“AWAKE NOW?” a soft female voice inquired tolerantly beside her.
Startled at the close proximity of the voice, Lana sat up abruptly. She found herself near the edge of the black rippling waters of a cave pool. The pale face regarding her belonged to a young girl often summers, yet there was an olden quality to the tilted blue eyes and flawless features. This was no mortal girl, she realized, but a small faery whose skin and hair wore the colors of a first snowfall.
“FEEL BETTER?” the girl faery asked. She stood in the shallows about two arm lengths from her.
Lana nodded, not yet able to find her voice. She could see no wings on this faery. Silvery green combs pulled sallow waves away from a face more angular than curved. Her nearly transparent clothes shimmered with soft lights, the same colors of the outside seas.
“Where am I?” Lana whispered hoarsely. “Who are you?” she sputtered to a stop, remembering what happened. “Where is Keegan?” She looked around in a panic. “Where is my guardian?”
“GUARDIAN BEHIND YOU.”
Lana looked where the faery pointed and felt real fear. At the end of the pool, her guardian lay on his back on a narrow slab of gray stone. Water lapped at his body. He lay unmoving, wings outstretched and floating like decaying silvery leaves.
“Keegan,” she cried out.
A tiny hand grabbed her wrist before she could scramble to her feet.
“NOT DEAD.”
Lana looked at the girl faery. “Not dead?” she breathed fiercely, the terror receding a wee bit. “Are you sure?”
The faery nodded her head, releasing her. “HURT ONLY,”she said, and made a slashing motion across her stomach and left arm. “WATERS HELP HEAL HIM.”
Lana sat back down, overcome with relief. Keegan lay there naked, green paste smeared on his wounds. The surface of the black pool stirred in undulating waves from some underground water current. She gave a weary sigh and rubbed her temple. Her chest ached and she took a moment to regain her composure. A slightly bitter scent tainted the moist air of the cavern. She lifted her face and sniffed.
“ELDER FLOWER AND FEY WHISPERS RENEW BODY,” the girl faery explained.
Lana frowned. “Is that the green paste on him?”
“FLOWER,” the faery repeated. “WHISPERS.” Lana nodded that she understood, though she did not. Her tribe used herbs for healing, not flowers, and she had no idea what whispers meant. She looked around to get her bearings. It was a large cave. She estimated it to be about the size of a small meadow, with one irregular and narrowly shaped black pool. Sheets of creamy white amber and gray streaks rippled and folded on the slanted rock walls.
“MOTHERSMILK,” her small faery companion explained, gesturing at the fluid looking walls.
The walls did look like mother’s milk, she thought in agreement. Round crystals lit the cave in a pink glow, brighter in some spots and softer in others.
“Where is this place?” she asked.
“A SAFE PLACE.”
“Is it part of Knowth?”
“NEAR.”
“Otherworld?” Lana guessed.
The girl faery shook her head. “WATER CAVE ONLY, FEELING BETTER NOW?”
She nodded, looking down at herself. She had been cleaned up. Her trembling fingers brushed against a blond curl lying across her shoulder, no longer sticky with white blood.
“My thanks,” Lana offered in all sincerity.
The faery nodded.
“I doona mean to be disrespectful, but who are you?” she asked.
“MACLIR.”
The girl faery had a lilting voice, one meant to soothe and comfort.
“Why are you helping us, MacLir?”
“HELP GUARDIAN OF THE WATERS.”
Lana glanced over her shoulder at Keegan to make sure he was still there, that this was not all a dark dream.
“MUST GO NOW,” MacLir said directly, and took a step back. “YOU CARE FOR HIM.”
“How?” she asked. She was not a healer.
“TIME HEALS. WATER HEALS. SMEAR NEW PASTE ON HIM WHEN OLD TURNS BROWN.”
She could do that.
“WRONGLY DID THEY ATTACK.”
“You know who attacked us?”
“THE FEY FOLLOWERS OF LORD BRESS. BAD THEY BE.”
