The Bard materialised in her apartment seconds later. Tall, slender and immaculate in Sidhe
leathers, the complete opposite of Drusal.
“Iscatya informs me, you have need of my services…” Violet eyes narrowed, Teague was
suspicious of a summons from Aingeal. The female made every effort to avoid contact with
him, unless she wished to deliver a list of requirements. His tone coldly indifferent, a small
glimmer of hope made a mighty heart speed up.
“I need a date….” Sapphire eyes wide, she was breathless now that Teague stood in front
of her. It was the first time she had asked him to accompany her, for her sake, not his.
She had blown hot and cold, too scared to give in to the cravings of a body awash with the
desire to taste a succulent male, and terrified to let go. Any little piece of the Bard was a gift
she wouldn’t relinquish, unless she absolutely had to.
“What is this date you need…?” He already knew the reasoning behind an urgent summons.
Iscatya had delighted in informing him of Aingeal’s dilemma. The Bard was not loath to play
the role of protector, but he planned on making a wickedly contrary female work hard to
gain his compliance.
“It’s a term for a partner, one who attends a female at a meal, or a jaunt of pleasure.”
Alex tried to make it sound innocuous, downplaying the role of the male, in an innocent
foray into an uninhibited display of Caribbean dress, music and of course food.
“It’s a holiday weekend for human kind. There’s a big festival in Leeds, one that displays the
origins and freedom of beings who were once deemed as nothing more than slaves.
I thought, maybe, you would appreciate the similarities to your previous life….”
It wasn’t a downright lie. Teague and his kin had lived in servitude for an eon. Appealing
to his curiosity served her purpose better than openly stating she had no one else to keep
her company. Now that was sad…..
“What does this date entail…?” He was enjoying every minute of a desperate bid to claim
his company. Aingeal was playing with the truth. The lie was in her eyes, ones that were
downcast as she nibbled on a luscious lip.
“Being nice to me, I’m in a bad mood…” Enough was enough, she couldn’t keep up the
pretence of altruistic benefactor. The Bard was no fool. Any more drivel, and she would
have to mop the floor.
A bad mood was not a new experience for Aingeal. Her life force was consumed by humans
and Sidhe, to the extent Teague wondered where she found the energy to rise each day,
to face endless demands on her time and skills.
“What do I wear for this jaunt into the unknown…?” Teague gave in gracefully.
“Human suit, jeans and t-shirt, the usual…” Animation sparkled in crystal blue eyes, Alex
wanted to jump up and down in a victory dance. It would be in bad taste, so she made do
with a radiant smile. One that wound its way around a wounded heart, girdling it with the
gift of Aingeal’s pleasure.
“Do we travel in the Queen’s car?” Shifting to appropriate form, a tall slender figure ate up
energy to portray a mouth-wateringly hunky man. Bulkier, shorter, but still a vision of
stunning masculinity.
“Nope, a new experience for you… A train ride.” Alex wished she could shift, to dress as
quickly as Teague. Racing to the bedroom, she shimmied out of shorts and crop top, to slip
on a from fitting red dress. It had cost a fortune, but was well worth every penny.
Slim shoulder straps held a tight fitting bodice, to support a generous cleavage. The skirt
swirled around her knees, in waves of beaded chiffon. It shouted summer days, freedom to
be who she was, emphasising the sultry beauty of peach toned skin and coal black hair.
Wafting back to the living room in a cloud of Chanel Chance, citrus scents teased the air.
Sucking in a breath, Teague was the one to feel underdressed for once. Aingeal was a
vision of sparkling vibrancy, a witch in human skin. To be in her company, in attire that
teased the libido would be penance for believing such beauty could ever be his.
To be mated to Aingeal was the aspiration of many of the Sidhe nobles. She played no
favourites. Today may be a step beyond the impossible for a male who had descried the
bond of female intimacy. To have such a female as a mate would be heaven. A paradise
leavened with the hell of tantrums. To be the one male able to tame a little tornado of
conflicting emotions was the ultimate dream of a lonely male.
Hand in hand they walked through a town encompassing exquisite architecture of spires
and minarets. The ancient beauty marred by modern office buildings, and a glaringly ugly
cinema complex. Halifax, as in many rural towns, was in a phase of renewal. The nature of
this renewal was twofold. It brought employment in a world where too many humans strived
to gain a foothold on the ladder of dignified living, on the other it produced monumental eye
sores in the shape of hope. This Teague had learnt from his Queen.
Her life, her youth, had been centred round a once prosperous industrial behemoth.
The wool trade brought wealth to a provincial town in years past. That trade had been
overwhelmed by foreign imports. The decline was sharp and fast, taking whole families out
of the work force, leading to a decline in spirit and wealth. The way forward for a community
lost to deprivation, was entertainment, cinema’s, restaurants, and a plethora of wine bars,
ready and willing to take the hard earned wages of the young.
