Goddess Rising

by Alisha Ashton

  Ailean snarled in furious warning and stepped forward. He led the others in barring Brandubh and his followers from coming any closer. But Brandubh was completely disinterested in them, and he was already close enough to see Ciaran clearly. Drostan’s heart clenched with dread. He turned to warn Skye, to tell her to wait until Brandubh was gone, but it was too late.

  Skye placed her hand on Ciaran’s chest, brought her lips to his in a deep kiss, and willed every bit of magic she had to pass into him. Ciaran groaned and kissed her back eagerly, gripping the back of her head as if he feared she might be pulled away. Her light seeped into him like much-needed rain on parched earth.

  Laughing through tears of joy, Miko glanced around the gathered crowd. When he caught sight of Brandubh and his followers, his body went rigid. His face fell. He put his arm around Aiyana’s shoulders without thought, pulling her in tightly against him.

  “Is that…?” Aiyana asked in a fearful whisper.

  “Aye,” Ailean answered solemnly without turning.

  Despite the enticing scent of the frightened mortal woman, Brandubh paid them no mind. He was far too transfixed by what he was witnessing. His personal guard stood at his sides and back, rigid and perfect in their polished, white armor. Each coolly met the glares the ancient faoil were leveling at them. Neither side made a move toward the other. The truce was in place, as established by their leaders. That did nothing to alleviate the tension between the breeds, though.

  After a moment, Ciaran gasped in abject relief. He collapsed back onto the ground, exhausted, yet feeling immeasurably better. Skye slumped over him, panting and trying to catch her breath. Her power was all but depleted yet again, but she was far too happy to care. Surrounded by her clansmen, she did not feel vulnerable. Still, she instinctually began drawing from the moon’s light, recovering her strength. It was becoming second nature now.

  Ciaran struggled to open his eyes, but he was just too tired. He gripped Skye’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles gratefully as he sighed, “Ya made it, a stóirín. Oh, thank the heavens. I thought we’d lost ya.”

  “Turns out, I’m not so easy to lose,” Skye teased, earning a dazzling, weary smile in reply. She kissed him again, this time to celebrate their reunion, rather than for medicinal purposes. He moaned in joy at having her back, and within a matter of seconds, he was fast asleep.

  Skye smiled down at him, thankful beyond words to gaze upon his blissful, sleeping face. When she at last looked away from him and up at the countless faces around them, she instantly realized her mistake. Her heart leapt up into her throat. She suddenly felt very vulnerable indeed without her full power. Her body glowed as she drew light more urgently from the moon.

  Brandubh’s eyes passed between Skye and Ciaran in confusion. Then, right before her eyes, his features slowly began to twist into fascination, then to suspicion, then, finally, to furious realization. His eyes locked with Skye’s, clearly conveying his rage and the fact that he was fairly certain of Ciaran’s identity.

  Skye held Ciaran’s hand tighter before blocking him – and any nosy outside parties – from her mind so that she could reach out to Brandubh.

  Please… don’t speak, she pleaded softly. Enough has happened today. None of us are in any condition to do this now. Please, trust me as I have trusted you, she urged. She sent him the memory of the fang hanging around his neck, hidden from view by his magic. Brandubh glared at her, but his fingers went to his neck, stroking the place where his carved fang rested safely.

  Taran was intensely aware of the dangerous difference in Brandubh’s posture and expression. Judging by the prolonged silence and stares Brandubh and Skye were exchanging, Taran understood how perilous the situation had just become.

  Miko and Aiyana glanced around anxiously at the silent crowd of faoil and fògaraich, unsure of what was happening. Skye and Brandubh were staring at one another, clearly communicating telepathically. The rest of the ancient beings were rigid, eyeing their enemies unflinchingly, waiting for the slightest indication from their respective leaders that they should attack.

  Skye continued her attempts to supplicate Brandubh and avoid further bloodshed. Her eyes were locked on his fingers as the fang came back into view. She nodded at its importance.

  You assured me that you would be able to feel your own power there. Believe me that I will honor our past agreement, even if you cannot yet remember it. Once you have recovered your memories, we will speak. You will tell me your version of history, and we will discuss… this. She kissed Ciaran’s brow tenderly and purposefully.