Lord Bress? Lana looked away, searching her memory. “The ousted fey king of the faeries?”
MacLir nodded. “KNOW HIM?”
“I know of him. He was a hero of the Fir Bog war and was named fey king when King Nuada was injured.”
“BLEMISHED NUADA BECAME.”
“He lost a hand,” Lana clarified.
“BLEMISHED.”
Lana knew the faeries valued physical beauty above most things. “I heard stories that King Bress did not rule justly.”
“TYRANT.” MacLir barred her teeth in definite agreement.
“When Nuada returned with his new silver hand, he reclaimed his throne and threw Bress out.” At least, that was what she understood.
“NUADA MADE WHOLE BY MAGIC. BRESS UNFAIR AND FALSE. HE FLED.”
Lana wondered if the young Bress, who fell from hero king to tyrant, stole Valor, had taken the great sword for his own. “Do you know where Bress has fled, MacLir?”
MacLir shrugged. “BACK TO HIS FATHER’S PEOPLE. HATES US NOW.”
Lana could see the girl faery did not want to talk anymore about Bress.
“I PROVIDED FOR YOU THERE.” MacLir pointed and Lana looked over her shoulder. Behind her were two small baskets of food, a pile of white pelts beside Keegan’s sword, a small silver pail on its side and a silvery weave she guessed was fey cloth of some kind. In the center of all sat a large wicker basket of stinky, green paste.
“I am grateful to you, MacLir.”
“GUARDIAN INDEBTED TO ME. MAKE SURE YOU TELL HIM.”
“I will.”
A distinctive male groan filled the cavern. “Lana?”
“I am here, Keegan.” Lana climbed to her feet and hurried to the edge of pool. From the corner of her eye, she saw MacLir drop into the waters and dissolve.
“Where are we?” he rasped.
She picked her way around slippery black pebbles and pink pool spar crystals that were shaped in tiny clustered petals.
“We are safe and in a cave,” she answered. Careful of her step, she waded into warm waters. As she approached, her guardian pulled his wings close to his side as if in pain.
“Keegan, are you hurting?” She came up to the narrow altar upon where he lay… naked.
“What cave?” her guardian mate demanded in a stronger voice, his right hand shielding his eyes.
“A cave near Knowth.”
He looked at her sidewise, questioningly.
“MacLir brought us here,” she explained, holding on to the edge of the altar, careful not to touch him. The waters rode high on her waist. “She has left food for us and some sort of green healing mixture I am to apply on your wounds.”
“Ah,” he said, holding up his left arm to inspect the paste. “So that is the stink I smell. Flower essences and healing fey whispers. MacLir has outdone herself this time.”
“You know her?”
“Aye,” he replied, offering nothing further. She studied the wound above his left elbow. The paste followed the jagged line of it, the length of a man’s largest finger.
“Does it hurt?” she asked, suspecting it was a deep cut.
“Not as much as my pride.” He looked down at himself and winced. “Where are my clothes?”
She kept her gaze on his face. “They appear to be gone, Keegan.”
He glared at her and then plopped his head back on the slab, causing her to cringe.
“Interfering faeries,” he mumbled, and tried to sit up. She slid her arm behind his shoulders, careful of his wings, and helped support him into a sitting position. Breathing heavily from the effort, he slid his left leg off the slab and faced her, his shin grazing her hip.
“You should rest, Keegan.”
He shook his head. “We canna delay. We must find Valor.”
“I think Bress took Valor, Keegan, or ordered the sword taken. MacLir said the faeries that attacked us were followers of Bress, and the one chasing me called me a sword host.”
He looked at her through his lashes and his pain.
“It makes sense,” she offered when he did not comment.
His head bowed. “Aye,” he muttered. Nostrils flaring, he seemed to be gathering his strength for the next movement.
She rested her hand on the powerful slope of his shoulder and said, “You really need to rest.”
He shook his head in denial of the injury.
