Darkness Descends: A Skye Faden Novel

by Alisha Ashton

  She frowned as she thought, Dying? When? From what? Where the hell were we? Why was I clinging to him like that? What in God’s name was chasing us?

  Taran noted the way she was staring at Ciaran. He smiled and nodded to himself in understanding.

  “How do ya feel, wee one?” He asked softly. “D’ya think it’s passed?”

  Instinctively, Skye turned toward his comforting, wondrously familiar voice. Those gorgeous gray eyes of his studied her intensely as he brushed strands of hair from her sweat-slicked brow. She groaned and closed her eyes, slowing her breathing and wincing at the confusion that little mind-movie had left in its wake. For a fleeting moment, there had been clarity, understanding of... something. It was out of reach again.

  “I’m fine,” she somehow mustered the strength to growl.

  Or at least I will be fine, she thought bitterly, just as long as I stay in control.

  Pointedly avoiding their attempts to help her, she climbed to her feet.

  “I need some air,” she told Taran, arching a brow that clearly told him what would happen if he tried to follow her. With a leveling glare to everyone within range, she turned and stalked down the hallway.

  25: Talk of a Trinity

  Ciaran let out a long whistle and gave Taran a troubled sidelong glance.

  “I think we’d best hurry with tha Gathering, brother,” he said.

  “Aye,” Taran whispered, watching her retreating form with pained eyes.

  It wounded him slightly to see that, even now that they were mated, she was still too strong-willed to allow him to comfort her. He sighed, knowing that he should not take that personally.

  Harsh lessons have been learned in her short life, he reminded himself.

  In the presence of so many strange men, she would, understandably, be leery of doing anything that could be misconstrued as an admission of weakness. But he knew that she needed comfort right then because he knew damned well what would cause an episode like the one she had just endured. He frowned at that, exhaling slowly and letting his eyes wander to Ciaran as he considered it.

  Once she had started down the stairs at the far end of the hall, he decided that he had given her enough of a head start.

  “Onchu, ya and your men go on and do as Latharn asked of ya,” Taran began before turning toward them. “If she looks as though she’s nah feeling well, send for me immediately. I’m nah sure what tha was all aboot, but keep an eye on her in case it happens again. And stay well out of her way for your own sakes. She might be but a fraction of your size, but I do believe she could very easily take ya. There’s a great deal more to her than meets the eye.”

  Onchu and his men all cast wary, appraising looks down the hall at her. They each nodded their agreement to stay clear. An ancient would not lie about such a thing and they all knew it.

  “Yes, Lord Taran,” Onchu said, inclining his head respectfully before they set out to follow her.

  Once they were out of earshot, Ciaran retrieved his jacket from the floor and stepped up beside Taran.

  “Ya think she’ll be all right?” He asked worriedly as he pulled it on.

  “I think it’d take an army to make tha girl anything less than all right. She knows exactly what to do to keep her head straight, has had plenty of practice at it,” Taran offered. “But... I am concerned,” he confessed.

  “She looked a bit like Drostan used to get in the beginning, don’t ya think?” Ciaran whispered. “With all tha taibhsearachd business he got from you-know-who,” he said cryptically.

  “My thoughts exactly.” Taran agreed.

  “So tha’s why you’re nah following after her, then?” Ciaran asked.

  “Aye, having the sight would nah pose any danger to her,” Taran said before adding with a smirk. “Besides, if I did, she’d likely beat me half to death for ignoring her wish to be alone.”

  Ciaran burst out laughing at that and clapped Taran on the back. “Quite a woman ya’ve landed yourself there!” He commended – but the compliment reminded him of Skye’s prediction and quickly sobered him. “And hey, by the by, I’ve no idea what she was speaking of before, brother. I hope ya know tha. I’d ne’er betray me clansmen, least of all you. I’d sooner die than break your trust,” he insisted as they started out down the hall.

  Taran shook his head and smiled. “Settle yourself, ya goofy wee bastard. I’ll nah hold ya responsible for what was said. Besides, it very well may still come to pass.”

  Ciaran quirked a brow.