“Tis a pity, that smelly vehicles and human noise encroach upon the beauty of this town. It has
an air of stillness, a spiritual connection to the Mother.” Tall hills, covered in a blanket of trees,
leaves turning the red gold of autumn foliage formed a stunning background to the small
railway station they approached. Leaning over a metalwork parapet, Teague pointed out a
multihued building tucked at the side of the station.
“What does this place serve as…?” Alex joined him, on tip toe she peered at the scene of
his curiosity.
“A national children’s museum, called Eureka. It’s an educational and entertainment centre
for the young.” She had lived with the museum for years, but had never ventured through
the doors.
“Can we go there…?” The Bard was intrigued by any form of education.
“Find a kid to drag along, and yes I suppose we can.” More adult entertainment beckoned.
She wasn’t going to be side-tracked even for Teague’s innate curiosity. She left him to
ruminate on childish education, while she bought single tickets to Leeds. The Bard could
transport them home, no need to waste money on return tickets.
Alex trotted down a flight of steps to the platform, Teague a step behind her. There was
only one platform, not a chance of getting lost. Trains passing through a provincial town
went east and west, to link up with larger stations in a network leading north and south.
Trains to Leeds were a regular commuter service throughout the day, the wait was short.
Pushing a reluctant male ahead of her, Alex indicated to an empty carriage, choosing seats
that had a table between them. It offered Teague more leg room.
Settling in for the hour long journey, pausing at two or three stations before they reached
their destination, she relaxed back as t
he train thundered into the first of many tunnels.
The noise was deafening, the smell of diesel pervasive.
“Tis not a comfortable form of transport...” The Bard moaned his displeasure as a group
of youths entered the carriage, to settle across the table and in the seats at their back.
Oh, oh… Alex shifted her bag to sit at her back, shoulders rammed against the rimed glass
of a darkened window. This was one reason why she needed a date. A woman alone was
fair game to roving gangs of itinerant street kids.
“Well what have here boys? Aren’t you just the cutest couple?” Tattooed, pierced and
smelling of semi legal drugs, the adolescent leaned forward to get a better look at Alex’s
cleavage.
“Hey man, you gonna share the bitch…?” Raucous laughter filled the carriage.
Teague smiled, a slow reveal of gleaming white teeth in a rictus of mirth, glamour oozed
from his skin in hints of Christmas spices.
One after the other, the obnoxious vermin began to gag. Hands to mouths they ran off
down the carriage. The sound of painful retching reached Alex’s ears.
“What did you do…?” She wanted to puke too, a sympathetic response to someone else’s
distress.
“I merely showed them the end result of tangling with an enforcer of justice…” Cinnamon
scents hung round him, a reminder of the differences between them.
“You mean like, blood, guts and lots of gore…?” Hand over her mouth, Alex swallowed
back the acid taste of nausea. Thank God Teague was on her side, she would hate to see
him unleash the menace of the enforcers for real, especially on her.
“Something akin to that…” The rasp of a hoarse whisper held regret that Aingeal had to
be witness to such crass behaviour. In truth he wished to visit chaos on anything or any being
who would dare to disrespect his angel.
“In spite of the laid back pose, you really are a mountain of nasty…” Breathing deeply, she
collapsed back into her seat. Having Teague as a bodyguard wasn’t such a waste of time
after all.
“Aye, I have been told so….” Laying his hands outstretched on the table, Teague caged his
angel against further invasions of her privacy. The noise of pounding metal wheels on metal
runners a counter point to his beating heart. The smell was acrid, each time the train coasted
in to pick up more travellers, he glowered at anyone who chanced to look in their direction.
Alex was in a bubble of protection, none could importune a female whose looks invited
inspection. The human world was a minefield…
In the Bards mind, he relocated a stunningly beautiful angel into his world, one where he was
in complete control. The journey ended in a vast amphitheatre of chaos and rancid aromas.
Bodies tumbled from metal tubes, to fight their way free of a monolith to human technology.
The Bard was never more thankful to taste semi-clean air as they emerged onto paved streets.
The centre of activity was in the Corn Market. Hanging onto the Bards hand, Alex wove
through a mass of beings relishing the last bank holiday before Christmas bit into their purses,
to reach the core of the festivities. It was a welter of vivid, if skimpy costumes, infectious
tropical rhythms and mouth-watering food. Teague lived a dream. Vibrant music called out to
his soul. The smells, the sights, rocked a male who had lived a sequestered life.
Aingeal may have had an ulterior motive in requesting a date, but he was ever thankful she
had made the offer. To see life glorified in violent colours, to see male and female dance
together with wild abandon, fed the Bard with a feast of ideas for his own music.
“Here, have a taste of this…” Alex placed a plastic cup of opaque orange liquid in his hand.
Taking a sip of her own cup, she bade him try it. The drink had a smooth edge, with an
underlying bite that coated his throat with fire.
“Rum punch is great… Come on, I want to try jerk chicken.” Without waiting to see if the
Bard followed, she squeezed her way between writhing bodies to find the source of food.
