Taran gave an impressed smile. “Lance is a good man, willing to risk his life for anyone against the fògaraich, even though he’s but a mortal. First time I met him, I was out for a drive through the city. I found him protecting a woman and child with nah but a stake against three of the blood-drinkers.” He laughed and shook his head at the memory. “Took them all down, too. And even with all the injuries he’d suffered, he still saw tha the innocents made it home safely. He caught my attention with tha. It’s the reason I approached him. I’ve come to admire him greatly since then. A noble heart, he is... and aye, in case ya were wondering, I have considered this in the past.”
“What’s stopped ya?” Latharn asked, despite knowing the answer. Taran, along with Ciaran and many of the ancients for that matter, had never turned another. The ones that had left something behind, who had been the most affected by the loss of their mortality, avoided giving the bite.
“Stopped him from what?” Skye asked, looking around the group before her eyes opened wide in realization. “From biting him?” She demanded, looking over at Taran in disbelief.
“From making the offer, wee one,” he corrected. “As I said, aside from your case, we ask beforehand nowadays.” He looked over at Latharn and sighed. “And as for your question, ya already know why.”
“Aye,” Latharn agreed as he tossed aside the bone he had been gnawing on. “Does nah mean if he’s worthy of the change the choice should nah be given to him by one of us.”
“No,” Skye cut in authoritatively.
The men quickly turned toward her at the sound of the wolf in her voice.
“He will be turned when the time comes, but it will be my doing.” She shook her head as her eyes faded back to blue and curled her lip in disgust. “All right, I have to disagree with her on that one. I’m not up for biting anybody.”
“Nah according to Taran’s chest last night,” Ciaran muttered with a smirk.
Skye pinched his leg under the table in response.
“Owww! What? Who said tha? Completely uncalled for to make mention of such things, it is,” Ciaran admonished, pointing around the table in feigned disapproval before grinning and winking at her.
“Well, whether ya agree with her or nah, Skye, your wolf has made her claim upon him known. The clan will respect her wishes. He is your pup to change when ya please,” Latharn told her.
Skye rolled her eyes. “Lucky me – I get the defective one,” she grumbled.
“Aww, come on, a stóirín. It could be worse,” Ciaran said and leaned closer to her as if gossiping. “I hear this one faol got saddled with a pup tha had a penchant for breaking noses and jaws and such,” he told her in mock concern.
She shook her head, trying not to smile.
“Oh, right...” Drostan chimed in, pointing at him as if he had been told the same rumor. “I heard aboot tha one. Real ornery wee thing – knocked an ancient right on his arse, then proceeded to kick it round the drive,” he said, playing along and turning to Taran. “Did ya hear anything aboot tha, brother?”
Taran smirked. “Aye. Though the way I hear it told, tha pup beat the living crap out of an ancient in a cage. Nearly bested him, too.”
“So, ya see, love? Miko’s nah so bad after all,” Ciaran teased.
Skye struggled to maintain her scowl.
“Ha-ha, you guys are frigging hilarious,” she said dryly.
“Speaking of the defective whelp,” Drostan muttered and directed their attention to where Miko was being led into the room by Ruarachan. “S’pose with Skye present, he can sit just aboot anywhere he likes,” he mused as they watched several younger faoil inviting Miko to their tables. Each one providing invitation was sure to check that Skye had seen their offer.
“Ya know, we’ve extra seats. I think I should like to speak to tha lad,” Latharn announced.
The men looked over at him in surprise.
“What? Can I nah take an interest in a future member of the clan?” He asked innocently as he motioned for Ruarachan to bring Miko to him.
“But he’s a ‘daft stake-wielder’,” Taran reminded. “And we all know how much ya fancy them,” he added sarcastically as the others laughed.
“Eh well, ne’er could hold a man responsible for his meager beginnings – no matter how grossly misguided they happen to be,” Latharn said with a wink.
