by Kat Bastion
But after a few seconds, his expression softened. Then he drew in a deep breath and exhaled, brows liftin’ a wee bit. As if to yield, to submit. Which, from such a powerful creature, appeared to take great effort.
She tilted her head, sensin’ no falsehood in his demeanor. Trust could be earned. And her suspicion would remain high till she knew for certain. Even then, far beyond. For good measure.
After another few seconds of his extended patience, she granted him a short nod. “Mayhap.”
“Good.” He relaxed his wings down a fraction, then strode toward her with confident grace. “Some degree of cooperation will make the guarding part easier.”
And I’ve got a strong feeling, his low voice boomed, ‘some’ will be all I’ll be able to manage from the hellion. Fine by me. Your fight? Makes my mission that much more enjoyable.
Startled, her gaze shot up toward the grim set of his closed lips, the tight clench of his jaw. Even as the last of his unspoken words filtered into her head.
“Och! I heard that!”
He paused midstride, starin’ at her with widened eyes. Then he gave a heavy blink and shook his head. “Of course, you did.”
“You’ll be stayin’ outta my head.”
“I didn’t trespass into your mind.” He tilted a curious glance her way. “You eavesdropped into mine.”
“Oh.” Mayhap, she needed more guidance with her magick than she’d realized.
“Unprecedented, by the way,” he grumbled.
“Good.” She shot his retort back at him, satisfied in causin’ him dismay.
Skorpius stared at her with that penetratin’ gaze for a few seconds, then scanned along the tops of the trees, from one end of the horizon across to the other. “Which way are we heading?”
Brigid turned without reply and strode down the game trail she’d begun to navigate. By the sun’s track, she could’ve determined their direction and answered him, but chose to cut their conversation short, preferred to maintain some safe amount of distance.
The clear action spoke for her. All he needed to know. “If you’re guardin’—not interferin’—you’ll follow,” she murmured. I’ll allow the intrusion. For now.
No argument boomed from him, aloud or in her head. Blessed silence settled there.
Nimble steps wound her along the narrow shadowed path. An intuitive tug, some new sense she’d developed, led her toward where she needed to go.
When a chill crisped the air, she hastened into a light-footed trot through open straightaway sections to warm the blood pulsin’ through her arms and legs. As she ran, the trail grew barely visible. Lacy ferns lashed across the fronts of her thighs. Thick spongy moss bounced underfoot.
But even when the path grew difficult, her progress slowin’ to skirt thorny bramble overgrowth or overreachin’ bracken, she recovered then raced on in an unmistakable direction, as if a tempest river beneath the ground itself had scooped her up and swept her along.
After some distance, lungs burnin’ and pulse thumpin’, she perceived a flare in the sizzlin’ energy of the one sent to guard her. Then she slowed to a walk, surprised that she noticed the angel at all. Upon greater concentration, she stretched her mind outward and collected even more information: his presence raced alongside the trail she used, but a dozen paces back and a half-dozen paces aside, beyond a dense growth of trees.
And yet…not one sound resonated from his rapid movement.
Well-trained as Brigid was by the most skilled trackers within her clan, even she rustled a wayward branch, broke an occasional dried twig underfoot.
Curiosity drew her more focused attention toward Skorpius’s position, no matter how intently she tried to ignore him.
When she homed in on his well-defined energy, she caught sight of him, a blur of motion. After a heavy blink, her lips parted on a gasp, mouth fallin’ wide open.
Och! You’re not travelin’ through the woods, you’re passin’ through the trees.
A good ten feet above the ground, wings spread, but fixed as a soarin’ hawks, his prone body floated on a swift current, vanishin’ then reappearin’, as insubstantial as Highland mist.
When Skorpius gave a slow shrug, then cast a glance her way, she realized she’d projected her shocked exclamation into his mind. Again.
But his small movement did nothin’ to mar his smooth flight as he raced past her. A rich, low voice echoed into her mind. Less energy is expended when I go incorporeal. And stay to the shadows.
