Enslaved by Fear

by Claire Ashgrove

  As deep lavender engulfed the fields, Brigid raced for the forest. The grass cooled her bare feet, the wind whipped through her hair. All reminders of the land she came from, the ancestors who had walked before her. With each fall of her heel, she absorbed those ancient energies, reveling in the wildness of her spirit.

  At the edge of the tall trees, she stopped, hidden in the darkness, to look back at the rooms that had imprisoned her for so long. A light glowed in the window, silhouetting Micah’s strong, athletic frame. Her heart tripped, and she closed her eyes to regret. He had shown her kindness when she least deserved it. Set her free knowing she would return for him.

  If only things could be different…if she could somehow alter fate.

  “I had wondered when you would come.”

  Drandar’s voice brought Brigid’s thoughts to an immediate halt. She spun around as an invisible belt snapped around her lungs.

  He stood in the shadows, unseen to all who didn’t share his blood. Long dark hair flowed around his shoulders. Silvery eyes glinted with the vile calling of his purpose.

  “Father,” Brigid managed through her surprise.

  “I had begun to fear you joined your siblings in their treachery. It is good to know I can depend on you and Taran. Come and embrace me, Brigid.”

  Embrace him…Something deep inside her soul shriveled at the thought. But if she didn’t, if she denounced Drandar, he would turn on her. His strength doubled hers, even in his weakened condition. And while he couldn’t kill her, he could do far worse. Confine her to torture. Carve on her when he could find no other victim. Make her spend the rest of eternity locked in pain and blood.

  She swallowed down fear and crossed to her sire. Shaky arms wrapped around his waist. With a deep breath, she laid her cheek against his cold chest.

  “You are such a prize, daughter.” His hand stroked her hair. “If they could have all been like you and your brother, we would have ruled mankind.”

  His praise made her want to shudder. Wisely, she locked her knees and squeezed her eyes shut against the reflex. If she yielded he would know. He would see through her and recognize the traitorous nature of her soul.

  Drandar released her and took a step away. He cocked his head, studying her in the dwindling light. “You do not seem happy to see me.”

  “Oh, I am,” she hurried to assure. “It’s just…I’ve been stuck in there…I’m…overwhelmed.”

  A wicked smile spanned his face as he nodded. “Understandable. I will help you right this wrong, Brigid. Your brother, his wife, and that interfering demonologist will learn the folly of their actions.”

  Micah? He intended to hurt Micah? Hatred worked its way through Brigid’s conflicted spirit. She dipped her head to prevent her sire from recognizing the telltale flash in her eyes. If Drandar had ever cared for her, he would understand the way his curse divided her. But he didn’t. He never had. She was just a tool, a means of adding to his might.

  They were all a means of revenge for Nyamah’s defiance.

  “You will help me,” Drandar continued. He looked to the castle, searched the high windows.

  “Help you?” She frowned at the surprise that crept into her voice, cleared her throat, and asked, “How?”

  “He cares for you, and he is in my way. Your brother has tasked him to guard the ritual against my presence. I need the power the flames will raise. Isolde dealt me a severe blow.”

  A shame Isolde hadn’t eradicated him entirely. If she had, maybe the curse would have lifted on its own.

  “Bring him to me, Brigid. I will feast on his soul as his body withers in my hands.”

  Her stomach heaved at the image that surfaced of Micah trapped in Drandar’s deathly clutches. There would be no quick end for him, nothing but pain and suffering. For with each scream Drandar elicited, his darkness gained strength.

  And if she refused…how much of her soul would aid her sire’s plight?

  If she had a spine at all, she’d run away from this conversation and turn her back on her sire. But running from Drandar wouldn’t protect Micah. Only one thing would. And while she would pay the price eternally, Micah’s life was certainly worth the punishment she’d earn.

  She forced herself to look Drandar in the eye. “I will bring him. Come to the fire when it illuminates the tops of the monoliths.”

  “Ah.” His laughter rasped through the night. “I have taught you well. We are our strongest when the fires burn their brightest.”

  With a shaky nod, Brigid agreed.

  “I will see you soon, daughter.”