“Just... nobody tell him my wolf is talking about biting him, all right?” Skye pleaded. “He’ll either flinch every time I come near him or worse, follow me around offering up parts for taste-testing.” She rolled her eyes at that scenario and looked around the table, ensuring that all of the men nodded their agreement.
“Did ya get what ya needed?” Taran asked as Miko stepped up beside him and handed over the credit card.
Miko nodded. “I did and seriously, thank you for replacing it. I don’t even want to consider what would have happened if I’d had to keep myself entertained.”
“Would ya believe I’ve tha very same problem, bud?” Ciaran asked, giving a sympathetic frown and nod that it was true. “Every time I’m left to me own devices, I wind up in a new and more inventive type of trouble than the time before.”
“Pfft... never would have guessed,” Skye breathed sarcastically.
He pinched her leg under the table as she had his for a similar offense.
She hissed in surprise at the pain, her eyes going wide as she reached for him. “Ouch, you little bast—!”
“Children,” Taran called, looking over at them in warning as he caught her by the wrist and gently guided her hand back to her lap. “Settle down at the table,” he urged, patting her hand as if bidding it to remain in place. He let his eyes pass purposefully back and forth between them. It was difficult to maintain a straight face for the reprimand watching them each nod that they would behave before promptly continuing their war under the table.
“So, young Lance,” Latharn began, leaning back in his chair and eyeing him appraisingly. “You’re the one shot so many holes through Drostan then?”
Miko’s tan complexion paled considerably.
“Have a seat, lad,” Latharn instructed, motioning to an empty chair beside Taran.
Between exchanging pinches and kicks with Ciaran, Skye tried not to smile at how terrified Miko looked in that moment. He was a smart guy. He knew damned well that Latharn was someone of great importance to the faoil, which meant two things. Firstly, he was older than dirt. Secondly, with the slightest motion of his hand, he could have any one of the thousands of faoil in the room rip him into itty bitty Miko-bits to add to his salad.
Thankfully, the wave of his hand was instead used to have a plate and glass brought over for the late arrival. The second the servers were gone, Latharn continued.
“Your markings,” he said, motioning to the tattoos on the sides of Miko’s head. “Do they have meaning?” He asked with honest interest, leaning forward and tearing a leg from the roast on the platter before him.
“This side is strength. This one is courage,” Miko answered, pointing to each tattoo before shrugging and adding self-consciously, “It’s just a tribal I picked out at the parlor.”
“Hmm... and ya have to shave your hair like tha to keep’em visible,” Drostan observed before winking at Ciaran.
“Aw hell, who does tha remind ya of?” Ciaran asked with a laugh. He leaned back in his chair to reach past Skye and shove Taran playfully.
“Nae wonder ye let the lad hang aboot,” Ailean teased.
“Tar had ink?” Miko asked in surprise.
“Tha’s a drastic understatement,” Drostan breathed.
Ciaran leaned forward, looking down the table at the mortal. “Why d’ya think he’s still shaving religiously? Which reminds me,” his eyes went to Taran. “Brother, I hate to bring it up cuz I know it’s a touchy subject, but ya do know the ink’s nah coming back, yeah?”
Taran smiled over at him. “Ya know, I was hanging onto the belief tha it just might miraculously reappear after a few
millennia. At least, I was until ya said tha. Thank ya for clearing up the confusion,” he said sarcastically.
“Then why d’ya still shave after all this time?” Ciaran asked curiously as he took a bite of his bread.
“Old habits, brother. Old habits,” Taran sighed.
“Wait, back up a little. You keep saying he’s shaving. Unless my eyes deceive me, he’s got a full beard,” Miko said and looked around in bewilderment when the men burst out laughing.
“Ya said tha ya’ve seen him nude so many times since ya’ve arrived tha you’ll have to – what was it? ‘Bleach your corneas’?” Drostan reminded. “Did ya nah wonder why the man has nah a speck of hair on the better portion of his body?”
Skye’s brow arched severely at this intriguing and decidedly delicious revelation. She had not stopped to consider it before, but it made sense. Actually, what she would define as the ‘better portion’ of his body happened to be the only place there was any hair. Even that blessed location was trimmed to perfection.
