of amber with flecks of emerald green.

  The two glowing orbs that were his eyes watched her from the shadows of the trees. She gripped her robe around her neck, pulling the belt tight around her still narrow waist. If this was one of the Were, she was not in danger—Ioan had promised she would be safe and no Were in his pack or the packs aligned to his would foreswear his promise.

  Even so, her voice trembled as she called out, ‘What do you here, Were-man?’

  ‘I have brought your horse and supplies, my lady.’

  ‘My horse? She would not have come to you. She—’ The words caught in her throat as he led Nessie forward. The mare, who was so gentle for her, was never so placid for others, especially men, and certainly not for one of the Were. Horses smelled the hunter in them. ‘How are you doing that?’

  ‘Nessie is a bonnie lass and gracious at that. She wasna fussed by my wild scent.’

  ‘No, you misunderstand. She usually comes to no man.’

  ‘Oh, but you see, I’m no’ a man.’ The voice was deep, husky, tinged with a light Scot’s bur and a faint ironic humour.

  It was a pleasant voice and yet it sent a shiver through her, though she knew not why. He was most likely here at the beckoning of Ioan, so he was no threat. He would not even enter the dance, stopping with Nessie on the edge of the stones. Forcing her mouth into a smile she hoped didn’t show her unease, she said, ‘Then, please, send my thanks to Ioan, but tell him it was unnecessary.’

  ‘It wasna Ioan who saw the need. I own I thought the use of your magic may ha’ exhausted you, my lady, and I ken I was right. You look as if the merest puff of breeze might blow you down.’

  ‘I am not so weak as that.’

  ‘Aye. You have a strength inside that is rare to see. Though I expect some of your strength comes from your need to protect the bairn growing inside you.’

  Bridgette gasped, her hand clenching over her flat stomach. ‘How… how did you know about my babe?’

  ‘The Were can sense many things, my lady.’ His mouth curled up at the corner, teasing, mysterious, eyes glinting in the dark. ‘However, my ma is Pack Healer. I have been brought up learnin’ at her knee. I ken how to spot a woman with bairn.’ He held up his hands. ‘There isna a need to fear me, my lady. I mean you no harm.’

  ‘I know.’ She swallowed hard. ‘You simply caught me off-guard. And as you say, I am tired.’ She clutched at the altar stone. She’d have to go to him—no Were would enter the dance. Ioan had only done so because he had to to escape from the Darkness and cement the bond. She let go of the stone and took a step forward, swayed. The world tipped.

  Arms wrapped around her, stopping her fall. She looked up into his glowing eyes. ‘You entered the dance.’

  ‘I couldna let you fall.’

  Nessie nickered nervously and butted his shoulder. He shushed her, his hand coming up to cover her nose. She sniffed and settled. ‘Your lady is fine, bonnie lass. She only wants for food and rest.’ He lifted her up and sat her so she could lean against the altar stone, then fetched the wine skin and satchel from Nessie. ‘Bread and cheese,’ he said as he opened the cloth on the stone beside her. He cut a slab of cheese and tore off a piece of bread, handing her both. ‘Eat.’

  She took it gratefully and began to eat, watching him as he packed her things into the saddlebags. He was obviously nervous and mistrustful of the dance and the power held within its circle, and yet he had entered to help her. Why?

  Why was this Were helping her when every other Were had left, leaving her to take care of herself?

  His eyes met hers, the shadow of deep emotion there. It caught at her heart, pulled at her soul, but it was gone before she could understand what it meant, a shutter coming down on those deep, amber-flecked spring-green wells. She shivered as if doused in cold water.

  ‘Are you cold, my lady?’ He pulled her travelling cloak from her horse and placed it around her before she had chance to answer.

  His hands lingered on her shoulders as he settled the cloak around her. She looked up at him, her voice a breath in her mouth. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I am here for you, my lady. I am Sgàth. Your Shadow. Aye, from this day forth, where you go, I go too. Now, let us get you home. You need to rest.’

  She knew she should deny his words—she needed no guard—but the words locked in her throat. So, instead, she simply nodded and let him lift her to Nessie’s back. She thought he intended to walk, but before she could blink, he swung up behind her, taking the reins in his hands. She stiffened, even though the warmth of him at her back was more than welcome. ‘I can ride without help.’
<
br />   His chuckle vibrated through her. ‘No doubt you can, my lady, but the journey to your home isna a short one, and you need to rest. This way you can doze without the chance of fallin’ off this bonnie lass.’

