The Shadows

by Cheyenne McCray

  Regardless, Garran had gone to the home of the D’Danann peoples to see his daughter take the D’Danann warrior Keir as her mate.

  Today he would go to tell the D’Danann and D’Anu his decision.

  It was not long before the door opened, the scents of Elvin-made bathing gel preceding Hannah into the hallway. The same gel was always kept by the bathing pools and waterfalls, but it smelled different on each person who used it.

  He inhaled the perfume of moonlight and cherry blossoms that now scented Hannah’s soft skin.

  She had her leather bag over one shoulder. “I feel so much better.” She pulled her dark hair out of the collar of her shirt so that it flowed freely about her shoulders. The unusual blond lock edging one side of her face against her dark hair added to her loveliness. “Now what?”

  Garran had to focus his thoughts, tearing them away from Hannah’s beauty to consider what he needed to accomplish before they left for the D’Danann village. “First I must visit my troops.”

  Hannah fell into step beside him as they walked through the maze of passageways leading to Drow homes and sleeping quarters, and farther on to the village.

  “I’ll get to see Banshee sooner than I thought.” Hannah sounded pleased and he glanced down to catch the first glimpse of happiness he had seen on her face since she arrived.

  From the way she immediately calmed her expression, he had a feeling she kept her emotions well-schooled. And that joy was not something she had often experienced.

  Why?

  Then Garran realized what Hannah had said and thoughts of a quite ugly and more difficult race of Fae beings came to mind. Not only were Banshees formidable opponents, but they had a screech loud enough to render a man unconscious. Many a male had woken hanging upside down in a tree, bound from head to foot.

  He almost shuddered. Thank the gods he had been spared that fate.

  “Why are you so anxious to see a Banshee?” Garran watched Hannah’s face and saw pleasure play over her features before it vanished again.

  “Banshee is my familiar.” She glanced up at him. “He’s a peregrine falcon.”

  “Ah.” Garran nodded his understanding and smiled at the irony. In Otherworld, Banshees had familiars, too. “You named him?”

  Hannah shook her head. “He told me his name—sort of. I scried it in my mirror when he first came to me.”

  While they walked, she appeared somewhat more animated as she answered his questions. She told him about how long the falcon had been with her and how she used a mirror to scry, and she mentioned that Dragon Elementals helped her visions and enhanced her magic.

  Hannah paused and her features paled as if something suddenly bothered her that she wasn’t sharing with him.

  She shook her head and said, “I don’t know why in the world I’m telling you all of this.”

  He raised his brows. “Why not?”

  Hannah gave a not-so-casual shrug. “I don’t talk to anyone about my relationship with Banshee or my scrying talent.”

  She cocked her head as her gaze met his. “Are you using some kind of Drow magic to drag this all out of me?”

  Garran laughed. “No, sweet one.” His words grew serious as he continued, “I believe it is merely a connection you and I share.”

  This time she looked up at the ceiling of the passageway and said, “Goddess, help me. The man is delusional.”

  He snorted back another laugh. The witch was definitely amusing at times.

  They entered the Drow village.

  Garran inclined his head to those whose paths he crossed, acknowledging every individual with a slightly shuttered expression. As king, he was accessible to his people, but he maintained an appropriate amount of emotional and physical distance.

  Hannah was as regal as any queen with her bearing and her polite responses to all of his people who greeted them. Like him, she kept a certain distance from most of the world, quite naturally.

  Some people could never adjust to the rigors of ruling a kingdom. Others were born to it.

  Garran liked and appreciated what he saw in her.

  As they strode through the village, he found himself lingering over thoughts of having the opportunity to spend more time with Hannah. His attraction to the human witch was beyond the physical. It was as though his soul recognized her in ways he could not fathom.

  Clean air constantly swirled through the cavern, blown in through natural vents in the rock ceiling. Occasionally, he would catch the scents of pine and wildflowers, and it would send a hollow ache through his belly, reminding him of Rhiannon’s mother and his love for her. That love had not waned, and never would.