Her eyes went out of focus at the recollection.
She blinked repeatedly to get her thoughts back on track. The effort did not take, however, as an image of him naked and all lathered up in shaving cream came to mind.
Mmm... lathered up Taran...
Apparently catching wind of her little daydream, Taran smiled down at her.
She cleared her throat as her cheeks darkened. It was going to take a while to get used to the fact that every time a perverse thought crossed her mind, it was broadcast to the senses of all the men in the area. Up until this became an issue, she had never truly appreciated the amount of time her thoughts spent in the gutter.
“You know, I can honestly say I hadn’t taken any time to consider Tar’s lack of body hair,” Miko admitted in feigned interest. “But now that you mention it? Eeww!” He declared with a curled lip.
“So you had tattoos all over your body?” Skye asked in a strained voice, struggling to break up the meeting of the Taran fan club that was commencing between her thighs.
Full body shaving... Yummy, lick-able tattoos...
Nope, the fangirls were still in session.
“Aye,” Taran laughed, leaning back in his chair and resting his arm on the back of hers. “And after all the years it took to earn them, I was understandably annoyed by their abrupt disappearance.”
“He sat through me inking them into his flesh – how many times do ya figure?” Drostan asked, only getting impressed nods in response from the group. “Had to be at least a dozen times in the first few centuries. It seemed like every time he finished having them put back, he had to transform and lost them all over again.”
“It was worth a try,” Taran said with a disappointed sigh. “I think after aboot the sixteenth time, I finally gave up.”
Ciaran, having caught scent of the fan club, decided to help paint some images in Skye’s mind. “The first time I went into battle with your boyo there, I thought for sure these were a batch of loons tha I’d gotten me self mixed up with. Ya see, Taran fought in the custom of his treubh,” he began, but seeing the vacant expression on her face, he realized that she had no clue what he meant. “Ya know, his... damn, what’s the word? Nah his clan, but his...” He snapped his fingers for a moment trying to think of the term in English. Skye watched in amusement as he grumbled to himself in two separate dialects.
“Tribe,” Drostan offered once he had finished chewing.
“Right!” Ciaran said happily, pointing at Drostan in appreciation before continuing. “He fought in the custom of his tribe. Which means naked as a jaybird and covered in blue knot-work.”
“Hells no!” Miko cried, pushing away from the table and staring over at Taran in shock. “See? I knew you were a freaking nudist!”
“Knot-work?” Skye asked with wide, hopeful eyes, seeking a thorough description to complete the wondrous picture forming in her mind. She recalled the tattoos on Taran’s arm from her vision and wondered what exactly Ciaran meant by ‘covered’.
“Yeah... sorta like this,” Ciaran said, pulling a small silver pendant from inside his shirt and holding it up as she leaned in for a closer inspection. “Was a bit different, since these markings are from me own mortal treubh, but they’re similar. When the ink disappeared after the change, and between each of his attempts to have it reapplied, he would paint the symbols on himself.”
“Or con some unfortunate bastard... namely me... into doing it for him,” Drostan grumbled with a roll of his eyes.
“And it was all the way from his forehead to his feet, too,” Ciaran explained. He grinned at how Skye was hanging on every word of the tale. “Yup, tha was Taran’s war attire. Just ink or paint, a spear and shield, a gold torque round his neck, and entirely too much skin to be exposing in the presence of pointy fangs, if ya ask me.”
“Of course the weapons were nah necessary as a faol, but ya could nah convince him of tha,” Latharn recalled.
“Jen up, we tried!” Ailean assured her with a laugh.
Skye was far too enthralled to wonder what the hell ‘Jen up’ meant. Besides, she was growing accustomed to not understanding Ailean 90% of the time. Ciaran was right, it was a good thing Ailean was so damned pretty.
“He was just as happy as a clam to be out there bare-arsed, too. Remember it?” Ciaran asked.
The others nodded and cracked up at the memory.