  “Yes.” As he disappeared within the deeper shadows, she whispered, “Yes, you will.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “What do you mean, she’s gone?”

  Shock washed across Fintan’s face, before anger colored his cheeks. Micah held his disbelieving stare, his tongue clamped firmly behind clenched teeth. He’d done his part, told Fintan the necessary details, assumed his fault, and now he needed to ride out the fallout.

  “Does she have the ritual?” Fintan pushed a hand through his shoulder-length hair, and sat down heavily. “Beth is going to hit the roof when she finds out.”

  Micah intended to be far from the McLaine property before Beth could learn what had happened and he had to witness the disappointment in her eyes. He could deal with Fintan’s anger. They’d been friends long enough, that some day in the future, they’d overcome this. But he sincerely didn’t want Beth to hate him. She was too sweet, too kind for him to carry that burden without care.

  “The ritual is upstairs. She left it behind.”

  “But she studied it?”

  Micah nodded. “The pages are on her bed if you want to collect them.”

  Fintan fell silent for a moment, his fingers tapping the smooth wood of the chair’s arms as he stared at Micah. “How?” he finally asked.

  Cringing inwardly, Micah sifted through the truths and half-truths swimming in his head. There was nothing good he could say about his insistence that Brigid leave. He had failed in his responsibility, turned his back on friends he respected, and left the entire McLaine family at Drandar’s mercy. At the same time, if he hadn’t…

  The very thought of what might have happened tonight cinched his gut into a knot. He blew out a harsh breath and repeated for the second time, “I failed to renew my wards effectively.”

  “So you’ve said. But how does that happen, Micah?” Speculation flashed in Fintan’s heavy stare. “You’ve spent months here. Just now, you fail to renew your wards?”

  Micah glanced out at the low hung moon, preparing to confess the worst of it. So far, he’d managed to avoid the business of sleeping with Brigid, of falling in love with Fintan’s sister. But Fintan wasn’t a fool, and evasiveness would no longer work. “I’ve always—”

  He blinked as a faint glow emitted through the trees near the ancient sacred henge. Red-orange, like the fiery set of the sun…only…the moon hung low in the sky. Darkness blanketed the land.

  “You’ve always what?” Fintan pressed. “Damn it, don’t tell me she played you. Just don’t tell me you were blind to my sister’s antics. By the ancestors, you know her better than I do, and that’s saying something.”

  Micah’s heart skidded to a stop as the light intensified. Shadows grew taller, the towering trees now monstrous against the red-orange glow that flickered like it possessed a will of its own. Only one light danced like that—fire.

  Fire at the henge. Two hours before Fintan’s ritual would begin. Which could only mean one thing.

  “Brigid!”

  Micah shoved away from the window and bolted past Fintan. Damn her! He’d set her free so she wouldn’t go through with the ritual. Why hadn’t she run?

  Heavy footsteps behind him announced Fintan followed. Micah ignored his friend’s presence, his singular focus on reaching the henge and stopping Brigid before it was too late. Before she could do something foolish like finish the ritual and forfeit her life.

>   If she died out there…

  His heart seized, and he stumbled as he hit the doorway. No. He would not allow that to happen. She would not die, damn it.

  Determined, he collected himself, forced his panic to a dull buzz, and barreled outside. Fintan followed at a faster stride. His hand fell on Micah’s forearm, and he pulled Micah to a stop.

  “What’s going on?”

  Micah jerked free. “Brigid’s at the henge. We have to stop her.” Without offering more, he raced into the trees. Branches snapped across his face, slashed into his arms. The pinpricks of pain only drove him to run faster. When the snap and crackle of her bonfire reached his ears, he belted out, “Brigid!”

  ****

  A herd of elephants couldn’t make more noise than Micah crashing through the forest. But the sound of his voice gave Brigid pause. Her hand froze, a flick of the wrist away from casting the peppermint leaves into the fire. Regret threatened to swallow her whole. She didn’t want him here. Had hoped that he would be too preoccupied with Fintan to notice the fires. But now, as his shouts hoarsened even as they grew closer, the urge to touch him once more, to confess the feeling in her heart, tore her in two.