  “Uh, nah to point out the obvious, but ya’ve already claimed her,” he laughed. “There’ll be no bond between her and I – I mean, nah unless you’re intending on dying,” he joked. A second later, his eyes widened and he pointed at Taran angrily. “And you’d best nah be or I swear, I’ll beat ya to death me self first!”

  Taran chuckled at that.

  “Do nah start your weeping just yet, brother. I’ve no plans to die,” he assured before wrapping an arm around Ciaran’s shoulder and catching him in a headlock. “Just think on it a moment. I know ya rarely use this brain of yours to any good ends, but give it a try for me, just this once.” He smiled watching Ciaran trying in vain to pry his arm from around his head. “Firstly, this is nah a mortal woman we’re talking aboot. She is Tàcharain Fhaol. And more than tha, who are we thinking she might be?”

  “Whoa!” Ciaran cried indignantly.

  He wriggled out of Taran’s grasp and blocked his path, pressing a hand to his chest and staring up at him nervously.

  “Now wait just a bloody minute! Tha’s one hell of a bad comparison to be making for bonds, wouldn’t ya say? Especially with the role tha I’d be playing in this preposterous little scenario ya’ve cooked up.”

  Taran laughed in response and ruffled Ciaran’s hair.

  Ciaran instantly put up his fists, throwing a few playful jabs and successfully drawing his brother into a match.

  “I’m nah saying we’re in for a repeat of history,” Taran offered between exchanging punches with his brother. “I’m just saying tha she might be inclined to make the same choice on quantity, is all. Now hold still ya wiry wee fooker!” He called with a grin.

  “Nah gonna happen,” Ciaran insisted with a determined scowl. “I don’t care what some vision said or what you’re saying now. You’re me brother and she’s your mate. Tha’s a line ne’er to be crossed, bud. Regardless of the circumstances. Just thinking on such a thing would be unforgivable. I mean, were I to be wanting anything at all to do with her, I’d be nothing more than a heartless, irredeemable, wretched bastard.”

  With each adjective that fell from his lips, his features tensed more severely and gut twisted tighter with guilt. That was him. He was the heartless, irredeemable, wretched bastard currently lusting after his own brother’s mate. He damned well ought to be ashamed of himself for it. He ought to just tuck his tail between his legs, sneak off the grounds, and leave Taran and Skye to an insanely happy immortal life together without his covetous mind anywhere in the vicinity.

  But in response to his rant, Taran rushed him. He pinned his arms behind his back as he held him in place.

  “D’ya think I’ve nah known ya long enough to realize you’re only trying to convince yourself with tha statement?” Taran asked gruffly.

  Ciaran swallowed hard. Since he was pinned with his back to Taran, he was not able to see that his brother was fighting to suppress a smirk.

  “I’ve nah the foggiest idea to what you’re referring,” he offered feebly as he tried to wriggle free.

  “Do nah underestimate my ability to read ya, brother. Were ya thinking your lack of a reaction to Christie went unnoticed, as well?” Taran challenged. “I know I’m nah seeing the whole picture here and I know ya will nah lie to me if I ask ya directly.”

  Ciaran began fighting against his grip frantically.

  “All the more reason for me to get the hell outta here before ya go any further!” He declared, but Taran wrenched his arm upward until he yelped. “O
w! I give!” He whined as he abandoned his efforts to get away. “Damn, ya know it’ll take an hour for tha to heal if ya break the bone!”

  “What’s different with ya?” Taran demanded. His worry was starting to become clear in his voice. “Something’s off aboot ya, brother. Something’s nah right, I can see it. Explain it to me.”

  Ciaran rolled his eyes. “Well, stop looking so hard at me then, would ya? Isn’t a man entitled a bit of privacy?”

  “Nah when you’re the man and I’m the one asking the questions,” Taran insisted. “I’m afraid those are the rules.”

  “Since when?” Ciaran demanded in a shrill, indignant tone.

  “Since always and ya damned well know it. Now, out with it, else I’ll snap this scrawny wee arm of yours like kindling,” he warned.

  “I’m just...” Ciaran tried, but trailed off, worrying that his words might carry. He pushed his senses outward, scanning the hall to ensure that no one was within hearing range of them. With a sigh, he forced himself to whisper, “I’m just nah interested in chasing skirts anymore, is all.”

