Dark Truth (The Time Bound Series Book 3)

by Lora Andrews

“That woman is more stubborn that you, War Master,” Ailbeart growled. “God’s wounds. Will you look at my arms? I look like I’ve been attacked by a wildcat.”

  Caitlin cringed. “Sorry.” Ewen chuckled louder, his chest vibrating against her ear.

  “Ewen.” Brother Rupert’s voice was grave. Caitlin looked over her shoulder to find the monk crouched beside a body.

  Reluctantly, Caitlin loosed her grip. Ewen stepped out of her embrace and squatted beside the monk.

  Brother Rupert rolled the man’s sleeve halfway up his arm to reveal a tattoo. Two diagonal lines with another zigzagging across.

  Ewen let out a loud sigh, exchanged a look with Brother Rupert and Ian, then nodded.

  Deidre swept past them, ignoring the monk, the body, and Ewen.

  “Ian.” Wariness threaded through her voice. “Why are you sitting down? Are you injured?”

  “Nay, woman.” Ian rotated his left shoulder and winced. “Just a scratch. Naught to worry your pretty head over.” His words slurred. The front of his shirt was dirty from battle. He didn’t look hurt. But his normally bronzed skin did seem a bit sickly. And there was that strange slur in his voice…

  Deidre walked around to examine his back. Her hand shot to her mouth, her skin paling. “Dear god. He’s been bitten.”

  NINETEEN

  DEIDRE PEELED back the torn fabric of Ian’s shirt to reveal a nasty bite and a mouth-sized chunk of missing flesh. Deep puncture holes circled the wound, oozing a constant flow of blood. Whatever had bit him had dug in and dragged its fangs down the back of his shoulder.

  “Looks like the bite of a Naga.” A man peered over Deidre’s head. His pale eyes, a shade lighter than the long mustard robe he wore, settled on Caitlin.

  Those eyes were definitely not human. She should have looked away, but something about the man drew her in. “What’s a Naga?”

  “Nasty creatures.” The dark-skinned man thumbed a finger to the red humanoid creature squabbling with a guard by the monastery door. “We remove their venom sacs each full moon. Otherwise your friend would be dead.”

  Each full moon, she mouthed. “And they grow back?”

  “Life works to maintain balance, yes?” He smiled, white teeth flashing against dark skin. Yellow-eyes wasn’t a young guy. Silver strands wound through the wavy black hair he wore tied at his nape, a style similar to Ewen and Ian. Laugh lines populated the outside of his mouth and the edges of his eyes, suggesting thirty or forty years of levity and mirth. He was handsome, and he looked like the friend who would sing, “Don’t worry, be happy” while swinging his axe to decapitate his next opponent.

  Caitlin instantly liked him.

  Holy heck. What was wrong with her? Two weeks of death, magic, and believing in the impossible had really scrambled her brain. Warning bells should be blaring. By the yellow robe he wore, a uniform matching the other Draconians, this guy, however likeable, was tied to Brigid and the supernatural prison Bres either broke out of, or risked exposure to breach.

  Ewen crossed his arms and eyed the Naga, a muscle firing at his jaw. One of the two guards herding the handful of remaining supernaturals shackled the creature’s wrists and led it inside the building.

  “Bluidy coward attacked me from behind,” Ian griped. “The fiend is fortunate I didna get my hands around his neck and feed him to the loch.” His cocksure grin dissolved into another painful wince.

  Yellow-eyes smiled. “I’ve no doubt. The Naga is a fast and wily creature but physically inferior to most inhabitants of the outer realms. Venom gives it an edge in close combat. Without it, they are no more dangerous than an unarmed human. You, my friend, will feel the residual effects of the small traces of poison that entered your system when the Naga bit you, but rest assured, there should not be enough to cause long-term harm. The bleeding, however… Minun brenhines,” he called out.

  Upon hearing the man’s words, Brigid turned her head and dropped the hand she held against Fionn’s shoulder. Another guard by her left shoulder stood poised between her and Fionn like a UFC referee.

  “This human is injured,” yellow-eyes said.

  “Is there somewhere we can treat the wound?” Deidre asked him while staunching the flow of blood with her un-sanitized palm.

  The goddess whispered something to Fionn then—

  Oh crap. She’s coming.