“Hey pretty lady, you want I fill up your glass?” A dreadlocked male, swung a huge bottle
of golden liquid to top up her drink.
“Then maybe, you and I can party…” A winning smile urged her to drink.
“I am partying man…” Tossing back half the cup, Alex smiled back. It was daylight still, she
was safe, her date wasn’t far away. The sudden realisation that she was alone, the beaming
male edging her away from the safety of numbers, filled her heart with dread.
“Teague…” She screamed his name, fear made her voice shrill.
“Hey lady, no problem, my mistake...” The dread locked man merged into the crowd.
A muscular figure came at her back, one arm running round her waist to hold her tight to a
broad chest. A scream died before it was born as she inhaled Christmas spices. Cold chills
assailed her. Motor functions were no longer under her control, vision failed as the world
dissolved into fractured sounds. Alex could barely speak, dropping the cup of rum punch she
clung desperately to Teague’s arms, aware of being carried down a dingy alleyway.
“Home…. I need to go home…” Slurring every syllable, she must have made some sense as
translocation knocked her sideways. The very last thing she remembered was the Bards
face above hers as he tucked her into bed fully clothed.
Some sort of furry animal had crawled into her mouth and died, her head pounded with little
jack hammer spikes of pain on eyes glued tightly shut. The bathroom called, and she didn’t
have the energy to answer. Rolling from her nest, the skirt of her dress was a crumpled ruin
wrapped around her waist. Grabbing for the robe hanging on the back of a chair, she
staggered to the bathroom managing to open one eye. A shower could wait, water by the
bucket load to wash the taste of rat steak from her tongue seemed like a great idea before
crawling back into bed. Clinging onto the door frame on unsteady legs she made it to the
living room. A groan left her lips….
Teague sat at the breakfast bar juice in hand, rifling through the glossy pages of an old
OK magazine. Perfectly groomed, violet eyes lifted to her face he smiled, a small offer of
concern at her dishevelled appearance. Gracefully he eased to his feet to pull out a chair
for Alex to perch on. Pouring a glass of juice, he placed it in trembling fingers before
resuming his seat, eyes fixed on a deathly pale face.
He had sat by her side throughout the night. As the Bard, some of his duties entailed dealing
with injuries. Aingeal’s sudden collapse was beyond his ken. If she had shown any sign of a
further decline he would have called on Iscatya. The little female had tossed and turned for
hours, muttering inane sentences until normal sleep stilled her limbs, and a semblance of
colour graced the smooth curves of a beautiful face. Retreating to the sofa, he had managed
a few hours of restfulness until the morning sun broke over the horizon.
Peeping round the door of her bedroom, gentle snores calmed his heart. Aingeal was not in
any danger, whatever had stolen her vitality left her intrinsically unharmed.
“What ails thee Aingeal…?” The Bard noticed the wince as he voiced his alarm at the complete
disintegration of control over body, mind and tongue.
S
ipping at the cold nectar of tropical juice, her mind relived the moments before her body went
into moron mode, the taste reminded her of the last drink she had downed yesterday.
“My brain cells are fighting to leave my skull, if I have any left. Basically I have the mother
of all hangovers, which isn’t fair, because I only had two drinks….” Alex wailed pathetically.
Resting her forehead on one hand, she held up the other hand to still the next question.
“Before you ask… A hangover is what you get for being greedy. When a human has drunk
too much alcohol. I think maybe the last drink was spiked…” Draining her glass, she held it
out for a re-fill. Teague brought several cartons to sit on the counter, topping up her glass
he waited for enlightenment.
“I should have known better. That’s why I wanted a man, male to accompany me. To take
an innocently seeming rum punch from anyone but an accredited vendor, was a stupidly
naive mistake. Spiking means the drink was laced with drugs. I was targeted to be robbed,
or for other reasons.” She wasn’t going to go into detail. Teague would round up the boys
and hunt down the perpetrator if he knew the underlying use for plying lone females with
tainted drinks.
“The worst part about it all… Is that I never got to taste real jerk chicken. What a bitch….”
Sinking another glass of juice, her cells began to rehydrate, the pounding in her head
dimmed. “Thank you Teague. If I had gone alone…” Alex couldn’t finish the sentence.
If he hadn’t been there, she would be in a much worse state than a pounding headache.
“No thanks are owed Aingeal. I am thy body guard. The few minutes you were gone from
my side proves thy life has need of protection.” The Bard reinforced Iscatya’s mandate
of safe guardianship for a soul sister.
“Nope, that’s Cat’s interpretation of protection. I made a mistake, that’s it. No more than
that. If I hadn’t insisted on going to a festival that has proved to be wild, none of this would
have happened…” Reaching out she gripped his fingers in a token of thanks.
“You were extremely verbose Aingeal…” Teague was hell bent on filching every last nuance
from the disconnected utterances of an incapacitated female.
Eternal Bond (Edanholme Book 2) Page 9
