Goddess Rising

by Alisha Ashton

  “Fuckin’…!” Ciaran gasped before the blood rushing up his windpipe flooded his mouth and rendered him unable to speak. He collapsed heavily to the floor as Skye – in absolute shock – attempted in vain to slow his fall.

  “No. No, no, no, no…” she pleaded desperately.

  Ciaran gagged on his own blood and reached for the stake, all the while giving Skye a look of disbelief. His eyes very clearly asked, ‘Did ya seriously just fucking stake me?!’

  Their link was a steady ROAR of white noise in her mind. His pain and panic were overwhelming him. He was involuntarily broadcasting his emotions as wordless chaos.

  “Oh God… Oh God, Ciaran, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do!” she screeched uselessly as she brought her hands to the stake, then withdrew them out of fear that she would hurt him even more. “Do I take it out? Do I take it out?! Oh God. Oh God, baby! I don’t know what to do!” she sobbed.

  Ciaran attempted to answer her, but his words were drowned out by the blood rushing out of his mouth. He attempted to pull the stake from his chest on his own, but it was too late. He had just enough time to roll his eyes in exasperation before dying.

  The room fell silent.

  Their link fell silent.

  Skye stayed frozen in place.

  Eyes wide.

  Mouth hanging open.

  Bloody hands hovering inches away from Ciaran.

  His full lips were parted, blood-soaked, and eerily silent.

  His beautiful blue eyes stared unseeingly up at the ceiling.

  Skye stared at his lifeless body for what felt like hours.

  She could feel her own body rocking in place spasmodically of its own accord as her mind fought to process what she was seeing and what she had done. She could feel a steady stream of tears flowing down her face.

  A clipped, pitiful sob escaped her, breaking the silence. It took several tries before she was able to draw a wet, strangled breath. The primal, terrified wail that finally tore its way from her throat went beyond sound. Her call echoed through every corner of the den, reverberating through the power that linked her to all of her clansmen.

  Every single faol stopped dead in their tracks and spun toward their Queen’s location, feeling her anguish. Their blood ran cold in their veins. A mad dash was instantly underway, with men climbing over one another and up walls to reach her.

  Skye barely noticed as the room flooded with her pack members.

  Ruarachan and Eògan burst through the door first and, upon seeing Ciaran’s body, instantly began searching the room for any signs of an intruder.

  “Skye, is he…?” Taran asked in horror as he slid to his knees beside her.

  “What the shit!” Miko yelped as his boots slid in the rapidly-expanding pool of Ciaran’s blood.

  Skye could not make herself move. All she could do was shake her head, as if denying that this was really happening.

  “Little blue… Did you…?” she heard Elijah ask in disbelief.

  The men were all talking frantically around her, but she could not hear them. Taran was gripping her by the shoulders, by the face, struggling to turn her toward him. But she could not take her eyes off of Ciaran’s body.

  “Wee one, listen to me. This is very important. Did ya intend to kill Ciaran? Was tha your intention?” Taran asked urgently.

  She could hear the fear in his voice, the tears he was fighting to keep at bay. Intend… Intention… There was something important about that. She closed her eyes and fought to remember. Intent. Yes, that was it. A faol could not die by suicide or be slain by a fellow faol unless their death was the true intention. Intent was the override in the magic. It allowed a faol to forsake their immortality if they truly no longer wished to live. It allowed them to kill a fellow faol to defend innocent lives if they went rogue.

  She shook her head and murmured, “Not Ciaran. Not my Ciaran.”

  Taran turned to address the others. He brought one of his hands lovingly to Ciaran’s brow and kept the other on Skye’s shoulder. His grip tightened on her as if it was the only thing anchoring him. “It was a hallucination. She was seeing someone else. She did nah intend to kill Ciaran. It can nah be permanent.”

  Permanent. Skye felt like she was going to pass out.

  “But she is Queen. She is daughter of the Great Mother,” Eògan pointed out fearfully.

  “Aye, whit if th' rules ur different fur her?” Ailean asked. Skye felt his hand gripping Taran’s on her shoulder, offering them both a measure of support.

