Lightning In Sea (CELTIC ELEMENTALS Book 3)

by Heather R. Blair

  She shook her head, feeling dizzy and out of sorts. Then it hit her, she was so turned on she could barely breathe. “What the hell, Mac?”

  Laughing, his arms caught her before the growing swells could knock her under, holding her up as salt flecked her lips. Then he took her lips, increasing her need, fusing them to his own as he made his way deeper into the sea.

  She hadn’t seen it from shore, but minutes later a huge black rock loomed in front of them. His hands were everywhere, rough and warm and wet, stroking her back, squeezing and kneading her backside as his thick erection slipped between her thighs.

  “Sloane,” he breathed against her lips. “I need this. We need this, before it’s too late.” She couldn’t understand his words, but it didn’t matter. Her fevered brain could only focus on one thing.

  Mac had never taken her from behind, and she’d never particularly liked the position, but as he bent her over the rock, she didn’t resist. It felt right. Primal and basic and raw.

  The moss was thick as felt beneath her hips. Mac was pressed against her ass, his hips firm, his cock hard and demanding, nudging at her center.

  “Yer mine,” he whispered as he drove deep into her body, one solid thrust stretching her wide.

  She writhed between him and the rock, the moss both rough and gentle against her breasts, just like his hands on her hips. The sea began to boil around them, frothy and fierce. Lightning split the sky again and again, beautiful and deadly, a familiar electric blue that made her gasp Mac’s name. He fucked her harder, driving their bodies together as thunder rolled overhead and inside her, her very skin vibrating with it.

  In two more strokes, he sent her over the abyss, her cries swallowed by the storm. “No other will have ye again. No’ in this life or any other. I willna stand for it. I claim ye, machree. I. Claim. Ye.”

  Tangled in her wet hair, his fingers pulled her head back. His teeth found the tender flesh where her neck met her shoulder and sank in, as if sealing his words. She came again instantly.

  Harder than before, longer, her muscles bearing down on Mac’s cock so tightly she heard his low groan as he bit harder. This wasn’t like Declan’s savagery, but something savagely pure that made her heart lurch in her chest.

  Mac had marked her, inside and out, as his, with his words as well as his body. The shock of sweet pain only heightened her fading tremors. Doubly so when Mac shuddered against her back, his hips cupping her ass as he came.

  The heat of his come slipped from her into the sea bit by bit, each gentle lap of waves between her legs nearly sending her over the edge again.

  “What is this place, Mac? What is it really?”

  He pulled her close. “I canna tell ye as easily as I can show ye. Kiss me and doona stop.”

  Lips fused with hers again, Mac pulled her under. As the water closed over her head, Sloane knew this was mad. But she’d just had sex in the middle of a magical hurricane. Everything was mad, and if she drowned in the madness, so be it.

  Down and down they sank. She could feel the darkness, even though her eyes were tightly closed. It’s pressure and weight wrapped around her like a velvet blanket, thick and soft. When Mac pulled his mouth from hers, she gasped. But no water rushed in to drown her. Instead, Sloane opened her eyes to an underwater world like something out of Arthurian legend.

  Blue and green light dazzled in a cave of colossal portions.

  “This is Avalon,” she breathed in wonder.

  “Aye, tha’s what the humans called it. It has many names, love. Atlantis, Thule, Ys. But mostly, ’tis my home. One I’ve no’ allowed any to see since before yer da was born.”

  She swallowed. Thinking of Aidan just now made her heart ache. “It’s all true then.”

  “It is.” Mac’s eyes were dark, but kind.

  She was still trying to avoid saying it, so she said something else. “Is there really an Arthur? And is he really here?”

  Mac’s smile was gentle. He didn’t answer but she could see the truth in his eyes.

  Her eyes widened and her fingers went to her mouth as the hard truth washed over her at last. “You really are a god, aren’t you?”

  “Yer father told ye as much. Did ye think he exaggerated?” He raised his eyebrows. Sloane said nothing, leaning forward to trace the trident carved into the stone, the graceful sweep of one tine to the lethal tip. She muttered something under her breath.

  “What was tha’?”