  Brandubh’s eyes swirled to black as he looked around them with madness and violence dancing in his gaze.

  Skye watched him fearfully as Ciaran nuzzled beneath her chin and wrapped his arms around her. She clutched Ciaran to her body protectively, praying that she could spare him this truth, if only for another day.

  Please, Brandubh. I am begging you. Don’t do this. Everyone here is innocent. Next to no one knows. He doesn’t even know.

  Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Brandubh bared his fangs and let out a chilling, agonized wail in reply. All around, the faoil and fògaraich shifted their postures, crouching and growling and hissing, preparing for battle. Brandubh was a hair’s breadth from losing all control and attacking the faoil indiscriminately in retaliation for this unexpected reopening of his oldest, deepest wound.

  Determined to avoid the absolute slaughter that would surely come if this was allowed to continue any longer, Taran stepped forward without a word, placing himself directly in Brandubh’s line of sight. He kept his posture relaxed, his heartrate slow and steady, and his expression calm.

  Brandubh blinked repeatedly. His eyes struggled to adjust to the abrupt change in focus. He squinted as his eyes shifted back to blue. The subtle distraction of Taran’s proximity effectively derailed his psychotic train of thought. It brought him back to the present. To the fact that they had just triumphed together against a common enemy. To the fact that – thanks to Taran – Teàrlach’s freshly-headless corpse lay a short distance away. To the fact that Skye had trusted him this day and agreed to hear him out.

  Taran met the undead man’s eyes with a quiet intensity, saying more with that one look than Skye had managed so far. The truce was in place for the moment, and Taran fully intended to honor it, but if Brandubh did not get himself under control, no one on either side would survive.

  Brandubh held Taran’s gaze, his jaw flexing as some of the rage in his eyes cooled. After a moment, he inclined his head slightly to the King, acknowledging that he was in control again. His eyes slid to Skye as he spoke through their link. His voice in her head was disturbingly unbalanced as he demanded, Did YOU know? When you claimed him? Did ya know who he is?

  Skye’ expression was utterly sincere as she answered, I didn’t. At that point, I didn’t even know my own lineage. But, even if I had known beforehand, I wouldn’t have let it keep us apart. We belong together.

  Brandubh’s features shifted from anger, to confusion, then to something in between. He had clearly not expected this reply. His body was rigid as he warned, Ya know nah the enormity of what ya ask of me, Goddess. This is a level of trust I am uncertain I possess. To allow this to continue between ya… to allow ya to keep my own…? Brandubh’s lips trembled in outrage. He could not even think the word to finish that sentence. In a deadly whisper, he managed, History has shown it a grave misfortune for an innocent man to be taken as the lover of a woman of your bloodline. I should end this now and spare him the torment to come.

  Skye held his gaze intensely, gripping Ciaran tighter and answering Brandubh’s concerns with heartfelt conviction. Whatever your history, it is not mine. It is not his. I would never hurt him. I would die to protect him. As would Taran. And he would do the same for either one of us. We love each other completely. Please… she whispered into his mind imploringly, watching him with tearful eyes. We will speak of this another day, after we have all reco
vered.

  Brandubh fought to remain in control, but the madness was seeping into his gaze again. His voice came as a low hiss at first as he answered, I can assure ya, were it nah for tha redeeming human heart of yours, I’d put a stop to this profanation right now and rip apart every last faoil tha stood in my way.

  With considerable effort, and after a pause, his features softened.

  However… from what I’ve seen… I believe ya may well be telling the truth. He took a slow, wholly unnecessary breath, rolling his shoulders as the last of the murderous impulses subsided. And, lucky for ya, I find myself in an uncharacteristically agreeable mood just now. Watching your positively glorious King slice Teàrlach to pieces wearing naught but a grin has left me feeling charitable… amongst other things…

  His eyes passed over Taran’s face and nude body unhurriedly. Taran stood tall and kept his expression impassive, refusing to let his discomfort show. The memory of being drained and dying in this horrid creature’s grasp was still far too fresh, but Taran did not flinch under the scrutiny.

  Brandubh sighed to himself in appreciation of that fact. I shall do as ya ask, Sgitheanach, and hold my tongue. For now. He looked to her with cold fury as he added, Ya owe me one hell of an explanation, and it had better come fast. To say this is an unexpected development is… the highest of understatements. His eyes slid down to Ciaran. His features instantly softened, and head tilted to the side as he studied the man in wonder. Isn’t he beautiful?