  “How will we know?” Ruarachan asked fretfully.

  “Aye, do we just wait to see if he rots?” Donnach asked bluntly.

  Skye let out a long, trilling whimper at that.

  Ruarachan slapped Donnach upside the head and chided him furiously in Gaelic under his breath.

  “Well… First things first,” Drostan sighed reluctantly. “Sorry about this, brother.”

  Skye’s mouth dropped open again in shock when Drostan reached down without warning and wrenched the stake from Ciaran’s chest. She gagged at the wet-suction, crunching sound it made as it exited the wound.

  Several of the men groaned and recoiled in response.

  “Och, tha is nah a thing to be hearin’ with a belly full o’ booze and burgers,” Eògan protested.

  Ruarachan mumbled in agreement, looking a bit green around the gills. Miko leaned forward over his knees and took several breaths to calm his roiling stomach.

  Skye blinked and reached out to Ciaran in her mind. She searched for any hint that he could hear her. All she found was silence. “Please no…” she began whimpering shrilly as the possibility that he was really, truly, not-coming-back dead began to sink in. “Please… I didn’t… I never… I… I…”

  “Steady, Skye. Steady,” Taran soothed as her breathing came in fast bursts.

  She shook violently in shock and looked down at her hands. Her trembling, blood-slicked, murderous, traitorous hands.

  With staggered movements, she leaned forward and placed them over the gaping wound in Ciaran’s chest. She did not know what she was doing, it was as if she was acting on autopilot.

  When her magic sprang into action, she let out a loud, relieved sob of laughter. The room filled with blinding light. She could feel his body mending beneath her palms.

  It took several minutes before Ciaran’s piercing gasp for air made it clear that she had succeeded. The pack erupted in celebration.

  Skye staggered backward, eager to distance herself from the horror of what she had done. She watched as Taran leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Ciaran’s, his eyes closed as he laughed in absolute relief.

  Skye took the opportunity to roll over onto her hands and knees and scramble away. With her pack members shouting after her, she got to her feet and raced out the door as fast as her legs would carry her.

  10: Opening the Door

  Pushing the door open slowly, Taran entered the section of the building with the pup cages. He exhaled in a mixture of relief and disapproval when he found Skye huddled in the back of one of them. Relief that she was still within the den. Disapproval that she had caged herself. He turned and motioned for Ruarachan to wait at the door so that he could approach her alone.

  Ruarachan raised an apprehensive brow – she had, after all, just staked one of her men in the heart a few minutes ago. Not wanting to disobey a direct order from the King, however, he grudgingly nodded and did as he was told. He hoped he would not regret the decision. If Skye turned around and killed Taran next, he was going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do.

  “Is he okay?” Skye asked weakly without looking up.

  “Well enough, thanks to your healing,” Taran answered. He chose to ignore her bitter laugh at that and went on, “He’s a bit shaken, but tha ‘ll only keep him down a few moments at most.”

  When Taran was close enough, he found that she had bent the lock over and jammed a metal rod through its center. He let out a grunt of displeasur
e at that. She certainly was not going to make it easy for him to get her out of there.

  “Drostan will be sore at ya for damaging his work, wee one,” he said quietly from beyond the door.

  “Leave me in here,” she warned in a hoarse whisper. “Use your head, King, not your heart. It’s safer for everyone to keep me caged. Just ask Ciaran.”

  Taran frowned. She was locking down – putting up her old impenetrable walls again. He could hear it in the tone of her voice. He studied the utter exhaustion in her features. The wild, crazed fear in her eyes. She had her knees drawn up to her chest. Her arms were wrapped around them and holding on for dear life. All that she was carrying was catching up to her. If she did not let him in soon, she was going to break.

