One for each day of the year. They were the easiest and he moved quickly through the embankment, pulling them down until they were covered once more. With only a thought, he leveled the raised slope back to what it had been on his arrival there.
In just a few hours, the entire area of Durrington appeared to be nothing out of the usual in the landscape here. Tolan left with Thea at his side, knowing that these stones would never rise again.
William de Brus, it turned out, was a master at planning and strategy even in the absence of the warblood. He had his men packing and readying supplies by midday. Discussions about how to get to Ireland and all manner of other things continued through that day and into the next.
They needed supplies and more men to fill their ranks, and William and Roger and the others still left who’d sworn to William’s cause made great progress in preparing for this last journey. No one spoke of what would happen or how they would find the circle. Or of the last remaining bloodline. For those things, they needed Aislinn and Corann’s counsel and neither of them was speaking on it.
So it took another sennight before they left Amesbury and traveled south and west to the coast and to their ships. And soon, Tolan and Thea watched the land of their birth fade into the distance.
THE AFTERMATH
It took Hugh a fortnight to find her hiding place.
And another sennight to see her recovered from her eons-long ordeal. And none of it was what he’d expected.
Chasing her trail, he’d driven his men hard to the west, slowed by the craggy heights of ancient mountains when they arrived in the west and crossed into Wales. Mist-filled glens and caves abounded there and were the stuff of legends. A dragon would not be unusual, he thought as they rode through yet another decimated village.
Those sacrificed by him and his ancestors were to appease and honor her and did nothing to relieve her hunger for human flesh. And that hunger was now being satisfied, for every burned village and hamlet that they traveled through was completely emptied of people. Not a single bone or body was found anywhere.
She was devouring them whole.
A prickling of fear tickled along his spine as they reached her hiding place. They had never spoken about many things in their encounters, and though they had done many things, Hugh had never seen her in human form. A human body could not have survived in that desolate place, but a dragon had.
Come to me, Hugh.
He heard her voice within his thoughts from high up on the mountainside and nodded at Eudes. Strange how differently she sounded now that she was no longer in the abyss.
Bring me sacrifices, my loyal one. Men. Vigorous men.
His mind was flooded with images then and he shuddered at what he saw. She would take them, take their life’s blood and force and burn them to ashes.
“My lord?” Eudes asked, coming to his side. “Are you well?”
Hugh had not realized his expression was showing his horror. It would not do to have anyone think he was anything but pleased to satisfy the goddess’s commands. So he lifted his gauntleted arm and backhanded his half brother across the face, knocking him from his horse and forcing the breath from him as he landed.
“Do not question me, Eudes. I am anxious to meet the goddess above. Bring along five, nay, ten, of the men.”
It took some time for them to climb up the mountain. Their horses were too large for the narrow, rocky path, so they walked up. The cave was hidden in a crevasse in the side of the mountain and he paused there.
“Come in, Hugh,” she said aloud. Her voice, human now, sounded . . . old.
Hugh removed his helmet and gauntlets and walked into the cave first. Though no torches could be seen, there was enough light for him to see and once he looked, he wished he had not.
The light came from fires that had burning bodies as their fuel. The smell nearly knocked him to his knees as he turned a corner and reached a larger inner chamber. Piles of bodies burned in the huge cavern. And in the middle of it all stood an old woman. The fiery orange glow around her body was the only way he knew it was surely Chaela.
Clothed in a few pieces of fabric that once was a garment of some kind, her dried and dying skin hung in folds around her. Her hair, a long gray mass of twisted, filthy locks, hung around her face and to the floor. It dragged around her with each step she took toward him. And when she raised her hand to touch his face, he fought with all his strength not to pull away in revulsion from the curled, centuries-long fingernails.
“Hugh, my beloved,” she whispered in a cackling voice. “I need—”
“Eudes!” he called out with a pause. “Send in the first one.”
The man stumbled into the chamber and Hugh went to him. Pushing his thoughts into the man, he ordered him to the goddess’s side.
Hugh did not look at first. The horrible sounds of her smacking her lips in anticipation was too much for even him. The gurgling sounds and then sexual ones disgusted him and he tried to overpower his errant reactions.
She was Chaela, the Destroyer. The goddess of chaos and fire. The goddess who controlled his life and his destiny. She was everything he’d wanted and waited for and planned for. And she was . . . gorging on the man’s face even while she rode his cock. Once she pulled his seed from him, she used her fire to burn him up. In minutes, there was no trace of him.
“Another,” she whispered.
He noticed, though he tried not to see anything more, that with each one, once he’d spilled his seed and she’d fed on his carcass, she grew younger and stronger in appearance. Her voice grew less raspy and more vibrant. After the seventh man was dead, he dared a look at her.
Voluptuous breasts pressed against the strips of cloth, barely covering the large dark nipples or the triangle of curls between her legs. Wide hips and muscular legs held her victims in place as she ravaged them now. Her body filled out and womanly curves now replaced the rotting folds of skin. And her hair, black as night, hung in waves down her back.