  ‘You are too heavy for Nessie,’ she protested.

  ‘Nessie is strong. She can carry us both, canna you lass?’

  Nessie—traitor that she was tonight—whickered and trotted forward, head held high.

  ‘I will not sleep with your arms banded about me so tightly.’

  The breath of his chuckle brushed past her cheek as the vibration of it soothed something deep inside her. ‘We will see.’

  Soon they left the dance far behind. Bridgette tried to sit upright and keep herself aware and awake. She tried with all her might. But the night’s magic, the rocking of Nessie’s movement and the soothing warmth of the Were at her back soon lulled her into a deep sleep.

  As she settled back against him, Malcolm smiled and breathed in deeply of the scent that had captured his attention earlier that day. She might not know it yet, this witch with flames for hair and the crackle of burning power surrounding her, but she was going to be his.

  Chapter 5

  She was going to be his.

  ‘No! Eloise. Don’t let them take your power. Don’t let them—’

  She sat up with a gasp, the sense of warmth—a warmth that stroked intimate places deep inside her heart—fading with the images in her head before she could make sense of them. Tears burned her eyes at the loss, but she didn’t let them fall. She’d never let them fall since the time her mother caught her crying from a dream.

  ‘Crying over a dream. Whoever heard of such a thing! Dreams will never bring anything but disappointment and dissatisfaction. Face reality and grow up.’

  The slap of her mother’s sharp words rang in her head even though she would never have to worry about being judged by her mother ever again.

  Her eyes prickled harder. Don’t feel sorry for yourself, Eloise. You brought this on yourself. Face up to the reality of that. She gripped the bedclothes tight and pushed them back. Then froze.

  Bed. What was she doing in bed? She’d been up, had gotten ready to meet with Jason and Skye and then…

  She gasped as it all came flooding back.

  Anger, confusion, fear. The world shaking. More than shaking. Shaking that had come from her. She’d done other things too—the image of Iain caught on the spot, struggling to get to her; of Adam as he flew through the plate-glass window with just a flick of her hand; the flames flaring bright around her that should have burned her to cinders.

  She lifted her hands, forced herself to look at them—they were perfectly normal. Not even a blemish. They should have been burned to a crisp. The power had been simmering inside her—that’s what Bron said. Repressed by Morrigan for some reason, it had begun to leak out of her during the coma. That’s why they’d put the dampening bracelet on her. Bron, River, Iain—they’d all tried to tell her, but she hadn’t believed them. Couldn’t believe them. It seemed so impossible. Even when the bracelet failed and they were trying to calm her because they knew what was coming, she still hadn’t believed them. How could she? She’d been told all her life how useless she was to her coven—a waste of space and energy until she’d become useful to Morrigan as a cat. And now to discover that she’d been filled with power to rival Cain’s?

  Cain! He’d been there too somehow. Goading her to let go.

  Her fingers tingled, trembling. Fear shot through her and she clenched them, closed her eyes, unable to look at them. Was she about to overload again? Was that to be her end here—a fiery ball of destruction? Had that been Morrigan’s plan all along? To send her off, her powers a hidden bomb, hoping she would explode and take them all with her? Was that what Cain had been encouraging her to do? She wasn’t sure. He’d certainly wanted her to use it against them. Eviscerate them, he’d said.

  Goddess! She couldn’t do that. She’d already been responsible for hurting these kind, generous people in a way that could never be truly forgiven—not by her at least. And she couldn’t do it again. She had to get out of here.

  ‘You are no danger to them.’

  The older, female voice whispered in her mind. The same voice as the one in her dreams. But she couldn’t believe it. She’d believed blindly the things she’d been told all her life—why would she believe some voice that spoke in her mind. It was probably just her subconscious desire to stay, to belong somewhere. She didn’t belong here. She belonged nowhere. Hated by her coven, a danger to those who had given her shelter, she was alone.

  A harsh laugh escaped her. She’d always been alone. She’d just never faced the reality of it before.

  She pushed herself out of bed, stumbling as she tried to stand. Her muscles trembled with the strain. She was weak. Her powers had taken too much out of her. But she couldn’t let that stop her. She wobbled over to the table where a teapot stood. There was still some of the herbal brew of Bron’s. She sipped, making a face—it tasted better hot. No matter. She sculled it down, wiped her mouth. The magic in the drink tingled through her and she had a moment of worry that she’d just done something stupid, adding more magic to her already unstable system. She clenched her fingers and then made herself look at them. No flame. But they still tingled. She stared at them, breath held, waiting for something terrible to happen, unable to move even though she knew she must. She couldn’t explode here. Couldn’t burn down their packhouse. She wouldn’t do that.