She stared at his ear in fascination, a pink shell shape delicately rising to a point. His wet hair looked almost black in the pale rose light of the cavern. It lay upon him in dark ropes, covering his chest, shoulders, and back. Wrinkling her nose, she decided he did rather reek from the green paste.
Lana stroked his shoulder, offering reassurance and comfort, her fingertips grazing the firm, glossy edge of a wing. Turning slightly, she observed the commanding wings growing out of his shoulder blades. Never had she seen a faery’s wings close up, seen the pulse of tiny veins and subtle connective tissue. The form and shape reminded her of enormous butterfly wings, but they seemed crafted of luminous silver webs and different shades of night. Reaching out, she touched the closest one, watching it stretch under her hand, a kind of mysterious and dangerous unveiling. Droplets of water fell from understated curves, creating tiny ringlets in the water.
Alluring smoothness.
Yielding, yet surprisingly warm and solid.
Enticingly beautiful.
Magnificent, she thought. Completely enthralled, she traced a gray vein with a fingertip and then heard… a venomous oath.
Lana turned back slowly, dreadfully aware of what she had been doing. “Doona touch a guardian’s wings,” she remembered the druidess’s warning, “or dire things will happen.”
And dire things were about to happen, she knew without a doubt.
His head was up, body vibrating. She realized alarmingly she had released something wild.
“Keegan?” She smiled weakly, holding onto his arm.
His face was harsh. From beneath narrowed lids, a strange, mesmerizing tempest watched her.
Lana swallowed down her uncertainty. Pulling her hand off him, she took a hesitant step back.
A low snarl rumbled in his chest, a warning not to move.
“I dinna mean to touch your wings. I just… just…” she stammered. “They are so beautiful.”
He reached out and grabbed her nape, dragging her across a rigid lap.
Her nose collided hurtfully with a hard collarbone, sending shooting stars into her vision.
“Your wounds,” she protested, tears welling in her eyes from smacking her nose.
He was not listening.
Fingers locked in her hair, dragging her head back. His mouth lowered and took hers in a centuries old kiss of possession.
Hard.
Domineering.
Passionate.
Pleasurable.
His tongue invaded her mouth and made her body hum with desire.
Then, just as unexpectedly, he pushed her gently away from him.
Lana stumbled back in the waters, panting for breath, her lips tingling from his touch.
He said something forcefully and then flung back his head, the veins in his neck popping, white teeth bared in misery. No sound did he make and Lana watched in horror as he collapsed backward into the waters.
With a startled cry, she rushed around his legs to the other side of the stone slab and pulled his head out of the water, cradling him in her arms.
“Nay, Keegan,” she cried, not understanding. “What have I done? Please doona be hurt.”
Never touch a male faery’s wings or dire things will happen. The druidess’s warning resounded in her mind.
Never touch.
“I am sorry.” She gulped back tears.
Holding him to her, his face tucked into her breasts, she looked boldly down his length. He was still breathing, his stomach rising and falling. Thank the white moon goddess! She closed her eyes and took a recovering breath. When she looked at him again, his large man root was erect, rising from a dark nest.
“Does it remain that way even if they are unconscious?” she mumbled to herself.
“I am not unconscious.”
Startled, she looked down.
“Smothered might be a better description,” he said sardonically.
Embarrassed at her open perusal of his man root, she jumped back, releasing him. His head and shoulders sank below the surface once again.
With a cry, Lana grabbed a handful of silken hair and yanked, bringing him back up to the surface.
“Lana,” her guardian mate said tightly, not even sputtering. “If you but let me fall into the healing waters, I would greatly appreciate it.”
She blinked in bewilderment. “Now?”
“Now would be suitable.”
Not knowing what else to do, she did as he bade. She released him and stepped back anxiously.
He dropped down, head and shoulders sinking into the darkness of the water. This time, the rest of him rolled off the stone slab, wings tucked close to his back, and disappeared out of sight.
She stood there, alone in the accompanying silence.
He did not surface.
Did not return.