“Like a ghost,” she whispered aloud, then stared with wide eyes at the unbelievable sight again. Her mind struggled to accept the strange feat. Mistin’ through trees!
Seconds passed till Brigid blinked back into awareness. She found herself alone, then chased after him. As she alighted down her path, she soon sighted his misty shape again.
His deep voice resonated into her mind, softer, reflective. In some ways.
Another stretch of silence passed while she negotiated rougher boulder-strewn terrain. Once on flatter ground, she eased into a comfortable trot, grateful for the respite while she enjoyed the wild beauty of a rollin’ moor swathed in bright purple heather.
The angel remained quiet, maintainin’ some amount of distance between them. She still sensed the faint warmth of his power out there, somewhere. But for a time, she traveled with great joy alone, while her guard remained out of sight.
Yet before she reached the shelter of more shadowy forest ahead, her once-easy pace grew strenuous—with no explanation. In a trice, each next step demanded immense effort. Leg muscles that had ached in a pleasant way, began to burn, then twitched in spasm.
Before she stumbled on a protrudin’ root or rock that undulated through the earthen path, she slowed to a walk. A lone tree beckoned off left, and she staggered over, swayed a bit, then leaned against the rough bark of its solid trunk.
Weariness fogged her brain, and she loosed a loud yawn.
“I’ll be restin’ here a bit,” she murmured, dimly aware that her guard’s energy had drawn near, growin’ warmer.
The great shadow of his form loomed above.
Then her world plunged into darkness, cold and absolute.
The metal blade whistled past Brigid’s ear.
A split second later, a low thump followed.
She startled awake, seated and leanin’ against the wide base of a tree. Then she blinked and glance up at the carved hilt of one of her daggers, sunk into the bark above her shoulder. Confusion fogged her brain, as she’d only just paused to lean against the large tree.
When had she sat down? Or fallen asleep?
The dark angel stood a dozen paces away, starin’ intently at her. He balanced her other dagger upon his fingertips, as if he considered hurlin’ the second one at her as well.
She forced herself not to think of how he’d stolen them both from her person.
“Lesson one.” Skorpius pointed the gleamin’ blade at her. “Never let your guard down.”
“Aye.” She reached over her head, yanked the first dagger from the soft bark, then stood. “Angels canna be trusted.”
“Not me.” He shook his head. “Wild animals. Other humans. Worse, any other being who yields magick. One who might want yours.”
“Och! Someone can steal my magick?” Her magick. The soothin’ warm essence—energy that protected, yet whispered of endless possibilities—had already become a vital part of her.
“Someone might think so. And likely kill you simply to find out.”
Her breath caught, pulse spikin’ at the absurd notion. “Is that why you’re wishin’ to kill me?” Because she sensed Skorpius held some critical truth back. And even though he meant no harm at the moment, deadly menace radiated from him. She took cautious steps to the side, circlin’ into the sunny moor of heather.
“No.” The black feathers on his massive wings ruffled as he rotated to follow her movement. A flash of amusement sparked in his eyes, as if he already possessed all the power he needed, wouldn’t be bothered to think of w
antin’ more. But his lethal gaze never wavered, and he dinna deny her accusation. “Some will believe to kill you will release your magick, in the hope of absorbing its energy as their own, increase their power within your realm. And beyond it.”
Heaviness clenched deep in her gut at the notion of some thief killin’ her to drain her dry. “Och!” she murmured, horrified. “Is that possible?”
Those unyieldin’ blue-green sparklin’ eyes bored into the depths of her soul as he unfolded his hand to display the weapon he’d lifted when she’d been unconscious. “Anything is possible.”
Lesson one…his earlier words echoed into her mind. Her grip tightened on the hilt of the first dagger. “Doona let my guard down.”
The shaggy ends of his wild black hair rustled at his faint nod. “And trust no one.”
She almost laughed. “I’m trustin’ you.” But as the statement tumbled from her lips, she felt the rightness under its tone, firm and true. Because the uneven ground beneath her feet tilted a bit. Or was that unsteady legs? Uncertain how long she’d dozed, or why everythin’ seemed a wee bit altered, she widened her stance, not trustin’ her senses. Or her knees.