  Caitlin wasn’t ready to deal with Brigid, not while a hundred or so questions strummed through her head. She stiffened when the goddess arrived to examine Ian’s wound without sparing her a glance. Rows of tight braids kept Brigid’s black hair from falling into her face. The remainder was woven into a thick braid she tucked into the back of a vest-like garment she wore over a dark blue tunic and brown leather pants. The sleeveless vest was more armor than fashion. A sword sheathed at her hip and various knives strapped to her thighs completed the ensemble, along with leather sleeves at her wrists, presumably doubling as gauntlets.

  “He is in need of the abbot’s assistance.” Her tone lacked urgency. The hint of the non-Scottish accent similar to Bres’s was tough to ignore. In every one of Caitlin’s dreams, the goddess’s accent had been rich and warm like thick syrup, not cold and sharp like brittle ice.

  Deidre reapplied pressure to the wound. “I’ll need yarrow, wine or vinegar, and clean linens to start.”

  “Open a portal to Iona,” Brigid told Brother Rupert, ignoring Deidre altogether. “His injury requires immediate attention.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot.”

  “Cannot or will not,” she accused with that same brittle voice. “Which is it, monachus?”

  The monk’s lips went tight. “I am without the magic to accomplish such a feat, but even if I were capable, I would not withhold my aid from any creature, human or godlike, out of spite.”

  “Very well,” Brigid said, then moved to leave.

  “Wait a minute.” Caitlin fisted her hands on her hips. “What happened here?”

  Swiveling her neck from Caitlin to the monk, Brigid asked, “Are these humans agents of the Brotherhood?”

  “It shouldn’t matter who we are.” And who the hell did Brigid think she was, anyway? “I want to know why Bres was here. Was he a prisoner along with the others?”

  Brigid’s cold, emerald eyes hardened.

  Caitlin took a step closer. “We know you were in the woods in Ardgour fighting two Fomorians a few days ago. You lost a Draconian. His wing was completely torn from his body. And now you’re here, battling Bres, a slew of supernaturals, and zombie humans. We want answers.”

  “Erase their memories for all I care,” Fionn yelled, gesturing wildly in Caitlin’s direction before Brigid could respond. He paced like a madman before the spot where the portal had stood, then turned and yelled at the robed guard standing with him. “This cannot wait. The magic will dissipate. We must act now.”

  The uniformed guard whispered something to Fionn, moving his hands calmly in the air in a stay-put gesture.

  Fionn shook his head, and his voice grew louder. “Our delay works in Bres’s favor. He and Balor have the advantage now. It’s only a matter of time before the Norns unbind the king. And if he locates the eye…”

  What king?

  What eye?

  Fionn was losing it.

  “The locator spell. We must perform it now while the magic is fresh.” Fionn stabbed a hand through his hair. “It may already be too late.”

  Caitlin had never seen him so panicked...so unhinged. Not even during the hour leading up to when Bres turned their world upside down. “What’s he talking about?”

  Brigid exchanged a look with yellow-eyes. “Transport the injured man to the abbey. I will arrive when I can.”

  Yellow-eyes nodded. “As you wish, minun brenhines.”

  Caitlin frowned. My queen? She thought back to what Fionn had told her about Brigid, but couldn’t remember much other than the fact she had been married to Bres.

  “There will be no transport.” Ewen’s voice held a har
d edge that dared yellow-eyes to defy him. “I will no’ risk Ian’s life on a journey to the isle when my healer is more than capable to tend to his injury without delay. I ask you to provide her with the items she requested along with dry clothing for the women and the monk.”

  “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dyn Eryr of the Draconian Guard,” yellow-eyes said. “With your permission, War Master, I will personally fly this human to the abbey.”

  Whoa. Caitlin covered her mouth with her hand. Dyn Eryr was a dragon too?

  “By the saints, I know I’ve bled all over the bluidy ground, but did he say fly?” Ian blinked up at a smiling yellow-eyes who simply nodded.

  Brother Rupert paled, not as much as Ian, but a close second. “It’s true. The abbot can heal Ian’s wounds.”

  “How is that possible?” Deidre huffed.

  “With magic,” Dyn said.

  The monk lifted the pendant from his wet tunic. “As guardians of the lore, each brother is blessed with a small amount of—” His mouth worked, but no sound fell from his lips. He shrugged. “As you can see, we are also bound to protect the lore from the uninitiated.”