  “Fanciful stories.” She turned on him, silver-green eyes flashing dangerously. Mac swallowed. “Fanciful stories, you called my books.”

  “Well, now—”

  She cut him off with a lifted hand. “You’re Lir?”

  “Technically, nae. I’m Manannán mac Lir. Lir’s me da.”

  In some tales, Manannán was also the counterpoint of the Greek god Hades. Master of the Underworld. Some scholars had compared Avalon to the Elysian fields.

  Sudden fear tightened her chest. “I’m not . . .”

  Mac’s face darkened. “Of course no’.” But something in his tone told her it had been a near thing.

  “You brought me here to save me.”

  “Aye. And it worked.”

  She sighed, finally relaxing completely. “That’s a relief.”

  “Aye,” Mac said again, this time with particular fervor.

  Sloane leaned against the stone of his throne, her arm curled behind her back, trying to absorb everything that had happened. She closed her eyes wearily. “I’ve lost my mind. Josh always said I was halfway there anyway. Turns out he was right.”

  “Ye doona really believe tha’.”

  “Don’t I? A vampire for a father, a god for a lover. What am I, Mac?”

  “Just a woman, love. Isn’t tha’ enough?”

  There was a rumble from above, a flash of light. Mac glanced upward, his face darkening. Sloane moved closer to him.

  “What’s that?” she whispered.

  “Lugh. And the others.”

  “They’re all real then? All of them.”

  “Aye. But I’ll daresay no’ how you imagined them.”

  “What do they want?” Sloane watched the lights piercing through the deep sapphire water above, like sunbeams through dark clouds. But the light did nothing to comfort her. Instead, she felt cold and afraid. She stepped closer to Mac, slipping her hand into his.

  “They’re coming for you,” he said simply. “To take you home.” But his eyes had gone the angry black of the edge of a storm. The kind that levels houses. “But they canna have you.”

  “Mac, what do you mean?”

  His head lowered and his gaze was suddenly so fierce she took a step back, though she didn’t let go of his hand. “Do ye love me?”

  She didn’t even have to think about it. Sometimes it seemed like she had been born loving this man. “Yes.”

  His smile blazed. “And I ye. So I’ll be keeping ye, but they do no’ approve.”

  “Why?” The thunder was coming closer, along with the flashes of light. She could see a man who appeared to be made of gold, so bright it hurt the eyes to look at him, even through fathoms of dark water. He carried a spear in one hand, a spear made of light itself. Sloane swallowed as Mac drew her closer.

  “’Tis against our laws,” he said simply, “to take a mortal as mate. I had a plan to change things, but it’s no’ quite going the way I wanted.” He hesitated, as the water seemed to crack above them with a loud booming roar.

  “Manannán mac Lir! Open to yer king.”

  Mac sighed and squeezed her hard before pressing his lips to hers. “It will be okay, love. I promise it will be alright. Trust me?”

  She nodded mutely, right before the world seemed to explode. Mac’s arms surrounded her as he shot upward like a bullet from a gun, spearing through water and sky.

  “Then let’s go introduce ye to my king.”

  23

  This king blazed against the background of the late summer sky. Fierce and bright, the edges of hi
s form seemed to cut into Sloane’s eyes. Lugh the Longhand. She knew his name, but seeing the reality of him—knowing there was a real him—made Sloane shake. How could Mac defy such a creature? But then she looked at Mac and realized she’d never really seen him at all.

  He towered above the waves, a storm made man, or something terribly like a man. Lightning flashed in his eyes.

  “Have ye forgotten who I am?” His voice boomed across the water. “The master of the waves, the bringer of lightning. I dance in the hurricane, my laughter is the thunder. I ride the storms that make men tremble. I am ancient, more eternal than the tide. I am magic, the flow of all the waters of earth and air.

  “I am Manannán mac Lir, god of the sea. And I claim her.”

  Lugh bowed his head once, as if he’d just accepted a terrible weight. But when he raised it again, his blue eyes were blinding. Sloane swallowed a scream, reaching for Mac, he pushed her away, toward the shore. She tried to get to him, but the waves pushed her back against the sand.