“Different matter altogether. And necessary.” He pointed the dagger tip at her again. “Apprentice.” Then he hooked his thumb and jerked it backward, toward his bare chest. “Master.” Teasin’ wickedness gleamed in his eyes.
At his boldness, she parted her lips, but the sharp retort that formed there died on her tongue. For the idea of callin’ him “cupcake”? Some sweet treat? Nay. Her mind reeled at connectin’ the fierce angel with a food that made her mouth water. After a hard swallow, heat sparkin’ under her skin, she drew a deep breath, then narrowed her eyes.
“Go on, angel.” The truth of the matter, a safe “nickname.” And she’d grant him his amusement. For a moment.
“Trust only me. No one else.” His formidable gaze kept tight hold of hers. “Some might see killing you as only one option to gain your power.”
“There are other ways?” A sickenin’ weight churned in the pit of her stomach. As if, down deep, her magick knew, sensed the danger.
“Worse ways.”
Unbidden images crowded into her mind. From Skorpius? Her magick? A cruel nightmare of creepin’ shadows stretched through a pitch-dark tight space. Bitter cold. Never-endin’ loneliness. Time stretched eternal.
“Captive,” she breathed the repulsive conclusion on the scarcest whisper. To be prisoner? On a shudder, she exhaled and scraped the word and vision from her psyche, in solid fear of her manifestin’ the nightmare from her immense well of magick. Some inner protective impulse warned her to tread with care.
“Yes. Or as a puppet.”
“Puppet?” Her gaze drifted down. Her belly felt as if it had plummeted through the ground. The heather’s wee purple blooms and green needle leaves fuzzed and spun, dancin’ and weavin’ like she’d drunk too much of Iain’s stout mead.
“Evil works in any conceivable way.” Skorpius’s voice twisted, from wide and thin to dense and tight, then exploded outward to boom rich and echo long, as if they’d entered a great cave. “Like water,” he continued in his twisty boomin’ voice, “malevolence seeps into every void until it breaks through on a rush or a trickle. Some might try to control your mind. Perhaps you’d be aware of it, but unable to do anything. Or, maybe…you won’t be aware at all.”
Once-effortless breaths grew shallow as she gulped for air that failed to reach starvin’ lungs. After a hard swallow, she ran her tongue over her teeth, then along her lips, to moisten a mouth gone bone dry. Twirlin’ specks floated up, all around them. Sparklin’ gold dusted the odd particles. With wide eyes, she reached out to touch one.
“You’re not even aware of what your mind’s doing now. That’s dirt you are raising up. Layer by layer, the particles around you are coming to life, honoring your silent wishes.”
She frowned, then winced, as incredible pain lanced through her temples, then remained to throb as a tortuous drumbeat behind her eyes. Why would I pull dirt into the air?
Wrong question.
His deep and extraordinarily soothin’ voice resonated into her mind again.
And the excruciatin’ pain ebbed at once.
Awash in his comfortin’ essence, she inhaled its vital energy and took a step toward him. Entranced into a dreamy pliant state, a childlike trust took hold. She sought to wrap herself in the warmth and protection that the steely undertones of the angel’s voice promised.
“What’s the right one?” she murmured. Exhaustion tugged at every fiber of her being, unravelin’ her from the inside out.
In an instant, the compassion in the angel’s gaze hardened to ice.
“How to stop your own magick from killing you now.”
Chapter 6
Glassy silver eyes stared up at him, trusting.
Too trusting.
The perfect heady cocktail of temptation. Unimaginable power and pure innocence.
Numerous potential threats would rise against Brigid. And from her.
Pulled under by an intoxicating surge of power, she’d fallen under its spell. Even more telling, without full awareness of her actions, she’d drawn perilously close to him.
A clouded gaze swept under the length of his nearest wing. Longing softened her expression, and she reached out, fingers outstretched.
“Brigid.” His tone charged low, riddled with warning.