  She turned, took a step and realised something had changed. The tingle turned to a pleasant warmth. Her muscles had stopped trembling. She was in control.

  A rush of breath left her and she shook her head at her stupidity. Bron wouldn’t have given the drink to her if she’d thought it would make things worse. However, she knew the impact of the drink wouldn’t last. She had to go now before Iain came back. He always seemed to know when she was awake and would be here soon, no doubt. She had to go now, slip away without being stopped.

  She wished she could remember what had happened. Or maybe she didn’t want to know. She remembered Iain reaching her, Bron yelling at him, his hands on her face, the warmth of them sizzling through her. The shock of his touch had made everything stop and then…

  She rubbed her head, unable to remember past that point. Maybe Bron and Skye and Shelley had managed to finish their spell and rope her back in. Yes, that’s what must have happened. She obviously hadn’t exploded. The house and grounds were still here. It felt peaceful. Quiet. Too quiet.

  Oh Goddess! Had she killed them? She’d hurt Adam—that much she did remember. Shelley had been hit by a flying plate. What if she’d also hurt the rest? Her fingers tightened on the curtain as she tried to remember, her gaze skating over the room, landing on the bed.

  The bed! She’d woken up in bed. Someone must have carried her back in here and tucked her in—she couldn’t remember doing it herself. There was also evidence someone else had been in here with her. River’s book was on the chair in the corner and there was a blanket thrown over the back of the armchair—it hadn’t been there when she’d got up that morning. One of the others wouldn’t have been sitting in here with her, reading, if she’d killed or injured their packmates. She’d be dead too.

  She realised she was holding her breath again. ‘Calm down, Eloise. Take a breath.’ It helped to hear her own voice. It made the room seem less empty. ‘Stop dawdling. You have to go. Now.’

  She threw on a light jacket and put her sandshoes on. The new shoe didn’t quite fit her twisted foot properly and would rub, but she wasn’t going to worry about that now. As quietly as she could, she slipped out the door. The floorboard half way down the hallway creaked. Crap! She wished she could turn into the cat. While the cat still had the gammy foot, it did move with more speed and silence. But the inhibitor cuff was still on her wrist, so she couldn’t change. She’d have to find some way of getting it off when she escaped. She’d never survive if she couldn’t turn into h
er cat.

  Quiet voices drifted up the hallway from the kitchen. She stopped.

  ‘She’s still asleep.’

  ‘Where’s Iain?’

  ‘I told him to go for a run. He needs to get rid of all that energy somehow otherwise he’ll be bouncing off the walls and shifting at the drop of a hat for days.’

  ‘He was pretty happy.’

  There was a groan, followed by, ‘Obnoxiously so. I don’t know what you’re all smiling about. I don’t see it as a good thing. She almost killed us.’

  ‘But she didn’t. She didn’t even hurt us.’

  ‘Speak for yourself.’

  There was a gentle laugh—Bron. ‘You’re no worse for wear, Adam.’

  ‘Tell that to my aching head and bruised ego. And my back—ow! That hurts.’

  ‘You began to heal over the glass before I could get it out.’

  ‘Maybe changing into my wolf would help.’

  ‘I don’t think it would.’

  ‘Changing always helps the healing.’

  ‘Not when you’ve got glass embedded in your back, it won’t.’

  His only answer was a growl, followed by a husky laugh.

  ‘It’s not funny, Kitten.’

  ‘It’s always funny when you get knocked on your arse.’

  ‘So, what are we going to do?’

  ‘We’ll let her sleep it off and then we’ll see how she feels.’

  ‘She needs to go in the caves.’

  ‘No. That’s not a good idea.’

  ‘Why not? If she deserves to be anywhere, it’s with—’

  ‘I’m not having this discussion again. If today showed us anything, it’s that she belongs with us.’

  The argument kept on, but Eloise didn’t stay to listen to more. She’d heard enough. Adam was right. She had to go. She was a bomb waiting to go off. Cain had encouraged her to use her powers, to let go. Morrigan had let her go last year because she knew Eloise would go to the Were. She knew Eloise would explode with power, killing everyone around her. She must be disappointed it hadn’t happened yet—which was why she’d sent Cain to egg her on.