  With Hannah’s entrance into his life, he wondered for the first time in many years if it was possible to love another as much as he had loved Rhiannon’s mother.

  Garran blew his breath out in a rush. He barely knew Hannah. It was certainly a mystery why his thoughts traveled in such directions.

  Yet not, his own voice echoed inside his mind.

  He shook his head as they continued through the village and into another honeycomb of passageways that led to the training cavern.

  Swords clanging, arrows whistling through the air, light banter, and shouted orders bounced off passageway walls as Garran and Hannah neared the cavern.

  When they reached the location his army used to hone their skills, he paused in the great archway and folded his arms. Hannah came up short beside him.

  As usual, before he had the opportunity to watch unobserved, the sentries recognized his presence.

  “King Garran,” one of the men pronounced, and every warrior in the cavern stopped what he was doing. Each gave a bow as absolute silence fell on Garran’s ears.

  He held back a sigh. Just once he would like to arrive unnoticed.

  Garran raised his hand in acknowledgment. “Resume.” The chamber amplified his voice as he gave the order.

  The men immediately returned to their activities, but without the previous raillery.

  Sometimes being king was not easy.

  Garran’s brother, Naal, had been his closest friend. After Naal was murdered by the Fomorii, Garran found it difficult to interact socially with his men. He had lost his only true friend when Naal died, and the person he most trusted as go-between with his warriors and other subjects.

  Garran raised his chin and placed his hands behind his back as he waited for Vidar to approach.

  Vidar bowed from his shoulders before rising. “Yes, my king?”

  “I leave now for the D’Danann village.” Garran met Vidar’s dark gaze. “I will return before dawn.”

  Vidar gestured to the warriors practicing with swords and bows. “One of our men should accompany you.”

  “No.” Garran gave a nod toward Hannah. “Only the D’Anu witch shall go with me.”

  Something flickered in Vidar’s black eyes when he looked at Hannah that caused Garran to narrow his gaze. He did not like the shadows that darkened Vidar’s expression.

  Godsdamn. Garran ground his teeth. When he returned from the D’Danann village, he had much to discuss with his First.

  After taking a moment to speak with Vidar, Garran chose to converse with Carden, his Second in Command, as well as two other legion leaders.

  Carden was perhaps five centuries younger than Garran while Vidar was older than Garran by a few decades.

  Garran had been watching Carden and Vidar since his brother had passed on to Summerland.

  When Naal, in addition to Garran’s Second and Third Commanders, died in the battle at the door to Underworld, both Carden and Vidar had moved up in rank. Vidar from Fourth to become Garran’s First and Carden from Fifth to Garran’s Second.

  Vidar was a shrewd opponent—Garran’s best swordsman. The First in Command led his legion with a firm hand and his men served him with dedication and loyalty.

  Carden excelled with both the sword and at archery, was sharp-witted, and commanded his legion with authority and fairness.

&nb
sp; With his brother’s death so recent, Garran had not had the opportunity to truly work with each man to analyze their strengths and weaknesses.

  Garran sucked in his breath as he fought back hot waves of anger at himself. Arrogance. Fucking arrogance. He had thought himself to have much time to make decisions.

  Now he was left with no time.

  No time at all.

  When finished with Carden and the other two men, Garran escorted Hannah from the training cavern into a passageway that led to the great hall. She had remained silently at his side as he had given instructions on battle preparation and discussed strategy with his men.

  “That Vidar.” Hannah’s brow furrowed when Garran glanced down at her. “He sure didn’t seem to like me. And the others weren’t so friendly, either.”

  “Drow warriors do not approve of women being in the training cavern,” Garran said, although his thoughts consistently turned in another direction. “Women are meant to remain in their homes or in the village.”

  Hannah came to a complete stop and he had to pull up short. Her expression turned furious and she balled her fists at her sides. “I cannot believe—”

  Garran put his fingers to her lips. “We have discussed this, Hannah. Regardless of your personal feelings, this is our way of life.”