  Those words stunned Taran so severely that he loosened his grip. Of all the things he would have sworn that his brother would never say, that was right up at the top of the list.

  Ciaran tried to scurry away, but only managed to take half a step before Taran recovered from his shock and dragged him back.

  Letting out a thoroughly mortified groan, Ciaran gave up and leaned heavily back against his brother. “I said it, are ya happy now? Would ya like to ask anything else tha will give ya and the others cause to torment me mercilessly?”

  Taran shook his head, struggling to wrap his mind around what he had just heard.

  “Ya know very well I’d ne’er betray your confidence,” he assured and pressed a rough kiss to the side of Ciaran’s head. He smiled at the reluctant, perturbed grunt of agreement he received in response...

  But that smile faded as he rested his chin on Ciaran’s shoulder and considered this latest revelation. He found the idea of Ciaran suddenly losing his desire for women to be deeply disturbing. True enough, after he had been bitten, Ciaran had refused to as much as consider taking a lover, but that had only lasted for one century amidst the 40 that he had been alive. After that first 100 years grieving the death of his daughter and the loss of his wife, Ciaran had developed a veracious appetite for women – seemingly overnight, in fact. As wholly surprising as it had been at first, it had become a part of who he was. Taran had always suspected that his brother’s never-ending need for new conquests was an effort to distract from the pain, much the same as his own had been. So, for that desperate need for distraction to be ending now...

  “When exactly did this begin?” Taran asked with great trepidation. He knew the answer was going to be just another piece to the puzzle.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ciaran replied curtly.

  Taran’s brow furrowed. He must have hit the nail directly on the head with that question.

  “It most certainly does matter,” he insisted in annoyance. “Especially with how quick ya were to dodge tha question. Now, when did it start?”

  “It doesn’t matter!” Ciaran repeated, louder this time.

  Taran wrenched his arm upward again until he growled defiantly in response to the pain. “Ya know, if it makes ya feel any better, I can just break your arm. Then ya can console yourself later with the knowledge tha ya held out from telling me for as long as ya could.” Ciaran’s response was so quiet that, even with preternatural hearing, Taran could not distinguish the words. “What was tha?” He asked, leaning closer.

  “I said...” Ciaran grumbled through tightly clenched teeth. “... tha it was three years ago.”

  Taran relaxed his grip in surprise, his brows drawing together worriedly as Ciaran spun to face him.

  “But it’s nothing to do with Skye! It’s just coincidence, is all,” Ciaran insisted. He would have sounded a great deal more convincing, were he not trying so desperately to believe his own words. “I mean, I was bound to tire of it eventually, yeah?” He pressed hopefully. “It was more of a personal choice than anything else, really. Just me finally kicking a habit tha had spiraled out of control. Happens all the time, I’m sure.”

  “Aye, I’m sure tha men suddenly undergo complete personality changes, at the drop of a hat, after four millennia, ‘all the time’,” Taran said sarcastically and drew a hand over his beard. “Three years ago,” he repeated thoughtfully before turning away to pace the hall.

  Ciaran eyed him anxiously. “What? Aw, come on! What’re ya thinking over there?”

  Taran arched a brow, tugging on his beard as he looked back at him. “I’m thinking I’d be willing to wager quite a bit tha Skye’s escape from the fògaraich occurred three years ago.”

  “Ah, shite,” Ciaran groaned. “What would tha have to do with this?”

  “Fook if I know, but three years ago was when Drostan’s whispers first picked up on her. Seems logical tha if ya experienced a change linked to Skye at the same time, something significant must have happened for her then,” he offered. “Somehow, she wound up effecting your desires and gaining the notice of the whispers at the same—” Taran thought aloud, only to stop abruptly and scowl over at Ciaran. “And why is it tha every time I say the word ‘whispers’, your right brow arches like tha?” He demanded, pointing at the eyebrow in question.

  “Arches like what?” Ciaran asked defensively, though he realized as he said it that his brow was jumping to attention again.