  The king’s voice was hard, cutting through the air between them like a sword. “Don’t do this, athair. Doona challenge me.”

  To Sloane’s utter shock, Mac laughed. “Are ye thinking I’ve a choice?”

  Chains wrapped around him, thick and heavy and black. Cold and dripping with brine as they dragged Mac away from her, across the beautiful sand.

  Sloane screamed and stepped forward. Lugh spared her a glance, those terrible blue eyes so bright they burned. Instantly, a woman in gold appeared before her, stepping forward to hold up a tiny hand. “Ye canna stop this, mortal. There is no force as could stand against Lugh this day.” Her voice was gentle and her beautiful face sad. “But this is nae finished. I’ll watch over Manannán. Lugh’s temper will fade, but your Mac . . . ye willna see him again.”

  “What are you talking about? And if anyone is going to watch over him, it’ll be fucking me. Who are you anyway?”

  “I am called Fand, Queen of the Fae.”

  The name was familiar, though right now, figuring out the woman’s place in the Irish pantheon took a backseat to getting to Mac.

  “Get out of my way.”

  Fand ducked her head. “He comes with us, you stay here. I’m sorry, but what he wants, what he’s trying to do, it’s just not done.”

  Sloane glared. “What do you mean, ‘not done’? Gods play around with humans all the time. Don’t you guys read your own press? There isn’t a myth or legend that doesn’t include a dalliance or two.”

  The woman smiled. “Ahh, but you’re not a dalliance. Not to Mac. If you haven’t noticed, that man doesn’t do anything halfway.”

  There was a depth in her tone, something that bespoke familiarity. Sloane’s eyes narrowed.

  “What is Mac to you?”

  “These days? Nothing much.” But the look the Fae shot her was telling. “Though once upon a time he was my husband.”

  “What?” Sloane stepped forward, but the woman had already vanished in a streak of silver and gold will o’ the wisps. Sloane reached for them, but they faded like fireflies in mist.

  They were all gone.

  Everything. Mac, the terrible Lugh, Fand. Only the beach remained. Smooth and unscarred. Not Avalon. She was back on Manx.

  He’d left her behind.

  A shower of Kelly-green sparks appeared just as Sloane had begun to walk. She had no idea which way home was from here, but she knew she couldn’t stay on the beach forever.

  She looked up, numb with shock to see Mac’s sister in front of her.

  Bav.

  Of course.

  Mab, Bav. Heather had explained Bav’s place in Aidan’s history, albeit briefly, but now it all came crashing home. Mac was the god of the sea, the gateway to the Underworld, so it would follow that his sister would be the goddess of death.

  “I expected to see you today, though not quite like this.” Bav shook her head, her beautiful features tense. “My brother is a wily bastard, but he may not survive this one.”

  “They aren’t going to kill him?” Sloane pleaded.

  “Unlikely. That would be extreme. And I checked the rune stone before I came to you,” she added absently.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The stone, at the place humans call Cashtal yn Ard. It’s a symbol of my brother’s bond with the island he created.” Bav gave her an impatient look. “As long as his rune stone stands, Manannán mac Lir reigns in Avalon. It’s entirely possible Lugh will strip his title if Mac persists in this defiance.”

  “But they won’t kill him, right?”

  Bav looked thoughtful. “Unlikely, but I can’t speak for the king—”

  They were interrupted by another cascade of sparks, this time in cobalt blue. A woman Sloane never seen before appeared next to Bav. She was petite, especially standing next to the goddess of death, who was even taller than Sloane. This new woman had dark hair, cut in a stylishly ragged pixie cut, startlingly blue eyes and a decidedly sly manner.

  She looked from Sloane to Bav and back again. “Huh,” she said.

  “What do you want, Aine?”

  “Lugh changed his mind after talking to Mac. He wants her held somewhere safe until this is sorted. I’m here to escort her to the Overworld.”

  “Escort, or imprison?” Bav’s expression betrayed nothing but curiosity, but her hands clenched.