  His groin tightened as he let his fingertips slide down the curve of her neck. Her pupils dilated as she stepped back, and he noticed her shiver. His touch, that slight connection between them, had affected her, too.

  “You’re right.” Hannah’s throat worked as she swallowed. “It pisses me off, but it’s not my place to judge you or your people.”

  “Thank you.” Garran resumed his steady pace toward the great hall, and Hannah jogged up to his side then had to double her steps to keep up with him.

  * * *

  Hannah took a deep breath of fresh air as they climbed the stairs out of the Drow realm and stepped into the darkening evening. She shuddered as the door scraped closed behind them and wondered if WD-40 worked on rock. Or maybe some heavier oil?

  She frowned. “It’s already night?”

  “You slept the night and most of the day through.” Garran moved beside her. “By the time you finished your shower and I met with my men, it was evening once again.”

  “I never sleep more than six hours at a time.” She glanced up at him and raised one eyebrow. “No Drow magic?”

  He gave her a wicked look. “If it had been up to me, I would have kept you occupied throughout the day.”

  “I’ll just bet you would have,” she grumbled.

  She hitched her pack higher on her shoulder as she looked up at the sky and the stars starting to peek through the growing darkness.

  Over the horizon the slightest wisps of pink remained in the sky, leftovers from what had probably been a beautiful sunset

  “What do you miss most about not being able to come out during the day?” Hannah asked as they moved away from the door.

  Garran was silent for a moment. Likely she’d touched a sore spot. Then he took her hand and she experienced a bizarre quivering at the electric zing the contact sent through her body.

  “Seeing a beautiful woman with sunlight in her hair.” His low voice caressed her skin, causing goose bumps to rise on her arms.

  Absolutely no response would come to her mind as the intensity of his gaze said that he meant her. He wanted to see her in the sunshine.

  He smiled and clasped her other hand and squeezed them both. From the way he was looking at her she thought he might kiss her. And in the magic of the moment, in the night, she wanted him to.

  Instead, he said, “Close your eyes and picture the transference stone.”

  Oddly, a sense of disappointment flowed through Hannah as she obeyed and tried to prepare herself for the trip. Last time she had been with Rhiannon, afraid the witch’s Shadows might want to tear her apart or leave her in that vast blackness.

  Now she was with Garran, somehow trusting him so completely that she didn’t understand the why or how of it. He no doubt had even more Shadow magic than the half-blood witch, his daughter.

  In the next moment it was as if her head were spinning. The void they entered swallowed her gasp. Seconds later her feet landed on something solid and her disorientation caused her to stumble into Garran’s arms and against his warm body.

  Hannah opened her eyes and looked up at him. Crazy sensations, like small bursts of fireworks, centered in her abdomen. She parted her lips and Garran’s gaze focused on them, his expression hungry and filled with desire.

  The rising moon shed enough light to bring his features into sharp relief. The strength of his jaw, his high cheekbones, the firmness of his lips. Even his eyes appeared more like liquid silver than ever.

  Garran’s gem-encrusted leather straps rubbed her chest and his sword hilt bumped her hip. He pressed his very firm length against her belly and she let out a little gasp that wasn’t lost in some kind of void this time. His hair was more silver now and it drifted over his shoulder plates as the grass-and-wildflower-scented breeze swirled around them.

  Blood rushed in Hannah’s ears, so loudly that the songs of night birds and Faerie song faded away. He released her hands and slid his palms over her skin until he reached her upper arms and gripped them tight.

  All thoughts left her mind save one—she wanted Garran to kiss her. Wanted to feel his lips on hers and taste him as he slipped his tongue inside her mouth.

  “Hannah,” he whispered as he lowered his head.

  A screech sliced the night.

  8

  Hannah jerked from Garran’s arms at the sound of the familiar cry.