  “As both the leader of the Brothers of Lumen and a protector of the covenant, Abbot MacKenzie is bestowed with the ability to heal. We can be at the abbey thrice as fast as it took you to swim to shore,” Dyn said.

  Ewen narrowed his eyes at Caitlin.

  She scrunched her face and shrugged. This was all news to her.

  Brigid moved to rejoin Fionn, but Caitlin grabbed her arm before she could. Caitlin’s senses slammed against a steel wall. The goddess’s shields were like Fort Knox. Brigid’s eyes turned ice cold, but that didn’t deter Caitlin. “I know who you are. I know about the stones and the covenant. And I know why you were in Ardgour.”

  Peeling Caitlin’s fingers from her arm, one finger at a time, Brigid said, “Hmm…I’ll be curious to hear what you think you might know.”

  Ailbeart and Eiric chose that moment to return to their small circle. Eiric gave Ewen a slight shake of his head.

  Ewen’s mouth twitched, and then he acknowledged Eiric’s gesture with a reluctant nod.

  Eyes downcast, Ailbeart and Eiric lowered their heads, shoulders slumped.

  And then it hit her.

  Donald’s two other guards, Daramach and Sim, were missing. Moments earlier, this had been a battlefield. She scanned the area. Jesus, they were probably dead. Lost in the gore. And here she was, lost in conversation without giving a second thought to the beings who’d sacrificed their lives.

  Is that what happened to people living in countries ravaged by war? People exposed to prolonged and repeated violence? They got used to the devastation? Used to the meaningless slaughter? Used to death? Had she become desensitized to the point where the loss of two men ordered to protect her meant nothing?

  Was she too far gone to be saved?

  And, god, did it even matter? Her whole purpose in this time period revolved around the killing of one person. An evil person. But a life just the same. Releasing a weary sigh, she stepped away from Brigid. If she succeeded—if she killed Bres in order to save Ewen—would there be anything left of her soul worth salvaging?

  Worth loving?

  Ewen’s intense gaze was locked on her face. Already, guilt forced her to look away. Drove her to hide the darkness that had to be lurking in her eyes.

  “You cannot keep protecting him.” The urgency in Fionn’s voice dragged her attention back to Brigid. “After all this time. After all he’s done. You know what’s at stake. Launch the locator spell, sister. Do it now so I can finally end this cursed burden.”

  The curse being Bres’s execution.

  Fionn ran his hand through his hair, then lowered his voice. “Must I beg? Please. She wakes soon.”

  His words made no sense.

  “I cannot,” Brigid said, seemingly unmoved by his urgent plea.

  What a cold-hearted witch.

  Fionn wrapped his arm around the meaty guard’s neck, a knife pointed to his jugular. “I am beyond reason. Do it. Do it, now.”

  “Killing Braern will change nothing,” Brigid said. “It will not ease your burden, or reverse what’s been done.”

  “She cannot utilize the pendant’s magic, Fionn.” the guard, Braern, said calmly. His voice betrayed no fear, no anxiety despite the steal wedged against his flesh.

  “Why?” Fionn said. “Give me one good reason.”

  With the flat of his palm, Braern shoved the dagger from his throat. “She was torqued during the struggle.”

  Fionn shook his head. “No.”

  Brigid’s finger curled around the top edge of her collar. She pushed the fabric down to reveal a band around her neck.

  “A prisoner’s torque,” Caitlin gasped and instinctively rubbed the spot on her sternum where Fionn’s link seemed to pull the strongest. “The symbols etched into the metal nullify magic. That’s why you didn’t incinerate the Fomorians. You couldn’t.” And worse—as if things could get worse—it was the same torque Bres had used to subdue Ewen’s dragon. It had to be.

  “Bres did this to you.” Caitlin threw her hands up into the air. “Great. First the cauldron and now this.”

  Three heads snapped in her direction. More if she counted Ewen and her friends.

  Fionn’s gaze dropped to the fingers at her chest. A mixture of surprise then confusion clouded his blue eyes. With a heavy sigh, he threw his head back, his shoulders sagging like a man defeated by fate.

  It hurt to witness his pain, knowing she’d played a hand in causing it.