  A shrug of slim, pale shoulders by the woman Aine, who seemed to sense Bav’s tension as clearly as Sloane did. “Don’t fuck with me, Bav. I’ve the power of the king’s command behind me.” But Sloane couldn’t help but notice the smaller woman was eyeing Bav with some trepidation.

  Bav tossed her red curls, squeezing Sloane’s shoulder once before taking a step back. “You best see no harm comes to her, or my brother is not the only one your lover will have to deal with.”

  The delicate woman snorted. “Are you for real? You meant to use this one as bait, not once, but twice! And now you’re concerned for her welfare.”

  “Things change, Aine.” There was a shower of emerald sparks and Bav vanished.

  “Aye,” the woman spoke to the air where the goddess of death had been, “people as well. Even ones you were damn sure were incapable of it.”

  With a bemused look, she held out her hand to Sloane and snapped her fingers. “Come on then. Places to be and all that.”

  24

  It was another day, or maybe a week, or perhaps much longer, before Sloane saw anyone again. Time didn’t seem to move normally here, here being a field full of flowers that never seemed to change. It was daytime, always the same weather. Pleasant. Neither hot nor cold. A soft breeze that never altered in speed, direction or temperature.

  She never got hungry or thirsty. Never felt the need to use the bathroom or shower.

  Sloane had read too much Celtic myth not to grasp what it all meant, but she was also refusing to think about it too closely. Doing so might drive her mad. Not that she wasn’t heading there as it was.

  She wondered what Aidan was doing, if they’d told him anything. And if they had, if he’d found a way to share any of it with Jenny or her parents. Who knew how much time had passed in the real world?

  The endless questions tortured her but there was one in particular that beat inside her skull as she waited.

  Where was Mac?

  Was he okay? When was he coming back to her?

  Was he coming back to her?

  Trust me, machree.

  I’m trying. I’m really trying here.

  She heard someone talking up ahead and ran forward to investigate.

  It was Aine. She was tossing bread to birds gliding across a lake. A lake that had never been there before. Sloane figured out who Aine was ages ago. She’d figured out a lot of things in her time here, the name of the Celtic moon goddess the least of them.

  Sloane frowned, but before she could speak, the goddess did.

  “How are you finding the Otherworld?”

  “I’m finding it wickedly
ironic I’m now a prisoner in one of my books,” she said, her voice croaking slightly. Though her books had never been quite this cruel.

  Aine laughed, tossing more bread, watching the swans peck at the glittering surface of the lake. “Oh, we’re not bad as all that, are we?

  “I’ll let you know, but it’s not looking good so far.” Sloane glared at the pinkish-purple sky, her mouth tight. Aine glanced over a slim shoulder, then sighed.

  “Lugh will release you, eventually. He’s not a bad person.” The goddess pulled at an odd flower, one with thin, translucent blue petals. “And I know he feels a debt toward your father and his friends still. Not to mention Mac himself is like a father to him. But a king can’t tolerate insubordination. There are some rules even Mac can’t break.”

  “And the one about gods not taking mortals as mates is one of them?”

  The goddess nodded, picking at the bluish grass between her dainty toes.

  Sloane threw her hands into the air. “But that makes no damn sense!”

  “Doesn’t it? Your books don’t think so. If I recall correctly, gods and mortals don’t mix well there either.”

  “You’ve read my stuff?”

  “I was . . . curious. They were rather intriguing, but you sure got Mac all wrong.” The goddess’s blue eyes danced with amusement.

  Sloane winced. Leirr, her version of the god of the sea in her books, was dark haired, dark eyed, slim and very bi.

  “You don’t think Mac has read…?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he has taken a peek or two. Not that I’d know for sure. Your lover hates me almost as much as he hates my sister.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Fand.”

  “Oh.” Yet another thing she’d had far too much time to think about. Husband. Mac had never mentioned being married. Then again, he’d never mentioned being a god either.

  “I can hear the world of curiosity in that one little ‘Oh,’ mortal. Go ahead, ask.”

  Sloane hesitated only a second before giving in. “Were they really married? Like officially?”

  “Well, you know gods don’t really do ‘official.’ It’s not like there’s a courthouse here in the Otherworld.” Aine sniggered.