His body reacted to the sight of her now.
“One more, Hugh,” she whispered as she approached him now, fully human, fully woman. Her hand slid down the front of his and cupped his half-aroused prick, bringing it to a full stand. “Then we will have our time. I have waited so long,” she said, walking around him, her hand never leaving his cock. “As have you.” She laughed, a deep throaty sexual sound that stirred what he thought impossible within him.
He called the last man and this time he watched as she sucked the man’s cock and then rode him. Hugh’s body ached and throbbed now with need for her. And desire. He began undressing as she pleasured the man to death, his screams echoing through the cavern. By the time she’d wrung the last scream from the dying man’s throat and the last drop of seed from his engorged flesh, Hugh stood naked before her, holding his own risen flesh, pumping it as she watched him now.
“Come to me, Hugh. I have waited so long for this.”
Hugh did not care that she lay covered in the blood of her now-dead lovers. He stumbled and fell to his knees in his haste to reach her and she laughed in a new voice.
She was young now, no older than his traitorous daughter, with a body that aroused him further. No trace of crone remained. No trace of decay. Only Chaela.
She watched as he half crawled across the slippery floor of the cave to reach her. She spread her legs apart, exposing her cleft to him.
“You are mine now, Hugh de Gifford,” she said, grabbing his hair and pulling him to her. She pushed his face against the glistening curls and then deeper until he dared to lick her.
“Worship me, Hugh. Then I will show you the true glories of the fire.”
And he did, he worshipped her with his mouth and tongue and hands and cock. She drove him relentlessly, allowing him no rest, bringing his body back to arousal and then emptying him over and over for hours. Only then did she fulfill her oth
er promise.
As the flames surrounded him, as he became part of her, as she forced her fire deep within his flesh and his soul, the screams were both of agony and ecstasy, of ungodly pain and immeasurable pleasure. Of dying and being remade and barely surviving only to have it done again and again.
Days later, when they emerged from the cave together, Eudes stood waiting as he’d been ordered. None would meet Hugh’s gaze or dare to look on the goddess who stood at his side. He was certain of only one thing—his belief that he would give anything to serve his goddess and to enjoy the benefits of his loyal service to Chaela.
In spite of the searing pain in the blistering and constantly burning skin on his back and even though he knew she chose to let him remain damaged so that she could inflict agony on him whenever she wished, he would be there on his knees before her and do her bidding forever.
Whatever she commanded, he would do.
Whatever she needed, he would provide.
Whomever must die, he would kill.
For Chaela the Destroyer was his master in all things and he would do whatever he must to protect her. Even though it meant killing his daughter and every other one of the Warriors who were the only threats to her.
The Warriors of Destiny would finally meet theirs in Ireland. And he would be the bringer of their doom.
Don’t miss where the adventures all began in the first Novel of the Stone Circles,
RISING FIRE
Available now from Signet Eclipse wherever books and e-books are sold.
When the threat is revealed, the sleepers awaken,
A Warrior seeks the truth
while Fire burns away the deception.
Begin in the East, then North, then South, then West . . .
Find the true gate among the rest.
Late winter, AD 1286
Yester, Scotland
With the morning’s cool mist long burned away by the strong rays of the midday sun, Brienne waited until the villagers were all seeing to their daily chores and tasks before deciding that this was the day.
And it was—she could feel it in her bones and in her blood. Something called to her, and some growing urge within her pushed her feet toward the place where she would find out the truth about what lived inside her. There had been tiny glimpses at what it might be, times when fire seemed to answer to her, but she would attempt something this day that she had not dared before.
Taking a deep breath, she lifted the latch and tugged the heavy door open a crack. It creaked on its hinges as she eased it open only wide enough for her to slip inside. Then, after stepping inside the smithy’s dark cottage, Brienne closed the door behind her, wanting no interruptions. Since her father was off on an errand, she expected none. Entering into the small building that served as his workshop, she circled the fire pit and tossed in more wood, watching as the existing fire licked at the new pieces and then consumed them. She leaned over and pressed down on the bellows that fed air to the fire, encouraging it to spread and grow hotter and hotter with each breath of air that blew from the pump.
The flames flared higher before her and she could not resist the urge to look deeper into them. Brienne tried to fight their call, tried to fight the strength of it, but lost the battle. She inhaled slowly, trying now to control the fear that simmered in her belly while she moved closer to the fire’s heat. As it called to her, icy tendrils slid along her skin in spite of the heat in the smithy. Shivering and sweating at the same time, she lifted trembling hands from her side and held them out.
Not knowing how to do what she planned, Brienne stretched her fingers, wiggling them, and watched as the flames did the same. Then she flexed each finger separately, and single bursts of flame followed each movement. When she twisted her hands, the reaction of the fire was overwhelming.