  Without saying a word to either her or Brigid, Fionn spun and barreled through the monastery doors, disappearing into the darkness.

  Caitlin ignored the unspoken questions hovering in the air from her friends and focused on Brigid and the questions that mattered. “The last time I saw that torque, it was around someone else’s neck. And the cauldron. You know, the one those witches stole from this field less than fifteen minutes ago. Fionn and his wife used that cauldron to bind their abilities to me in hopes I could defeat your ex-husband in the future. I failed.”

  Caitlin stepped away from Ewen and closed the distance between her and Brigid. She folded her arms across her chest. “For the last time, tell me why Bres broke out of, what I’m assuming is, a Neridian jail, on Earth of all places.” She shook her head in disgust. “Tell me why those witches waited to close the portal until that one-eyed Fomorian you were battling with leaped through. And tell me who the hell is this king we keep hearing about?”

  Dyn cleared his throat. “Minun brenhines.” Irritation flashed across Brigid’s face before she registered the flick of his head. “The human’s condition has worsened.”

  Caitlin whirled around. Ian lay unconscious in Deidre’s lap. Ewen crouched beside her.

  “Ian. Ian, wake up.” Deidre patted his cheeks in a not-so-gentle slap.

  “Does your offer still stand?” Ewen asked Dyn.

  “Yes.”

  Ewen redistributed the bulk of Ian’s weight off Deidre and stood. “Then I accept your assistance.”

  Dyn reciprocated with a low bow. Backing away from Ewen and a worried Deidre, he reached over his head and yanked the mustard robe over his head to reveal a muscular body. And before Caitlin could cover her eyes and un-see the naked male standing before them, the Draconian guardian transformed into a griffin.

  And not just any griffin.

  The griffin.

  The one that starred in every one of her nightmares.

  “Oh, my god. It’s you.”

  The majestic beast bowed his head as if saying, “Hello, little one.”

  Caitlin’s heart raced.

  The second guard transformed into a red-gold dragon whose scales reminded her of Ewen.

  Brigid hurried over to where Ewen cradled Ian in his arms. “Lift him onto Dyn. I’ll ride behind him to ensure he’s safe.”

  “And what of us?” Ewen asked. “If you think I’m leaving my best frie
nd in the hands of a woman I no more trust than the beast she asks me to ride, than ye’re sadly mistaken. I will ride with Ian.”

  Brigid’s lips curved into a smile. “Very well. Then ride with Braern.” She scooped the discarded robes off the ground and gestured to the dragon. “He can support your weight. Your women can ride with me.”

  Caitlin swallowed. Holy cow. No way was she riding a griffin. She had a massive height phobia, one she’d battled her whole life, no thanks to Dyn. And until recently, she’d avoided windows on any floor above a second story.

  Deidre had already moved to help Ewen and Ian mount the dragon.

  Brigid cocked an eyebrow at Caitlin, one that said, “Are you chickening out?”

  And of course, Caitlin’s stupid pride kicked in with a, “No-way, Jose. And don’t think you’re off the hook either. When we land, you’re talking.”

  Yep, that pride would get her killed one of these days.

  She marched over to the waiting griffin. Those yellow eyes stirred all her nightmares to the forefront of her mind. She ignored her racing heart. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

  She really had no choice.

  “You were always real, weren’t you?” Caitlin laughed. “God, I can’t believe it.”

  Dyn lowered his head so she could rub the area above his eyes.

  Brigid was already on his back, helping Deidre climb on. How they planned to stay airborne without a saddle was beyond Caitlin.

  Nudging her with his big griffin beak, Dyn guided Caitlin to his flank. She accepted Deidre’s hand and clumsily pulled herself up. Once on, she gripped her thighs around the dense muscles of his lion’s back. The rough fur rubbed against the inside of her bare legs. She checked Faolan’s dagger to ensure it was secure in its sheath.

  The griffin took off with a loud screech. Caitlin squeezed her eyes and inner thighs, screaming for dear life. Poor Deidre…she’d be deaf by the time they reached Iona. Popping one eye open to check that Ewen and Ian had lifted off safely—they had— Caitlin quickly scanned the grounds for Brother Rupert and the others. From what she could see from the air, Rupert had climbed atop another Draconian and Ailbeart and Eiric were about to do the same.