  “Brandubh,” Taran called sharply, unnerved by the way he was looking at Ciaran.

  Brandubh reluctantly tore his eyes away, but a smile spread across his full lips as he focused on Taran once more. “Ah, Wolf King,” he greeted with dramatic flourish. He gave a deep, regal bow, stretching his splendid wings skyward. “Snack pack. Eye candy. Slayer of one of the chief banes of my existence. I am ever in your debt.” He stood up straight, tucking his wings behind his back once more. “Skye has found herself quite the mate. When I think back on how ya stood your ground, so brave and proud right up to the instant of your death… How ya faced me without fear, refused to beg or scream or plead for your life…”

  ENOUGH, Skye warned through their link. Baring her teeth and growling involuntarily at the thought of what he had done to Taran.

  Come now, puppy. I’m only playin’ with him, Brandubh teased. He can take it.

  Brandubh flashed a grin at Skye before returning his attention to her mate. “Let’s just say, I’m grateful ya did nah stay dead, ya glorious man-beast.”

  Taran took a deep, calming breath, doing his best to ignore 90% of what came out of Brandubh’s mouth. He needed to keep his undivided attention. Play to whatever fleetingly amiable emotions Brandubh was feeling towards him. If bantering with his recent murderer was what it took to keep Brandubh’s attention off of Ciaran and Skye, then so be it.

  “Were this any other day,” Taran began with a dangerous smile, “I’d give the word to my men, and we’d tear ya into at least 12 pieces. Then we’d fight over your scraps until nothing remained, save a few gnawed-up, picked-clean bones.”

  Brandubh gave a mock shiver of excitement at the threat.

  “Were this any other day,” Taran continued, stepping even closer, causing Brandubh’s brow to arch and lips to part in intrigue. “I’d sooner kill ya than speak to ya directly.” His features and tone softened slightly as he stated, “However, our temporary truce stands for the moment, and our breed – unlike yours – takes honor seriously. The Tàcharan Fhaol Clan thanks ya for helping our Queen. Ya came to her aid – albeit using some highly questionable methods at times…”

  Taran glowered at the memory of Brandubh’s foul mouth pressed against his wee Skye’s lovely lips… His cold, traitorous hands gripping her body… Taran nearly broke his teeth from grinding them so hard as he fought back the urge to attack.

  In a voice that had dropped several octaves and was bordering a growl, Taran finished, “Bottom line, ya saved Skye’s life. For tha alone, we are truly grateful.”

  Brandubh tipped his head back, eyeing Taran appraisingly. “Does this mean ya forgive me for killin’ ya last time?” he asked with a cheeky grin and ran his tongue over his fangs deliberately.

  Ailean’s ferocious growl rumbled through the ranks, making it known that he most certainly did not forgive or forget.

  Taran’s eyes glowed golden as he warned, “Do nah push your luck, brathadair.”

  Brandubh chuckled and held up his hands. “Eh, well. Was worth a try. So we’re nah to be besties. They do say to keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, though. And I’d certainly nah be opposed to gettin’ closer to ya, King.”

  Taran rolled his eyes and looked to the sky, seeing the telltale pre-dawn glow on the eastern horizon. He exhaled lightly in discrete relief. “Time’s up,” he said, nodding in the direction of the coming dawn. “This is where we part ways.” He extended his hand, holding Brandubh’s gaze and keeping his undivided attention. “I do thank ya for saving Skye,” he said sincerely.

  Brandubh smiled, thoroughly pleased with the King’s public display of gratitude, and clasped Taran’s arm. “Any time,” he assured. “She has only to ask.”

  Taran scoffed at that and shook his head. “Won’t ever happen again, I assure ya. Next time our paths cross, the circumstances will be far less civil.”

  Brandubh’s eyes narrowed on Taran’s and he fought to suppress a grin. “Hmm… far bloodier, by my estimation,” he agreed. “In any event, I do look forward to it.”

  He released Taran’s arm and took a step away. Looking back to Skye, then to Ciaran resting blissfully in her arms, Brandubh smiled. His eyes went out of focus briefly. He nodded to himself and turned back to Taran.