The last thing she needed was more sensation. Nor did he trust himself to provide it.
Of all the dangers against her, facing them all, one slip of his hard-earned control would prove cataclysmic.
She blinked hard, breath catching. Her foggy gaze cleared. “Och! I…”—she stumbled back, out of his reach, shaking her head—“’Tis strange. I doona understand what’s befallen me.”
“You’re crashing. The magick you summoned to save the children consumed energy. The challenge you faced to overcome my magick spent more. You’re having a cascading meltdown.”
Her brow twitched down as she took another retreating step. Her eyes widened, then narrowed. Already shallow breaths devolved into tense panting.
“You’ve got brain fog,” he muttered. Which meant she likely had difficulty understanding his logical explanation. Or she was hallucinating. No telling.
But Skorpius refused to force her obedience. And if she melted down from lack of knowledge, he’d have to end her right then and there.
Easy. However, he also refused to destroy such a beautiful creature from lack of instruction. Not from something as elementary as the balance of energy.
“Your body and soul are starving for fuel to such a degree, you’re summoning magick to feed your need, which expends more energy than it replaces. You need to replenish that energy.”
Her delicate fist clenched tight under her ribs, between her heart and her stomach. “I ache.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
An indignant snort followed. She gave a slight headshake. Either she didn’t believe the reason could be that simple or she’d tumbled down so far, the idea of stomaching food repulsed her. Yet food would stave off the worst of it, the beginnings. They’d deal with the rest later.
But first, he had to get her on board. Fast. But how?
Brigid took another quick retreating step, a frightened deer ready to bolt.
Distract.
Particles continued to float, vibrating, animated by her magick. All glistened with her golden energy, from larger twigs and rocks to miniscule pollen and clay dust.
Before Skorpius engaged her further, he checked their internal bonds, the two distinct invisible threads that connected them. The cord leashing him to her at all costs remained taut, tugged him toward her. Paradoxically, the one meant to have him fix the time-rift Brigid herself had caused, even if it meant ending her, also held fast.
Both strong as ever. Even in her drained state.
Interesting.
“North.” Tone matter-of
-fact, she sheathed her dagger, then straightened her shoulders.
“What?” The sudden out-of-context word threw him. Along with her redoubled force of will. As if she forged on, despite her exhaustion. Which, he knew from experience, would only last so long.
“North.” She darted a glance toward the forest beyond the moor, down their original course. And she acted oblivious to his confusion and her inexplicable behavior.
Maybe she was. Maybe in her brain-fog state, she’d distracted herself. Then again, with all the magick humming around them, maybe he had manifested his desired outcome. Through her.
Then he realized she’d finally answered his Which way are we heading? question.
Okay. I’ll bite. Not much to work with, nothing to lose. “Anything else?”
An assessing stare landed on him. She inhaled slowly, exhaled slower. Those silver eyes narrowed, sparking with wariness, and no small amount of magick.
“In truth?” she asked.
“Usually how it’s done.”
Brigid walked toward him again, palm outstretched, gaze fixed on the remaining dagger he’d absconded with. But a tiny crease furrowed between slender brows. “You speak like Isobel.”
Great. “How so?”
He spun the dagger with the flick of a finger and dipped it toward her, hilt-first.
When she grasped the weapon, he shifted his hold, enabling their skin to touch for an instant.
The brief contact sparked on an infinitesimal level. That electrical impulse gave him a wealth of information on the condition of her health. And at the rate she drained her adrenals by magickally manipulating elements around her, she careened toward another crash any second.
Oblivious to his check of her vital-signs, she sheathed her weapon and continued, “As if you’re teasin’, but not quite. Or you’re speakin’ one word, yet meanin’ another.”
“Ah, sarcasm.” Excellent distraction tool. Easy to knock an opponent off-balance when their brain is busy wrestling with word puzzles.
With his impassive tone, and lack of explanation, she shot him a deadpan.
“It’s a form of humor. Meant to disarm, to put at ease.” Plenty of what’s needed now.