  It is working, daughter.

  The sound of her father’s voice made Brigid choke on her incantation. The fires weren’t high enough, the power not yet at its zenith. He was too early. She’d never finish in time.

  She cast the peppermint into the roaring flames and closed her eyes, chanting the phrase she had worked throughout the afternoon to memorize. Weakened by the magic she raised, her heartbeat slowed. The only luck she could enjoy was that Nyamah’s ritual had been designed for solo recitation. If she spoke fast enough, if she rushed past the flowery phrases, she might yet prevent Micah’s death by sacrificing her own.

  With a shaking hand, she reached into her pocket and withdrew a small bunch of dragonsblood. For banishment, nothing worked stronger.

  “Brigid, stop!” Micah broke through the trees, entering the well-worn dirt path that encircled the ancient henge. He barreled between two towering monoliths on a direct trajectory toward her, with Fintan on his heels.

  For the first time in her life, Brigid prayed her brother would succeed in something. She spared a moment to utter a prayer to the heavens that Fintan stopped Micah.

  To her horror, in that half-second of time, another shadow descended on Micah. She stared, disbelieving as all she’d sought to prevent rose before her eyes. Her sire snaked out an unholy arm and sank wretched claws into the back of Micah’s shirt. The sound of rending fabric ripped through her mind. His pained cry splintered her faltering heart into tiny pieces.

  Fintan lunged at Drandar, but one lift of a clawed hand sent her brother reeling on his back. Unharmed, but useless all the same.

  Brigid dropped the satchel of herbs. The fear that had guided her life dissolved with a whole new terror. She’d spend centuries in her sire’s torturous confinement, so long as Micah lived.

  “Let him go!”

  Drandar’s hand stopped a breath away from Micah’s chest. His head snapped up, disbelief etched into his expression.

  Before he could react, Brigid closed her eyes and summoned the fire he had taught her how to manipulate. Warmth radiated in her palm, spread up her arm. Pain pricked her fingertips as she forced more of her essence into the tiny ball, turning reddish heat into even hotter blue.

  With a hard exhale, she pushed the last of her strength into the glowing orb and sent it hurtling across the sacred circle. Exhausted, she fell to her knees. Through faltering vision, she watched the fire sear through his chest. His enraged howl echoed through the valley.

  In the next heartbeat, he dropped Micah and lunged across the narrow distance separating them. Brigid braced for the slap of his hand, the sear of his dagger-like claws. “Run,” she whispered. Then with a shake of her head to clear the haze of death from her mind, she projected her voice and cried, “Run!”

  Drandar’s hand connected with her face. Agony arced through her as her skin split. Blood flowed between her parted lips and pooled in her mouth.

  ****

  Micah’s world ground to a standstill as Drandar hit Brigid again. She swayed sideways, struggling to remain on her hands and knees. Rage poured through him. At the demon, at the elements, at the vile circumstance he faced.

  “Get out of here.” Harsh and demanding, Fintan’s voice echoed dimly through Micah’s head.

  No. He would not leave her to her sire’s mercy. Lowering his voice, he drew on the elements that surrounded them.

  Fintan’s fingers bit into his shoulder and spun Micah around. “There’s nothing you can do. This isn’t your fight, it’s hers. Did you read the spell? Did you hear the phrase she uttered last?”

  Micah pulled on his arm, but Fintan held him fast. “She’s dying now, Micah. There’s one phrase left. Let her finish the damned ritual! Ward her, so she can. Otherwise, she’ll die for nothing!”

  Dying now? Tears blurred his vision as he looked once more to where Brigid crouched on the dirt. She struggled to lift her head, wobbled on her weakened arms. Drandar’s laughter filled the glade, rising above the roar of flames. He reached for her again, those claws swiping at her tangled hair.

  Micah saw the truth in Fintan’s words, no matter how he despised it. He couldn’t stop this. Couldn’t do anything but bring meaning to her death. The one thing he had sought to prevent, he must now aid.

  Micah swallowed down anguish and drew a short breath. As he exhaled, he murmured the words of ancient guardians far more powerful than Brigid, than himself, than even Drandar. The same Selgovae language that would take her from him forever would now protect her from her sire.