  Whatever spell had been between her and Garran vanished as Banshee’s shriek brought her back to reality.

  Garran wore a puzzled expression as she stepped away, but he didn’t try to stop her. He loosened his grip on her upper arms and let his hands drop so that they were at his sides.

  “My familiar.” Her throat was tight and dry as she met his gaze. “Banshee.”

  Garran didn’t say anything as she turned her attention to the sky. The falcon let out another cry of greeting as he circled high overhead, his form small and dark between the moon and where she stood. Banshee was both diurnal and nocturnal and he had a sixth sense when it came to Hannah.

  She held out her arm and Banshee arrowed toward her at what would have been an alarming rate if she didn’t know him so well. Peregrine falcons could travel at speeds well over two hundred miles an hour when diving for their prey.

  He slowed to land gently on her bare forearm. True happiness bubbled up inside her at seeing her friend, her companion. Time passed oddly in Otherworld. It hadn’t been long since she’d left for the Drow realm, but it seemed like it had been ages.

  Banshee eased up her arm to her shoulder, his eyes focused on Garran as if determining whether he was friend or foe. She wanted to laugh but managed to hold it back.

  “Garran, this is Banshee.” The falcon settled himself on her right shoulder, the one opposite Garran. “Banshee, meet the king of the Drow.”

  Banshee and Garran locked gazes, then to Hannah’s surprise, Garran gave a slight nod and the falcon bobbed his head. Through the magical connection she had with her familiar, she sensed that Banshee hadn’t made up his mind whether or not he approved of Garran but did wish to show him respect.

  Hannah got the feeling it had more to do with her coming close to kissing the Drow king than anything else. From Garran’s expression it looked like he didn’t appreciate the interruption.

  She held back a smirk. Males.

  Banshee nuzzled her neck with his head and Garran clasped her hand. It felt natural. Right.

  What’s wrong with this picture, Hannah Wentworth?

  While they walked into the forest, she almost laughed at the fact he kept calling her “sweet one.”

  Instead, she said, “That’s the last thing I am—sweet. I’m considered a ball-busting bitch in my ‘Otherworld,’ and
I don’t apologize for it. That’s how I’ve gotten where I am today.” She frowned. “Where I was.”

  Her company had never been far from her mind. What in the Ancestors’ names was happening to her company and her employees right now?

  Garran broke into her thoughts. “I find that most difficult to believe. That anyone would think of you in such terms.”

  This time she did laugh, but it was humorless. “Believe it.” She sidestepped a bush as leaves crunched beneath her shoes. Garran made no sound as he walked, just as he hadn’t in his own realm.

  “I’m not exactly the girl-next-door type,” she said.

  “I am not sure what you mean by that expression.” He tipped his head slightly. “I think of your appearance as strong, capable, regal.”

  Hannah blinked and looked up into his eyes. “Regal?”

  His expression remained thoughtful as he nodded. “However, despite such a hard exterior, inside you are a warm, loving woman.”

  She turned her gaze straight ahead into the dark forest as her face felt as though her skin had tightened over her cheekbones.

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” She adjusted the strap of her pack with her free hand and Banshee had to sidestep her fingers. “I am who I am.”

  “You are more than you think you are.” Garran squeezed her hand as she tried to pull away from his grasp. “Tell me of your childhood.”

  Hannah ground her teeth and this time tried to yank her hand away from his but couldn’t. Damn, he was strong. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  His voice was low, soothing. “I want to know.”

  Hannah’s thoughts whirled and she almost stumbled over a tree root, but Garran kept her steady. Some compelling force took hold of her, drew the words from her, just as when she met the Great Guardian.

  “I had a rough childhood.” Hannah’s laugh was cynical as her body tensed. “No, that’s not exactly right. Most people would believe I lived a dream life. I had everything I ever wanted. Every toy, every dress, every perfect thing a child could have. I traveled the world as many times as I wanted and visited any theme park I demanded to be taken to. I had it all.”