  “Like the back of a startled cat!” Taran said, pointing accusingly toward it as Ciaran hid it beneath a hand. He shook his head and sighed. “I’m gonna have to break tha arm, aren’t I?”

  “Whoa, there!” Ciaran cried and held up his hands, taking a giant step backward as Taran took a giant one forward. “No need to be breaking any of me bones,” he insisted. “I was just... well... sorta asking Drostan about his whispers before we woke ya up this morning, is all.”

  “Why?” Taran pressed, narrowing his gaze on Ciaran suspiciously. Seeing the way his brother suddenly became downright fixated on studying his own shoes, Taran knew he would have to drag the answers out of him one bit at a time.

  “Because I sorta... ya know, I thought I might have... maybe heard someone whispering... something,” Ciaran offered, shrugging repeatedly throughout the course of that reluctant sentence.

  “When did ya hear it, what did it sound like, and what did they say?” Taran sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and stepping closer.

  “Wow,” Ciaran breathed with a deep frown. “Ya really need to know all tha then, yeah?”

  “Aye, and if you’re planning to dodge those questions, might I remind ya tha the offer still stands for breaking an arm,” Taran assured.

  “But it’s gonna sound bad when I say it aloud!” Ciaran whined. “It’s nah so serious as it sounds, though. I’m sure it’s nothing to do with –” he began rambling until Taran held up a hand and gave him an impatient look. After sighing in defeat and closing his eyes, Ciaran finally answered as quickly and quietly as possible. “When I was passing by Skye’s door this morning, I heard a woman whispering. She said tha I needed to join with Skye and complete the Trinity.”

  Taran’s jaw dropped open as his eyes grew wide in astonishment.

  “Gabh mo leisgeul?!” He cried as Ciaran winced guiltily. “And THA is what ya defined as being ‘nah so serious as it sounds’?” He demanded.

  “Well... yeah,” Ciaran offered, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously. “I mean, maybe I was just imagining things. Could have been a hallucination or something.”

  Taran covered his face with his hands and groaned against them.

  “Oh, Great Mother... ,” he began.

  “Nah, don’t start with the prayers! Leave Her outta this!” Ciaran pleaded, but it was too late.

  “I beg ya, give me strength to resist the urge to choke the stupidity from this brother of mine. Have I knocked the poor
, misguided bastard on the head one too many times whilst we were roughhousing?”

  “Aw, tha’s real fuckin’ nice, brother,” Ciaran grumbled as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. He shook his head, let out an impatient sigh, and paced the hall as Taran continued.

  “Is this my fault? Am I to deal with this for eternity as punishment for causing the problem to begin with? Then I beseech ya, steady my hand so I’ll nah do him further harm. Spare his life from my desire to end it,” he muttered, stroking his fingers across the place on his brow where a crescent moon tattoo had once been. When he was through, he looked back at Ciaran in disbelief. “Ya were seriously gonna just keep tha to yourself?”

  “Oh, so ya’ve finished asking for divine intervention on me behalf, then?” Ciaran asked with a scowl.

  “After all the wee scraps of information tha have been turning up to confirm who she is,” Taran began in a loud whisper, keeping tabs on their surroundings in case any of the young ones were near. “Ya were just gonna keep tha great big piece of the puzzle inside your head?”

  “Well, what would ya have had me do instead?” Ciaran demanded in a similar tone and quickly closed the distance between them. “Should I have roused ya today and said, ‘Mornin’, brother – congrats on finally taking a mate! It’s quite a momentous occasion, what with ya refusing to so much as lay with a woman for so many centuries. Oh, but by the way, there’s a whisper in me brain telling me to join the party. Hope ya don’t mind a third wheel’?” He said with feigned enthusiasm before scowling and shaking his head. “To hell with tha. I told ya before, I’ll tell ya again – it does nah matter what’s being said, whether it’s been whispered, shouted, or sung! It’s nah right,” he insisted. “And maybe the one being punished ‘round here is me, did ya ever think of tha? Maybe the price of all those centuries spent as a heathen is being told tha I should go after the one thing I can nah and will never have.”

  Taran gave him an incredulous look. “If a higher power sought to punish behavior such as yours, ya would have been struck down by lightening the first time ya discovered what a convent was.”