  “Take care of them, Wolf King,” he advised softly, his words tinged with sadness. “Protect them. Revel in their touch. Soak up their comfort. Enjoy every fleeting second of peace between ya, for it is doomed to fail.”

  Taran pressed his lips together tightly, refusing to speak of his Trinity with this bastard.

  Brandubh gave a humorless laugh, then turned and took to the sky, flanked by his personal guard.

  42: Healing Hands

  Brandubh and the fògaraich flew westward with impossible speed, chasing the darkness and fleeing the sun. Taran looked to Skye once they were out of sight. She let out a heavy sigh and sagged in relief.

  “Owww…” Ciaran whined. “What the shite are ya wearin’, love?” he mumbled, finally becoming aware enough to register the feeling of her talon and fang-covered armor digging into him.

  Skye laughed, kissing his forehead and watching Taran lovingly. Taran shook his head in wonder, scarcely able to believe they had made it through the night. He was impatient to get somewhere private with her so they could speak of all that had happened and have a proper reunion, but first, they needed to handle the fallout of the battle. They could not simply walk away. He pointed around to the ancients and began firing off orders.

  “Ailean – take a few men and get the vehicles righted and prepared for us to leave. The rest of ya, comb the fields thoroughly. Gather together anything that remains of the abominations. No matter how small the pieces, they are to be burned thoroughly and immediately. I want this entire area cleansed with fire. Let us nah risk anything rising up again.” He swallowed hard, his eyes going to the ground and voice straining as he stated, “We have suffered many losses this night. Gather together our fallen brothers. We shall bring them home to Faol Seunta to be buried properly.”

  Skye frowned and shook her head. “No,” she called. “Bring the fallen to me.”

  Every head swiveled slowly towards her in cautious hope.

  “My Queen…?” Taran asked curiously.

  Skye looked up to him and explained, “I’m pretty sure I can bring all of our men back, even the ones beyond all hope of recovery – like Sorcha did for you.”

  Taran smiled warmly. “Aye, my love,” he said, in awe of the power she now commanded. She ha
d clearly come into her own since last they had seen one another. He nodded out at his clansmen. “All right, men. Ya heard your Queen. Bring them to her.”

  Skye thanked Miko and Elijah as they set up a makeshift bed for Ciaran beside her. She had work to do before they could leave, but she was not ready to have Ciaran beyond reach just yet. She doubted she would be any time in the near future, either.

  When the first body was carried over and laid carefully before Skye, her eyes instantly filled with tears.

  “Oh, God. Ruarachan… what did they do to you?” she whispered. He was nearly unrecognizable. His handsome features were coated in blood and jarringly still. His lips were bloodless and blue. His powerful arms and torso were a mangled mess of bites and tears. She winced and shook her head sympathetically.

  “He died for me,” Taran said in a detached whisper as he knelt down beside her. He avoided Skye’s gaze when she looked over. Reaching out, he ran his hand through his fallen brother’s fiery red hair. “To protect me. He sacrificed himself so tha I could reach ya when I did. He knew it meant dyin’, and he did it gladly.”

  Skye leaned her head against Taran’s shoulder, offering a bit of comfort in the midst of his grief.

  Taran swallowed back tears and managed hoarsely, “I do so pray ya can bring him back, my love. Our pack – our entire clan – is better with him in it.”

  Skye nodded at the truth of that. As Taran bowed his head and muttered fervent prayers, she placed her hands on Ruarachan’s chest and closed her eyes. She was not sure how to do this, but she was determined to make it work. Operating on pure instinct, she began thinking of Ruarachan. His shy glances. The way he watched over Taran. His striking hazel eyes. His powerful physique and rusty hair. His alabaster skin.

  She realized that this was why she had felt the instinctive need to know him. She was incredibly thankful she had followed that instinct.

  She focused on all the things that made him… him. His spirit and energy. The way she perceived him with all of her senses. Up until that moment, she had not realized just how much information she managed to catalogue in her mind about him. His scent. His voice. His laugh. The sound of his cautiously approaching footfalls. The nearly imperceptible sound of him carefully taking the plates she set down for him. His growls – in human and faol form. The way he cursed to himself in Gaelic. The way he called her ‘my Lady Queen.’