  She closed her eyes and pressed her chin onto her knee as she talked herself through the best solution. “Transport me to Scotland like this… Maybe drug me?” She considered that with a sigh before nodding. “Yeah. Definitely sedate me. Heavily. I’ll deal with these fucking nightmares on my own. I have to. Can’t risk hurting anyone else next time I lose my grip. The Ashers can put together a manifest saying you’re transferring a wild cat to a zoo or something. Keep the cage covered. Take me to Faol Seunta. Let Sorcha fix this shit or put me down, whatever it takes…”

  Taran approached the side of the cage, getting as close to her as he could. “Got it all worked out, have ya?” he asked as he crouched down and gripped the bars. With a sad smile he recalled, “Brings back memories, this… Last time I looked upon ya through a cage seems like an age ago.”

  Skye laughed dimly at that. “I think I’ve aged about a century since then.”

  Taran shook his head and teased quietly, “Nah. In a century’s time, I’ll’ve finally broken ya of this habit of swearing.”

  “Doubtful,” Skye scoffed.

  They smiled at one another sadly for a long moment.

  “Talk to me, wee one,” Taran whispered pleadingly and put his hand through the bars, holding it out for her to take.

  Skye swallowed hard at his heartfelt appeal. Her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head.

  Taran went on, undeterred. “Whatever is eating ya up inside, whatever ya are carrying, it is time to share the burden. Please, my beloved, wee Queen, let me in,” he begged.

  Skye took a choppy breath as her tears began to flow anew. She covered her mouth and gripped it roughly, squeezing her lips shut in a physical manifestation of her intense, fear-driven desire to hold it all in.

  But Taran’s hand was still outstretched patiently…

  And she just could not do this alone anymore. What if Brandubh really was coming for Ciaran? What if she was out of commission when he came? She could not protect Ciaran like this. What was she going to do?

  She moved to the bars and took Taran’s hand. He looked up in surprise when a ball of white light suddenly appeared around them. Whatever she was about to say, she was shielding it from prying ears.

  Ruarachan turned and looked into the room’s interior, ensuring they were safe now that he could no longer hear their hearts and breathing. Seeing the light of her power shielding them, he nodded his head in understanding and returned his attention to the hall.

  “Please, please swear to me – on our love, on our bond, on our Trinity – that you will not let what I am about to tell you change things,” she pleaded.

  Taran’s jaw flexed. He had no way of knowing what he was going to hear. To swear such a thing was unrealistic at best, but the look in her eyes made him nod in earnest that he swore it. Even if it meant an immortal existence of holding back evidence of some unknown wound she was about to inflict upon his heart, she had his vow.

  “I’m scared for Ciaran…” she confessed, then laughed bitterly as she broke down.

  Talk about the understatement of the century, she thought as she shook her head.

  “God, I’m just always so fucking afraid for Ciaran’s safety now, babe,” she managed through tears. She ground her teeth and looked down at the floor for a moment to build her courage. Taking a choppy breath, she met Taran’s gaze. “Ciaran… is Brandubh’s son,” she whispered, “and he’s never known. No one knows.”

  Taran’s brows drew together and features hardened in a rush of emotions. His mind was instantly reeling, attempting to make sense of her assertion. “How is tha possible?” he asked in stifled outrage. “Brandubh’s followers were responsible for the slaughter of Ciaran’s only child. I helped bury her broken, wee body. I witnessed Ciaran’s grief. I walked with him through the worst of it for a century. Ya mean to tell me tha lass was Brandubh’s grandchild? And tha…” Taran’s eyes widened as it hit him. “…Sorcha knew? Faolan knew? Even then? When Ciaran was given the bite? This whole time? 4,000 years?” he demanded.

  Skye gave him a weak nod in reply.

  Taran’s mind frantically worked to put all the pieces together. He recalled Brandubh from the night the abomination had taken his life. He exhaled in disbelief as he realized it had been right there in front of him – the incredible similarities in their appearances. The ghostly pale skin and jet-black hair. The sharp features. The fact that Brandubh was undetectable to Taran’s faol senses. Just like Ciaran.