  Energy slipped off his fingertips. Across the sacred circle, Drandar drew back from Brigid with an anguished yowl. White light flared from the fire she had implanted within his chest. Time stood still as Micah watched Brigid drag herself to her knees. Her gaze locked with his as she wrapped her fingers around her satchel and held it before her body. Her lips moved, her words drowning in the roar of blood within Micah’s ears.

  A smile faltered at her mouth. Then, she hurled the satchel into the flames and dropped into a motionless heap.

  Drandar cackled even as his form diminished beneath the combined assault of Micah and Brigid’s lingering magic. His voice mingled with the rustling breeze. “And so she is dead, pathetic mortal. Was saving you part of the bargain you struck when you set her free?”

  “Set her free?” Fintan thundered at Micah’s side. “You set her free? You told me she escaped. Why in the name of the ancestors would you do something so foolish?”

  For the first time since he’d awakened and realized what tonight would hold, Micah’s repressed anger found an outlet. He fisted his hands into the front of Fintan’s shirt and jerked him close. “Because I loved her. And her brother’s too stupid to try.”

  Fintan’s eyes widened. His mouth snapped shut. Empathy flashed behind his eyes before he closed them in regret.

  Micah shoved him away. Heartache formed a hard lump in the back of his throat as he turned to where Brigid lay motionless across the sacred circle. Slow steps took him around the crackling fire to her side, where he knelt and drew his fingers through her matted hair.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cold blanketed Brigid. Odd. She knew, in some remote part of her brain, she shouldn’t be cold. She shouldn’t feel anything, disconnected from her body as she was, and the lack of grass, rock, or earth beneath her feet proved such. Yet, she shivered as she walked amongst an eerie fog, her feet not connecting with anything solid, but very much walking.

  She didn’t know where she was headed. Hushed voices, mere whispers of sound she couldn’t make out, urged her onward. Deeper into the mist. Farther away from the standing stones and Micah.

  Had she prevented Drandar from harming him?

  Agitation prickled her awareness. But unlike the corporeal restlessness she remembered, the strange tingling failed to
manifest into full bore sentiment. It lingered, dulled by a force she couldn’t see or touch. Present enough to be an annoyance.

  If this was how eternity would play out, she’d rather fight Drandar day in and day out. At least engaging him produced the full spectrum of emotion, not this watered-down variety. It was as if someone injected her with her a triple-dose of Valium.

  A smirk threatened. Laughter, however, didn’t feel appropriate, and she choked amusement down—not that there was much to swallow. It too felt muted and hollow.

  So this is what it’s like to be dead.

  The hushed voices grew louder, anxiousness turning whispers into an echoing buzz. Brigid cringed inwardly, struck by the sudden desire to slap the sounds away. She would never find peace here, if those sounds followed where she went.

  She took another step forward, into fog so thick it formed a seemingly solid wall. It swirled around her, tiny particles of energy that dampened her skin as she passed. Bit by bit the fog lifted, thinning out layer by layer until she stood in a vast clearing of…nothingness.

  Brigid turned a slow circle. Behind her, the fog had disappeared. Stars gathered all around, as if she had stepped foot outdoors on a clear summer’s day. They winked against a midnight backdrop, so bright she’d swear if she reached over her head she could touch the flaring points.

  The accompanying silence, however, was oppressive. Nauseating.

  She moved forward in search of the nerve-grating voices and the never-ending fog, but each step she took led nowhere. As far as she could tell, she’d made no progress, though she was certain she’d taken a good thirty steps.

  The epitome of futility.

  So here she was…part of the elements. Part of her mother’s grand designs. All she had ever cared about now lost to her for eternity. In the last moments she could recall, she remembered staring into her sire’s wrathful eyes and thinking when it was all over, she would see her mother again.

  But no. Nyamah had abandoned her long ago. True, her power reigned around the ancient standing stones and lent itself to Brigid’s purpose, but her mother hadn’t so much as whispered a word of encouragement. Let alone welcome to the Aether plane.