Each flame danced before her, swirling and dipping this way and that before joining the others in the growing swarm of heat and light. Even when she dropped her hands and closed her eyes, they remained vivid and shifting in her mind.
They danced for her—they danced for me!—moving in every direction when she simply thought it, and the sound of their movements surrounded her. Holding her arms out over the fire, she wiggled her fingers over the hearth and laughed as the flames writhed and swirled in answer to her gesture. This was not new to her. She’d done this many times before.
What she planned to do next was different and daring.
Moving her hands in a gathering motion, Brienne pulled the flames together and then spread them out until they filled the space before her, no longer limited to the fire pit and no longer dependent on wood or peat to fuel them. Staring into them, she searched for the center of the brightness and heat and waited.
“Mine.”
She strained to keep her eyes on the fire and listened as the whispers came from the heart of it again.
“Come to me.”
A shudder coursed through her body, and the fear overwhelmed her as the whispered words surrounded her, enticing her, entreating and tempting her. The back of her neck tingled, and her skin burned as the heat of the flames—nay, the flames themselves—encircled her. Keeping her body still, she waited to hear more, waited to recognize the voice or to learn who called to her through the fire. From deep within her soul, she drew the strength she needed to regain control over the flames and, standing within their embrace, she listened and waited to hear more.
“Daughter of my blood.”
Brienne laughed aloud, feeling the power course through her, stronger and stronger each moment. The voice, the words, the flames at her command all confirmed her suspicion that she could control the fire. After hours or minutes—she knew not which—of her standing untouched within the flames, they began to sway and spark around her. As she gathered them once more under her control, they parted for her to move away.
When the voice disappeared completely, when she knew that presence was gone, her fear heightened. The heat began to burn her skin, so she tamped down the flames, guiding them back to the hearth of the smithy, easing them back into the coals of burning wood there so that they would be ready for her father’s use. A smile teased the corners of her mouth as inappropriate pride flooded her.
She had done it!
Each time she dared, her power over the fire seemed to grow. And grow stronger. But this day, this time, she had stepped within them without dire consequences. Next time she would—
“Brienne.”
She jumped at the interruption and spun around to face the door to the small building. Her father stood there, staring at her. Had he seen her move the fire? From the blank expression on her father’s face, she could not tell. Pressing her now-sweating palms on her gown and adjusting her veil back into place, she waited for his reaction.
He closed the door quickly behind himself and checked the shutters, just as she had before attempting to call forth the ability to command the flames. But she’d not barred the door, so he could have seen everything she’d done. Would the flames follow her commands if another were present, or was this something she could do only in secret?
Brienne watched as concern and wariness entered his gaze. Leaving some tools near the doorway, he walked slowly toward his hearth, glancing between it and her several times.
“Are you injured? Are you burned?” he asked as he took one hand of hers and then the other in his larger ones, searching for signs of damage. Then he met her gaze. “How is this possible? What have you done?”
His suspicious, accusatory tone hurt her, but Brienne understood that he was worried about her. She stepped away from him and away from the constant draw of the flames before answering.
“I . . . ,” she stammered, not truly knowing how to explain it all to him. Brienne glanced at him, imploring him to understand.
“Come here, lass,” he said softly, opening his strong arms to her as he always di
d.
Embraced by him, she felt safe . . . for the moment. These feelings, these powers, these changes that grew stronger and stronger with each passing day frightened her. There was no one she could speak with about them. No one who could understand or accept that she was more like her true father than anyone had guessed. Even though Gavin the blacksmith had raised her and loved her as his own, she was not.
She shuddered at the thought of her true father, and Gavin responded by hugging her even tighter. The tears gathered in her eyes as she kept silent.
“I will keep ye safe, Brienne,” he promised. His words and warm breath tickled her ear, and she nodded, accepting his pledge even if it were not the truth.
“I know you will, Father,” she said, nodding her head and granting herself another moment of comfort before moving out of his embrace. “I have so many questions.”
As always, her words stopped him. Gavin hated her questions. He hated the reminder that she was not his, that there was another who could step in at any time and take her. And though years had passed since any interest had been shown, all it would take was the untoward word and unguarded action to draw the wrong attention.
“I fear there is little I can add to what you’ve heard from your mother or ken already, lass. The lord had you brought here to us when you were but days old, giving you into our care. He gave no explanation, no instructions other than to care for you, and he has not interfered since that day,” he said. Staring off into the corner, Brienne knew he was thinking on that long-ago day. Turning back to her, he shrugged. “We never had the courage to ask his reasons or why he gave you to us for fear he would take you away.”
Brienne smiled at his admission. She knew of no one in Yester Village or in the area who would question Lord Hugh—or anyone who had survived questioning him. A shiver traced a path of icy sparks along her spine. She’d never even had the courage to approach him before, but now, now that she was discovering these powers and understanding he was the only person who could answer her questions, she might.
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