  And then there were all the behaviors particular to Ciaran which had always set him apart from the other faol. The way he seemed to defy the laws of gravity at times – his leaps were more like glides. The way he preened and worried over his appearance. His penchant for hoarding jewelry and all that sparkled. The way he now brought such items home to Skye seeking her praise and approval. And, dear spirits, even his lifelong, preternatural ability to mimic voices and accents…

  Taran sat down fully on the floor. How had he not seen any of this before? How had he – the one always known for being so incredibly observant – failed to recognize all the characteristics his dearest brother displayed to reveal the Raven in his blood?

  Or had he always suspected on some level? Taran swallowed hard considering it. Had he always wondered somewhere, deep down, whether Ciaran was something more? Something different than the rest of their kin? Had that been the reason he was so drawn to him from the first day they met? The reason he felt the need to defend him as much as possible as a pup? Had he denied and repressed those thoughts out of a frantic need to protect Ciaran from the terrible truth? As if by simply considering the possibility, Taran might endanger him?

  And did that mean…? Had Drostan sensed something about him as well? Had Drostan’s gift alerted him to the secret within Ciaran’s very blood and the danger it posed to him? Had it driven Drostan to protect Ciaran just as fiercely as Taran had? In the beginning, the two of them were a constant, impenetrable wall around Ciaran. They had shielded him from the world. He had barely needed even speak for himself in their presence.

  Taran held Skye’s hand tighter still. He took several deep breaths to tamp down his emotions. He was hurt – mainly because something so important about one of the most important people in all his immortal existence had been kept from him. He felt betrayed by Sorcha and Faolan, but the sting of that betrayal quickly receded as he considered the impact this information must have had on Skye when she learned the truth. The impact it could have on Ciaran, were he to find out.

  Taran’s brows rose as he said, “This is why ya will nah use your magic near Ciaran? For fear it will harm him as it would Brandubh?”

  Skye nodded tearfully.

  “Ya think this is why the two of ya share a link?” Taran pressed.

  Skye gripped her mouth and nodded again. Through tears, she struggled to find her voice. “He says… it hurts him when I send him away,” she choked out. “When I tell him it is not safe for him to be by my side when I use my power. The way he describes the way it feels for him… What if it really is harming him? What if his inherent need to protect me is at war with some pre-programmed inability to defy my will?”

  Taran frowned deeply. Skye and Ciaran had been in awe of one other from the very start. They shared an insta
nt connection and loyalty. Taran knew without asking where Skye’s doubts must have gone.

  “Ya fear this is why he loves ya so,” Taran said quietly. “Tha he does nah have a say in it.”

  Skye sobbed and gritted her teeth against the pain those words inflicted, but it was the truth. “Taran…” she whimpered. “It was our heritage that drew us to one another, even without us knowing. What if everything between us is against his will? He said it himself – he changed so much after the first time I used my magic. And that was when I was all the way on the other side of the world from him. What kind of influence am I having with us being so close? I don’t know if he has any control over how he feels about me. I am honestly terrified to find out.”

  She pressed her forehead against the bars and reached her arms through for him. She was seriously second-guessing her decision to break the lock because dear GOD did she need a Taran hug right then. He was always so quick to understand her – to read between the lines and figure out what she felt and feared.

  Taran leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers, slotting his nose alongside hers and nuzzling in reassurance. He sighed, hating the heartbreak she was enduring. “It’s all right, wee one. Everything tha you’re fearing, it will work out. We shall get through it together.”

  “I was afraid to tell you,” she confessed sorrowfully.

  Taran nodded, disliking it, but appreciating her honesty. “Ya were afraid I might think of him differently for this? Hmm?”

  “I didn’t want it to hurt either one of you or have this come between you,” Skye sniffled. “I didn’t know what to do.”

  Taran shook his head and kissed her brow. “I could ne’er love Ciaran any less, especially nah for such a thing as this. A man is nah defined by the one tha sired him. Ciaran is a thousand times the man tha bastard ever was.” His mind continued racing in multiple directions at once, hurriedly assembling every bit of information that could be affected by this revelation. “So, this spell… or whatever is being done to ya… It is going after your fears then,” he noted.