“Carrying on like a nutcase, shouting, banging on his shield with his spear and whatnot,” Ciaran recalled. “Thankfully, he did nah speak me language at tha point or he’d have known what he thought were muttered prayers, were actually me opinions of his mental state.”
Skye let out a choppy sigh as those images danced through her mind. Screw sugarplum fairies. She had a naked, tattooed, battle-ready Celt.
Taran shoved Ciaran’s shoulder behind her and laughed. “Ya wee bastard, is tha what ya were bleating to yourself aboot tha whole time?”
“You’re damned right it was! When ya came out the camp looking like tha, I almost turned around and headed all the way back to me lands,” Ciaran teased with a wink. “Would have taken a month or so to get home, mind ya, but least I knew me kin were fully clothed.”
“So, you guys seriously used to march into battle naked? I mean... really?” Miko demanded.
Taran nodded and grinned. “Aye, the mystics said, ‘a man should face death as he faces birth, leave this world same as he entered it’. The elder warriors said it gave better range of motion for a fight. Personally? I always figured it was just to scare the heart outta the enemy.”
“Uh, ya think?” Miko asked sarcastically. “That’s just so wrong! I can understand why it would be effective as hell, though. Straight up, if I was going to war and saw a bunch of naked, tattooed, screaming dudes across the battlefield, you bet your ass I’d retreat. How could you swing your sword when you were, you know, swinging your sword?” He asked in abject terror. “I mean what if something got...” His voice dropped to a whisper and knees drew up as he finished the sentence with a horrified, “... cut off?”
The men all shifted in their seats and grimaced at that question.
“Or, the more likely scenario given what we were fighting, bitten off,” Ciaran mused.
Miko let out a long, trilling whimper.
Skye smirked at the way he was now sitting with his legs crossed until a thought occurred to her. She turned to face Drostan as she spoke. “Then didn’t you have tattoos, too, Drostan?” She asked. “I mean, Taran said you two knew each other when you were mortals. Weren’t you from the same... treubh?”
Ciaran gave an impressed nod at her use of the new word.
“Nah, we were of the same clan, though,” Drostan told her. When her features twisted in confusion, he laughed and explained. “Think of it like cities and states. Tribes were the smaller groupings, clans the larger. I only moved to his tribe’s lands a few years before we became faoil. And to answer your question, I did nah have tattoos as he had. He was the clan�
�s war lord and was marked as such – by me, in fact. I was an artist by trade. In addition to giving tattoos to egotistical, arrogant young warriors...” He exchanged smiles with Taran at that. “I also made the clan’s jewelry and monuments and such.”
“An artist?” Skye repeated incredulously. “Then how’d you wind up getting picked to join an army?”
Drostan opened his mouth to answer, but stopped and looked over at Latharn worriedly.
“There were... other things taken into consideration,” Latharn answered cryptically on his behalf. “It was nah just the matter of a man’s experience in battle.”
Skye shook her head. “And since you’re answering me, I’ll assume I’m not going to hear what those ‘other things’ were.”
“So, Miko,” Latharn began casually as he changed the subject. He grinned victoriously at the huffy sigh Skye gave in response. “How long have ya been with tha group of halfwits?”
Miko’s lips twitched. He was fighting back words that were forming in defense of the Ashers.
“Almost ten years now,” he finally answered. His self-preservation instincts warned against pissing off the ancient faol sitting within arm’s reach of him.
“And what led ya to such a path?” Latharn asked, though he had a good idea already. The same things drove all Ashers to their inevitable untimely deaths – vengeance and grief.
Miko crossed his arms over his chest and cleared his throat.
“Well, ya know – I really liked that I’d get to play with guns and weapons. Plus, the benefits package was just way too hard to resist,” he lied in a nonchalant tone, but Skye could see the sadness in his eyes, despite the smile on his lips.
“Who’d ya lose, lad?” Latharn asked as he set his glass on the table.
Darkness Descends: A Skye Faden Novel Page 47