Lana searched the waters around her. He was not mortal, she reminded herself yet again. He was enchanted, a fey being of mystery and appeal and he had been under the fey waters a lot longer when he had given her pleasure.
Yet, the cavern seemed to expand with her dread.
Placing a hand above her heart, the familiar fluttering took hold.
“Please,” she prayed aloud.
“Here.”
Lana spun around.
Her fey guardian mate transformed back to his familiar, and, she had to admit, beloved, mortal shape. He stood there, hunched over, bare and glistening from the waist up, an arm pressed into the green paste smeared on his stomach.
“You…” Her mouth had gone dry.
A decadent brow arched at her. “Me?” He reached out to the edge of the stone for balance and support.
She stepped aside. “You could have drowned.”
He shook his head slowly. “I can stay below the waters a lot longer than mortal males.” He turned to her. “Do you not remember?”
She blushed profusely. “I remember.” He had given her pleasure in the waters, his face between her thighs, his mouth…
“Doona touch my wings again, Lana.”
Startled out of her sensual recollection, she looked up at him.
“I canna control…”
His head bowed low while she waited.
“… certain impulses.”
“Mindless rutting,” she offered simply.
He gave her a quick look. “As you wish to call it.”
She moved closer and saw him swallow hard.
“Doona touch me that way again, Lana.”
A silence came to the cave and she stared up into his eyes. “I will not touch your wings unless you wish me to. You have my word, Keegan. Now let me help you.”
Something dark and unsure flashed across his features and then was gone.
“Lean on me.” She moved still closer, her arm snaking around his waist.
He stiffened, caught like a butterfly in a net.
“I can help you if you let me.”
His sensual lips parted with breath and she had a curious sensation in the pit of her stomach.
“Keegan?”
After the smallest of hesitations, he said, “On the shore, be there a silvery weave?”
Puzzled by his question, she looked over her shoulder. She seemed to remember seeing it. “Aye.”
“Please bring it to me.”
“You want it now?” she prompted, not knowing what
a small, square cloth might be used for.
“Now,” he answered.
“Will you be all right?” she asked with concern.
Aye.
Lana left him and retrieved the feathery light cloth. She waded back into the pool.
“Open it,” he said.
Standing beside him, she held it open above the water.
“Press the folds against my chest.”
The moment she held it against his bare chest, white light flashed in front of her eyes. She stumbled back and the next thing she knew Keegan wore a sleeveless gray tunic.
“Fey magic,” she mused. “Are your lower parts covered, too?”
He grunted and then without looking at her, started toward shore. Indeed, a pair of gray breeches covered his lower body.
“Stubborn faery.” She shook her head and followed close behind him.
CHAPTER 11
UNDER THE VAST BLUE SKY, a sea of tall grasses and yellow flowers rippled in the afternoon breeze.
Bathed in the shady sunlight, Keegan rested on his back under the branches of a lone oak tree. On either side of him, sprawling roots reached outward, some to the bank of the river at his right and others toward the high dry land. Covered by white pelts, he was naked again, suffering between sweltering and sickly chills brought on by the Darkshade poison in his system. A burning ache spread into his blood. His head felt thick and muffled under a black cloud of clinging mist. Bress’s faeries used a Darkshade dagger on him, full of black conjuring and slow acting poison, a dagger meant to quell a guardian. There were few of these magical daggers in existence and still fewer who knew their true purpose. Having once reigned over the faery realm, Lord Bress would know.
He shifted again and pain sliced through his stomach.
His jaw clamped shut. Wounds from a Darkshade dagger tended to fester, claiming one’s potency before the ultimate and final end.
I doona have the time for this. He knew the worst part of the poison was yet to come. He had to remain strong, had to find Valor. He could not leave Lana alone to finish the quest, a quest his king had given him.
“How do you feel?” his fair one asked, blessedly unaware of his inner battle.
He edged himself into a sitting position. The pelts slipped down, the fur stained by the green mush over his stomach wound. “I am well enough.”
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